#i’m washing down between applications and my fucking chest is all but clear this is bullshit

[britcision]

Do you ever get the feeling that your pimples are intentionally mapping out the parts of your body where you can’t easily reach to check up on or spot clean them?

Cuz it’s Big Bedtime Congestion Hours and having to sleep every night with the vaporub always causes breakouts all over my chest but they’re being vindictive right now

Like the only place on my body that I can’t easily get both hands to is the back of my shoulders (I’m hyperextensive, it’s bad) and GUESS where I have like six huge and super sore pimples popping up

Right on the fucking shoulder blade

There is NO way I got the vaporub there?? I think???

(Front of shoulders I’ll grant you, there’s some migration but not that much)

[mandoalorian]

No Body, No Crime [Dave York x F!Reader]

Summary: When Dave York’s wife expresses her suspicion of him having an affair, you agree to help her gather the evidence to confront him. You believe that if you can prove his infidelity, their marriage will fall apart and you might actually stand a chance with him. But when you follow him out one night, you make a shocking discovery.

Warnings: SMUT, m receiving oral, f masturbation, choking, infidelity, murder

Rating: 18+

Word count: 3000>

Author’s Note: Please consider this my official application of entry to the Dave York pit. This one is quite intense. I’ve never written a thriller type fic before, so I hope it’s okay! 

Masterlist

He had to have been cheating. There was no other excuse for sneaking out so late at night, and not returning until the early hours of the morning. His actions radiated infidelity. The only answer was that he was having an affair.

Dave York was the typical suburban dad living the perfect life with the perfect wife and two happy daughters. You would know as you were the York’s housemaid, and had the privilege of living with them. As an insider, it also meant you were a pair of extra spying eyes. And you watched Dave, a lot. It was only a matter of time before Carol caught on and realised something was up. So when she came to you one morning after Dave had set off to work, and the girls were at school, you could already sense her concerns.

If you recalled correctly, it was the fourth time this week he’d snuck out. You remembered last night, sitting by the attic window and watching him drive off into the distance. There was something about it that got you all riled up. You were ashamed to admit it -- but you were more than attracted to Mr. York. Once he was no longer in sight, you closed your eyes and slipped your fingers under the hem of your panties. You let out a puff of air as your digits found your clit and you began to rub tight little circles, squirming around in the wooden chair that you’d been sitting in. It creaked in the midst of the night, but getting so caught up in the moment, you didn’t even care if your movements or whimpers woke Carol up. You imagined Dave burying his cock deep inside you, moaning out your name. It was really bad, you knew that… but the truth is, if Dave wanted to fuck you next, you’d have no qualms. You’d let him. You’d beg him. With your free hand, you clutched the edge of the window sill so hard your knuckles turned white as you felt your body pull to its orgasm.

You stayed by the window for around two and a half hours after that, apprehending his return. If one thing was sure, it was that Dave made an effort to remain unseen. He dressed in all black, even opting to wear a hat to hide his brown locks of hair. You heard the keys jingle as he let himself into the house, this time via the back door because he knew it would be quieter. You heard his footsteps emerge up the stairs. Strangely enough, you heard the washer switch on as he would do his own laundry. In fact, you couldn’t remember the last time you had cleaned Dave’s clothes. Washing his clothes at four in the morning only made him even more suspicious, but you had to applaud his efforts.

“I think Dave is cheating on me,” Carol announced as you finished up doing the dishes. You felt your body stiffen at her tone, before taking a deep breath and turning to face her. She looked exhausted, nursing a cup of coffee and her bleached blonde hair tied into a messy bun. “He’s been… acting different,” she revealed sadly. “He slips out of bed at around one in the morning, every night. He comes back at four-ish, and I pretend to be asleep. But he undresses, and he smells like sweat. We don’t talk much anymore. I don’t think he loves me.” she confirmed, and you could tell she was trying to hold back unshed tears.

“I’m sorry.” was all you could offer her.

She sank down into the dining room chair and held her head in her hands. Carol wasn’t a bad woman -- but you couldn’t bring yourself to empathise with her. She was the lucky one who got to marry Dave in the first place… who got to bring up his two wonderful kids. She got to live in the big suburban house, and she got to drive the expensive family SUV. Clearly, she was struggling. Her suspicions of her husband cheating were eating her alive, and you knew from your own spying that he was certainly up to something. It must have sucked for her, but even if Dave was being unfaithful, she was still living your dream life.

“I think I’m going to call him out,” she confessed with an uneasy shrug of her shoulders. “I have to. I can’t keep living like this. It’s just… I have no evidence. No way to prove it.”

Carol had a point. If she was going to confront him, surely he’d just deny it and get mad. You liked Dave a lot, that much was clear, but maybe… in this scenario… you could be some use to Carol. If you could provide her with the evidence that he was cheating, then their marriage would inevitably fall apart. Then you could harness the chance to steal Dave away for yourself. This could actually work.

“I can help you,” you said suddenly, pulling out the chair opposite Carol and sitting beside her. “I can help you find what you need to expose Dave’s affair.”

Carol furrowed her eyebrows together in bewilderment, and you hoped you hadn’t sounded too excited about the prospect. “How do you plan on doing that?” she asked you with uncertainty.

You hummed, your mind weighing up the possible scenarios. “Uhm… well, next time he sneaks out I can watch him leave... and then I take your SUV and carefully follow him. I’ll try to snap some photos of him getting caught in the act.” you suggested and watched Carol wince at the thought of you seeing him with somebody else. Seriously… were you supposed to feel bad for her? Carol looked unsure but finally she sighed a breath of defeat and nodded her head, agreeing to your plan.

“Okay… but be careful you don’t get caught.” She warned.

“I’ll do it tonight,” you promised. “Don’t worry Carol, let me handle this.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

This time, when the night rolled over, you weren’t in the attic like usual. You were hiding out by the living room window downstairs which gave you quick and easy access to the front door. Once you were satisfied that Dave had driven an ample distance away from the house, you grabbed Carol’s car keys and jogged down the patio to her SUV. You knew the roads would be empty at this time of night, so it shouldn’t be too hard to lose sight of Dave. What would be hard though, is trying to remain unseen by him. Any car out on the roads at two in the morning would be suspicious. You figured you were doing a good job at staying back in the shadows.

To your surprise, Dave began to drive out of town and he headed towards the forest that peppered the outskirts of the little village he lived in. You knew that nobody lived in this area, and so why he was driving this far out was beyond you. Though, it only piqued your curiosity more, and so you continued to follow him.

You parked around ten feet behind him, the car tyres getting stuck in the dirt. You watched as Dave hopped out of his car and swung a black duffel bag over his shoulder. He ventured into the depths of the forest, amongst the tall trees, until eventually he was nowhere in sight. You sat in the driver's seat for a few moments, contemplating what exactly was going on. You didn't expect this at all. You figured that, all this time, he had in fact been driving to a different part of town, letting himself into someone else’s house and having an affair.

Then, the reality that he could still be having an affair struck you. You hopped out of the SUV and turned on your phone’s flashlight, helping you familiarise yourself with your surroundings. Dave’s clunky boots left a trail of footsteps in the mud, thankfully, which meant it was easy enough to track him down. You were making good progress and doing fine until you heard a man scream. And your heart sank in your chest.

The same voice cried out in terror, before another scream followed. Could it be Dave? Was he in danger? Your mind shot to what you believed to be the worst possible case and your light jogging turned into running as you followed the sound. You had to make sure Dave was okay.

As you got closer and closer, you began to hear a squelching noise and a series of grunts and groans. You noticed a figure, on his knees by a large tree trunk -- and evidently, he noticed the way your flashlight had highlighted his body. The masculine figure rose to his feet and dropped the knife to the ground before turning to face you.

It was Dave.

“What are you doing here?” he interrogated, removing his hat and stuffing it into his pocket.

“You… I--... you…” you were speechless, your gaze flicking between Dave and the corpse that he had tied to the tree. The screams you had heard earlier hadn’t come from Dave, but instead had come from the man he just murdered.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He repeated, malice dripping from his tongue. When you didn’t answer, he scoffed incredulously and pulled out a clean knife. He took only a few steps towards you, breaking any distance, and held the silver blade to your neck. The coolness of the metal stung your skin and your gaze fixated on his cold dark eyes in horror. “I’ll ask you one last time,” Dave whispered, his warm breath fanning over your jaw. “Sweet girl, tell me, why are you here?”

“Carol sent me…” you lied. “I didn’t want to. But-- but she thought you were cheating on her. She told me to follow you into the night and see where you ended up.”

“That bitch,” Dave huffed, taking a step back and shaking his head in disbelief. “And you were happy to betray me?”

“No!” you said defensively, your voice raising an octave. “She said if I didn’t, she’d fire me.”

“You should have come to me first.” Dave gritted out, his voice deep and his eyes locked on yours. God, he was hot. If he hadn’t just murdered someone, you’d be all over him.

“I know,” you gulped and made an effort to flutter your eyelashes apologetically. “I was scared.”

“Scared of me?” Dave quizzed, tilting his head and wrapping a gloved hand around the column of your throat. He gave it an experimental squeeze.

“N-no,” you stammered out, biting your lower lip. “Scared of Carol.”

“And now that you know where I’ve been going every night. Now that you know that I’ve been murdering innocents… are you scared of me?” Dave rephrased after a moment of silence.

“No,” you confirmed again but with a shaky exhale. You raised your hand and cupped his cheek. The touch caught him off guard. He wasn’t used to this kind of affection from anyone. “Actually… it turns me on.”

Dave pulled away from you and a wicked smirk crossed his lips. “I never pinned you to be that kind of person.” he revealed, but if the tent in his pants was anything to go off, you knew that he liked it.

“I never pinned you to be a murderer.” you shot back with a sweet moan, licking a hot stripe along his jaw and maneuvering your hand along his broad chest.

Dave let his own gloved hand tangle in your hair before yanking your head back and forcing you to look at him. 

“Not a murderer, just a cheater?” he questioned, venom in his tone. 

“Mm, I’m sorry.” you whispered, and Dave began to push you down onto your knees. 

“Show me,” he hissed, and you hungrily nodded your head.

In the darkness of the night, you began to undo his belt. Pulling it through the loops of his pants, you discarded it to the ground and then started to work at the zipper. You dipped your hand into his pants and pulled out his already hard cock. You couldn’t help but gasp at how heavy it felt in your hands.

You began to pump at his length, your fingers gathering the beads of precum that had dribbled out of his tip. “Let me fuck your mouth.” he commanded. You opened your mouth as wide as you could, preparing yourself for his girth, and stuck out your tongue. Dave chuckled darkly before thrusting his thick cock into your mouth.

His breathing hilted when you wrapped your lips and moaned around him, the noise sending vibrations through his body.

He pushed his entire length into you and then gently began to trace your throat with his index finger. The movements of his hands were achingly soft in comparison to the rough and messy nature of his thrusts. It didn’t take long for you to realise he was actually tracing the bulge that his thick cock had made there, and you gagged around him in response. He doubled back, pulling out of you and only giving you a second to catch your breath before fucking your mouth again. 

His speech was slurred and his vision became hazy as he muttered words of degradation. “You little whore, sucking my cock in the middle of a fucking forest at night. Do you like this? Do you like taking my cock in your mouth?”

You could only hum in approval. You felt tears begin to prick at the corners of your eyes and his cock began to throb in your mouth. You knew he was close now. You brought your hands to his balls and began to massage them, and looked up through your lashes at Dave who had tossed his head back, the pleasure consuming him. 

Without any warning, Dave came undone, his salty load shooting into your mouth. He brought his hands back down to your head and forced you to swallow him whole. It wasn’t easy, but you managed to do so, relishing his taste. Eventually, he let you pull off him, a mixture of his cum and your saliva creating a trail between his cock and your lips. He grabbed your hand and helped you to your feet before tucking himself back into his pants and zipping himself up.

“Well, I can’t murder you now.” he sighed, rubbing his jaw.

“Do you need me to help you hide the body?” you offered.

“No,” he replied. “I do all my murders in this forest because no one has visited in years. They decompose quickly too. I just leave them to rot.”

It sounded pretty risky, you thought, but evidently, Dave knew what he was doing. He must have been doing this for a long time. “Oh okay…” you mumbled. “I’ll just… head back to the car then.”

You spun around on your heel and took a few steps in the direction you came before you heard Dave call your name. You froze and waited for him to speak.

“I’m going to kill Carol,” he said, the five words echoing amongst the trees around you. “And I need you to be my alibi.”

“M-murder Carol? But why?” you asked, honestly feeling a little uneasy at this point. You trusted Dave, you really did. But Carol had sent you out to try and evidence the fact he was cheating on you. In the past half hour, you’d witnessed her husband murder someone, and then you had proceeded to give him what could quite possibly have been the best blow of his life.

“She thought I was cheating on her,” he said, his voice so quiet it was almost sinister. “She has betrayed my trust.”

You wanted to throw in the fact that he had actually just cheated on her, with you, but you decided that might not have been the best idea. He needed to know that you were on his side. You hadn’t realised the length of time you’d stayed silent for. Clearly, had been too long for Dave’s liking.

“Are you going to betray my trust?” Dave queried and you shook your head ‘no’ profusely. “Good.” 

“Good thing I’ve cleaned enough houses in my time to know how to cover up a scene,” you said softly, taking a few steps closer to him. “And it’s a good thing I helped Carol take out a big life insurance policy.” your lips curled into a smile.

“So we do it tonight,” Dave whispered, his thumb grazing the height of your cheekbone. “We go home together, and I’ll kill her. I’ll take her body to the forest and you clean up before daylight.”

“What about the girls?” you couldn’t help but ask.

Dave picked up his belt and the bloodied knife before throwing them haphazardly in his duffle bag. “Good thing they’ll still be living with another, amazing woman that they can look up to once their mother is gone,” he smirked, and you felt your cheeks flush with heat at his words. “I’ll call the cops tomorrow morning and file a missing person’s report for Carol.”

“Will it work?” you wondered out loud.

“Do you trust me?”

Maybe you were foolish, but as you contemplated his words, you realised that you really did trust this suburban murder dad.

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[qjhughes]

undrunk

Pairing: Harry Styles x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Summary: When Y/N receives Harry’s wedding invitation with a picture of him that she took on it, she’s sent back to the night where she threw everything important to her away.

Warning(s): a relationship that’s not really a relationship, overall sadness, a flashback, alcohol, language, mistakes, and i didn’t go back and edit it, sorry :/

A/N: Okay I tried something just a bit different with this one so if you have any thoughts, please don’t hesitate to let me know)!! This is my second submission to nat’s ( @harrystylescherry​ ) song based writing challenge!! This one is based off of Undrunk by Fletcher, so if you haven’t heard that, I recommend giving it a listen either while reading or before!! If you couldn’t tell by the first submission I did, The Weekend and by this one, when I picked these prompts I was feeling just a bit messy, so just know that going into this!!! Also, a quick thank you to fay ( @glowunderthemoon​ ) for making this amazing visual!!!

Masterlist | Request + Inbox | Patreon 

A reminder to reblog the fics that you like before there are no more for you to consume!!

*

“Technically, he wasn’t an ex-boyfriend, but he was an ex-something. And ex-maybe. An ex-almost.” - unknown

There aren’t a lot of things about life that Y/N will openly admit that she regrets. She believes that she should live life to the fullest, and that has landed her in some pretty sticky situations. She doesn’t truly regret them, though. She doesn’t look back on them and wish that things had gone differently, mostly because the experiences that she’s gone through have made her who she is.

There is one thing that she wishes she could go back in time and undo, however. The one single night in her life that made everything take a full one eighty and sent her entire world spiraling.

It’s something that she’s tried her hardest not to think about since it happened, but when she got his stupid wedding invitation in the mail, with a picture of him that she took when they were still “seeing” each other, all the memories came washing back.

The moment she saw his smile brighter than ever, from the day they went to the pumpkin patch and he was so giddy to have something to decorate for Halloween that his dimples were popping and his smile was so big that it was almost contagious. The memory hit her like a truck, and now she’s sitting with her back against the counter, trying her best not to let the tears fall, because the second that they do, she knows that she won’t be able to get them to stop until there are no more tears left for her to cry. 

As the seconds pass, she begins to think about how much she fucked everything up, and it’s suddenly like she’s right back to that night.

<i> “Y/N, come on, we’re gonna be late!” Harry yells from the other side of her door. She texted him not even twenty minutes prior telling him to let himself in the door once he got to her place.

“Harry, you just got here!” she responds, looking in the mirror as she applies a layer of mascara. “Plus, I’m almost done, go sit down or something!” She hears him sigh dramatically before trudging off to sit on the couch until she’s done, or at least that’s what she assumes that he’s going to do. Knowing him, he’ll just go stand in the kitchen. She chuckles lightly at the thought, he’s such a weirdo she says to herself as she places the applicator back in the tube of mascara and screws it shut.

Standing, she takes a look at her outfit. The black material of the dress falls to her mid-thigh. The form hugs her curves nicely and the cut of the top shows off just the right amount of cleavage. She smiles at her reflection before slipping on a pair of silver heels and grabbing her purse, slipping her ID and her phone inside.

She saunters over to the door, and right before she twists the knob, she takes a deep breath. Tonight, she’s going to try to finally take things to the next level with Harry, and she needs to summon all of her courage to try that. They’ve been sleeping together for months, but Harry refuses to acknowledge that they’re anything more than friends. It’s tiring, and Y/N really needs to know if he’s worth holding onto or if she needs to let go and find someone else that will give her more than a fuck.

She twists the handle and swings the door open before making her way to him. Like she assumed, he’s sat on the couch, legs spread in a way that would look obnoxious if any other man were doing it. She doesn’t hesitate to stand between his legs and look down at him. He meets her gaze for just a moment before letting his eyes travel down her body. His tongue pokes out, running across his bottom lip. Her eyes follow the movement, watching as the skin becomes wet with his spit. It takes everything in her to will her mind away from other things that make his lips shine like that.

She opens her mouth to ask how she looks, but he circles his hand around her wrist and lightly tugs her down so that she’s sitting on one of his thighs with her side pressed against his chest. He dips his head to place a kiss to her lips, molding them together as he breathes in the scent of her vanilla perfume that she frequents whenever she wants to smell good but not have it be too overwhelming. He smears his lips across hers, fitting her bottom one between his two as he pulls her closer and deepens the kiss just a bit. 

When she whines into the kiss, he pulls away from her mouth, looking at her with hooded eyes. “You look absolutely fucking gorgeous,” he gushes, squeezing her closer to his body. “My girl is so pretty, I can’t even believe it.” Y/N’s cheeks heat up at him calling her ‘his girl’ and there’s nothing more that she wants than to really be his. 

Clearing her throat, she stands up as she pushes all thoughts out of her head. She doesn’t want to work herself up too early in the evening and then psyche herself out before she can even get the full courage that she needs to bring up the idea with him. She reaches for his hand and he gladly lets her take it in his own, squeezing it lightly before she pulls him up off the couch and over to the door. 

“Come on, Harry,” she mocks his tone from when he yelled through the door earlier, “we’re going to be late!” He chuckles lightly, shaking his head as he willingly follows behind her. 

He pulls his keys from his pocket and clicks the button to unlock his car. Once he hears the click of the doors, he pulls the passenger side open and ushers her inside the vehicle. After she’s safely inside, he shuts the door and walks around the car, slipping in himself before starting the car. 

“Are you not drinking tonight?” Y/N asks, finding it just a bit peculiar that he’s driving to a club when he hasn’t done so… ever. He always has someone else drive him because he always gets wasted when he goes out.

“Nope,” he states, shaking his head. “I want to remember tonight.”

The words have butterflies erupting in her stomach, but they also have it twisting into knots. There’s an unknown about why he wants to remember tonight. Is there something that he plans on doing that is too good for him to forget? Or does he want to end things and doesn’t want to forget to do so? 

She inhales shakily, pushing the thoughts from her mind as she sees the club come into view. Harry parks and opens her door for her, taking her hand and leading her into the building. 

Once they’re inside, he drops her hand and speaks directly into her ear so that she can hear him over the music, his breath making her skin prickle. “I’m gonna go get us drinks, yeah? Go find somewhere to sit,” he pauses for a few seconds, placing a hand on her waist. “Or go dance, know how much you love to do that.” She can feel his smirk against her skin, and it makes her melt as she stands there. 

When he pulls away, she makes her way towards a table near the corner, knowing that Harry will want a bit of solitude when they decide to just sit down and have a drink or two together. She takes a seat and pulls out her phone, wanting to look busy so that nobody would come up to her and try to talk. The only person that she wants to talk to right now is Harry.

A few minutes pass and she begins to grow just a bit bored. She knows that he had to go order them drinks, but it normally doesn’t take this long. 

When she looks up, scanning the room to find him, she sees something that makes her heart fall and her stomach clench in the worst way. He’s leaning into a tall blonde, his hand on her lower back to hold her closer to him just like he does with Y/N. The sight makes her sick, but what makes it even worse is the way that he laughs and his eyes light up more than they ever have when looking at Y/N, her heart cracks. 

Her first instinct is to go over to him and interrupt, but she doesn’t have any right to do so. He’s not hers. As much as she wants him to be, he’s not, and that’s something that she has to live with.

So, instead of going up to them, she puts her phone back into her purse and goes onto the dance floor, finding someone to dance with and not wasting any time in molding their lips together. It feels wrong, kissing someone that isn’t Harry, but he doesn’t want her, so she’ll just have to do everything in her power to forget about him, even if it’s just for the night. 

After a while of dancing and drinking things that she probably, definitely shouldn’t be drinking, she meets his eyes across the room and the look on his face makes her realize that kissing strangers while he was flirting with someone else probably wasn’t the best idea.

He just shakes his head before walking out. His head is hung low, and if it wasn’t for the low lighting that she swore had to be playing tricks on her, she would have thought she saw tears streaming down his face.

After she got home that night, she tried to text him, but all she got was a green message instead of a blue one. He blocked her.

All she had left of him were the memories that he had left and one single text message that she had received from him before he blocked her.

Thanks for letting me know that you didn’t want what I did, it’s what I needed to let go.

When she falls asleep that night, there are tears streaming down her face and her pillow is soaked beneath her.

Oh, how she wishes she could go back and erase every time she’s ever gotten drunk. That would solve a lot of things. If she hadn’t ever gotten drunk around Harry, they never would have started sleeping together. Which means that she never would have fallen in love with him, she never would have gotten jealous of him flirting with someone, and she definitely wouldn’t have kissed the first person that she laid eyes on to get back at him.

If she could just get undrunk one time, she wouldn’t be looking down at the wedding invitation that’s now stained with tears, wishing that it was her standing next to him in the engagement photos.

*

[garbagevanfleet]

Sun King (smut)

Pairing: Josh & female!Reader Warnings:  18+ ONLY! Alcohol is mentioned, unprotected sex, unprotected sun exposure *gasp* Word Count: 6654 Summary: Josh has been your best friend since middle school. Maybe a vacation to paradise could change that.  Notes: @lantern-inthenight​ and @myownparadise96​ both helped immensely with the ideas in this fic, so this one is dedicated to my resident Josh girls, Shelby and Kaja. <3

Thank you to the amazing Mimi ( @satingrass-maidensfair​ ) for betaing for me! You’re a peach. 

Enjoy my first ever Josh fic, extra hot and wet

MASTERPOST

You had spent the entire day at the beach for four days in a row. It wasn’t often that you got to go on a vacation, so when you did, you really liked to forget the monotony of your everyday life. There really wasn’t any extra room in your head to think about your summer job or college applications with the ocean waves lapping at your feet.  

Your parents had been promising you this trip the entire year so as long as your grades stayed up before graduation, and it had been a struggle, but you had succeeded - the real hardest part was waiting from the end of school until the actual trip came, which didn’t roll around until December.  

Josh had been your friend since middle school, and an unlikely friend at that - or at least at first. See you’ve always had a really feminine lunar energy, a darker, deeper aura, but him?

Josh was the sun personified.

He had the most sunflower-petal-yellow personality you could imagine; his whole persona was a rainbow tie-dyed bed sheet drying on a clothesline.

But opposites attract, or they must anyway, because one fateful day in sixth grade, he had knocked directly into you. The force of it had thrown your tray down to the lunchroom floor, smearing mashed potatoes all over your new school shoes. You had opened your mouth to snap at him, but. Well, how could you? There was never any option but to forgive him when he flashed that big, blinding smile. Especially when he was looking at you like an apologetic puppy.

He had latched onto you after that.

Josh had attended every single birthday party since then and escorted you - as a friend, you assured your parents - to a couple of spring formals. He had been by your side when you tried summer camp and hated it, and you couldn’t remember the last time you’d been to a movie theater without him.

Your parents had been understandably suspicious at first, but after years of seeing his face at least three-quarters of every month, they had been given no reason to suspect there was anything romantic between you two.

So, that’s how he had ended up here in paradise with you. It was just a given that if you were going on vacation, so was Josh. Your parents hadn’t even asked; they’d just naturally bought an extra ticket for him.

He looked undeniably more well placed here in the tropical climate than you did, and you tried not to be envious about it.

You had spent a bit of time exploring the foreign shops and busy streets, but more than anything, you laid with him in the sand, staring out over the water and trying to get as much of the sun as you could, considering you wouldn’t be seeing it for at least another four months after you got back to the Midwest.

Luckily for you, your parents had not hovered at all. They had given you nothing but free time while they spent almost the entirety of the vacation at the hotel pool up to that point. Their distracted state had allowed you plenty of opportunities to find light beers and sneakily drink them with him. You had never really liked the taste of beer, but it was more for the novelty than anything else.

“Hey,” Josh said, gently pressing his fingertips into your side to get your attention.

You turned your head toward him and tipped your sunglasses down. They were the ones with the orange lenses that you had been absolutely intent on buying before the trip because they matched your suit. You decidedly did not regret your decision.

You hummed lazily in response. He was laying next to you on a teal blue beach towel under possibly the world’s largest umbrella, one tanned ankle crossed over the other. He returned his hand to where he had it folded behind his head, supporting most of its weight as he dozed in and out of consciousness.

His skin was kissed golden by the sun - almost from the minute you’d gotten off the plane- making him look a bit shiny the second he started sweating.

“What time is it?” he asked, voice a shade too concerned for your liking; although, in your lazy state, almost any level of concern was too much.

You glanced down at your phone which was positioned in between you, playing a very long playlist you had collaborated on for the whole car ride to the airport.

“Almost five.”

“Woah, really?” He looked around the beach, which was completely empty, saved for a couple of other stragglers that were staying well away from you.

You had five days worth of practice under your belt, and that had allowed you to find the perfect little slice of beach - secluded, but well kept. You hadn’t had to talk to another soul for the whole trip that you didn’t actively seek out, which was really what you had always wanted from a vacation.

“We should probably get back. Your parents said we were having dinner around six, right?” He nudged into your side, letting you know that he intended to move you whether you liked it or not, even if you had given him a lazy sounding groan for it.

There was no point fighting him (the boy was persistent if nothing else), so you slowly stretched out and prepared to be mobile again after barely using a muscle for days. He was right anyway - your parents weren’t strict in any sense of the word, but they were notoriously a bit picky about punctuality.  

He helped you pack everything into your oversized beach bag and then tugged you up into a standing position. He looked just as stiff as you were as he walked by your side, neither of you concerned with keeping a straight line.

You both instinctively headed toward the shower area, all of your beach-going gear in tow, and when you got there, you each wordlessly headed to your respective shower stalls.

All the other showers you’d used the whole trip had been different, but here there were only two cubicles with just a couple feet in between them. You let your heavy bag drop to the pavement in the middle of the two stalls with a thud, and he did the same, propping the long umbrella up against the brick of the building.

You had wrapped your hair up earlier this morning to prevent it from getting salty in the ocean, but you could feel sand gritting against your scalp as you pulled the scrunchie out, so you picked the bottle of shampoo you’d packed away as you turned the shower on.

It wasn’t particularly warm, but the spray was nice and refreshing on your sun-touched skin.

You had just tipped your head back under the water when the curtain on your stall opened, causing you to jump and cover yourself, despite still being completely covered in your suit.

“Hey, I can’t get the water to work in mine - can I jump in with you?” Josh asked and when you gave him a scolding frown, he offered you a toothy smile back.

“Have you tried turning the knob?” you asked flatly, but you couldn’t help but laugh as he rolled his eyes.

“Wow, I didn’t fucking think of that,” he retorted. “Scoot over.”

There wasn’t a whole lot of room in these little shower stalls - they were definitely only meant for one person at a time, so you couldn’t clear much space for him, but you did your best. Once he was in, he had to stand within inches of you to prevent from spilling back out. You squinted accusingly at him, entirely unconvinced that either of you could get very clean this way.

“This could have been such a nice, relaxing shower,” you complained, popping the cap on the shampoo and squirting some out in your palm.

“It still can be!” he assured with a cheeky grin. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

Just for good measure, he mimicked zipping his mouth shut and tossing the key to the floor. You huffed a laugh at him, working the soap through your hair with your fingertips.

When you tipped your head back and let the water wash your locks clean, you let your eyes slip shut. You could tell that your cheeks were a little sunburnt because the water felt nearly ice-cold as it trickled across them, making you shiver.

Your eyes popped open again to find him watching your face. You huffed a breathy laugh at him.

“Hard to pretend you’re not here when you’re staring at me like that.”

“I’m not staring!” he scoffed, but his face turned charmingly pink despite his defense. “Where else am I supposed to look?”

You didn’t respond but instead decided to shake your head with a smirk. You handed him the shampoo bottle, but when you started to step aside to let him closer to the spout, he crowded closer to you. As he leaned in to wet his curls, your back hit the cold tile wall, making you gasp.

“Jesus, do you want me to just get out?” you complained half-heartedly, pressing a hand against his chest.

It wasn’t until he let out a wet sounding laugh that you realized he was jesting you.

“I’m sorry, am I in your way?” he asked coyly, ignoring your faux-annoyed groans as he leaned over you to steal the majority of the spray.

He was so close then that your nose hit his neck, his chest pressed flush against yours. The atmosphere in the tiny cubicle shifted dramatically for you at that moment, your breath catching in your chest.  

“Josh,” you breathed.  

You shivered again at the contact and, through your suit, you could feel your nipples perk up as your skin tightened into goosebumps. You could tell the exact second that he realized what he’d done to you because his whole body tensed and he took a step back.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to be weird or anything,” he said, just loud enough to be audible over the white noise of the shower. His cheeks were flushed from embarrassment - even more so than before, keeping his eyes plastered firmly to the ceiling. Or, at least he was trying. Every couple of seconds, his gaze flicked down, almost comically across your body.

You couldn’t repress the breathless laugh as you watched him work to not look. Your heart was racing, making you feel jittery. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

Biting your lip anxiously, you could feel the heat rising to your cheeks too. His eyes flicked down to yours and he gave you a look like he was trying to tell if you were being genuine - if it was really okay.

You reached up to pat his cheek, meant to be a reassurance, but you couldn’t prevent your fingers from lingering against his warmed skin. Touching him like this was nothing new - you were what one could call “platonically intimate”. You shared beds and clothes, and every now and then he’d ask you to brush out his hair, just because he liked the feeling. But this time - like everything else about this moment - felt different. He leaned into your touch a fraction, nuzzling into your palm like a house cat.

Despite your closeness - metaphorically and physically - in all the years you’d known him, you had never once tried to kiss. You had thought about it once or twice, but only because you had gone through a boy crazy faze at the start of puberty and it made you question whether every platonic male in your life could be your soulmate.

But for a second you stared at his plush lips and thought about what it would be like. If it was anything like you expected, then it would be toothache-sweet, because that’s what he was like. Like cotton candy.

You pursed your lips tightly, suddenly overcome with a feeling that you weren’t used to. It felt dreamy like the color rose quartz. Like butterflies were beating their dusty wings against your stomach lining.

He was giving you a questioning look - brows tipped up at the center of his face in a look of concern. You could only imagine what your face must look like to him. You certainly hadn’t been regulating it.

As he parted his lips to inquire, you brushed your fingertips across them, feeling his breathing go uneven.

“Josh,” you whisper, gingerly placing your other hand on the back of his neck. He was so close that you didn’t have to move much to do so. “Will you kiss me?”

  He didn’t react for a second, just stood there blinking like the words hadn’t caught up yet. Then his mouth opened and closed a couple of times as he tried to think of a response.

“Of course,” he finally breathed, and the inflection in his voice - like you’re stupid to even ask - made you blush.

His face was already just a foot away from yours, so when he exhaled, the hot air hit your cheek.

The first brush of his lips against yours was experimental - just the ghost of a touch. You could tell that he wanted to, but couldn’t seem to bring himself to commit to it.

You scratched your nails gently against the back of his neck, urging him on.

He snaked his hand around your waist and pulled you in a fraction closer, hesitantly pressing your lips together, tighter this time. As you kissed him back, you could sense his apprehensions starting to melt away. He was gaining confidence by the second, letting his fingers play against the small of your back.  

Giddy with excitement, you let him press you back against the tile again until he was standing slightly over you, your fingers wrapped in his wet curls. The water hitting the back of his head was dripping onto your face, and it reminded you of those movies where the romantic interest kisses the girl passionately in the rain before the credits rolled. You had never been very into lovey-dovey movies, but he had always been a sucker for big romantic gestures, so you ended up watching rom-coms quite often.

You parted your lips for him, and this time he kissed you in complete earnest. The rush of feeling behind it knocked the breath from your lungs.

His hand was carefully sliding up your back until your skin met the tile of the shower, and he was forced to snake it up your rib cage instead. You knew what he was going to do, even though you were sure he didn’t - that his fingers were dancing along your skin at their own accord. So when his thumb brushed over your nipple through the fabric of your suit it didn’t shock you, but the feeling forced a hum from you that he swallowed down instantly.

He rubbed over it lightly, and every touch made your whole body tingle.

“Fuck,” he breathed against your lips, sounding painfully shocked at the way this day was going.

You couldn’t say you blamed him.

The angle was starting to make your neck ache, but you could only move slightly due to the cramped space. As you shifted, you felt his hardened cock slide against your thigh and you sucked in a sharp gasp.

His whole body tensed like he wasn’t sure if he’d crossed a line, but he continued when you tugged on his hair - maybe a little too rough if you were being honest. He didn’t seem to mind at all; as a matter of fact, if you didn’t know any better, you’d say he liked it - if the suspiciously hoarse whimper he placed into your mouth was anything to go by.

The fingers of his other hand trailed down your other side, thumb rubbing against your hip bone and tugging you closer until your pelvis was pressed against his. The sensation was too delicious; you couldn’t help but grind against him, eliciting a moan from each of you.

When his lips moved to your neck, his teeth grazed the skin. You could feel him starting to bite in, and as good as it felt, you had to object.

“No, wait,” you breathed. “You can’t leave any marks.”

“Who said I was going to leave a mark?” he asked, sounding a little smug. You huffed a laugh at him, rolling your eyes.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were an expert at this.” The sarcasm dripping from your voice made him laugh into your damp skin. You opened your mouth to say something equally quippy, but the words got choked back as his fingers brushed against your core.

Your exhale hitched in your lungs, and when you were able to finally breathe again, it was in the sound of his name.

He added just a fraction more pressure, forcing you to bite your lip. He was about to go for it, you could tell, because he was slowly pushing your suit aside, and you were heavily anticipating his fingers touching your bare skin when-

Your phone rang, almost ear-splittingly loud as the tone echoed off of the tile. It caused you to yelp, and he pulled away instantly, face beet red.

Shakily, you bent down and reached past the curtain, pulling it out of your bag and answering it without looking at the ID.

He flipped the water off just as you said, “Hello?”

You silently prayed that your voice wasn’t as shaky as you thought it sounded.

“Hey, just reminding you that we’re having dinner around six,” your father said from the other end. It was quiet enough in the stall that he could easily be heard by Josh as well from where he was leaning back against the shower wall, breathing heavily and staring at the floor.

You swallowed the lump in your throat first before speaking again. “Yeah, we’re just getting changed. Probably be there in ten to fifteen minutes is all.”

Your dad quickly agreed, sounding none-the-wiser to your sins, and after you hung up, you tucked your phone deep inside the bag, like that would help keep everything a secret.

Josh’s eyes flicked up and met yours, his eyebrows raised. You were biting your lip, rubbing nervously at the back of your neck.

“Well, fuck,” he chanced, making you release a shaky laugh.

“Fuck indeed,” you replied, giving him a small smile. “We should get moving.”

He nodded in agreement, and after a second of staring at you, he stepped out, leaving you to change.

Neither of you said a word on the walk back to the hotel, but it wasn’t necessarily uncomfortable - just new. Uncharted territory.

Dinner was the same. The air felt heavy, but you did your best to not let your parents feel it, and you could tell he was doing the same.

He easily answered their questions about the day’s goings-on, easily navigating around the part where he almost slipped a finger into you in the shower.  

Try as you might, there was no way you could prevent yourself from thinking about it. You caught yourself staring at his lips while he ate, and thinking about the way he tasted.

The light was catching on his tan cheekbones, making his jawline look razor-sharp, and all you could do was think about biting it. It was a big difference between just yesterday when he’d sneezed on you and then laughed about it.

You think that was what was most alarming - You’d never thought of him sexually in your life, aside from the time a friend of yours decided to date him and then attempted to tell you what he was like in bed. As you stared at him from across the table, your biggest regret was cutting her off before she could say anything actually worth knowing.  

He stared at you over the rim of his water glass as your mom talked about the hotel bar margaritas, and for the first time in your life, you wanted to know what he felt like on top of you.

The closer dinner got to being finished, the more heavily your heart started to thud. By the time you were all standing and removing your napkins from your lap, you were sure everyone could hear it’s eclectic rhythm bouncing around in your ribcage.

You had never been more thankful in your life that your parents had insisted your rooms be in separate wings on the hotel - though you didn’t really want to think of the implications of that in and of itself.

Josh let himself into your room, asking your parents to excuse him. When your mother inquired about what you guys were going to get up to for the rest of the night, you shrugged and told her you were thinking about renting a movie and falling asleep to it - insuring her that you were beyond tired from all the fresh air and sun. She happily told you to charge it to the room and told you to text her if you guys needed anything, but after being here for five days, you thought you had it covered.  

They hugged you goodnight and then retreated down the hall, and you waited until you were positive they were gone before you opened the door. He had left it cracked for you - no need for you to fumble with a keycard, for which you were grateful.

He was at the other end of the room, facing away from you. He had changed into his favorite pair of grey sweatpants and nothing else, and you took a second to rake your eyes up the muscles of his back.

When you shut the door, you leaned back against it, your heart fluttering. You were so nervous that your fingers felt numb, but it was the best kind of nerves you’d ever experienced in your life. You hadn’t ever felt like this about a guy before.

This certainly would not be your first time - by any means. But. Somehow it was.

When he turned around, he looked at you like he was viewing an art installation. It took a second before he could snap out of it, tugging a soft t-shirt over his head and smoothing it out.

You couldn’t stop yourself from following his hand down his chest with your eyes, a warmth rising on your cheeks away when you looked back up and he was wearing a tiny smirk.

“Do you want to go back down to the beach?” he asked, voice quiet, but audible in the - otherwise silent - room.

You weren’t expecting that, and you could tell by the way he smiles at you that he knew he’d take you by surprise.

“Sure,” you agree, nodding. You were honestly a little afraid for a second that he was going to just pretend like nothing had happened. Your chest was tight with hurt for a brief second until he reached for the blanket off the bed, tugging it off the bed and rolling it into a ball under his arm.

No one else on earth could tell that he was nervous, you thought, but he was infinitely more transparent to you.

Just the fact that he wasn’t talking a mile a minute in the elevator was a tell-tale sign. He kept dragging his teeth over his bottom lip; something that would be just a normal, mindless tick for anyone else.

He let you step out first and then held the door from the lobby open for you, which was nothing new, but the way he placed a hand on your lower back as you brushed past him was. The touch made your skin feel hot, even though it was over the fabric of the dress you’d put on for dinner.

You realized about halfway through the walk that he was leading you back to the same slice of beach you’d been lazing on earlier that day, and for some reason that gave you goosebumps.

It felt complete. Full circle.  

Nearing nine pm then, the moon was high, and the only source of light as it threw white light across the waves. The wet sand on the shoreline shimmered with it like liquid metal as the water lapped over it.

There wasn’t a soul around. You two were well away from any kind of civilization, and that notion itself was comforting to you. Still, your fingers were vibrating as he laid the blanket out and sat, toeing his sandals off and dusting his feet of any sand before relaxing back.

You followed suit, smoothing out the skirt of your sundress over your knees as you knelt next to him.  

You cleared your throat, looking up at him through your lashes.

“We don’t have to do anything,” he said, without a single hint of reproach. His voice was soft and caring, the way it usually was when he was assuring you of anything, except even deeper in its sincerity this time.

He continued. “If you’re having second thoughts or anything, then just tell me and we’ll move past this, no questions asked.”

You breathed a disbelieving laugh, suddenly feeling too big for your body. You weren’t sure why it took you off guard - he’d only ever been a perfect gentleman to you, and any girl he’d ever known, really.

“I want this,” you stated with a small nod. A smile that read something along the lines of relief spread over his lips, and he let out a held breath.

In the tenderest way you could imagine, he swept a lock of your hair out of your face and tucked it behind your ear. A light touch, he wrapped his hand around the nape of your neck then, pulling you in just a fraction at a time until you were face to face for the second time that day.

When your lips touched the first time, it was soft and sweet - clearly trying to ease each other back into it. But you were already there.

You pressed into him, slipping your tongue in his mouth, and he met it with his.

As he leaned into him, his fingers danced along your bare shoulder, slipping under the thin strap of your dress and letting it slide down your arm.

It was nearly a hundred degrees hotter there than back in the still-frozen midwest, but you found yourself shivering as you pulled away from him and shrugged out of the other strap, letting the top of your dress fall from your bare chest.

His lips fell open, and you waited a second for him to do or say something - anything, but when he didn’t, you huffed a laugh.

“Are you going to pass out on me?” you teased, cupping one of your breasts in your own hand and giving it a squeeze just to watch him swallow hard.

“Shit,” he breathed, licking his lips. He grinned at you, showing teeth and all as he ducked in and kissed down the side of your neck.

You let his hand replace yours, his rough fingers brushing over the plush skin.

He didn’t linger his kisses in any one place for too long, no doubt being mindful of your warning about love bites before. That is until he pulled away and placed both hands firmly around your waist, helping you off your knees until you were straddling his lap. When he got you into the position he liked, his mouth found its way to your breastbone, pressing a trail of kisses down.

Your face felt fire-hot, so you buried it into the curls on the crown of his head. His hair smelled like the coconut shampoo you told him to start using years ago. The scent had become a bit of a comfort blanket for you - always put you at ease because it meant he was close.

You had never stopped to think of the implications of that until right now.

A gasp escaped you as he sucked one of your nipples into his mouth, tugging it between his lips. His teeth scraped around it lightly, making you whine, high-pitched and beyond lewd.

“Oh my god,” you whispered, pulling his face closer until you were afraid you were going to suffocate him, but knowing that if you did, he’d probably die happy.

He pulled away a fraction, just to flick his tongue against the other one, making your stomach tighten. You could feel yourself getting wetter, and couldn’t help but squirm against him, begging for some kind of reprieve.

You rocked your hips far enough forward that you caught his hard cock against your core, eliciting a choked moan from him. The tingly pleasure spread down your legs, to your toes and made them curl out of reflex.

His fingers dug into your sides as he pushed your hips back and then pulled them forward again, pressing you down harder into him this time. If you had any sense of reality, you’d know to be embarrassed about how wet you were after five seconds of grinding, but you were absolutely gone by then.

Slower this time, so you could really enjoy the fire, you rocked forward again. His fingers found their way to your thighs, sliding up the hem of your dress until his hands were cupping your ass.

Deciding that there were at least one too many layers between you, you pulled yourself up, untying the string on his pants and letting him wriggle to get them pulled down as far as he could in this position.

It was okay though, you had what you needed.

His head tipped back as his cock slipped against you again, this time only your collective underwear in the way. With his throat exposed like that, you bent to drag your teeth against it, not being as gentle as he had been with you.

“No marks,” he reminded, voice gruff, but his fingers painted a different picture - one even let go of your ass to tangle in your hair, spurring you on as your tongue lapped against his skin.

The collar of his shirt in the way of your path only served to annoy you, so you tugged it over his head with haste and let it fall to the blanket.

As soon as his chest was bare, your fingers were mapping it out, tracing along his collarbones and down his breastbone. Even in the dim glow, you could tell how sun-kissed his shining skin was.

The moon was illuminating his curls like a silvery halo, a sight so pretty that it knocked the breath from your lungs momentarily.

You were both breathing hard, not from exertion, but from sheer excitement, and you watched his chest rise and fall for a second before your fingers raked over his stomach and then across the outline of his cock through his briefs.

His hips tried to buck up into the touch in their constricted state, but even the minuscule movement made you blush. Knowing that you could have this kind of effect on him was absolutely surreal. Before today, you’d never even had the privilege of being able to dream about this moment, because it had never even been an option to you. But as you circled your fingertip over the head of it through the fabric, the possibilities seemed endless. When you looked up at his face, he was watching the movements of your hand with half-lidded eyes, seeming like he felt very similarly.

You leaned in and pressed your lips to his again, his mouth hot and sticky against yours. As you dipped your fingers under the hem of his briefs, you could feel him hold his breath. Your fingers wrapped around his cock, giving it a couple of painfully slow strokes and licking into his mouth as he opened it for you.

Neither of you really needed any more warming up, so you caught his eyes and lifted yourself up enough that he could pull your panties to the side.

When you slid down onto it, you had to bite your lip to keep yourself from crying out. You hadn’t realized how wet you were actually getting until you felt how easily it slipped into you. You didn’t allow him a whole lot of time to collect his thoughts before you were moving again, starting to pick up a rhythm as you worked yourself onto his cock.

Your fingernails were dug into his skin, using his shoulders as leverage, and surely they would leave marks, but you couldn’t force yourself to care. He’d think of an excuse if and when anyone ever asked.

“Fuck,” you breathed, voice an octave higher than it usually was. “Oh my god.”

He nuzzled his nose into your cheek, letting his hot, humid breath hit your skin.

Your thighs started to burn from relying on muscles you never use, but the second he started to feel you falter, his hands cupped under them, happy to share the work.

It wasn’t until he starting thrusting his hips up to meet yours that you really knew what fucking him could be like. The simple movement set your nerves on fire.

“Josh,” you squeaked, wrapping your arms around his neck as your fingers shook.  

“I know,” he hummed. “I know, baby.”

The pet name made your stomach flip. You’d never wanted someone’s affection as much as you did in this moment.

He pulled his hands from your thighs and held you firmly around the waist. With your arms around his neck, you were already perfectly set up for his next move. He tipped you back until your shoulders were pressed against the blanket, laying you out with him between your hips.

Your muscles were grateful for the reprieve, but the new angle had him driving into you differently, making your eyes roll back.

It had felt great before, but suddenly you could sense yourself working toward something more - a higher peak. Your body felt hot as you wrapped your legs around his hips, tugging him by the hair into a kiss.

He eagerly kissed you back, biting down on your bottom lip, but not quite hard enough to break the skin.

With him over you like that, hair framing his face, everything felt like a dream. It was dark, but you could see the light of the moon catching on a sheen of sweat on his face, making his features even more intense.

Every single thrust sent you closer and closer to a pleasure you hadn’t been acquainted with yet until it got so intense that you had to squeeze your eyes shut tight and just hang on.

You came first, trying and failing to stifle a cry on your own, so he pressed his mouth against yours, swallowing it down. The feeling engulfed you like a wave, your fingers digging at his bicep.

He held you close to him, but it wasn’t until you were coming down that you realized he was whispering encouragement against the side of your mouth, sounding a little fucked out himself.

When he came, he let out a few choppy, raspy breaths against your face, his fingers wound tightly in the fabric of your dress.

You watched him come back to earth, and you weren’t sure if it was a post-orgasm haze or a real emotional response, but you were convinced in that moment that he was the most beautiful human you’d ever seen. For a brief second, you hated yourself for not appreciating it for all the years you’d known him. You couldn’t make any promises to yourself in your heightened emotional state, but you wanted to tell him.

But what the hell would you say?

He pulled out, helping you sit up. Your whole body felt weak, so you both just sat there for a minute, staring at each other.

The silence was entirely comfortable for you, but you wondered for a second if it wasn’t for him. If you knew him like you thought you did, he was probably reading the silence as a sign of regret and the thought broke your heart in a way you hadn’t expected.

You leaned in and hugged him tight, pressing a kiss against his cheek and feeling him melt into it.

There was no stopping yourself from wondering if he was feeling the way you did. You wanted to ask, but suddenly you were faced with the possibility that he didn’t.

Heart racing as you pulled away, you nervously bit your lip.

“What now?” you chanced, voice so quiet it was almost swallowed up by the sound of the waves.

He gave you a sugar-sweet smile and dragged his knuckle down your jawline. “You tell me.”

After you both redressed and got yourselves looking somewhat presentable, he walked you back up to the room.

A shower sounded nice, but after a moment of consideration, you decided that you’d used all of the energy you were willing to give for the day.

So you changed into a pair of loose shorts and a t-shirt in the bathroom, and when you came back out, he was already snuggled into his bed, smiling at you sleepily.

You huffed a laugh at him, but when you pulled back the blankets to your own bed, his smile fell.

“You don’t wanna come over here?” he asked, sounding like a kicked puppy.

You looked over at him through your lashes. At least a quarter of the nights you’d known him had been spent sleeping within a foot or two of him, but this was different.

“Of course, I do,” you assured with a sheepish smile.

You weren’t sure if you had been expecting to feel differently once you weren’t actively having sex with him, but as you crawled into his bed, you realized that you didn’t.

Nothing felt different, and yet everything had changed.

You laid face to face with him, taking it all in.

Once he figured out that you weren’t going to make any moves, he reached past you and flicked off the light. He gave you one, chaste little kiss before pulling you close.

+++

Your flight home didn’t start boarding until 11 pm, but you’d never been good about sleeping on planes, so you settled in with a book and a can of cola.

The seats were set up in rows of three, so it ended up being you and Josh sitting together with a stranger and your parents in the row ahead.

He was sleepy - you could tell because he kept rubbing at his eyes like he was trying to keep them open.

“Get some sleep,” you instructed with a giggle as he leaned his head against the window.

“Wanna wait at least until we take off.”

The stranger on your other side, however, already had her head leaned back on a neck pillow, big headphones covering her ears.

Through the cracks in the seats, you could see your parents settling in for the night, getting ready to sleep through the nearly eight-hour flight.

Josh was just barely still awake by the time you were sure your parents were asleep, and you were comfortable enough to chance turning to him. You grabbed his chin with your fingers and kissed him slowly, feeling your heartbeat pick up.

You wanted him to know that you hoped this was the new normal - that back home, you wanted to stay this close.

He looked a little stunned when you pulled away, just sitting there blinking at you, but after his tired mind caught up with itself, he grinned at you, showing his teeth.

He pulled your head down to his shoulder and nuzzled his cheek against it, lacing your fingers together and letting them rest on his lap.

Maybe you were going to be able to sleep after all.

Note: thanks again to anyone that leaves any kind of note for me. I fucking love them and they keep me going. <3

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Geralt and the Minotaur p6

Y’all im so fucking sorry this took so long. This part of the myth was tricky but I think I weaved it in okay? Don’t read me to filth? Please? 

Warnings: swearing, unwanted advances, discussions of promises/consent, surprise! there’s a god!, otherwise pretty tame.

Fun Greek Fact: only the top few wealthiest families in Athens paid taxes to support the infrastructure and feed the poor and such. It was seen as a rite into higher society. 

-we’re picking up right after the last part! 

____________

They had to rush the doors and throw their whole weight into them to break the plank of wood securing them inside. With scrapes on their shoulders and adrenaline in their veins, they partially closed the doors and set the Minotaur’s head at the bottom of the steps, a clear message to the king. 

Geralt led them back the way they came, scampering under open windows and sprinting down streets one by one. It must have taken longer than he’d realized  to find the beast because by the time they reached the docks livestock was stirring and roosters were crowing. 

There was only one problem.

“South docks?”

Triss lounged on the boarding plank like it was a throne, her toga barely considered decent. 

Geralt cursed under his breath and took a step forward, “At least let the others pass. If you take issue with me, do not sentence them to death.”

She lunged forward, stepping so close their chests nearly touched, “My prize, I’m only here for you.”

Geralt grit his teeth and waved everyone onto their ship.

He made to snap at Jaskier and insist he follow them but Triss trapped his chin between her thumb and forefinger, “You promised. I thought heroes kept their promises.”

Geralt almost growled his response, “Would you consider words said under the fear of one’s life a true promise?”

Jaskier raised a finger, his voice full of indignant rage, “Technically-”

“Hush child.” Triss snapped, “We’re leaving.” She nodded at Jaskier to board the ship as she hooked two fingers through Geralt’s belt and started walking backwards up the plank, whispering as she went, “I don’t like being lied to.”

“I thought these were the south docks.” Geralt had never been a good liar and his luck had seemingly run out. 

“I’m not stupid Geralt,” Triss sighed, “I know you’ve got some strange infatuation with Blue Eyes. But you’re to be king, so I hear. You’ll need someone to provide an heir, someone well versed in royalty and politics.”

Finally on the deck, Geralt sat on the edge of what had been their prison not two days ago and now felt not all too different, “Athens is a democracy. Your political knowledge isn’t applicable.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Geralt saw Jaskier watching them like a hawk. He absently chatted with one of the deck hands, now wearing Athenian colors, but his eyes never left Geralt. 

Tris sat next to him, wrapping her arms around his and leaning on him heavily. It felt wholly underwhelming, nothing like when Jaskier had cuddled up to him in much the same fashion. He felt warm and safe and inviting, Triss just felt heavy. 

“You still need an heir, and I still want you.” Her face said this was supposed to be a compliment, “Don’t you want to find out what you’ve been missing? Why staying pure is such a challenge?”

Geralt smirked, looking her dead in the eye as their boat drifted out of port, “No.”

“Oh, my prince. My pretty naive prince…” Triss toyed with the hem of his chiton, avoiding the bloodstained sections, “I could change your mind. Make you see the stars in broad dayli-”

Geralt jumped when he felt a hand press down on his shoulder and hot breath on his ear but an unfamiliar voice to accompany it, “Just who the fuck do you think you are?”

Before he could answer, Geralt was shoved forward, stumbling to keep from falling flat on his face. Triss shouted and a few crew members moved to intervene but with a flick of his wrist, the stranger froze them in their place. His eyes glowed gold and his toga almost sparkled it was so bright.

“Did you learn nothing from Minos? It doesn’t pay to cross the gods.” the man sneered.

Geralt felt the hairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up and he wanted to dive off the side of the boat, but that wouldn’t be very becoming of a young prince. Instead he stood there with a dumb look of confusion.

Triss yanked her arm away in a rage, “Dionysus! You take other lovers, why can't I?”

Geralt’s eyes bulged out of his head and he tried to hide his face behind his hair as he dropped to one knee, “I’m so sorry your grace, I had no idea.”

“Oh get up,” Dionysus scoffed before turning back to the princess, “Mortals live by a different set of rules, love.”

Jaskier piped up, hesitantly stepping forward, “I’m sorry, what am I missing here?”

“We are,” Triss rolled her eyes like a spoiled child caught with her hand in the jar of molasses, “what one could call betrothed.”

Geralt did his best to keep the hopeful smile off his face as he opened his mouth to speak but it was snapped shut with another wave of Dionysus’ hand.

“Please, child, save your breath. We’ll be going now.”

Geralt blinked once and they were gone. He blinked once more and Jaskier had flung his arms around his neck.

“Thank the gods! I’ll be sacrificing to him as long as I live.”

“Relieved?” Geralt chuckled, resting his hands on Jaskier’s hips.

Jaskier placed a quick peck to Geralt’s lips, “I thought this was going to end sooner than it had to.”

Geralt frowned and tilted his head, tightening his grip on Jaskier, “End? Why would it end?”

Jaskier blushed and smiled to hide the hurt in his eyes, “My sweet prince. I’m no fool. I come from a large farming family but we certainly don’t pay taxes. I don’t belong in your high society.”

“Nonsense.” Geralt insisted, moving to place his hand on Jaskier’s cheek but thinking better of it when he remembered the monster blood coating his palms. He settled for pressing a kiss to his forehead, “You belong where I am. If you want, for as long as you want.”

A dreamy sigh reminded them they had an audience, sending them into a fit of nervous giggles. 

Jaskier played with the clasp at Geralt’s shoulder, “I’d love that.”

“Good.” Geralt hummed, drawing him close and resting his chin atop his hair.

“Mhm! But maybe, darling, maybe you should change? And wash off the monster bits sticking to you?” Jaskier suggested, making a point of picking at a piece of his chiton soaked in black blood. 

“What would I change into?” Geralt asked, leaning closer to Jaskier’s ear, “I’m sure the crew wouldn’t appreciate me wandering the deck in the nude.”

Jaskier laughed, “I beg to diff-” he was cut off by a sweet kiss from Geralt before he was able to continue, a little breathless, “Then what did you stowe in the rope pile when you boarded?”

“Fuck!”, the realization hit Geralt harder than the minotaur and he immediately ran to the corner of the deck, digging through the coils of rope and oars. 

“What-? Geralt!” Jaskier called after him.

“Sails!” Geralt shouted, spinning to the nearest crewmember, “There were sails here, what happened to them?”  

__________

next part here!

tag list! I still have it! I promise! 

@hailhailsatan @so--many--fandoms @the-blondey @patchwork-quilts @honeysuckletook @peach-colored-sun @moretomhardy @artisanbaguette @iamaqt314 @lady-laufeydottir @localgaycatastrophie @sleepy-theif  @fandommagpie @ineffable-lasagna 

[mordoriscalling]

Stay or Sail Away (5/6)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4  (@geraskier-trashh​ @negativenuggetz​)

A/N: oh lord this wasn’t supposed to be 3k words long XD Hope you like it tho!

***

It was a bad idea to tell Geralt not to wear all black. Well, the scarf is grey and the coat and the shoes are black, but they don’t matter. Geralt’s just taken them off to reveal a three-piece suit and a shirt with two top buttons undone, the clothing in a deep, navy blue colour. His eyes stand out beautifully against it. Geralt in navy blue makes Jaskier want to weep and it’s only half-past noon. To add to Jaskier’s tragic swoon, Geralt’s hair is braided away from his face into a lovely plait at the back of his head (which Jaskier suspects is Ciri’s doing). It just shouldn’t look as good as it does. Geralt is so stunning today that words other than what the fuck do not begin to cover it.

Not to blurt out that in lieu of a greeting, Jaskier spreads his arms wide and exclaims, “Ahoy, captain!”

Geralt snorts with disgust. “Never say that again.”

Jaskier laughs out loud. “Come in, come in,” he says as he ushers Geralt into the living room, “make yourself at home. Are you hungry? It’s last chance for a snack before I put on some eyeliner and we’re off!”

“Eyeliner?” Geralt repeats with a raised eyebrow.

“Yes, to finish off this look!” he replies as he gestures at the floral Gucci suit he’s wearing. The outfit’s actually demure considering his usual fashion choices. Bright colours and ridiculous patterns are his go-to but today is the first day of his life when he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. Much. “Help yourself with something from the kitchen if you want,” he says over his shoulder, already leaving for the bathroom.

The makeup takes just a minute or two – eyeliner application has become much less of dark magic with practice. He decides to put on some pretty pink lip gloss as well because, although he’s going to spare his family today and won’t flaunt his queerness at them, he still has to do something. It’s not at all because he hopes his fiancé might like it.

(Geralt’s suit)

(Jaskier’s suit)

When he strides into the living room, he poses like a model and asks, “How do I look?”

Geralt, who sits on the couch, stares him up and down. His gaze almost makes Jaskier blush, so does his smirk. Both border on appreciative. “Really good,” he says.

Since Jaskier expected some mean comment, he almost topples over in shock at the compliment. He sputters, definitely flushing a bit, but quickly re-establishes a working link between his mouth and his brain. “Of course I do, darling,” he replies with a wink. Geralt smirks in that sexy way again. Jaskier has to give himself a good mental shake to stop staring. Clearing his throat, he starts thinking out loud, “So! Have I got everything for the party? I’ve got Geralt, and then the present, and then... Ah! The rings!”

Jaskier sits down next to Geralt and pulls the box out of the pocket of his jacket. Raising the lid, he reveals two rings seated within, one silver and one gold. “Should I kneel?”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Geralt growls.

Jaskier laughs with delight, then takes out the silver ring and passes it to Geralt. It’a simple but chunky band with tiny engravings. Jaskier figured Geralt wouldn’t appreciate anything too showy. Geralt takes it and inspects what’s engraved on it. “What kind of flowers are those?” he asks.

“Buttercups,” Jaskier explains, “That’s what my name means. My grandma always told me I’m a jaskier.”

Pretty but poisonous. It’s extremely fitting.                                    

Geralt only hmms and slides the ring on his finger. It’s a perfect fit but it’s no thanks to Jaskier’s genius deduction or anything; he simply knew Geralt’s ring size because Geralt told him. After their phone conversation regarding ring preferences, family drama and other things, they kept talking. Geralt even began starting conversations by himself – he’d send some texts about Ciri like “Ciri says hi” or “Ciri’s playing that song again”. It made Jaskier melt every time.

“Look what you bought me in return, darling,” he says, smiling excitedly, and puts on the gold ring. It’s much more flashy than Geralt’s – a signet with a three-dimensional head of a wolf. “White Wolf” is apparently Geralt’s nickname and a pseudonym of sorts. Wolves are his favourite animals, too.

Jaskier holds out his hand, putting it next to Geralt’s on the couch, and admires the rings on their fingers. “They suit us,” he says quietly

Geralt hmms. “They do.”

The drive is two hours long. Geralt insisted on driving even though it’s Jaskier’s car. Jaskier has a suspicion that driving is an excuse not to listen to him as he’s going over the essential family drama, but it’s mostly for his own sake anyway. He just wants to delude himself that Geralt will be well-prepared for everything and all will go smoothly. They will be fine. They must.

When they pull up in front of Jaskier family’s mansion, panic and second thoughts wash over him alternately in cold and hot waves. As they walk out of the car and Geralt hands him the keys, Jaskier hides within himself and observes the reality unravel a sense of detachment. He doesn’t want to be a part of the upcoming disaster.

“Ready?” Geralt asks.

Jaskier only looks at him helplessly. Geralt offers him his arm and Jaskier takes it like a lifeline. He clutches on it, the touch grounding him, as they walk towards the front door silently.

“Should’ve guessed you were rich,” Geralt remarks as he takes in the mansion looming before them.

“My success in music is all my own,” Jaskier replies feistily, “it took me ten years.”

Geralt wisely doesn’t say anything else and Jaskier settles down, letting out a shaky breath. He always gets very defensive of his achievements. Sis parents paid for nothing; he never asked them to. He hates that people assume differently.

The entrance hall is empty when they invite themselves in, but not for long. Just as they manage to take off their coats, they hear someone coming down the stairs. Jaskier looks up to see Rozalia, his older sister. She’s only one year older than him but doesn’t look a day over thirty. In appearance, she’s all mum: luxuriant dark locks, cat-green eyes, tan skin, and regal features.

“Julek!” she exclaims with a smile and rushes down the stairs into Jaskier’s open arms. They laugh when their bodies collide.

“Hey, horror sister!” Jaskier says, the words their special greeting.

“Hey, wild brother!” Rozalia replies, as tradition commands.

When Jaskier releases her from his embrace, he goes on to introduce Rozalia and Geralt to each other.

“So this is your fiancé,” Rozalia drawls after she and Geralt shake hands, clearly amused, and looks Geralt up and down. “Holy shit. I can see why you kept him a secret.”

Jaskier purses his lips, putting a possessive arm around Geralt’s waist. “Roza, you’re married.”

Rozalia only smirks, then turns on her heel and starts walking down the corridor towards the living room. “Everyone! Julek’s here!” she announces loudly.

“Julek?” Geralt mutters to Jaskier as they start following Rozalia.

“Diminutive of Julian,” Jaskier explains quietly.  

“Sweet.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

Jaskier snorts under his breath but doesn’t reply. The sensation of detachment from the reality is there again and Jaskier doesn’t fight it – the distance between him and everything else wards off the impending panic attack.

Like in a dream, he sees his other sister Amelia, who’s five years younger than him, marching towards them, her mop of short golden curls bouncing up and down as she walks. With her sweet face and wide blue eyes (just like Jaskier’s, which they both got from their dad), she looks like an angel. (Spoiler alert: she’s not. She can be the worst. That’s kind of the youngest’s privilege, though).

When Amelia hugs him and Jaskier introduces her and Geralt to each other, he’s still in a daze. Amelia walks on his side as they all enter the living room, chatting about something to him, but he doesn’t really hear it due to the ringing sound in his ears.

“Jaskier?” Geralt’s voice rumbles.

Jaskier looks into the sun-like, concerned eyes. The warmth calms him down. 

He takes in everyone in the room: his parents, Alfred and Wanda. Amelia, Rozalia and her husband Silvio. Dad’s brother, uncle Konrad, with his wife and son Ferrant. Mum’s sisters, aunts Maria, Hanna and Anna with their husbands. All watching Jaskier and Geralt expectantly.  

Jaskier puts on his best smile and lays a hand on the small of Geralt’s back. “Everyone, this is Geralt Rivia. A Royal Navy commander,” he says and observes, delighting in the array of shocked reactions his family display. “My fiancé,” he adds with pride that he doesn’t even have fake.

A round of introductions follows. Geralt shakes everyone’s hands and says nice things like “honoured to meet you finally”, “Jaskier told me so much about you” and “I’m sorry I couldn’t meet you earlier”. It’s actually pretty convincing, Jaskier has to give him that. Still, it doesn’t stop one of the questions Jaskier dreads the most.

“But why didn’t you tell us anything, darling?” his mum asks as everyone sits down at the table in the dining room.

This is it, Jaskier thinks mournfully, this is when it all goes to hell. At least Geralt sits next to him. It would be a quick departure – Jaskier will just grab his fiancé and run out of the house.

“Exactly,” Amelia seconds, her slender arms crossed before her chest, “it isn’t like you. You would tell the whole world about your engagement in some wild Twitter thread.”

Shit. She got him there. “W-well, I...”

“I asked him not to,” Geralt comes to the rescue. At the confused looks from everyone around, he goes on, “Not until I go on at least one more deployment and Jaskier’s absolutely sure he wants this. He should have it easier in case he changes his mind. Fewer people know about it, less painful it is to announce.”

Jaskier’s dad frowns. “But why do you assume he’d do that?” he inquires, regarding Geralt with suspicion.

“Being in a relationship with a marine officer is hard,” Geralt replies with a heavy sigh and makes a dramatic pause. Jaskier’s family looks at him with almost bated breath but he takes his time, the bastard. He already has them hanging off his every word. “My deployments are rarely shorter than nine months long,” he confesses ruefully.

A stunned silence falls over the room. Jaskier’s family stare at him with disbelief – they all know Jaskier wouldn’t be able to survive a relationship like that, not with how needy he can be.

Of bloody course Geralt would take it too far at the very start.

“But I’m stubborn!” Jaskier exclaims as cheerfully as he can, “Won’t have anyone else but Geralt.”

“Well, that’s all you,” Amelia says, and Jaskier heaves a sigh of relief.

It’s not that Jaskier doesn’t appreciate Amelia’s inquisitive mind. She’s always had the tendency to analyze and look into everything until every fact and detail adds up. Her character makes her the perfect heir to the family business, which she’s agreed to gladly. Ever since she made that decision, Jaskier choosing music is much less of a painful topic for their family. And so, Jaskier certainly values his younger sister’s nature of constant question-asking, but not in moments like this.

Amelia appears to already know what is going on here and Jaskier only prays she’ll be nice enough not to delve into it too much. Maybe some warning glances from Rozalia and begging ones from Jaskier will stop her. Maybe.

Food is served, alcohol starts flowing. Jaskier’s family begin asking Geralt about himself but Jaskier always tries to twist the conversation so that questions about their relationship don’t come. Until they do.

After they sang dad happy birthday, told him their wishes and gave him the gifts, it’s time to eat the birthday cake. Just when Jaskier puts half of his slice on Geralt’s plate (he doesn’t even like cake), Silvio asks, “When did you two meet?”

Geralt and Jaskier share a look. Jaskier opens his mouth to answer but it’s Geralt who says, “It was two years ago. I walked into a bar where Jaskier was playing. He asked me for a review of his songs after his performance.”

Geralt has the audacity to smirk at him so Jaskier, just to be a little shit, adds, “In three words or less!”

Geralt doesn’t appreciate this contribution judging by how he narrows his eyes at him. Jaskier knows they’re treading a dangerous ground – in their stupidity, they didn’t discuss the details of their “first meeting”. Geralt started it, though.

“And what did you say?” Silvio questions.

“That they don’t exist,” Geralt replies without a beat, still staring Jaskier in the eye.

“Whaaat don’t exist?” Jaskier’s father says what Jaskier himself almost blurts out.

“The creatures in his songs,” Geralt explains.

The affronted noise that leaves Jaskier's mouth is beyond his control. “It’s folk! The genre allows for fantastical elements like that!” He huffs. “But you know, Geralt with his commander mind always wants the facts and only facts.”

“So you don’t like Julek’s singing?” Rozalia asks Geralt.

Geralt denies this with a shake of his head. “Jaskier sings beautifully,” he replies, “Like a siren.” He lays his hand on Jaskier’s and looks into Jaskier’s eyes. “My siren,” he adds quietly.

Jaskier has to gape a little. He barely restrains himself from mouthing are fucking serious? because, really, Geralt can’t just say things like that. When he regains his composure, he decides to be mean. “I told you not to call me that, dear heart,” he says, “Not exactly flattering. Sirens lured sailors to their demise.”

Geralt does that lethally adorable head tilt and answers, “Still would go for you.”

He can hear aunt Maria cooing in the background, bless her heart, but Jaskier almost doesn’t register it. His attention is fully on Geralt – there’s something new in his gaze, beneath the teasing glint. Something guarded, tentative and true. Jaskier cocks his head to the side just a little bit. Geralt notices the question in the gesture (they’re really getting good at reading each other, aren’t they?) and answers by raising an eyebrow, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Jaskier experiences the feeling of a thousand butterflies fluttering their wings in his stomach when he understands – it’s an invitation. He accepts.

Geralt’s lips stretch into a small smile and he squeezes Jaskier’s hand on the table, intertwining their fingers together. Jaskier’s heart almost gives out and he grins, giddy like a teenager who’s just found out their crush is reciprocated. It’s not that far off from the truth anyway.

Uncle Konrad asks Geralt about the Navy. The two of them start discussing working in the army but Jaskier only half-listens, too focused on cherishing the feel of Geralt’s palm engulfing his. Until Geralt takes his hand away, that is.

With a displeased grunt, Geralt takes his phone out of the inner pocket of his jacket. The screen displays an incoming call. “I should take this,” he says apologetically and quickly walks out of the dining room.   

The moment Geralt leaves, the assault is unleashed upon Jaskier. His family bombard him with so many questions and remarks at once that he only hears what Rozalia sitting next to him says. “Didn’t know you were into older men,” she comments, swirling the wine in her glass innocently.

“He’s forty!”

She frowns. “Then what’s the deal with the hair?”

Jaskier freezes in panic. Fucking hell, what is the deal with the hair? He has no idea. Geralt refused to answer his questions. “W-well,” he stutters out, “it’s really... uhh...” He clears his throat. “Not my story to tell. Geralt doesn’t like to talk about it.”

Rozalia hums, an amused twinkle in her eyes. “How mysterious.”

“He sure does seem mysterious,” uncle Konrad chimes in, “And...”

“Quiet?” Ferrant suggests.

“Taciturn?” Silvio supplies.

“Closed off?” aunt Hanna adds.

“Why are you saying it like it’s a bad thing?” Jaskier cuts in, interrupting this merry-go-round offering of adjectives before it spirals into everyone calling Geralt a brute.

“It’s not,” aunt Anna reassures, “It’s just that... I’m sure I’m not the only one wondering how on earth the relationship is even working with him being like this and you being, well...” she trails off and gestures at Jaskier with her fork. “You.”

“Frist off, I’ll take this as a compliment –”

“Of course, dear.”

“ – and secondly, even though we’re different, our differences only keep things... interesting, if you get my meaning.” Jaskier throws in a telling wink, and his uncles chuckle.

“Julian!” both his parents cry out, scandalised.

“Honestly,” Jaskeir goes on, unmoved, “deep down, he and I are quite the same.”

“Indeed?” Amelia asks, “Is he also a bastard at heart?”

“Yesss!” he hisses out, wildly pleased. Sometimes he loves Amelia’s analytic mind.

“He actually seems like a sweetheart,” his mum says, warming Jaskier to his very heart. He loves his mum so much – she always sees the best in people.  

“He’s both, really,” he replies, “He’s certainly a sweetheart to his daughter.” Jaskier delights in shocking his family once again. Then, an idea pops up in his mind, “If you ask him about her, he’ll open right up.”

Before anyone can ask anything else, Geralt returns. After taking one look at him, Jaskier knows something is wrong. There’s tension about him but his face is a blank mask. 

“Something wrong, love?” Jaskier whispers, barely realising that he even said the endearment.

“Work,” Geralt grunts.  

“Geralt,” Jaskier’s father says, “Julian tells us you have a daughter?”

Geralt face lights up immediately. It’s such a charming sight. Jaskier’s chest constricts with how everything in him screams and begs don’t ever go. 

“Yes,” he answers and launches into talking about Cirilla – how old she is, where she goes to school, what she likes doing. How she loved to paint her little hands on the walls when she was six. Soon after that, everyone shares funny stories about children, either their own or themselves as kids.

Jaskier zones out a bit, too busy wondering why Geralt took his hand away when he reach for it.

Later, Jaskier’s parents invite Geralt to stay for the night, which makes the fake-fiance scheme a success; they wouldn’t allow someone who they thought to be a stranger to sleep in their house.

Geralt doesn’t take them up on their offer.

TBC

Part 6

***

A/N: Rozalia is the Horror while Jaskier is the Wild 💕 (Amelia is the nasty angel baby. They adore her for it. Must protecc).

(Also, I love making up OCs, can you tell? XD)

[hattywatch]

J. Vesey - You Like Making Me Wait For It

Author’s Note: This was supposed to be done for Valentine’s day but uhhh, about that... So here it is, almost a month late. The premise for this story is that Jimmy is actually a BIG FUCKIN’ SOFTIE and not the sarcastic little shit that I constantly make him out to be. This can be proven by the attached tweet. As always this is fiction, so don’t get carried awayyyy :) 

“It’s not a real holiday,” he texts his mom, in regards to her message to him, bright and early, on February 14. He follows it up with a heart emoji and tells her he'll see her tonight though, because she’s his ma and he’s not a complete mutant, but he pulls the blanket over his head and rolls onto his side and tries to fall into the warm feeling of sleep again. 

As cool and standoffish as Jimmy tries to come off, everyone who knows him would jump at the chance to tell you that in reality, he’s soft as shit. A quick scroll through his recently played on Spotify would give him right up if he tried to deny it. 

His icy indifference to Valentine’s day was never the norm. He used to look forward to it, liked it even, but after years of disappointment the shine has worn off and he's really had enough of it. 

_____

His first Valentine’s memory is fond. He put on his best clothes and walked into school, chest puffed out and chin raised proudly, the little red and pink valentines he worked on with his mom tucked away in his backpack, heart-shaped lollipops carefully taped onto each one. 

He didn’t understand the point of it until his mom patiently explained to him, “Sometimes we’re so busy everyday that we don’t tell people we love them like we should, so on Valentine’s day we spend the whole day letting everyone know we care about them.” He snaked his little arms around her waist and promised his mom he’d never be too busy to remind her he loves her. 

She hugged him back tightly and brushed away a stray tear on her cheek before she opened up the box and had him start listing off the kids names in his class so she could neatly write them on each card. He spends his time taping the lollipops gently to the cards that declare “Have a sweet Valentine’s Day.” 

As the class walked around dropping a card into each other’s decorated shoe-boxes, Jimmy couldn’t help but be filled with love for his friends. Tipping over the box afterwards, he was a little glum when he found out Tommy was the sole recipient of a card from Ashley, the pretty blonde with pigtails who sat 3 seats in front of him. 

When he walked home from the bus stop with Jess later, they talked about their favorite ones, in particular the heart shaped erasers the teacher gifted each of them. She didn’t get a card from Ashley either. His mom told him not to worry about it and quickly diverted his attention to the pile of valentines with pencils and stickers attached, ooh-ing and ahh-ing as he explained who each one was from. 

_____

In highschool Valentine's day is marked (like everything else during those awkward teenage years) by a rush of hormones and snickers. 

The week leading up to Valentine's day the cheerleading squad hung signs up all over the halls detailing how to purchase a rose to be delivered to the person of your choosing during classes. All of the proceeds go to a local charity, so each morning the voice over the speaker reminded the student body to buy a rose for a good cause before listing off the lunch of the day and signing off. 

Jimmy fills out a few; a pink one for his little cousin a few grades down from him, a yellow one for the librarian who helped him submit his college applications, and an orange one for Jess who just got a rejection letter from Duke and could use some cheering up. 

On the 13th he finds himself with $2 extra dollars and some time to kill before Jess is done with extra help and ready to walk home. He goes to the office and fills out a slip for a red rose to be delivered to Molly, a girl he's helped in Chinese class a few times; she's popular and cute. He can't help his heart from quickening when they go over characters that have been giving her a particularly hard time during the spare period they share once a week. 

He writes her name clearly in black ink, trying his best to keep his penmanship even and neat. 

"There you are!" He jumps, but luckily his pen is off of the paper, having just finished scribing the Y in his name. Jess walks up to him, braids trapped under her backpack straps; it looks uncomfortable. "I've been looking everywhere for you, dude." 

He slides the scrap of paper into the slot of the box in front of him. "Sorry, last minute love, you know how it is." 

He feels his cheeks get warm at the thought of Jess catching him in the act. She is much more pragmatic when it comes to love. She hasn’t dated at all in high school, laser focused on her grades and soccer. He knows she thinks he’s a sap for caring at all when it’s unlikely anyone will find lifelong love in high school, but he's a romantic, sue him.

"Yeah, I know. You're a sucker for this stupid holiday," she rolls her eyes at him and adjusts her bookbag, swinging the tails of her braids free. He shrugs a shoulder but smiles, because she’s right and he can’t deny it. 

“C’mon Romeo, my mom said she’d pick us up out front, it’s freezing today.” He follows her, excited about the prospect of tomorrow. He’s not sure, but he thinks Molly may feel the same way, and there’s no time like the present to find out. 

_____

When he quietly places his lunch tray down next to Jess she knows something is off. He usually bounds over to the table, chatty and excited to talk about his morning classes and who said what stupid thing that made the class groan, but he’s downright meloncholy and she can feel it roll off his body in waves. 

Jess twirls the stem of her orange rose between her pointer and index fingers, “Thanks Jim. Made my day.” She bops him on the head with the flower. He smiles a little but it doesn’t reach his eyes. 

“Rough day?” He nods and starts picking at the crust of his pizza. 

“I didn’t sign my fucking last name.” Jess doesn’t quite understand, so she kicks him under the table to get him to look up from his pizza and make eye contact. She raises her eyebrows in question and he finally continues, “I sent Molly a rose.”

Jess hums for him to keep going, she heard a rumor going around about Molly and James Jordan getting together, but she hadn’t heard anything about Jimmy. 

“We study together every week. Chinese. She has a hard time with the-" he waves his hand to clear the subject, "anyway it’s not important. We have a free period together every Tuesday and I help her with it. I thought maybe she noticed.” Jimmy sighs and squishes his water bottle in his hand, “You know I get nervous around her, so I thought maybe she knew. Anyway, I sent her a flower, but I just wrote ‘Jimmy.' No last name. She thought it was Jordan and she walked right up to him in between classes and kissed him. They have a date Saturday night.”

Jess winces, “That blows. I’m sorry, Jim. Maybe it’s not meant to be for a reason. I heard that she…" she pauses because she's never actually heard anything bad about the other girl, but desperately wants to cheer up her friend. "I heard that she… snores?" Jimmy finally rolls his eyes and laughs. 

"Oh yeah, cross her off the list. That's a deal breaker." He smiles for the first time in hours and he's sure Molly isn't the one he's been waiting for. 

_____

In college his fervor to have a nice Valentine’s day led him to ask out the brunette from his Public Finance class, she said yes and seemed excited, but then text him to cancel 2 days before that she "forgot about a big paper that's due on Monday." His buddy John is in the same class and didn’t say anything about a paper, so Jimmy takes the hint and decides to go home for the weekend, tail between his legs and heart heavy from the rejection

He heads to the laundromat with a veritable sack filled with, what feels like, every piece of clothing he's ever owned, downtrodden and pissed off. He's loading his clothes into the machine when someone jabs him in the side with a boney digit. 

"What the hell are you doing, Jim?" Jess beams up at him. She's wearing pink lipstick, but is otherwise dressed in all black, like always. 

“Laundry. My mom had too many loads at the house ‘cuz Nolan brought his home too, so I’m just going to do it here quick.” He keeps shoving his clothes in the washer machine.

Jess nods at him, “Cool… cool. So, your mom still does your laundry?” She shoves her hands deep into the front pockets of her jeans and leans back on her heels with a shit eating grin.

Jimmy stops and looks up at her, “Uh, usually. Yeah, why? Can you tell?” He stands up, back sore from being hunched over the front-loading washing machine. She looks up at him and grins wider. 

“You’re supposed to separate the colors. Let me help you.” She starts pulling all of his clothes out of the washer and dumping it into her orange pop-up hamper. “Come over here, I’m using this machine.” 

“Why are you here,” he attempts gentle conversation since, apparently, he’s domestically useless. Jess opens a machine and starts pulling out all of his light colored clothes, basically pairs and pairs of socks and a few t-shirts here and there. 

“My stupid comforter is too big. It takes forever at my house, so I just bring it here instead of drying it 6 times,” she pauses,  pinching a lone sock and holding it out in front of her swinging it in his direction before throwing it in the washer, “lucky for you, James.” She helps him sort the other colors and shows him where the detergent goes and lends him some fabric softener that smells nice, she even advises him against washing his suit pants and the one nice sweater he owns, saying that he’d be better off dry cleaning them. 

An hour later when their stuff is all folded and packed back up, he’s got no other plans and he hasn’t seen Jess since the summer, so he helps her bring her comforter and sheets to her car and stands there awkwardly trying not to make this weird. 

“Jessie,” she turns around, scarf half wound around her neck, death glare pinned on him. 

“Did you want me to kill you? Don't call me that,” she swats at him and opens her trunk so he can drop her cottony smelling bedding in it. 

“Let me buy you dinner, this was really nice of you to help me.” She smiles and agrees without any cajoling. 

“Oh god, yes. I’m starving. Chipotle?” There’s a reason they’ve been friends for so long. 

They order and he pays while she fills up their cups and finds an empty booth. When he drops the trays down on the table and slides her the burrito she ordered, he smiles and reaches his hand across the table, “Jessie, will you be my Valentine?” 

She rolls her eyes, but it’s warm and laced with affection when she kicks him under the table, “You fucking sap. You’re lucky you bought me food or I’d say no.” She takes a bite and chews, but Jimmy keeps needling. 

“So you’re saying the way to your heart is through your stomach.” He nods, “Noted.” 

They chat over dinner, discussing college and what people from high school are up to. She’s in an accelerated program at BC and should graduate a year early. He’s reserved, but hoping to get drafted. 

It’s not long after they're done, still taking up space in the booth, when his mom calls, “Hey ma.” Jess mouths ‘tell her I said hi!’ and gets up to throw away their garbage and heads to the ladies room. 

“Jess said to tell you hi,” it’s barely out of his mouth before he regrets it. 

“You’re out with Jess. On Valentine’s day?” Her tone is accusing, but soft. “I always liked her. I didn’t realize you were seeing each other. You don’t tell me anything anymore.” Before she can get too deep in her pity party he stops her.

“It’s not like that. We just ran into each other, we didn’t plan anything” Jimmy scratches at a scuff on the table, wishing he just waited until he got home to have this conversation. The last thing he’d want to do is make Jess uncomfortable with this. His mom prattles on about how she’s always liked Jessica from down the block, but Jimmy mostly tunes it out. It’s not until she’s walking back to the table, smiling softly at him that he rushes his mom off the phone the best he can.

“I’ll tell her you said hi. I’ll be home soon, see you, love you, bye!” He hangs up before she can get a word in.

Jess plops down across from him, “Did you tell her I said hi? I love your mom.” He assures her he did, and stands up, stretching. 

“We should get going,” he grabs his keys off of the table, and Jess stands too and follows him out to their cars. 

“Thanks, Valentine,” she unexpectedly hugs him around the middle. “I usually hate this fucking day, but you made it pretty bearable.” 

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him; she’s such a pessimist. “Yeah, I get that a lot after dates. Bearable.” 

His heart stutters when he realizes what he said, his hands get clammy. He feels dumb, hanging up on his mom so she didn’t make Jess feel like tonight was anything that they didn’t intend it to be, and then he sticks his foot straight into his stupid mouth.

Jess doesn’t flinch though and just follows him out the door to their cars. “See ya later, Jim. Don’t be a stranger. Cambridge isn’t that far, yeah?”

He laughs and hugs her goodbye again before getting in his own car and driving home. 

When he unlocks the front door his mother is on him like a hawk. “Where’s Jessica? Why didn’t you bring her here? I just love that girl.” He has to remind himself to calm down before he opens his mouth, because she means well and loves him. 

“She had some stuff to do, but she said hi,” he grabs a cookie off of a plate cooling on the countertop and prays his mom doesn’t need to go out, lest she catch sight of Jess’ car in her driveway and ruin his lie.

She takes his half eaten cookie from his hand and takes a bite, chewing slowly. “What you’re saying is that I shouldn’t get my hopes up,” before she pins him with a glare only a mother could muster. 

“Still single, ma.” He grabs a cookie in each hand and hustles up the stairs to his room before she can pepper him with more questions. 

He lies on his bed and flips on his tv, clicking channel to channel until he finds a hockey game that will keep his attention. By the end of the 2nd, the Bruins are up 4-1 over the Leafs and he mutes the intermission report to scroll through twitter uninterrupted. 

His timeline is filled with photo after photo of happy couples and gushing declarations of love. He can’t help but sigh and be a little jealous. After watching the rest of the beating Boston lays on Toronto, he shuts the TV off and lies awake, staring at his ceiling. The jealousy has faded, and now he’s just a little sad, slightly disappointed, with a pinch discouraged mixed in. 

He’d blame his next action on hopelessly romantic desperation as he opens Twitter back up and drafts his tweet. 

Spending another Valentine's day without having found “the one.” Hope she is out there somewhere safe and sound.

Jimmy taps the button to send the tweet and rolls over onto his side before the day catches up to him and he falls into a mostly dreamless sleep. 

_____

 Valentine’s day as a Ranger finds him alone in the city once more, begrudgingly texting his mother back and pretending this holiday doesn't make him feel like Steven fucking Glansberg. 

At least he's back in Boston tonight, starting  an away stretch down the eastern seaboard. He has two whole days to spend with his friends and family in his home state before the game against the Bruins and before they leave for Carolina and two more down in Florida. 

He takes his parents out for dinner soon after he lands, and then hits up a few friends to go to the bar. They’re all happy to hear from him, but only Tommy can come out, everyone else is busy with their girlfriends. He can’t blame them. He’d rather be courting a pretty girl than third-wheeling with his parents, but he’s not there yet in his life, so a few beers with Tommy will have to do.

They’re chatting through their second round of Guinness and watching the basketball game when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He leaves it, the game is getting good and it’s almost the half. A three-pointer closes it out and Tommy excuses himself for the bathroom, so Jimmy signals the bartender for two more and finally pulls his phone out of his pocket. 

Jess: Jimmmmmmmmm

He smiles in spite of himself. 

What’s up Jessie?

But then Tommy comes back from the bathroom and he puts the phone back into his pocket, because he’s a good bro and that’s rude. 

He almost forgets about it, laughing with Tommy through the rest of the game and catching up with a few kids from the neighborhood that walk into the bar and spot him, but then he takes his phone out to order an Uber and he sees the notifications. 

4 unread texts from Jess

He orders the Uber after putting in Tommy's address as the first stop and his parent's home as the second before he swipes back over to his texts. 

Jess: I'm at a galrnyinrd day party

Jess: Galrntinrd*

Jess: GALENTINES******* 

We were playing text or delete and I didn't want to delete you 😭

She's obviously had a few. Jess was never one for overt emotion. But it's always fun getting it out of her, so he hopes she hasn't sobered up in the hour that's passed since she text him last. He climbs into the Uber after Tommy and types out a careful message to her. Eyes struggling to focus since he had a few beers himself. 

Didn't know you cared, Jessie. 

He finally looks up and says goodbye to Tommy with a handshake that turns into a hug when the car comes to a stop, before settling back into the backseat for the rest of the ride to his childhood home. 

He doesn't get another message from her until the driver stops at the final destination and wishes him a good night. Jimmy leaves a tip when the app pops up asking for a review and sits on his front steps in the cool night air, trying to sober up before he walks inside and wakes the whole house up. 

Jess: You're a big dummy. 

The message is quickly followed by another. 

Jess: When are you coming home next? 

Jimmy doesn't know what to say to that, so he stands up next to his house number and snaps a selfie before sending it off to Jess. 

Jess: 👀👀👀👀

Jess: I'm walking to you now

He hears her front door slam from 6 houses away in the quiet stillness of the late night. The next thing he hears echoing are her giggles followed by heavy footsteps as she runs over to him. 

"I misssssed you." She's a little tipsy still, he can tell by how tightly she wraps her arms around him. 

"Missed you too, Jessie," he winds his arms around her too. She buries her face in his chest and he can feel her cold nose through his shirt. 

"Let's go hangout in the basement. It's freezing out here," he unlocks the front door with his Patriots key, the same one he's had since middle school; the paint chipping with use over the years. 

When they walk through his mom's kitchen, she opens the fridge and grabs two water bottles before following him down the steps to the basement where they'd spent much of their youth watching movies, doing homework, and playing Mario Kart. He feels calm and at home here, sunken into the old couch with her by his side. 

"So, Galentine's?" He swipes one of the water bottles from her and takes a sip before switching on the TV to whatever is on TBS, it looks like The Notebook.

"Don't make fun. It's a nice excuse to drink some wine and have a good night with your friends." She sniffs haughtily.

"Yeah, yeah. Any excuse to drink and gossip," he's just picking on her a little. It's what they do.

She swigs her water and looks at him with a little distaste coloring her face. "Stop acting like you and Tom didn't do the same thing earlier; I saw his insta story." 

Her eyes open wider as she realizes what she said, and he's a little taken aback. If she saw Tommy's story, that means...

"So you knew I was home?" He presses his knee against hers on the couch.

She looks anywhere but at him, finally focusing her attention to the water bottle in her hand- unscrewing and re-screwing the cap back on. 

"I mean..." She rolls her eyes in that careless way she has about her, and he notices her sweater is pink, as are the socks peeking out of the tops of her boots. "Kinda." He feels her move imperceivably closer into his side.

He can't help the smile taking over his face, "You just wanted to spend Valentine's day watching chick flicks with me, you can say it." 

"Shut up," she hits him with a pillow, firm across his chest. "Maybe."

It's the closest he's ever gotten to a mushy declaration from her and it warms him up. "You're an ice queen," he wheedles gently, wrapping his arm up and over her shoulders along the back of the couch. 

She sighs and leans her head on his shoulder, he's happy to sit here watching Noah hang from the ferris wheel, just like this, but Jess is apparently not.

"Not feeling so icy right now," she whispers, so low he's not sure if he imagined it, but then she's right up in his ear, "Feeling a little warm, actually."

She places her hand flat on his chest and sucks gently on the skin under his ear behind the tendon in his neck and he's feeling a little warm too, as a matter of fact. 

"Jess," she doesn't pause at the sound of her name, "Jessie," he pushes, a little more firm, he can't bear to physically remove her because it feels too good, but he's just, not sure she wants this.

"Jimmy," it's mumbled against his neck, and she barely pauses sucking into his skin to pant out his name. 

"You don't really…" he stutters, not sure how to go about this. "Are you sure you…" She bites gently at his neck and he can't help the groan that leaves his lips, "Jesus Christ, stop that for one second. I can't think straight when you do that."

 He gently pushes her shoulder to give himself room to breathe and collect his thoughts, but when he looks over at her she looks downright chagrined. 

"I'll just… go," she starts to stand up and he grabs her wrist and pulls her back down to the couch. 

"No you don't." She falls to the couch ungracefully next to him, red in the face and eyes glassy. "What the hell is this about, Jess. You can't just do… that and then leave without a word." 

"Don't make me say it." Jess looks down at her hands. Her face gets impossibly redder and Jimmy is sure he's going to like this next part very much. 

"Gotta tell me your feelings, Jessie." She refuses to look at his face and he can't stop the grin from forming. 

Deciding to put her out of her misery, he nuzzles his nose against her neck, gently exhaling into the sensitive skin there. 

"You… I… ugh!" She grasps at the back of his head and tilts her own to give him better access, but he refuses to take the bait until she says it. 

"Say it," he whispers, pulling away just enough so his lips don't graze her skin. 

He can feel the sigh she releases before she steels her body, spine going straight and takes a deep breath. 

"I want nothing more than to watch cheesy chick flicks with you. Both on Valentine's day and every other single day of the year. You're the only person that has ever made this day worthwhile and I…" 

He's not sure how the sentence was supposed to end, because he's so proud of her that he can't wait and stops her mid-sentence with a kiss on her mouth. 

She doesn't really have much to say after that, and he knows she's not great with feelings, so he's just being merciful.

_____

Mrs. Vesey makes her way down into the basement on February 15th, a basket of laundry propped up against her hip. She screams once, startled by the unexpected lump she finds on the couch in what she thought was an empty basement. 

She screams a second time when she realizes who spent the night. 

Jimmy could have done without either.

[losfacedevil]

Almost Sweet Music // Jaylos

a/n~ This has taken forever I feel like and this is only the first part of at least 3. This started as a silly thought I bounced off of @telli1206​​ & @happilycameron​​ and it’s now coming to life. I have quite the life panned out for Photographer!Carlos, this is gonna be a fun ride!

He dropped to his knees, a bucket of soapy hot water next to him and a toothbrush and crusted sponge in his hands. His heart hammered in his chest as he started scrubbing at the mess he had made - something he didn’t often do for his fear of her. 

The jar had slipped out of his hand, hitting the tile floor of Hell Hall just right and shattering to bits; splattering slightly rancid fruit everywhere. Panic had risen in his chest, hands flying up to pull at the salt and pepper hair that adorned his head. Spinning in circles he looked at the mess, the entire floor covered in pieces of glass and bits of food. A sigh escaped him as he set to work cleaning up his mistake.

It wasn’t long before he heard the clicking of her heels on the floor, a shrill “Carlos, my pet!” Being screeched through the entirety of the house. Carlos gulped, his arms making faster work of the mess on the floor as she came up behind him. He kept his eyes on the floor, sweat beading on his forehead as her eyes bore holes into the back of his head. 

“Well well, what have we here?” Cruella drawled, her long fingers threading themselves through the boys long hair. Carlos’ arm moved so fast his muscles ached, a knot forming he knew would take weeks to relax.  “I’m cleaning my mess.” He mumbled, running the damp sponge over a now clean tile. An evil laugh slipped past the woman’s lips as she pulled him to his feet by the hair. A sharp intake of breath whistled through his teeth as he fixated his gaze on her bright red heels.  “You’re right, you’ll clean your mess like a good little boy. Then you’ll make sure all of my babies are cleaned and hung properly.” She hissed letting go of his hair and pushing him back to the floor. 

Carlos sighed as he leaned back on his heels, eyes darting across the floor making sure every centimeter was clean. Once he was satisfied he stood, lifting the bucket and poured the dirty water down the small kitchen sink. Shaking his head he turned on the faucet, washing his hands of the bleach residue of the water. 

“Fuck her furs, the VK day selection celebration is sounding more and more appealing.” He mumbled, shaking excess water off of his hands before turning towards the front door. 

———————————————

Jay shifted his weight from one foot to the other as his eyes scanned the crowd; the person he wanted nowhere to be seen. Reaching up he scratched the back of his neck, sweat beading on his forehead as he heard one of the girls start their speech. He knew full well he only had a few minutes to find the boy before he was expected to talk. 

“My girl, Dizzy!” He heard Evie call, absentmindedly clapping for the young, colorfully dressed granddaughter of Lady Tremaine. A squeal erupted through the crowd as she made her way up to the stage, arms quickly wrapping themselves around Evie.  Jay squinted hard, trying to make out those who were hiding in the shadows, hoping his boy was there somewhere. He was zoned out, vaguely aware of Mals voice, the curl of her lip evident in her tone and she called on Uma - someone Ben had decided she should give another chance as he did her - when he saw a quick flash of white duck into the crowd. 

A chuckle slipped past Gil’s lips as he stepped forward, his arm out stretched as he pointed towards his best friend - the three musketeers of the pirate crew back together again. It was then that Jay spotted him; Carlos popped up towards the back of the crowd, a beat up digital camera obscuring his face as he snapped photo after photo of the boy with the olive complexion and long dark hair. Jay stepped forward, hand coming up to rest on Gils shoulder as his eyes stayed trained on Carlos. Gil turned his attention to Jay, a confused and uncomfortable expression on the boys face as he shook Jays hand off of his shoulder.  “I hate to interrupt.” Jay mumbled, eyes dancing across the crowd as Carlos bobbed and weaved between people. Gil rolled his eyes, arms crossed over his chest.  “But you’re gonna do it anyway, right?” Gil questioned, sizing up Jay as he took a step back.  “Yeah, I see someone lurking back there and I need to shoot my shot.” Jay chuckled, nodding towards the crowd as a smile stretched across his face. Gil shook his head, a sigh escaping him.  “More like you saw your boyfriend out there.” Gil mumbled, just loud enough for Jay to hear.Jay quickly pulled the crumpled up application out of his back pocket - one he knew hadn’t meant to make it into the hands of any of the original Villain Kids. Clearing his throat he took another step forward, leaning on the railing. 

“Here goes nothing, son of Cruella, the smartest kid in Dragon Hall - yknow, the one I used to cheat off of? Cmon de Vil, it’s your time to shine my man!” 

Jay was excited, though the recipient of his choice was not. Carlos dropped the beat up camera he was using - pieces of it flying in different directions. The young boys eyes were as big as saucers as the crowd around him cheered, those closest to him clapping him on the back and shoulders. Carlos kneeled down, picking up as many pieces of his camera as he could before standing once more. As his eyes met Jays he noticed the older boys smile falter for a split second before he was motioning towards Carlos to take the stage. 

Carlos gulped hard, slowly making his way towards the stage. The crowd continued to cheer everyone clapping him on the back as he walked by. Jays smile dropped as he realized just how scared Carlos actually was. He reached out and wrapped his arm around the younger boys shoulders pulling him into his side and ruffling his hair. 

“Good to see you man, you ready for a new look on life?” Jay chuckled, patting Carlos on the chest with his free hand.  Carlos shrugged, shaking his head slightly as he turned his attention to his now broken camera.  “I just wanted to take pictures. I don’t understand.” Carlos looked up at Jay, awe and confusion dancing across his expression as he pocketed what pieces he had of his camera.  “I think you’d do well in Auradon with us, you have few days to pack your things and then we’ll be back for you and your fellow VKs.” 

Carlos shook his head, shrugging Jays arm off of his shoulder. He took another look at the group of kids scattered across the stage before turning to leave; taking off at a run in the direction of Hell Hall. Evie took notice, slowly sauntering over to Jay, testing her chin on his shoulder. 

“I know that was out of your comfort zone. He’ll come around by the time we’re back, I have no doubt he’ll be waiting with the others when we come back for them.” Jay sighed, watching as Carlos became a speck on the horizon. “I sure hope so, Eves.”

[asphalt-cocktail]

For the Sake of Content- Chapter 2

Chapter 2: Pseudonym: Sugar

Summary: After walking in on your long-term boyfriend, Harrison, cheating on you and then losing your job the following day; your find yourself broke, jobless, and single for the first time in a long while. In order to make ends meet, your best friend since college, Freddie, suggests you start soliciting explicit photos of yourself, not only to help boost your confidence but to help pay the rent for his band mate’s apartment you just moved into.

A/N: Hello my lovelies! I’m so happy with the reception I've gotten with my fic! I’m really excited with what I have written out so far and I’m really happy seeing everyone enjoying what I have written, i have big plans for this little cutie. Not a lot is going to happen during these first few chapters other than establishing the foundation because it is a slow burn, but don’t worry, once we get there it’ll be like a fucking avalanche of chaos. My tag list is open, so if you are interested feel free to send me an ask! I will be reblogging with my taglist and links to the previous chapter, so please be patient with me!

Pairing: Roger Taylor x F!Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex work, masturbation, some friendly banter between roger and reader, not proof read, short chapter but don’t worry it gets better.

Word Count: 1.7k

18+ if you are a minor do NOT interact with this post. This is fictitious content and I own nothing.

It was your first night living with Roger and you were secretly thankful he was busy with a gig which allowed you to unpack your things in peace. He made it very clear that you were to stick your side of the apartment, i.e. your room, and not ruin the ‘aesthetic’ he had worked so hard for his apartment to have. It disappointed you to say the least, considering your only qualm with the apartment was the hideous wood paneling that made up the walls of the living room. It looked like a scene straight out of a 1970s porno.

The later it got the more you progressed in unpacking what little boxes you had and the closer it got to Roger coming home. You finished with what you decided would be the last box of the night and now laid in your bed, door closed, your colored LED lights dimly lighting your room a deep red color.

Your frowned going through your emails and reading rejection letter after rejection letter from the jobs you had applied for. You were thankful you were quite the penny pincher and were able to survive to for at least a month, but the dread still loomed over you like a dark cloud.

Your mind drifted to Freddie’s suggestion from earlier that week, “Try camming, love, it’s all the rage right now!” his loud voice echoed in your mind until you finally caved and grabbed your phone typing in your search engine how to be a camgirl.

Several articles popped up;

How to Become a Cam Girl

TIPS FOR BECOMING A CAM GIRL & HOW I DID IT

Camming on a Limited Budget?

You sighed, your eyes felt strained from reading article after article. You’d seen several reoccurring websites, the two most popular being Twitter, Snapchat, and some live stream sight called WatchMe. Skepticism filled your brain, why would people be so into buying nudes from people or watching them masturbate on camera when they could do it for free on some porn site?

The sense of intimacy that one got, anonymity, and personal interactions with some who was literally paid to be nice to you over ruled the financial aspect.

The financial aspect also caused you to throw what little shame you had left out the window and soon you found yourself impulsively signing up for all three sights starting first with WatchMe. You pursed your lips when you found yourself being prompted to enter your name, what the hell would you put? You certainly couldn’t put your real name, could you? No, you couldn’t. You found yourself smiling while entering Sugar into the name space.

The application process was surprisingly long and bureaucratic, but it was probably good they had you submit a picture of your license twice, once just on its own, and once next to your face just to confirm you were of legal age. The only downside was that it would be a three day wait for the information to be processed.

You scrolled through your imaged looking for some pictures or videos to put on your premium snapchat, but much to your dismay you found that you had a few vanilla nudes taken ages ago back when your and Harrison’s relationship was still young and romantic, but not much else. You reluctantly got out of bed and rummaged through your underwear drawer, picking through your cotton granny panties you wore when your period made you bloated and finally found a black lacy pair of panties that had a matching black lacy balconette bra that pushed your breasts together giving you the perfect amount of cleavage.

You put it on and stood in front of your full-length mirror, it had been ages since you’d last put on lingerie. It felt nice to put it on for yourself and not for someone else; you twisted in the mirror, observing how the lace delicately cupped your cheeks and hugged your hips perfectly. You chewed on your bottom lip and posed, kneeling in front of the mirror, your legs spread and your back arched to give your chest a little extra pop while you positioned your phone over your face and clicked a few pictures.

The red lighting in your room caused a complimentary glow against your skin, showering you in red light and somehow making your images look more erotic. You smiled a bit to yourself, you looked hot!

Our relationship is boring

The word hammered against your mind, causing you to frown and your brows to knit together in frustration.

You were NOT boring, did boring people take pictures of themselves to sell to other people? No.

You found yourself getting hot with frustration and strangely enough, arousal. You didn’t know if it was from how you were dressed working in tandem with the lighting or if it was your pent-up frustration from not having a proper orgasm in so long, but you soon found your hand traveling south while you remained kneeling in front of the mirror. Before you began you carefully positioned your phone, just enough to keep your face out of the picture and rubbed your thighs, leaving teasing touches around the band of your panties.

Your chest heaved with anticipation, you didn’t know why but the fact that you were being videotaped added a feeling of naughtiness to your actions. You gave your slit a teasing rub, your hips twitching at the sudden pressure before your fingers harshly rubbed yourself. The rough fabric of the lace adding an additional tingle to the pleasure that shot through you. You moaned, leaning back ever so slightly to angle yourself and rubbed yourself through your panties, strumming harshly at your clit.

“Ah, fuck.” You whined, reaching up with your free hand and kneading your breasts, pulling your bra down and allowing them to freely spill over. Your nipples reacted to the cold air and hardened almost immediately. You pinched and twisted at them while your fingers began to move faster and faster against your wet core before you decided you needed to fully touch yourself.

You stripped off your panties and spread yourself for the camera, allowing your glistening cunt to be on full display. You slipped your fingers between your folds and began to rub harsh circled around your clit, rolling your hips along with your motions and allowing unfiltered moans to fall from your lips. Roger wouldn’t be home for another few hours, but for some reason the idea that you may get caught enhanced the arousal you felt.

You dipped two fingers into your tight hole, letting out a high-pitched sigh and now feeling contently full. You pumped them in and out of your tight cunt, the slick sounds squelching as you pumped them in and out rapidly. Your stomach clenched when you brushed against that spot inside you and a knot in your tummy began to tighten, getting tighter and tighter each time you thrust your fingers into you. You used the heel of your hand to rub harshly against your clit, the slickness guiding you with ease “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” You whimpered out, rolling your hips against your hands.

The tightening knot in your stomach snapped and your body jerked while a wave of pleasure washed over you.

After you recovered, you sat up, did you just masturbate in front of a camera? You couldn’t help the smile that crept onto your face; it was like you had a dirty little secret of your own.

When you finally ventured out of your room you found Roger lounging in the living room “Wow, out of your room for once?” Roger asked, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“No company tonight?” You chimed, noting the absence of some bar floozy hanging off his shoulder, “Did your show go all right?”

Roger’s brows were tightly knit together, he was obviously tense over something and the long sigh he let out before answering you practically told the story; “No, it was complete garbage.” He mumbled, “The venue, not us.” He quickly followed with.

Right, of course Queen was perfect, but you decided to entertain the idea, inching closer into the living room, “What was so bad about the venue?”

It was as though he were waiting for someone to ask him that question, “The crowd was total shit, I know Freddie is damn good at interacting with the crowd, they were just,” He took a surprisingly aggressive drink from his beer bottle, rolling his eyes at the memory, “Stiff as hell,” He mumbled, “Then! That wasn’t even the worst part, on top of that the power cut out not once but three times!” He dramatically raised his arms in frustration, “I practically threw my set off the stage after the third time.” Roger scoffed. Despite your distance from him you could smell the combined stench of sweat, cigarettes, and alcohol that seemed to seep into his garish outfit.

You arched an eyebrow at him “You threw your kit off the stage?” your voice pitched in disbelief.

Roger shrugged “Yeah,” he was so nonchalant, “What about it?”   

“Well I guess you won’t be going back there anytime soon,” You mumbled, and Roger raised his bottle in agreement, “You know, I was thinking we could paint the walls a nice cream color.” You mentioned, lightly running your hands across the drab wood paneling.

Roger narrowed his eyes at you, “Paint over wood panel?” He scoffed, “It’s original finish, you can’t do that!”

You rolled your eyes dramatically, “I can tell it’s original, I can practically smell 1970 seeping out when it gets too hot in here.” You chastised, “Plus painting the walls a lighter color will brighten it up a bit, what the hell are you trying to live in, a cave?”

“Fine, you get to paint the accent wall and I’ll take the others.”

“I pay half the rent here too!” You constantly reminded him that he wasn’t the only one who lived here anymore.

Roger let out a frustrated sigh, “Fine you get two walls and I’ll get two. Have fun painting them Saffron Ivory of whatever boring color you decide on.”

Well, guess your civil conversation is over, you sighed, “At least it’ll look better,” You mumbled, turning back to face him "Shouldn't you shower, you filthy bastard" You scrunched your nose up at his pungent post show odor.

"Ah, fuck off," Roger muttered flicking you the V.

You flashed him a closed mouthed smile "Pleasant, as always." you sarcastically stated before you found yourself slinking back into your room. You truly had no idea how Freddie expected you to coexist with this man.

[myaekingheart]

120. A Map to Matrimony, Like Constellations in the Night Sky

read the scarecrow and the bell on ao3 index | from the beginning | < previous | next >

               Arai smirked as she leaned against the wall of lockers, watching as Rei changed out of her uniform. There was something almost predatory in her gaze, making Rei hyperaware of her body. The pearl inlay of her engagement ring glinted in the flickering lights overhead.

               “Hey, boss, you know” Arai started, leaning over for a better look. “That’s some pretty flashy bling you’ve got there.” She raised an eyebrow suggestively, nodding towards Rei’s left hand.

               Frowning, Rei drew her hand up to her chest and muttered, “Yeah, and if you so much as think of stealing it, I’ll match it with a necklace made of your teeth.”  

               With a chuckle, Arai raised her hands in surrender. “Oh god, absolutely not!” she assured, almost even disgusted at the insinuation. “I mean, it’s pretty, yeah, but not my style at all.” Despite the initial suspicion, deep down Rei knew that Arai had to be genuine. Nothing about her seemed to align with the dainty and delicate nature of the engagement ring. Rather, Arai seemed like the type for something far more inconspicuous. Something steely and simple and durable. “So who’s the lucky guy, anyway? Maybe I know him” Arai jested. Little did she know, everyone knew him.

               Tugging her dress over her head, Rei flippantly replied, “Kakashi Hatake.” He had become so ordinary to her now that sometimes she forgot just how extraordinary he truly was. The moment his name fell from her lips, Arai’s entire demeanor shifted. Her violet eyes widened and her mouth gaped; if Rei listened closely, she could hear the dial-up signal screeching in her head. “Close your mouth, you’ll catch flies that way” Rei muttered under her breath. She hoped to somehow lessen the tension forming between them. To erase the strange shock that she had caused.

               “Oh, I’m sorry!” Arai replied sarcastically. “I was just trying to figure out how you of all people landed a stud like Kakashi fucking Hatake.”

               Just then, Mikazuki poked her head around the corner and interjected, “They have history!”

               Rei cursed under her breath and shot Mikazuki a fierce glare but she didn’t seem to comprehend her impending wrath. Funny how her dojutsu could pick apart little technicalities and yet Mikazuki was still so dense to common social cues. Arai skirted around Rei, arms crossed and a sly smile on her face. “Ooh, a history” she mused. “Tell me more! What kind of history are we talking here? What story could you possibly have with the renowned Kakashi of the Secondhand Sharingan?”

               “it’s really not a big deal” Rei muttered. There was no way in hell that she was going to delve into the complicated particulars of her romantic record right now. She had had a long day, she was sore and tired. The ANBU locker roms were a cesspool of gossip—one which she preferred not to contribute to. Besides, Rei still did not fully trust Arai anyway. True, they were on far better terms than before but Rei could not afford to be vulnerable with her yet again. Information was a dangerous asset. The less Arai knew, the better.

               A soft smile touched Mikazuki’s lips as she, too, admired the ring from afar. “So have you guys set a date yet?” she asked.

               “Oh, yeah, are you aiming for a winter wedding or a summer one?” Arai asked. “You should, at the very least, do a fall wedding. Those are always the prettiest.”

               “Really?” Mikazuki asked. “I always thought spring weddings were the best, with the cherry blossoms in full bloom. It’s like getting married on a cloud of cotton candy” Mikazuki sighed dreamily as she fell back against the wall of lockers, clutching her hands to her chest like a lovelorn school girl.

               Arai scoffed and shook her head. “Damn, you’re sappy” she replied. “So what about a dress? Have you picked one yet? I heard you don’t want to wait too long or else you won’t have time for alterations, but if you do it too early you’ll blow up like a balloon by the time the wedding rolls around—you know, from the stress eating—and then it won’t even fit.”

               “Oh, speaking of food! What are you doing for catering?” Mikazuki asked. “Buffets are always nice, but those can get expensive.”

               “God, no” Arai scrunched her face in disgust. “A sit-down dinner is the only appropriate option for a wedding. Buffets are way too casual. Do you really want your wedding dinner at the fucking Shinobi Corral?”

               Ignoring Arai’s comments, Mikazuki then asked, “What about the cake?”

               “Place settings?” offered Arai.

               “Bridal party?”

               “China patterns?”

               “Flowers?”

               “Music?”

               “Prenups?”

               “Oh my god, stop!” Rei shouted and the entire locker room fell silent. There was so much to consider, and she was not at all in the proper mindset for any of it. She had only just come to terms with her promotion. Her feelings toward her subordinates were still only lukewarm at best. She refused to think about the abandoned parenthood pursuit. If she didn’t slow her roll and take one thing at a time, she was going to lose her mind.

               But still, they were (unfortunately) valid questions. The wedding needed to be planned and it was only natural for people to wonder. If only they weren’t so overbearing in their curiosity. If Rei was going to do this, and do it right, then she needed to take her time.

               As she made her way home, however, all chances of a relaxing evening were dashed. Mikazuki and Arai’s obsessive inquiries had planted in her brain an overwhelming mania about the wedding. Three weeks had passed since submitting their marriage license applications but in the meantime, they had done little else as far as planning went. Logically, Rei understood much of the past month was occupied by her promotion but still. The pressure to get everything sorted immediately was eating her alive.

               Kakashi had returned home shortly before Rei did, shuffling out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist. He shook the excess water from his hair as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. “I beat you home” he grinned proudly.

               Rei stalled for only a moment staring at his wet, toned chest and the way his towel sat low on his waist, teasing her. But now was not the time to get aroused. Shaking the thoughts from her mind, she surged forward and took Kakashi’s hand in hers. “We need to talk” she said, guiding him toward the kitchen table.

                Chuckling, Kakashi asked, “Can I get dressed first?” Then, with a sly smile, he asked, “Or is this the sort of conversation that I need to keep my clothes off for?” Her sharp glare gave him his answer. Defeated, he carefully sat down and gave her his full attention. “What’s going on? Is everything okay?”

               “No, Kakashi” Rei replied. “Everything is not okay. We have a big problem.”

               Kakashi’s face immediately fell. “Am I in trouble?” he asked. His mind sifted through the past few weeks, trying to pinpoint moments where he may have misstepped. He came up empty every time.

               Shaking her head, Rei replied, “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s about us.”

               Kakashi instinctively reached across the table to take her hand in his. His mind automatically leapt to their pregnancy plans. Had something happened? What if she had gone to the doctor only to discover that something was wrong and she couldn’t have kids at all? Or perhaps they had miscalculated and she was pregnant after all? He swallowed back the lump in his throat, asked, “What’s the matter?”

               And then Rei said it and a wave of relief washed over Kakashi. “It’s about the wedding planning.”

               “Oh, thank god” Kakashi sighed, leaning back in his chair. Rei shot him yet another glare and he raised his hands in surrender. “I just expected much worse!”

               Shaking her head, Rei folded her hands on the table in front of her like a businesswoman about to make a deal. “We’ve been engaged for almost two months now and have hardly made any progress” she said. “People are beginning to ask questions and I can’t stand to sit there without answers anymore!”

               “Well, we did submit our marriage license application” Kakashi reminded her. “That’s one thing.” And really, they couldn’t do much else until they received the verdict on that. Without that stamp of approval, there couldn’t be a wedding to begin with. At least not legally.

               Rei gripped her hair and groaned. “I know, but that’s not enough!” she whined. “What about the date? The location? The guests? The food and the flowers? We can’t have our wedding dinner at the fucking Shinobi Corral! I just—”

               “Whoa, wait a second. Who said anything about the Shinobi Corral?” Kakashi asked. His restrained laughter was not appreciated. When it was clear that Rei did not find any of this funny, however, he reached back across the table for her hand yet again. “Rei, look at me” he said, voice soft and tender. “I want our wedding to be perfect for you so whatever you want, we’ll do it. Okay?”

               Rei blinked as she looked at his comforting, unmasked face. He was so sweet but god, he was so, so stupid. “Kakashi, you know I love you” she replied, “but you’re a fucking idiot.” Kakashi recoiled as he tried to figure out where he had gone wrong. Fortunately, Rei spelled it out for him. “I can’t do this all on my own. I want you to have a part in this because it’s your wedding, too. We need to make these decisions together. I want your help. I need your help.”

               Nodding slowly, Kakashi said, “Okay. Well then let’s take it one step at a time.” He reached across their cramped kitchen to pull a notepad and pen from the counter. “Let’s start with the guests. Who do you want to invite?”

               “I don’t know. My family, I guess?” Rei replied. She drew her knees up to her chest as she filtered through her mental address book. “We’ll have to go through the details later, there’s too many people to really count right now. And it’s hard to say how many people we can even invite if we don’t have a location in mind since we don’t know the capacity.”

               “Alright” Kakashi said as he finished scribbling a simple family and friends. “Did you have anything in mind for the location?”

               Rei shook her head. “I don’t know.”

               “Well close your eyes and imagine it then” Kakashi suggested. “What kind of wedding do you see?”

               Rei did as she was told but it was no use. “Kakashi, I can’t see anything” she complained.

               “For an avid reader, your imagery skills need some work” Kakashi jested.

               As Rei opened her eyes, she pursed her lips and narrowed her gaze. “You think you’re real funny, don’t you, Kakashi?” she muttered. Kakashi merely smiled a dumb, childlike little smile—far too proud for his own good. Rei buried her face in her hands. “God, you sound just like everyone else asking me all these questions that I can’t fucking answer.”

               He hated how cute she was when she was frustrated. He tossed the pen and pad aside and rose to his feet, skirting around to rub her shoulders and kiss the top of her head. “But this time you don’t need to have all of the answers, Rei” he reassured her. “We’re just thinking out loud. Nothing is set in stone. You’re allowed to take your time and decide what you want. I really don’t care as long as you’re happy.”

               Squinting, Rei tilted her head back against his chest so as to look up at him and mumble, “That doesn’t sound very budget-friendly, Kakashi.”

               Kakashi shrugged and smiled. “It’s not like we can’t afford it” he said. “We both make plenty of money, right Mrs. ANBU captain?” He smirked and kissed the tip of her nose before turning to head back into the bedroom. Rei twisted around in the kitchen chair, straddling it backwards as she watched Kakashi shed his towel and begin rooting around his drawers for clean underwear. Her cheeks burned as she eyed his dick, tilting her head to get a better view of it.

               “Maybe we should just elope” she commented, resting her head on the back of the chair.

               “Is that really what you want?” Kakashi asked, stepping into a fresh pair of boxer briefs.

               “I don’t know” Rei whined. “I’m just starting to feel like this is more work than it’s worth. I’m stressed. Eloping would solve all of our problems.”

               “In wedding planning, maybe” Kakashi replied. “But it would create a whole army of new ones.”  

               “Oh yeah? Like what?” Rei asked.

               “Well, for one thing” Kakashi replied, tugging his shirt over his head, “I don’t think your parents would be very happy when they find out we’ve run away together.”

               Rei swatted at the air dismissively. “Fuck them” she said. “They’ll just cause more drama, anyway.”

               “Even your grandmother?” Kakashi asked, cocking a brow.

               Rei paused a moment, reconsidering. Then, finally, “Alright, fine, only Grandma Teiko is allowed to come to the wedding. No one else.” At this, Toshio huffed and nudged Rei’s knee with his wet nose. Chuckling, Rei shook her head and scratched behind his ear, adding, “And of course Toshio can come, too. He can be a bridesmaid.”

               “Are you going to make him wear a dress?” Kakashi jested.

               “Only if he wants to” Rei replied. The look on the dog’s face, however, proved that he definitely did not want to.

               Ruffling his hair, Kakashi made his way back into the kitchen. He knelt down in front of Rei and brushed the long bangs back out of her face. “Honestly, though, I think we deserve a real wedding, don’t you?”

               “Yeah” Rei sighed, resting her forehead against his. “I guess so. But god, I wish weddings didn’t have to be so damn stressful. I feel so much pressure to have everything sorted as soon as possible, like I should be some sort of all-knowing bridal goddess or some shit.”

               “I know” Kakashi laughed, petting her head affectionately. “Just try not to worry. We’re allowed to take our time. It’s not like we have a deadline to meet or anything.”

               “God, but that’s exactly the problem, Kakashi!” Rei whined. “Having everything so open-ended doesn’t make me feel much better, either. If anything, it just makes me feel aimless. It’s like I don’t have a clear goal in mind without a set date, you know?”

               Kakashi pursed his lips, considering her words. She did have a valid point. The wedding date was essentially the anchor that tethered everything else in place. Without it, all their other plans were merely disconnected ideas floating in mid-air. “Alright” Kakashi replied, nodding with purpose. “Then how about March 14th?”

               “March 14th?” Rei repeated.

               “Mmhmm” Kakashi affirmed. “The same date I proposed to you, so it would be easy to remember. The weather would be mild, and I think it falls on a weekend. It would be perfect. After all, it is called White Day for a reason.”

               A wedding on White Day. Rei considered the possibility. She thought back to what Mikazuki had said earlier about spring weddings and the cherry blossoms. The soft, ethereal aesthetic was definitely alluring. And plus, it was a day with meaning. The anniversary of their engagement and a holiday founded on the reciprocation of love. How Kakashi had thought of something so perfect was beyond her but then again, it seemed that he was always coming up with perfect ideas. Her eyes skated to the copy of Icha Icha haphazardly tossed on the coffee table and that gave her explanation enough for his romantic powers.

               And from a more logical perspective, March was a little less than a year away which gave them plenty of time to figure out the rest. Rei felt far more confident in her ability to plan a wedding in ten months, with a definite end goal in mind. A small smile began to spread across her lips as she thought about it all, suddenly far less stressed than she was before. Now when she closed her eyes, a hazy image began to form in her mind, still not clear enough to feel fully confident in her plans but better than nothing. Her vision was beginning to take root.

            ��  Rei nodded as she looked Kakashi in the eyes and replied, “March 14th. I like that.”

               “See? That wasn’t so hard” Kakashi grinned. “Now we have one less thing to worry about. Do you feel better?”

               Nodding, Rei replied, “A little bit, yeah. It’s nice to know where the finish line stands. To have an anchor, you know? Something to build up from.”  

               Kakashi nodded and kissed her forehead sweetly before replying “Now to figure out everything else.”

               Rei grimaced, but not unkindly, as she twisted around to whack Kakashi lightly on the shoulder with the notepad. “Watch yourself, Hatake” she jested. A sly, teasing smile touched her lips. “One thing at a time.”

[be-ready-when-i-say-go]

A Dream Within a Dream

This was too short for me to post on Wattpad and I was doing some writing exercises to help keep the juices flowing. So this is the result. 

Calum really wants to pop the question. But will fate be nice to him? Will he get a different end than his parents? 

Calum Hood x BlackOC

No applicable warnings. It’s just all fluff. 

_______

The piano echoes throughout the house. Alana barely hears the clink of the plates as she cleaned up from dinner. Calum had cooked and she agreed to clean. Normally, Calum would’ve helped regardless. He would’ve scraped the plates. He would’ve held both glasses in his hands, waiting for more space to clear on the counter before adding them to her dwindling pile. He would’ve taken up the dishrag next to her and dried a fork for three minutes while he listened to her talk about the day. 

But there was something heavy on his soul. He cleared his plate, brought the glasses into the kitchen and then disappeared to the back of the house. He had been quiet all day. When he woke up, he didn’t talk hardly at all. Calum didn’t talk a lot to begin with. But there was a certain noise that he made, a hum while he got ready, or him singing lowly as he played music over the speakers. Him narrating what he was doing to Duke, that was always fun to listen too. The way he explained in-depth the ins and outs of the bass to his little dog.  The day was just silent though. He didn’t offer much even if Alana brought up the topic. There seemed to be no words that Calum could muster for long. 

Alana knows, beyond just a bad day, that something is wrong when the first note strikes the house from the piano. The bass, even if it played a melancholy rhythm, even if it sounded like the instrument was croaking out tears meant a better sign than the piano. Her heart aches, listening to the sobering twinkles swelling throughout the house.  What was it about today? She hadn’t missed his birthday. It was coming up in 8 days. They didn’t normally do much for Valentine’s Day. Things were great at Christmas and New Year. He had spent most of the time with his family. 

Alana sets the last cup into the drying rack and sighs. She’ll let the dishes sit there, drying her hands on a towel. Not even the suction of the drain taking down all the dirty water registers like it normally does. Duke sits at the edge of the kitchen, his big eyes turned down a bit. He knows something is wrong too. Alana squats, scratching at the top of his head. “I don’t know, bub. I don’t know what’s gotten into Papa. I hope we can get it out of him.”

Duke just watches as she stands. The floor is cold, a slight chill finally taking over now that January has settled in. The wood doesn’t make a sound under her feet, no creaks. Alana takes a small moment and finds a sweatshirt in the bedroom. It’s his old Drop Dead one. She unearthed from the depths of his closet while doing some spring cleaning a few months back. 

Alana finds her hair scarf, settled on top of the dresser. Unraveling it, she folds it diagonally and then folds it longwise, making it into a makeshift headband. The loose space buns at the top of her bed, bunch up a little but it’s fine. She knows she’s been wearing the style out but she needs to stretch it out for a couple more days until she could properly wash it. Which was going to be after dinner, though, now that will wait for tomorrow. Calum worries her. 

From the entryway of the music room, she watches him huddled into the corner, his back facing her. Alana knows she won’t be heard if she tries to interject now. So she pads over softly to the couch and settles down. Duke hops onto it and settles in her lap. Both of them watch Calum, his head low on his neck. His eyes are closed. His fingers slide over the keys with feeling, not a lot of thought. 

He’s dawned in a t-shirt and his compression tights with basketball shorts over them. The blue’s fading just a little, as the hair grows out and she wants to trace the hairline with her nails. She wants to kiss across his neck. She wants to crawl into the space between the piano and his lap and just settle there, hold him tight in her arms until all the sadness is gone. Alana really wants to crawl into his chest and pluck anything heavy on his heart. She wants to follow the cavity up, stopping to kiss his eyes and then settle into his mind and dust away those dark corners. 

If she could pull the anxiety and pain from the inside and knock it out his ears, she would. If she could sweep it all up and throw it away for him, she would. She’d do anything to see this man smile. He repeats a refrain twice, she only catches it halfway through and then the notes echo into the still air. The clock in the room ticks and it’s the only sound. Not even Duke’s tag are clinking. “Sorry, off day,” Calum finally says and shuts the lid over the keys. 

“Anything I can do to help?”

Calum shrugs. There’s something about fate, about seeing what happened to his parents that make him so scared of failing at love. Alana sets Duke onto the bench and stands before gesturing to his lap. “Mind if I take a seat?”

Normally, he would laugh at this. Maybe he’d even wiggle his eyebrows at her and make a dirty joke in return. He even sees her waiting, wishing for the chuckle to leave him but it never does. “I don’t mind.”

She straddles his lap, arms snaking around his shoulders. Their gazes meet, dark brown meeting dark brown. Her nails lightly trace over his neck. “I’m always here if you ever want to talk,” she assures. “Always.”

Calum buries his face into her shoulder. His arms are tight around her waist. He knows she is. He knows she’d go through hell and high water for him. He just doesn’t want to fuck things up. He thinks about the ring, the way it’s hidden in the drawer at the desk right across from them. But god, he doesn’t want to fuck it up. His parents were in love but that marriage didn’t last. There was no recipe to life, no list of instructions. No one knew what marriages would last. 

He just doesn’t want the same fate. He wants kids with her. He wants to grow old. He wants to have his little girl sitting between his legs while he does her hair. He wants to take his little boy out to the park, kicking around the soccer ball. He wants to be there for all the birthday cakes, to watch every single birthday candle flicker out. He wants to be there for the first steps. He wants to be there for their first word. He wants to there for everything. He just doesn’t want to fuck it up. He can’t fuck it up. Not with Alana. Not with her. 

He turns his head, lips brushing over her neck as he speaks. “I love you.”

She hums, hands pressing into his shoulders. “I love you, baby.” Her lower back is pressed slightly into the cover the keys and it definitely hurts but she doesn’t move. Not for the moment at least. The haunting cry of the piano plays in her ears still. She wraps Calum’s head up in her arms, pressing him into her body. She hums as if that squeeze whatever is plaguing his soul out of him. As if that will bring back her smiling boy. It is the only shot she has though. 

Calum inhales, smelling mostly her faint shea and hibiscus body wash. Her flesh is warm against his lips for sure. He takes in the slight pink undertone to her black skin. It reminds him of twilight when the sky is mostly black but there’s a moment where the purple of the setting sun hasn’t quite faded. It reminds him of being in the car and watching the trees blurring by as the car glides over the asphalt. It reminds him of sitting outside, sometimes after a game, and reveling in the feeling of being small in the universe, of being normal. 

Alana rests her cheek against the fading blue of his hair. “I was tempted to change your name in my phone to Blueberry.” She’s not sure why the thought falls over her lips but she lets it linger before another one falls out of her mouth. “Now I want blueberry muffins.”

“We could go get some,” Calum offers, his voice low and wispy. “And while I object to the name change, it is kind of funny.”

“If you feel up for it, sure,” Alana returns, her arms falling and brushing her fingers over his back. 

He really likes the feeling of being in her arms though. How secure she makes him feel. Maybe he won’t meet the same fate as his parents. Maybe things could be different for him. Calum straightens but not before kissing her smooth cheek. “Let’s go.”

Alana climbs off his lap, the sweatshirt falling and just barely covering her ass. Her current shorts have hitched up and she straightens them. Alana’s not sure whether to curse her thighs or to bless them. She was not blessed with boobs, all of that went to the thighs. Shopping for tops was easy, her size straight forward no matter what. It was a terrible time finding any jeans that fit over her round ass and solid thighs. 

Calum wiggles his fingers for her to take and stop fussing with her shorts. “Just change them if they bother you that much.”

“Either I need to lose the ass or you need to buy bigger sweatshirts so I’m not hanging out for the world to see.”

He didn’t want to smile. She had what everyone in this town wanted and she had it naturally. “You say that but if you lose too much of it, you’d be begging for it to come back.”

Alana releases his hand, taking a side step into the bedroom. “No one told you to be right all the time,” she huffs. It’s a quick change into some cycling shorts before the pair ventures for the front door. 

She can hear Duke at her heels. She looks up to Calum before reaching for the leash. He nods and she grins. They won’t be gone long but it wouldn’t hurt to bring him along. She clips the leash into his collar and they set out. Duke gets to sit in her lap and watch the world fly by him as Calum drives. At every light, Calum takes her hand and kisses a different knuckle. 

Calum didn’t think people were doomed in the debate between nature versus nurture. He didn’t think that being raised in a certain household meant that someone would be defenseless and finding themselves in the same thing all over again. He just wasn’t sure how to learn from their mistakes. What could he do that would be different?

Alana and he had their disagreements. He had a hard time communicating. A really hard time trusting that even if she didn’t get what he was saying, she would listen and she would do her best to try to understand. It led to a lot of misunderstandings. The irony never ceased to piss Calum off a little. His wanting to open up but being afraid of being misunderstood landed him in a lot of positions of being misunderstood. 

She had a hard time of trying to please everyone. She said yes to a lot of things just because she couldn’t confront others and she was always stretched thin. It made an already difficult situation of Calum constantly traveling, even more difficult when she had planned well into the months sometimes. It had, at the begining of the relationship, started to make Calum feel secondary. He wanted a partner that kept fairly busy, that understood his schedule. But not so busy that there was no time for the two of them. 

They had worked well through most of it. But sometimes, when Calum just wanted time with her, she was off doing everything under the sun. And when she asked what was wrong, Calum still shut her out. Was he doing it right now? Was he too far focused on not fucking something up that he was fucking it up? In the parking lot of the bakery, nearing it’s closing time, Calum takes her hand. “I’m terrified of fucking this up,” he admits. 

She furrows her brow. “Fucking what up?”

“Us. I’m don’t want to mess this up. I don’t want to get a divorce. I don’t want us to ever get into a position where we feel like we can’t resolve it. I don’t want that.”

“Divorce? Baby, just take a breath.” She watches for his chest expanding, his inhale and she watches for the exhale. “Can’t divorce if we’re not married. They’ll be some arguments, ya know. Some things will require some extra work from the both of us. We’ll just keep learning on how to communicate with each other.”

“I want to marry you. I just don’t want my parent's fate.”

Alana smiles, cupping his cheeks in her hands.  Her chest flutters and her skin is clammy. Her ears, she can’t believe her ears. “You wanna marry me?”

“Of course, angel.”

“I want to marry you too.” She can’t tell if this is a proposal or not. She knows Calum is a romantic and he couldn't possibly do this without a ring. 

Calum stretches up, just a little to press their lips together into a kiss. “You’ll know when I propose for real,” he promises. Duke lets out a small bark and they break away from each other. The small dog’s intrigue is captured by a bird passing the front windshield. 

With blueberry muffins obtained, they settle back into the house. The couch fills in around them as they sink. Alana sits with her legs crossed next to Calum. “Weren’t you going to wash your hair today?”

“It’s gonna take too long now. I’ll do it in the morning.” 

A crumb of the muffin clings to the side of her mouth and Calum takes his thumb to brush it away. “Can I help again?” He enjoys the shampooing, working diligently at her scalp. He gets to play in her hair and she can’t fuss either.

“Yeah.” Alana reaches up to clear the crumbs from the side of his mouth as well. “Wanna deep condition together? I doubt you’ve done it since I forced you to the last time.” Her nails trail over his scalp. 

It did make his hair feel really soft. So he nods. “Why not. Why do you do it again? Why should I?”

“You dyed your hair. So it requires more moisture than before. Deep conditions help keep your hair soft and moisturized. I do it because my hair is really coarse and more fragile the drier it is. Same outcome just different reasons.”

In bed, Calum looks at a picture of the ring he bought. Part of him worries. “What do you think about a ring like this?”

Her gasp is soft and she sits up. “It’s gorgeous.” She takes his phone zooming in to see the details. The way standing up there’s a heart right under the main stone. She stares at it with a little bit of blur from her tears. Calum throws his arm around her waist, finding her cheek illuminated from the screen of his phone. The awe on her face is enough to ease Calum’s fears. Maybe he won’t fuck this up. 

                                                       ____

Alana hums at the slight scratch at her scalp. Calum’s fingers work in circles and he grins watching the way her eyes flutter shut. “I always loved going to the hair salon but only for the shampooing. Hated being their all day.”

Calum hums. The wafts of her shampoo fragrance, between a hint of fruity and floral, settle into his nostrils. They stand in front of the bathroom mirror and Calum just watches her. The way content washes over her face and settles into a smile around her full lips. It’s moments like this that turn Calum into a sucker. He can’t help but want to kiss her when they share moments like this, where they communicate in just the simplest of touches. 

He settles her back into the small folding chair and she reclines her head back. The detached shower head already rests in the basin of the tub from her rinsing out the hot oil treatment. Calum tests the water on his hand first, finding the right mix of warmer water with the cool before rinsing the shampoo out. 

It’s quick when Calum bends down to kiss her forehead, working to get the shampoo from the back of her head too. She reaches up, one hand cupping his forearm. For the moment, it’s like he tattooed her hand onto his skin with the way her skin matches the ink already etched into his skin. 

And he wonders for a moment he wonders what her initials would look like etched amongst the assortment. With the shampoo completely rinsed, Calum reaches for the jar of her conditioner situated onto the counter already. “Comb from the ends up,” Alana reminds.

He nods. “Aye, Captain.”

She snorts, tapping at his thigh before she stands and moves the chair for him. “Shut up.” The joke is a good sign. It means he’s feeling better. Calum double checks he has the appropriate amount of product for the first section. With the curt nod, he applies it to her strands. He’s gently combing through her ends and slowly works his way to the roots. Occasionally there’s a particular stubborn snag or knot and she works it out, attempting to show him the right way to go about it. 

Soon all four sections are detangled and clipped up. “You got the hang of it,” Alana notes as Calum slides the plastic cap onto her head. 

“Have a great teacher.”

“I’m flattered. Your turn.” 

Calum situates in front of the sink while she runs the water of his close crop. It’s only a minute before he’s situated into the same chair as her, holding the towel around his neck. She rummages for a moment before finding a small white packet. “I can’t use yours,” he pouts for a second. 

“I’m using the same one as last time. You liked it and it says for color-treated hair.”

“But then I won’t smell like you.”

Alana shakes her head. “We’ll use the same leave-in conditioner then. How about that?”

“That works.” It’s not too long before he too has his strands lathered in covered in a black plastic cap. Alana will wash his out first since his hair is significantly shorter. Right as she clears away the already used products, Calum pulls her into his lap. He taps the end of her nose. 

“The plastic cap is a look, angel,” he grins. 

“Yeah, I bet.”

Calum’s hair is rinsed first and she puts just a little leave-in conditioner onto his strands. Her deep condition still has another twenty minutes to go. “Want a snack? Still have two blueberry muffins left,” Calum offers. 

“Yes, please,” she grins, slightly sidetracked by her phone, situated still in the bathroom. Calum nods. His feet are carrying him away from the kitchen. Why does it feel so right to do this right now? He finds the ring, still tucked into the drawer of his desk in his music room and pockets it. He travels back up into the kitchen, peeking to see that she’s still on her phone. 

The box still holds the two muffins. It’ll be a little messy, at least for the box but he slips the small velvet box into the container with the two muffins. She doesn’t even blink when Calum holds one muffin and holds the box out to her. He takes a bite, his stomach knotting. “Thanks, baby.” She finally casts her gaze down, fingers already tracing the edge of the last muffin when she spots the navy blue box. 

“Not hungry?” Calum asks, shocked at the way his voice doesn’t waver.

“What is this?” Alana takes the whole bakery box and pulls the ring box out. 

“Oh.” His voice finally croaks and he takes a moment to clear his throat. But it’s too late. The emotions have already broken the damn. “I wanted to ask this for a while. And yesterday, I hit the wall. It had been so invisible to me because why would I buy a ring four months ago and not ask then. But when you said you wanted to marry me too. I knew I couldn’t wait much longer.”

He takes a breath and takes the box from her hand. He cracks open the top and the same ring from last night stares back up at her. It’s even more breathtaking in person. “So, Alana Rya Jones, after three years together, being my North Star when I truly thought I’d be lost at sea, and dealing with me being everywhere in the world but at home and still loving me, will you marry me?”

Her hands finally leave her gaped mouth and she nods. The tears run down her cheeks. “Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Calum slips the ring onto her finger. He feels the trembles in her hands and rubs her back as they embrace. The sob echoes a little followed by Calum’s soothing shushes. “Angel,” he coos and she continues to shake. 

“It’s not--,” she hiccups for a moment. “They’re happy tears I swear.”

They face each other, pulling away from the hug. Calum sees the smile on her face, even if the tears are still rolling. “I love you.” He loves her more than he has words for, more than he can put into anything verbal--no sound, no lyrics will encapsulate it. 

“I love you.” She wipes the tear and kisses him. Her heart flutters. It’s the same Calum, the same kiss, but also is not. It’s not the same because she is his and he is hers in an entirely different way. 

Calum rinses her deep condition out. “Can I twist it too?”

“Of course.” 

They move their camp to the living room. Calum settles into the couch and she sits between his thighs. He has a towel draped over his lap too just to keep the cushions dry. Alana’s already explained her twist out routine and as she hands Calum the various products, leave-in, comb, curling cream, and oil, she makes sure to do so with her left hand. The ring reflects in the high noon rays. 

“Do you mind if I take a picture?” she asks. 

“I don’t mind.” Calum gently guides her head back, fingers holding the strands separate. He kisses her forehead and then she returns to her previous position so he can finish the twist. She finds her phone and angles it up a little, posing with her chin resting in her left hand. The ring faces out. Calum’s attention is zeroed in on the twist but she snaps a photo. 

“Shit,” he mumbles at the too loose twist. He unravels it before starting over. He’s not as skilled at her. He’s watched her do it without a mirror and he’s sure it’s just a matter of time. She’s been doing it for eight years now and he’s only tried it a handful of times. 

“You’re going good, baby.”

“It was too loose. Gonna try again. I think when I kissed you I let it go a little.”

“It’s in the back anyway,” she laughs, looking at the recording phone. “No one will know if one twist is a little loose.”

“I’ll know.”

She commends the drive to get it perfect and ends the recording. It’s another half hour before Calum finishes and he knows it would’ve taken her less time. But he’s proud of his work. He snaps a photo in the bathroom lighting and instantly posts it to his Instagram story. It’s in the bathroom that she notices the mess of the muffin container and jewelry box. She rearranges it like Calum did, but this time with the box in the center and snaps a quick photo. 

Calum’s phone dings with a notification. He doesn’t pay any mind and helps clean up the towels and the hair left behind. He even has to get Duke to give up the fight on the last hand towel too so he can start the load of laundry. It takes a bride but Duke immediately lets it go for the treat. Alana finds Calum, on his way out of the laundry room and wraps herself around his waist. 

“You made me blubber like a baby.” She knows it’s not hard but she likes to think she’s tough. A happy dog, or a beautiful sunset usually spark her tears. 

“But for a good reason,” Calum counters. She can’t deny that. 

There’s a wave, as she calls her mother, who already knew the question would be happening soon since Calum had conspired with her about the ring and sizing. It’s not until he gets off the phone with Alana’s mother that he ever gets a chance to check his own. There are a couple missed calls but tons of texts. His groupchat with the guys has exploded, which isn’t hard to do when the most consistent thread is just of memes, and he grins at how excited his friends are. 

When Calum checks his Instagram, the notifications are a mess to read and he spies the posts that started it all. He swipes through the photo of her staring at the camera, with the ring on her finger, the video of him about the twist and the muffin box with the ring box inside. Get you a man who can do both. Learn the wash day routine and propose. Alt Caption: I cried into his chest for like half an hour (I know because he proposed while I waiting on my deep condition to finish) and I really don’t have any words besides I am so incredibly lucky to love and be loved by such a caring man. Yes, he proposed by using my love of baked goods and hiding the box in with last muffin. Yes, it might’ve been in the middle of our bathroom. But hell no, I wouldn’t ask for it any other way. I just can’t believe it’s real. I, from the bottom of my mushy heart, love you, Calum. 

Alana listens from the living room, her book in hand. Hearing the piano plucked to life. She waits, pausing at the end of her paragraph. The keys are played in faster succession than the day before. The lethargic wail that once shook the house turns into something cheery. The keys sound like they are dancing. Never jumping in front of the other but happily following the lead. 

Her book forgotten she follows the chipper notes down to the music room. She watches from the doorway. Calum’s sitting up straighter, hands bouncing along the keys. Her entrance is quiet and the bench creaks just a little when she settles down next to Calum. She makes sure to keep out of the way, watching his fingers move so deftly. His eyes are closed, a feeling guiding him rather than meticulous thought. The progression comes to a twinkling end. Alana rests her head onto his bicep.

“I’m still not the greatest,” he offers. “I’ve just been messing around mostly in the studio.”

“You sounded lovely playing. Loved even your sad song.” There’s a moment of silence and Calum wraps his arm around her shoulders. She taps at one of the keys, intrigued. 

Calum’s voice breaks the silence. “Nothing to do this weekend?” 

“I made a note to say no to plans to hang out with you.”

The smile is soft against his lips, but she notices the crinkles around his eyes. “Want a crash course?”

“You’d teach me?”

He nods. Her grin is infectious. “Of course, I would.” Calum gets her situated, standing behind the bench. His chin hovers over her shoulder, his chest almost brushing along her back. Calum’s voice is smooth and low as he explains the keys. He guides her hands for a moment, instructing when to press down on the pedal and which one. 

“When did they put a motor into a piano?” she questions. 

The comment sends Calum into a fit of giggles, burying his face into her shoulder. “t’s always been this way, angel.”

“I don’t buy it. But what’s next?”

“Now you play,” he manages to get out after collecting himself. The first time is a little clunky, her still getting comfortable with the keys. Alana cringes hearing how bad it sounds but attempts the chords a second time. Calum’s hand direct less and slowly he removes them, watching her play. It’s not perfect but it’s good and his heart soars. His attempts at teaching her the bass went well, but she always opted to watch him play because he was much better at it. 

Alana won’t lie. She had wanted to learn the piano since she was a little girl but her mother couldn’t afford the lessons or the keyboard. So she put the dream sit up on a shelf, thinking she’d get to it someday. She knew Calum knew how to play but that shelf felt a little higher up and she was always doing something. Calum was always doing something, so the dream sat, and not once was it dusted off. Until now.

Calum pulls out his phone and records just a few seconds of her hands on the keys, working through the chord progression a third time, much smoother than the other two attempts. Alana pauses, looking out the window that the piano faces. “I’ve always wanted to learn the piano.”

Calum, in the midst of his draft, stops and watches her. “You could’ve told me. I could’ve taught you.”

“Part of it felt silly.”

With one arm wrapped around the front of her chest, Calum kisses her temple. “It’s never silly. We can have lessons, okay?”

She kisses his forearm. “Okay, thank you, baby.”

I can’t say get you a man who does both. But I can say that two dreams are coming true today: Alana learning the piano and her becoming my wife-to-be. This is only the first lesson but I’m already incredibly proud of her. Today’s only the first stop on our engagement but she’s made me a lucky man and I adore her from the bottom of my mushy heart. I love you, angel. (And yes, I might’ve proposed to her in the middle of the bathroom floor. But to be fair, I have no excuse except I really wanted to ask her at the moment, so I did.)

Alana reads Calum’s post, yet again, buried in the sheets of their shared bed. “We’re nothing but cornballs.”

“Only corny for you.”

[lepus-arcticus]

OMENS: CHAPTER FOUR one | two | three trigger warnings apply

KICKING HORSE B&B JULY 23 - 6:23 AM

Pale sunlight streamed into the room, warming Scully’s cheek, a peaceful change from last night’s storm. She grumbled and stretched underneath the covers, rotating a sore ankle on a cool patch of sheets before letting her eyes flutter open. No one could accuse her of being anything resembling a morning person, but she’d never had the ability to sleep in after a night of drinking.

She surveyed the room in the lavender dawn, sober now, and made mental notes for her own apartment before remembering that there wasn’t much point in redecorating when you had a rapidly approaching expiry date. Her nightmare bled back into her memory in snippets, skin and blood and sweetness and dread, tears and panic, Mulder at the door.

She winced and eased herself up on her elbows, and then the headache hit her, a bolt of pain behind her eyes. Oh, fuck. Jesus. Oh. She needed water, and coffee, stat. She hoped Rhiannon was up.

She fingered her wristwatch on the bedside table, squinting to look at the time. Early, but not so early that it was impolite to be up and about in the house. Gingerly, she rolled out of bed and felt around the footboard for her robe. She slipped it around her shoulders, and stiffly padded out into the hall. Her mouth tasted awful, so she dipped into the bathroom to brush her teeth and finger-comb her hair, and then felt inspired to check in on Mulder.

She shouldn’t have been so harsh with him last night. He was only making sure she was okay. But that dream…

The door to his room was slightly open, and she could hear the steady, muffled sway of his snore. She peered inside, careful not to make a sound. He was completely buried in blankets, save for one long, bare foot sticking off of the edge of the mattress, toes twitching. A swell of guilty affection washed over her, and she had the urge to creep over and run her fingernails down the curve of his arch, see if he was ticklish.

Instead, she turned and moved down the hall, descending the stairs as the Bishop women and their dogs looked on. The wood creaked under her feet, and the sound summoned Hypatia, probably the only creature in the house unafflicted with a hangover. She met Scully a few steps up, whimpering in pleasure, slapping her with her tail and blocking the way downstairs. “Hey, sweet girl…” Scully massaged one of the dog’s fleecy ears between her thumb and fingertips, and maneuvered her way around her massive wriggling body and into the kitchen.

There was no evidence of yesterday’s dinner to be found. The kitchen practically sparkled, and something enticingly yeasty scented the air. A large pot of coffee was percolating, black and seductive, on the tiled counter, and the room was suffused in sunrise, beaming in from the attached conservatory.

A bittersweet hum trickled through the air, a melody that Scully recognized. The water is wide, I cannot get o’er, she thought, and heard ghostly strains of her father’s tuneless Navy warble. The memory tugged at her ribs. She followed the sound and found Rhiannon in the lushness of the conservatory, her frizzy corkscrew hair loose around her waist, lovingly plucking mint leaves one by one from a large potted bush propped up on a wooden bench. The conservatory was packed full of plant life⁠—ficuses and string-of-pearls, roses and tomatoes, and an assortment of herbs that would rival an 18th-century apothecary.

“My father used to sing that song to my sister and I when he was home from sea,” Scully said in greeting.

Rhiannon looked up and smiled. “Oh, good morning, Dana. I hope I didn’t wake you.” An embroidered velvet robe in faded garnet hung off of Rhiannon’s shoulders. With the halo of sunlight around her, the scene resembled a Mucha panel, especially when Hypatia left Scully’s side to wrap herself around Rhiannon’s hips. Her hair was so long that a tendril caught in the crimpy fur of Hypatia’s backbone, dragging in an alluring loop.

“No, no, you didn’t wake me,” Scully said, a little entranced. She wondered if she’d ever seen such a pretty scene in her life.

“I’ve got biscuits in the oven, care to join me in the kitchen? How are you feeling?”

“You know, I’d love a cup of coffee.”

Rhiannon chuckled softly at that, pressing a few more mint leaves into the handful she’d collected. “Perhaps the whiskey wasn’t the brightest idea. But the bottle invited itself to the table, and that’s the story I’m sticking to.”

“It was a wonderful dinner, Rhiannon. Thank you. I really wish you’d have let me help you clean up, though.”

“Oh, hush,” Rhiannon said, as she traipsed neatly across the tile past Scully and into the kitchen, depositing the mint leaves into a copper pot on the stovetop. She rattled four mismatched mugs down from the hutch in the corner, picked up the coffee pot, and tilted it over the largest one, the black stream of steaming liquid making Scully’s mouth water. “Now, Dana, how do you take your coffee? Cream, sugar? Or if you’d like, I can make it my way.”

Hell, why not. “Well, usually I just have a little soy milk, but when in Rome…” Scully smiled politely, leaning up against the counter and trying to ignore the pulse in her temple. She watched as Rhiannon caught a curled shard of cinnamon from a corked ceramic jar, and grated a nugget of nutmeg over it into a rough stone mortar. She added a swift dash of some mysterious blend from another jar, and ground it all together, rotating the pestle and humming lightly as she worked. A mound of butter was produced from the old-fashioned icebox, and she slid a generous pat of it onto a knife and into the mug, adding a fat pinch of the powdered spices, catching Scully’s slight grimace and imploring her not to knock it until she tried it.

“Here,” Rhiannon handed her the resulting brew, and Scully dutifully took a sip. A flood of heat and life immediately moved through her head, through her chest, down into her belly. It was delicious. It might have been the best cup of coffee she’d ever had.

“Oh my God, this is incredible,” she gushed over the rim of the mug, amazed, taking another sip. “... I really might never go back to soy.” Rhiannon laughed, busying herself with making another cup. “You’re quite the cook, Rhiannon. You’ve never thought of doing it professionally?”

“No,” she said, at work at the mortar. “No, I love what I do. I’ve always felt so connected with animals. Cooking’s just a hobby of mine, that’s all. An obsessive hobby, I’ll admit, but a hobby.”

“You’re, um. A medical doctor as well as a veterinarian, is that correct?” Scully asked.

“Well, I’m only certified in veterinary medicine, but my mother was a healer of sorts, so I learned a lot from her. I can handle the basic first-aid stuff⁠—when a kid from town needs stitches, when there’s an uncomplicated homebirth over at the settlement and they need assistance, that sort of thing - and I find a lot of concepts and practical applications carry forward. Medicine is such an instinctual practice anyway.”

“Hmm.” Scully cringed internally, but fought back the urge to argue with her. “Rhiannon, you know that you can’t legally practice medicine without a license.”

Rhiannon shrugged. “Is helping a neighbour out in a pinch the same as practicing medicine? Nobody’s going to sue me, Dana. Horizon isn’t New York.”

“That it is not,” Scully agreed. When they’d driven in to the police station the previous afternoon, they’d found it nestled in the middle of all of seven interlocking streets. The rest of the town, in name, was a scattering of isolated farmhouses and homesteads. She took another sip of her coffee. “Mulder mentioned that you performed an autopsy on Hugh Daly’s horse?”

“I looked him over…” Rhiannon said carefully, stirring spices into her own cup. “It was strange… it was as if Ghost just… laid his head down in the river. There aren’t many examples of suicidal behaviour in animals, unless you’re counting that bridge in Scotland where all those dogs are always jumping to their deaths. He was such a beautiful horse, wasn’t he?”

“Mmm,” Scully agreed.

“Hugh, um. Hugh bought that horse for Anna as a wedding gift. Oh, you should have seen her, Dana. She was like a fairy. She rode up to the church bareback, and she… she wasn’t wearing any shoes, and you know, it’s funny… that day… all I can really remember clearly are the soles of her feet, how dirty they were…” Her eyes misted over, unexpectedly, and she blinked up at the ceiling.

“I’m sorry,” she said, pressing her face into one of her wide sleeves and trying to compose herself. Her grief suddenly filled the room like smoke, and Scully couldn’t help but ache for her.

“I never liked that man,” Rhiannon said. “He was trouble from the start.” Scully furrowed her brows, uncomfortable. “You’re, um...You’re taking a look at Anna today, is that right?”

“Yes,” Scully replied softly. Theo’d arranged for a cleared-out room in the police station and had borrowed the requested materials and tools from Rhiannon’s supplies. Better than a bathroom, she supposed, thinking of Home, but if the photographs were any indication, Anna’s body was so thoroughly wrecked that she wasn’t sure there was much she could determine from it.

“I was the one who… who identified her body. Out in that field. Hugh was raving, out of his mind, he wouldn’t even look at her, wouldn’t even come close. God, I don’t think I’ll ever get over seeing her like that… Theo let Marion see her too, that stupid, thoughtless man. He shouldn’t have done that.” She gripped the counter ledge, coffee abandoned, her eyes still swimming.

Scully reached out and touched her arm. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Rhiannon. I don’t know if I said it last night.”

“Those girls, Dana… they’re my daughters.” Rhiannon dashed a tear from her cheek. “And I failed. I failed to protect them.”

“This is not your fault,” Scully said. “You can’t take that on. But what you can do is tell us everything you know. About Anna, about Hugh, about anyone who might have wanted to hurt her. Beginning with how she came to live with you in the first place.”

Rhiannon sniffed, considering this. “It was that brother of hers. She had to get away.” Abel Stoesz, again. “Abel is… he’s controlling, he’s possessive… even after she made it clear she wasn’t ever going to go back to the colony, he’d come here, screaming at her from the driveway…” Rhiannon ran water from the sink into a blue-tinted Ball jar, and sipped at it, regaining her composure. “He’s been especially persistent with her since she married Hugh, though. It’s a good thing Fox is going to talk to him today, although I wish Marion wouldn’t go with him and subject herself to that. Sometimes I wonder why on earth she went into law enforcement. She’s such a sensitive spirit. But anything to impress Theo, I suppose. She worships the ground that man walks on.”

Scully turned this over in her mind. “If it’s any consolation… Mulder, he’s sensitive too, and it doesn’t negate his strength or his capability. I may not always agree with him, but he has this… incredible ability to get to the heart of an issue, to understand perspectives and motivations that other people might not consider. His compassion makes all the difference in our work. I’m sure it’ll prove to be the same with Marion as well.” She left out Mulder’s desperation, his obsessive nature, how wholly and intensely he took on the pain of the people left behind. How every unsolved case was a new gaping wound that would never scar over.

Rhiannon assessed her for a few moments as she sipped at the jar, leaning back on the wooden island across from her. “You two must be very close.”

“We’re partners,” Scully said. “We’ve been through a lot together.” Suddenly self-conscious, she drew deeply from her mug, draining it, willing her cheeks to cool. A timer sounded, and Rhiannon turned her attention to the oven, opening the ceramic door to reveal a tray of fluffy biscuits. The smell was incredible. Scully hadn’t had an appetite in months, but there was something about Rhiannon’s cooking that was just… different. It was nourishing, appealing in a way that her usual diner fare and dry green salads just weren’t.

Rhiannon retrieved a jar of preserves⁠—“Last year’s serviceberries were so prolific that I made fifty jars, can you believe that? And I’m pretty sure that Theo’s eaten forty of those”⁠—and plunked it on the worn kitchen table. She plucked the steaming biscuits from the tray and piled them onto a chipped blue china serving platter, setting it down on the table next to a bowl of oranges. Hypatia paced, looking for a handout.

Just as Scully was working up the energy to ask Rhiannon for a second cup of coffee, the front door was unlocked from the outside, and Marion, stately and clean in a freshly pressed uniform, strolled into the kitchen. “Morning, Dana,” she smiled at Scully, and gave Rhiannon a kiss on the cheek. Scully’s mind lingered on last night’s dream, the scent of cedar, the woman’s bow-shaped lips poised above her own, and she blinked down at the tile.

Rhiannon asked Marion if she’d like a cup of coffee, and Marion declined. “You’re on a real health kick lately, Mare,” Rhiannon complained, but Marion just shrugged and took a jam jar of water to the table.

Just then, Mulder bounded down the stairs in his running shoes and a Knicks tank, rattling the walls, his hair sticking up in every direction. “Morning, womenfolk,” he said, squinting in the sun. Scully pressed coffee-warm fingers to her pounding temple, and wondered how on earth it was possible for him to run with a hangover. Where did he get all of that energy? Hypatia whined excitedly at the sight of him and rushed to his legs, but he sidestepped her, patting her awkwardly on the head after a moment of hesitation, and made for the sink. He turned on the tap and stuck his mouth under the running water, sucking at the stream obscenely. “Mulder⁠—” Scully scolded him, embarrassed, but the other women just smirked.

Mulder leaned against the counter and wiped his mouth with the hem of his shirt. Scully found herself looking at the lines of his hipbones disappearing into his sweats, and ripped her eyes away, but Rhiannon caught her and smiled knowingly.

“I’m seriously outnumbered here without Theo,” he quipped. “Marion, you okay if I go for a run before we leave?”

“Of course. Take your time. I’m still waking up, and it’s not like they’re expecting us.” Marion scuffled her nails on the tabletop, eyeing him openly.

“Fox, do you mind taking Hypatia with you? She doesn’t need a leash. There’s a lake a little way along the path out back, she’ll take you right to it and bring you back,” Rhiannon said, clearly not expecting him to refuse. Scully glanced at Mulder and caught him looking at her, defeated.

“Save some breakfast for me, Scully,” Mulder squeezed her shoulder on his way past her, last night’s tense exchange wordlessly forgiven. He begrudgingly held the screen door open for the dog, who trotted happily past him and down into the front yard.

“Uh, yum, Dana,” Marion laughed, once he was out of earshot. “Fox is a hunk under all that trenchcoat. I think I was too distracted by that awful tie of his to notice last night.”

Scully felt a grin tug at her lips, despite her best intentions. She suddenly realized how much she missed having female friends; Ellen’s cupboard full of cheap, secret wine, her college roommate Andrea’s fresh flower habit. Melissa, of course, with her incense and her crystals and the way she insisted on carefully studying the full astrological chart of every person Scully slept with.

She leaned towards Marion conspiratorially, nostalgia thrumming. “You should see him in glasses.”

8:04 AM

Mulder’s feet pounded mercilessly into the wet, mulchy grass at a counter-rhythm to the ferocious throb in his head. The trail to the pond was a worn, crushed valley through a field of knee-high wilderness. Wildflowers bloomed, silvery wolfwillow spicing the air with a sour, soaked-fur smell. The dog ran gracefully in front of him, darting off into the distance before returning to circle around his feet, panting joyously. Mulder had the distinct impression she was making fun of him.

“You’ve got four legs and I’ve only got two, you foul hellbeast⁠—” he called to her on her next rocket away. “This whole thing is rigged!” She barked happily in response, and reared onto her hind legs before jolting back to him for another relay.

His thoughts turned to Scully. God, sitting in that bed with her… he’d gotten dangerously close to doing something he’d certainly regret. Whiskey always made him dumb as shit, impulsive.

And her nightmare. He’d only been dozing, and her scream through the wall had been like a wave of ice water over him. How he’d wanted to run in there, wrap her in his arms, chase the shadows away. But she was right. She didn’t need him. Not like that.

He smelled the lake before he saw it, a moist earthy fetor tossed over the land like a wet blanket. As he came upon the glittering water, spooking a few mallards into flight, he noticed a rotting boat in the reeds on the far bank, turquoise paint flaking off in sheets. Just for something to do, he circled the lake at a sprint until he was closer to it. The dog trotted behind him, nose to the ground.

“Don’t eat anything weird,” he warned her, almost tripping as he drummed his heels to a stop. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and his stinging eyes. The morning sun shattered off of the surface of the lake and warmed the back of his neck, and he took a moment to kick out his legs a little as he caught his breath, bending to massage his aching right knee. The dog began to whimper irritably, a low growl that crescendoed into a keening whine. She threaded her long snout under his elbow.

“Hey⁠—stop it⁠—” He brushed her nose away, and returned to pressing his fingers around his oft-tortured patella. Scully’d been trying to get him to wear a knee brace lately, but he didn’t think he was ready to admit that he needed one. Maybe he should just swallow his ego before he did permanent damage, and had to resort to pumping on the elliptical with the government trophy wives at the Planet Fitness down the street from his apartment.

The dog moaned low, insistent, and let loose a stream of discontented yips. He looked up at her to find her crouching, her ears plastered backwards on her skull. “What the hell is wrong with you?” He chuffed a knuckle on her muzzle, and when she didn’t look up at him, he followed her eyeline.

The bottom of the boat was pooled with lakewater and blood.

A dead fox was curled in the murk, his toothy maw twisted into a grimace, as if in pain. The kohl tips of his ears were ragged. His eyes were closed. The dog yowled and whimpered behind him, pacing.

The sweet, mushroomy smell of death furled up from the corpse as Mulder leaned over it, looking for a wound. A few flies buzzed in circles around the eyes, nose, and mouth of the creature. As he got closer, he noticed the wriggling white body of a maggot crawl from the fox’s black-rimmed lip. A cold chill pierced Mulder’s stomach, and he retched into the grass beside him as he whirled away from the scene, losing what was left of last night’s dinner. The dog wailed.

He spat, and looked back up in horror.

“Fucking Jesus fuck,” he swore, scrunching his eyes and scrubbing his face with his palms. The dog’s crouching body was a coil of tension behind him. He backed away, but she wouldn’t follow.

“C’mere, dog,” he called, his voice rusty with bile. “Get away from that.”

The dog dainted a wide berth around the boat, starting and stopping, and Mulder called her again. “C’mon girl. Let’s go. C’mon.” She finally worked up the courage to pass it, throwing back a fierce growl as she skittered along. Mulder spat again, wishing for some water, and launched into a punishing pace back to Kicking Horse.

The sense of unease swirled around him. The dog ran in front this time, leaving him in the dust, eager to get home to her mistress. The fox in the boat couldn’t be a coincidence. Not with his name. Not with Scully’s vulpine head of hair.

Two omens in two days. Shit. And this one was personal.

[thehoodsweetheart]

Sandcastles | Part. II

A/N: You guys asked for Part 2 so here we are! I could create a whole playlist for the songs that inspired this. I hope you guys enjoy it. There may be a few errors. I’ve been trying to push this out for a while.

Warnings: Fuckboy!Erik (cont.), Some Angst, Mentions of Smut

Summary: If you have not read Sandcastles Part 1, please do so before reading this. Although, it may not be totally necessary to do so but it helps. The reader is a Black Woman, always has been always will be. 

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            You dragged the half-full black Nike duffle bag along the edge of Iman’s closet. Your hands worked diligently taking the various dresses, onesies, sweaters, and pants off of their hangers. You worked strategically folding them to maximize the amount that could fit into the duffle. Thus far, all of drawers in Iman’s dresser were cleared and you were half way through the closet. You never realized your baby had so many clothes. Maybe you shouldn’t take everything? Nah, scratch that. Pack it all.

          Where were you going? The last place most people would think to find you and you found solace in that, your twin brother’s house. In his words, he had a big ass house that he was barely at. Yes, you are a twin but when your parents divorced they thought the arrangement of your brother staying with your father and you your mother was a logical idea. They were wrong. On you guy’s seventh birthday, your dad moved and took JR with him to Louisiana and somewhere between holidays and summer visits, your very own twin became like a stranger. That is until you guys matured enough to forage your own relationship, which has innately gotten better since he started playing for the Los Angeles Rams.

           You glanced at the white digital clock that sat atop of Iman’s changing table. You inhaled deeply wiping the few droplets of sweat away from your brow. Your eyes shifted to the sleeping Iman in her crib. She was taking her morning nap right on schedule. It was hell trying to get her to go to sleep because apparently during your time away, Iman had grown used to sleeping on her father’s chest. You hadn’t realized it but for a moment you had been holding your breath. Exhaling slowly, you felt the familiar churning of your stomach. Fuck, not again. You had to work faster. You needed to work faster. Time was of the essence and this morning sickness was only slowing you down. 

          If we’re being honest, the term morning sickness wasn’t even applicable. You had all day sickness. You couldn’t keep a single thing down, not even water, which was a concern. You dropped the onesie that you had in hand and rushed to the nearest bathroom. You toppled over spilling whatever contents were left in your stomach into the toilet; at this point it was nothing but bile. You dry heaved as a stray tear escaped your eye. You weren’t even this sick when you were pregnant with Iman. Pregnancy with her was relatively easy. You didn’t have many aches and pains, nor excessive sickness, or extreme cravings. You biggest challenge with her was heartburn and you loved spicy food. Erik would argue that your mood swings were the biggest challenge. Fuck Erik. Your chest tightened with just the thought of him.

           Your phone pinged alerting you of a new text. You pulled yourself together brushing your teeth trying not to gag and end hunched over the toilet once again. You returned to Iman’s nursery picking up your phone. It was a text from JR.

Wazzam sis? Where you at? You good? You need me to come over there?

I’m still packing. I’m good, just a little sick. It’s slowing me down.

Just get what you can. I’ll send some movers to get the rest of your stuff if you need me to. I know you’re trying to get out of there before your boy gets back.

You stared blankly at your brother’s last text. Your lips pressed together in a thin line as your heart rate increase. You needed to be out before Erik got back.

I’ll be on my way within the next 30 minutes. Maybe less.

You quickly texted back. At least you hoped to be out within that timeframe.

         Erik finally returned to work today so it was your golden opportunity. It had been three days since you returned home. The first two days were filled with avoidance on your part. You slept in one of the guestrooms with the door locked. Tiptoed through the house as if it weren’t your house too. A soon as Erik entered one of the common areas you were in you were quick on your toes to make an exit. This couldn’t last long though. You couldn’t avoid him while occupying the same home. The more you avoided him, the longer you knew he would stay home from work.

        Erik was trying to apologize in the best ways he knew how. There we gifts that he strategically placed in Iman’s nursery because he knew you had to go in there. It only earned him a scoff and an eye roll. You couldn’t be bought. He tried ordering food from your favorite Mexican restaurant. Erik even cooked which he hasn’t done in over a month. You gladly accepted the food but opted to eat alone. The food would’ve been a nice sentiment if you could make it through a meal without vomiting. Then came the flowers, the obnoxious amount of flowers that practically covered the entire house. Each bouquet had a hand written apology that you didn’t give him the gratification of reading in front of him. He had been walking on eggshells knowing you would make good on your promise to leave, but you pulled a “him” to appease his worries.

       Making your way to bedroom to grab some of your essentials, you could only wonder if somehow what you were doing or did could in anyway backfire. You cringed at the thought. You were honestly repulsed at your actions from last night and this morning. If you knew anything about your husband, you knew he was smart. Scratch that, he’s a genius. But would he catch on?

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           You peaked into the in-home gym watching intently as Erik lifted weights. He laid back bench-pressing an obscene amount of weights. Jaw clinched, eyebrows knitted close together, eyes intently fixed on the metal bar above him Erik had to be deep in thought. The sweat that dripped down his chest drenched his shirt causing it to cling to his body. Based on his usual nightly routine, you knew his workout would be done within the next 10 to 15 minutes before he was done. You shook your clammy hands in front of you before clasping them together. You still needed to work up the courage to follow through with your plan but that would have to be enough time.

           You jogged upstairs to get your head start. Cracking the bedroom door, you peaked inside of nursery to ensure Iman was in a deep sleep. Turning on your toes you took quick strides to the master bedroom. You made your way around you and Erik’s bedroom to the adjoining bathroom. You leaned against your vanity staring at your reflection in the mirror. Your coffin shaped nails tapped against the marble top. You had wasted enough time.

           You turned on the shower adjusting the temperature. You stripped out of your clothes, put on a shower cap, and stepped into the steaming hot shower. You closed your eyes allowing your mind to roam as the water hit your body. There were still so many unanswered questions. Some questions that Erik refused to answer and plenty of questions you dared not ask, because honestly did you really need those answers. Would you feel better if you knew how long the affair lasted? If it was only a few times or did they fuck all the time? Who fucks better? Is that even a determining factor in if you could forgive him? Did he know her prior to the internship or was his attraction to her why he hired her?

           You clenched and unclenched your fist ignoring the burning sensation of water temperature being a bit too hot. The more you thought about it, the angrier you could feel yourself become. How dare he betray your trust for the second time? Your grandma always said fool me once shame one you, fool me twice shame on me, and if you get fooled three times you are a goddamn fool. You began to scrub at your skin increasing the burning sensation. It was too bad you couldn’t wash away the disgust. You wanted to him to hurt like he made hurt. Not even physical pain, but the mental and emotional pain you endured leading up to this very moment. That’s exactly why you couldn’t stay there much longer, but leaving is always harder than it seems.

           The sound of the bathroom door opening caught you off guard causing you to jump out of your thoughts. Your eyes snapped open to see Erik entering the bathroom with his wireless Beats by Dre headphones on. He stopped dead in his tracks taking in the view of you. A mixture of emotions flashed through his eyes the most prominent being uncertainty. You scrambled to cover yourself with your arms as if this wasn’t your husband who’d seen you naked plenty of times.

“I’ll be out soon.” You called out. This was the most you had spoken to him in two days.

      Erik took off the headphones dragging his tongue across his bottom lip the glint from his gold fangs flashed. He pulled the sweat- drenched tee over his head facing you the entire time not breaking eye contact. His eyes were filled with remorse, a flash of that lost puppy look washing over his face. He nodded in appreciation of your voice holding on to every sound of every syllable. As short of a sentence it may have been, it was better than your silence. Shit, even being cussed out was better than silence. Silence just made the situation marinate. It straight up made him feel like shit.

“Nah…you don’t gotta rush.” Erik swaggered back into their room.

           Letting out an uneasy sigh, a devious smirk formed on your lips. It was show time. You quickly rinsed off before grabbing your towel wrapping it tightly around your body and snatching off the shower cap. You picked up your lotion from your vanity then strutted into your room. You completely ignored Erik’s presence as you proceeded to dry off in front of the floor length mirror in your room. You could feel his gaze piercing into you. It made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. You glanced up through the mirror to see him watching you as if you were prey. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, as he hunched forward with a more predatory look in his eyes dreads falling into his face.

           You broke the gaze maintaining a stoic, unbothered expression. This was all a game and you were about to have fun with it. You proceeded to point your foot placing it on the edge of the bed as you rubbed in your lotion at an agonizingly slow pace. It would only be a matter of a few moments before you would get the reaction you were seeking, the reaction that you were taunting out of Erik. You knew he had the audacity.

       Erik stood up rounding the bed acting as though he was searching for something within your proximity.  You rolled your eyes at his obviousness. By now you had switched legs, beginning to moisturize the other. As you leaned forward, arching your back some you began to work the Shea Butter starting from your ankle, leading to your calf, then your thigh. Your hands inched closer to the apex of your thigh when Erik’s hand got a firm hold of your wrist, the front of his body being pressed against the back of yours. You cut your eyes at him.

“Aren’t you supposed to be in the shower?” Your words laced with attitude.

“Yea but not yet” He mumbled huskily against your ear. “Let me help you with this…It’s the least I could do.” Erik nibbled at the rim of your ear. “…The least I could do to show you how sorry I really am.”

           You tried to suppress a moan as he flicked his tongue across the flesh just below your ear as his calloused hand kneaded at the apex of your thighs. Your back arched more pressing your ass firmer against him. Blame it on the pregnancy hormones, but as angry as you still were with him, your body was betraying you. The pulse, that’s right an actual heartbeat, you felt at your center let you know the tough ‘act’ was over. The glaze on your lower lips that was beginning to drip onto your inner thighs just solidified it. His nose rubbed along the side of your neck as he leaned more into you.

“N’Jadaka…” You whined in protest only to receive a dark chuckle in response.

“See princess…all you gotta do is give Daddy permission.”

       Erik stuffed one hand into the mess of your thick curls gripping them in his fist. You sucked air through clenched teeth from his sudden roughness. He forced you to look in his eyes, something you refused to do for extended periods of time of the last few days, before capturing you in an intoxicated kiss.

           You hated how you craved him. How your body craved him. How lust could supersede hurt and anger. How your flesh burned and yearned for salacious acts only he could provide. At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself, right? It all happened in a blur. You tried to rationalize through every kiss, lick, bite, and tug at flesh, that this is what you needed to do. You needed him open and what better way to breakdown his wall of paranoia. Or were you the one open? How could you not be repulsed by stooping this low in an act of manipulation? You knew he would leap at the opportunity to fuck you into submission and forgiveness if possible. He’d better enjoy it because it would be the last time he would get to. Little did Erik know, he was far from forgiven. Did he honestly think you would give in after being home for three days? Wrong. You only confronted him about his escapades eight days prior.

        But now here you were, in control as your hips rose and fell, your aching core gripping his entire length thoroughly stretched to accommodate his girth. Your head thrown back eyes shut tightly. Erik delivered a powerful smack on your ass that only served as encouragement and motivation. You peered down at him through hooded eyes biting down on your bottom lip. You dragged your nailed down his studded chest and abs. It was time to pick up the pace. You bounced faster being sure to tighten you walls each time you reached the tip. The tip hitting your spot at just the right angle every time encouraged your cream to both of your thighs. The room was filled with sounds of flesh slapping and the sloshing of your sex. When Erik reached to grip your hips you slapped his hands away. You knew he wanted to gain control but this was a revenge fuck. He let out a growl as his abs flexed. Despite reforming over the years, your husband still thrived on power. A lack of power would only frustrate him. You were on the verge of cumming so he power trip would have to wait. A slue of curse words followed letting you know you had him just where you wanted him. It was also only a matter of time before he would take over…and that he did.

       You passed out cumming and woke up the next morning on the verge of cumming. One leg raised in the air cuffed in his brolic arm, he was buried so deep in you from the side that you felt winded. You didn’t know if you wanted to curse him out or sing praises, so you did both. The overwhelming sensation brought tears to your eyes that Erik gladly kissed away while whispering yet another apology. If you weren’t already pregnant, you would’ve surely ended pregnant after this escapade.

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           You blinked a few times at your reflection in the mirror. Purplish bruises cover your neck and the tops of your breast. You zipped up your hoodie to the top in efforts to hide them. You didn’t even want anyone to have a clue that you had sex with Erik after he cheated on you. Imagine being embarrassed of sleeping with your own husband. A heavy sigh escaped your lips as your broke away from your trance. You had to move on and move fast. You sped walked into your walk-in closet grabbing a tote immediately grabbing some essentials like under garments, a track suit, sundresses, and sandals. You grabbed enough clothes to last you until you called a moving company to pick up the rest of your things the next day. Next on your to do list was the bathroom to pack your hygienic products. Your eyes darted around the room. Was there anything important you were forgetting? You surely hoped not.

           You waltzed over to the stand pulling out a notepad you used to keep in there. You pulled out the pen that was wedged into the spirals. The devil on your shoulder was back at it again as the pen glided across the page. Your pettiness was getting the best of you.

Erik,

           If you’re reading this, then you should know that we’re gone. Don’t come looking for us. Fuck marriage counseling. This marriage was over when you decided to have a second affair. I won’t keep Iman away from you, but I never want to see your sorry ass ever again. I’ll have my mom or somebody bring her to you for visits. As far as baby #2, I’ll have you informed when I’m in labor.

P.S. I hope you enjoyed last night and this morning. Now you know how it feels to be fucked into thinking everything is okay.

Love, Y/n Udaku-Stevens

           You ripped off the page setting it on top of the nightstand. You twisted your wedding ring and bands off in one motion setting them on top of the note before grabbing your tote and heading back to Iman’s nursery. You made sure to slip off her Kimoyo beads leaving them in her crib. You had taken yours off the first time you left eight days ago. You swiftly situated Iman into her car seat. You would have to carry her and you guys’ bags, but this wasn’t something you were unaccustomed to. You carried her with plenty of grocery bags whenever Erik was out of town or just simply not around.

  ��        As you finished loading your truck, you paused. This was it. How would Erik react coming home to two being gone…for good. You knew he suffered from issues of abandonment. Were you adding to his problems of being alone?  It could definitely trigger it. You groaned resting your forehead on the car’s door. You couldn’t pity him. He clearly didn’t care about how you felt anymore.

           You hopped into the driver’s seat and proceeded to drive off. You drove away from the house that was supposed to be a home to build your family. You didn’t want to stay there though. It wasn’t home anymore. Just being there gave your chest a heavy feeling. If you did stay, making Erik leave would be another fight that you just didn’t have the energy for. In so many ways you found home in Erik, yet that was gone too.  Your very concept of home washed away like sandcastles to a tide.

        You didn’t even bother to turn on the radio. You were too deep into your thoughts. You opted to start over.  This was your decision. You could go back to work and find a new place to call home. You could figure out how to create a new normal for you and Iman. But how you would deal with two kids under two years old alone? What if you were pregnant with twins? That would be like God playing some type of sick joke on you. You bit your bottom lip using your thumb to hastily wipe way a single stray tear, before refocusing on the road. Whatever the future circumstance would be you couldn’t worry about it. You had to deal with your problems in the right now.

Tag List: @yoyolovesbucky @beaut1fulone-blog @sarcastic-sunshines

If I forgot to tag you and you asked, I’m soo sorry!

[thisiswhymomworries]

Week Three: Pause

OK so the patches didn't work because it turns out I have a latex sensitivity so fuck me. I stopped taking them on the 1st, had a doctor's appointment on the 7th to get a new prescription, and just started taking AndroGEL today (the 8th)

When: 11/1/19 - 11/8/19 (started T on 10/18/19)

Testosterone: I WAS using Androderm, a daily patch that stays on for 24 hours; I am NOW using Androgel, a gel that you rub into your skin each morning

Dosage: Androgel 1% that delivers 50 mg per day, but it's also available in a stronger dose of 1.62%

Changes: Appetite fluctuation, acne cleared up

Yeah so this week was super sucky. The skin reactions to the patches got bad enough that I couldn't sleep well due to how much they itched, each red spot took 4-5 days to stop itching and reduce swelling, and I actually STILL have the red spots! They're not itching anymore, but I have six red blotches left over from the week of 10/26 - 11/1 when I stopped using the patches that haven't healed yet.

That being said, I would still recommend the patches to people who don't have a latex allergy / sensitivity. You can do a quick and dirty test of how sensitive your skin is by lightly scratching your nail over your forearm, and if that leaves a red trail, your skin is probably too sensitive. (this isn't meant to be Medical Advice(tm) just an example of how my skin reacts and how my doctor demonstrated that my skin produces too many histamines and therefore will react badly to latex being stuck on it for 24 hours)

I didn't have any *terrible* side effects from stopping T, but again. Very shitty week. Full breakdown of what changed, what using Androgel is like, and my weekly selfie below the cut!

So the biggest change here was my appetite. Immediately after quitting the patches, it dropped back down to previous levels, which meant I didn't really get hungry and had problems motivating myself to eat. On the other hand, like three days later, I got a random burst of Big Boy Appetite and ate a full large-sized McDonalds meal by myself plus a McFlurry, in comparison to typically eating ¾ of a cheeseburger, a medium fry, and no room for dessert

Very weird fluctuation, and I hope my appetite goes back to the new normal of getting hungry and eating like a normal person now that I'm back on T again

My acne cleared up a little, back to the beginning signs of just redness near common breakout spots. The giant pimple on my chin disappeared, which is kind of nice, if it weren't a sign my body lost all its testosterone 🙁

Not really any mood swings or issues with that, other than the situational stress and anxiety of forcing myself to stop wearing the patches before I gave myself a fucking chemical burn or something (each new place I put a patch had a worse reaction than the last one, and it was getting pretty bad), plus needing to go to yet ANOTHER doctor's appointment

This one was with a new doctor I hadn't seen before, so that was super stressful. Planned Parenthood was great, didn't misgender me, and the informed consent felt like a conversation. 10/10 would recommend

The clinic I went to this time was not that good. To be entirely fair, the nurse that spoke to me and kept misgendering me was a nurse subbing in for this doctor for the first time and hadn't seen my paperwork beforehand, and I also didn't have the courage to correct her, but also my doctor that damn well knew I'm trans ALSO misgendered me, soooo. Plus, on my paperwork, I'm listed as a female-to-male transsexual like this is the fucking 80s and no one understands the difference between gender and sexuality yet

Also, the "informed consent" part very much felt like I was auditioning instead of describing my own experiences. The way the doctor would interrupt me to ask a very specific question and go back to it if I didn't say what I felt like she expected me to say very much gave the impression she had an idea of the "right" responses and the "wrong" ones. Planned Parenthood did NOT give off that vibe and felt way more understanding and comfortable with me

So obviously, yeah, super stressed, anxious, and pissed off this last week, but I only had those thoughts/feelings when directly thinking about the T situation and it wasn't unduly difficult to handle. It felt like any other stressful situation I've been through, so I'm calling it that going off of T for one week didn't affect my mood too badly

Still! The doctor did give me a prescription for Androgel; same situation as last time with Walgreens not having that in stock and needing to order it, but getting it by the next morning. It also went through my insurance without any problems, AND Androgel is a lot cheaper. Like, shockingly so. I'm calling it "androgel" but I'm technically taking the generic version instead of that exact brand name, so that might have helped with the price, but it's only $15 with my insurance for 30 packets of the gel in comparison to $45 for 30 Androderm patches (or $95 for 60 of them)

***

ANDROGEL

OK so I'm using the version that comes in packet, not a pump like soap. The application sites are your upper arms, shoulders/back, and stomach. You will need ALL of them.

Wash your hands first to guarantee they're clean. Make sure you don't have any hangnails or papercuts. Slap a temporary bandage on that if you do, because the gel stings a little and probably shouldn't get into an open cut. Take off your shirt and your binder entirely. It's really difficult trying to rub it in underneath a binder, so completely bare chest is the way to go

The packets come with notches on each side at the top that are fairly easy to tear once you get one going. Don't put it in your mouth and try to tear it with your teeth! I didn't do this, but from how easily the gel squeezes out, I can still guarantee you'll end up with a mouthful of it

The gel itself has the consistency (and smell) of hand sanitizer. I decided the "application site" I wanted to use was my upper arms and foolishly did not take off my binder. There is WAY too much gel to just pick one spot, and it rubs in the way hand sanitizer does, not like lotion. So you'll be smearing it across a lot more skin than you expect before it absorbs in. I had to use both upper arms, my shoulders, along my back, AND still spread the last of it over my stomach

Like hand sanitizer, it's also very runny and slippery, so don't squeeze a line along your right arm and your left and expect them to stay there. I can personally attest it will start running and dripping down your arm as you frantically attempt to moisturize

Finally, wash your hands again—and this is super important! The gel had tried on my hands and it really didn't feel like there was that much left over, but as soon as I put my hands under the water, I could feel the gel. And it felt like actual thick gel and not just hand sanitizer. I had to wash my hands three times before the gel feeling went away. Think like when you rub cooking oil on your hands to spread out a pizza dough without it sticking. It felt like that

You may have noticed this is a way stronger dose than Androderm! I'll double-check on the patches when I get home, but I'm pretty sure their daily dose is 2 mg and I didn't get that wrong, while the Androgel package says they deliver 50 mg (through 5 g worth of gel). If the T changes come back faster or strong over the next week while I'm on this instead of the patches, I'll take note of that so people deciding between patch or gel can get a better idea of which one would work best for them :)

comparison selfies:

[imnotcameraready]

What’s the viscosity of blood?

i did the actual prompt this time! this is how Logan, a serial killer, and Roman, an actor and author, met.

Warnings: mentions of blood, suggested violence, suggested death, mention of a possible car accident, mentions of a bad break up, panic attacks/anxiety. on one hand, this is basically Fluff but on the other hand, Logan’s a serial killer. if i forgot anything, please let me know!!!

Words: 3,208

Pairings: Logince, former Analogical

read on AO3!

enjoy!!!

It wasn’t like Logan to join a dating app. He had never done that before, and to be honest, he wasn’t much of a romantic. He’d only ever had one relationship and, well…. And he definitely hadn’t spent over 50 hours awake in the lab after the break up, running on nothing but coffee and suppression. Definitely hadn’t cried into the empty right half of his bed, lamenting how large it was, how much more spacious it was. No, no, Logan wasn’t sentimental.

He wasn’t still upset over the break up, despite it being over a year ago. He hadn’t signed up willingly, sought out a mobile application that was as different from Tinder or, God forbid, “Grindr,” which was what one of his teaching assistants suggested. One of the graduate students he oversaw definitely hadn’t suggest he get back into dating.

He hadn’t handpicked this particular site out of an actual pool of possible matchmaking services, hadn’t weighed the pro’s and con’s of each site before electing to sign up for one that would match him with someone with similar Google searches. He hadn’t been hoping that the “similar searches” would be related to work — he hadn’t been quietly hoping to talk with a fellow chemical engineer, maybe even discuss astrophysics with someone.

He had been a little surprised to be matched based on the searches “20 pack 20 mL syringes,” “buy hydrogen peroxide near me,” and “viscosity of blood.”

Now, these weren’t necessarily work-related searches, but the person who had matched with him based on those searches had already swiped right on his profile. Logan recalled being a little confused, a little more curious, to see what this “Roman del Sol” might be doing with that sort of information. Logan himself had a solid alibi, what with his position at the university. No one could disprove that one of his pet-projects wasn’t about how blood reacted to certain chemical agents, and that would explain all three of the searches. And it wasn’t too far from the truth.

No, he hadn’t rehearsed the story in his head over and over while driving to the planetarium. It’d been his idea but Roman had accepted wholeheartedly, granted that they start at the cafe inside. “i wanna get to now you first ;P” was how he justified it, and in hindsight, Logan couldn’t believe he’d accepted a date with someone who typed like that.

Their conversations over the app were quite something. According to Roman’s profile, he was an actor, writer, and loved Disney. Upon first contact, Logan had to clarify what “loving Disney” entailed, which led them to a surprisingly heated but good-natured discussion about the ethics behind the Walt Disney Corporation becoming a monopoly of entertainment and media. Something about that led Roman to asking “r u doin anythin on friday, teach? ive got rehearsal until 6 but after that we could meet up somewhere and continue this delightful debate in person ;)” and something — Logan still couldn’t put his finger on what — but SOMETHING moved him to respond with “That would be lovely.”

So now here he was, parking in the planetarium’s lot. Logan looked at himself in his rearview mirror and straightened his tie with one hand, smoothing it down his chest slowly with his eyes trained on his own face. Dark bags had begun forming beneath his eyes, darker than a few years ago. He would have to make a larger effort to maintain his work schedule. And his skin had grown pale.

No. He shouldn’t waste time scrutinizing his own reflection like this, because he could spend hours doing so and he had to meet his date on time.

Logan held the edges of his sports coat as he exited the car, pulling his briefcase out with him. He slung the strap over his shoulder and brushed himself down once more. It didn’t hurt to want to impress, no. He just had to remember that he looked, what did Roman say, “dashing?” He looked dashing.

He checked his watch as he walked up the short path to the planetarium. He had arrived five minutes early, despite the traffic. Splendid. He could order and secure a table.

The prices were relatively understandable and the service fairly fast. Logan’s americano was sitting before him in ten minutes — meaning Roman del Sol was five minutes late. The thought ground Logan’s gears just a little, and he indulged in the meaningless frustration as he took his first sip, eyes glazed over while staring at the parking lot. Perhaps Roman had been caught up in the traffic? Or the rehearsal was running later than anticipated. Maybe he had stood Logan up. Or he’d gotten into a horrible car accident on the highway, resulting in fifteen dead and six wounded.

Reel it in. You’re turning into Virgil.

At that thought, Logan scoffed. He could never rile himself up as much as his livewire ex. Still, as his thoughts drifted back and forth between worrying about his new potential beau and anger towards his former flame, Logan couldn’t help himself in combining the two and worrying about Virgil. If Logan was taking the break up this hard, it was unlikely that Virgil was put together at all.

Now, now, Logan. Dr. Picani had said you shouldn’t decipher your past until you were ready and in a good location to do so. Maybe you are ready, but this certainly isn’t the stage, and this definitely isn’t the audience.

Speaking of theatrical metaphors, where the fuck was—

“Hello! Are you Logan?” speak of the devil.

Logan blinked, adjusting his glasses and sitting up slowly. “I, um. Yes,” he cleared his throat, a stern tone overtaking his voice as he was reminded that he’d been waiting for — he glanced at the clock on the wall — 23 minutes. “You must be Roman.”

His eyes trailed up and he had to mentally withhold from a verbal exclamation. Before him was, well, the most stunningly beautiful man he’d ever seen. Roman’s profile photos were true to life, hair swept lazily to the side, a dazzling playful smirk on his face as his slender fingers curled around the empty chair at Logan’s table. He was wearing a dark brown coat with a vibrant red scarf wrapped loosely around his neck, coat unbuttoned just enough to reveal a white and gold prince’s outfit beneath.

“Sorry I’m so late, rehearsal ran late and then the traffic was unbearable! I didn’t want to be too late, though, so I didn’t change out of my costume,” Roman slid into the empty seat, leaning forwards with his arms on the table, “It’s a pleasure to meet you in the flesh, Specs.”

He reached a hand out to Logan’s, which he assumed was to shake. Roman had a fairly firm grip and his hand was warm, warmer than Logan’s surely. Once they let go, Roman leaned forward on both of his elbows, smiling cheekily.

“I know we disagreed on a lot regarding Disney, but you must admit I was right about one thing,” his voice had a purr in it, almost like a cat.

Roman’s tone didn’t change the fact that Logan was definitely not giving up ground on their Disney argument. “Oh?” he raised an eyebrow, picking up his mug slowly, “About what?”

“You do look handsome. As dashing a prince as I’ve ever seen.”

Logan straightened up, a bright red flush overtaking his face. Oh. He cleared his throat and reached down for his coffee. “High praise coming from the man actually dressed as a prince,” two could play the flirtation game.

“A Scottish nobleman, thank you very much!” However, it seemed that Roman was more well-versed. “First, though, I would love to know when your birthday is.”

Their conversation bounced around, from astrology to astronomy, to the possible colonization of Mars, to civilization, and Logan was honestly refreshed by how quickly Roman was able to keep up with him regarding depth of knowledge. They did seem to disagree on a lot, such as how accurate astrology charts were, though Logan was as willing to overlook Roman’s acute knowledge of astrology as Roman was to overlook the apparently blasphemous fact that Logan was a Capricorn.

An hour or two of conversation had passed before Roman swept his hand through his hair, laughing heartily at something Logan must have said. They were on the topic of plays, since Roman’s current role was Macduff in Macbeth for the fall Shakespeare festival, and Logan had made an offhand comment about washing the theater blood from Roman’s pristine white outfit. Really, Logan knew nothing about theater. He considered it “professional make believe,” though the nature of poetic verse did intrigue him enough to actually read a few Shakespeare plays.

“What’s so comedic?” Logan asked, hand tracing around the rim of his empty mug.

“Oh, well, you know. You mentioning blood reminded me of the searches that crossed our paths,” Roman’s hand ran back, cupping the back of his neck as he chuckled a little more, looking not at Logan but out the window to his left.

Logan had almost forgotten that that was what they were meeting over. His back straightened, sitting upright.

He knew exactly why he’d been searching about syringes, hydrogen peroxide, and blood. He was more interested to hear why Roman was. And while he wasn’t nervous in the slightest (had Roman been a threat, Logan would have no trouble in alerting the authorities), Roman grew more jittery at the topic.

“....It’s always a little difficult to explain, but, well. I always end up searching the weirdest of things,” Roman shot him a tiny, lips pulled tight smile, “Usually it’s for reference, as an author. I’m working on a murder mystery novel.”

Ah. Logan nodded. “That would explain the blood viscosity search,” he said.

“Mhm. And you hit the nail on the head with the white outfit, actually,” Roman grabbed his costume’s sleeve and rolled it over, showing Logan the back part of his right arm.

There were a multitude of tiny light brown dots, barely visible on the white fabric. Logan raised his eyebrows.

“The information’ll definitely come in handy regarding my book, but what happened here was that I was stitching on new trimmings and kept poking myself in the hand. Eventually, well….I’m not the best tailor and I had to figure out a way to clean the fabric. The searches before that were probably ‘how to get blood off of clothes’ and ‘what’s hydrogen peroxide,” Logan snorted at the second search, to which Roman grinned, “Hey! Not all of us are chemists.”

“Chemical engineer,” Roman rolled his eyes and, despite the small flare of annoyance at the fairly common mistake, Logan felt something warmer well up at the sight of his small smile. He wanted to see more. “And you added the trimmings yourself? I thought there was a costuming department or such.”

“No, well, this is actually one of my personal costumes. It’s from when I played Cinderella’s prince in a production of Into the Woods a few years ago. The director for that is the same director working with us for the Scottish play, and to cut costs he asked if I could reuse the costume. With a few modifications, of course,” Roman smoothed out his outfit once more, smiling lopsidedly at Logan now.

“Of course,” Logan felt himself smile back, fondly watching Roman fiddle with the costume. He wanted him to keep talking.... “And you mentioned a book, correct?”

A spark jumped through Roman’s eyes and his face lit up. He clasped his hands on the tabletop, leaning forward as he did so. “My book! I don’t, oh, I don’t want to spoil too much, but it’s a murder mystery novel! I’m just working on the first draft and research right now but once it’s out, oh once it’s out!”

Logan didn’t want to press Roman for details but....a murder mystery novel? That was his one of his favorite genres. And, well. Was his life. “A murder mystery? I won’t ask you to spoil it, but I am excited to read it,” he pushed his glasses up, watching Roman’s face glow brighter.

“Oh, maybe I’ll tell you a little! There’s definitely romance involved, but the beautiful beau at the center of it all has no clue who to trust. Does he trust the dashing but stoic doctor, or the charmingly focused detective, or maybe the righteous journalist following him around? Oh, it’s the mystery of the century!” Roman laughed, excitement laced through his voice, and Logan found the laughter to be contagious. 

“I’m excited for it,” he reiterated, unsure of what else to say.

Roman nodded energetically, now sliding his coat off. Something about the motions must have reminded him of the other pressing question in his mind, though, because his grin faltered for a second. It was up as quick as it went, however, and Roman asked “But what on earth were you doing searching about blood?”

The moment of truth. But Logan had long since become an expert at explaining that part of his life. He didn’t even have to draw in a breath, he just let his own giddiness ride itself out before answering. “It’s quite boring, compared to your story. All three of the searches were about work. I’m running a study on blood clotting agents at my lab. While I was the one bulk buying hydrogen peroxide and syringes, for the study, one of my graduate students was doing background research on, well. Blood.”

There was a bead of pause. Logan wasn’t nervous, no, but he could hear his own blood pumping. A quickened pulse meant nervousness. But he wasn’t nervous.

Roman was still looking out the window. For someone exuberantly animated, Logan thought, Roman was being very quiet at these revelations. He had an eyebrow quirked up as he seemed to watch the outside world. Logan couldn’t help but worry that Roman didn’t believe his story, but what wasn’t there to believe? It wasn’t an entire falsehood, only a few omitted details and one large fabrication. Did Logan not look like he’d run studies on blood?

“See, Professor Plum, you say that’s boring, but that honestly sounds quite fascinating.”

Logan blinked and watched Roman’s mouth curve into a small smile. He faced back towards Logan with a wide, supportive grin. “Blood clotting agents? For what, medical purposes? That sounds groundbreaking.”

Well — “Such a thing already exists, though in fairly unstable forms,” Logan adjusted his glasses, “We’re just working on, ah, making a less costly version.”

“Less costly? Like, the ingredients?”

“Precisely.”

Logan didn’t miss how Roman’s eyes widened, how they seemed to sparkle. Was that wonder? He hadn’t pegged Roman as the type to be so excited over scientific discoveries. “That sounds amazing! Really impressive, Logan,” his voice had a sort of breathlessness, was Roman really that impressed?

He seemed to catch himself, though. Roman leaned back and crossed his legs, the same Cheshire grin he’d been wearing all night returning to his face. “So you’re beautiful and a genius,” he hummed, voice as warm as his hands had been.

Logan couldn’t help but let out a breath as the rest of his face turned red at the praise. “I, well….thank you,” he also couldn’t help the little smile that grew on his face.

It fell in a second, though, when he realized Roman hadn’t disclosed all of his search reasons. “Wait. Why were you searching for syringes?”

And now it was Roman’s turn to turn red. A small laugh escaped his lips and his fingers drummed against his upper lip, a habit that did not escape Logan’s notice. “Well, it’s a long story. The summary is that I was trying to do that thing with flowers and food coloring, you know? I, ah….was trying to make a bouquet, and I needed a lot of syringes.”

Flowers and food coloring? “Can you elaborate? What do you mean, flowers and food coloring?”

Roman waved his hand now, a little dismissively. “Oh, t’was a bold dream. I’m not as good with precise measurements and such as you seem to be. There’s this thing you can do where, if you split the stem of a white rose, you can soak it in dyed water to change the color? You typically split up the stem and leave the different parts to soak in glasses with different colored water in them. I was trying to make a bouquet of rainbow flowers but, well….after a few days, it was clear that something had gone wrong. And after a week, I gave up on it.”

“You….you needed syringes. For that?”

Logan couldn’t help the incredulity that filled his tone. Roman gave him a tiny glare, shoulders hiking up — the way his brow furrowed, despite the evident frustration, was adorable. Logan didn’t expect this to be going so well, to be falling so hard for this dumbass, but it seemed he was still capable of being surprised. Roman…..wasn’t continuing, though. He just raised an eyebrow at Logan, face still stiff in a frown.

Was there some social cue Logan was missing? Was he supposed to know how to color roses? He shrugged. Surely he couldn’t expect that “I have never attempted to color roses, thus I am unaware.”

Roman kept watching him with a guarded expression, arms crossed around himself. Logan must have stepped out of line in some way. He had half a mind to apologize when Roman finally lowered his shoulders and cleared his throat. “No, no, you’re right. It….technically it wasn’t necessary.”

He’d bounced back fast. “But it was oh so fun. Almost like my own little experiment,” Roman smiled at him, “I like it when things are just perfect.”

“Of course, completely understandable,” Logan elected to not acknowledge Roman’s moment, “Did the roses turn out….okay?”

“They did! They were for Pride, of course, and they were beautiful!” Roman laughed.

And so they continued. Pride, homosexuality in the media, Star Wars movie theories, Star Wars versus Star Trek. Debates, bickering, insults with no bite behind them. It felt….

It felt like Logan was falling from a tall building. He’d never clicked so well with someone. And he certainly lost track of time.

“‘Scuse me, babes, but we’re closing!” Logan and Roman both turned towards the cafe’s desk, where the barista who had served the both of them was waving, “I’m gonna have to ask ya to leave!”

Logan checked his watch. Had they really talked for three hours? That must mean the planetarium was closed, too.

“Damn, well. We missed the planetarium,” Roman put his phone down and let out a breath, “I can’t say I’m too upset! It would have been lovely, of course, but I got to spend the night with an even more delightful star.”

He held out his phone towards Logan, whose ears were turning red with embarrassment. “I guess we’ll have to do this again sometime,” his voice was soft as Logan’s hand brushed over his to take the phone.

Logan felt himself smile downwards as he typed his information into Roman’s phone. “I would like that very much, Roman. Your company has been most enjoyable.”

“You, too, Spock.”

[beca-mitchell]

it’s 3 a.m. (could you be the one?)

Summary: Chloe realizes she has a new neighbour.

based on a prompt from @dailyau/@stardust-sketcher: Its like 3am and I’m exhausted and I can hear you raging next door about failing at putting an ikea bed together so here I am helping you put it together and holy shit you’re cute AU

Happy (early?) birthday @lilhan! You asked and I have attempted to deliver. Hope your day is as wonderful as you are. :) I managed to smash this out within the past hour, so hopefully it’s not too horrible!

word count: 2329

Chloe has only recently taken on the graveyard shift at the local veterinary emergency hospital. She loves this particular part of Los Angeles because it’s far enough away from the hustle and bustle (read: traffic jams) of the city, but close enough that she can enjoy a night out on one of her rare weekends off.

She’s racking up hours at the clinic because she’s trying to apply to vet school. She’s only about fifty hours away from a good-enough number to put on her application, so she’s pretty pumped about finally churning out those applications and sucking up to old professors for recommendation letters.

“Hey,” she greets her cat when he trots into her line of sight.

Button is an adorable Scottish Fold that she adopted from her brother when he had to move across the country for a job (read: he dumped the cat on her). She doesn’t regret anything about adopting Button because he’s all the company she needs on most nights. He meows happily (or angrily - she’s still unsure) at her, quickly dodging her repetitive pats and scratches before dashing between her legs. He sits expectantly by his bowl, tail flicking back and forth while he watches her expectantly.

Tilting her head, she raises her eyebrow at him. “I know Aubrey came by earlier to feed you,” she tells him, even as she opens the top cupboard to pull out a small bag of treats. “You’re lucky I love you,” she tells him.

She’s about to put the bag back when a sound startles her so much that she drops the bag, causing a few more treats to skitter out. “No!” she whisper-yells, trying to collect them. Button bats at her hand aggressively with his paws and quickly gathers two treats in his mouth before she can stop him.

Sighing, she straightens slowly and turns towards the hallway, which is where she heard the rattling and thudding.

“Fuck!” she hears, echoing from somewhere down the hall. Startled, she makes her way towards the bedroom, picking up the baseball bat from her front closet just in case. She wonders vaguely if this is how she dies. She never expected it’d be in Los Angeles, so she supposes that’s a plus.

Peeking around her empty room, she realizes that she likely just heard a neighbour. It seems empty enough but she holds her bat up and flings open her closet door and flicks the lights on.

Empty.

She frowns, not enjoying how paper-thin the walls are. Also - 2:45 a.m.? Don’t people need to sleep? Chloe makes sure to schedule her extracurricular activities for appropriate hours.

She props her bat against her dresser and sighs, throwing her hair up into a bun before heading to the bathroom to wash her face. She wants to get the clinical smell off her. She sheds her scrubs, sighing in relief.

When she’s rubbing her facial wash into her cheeks, she startles again when there’s a light thud from the wall against her bed and another distinct curse.

Scowling, she takes care to not poke her eye out and quickly rinses. She dashes into her room and leaps on her bed before hitting her fist firmly against the adjoining wall. “Hey!” she shouts. “People are trying to sleep!”

There’s a brief silence before another, more purposeful thud against the wall. “I’m trying to sleep,” comes the muffled shout back, sounding vaguely feminine. Chloe strains her hearing, putting herself right against the wall.

“What?” Chloe asks, letting her fist drop to her side. “That doesn’t sound like sleeping, I’m just saying.”

There’s another thud against the wall, slightly less aggressive. “Dude! I’m just - I’m trying to put my bed together, okay? Can you mind your own business?”

Chloe scowls. She’s sure she’s never met this neighbour before. Maybe it’s an Airbnb tenant. “Well it’s 3 a.m. and there are supposed to be noise regulations in place. Maybe you should have put your bed together this afternoon.”

“Whatever!”

Chloe huffs and taps the wall. “I’m coming over and I’m bringing my cat. You’re 2E, right?”

“Yeah,” comes the faint muffled reply, before “Wait, what? Seriously? No!”

Chloe is already pulling a sweater around her shoulders and sliding her feet into her running shoes. She picks up Button along the way.

He could use another friend.

Chloe raps on the door, sharply, but quietly, mindful of the other surrounding apartments.

“Hello?” she calls quietly.

A pause. “How do I know you’re not going to kill me?” comes the voice, closer than when Chloe heard it through the wall.

Chloe rolls her eyes. “I’m not going to kill you. I’m just going to help you speed things along because you’ve clearly never put a bed together before.” She peers at the peephole, wondering if her neighbour is peering at her nervously.

There’s a dramatic sigh. Chloe stifles a grin. “Fine,” the disembodied voice says and the door finally swings open.

The first thing Chloe notes - and later, she’ll blame her fizzled-out brain - is how cute her neighbour is. The second is, well, how quickly her brain moves from cute to “hot” in a blink.

Chloe notices that she’s not particularly tall, almost the same height as Chloe. She’s dressed casually in a t-shirt and sweatpants, which Chloe absently notes are hanging low enough that she can see a sliver of (appealing) skin. Her brown hair is pulled into a ponytail, loose tendrils coming to frame her face appealingly.

What compels Chloe the most to this stranger/neighbour is how striking her eyes are. They’re sharp, cobalt blue, and trained directly on Chloe’s-

Chest? No.

(Not that she’d mind.)

“Uh,” Chloe starts, her eyebrow creeping upwards. “Are-”

“-Is that a cat?”

Chloe blinks, realizing she had forgotten she carried Button over. “Oh, this is, uh, Button. I hope you don’t mind.” Chloe shifts him in her arms, ignoring the little aggravated purr she hears from him. “I’m Chloe, by the way.” She offers a slight smile and her hand. “See? Not a murderer. Just a concerned neighbour,” she chirps.

Beca’s lips twitch into a smile, immediately making her look even more beautiful. She shakes Chloe’s hand. “I’m Beca. I, uh,” Beca opens the door further. “I just moved in, so…” She shifts, a bit awkwardly. “Come in?”

Chloe finds Beca’s behaviour oddly charming. She slides in, brushing past Beca. “Shoes on or off?” she asks politely.

“You can keep them on. Everything’s a little messy, so,” Beca says, gesturing at her own feet that are adorned with her own running shoes. Chloe is already intrigued by her neighbour and hopes she isn’t completely overstepping her boundaries, which is something she has been working on.

Beca pauses, turning back towards the short hall leading to her bedroom. Chloe is surreptitiously trying to peer into the assorted boxes in the kitchen and dining room. “What was your cat’s name?” Beca asks, when Chloe moves closer.

“Button.”

“He doesn’t look like a button,” is Beca’s immediate response.

Chloe frowns. “I mean, I hope he doesn’t?”

Beca tilts her head. “He kind of looks squashed, actually. Like his face is a little smushed.” Beca points at her own cheeks for emphasis.

Chloe is offended on many levels. “Excuse me? That’s rude and untrue.”

Beca shrugs. “The bedroom’s this way.”

Chloe scowls and holds Button closer to her chest. “Don’t listen to her,” she whispers.

Beca’s apartment mirrors her own, though sparsely decorated considering she’s just moved in.

“Here’s the culprit,” Beca says, gesturing with her arms. There’s a mess of wooden planks scattered across her bedroom floor.

“Good God,” Chloe says before she can stop herself.

“I know,” Beca says, sounding slightly embarrassed. “I’ve never really lived by myself before and I got in so late. I really just wanted to put together this bed so I could catch some shut-eye.”

“It kind of is a two-person job,” Chloe admits. “Especially since you’re so small,” she says slyly. She’s not sure where it comes from, but she feels comfortable and relaxed around Beca - enough so to attempt a jab at her, in an attempt at humour.

Thankfully, Beca is receptive and huffs indignantly. “I am like...half an inch shorter than you. One inch, at most.” The equally teasing tone isn’t lost on Chloe and she allows herself a smile.

Button meows, blinking up at Chloe tiredly. Chloe coos, kissing him on the head. “Hm, maybe I shouldn’t have brought him over,” she murmurs.

Beca steps closer and hesitantly lifts a hand to his face so he can acclimatize himself to her scent and presence. Chloe is surprised to see how easily he allows Beca to gently stroke his head and torso with a finger.

“You can put him in my bathroom. There’s nothing really in there yet. I’ll fill the sink with water,” Beca offers. She clears her throat when she realizes how quiet her voice had become. She darts her eyes up to Chloe’s before she steps away hastily.

“That would be nice,” Chloe says, once she finds herself able to breathe again.

She picks up the instruction manual on Beca’s bedside table.

“You know Ikea’s supposed to be idiot-proof, right?” Chloe calls into the bathroom, before following the sound of Beca’s indignant huff.

Chloe learns that Beca is an aspiring DJ by night and a music producer during the day.

“Anything I would have heard?” Chloe asks, slotting a slate of wood into place. Beca holds out a wooden dowel helpfully. “I need the other thing,” Chloe says absently. “The screw thing.”

“Oh.” Beca rummages through the bag. “I don’t know if you’ve heard anything. I just post things on Soundcloud from time to time. Usually my original stuff.” Beca shuffles around. “I have worked on a few Taylor Swift productions, though.”

Chloe drops the instruction manual she had been perusing. “What? That’s amazing!”

“Taylor Swift?”

Chloe shakes her head. “I guess - but the fact that you put out your own original music. That’s incredible. I thought you definitely just did remixes and other…” Chloe gestures vaguely. “...production stuff.”

Beca’s blush reaches her ears. “Oh. Do you want to...hear something?” She looks genuinely surprised, yet touched, that Chloe is so receptive to her profession.

Chloe nods, dropping her materials completely. She feels excitement buzz through her, wondering if she can still chalk it up to the late hour.

Beca nods vigorously, matching Chloe’s enthusiasm. “Okay, I’ll just - I’ll get my laptop!”

Somehow at 3:32 a.m., Chloe finds herself leaning against the bedroom wall, next to an unfinished bed, and listening to music from her neighbour’s laptop speakers.

Beca Mitchell is...something.

Chloe had been prepared to completely write off Beca as a lost cause because what adult doesn’t know how to put together an Ikea bed?

According to Beca, lots of people, apparently.

Regardless, Chloe finds herself drawn to Beca, both physically and emotionally. There’s something about the woman that endears Chloe to her.

“This sounds amazing,” Chloe says quietly, speaking just loud enough to be heard over the quiet music. She can feel Beca breathing next to her. It baffles her how intensely Beca is focused on her screen, drawn in by her own passion and talent. “Is that you singing?”

Beca nods, shifting slightly. “I, uh, sing some back-up vocals from time to time.” Her eyes slide over to Chloe’s tentatively. “Do you sing?”

“I...did some a capella in university.” She pauses. “Do you know what…a capella is?”

Beca laughs. “I mean, I can’t put a bed together, but I haven’t completely lived under a rock. Of course I do.”

“Well, sorry,” Chloe huffs, nudging Beca with her shoulder. Beca only laughs again, this time sounding closer to a giggle. “I mean, you’re out here living that celebrity life. I thought a capella might be a little nerdy for you.”

“You think I’m cool?” Beca asks immediately.

It kind of reminds Chloe of a nervous freshman, seeking validation. Validation that Chloe’s only too happy to give. “Among other things,” she teases, testing the waters.

Beca’s furrowed brow is adorable and would be even more attractive if it didn’t mean Beca was likely trying to figure out how to interpret Chloe’s comment.

“I thought you were, uh, very attractive when you first opened the door,” Chloe says.

A smirk appears on Beca’s face, surprising Chloe a little bit. She swallows, a little nervously when the smirk continues to transform Beca completely, now exuding complete confidence. Chloe realizes she had just been played.

“I mean, you’re not so bad yourself, Chloe Beale.” Beca’s eyes seem to sparkle in the low light.

Chloe thinks that there have been worse ways to meet somebody new.

Somehow, the bed gets made somewhere around 4:00 a.m.. Chloe doesn’t quite remember falling asleep, but when she blinks awake, it’s about 7:30 a.m. and she can hear Button meowing from the bathroom. She sits up, dislodging Beca’s arm from around her waist. She winces when Beca grunts quietly in her sleep and twists so her body is curled and facing Chloe.

Chloe is struck once more by how attracted she is to this woman.

“God, you’re cute,” Chloe mutters. She tentatively brushes a strand of hair from Beca’s face.

She remembers talking until they fell asleep, just talking about music, their hobbies, and other interests.

Chloe remembers thinking that Beca’s voice could lull her to sleep anytime, despite having found it so irritating only a couple hours before.

And just like that, she’s awake at 7:31 a.m. and gently tucking Beca’s blanket up around her shoulders to protect her from the AC blast.

She leaves a quick note containing her phone number and places it right next to the instructions for Beca’s bed before heading over to collect Button from the bathroom.

Later that day, Chloe receives a text from an unknown number.

Unknown (2:42 p.m.) Hey, so I kind of need help putting my dining table together. Want to help me figure it out, then maybe I can make you dinner or something?

Chloe grins.