#i'm sorry if this is only half coherent. i am on the floor

[finleycannotdraw]

okay so.

Hell's Lust Room.

something about it is making me insane.

something about edwin wearing white clothes, not even stained with his own blood anymore, entering that room and being groped and dragged down, and then shouting for charles to help him.

something about how edwin died in edwardian england, sacrificed to hell because of queerness in some form (simon's internalized homophobia + "mary ann" being a derogatory term for gay men in that time), having zero positive relationships in regards to his sexuality. he had his sexual awakening when the cat king decided to prey on that aspect of him for his punishment, and then later tells monty that he'd thought "those feelings were never to be spoken of."

something about queer sexuality being shamed and silenced so much, we hurt ourselves with it. edwin not fully believing what he says to simon, because simon is able to move on with that forgiveness and edwin gets, once again, dragged to the ground in the lust room. instead of fully realizing that being queer in itself isn't wrong or disgusting, i think that his talk with simon is edwin becoming aware of his own shame and guilt and self-punishment, but he still hasn't entirely let go of it, and i argue this because of—you guessed it—the lust room.

something about edwin growing up being told that sexuality, especially homosexuality, is disgusting and never to be talked about. something about him then having these awakenings and realizations about himself and his feelings for his best friend, which relate specifically and intrinsically to sexuality. and almost immediately after having the realizations that his sexuality is real, he is attracted to men, and he is attracted to his best friend (and the subliminal guilt that entails), he is faced with a viscerally horrifying room full of blood and gore and sex.

something about edwin, wearing all white, being grabbed by the mass of bloody hands. during this scene, he isn't even covered in his own blood anymore. the only blood on him now is what is smeared onto him by the writhing, mindless souls being punished for their desires. what is he supposed to think? in this scene, he becomes literally stained by sexuality, expressed in an animalistic manner. charles doesn't get pulled so roughly into the mess, because edwin is the only one still actively processing the very concept of sexuality, and he hasn't entirely unlearned what he was taught about his own sexuality.

something about edwin's sexuality—not necessarily his homosexuality, just his sexuality—constantly being used to manipulate him. the cat king gets into his head by confronting him with physical attraction. monty very innocently flirts with him, then kisses him, and then leads him into a trap. simon killing him because he had feelings for edwin and didn't know how to handle them. edwin's sexuality has only ever been used against him, and during every single instance, other people have been hurt. knowing this, is it really wrong to assume that a small part of edwin probably saw the horror in that room and thought 'i belong here too'??

AND HE REACHES FOR CHARLES. who drags him out of that gory orgy (...gorgy??) (well. move the G to the front of orgy and you have gory. do with that what you will.) without a second thought. edwin loves charles, and is attracted to charles, and charles has never judged him or shamed him for that. so charles is the only person who could've possibly pulled edwin free.

[mytheoristavenue]

I just refound my hyperfixation with franken stein from soul eater and was wondering if you would write nsfw stein/maid! Reader?

Sure, thanks for the ask, and sorry for the wait!

SE Franken Stein x Maid!Reader 🍋 - Commands

Summary: Your new employer decides to correct you after finding your service to not be up to his standards.

Warning: Rough, unprotexted sex, hard dom!stein, sub!reader, fem!reader, service!sub, kinda short

"(Y/N)," your employer called, prompting you to toddle over to him in the kitchen. "How many times am I going to have to correct you before you can do things correctly?" he asked ominously, cocking his head a bit and erecting his arm to crank the bolt lodged in his temple.

"Apologies, sir," you mumbled. "What was it that I did wrong?"

"Taste this." he ordered, shoving a mug in your face. Hesitantly, you took in by its handle and took a sip, instantly grimacing at the taste.

"Tea?" you whispered under your breath, confused. Why was there tea in the coffee canister?

"Correct. And what did I ask for?" His confirmation startled you, as you hadn't anticipated him hearing you.

"Coffee, sir." you answered shamefully, setting the cup down to go make him a fresh cup. "Apologies."

"That won't be enough this time," you could here his teeth grind when he spoke, making your skin crawl as he grabbed you by the wrist to pull you back to him. "I'm going to teach you a lesson this time."

-----

"Watch those teeth or you'll lose them." he commanded down to you as you diligently sucked him off, making sure to take everything he said straight to heat, lest you screw up again. "That's better." He purred, holding your head still in an effort to fuck your throat more comfortably. Stein leaned against the refrigerator tiredly, his head tilted back against it, not only out of bliss, but exhaustion. He'd had a long day and he didn't have the energy to look after you to make sure you did things properly.

"If you were half as good at you job as you are at sucking dick, we might just get along." he remarked with a throaty chuckle. "But you're not, so I guess this is all your good for." You took in his displeased words as they went straight to your heat. You wanted so desperately to sink your fingers into your core while you pleasured him, letting his distain for you ag you on, but you knew better. Stein was a cold, uncaring man, and you knew for a fact that if Death himself hadn't appointed you to keep his lab clean, you'd be on the streets.

Suddenly, you felt a harsh slap deliver to your cheek, causing you to withdrawal from him, alarmed. "Teeth." he reminded.

"S-Sorry," you whined, brows knitted together shyly as you gazed up at him.

"God, you're pathetic." he moaned, releasing a shaky breath as you licked a stripe up his shaft. "Either you're such a little snowflake that you're going to cry over one little slap, or you're getting pleasure from this." he noted breathlessly, before pressing his palm to your forehead and pushing you to the floor. "Either way, that I'm not going to let that happen." He growled, approaching you, and manhandling you off the ground.

-----

You whined hopelessly as the man of the house held you as you were laid out on the kitchen table, fucking into your weeping whole like he hated you, and in many ways, he did. You vexed him constantly with your sickeningly sweet tone, your stupid mistakes, and the way you said things that drove him wild, entirely unintentionally. He gripped your thigh tighter, your leg half hazard slung over his shoulder, while the other dangled off the table.

"Dick dumb little whore," he grunted, sweat dripping off his brow and landing on your uniform. "Can't even make a simple cup of fucking coffee."

Your face felt numb, and you struggled to form a single coherent thought as he pounded you into the table, simply uttering choked attempts at his title. "Y-Yes, sir..."

"Fuck," he groaned as your walls clenched around him, squeezing for all he was worth. "Better not fucking cum, I swear to God, I'll hurt you so bad." His threats did nothing to stop your climax from washing over you. If anything, they made it stronger, the thought of all the ways he could harm you tasting delicious in your mind. Your pelvis rose off the table as your legs began to tremble, your gross noises spilling into the air, pissing him off even more. "God, you can't do anything fucking thing I tell you, can you?"

You neglected to answer him, simply laying limp against the cold surface, you eyes rolled back and drool dribbling down your chin from your ajar lips. "Don't think that just because you came I'm gonna stop," he warned, tossing your leg off him and gripping your hips as harshly as he could, fingernails digging crescent moons into your supple flesh.

"Gonna fuck you until you learn your Goddamn lesson."

[anystalker707]

'cause i'm on my knees

Pairing: Yamato x [gender neutral] Reader Kinktober prompt: Orgasm control + Feet Tags: Dom-Sub Dynamics / Sub Yamato / He's very vocal / Begs a lot

a/n: played a little with yama's anatomy on this. he has something like an afab alpha anatomy (omegaverse relating). ideas/hcs from @josukeslefttitty !

KINKTOBER LIST MASTERLIST

          “I’m sorry,” Yamato said as he looked up at you, hands on his thighs as he sat back on his legs, over the ground instead of over the futon or the carpet. A light red tone dusted his cheeks as he observed you stand by the desk in the corner of the room, messing with something—he didn’t know what it was, only that there were a few papers. He didn’t think it was important, either, not while you still hadn’t sorted out the current situation.

You hummed softly, looking at Yamato briefly. “I mean, I told you to wait for me before you left, but no, you had to leave with those pirates.” A soft sigh escaped your lips as you rolled your eyes and let go of the papers. “I said I was almost done. You could’ve waited a little longer.” Your hands were in your pockets as you walked towards him, standing close—one of your feet was right beside his knee as you looked down at him. “Am I wrong?”

Yamato raised his eyebrows a little, gulping; you didn’t even bend down to his level, only observing him through eyes that seemed so indifferent. It stirred something inside him. He needed to take a deep breath, looking away for a moment before his eyes met yours again. “No, you’re not. I just couldn’t help it. We were talking and so busy about solving some stuff, and I knew you’d catch up with us soon…” His words were quiet and a little slurred, as if crushing under the pressure of the current atmosphere

Another sigh escaped your lips as you shook your head. “But I asked you to wait for me, specifically. I wanted to go with you.”

Yamato’s gaze was on the floor by now, observing your foot as it shifted a little. The last events had you needing to wear some dress pants and equally matching formal shoes. He hadn’t noticed how fancy they actually were until now.

“You listening?” You sounded a little impatient as you looked at Yamato; his cheeks immediately flushed red, and his eyes quickly averted up to you again.

“Of course!” He pressed his lips together, brow lowering, in a poor attempt to demonstrate his seriousness. If anything, he looked cute like that.

“Yama…” You muttered tiredly, placing your hand between his horns and pushing his bangs back a little; he let out a quiet groan, his expression softening into one that had more of an apologizing tone.

Yamato leaned a little into your touch until your hand cupped his cheek, so he could nuzzle your palm and give it a little kiss. It was a nice contrast to his usual self. “You know, I—” The words died on his tongue as you pulled away, shifting a little to take a look at Yamato. Your eyebrows furrowed a little, and he didn’t know how to interpret your expression. He hoped he hadn’t fucked up again.

“Is this turning you on?” You didn’t sound surprised, actually. “I’m scolding you, and it turns you on?” A teasing air laced your voice, despite how flat your tone sounded. 

Though opening and closing his mouth a couple of times, no coherent sound escaped Yamato’s lips, only broken syllables, resulting in Yamato giving up. All he could do was sit there with his face on your hand while his cheeks heated up more. He just couldn’t help it. His pants were tented up, cock half hard just from the interaction he’d been having with you. He’d been needy lately, needing to steam off the stress of the most recent events.

It sounded like you wanted to say something else, but changed your mind. Your fingers held his chin to make him look up at you, while one of your feet lifted from the ground. Yamato shivered just at the feeling of the tip of your shoe touching the side of his knee; it trailed up, following along the inner side of his thigh. Ah, fuck. He shouldn’t feel like that.

“Well, I…” Yamato cut himself off with a gasp when he felt your shoe press to his cock. The sudden pressure made his brain shortcut for a single second, almost snatching a quiet sound from him. He quickly sank back to reality, eyes focusing on yours.

“What?” Your sole pressed to his cock a little more at the same time you spoke—it wasn’t uncomfortable, only making things worse for Yamato as he tried his best to keep his hips still. “No excuses or anything?”

Yamato’s mouth felt dry. Hell.

“Need you,” he said, but it sounded much more like a question.

You raised your eyebrows with a hum. Not what you wanted, but certainly something you could expect. You moved your foot a little, not caring about how it could get Yamato’s pants dirty, as you gave him a little bit more of the friction he ached for. There was a little whimper from him, even.

“Please,” Yamato breathed, voice a little shaky.

How volatile was he? You shook your head a little, letting go of his chin and placing your hand on your hip. Once you set the heel of your foot on the ground, Yamato immediately shifted, a hand on your thigh and another on the ground behind himself as he pushed his hips into the sole of your shoe. The fact it was so pathetic made it all so much better, perhaps. Yamato let out a quiet whimper that turned into a broken moan once you moved your foot a little, pushing down while moving it from side to side.

“Damn it, Yamato,” you sighed. Watching him like that really did something to you. As much as you wanted to do something different, you let Yamato just keep humping you like that. Eventually, he switched to letting his clothed cock rub against your shin instead, minimizing the effort the positions demanded.

Yamato’s cheek pressed to your thigh as he moved his hips, and given the pleasure he managed to find in that, you wondered how horny he was. It was almost like he was lost in it. He let out a broken moan, hips starting to stutter, so you pulled away, fighting against his grip.

“(Y/n),” he practically whined, looking at you with such lost eyes.

“Not yet,” you said, pulling the chair from the desk and sitting down on it. You took off your shoes by stepping on the back of them, then took off your socks, leaving them inside the shoes. “Do you think they got massage oil in this place?”

It was fast. Despite being a little clumsy on it, Yamato quickly got back to you. He handed you a small flask that had a label about some herbal composition. Nothing harmful.

“Hurry.” You pressed your foot to the bulge in his pants and handed the flask back. “You don’t want to leave any of us waiting, do you?”

Yamato couldn’t wait a lot, really. He poured some of the oil over your feet, barely spreading it before he lowered his pants. A lot of pre-cum already trailed down his cock. His cock was different from a conventional human one, of course, with its color that went from red to yellow from the tip down, just like his horns. Far more imposing than a human one, also, and a lot more sensitive, in your opinion.

Your feet trapped his cock, letting it sit between the curvatures on the inside so you could move your feet up and down around it. He let out a gasp, whimpering and pushing his hips up into your touch.

          “Don’t,” you said over Yamato’s whines, watching him struggle. Even with your words—or orders, better saying—, you didn’t really do anything to help Yamato. His top was open, letting his breasts exposed as his cock rested back on his stomach. It wasn’t the most pleasing position to be in, you presumed, with his legs in a w position while leaning back on his hands, but his focus was somewhere else.

One of your feet pressed Yamato’s cock right against his stomach, running up and down its length until reaching the tip. You were extra careful there, toes lingering on the leaking tip and snatching more moans from Yamato.

He was already leaking so much. Aside from the time Yamato had humped your leg, you’d already almost driven him to an orgasm a few times. Your warm, hot touches were all over him until you were focusing on a less sensitive already of his cock and telling him not to cum. It was hard, but he didn’t want to disappoint you.

“Are you listening?” Your voice grounded him a little again. “I told you that you can’t cum yet.”

Your food pressed down to Yamato’s cock, putting over it a pressure that was almost uncomfortable, though he didn’t mind it. He liked the pain, he liked the humiliation. He almost let out a dry sob at how you refused his next orgasm.

“Please,” he whispered, voice tight in his throat. His muscles hurt from having to hold himself back. He really wanted to just push his hips into your feet and hump until he came.

“Hold,” you said. This time, though, you weren’t keeping your feet at the base or anything; you were working on the most sensitive bits of his tip, stroking his clit gently. It felt so good.

“Please, please, please,” he continued repeating himself quietly, letting his words sometimes fall incoherent. He needed it so bad.

The silence that came from you was agonizing. Yamato didn’t know what to say or do without your voice grounding him, pulling his attention at least a little away from your touches. He didn’t know if he could handle it for a lot longer, and—

“Okay, now you can cum,” your voice cut through his thoughts.

Yamato gasped before he let his hips snap forward, allowing his cock to meet the movements of his feet until he came all over himself, staining his torso and some of his chest. He whimpered weakly, continuing to do it even through his orgasm. He was a complete mess, cheeks flushed and hair sticking to his face.

Your eyes trailed down his torso as you rested your feet on his thighs. He was still hard, unsurprisingly. “Yeah, we’ll need more than that,” you muttered.

.𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟.

[imakemywings]

End of Year Fics

Tagged by @swanmaids and @polutrope

Recommend up to 5 series or multi-chapter fics from 2023 that everyone should read (multi-year WIPs count, if the last update was in 2023).

Recommend up to 5 single chapter fics/one-shots (long or short) from 2023 that everyone should read.

Recommend up to 5 fics NOT from 2023 that everyone should read (oldies but goodies).

Recommend up to 5 of your own fics (completed or WIP) from 2023 that everyone should read.

I'm so sorry to tumblr-only posters but this is limited to things on AO3 because I do not have the time or energy to comb through my tumblr fanfic tag for the last year.

This was hard (┬┬﹏┬┬)

5 Multichapter fics

A Light Burns in the Forest by fictional_hr_department - T - Heartbreaking close-up of the Second Kinslaying.

The Stone City by earthbound_misfit - T - This fic creates such interesting relationships between Maeglin and his family in Gondolin where they're almost poised to be healthy and happy, but he tips the scales the other way.

Opening by @meadowlarkx - T - Finrod/Sauron - I'm counting this as multichapter. Lark creates such an intensely compelling push and pull of power between these characters that you cannot look away.

As Flowers from the Sky by Beleriand Death Trip - E - Fingolfin/Thingol - Sex counts as diplomacy, right?

A King is He That Can Hold his Own by iddump - E - Maedhros/Thingol - The dynamic is soooo good and the sex is soooo hot.

5 Oneshots

The Salt in the Wound by @swanmaids - E - Curufin's wife/Luthien - Fuck yeah, toxic yuri. I have been obsessed with their dynamic since Heather first proposed this ship and enthralled I remain.

Less Wise by @meadowlarkx - E - Maglor/Thranduil - I literally cannot say anything coherent about this fic; I am twitching on the floor about it as we speak. MUST read.

Elwing's Strategy by lifeisyetfair - T - Characterizations of Maedhros and Elwing in this are SO fucking fantastic.

Prick a Finger, Cut Your Hand by @welcomingdisaster - E - Indis/Miriel - Lena is a femslash queen of this fandom and this messy Mindis relationship is so compelling.

Angels Would Not Condescend by crownlessliestheking - G - GOD everything about this fic is just masterfully done. It's so tasty. Feanor uses math to blaspheme.

5 Oldies but Goodies

Ear to the Ground, Eye to the Sky by allthegoodnamesaretakendammit - E - Thorin/Thranduil - Masterful retelling of The Hobbit with Thorin trying to avoid the mistakes he's foreseen himself making.

The Other Things We Never Knew About Frodo's Soulmate - T - Frodo/Sauron - Look just trust me. It's so worth it.

Little Tenderness by batshape - E - Feanor/Nerdanel - I know I've recced this before but this author gets their dynamic SO well and so beautifully.

Speak, Friend, and Enter by Lady_Gavroche - E - Celebrimbor/Narvi - This one is just so cute and I love this portrayal of Celebrimbor <3

You Are Coming Down with Me by TheLionInMyBed - T - Fucking crunchy tasty look at Kindap Fam; probably my favorite fic for them.

5 Self-recs

A Cup Always Half-Empty - M - Maglor/Thranduil - Maglor wishes he could want less.

Extinguished - M - Nerdanel had hoped to beat Feanor to Formenos, but she came too late.

One Last Song - T - As Luthien prepares to surrender to old age, she is visited by a long-lost friend.

What the Water Gave Me - T - Finduilas/Nienor - Finduilas had never thought she had been saved for a reason, until she found the woman in the river.

Maedhros' Good Report Card - E - Maedhros/Thingol - Maedhros gets a reward for a job well done.

[missvelvetsstuff]

Guarded Heart

Bucky Barnes x Reader

MobAu

Chapter 22

Notes: sorry this took so long. I've been home for a week but everyone keeps interrupting my creative process. Anyhow here it is and we're almost at the end, last chapter is already half written so hopefully won't take too long.

Warnings: lite angst, swearing, a hint of dirty talk. I think that's it.

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

"She's awake and asking for you"

Bucky felt his stomach drop at the thought of talking to Y/N right now. After the anger that washed over him as he found his room empty when she ran away to confront Zemo, then seeing her weak and barely coherent before she collapsed when Zemo was shot, Bucky wasn't sure he could keep himself from yelling or crying, either seemed likely but he-

He looked up as Y/N's mother interrupted his internal dialog, looked at him sternly. "Don't you go upsetting her, James. Stress will only extend her recovery time."

Bucky looked at the floor like a kid being chastised by their mother "Yes ma'am. I'll be good."

"You'd better. If you hurt her you'll see what a mobsters wife can do."

Bucky looked over at his own mother who was looking at him, arms crossed over her chest, nodding.

He headed up the stairs, anxiety racing through him.

When he arrived at his room he could hear singing, weak and off key but it was a song he recognized.

"Countryyyyy roooooads, taaake me hooooome, to the plaaaaace I belooohoong. West-"

She looked up at him, standing in the doorway with a goofy look on his face, and stopped singing.

Reaching her hand out for him she smiled, looking every bit as drugged up as she was "Jamie! Come sit with me."

How could he refuse an invitation like that. He sat on his bed, facing her and gently took her hand trying not to mess with her IV. "How are you feeling, doll?"

Her smile grew and she squeezed his hand "Awesome. Best I've been since the hospital."

Bucky smirked "Helen must have given you the good drugs."

Her eyes grew wide "Oh no, no, Jamie. I don't do drugs." She whispered loudly "Am I gonna get in trouble?"

He chuckled "Don't worry sweetheart, I'll keep your secret."

She looked at him shyly "Could you just hold me for a little bit?"

Bucky smiled "Of course, sweetheart." And pulled her into him.

"I'm gonna rest right now but we still need to talk" she slurred her words a bit as she curled into him and fell asleep. He relaxed and enjoyed her warmth next to him before dozing off himself.

Within a few days she no longer needed strong pain meds and was recovering well.

Bucky brought her some lunch "How are you feeling today? You look much better." He smiled warmly at her.

She shrugged "Improving, I guess. Getting bored of the same view. A little stir crazy."

They sat quietly for a moment before he spoke "You know, Y/N, you scared the Hell outta me. I wish you wouldn't rush into dangerous situations without thinking things thru."

She bristled "I wish you would listen to me and treat me as an equal. It wouldn't have been so dangerous if you hadn't blown me off."

Bucky felt his temper rising and tried to push it back down "You were in no condition to deal with Zemo. You had barely slept or eaten since your father died and you haven't taken proper care of your wounds since you lost your arm. What kind of fiance would I be if I just let you rush into a very dangerous situation like you did?"

She scoffed "Let me? If you let me? What are you my master? It's not your place to let me do anything, we're supposed to be partners and this won't work if you can't accept that. Besides, it wouldn't have been so dangerous if you had listened to me and backed me in the first place." She concentrated on her breathing to try and calm down.

Bucky sighed "Your father made me swear to protect you. I was trying to do the right thing, finally."

She shook her head "Is this some sort of sporadic protection based on your moods?"

Bucky shook his head "No, dammit Y/N I-" he took a deep breath and let it out slowly "I'm sorry. I don't know how to convince you of my sincerity. I'm trying to do better and I was worried about you. Which is why you will be under my personal care until Helen clears you."

She sat back and tried to relax again for a moment before her eyes filled with tears

"I'm sorry, Jamie. I know you didn't want me to go but I had to deal with Zemo myself. He's stalked me ever since I left him and I needed to see him go down." She looked around nervously

"He is gone, right? I don't really remember much after sneaking out."

Bucky considered telling her he was dead but there had been enough deceit since they agreed to marry so he stuck with the truth

"Zemo isn't dead but he was injured. Loki has him. He wants to make sure there aren't any other plots in the works. Zemo won't be getting anywhere near you again."

She nodded and visibly relaxed, then giggled "Good. Loki will take care of him." She squeezed his hand "Are we going to be ok? You sure you still want to marry me?" She paused "I mean knowing that I expect an equal partner?"

Bucky nodded and smiled softly at her "We're alright. I'd rather have a strong partner than some meek little wife. You scared the Hell outta me and I won't pretend I wasn't pissed but it's done now." He looked at her earnestly "Just please don't go off half cocked and throw yourself into trouble again."

She grinned at him "I can't promise I'll try but I'll try to try."

Bucky chuckled "Did you just quote Bart Simpson at me?"

She shrugged and smirked at him.

He ran a hand thru his hair "This is non negotiable. You're going to stay here and heal. Stop fighting me when I want to take care of you."

She huffed "Fine" leaned back and winced "Ugh, my whole body aches." then looked around "When can I get out of here?"

Bucky shook his head "Not any time soon. You're on bed rest until Helen says otherwise. I'll chain you to the bed this time if I have to, so be good."

She stuck her tongue out "I'm so much more fun when I'm bad."

He laughed again "I have no doubt, doll but being bad will have to wait until you are better."

"Do you think we should delay the wedding?" She looked around his room and smirked at him "I don't think we can fit everyone in here."

He shook his head at her, smiling "We'd better wait. I'm not marrying you until we can consummate the marriage." And winked at her.

She felt her face heat up and looked at her own hands, trying to ignore the heat in her core.

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

Over the next 3 months Y/N followed Helen Cho's instructions to the letter. Including physical therapy to adjust to life with only one arm.

She was able to spend some time with her horses and did some riding with her mother leading her around the arena on Daisy. She had some challenges getting her balance but they took their time, a couple of days a week, and slowly she regained her seat.

Y/N and Bucky went on a number of dates, getting to know each other. Mostly staying in at her parents house which had a gourmet kitchen, formal dining room, screening room, music room, library, pool and tennis court. Not to mention the backyard with its plush lawn, pond/waterfall and gazebo decorated with fairy lights.

She introduced him to her horses and promised to teach him how to ride after the wedding.

They both felt the same pull to the other but were hesitant after everything that they had been through.

After a number of their dates they were both feeling more relaxed together, sitting together on the swing next to the pond when Bucky turned to face Y/N and reached for her hand "Y/N, doll. I'm so glad that you gave me another chance. I've really enjoyed getting to know you and feel like I'm falling deeper in love with you every day." He looked in her eyes hopefully "Can I kiss you?"

Y/N felt her whole body heat up and nodded "Yes, please. I thought you'd never-"

Bucky leaned forward silencing her with his lips firmly on hers, his right hand gently cupping her cheek, his left hand around her back pulling her closer to him. She tried to hold back a moan but it came out and he used the opportunity to slip his tongue into her mouth. She opened up for him and felt his moan when their tongues met, fighting for dominance until she softened up for him. He pulled her into his lap where she could feel the beginning of his arousal and wiggled against him which caused Bucky to groan deep in his chest and pull away, hands gripping her hips to hold her still.

"Y/N honey you can't do that. Don't tease, I might burst. I want you so bad, doll." He leaned his forehead against hers, trying to catch his breath.

She smiled and tried to move again then whispered in his ear "You have me, Jamie."

His hands tightened on her hips "I thought we agreed to wait until the wedding. We can't-"

She kissed him again, more passionately, running her hand through his hair then pulling, hard, exposing his neck to her. She gave him a look and nipped at his neck before pulling back.

"We did and we will. I just don't want you to forget what you are waiting for. In case your mind wanders or someone else catches your eye. Can't have you straying."

Bucky looked at her in shock before kissing her again "Are you kidding? How could I forget?" His voice lowered "I still remember how sweet your pussy tastes, how tightly she gripped my fingers. I wouldn't dare risk losing you again and for so much more than your sweet, tight-"

She pushed him away after a chill ran through her "Ok I get it."

"Doll, no one could ever compare to you and you always keep me on my toes. I'm all yours until you get sick of me."

She smirked at him "I guess you need to learn how to keep me on my toes then, Jamie."

Not long after that nite, Helen and the physical therapist gave the ok to start working on her prosthetic. This involved time in Tony's lab which would have been more interesting if he didn't insist that she touch nothing.

After a few meetings Tony almost had it ready and Y/N was getting bored sitting in his lab. "Tones! What are you doing? I didn't know this was going to take all day."

Tony rolled his eyes "Well, it's not like a new pair of shoes, you know. A prosthetic has to be fitted and attached properly, especially one like this."

He walked over to her with her new arm. It was a soft ashy grey with threads of gold like Bucky's.

"It's physically almost identical to your arm. Obviously the color doesn't match but I thought the softer color would be nice. It was tough getting the fingers as slender as yours but I think we did a decent job." He fussed with the piece on her shoulder for a minute before attaching the prosthetic.

She smiled "It's beautiful." She paused, surprised "I can feel you touching it, not just the pressure but the warmth of your hand." Her smile grew as did her eyes, which were leaking a bit "Tony, how did you do that?"

Tony smirked at her "I'm a genius, that's how." Then he mumbled "And Princess Shuri of Wakanda helped."

"I'll have to send her a thank you card, or a diamond necklace or something." She was looking her new arm over when something glinted in the light

"What's this?" She muttered as she stared, then looked up at Tony questioningly.

Tony grinned "Barnes brought it over a few weeks ago. I think the diamond goes well with the vibranium, don't you?" He looked scared when she didn't respond right away "Shit. You did want it, right? I mean you are still marrying him right?"

"I love it, Tony. All of it." Y/N hugged him until he was rasping for her to stop. She pulled away, looked down at her new arm "Yeah, so I guess I need to learn my strength. Sorry Tones"

They spent the afternoon going over the arms features, attaching and detaching, learning all the details.

Tony sighed "You still need to have physical therapy to teach your brain how to regulate your touch, it'll take time but you'll get there."

She looked at him seriously "Will three months be good?"

He nodded "As long as you keep up with the physical therapist and work on it, that should be enough time but this will be a lifelong deal since there will be updates.

Why? What's in three months?"

"We haven't sent the invites out yet but the wedding is in three months. I need to ask a favor."

Tony looked shocked "Another favor? Do you know what went into creating this arm? How much time I-"

She giggled "Of course I know but this is very important and I don't think anyone else can help me."

Tony sighed "Alright, lay it on me."

Y/N looked at him earnestly and whispered "Would you give me away?" Her voice cracking on the words.

His eyes grew wide "Me? Are you sure? I'm just-."

"Just my godfather and one of the few people I know I can trust and depend on. Please Tony?"

He hugged her "Of course, sweetheart. You know I'm here for you, always."

After her talk with Tony, Y/N went to his penthouse to find Pepper and Morgan, they had plans for lunch and dress shopping.

Since she knew it would take time for Y/N to adjust to her new arm Pepper ordered in and had one of her favorite designers bring in their latest wedding fashion.

When they couldn't find anything Y/N liked they all sat down and tossed ideas around until the designer produced an old sketch of a dress that Y/N loved. They made a few changes until it was perfect, then took her measurements and left with an appointment for a fitting in 3 weeks.

Y/N sat back on the sofa and looked at Pepper "I guess we're off." She forced a small smile "I'm really doing this."

Pepper took her hands "Hey, if you need to take more time or just cancel the whole thing-"

Y/N shook her head "No. No, I'm alright. The last year has just been a lot." She smiled a real smile and told herself and Pepper "It's gonna be good. I'll be good."

@bigphattygyal @cjand10 @lokiandbuckysdoll

Chapter 23

@kimomoraba @avery199 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @esposadomd

@sebsgirl71479 @calwitch @hhiggs

[greatprotector-if]

Just popping in to say that I really like your writing style. I really really like how it not only makes you feel things, but also LETS you feel things — if that makes sense. (it doesn't, but anyway.). I like how the narration is just a tiny bit unhinged and WILL make you laugh. I like how despite that, it doesn't sugarcoat or downplay the very real flaws and fears that follow every character.

Like, yeah, the world is tiring and people are tiring and you kind of just want to lie prone facedown on the ground Forever, but also. The narration (or, well, the MC) WILL snark literally Everything in sight to hell and back. You will have a heart to heart with someone deadset on getting that "MC's #1 Pain in the Ass" t-shirt and they WILL, quite literally, fly away when the conversation gets a little too honest; you are allowed to take your ire out on a pile of twigs. Presumably. You stare into a chicken's Not a Single Thought Is At Home eyes and someone WILL vehemently come to its defense if you slander it. Pillows will fwoomp pathetically to the floor. Everyone's sort of got their own wet cat thing going on. But also everyone is lovely. (And some people just suck, but they can wait their turn this isn't about them). You're allowed to feel angry. You're allowed to feel sad. You're allowed to feel a strange mix of everything and nothing. You're allowed to feel spite. You're allowed to be kind. You're allowed to be complicated and frustrating and flat out vexed with yourself. You are a person; you are a person. Those who surround you are also people — strange or vexing or supernatural they may be. The world is alive. You are alive.

Anyways. Yeah. :D I gotta clarify that this isn't about choices or variables and all that IF stuff. This is about your writing. It's just how it makes me feel. It's how your worlds and characters and everything make me feel. They are very dear to me. Thank you so much for sharing them. I love reading everything you show us, and I'm so glad you're writing.

Sorry for terrorizing your inbox with this Very Long Thing (I'll probably do it again). Once again, thank you, and good luck with everything!! 🤺🤺🤺✨✨✨✨

[P.S. Also, I typed a Very Long Thing in my tags for a certain post of yours but tumblr cut the whole thing in half when I posted it 🗿 I was like, "THE AUDACITY" and took off to your inbox so I could tell you what I meant to say in the tags (most of it is in the first paragraph of this ask) but now I'm kind of glad that tumblr offed my tags like that. It's allowed me to convey Everything to you in a.... somewhat more coherent manner, at least 🐓✨]

THJFN D. FHJFJGKGKVJVNFNVNGMV. dude WHTA THE HELL you are too too kind thank you so much?!?!!???!!??!!!!?! , , ,,, thank you for takingthe time to write this...... and even coming to my inbox when your tags cut off DJFJSKF SERIOUSLY i appreciate this so. immensely i'm ):

i won't lie i am struggling a lot with trying to convey this in a way that's satisfying with the IF format but the characters are what i consider to be among if not The Most Important thing in my writing and that includes the mc, so injecting little quips/opinions/human things into narration is my jam. if they don't feel real then what's the point!!!!!! it's hard with player choice and variables and it's definitely been a steep learning curve for me (which is part of why it's taking so long to write lol oops) but. i just. people are complex. and i want to make room for all sorts of people if i can. & i'm so glad that my writing makes u feel things. wven kust in general because THAT'S ALL WE WANT AS AUTHORS. LIKE. THANK YOU

ok i have no idea what i'm saying at this point this is so stream of consciousness no clue if it makes sense but THANK UOU AGAIN. WAGGJHH. I SEIFOFK. i am going to think about this ask every fuckign day for the rest of my life. this ask is my NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT?

[traumapoetryalmanac]

2 AM

Poetry isn't linear.

I don't have to start at the beginning.

I don't want to start at the beginning, because my memories from that time are scarce and fuzzy at best.

So I will start somewhere in the middle instead.

I am fourteen. Sitting cross-legged on my bedroom floor, palms ground into the purple shag rug, crying until my eyes are hot and crusty and my chest hurts with the effort of hauling in air for each sob.

My door is shut. Locked. The only way I could feel even close to safe enough for breaking down like this.

The last few minutes scrape through my brain like nails on a frosted glass, and no matter how loud I play the music through my headphones, no matter how loud I cry, I can't drown them out.

It's several eternities before I hear the doorknob clank as someone tries to turn it. Automatically I pause the music. Headphones off, try to hold in the tears. It doesn't work, but that's beside the point.

"Who is it?" I call.

I don't yell. I don't let myself yell anymore. But God, I want to.

My Mom says something. I can tell it's her by the voice. I make myself relax a little. She can't protect me, but she won't hurt me either.

So I let her in. She sits down on the floor. She tries to hold me. I shy away, I don't want arms around me right now. Too close to what just happened.

She talks. Empty apologies and other things I can't remember now.

I cry. I say half coherent things I can't remember either.

Then the crying and shaking and helpless fear turns to anger. And I lift my head.

I look my Mom in the eyes, or at least her forehead.

And I say what I'm thinking.

"I am never going to forgive him for this. I don't care if he's sorry, I don't care what happens. I am never going to forgive him. You can't make me."

She says she wouldn't try. I keep my skepticism to myself, sharing it won't do any good.

Eventually she leaves.

I only get up long enough to lock the door behind her.

It is the middle of the day.

I am fourteen, listening to 2 AM by Anna Nalick. And I am never going to forgive the thing that used to be my father.

[fictionsmooches]

PORCO X READER X PIECK

Plot: after a small fight with Porco, Pieck helps (y/n) get Porco jealous, while also having fun with her.

Contains: sweating, degradation, Praia, name calling ‘slut’ whore’ ect.ect., oral sex, unprotected sex, thigh riding, lesbian sex, 18+ MDNI

Word count; 3k-ish

Classes had already been out for the day, and with a long weekend around the corner, you were more than ready to get this ‘Porco issue” sorted out. Your whole life felt like it was spent between Pieck and Porco. You three had formed a bond unlike any other. You shared secrets, hopes, and protected each other on and off the battlefield.

“Look (y/n), a small fire lit under his ass wouldn’t hurt him. Besides, he’s been awfully rude to me lately. I wouldn’t mind making him a little jealous myself.” Pieck said.

All week he had been acting funny towards you. A little too funny for your comfort. It all started when you and Pieck decided to hang out without Porco. He had been taking extra lesions from Zeke as of lately, so he wouldn’t come home until late. The dorms were too quiet to be alone. Your thoughts had rang too loud to be left alone with quiet ticks of clocks to keep you company.

Pieck had no roommate since Annie left for Paradis, so you decided to have a sleepover. The two of you spent the night swapping stories of the week and laughing over nothing. It was a well needed pleasant night. However, In the morning when you arrived home you could see the hurt all over Porco’s face. He was sitting up on his bed. He faced the door. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, you knew for a fact he didn’t sleep at all last night.

“Where were you? You know you worried me to death!” he yelled standing up. His loud tone took over the whole room. It was as if nothing else existed apart from you two in this room.

“Oh I'm sorry Pock.. I don’t mean to worry you. I just got lonely waiting here for you to come back so I had a sleepover with Pieck.” you spoke softly as if to sooth him. You really didn't mean to make him worry, that was the last thing you wanted.

“Well the least you could have done was left a note.” he said brushing passed you as he walked through the still open door. His voice was cold and numb. You hated seeing this side of Porco, the cold side of him.

You could deal with his anger outbursts, you could manage the yelling or the cursing when he was upset. You could at least talk him down from that, but you can't help him when he was like this. How could you help somebody who didn't feel nothing? This was the first time he ever acted like this towards you, and it felt horrible.

Sure he yelled at Reiner and even got too snappy with Pieck every now and again- but not you. He made a habit of bragging to everyone that you’d be his wife one day and how beautiful you were whenever you weren’t around. You knew Porco was smitten for you but he never acted on it.

You waited all year for Porco to make the first move but feared he never would. Maybe it was because he wanted to live up to Marcel’s legacy. Maybe he didn’t want to ruin the friendship between you and Pieck. But it looked as though he’d never act on those feelings now.

“Pieck.. what if he never talks to me again?” you spoke as you slipped down onto Pieck’s lap. Her skirt was damp with the tears you’d been crying all day.

“I highly doubt that. You just have to show him that if he doesn’t act fast, he’ll lose you.”

You nodded and sat up. You wiped your last tear away and raised your fist.

“Ok. What’s the plan?”

Pieck slipped her arm around your waist and pulled you closer. Your thighs now touched one another as she closed in the gap between you two. She cupped her free hand over your ear, she whispered softly.

“You want me to do what?! Pieck, we aren’t little girls anymore! We can’t just ‘practice’ like we did when we were little!” you jumped slightly. She pulled you back into her grasp.

“And why not! Am I not your type?” Pieck teased.

“It’s not that” you looked away. “It’s just.. I don’t know.. Embarrassing?”

Pieck couldn’t help but giggle at your shyness. It is true that you two used to practice kissing each other when you were children. You needed to be sure that when the time came, and you married your future spouse, you’d be ready. But you were not children anymore. You couldn’t just kiss her and act like it meant nothing. After all, you had some morals left.

Sure Porco and Pieck fought about who would be the one to marry you- but you never thought anything of it. Why would you? Wasn't it natural to hold hands with your best friends? Your mind ticked and ticked until finally you could form a coherent thought. Was Pieck in love with you? And was Porco as well? How long had they been? Either way, the idea of kissing Pieck didn’t seem so far-fetched anymore.

You could hear Porcos boots clomping in the distance, he had always been so brash with his walking. You often felt bad for the poor wood floors he had walked on.

Just as the door knob turned, Pieck cupped your face and pressed her lips against yours. As soon you were connected, you could feel yourself pooling under your skirt. Pieck had begun rubbing on your thigh, and that definitely didn't help the dampness from collecting. The warmth of her mouth took over your whole body. You couldn’t help but melt into the kiss, your mouth opened slightly as Pieck shoved her tongue into yours.

You knew Porco could walk in at any moment, and the excitement of him catching you made you want to kiss Pieck even more. It felt so dirty to be like this. To have Pieck’s hand up your skirt, and to have Porco possibly see. you wouldn't dream of pulling away. It felt too good to stop now.

The moment the door actually opened, Porco just stood there- eyes wide as he watched Pieck absolutely degrade the mouth he wanted for himself. He had dreamed about parting those lips countless times. He tried to imagine if your mouth felt as good as it did in his wet dreams. His now half hard cock twitched as he watched Pieck pull away from you, a string of saliva still connecting you two.

“Good evening Pock.” she spoke with a smile as if nothing just happened.

He avoided his gaze from the two of you. “Yeah.. whatever” he said, nearly throwing his books on his desk. He took a seat as he covered his face- hoping it would make his blush less noticeable.

Pieck kissed your forehead. “I’ll see you later my sweet (y/n), i’ll be late to class.” she said walking out of your dorm with a wink. You sat breathless at what had just happened. Pieck had unlocked something so sinister in you, and you feared that simple kissing wouldn't be enough for you anymore.

As time went on you wouldnt understand how Pieck could just go along with you like nothing happened. You walked to class together as usual, ate lunch like you usually would- but in the back of your mind the only thing you could think about was Pieck. You craved her touch on your body. You longed for her hands and for her mouth, but you wanted Porco’s gaze upon you just as much.

“Uhh Earth to (y/n)?” Pieck said waving her hand in front of you. You had spaced out at the table you had been studying at. Porco sat at your left and Pieck across from you.

“I’m sorry. I just got lost in thought!” You rubbed the back of your head In embarrassment.

The stuffy room you sat in, had once been dedicated to strategizing wars and battles but the campus had now converted them into study halls for students. You weren’t sure if the weather made the room feel humid or if you had imagined it to distract yourself from forming tension between you three.

Large windows covered the walls of the room, the sunlight coming in gave you a clear view of everything in the room. The tables were old and worn, chairs wobbled ever so slightly, and the books on the shelf were slowly collecting dust as years went by.

“Is it hot in here?” You ask aloud, fanning yourself with your hand.

“I’m sure it is, and these uniforms don’t help out any.” Pieck smiled was she pulled her book away from her face.

Porco slid his hand on your thigh from under the table, he snickered as he turned the page of his book with his other hand.

You gulped quietly.

“Yeah I’m getting tired of all these layers, I wish I could peel off a few, don’t you Pieck?”  Porco said as his hand gilded under your skirt, calloused hands rubbed small circles on your inner thighs. You were being too obvious, you had always been too obvious.

Pieck caught on quickly to the soft movements Porco made under the table and your breath heaving. Her eyes made their way to your warm cheeks with a smirk.

“I understand completely, Porco.” Pieck looked directly in your eyes “It’s almost like I could undress entirely right now.” she began fiddling with the top buttons of her shirt.

You could feel it happening again. The wetness starting to build between your legs was unbearable.

You were practically gasping for air as Porco’s hand slowly started making its way closer and closer to your clothed cunt. Your clit ached with the thought of his touch. All sense of shame was gone at this point. Pieck’s shirt was half way opened at this point. The bits of her lace bra were exposed more and more with every bottom she slowly undid.

You couldn’t tell if your arousal came more from Piecks undressing or from Porcos touch, but at this point it didn't matter, you only knew you needed more. You wished to be laid against Pieck’s chest as Porco bent you over the wooden table, just imagining it made you bucked your hips in desperation for more friction. Porco slowly placed the pad of his middle and ring finger against your clit.

He withdrew his hand entirely as you let out a soft moan.

“It’s almost time for dinner, we gotta get going if we want to beat the crowd.” Porco said, looking at the clock on the wall.

“Right! Best if we leave now.” Pieck said with a devilish smile as she began buttoning up her shirt.

The two left you there panting for air, and longing for hands all over your body. The light of golden hour stained the room with warm hues. Your mind raced with what had just happened, and why you were left hot and bothered. Your legs spread open on the chair you had been sitting it, a small puddle laid under you.

The next day You woke to an empty dorm. Porco had been long gone at training. You knew you would have most of the day to yourself but today your mind raced with thought of Pieck and Porco. At times you shifted your weight to distract yourself from the overwhelming thoughts you craved.

It wasn’t long before a knock at the door sent a shiver up your spine that jolted you to sit up.

“(Y/N)?” Pieck called as she let herself in. “I assume Porcos is training?”

You nodded.

“Ooh so you’re all alone?” Pieck’s tone sounded sultry like she was alluding to something. You felt the heat rising in your face.

She made her way over to your bed. Her foot steps echoed in the room with every step she took. She took a seat on your bed. And leaned over to your ear.

“Have you been thinking of me?”

You avoided looking at her. “Maybe” you answered

“Or have you been thinking of Porco?” She asks nibbling at your ear lobe. Your breath couldn’t help but deepen.

“Maybe” you answer again

Pieck pulled away and repositioned herself. She was now sitting with her back fully against the wall, her legs laid out over the length of the bed.

“Come here (y/n). I want you to show me the way you want to grind on Porcos lap” she lifted her skirt to expose her thighs. She looked so soft from where you sat.

You don’t think twice about straddling her thigh. Your clothed cunt made contact with her soft skin sending a shiver down your spine. Piecks hand found their place on your ass with a squeeze.

“Such a desperate little whore you’ve become. You get one kiss from me and a half assed teasing from Porco, and you’re so eager to do as I say?” She squeezed your ass again only this time more rougher.

You could only moan in response.

Pieck had begun dragging you back and forth on her thigh, pleasure rippled through your body.

“Unbutton your shirt for me”

You hesitated. “What if Porco comes back early?” You whined

“Don’t act like you don’t want him to see you like this. Now unbutton your shirt”

She lifted her leg to make more friction between you and her thigh.

You did as you were told and undid every button to the best of your ability given the circumstances.

“No bra? You really are a whore (y/n)!”

You moaned at her words, your pussy was leaking all over her thigh as you rode her.

Pieck placed your nipple in her mouth and began to suck.

“Fuck-!” You say throwing your head back

She slapped your ass making you moan louder.

Her mouth felt amazing wrapped around the sensitive bud, sending shockwaves through your entire body.

She looked up at you through her eyelashes. She looked as though she was smiling as she sucked on your nipple, she knew what she was doing.

The knot in your stomach had started to tighten.

“Pieck! You’re going to make me cum!”

She pulled away. Without saying anything, she pulled your panties to the side, giving your cunt direct contact with her.

“Cum for me then” she said looking in your eyes.

Your hips moved at a rapid pace as you released on her thigh with a scream.

You were so busy with Pieck that you didn’t even notice Porcos boots clomping down the hallway. By the time you noticed he was already opening the door.

He stepped into the most unexpected but beautiful sight. You say still straddling Piecks thigh, gasping with your tits out. Your cum and sweat covered your body and Piecked thigh, your skirt hiked up over your ass and piecks hands holding on the back of your thighs.

Pieck peered her head to the side “hi Pock!”

You couldn’t help but feel so embarrassed and exposed.

Porcos cock twitched with excitement.

“So this is what you do while I’m off working my ass off?” He says while slicking his hair back more.

You were speechless. When you decided to speak all you could manage to say was “I’m sorry- I couldn’t help myself! I just-“

“Just what? Decided to act like a slut and think I wouldn’t find out?” Porco says.

Your clit jumped with excitement.

Pieck shifted her weight so you lay elbows to the bed with your ass in the air. Pieck guided her hands to your panties and slid them off of you. She spread your ass cheeks and pussy lips for Porcos full view.

“Look Porco, she’s just begging to be filled” Pieck smiled up at you.

You could hear Porco’s zipper being undone behind you.

“She sure is. But I want to hear that from her” he grinned, stroking his cock. The tip was wet with precum already. He stroked as your hole fluttered with excitement.

“Please Porco! Please, I need it!” You said.

“Tell me princess, what do you need?”

Pieck reached her hand underneath to rub your clit.

You gasp nearly being able to talk, “I need you to fuck me Porco! Please fuck me!” You choke out.

“Good girl” he said as he slowly pushed the tip of his hard cock inside. “Mmm.. so fucking wet already” he shoved the enteier length inside you.

You moaned against piecks mouth as she kissed you. Her tongue once again shoving its way into your mouth.

While Porco took his time fucking your tight hole, you slid lower to make contact with Pieck’s lower half. She giggled at the sight of you being so eager to please her. “Here, ill help you.” She said lowering her panties.

You wasted no time lapping up every once of Piecks oozing pussy. She collapsed into the this matress as you attacked her clit.

Piecks moaning caught the attention of Porco. “L-Like what you see Pock? Her mouth feels amazing on my pussy.” Pieck said, smirking.

“I always knew (y/n) would be the perfect little slut.” Porco said speeding up his thrust into your sloppy tight cunt. You moaned against Piecks clit, squeezing down on Porco’s cock in response to his degrading words.

Slowly you added two fingers into Piecks slit.  “Better do a good job (y/n), or I wont let you cum” Porco said slowing his pace. You wasted no time proving at her g-spot. Pieck moaned in delight.

“Good girl.” Pieck said in between moans.

You couldn’t go on much long like this. You needed release and you needed it bad. Porco could tell you where close by the way you began clamping down on his cock.

Pieck was the first to cum as she held a fist full of your hair “(y/n)! You’re gunna make me cum” she exclaimed. She lay breathless on the bed for a moment as Porco kept thrusting into you.

Pieck seized the opportunity to reach under and rub your clit. Pieck’s soft fingertips where enough to send you over the edge. “Porco! I’m coming!” You screamed.

“I’m close (y/n).. where do you want me to finish?” He choked

“Don’t be shy now (y/n) Answer him” Pieck said.

“Inside!” You yelled feeling over stimulated.

“Fuck!” Porco said as he raised inside of you, your pussy drank up every drop of his cum.

You three laid squished against one another, sweat and cum covering your bodies

[cdroloisms]

Do you consider a possibility that c!Punz never betrayed c!Dream in the first place and whole "I'm sorry, Dream -- but you should have paid me more" thing was a facade and undercover for Punz? Like Dream said that Punz should not associated with him, so it was intentional-

staged disc finale theory my beloved !!! :D it’s definitely one of my favorite theories, though i’m still holding out (for now) as for believing super firmly in one direction or another (tho the staged finale is definitely the one i prefer for Many reasons, haha.) c!punz is so so fun no matter if the betrayal was intentional or not, but oh boyyyy if it was something planned ,,, man . 

*c!dream voice, after quackity starts visiting*: the risk i took was calculated, but man am i bad at math. 

anyway c!punz and c!dream interactions make me soft as heck so have this !!

tw: implied torture, abuse, violence, blood, injuries, emotional distress, panicking, dehumanization, unhealthy coping mechanisms, unhealthy mindsets, illness, trauma, flashbacks, starvation mention, suicide mention, death mentions, dark content, dark imagery, prison arc/pandora’s vault themes, c!quackity critical/dark portrayal of c!quackity

Dream comes to in vague moments and flashes. 

There’s a hand brushing over his forehead, too gentle to be Quackity or the Warden, not Techno because Techno is Gone and he has Left and won’t come again, running through the sweat-soaked locks and pulling them back out of his forehead. He’s unbearably hot, shifting around on the ground, only barely registering it moving beneath him. Water, cool and clear, is tipped in between his lips, quenching his thirst and easing the dryness of his mouth. Someone speaks, voice low and rumbling, and even though he’s unable to make out the words, there’s something about the cadence of them and the specific rhythm in which they move and rise and dip that is bone-achingly familiar, enough to lull him into a fitful sleep. Through it all, there is always something, someone, lingering in the edges of his vision, a shadow standing near and watching over him; part of him remembers Quackity, remembers the Warden, and recoils in fright; another part of him remembers Techno, remembers the barest flashes of a life before obsidian and lava and pain and hell, and wants nothing more than to get closer. 

When the fog in his head finally clears away enough to think, the first coherent thought he has is oh fuck, I need to piss. 

Which, out of all possible things to think, is probably up there as one of the worst, and he’s sure that when his head feels a little less like it’s trying to actively kill him (ha, let it- it’s far from the first to try) the panic will settle in as it always does. As it is, he’s exhausted, and hungry, and he really really needs to pee- so he forces his eyes open to move away from where he’s probably still stuck in a puddle of dried blood in the middle of his cell.

The second coherent thought he has is this: this isn’t Pandora. 

The realization has him thoroughly awake, eyes snapping open out of his previous fatigue to take in his surroundings, feet kicking out to the weight on top of them that he hadn’t even noticed was there, panicking against his restraints that end up not being restraints at all, giving way easily under his thrashing and resolving to what appears to be a thick blanket when he has the mind to look. With the covers gone off of whatever he’s lying on (a bed?) he’s suddenly, unbearably cold - the prison has always been hot, the lava baking into him and leaving his skin sticky with sweat, and he thinks that the room he’s in is probably not meant to feel like a fucking freezer, but after months of being one wrong step away from heatstroke, anything cooler than the goddamn Nether feels like literal ice against his skin. The room is wooden and cozy and oddly familiar, an open door leading to what appears to be a bathroom and a closed one going who knows where, window panes built into the opposite wall to let the sunlight in. It’s a nice room, all things considered, and Dream fucking hates it. 

He pulls himself to his feet, cursing at the wobbly edge to his stance when he finally manages to stand, his vision wavering dangerously in time to the spinning of his head. His eyes flick between the two doors - he still needs to go to the bathroom, and using it now will lessen the amount of things to get in the way of his escape in the future - but at the same time, there's no knowing when people will come to (hurt him, beat him, starve him, punish him, leaving him bruised and bleeding and half-dead on the floor just as he deserves) him and he needs all the time he can get to get the hell away. In the end, he slinks into the bathroom, ignoring the thudding in his chest as he does so - at the very least, the cabinets in the thing might provide him with some manner of a weapon. 

He’s only just past the door on the way out - a fucking broomstick in his hand because it’s all he could find - when his ears catch on the sound of metal clicking against each other and his eyes fall on the knob of the other door shaking as someone makes their way in. All at once, panic slams into him - goddammit, he should’ve just run when he had the chance - and he directs quick, desperate glances at the window. Maybe, if he’s fast enough, he can book it out of there and disappear into the trees; it’ll hurt, but it’ll be better than getting caught. Anything would be better than getting caught-

 “Dream?” 

Dream blinks. All at once, the same feeling of getting the air punched out of him returns, but combined with something warm and floaty wrapping around his chest, something almost a little like relief - and hell, if that isn’t something he’s not felt for a while. 

“Punz?” 

Punz is standing in the doorway, hoodie rumpled, expression more than a little frazzled; Dream’s breath hitches at the sight of the sword strapped to his side, but their face holds none of the harsh edges and cold-dark-hard hatred that had characterized the Warden and Quackity’s visits, mouth slightly parted and eyes shining with nothing but what appears to be shock and concern. The sight of them, again, nearly has Dream dizzy, a swell of tangled, unexplainable emotion rising to the back of his throat as he sways on his feet. He hadn’t thought that he would see Punz again, he realizes, had never thought he’d see his stupid gold chain and his stupid outfit he never bothered changing, ever, or that same lopsided smirk and pale blue eyes- the last time he’d seen them, it was in that vault, their mouth twisted up in the act the two of them had decided on and eyes shimmering with unease and regret; as far as goodbyes went, it wasn’t the worst, not when Punz was one of the few to never leave him, not really, not when something ached in their expression other than the hatred that had colored all of the other expressionless faces watching him die. Months later, alone in Pandora, he must’ve grown resigned, or something, the repeated reminders that he would die alone and afraid and it would be nothing more than he deserved settling into his skin and against his bones; Punz’s expression twists, visible even across the room, and- oh. 

They must’ve thought the same thing, too.

“What are you doing out of bed?” Punz asks, finally, and Dream decides not to point out the way his voice cracks harshly in the middle, especially when the other man strides forward and starts to awkwardly herd him back in the direction of the bed - covers still thrown to the floor - in the middle of the room. Dream lets them, not replying because he doesn’t really know where to even begin describing the tangled knot of panic and shock that had strung his muscles tense when he woke up in a room he didn’t recognize, not knowing if he can really describe it all at all, trying his best not to flinch at the hands flitting in the corners of his vision as he falls back into a sitting position onto the bed. His fingers settle into the mattress, pressing into the bedsheets cautiously and marveling when they fall away under the pressure. Punz watches him, expression odd, gathers the blankets from the ground and presses them over and around him in a way that’s entirely awkward but does leave him warmer than he’d been before, before walking back on his heels with an odd expression that makes Dream’s insides twist. 

“You,” Punz says after a long second, voice wavering, “are a fucking idiot,” and it’s all the warning Dream gets before a white-and-black blur is rushing towards him, arms wrapping around his chest and his vision whites out in alarm and panic. When the pain doesn’t come, he comes back to his senses enough to realize that Punz’s arms are still wrapped around him, shoulders shaking as he holds him close but not painfully, careful not to pull too much against the places on his ribs and back that leave him gasping with small shocks of pain, head pressed against the crook of Dream’s neck and hair tickling his face. Dream can feel his heart hammering in his chest, but as the panic dies something warm and long-neglected stirs in the middle of his chest, and he melts forward with a quiet hum. This is- nice. Really, really nice. 

“What were you thinking?” Punz mutters, too quiet to really be directed at him, hands curling tighter into the folds of the hoodie - oh, he’s wearing one of those, not the same stiff, bloodstained material of the prison uniform that had chafed against his skin, another constant source of pain and discomfort of thousands in the hell that had been Pandora’s Vault  - on him, and Dream doesn’t really know what to do except sit there and blink dumbly, listening to the heartbeat of the person leaning against him rumbling against his ears. It’s oddly calming, has the pressure on his chest lightening enough to take a full breath, and then another, the warmth of someone leaning against him almost too much but not enough at the same time - his eyes burn, and he ignores them. 

“I-” he doesn’t really think that Punz was really asking a question, but just ignoring his question seems rude, too, and even despite the fuzzy warmth settling into his skin and into his bones from the pressure of Punz’s arms around his body and their head against his shoulder, he’s still unable to shake the anxiety of leaving a query unanswered, a constant murmur to listen obey do as you’re told or you’re going to regret it put on a damn good show or suffer the consequences remaining no matter how hard he tries to push it away. He wets his lips when his mouth feels too dry to keep speaking, eyes fluttering closed as he leans forward further, “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You-” Punz cuts themselves off with a wet, incredulous-sounding laugh that has Dream jerking back despite himself, meeting their ice-cold eyes when they pull themselves back to look at him. He doesn’t really recognize the expression he wears, Dream realizes with a jolt, the way his lips are pressed together and the churning in his eyes, and his lungs seize in his chest. 

“Sir-”

If anything, Punz’s expression only seems to harden, and the warmth disappears as Dream looks into their eyes - cold, two polished shards of ice, frosted over pools of water in the middle of the tundra, flinty and sharp and brilliant blue. His hands shake as he pulls them back to his chest, trembling from the chill that’s made its home in his muscles and frozen them in place - sir sorry sir please don’t hurt me im sorry please I didn’t mean to

“Fuck, Dream,” he shakes his head, and only then does Dream see the slight wobble to their bottom lip, the waver to their words like they’re struggling to keep themselves together, “why didn’t you say anything?” 

 What?

You almost died, you know,” he keeps going, not meeting his eyes as they direct their gaze out the window, “Several times, honestly. Fucking hell- when Techno brought you out- I didn’t think you would survive. I didn’t think anyone could survive that.” 

Dream swallows. He doesn’t remember getting out, doesn’t really remember much at all if he’s being honest; there was the black of the cell, the heat of the lava, Techno promising to get him out before disappearing in a flash of purple, Quackity throwing him against the wall (Where the fuck did Techno go? You better have a fuckin’ answer, pal, if you want your death to be anything resemblin’ quick-) then nothing. Everything. His heart hammering in his chest and blood slick against his skin and the press of metal against his windpipe and pain, the only constant within it all, the only thing that made any goddamn sense when the room seemed to flip and turn and twist and his feelings knotted and frayed between anger-betrayal-distress-sadness-fear-grief, when reality swirled into a dizzying blur of colors and feelings and sounds carving themselves into the inside of his skull- then here. Dream flexes his hand experimentally, marveling at the feeling - the pain is almost gone. 

He’d forgotten how it felt, really, to live and not hurt. 

“Dream,” Punz calls again, voice low and worried, and Dream can’t help the way his head snaps up to meet their eyes and can’t help the flinch that twists his neck back when their frown deepens. It’d been a show, at least he tells himself, because Quackity would stop earlier if he screamed more, but- his hands tremble at his sides, twisted into the sheets of the bed, a near-constant litany of reminders and rules beating like they have a heart of their own in the back of his head. It was a show- he feels himself almost buckle, give in under the force of the stare leveled at him, and hates himself for how weak he feels, pinned under the eyes trained on his own. He’s not sure how much of a show it is anymore. 

“Dream,” Punz repeats, words even softer, and the ugly feeling of shame and anger twists inside Dream’s chest again. Punz- ever unflappable, deadly with almost any weapon and never letting anyone see him as anything but deliberately apathetic - is watching him with an expression so uncharacteristically and unbearably gentle that it makes his breath catch in his throat. “You could’ve died,” he says once again, and the look that paints his face is so terribly vulnerable, feelings pouring over like a cup overfilled, bubbling forward and bleeding from every corner, and Dream- can’t. He doesn’t know what to do in the face of such stark emotion, doesn’t know how how to handle the way his eyes burn and his heart throbs like an exposed nerve, the way everything yawns wide in the middle of his chest into void and emptiness and pain so deeply carved in the space within his ribs that he half-thinks he’s been hollowed out entirely.

“But I didn’t.” 

Punz pulls back, but Dream isn’t looking at him, is staring at the scarred surfaces of the backs of his hands and the knobs of his knuckles sticking out against the thinned-out skin and the yellowed nails he’s pushing against the blanket, the fourth and fifth ones of his right hand missing. They shake, no matter how long he looks at them and how hard he tries to make them stay still, and he can feel a voice whispering in the back of his mind, tone too familiar to ignore. Weak. 

“I didn’t die,” he says when Punz doesn’t reply, looking at his scarred hands, weak hands, broken hands. “So it’s okay. We can keep- we can keep going.”

“Dream-” their voice is a blade scraping against an anvil, nails scraping over his ribs, his hands clamping over his ears before he’s realized he’s moved and his brain screaming at him for doing so once he realizes that he has, “-what the fuck are you talking about?” 

Still, he hadn’t survived months of Quackity’s visits by bending over the second he was pushed, so he forces his tongue to move from where it’s fallen to the bottom of his mouth like lead, feels his eyes go steely even from under the way his vision has already begun to wobble. 

“It’s not over yet,” he continues, trying to keep his words even, “‘cause I didn’t die, so we’re not done. I gotta- we have to reevaluate, of course,” he can’t stop, because the second he stops talking is the second he falls apart, so he ignores the way that Punz stiffens and stills and doesn’t let anything stop the flow of words spilling out of his mouth, “because the vault and the prison- um, obviously didn’t go as planned, but it’s fine. Just a minor- um, minor inconvenience. A setback- but it’s not- it’s not unsalvageable- we just have to-”

“Are you kidding me?” Punz cuts him off with a sharp laugh, disbelieving and just on the wrong side of desperate, and the air in Dream’s lungs freezes into a solid block of ice in the middle of his chest, “you- you’ve got to be kidding me.” 

“Punz?”

Dream’s voice comes out small, himself shrinking back into the bed, keenly aware, suddenly, of how there is nowhere he can go to run - Punz doesn’t seem to notice that he’s spoken at all, one of his hands moving up to tug through his hair, which is - now that Dream is looking - fluffier and messier than he remembers, sticking up in all directions like they didn’t bother to smooth it down.

“You think this is fine? You think that because you didn’t fucking die, that this is all okay?” Punz’s voice rises in volume slowly, not loud enough to be a shout but enough to go hard and unyielding like a threat, and with each word every remnant of the vault comes crawling, clawing back up to the front of his head, a pounding reminder to play his role, put on a show, behave behave behave-

“Goddammit, Dream,” Punz startles him out of his own thoughts, looking straight into his eyes with their ice-blue ones, “have you seen yourself?”

 Have you seen yourself? Lying down in your own goddamn filth like a fucking mutt- prime, you disgust me. 

“Your ribs were basically shattered. Your legs had fractures on both sides, and your back was so fucking torn up that it looked like more blood than skin. You’ve been starved- enough for me to see every goddamn bone in your body, it feels like. Your throat was bruised to hell- I wasn’t sure if you were gonna be able to speak again, fuck, and like a day after we got here you got fucking pneumonia.” Punz’s breath hitches, “Your skin was a literal fucking oven- I thought you’d bake yourself from the inside out. You could’ve died- you should’ve died.”

 You should’ve died a hell of a long time ago, pal- should’ve saved us all the fucking trouble and offed yourself like Wilbur fucking Soot.

He flinches, and this, Punz seems to notice, eyes widening a fraction before they pitch their voce lower, clearly taking a few breaths to calm down and reaching forward to take one of Dream’s hands loosely in his own, thumb smoothing over the bumps of his knuckles. 

“You’re not fine,” he says after a long while, shaking his head. “Hell- I’m not fine. But we’re not doing anything like- like the vault or the prison again, dude. I told you they were shit ideas- fuck. We never should’ve done that.”

“It was worth it,” Dream butts in, because he can’t imagine a world where it wasn’t, can’t imagine a world where all of that was for nothing, “it was worth it-” 

“No it fucking wasn’t, are you out of your mind?” Punz replies immediately, voice overlapping over Dream’s own, “have you listened to a single thing I’ve said? You- look at you! How was that worth it?”

Dream shakes his head stubbornly, already feeling the way his jaw is trembling around the words he forces himself to speak. “The server- it was all for the server-”

“Fuck the server!” 

Punz seems startled by their own shout, drawing back at the same time Dream does, breathing ragged. He takes a few seconds to compose himself, bringing his hand to his face as Dream sits stock still, not daring to move, hardly daring to breathe. 

“Fuck the fucking server, okay?” Punz says, finally, voice cracking in the middle, “You lost two damn lives for this server. You got fucking tortured for fucking months for this shitstain of a server. Just- fuck them. I’m not watching you tear yourself to fucking shreds for this- not again. I can’t sit around and watch you fucking die again, Dream, I can’t drag you out bleeding out in my fucking arms again- fuck-” Punz shakes their head, and oh. They’re crying. 

“No more. Fuck the server. I’m done, Dream- we’re done with them.” 

Dream blinks, so thoroughly surprised that he thinks the shock knocked him straight out of the building panic attack, leaving nothing but a slight thrumming of anxiety still simmering beneath his skin. Almost instinctually, in a motion he doesn’t really remember but still has the muscle memory for, he opens his arms- and in a similar, near-unconscious response, Punz tumbles into his arms. 

He blinks, not moving his arms to curl around the other, feeling the weight of another person against his again and the sound of their breathing and relearning them both. This is- new, for both of them. Dream was never emotional, not before the prison, not that he wanted to be after it either- but Quackity always had a particular affinity for tearing him apart, shard by shard. And Punz- he’d never been like this, even back in the day, when things were easier and they didn’t bear the constant burden of netherite against their backs. They’d always been stoic, sharp, sarcastic, cool and dry in a way that chafed against Sapnap’s fire and always led to Dream laughing at them sooner or later. He sucks in a sharp breath through his teeth, feeling the heat behind his eyes finally sear too hot and boil over, tears squeezing through his closed eyes and falling down his face. 

“Okay,” he says, finally, and there’s nothing easy about the acquiescence, not when he had poured blood and sweat and the better half of himself into this place, salted the earth with his tears until no more would come and nothing else would grow. He thinks that he will have more to think and more to say and more to protest come the next days, that the binds between him and his goals have been weaved too deep with the fibers of his soul for him to tear them free without sacrificing what broken pieces of himself he has left, but all he can think right now is how fucking tired he is. He remembers Techno’s voice, going through myth after myth to pass time in the prison, and thinks with something like humor and something like grief - let someone else be Atlas for a day. The sky is too heavy right now. Punz’s arms tighten around his body, enough to remind him that they’re there but not enough to press at his still-healing ribs, and he thinks that they might understand. “Okay.” 

[witchersgoldenbard]

Jaskier has been working non-stop on their essay and is in desperate need of a break. Geralt and his cat take care of them and make it better.

wc: 2.3k | tags: modern au, high school au, teenagers, nonbinary jask, cat roach is the real mvp, soft boyfriends in love, good papa vesemir

in relation to this post & beta by my most beloved @daisyyydaisyyydaisyyy 💛

Usually, Geralt loves watching Jaskier work. And watching them is a must indeed, because once Jaskier starts focusing on something, chances are they might not snap out of it until several hours later with dry eyes and an empty stomach. So, Geralt takes it upon himself to take care of them, place a mug of coffee beside them on normal afternoons, hot chocolate when Jaskier requires sugar, and tea when caffeine and sugar would only lead to an unnecessary amount of extra energy. Sometimes he even gets Jaskier to look up from their laptop and give him a grateful smile before they snap back into hyper-focus.

Today, though, Geralt is concerned more than endeared. Jaskier is staring, hasn't moved in the past five minutes, and a low whine is slowly tearing itself from their throat. The Whine Of Despair, the Whine Of Hungry, the Whine Of Geralt Please I Need A Break. They're even sitting at Geralt's desk today, which is when they both know things are serious and Geralt has the instruction not to interrupt them unless the house is on fire or someone's dying or Roachie wants cuddles. Priorities, Geralt. But it's the whine that breaks through Geralt's resolve to let his boyfriend power-work on his essay in peace, and he gets up from the bed with a sigh. He gently places Roach on the douvet, receiving a content burbling noise that makes Geralt smile as he boops her nose. She lets him. He boops her again before Jaskier's whine picks up again and he remembers what he was about to do.

He walks up to Jaskier, shuffling his feet on the floor in an attempt to not startle them, though it does seem futile as they still haven't moved, haven't even twitched where they're sitting. Now that Geralt stands behind them, he sees that they're not even scrolling in their document. They're just sitting there. Staring. Completely out of it, and whining.

Geralt bends down and gently places his hands on their shoulders which makes them flinch instantly.

"Sorry," he whispers and rests his cheek on the crown of Jaskier's head. "I tried not to startle you, but—"

"No, no, it's fine," Jaskier mumbles and leans back into Geralt's embrace. Their neck cracks when they do, and it leaves them both wincing.

"You're taking a break now," Geralt decides, his hands moving from Jaskier's shoulders to their neck to massage away the tension before he turns it into a proper embrace, just holding Jaskier for a moment.

Jaskier's protest comes belatedly and is only half-hearted. "Noo," they whine, not at all trying to get out of the embrace and back to their essay. "I have to finish this by midnight, Geralt."

"And you will," Geralt promises them, his voice calm and full of conviction because they both know Jaskier will absolutely have this eight-page essay written within two days and finished by tonight. They always do. That's part of the problem. Geralt sighs. "I know you will, but you haven't eaten anything since breakfast, and coffee is not a meal, Jask. I'm taking you downstairs now and then you eat."

"Geralt, no, I can't," they sigh and actually do make an attempt to lean forward and get back to their laptop, but Geralt is holding them close with a huff. "Come on, let me, please. This has no structure, it's barely coherent let alone cohesive. I already have two pages too many and am barely even close to having all points covered. And I don't even know what I'm talking about because I cannot read the primary literature."

Jaskier is actually about to cry from this, Geralt realises, and he holds them closer.

"I cannot read, I cannot process any kinds of information. My brain is foggy and my head hurts because I keep trying to make sense of it but I cannot, because I'm just talking out of my own ass here, and I will absolutely fail this, Geralt. I might get an A, I might get an F, and I couldn't even tell you the difference right now because everything is blurry and I need... I need... I just. Hmm." They whine, and Geralt knows how it is, so he lets them.

"You need food. And you need a break. And you need to go annoy Lambert and let me work on this for a moment so I can tell you that it's not bad at all and that you're brilliant as always. And you need to let me fix this for you while you rest, okay? I make the rules now."

Jaskier sniffles, and their voice sounds hoarse when they say, "Geralt, no."

"Geralt yes," he whispers and presses a kiss to Jaskier's hair when he retreats. "Come on. Food."

Jaskier lets him take their hand, but they stop him before he gets to take three steps, pulling on his hand to pull him back in and into a hug. They wrap their arms around him like they usually do when they need Geralt to take the reins for a moment because they physically and mentally cannot take care of themself right now. Geralt smiles and runs his hand through their hair, loving the sensation and the rumble in Jaskiers's chest that almost rivals Roachie's purr. Almost.

"Thank you," they whisper, and Geralt smiles.

"I've got you." He holds them for a moment before stepping back and taking their hand once more. "Come now, I'm gonna make spaghetti."

And the way Jaskier's eyes light up at that, Geralt knows this is the right thing to do. It might cost them an hour of potential productivity, but no essay is worth starving over. No essay is worth getting intense brain fog over — even though that is easier said than done.

Roach follows them downstairs and into the kitchen, which allows Jaskier to coo over her and baby-talk with her while Geralt gets the water to boil.

"You're a baby!" Jaskier exclaims, and the warmth spreading in Geralt's chest is almost enough to overwhelm him. "The bestest baby in this whole world, Roachie. Woachie. Woachie-boo, I am so jealous that you don't have to write stupid essays on stupid things and can just... Yeah, you're right, let's just lie down together. You're so smart. So smart, Roachie! Geralt, your cat is very smart!"

In the kitchen, Geralt snorts as he puts the spaghetti into the boiling water and listens to his love talk nonsense at and about his cat. Gods, how he loves them both so much, it makes his hands tingle and his cheeks hurt and—

"What's happening here?" comes Vesemir's voice gently from the living room area where Jaskier and Roach have disappeared, separated from the kitchen only via an open doorway.

"Ves!" Jaskier says and Geralt can hear shuffling. He chances a glance at the spaghetti in the pot before he pokes his head into the living room area, only to see that Jaskier is getting up from the floor. "Hello! What a coincidence that I should run into you, but now that I did, would you kindly tell your son that he should just let me work on my essay instead of making me eat food and then fixing it for me himself?"

Vesemir blinks at Jaskier, then meets Geralt's eyes with a raised eyebrow. Geralt is shrugging with a smile, wooden spoon still in his hand. His father returns the smile and directs it at Jaskier, speaking after a moment of silence. "Well, firstly, you know there's no stopping Geralt from taking care of someone just the way he intends to do it. Secondly, I think you would do the same for him, son, so I doubt you have a leg to stand on. Go annoy Lambert and let him do this for you, hm?"

Vesemir's smile and the pout on Jaskier's lips beneath that adorable blush are really making Geralt's cheeks hurt and his whole arms tingle, and he takes that moment to turn around and make sure the spaghetti don't stick to the pot, distracting himself from the almost overwhelming warmth and joy and love he's feeling. Happiness, he thinks. Before he knew Jaskier, happiness had never felt like tingling arms and lightness in his chest that made him wonder if he could still breathe. He doesn't know how Jaskier does it, but he knows it's almost the same for them.

Geralt sighs and smiles down at the spaghetti. He should make a sauce, but he doesn't want to. Jaskier prefers any kinds of noodles with cheese only anyway, and Geralt doesn't really care for the taste of tomatoes right now.

They eat on the couch and Geralt preens at the sight of Jaskier, visibly less tense and more lively than he was just a few minutes ago up in his room, chattering idly with Roach in between bites – though thankfully not while their mouth is still full. Yeah, this was the right decision, Geralt thinks, and nudges Jaskier's foot with his own, earning a beaming smile.

Once their afternoon lunch break is done and Jaskier has had their second helping, Geralt is being regarded with a squint.

"What?"

"You're not fixing my essay for me," Jaskier says, and it's almost a dare.

Geralt stares back. "Yes, I am."

Jaskier holds his eyes for a while, then they sigh. "Fine. But I'm taking Roach!"

The cat in question only chirps as Jaskier picks her up, and she settles into their arms like she's prone to do when someone is in dire need of kitty cuddles, as Jaskier loves to call it. Roach seems to have a sixth sense for that, and Geralt reaches out to pet her, making her purr against Jaskier's chest, which in turn makes Jaskier giggle.

"Love you, Roachie," they say in unison, looking up at each other in shock and mirth before Jaskier giggles again and Geralt leans over to press a kiss against their cheek.

"Love you, Jask," he whispers, and Jaskier only hides their face in Roach's fur.

It almost makes Geralt burst with everything he's feeling. He's glad it's not too much, not too overwhelming. It's just nice. Great. Wonderful.

He's so in love.

"You can keep Roach," he says once he trusts his voice enough not to waver in the face of everything that's bubbling up inside him now. "But I don't wanna see you in my room before a whole hour has passed, understood?"

Jaskier frowns. "Yow want me to go annoy Lambert for an hour?"

"He won't mind. And he likes hanging out with you, you're his favourite right after Ciri. Don't tell him I told you, he's going to kill me."

"Are you not his third favourite, then?"

"No, third favourite is actually the shiny rock outside beside the door."

Jaskier thinks for a moment, then nods sagely. "That is a good rock."

"My words exactly," Geralt says, grinning. "He won't mind, I promise. You do deserve a break — please take one? I've got this, I promise you."

Jaskier thinks for a moment, then sags on a sigh. "Okay. But only one hour!"

In the end, Jaskier doesn't last a whole hour.

Geralt is sitting on his bed, editing Jaskier's essay that is by far not as bad as they made it out to be, even if it is a bit rambly and redundant in some places that are easily reduced to concise statements without further ado. He has just reached the seventh of ten pages when he hears the door opening slowly, hesitantly. A glance down at the time tells him that it's barely over half an hour that has passed, but he looks up to see Jaskier looking at him with big, round eyes.

"I swear I will shut up and let you work. But can I come in?"

Geralt smiles and melts a little bit inside. "Of course," he hastens to promise them, shuffling on his bed to make room for them, a subtle invitation that Jaskier seems glad to take. Roach is not with him, so Lambert must have demanded payment in kitty. Geralt grins down at Jaskier's laptop and continues his work.

The bed dips beside him and before long, Jaskier has unceremoniously taken up space behind Geralt, wrapping their arms around his middle in a secure hold. Just holding. Not pushing and pulling, not looking over Geralt's shoulder at his laptop to see what he's editing in or out, not speaking at all.

Geralt leans into his hold for a moment, letting Jaskier know this is okay, this is welcome, this is good. Jaskier hums but does nothing else.

It's quiet in the most comfortable, companionable way that only gets broken when Geralt has finished Jaskier's essay and promises him that all he has left to do is write a conclusion and fix his formatting.

Still, Jaskier does not move, their cheek still pressed to Geralt's back and their arms still wrapped around his middle. "I love you, do you know that?" A sniffle. "You are the best. Miraculous. Wondrous. Wonderful. Beautiful. Just so... full. You make me feel so full, and I don't know how you are so incredible. But you are. And I love you and just... Thank you."

It's Geralt who moves, twisting in Jaskier's hold until he can wrap his arms around them in turn and run his fingers through his hair again. "I love you, too. And you're welcome. Anytime, okay?"

Jaskier nods, and Geralt smiles.

"You make me feel full, too, you know? One day I'm gonna burst and you're gonna have to clean up after me."

Jaskier huffs, warm breath against his throat, and shrugs. "Worth it. It'll be pretty goo to scrub from surfaces."

"You're a goof," Geralt laughs.

"Your goof."

"Hmm."

*

tagging: @natilieal @meebles @karolincki @herostag @wherethewordsare @dunroamins @alllthequeenshorses @horsedadgeralt @toboldlynerd @boyslikewolves

[the-bloody-sadist]

Dancing With Death Chapter 6: The Golden One

Notes: FINALLY 😩✌️Yes, sorry that it took me so long to get this one out. It's 1) because it's such a fucking long chapter that needed a lot of world building and proof-reading, 2) because I'm writing like four different fan-fictions, a big story of my own besides this one, and also writing for my actual JOB, 3) because I have a second job, and 4) because I also do art both on Patreon and in general so like-- help me, I am a workaholic. Anyways BUHUHUH have fun 😉

The harem was located behind Taushin’s great tent, a marble-walled, elaborate building full of rooms, chambers for pleasures and chambers for punishments, halls for display and baths for recovery. It was a place Pets could only hate and love in the same breath. There was no in-between. The harem carried their nightmares and their comforts as one and could be anything their masters desired it to be. It was their home and their prison, a place they could never leave—perhaps a place they never wanted to leave, because they knew no other home and felt worthy of nothing outside those walls.

The filigreed wooden doors were ordered open in the dead of the night, giving way to a pair of bulky, looming figures with a slender one between them. Their shoes clacked and rattled on polished marble floors, echoing in the empty atrium that had been abandoned of their scurrying little Pets upon the noise at the gates. Guards often heralded the presence of Regals, after all.

But this night, it was only the boy—the limp, trembling boy, whose hair of fine white-gold shone in the moonlight from the windows. His feet made a skidding, papery sound as they dragged behind him, and the ragged panting of his breath filled the silence otherwise.

“Come into the light, you flighty creatures,” one of the guards called gruffly, his face inked by shadows under the scarf on his brow. He turned his head about in slow, sweeping gestures, the gems of his eyes glittering like onyx as he searched for their figures. “We’ve brought you your Golden One.”

The atrium was not as empty as it would seem. The Pets were not absent, only hiding behind silks and tapestries and pillars, keeping out of the light of the candelabras on the wall. Like the crawling, wary materialization of tiny forest nymphs, they emerged from these places now with craned necks and wide eyes.

“Angel,” passed the whisper about the group, behind painted hands and the jingle of jewelries. “It’s Angel!”

Among them was Minx, coming forward with a start, his usual meekness gone under the wake of concern for his friend. The guards regarded him neutrally enough, handing over their burden as soon as the boy opened his arms.

“My poor Angel, my poor Angel,” he said in hushed distress, taking the Golden One in both arms and using all of his strength to support him as he slumped forward, groaning. “He has turned you away tonight? He has sent you to me?”

Angel was hardly more than coherent, clinging to Minx and dazed with weakness. He could not bring words to answer his friend, and only pressed closer into his bare, warm shoulder, to hide his face inside of his neck. His arms were bruised from where the guards had gripped him, and now they throbbed with release of that pressure, aching to the bone and tender when Minx touched them.

“Thank you,” Minx meekly greeted the guards, bowing with Angel’s body clasped to his chest, the fine chains of his outfit tinkling.

The barefooted figures of the other Pets shifted about, every eye on the guards for tricks or deception. But there was none, only the grunt and retreat as they turned for the exit.

Angel did not lift his face, only heard the clack of their boots as they left. He made a soft noise, half to communicate with Minx, half to hear his own relief. Now, he was safe, he was truly, truly safe.

“I’m sorry, Angel,” Minx murmured, and there was an urgency and desperation to his tone that made him tingle. “I tried to hold my tongue. Please, believe me. I promise I did.”

Minx thought he was responsible for this? He should know by now that Angel would never blame him. Angel knew Taushin’s ways. He knew the things the man did to Minx.

No, he would never, never blame him.

Angel grasped his hand with some difficulty and rubbed his thumb over Minx’s knuckles, nodding his head against the boy’s soft skin.

He felt Minx’s tightened muscles relax a bit, but he was struggling with Angel’s weight, and Angel tried with all his might to stand. But everything in him was too exhausted. He only collapsed again, causing his friend to lose balance and stagger back.

“Can’t…m-move…sorry…” he whispered.

“No, no!” Minx reassured him, struggling to keep them upright. “It’ll be alright. Someone—Jaguar—help me with him?”

Angel heard a scuff of feet. The strong shape of the Pet named Jaguar was there in seconds, tilting his head at Angel and not smiling, as usual. His hair was black, falling straight and carelessly across metal-colored eyes. His muscles were toned and firm—not overly bulging, as Taushin did not prefer bulky Pets—but a lean, fit athleticism that gave him a fighting chance at winning Ring games. His skin was a rich amber, marking him as an imported Pet from Isles further south. There were tattoos engraving his shoulders, a curling, flowery pattern of lines that had been cut into him and filled with ink.

Angel went gratefully as Minx transferred him over to Jaguar’s care, falling back. The strong arms picked him up with support under his knees and middle-back, which brought both a shuddering cry from Angel at the smart of his wounds and a replying distress from Minx.

“Gods, Jaguar, careful where you touch! He’s injured!”

Angel’s dropped his head back, eyes screwed in pain. His breath rasped in quick pants, but Jaguar only pulled him a little closer, murmuring, “I don’t want him to fall. It’s hard carrying dead weight.”

“Please be gentle,” Minx implored him, and Angel felt his soft hands along his body, tickling his side and thigh. “I’m sorry, Angel. I’m so sorry.”

Angel couldn’t speak for the pain, blinking at the bleary, upside-down shapes of other the Pets watching him. His limbs felt leaden and dead.

“We should take him to the baths,” Jaguar said lowly, “we can tend to him best there.”

“We’ll take care of him,” Minx told all the others, “there’s no need to worry.”

Murmurs of disdain and concern alike filled the atrium as Angel was carried from it, Minx coaching Jaguar with every step, making him go slow and carefully through the halls. Angel could hear it all as if underwater, feeling the sensations on his skin only from a great distance.

“It’s not going to help anything,” Jaguar was arguing, “he’s bleeding out all over the place and we need to hurry.”

“Don’t be so dramatic, he’s not bleeding out! You’re making it worse. Slow down, slow down.”

“Minx, he’s heavy. The blood makes him slippery—I’m going to drop him if I don’t hurry.”

A cry of distress from Minx, and then his little hands leaving Angel’s body. “Go, then, go!”

Angel wasn’t sure if he lost consciousness at that point or simply pulled away from the throbbing agony, but he only roused again when he felt the cloying moisture of the bath chambers, humid with steam and fragrant with rose petals.

His body was lowered until there was liquid lapping around his feet and ankles, hot enough to make him inhale. “Mmh—” He tried to lift his head. He saw the blurry picture of veils and white pillars about him, the rectangular pools of water reflecting stars.

Minx’s soft, cold-fingered hands were on his ribs again, guiding him as Jaguar lowered his form into the water up to his waist, resting his seat against a marble step.

It hurt, but there was so much pain to be had already that it didn’t quite matter that it did, and Angel could only whimper and sink towards Minx’s waiting arms, resting against his friend’s chest. Being in the water was relieving. It made his arms light, and sitting wasn’t as difficult with the weightlessness that supported him. With breaths rasping in his throat, he tried to relax as much as he could, undoing the knots of tension from his muscles one by one while Minx stroked his face and fingered his hair with wet, tender hands.

“You’re safe,” he whispered, again and again—the same mantra that Angel repeated to himself when Minx wasn’t around to say it. But only when he was truly safe. The moments were rare, they were not to be missed, and it was the portions of time like this that Angel had to work to give his mind a rest, so that it would not break under the pressure of his life. “You’re safe…”

He heard Jaguar behind him, preparing dressings and salves—he heard the jars clink against the floor and the swish of cloth bandages. He saw the water, poisoned crimson with his blood where Minx’s slender body disappeared in refracted images of the night sky. The agony caused by the dark Pet’s touch was nearly unbearable, when it inevitably came—not because it was a worser pain than what he’d suffered within the recent days, but because he knew that this pain did not serve to please anyone. And what was the use in pain that did not make others smile? What was the use in suffering for himself? He was fashioned ever so carefully to suffer for others, to live for others, to be miserable so that others might be joyful.

His pain only made Minx sniffle and Jaguar curse under his breath. So Angel tried—he tried as hard as he could—to hold it back. He clenched his fists in the water until they shook; he gritted his teeth and focused on the fingers that danced along his face. Safe. You’re safe. You’re safe.

He was not worthy of crying out when his Master was not here to indulge in it.

Water was scooped over his wounds, his hair—Minx even cupped it against his face, kissing Angel’s brow and cheeks and washing away the sweat of torment with empathetic, pink eyes. All the while, the mantra was repeated, safety, security, the false sense of comfort in the arms of his friend.

Soon enough, they had finished with him, and Angel was exhausted enough to begin to weep.

“Angel, Angel,” Minx soothed, wrapping him with lithe arms around the golden collar, “my Angel, how he must have wounded you tonight…” There were kisses at his ear, beneath his curls, too soft to be given to Angel, and more painful than the wounds Minx spoke of.

He shook his head into Minx’s neck, whispering, “No matter…”

“I wish that he would choose some other soul to torment.”

Angel did not wish to think about such things. He did not wish for anyone to have the burden that he could handle well enough.

Touching Minx’s slick thighs beneath the water, he murmured, “Burns…?”

He felt Minx’s hands tremble a bit against his whipped shoulder blades, and the tremulous sound that left his friends lips fell against his ears. “Not as many as I should have taken to protect you,” he mourned, and Angel’s chest tightened as more tears came.

“Please,” he begged the boy, doing his best to pull back so that he could look into Minx’s eyes and communicate his insistency.

Minx was hesitant to meet his gaze, white lashes flicking about over the pink orbs. Angel could see the memory of fire inside of them, burning and tormenting his friend even now. “I know, Angel,” he said softly. “I knew that you would want me to tell him quickly.”

Angel weakened again, sinking back to embrace Minx, head tucked below the boy’s chin. “Good-d…”

Minx absently rested careful hands over Angel’s bandages in return, speaking to Jaguar—who sat on the edge of the bath, hands in his lap as he dangled his legs in the water.

“Jaguar could handle it so much better, if Taushin would have him. Jaguar has a heart of stone.”

Angel’s eyes slid to find the metal-colored ones, shimmering with the reflected starlight. The pools of water sent wavering ripples of it along his features. He scoffed a little and shook his head, making the piercings in his ear jingle. “Taushin prefers the sensitive ones, the ones who make plenty of noise.”

Angel dropped his gaze. He was right. Jaguar had been imported and trained here, but he’d been designated for the market, and had the high prospect to be the Pet of another Regal who was a close partner of Taushin’s. He was not particularly of Taushin’s taste. He hardly made a sound when he was beaten.

Minx stroked his hair, shifting them and murmuring, “You are sleeping with me tonight, Angel? Yes?”

He nodded sluggishly. It had been some time since he’d been back to the harem, though, and there was someone he desperately wanted to see. “Khoi…” he croaked.

There was a hesitant silence, and Minx helped Angel rise out of the water with Jaguar standing to assist before he answered. “He’s alright.”

Angel’s legs burned; his back was tight with medicine and wrappings, his lower half still exposed due to the nature of the injuries being unable to be bandaged. “I want to see him,” he said shakily.

Jaguar and Minx traded a glance, each one taking an arm to keep Angel steady. Their height difference—Jaguar being at least a head taller than both of them—made it lopsided. Angel’s fingers began to tingle as they seemed to debate telling him something awful. Was Khoi alright? Had someone injured him further? Had someone mistreated him? Had he died?

“I want to see him,” Angel said with blurry desperation, looking between them with widened eyes. He felt a little breathless.

“I think that you should rest now, Angel,” Minx said gently, “and see him in the morning.”

“No,” Angel begged. What was wrong? Taushin had bade him to return in the morning. He had to see him now.

Jaguar wrapped an arm around Angel’s back, making him turn to the darker boy, frantic. “Nothing is wrong,” he intoned. “But you look only half-coherent right now, and it would be best for you to lie down. Neither of us know what Taushin will demand of you, come morning.”

“No!” The words scraped at his throat. Angel was insistent on this matter, his throat tight and aching. All he asked was that they let him see Khoi. He did not want to sleep—he would not sleep—without seeing him.

Jaguar’s eyes fluttered, and he sent Minx a helpless glance, sighing.

“Angel—” Minx tried.

“No, no, no,” Angel whined softly, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head. “Please. Khoi. I want to see Khoi.”

“It’s alright, Minx,” Jaguar said. “We’ll take you, Angel. Hold on.”

“It’s not good for him,” Minx argued.

“He’ll be fine.”

A sigh of frustration. “You’re not the one who holds him when he weeps through the night afterwards, and soothes him when he wakes up screaming!”

The words echoed in the bath chamber, bouncing off the water. Angel winced just hearing it aloud, shrinking in their grips and hiding his face in shame. “Sorry,” he whimpered, shoulders around his ears, “I’m sorry.”

“Minx, you ass,” Jaguar hissed.

Minx caught Angel up against him, crying out, “No, no, I don’t mean it like that! Oh, Angel, no…I just don’t want you to put yourself through such things.”

With his face hugged against Minx’s shoulder, Angel made a soft noise, unable to shake the guilt that it caused.

“We’re going, Angel. You have my word,” Jaguar said kindly.

“Mmh…”

<<••>>

Khoi was lying on the same padded, embroidered cot that he was always lying on, amongst the draperies of silks that veiled his sickly white body like crimson and gold fog. They had given him his own private chambers out of reverence and care. They all treasured Khoi, but Angel more than any of them.

He softly asked Jaguar and Minx to let him go in alone, and—used to the ritual that Angel never failed to adhere to—they respectfully bowed their heads and steadied Angel on his feet, before unlatching the heavy drapery that served as the chamber’s door.

Angel kept a hand on the wall to steady himself, squinting in the low, filtered orange candlelight. There were heady fragrances burning in jars on mounted shelves, white lilies sprinkled about the floor, and the gentle, plucking hum of a melancholy lyre, strummed by a young Pet who sat in a shadowed corner.

It was arranged nearly as a grave or a shrine to the dead, and it fit the figure who lied amongst it, asleep—or so it would seem to the unobservant eye. But Khoi was not asleep, as his dark lashes moved here and there with sluggish, heavy blinks, and the tiniest shimmer of his milk-white eyes could be seen beneath them.

His skin was a translucent white, ocean-green veins showing along the wrists and forearms that draped against his frail, bare torso. There was a sheet pulled up to his hips, covering the rest of him in white like a burial shroud. His hair was dark, streaked with greys and whites that did not belong to a boy of his age—yes, only a boy, still, of twenty-three years, and dying. His lips were fine and parted to take in rasping breaths, but when he heard the swish of Angel’s unsteady feet on the stone, the white irises turned to him, and the faintest shadow of a smile fell over his drawn, hollowed features. “Angel,” he said, sweetly, though his voice was hardly a voice at all anymore, rubbed raw to the very chords from years of screaming.

“Hello,” Angel greeted him quietly, brows skewing with concern as he leaned against the bedside, taking a seat on the plush cot. It felt much better to sit down, and he found he had a bit more strength to last him a cursory drift of fingers through Khoi’s hair, soft and well-groomed by the Pets who took care of him. The dark pupils of his eyes were full as they fixed on Angel. Many had considered Khoi blind on first glance, seeing the milky glisten of his irises. But it was only a rare strain of genetics that made them that color, and if Khoi struggled with anything, it certainly wasn’t his eyesight.

A cold, bony set of fingers slid over Angel’s hand as it rested on the bed, and he turned it palm-up to accept Khoi’s, closing it inside of both his warmer ones.

“Thank you,” Khoi croaked, “for coming to see me.”

Angel looked down at his fragile hand, tracing the pronounced tendons and knuckles with a practiced, soothing motion that he knew Khoi found relaxing. “I’m sorry that it’s been a while.”

“No matter,” Khoi dismissed him, shaking his head slightly. A cough, gurgling with what must be blood, wracked the Pet’s fragile body, then, sending Angel’s heart into a panicking flutter. “The days…ngh, are all the same…to me.” It seemed he tried to smile again, after this, but then his eyes flickered quite suddenly over the expanse of Angel’s body, taking in the bandaging and the washed cuts and widening with alarm.

Empathy, Angel knew.

“What has he done to you this time, my sweet?” Khoi whispered, touching Angel’s thigh so very gently that it made Angel wince.

He kept his face lowered, fidgeting with Khoi’s fingers and keeping his shoulders arched near his ears. “Nothing compared to what he’s done to you.”

“No,” Khoi murmured, “tell me, Angel. Tell me what he has done with my darling sapphire. You look so sad, today.”

That Khoi would ask so earnestly about Angel when he was like this—it tore through his heart like the claws of scrabbling foxes. More than any words of Taushin’s, worse than the Regals he’d been given to for sport, Khoi’s words always struck him the deepest pain. Because Khoi cared for him. Khoi knew more than anyone else. Khoi heard all of Angel’s deepest, most terrifying thoughts, all his sins, all his fears. Khoi knew enough to destroy Angel with the flick of a finger, and yet he kept all these things hidden in his heart, away from any Master that would twist it into torment.

Angel spoke to no one like he did to Khoi. Only Khoi heard all the little words he expressed through his body language in public.

“He was angry with me. There is a visitor here from the North, a 2nd Emissary.”

“Oh? How far North? As far as Minx’s home?”

“Not so far,” Angel said, “Dorne.”

“Dorne…” A wistful, nostalgic aura took Khoi’s eyes into the past for a moment. Yes, even he had dreamt of Dorne, just as much as the other Pets. It was near enough to heaven, compared to Gailda. “There are such kind people up there.”

“He is very kind,” Angel said, softer now, and turning his gaze more intently to their hands.

“But not kinder than you deserve,” Khoi whispered in a rattle, his eyes darkening as Angel shied away from it. It was a common practice of his to dole out opposites of Taushin’s derogatory statements, something that Angel could not bear to hear—something that Khoi refused to stop doing.

“I do not think it will last,” Angel told him.

“But why was he angry with you, my sweet?” he pressed, with some trepidation.

“Minx was given to him the first night. And when he came back, he was not bruised or bleeding. He was smiling. Smiling, Khoi…s-so…so I asked him—I asked him if the Emissary had been kind. If he’d been…gentle.”

Khoi’s dark lashes drooped. He shifted his head to look past Angel, at the far wall where the incense burned on the protruding shelves. “That is all, then? The only reason he would punish you so harshly? Perhaps he has gotten worse, after all.”

“No, Khoi,” Angel whispered, beginning to feel the familiar burn of shame in his cheeks and throat. “No, he is the same. He is only—he was still angry. I…I ran away again, a fortnight ago.”

Khoi turned back to him sharply, quick enough to trigger another bout of gurgling, sickening coughs. When it was done, he was wheezing, and Angel’s chest was tight with phantom pain. “Oh, darling sapphire…” He feebly squeezed Angel’s fingers, and Angel felt cold stretching through the pit of his stomach. “Why must you do that to yourself? Why?”

“I don’t know,” Angel said tremulously, shifting on the bed and looking elsewhere. “He likes th-the game. It…it keeps him focused on me, so he won’t hurt…” Angel fought to keep his voice steady, to keep speaking. “…so he won’t hurt the others.”

He could feel Khoi gazing at him with those milky eyes, he could see in his head how the dark brows skewed with anguish over Angel’s awful decisions.

“You are already his Golden One,” Khoi said, “he hurts you enough. You must stop. You must, Angel. Please.”

“I can’t,” Angel nearly spat out, and then touched his mouth with his hand, as if to punish the act himself, for daring to utter something not honeyed and sweet. “There is something about it that I like, too. He wants me back. He wants me so badly that he sends all of his men after me, and he gets so…so angry, Khoi, the look in his eyes—” Angel went silent momentarily, his mouth parted still with the words sticking to his tongue, seeing the murderous flash of golden eyes in his head, as sharp as the end of the blade he dragged across Angel’s skin. “—there is nothing like it,” he whispered. “And when I go, I feel so empty without him. I don’t know what to do with myself. There is nothing, nothing for me but to wait for the guards to find me. And then he hurts me, and I remember what it is like to love him when I am my weakest, and I feel…” He blinked rapidly. “…I feel right again.”

Khoi’s eyes were fixed on their hands when Angel finally found the courage to look at him. There were tears clinging to his eyes and lashes.

“Khoi,” Angel mourned, starting forward with pain in his lungs, “What is it, what have I said to upset you?” He took the Pet’s face in both of his hands, bending to press his lips against the hollowed-out cheeks again and again in frantic apology.

Khoi raised his hand to cover Angel’s, pushing against his chin so that he could look him in the eyes. “I know, Angel,” he said. The skin beneath his eyes tightened. “I know.”

I know what it feels like.

Khoi remembered. He remembered the feeling of being Taushin’s Pet. It made the tension leak out of Angel’s muscles when he heard it, dragging down his limbs and pulling him towards the bed, where he lay quietly for a long time against Khoi’s thin shoulder, gazing at the silks that hung about them while Khoi absently stroked the fine lines of his tummy.

“Sometimes, he forgives me, Khoi,” he breathed, watching his words float away among the incense in the air. “He has mercy. He breaks down, sometimes. He holds me very close to him, sometimes, and says things that Masters should not say. And the more that I run, the more chances I have that he’ll do it again. I think that it makes him just a little desperate.”

Khoi continued to move his fingers soothingly, humming under his breath in sorrowful understanding.

The lyre strummed on, the only other sound for a long, long while. They dozed beneath the blanketed warmth of the music, mingling inside of one another’s thoughts, their shared experiences, their similar torments.

“It will never be enough, my darling sapphire,” Khoi rasped eventually, and his voice was more frail than it had been before. “It will never last.”

Angel’s lip trembled and he screwed his eyes shut. Just let me pretend that it will. Let me dream that it can.

It was the one thing that Angel clung to for dear life.

<<••>>

Minx was there to hold Angel when he came from Khoi’s room, the drapery swinging behind him, every limb in his body melting like butter from his spine.

With Minx’s soft embrace and the tender voice in his ear, Angel should have felt better. But he did not.

“Come, my Angel,” he cooed, “let us go, now. Let us sleep and forget.”

Angel did not speak or lift his head. He did not nod or move. He hardly even opened his eyes. He just let his friend pull him along down the long, sparkling halls, past the whispering, colored silks, the jingling, nimble footsteps of other Pets.

Sleeping quarters were spacious, but the darkness there Angel feared would swallow him up, devouring his soul before morning. Coming back to the harem always put his mind in the past, among the draconic silhouettes of blackened Trainers who no longer had faces in his mind, among the restricting chains and the debilitating agony, among the continuous screams and the unending fight just to remember who he was. To remember why he was fighting, why he was alive, why they would not let him die.

And now, being Taushin’s Golden One, it only garnered him pockets of opened space around the hanging cot Minx would share with him, Pets scurrying away either in reverence or disdain—neither of which mattered to him. It was only that they did make space, as if he were different from them. Some of them looked on in guarded pity, others in abject suspicion. He knew most feared that he was only sent here to relay their actions to the 1st Regal, a spy and a tattletongue who would not hesitate to give them up.

It made him droop even more in their presence, sinking towards Minx’s protective guidance. He could hear the whispers passing about like the hiss of slithering snakes, silenced only at the sharp behest of a few of the older boys. Angel did not blame them. He blamed only their Trainers and their Regals. He blamed only Taushin, for he was certain it was a deliberate isolation, to assure that Angel would not gain some kind of following, of boys who would turn on their Masters and cause an uprising. Thus, it was necessary that Angel remain a sort of fugitive among them.

Minx was gentle and careful in helping Angel into the hanging blue cocoon that served as his cot. There was a small bedding made up inside it to flatten out the base so it would not cling so tightly to their bodies.

Angel held his breath while trying to pull himself into it, stifling any sounds that the others would hear. He settled into the cool pillow with a shuddering sigh of relief, wrapping his arms around his naked, bandaged body.

Minx quietly undid the bits of drying tulle from his own waist and arms, undressing in utter silence.

The other boys in the murky, humming chamber began to settle down themselves, eyes glittering out of the dark towards Angel and Minx in wary, narrowed glances. They would haunt him all the night, Angel knew. He dreaded it.

He had more that kept him from shutting his eyes when Minx crawled into bed behind him, shushing Angel’s mewling sounds with gentle kisses and wrapping his body inside of warmer, kinder arms. It stung his back to have it pressed against Minx’s chest, but he was used to such discomforts, and it was nothing in the wake of his friend’s soothing coo, the words spoken mutedly against the shell of his ear to distract Angel from his own thoughts.

“Shall I tell you about him again?” Minx pulled up a soft blanket until it was covering their waists. The touch of their skin—Minx’s heated against his cold—served as a good sensation to focus on while Angel tried to loosen his stiff muscles. While he tried to think of something other than the fragile skin of his forearms and wrists. How they might tear. How they might release him.

“Shall I tell you what it was like?”

Angel felt dull as he stared into the glittering eyes of the boys in the darkness, seeing only what Minx’s smile must look like. He let out a faint, weary keen of affirmation.

“He was gentle and strong, and didn’t use a thing that Taushin sent him in the box.” Fingers found their way up Angel’s arm, his shoulder, his neck, until they stroked the line of his jaw and his cheekbone, tickling over the rim of his ear. “He spoke only sweetly, and when he took me, he didn’t force me into the sheets, or suffocate me, or grip me by the neck.” Minx played with his earrings, tugging ever so slightly at times. It made pleasant blooms of sensation down Angel’s spine.

Minx went on with his tale like a mother might sing a lullaby, sweetly and hushed for Angel’s ears alone. “His voice only encouraged me, his kisses only warmed me, and he was so sorry, so sorry, he said, when it was over…and I feared that I had not been enough…”

Angel felt his mouth begin to twist and tremble. He inhaled a soft, shuddering breath. He thought of Khoi, broken and dying on that bed among the incense, never knowing a kind noble, never hearing such sickening, wonderful words. That must be his end, too, he knew, as Emery could say all that he liked from a distance, but would never be near him like he’d been with Minx.

Taushin would never let him, as much as he teased and flaunted Angel before him. Taushin would never let Angel grow attached.

Minx’s voice purred on in the stillness. “…but it was not that I had not pleased him, and so strange, Angel, so strange…it was only that he wanted me to like it too. He wanted me to be pleased more than he wanted pleasure for himself. He wanted me to be safe, and go unharmed…. And his eyes, Angel, how you should have seen his dark eyes fill with concern for me. For me, can you imagine it? Ah, what a thing…”

All that Angel saw were the golden eyes of his Master, flashing and furious, the way that he’d described it all to Khoi. They were his cage, as visible to him as the collar that was locked about his neck. The most he could do was gaze between the bars, reaching out for the watery hallucination of Emery of Dorne, smiling down at him as if he were truly a human being, something to be valued, something to be protected.

He looked at Angel as if there were some chance in all the hells that a Pet could yearn for something his Master could not give him, a hope that he could perhaps touch, if not accept, a mercy from someone else, someone who would not award that mercy only after so much pain—but freely, right away, demanding nothing in return.

Angel began to weep, unbidden, and Minx—used to it by now, after so many revisits to the harem that ended in the same way—buried his mouth against Angel’s shoulder and held him very close, murmuring comforts against his skin. This pain in his lungs went on for some time, his thoughts plagued by the anxieties of what the morning would bring him.

Master was displeased. Master was disappointed. Master was irritated.

He could not—he could never—take respite in the nights without him. And it distressed him so greatly that this was so. Being away from Taushin only made him nauseous with anticipation, counting down the moments until he was back in those gloved hands, screaming for mercy that would not come. Pain could not be had without him to oversee it, and pleasure could not be felt if he wasn’t giving it.

And so, all that Angel could do was drown in his own misery, trying to claw into the skin of his arms and refrained from even that release by his friend’s restrictive grasp.

He wasn’t sure when his waking mind blurred with the realm of sleep, but it did not last more than an infinite stretch of darkness before it was eaten up with the terror of nightmares. His Trainers became the monstrous shadows on the wall, pulling him every direction and stretching his limbs apart, forcing things through and inside and across and around him until he could only thrash and scream awful, soundless screams. And Taushin, with his eyes of gold burning in the darkness, stood before them all and watched like a malignant cobra, deadened to his Pet’s anguish and too far to cling to.

When he burst from it shrieking in inconsolable terror, it was Minx, only Minx, with his arms around Angel, but he felt there was nothing else but to shriek and sob his voice away, so that he’d no longer have to hear the voices in his dreams, and the suffocating silence of his Master.

(Next) ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Yey. :) Hope you liked. Nice to meet you, Khoi. You'll get to learn specifics about him soon, so I hope you're looking forward to it! <3 For now, mystery boi Khoi. (and originally his name was spelled Koi but then I saw the way the English VA for Albedo in Genshin spelled it and I just...really liked it.) Tags! Did you miss me?: @hackles-up (I believe this is who was previously @what-a-whump ?) @boxboysandotherwhump @seasaltandcopper @abitefullofwhump @whump-cravings @thats-my-type-writer @darklyria @ashintheairlikesnow @luna-rein @whumptywhumpdump @whatgoeswhumpinthenight @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @dragonninjavampire @whumpy-writings @shameless-whumper @also-finder-of-rings @ohwhumpydays @whump-world @outofangband @whump-cravings @10000ducks-whump @whumpiary @sadomasochistic-whump @insaneinthepaingame @straight-to-the-pain @whumpwillow @gatheringofsuffering @sideblogformindtrash @newbornwhumperfly @sadistgalore @yet-another-heathen @peterrose @cupcakes-and-pain @writingbackwards @i-gently-open-the-door @bloodandbandages @ocean-blue-whump @wingedwhump @meetmeinhellcroutons @jcwriting @kiretto-laorentze @thatonekidnamedrin @whumpawink @nicolepascaline @zoewhumps @mylifeisonthebookshelf @wolfeyedwitch @whumpfessional @batfacedliar @whump-tr0pes

@meetmeinhellcroutons and @whumpkinpie I think you’re the two whose names have changed. Let me know :)

If you’d like to be added/removed, just ask! :D

[uncpanda]

heyy! may i very politely request for a #10 from the touching prompt list with Hotch? I'm super small (like think, 155cm/5'1", <40kg/88lbs kind of small) and i just love to imagine Hotch being absolutely GIANTIC wrapped around me SKFJSKSN 🥴

Six words to preface this story: AND THERE WAS ONLY ONE BED! 

In all reality the idea of that man spooning me or holding me or hugging me is enough to make me smile. Just saying. Also there is a lot of Hotch this morning and I am loving it! 

Hotch x GN!reader. 

Prompt 10: spooning at night

“Are you sure about this? I really don’t mind taking the floor.” 

“Hotch . . .we’re in freaking Alaska. A little extra body heat is not something I’m going to turn down.” The fact that you’d been harboring a crush on the man for years had absolutely no weight in the decision. 

He smiles, “As long as you’re sure. Do you mind if I go ahead and use the bathroom?” 

“Go for it.” 

The moment you hear the shower turn on you start changing. You thank God that you brought your cute pajamas; a nice fitting tee shirt and some silky soft pajama pants. Despite the cold, you can’t bring yourself to wear socks to bed. Instead you pull out the extra fleece blanket you brought and spread it out. 

You spend a few minutes going through your phone, when the door to the bathroom opens, and you’re forced to bite your lip. You’re not used to seeing Hotch in casual clothes, and seeing him in pajamas is an entirely different experience. 

It’s nothing special just a very nice fitting tee-shirt and some flannel pajama pants. He makes a mad dash to the bed and dives under the covers. He looks at you, “It is freezing.” 

“We’re Virginia natives, cold isn’t our forte.” 

He snuggles under the covers, “Isn’t that the truth.” 

You pass the next half hour with chitchat before turning off the lights and hunkering down in bed. You feel unbelievably safe with him right next to you, the scent of his body wash surrounding you, and his body heat at your back. You fall to sleep rather quickly with those factors. 

When you wake up the next morning, you’re toasty warm; and that should be wrong because you’re in Alaska. That’s also when you notice there’s a heavy weight surrounding you. 

Aaron is wrapped around you. One of his legs is slotted in-between yours, one of his arms is wrapped around your middle while the other rests on your clavicle, and his nose is buried in the crook of your neck. 

You shift around a little bit and the weight tightens around you, you hear a murmur, and then a kiss is pressed to the junction between your neck and shoulder.  Your face goes bright red, as you remember who you’re sharing the bed with. 

You should slip out of his arms. You know it. He sought your body heat out in the middle of the night and that’s how you ended up wrapped in his arms. Or maybe it was a dream? Or maybe a dream come true? You snort at that thought, you’re not that lucky. 

The snort is enough to startle Aaron from his sleep. He’s amazingly coherent for just waking up. On morning where Hotch isn’t wrapped around you, you usually need as least two cups of coffee to be functioning. 

He doesn’t jerk away, instead he slowly untangles from around you. He clears his throat as he shifts away and into a sitting position. “Sorry . . .I . . .” 

You sit up too, and wave it off, as you slide out of the warm bed and into the cold air to start grabbing things for your shower. “No big deal. You probably just got cold and sought out warmth. Basic human instinct.” 

He frowns for a minute, before he nods, “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

“Not at all. It was nice.” You freeze at the word and try to cover, “and warm. And I’ve been cold since I got here, and yeah . . .” Hotch stares at you before tossing the covers to the side. You can feel him studying you like he does an unsub; he’s looking for something. 

Just as he opens his mouth to say something, you dart into the bathroom and lock the door, “I’m going to take my shower. I’ll be ready to head out in ten.” 

There’s a second of silence before he says, “Good. That will give us time to talk about how you liked waking up in my arms.” 

Your mouth drops open, and you go silent, because really, how are you supposed to argue with that?  

“We can also talk about how I liked waking up with you in my arms, and how I’d like to do it again.” 

It’s those words, that make you faint. 

[calif0rnia-lovers]

Lover of Mine #5 | Angel Reyes

part I | part II | part II | part IV | series taglist

Title: A Heavy Heart to Carry

Thought that I would change, but I'm the same guy Blamed it on my youth, but I know I've had time

a/n: split this original part into 2. the second half of the couple's retreat will be in 5.5

warning: a character experiences a panic attack

rating: 💔

Sum: Angel Reyes doesn't fear much, but he's scared to face you once it's set in that he's broken your cardinal rule. He must decide what's more important: maintaining a lie or sharing a secret that will change the way you look at him forever.

Words: 9.4k

“Take him home, Ezekiel. Now. I’m serious. I am going to fucking kill him if he tries to stay here tonight. And then, I’m going to kill you for letting him.”

These are the words that stopped Angel Reyes in his tracks. Left him standing on the front steps, afraid to move past the threshold of the front door to his own house.

When he pulled into the driveway, exhausted covered in a mixture of dirt, sweat and blood, Angel was met with a sight that somehow managed to wring the knots in his stomach tighter.

The light from the living room cast a golden hue across the dark lawn.

He knew the odds of you being asleep upon his arrival were slim to none. You haven’t waited up for him in years. There’s no need to wait up when you know his whereabouts.

At some point in the evening, the attempts of communication stopped. Angel isn’t sure why, but he knows it isn’t a good sign.

He’d pushed against Ez’s shoulder prompting him to step up to ring the doorbell.

“Y/N, I’m sorry.” Ez had shocked his older brother, stepping into the war zone to calmly produce some sort of explanation. “We had to go down south, and shit got--we lost track of time. By the time we got finished, we--”

“Now that I know that neither of you is lying dead in a ditch somewhere, you can leave.” Despite your words, Ez didn’t move. He glanced over his shoulder towards Angel. “Or stay outside, I don't care, but he's not stepping foot in my house. Tell him I said test me.”

Needless to say, he didn’t.

Angel heeded the warning allowing his brother to drive him home. He didn’t bother calling you.

What’s the point of calling to apologize when you’ve just spent half the night ignoring the calls from the same person?

Hours have passed, and Angel hasn’t slept.

Although he’s now freshly showered, the cut on his hand poorly wrapped, Angel Reyes finds himself in the same predicament. Outside of your house.

Scared shitless.

Only this time around, Ez isn’t willing to risk his life for the sake of being collateral damage.

Both men remain in the driveway, eyes on the sunflower yellow-painted door of 1101 Rock Creek Avenue. Each is resting against the hood of Angel’s car. Waiting, silently willing the other to bravely ring the doorbell.

Angel releases the smoke in his lungs before reaching up to remove his sunglasses.

“You gotta go in at some point,” Ez glances over at his brother.

Angel doesn’t respond. He drops his cigarette bud to the ground, stepping on it with the heel of his shoe.

“Especially since we’ve been out here nearly an hour,” Ez continues, a tiny smile finding his lips as the sight of Angel’s rolling eyes. “Neighbors are probably gonna put in a call--”

“I’m checking the windows,” Angel responds. The humor in his voice falls flat as his eyes search the front of the house. “Gotta make sure she doesn’t shoot me the moment I touch the driveway.”

“Shouldn’t have taught her how to shoot.”

The daggered stare sent his way causes the youngest Reyes to chuckle. Shaking his head, Ez takes a step forward.

“Angel. It doesn’t matter if you go in now or later.” He sighs. “If Y/N's gonna shoot you, she's gonna shoot you-- regardless of the time.”

“Yeah.”

Getting up, Angel crosses the lawn to the front door. Although he now has a key, he reaches forward to ring the doorbell. For a brief second, he considers turning around and heading back to his car.

His stomach tightens as the door swings open. He lets out a sigh of relief when he’s met with the sight of a smiling Isabela.

Her smile slips, her eyes narrowing as she stepped outside. She waits until the door is shut securely behind her to speak.

“What the fuck, Reyes!” She shoves hard against Angel’s shoulder, not blinking as he stumbles a step back. Angel massages his shoulder as she lowers her voice. “I orchestrated the perfect week for you two. All you had to do was show up with a packed bag, and you somehow managed to fuck everything up. Where the hell were you last night?”

Although he’s had all night to come up with an excuse, no coherent words come out when Angel opens his mouth. Isabela’s eyes roll, her attention shifting to a quiet Ezekiel standing just beyond his brother’s shoulder.

“And you. I thought you were the smart one.”

Ez looks away from a flushed Angel to find Isabela’s glare on him. He opens his mouth to respond, but suddenly Angel’s inability to speak has washed over the youngest Reyes.

“You didn’t think it was smart to drag him home in time for his son's recital?”

Angel’s voice has returned. It comes out lower than he’s intended. His eyes briefly shift to the front door.

“She’s--”

“Pissed.” Isabela sighs as she turns to the door. “I’d thank Bishop next time you see him. He talked her down last night.”

Isabela pauses just as Angel steps forward to follow her inside.

“Angel, she lied to Jeyson for you,” she says. “You need to talk to him.”

“I know.”

“Hey, lego master,” Isabela smiles as she steps back inside. “Someone’s here to see you.”

Jeyson is on his stomach, lying in the center of the living room floor. Chin resting in his hands, he is studying the progress he’s made on his lego set.

A grin brightens his face as Angel steps inside. He scrambles to his feet, pulling a chuckle from his father as he nearly crashes into his legs.

“Hey, lil man. You good?”

Allowing him a quick hug, Jeyson takes Angel’s hand in his. He tugs him towards the living room. He motions towards the legos on the floor.

“I finished all the escape pods! Now, you can help me with the left-wing--”

“Hold up,” Angel diverts Jeyson’s attention, lifting him off the ground, forcing him to silence. “I wanna talk to you about something--”

“Last night?” His question silence his father. Jeyson reaches forward, his fingers tracing the patch on Angel’s chest. “Mom talked to me already.”

“Yeah, I know, but I wanted to apologize. To say I’m sorry for not being there to see you play.”

“It’s okay.” The smile he offers tightens Angel’s throat. It is a smile that matches his words perfectly. A smile of forgiveness often comes when a child is willing to look past moments of a letdown if that means they can still spend time with that person.

“It’s not okay,” Angel admits. He watches as Jeyson’s gaze lifts to meet his before dropping to patch. “I broke a promise, and I’m not supposed to do that. I’m sorry.”

Jeyson studies his father’s expression. A smile slowly spreads across his face as an idea sets in.

“I can play it for you now.” He suggests, his attention moving to the piano across the room.

That’s where you find the two when you step into the living room.

Jeyson has finished playing and is giggling as he watches Angel try to match the series of keys he just showed him.

“What’s so funny?” Angel’s brow arches as Jeyson attempts to stifle his laughter. “I think it sounded pretty good.”

Jeyson shakes his head.

“You weren’t paying attention.” Reaching over, he moves Angel’s hand into the correct placement. “Your fingers aren’t in the right place.”

Angel’s gaze falls to his hands. To him, they seem to be in nearly the exact same spot. But he knows better than to argue with your son. He watches Jeyson’s fingers, trying to match the same tune. Only he can’t, the smile on his face growing once he realizes the tempo has changed. Jeyson plays at a cadence that seems hyper speed to his father but is nothing out of the normal for him.

“It’s not nice to show off,” Angel chuckles as he tickles Jeyson’s side.

Angel glances over his shoulder, his smile dampening as he finds you waiting patiently by the door. Jeyson’s smile does the same, his eyes widening once your conversation from last night sets in.

“You’re leaving?”

“Yes,” you nod, watching as he gets up, his head hanging forward as he crosses the room. “Remember we talked about this last night?”

Jeyson waits until he’s standing before you to speak. With his arms wrapped around your middle, face pressing against your shirt, his words come out muffled.

“But, I want to come with you.”

“I know, but you have to stay and keep Isabela company. You guys are going to the carnival tomorrow. You're going to have so much fun.” Your fingers brush through his hair, a smile finding your lips as Jeyson tips his head back to look at you. “Besides, I won’t be gone long.”

“Five days is a long time,” Jeyson pouts. “You’re never gone that long.”

He’s right. The longest you and Jeyson have been apart being two days. For the weekends when he would spend the majority of his time at his father’s house.

“You can call me whenever you want,” you remind him as you squat down in front of him. “And then, I’ll be back before you know it.”

Tommy Flores currently stands at the front of the line. The weight of the metal door causes it to slam shut with a loud bang.

The echo vibrates through his chest, the force doubling him over. The dialed-up pitch brings Tommy’s hands to his ears.

He’s stopped in his tracks. His silent plea, to stop the ringing in his ears, sparks a slew of grunted protests from the inmates behind him.

Officer Rogers stands near Tommy, his shoulder resting against the wall. Each time an inmate is escorted through the secured door, the guard slams it shut with as much force as he can. He watched as Tommy flinched each time, the sound louder with each step he got closer. Now that Tommy stands directly in front of it, the sound is too loud.

Rogers steps forward, his lips turning up into a sneer.

"You alright there, Flores?" The lack of concern in his voice is amplified by the soft chuckle he releases. "You look like shit. Rough night?"

It's a question, Rogers knows the answer to. Better than anyone--well almost anyone.

He was the one who woke Tommy, in the middle of the night, the glare of his flashlight blinding the inmate. He yanked Tommy from bed, hand-delivering him to the showers. He stood guard, watching as Tommy took each blow and kick sent his way. He hand-delivered Tommy back to his cell, denying his trip to the infirmary.

Rogers would never admit it, but he was initially shocked when saw Tommy shuffle into the visitation line. He knew Tommy had a scheduled visit but didn't expect him to have the strength to bother trying to attend it.

"Your girlfriend coming today?" Rogers continues as he watches Tommy's fist clench. "Must be. That's the only reason I could think you'd get up this morning. Maybe I should let your friends give you another round tonight. How's that sound?"

Tommy's body is bumped forward—a silent warning from his cellmate to move. The shove to his shoulder clenches his jaw shut. But Tommy knows better than to hold up the line any longer than he already has.

Each step he takes is slow, sending a jolt of searing, white-hot pain down his spine.

The swelling of his right eye limits his vision, but he’s able to recognize a familiar face in the crowded room.

Each grey table is occupied by anxiously waiting loved ones. Tired from the extensive process of being cleared for visitation day. Hopeful their time won’t get cut short due to the delay of the inmate's arrival.

As he’s shuffled forward, Tommy’s gaze is fixated on his feet. It’s easier to ignore the look of pure rage directed his way.

“Stop staring.” The smile on Tommy’s lips is a good attempt. No matter how much he wills it, it can’t reach his eyes. “I’m fine.”

Leonardo Flores's gaze slowly studies the man before him. He knows his younger brother better than anyone. The blue Stockton uniform covers most of the damage but judging by Tommy’s walk and shallow breathing, he’s nursing a broken rib.

Leo doesn’t speak until Tommy’s gaze lifts. “I’d ask how you’re holding up, but it seems you’re still getting settled.”

His observation prompts his brother to shrug. Tommy winces as he shifts to bring his hands to rest on the table.

“Nothing I can’t handle,” Tommy smiles.

“I thought this lawyer you got was supposed to be good—"

“She is.” Tommy’s sigh goes unnoticed. “She's good.”

“If she’s so good, why the fuck are you in gen pop?” His brother’s eyes roll, Leo’s head shaking once he gets no response. “Huh? She doesn’t seem too concerned about doing her job. If she was you wouldn’t have been nearly beaten to a pulp—"

Leo’s rant slowly fades out, blending into the surrounding conversations. It takes all of his concentration for Tommy to drown out the sound. Tommy’s eyes are shut, his left hand massaging his brow. The throbbing in his head seems to be getting worse. He flinches as Leo’s boot scrapes his shin.

“I don’t know what the fuck you want me to say, Leo.” Tommy laughs dryly, the throbbing in his head pumping irritation into his voice. “She could pay off the entire fucking city of Santo Padre, it’s not gonna mean shit.”

His eyes open to see Leo’s jaw clenched. He presses on as Leo opens his mouth to speak.

“They put me here because they’re hoping I don’t make it to trial.”

“Judging by how you look, you won’t.”

Tommy shakes his head, dismissing the observation.

“I’m fine. I need you to do something for me.”

An uneasy wave washes over him at the sight of Leo’s rolling eyes.

“What?” Leo chuckles, his arms crossing over his chest. “Your brothers can’t help you?”

“I don’t trust the club with this,” Tommy admits.

No matter the amount of truth behind his statement, Leo’s expression doesn’t change.

Probably because Leo knows the truth. With the number of years he’s facing, Tommy will soon be forgotten by his fellow Horsemen. You’re only worth remembering if you’re valuable to the M.C. Tommy’s not valuable rotting in Stockton. It doesn’t matter if the charges he’s acquired were at the expense of the club.

“Leo—"

Leo’s sigh drowns out the plea in Tommy’s voice.

“What is it this time, Tommy?”

Tommy doesn’t miss a beat. His voice drops, his eyes briefly passing to the guard nearby.

Angel forgot what it’s like to be on the receiving end of your silent treatment. It’s brutal. Probably because you stick to it, religiously. The silence isn’t the worst part. He knows you’ll have to talk to him—eventually. He also knows that once you do, the words you’ve prepared will cut him to the bone.

When it comes to arguments, Angel operates on pure emotion—always ready to fight a war. He says the first thing that comes to mind, often trying to hurt whoever he’s arguing with before they can hurt him. He wishes you were the same.

You have an incredible ability to walk away from an argument on a whim. He can count on his left hand the number of times you’ve raised your voice at him. In all the time he’s known you.

You don’t see the purpose in having a screaming match. It never gets you anywhere. One of you has to operate on the side of logic. Angel has learned that once you’ve had the chance to get your thoughts together he’s in for a world of trouble.

He’d foolishly tried to get the conversation going the moment you both got in the car, but you beat him to the punch.

“I’m not talking to you right now.”

The declaration had come out just as Angel opened his mouth to speak. It also made him close his mouth, his brow furrowing.

“We’re about to drive for four and a half hours, Y/N,” he sighed, his eyes rolling as he sticks the key in the ignition. “You’re really not gonna say anything to me the entire ride there?”

He waits for you to respond, his eyes dropping to the bouncing of your knee.

“And then what? You’re not going to go speak to me at the hotel? What sense does that ma--”

“Trust me, Angel. You do not want me to say what’s on my mind right now.”

Angel’s not certain if it’s the admission itself, or the look in your eyes, but he silently redirects his attention to starting the car.

The four-and-a-half-hour car ride ironically turns into a six-hour trip of stop-and-go traffic. Six hours of Angel left to fiddle through the various radio stations while you silently scroll through your iPad.

At the three-hour mark, your voice breaks the silence, peaking Angel’s hopes. At this point, he’s willing to take you yelling at him if that means you’ll eventually talk again.

He glances away from the bumper-to-bumper traffic to find you holding up your iPad. The screen facing him, you ask. “Have you seen this before?”

He leans over the console for a better look at the image on the screen. His stomach drops as he takes in the jet-black stallion, his mouth going dry as his gaze passes over the red eyes.

“Thinking about getting some new ink?” He jokes his throat clearing as your eyes roll.

“Nevermind.”

Redirecting your attention back to your iPad, you don’t catch the nervous glance Angel sends your way. A few minutes of silence pass before he glances back in your direction.

“What’s it for? The uh--tattoo.”

“Work.”

That’s all he’s able to get out of you. Even after you arrived at the hotel, where you discover that Isabela has booked the two of you for the hotel’s honeymoon suite. Which comes with a complimentary package that Angel is almost certain you won’t partake in. He gets nothing out of you when you are both informed that your introductory session with the couple therapist on sight is in less than an hour after your late arrival.

The counselor, Dr. Mallory, currently sits across from the two of you. The smile on her face remains in place, even as she watches you put as much distance as possible between you and Angel. The task is nearly impossible with the small sofa she’s sat you both on.

Angel's eyes roll to the ceiling before he lets out a deep breath.

Dr. Mallory’s question breaks the silence.

“How long have you two been married?”

Angel’s eyes shift to you. He answers as your gaze remains focused on the pillow in your lap. “We’re not.”

“Divorced?”

“Seven years.” A dry laugh escapes his lips as he softly shakes his head. “To do the date...actually.”

“Oh, I see.” Dr. Mallory’s smile widens as her gaze passes between the two of you. “You’ve decided to join our retreat, as a means of reconnecting. Hoping to bring back, and foster, that love that brought your two beautiful souls together all those years ago.”

“Uh...yeah.” Angel nods slowly as Dr. Mallory’s hand shifts to rest over her heart.

Her eyes close, her smile softening as she lets out a sigh.

“Love is such a beautiful thing,” her eyes open as she continues. “And I am so happy to see the two of you are willing to give it another try. But, more so, I am honored that you have elected me to help guide you through this journey.”

“What exactly does this ‘journey’ entail? We’re not about to go sit in the desert and sing kumbaya or some sh--”

The elbow that digs into Angel’s side swallows the rest of his sentence. He glances over at you.

“It’s a serious question,” he coughs. “I didn’t realize we signed up for some journey that has to do with...souls traveling together…”

Dr. Mallory’s eyes had brightened at Angel’s question. Angel’s words trail off as he realizes Dr. Mallory is no longer seated. She is not standing directly in front of both of you. Holding two orange sheets of paper.

“I have accumulated a list of activities that will allow the two of you to get in touch with your inner selves this week.” She beams, not noticing the uneasy look that washes over Angel’s face as she continues. “One cannot love their partner wholeheartedly until they truly love themselves.”

Angel’s eyes quickly scan the list, realizing that it's more than a list of suggestions. It's a checklist.

“This week, the two of you will work on opening the airs of communication,” Dr. Mallory continues, motioning between the two of you. “Which I can sense are bogged down at the moment, by anger and mistrust. We want to take the time to open them back up--”

“No offense, Doc, but this isn’t going to work.”

“Mr. Reyes, I ask that you don’t speak that way this week. Everything that you put into your relationship can work.”

“It’ll be hard to work on our…” It takes all Angel has not to roll his eyes. “...airs of communication when she’s not even speaking to me.”

Dr. Mallory returns to her seat, her attention focusing on you.

“Angel is right. Ms. Reyes, care to share what’s on your mind with him? He seems eager to listen.”

Angel watches silently as you keep your gaze on the sheet of paper before you.

“Last night was the first night that I have wanted to kill you. And I mean it in the most literal sense, Angel.”

Angel’s throat tightens, his gaze dropping to his hands.

“You’ve done a lot of shit, Angel. But last night you didn’t see your son’s face when he realized that you were not showing up. You promised that you would never do that again.”

Angel attempts to swallow the lump in his throat. He shifts in his seat, his gaze briefly looking towards you.

“I know.”

“I had to get a call from the school telling me that you decided not to pick our son up. You could have picked up the phone, and called me.” The calmness in your voice does nothing to ease the knots in Angel’s stomach. “Since you’ve forgotten, Angel. You don’t get the courtesy of falling off the face of the earth. Club business, or not. You have a son.”

Angel doesn’t offer up a response. Primarily because he knows what’s coming next.

“What could possibly have happened that you disappeared off the face of the earth last night--and don’t say club business. Bishop is not that great of a liar.”

Angel swallows, his eyes briefly drifting across the room to where Dr. Mallory sits.

He can feel your expectant gaze on him, but he can’t bring himself to look at you.

He can also feel it rising in his throat. Words he hadn’t planned on telling you. His eyes drift shut as he sighs.

“I uh...I followed Samuel to this bar downtown.” A silence falls over the room. Angel looks up from his hands, watching as your eyes widen. “Aiden, he told me what he did to you--and I just wanted to talk to him.”

“And that’s all you did?” The look of skepticism sent his way causes Angel’s jaw to tighten.

“Yeah. I told him to leave you alone.”

Dr. Mallory interrupts the silence, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Samuel? Who is he?”

“Nobody.”

Angel’s eyes roll. “He’s her boss.”

“I went on a few dates with him,” you sigh. Your fingers massage your temple.

You already know where this conversation is going.

A smile finds Dr. Mallory’s face as she watches Angel shake his head.

“No, this is great.” An encouraging smile finds her face. “You see, you two are already past the most difficult part. Starting the conversation. Angel, tell Y/N how you feel about this situation involving Samuel.”

“You shouldn't have dated other people.”

Your brow furrows as his statement sinks in. “Did you miss the part where we got divorced?”

“That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying? Do you know how many women I had to hear that you slept with? Half of the time from you!” The sight of Angel’s rolling eyes is enough to make you shift in your seat. Turning to face him, you watch his jaw clench. “So you can fuck anyone you want, but it’s a problem when I go out on a date with someone?”

“Yeah.”

You blink, a humorless laugh escaping your lips. Clearly, you’ve heard him wrong.

“Do you know how hard it is watching you fall in love with someone else?”

“Oh my goodness!” Your voice comes out muffled against the palms of your hands. “What is it with you and Samuel putting more stock in this situation than it deserves? I wasn’t falling in love with him, Angel--”

“But that’s what you were looking for?” He cuts you off, the raising of his voice causing your hands to drop. “Why else do people date? Yeah, I slept around, but you never had to worry about me trying to replace you with someone else. For years, I’ve had to watch you go through relationships, bringing other men around my son like you were auditioning them for the role of his father--”

“You know I wouldn’t do that--”

“Yeah, well, we all do things we don’t think we’re capable of.”

“Well, Dr. Mallory. Congratulations. You have just witnessed the one thing Angel Reyes is always capable of doing.” You shove the pillow in your lap towards Angel. “Trying to make me feel guilty for something that he’s done. This time, I’m not apologizing to you for anything. And I’m not saying 'thank you' if that’s what this whole woe is me act is about. I didn’t ask you to go see Samuel. Just like I didn’t ask you to sit here and lie to my face.”

“I’m not lying to you--”

“You may have gone to see Samuel, but that’s not where you were last night. I know you, Angel. You didn’t skip out on our son for Samuel.” It’s an observation that gets the response you’re looking for. It’s a look that lasts for only a brief second. A look in Angel's eyes that tells you that you’re right. It disappears as quickly as it had come. “And until you’re willing to stop lying to me, I’m not staying here.”

Angel’s jaw sets. “Since we’re talking about capabilities, her specialty is walking out. She walked out on me seven years ago, and she’s doing it now.”

“Maybe this time, you'll actually stop and ask yourself why,” you mumble as you step over his feet.

Ez is sitting on the living room sofa. He’s not in the most comfortable position but hasn’t been able to move for the last hour. He’s drinking a beer, his eyes on the television playing quietly across the room.

He’s not even sure what show he’s watching. A series Isabela had roped him into. The room is pitch dark--apart from the glow of the screen--the house quiet. Jeyson has been asleep since his 9 pm bedtime.

Despite her need to catch up on her favorite tv show, Isabela is also asleep. With her head resting against Ez’s shoulder, her body curled up against his, Isabela has been asleep for the last hour. If asked, she’ll blame it on Ez. The second he allowed her to share the blanket with him, his body heat acted as a furnace. One that pulled her right to sleep.

Ez is currently debating on the best way to transfer her from the living to the bed when his phone lights up.

He knows who is calling before he checks the caller I.D.

Angel has been texting Ez non-stop.

Angel’s voice comes out low through the receiver. “If I don’t call you back tomorrow it’s because she’s stabbed me in my sleep.”

“You better take the couch tonight then.” Ez brow furrows, wincing as he double-checks the time on his brightly lit screen. “Why are you whispering?”

“I’m in the bathroom.” Angel quickly dismisses his brother’s question. “Listen, it wouldn’t make a difference. Trust me. She hasn’t been talking to me--except for when she ripped me a new one in therapy today--”

“Therapy...hope you tipped the doc.” Ez chuckles. “Having a witness might have saved your life.”

“...she knows about Samuel.”

Ez releases a sigh, his hand running down his face. “I told you it was a bad idea.”

“I had to tell her,” Angel mumbles. “It's not like I could tell her about last night. I figured…”

“Give her something else to be mad about?” Ez shakes his head, sparing his brother the laugh. “Angel--”

“I’m working on it.” Angel’s side goes quiet for a moment. His admission is an admission of truth. He has been thinking about it for the last twenty-four hours. “I'm gonna tell her, I just need the right moment...besides, don’t rush me. She’s gonna be mad at you too when she finds out you helped.”

“Yeah, I don’t know how I always end up in your shit.”

“That’s what brothers are for,” Angel chuckles. “Remember what I said. If I don’t answer tomorrow--”

“Bye, Angel.”

Hanging up, Ez pushes his phone aside.

He carefully lifts the blanket covering him and Isabela. He successfully carries her down the hallway to the bedroom and has finished tucking her in when she stirs.

She watches as he removes one of the extra pillows from the bed before taking a step towards the door.

“I know it might be extremely difficult for you to stay on your side of the bed,” she yawns, rubbing at her eyes. “But I’m willing to share it with you, as long as you let me take the left.”

A smile spreads across Ez’s face as he watches her pat space next to her. He lifts the pillow in his hand. “Bed’s all yours tonight. I’m gonna take the couch.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine,” he chuckles. “I’ve slept in worse places.”

“Okay,” Isabela’s eyes are already drifting shut as she yawns. “Well, just know the offer still stands if you change your mind.”

“Besides, I gotta at least take you out on a date before we start fighting over sides of the bed.”

“Give me the time and place, and I'll be there,” she giggles, her face nuzzling against her pillow. “Just know I’m a tough negotiator.”

Since when has knocking become so difficult?

It is the question you ask yourself as you stand outside the bathroom door. You quickly knock before you can change your mind.

“Yeah?”

“Um--are you decent?”

Your eyes grip shut as you let your own words sink in.

Are you decent?

The bathroom door opens to reveal a freshly showered Angel. He stands on one side of the double sink. His phone is in one hand, a towel in the other. He wears just a pair of briefs, his hair still dripping from the shower.

“What are you doing? You’ve been in here forever.”

“I've been done for a minute,” he responds, his eyes glued to his iPhone. “Didn’t know you were waiting on me.”

“Yeah, well, I can’t go to sleep until I brush my teeth.”

“You could’ve just come in.”

“You were taking a shower.” Your response is automatic.

It is also the same thing that has kept you waiting patiently on the bed for the past thirty minutes.

“You’ve seen me naked before, querida.”

He glances away from his phone to find you still hovering in the doorway. Toothbrush in hand. Your weight shifts as his eyes linger on the black satin sleepshirt you wear. His gaze returns to his phone once he realizes he’s still staring.

“You can enter since apparently, you need the invitation,” he responds, a smile finding his lips. He doesn’t need to see your face to know your eyes are rolling.

Angel may be silent as you start your nighttime skin routine, but he’s panicking inside. Panicking might not be the right word. Paranoia has begun to set in.

From the moment he and Ez made it stateside Friday night, the realization of his actions began to set in. The realization that he has somehow managed to tie himself to Tommy Flores for the second time. The note he'd shoved into his pocket was now in the trash back in Santo Padre. The message, however, was seared in his mind.

Always get insurance.

You were right to ask what Angel has been doing for the last thirty minutes. He’s been searching for information on Tommy. From the moment he started the search, Angel realized this was a terrible mistake.

Now that you’re standing next to him, the cut on his hand seems to throb. He glances down at the bandage. It’s bled through and needs to be removed.

You’re brushing your teeth when you glance up to the mirror before you. You pause, watching Angel's reflection as he studies his right hand. Strangely, it’s the first time you’ve noticed the bandage.

You wait until you’ve rinsed your mouth to face him.

“What happened to your hand?”

Instinctively, Angel moves his hand out of sight. He drops it to his side.

“Nothing,” he responds, suddenly focused on toweling his damp hair.

“It was bleeding?” You reach around him, ignoring his silent protest.

Angel knows there’s no point in fighting you on it. He turns to face you, allowing you to get a better look at his hand. Unwrapping it, you feel him flinch as the cool air hits the open cut. He drops the towel to the floor, resting back against the sink as your brow furrows.

“Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

Before he can respond, you’re already out of sight.

Angel stays where he is, waiting patiently for over five minutes. His brow rises when you return, a black bag in your hand. It is one he’s known you to carry for as long as he can remember. He always teases you for carrying the first aid kit, but always seems to need you to use it on him.

A tiny smile finds his lips as he watches you sit the bag on the sink. “You packed this in your suitcase.”

“No,” your eyes roll as you reach forward to cut on the water. “I keep it in the trunk. Let me see your hand.”

Offering it, Angel watches your expressions as you take the time to study the cut. Whatever questions are on your mind, you don’t share them with him. You don’t say anything else. You silently clean and wrap the cut.

“Thanks.”

The kiss he presses against your cheek halts the washing of your hands. He doesn’t linger to leave a second. He picks up his phone before leaving you alone.

When Angel wakes, he finds you quietly moving around the suite. Cell Phone in hand, one shoe in the other.

“You’re leaving me?”

His question causes you to jump.

“Yeah,” You release a sigh as you turn to find him watching you from his makeshift bed. “I was hoping you’d sleep through my getaway.”

Sitting up, Angel glances over as you take a seat alongside him. He silently watches as you slip on your shoe, his eyes passing over your leggings and sports bra.

“Where are you going?”

“Yoga. Figured you wouldn’t want to come. It’s not really your thing.”

“Yeah, but it’s a couples class…”

He doesn’t add anything to his previous statement. Instead, he stands.

“So, you’re coming?” You ask, watching as he pauses to stretch.

“Yeah, it’s just yoga.” He yawns. "Besides, Dr. Mallory said we gotta do things to nurture our souls."

You’re not sure if Angel tagged along to make a point or because he honestly thought it would be easy.

At the moment, you’re concentrating on keeping your breathing controlled and steady. Your eyes are closed, the only blinders you have for the man on the mat alongside yours.

Although you can no longer see him, you know Angel is in the same state as before.

Struggling.

The hushed “shit” he releases, as he wobbles, brings a tiny smile to your lips.

Angel’s eyes shift from the instructor, who is slowly making her way around the room, towards you. He readjusts his posture, trying his best to mirror your stance. But it seems no matter what he does, it doesn’t look like yours.

He wipes at the sweat on his brow. “I thought we were starting with the easy stuff.”

“This is a beginner’s pose,” you note. Your eyes open, a giggle escaping your lips once you take in the look of skepticism on his face.

“You sure?” Angel watches as you effortlessly move into the next pose. He releases a huff, his neck rolling before he tries to follow your lead. “Seems like you signed us up for the advanced class. Just so you could torture me.”

“I didn’t even know you were coming.”

Angel knows your statement is one of pure truth, but that doesn’t stop him from chuckling, “feels like a setup.”

“You know you can always do the modifications,” you nod towards the front of the room. “It’s easier.”

Angel follows your gaze to where an elderly couple is demonstrating the modified version of the pose.

“Easier?” Angel scoffs. “I don’t need easier, I’m doing pretty good--”

He speaks too soon. His weight tips forward, the sight causing your concentration to break. Before he can fall, you catch his left hand pulling him upright.

Angel blinks. His widened eyes move to meet your gaze. A sheepish grin finds his lips as your grip remains tight around his hand.

You eye his less than steady stance. “Are you okay?”

Angel nods. The grin on his face begins to morph. The sight of his smirk causes you to drop his hand.

“Shit, for a second, I thought you were mad enough to let me faceplant.”

“Shut up,” your eyes roll as you redirect your attention back to the instructor. “I just have good reflexes.”

Halfway through the class, Angel gives up trying to follow along. He spends the remainder of class distracting you. When he’s successful in making you smile, he complies with your request “Angel, please focus. You’re going to get us kicked out.”

He settles back into participating. He sticks solely to the modifications. When the class ends, he manages a few steps before collapsing on your mat.

He rests his head on your lap, preventing you from standing. His eyes drift shut as he lets out a deep breath.

“Angel, get up.”

“I can’t,” he sighs. His right-hand rests over his heart, the dramatic change in his breathing causing you to shake your head. “I can’t feel my legs.”

Your eyes roll as he remains where he is. Head resting against your lap, eyes closed, a tiny smile on his lips. It grows into a familiar grin as the warmth of your fingers brushes against his skin.

Your touch lightly brushes through his hair. You watch his eyes open to meet yours.

“I thought yoga was supposed to be relaxing,” he chuckles.

“I’m relaxed,” you smile, your touch drifting to his jaw. “You’re not relaxed.”

“Now I am. It’s what you owe me, after that hour of torture.”

“You get an A for trying.”

He smiles falters as he watches you let out a deep breath. The smile on your face is gone, the sight letting him know his plan hasn't worked.

"Can you get up now?" You ask as your eyes follow the couples filing out.

A red 1964 Chevy Impala turns onto Rock Creek Avenue for the second time this Sunday morning. Windows rolled down, music playing low, it comes to a stop alongside the light blue fire hydrant marking the end of the street. Although its idling engine has been cut, the gear shift in park, its driver remains inside.

Dressed in a worn leather jacket, too hot for the already humid morning air, Leo releases the smoke in his lungs. He had committed the address to memory when Tommy had whispered it to him the morning before.

He stops to double-check the home’s number as he returns his cigarette to his lips.

1101 Rock Creek Avenue.

The house itself is nothing special. Apart from the sunflower yellow-painted door, it is nearly identical to the other single-story homes which line the street. A street that is strangely quiet for the hour.

The impala’s dash clock reads 11:35.

Leo leans across the console tugging the latch from the glovebox. Shifting the Ruger, which lays inside, he retrieves the folded newspaper. He pauses long enough to close the glovebox before settling back against his seat.

He stays that way, finishing off his slowly dwindling cigarette, scribbling on the paper in his hand.

The Saturday edition of the Daily Imperial Gazette has a newly noted license plate number written in its top-left corner. The crossword puzzle for the day, ninety percent complete.

Focused on the black and white squares before him, Leo lets out a breath.

An eleven-letter word for satisfaction?

“...vindication…” he mumbles, scribbling the answer into the boxes. His gaze shifts to the watch on his wrist.

12:01.

A shift in his peripheral causes Leo to direct his attention elsewhere.

The sunflower yellow door opens, a woman stepping out. She has a black BB-8 backpack slung over her left shoulder, the eye of the orange and white droid catching a glint of sunlight. Her long dark curls are pulled into a high ponytail. She wears a purple tie-dye sundress and white platform sneakers. She turns back to the door, smiling at the man who steps out after her.

Although Leo has never met Angel, he knows this is not him. The prospect patch stitched across the back of Ez’s kutte, the indicator he needs.

“I can’t wait to see you have some actual fun,” Isabela giggles as Ez stops before her.

Ez’s brow furrows, the corner of his lips turning up slightly, as he meets her playful gaze.

“You make it sound like I’m boring.”

“Uh-uh, don’t put that on me. I did not say boring, you did.” Isabela’s nose scrunches in concentration. Her smile widens as she settles on a more fitting word to describe the man before her. “You’re always so...serious.”

“Serious…” Ez echoes. He watches as Isabela bites her lip, suddenly wondering if her word choice was taken on the offense. As she opens her mouth to add an explanation, Ez shrugs. “I’ve been called worse.”

“I’m just saying, I think I’ve seen you crack a smile maybe once since you’ve been here,” Isabela adds. “You don’t laugh at any of my jokes--”

“Maybe they’re not funny.” Ez glances up from the sunglasses in his hands. He watches Isabela’s hand find her chest, her mouth falling open in disbelief. “Besides, I didn't realize you were trying to impress me.”

For once, in their time together, Ez is able to render Isabela speechless. The smile that brightens his features, causes Isabela’s eyes to roll as she steps around him.

“Wait, can we go back a second? Did Ezekiel Reyes actually crack a joke?”

“I do it from time to time.”

“Well, you should do it more often because you have a cute smile, Zeke,” she teases. “Can’t blame a girl from wanting to see it more often.”

Ez fails at stopping the smile on his lips from morphing into a grin as he slips his sunglasses over his eyes.

Isabela takes a step back inside. “Jeyson Iván Reyes! Let’s go!”

With Isabela no longer before him, Ez’s gaze passes over the street coming to a stop on the red Chevy Impala. Aside from being illegally parked, the car would catch the attention of any passerby. It’s not every day that one sees a vintage car, in pristine condition, riding through the streets of Santo Padre.

He steps forward, giving the car a closer look. But he looks away once he gets the look at the driver’s seat. A man focused solely on flipping through a copy of the Daily Imperial Gazette.

Leo lowers the newspaper slightly. His focus moves past an unsuspecting Ez to the little boy who bolts out the front door.

In his Lakers jersey, Jeyson Reyes is nearly a blur of purple and gold. His laughter drifts down the street as his uncle catches and lifts him into the air.

“Someone’s excited,” Isabela giggles as Ez lowers Jeyson back to his feet.

“I wanna try the bumper cars!” The grin on Jeyson’s face is wide. His entire body radiates with anticipation as he impatiently watches his uncle lock the door. “And the ride that spins you around really really fast so that you’re dizzy—and the mini golf!”

“Yeah?” Isabela’s fingers brush through Jeyson’s curls. Her playful eyes drift to Ez, the smile on her face grows as Jeyson follows her gaze. “I think you and I can beat Ez over here. What do you say, J?”

Ez’s brow arches, his eyes briefly meeting hers before moving to Jeyson’s.

“We can beat him. Easy.” The confidence in Jeyson’s voice is almost enough to break his uncle’s facade.

Ez’s eyes study both pairs of brown eyes focused on him, his head shaking softly.

“I don’t know,” he winces as he steps towards the car. “What are you willing to bet on it, J?”

For a moment, Jeyson is silent. An endless amount of possibilities rush through the eight-year-old’s mind. His round eyes widen as he settles on an answer.

“Funnel cake.”

“Good choice.” Ez squats down before Jeyson. He offers him his hand, pulling it back slightly once Jeyson reaches for it. His gaze lifts to Isabela, his resolve finally cracking, a smile slipping through. “You two can’t back out when I win.”

Folding the newspaper, Leo tosses it into the passenger seat as he watches the truck back out of the driveway. As the truck rolls to a halt, before the stop sign at the end of the street, the engine of the 1964 Chevy Impala rumbles to life.

“When can we go on the Ferris Wheel?” Jeyson groans, the impatient whine in his voice causes his uncle to smile.

“In a minute.” Ez ruffles Jeyson’s hair before reaching into his kutte for his vibrating phone. “We gotta wait for Isabela.”

“Where is she?” Jeyson pouts. Standing on his toes, he releases a huff once he doesn’t see her. “She’s been gone forever!”

In reality, it’s only been five minutes. But five minutes can seem like a lifetime to a kid waiting anxiously to continue his exploration of the carnival.

Two hours in, and Ez has learned that Jeyson doesn’t tire easily.

“I thought you wanted ice cream?” Ez chuckles, glancing over to watch Jeyson shake his head.

“Not anymore,” Jeyson sighs. “I want to go on the Ferris Wheel.”

“We will the second Isabela gets back. Okay?”

Despite the pout on his lips, Jeyson nods as he meets his uncle's gaze.

The text that holds Ez attention is from you. It is a question that has been on your mind for the past few days.

Zeke, need that brain of yours. PLEASE tell me you know of a club with a stallion patch?

Ez’s brow furrows as he reads over the message. He types the first thought that pops into his mind. Followed quickly by the second.

Horsemen.

Don’t know much about them. Prospect...limited information. Gotta ask Angel about that stuff. He was at the table Friday.

He glances up from his phone at the burst of laughter coming from a passing group of teenage girls. Slipping his phone back into his pocket, he takes it forward once he realizes that the insistent voice of Jeyson is no longer there.

“Jeyson?” Ez’s brow furrows as his gaze passes over those closest to him.

He has no sight of Jeyson, his stomach dropping as he takes another step forward.

The second time he calls Jeyson’s name his voice is louder, a slight tremble slipping in.

Despite it being a Sunday afternoon, the carnival is packed. The Ferris Wheel is on the last round of its current cycle. This has ushered in a shift in the crowd. People are rushing to make it to the line, excited for a seat on the upcoming cycle.

“Jeyson?”

The cheers and music drown out Ez’s voice. Between the bodies pressing against him and the breath that seems harder to pass than the previous, Ez can't quite remember the way he’s just turned from.

The tightness in his chest causes him to stumble forward. The thought of finding Jeyson slips away with each painful squeeze of his heart. It becomes painfully loud, drowning out the same cheers and music that had blanketed his voice mere seconds before. He can’t focus. His mind is useless, unable to bridge the disconnect to the rest of his body.

No matter how hard he tries to get air, Ez chokes on each breath he takes. No amount of air that he swallows can be caught by his lungs. He is left breathless, his feet blindly searching for a break in the crowd. His vision is blurred, the images blurring as his focus scrambles.

Through the crowd, he catches sight of a disfigured BB-8 backpack.

“Thank you! Have a great day.” Isabela’s smile widens as she accepts the two ice cream cones from the vendor. She drops the change into the tip jar, carefully sidestepping the couple running past her.

She stops to take a lick of her ice cream, her eyes scanning the crowd. She starts to move forward, in the direction of the designated meet-up point. A tall green pole, that houses a baby blue flag at its top.

Through the break in the crowd, she catches sight of Ez’s kutte. Her steps slow once she realizes he’s bent over, the cones she holds slipping through her fingers.

Ez can’t hear his name on her lips, but he can feel the heat of her shaking hands as they cup his face. Her body shifts with his, as Ez’s back presses against the pole. His lightheadedness dragging his body to the ground.

Despite the trembling of her hands, Isabela’s voice is calm as she lowers herself to her knees before him.

“Ez--hey, look at me. I need you to breathe. Okay?” The softness of her voice lifts Ez’s gaze from his trembling hands. A smile finds her lips, the sight forcing him to take a breath. “Good. Here.”

Taking his left hand in his, Isabela gives it a gentle squeeze before moving to place it over her heart.

“It’s okay, you and I can do it together.” Isabela takes a deep steady breath, Ez’s hand rising and falling with the motion.

It takes a second breath for him to follow suit. The harsh intake of breath comes in slightly smoother than before. His right-hand finds her waist, his eyes drifting shut as he tries to push out another breath.

The grip on her hip is painfully tight, but Isabela remains in place. Resting her forehead against his, she continues to breathe, her fingers gently brush against his cheek. With each passing second, her heart slowly anchors his forcing it to match the steady rhythm beating against his palm.

“Shit--” Ez’s voice comes out hoarse, shaky as he opens his eyes. “I’m sorry--”

His body tips back. Isabela’s weight pressed against him as her arms wrap around his neck. The hug she gives is tight, causing Ez to blink.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I uh--I’m sorry--I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“You don’t have to apologize, Ez.” Isabela shakes her head, pulling back to get a look at Ez’s face.

The look of concern on her face drops Ez’s gaze to his hands. The slight tremble that remains causes him to clench his fist together.

He attempts to swallow the lump in his throat, but it remains. His voice comes out thick, as he shakes his head slightly.

“I haven’t had one of those in years,” he speaks quietly. “The first year in Stockton…”

Isabela nods, not needing him to finish the thought. Instead, she wraps her arms back around him. This time, Ez returns the hug, his face resting against the warmth of her neck briefly.

It’s not until she has him steady and on his feet that Isabela lets out a deep breath.

She looks around when a realization sets in.

“Where’s Jeyson?” The look on Ez’s face causes her to take a step sideways.

As she turns around, she stumbles forward nearly tripping over a grinning Jeyson.

“Oh my god--” Isabela lets out a deep breath, her hand finding her forehead as her eyes drift shut. “Jeyson, where did you go?”

Jeyson’s words come out muffled as he attempts to speak through a mouthful of hot dough.

“We went to get a funnel cake.”

“What?” Isabela’s eyes open.

Jeyson stands with a large plated funnel cake in hand. He wears a grin.

“You can have some,” he offers as Isabela brushes at the powered sugar dusting his cheek.

She blinks. “You don’t ever walk off without me or Ez. You don’t go with strangers, you know that--”

“He wasn’t a stranger.” Jeyson glances up from the piece of funnel cake in his hand. “He was daddy’s friend. He knew my name. He said it was a gift for doing good at my recital.”

His brown eyes widen as he takes in the look of confusion on Isabela’s face.

“Am I in trouble?” He asks. The possibility causes Jeyson’s smile to falter.

“No,” Isabela shakes her head, wrapping him in a hug. “You scared me, that’s all.”

You can learn a lot about a person from their home. Leo discovers all he needs about you the moment he enters yours.

Your son is the center of your universe.

Leo stands in your living room, his eyes passing over the incomplete Millennium Falcon set in the middle of the floor. Overstepping the abandoned legos, he moves closer for a better look at the photos hanging on the wall.

Jeyson is in nearly every photo. Spanning from baby photos, holiday shots, candid moments of fun, to yearbook photos, they allow Jeyson to grow up before Leo’s eyes.

He pauses at the latest hung photo.

Taken in September, it shows Jeyson standing between you and his father. The smile he wears matches Angel’s to the tee. It was taken on the first day of third grade. Jeyson is wearing his Gilman Prep uniform.

Leo lifts his phone, delaying long enough to snap a photo before moving on.

He starts his trek through the house. Sifting through recently delivered mail, abandoned on the kitchen counter. The piano holding the sheet music for Jeyson's recently passed recital. Studying the neatly printed schedule written across the whiteboard on the refrigerator door. The fully stocked bookshelf in Jeyson’s bedroom. The password-protected laptop on the desk of your office. The gun safe in your bedroom closet.

As he returns the closet door to its original position, his eyes pass over the room. They land on the dresser. The wooden, hand-carved jewelry box is smaller than he would anticipate from a woman. The first item to catch his attention is the oval cut diamond of your engagement ring, paired with the matching wedding band. He lifts both, pausing to study them in the sunlight peeking through the bedroom window. Returning them to their original resting place, he lifts the tiny velvet red box nearby. Inside, he finds a pearl necklace.

The necklace itself is simple. A single pearl embellished with a small, round white stone. It is a necklace you rarely take off. It was gifted to you years ago at a high school graduation dinner by Marisol.

Closing the box, Leo pockets it before leaving. The only sign he was ever there is the unlocked front door. It gives Ez a brief moment of a pause upon his return. He’s almost certain he locked it when they left. But with the high-speed rate Jeyson is talking at the moment, he chalks it up to his mind spacing.

series taglist: @angelreyesgirl89 @holl2712 @relaxing-najee @thedeviltohisangel @awkwardtayler @siempremamita @amorestevens @witching-hour @seize-the-droid @rosieposie0624 @sesamepancakes @est1887 @queenbeered @ticosas @blessedboo @helli4nthus @katjusja @melanicia @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme @moneteguiza

mayans taglist: @lilacyennefer @pedropcl @holl2712 @rae-gar-targaryen @omg-mymelaninisbeautiful @henrycavill19 @silverstarsandsuns @chellybear98 @blackcoffeeandgreenteaforme​​ @tomhardydallasstarsgirl​​ @noz4a2​​ @wiccanmetallicrose​​ @crxssourbones​​ @kimljn​​ @starrynite7114​​ @richonne4life​​  @themarkblues​​ @mariaxliliana​​ @thelovelyleo23​​ @hail-horror-queen​​ @gemini0410​​ @binooo98​​ @the-jer-bear​​ @abbiesthings​​ @losolvidad0s​​ @helli4nthus​​ @babaohhhriley​​ @futureleo1678​​ @whatupitshuff​​ @trhett21​​ @trulysuccubus​​ @minnicelli​​ @sillygoose6969​​ @capnsaveahoe​​ @leahnicole1219​​ @crashbarbie​​ @cyka1312​​ @zoovent​​ @lakamaa12​​ @keithseabrook27​​ @vir-tually​​ @awkwardtayler​​ @rawrlittlepanda-95​​ @irenne-stans​​ @pearlkitten33​​ @ezs-baby-angels-whore​​ @sesamepancakes​ @toni9​ @vannabanana1995​ @queenbeered​ @shawty-fenty​ @kaystacks17​ @thesandbeneathmytoes​ @anactualcaseofthetruth​ @star017​ @cant-decide-at-this-moment​ @cocotheclown​ @watsonwise​ @ilovebey2018​ @oscars-wifeyyy​ @rosieposie0624​ @jennisdirtyimagines​  @ughdontbeboring​ @jjwriter23​ @briskywalker​ @peoniarose​ @behindmyeyes-insidemyhead​ @partypoison00​ @making-starsdance​ @claytoncardenasbabymama​ @myakai13

[writemyaceattorneys]

Good day i am here to provide a drabble based on some of drugs anons ideas ;D

-🌌anon (oh, and i keep on forgetting to mention my pronouns im so sorry - she/her and they/them :) )

When they first stayed up so late, he passed it off as a natural reaction to the transpiring events.

Change was difficult, even if it was for the better, and outwardly they accepted it. But the initial... move still would put stress on many, so he let them do as they will regarding their sleep schedule, reasoning it'd only be a matter of time.

A week or so, they reasoned, but as every day dragged on past those inital sweet seven and they got sicklier and their skin started to have an undertone of silver compared to their former vibrancy, that's when enough was enough.

"Pray forgive me, S/O, but you can't keep going on like this." Barok had sighed as he just barely caught them from halfway walking into the wall. Yet, the smaller figure merely laughed

"What? Why not?" They grinned, the bags under their eyes curving up with their grin. "I'm making tons of progress with my novella!"

"At the expense of your health? For goodness sake, A rose can't wither at the expense of a daisy." Exasperated, he pulled away to allow them to collect the streen papers across the tiled floor, dropped out of surprise.

"...Can it?" They drawled, grogginess temporarily catching up before their wit returned. "Besides, i do believe my piece is prettier than a daisy. Didn't you claim as such ehen you first reviewed my draft? I think you said it was... a..." they yawned big and widemuch like a snake unhinging its jaw save for the lacking predatory intent."crnation..?"

"That is not the point, S/O." Barok half growled. "If you don't get proper sleep soon so help me i will burn your prior drafts."

"Please do..." impossible as ever, they rubbed their eyes without a care for the steel gaze overlooking them. Yawning once more, they turned away. "Now, if you'll please excuse me..."

They would be, for today, but one would not expect the other to be brewing ideas in their head aswell..

----

It took a week for the delivery to arrive, and how many times had S/O slept properly?

Once, bent over their desk like an overworked bobby. So, not properly, save for their transferral over to the bed so kindly provided for them but barely touched.

That'd change though, as barok oversaw the food sreved for the night's dinner and took out what'd finally get them to rest properly.

It looked like a salt or a spice when powdered upon their meal that they always ate when provided, making him wonder why they not sleep if they ate so heartily?

Again, that was going to change.

So the meals were set and they ate like usual. S/O noted how the steak tasted oh so slightly differently, but paid it no mind. Maybe it was their mind. Maybe it was a new treat, even if they didnt like the bitterness. Perhaps it was something exotic? Strange that barok didnt comment on it though...

They did note how much more jovial the other man at the end of the table was in the part of their mind that was still coherent. No more fretting over their sleep, but rather he just asked about their book.

How strange, but barok van zieks was quite the aloof one, so again, they paid it no mind.

They also noted how much more they were yawning, but the pursuit of art was too important, so again, they paid it no mind.

Maybe they simply coulnt, a half way dead diredness permeating theough their veins sprinting up to them

Only halfway up the stairs back to their chambers, when their legs wavered and gave out, and their grip weakened on the ornate baniser did any semblance of something wrong cross into their vision, but...

Well, at least barok seemed to arrive just on time, scooping them up into his arms.

"What did I tell you, S/O? You're lucky you only gave out a few steps up. You're lucky you didn't get hurt sooner."

...why did that sound so off? And what was with that glint in his eyes, the one thing they could focus on as their mind entered a shadowy haze thicker than the london smog?

"But fret not. I'll make sure you'll be well taken care of."

He smiled a chilling smile, and before any manner of slurred confusion could ask what was going on...

the world went black.

Perhaps the grim reapers curse was useful, if in small doses.

(I just started the end of chapter 5 in DGS so i apologise for any potential OOC-ness of barok or medical innacuracies)

😳 gah- well then....😳

I'm really not gonna add too much to this because y'all should appreciate this on its own but honestly 🌌Anon the way you can take the brilliant ideas that everyone shares here and make something that's brilliant also. Your contributions are amazing, thank you for sticking around here!!!!

[catrasredemption-moved]

I'm really struggling and hurting with what's going on in the fandom right now as im losing the only comfort i had in quarantine. could you please write something happy post-s5 catradora based on noelle's statement that once Adora realises she's in love with Catra she'd be SO into the reslationship?

((I get you, Nonners <3 *hugs* Again, white af, so I’m going to limit my comments, but - it isn’t all downhill from here. Try not to give up)) (((Disclaimer it’s almost 4am and my sleeping meds are kicking in, so I’m sorry if this isn’t completely coherent)))

Adora had never half-assed anything in her life.

And she’d be damned if she was going to start now, at a time when being fully on her game was more important than ever.

“I just want to do something for her!”

Bow practically had hearts in his eyes. Glimmer was a little less impressed. “I’m pretty sure if you just stayed in bed and napped together all day, she’d be happy.”

“I know, I know.” Adora sighed. “But that’s not - I want to do something good. Like, really show her that I love her.”

“Take a vacation.”

“Glimmer!”

“What? I’m serious,” Glimmer insisted. “If you just like... took an entire week off to do nothing but spend time with her, she’d probably be speechless. Which I would pay to see, by the way.”

Adora frowned, thinking it over. It was true that Catra would probably be floored by Adora taking a week off, no need for She-Ra or anything, just for her.

“I don’t know. Do you think it’s enough? What should we do? What do people do on vacation?”

“You could just travel?” Bow suggested. “You know, get as far from Bright Moon as you can then call Glimmer for a ride back or something when you’re done.”

It was... actually a good idea, Adora thought. They’d spent their whole lives in the Fright Zone wondering what was beyond the Whispering Woods. They could actually see things now. They could see a world full of magic!

The happy thoughts died almost as quickly as they had started. “I... I dunno. I mean, it sounds great, but that would take more than a week, and-”

“Take a month,” Glimmer encouraged. “Take six months, honestly. You guys saved the universe. If anyone’s earned time off, it’s you.”

“That’s a lot of time.”

“And you’ve earned it,” Bow assured her. “Maybe not six months - I mean, you should take six months but I know that would drive you nuts. But take a month. Go places. Spend time together. I think it’d be good for you guys.”

Adora chewed on her thumbnail for a moment before slowly nodding and smiling. “Yeah. Okay.”

This whole thing had started with Catra not feeling like a priority in Adora’s life, after all. A month together would be the perfect way to show Adora she was invested and she cared. Perfect. * * * * * * * * * * * * Catra didn’t get back to Bright Moon that night. “Your cat passed out on my couch,” Mermista informed Adora flatly, turning the screen so Adora could see Catra curled up in a tight ball, sleeping.

“Is she... okay?”

“She’s dumb. Sea Hawk found her almost sick with heat stroke and had to drag her away from the house she was working on.”

Adora’s heart jumped to her throat. “She’s... She’s really trying hard to help with Salineas.”

“And I appreciate it,” Mermista admitted in a rare moment of genuine honesty. “But I’ll appreciate it less if she kills herself in the process. If she’s going to die, I should at least get the first shot.”

“Glimmer can come get her, if you want.”

“Nah, she already feels like hell. She can sleep it off on the couch.”

Adora scrubbed her eyes, smiling weakly. “Thanks, Mermista. Sorry, I guess I should’ve warned you, she gets really intense when she actually puts effort into things.”

“She’s not someone I would’ve pegged for a workaholic. Want me to wake her up to say... I dunno, good night or whatever you guys say to each other?”

“Nah, let her sleep.” Adora wanted Catra home, wanted to talk to her about a vacation, but she was sleeping, and that was more important than anything. She’d been exhausting herself for nearly a month working on Salineas. And while it was earning her some begrudging tolerant will with Mermista (who firmly believed actions were better than any apology Catra could ever say), Adora was worried. A vacation would really do her some good. * * * * * * * * * * * * Glimmer and Adora went to Salineas the next morning to get Catra. They thought it was reasonable to assume she was still sleeping off the heat stroke at the palace.

“Nope, she took off before I woke up,” Mermista said flatly when they found her. “Sea Hawk tried to find her, but he’s not exactly subtle about it, so she probably had plenty of time to hide.”

“Great.” Adora sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I’ll... track her down.”

“Tell her if she’s going to keel over to get out of my kingdom. She can die on Bright Moon’s turf.”

“Tell her not to die,” Glimmer added.

“Yes, and yes.”

Mermista pointed Adora in the direction of where they’d found Catra yesterday. She approached a half built house, quietly climbing up the ladder at the side and finding Catra working on the roofing.

“Seriously?” she asked, resting her arms on the edge of the roof. Catra looked up, surprised.

“What?”

She looked exhausted, her face flushed red. Adora sighed. “Are you coming home any time soon?”

“Yeah, yeah.” She went back to work, distracted. “Sorry, I dunno what happened yesterday.”

“You made yourself sick working in the sun all day.”

“Sea Hawk overreacted.” Catra waved Adora off. “He’s just scared you’d kill him if you found he let me overwork myself.”

“Sooooo you’re admitting it?”

“No, that’s just his logic.”

Adora shook her head. “Come on, take the day off and come home. I wanna talk to you about something.”

“I really need to finish this.”

There was a weird moment where Adora thought she understood how Catra had felt for years. Catra had been working nonstop on Salineas for a month, and Adora was starting to feel a little ignored.

But she also understood Catra’s side. She took a deep breath, hauling herself up onto the roof and crawling over to Catra, gently putting her hand on Catra’s and stopping the hammer. “Hey. I get it, okay? But you’re not responsible for fixing all of Salineas.”

“Actually, I kind of am,” Catra replied bitterly. She was far too warm for it to be comfortable.

“I’m pretty sure Hordak could stand to take a little more responsibility than he has.” Adora couldn’t help but be a bit bitter about that. He had mostly stayed in Dryl, working with Entrapta on tech that would help with the rebuilding process. And that was great and all, but it wasn’t much compared to Catra being out here every day working herself half to death.

Catra let out a long sigh, finally relaxing her hand. “I just... need to do this, Adora. Okay?”

“I get that, but you don’t need to do it at the expense of your own health. And yes, I know I’m a hypocrite. But I’m worried about you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.” Adora squeezed her hand. “And that’s okay. Have you eaten anything?”

“No.” The honesty was nice.

“Did you skip eating because you felt sick?” Catra nodded. “Okay. So... you can leave with me, or Mermista can wash you out to sea so you don’t die in her kingdom.”

Catra looked around, and sighed, finally nodding. “Okay. Let’s go.”

Getting her back to solid ground was a bit dicey, but she held herself up and managed to walk back to the palace without much help.

“She lives,” Mermista said dryly when they arrived back at the palace. Glimmer smiled, although she couldn’t hide her worry.

“You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, I’m fine.” Catra smothered a yawn, scrubbing her eyes.

“Picture of health all right,” Mermista deadpanned. “Look, you built like, an entire neighborhood on your own. Come back when you’re not burning up.”

Glimmer rested a hand on Catra’s shoulder, wincing when she felt the heat radiating off of her. Adora took a moment to whisper, “Thank you for taking care of her,” to Mermista. The princess shrugged.

“Yeah, you know. Whatever.”

Catra was not happy with the teleport back to Bright Moon. Glimmer put them close enough to the bed so she could drop straight onto it, groaning. Good luck, the queen mouthed before disappearing. Adora went to the bathroom, wet a washcloth with cold water, and returned to the bed, resting the cloth on the back of Catra’s neck. She shivered.

“Cold.”

“Yes, because you’re burning hot.” Adora settled in next to her. “So, I had an idea, and I already know you’re going to argue with it, but hear me out.” Catra hummed in affirmation. “I was thinking we should take some time off. You and me. I was thinking traveling, but now I’m thinking maybe go visit Frosta and spend a week in the snow.”

“Oh hell no,” Catra muttered. “I am not going anywhere with snow. That’s where I draw the line.”

“But you’re agreeing to the vacation?”

“I dunno.” Catra raised her head. “When? Can it wait until Salineas is-”

“No.” Adora gently clasped Catra’s face in her hands. “I know this is hard for you, but you can’t hurt yourself trying to fix things. That won’t accomplish anything, and nobody wants to see you hurting, not even Mermista.”

Catra looked ready to argue, but something in her expression flickered. “You’re willing to take time off just to do nothing?”

“Not nothing. To spend time with you. We can hold each other accountable. You keep me strapped down, and I’ll lie on top of you to make sure you don’t run off to Salineas.”

Tears slowly filled Catra’s eyes, and Adora panicked for a moment before Catra spoke. “You’d... really take time off to spend time with me?”

“Of course.” Adora kissed her gently. “I love you, Catra. And I know we’ve been through a lot and done a lot that doesn’t really... support that, and I want to prove it now. And I want to take care of you.”

The moment of silence between them was comfortable. The same silence they could have spent hours in at one point in their lives. “I love you too,” Catra finally murmured. “Maybe taking some off to spend together wouldn’t be so bad. If only to see you try and relax.”

“Ha. Ha.” Adora grabbed the washcloth and began gently wiping Catra’s face. “Glimmer gave us a month, but I’m pretty sure she’ll be happy if we want to take more. Let’s start with getting you better, then we can figure out what we want to do from there. Okay?”

“Yeah.” Catra snuggled into Adora’s chest, taking a deep breath. “That sounds good.”

It had worked. Adora couldn’t believe it. “So uh... I’m doing this relationship thing pretty good, huh?”

Catra snorted, reaching up to push her face away. “Get over yourself.”

[saintlevrant]

ℭ𝔥𝔦𝔪𝔢𝔯𝔞

𝑞'𝑠 𝑞𝑢𝑖𝑐𝑘 𝑐𝑙𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 — Angst. Male character, no direct character specified. I wrote this when I was in 10th grade, and I did not go back and check for grammatical errors. Sorry if you run into any. ♡

tw: self-loathing, depression, language, a sprinkle of salt

chi·me·ra: something that is hoped or wished for but in fact is illusory or impossible to achieve

Hello, you've reached my–

Sharing is caring, babe!

You've reached our voicemail. Say your message after the beep, please.

Another person?

Beep.

They had moved on so fast, yet he can't seem to believe they had left.

"Another person," he repeatedly thought.

He slumped on the floor, choking on the air lodged in his throat. The closing up of his airway to refrain from sobbing didn't help his case at all. He wondered how they could love someone simply because the person they loved weren't him.

He gathered the strength to force a coherent word out of his mouth. Tears stung his eyes, waiting to tip over the brim of his lower lash line.

He inhaled sharply, almost being strangled by the wild thump of his heart.

"I-"

This was his chance to tell them how much he missed them. The room spun as his heart rate inclined even more. Thoughts of how he'd explain how much he'd do anything to have them back ran through his mind.

If you are satisfied with your message, please hang-

He leaned his head backwards to rest it upon the wall behind him. He missed them. He wanted to know what they were doing. He wanted to know where they were. He needed to hold them in his arms again, to make contact with them. He needed to feel it.

He needed to feel loved.

"I can't remember the last time I felt good about what we have."

"What do you mean? We love each other."

"We? You love me. It's not like I tried to stray away from loving you. It just seemed to happen that way."

He jolted, finding himself in the same spot he was in the night before. His spine still alined vertically against the cold, cracked wall. There was a static sensation in his legs due to the position he had been in all night. He saw the dimness of the sky's glow penetrating through his livingroom window. The sun was just starting to rise.

Placing his palms against the fuzzy carpet, he pushed downwards to lift himself from the floor. The stiff tiredness of his legs made his knees buckle and awkwardly stumble to his feet. He set his journey off to his bedroom.

The ebony door creaked, ajaring as he pushed it to reveal the room. Hesitantly, he made his way over to the neatly tidied resting place. He plopped on his bed and traced the stitching of the duvet with his fingers. It seemed that it had been centuries before he decided to touch it again. He didn't like to sleep in his bedroom now. It often reminded him of the love of his life.

The room made him lonely.

He still felt weak. He was definitely not up for going to the office today. He'd probably call into work with an excuse for him to stay home, again.

He slowly rolled over on his side to pick up the phone. He tapped the phone icon and dialed the number of his work place.

After explaining why he wouldn't be attending work once again this week, the assistant just sighed, gave him a sympathetic "it's fine," and hung up.

He hated that. He hated pity. He hated all the whispers and stares he attracted once he stepped into a room. Most of all, he hated himself.

"You're saying that... that you don't love me anymore?"

"Honestly, I never did. I tried. I really did, but you're so dull. I could never love such a dull person."

"I'm so sorry. Wh- what can I do to make you love me? Please, please tell me."

"Nothing. I will never love you the same way you love me."

9:30 PM

"Damn..."

He slowly sat up, looking around his room that felt unfamiliar. He came to an agreement with himself that it wasn't his fault that he had ended up alone. However, he could never forgive himself for letting a precious jewel slip out of his grasp so easily.

He'll never let that happen again.

After being in such deep thought, he decided to take a shower. Oh boy, did he need one. He rose up from the bed, made his way towards his closet, and grabbed the things he needed for the process of showering.

Once he stepped in the bathroom, he looked in the mirror. His eyes were puffy and swollen from crying, but also sunken in from the lack of sleep he had gotten. All of the sorrow, doubt, and hate was carved onto his face. He looked weak. He was drained.

Repulsed by his own face, he turned away and walked over to the shower. He turned the knob to the hottest setting. If he wasn't able to achieve his hopes of dying, this man is about to feel the second hottest thing to hell.

The steam from the water was visible, yet he stuck his arm in the water to test it. His nerves hadn't received the heat of the nearly boiling water until a few seconds afterwards. As soon as his receptors indicated pain, sense knocked the hell out of his brain.

He quickly retracted his arm.

"What the fuck am I doing?"

He turned the knob back a few notches and tested the water again. This time, it was just right. He hopped in and tried to put some liquid soap in his hand.

"You can't be serious," the liquid base didn't come out of its bottle.

Unscrewing the cap from its coil, he looked inside to see the soap gunked to the bottom of the bottle.

"How long has it been since I've taken a fucking shower?"

He sighed in defeat. He didn't have any other option than to pour a little water in the bottle to loosen the base's particles up. When the liquid finally dispensed from the plastic bottle into his palm, he rubbed it into his matted, untamed locks.

Still cleansing his body, he closed his eyes and relaxed under the soothing warmth of the water. The thought that it was not his fault reapproached his mind. He couldn't force someone love him for who he was. Dull. He hated the word and how well it described his personality.

As he stepped out of the shower, he grabbed one of the towels that hung on the hanging rack. He took the cloth and ruffled his hair briefly before tying it around his waist. Maybe he was just the problem.

"I don't mean that I hate you, though."

"What do you mean then?"

"What I meant to say was, you aren't fit to be in a loving relationship."

"Relationships suck anyway," he mumbled while he roamed through the various shows Netflix has to offer.

He heard a soft grumble emanate from his stomach. How long has it been since he'd eaten a proper meal? Ten days? With an exasperated sigh, he headed over to the refrigerator. The door of the refrigerator only revealed a half eaten container of peanut butter and a jar of mayonnaise.

"Un-fucking-believable," he scoffed, "I guess I'm going to have to go grocery shopping."

He shut the refrigerator. Walking to the sink and filling up a glass with water, he looked over at the clock on the stove.

11:23 PM

He shrugged, grabbing the remote to resume the hunt for something to watch on Netflix. Each recommendation being something he had already watched, he finally decided on a psychological thriller. His stomach complained once again, but he knew it was too late to go to the store or order takeout. Sipping on his water, he sat there contemplating what he was going to do. Suddenly, he remembered that he had a box of cereal in the cupboard.

"I assume that's dinner."

© gyecm 2021. do not repost or modify.