#like i have this deep anxiety about it now

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 38: Shattered

Summary: Things aren't okay. They never will be again.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7,743 words

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, angst, PTSD, nightmares, POV changes, depression and anxiety, medical stuff, injuries, brief description of a possible death, language, mention of weight loss due to medical stuff, emotionally heavy chapter (again), slightly graphic imagery, illness, so much crying

A/N: I just want to make something very clear here since there's a scene in this chapter that might be interpreted this way, but 'mega is NOT suicidal. That's not something that's going to be in this fic, and neither is self-harm. It would have been well warned in advance if that was going to be something coming up in this fic. She's struggling a lot, but she's not suicidal, she's not going to become suicidal, nor will she self-harm even off screen. So don't worry. That's not what's happening. It won't be happening.

Okay, just wanted to make that clear. Enjoy the suffering!

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

The scream slices through the silence seconds before chaos erupts. 

John is on his feet and out the door before Kyle is even fully awake. Simon is on his heels down the stairs, the two of them nearly colliding in their rush. His heart thuds in his chest as he sees your door open, the overhead light on. It’s bad. It must be bad if the overhead light is on. You hate the overhead light. 

He barrels in like a bull, ready to fight. The screaming has stopped, but it still rings in his ears. The fear, the panic. Something has happened. Someone got in. He should have made you take the room upstairs. He should have put a barrier between you and the door. That window. Someone could break that easily and grab you before they even noticed.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.” 

The screaming has stopped, but gut-wrenching sobs have taken its place. He takes a moment to scan the room. Nothing is misplaced. The window isn’t broken, there’s no bodies, no one that shouldn’t be in there. 

“You’re okay.” Christine soothes you as you sob. “It was just a nightmare.” 

The bright fluorescent overhead light burns his eyes as he stands there, staring at the bed. Christine is right there, having beaten them across the living room, or perhaps she had already been in there, having heard you in your distress before they could. You're tucked in her arms, your face against her shoulder as she holds you. 

Nightmare. 

The safety and security the cottage promised has faded, leaving you at the mercy of the horrors your mind can conjure up in your sleep. Something twists deep in John’s stomach as he turns, motioning for the others to back up and give you some space. You won’t want them there, and things will only get worse if you notice them. 

His heart is still thudding in his chest as he stands there, the sharp sound of your scream still ringing in his ears despite his confirmation of your safety. The other three look just as startled as he feels, standing there tensely in the dark living room. He brings himself to move, turning his back on them for a moment to try and gather his thoughts as he flips on the lamp in the corner. It casts a warm light across the living room, far too warm for how he’s feeling. He’s trying not to panic, trying not to be sick on the floor from the worry. His heart is in his throat, trying to choke him. He’s trying so hard to be strong, not just for him, but for his pack, for you. 

He sinks down on one of the couches, rubbing a hand over his face. He had been so sure something had happened, that their safe little bubble had been breached and someone knew about their whereabouts. He had been so sure someone was trying to hurt you with a scream like that. 

Maybe someone was, but not in reality. 

What is it you dream about now? Your nightmares about your father and your traumatic presentation must seem like nothing now compared to what must haunt your mind. Do you dream of Graves and his torture? Do you dream of them leaving you behind? Do you dream of dying because of their failures? 

A hand settles on his shoulder, a body sinking onto the couch next to him. Arms are wrapping around him, easing him against a solid chest. 

He’s crying. 

He didn’t even realize the tears had started flowing. 

He can hear the reverberating voice in his head, yelling at him, telling him not to show such weakness in front of his pack, in front of his team. He’s supposed to be the strong one, he’s supposed to be the stable one keeping the pack afloat and steady. Yet here he is, breaking down in front of them. 

“It’s okay.” 

Kyle. 

His sweet Kyle. 

How he’s been neglecting his sweet beta, and yet, how willing Kyle still is to reach out and comfort him in such a time of visible distress. That’s what betas are supposed to do. Mediate and balance the emotions of the pack. How have they been coping with all of this? How have Kyle and Johnny been managing in such a time of disarray and upheaval? Have they been managing it? He doesn’t even know. He doesn’t even know the state of his pack, of the members of his team. 

What a failure he is. 

He lets himself lean against Kyle, something filling his chest as Kyle’s soft scent seeps into his senses. He’s projecting it, not just for John but also for the whole room. Johnny is crying too, soft sobs tearing from his chest as he sits on the other couch. Simon is on his knees in front of him, trying to get him calmed and breathing. 

They’ve been ignoring and denying each other for days, fraying the bonds further while trying so hard not to. The pain they’ve been causing in their emotional constipation and intentional neglect is almost worse than the pain caused by their infighting. At least fighting they were feeling something. At least fighting they weren’t cutting each other off so willingly. 

“We can’t do this anymore.” He says, his voice thick and shaky from his tears. “Cutting each other off. It’s not helping anything.” He doesn’t move from where he’s tucked against Kyle’s chest, letting the comfort wash over him for the first time in a week and a half. 

How he’s missed this. 

“It’s not doing any good for any of us.” Simon says, shifting onto the couch next to Johnny. 

“Especially not our omega.” Kyle says, voicing the thought flashing through all of their minds. 

“We may not be able to do much to help her right now, but we can focus on each other. That is something we can do.” John swallows thickly, his alpha starting to come back to life, his instincts aware again as he stares at Johnny and Simon. “Doing nothing isn’t good for any of us. We need to have something to focus on, something tangible we can do. Denying each other comfort isn’t going to help anyone.” 

“I full-heartedly agree.” 

John whips around, Christine standing in front of your closed door. He hadn’t even noticed her enter the room, hadn’t sensed her standing behind them. Johnny and Simon are the only two that don’t look startled, but they must have seen her come out from their position facing your door. 

“Sorry.” The corner of her lip twitches up in a smirk. “Thought you would have noticed.” 

John clears his throat. “How is she?” 

“Settled again.” Christine says, moving over to the chair. 

“How long has she been having nightmares?” Kyle asks. 

“Since that first day in the med center in Dallas.” She says, sinking into the chair. How heavy this must all be on her shoulders. “I’d almost call them more sleep hallucinations. Mostly of Graves. Seeing him in the room, being attacked by him.” 

“Is there anything that can be done to help?” John asks. 

“For these kinds of nightmares? Not really.” Christine folds her hands in her lap. “Her brain is trying to process what happened. Until she feels safe enough to truly begin working on processing the trauma, it’s likely the nightmares will continue.” 

“Is there anything we can do to help her feel safe?” Kyle says. 

Christine’s lips purse as she looks between the four of them. “I’m not sure any of you could do anything right now directly, at least. She’s not open to that yet. Working on your bonds with each other, though, could help her omega finally settle and allow her emotions to even out again. That can help her feel safer, remove that instability and the fear of losing control again.” 

All of them share looks, John and Simon staring at one another. They hadn’t even thought about that. Well, at least he hadn’t. Christine had told him months ago that omegas need their alpha when they distress, when their omega takes over. They can come back from it with the help of an alpha...their alpha. Without one, the chances of survival were slim. Yet here you are, trying to do it all on your own. Having to do it all on your own. 

That ache in his chest starts again as he stares at Simon. He sent Simon after you, he made Simon go through that process of seeing you in that state and scruffing you. He made Simon be the one to help you through that. He made Simon be there when you needed an alpha most because he couldn’t face the fact that he abandoned you, he left you behind like you were nothing but another faceless soldier. 

He wipes his face as the tears start falling again. He truly is a failure of an alpha. 

Despite Christine’s reassurances, John can’t help the automatic reaction to your screams. On his feet instantly, his heart pounding in his chest ready to fight bare handed whatever might be causing such a reaction. Whoever might be causing such a reaction. He can’t fight the demons in your head, though, and he’s always greeted by the sight of Christine by your side, comforting you as best she can. 

He wants to hate her, wants to be angry at her for taking his place, doing what he should be doing. His alpha scratches at his mind every time he sees her by your side, giving you comforts he should be giving, but it’s his fault. It’s his fault she’s the one there with you. It’s his fault you’re suffering so much. Those thoughts send his alpha crawling back into its cage with its tail between its legs. 

It doesn’t matter the time of day, whether it was a nap or the middle of the night, your screams have a pain throbbing deep in his chest. His heart is constantly racing, waiting for that rush of adrenaline at the sound of your terrified scream, at that rush of instinct to protect and fight. He’s not sure how much his heart can take. 

He might have a heart attack by the end of their stay at the cottage. 

That’s something he’s been trying not to think about. 

They can’t stay here forever, no matter how much he knows you’ll want to, how much the others will want to. Eventually they’ll begin to go stir-crazy, itching for something to do. They still have jobs, and Kate can only keep them off the radar for so long, and can only give so many excuses. Eventually they’ll have to go back. Eventually they’ll have to make that decision of what comes next. 

He’s going to delay that as much as he possibly can. 

They can’t go back while Shepherd is still out there. They can’t trust that anywhere is safe while he’s still skulking around, while he still has contacts that could put them all in danger. That could put you in danger. 

That’s not a risk he’s willing to take again. 

But what comes next? 

What will they decide to do? Can they go back, knowing what the inevitable will be? Can they take that risk of having to leave you again, put you through that constant fear and worry that they might not come back? What if they all leave again? Could you survive the fear that something might happen while they’re away again? Not to them, but to you? 

Could they leave you alone again? 

Those are thoughts for another day when they’re inevitably faced with the fact they have to return to society and their lives and jobs. 

They have time. 

He has to make sure you’re okay first. 

You’re not okay.

You’re so very far from okay. 

The bedside lamp is on, casting a golden glow around the room. 

There’s nothing there. There’s nothing there. 

It’s one of the rare times you’ve woken before you can react, before you can scream and alert everyone in the house that you’ve had a nightmare. They’ll all come running. All of them. 

You hate it. 

You hate the nightmares, you hate the fear, you hate the constant pain and worry and the constant knowledge that your pack is right there. They want to go back to how things were, they want things to go back to normal, but they can’t. They expect you to forgive them, to go back to loving them, but how can you after everything? 

They left you. 

They let this happen to you and they just want you to pretend like nothing happened. That’s what they would do. Go back to normal life after being tortured and forget it all happened because that’s what they do. 

You’re not them. 

You don’t want to be like them. 

Cold. Heartless. Uncaring. Unwilling to put anyone but themselves first. 

Fuck them. 

The only thing keeping you here is the fact you’re bonded to them. That, and you’re an omega. You’d get picked up off the street and brought right back here to your owner. Or, worse, you’d get picked up by someone looking for a cute little omega to add to their collection. 

Or worse. 

You’d get picked up by someone else. 

Graves. Shepherd. 

If you’re lucky, they’d kill you instantly. Leave your body on the front porch for the others to find. You won’t care anymore. You’ll be dead. 

You hastily wipe the tears from your cheeks, wiggling yourself back until you’re leaning against the headboard. Your shoulder doesn’t hurt quite as much anymore. It still throbs, still aches, still occasionally almost puts you on the floor when you try to reach over your head with it. Your throat is healing too. Soup isn’t quite as horrible as it was a few days ago. Solid food makes you ache, but at least you can get it down without feeling like you’re swallowing glass. 

You still haven’t spoken to them, though. 

You can hardly stand to look at them. 

Fuck them. 

Just the thought of them makes you want to scream. 

Dr. Keller says it's normal, being angry. ‘It’s all part of the process.’ The anger, the fear, the pain, the depression. It’s all normal. It’s all part of the process. It’s all necessary. You won’t get better holding it all in. You won’t get better numbing yourself. You won’t get better if you don’t allow yourself to feel everything. 

You hate it. 

Why should you have to go through all these feelings, all this pain? Why should you be the one suffering because of their decisions? It’s not fair. They should be suffering. They should be in pain. They should be the ones on the brink of insanity because of the fear and the pain and the suffering and their omega constantly screaming at them. 

It makes you want to scream. 

Screaming will only draw them in, force them closer. Screaming will alert them all, make them all come running. You don’t want any of them near. You don’t want to have to see them again. 

Fuck them. 

You let out a huff before wiggling back down the bed until your head hits the pillow. You won’t go back to sleep. You never do. At least you have the pain and exhaustion and tumultuous emotions and your very nature to excuse your constant naps, constant sleeping during the day. They don’t need to know you’re not sleeping at night. They won’t care. They don’t care. None of them do. 

Fuck. Them. 

You want your phone, you want something to keep you occupied. It’s probably lying somewhere on the side of the road shattered beyond repair. That, or it’s back in the barracks. The barracks. Fuck that place. You’ll rip your hair out strand by strand if you have to go back there. It’s not safe, it’s not happy. There’s nothing good about that place anymore. 

It’s just a place of pain. You might as well have been tortured by Phil there. 

You were tortured there. 

It wasn’t a physical torture, but a mental one. The entire experiment was just torture for you. No one thought of you, no one cared about you. 

Dr. Keller cares. 

It’s her job to care. 

Still, you can’t hate her entirely. She’s the only one that understands. She’s the only one that can help. She’s the only one that’s been helping. Not just now, but back then. She cared, she fought for you, she did her best with what she had. Sure, she made mistakes, but so did you. She’s the only one you can forgive. 

She’s the only one you want to forgive. 

Fuck the others. Fuck your pack. Fuck those fucking soldiers who were never going to care about anyone but themselves, who were never going to care about anything but their jobs and their duties and the good of the world. 

You should have been their world. 

They couldn’t put you first. They wouldn’t put you first. They didn’t want to put you first. 

They won’t change. They can’t change. There’s no hope for change. 

You’ll just go back to the way things were before and be forced to pretend everything's okay and that you’re happy and fine and content. Were you ever really content or were you just trying to make the best of the situation? Were you deluding yourself into believing you loved them and cared about them and that they loved you and cared about you to numb the fact you knew deep down that they never would, that they never could. Were you deluding yourself into thinking everything was fine and dandy to hide the constant pain from the knowledge that you would never come first? 

The pain begins to burn in your chest again. It’s hot like acid, rising in your chest to your throat, threatening to choke you. It’s a deep pain, one nestled right in against your soul. Tears leak out of your eyes again as you squeeze them shut, pushing your right hand against your chest in an attempt to get it to pass. 

You thought you were dying the first time. 

You could only be so lucky. 

The bond. 

It’s trying to break, trying to sever itself, trying to free you from the constant pain, but it can’t. 

Maybe because deep down you don’t want it to. Maybe deep down you want to forgive them and move past all of this. Maybe you want things to go back to normal, even if normal means pain and distress and fear. Maybe you want to believe them that they’re finally going to put you first. 

‘Maybe’ is only a doorway to disappointment and pain. 

Fuck yourself. 

Fuck your omega. 

Fuck your pack. 

Hell, fuck Dr. Keller for not fighting harder, for not doing more. 

Fuck Graves and his haunting of your nightmares.

Fuck Kate for choosing you.

Fuck Shepherd for creating the initiative in the first place to try and cover his own ass. 

Fuck them all. 

You tug the blanket higher around yourself, rolling onto your right side. 

Fuck. Them. All. 

You don’t want him here. 

He does it now, usually in the mornings. 

You hate it. 

You like it. It’s nice. He’s the only one making an effort. 

He never says anything, surprisingly enough. It’s silent as he sits there, steaming cup of coffee in hand. Always coffee, never tea. He won’t sink that low. He brings you a cup, but you can never bring yourself to touch it. You feel like a mental patient stuck in a straight jacket. You could free yourself, but that would bring too much awareness, too many questions, too much pain. 

You don’t want to. 

So instead you sit there in silence, staring out at the sea. It’s so far away still, yet it’s right there. You can hear it and smell it and see it. 

The sea. 

They brought you to the sea. 

John remembered. He did it for you. 

The thought has something stirring in your chest, and it’s not pain or anger. 

You hate it. 

Johnny leans back in the chair, his eyes on the horizon like yours. He sits there in that chair every chance he gets, usually in the mornings when Dr. Keller takes time for herself and leaves one of them watching you through the sliding glass door. You do feel guilty for forcing so much on Dr. Keller’s shoulders, yet you need her. 

You’re not ready for the others yet, no matter how loudly your omega screams at you. 

You don’t want them. 

Fuck, you desperately need them. 

Your eyelids flutter frantically as you try to keep the tears at bay. You can’t cry. You can’t let him know how close you are to breaking down. You can’t. 

You can’t reach out. 

You can’t take his hand. 

How desperately you want to. 

You nearly breathe a sigh of relief when the sliding door opens, Dr. Keller’s soft footsteps crossing the wood planks of the porch. 

“Ready to go inside now?” She asks, pressing the back of her hand against your cheek. You don’t say anything, don’t react, frozen in fear of everything coming tumbling out in front of Johnny. “You’re getting cold.” 

Johnny glances your way and you immediately turn to look at Dr. Keller, scared to look him in the face. That desperate hold you have on the gaping wound in your abdomen will open and your guts will come spilling out like some gory scene in a horror movie. 

Disembowelment thanks to your own weakness. 

Dr. Keller holds the crutch out for you as you push yourself to stand. Your legs are strong enough you could probably walk without it, but it’s still nice to have it in case you get tired. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

It’s the weakness from your liquid diet over the past week and a half. The weakness of being unable to eat solid foods, to properly nourish. You’ve lost weight, your clothes hanging from your body in a way they never did before. You’ve lost the softness that marks you as an omega, but it feels fitting. You don’t feel like an omega anymore. 

You don’t feel like anything anymore. 

You’re fighting your instincts out of pain and suffering and stubbornness. You keep taping your omega’s mouth shut despite how loudly she screams at you. You don’t want your instincts. You don’t want that need. Eventually it has to go away. Eventually it has to recede and your omega has to go back into her cage and sleep. Eventually you can numb yourself to it and force it away forever. 

That will certainly make things easier. 

But will it make things better? 

No. Probably not. 

It’ll make things worse. 

But if it allows you to keep your distance, allows you to avoid them, you’ll risk it. You’d take numbness over anything right now. 

How you miss those long days of depression while they were away. How you took those days for granted. 

Who knew those hours spent worrying about them and their distance and what might happen to them would be for nothing? 

What you wouldn’t give for all of them to disappear right now. 

How badly it would destroy you. 

“She’s at war with herself. That instinctual need is screaming at her, but that emotional pain is keeping her shut away. If anyone is going to get through to her, it will probably be you.” 

“I can’t do that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his jaw as he stares at Christine. As much as he wants to hate the doctor and her ability to see straight through him, he can’t deny how necessary her presence has been. She’s the only one you tolerate, the only one you’ll let close. Without her you’d probably be rotting in bed, stuck and unable to do anything out of stubbornness. You won’t let them close, yet you need them close. 

You’re going to rip yourself in half, metaphorically and possibly even literally. 

He shakes that mental image from his mind. The horrifying images his mind has conjured up over the last few days have his stomach churning. Even his tea no longer looks appetizing. 

He put milk in it this time. Almost how he likes it. Almost how he wants it. 

“Johnny’s the one actually trying.” Simon says, staring across at her. She doesn’t shy from his gaze, doesn't even flinch. “You should talk to him.” 

“While I agree, reintroducing a beta from the pack is the first step, eventually she’s going to need an alpha.” Christine says. 

“She needs her alpha.” He argues. 

“She doesn’t want her alpha.” Christine counters. “He’s going to be the last she lets close, but she’s going to need some kind of stability.” 

“I can’t give her that.” 

“Can’t or won’t?” 

Simon clenches his hand around his mug, his knuckles going white. She’s infuriating, yet he can’t be mad at her. Not completely. The good she’s doing for you, for the pack, far outweighs his annoyance with the doctor. She’s right. He knows it deep down, but he can’t. He can’t do that, he can’t put you through that. He’s already done enough. He did his part, he faced his fears, he saved your life. That’s enough for him. It’s up to John now. 

John has to do the work to fix it. He broke it, it’s no one else’s job to fix it. 

“Maybe both.” Simon finally says, pushing himself up to stand. “It’s not my job to fix this.” 

He leaves his mug behind as he stalks out of the kitchen, heading for the front door. He can’t stand being in the house any longer, cooped up with the same five people. Four people and a ghost. 

He shakes his head, jogging down the steps into the gravel. He should go for a jog. A long jog. He could jog to town and back. That will clear his head. 

That’s a long jog.

If something happens while he’s away, he won’t get back in time. It’ll be his fault because he took the time to do something selfish. He can picture it, coming back to find five bodies laying in pools of blood, dead because he wasn’t there to help, because he wasn’t there to fight. 

It’s a ridiculous thought. There’s three other highly trained soldiers in the house. If anyone tried anything, they wouldn’t make it past the door. He can see it now, Price’s alpha coming out in a rage because someone dared try to enter and hurt his vulnerable omega. He’d probably win in a fight ten to one if that happened, and he has Kyle and Johnny to back him up. Christine would take you and run the first chance she could. She wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Not again. 

Still, he can’t shake that fear. If he can’t sprint back, then it's too far. If it will leave the pack too vulnerable, he can’t. 

To the beach and back, then. 

She’s like an angel. 

The soft sunlight streaming through the clouds makes her glow. You wouldn’t be surprised if the sun was shining just for her, sending down a beam just to illuminate just how ethereal she is. 

The Garrick beauty is genetic. 

Kyle is beautiful in terms of a man. He shares the same ethereal glow as his sister, but Ashley? You don’t feel worthy of looking upon her. 

“Kyle never mentioned an omega, but then again, he never says much about his job.” She gives another dazzling smile, your heart rate picking up just slightly. “Can’t, I should say. You haven’t been with them long, huh.” 

“About nine months.” You say, your voice still a bit hoarse. It’s not quite healed yet. It might be that way forever. 

“Such a short amount of time to go through so much.” She says, giving you a soft, sympathetic look. You don’t know how much she knows, though it’s still fairly obvious you’ve been through hell. That you’re still going through hell. “Christine told me a bit about what happened. I don’t blame you one bit for being upset at them. I would have left them, but I know. In a perfect world, right?” 

You make a quiet sound. Indeed in a perfect world where omegas have rights and can make their own decisions and could leave and have support in doing so. You’d leave with Dr. Keller or even Ashley, even though you’ve only known her for ten minutes. She has the same magnetic energy as Kyle, so much so you don’t mind the way the scent blockers burn your nose. She probably smells like something warm and soft, something comforting. 

“So, tell me about yourself. What do you like to do?” She says, settling in the chair. It’s cool outside, but she doesn’t seem bothered by it one bit. 

You scramble for something, anything. What is it you like to do? What are your hobbies? You’re drawing a blank, your mind searching through its filing cabinets to find where you shoved all the things you like to do. 

“I like to read.” You finally say, remembering the stack of untouched books on the dresser across from the bed. 

“Oh? What do you like to read?” She asks. 

What do you like to read? What is a genre? What are books? 

“Oh, I read anything, as long as it’s interesting.” Is that the truth? You’re not quite sure. 

“I see, I see. Well, there’s quite the collection on those shelves inside. I’m a reader too. Read through those entire shelves over the years.” She grins at you. “We could do a little book club, if you’d like. Read some books and talk about them over some tea. We could get Christine in on it too. Have a little thing just for us girls.” 

You nod, staring at her in awe. This is the first time someone outside of your little circle has offered to do anything with you, for you. 

You want to do it. 

You want to spend time with someone who isn’t your pack, who isn’t Dr. Keller. 

“Okay.” You say, still staring at her in awe. 

“I could come over on the weekends, or we could do a call if you’re not up to seeing anyone.” She continues, and you’re not sure if she made this plan before she came, or if she’s coming up with it on the spot. Regardless, you're still impressed by her and her dedication to a complete stranger. 

“Would...would that be too much?” You ask, your brain starting to wake up again, the wires connecting once more. 

“Not at all.” She shakes her head. “I live and work in Exeter, so I’m not too terribly far away.” 

You’re not sure where Exeter is off the top of your head. Your mental map isn’t even sure how far away London is...or even where you are on a map of England. Are you even in England right now? 

“What do you do for work?” You ask, realizing you’ve been silent for an awkward amount of time. 

“I’m a finance lawyer.” She says. “Mum used to say ‘you love to argue so much, you should become a lawyer.’” She laughs. “So I did.” 

“You must make a lot of money.” You say. You don’t know how much lawyers make in England relative to the US. 

“I make enough to be comfortable.” She says. Enough to travel back and forth every weekend. “Seriously, though, if you need or want anything, let me know. I’m more than happy to come sit with you and give you a break from those stinky men.” 

You’re not quite sure what happens to your face. It contorts, muscles shaking off the dust and starting to move before you even realize it. Your lips are tilting upwards instead of downwards. Something is happening. Something that feels good, something that you’ve been missing. 

You’re smiling. 

You’re smiling. You haven’t smiled in a long time. Weeks. Not since the cameras. Not since your pack left. You haven’t felt like smiling in so long you’re certain you forgot how to. But yet, here you are, smiling at Ashley. It’s not a genuine smile, one that crinkles your eyes and shows joy, but it’s a smile. It almost hurts your face after so long. 

She’s funny too. 

Stinky men. 

They are that. 

Your smile falls as soon as the sliding glass door opens, your head whipping around to look. Ashley turns to look too, perhaps out of instinct at your sudden movement. 

You’re half expecting it to be one of the guys, maybe Kyle out to ruin the moment, but it’s only Dr. Keller. 

“How are things going?” She asks, stepping up beside you. 

“Good.” Ashley says. “We’re planning a book club.” 

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises a brow, looking between you. “I think that would be fantastic.” 

“You’re welcome to join in if you’d like,” Ashley says, giving Dr. Keller a smile. 

You stare up at Dr. Keller, watching the way her lips turn up a smile, her eyes shining with...something. Her hands open and close, tugging at her pants almost nervously. Your brows raise as you look back up at her face. She almost looks...flustered. 

Oh. 

Another grin forms on your face as you stare between them, Ashley still smiling and Dr. Keller still looking a bit flustered. 

Oh. 

“You could join us if you want.” You say slowly, still looking up at Dr. Keller. 

She seems to snap out of her daze, her gaze darting down to you. She gives you a soft smile, back to her composed, professional self. “If that’s what you’d like.” 

You nod. Even though you see her constantly every day, you’re not tired of her existence yet. She’s the only one whose existence in the house doesn’t make you want to gouge your eyes out, the only one you want to talk to, to see, to have around. If you had the choice, you’d be here alone with her. 

That’s not possible. You know it’s not. 

“A thing for just us girls.” Ashley says. “On the weekends. No pressure whatsoever.” 

“I think that would be fantastic.” Dr. Keller says. “A nice little distraction.” 

“A nice break from those stinky men.” You say. 

Both Dr. Keller and Ashley erupt in laughter. 

Another smile tugs at your lips. 

You don’t want to be here. You can feel him staring at you from behind. He hasn’t moved since Dr. Keller left, still just standing there like he’s not sure he can approach you or not. You hope he doesn’t. You want him to. 

You don’t say anything, still staring out at the ocean, but you can see him reflected in the glass, obscuring your view of the horizon. Hatred burns inside of you as you have no choice but to stare at him, even when you’re trying not to. He’s like a ghost, always haunting you. He always will be. 

“I didn’t want to try to rush into this.” He finally says, knowing you’re not going to say anything. You won’t greet him, welcome him into your space. It already feels like an intrusion into your safety, him being here. 

Is this becoming a safe space? A nest? No, not that far. It’s becoming sacred to you, though, and having him in it without invitation feels wrong. It makes you uncomfortable. 

You hate it. 

“But I just wanted you to know that we’re all feeling the weight of what we did, I’m feeling the weight of what I decided to do. We all feel guilty for putting you through that, for forcing you to endure things you never should have.” 

He swallows thickly, falling silent for a moment. You almost feel like laughing at his attempt at an apology, another attempt at an apology. Why is he even bothering? He knows you won’t forgive him. He’s probably doing it for himself again, to make himself feel better. 

“I know it’s not an ideal situation, being forced in such a small space together, but we all wanted you to know that you’re the one setting the boundaries. If you don’t want us to be somewhere or do something, then you can tell us, or have Christine tell us. If you don’t want to see us at all, we can make our best attempts at that.” 

“That would be ideal.” You say, breaking the silence you’ve held for days. It’s the first time you’ve spoken to him since the hospital, since his first sad attempt at an apology. 

It shocks him to stillness and silence. 

The words hurt, burning your throat like acid as you stare at his reflection in the glass. You hate it, how pathetic he looks standing there. Where’s the big, tough alpha? Where’s the strong protector? Where’s the person that’s supposed to take care of you and care about you? 

He never existed. 

He left you behind. 

He never cared. 

Anger begins to bubble within you. 

“I’m sorry.” He says, his voice shaking. “I never meant for this to happen-”

“You think your sad attempts at apologies are going to work?” You hiss at him through your teeth. You push yourself to stand, turning to face him. “You left me. You fucking left me there knowing full well what was going to happen!” You’re shouting now. All the quiet movements on the other side of the wall in the main area stop. 

They’re all listening. 

It’s not like you’re giving them much of a choice not to. 

Fuck them.

“I know,” He says, his eyes wide as he stares at you. 

“Do you? Do you know?” Your voice is wavering, your throat starting to ache but you can’t stop. Not now. It’s all coming out and there’s no stopping it. “You. Left. Me. You willingly turned your back on me time and time again even when I was being tortured! You leaving was torture enough and you still chose me second. I’ve always been second. I’ve never mattered enough for you to even question anything!” 

You let out a sob, the sound cracking in your throat. It hurts, but it will always hurt. You’ll always carry this hurt with you, so you want him to hurt too. 

“I asked you once if you would ever leave for me. You said if things got dangerous, if my life were ever at risk because of you, you’d leave in a heartbeat.” The tears are falling, streaming down your face. “Was that a lie?” 

He doesn’t say anything. He just stands there, staring at you. Does he even remember that conversation? 

“Was that a lie?” You shout, making him jump. 

His eyes drop to the floor, his scent souring. Good, you think. Let it hurt. 

“Answer me.” You say, pushing him to give some response to your question. You need to know. You need him to say it. 

“I didn’t intend for it to be.” He says quietly. 

“You didn’t intend for it to be.” You say, bitterness coating your tone. “What the fuck does that mean? You said you wouldn’t let me go even if the initiative failed. Was that a lie too? Was it all a lie to keep me happy and complacent? ‘The job always comes first,’ even when my life is in danger, right? The job always comes first over everything, even me. You lied to me.” You swallow the sob threatening to come up. “I want to hear you say it.” 

He stands there, tears brimming in his eyes. He hasn’t moved hardly a muscle, still frozen like a statue. 

“Say it!” You scream at him, your throat tearing around the words. You’re surprised you’re not tasting blood yet from how raw it feels. 

“I lied.” He says, swallowing thickly. “I lied to you and I couldn’t keep my promise. And I’m sorry-” 

“Don’t apologize.” You cut him off starting to pace as the anger burns hot in you. “Don’t you fucking apologize to me, you don’t deserve to apologize. You don’t deserve the chance at forgiveness. You’re a shitty alpha and you always have been!” 

You let out a sob, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. There’s a tear sliding down his cheek, and it brings you some sort of relief deep down. So he can feel things after all. 

“I don’t know what I expected, though.” You let out a sardonic laugh. “You military men are all the same. It’s always about the job and the image and the ‘greater good’ and making sacrifices, even if that means sacrificing your pack. You’re just like my dad. You never wanted an omega, you never wanted me. You cast me out and let me suffer when I needed you most.” 

The anger burns hot in you again, shooting through your veins until it’s choking you as you stare at him standing there pathetically. He thought he could apologize, he thought his groveling would mean anything to you. Fuck him. Fuck them all. 

“You left me.” You grit out, your hands starting to shake. “You left me! You abandoned me, you let me get hurt! You didn’t care, you never cared about me!” You storm over to him. “Fuck you!” You scream, hitting his chest. “I fucking hate you!” You shove him back, sending him stumbling. “Get out!” You shove him again, pushing him back towards the door. “Get out! I never want to see you again!” 

He stumbles back out of the door and you slam it in his face so hard it shakes on its hinges. You click the lock as you sob in pain, pain both physical and emotional. Your chest aches, a tearing feeling burning through it. 

The bond. 

You don’t care. You don’t give a fuck anymore. You hate him, you hate them all. 

The tears and sobs threaten to choke you but you don’t care. You don’t care anymore. You don’t care about anything anymore except the anger burning hot through you, making your hands shake. Your legs give out and you slide to the floor against the door, sliding until you’re laying down on your back on the hardwood. It’s cold against your skin but you don’t care. You can’t care anymore. 

If you fall, you’ll never get up again. 

Her hand presses against your forehead, wiping some of the sweat beading on your skin. Despite your shivers, you’re burning hot. A fever. You worked yourself up too much earlier in your outburst. She had been proud of you for finally releasing some of it and showing some emotion, but she knew the consequences of getting so worked up would be high. Your omega is still unstable, on top of still trying to physically recover. You hurt yourself doing that, even if it was necessary. 

She shushes you as you whine, fingers grasping at the blanket clumsily. She pulls it higher over you, your body shuddering underneath the pile already stacked on top of you. She’d put every blanket she could find over you, and yet you still shiver. Worry floods her again as she stares down at you, your eyes pinched closed. You must be aching, your show of anger taking its toll. 

It was necessary, but at what cost? 

If your temperature continues to spike, the risk of distress heightens. You can’t handle distress in your current state, which would mean your omega would come out, finally be freed again from the unprotected cage it's been pushed back into. If your omega comes out, that will require John to help, which may only drive you further into distress. 

She needs to try and stop this before the situation continues to deteriorate. 

But how? 

How can she move you past this without the help of your pack? She can’t give you the comfort you need. Medicine or any therapeutic methods can help solve the issue at its core. Sure she can try and lower your fever with medicine, but you need your pack. You need that comfort and stability that only they can offer. 

You need someone, and it can’t be her. 

If your omega comes back out, they might never be able to get it back in. It’ll be the end of you. All of your recovery, the fight you’ve put up against your body and your instincts and your mind will have been for nothing. 

You need someone. 

An idea begins to form in her head, her hand resting against your forehead. It’s hot under her hand, your skin burning. You might hate her later for this. It’s risky, but sometimes risks have to be taken in dire situations. Sometimes those risks pan out in the end. What will happen if it fails? The inevitable that’s going to happen if she doesn’t try. It’s a lose-lose situation, but if it works, it could be a win-win. 

She can’t help you, but maybe she has someone who can. 

She tucks the blankets around you, cocooning you in an attempt to keep you warm and still while she steps away. She won’t be gone long.  

She leaves your door cracked open just in case, even though she doubts you’ll be moving much while she’s away. 

Just in case. 

One can never be too careful. 

She heads up the stairs quietly, going slow to avoid startling any of them. She’s intruding on the safe space they’ve made in their solitude. It feels like invading sacred grounds, but it's a necessary invasion. Their omega is in danger. They’ll forgive her. 

The bathroom door is closed at the end of the short hallway, a light on inside. The lights are on in both rooms too, glowing beneath both doors, and she takes a gamble. Based on the heaviness of the footsteps above the kitchen she can guess the room on the right is the one Simon and Johnny are staying in. If she’s wrong, she’ll have some explaining to do before she’s ready, and she knows John will have his thoughts about this. Though, with what happened earlier, perhaps he’ll agree. You won’t see him, but maybe...just maybe... 

She lets out a deep breath before knocking firmly, waiting a breath before she calls out.  

“Johnny, I need your help.”

She just hopes you don’t hate her too much later. 

To be notified about new chapters, please follow HERE and turn on notifications

[peachesofteal]

Simple Math / Part Seventeen

Simple Math masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader - AO3 - 4K words Tags: 18+ mdni. nurse!reader. PTSD, references and descriptions of domestic violence , grooming, manipulation, pregnancy. Simon's back story. Trauma. Bun opens up a bit more. Domesticity, feelings of anxiety, self doubt. Simon is a nervous dad. Emotional confessions.

“It’s Beth.” Simon wipes the countertop, chasing little dirty fingerprints with a wet cloth, before fixing a hesitant set of eyes on yours.

“That’s pretty… I like it.” There’s something odd about his expression, something haunted almost, a deep, dark well filled to the brim with rancid, stagnant water. You sense it immediately. “What’s wrong?”

He motions to the chair and slides your mug into your waiting hands. “Sit.”

“Simon?”

“It was my sister in law’s name. My brother’s wife.” Was. Your throat goes dry, muscles tensing.

“Was?” He pulls your fingers into his, cradled in the palm of his hand, thumb rubbing circles into your skin, over and over on a loop. A mechanism of comfort, connection. A thread stitch into the fabric between your heart and his.

“They died, sweetheart. My family… I lost them.” Grief, a shared experience you know now, froths in the pit of your heart. You tremble, he holds you steady, though it should be the other way around.

“What… what happened?” He sighs, dragging your palm to his lips.

“Let’s sit down on the couch.”

He holds you as he talks, diaphragm rumbling against your ear. You’re laid on his chest, unable to see his face, watch his expressions, but for this, you don’t feel the urge to dissect each one.

You’re content against him. Listening. Mourning.

There’s a swath of silence afterwards, and then he clears his throat. “So, I was dead. Dead until I met Johnny, I think. And then everything changed.” Johnny’s words from weeks and weeks ago make more sense, Simon’s actions and reactions rapidly gaining clarity. “When we found you, I saw it, the look in your eyes. It was the same one that used to haunt my mother’s.”

“You saved her.” He burrows his face in your neck and shakes his head.

“I did what I could to piece them back together. Helped get Tommy clean and on his feet, got rid of the old man for good, but the damage… the way she suffered, it was irreversible. The best I could do was be there as much as often as possible.” You comb through his hair, short strands of silk like Penny’s, and hold him close. “I promised myself, when I met Johnny, when we fell in love, I’d do better by my own family. For him, and then by Penny. And now you. Promised I wouldn’t become him.” Your heart clenches, squeezing in on itself. “Violence may have been a part of my job, but it wasn’t a part of me.” His fingers dance along your spine until they reach your chin, tilting you back to meet his gaze. “Do you understand?”

“Yes.” You whisper, leaning into his touch. He doesn’t need to ask for your trust, he already has it.

“Johnny thinks I’ve got a bit of a savior complex now, but I want you to know… that’s not what this is, bunny.”

“I know,” you clear your throat, fighting through the thick of emotion building there, accumulating in heaps, “I know that.”  

“But we do need to talk about him, you know that?” Darkness creeps along the wispy, dream-like cocoon the two of you built on the couch, and you push it away, try to banish it, basking in the comfort of his arms instead.

“I can’t, I… right now it feels like I’m in a dream where nothing hurts and nothing can scare me or hurt me, and I don’t-“

“You’re not in a dream, bunny. That’s your reality. This is real. Nothing can, or will, hurt you, scare you. No one will ever touch you again.”

“I need more time. Please.” Simon sighs, but doesn’t push, and the two of you lay there, together, suspended in comforting silence. For another moment, your world is a dream. A safe, beautiful dream, where happy endings are real, where love stretches on for eternity, unconditional, limitless, unbreakable.

You’re so different now, stark changes shocking to the girl you once knew, the one who doubled back on her routes to and from work, the one that walked everywhere with her hackles up. Little pieces of black rot now turned a blinding white, a brilliant beam seeking to shine on the whole of your life.

It’s a dream.

One you won’t easily surrender.

“I was really young.” It comes during a lapse in conversation, practically a blurt, an interruption pushing heat to your cheeks. Expelled from your mind, your body without choice, cracks appearing in the preservation that you’ve so defiantly clung to. You have to tell them, eventually. You have to break it all apart, let them see. Johnny’s mouth opens, and Simon’s hand darts to his wrist faster than a snake could strike, a clear signal. Don’t speak. “Obviously now, looking back on it, I realize I was groomed, or I guess, easily influenced. He was older, and I graduated early, started college early. I was in my second year when I turned eighteen. My mom,” the lump in your throat nearly chokes you until you swallow it down, “my mom busted her ass for me. I went to college on scholarships and her hard work.” Metal clanks against ceramic, forks settling on the edges of plates. “Anyway, everyone always thought I was a know-it-all and pretty awkward. We weren’t officially like, together right away but it was pretty serious from the day I met him. Eventually… he started to change me. Change my goals. He even manipulated my career path.”

“What did you go to school for?” Simon asks casually, head tilted.

“Bioscience. I wanted to be a doctor, so I thought it would transition well for med school. Thought I could become a surgeon.” You were a girl then; you know that now. Naïve, misguided by a hand that sought to control you, not love you as you hoped. It’s embarrassing, baring this, showing these broken bits and pieces to them, shattered shards of a mirror never glued back together.

“What happened?”

“He did.” Johnny squeezes your hand. “Made it to pre-med but ended up leaving and starting a nursing program instead. It’s what he wanted, and by then, I couldn’t say no.”

“But ye didnae want it, to be a nurse.”

“No. I didn’t. I love my job now, of course, and I’m happy in it, but originally, I wanted something else. He tricked me, in all honesty. Showed me something that wasn’t real, reeled me in, and then revealed his true colors.” You shudder. “The first time… the first time it happened, I shook it off, forgave him. I-“ the memory is still so strong, it stuns you. The blood from your busted lip is fresh on your tongue, sting on the side of your face turning to a blooming ache.

“Bunny?” Johnny’s grip moves to your elbow, strong, but not too tight. An anchor. You shake your head.

“Sorry.”

“Ye’re alright, ye can stop if-“

“No, I… I want to share these things with you. It feels like I’m supposed to, like you should know me… like this.”

“We already know you, sweetheart. Don’t push yourself.” Simon’s tone is serious, and you nod.

“It’s embarrassing, looking back on it and realizing how bad it was, how bad I let it get. How I let him cut me off from everyone, change my career, squash me like a bug.” You laugh, but it’s empty.

“Ye did nothin’ wrong,” Johnny’s lips press together, muscles in his jaw straining, “was never yer fault.” You don’t answer, just trace the woodgrain of the table, texture moving beneath your fingers. The conversation is draining you, leeching light away like a horizon swallowing the last of the sun.

“He’s rich. Like, fuck you money rich. Rich like make problems go away rich, and his job…” your head shakes again. It’s the most you’ve ever said, heavy buried secrets finally dug up, resurrected, the truth trembles through your bones. “He has resources. Has chased me across the globe more than once. My only saving grace is that when he has to work, he has to work, and it’s usually for long chunks of time.”

“I know you’ve said you’re not really sure, but did he ever tell you what his job entails?”

“He’s in the military. Some sort of security work, department of defense, or something. He never really talked about it.” Johnny shifts in his seat, antsy, and you shrug. “He kept that part of his life very, very private. There was even a room in the house that was always locked.” Your head is heavy, lead upon your shoulders, and Johnny tucks his arm around you, pulling you into his chest.

“I know this is hard bun, but ye’re so brave for us. Lettin’ us know ye this way. I’m proud of ye.” He murmurs, lips to your forehead, and you fully relax, wrapping around his middle.

“I’m tired.” You whisper, eyes closing, and he rubs your back.

“Let’s get ye to bed then.”

“Your child is too big for me to carry!” You announce, hand on your hip, little backpack straps looped around your arm. Simon closes the door behind you, chuckling, and Penny plops onto the floor. She goes to a nursery day program now a few days a week, something that was a contentious subject in the house for far too long, opinions and arguments ping ponging over your head until the decision was finally made.

“It’s not safe.”

“Ye cannae keep ‘er locked up here forever, love.”

“Why not?” Simon bounced Penny against his chest, unimpressed look on both their faces, so alike you almost busted out laughing.

“Because she’s a child. She needs to be w’other children, not just us.” Johnny brings his free hand to his lips, squeezing Simon’s wrist. “I know ye’re scared.” Simon’s not the only one who’s scared, you thought. Phillip lurked at the edge of your mind, worry that he might find Penny plagued you, even though they both assured that wasn’t their main concern.

“She’s too little.”

“Simon. We agreed on this,” Johnny gives him a sharp look, “do yer research, find the best one. Ye know this needs to happen, for her. She needs to make friends, learn how to interact with kids her own age. Ye know this.”

“Fine.”

“She cannae be, not m’wee lamb.”

“She is.” You rub your shoulder. “Sheesh.” Penny’s stomach gurgles at your feet, and Simon grimaces.

“There’s a bug goin’ around the kids, teacher told me today.”

“Not surprising. Nurseries are little petri dishes.” You straighten your back, rolling your shoulder, and wince.

“Hurts?” Simon’s thumb digs into the soft spot there, and your lashes flutter.

“Maybe ye need a hot bath,” Johnny suggests, and Simon ushers the two of you up the stairs.

“I’ve got Pen. Go relax.”

“This is nice.” Johnny soaps your back, lavender and vanilla steam swirling around in the bathroom as you lean against him, his chest to your back.

“Aye.” The cloth drags across your chest, teasing your nipples, and you revel in his touch, soaking in every second he gives you, the brush of his cheek against yours, his lips on your neck. “Like havin’ ye all to myself sometimes.” You blink.

“Does it bother you? When we’re not all together?”

“No. Ye have a relationship wit’ me, and wit’ Simon, and we have a relationship all together. No one is the same. I like it.”

“Me too.” You settle again, loose and tender in the bath, soaped hands running up and down your back, kneading your shoulders, releasing the tension coiled in your bones. You groan.

“Feel good then?”

“Yeah.” He presses a hand over your heart with a deep breath, before he takes another.

And then one more.

“What’s wro-“

“I love ye bun. Wholly. Think ‘ve loved ye since the day I opened my eyes to ye leaning over the bed in hospital.” You turn, twisting to face him, and he dabs your nose with his thumb. “I dinnae have any expectations of ye, or yer feelings, but I had to be honest. I had to tell ye.” The confession fights its way forward, begging to be let out, to be freed.

Tell him. Tell him the truth. Tell him you love them, that they’re your light, that they’ve chased the darkness away and replaced it with the sun.

You can’t.

Instead, you rest your forehead against his, syncing your breathing, sharing the moment, holding onto him so tight in case he slips away.

“I can’t say it.” You whisper, and he nods. “But that doesn’t mean… it doesn’t mean it’s not there. I’m just… I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“An’ that’s okay. I’ll wait, I’ll wait for ye as long as ye need.” There’s no pressure, no demands, just Johnny and his arms, his understanding and patience, his love.

You blink back tears and crash your lips to his. “Thank you.”

Your stomach is what wakes you.  

Something it in is burning, tossing bile around, the sensation strong enough your lips curl, and you try to draw a deep breath through your nose.

You wriggle, trying to pull free from where you’re tangled up in Simon and Johnny, carefully and slow, hoping to avoid waking them though you know even in their dreams, they sleep with one eye open.

 Still, you manage to make it to the bathroom before feet are padding across the carpet on your heels.

You sink to your knees in front of the toilet, stomach bubbling, sending the scorching remnants of dinner up your throat.

The door clicks open. “No, get out. I don’t want you to see-“ you gag again, tap turning on at the sink, a cold washcloth folding over your neck.

“Shhh,” Simon murmurs, rubbing your back, “get it all out.”

“Oh god,” another wave swells, and your muscles tense, body expelling bits of bile and not much else.

“That’s the way, good girl.”

“This is gross.” You gasp. “You should go back to bed.”

“I’ve seen way worse than you puking, sweetheart.”

“She alright?” Johnny half yells from the bedroom and you groan. The guilt of him having to maneuver himself out of bed, still not one hundred percent healthy, still not back to full strength, draws a shiver from your spine.

“I’m fine, don’t come in here!” Your stomach pitches, fingers tightening against your thighs, but nothing comes up, again and again, until everything settles and you’re breathing deeply, steady, back straight.

“Let’s get you some water.” There’s no point in arguing with him. He’s going to do what he wants to do when it comes to taking care of you, you know that now. It’s painfully clear as he tries to help you drink from the glass, and then puts toothpaste on your toothbrush.

“I’m fine.” You assure weakly, but he only watches you, concerned.

“Think it’s the nursery bug?”

“Probably.” You sag, energy drained completely, and he steadies you, cupping your cheek. His touch is cool, and you lean into it, savoring the reprieve it brings against your throbbing temples.

“Want to go back to bed?”

“What if I throw up again?” He presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I’ll jus’ clean it up.”

“Can I ask you a question?” You glance up at the timid mouse of a nurse, brand new, fingers clutched around a tablet like she’s drowning and it’s her life vest.

“What’s up?”

“Can you… can you look at these orders for me?” She looks terrified, and it tells you everything you need to know. She’s probably caught a mistake.

Baby nurses begin their careers in a delicate position. They’re overwhelmed, fresh off a whirlwind of orientation, overloaded with policy and procedure, and depending on their preceptor, either somewhat prepared or completely lost. Pitting a baby nurse against a provider, even a first-year resident, is like sending a lamb in to confront a lion. The result is usually tears.

She hands you the tablet and you spot it immediately. Incorrect dosage.

“Good catch.” You reassure, coaxing a small smile, and she nods.

“What do I do?”

“We go find the provider and clarify the dosage.” You’re not going to leave it up to her, alone, hang her out to dry and probably get run over by whatever moron ordered it in the first place, who happens to be-

Marshall.

Your eyes couldn’t roll any harder. “The pharmacy is also very on top of seeing errors like this, but it’s good you’ve noticed too, for the patient and yourself. Liability for things like this can be very tricky.” She nods again, trailing behind you, brand new squeaky sneakers echoing your own steps.

You can’t stop the sigh that escapes you when you find him, leaned up against a wall, arms crossed, smirking, cocking his head at your companion. “What’s up?”

“Can you take a look at this for me?” You purposefully zoom in on the meds tab, practically painting a bullseye around his error. He scoffs, defensive immediately, dismissive, before he takes a closer look, jaw clenched.

“That’s my mistake.” You blink. Marshall rarely ever takes responsibility so gracefully. Your eyebrow lifts.

“Care to fix it?”

“Of course.” His agreement is punctuated with a smile, though it’s off kilter.

“You can go,” you nod to the nurse, “good job.” Her eyes dart between you and Marshall, and without another word, scampers off.

“She’s new?” His usual interest in new nurses is less enthusiastic than ever.

You hate Marshall. He’s a scumbag. But he’s also been your coworker since day one, and you can’t help yourself. “What’s up with you?”  

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve never owned up to a mistake that quickly, and you didn’t even make some smart-ass remark. Or berate her. Or give me an attitude.” He winces.

“It’s nothing.” But it doesn’t seem like nothing. It seems like something is wrong, like he’s sad, or depressed, and try as you might, your bleeding heart can’t walk away.

“What’s wrong.” You phrase a statement, a demand, instead of a question, and he blows a frustrated breath.

“It’s… I’m seeing someone.” Your eyes go wide.

“Who?” Please don’t say a nurse, please don’t say a nurse, please-

“Anna. From radiology.”

“Oh my god. The cupcake girl?” Anna was a fan favorite. Not only was she kind, but she was also quick with her reads, and baked cupcakes for the entire floor almost once a month. As far as radiologists go, she was better than most.

“Yeah.”

“Okay…”

“I really like her but… she’s always been aware of my reputation and is trying to take it slow. Too slow.” You could lecture him with a million reasons why she’s in the right, but it doesn’t seem like he’s got the resolve to handle it.

“What do you mean?”

“She’s dragging her feet. Doesn’t want to hang out more than once a week, rarely stays the night. I’ve been to her place a handful of times, but that’s it.”

“How long has it been?”

“Two months.” You laugh.

“That’s it?”

“It’s a long time for me!” You hold your hands up in surrender.

“Okay, okay, but seriously. Two months is no time at all. Have you discussed the… reluctance with her?” He seems uneasy, and for the first time, you’re not sure if you enjoy watching him squirm.

“Yeah. She says she’s happy, but isn’t trying to jump into anything,” his air quotes carry a whiff of the condescending asshole you know too well. This conversation couldn’t be timelier, and you think back to what you told Johnny the other night.

“Just because she’s taking it slow doesn’t mean her feelings for you aren’t there. You have to respect that. If she’s still putting up with you after two months, I’d bet she’s just being cautious. Getting hurt sucks.” He nods thoughtfully. “Give her the time she’s asking for, and don’t give up.”

Don’t give up.

The sentiment twists a knife lodged deep in your heart. Is that what will happen to you? Will they give up? Get tired of waiting for you to spill all your secrets, get tired of waiting for you to take the final step? To tell them you love them?

Get tired of waiting for you to let them use your real name?

“I didn’t expect her, didn’t expect to feel this way.” The mask comes down, revealing a hopelessly lovesick heart, the depth of it shining in his eyes.

“I don’t think anyone ever does expect it. That’s the surprising thing about love, I guess.” You sway, a palm pressed to the wall as your hand flattens over your stomach.

“You alright?” Marshall’s voice is far away as you breathe through your nose, trying to fend off the nausea tightening your throat.

“Sorry, I’ve been a bit under the weather. Think I’ve got a bug or something.” Your stomach roils in warning, and you barely grit out an apology before dashing away.

Just in time to toss your breakfast up in the toilet.

“I’m fine.”

“I heard you in the toilet. You didn’t sound fine, and you shouldn’t be working if you’re sick.” Your manager shakes her head like she’s disappointed, and you glare. You both know if you had called this morning talking about a stomach bug, she would have told you to suck it up unless you were actively vomiting.

“Look around. Do you see an excess of nurses on the floor?”

“We’ll manage. Or call someone in.” You shake your head.

“We’re already way past policy ratios.” You bite your tongue when safe nearly slips out, not wanting to piss her off. That’s the union’s job.

“At least go sit down or something. Take a break. Come back in twenty minutes and let me know how you feel.”

Your closet is cozy, and for once during the day, unoccupied. The nausea has subsided, for now, and you shoot a text to the guys, asking about Penny. If you feel like this, you can’t imagine how she feels.

You curl up and imagine you’re home instead, maybe in bed with a sleeve of crackers and some soda, warm chest at your back, a hand stroking over your hip. Maybe you’d have some soup, maybe the three of you would watch a movie after Pen went down for bed. You start to drift in the domestic fantasy, sleeping curling itself like a blanket over your shoulders, until you’re startled by the vibration of your phone, foot kicking forward in a jolt against a shelf.

A box falls to the floor.

HCG strips.

You stare at it for a long time, numbers and dates and weeks mashing together, calculations getting lost in the fray.

You’re not…

No.

Ridiculous. Not even possible. You’re on the pill. Religiously.

You have the nursery bug that Pen brought home. Get a grip.

Still…

You use the fifth-floor bathroom, one of the only single occupant toilets in the whole damn hospital, nausea now coming from a completely different source.

The timer on your phone is incredibly slow, or maybe it’s just time itself, the world turning in slow motion, every second elongated into turbulent silence, too many thoughts, too many feelings, too much of everything to tell where one ends and the other begins.

Fear.

Anxiety.

Panic.

Sadness.

Grief.

It’s grief that is the strongest. Grief for something that Phillip stole, mourning for something that was once so close, so real, and then gone in an instant.

If you close your eyes, you can still feel his boot in your stomach. The press of a steel toe, jammed beneath your ribs, wild, deranged eyes staring down at you in a rage.

But-

Buried so, so far beneath the crushing weight of it all, there is a bright little pocket of sunshine. A small little sliver of light, beams of hope stretching for the sky, warmth spilling over until your hands tremble with the conflict warring inside you.

Nothing has changed, but everything could.

The timer goes off with a shrill chime, and you lean over the sink to where the small strip sits on top of a cup.

A bold pink line.

And then another, more faint, but certainly there. A simple equation, one plus one equals two. Simple math.

Tangible. Present.

Pregnant.

[thewolvesofthenorth]

Chapter Two

Chapter Two of Man of Honor

Series Masterlist ❖ Main Masterlist ❖ House Of The Dragon Masterlist

Rating: 18+

Word Count: 2k+ 

Summary: Cregan finally manages to speak to you, but it doesn’t go the way he thought it would.

Warnings: Angst angst angst, language, fluff, slow burn, pining

⟸ Previous Chapter ❖ Next Chapter ⟹

Much to Cregan’s chagrin, you were still skillfully avoiding him, but he had managed to convince Sara to aid him on his endeavor to get you to speak, or even just acknowledge him. Sara had of course rebuffed him at first, but after several days of his nagging, she gave in. She told him that the only place where you would surely be alone was the godswood, and that she would inform him the next time you were there, but the rest was up to him after that.

Cregan expressed his gratitude and the wait began. Two days passed before Sara informed Cregan that you were making your way to the godswood, and his throat grew tight with anxiety.

What am I even going to say?

He waited a while before making his way to the godswood, careful to avoid catching anyone’s attention lest he be pulled into other matters. He needed to patch things up with you as best as he could. The snow quietly crunched beneath his feet as he walked through the godswood, an eerie silence filling the air as he neared the heart tree. As he grew closer, he could make out your silhouette sitting on a rock at the foot of the heart tree, head bowed in silent prayer. As he took a step forward, a twig snapped, and he winced as the sound echoed through the trees.

Cregan’s breath caught in his throat as you whipped your head around at the noise and met his eye. Despite the day already beginning to grow dark, he could see how beautiful you looked. You sat frozen, heart pounding in your chest at the sight of him standing there, staring at you with an unreadable expression on his face. After a moment, you stood, silently dusting the snow off your cloak, and acted as if he wasn’t mere feet away. Realizing what you were about to do, Cregan closed the distance between you with a few short strides, catching your arm as you turned to walk away.

“Wait,” he managed to choke out. “Please.”

You turned and narrowed your eyes at him as you freed your arm from his grasp.

“What do you want?” You spat; voice laced with venom as you addressed him for the first time in months. Cregan cringed at your tone, having never been on the receiving end of your anger, and the usually composed and strong man suddenly felt like a child. He took a deep breath to steady his thoughts, silently praying to the old gods for strength.

“I - I wanted to apologize,” he began. “I’ve been horrible to you as of late.” You scoffed at his words.

“Oh, you’ve realized that now, have you?” You shot back, crossing your arms with a glare. “What? Did you fall off your horse?” Cregan looked at you in confusion.

“Did you hit your head? Have a little too much ale or something? Because why else would you suddenly remember that I existed?” He flinched at your response, not knowing how to reply.

Seven hells, this is off to a great start.

“No -,” he started.

“No? So, what is it then? Why are you here?”

“I’m trying to say that I’m sorry,” he answered, head bowing with remorse. Cregan felt so small in your presence, with your wrath directed at him, that he wanted to curl into a ball and hide from your fury.

“You’re sorry?” You retorted. “After months of ignoring me, all you have to say is ‘sorry’?”

“You’ve also been avoiding me!” He replied. “You’ve come up with an excuse at every turn just to keep your distance, and you never told me why.”

“Oh, so it’s all my fault now, is it?” You sneered, your anger rising with each passing moment.

“No, that’s not what I’m saying.”

“Well, it certainly sounds like it. Do you even know why? Why I avoid being near you?”

Cregan opened his mouth to speak but you cut him off.

“I avoid being near you because I couldn’t stand to look at you. I couldn’t stand to be in your presence, listening to you talk about Arra and how great she is. How perfect she is. How I could never compare to her.”

“I’m -.”

“And that’s not even the half of it,” you continued, ignoring his attempt to speak. “You can’t possibly imagine how it feels to be replaced. To have your best friend ignore you and spend his time with someone else, doing things that you used to do together, and then come back and talk about how great of a time he had. Do you even remember? Do you remember the words you spoke to me right here where we presently stand?”

“Yes,” he managed to say, “I remember.”

“What were the words then? What was it that you said?”

“I told you that we’d marry, and I’d make you the Lady of Winterfell.”

“You promised. You swore it,” you said softly. “You swore it by the old gods and the new.”

“I know.”

“And yet you betroth yourself to Arra.”

“I - I know that I’ve wronged you, but it was never my intention.”

“Oh? What was your intention then?”

“I - you - it,” Cregan stumbled over his words as you looked at him in rage. “It’s what’s best for the North. It’s my duty.”

“What’s best for the North? Your duty?” You snapped, hands now shaking with rage. “Is that your excuse?”

“No, but -,”

“You are an arrogant fool,” you seethed. “You think yourself so honorable, but you are far from it. You are a disgrace to your house and bring shame to the Stark name. You swear an oath, but then proceed to break it. You are nothing but a coward and don’t deserve to be a Stark.”

“We - we were children,” he defended, and the moment the words left his lips he knew he’d made a grave mistake.

Fuck!

“We were children,” you slowly repeated. “We. Were. Children…. So that’s it? It was just a game to you then.”

“No - it,” Cregan tried to backtrack, but you held your hand up to stop him.

“I’ve heard enough,” you said, and you straightened your back and looked him in the eye. “It may have been nothing but a game to you, but it wasn’t a game to me, Cregan Stark.” With that, you pushed past him and marched out of the godswood, not sparing the dejected man another glance.

Once you were out of sight, Cregan’s knees buckled, and he fell to the ground despair. He let out a growl as he hit the snow in frustration. He should have told you how he felt, told you how he had been blind to his own feelings. But instead, he’d completely mucked things up and made the rift between the two of you even bigger. 

You were right, he was nothing but a coward.

But he also had a duty to uphold.

A duty to the North.

A duty to his people.

And duty is sacrifice.

Tears silently streamed down your face as you solemnly walked to the Great Keep, skillfully keeping yourself hidden in the shadows and away from prying eyes. The cold unforgivingly nipped at your wet cheeks, making your tears feel like ice against your skin, but you paid it no mind, too distraught from Cregan’s words to feel the frosty bite of the North. You were angry that he had managed to corner you in the godswood. You were angry at him for breaking your heart more than he already had. But mostly, you were angry at yourself for hoping that he would say something different than what he had.

How could I have been so stupid?

So blind?

Your mind raced with so many thoughts as you finally arrived at your chambers and sat on your bed. You slid off your shoes and stripped off your cloak before lying down and staring at the ceiling. You weren’t sure what to do anymore. On one hand, you wanted to leave Winterfell so you wouldn’t have to see Cregan anymore. On the other, you wanted to stay because you loved him and couldn’t bear the thought of never seeing him again. Your heart ached at both options because no matter what, you’d still be losing and knew you wouldn’t be happy no matter which choice you made.

If only I could turn back time and she never came to Winterfell.

Maybe even farther back so Cregan never made his promise.

Your heart clenched as you remembered his words, the phrase tauntingly echoing in your ears.

We were children.

We were children.

We were children.

He had said those words so easily, as if he’d practiced saying it. As if it was acceptable to make such promises as children and they weren’t to be taken seriously.

Oaths of marriage shouldn’t be taken lightly, but I guess they don’t matter if we made it when we were children.

I really thought it meant something to him.

You let out a huff as you sat up, running a hand through your hair. You needed to move on. You needed to do something other than pine for someone who clearly didn’t care about your feelings. Who would rather break his word and toss you aside as if you had not been by his side your whole lives. As if you hadn’t made sacrifices of your own.

You had turned down numerous suitors over the years because of your feelings for Cregan and hopes of marrying him, but now you knew that you should have done what was best for you. If Cregan had really meant his words that day in the godswood, he would have told his advisors and made it known. Instead, he kept it a secret and put it out of his mind because you were both children and he thought of it as another one of your childish antics.

He never had the intention of actually marrying me.

He was just a stupid boy making stupid promises to a stupid girl.

A stupid girl who was stupid enough to listen to his stupid words.

Stupid.

Stupid.

Stupid.

That night you cried yourself to sleep, unaware of the man who stood just outside your door, listening to your sobs of pain, and knowing he was the cause of such sorrow.

After you had left Cregan in the godswood, he had stayed beneath the heart tree praying to the old gods. Praying for guidance and for help to make the right choice. He was torn. He knew his feelings for you. He knew that they had always been there, but he was too blind to see it until now. But he had also made an oath to Arra and her parents. He had made an oath to his people, to the North. He simply could not forsake his word for his own selfish desires, but he had also given his word to you all those years ago, and the pain that he was causing you was eating him up inside.

Some time had passed and by the time Cregan returned to the Great Keep it was nearly the hour of the bat. As he walked through the quiet halls to his chambers, he decided he wanted to try and speak with you again, in hopes of somehow repairing the damage he had done. Once he arrived at your door, he took a deep breath and was about to knock when he heard it.

You were crying.

Cregan’s heart dropped to his stomach.

He had caused this.

He was the reason why you were currently bawling your eyes out alone. It felt like a lifetime ago that he was the one comforting you when you were upset, but now he was the cause of your misery. Cregan stood there, forehead resting against the wooden door, unsure of what to do. Should he go in and comfort you? Should he leave?

You’d probably yell at him and throw him out if he came in, especially after the earlier interaction, but he wanted nothing more than to pull you into his arms and tell you everything was going to be fine and that he was sorry. He knew he should probably leave, but his feet refused to move, and guilt consumed him as your weeping continued.

If only he’d had the courage to tell you his feelings, you wouldn’t be going through this.

If only he had remembered the oath he’d made, you wouldn’t be so broken.

If only he wasn’t bound by duty as the Warden of the North.

It felt like hours, when it was really minutes, before your whimpers eventually stopped and Cregan knew you’d fallen asleep. He turned as if to walk away but paused. You were always a heavy sleeper, especially after crying, but there was still a slight chance that you would wake up, but Cregan was willing to risk it. He took deep breath and quietly opened your door, and the sight that greeted him made his breath hitch. There you were, hair splayed out around you, the dim light from the moon illuminating your delicate features.

He took the chance to admire you, noting the way your lips were parted just a bit, and a quiet snore coming from your mouth. He smiled at how peaceful you looked, free of the despair he had caused. As he trailed his eyes over your body, the evening breeze graced the room and made you shiver in your sleep. You had been so distraught that you hadn’t even sought comfort in the warm furs adorning your bed. Cregan tip-toed to your side and slid his arms under your small frame, careful to not rouse you from your slumber, as he shifted you just enough to cover you with a blanket.

As he pulled the cover up to your chin, he caught sight of your tear-stained cheeks. As he wiped them way with the pad of his thumb, you turned your face and nuzzled into his palm, letting out a small sigh at the contact. Cregan froze, worried that he’d woken you up, but breathed a sigh of relief when you made no other movements. He tried to draw his hand away slowly, afraid that you would somehow wake up, but was stopped when you abruptly grabbed his arm and rolled over, unexpectedly pulling him into the bed.

He quickly caught himself before he landed on you and held his breath as he gradually lowered his body to lay next to you, praying that you wouldn’t choose that moment to wake up. He thanked the gods when he managed to settle himself behind you, arm slung over your body, trapped in your grip. Cregan steadily shifted until he was right up against you, nothing but the thick material of the wool and furs separating your bodies and closed his eyes.

He smiled as he recalled how the two of you would often fall asleep like this as children. How you two would somehow always manage to wake up in each other’s arms, your head resting on his chest, his arm tightly curled around you. He had never given it much thought back then since you’d been children, but then chastised himself since that kind of thinking was what got him into this mess to begin with.

He tried to think of the last time you’d fallen asleep in his arms and realized that the last time was shortly after your sixteenth name day, several months after his father had passed. Your septa had admonished you the next morning when she’d found you in his arms, saying that it was not appropriate to sleep beside a man that was not your husband, especially when the man was the young Lord of Winterfell, and she had not hesitated to give him the same scolding. The two of you never slept beside each other after that.

Cregan was saddened at the memory, having never recognized the obvious affection between you two. He closed his eyes, listening to your breathing and occasional snores, and breathed in your scent. The smell of pine with a pleasant undertone of smoke invaded his nostrils, and he draw soft circles over your hand as he felt how your body perfectly fit against his. He committed it all to his memory and wanted to savor this moment for as long as he could, knowing that he would probably never get another chance at this with you.

Cregan laid awake behind you for several hours, and as the hour of the owl approached, he reluctantly released you from his embrace and stood. He couldn’t help himself as he leaned down and placed a kiss on your cheek and forehead before exiting your chambers, giving you one last look before he shut the door silently behind him.

Unbeknownst to him, you had opened your eyes just seconds after the door had shut.

⟸ Previous Chapter ❖ Next Chapter ⟹

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 20/09✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

@funnybadger868 ha chiesto:wait so if mk can hear macaques past can he hear wukongs for example the circlet and the spell

Yeah he could. It's now just a matter of if he wants to use this power ever again

@cryptic-theseus ha chiesto:you're paying for my therapy btw, the bill is on the way

Blame it on the gay monkies not me. It's bc of them that my life is ruined/hj

@ayrza ha chiesto:Hey!I have an important question, where do you get your sources for the AU👉🏻👈🏻p? I mean, I just recently entered the LMK fandom and I see that there are parts that are not mentioned much in the series and it frustrates me because I feel like I only watch the anime but I'm missing the manga 🫠I love your art and your work, it's amazing 🫰🏻✨

Hi! Well I' finishing to read Journey to the West (im at chapter 80) and if I need extra info or just check I go to the fandom wiki.

@feyqueen91 feyqueen91 ha chiesto:A question for your Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU (btw, I just saw your recent post for More Than A Successor Arc & I thought something light hearted was needed to even out the Angst), is Macaque able to summon something like what Red Son did with the Samadhi Sprite, and he teaches MK to do it too?

Wait what exactly? I haven't understood what you meant by sprite.

@og-glitch-punk ha chiesto: Honestly I expect this to be hidden but i also love your work on both comics, keep it up!! I forgot their names but dude- how would the lotus prince and our moon chef feels about wukong and Macaque being MK's parents? HELL. WHAT ABOUT THE TRIO? YELLOW TUSK, PENG AND THE LOIN (CANT REMMEBER HIS NAME EVEN IF HE IS TECHNICALLY DEAD/GONE). Hell even this chaotic snake man may even use MK to his advantage with the fact he is the child of Wukong and Macaque. So many possibilities and guesses, so many twists and turns we will never know bro

Oh he absolutely woud. Also about the others. They would probably act like protective aunt/uncles to that poor traumatised boy.

@thenerdnico ha chiesto:Oh my GODS that last bio dad's chapter broke me, your expressions are always amazing. I'm going to assume that at the end of Wukong's and Macaque's fight, Wukong realised Macaque wasn't moving and ran up to him, and ended up sobbing and screaming when he realised he was dead??? If that is the case, do you think MK listened to it long enough to hear that as well?

Oh for angst reason yes. He did.

@shadowpeachera ha chiesto:AHHHH YOUR SHADOWPEACH BIO AU IS SOO GOOD!!!! I SCREAMED AT THE LAST UPDATE!!! I have a question though. You know in the series i think season 3 epsiode 5 where Wukong goes into a deep mystic monkey meditation, yeah. Well i was wondering if Mk has ever tried that but got disrupted and lost his memories or started acting strange infront of his monkey parents. It would be hilarious i can imagine him shouting, “TUDI, TUDI!”KEEP UP THE GOOD WORK, no pressure though! HAVE A GOOD DAY!

Lmaooo ok ok I don't think I'll go witha small amnesia arc in the AU but this doeß sound adorable.

@sakuralotus03 ha chiesto:It will probably be quite heavy, but I suggest that after Wukong saw the monkey like that he had a huge attack of guilt and anxiety and ended up injuring his left eye with his claws

Poor baby!! Nono don't worry his eye is fine.

@raylamoongirl ha chiesto:question for macaque: what was the hardest thing to teach Mk?Lmk bio parents Q&A

Mmmm so they tried really hard to teach him shadow teleportation, but he seems to not be able to do it.

@lmkobsessedmoth ha chiesto:For the Shadowpeach Bio Parent AU What if macaque and wukong go on a date and wukong doesn’t know it’s a date because he’s as dense as the rock he hatched out of

He truly would be. May the gods give him a clue or smt otherwise we wont end up nowhere here

Anonimo ha chiesto:Hey!I love your Shadowpeach bio Parent's AU But I Wonder,Does Wukong and Macaque already dance together before?

Danced??? I think so?? When they still were lovers friends I think (i think i m missing something)

Anonimo ha chiesto:I am on my knees, heart giving out, HOW IS BABY MK SO CUTE AND SHADOWPEACH SO ALLERGIC TO JUST KISSING ALREADY LIKE COME ON YOU TWO Anonimo ha chiesto:When I read the other part where swk and mac where talking about wanting MK to view them as parents at first I thought swk was proposing having another kid with Mac and I went “WOAH HEY- HOLD UP FOR A SECOND THERE U NEED TO GET UR SHT TOGETHER FIRST” and thank god it wasn’t that I thought swk was JUMPING AND ACCELERATING THEIR PROGRESS LMAOOOSo I’m actually glad they are taking baby steps, they need them

This slowburn is gonna be so slow-burning you all are gonna die when they actually kiss (will they kiss? Oh that's just for me to know ahah)

Anonimo ha chiesto:Since macaque is called mama by mk does that mean macaque is like a mother figure to mk in your au mama macaque is adorable and he gives off motherly in his character

Anonimo ha chiesto:Whos mom if there is considered a mom by MK or only dads? Is it Wu or Mac? My headcanons is Wukong basically the mom cuz he gives off mom and dad vibes together and Macaque just gives off dad vibes to me

He gives more motherly vibes, yes (Mamacaque and DadWukong forever)

Anonimo ha chiesto:Hi in you bio parent au for monkie kid how were monkey king and macaque as teenagers when they had a good relationship were like they a romantic couple or had secret crushes on each other and never told each other or were they just friends love this au it's amazing

Oh I think they were definitely lovers once. And that makes their past and what happened even more tragic honestly.

@ayrza ha chiesto:I don't know who is more adorable: Baby MK or Macaque and Wukong blushingPsd. I love your AU and your art 💖

Both. Both is good

@diamondwolf23 ha chiesto:THOSE TWO BETTER KISSSSSSSSSSS-I’m gonna miss Baby Mk ;-

Me too. Me too.

Anonimo ha chiesto:You could say Wukong is a...... simpian?(like simian but yknow >>)

LMAO YES

@scififeather21 ha chiesto:You can't believe how much I love your Shadowpeach AU comic series that last part made me grin so much. Mostly because my husband and I have done that exact thing when our kids were small babies and the looks and smiles were the same too. OMG it such a nice thing to see after a long day at work yesterday. :)

THAT'S THE- SWEETEST THING?????? LIKE IM SO GLAD I WAS ABLE TO MAKE IT A SIMILAR EXPERIENCE???? TO HEAR IT'S THE SAME THAT HAPPENED TO YOU IS THE SWEETEST THING EVER

@snsp6 ha chiesto:I love ur bio dads au! I wanted to ask what would happen if smth similar to the baby mk incident happened to the immortal monkeys.Like either they were de-aged to their youth or had an amnesia rules type of situation!(I am in love w the world building in this!!! And ur art is delectable!)

I don't thing the world would be ready for non-reformed Wukong#like-#not really reformed but the guy killed so many people bc of impulsiveness#until he learned that murder is not fine

Anonimo ha chiesto: This might be a stupid question, but for your bio parents, AU is MK just always in his monkey form, or is this just how he permanently looks now?

He's on his monkey form when he trains / stays at the weekends at FFM or when he friendly duels/train with Mei and Red Son.On weekdays he's constantly in his human form

@meisawkwardashecc ha chiesto:Is Wukong potentially shorter than Macaque? 👀🥺Avatar

Yes

@miraclecactus ha chiesto:Can you show us what's going on in the Freenoodles house? I'm looking forward to knowing how they manage to calm MK down :( Puedes mostrarnos que es lo que sucede en la casa de Freenoodles? Estoy ansiosa de conocer como ellos manejan el como calmar a MK :(

They used Wukong and Mac advices until he feel asleep.

Anonimo ha chiesto:I like how Wukong asks Macaque how he knows MK won't hate him after this. Like my guy, you literally killed Macaque, and he still hangs around I think he knows a thing or two

True. Although let Wukong be the dumbass he is.

alizardonfire ha chiesto:I love the idea of macaque being wukongs *rock* if that makes sense? It gives so much character to him.

Aaaahh ty! Yeah I feel like he's pretty good at understanding when he s just out of his mind and bring him back to earth.

Anonimo ha chiesto:If this isn't to much spoiler will the next lmk comic be angsty

This will be answered too late but I will always warn you in advance if there s angst coming.

Anonimo ha chiesto:I love your art! Lighthearted question since your about to bring the pain- do you think Mac and Wu fight over who gets to be little spoon/big spoon or are both of them 100% happy with Mac as big spoon and Wu as little spoon every night

So as for now, they are good with Wukong being the little spoon. Both bc Wukong is the the one who constantly craves for touch amd bc Macaque feels more comfortable in a position of "control" let's say. He can decide how much closer or not to get to Wukong.

Then in the future they would be more comfortable to switch (and the bicker about who should be the big or small)

@sallyvanna ha chiesto:HAIII FIRST OF ALL I LOVE YOUR BIO PARENT AU it makes my day every time I see a new page postedI was just wondering, why was macaque kinda nervous when he summoned rumble and savage? He was like 'ah shit I didn't want that-' 👀

It was because the kid would be afraid of them! Of course he wouldn't. But I guess Macaque still feels like his powers are a threat to him.

@redwrathroit ha chiesto:Hey, note this is something you can completely ignore but I wanted to know if you had a ref sheet for your monkey Bois, I'd love to take a try and drawing them plus I had made an Oc character of my own but I did it once and then art block hit me like a train and said; nah, never again. So it would really help me out if you have a ref, if not ignore this and have a nice day/night

Unfortunately I don't. I have a lot of panels where you can see them full body in various stances though.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Wukong being the little spoon is too cute, he spends years being the big spoon platonically to everyone that someone finally gave him what was needed, to be protected instead of being the protector

Yesss he iss!!!!!!

@froggyofdeath ha chiesto:Question abt Shadowpeach bio parents! Sooo, who kills the spiders, who screaming abt them, who the one who picks it up and try to scare the screaming one?🫠✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️✨️☕️☕️☕️☕️

Mk is screaming, Wukong picks it up, Macaque kills it.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Can we see exactly when they decided to prepare the courtnapping room? Like when exactly did they know oh we need to prepare that our son has apparently followed in our footsteps

Unfortunately in this AU for now I don't plan tp draw a full spicynoodle arc as well. There will be moments for the ship as well but more like extras and side stories.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Your shadowpeach bio au reminds me of something..... I remember you saying to someone that they should Read a Son of Two Dad's. Have you read the entire thing? and the sequel?

Yes I did! Also the sequel, but i think it s in hiatus.

Anonimo ha chiesto:In you newest update for the shadowpeach parent au, that one scene of Macaque looking at Wukong as MK holds his finger kind of reminds me those flashback scenes in movies of the dead lover/wife that is looking at the main character from under a flowing blanket. I have no clue why but the image popped up in my head when I read that part of the comic lmao

I bet when they are back together they will re-create this exact image eventually

Anonimo ha chiesto:I love that Macaque is initiating contact with Wukong. Hugging him, holding his hands, cuddling with him. It makes my heart melt 🥹🥰 And Wukong is giving him opportunities to do so

He is opening the door for Mac to come closer, so that it's his choice how much he can get closer. The last thing Wukong wants is to rush things or do something that would make him more uncomfortable.

Anonimo ha chiesto:Omg! I love your art especially your shadowpeach parent bio au, it's adorable! Although I'm terrified for the next page. Anyway, my question is, why won't you let the monkey trio breathe from the trauma? 😅🥹

Bc apparently chat asked for it

[daydreamerwoah]

Love Through It All Pt. 10

tw: mentions of cheating, mentions of divorce; hurt; angst; anger; rollercoaster of emotion; sadness; arguing; crying; a worried Ghost; brief mention of self-hurt; brief mentions of Ghost's past

Read Part 1 for my author notes for the beginning of this story if this is your first time here.

I want to say here that I won't be going too deep into Ghost's past when he was captured by Roba.

Walking into the apartment, you were fuming. So upset to the point that you wanted to take the wine bottle that was still on the kitchen counter and chuck it across the room to pieces. You were embarrassed, confused, and mad. You all but snatched off your heels and tossed them by the side of the front door and stormed your way to the bedroom to try and get out of the dress you had on.

Simon cautiously followed behind you after making sure the door was closed and locked. His eyes watching your every move with a mix of sadness and lingering rage; not at you, but at the image of what set him off only 20 minutes ago.

He had gone to two places - with Johnny still trying to talk him out of it - before finally walking into the club you were at. His dark eyes scanned the entire room before they landed on your figure amid the crown. The damn dress that hardly covered you caught his eyes immediately. Johnny even swallowed an uncomfortable lump in his throat at your outfit. While you looked beautiful... it was weird for him to see you swinging your hips to the music. Your dress showed much more skin than the last one he saw you in.

His eyes shot to Simon, who continued to stare at you. He hadn't moved an inch as he only watched and somewhat admired. He was getting both slightly turned on and about to burst with anxiety. When the fuck did you buy that dress? How were you able to move in it without showing your underwear and a nip slip? He had so many thoughts racing through his mind, but that all came to a screeching halt when a guy placed his hands on your hips.

His eyes widened, and before he took a step, Johnny's arm stretched out over his chest to stop him, "Don't do it mate. If y'go over there now she'll never forgive ya."

The damn Scot was right. But did it ease his lieutenant's mind? Of course not... Especially when he saw the fucking man snake his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his body, and put his lips on your ear. That's when he saw red... nothing but dark, sizzling, fiery red. His feet reacted on instinct, pushing him through the crowd with clenched fist.

"Ah fuckin' hell!" Johnny yelled out as he tried pushing his way through after Simon. He knew what was going to happen before it even did. And fuck did he try to stop it before they got thrown out of the club.

But now that you and him were back at home, the wrath had simmered... just a bit. He was still mad.... but more with himself. He wanted to cut off the man's hands, but looking at you made all thoughts about that vanish.

"Sweetheart-"

"No!" you yelled as you turned on your heels to face him, "Don't fucking sweetheart me Simon! What the fuck was that back there?"

He pulled his balaclava off, tossing it on the bed before glancing back at you, "Please-"

"Stop! No more fucking talking!" It was your turn to see red, "How could you do that?! You went looking for me?! I told you I was coming home!" He tried to speak but you didn't even let him open his mouth, "And you punched someone! Because what?... he danced with me?! Because he had his arm around me-"

"I saw him kiss your neck, Y/n!" Simon shouted. In all the years you had been married, he rarely raised his voice, especially at you... but he also had never cheated until he did. "I saw the way he looked at you!"

"So what?! You think I wanted him back! You think I was going to leave with him! That I was going to cheat like you did to me!" Simon's hard eyes softened, "You stepped out on our marriage! Six times! SIX! Not one, but six! And you didn't even have the balls to tell me. You didn't even tell me how you felt before then! Instead, you fucked some girl! All because you like having rough sex! I'm not some fucking fragile toy that will break! I'm not weak! And you won't even divorce me!"

He stepped closer to you, but you took a step back, "Love-"

"No! I'm not done! I'm so fucking mad right now I could punch something!" You started pacing, "You say I'm yours but you go and act like this?!"

"You are. Sweetheart I swear-" He tried to reach out for you.

You smacked his hand away, "Don't touch me!"

"Hit me love. Y'can punch me. Slap me. Do whatever y'need-"

"STOP!" You screamed. You screamed so loud that Simon's eyes widened so big from your tone. You thought someone would come knocking on the door from how loud it was, possibly thinking you were being hurt. When you thought about it, you were being hurt.... just not physically.

The tension in the air only grew. The anger that was racing through your body was going to force its way out, and that terrified you. You weren't a violent person. You didn't want to see what would happen if you hit Simon... you knew he wouldn't do anything back, but the thought of being like your ex made you want to vomit.

A shift in Simon's eyes only confirmed that what you did wasn't like you. It wasn't the woman he married. But he hated himself to know it was all because of him that you had changed. And he couldn't stop it.

It was as if a dam burst as tears began to fall down your cheeks. The mascara and eyeliner causing black streaks on the skin. You didn't even care if he saw you in pain or not. You wanted to scream and to lash out at him, but your throat had become so dry from shouting already you had no energy left in you.

You lowered your head, softly shaking it, "I need space, Simon. I need to be away from you... You need to be away from me." you said.

"Wait, please don't-"

"Please, Simon... please just give me space and time to think about everything," you sniffed, "I'm begging you.... please."

He stood there, eyes shifting between yours as he listened to you. As he heard your plea. He had been so worried about losing you that he only made things worse. And there was nothing that he could do to fix it other than give you what you wanted. Give you the space you needed.

He slowly nodded as tears formed in his own eyes, and a sob left your mouth as you clamped a hand around your lips to stop the sound from escaping. "Alright," he said, voice barely above a whisper, "I'll give you anything y'want. Promise. Just-" He stopped himself from finishing his sentence, "Alright."

It was the last thing he said before he grabbed his balaclava off the bed and left the house. As soon as the door shut, you couldn't help but sink down to your knees and let out one of the hardest, silent cries you ever had. It was so hard to do anything but cry, and that you did. You cried as you took your dress off. You cried as you sat on the floor in the shower, letting the water fall all over you. You cried as you gazed at yourself in the mirror, feeling like you wanted to punch the glass.

************************************************************************

Simon opened his office door before quickly shutting and locking it once he stepped inside. It was cold and dark, like it always was. But this time, it felt colder... damper. The windowless room offered no light source until he flicked on the small lamp on this desk. It barely lit up anything, but it was enough for him to find his way to the couch located off to the side of the room.

He slumped down with a low and painful groan leaving his mouth. It wasn't the smartest idea for him to even be fighting when he was still bruised and battered from the mission he left not even 24 hours ago. Actually, it was a stupid idea, and he knew that. The adrenaline no longer pumping through him, he felt how the knuckle on his right hand had split a little. When he glanced down at it, he felt a rush of sadness fall to his stomach as he looked at the dried up blood.

"Fuck," he said.

He wished someone could punch him in the face. The amount of force that he struck with his first on the guy at the club, he wished it was his face that he hit. He felt like he could take one of his knives and stab himself in the chest. He didn't deserve anything after what he did to you.... You had given him more than he truly deserved by staying with him at the beginning of all of this. All he did in return was made you cry damn near every day.

Maybe he did deserve to let you go; to let you leave him. He thought about if he should just be alone for the rest of his life. Retire and move somewhere remote, so he couldn't have any human interaction. So he wouldn't ever hurt you again by seeing him, by thinking about what he did to you. Or if he was lucky, he'd get himself killed on the next mission he was sent off to. It'd be quick and painless, he hoped. You could even be free from him.

He laid down on the couch, looking up at the ceiling as his huge frame barely fit comfortably on it. But he didn't deserve comfort. He didn't deserve to live, he thought. Maybe one day, he could finally be with his mom, his brother.... his nephew. If they were alive, he was sure his Tommy would have punched him square in the face. He could see the look on his face so vividly. The pain in his heart was worse than the hook that pierced through his rib so many years ago. He thought he deserved another hook.... and he'd let it happen if that meant making you happy once again.

A little shorter part, but wanted to gear up for the next piece of them having space. This was sort of hard to write for me as I know what it feels like when you feel like you ruined something and you think about if you could bring yourself pain, it would ensure the other person would be happy. Won't lie I teared up a little lmao!! This part was originally supposed to be something else, but I changed it because I have more plans for Jax's position in this story so I hope you all like it lol!As always...... comment, like, give feedback :)

Taglist: @kalypsoox @fruitymoonbeams-blogz @kylies-love-letter @xrosegoldwolfx @linaaaaa654 @jessicab1991 @darkravenqueen98 @yazyazali @thychuvaluswife @chloeforde @cownini @ssc7514

[vampiricgf]

WATER SONG [PT. 1]

merman leon x gov't researcher reader

word count : 7k+

warnings : female reader, reader has a sort of type A personality and some mild anger issues, talk of medical experiments, he's referred to as a subject and specimen quite a lot, descriptions of predatory behavior (animal kind, not the sexual kind), slow pace, sfw, lots of yearning for touch

okay part one isn't terribly exciting im sorry ajdgakab I just wanted to establish a connection between the reader and him in the setting n such before developing any deeper connection. also like 1% research went into this so im sorry if you're knowledgeable about oceanic research this'll probably piss you off lmao. also all credit for this au idea goes to @/bunnivievve tysm for letting me write a lil interpretation of your idea! this was inspired by this post of theirs as well ‹𝟹

JUNE

Subject Zero. 

Male, combined characteristics of humanoids and aquatic species. Captured by a trawling vessel, out in deep waters usually traversed by cargo freighters but occasionally by commercial fishing vessels. A freak happenstance. When the net had been dredged up in a fantastic spray of salt water, the hoard of tuna quickly spilling into the sorting containers, the men on deck had spotted something much larger than white fin tuna thrashing in the net. 

Upon careful inspection they feared they’d pulled up a man, some poor unfortunate victim of a seafaring disaster. A capsized or otherwise destroyed vessel, a near drowning victim that had fallen overboard perhaps. 

Until they spotted the flashing of sharp teeth, and the thick, muscled tail slamming against the wet metal under their feet. 

Thankfully their transmission to the Coast Guard was intercepted, a naval craft catching the broadcast and setting course as fast as possible for the trawler. 

And now Subject Zero finds respite in your “office”. If an office can be counted as more of an observation space, nevertheless. A part of you feels bad, the less scientifically trained and inclined part that is, for keeping such a clearly intelligent creature within a tank inside a black site. The initial placement had been… difficult. It was clear the subject missed the open ocean, and you did feel sorry that it had been so unceremoniously plucked from its home and deposited in such an alien space on land. But there was nothing to be done about it. 

He was far too valuable as a research opportunity. The cold, clinical part of your mind understood that. He was a marvel of nature, flesh and blood proof that man could be intermixed with seafaring species, it was one of the single greatest events in modern marine biology. And an immense privilege for you, the scientist chosen chiefly to study the subject. 

A dream. The government all but telling you to do whatever you deemed necessary, no concern over the expense. Gone were worries of securing grant funding for more piddling projects or the endless anxiety of thinking you would be stuck as one name in an endless list of names relegated to ordinary oceanic study. Not that your peers' works weren’t valuable, but you always held the selfish desire for notoriety. Had dreamed endlessly throughout your undergraduate program of the day your name would be the one filling up library indexes and publications with impressive, weighty studies. Discoveries so undeniable you would join the ranks of the most noteworthy in the field. 

And seemingly, your wish had been granted. Subject zero would be the gravel that paved your road to success. It’s just a pity it has to be such an intelligent creature. 

You sit back, uncuring from your hunched position at the desk, rolling your shoulders and wincing as you hear your joints popping. Documentation was a never ending pain in the ass but it had to be done, if you wanted to keep the convenience of not having to answer to nor justify your expenses to an overhead department. Ordinarily that work would be relegated to a lower priority researcher, but you preferred being able to sign off on it all yourself, comforted by the fact that there were no unforeseen surprises lurking in the documents or spreadsheets or data tables. Nothing anyone would be about to point out as a discrepancy, leaving you humiliated and floundering. 

As you close your eyes you can feel it, the hair on the back of your neck slightly on edge. The feeling of being observed. 

He seemed to prefer watching you when your back was turned or if you were otherwise unaware. If you were facing the ten foot thick glass of the massive elcousure he would recede into the farthest corners of it, shying away into watery obscurity. In a way it was cute, an obvious curiosity for the beings around him but he seemed stricken by shyness, didn’t know if you were trustworthy. Which was understandable. You were the one keeping him there, at least to his limited viewpoint. The one that denied him reentry into his former home. 

That irritatiningly scentimental part of your mind whispered to you again. 

What if he thinks you’re cruel?

So what? We don’t even know to what extend he does think. 

You say that but you do care, at least a little. Thats why you sneak him extra food. 

You sigh to yourself, pushing up from the familiar desk, palms flat on its slick glass surface before rising to your full height. Out of the corner of your eye you catch the white coat you don most of the day, every day, slung carelessly over the back of another chair at a separate station. Your badge attached via a shiny, silvery little clip. Walking over you purposefully keep your eyes directed away from the elcousure, your movements slow. This is a good opportunity to see how long he’ll watch you as long as he believes you aren’t paying attention. 

The badge is solid, though lightweight as you pick it up, bringing it closer to your face. It’s hard to believe you look so excited in the small picture in the upper lefthand corner. Your name in bold typeface as last name, first name all neatly lined up next to the photo. In it’s reflection you can see him, one hand perched against the glass, that thick midnight blue tail swishing up and down in a soft, rhythmic motion as he stays still. Ever watchful. 

Its hard to see in the little reflective glimpse but subject zero does have more… handsome features. You smile to yourself, recalling one of the other researchers giggling while telling you it wasn’t weird to note that because it was true. What man on land, with two legs, had eyes that shade of blue or a jawline that impressive? None that aren’t using photoshop or filters. 

Maybe if the discovery of the subject was publicized there would be throngs of people banging on doors trying to find out where he’s being kept. It did make you huff out a laugh, the idea that a half fish man who couldn’t speak was more appealing than the majority of men on earth. 

Maybe we should open an instagram page for him. 

You shake your head to yourself, still smiling, as you set the badge down. 

The office slash observation room remained quiet save for the occasional sound of sloshing water. It was late, well past time fo anyone other than the usual armed military guard to be roaming the facility. Well past time for you to go home. 

At that moment you turn, just enough to peek over your shoulder and as soon as your eyes fix on the spot he occupied all you catch is a low flash of dark blue, retreating into the shadowy depths encased in glass. 

~

OCTOBER

Three months of observation. 

Hardly enough to form any evidence based conclusions, but enough time to get started on the right path. You had approximately nintey days of solid data on his diet, his presenting condition each day, endless notes on his observable physiology. He preferred deep water fish, clearly an omnivore as he also didn’t mind the addition of oceanic plant species mixed with the fish when it was introduced into the tank. In fact he seemed to greatly enjoy the sudden introduction of variety, although still preferred to eat his meals in a semblance of solitude. 

His distrust was only natural, you had to remind yourself. Until such time as he’s fully used to his new environment you’re unlikely to observe any great variation in his behavior. 

At least he wasn’t showing signs of aggression. That had been a legitimate concern, and still was, of course. All proper safety precautions were followed to the letter when it came to subject zero, and absolutely no one was to physically get in the tank, not until further tests could be done on his temperament and how he reacted to certain stimuli both pleasant and unplseant. 

You grimace seeing a newly sent email notification, the little computerized ding signalling that your attention was required. 

When isn’t it?

You put the sleek desktop into split screen mode, keeping the charts on the subject to the left while your email opened to occupy the right side. Amid the usual low importance emails from general staff there was a new one, at the very top. The name made your stomach twist in preparation of the message. Dr. Gregg had, for lack of a better phrase, a raging hard on for the opportunity to remove the subject from the tank and getting it into a smaller one in order to sedate and extract genetic material. It didn’t matter that he’d already been sedated and had samples drawn when he was initially transported here, no. The good doctor wanted more than that, but you couldn’t accommodate the request in good conscience. 

Or rather, you were worried about the effect it would have on him. It could set back the last nintey days of progress, or worse, inspire severe mistrust and heightened aggression towards all researchers. There was no way, even with sedation, that cutting into him wouldn’t cause pain. And a source of pain that a creature like subject zero had no way of understanding would only lead to problems. 

The two of you had been butting heads over the issue for the last week, culminating in an argument yesterday where you all but told him to get fucked. You were the lead on this, you made the decisions and he wasn’t going to usurp your authority. Your credit. 

But as your eyes scan the email you can feel yourself getting physically hot, your blood pressure threatening to rise. 

You may be the lead, the head researcher on this project, but do not believe for one moment that I will not go above your head. You are not CIA, doctor. You don’t call the final shots here, and it would do you well to remember that. Whatever your personal feelings on subject zero, you cannot stand in the way of necessary elements that better out understanding of the creature. 

With shaking fingers you close the window, not bothering to respond and not trusting yourself to either. Every fiber of your being wanted nothing more than to march down that hallway and wring his wiry old turkey neck. Who does he think he is? He’s just some physiologist, some ancient fuck. Who is he to threaten you? If his contributions were so invaluable wouldn’t he have been made lead?

You squeeze your eyes shut, hands clenching in your lap as you breathed deeply in through your mouth and out through your nose. The meditation app you’d been using had provided you with some useful tools, being that your temper had plagued you since you were small. Always the first to fly off the handle at even the idea you could be questioned, your competence or credibility casted in doubt. 

Inferiority complex, a nasty voice giggled in your head. 

It’s not that it wasn’t true, and it was a bit of an achilles heel for you. But what took priority now was holding Gregg back, keeping him away from the subject and minimizing the risk that he could fuck it all up before you even had a chance to really begin. So, once you felt that initial flashpoint of rage quelling you reopened the email application, setting your shoulders back as you began typing. 

Under no circumstances are you permitted to sedate nor perform any surgical procedures on subject zero. You have not been given any formal authorizations, so it would do you well to remember not to threaten your head researcher in the contents of easily retrievable emails. You are free to broach the topic with any superior officer on sight, and I am more than happy to entertain a line of questioning from said superior officers on why I do not believe it to be prudent at this juncture to allow for another extraction of material. Research is not a race, Doctor. 

You can’t help but smile smugly to yourself, imagining his fury at opening your reply. If he thinks just because you’re young that you’re easily pushed around he is sorely mistaken. Nothing and no one is allowed to jeopardize the most important work you may ever do. 

With that you abandon the desk, it’s dull and mind numbing work, in favor of standing in front of the tank yet again. It was nice, having a portion of it extending into this area as an offshoot of the main tank where all the feeding and the bulk of physical testing was done. He seemed to enjoy it too, which despite yourself you did place some importance on. 

It was important to ensure he was as comfortable as possible. He was still a living being, despite his status as a research subject, and you took no pleasure in the idea of him suffering in any way. It was definitely a slight drawback, you could begrudgingly admit, that you tended to get… overly attached to the species in your care. You’d done the same in both undergrad and postdoc, although it was more important than ever before to keep a tight hold on those tendencies now. 

How would you feel, if you knew that man was so hell bent on slicing you open? 

Probably afraid. 

What are you feeling now?

It would be so much easier if he were capable of speech. The bridges that had to be built between what was known and unknown had to come from the very foundations, things that required occasionally unpleasant experiences in order to build their understanding of him. But if he could just explain some of it, that would be easier. A half formed bridge is faster to finish than one from scratch. 

Uselessly you peered into the clear, clean water. Between swaying stalks of plants there was nothing to see except the seemingly endless expanse of water. Several mind boggling tonnes of it, all kept nicely contained in ten foot thick military grade glass. Bulletproof. Shatter proof. Even if subject zero were to ram it with intent, crack it even, it would still hold. 

You couldn’t help but wonder, as you remained staring through that glass, if he was lonely. Seeing so many strange, upright walkers but being unable to even touch them, even consider the act of doing it. 

As you frown at your own reflection, you feel it again. 

Duel observation.

~

It was bizarre, to him. These two legs, tall men. He knew they existed, they’d always known a different sort of being lived on the land, domineered it and then took to making attempts at dominating the sea as well. It had all become so noisy, so very nearly unbearable thanks to their hulking monstrosities of shining metal and the things they constantly kept dumping into the water.

Every day there were new threats to avoid. Long gone were the days of simply worrying about other predators lurking in the open waters or within the sediment and foliage. 

He hadn’t seen the net, as they called it, until it was too late. Had been too caught in the euphoria of finding such a gigantic school of gorgeous, meaty tuna, that his mind switched off to everything but pure instinct as he’d circled them quickly, calculatedly. His jaw had felt the ache of hunger so viscerally it was like the bones themselves were vibrating with it. 

And then they’d all begun moving. Swept up, trapped in an upward drag that he’d been powerless to fight against while overwhelmed by the wriggling, frantic fish flashing across his vision, no way to know what was forwards or backwards, up or down. 

Then the shock of air. His lungs had seized up painfully with it, the feeling of being constricted by nothing at all yet everything all at once had been horrific, beyond frightening. 

After that it was too messy, too jumbled in his mind. Harsh sounds, their sounds, were prevalent in his memory but just beyond his grasp. Far too loud without the water to act as a buffer between, softening the blows of each reverberation against his eardrums. 

But her sounds were different. Or, it was that she didn’t make many to begin with. The look of them all was mostly similar from behind the thick material they kept him in, in this unknown space. At least they offered readily available food, although not nearly what he was used to hunting for himself and his webbed fingers itched at the thought of clawing through water in pursuit of some darting piece of prey. It would feel so, so good to sink his teeth into flesh, to feel it rip and catch in chunks between his teeth, the iron rich scent of blood swirling around. The roar of adrenaline in his ears. 

It was difficult to keep his focus on much here, save for her. The best parts were when the others disappeared but she would still be in that corner, down the long corridor of water and he would be able to see her, sitting and doing wholly alien things with her hands at something large and flat, but vaguely shiny. Hers didn’t have webbing, none of them did from what he could tell. How did they ever swim competently? 

She was softer than the rest and he enjoyed watching her do her strange tasks, sometimes she would pace around holding a sheet of paper in her hands, chewing on her bottom lip. Her teeth didn’t seem all that sharp, since she never seemed worried about cutting her flesh on them. What did they eat, with useless teeth? 

Just like at the present moment, with her back turned it was easier to look at her fully. Usually he wouldn’t approach openly like this, unsure of the intentions of everyone here, but this space seemed to be reserved for her only which put him at ease. That and none of those harsh spotlights were present, if anything she seemed to prefer it half dark which was fine by him, preferable to that loud bright area behind him back through the water corridor. But she seemed tense, the set of her shoulders curled forward, almost in on herself. Something in front of her was clearly upsetting and in some odd way he felt offense on her behalf. She was kind, gave him extra food before she would disappear through the night, always seemed to be keeping a close watch over him and how the others were with him. 

He may not be able to speak, but he’s pretty sure she was the reason he wasn’t suffering in this place. And that was good enough, at present, to make him feel a sense of kinship with her. Closeness. 

As she carried on with whatever it was that kept her so occupied his mind wandered to what it would feel like to touch her. They seem to enjoy touch, most of them being very casual with the way they interacted. How did she like being touched? Or would she dislike being touched by him outright? Would she find his webbed, clawed fingers disgusting, would she flinch away?

He frowned behind the glass. Hopefully not, but there really was no way to know. They seem intent on keeping a wide distance from him, which wasn’t unwelcome. The only one he was at all curious about was her anyway, not that he would purposely antagonize anyone who ventured inside his new domain, though he certainly wouldn’t circle them like one of the friendly, if a little dumb, nurse sharks do occasionally out in open water. 

He was so caught up in that worry he nearly failed to catch her movement, but his reflexes are faster than hers. Before she could approach the glass fully he’d already retreated a safe distance away. Watching as she stared into the expanse of water, her face unreadable but the set of her eyebrows told him she felt some kind of stress, strain. 

His fingers twitched at his sides, thinking about reaching out to touch her again.

~

You smile to yourself, a soft hidden kind, at the now familiar feeling. It was like there was a strange sense of understanding between you two, although you could just be ascribing things to him he doesn’t possess. Thats always something to keep in mind, as a researcher but more often than not lately you’re coming to resent that line of thought. It was clear subject zero was intelligent. Maybe not to the degree of a human being, but he was close enough evolutionarily speaking, that he was like a cousin in the chain. An offshoot of the formerly solidly established line of human life. Theres no reason, as yet identified, that he wouldn’t be able to communicate if given the chance to learn how. 

You aren’t thinking of him as a subject anymore. That’s dangerous. 

You know it is, know that voice is right. But it doesn’t account for everything. The odd push and pull, hide and seek game you two play here in this office every single evening. Its to the point now that you feel tense, uncomfortable if you don’t sense him behind you, watching you work or pace around nonsensically. You’ve spent over an hour before reading and rereading the same observational notes and data sets because you kept grinning to yourself like a fool feeling those eyes burning holes in your back. 

He’d even made appearances in your dreams a handful of times over the last month, flashes of deep, endless blue that clung to the soft corners of your mind as you went about your morning routines, ruminating over his appearance as steam from your coffee curled around your hands, ghostly fingers clawing at the air. Tension crept up your beck, spreading out over the tops of your shoulders and trapezius muscles prompting you to stretch against the back of your office chair, rolling your joints and hearing their familiar cracking in response to hours of sustained poor posture. Lazily you grasp your phone from the desk, thumbing open the music app and scrolling a bit through your shuffle playlist before settling on something bubbly, but easily tuned into the background. 

You wonder if he enjoys music, what his preferences would be if he could swipe through your library of songs. It makes you smile to yourself thinking about it, maybe that would make for a good test of his thinking abilities, how he responds to different genres, different artists. Standing, you bend slightly to make a quick note on a half discarded sticky tab: musical testing?

And suddenly a somewhat mad thought grips you, what if you tried right now? Whats the worst that could happen, he lurks in the background while you sway around the dim office like a fool? At least the only people who could see would be the guards, not that they’d say anything either beyond thinking to themselves that every researcher here must be insane. That makes your smile grow wider, giggling to yourself a bit as you take slight steps in time with the beat, giving a little spin on your toes to face the take. 

It only somewhat shocks you to find yourself face to face with him, that he hasn’t retreated to the safety of the shadowy corners. His eyes, a remarkably similar color to the water surrounding him, track your movements with abject curiosity as you follow an imaginary path, one foot placed delicately in front of the other to carry your body with the faint sound of the music. All the while his eyes never stray from you, even when he has to move to keep you in his sights, even when you come right up to the glass and offer a little spin in front of him, giggling to yourself a little more freely now. 

And to your amazement, at your laughter, he smiles. He smiles and it makes your chest feel light, like a ten pound weight you hadn’t even been aware of was finally lifted off. Some might find his fanged appearance frightening, to you it was boyishly cute. A toothy little grin, the tips of his elongated enscisors catching against his bottom lip, and his thick, muscular tail began to move. As if, had he possessed legs like yours, they would be moving in tandem with you. 

It felt like a genuine breakthrough, making you hug your arms around yourself as you stopped moving, still laughing and feeling just a tad bit lightheaded. He genuinely smiled at you. 

He was moving with you. 

That was a major breakthrough, even if just a personal one. Increased rapport meant things would be easier going forward, for both of you. 

With a contented sigh you pressed one hand to the smooth, icy surface of the glass, your fingers stretching over the sleek glass and he does something that makes your breath freeze in your lungs. Gingerly, the way people stretch out their hands to scared animals, inch by inch his own rases to be a perfect mirror of your own. One larger, webbed, hand pressed to the glass right behind your own. It felt silly but you were too afraid to even exhale with any effort, for fear even the barest noise would ruin the moment and he would flee right back into the far corners, beyond your reach. 

But he doesn’t, doesn’t stop holding your gaze for a single second and you marvel at the way his blonde hair sways in the water, like the finest strands of silk-

“So, thats why you keep refusing to allow any progress of this “research”?”

You nearly jump out of your skin at the voice from behind you, a signature grating tone you could pick out anywhere. As your head snaps to the side, body following the movement only a second after, you see him standing in the door way with his arms crossed nearly reeking of smugness. 

Fuck. 

~

One week. 

You have one week to figure out what to do. 

After shattering your late night revelation with subject zero, who has been increasingly attached to you ever since, the resident pain in your ass physiologist had made sure to fire off emails riddled with concerns and accusations addressed to the operatives truly in charge of the site. Questions of your ability to continue in any capacity with the project, the nature of your relationship to the subject, insinuating you had some kind of perverse intention, even going so far as to insult your credibility. Not only cc-ing yourself but “mistakenly” sending those emails to every person working on site.

It had effectively turned you into a pariah with regards to your peers. Whispers of conversation that would be cut off as soon as you set foot into a room. Strange looks from your coworkers, ranging from disgust to perverse curiosity. It felt like you were continuously on fire, every minute of every day. There would be a meeting in one weeks time, and until then you were relegated to nothing but the paperwork in your office, per the tense instructions given to you.

But your panic had less to do with your professional reputation, surprisingly, and more to do with feeling very nearly physically sick when you recalled how fixated he was with the idea of getting to cut into subject zero. If you were removed completely from this project there would be no one else to act as a roadblock, to keep that from happening. 

Your eyes slide over to the observation tank, noting the worried way he’s been watching you for hours now. You wished you could haul him out of there, explain what was happening, the risk of what could happen to him. Maybe he would have some idea of how you both could get out of this. But was there any way out? Or is the only option allowing yourself to become a laughingstock, a professional embarrassment and to allow subject zero to languish in whatever horror would surely be inflicted on him? 

You can’t say if desperation is the only thing motivating you, but your mind becomes mostly blank as you leave the office. Its early enough, after you’d been practically climbing up the walls all night, so maybe the choice was fueled by sleep deprivation. Whatever the case may be, you find yourself moving as if through a dream: down the cavernous corridors, turning and twisting to follow the slate grey concrete all the way to the impossibly large main observation chamber. 

With a swipe of your ID card, forcefully and defiantly, the locks give a little beep before disengaging. Mechanically you make your way to where the suits are stored. Specially designed, one of a kind. Made of an interwoven, enmeshed material not unlike chainmail to prevent sharp teeth from being able to puncture both cloth and flesh, and featuring only the best in terms of diving design. The manufacturer had created them after winning a defense contract from the governenment and you wonder if they ever would have guessed someone would be stripping and tugging the suit on in order to come face to face with something most people would assume only existed in a fairytale. 

But here you are: yanking and adjusting the suit before prepping the oxygen tank, also designed to be compact but sacrificing the amount of time one could spend fully submerged at any depth. Either way it would work for this application, although no one had been given clearance to dive yet. 

You knew doing this would come back to bite you far worse than just those vendetta fueled emails. Diving without any clearance, using untested equipment. It was beyond insane. But the circumstances felt insane enough on their own to justify it. Subject zero was overwhelmingly likely to be just as intelligent as you were, and just as likely to feel physical and mental distress in similar ways. Trying to communicate was step one and what better way than face to face. Then you could form step two: proving beyond a reasonable doubt that he was intelligent and thus, could be advocated for medically even if he couldn’t advocate for himself. 

That was the only way to halt the now speeding train of decisions being made on his behalf and without his input. If he could even write out the most barebones statement, even that would work to prove they needed consent to continue with any of this. Tomorrow you could wake up in a whole new world, one where there is technically a second legal classification of human being, one with a tail and gills. The though made you smile despite the tense circumstances. 

What you were doing was a halfcocked, absolutely batshit attempt at a hail mary but it was worth a shot. Your reputation was already in tatters on site, how much worse could it be? If you fail in this all that happens is you’re dismissed and removed from the site, doomed to be a whispered footnote for future researchers. Did you ever hear about the lady that went crazy with one of the subjects? A cautionary tale about getting too attached to your work. 

But fuck that. If you’re not at least a little attached to your work then do you even really care at all about any of it? You would argue that the resident physiologist holds no love for the work, only a love for the idea of something else experiencing pain.

With a deep breath you sit carefully on the steel ledge that runs the length of the tanks open ceiling. Easy, you just flip backwards and hit the water, reorient yourself and try not to get eaten by one potentially pissed off subject. Yeah, a real piece of cake. With that you decide theres no more time to waste, it’s probably already flagged in the system that you accessed the main deck, they’ll be here any minute. 

Good, that means they can all see I’m not insane or inappropriate. He can comprehend things just like we can, the music wasn’t a fluke. 

In the span of a second your worldview dips, swirls, and the splash of water hits your ears at the exact same moment the shock of cold does. The water is kept at approximately the same temperature as the water he was captured in, frigid Atlantic delights. As bubbles envelop you, you manage to get yourself turned right side up, carefully circling your arms to tred water and remain mostly stationary. This would be the key moment, you have to exercise extreme caution. 

You’re another predator that has invaded the territory of a fellow predator. In the natural world, it’s a killable offense. But you keep your eyes open, sweeping the dimly lit, wide expanse of saltwater around you. No sign of him, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t here, watching you, gauging the situation. As you continue to keep your breathing even, your movements slow enough but steady enough to keep your body afloat, you catch sight of something in your peripheral. That intimately familiar midnight blue tail. He was moving behind you now, one webbed, clawed hand slicing through the water like knives as the rest of him came into your view. That sandy, dishwater blonde hair floating in fine tendrils around his face, framing piercing blue eyes that took you in critically, curiously. 

You allow him to keep circling you, doing your best to calm your nervous system that felt on high alert, panic just on the cusp of overriding your sensibilities. Allowing that would spell disaster, you would certanly be killed if you started thrashing or spinning wildly, it would scare him, you could both be injured in any kind of violent altercation. They would kill him if he killed you. 

But your worries abate as he slows to a stop in front of you, and despite your eyes staying locked together you’re conscious of the audience you have on the other side of the glass. The feeling of being watched by many people is something quite unique, it’s also unnerving. You wish you could apologize to him, you hadn’t realized before how uncomfortable literally living beneath a microscope was. 

You raise your arm, hand extended, in a painfully slow movement that makes the muscles in your forearm ache. His attention goes to the appendage now how hanging between you two, eyeing it with equal parts suspicion and what seems to be excitement. The physical equivalent of a high pitched alarm happens in your body as he moves closer to you, the air suddenly locked in your lungs as you wait. This was another critical moment. Would he grasp your hand? Rip it off? It was entirely unknown, beyond dangerous. 

But none of those things happen. The painting, god touching adam, comes to mind as he raises a clawed index finger delicately up to yours. They don’t touch but rather hover in proximity to one another before a grin works its way across his face, those sharp incisors catching against his bottom lip as his eyes flick back to your goggled face. 

You hope he can see that you’re smiling too, but you hope its not like it is with monkeys where grins are signs of aggression. But it seems that fear is unwarranted as his tail twitches erratically, the wispy bits of filigree flesh on the split end swirling through the water in a gorgeous display of deep blue and white. Like sheer fabric winding through the air. 

The ecstasy that floods your brain is a feeling like no other, a full body sensation that spreads from the tips of your fingers to your fabric covered toes. His tail moves to brush against your kicking legs, the heft of it is shocking. You can immediately imagine the sheer power of it kocking into you, it would feel like being hit by a freight train no doubt. For something that looked so elegant and otherworldly, it was still a threat. 

But you couldn’t get distracted you needed some display of his intelligence, and you needed it now. 

So you shake off the awe, do your best to refocus on his face. Carefully you draw back your hand, pointing to yourself and then at him. You repeat the gesture several times, hoping to receive a reaction that displays understanding. 

And he doesn’t keep you waiting long. 

In a flash one clawed, webbed hand encircles your wrist and halts your movement. 

It’s like time suspends, a complete and total pause as you feel a different kind of chill within the suit. It’s like you’re watching in third person, your throat seizing as your fingers intertwine hesitantly. It’s an oddly tender gesture, and then your body is tugged through the weight of the water, pushed against the solidness of his chest. Your arms came gingerly around him, and his enveloped you in turn. He was all firmness, so solidly built it shocked you. You hadn’t properly appreciated the sheer mass of him, the way his body had been crafted for underwater pursuit, hunting. But also to accommodate displays of affection, just like your own. 

And as you two embrace you can’t help but smile again. It wasn’t perfect, but it was enough to form one hell of an argument on his behalf and you would shout until your face was blue that going forward, communication would take priority. Worrying about the innerworkings of his physiology could wait until later.

[tanjamikaelson]

UNEXPECTED HEAT | Rafe Cameron x fem!reader |

Summary: After catching your boyfriend cheating, you returned to the Outer Banks early, only to find Rafe—an old crush—unexpectedly staying in your home. Seeking solace and a distraction from your heartbreak, you boldly ask Rafe to help you forget your ex.

Warnings: unprotected sex, cheating.

When you decided to leave Sun Valley early and return to the Outer Banks, you were seeking comfort and familiarity. The vacation, meant to be a time to relax with your family and boyfriend, had turned sour after you caught him cheating. It had been a brutal end to what was supposed to be a refreshing escape, and all you could think of was getting back to your friends and the peace of your own space.

The moment you stepped into your house, something felt wrong. The living room wasn’t as you left it—clothes were scattered on the floor, and cushions were tossed haphazardly across the sofa. Your brow furrowed as you scanned the mess. You distinctly remembered tidying everything before you left for the summer, so why did it now look like someone had been living here? Your pulse quickened as your eyes swept over the disarray, unease building in your chest.

You shook off the strange feeling, telling yourself you were being paranoid. Maybe your brother had come home early without telling you. That had to be it, right? Taking a deep breath, you moved through the house towards your bedroom. The familiar creak of the floorboards beneath your feet should have been comforting, but instead, it sent a chill down your spine. When you passed by the guest room, you paused, hearing the unmistakable sound of water running from the shower. Anxiety pricked at your skin.

“Y/BROTHERS/N?” called out hesitantly, moving closer to the bathroom door. The water abruptly shut off, and for a second, your heart felt like it might leap out of your chest. Panic surged through you, but you forced yourself to stay calm. Maybe he really had come back and just forgot to mention it.

You rapped on the bathroom door, trying to keep the nerves from creeping into your voice. "Who's in there?" you demanded, already scanning the room for anything you could use to defend yourself. Your eyes landed on a golf club leaning against the wall, and you quickly grabbed it, holding it up as a makeshift weapon.

There was a long pause, and the door creaked open. You braced yourself, muscles tensing for whatever—or whoever—was behind it.

But it wasn’t an intruder or some stranger.

It was Rafe.

"Rafe?!" You exclaimed, the golf club immediately dropping to your side in shock. The boy you’d had a crush on for years stood in the doorway, a towel loosely wrapped around his waist, his skin still glistening from the shower. His chest, all muscle and tan skin, was on full display, and for a moment, your thoughts scrambled. You couldn’t stop your eyes from drifting down to his abs, the sight sending an involuntary jolt through you. Your breath caught, and you quickly licked your lips, trying to regain some semblance of composure.

"What the hell are you doing here?" You managed to ask, though your voice came out a little shakier than you'd like.

Rafe looked just as surprised to see you as you were to see him. He nervously ran a hand through his wet hair, his eyes flicking around the room as if searching for an answer. "I—I thought your family was at Sun Valley," he finally stammered, clearly not expecting you to walk through the door.

Your brows furrowed as the confusion deepened. "So you thought to move into our house?" you crossed your arms, narrowing your eyes, demanding some kind of explanation.

Rafe’s eyes darted everywhere except towards you, his usual confidence replaced by awkwardness. "Yeah… I didn’t have anywhere else to go."

"What do you mean by that?" Your confusion was palpable now, the pieces of the puzzle not fitting together.

Rafe was quiet for a moment, his jaw clenching as if he didn’t want to admit whatever it was he was about to say. "My dad—he kicked me out of the house. So I’ve been staying here. I didn’t think your family would come back so soon."

Your heart softened slightly at the vulnerability in his tone. You had heard stories about Rafe’s complicated relationship with his father, but seeing him like this—uncertain, exposed—it tugged at something deeper within you.

You let out a slow breath, your arms uncrossing as your body relaxed a little. "Well, actually, I came alone."

Rafe shifted on his feet, looking like he was ready to bolt at any moment. "I will leave—" he began, moving towards a duffle bag by the bed, clearly ready to pack up and disappear.

But before he could continue, the words were already spilling out of your mouth. "You don’t have to—"

The sentence hung in the air for a moment, Rafe freezing in place. His head turned towards you, confusion and something else flickering in his eyes.

"I don’t?" He asked, his voice tentative, as though he couldn’t quite believe what you were saying.

"Um, no," you said, your voice coming out steadier than you felt, "Actually, I would like you to stay." A strange surge of confidence swelled within you, and the shift in power was tangible. You smiled lightly, your mind racing with a plan that you hadn’t even realized you were forming until the words left your mouth, a seductive edge creeping into your voice as you locked eyes with him. “But… in return I need you to do something for me.” 

Rafe’s eyes brightened slightly, his shoulders relaxing just a bit. He gave you a cautious smile, clearly unsure of where this was heading. "What do you need?" he asked, his tone more confident now as he took a step closer to you. His body language had shifted, too—he was more comfortable, leaning into whatever dynamic was evolving between you two.

You stepped closer to him, heart racing, your mind swimming with thoughts of your ex, your disappointment, and the undeniable attraction that had always been there with Rafe. Your voice lowered, becoming almost a whisper. "I need you…" You took another step closer, so close that you could feel the heat radiating from his body. Your voice dropped to a sultry whisper. "I need you to fuck me so I can forget about my ex."

The shock was immediate. Rafe’s eyes widened, and his mouth opened slightly as he struggled to find words. "You… You really want that?" His voice was hoarse, unsure if he’d heard you correctly.

You nodded, your lips curling into a smirk as your hand reached out, gripping the towel still wrapped around his waist. "Yeah, Rafe. I want it. Badly."

Before he could react, you tugged the towel free, letting it drop to the floor. Your eyes took in his full length, and your hand wrapped around his thick cock, beginning to pump him slowly, relishing the way his body responded to your touch. You had imagined this moment more times than you could count, and seeing him like this, feeling him like this was even better than you had fantasized.

Rafe let out a shaky breath, his eyes locking onto yours as your hand moved up and down his length. His cock twitched and hardened further in your grip, and you couldn’t help the surge of satisfaction that bloomed inside you. He was reacting exactly how you wanted him to.

"Faster," Rafe murmured, his voice laced with desire, his gaze never leaving your fingers as they worked him.

You smirked up at him, not needing any further encouragement. A few moments later, you sank to your knees, the anticipation building inside you like a fire. You needed to taste him. You stroked his cock a few more times before leaning in, your tongue flicking out to taste the tip before pulling him into your mouth.

The moment your lips wrapped around him, Rafe groaned, his head tipping back slightly as he gripped your hair, guiding your movements. His body was tense, and you could feel how much he needed this—how much you both did.

"God…" Rafe breathed out, his voice thick with pleasure. "I guess it’s my lucky day."

You smiled around his cock, loving the way he was unraveling beneath your touch. His breathing grew ragged as you took him deeper, and his grip tightened when you swallowed around him, choking slightly but loving every second of his reaction. You could feel him hardening even more inside your mouth, and it sent a thrill through your body.

"Open wider, baby," Rafe whispered, his hand cupping your cheek as he pulled you further onto his cock. You did as he asked, taking him deeper, letting your throat relax as you swallowed around him.

As his climax neared, you pulled away abruptly, leaving him on edge. The need between your legs was now unbearable. He gently tapped his cock against your cheek as you gasped for air, your eyes meeting his, filled with lust and a newfound power over him.

"Stressful day, huh?" You asked breathlessly, smirking up at him as you wiped the corner of your mouth with the back of your hand.

"Yeah," Rafe replied, his voice still heavy with lust as he gazed down at you, catching his breath. There was something darker in his eyes now, a need that went beyond simple release. He needed more of you, and you could feel that raw energy radiating off of him.

“How close are you?” You asked, your voice filled with both curiosity and anticipation as you looked up at him.

“Close,” Rafe answered instantly, his eyes narrowing as they focused intently on your face. He looked like he was holding onto control by a thread, his breathing ragged, his muscles tensing and relaxing in time as you ran your tongue along his length. But that wasn’t enough for you. You wanted him fully, entirely. You needed more than just him in your mouth.

Without breaking eye contact, you stopped, watching as the realization crossed his face. His brow furrowed slightly, but before he could say anything, you stood up, your confidence in the situation palpable as you began stripping off your clothes. Each layer hit the floor, revealing more of your skin, and Rafe’s eyes darkened with desire as he watched you.

Once you were completely naked, Rafe didn’t waste any time. He grabbed you by the hips, pulling you roughly against him, his lips crashing against yours in a heated kiss. It was hungry, desperate, filled with the kind of urgency you both felt. His hands roamed your body, squeezing and exploring, while his lips devoured yours as if he couldn’t get enough.

Without warning, Rafe spun you around, pressing your front into the bed. Your breath hitched in your throat as his hands grabbed your hips, pulling your ass up into the air. The cool air hit your exposed skin, heightening every sensation, every touch.

Rafe wasted no time. His fingers slipped between your legs, and the second he felt how wet you were, he let out a low groan. “Shit… You got this wet by sucking me off?” he growled, his voice a rough whisper as his fingers found your clit and rubbed it in slow, teasing circles.

A loud moan escaped your lips, your body already aching for him. "Yes, Rafe. Fuck me… Please," you whimpered, pushing your hips back into his hand, craving more of his touch, more of him.

That was all the encouragement Rafe needed.

With one swift motion, he thrust into you from behind, and you cried out at the sudden fullness. His cock filled you completely, stretching you in a way that made your whole body tremble with pleasure. Rafe let out a deep groan, his hands gripping your hips tightly as he set a punishing rhythm, thrusting into you hard and fast.

"Oh my—fuck!" You gasped, your fingers gripping the sheets as Rafe’s thrusts became more powerful, each one hitting deeper than the last.

Rafe’s hands roamed up your body, his palm gliding across your spine, pausing to squeeze your ass before moving up to cup your breasts. He shifted your hair out of the way so he could lean over you, his mouth brushing against your neck, your shoulder, anywhere his lips could reach. His breath was hot against your skin, uneven and ragged as his hips continued to pound into you.

You could feel your insides clenching around him, the pleasure building higher and higher, but you were holding back, trying to prolong the feeling as long as possible.

"Don’t hold back, baby," Rafe whispered into your ear, his voice low and teasing as he leaned down, his hand slipping to your clit once more, giving it another few delicious rubs.

That was all it took. The orgasm hit you hard and fast, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you. You buried your face into the bed, muffling your cries of ecstasy as your body trembled beneath him.

Rafe chuckled darkly, his own breathing ragged as he continued to move inside you, his thrusts growing more uneven as he neared his own release. "Fuck, you feel so good around my cock," he groaned, his grip on your hips tightening as he buried himself as deep as he could go.

With one final thrust, Rafe let out a deep groan, his body shuddering as he came, filling you completely. He leaned over you, his sweaty forehead resting against the back of your neck as his chest heaved with each breath. For a moment, the two of you just stayed like that, bodies entwined, breaths mingling in the quiet aftermath.

As you both came down from the high, you panted heavily into the bed, your limbs trembling from the intensity of it all. Slowly, Rafe pulled out of you, and you whimpered at the loss of him. You rolled onto your back, still catching your breath, and Rafe collapsed beside you, his chest rising and falling heavily as he tried to steady himself.

"Thank you for that," You whispered, your voice soft as you turned to look at him.

"I'm not done with you," Rafe vowed, his eyes darkening as he raised an eyebrow at you. "I could feel how neglected that pussy's been." He tsked dramatically, a playful smile tugging at his lips. "I do believe I can make up for that, Y/N."

"God, I hope so," You sighed, grinning when he nodded in agreement.

Rafe knelt between your legs, his hands tracing your inner thighs slowly, savoring the sight of you laid out before him. His gaze lingered on your flushed face, your chest rising and falling with each shallow breath. “You're gorgeous, Y/N," he repeated softly, his voice carrying a reverence that sent warmth through your chest.

His fingers brushed over your sensitive clit, causing you to shudder under his touch. He spread the wetness around, teasing you, drawing out soft gasps as he watched your body respond to him. Every small touch sent shockwaves through you, building the anticipation that pulsed between your legs.

Rafe braced himself with one hand next to your head, his other hand guiding himself to your entrance. He moved slowly, pushing into you with deliberate care. A groan escaped his lips as he filled you completely, the sensation overwhelming for both of you. His breath was ragged, and you could see the strain on his face as he fought to keep himself in control.

You gasped softly, your hands sliding up his arms and over his shoulders, pulling him closer. Your touch was gentle, urging him to move without pushing, letting him take his time. Rafe’s eyes squeezed shut as he held still, savoring the feeling of being inside you, the way your body gripped him so perfectly.

When he finally opened his eyes, the intensity in his gaze nearly took your breath away. The need, the desire, the unspoken connection—it was all there, written across his face as he looked down at you.

Rafe leaned down, pressing his lips to your neck in an open-mouthed kiss that made you arch beneath him. Then he started to move, slow at first, his hips rolling against yours in a rhythm that sent waves of pleasure crashing through you.

Your hands roamed over his back, feeling the muscles tense and relax with each movement, and your legs wrapped around him, pulling him closer. His lips found yours, and the kiss was soft, almost tender as if something unspoken was being exchanged between you.

"Faster," You finally whispered against his lips, the need inside you growing unbearable.

Rafe obliged, his pace quickening, each thrust now hitting a spot deep inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. Your bodies moved together in perfect sync, every touch, every kiss intensifying the connection between you.

"I’m so close," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders as the tension built in your core.

"Me too," Rafe groaned, his voice strained as he fought to hold on just a little longer. His thrusts became more urgent, and you could feel the heat coiling in your belly, ready to snap.

When the climax hit, it was overwhelming. Your back arched off the bed, your body convulsing with wave after wave of pleasure. Rafe’s name spilled from your lips in a breathless moan, and as you tightened around him, he followed right behind you, his body shuddering with release.

For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the heavy breathing of the two of you, your bodies still tangled together, hearts racing in sync. Rafe collapsed beside you, pulling you into his arms, and you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat as it began to slow.

The reality of what just happened started to sink in, but there was no regret, only a warm, satisfying calm. You felt safe here, in his arms, and maybe that was what you needed most. Not just the distraction from the heartbreak, but the feeling of being wanted, of being cared for.

Rafe turned his head to look at you, his brow furrowed slightly, a question on his lips. "So… you broke up with your boyfriend?" he asked quietly, his voice soft and cautious, like he wasn’t sure if he should bring it up now.

You turned to look at him, nodding as the weight of your break-up settled back into your chest. “Yeah. He cheated on me.”

Rafe’s eyes widened in shock, his mouth opening slightly as he processed what you’d said. "Seriously?" he asked, disbelief coloring his tone. He blinked, shaking his head as if he couldn’t quite understand. To him, the idea of anyone cheating on you was unfathomable. You were perfect to him—strong, beautiful, everything he could want.

"Yeah," You said, your voice heavy with sadness as you recalled the memory. "I caught him… and then he confessed it wasn’t the first time."

Rafe’s jaw clenched, his eyes darkening with anger at the thought of someone treating you that way. "What a fucking idiot," he muttered, his voice tight with frustration. His fingers gently brushed over your arm, comforting and grounding. "He didn’t deserve you."

You smiled, appreciating his words more than you could express. "I thought things would change when we went on vacation together," you explained, your voice tinged with sadness. "But nothing was different. He was still distant."

Rafe shook his head, his anger giving way to something softer, more protective. "Well, his loss," he said, his tone firm, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat.

You laughed softly, nodding in agreement. "Yeah," you murmured, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders as you said it out loud.

The comfortable silence stretched between you for a moment before you glanced at Rafe, a playful glint in your eye. "You know… I actually liked you way before I ended up in a relationship with him."

Rafe’s eyes widened slightly, genuine surprise flashing across his face. "You did?" he asked, his voice incredulous.

You nodded, smiling. "Yeah. You were always hot… especially now." You reached out, your hand brushing over his toned abs, feeling the firm muscles beneath your fingers.

Rafe smiled a genuine, warm smile that made you feel like maybe everything was going to be okay. "You know, if I’d known you felt this way…" he trailed off, his fingers tracing the outline of your jaw. "I’ve always thought you were… well, you’re amazing. More than amazing."

Your heart fluttered at his words, a blush creeping up your cheeks. "Really?" you asked, your voice small.

"Really." His eyes darkened, and his voice dropped to a near whisper as his hand moved to rest on your hip, pulling you closer. "I’ve wanted you for a long time."

The confession hung in the air between you, thick with meaning. You could see the truth in his eyes, and it made something inside you shift, your feelings deepening in ways you hadn’t expected. This wasn’t just about forgetting your ex anymore. It was about something new, something real.

You leaned in closer, your lips brushing against his as you whispered, "Maybe we can make up for lost time."

Rafe smiled into the kiss, his arms pulling you closer to him as he whispered back, "I’d like that."

The air between you shifted again, the playfulness giving way to something more intimate, more real. This time kiss wasn’t rushed or desperate like before—this kiss was filled with something deeper, and in that moment, the world outside faded away. All that mattered was the two of you, tangled together in the quiet aftermath, with a future that suddenly felt a little less uncertain.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

mother feed us we are hungry in horny jail

"I didn't expect you to show up," the hero said. They worried their bottom lip between their teeth.

"How could I not?"

"You have never been a fan of goodbyes. You usually just disappear whenever you want."

"This is different," the villain said. They took a step towards the hero and touched their collarbone immediately. It had become a habit, a simple motion that calmed both their anxiety. The hero knew about that, about the endless worries and the bottomless fears. It was everlasting, it was always hovering.

It came with the job, they supposed. But the villain had it, too. And the hero's colleagues had it and the hero's boss had it. Like a sickness with no cure.

So, in a way, a simple touch could be like medicine.

"I'm scared," the hero admitted.

"Why?" The villain pressed a soft kiss to the hero's shoulder and the hero allowed themselves to imagine this was an evening like any other. Just for a second, though.

"I can't lose you and I...I just can't let go. I can't. I don't want to."

It had started half a year ago. The villain had been injured and the hero, although absolutely terrified, had saved them from certain death. Ever since, the villain had been like a protective shadow that followed them.

And then one night, they had kissed for the first time when the villain had saved the hero.

What had happened after that was quite clear: two people who were not supposed to be with each other couldn't keep their hands off each other and started regularly without anyone else knowing.

And now, the villain had to leave for three months.

"You don't have to let go," the villain said. Their voice was - as always - calm and soft. Their hand travelled down the hero's side until it reached their hip and the hero couldn't fight the oncoming blush. "I promise you won't have to."

"But what if you come back and you don't like me anymore? What if you find someone else?" the hero asked. Those questions had boiled inside of them for quite a while but up until now, they had never dared to whisper them.

Because, after all, this relationship wasn't official. It wasn't a thing. It was behind the backs of bosses, friends, family even. Behind closed doors. They didn't go out together, they didn't pick up each other from work. They didn't meet the other's family. They didn't go on vacation together, they weren't friends with each other's friends.

It wasn't what the hero had expected. But the hero had also not expected the villain to develop such a soft spot for them.

And if someone else could give the villain exactly that: a relationship without all the secrecy for outsiders, then maybe it was better for the hero to let go now.

"No one compares to you, my love," the villain said. Their lips met the hero's and it was tender enough for the hero to feel protected from even anxiety. "And I am selfish. I want a good person to be my lover. You are, undoubtedly, the best human being I will ever encounter in my life. I'd be stupid to throw that away for a quickie."

"You mean that?" The villain started to kiss the hero's throat. At first, it was quite innocent but the hero's heartbeat started racing when they realised the villain was taking their sweet time and turned kisses into suction. Every hickey they left behind, they kissed softly.

"You want me to prove it," the villain murmured against the hero's throat, "don't you?"

The villain took the overwhelmed hero's hand and pressed their nemesis against the desk of the hero's office.

"I...I..."

"Yes?" The villain's hips were against theirs in seconds and the hero (stupidly) couldn't find any words. To have the villain's undivided attention on them, their entire focus, could be overpowering but whenever the hero felt anxiety crawl up their calf, the villain's fingers crawling down their thigh relaxed them.

"Please don't tease me," the hero begged. They grabbed the villain's forearm and squeezed weakly. Partly as a warning, partly as a plea. They took in deep breaths. The villain desired them like no one had before.

It was nearly ridiculous how much the villain needed touch. Sometimes, it seemed like they needed physical contact to function. In the mornings, the hero had to climb on top every time, touching the villain's chest and throat to get them to come out of bed.

"Don't worry, darling." The villain found the zipper on the hero's back and pulled down slowly while their eyes jumped from the hero's eyes to their lips. Their flat hand slipped under the superhero suit, touching tired muscles and scarred skin. The hero had been on guard duty the last few hours, so naturally, they were a little tired. "I will tease you a little. Only a little."

Their hand traveled down the hero's bare back. Their fingers stopped when they reached the hero's underwear. And the hero had to gasp for air. Too surprised to take over any type of control, they put themselves into the villain's hands and the villain played with the fabric of the hero's underwear between their fingers.

"You're evil."

"So I've been told." The villain smiled their brilliant smile and tipped their head to the side. "I love you."

The hero's heart stopped. The villain had never said that before.

They wanted to say it back, but the villain's hand was on the best way to slip under the hero's underwear and do some unholy things. So, the hero only sighed happily, despite the dooming last night together, despite the fear and the anxiety. In three months, a lot could happen.

But the villain was here.

"Those thoughts of yours are so silly." The villain pressed another kiss to the hero's lips, more demanding this time. With their thumb slipping into the hero's mouth, they asked for access and the hero nearly melted when they felt the villain's tongue in their mouth.

They could barely kiss back. Could barely think.

"You're mine, don't you know?" the villain whispered and a shiver ran down the hero's spine. The villain was serious. Very serious. "And now, let me prove it to you."

[kiwiana-writes]

hi MJ!! for the sleepover weekend asks, i'd love some fluffy and a few hurt/comfort firstprince fic recs! and and for fmk: bea, june and nora from rwrb! okay thats it byebye ~saturday xoxo

Forgive me: I sat on this one for so long it's now officially NEXT weekend, at least in my part of the planet, so I guess answering this is also me kicking off this weekend's slumber party 😅

I'm doing FMK first, even though I need you to know this is CRUEL. Fuck Nora, marry Bea, kill June, but I am absolutely relying on Nora's smarts/Pez's cash to get her out of this situation.

Anyway:

FLUFFY FIRSTPRINCE FIC RECS

take me back to San Francisco by @getmehighonmagic: this has a sequel languishing in my emails for that magical future day when I'm capable of reading again but I have no doubt it'll be just as incredible as part one, which is FUCKING DIVINE. Also I just... really wanna go to San Francisco.

You love me! You love me? by anarchyat4am: How often I shoehorn a rec for this fic wherever it might be even remotely applicable is sort of a running joke by this point but I stand by it actually. This is a massive comfort fic for my trans ass.

Confidential Memorandum by @sherryvalli: this fic is so stinkin' cute I feel like I need to book a dental appointment every time I read it.

Dick, Dick, Dick (You Down) by @everwitch-magiks: do I feel a deep abiding kinship with Henry's anxiety being read as rudeness in this fic? Maybe, shut up.

Getting Clinical by @cha-melodius: Yes I'm biased because this was a gift for me, no I don't care, IT'S A FUCKING DELIGHT.

In His Wildest Dreams by @myheartalivewrites: This fic is a fucking fluffy blanket of joy.

If at first you don't succeed by @clottedcreamfudge: I am lowkey obsessed with CCF second first impressions and Alex being blissfully unaware until he's not.

HURT/COMFORT FIRSTPRINCE FIC RECS

a shard or two by @aeithalian: you don't read WIPs? I don't care. Read this one. I beg of you. Hands down the most criminally underrated fic in this entire fandom in my opinion. It is so, SO good. I reread it all the time in between chapters, I am hoping DESPERATELY the author will let me ficbind it when it's done, and I will scream about it from the fucking ROOFTOPS to convince y'all to read it. No cliffhangers, no relationship drama, just the meatiest post-canon deliciousness.

(but i knew you) baby, kiss it better by saintsnames: age gap my beloved, sex bloopers my beloved, two idiots in love MY BELOVED.

i ask you how you’re doing (and i let you lie) and even though we know it isn't true by @matherines: double-reccing even though these can be read separately because HAHA OUCH MY HEART. Both of these fics just fucking flayed me alive????

you were more than just a short time by @hypnostheory: DAVID 😭😭😭😭😭😭 mind the living fuck out of the tags but FUCK this is good. Heartbreaking, but good.

Downburst by @cricketnationrise had me clutching my face from start to finish I swear to god.

So I Will Weather the Storm by @sparklepocalypse: while reading this, picture me just screaming ALEX YOU FUCKING DUMBASS at my computer the entire time and it'll be like you were right here with me the first time I read it!

The Domestication of Household Spiders by @cultofsappho: if Spider-Man Alex has no fans I am dead etc etc. This is so fucking SOFT from start to finish.

[Sleepover weekend!]

[veronicaphoenix]

zutto — chapter seven | wc: 5.7k | series masterpost | prev. chapter

Chapter summary: Lia and Noah meet everyone again at Noah's house. Lia finds a familiar book in Noah's room and Noah catches her reading it, which leads to an inevitable conversation. Reading time: 22mins. aprox.

Tags and trigger warnings: fluff, one or two mentions of Lia's overdose, slight anxiety, alcohol intake, sexual innuendos, talks about bondage, one use of the word blowjob, noah on his knees, implied oral sex (fem. receiving).

General trigger warnings: this work addresses and depicts issues related to addiction, abuse, & violence, contains explicit sexual content, and explores themes of childhood trauma. Reader discretion is advised. +18

Returning to Noah’s house meant facing not only the people who lived there but also anyone else who might have dropped by that afternoon. Lia’s anxiety intensified during the drive from Santa Monica Place. 

Though she’d been nervous earlier, the time spent hand in hand with Noah at the mall had temporarily eased her tension. Now, however, the reality of confronting her friends and dealing with the consequences of her actions weighed on her. Shame, guilt, weakness… What would they think of her? Would they look at her with different eyes? Whatever it was, she had to push forward and deal with it. 

As they pulled into the driveway, Lia stepped out of the car and took a deep breath, following Noah. He glanced back to check on her.

Inside, they were immediately met by Jesse and Jolly, who bypassed Noah and rushed to hug Lia, bombarding her with the same concerned questions on repeat. Moments later, Matt emerged from the studio at the back of the house, giving Noah a quick brotherly hug before turning to Lia. He pulled her into his arms for a few seconds, then stepped back to study her closely.

“You look good,” he said, genuine relief in his voice.

“Thank Noah,” Lia replied.

Noah smiled, casually tossing his hoodie onto the sofa—one of his familiar habits. He noticed immediately that the living room and kitchen were a bit of a mess: dishes piled up in the sink, blankets on the sofa crumpled and unfolded.

“No one bothered to clean up while I was gone?” He asked, though his tone was lighthearted.

“Dude, we had lunch an hour ago and spent the morning being lazy,” Jolly explained, heading into the kitchen and announcing he was going to make coffee for everyone.

He busied himself at the same time Matt mentioned that the two Nicks were on their way over.

The anxiety Lia had about meeting everyone again after being cooped up in her apartment with Noah for what felt like forever—only leaving for her therapy sessions and exchanging a few scattered phone calls with Emery, Jolly, and Folio—faded surprisingly fast. Within five minutes, all the tension melted away. She wasn’t sure what she had expected—maybe judgment, maybe that she’d somehow lost their love or the bond they shared—but before she knew it, the boys were being boys, and it was like nothing had ever changed.

The Nicks and Mike showed up just in time to join the group for coffee. They all gathered around the wide kitchen island, some sitting, others leaning against counters as they shared stuff about the last few days. Conversations drifted easily—someone mentioned a ridiculous late-night craving, Nicholas recounted a failed attempt at cooking dinner, and Jesse imitated Mike’s dramatic reaction to his favorite sports team losing.

Then, Matt brought up work, and that’s when Lia noticed Noah’s energy shift. His face tightened with focus, and in an instant, the playful, relaxed version of him gave way to something more intense. It was like she could see the gears in his head turning. He didn’t even finish his coffee before he headed to the studio with Matt and Mike, already in work-mode.

Lia stayed behind in the living room with the Nicks, Jolly, and Jesse. An hour later, the air felt lighter, and every once in a while, Folio would nudge her, asking if she was okay. A few moments later, Jolly chimed in, wondering aloud if she needed another coffee, but she didn’t. In fact, she realized she was childhishly missing Noah. They had spent nearly every minute together over the last few days, so much so that now, with him gone—to the studio at the other end of the house—for not even an hour, her fingers tingled with the urge to find him, to touch him. 

She must have zoned out, because when she refocused on the conversation, Folio and Jolly were holding ten-dollar bills that Jesse and Nicholas had taken out from their wallets. 

“What’s going on?” Lia asked, furrowing her brows. “You guys into drug dealing now?”

Jolly chuckled. “Nah. Better than that.”

“We made a bet,” Folio explained with a smirk. “Noah couldn’t convince you to cancel the trip. Jesse and Nick were betting he could.”

“They underestimated the power you have over that man,” Jolly added, folding the bill and keeping it in his pocket.

Lia ducked her head slightly to hide the warmth rising to her cheeks. They still didn’t know the full story, and she couldn’t find the courage to tell them yet. She couldn’t help but wonder if there might be another bet on the table—maybe one that involved how long it would take her and Noah to get together.

“Has he been taking good care of you?” Jolly asked.

It was a joke, for he knew the answer to that. But she understood the deeper question there. They wanted to know if she was really okay, and if Noah had been what she needed during this rough time.

“He’s been great,” she said, lifting her chin slightly, a soft smile on her face. “Really great.”

Jolly and Jesse exchanged a look, trying to read into the way she said it. Lia caught their glance and couldn’t help but laugh.

“He’s even done the dishes every single day,” she added. “Can’t complain.”

“Complain about?” Noah’s voice echoed through the hallway. It took him no more than three seconds to appear and enter the living room, smiling brightly at Lia, a sense of calm washing over him as he confirmed she was okay. She looked comfortable and at ease, surrounded by the people they both cared about.

“About your bad habits,” Nicholas muttered, grinning. “Like leaving dirty socks all over the house and all the kitchen drawers open.”

Noah frowned, clearly confused. 

“I don’t do that,” he said, crossing the room and leaning one knee on the armrest of the sofa to reach behind Lia, placing a soft, absentminded kiss on her hair. No one seemed to care or be surprised by the affection; it was just Noah and Lia, the way they’d always been—close, comfortable, unspoken warmth between them.

“I know,” Lia said, tilting her head back to look up at him with a smile. “Don’t listen to them. I told them you’ve been a good boy.”

“I am a good boy. I just finished my part of the work,” he emphasized, his eyes twinkling. “Now it’s your turn, guys. Go catch up on your stuff and stop being lazy—we’re heading out on tour in two weeks, and there’s still a lot to prep.” He looked pointedly at Nick. “We need a full gear check. Make sure the bass rig is solid, and everything’s tuned up. If anything’s busted, handle it now before we’re scrambling last minute. Same goes for you, Folio. We still have to lock in the tempo changes for the setlist. Let’s make sure you’ve got the click tracks lined up and that the drum kit’s in top shape. No last-minute issues like last tour. Matt and Mike are going through the logistics, so whatever you need to check on, guys, do it now. Tighten up your parts because in two weeks, we’re hitting the road hard.”

The group exchanged a mix of playful eye rolls and resigned nods. They knew the drill—work had to get done. Meanwhile, Lia couldn’t help but find his enthusiasm and ordering around extremely hot.  

With a proud “that’s my boy”, Jolly stood up before following the others back to the studio and letting Folio disappear into the garage, where one of his drum kit’s was.  In a matter of minutes, Lia and Jesse were the only ones left in the living room. Noah, true to his perfectionist nature, followed the boys back to the studio. He always had a hard time letting go when it came to work.

Jesse took the chance to show Lia some new ERRA merch ideas on his iPad. He swiped through a series of designs—hoodies, shirts, and hats—that featured bold artwork, some of which Lia immediately recognized as hers. They had used sketches she’d created the previous year, reworking them into something fresh and edgy, but still unmistakably hers.

“Look familiar?” Jesse asked with a grin, tapping the screen to show her a black hoodie with one of her intricate line drawings of a phoenix worked into a line from one of their latest songs. “We decided to tweak it a bit. I hope you don’t mind.”

Lia’s eyes lit up as she examined the designs more closely. 

“Not at all. It looks incredible,” she said, a flush of pride warming her. She’d forgotten just how much she’d missed working on creative projects like this. “It looks so much better than the original.”

“We wanted it to match the vibe of the album a bit more. I thought about asking you, but considering everything that’s been going on, we didn’t want to overwhelm you. We figured we’d give it a shot ourselves. I don’t think it’s better than your original, but if you like it and are okay with it, we’re ready to send it to printing.” 

Lia nodded enthusiastically, agreeing to it. 

As they flipped through more mock-ups, Lia felt that familiar itch at her fingertips. After a few minutes of discussing the tweaks and color palettes, she couldn’t resist pulling out her sketchbook from her backpack. She began sketching new ideas for future possible merch—or perhaps an illustrated book—her pencil moving swiftly across the page.

When Noah finally reappeared, he smiled at the sight of her sketching. He slipped onto the couch between her and Jesse, but before he could say a word to Lia, Jesse roped him into discussing more of the merch designs.

“Check out this lineup,” Jesse said, showing Noah the pictures of the updated items. Noah nodded, half-distracted by the sight of Lia absorbed in her drawing next to him, but he engaged with Jesse, asking questions and giving his thoughts.

A few minutes after, Lia stood up to fix herself a mug of jasmine tea, her head still brimming with ideas. She wandered into the kitchen, completely unaware that Jesse had quietly slipped off to his room, leaving her and Noah alone.

She was just pouring the boiling water into one of her favorite mugs when she felt Noah’s familiar warmth at her back. His lips found her hair, and his nose brushed against her ear, sending a delightful shiver through her body.

“I missed you,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin.

“You were just locked in the studio for an hour,” she replied, though her heart fluttered in her chest. She missed him too, but teasing him felt like the natural response. “That’s nothing compared to your usual routine.”

“I have a new routine now,” he said, his voice low, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips.

“Oh?” She turned around, holding the mug in one hand, bringing it to her lips as she eyed him curiously. “You do?”

She took a slow sip, and Noah’s gaze fixed on her lips as they pressed against the rim of the mug. He watched the way she swallowed, the gentle curve of her throat.

“Yes,” he answered, almost breathless, his hands finding their place on her hips. His eyes darkened, the playful smirk growing more wicked by the second.

Lia swallowed the warm liquid, then deliberately licked her lips. She could feel his pulse quicken as he eyed the little action, and the power she had in that moment made her grin.

Noah’s jaw tightened.  

“What do I have to do to get another blowjob from that pretty mouth of yours?”

Lia raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider his question. 

“Hmm. I don’t know. Last night, you got me to four orgasms in a couple of hours. You set the bar pretty high. Maybe if you can top that...” Her voice dropped, teasing, “I might just get on my knees for you and do that thing with my tongue you seemed to like so much.”

Noah bit down on his lip, hard, his self-control hanging by a thread as he emited a sound similar to a growl. He shook his head slightly, trying to rein in his desire, but it was too much. He reached for the mug, gently taking it from Lia’s hand and setting it behind her on the counter. Then, without another word, he picked her up by the waist, turning them both around and placing her on the kitchen island.

His mouth crashed into hers, the kiss deep and hungry. Lia responded instantly, her hands tangling in his hair, pulling him closer as she lost herself in the heat of the moment. She was breathless by the time they parted, but her eyes stayed locked on his, craving more.

Just as Noah’s hands slid up Lia’s sides, his lips still feverish against hers, they heard a sound. Startled, they both froze, turning toward the doorway to find Jesse standing there, wide-eyed and slack-jawed.

“Oh my… Fucking finally!” he exclaimed, his arms lifting in the air to then drop to his sides.

Noah sprang away from Lia, immediately trying to compose himself, cheeks flushed a deep red. He rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous laugh escaping as he looked anywhere but directly at Jesse. Lia, equally embarrassed, hopped down from the counter, smoothing her shirt, trying to hide the heat rising to her face.

Jesse, still grinning ear to ear, didn’t waste any time. 

“Hey, guys! Get in here! You won’t believe this!” he shouted toward the studio, his voice carrying through the house.

Lia and Noah exchanged a panicked look as footsteps echoed down the hall. Before they could protest, the rest of the guys piled into the kitchen one by one. Jolly, Nicholas, and Mike were the first to enter, and the moment they saw Noah and Lia standing awkwardly with flushed cheeks next to each other, it clicked.

“Seriously? About damn time!” 

The room erupted in cheers and whoops, and before Lia knew it, she was being swept into a hug from Jolly, then from Folio, and even Nicholas joined in with an exaggerated, “Congrats, you two lovebirds.”

Noah stood to the side, laughing nervously and trying to fend off Mike’s bear hug.

“You guys broke the record,” Mike said, shaking his head in disbelief. “Idiots in love who couldn’t see they were in love with each other. I’m amazed it took you this long.”

Matt entered the room, smirking knowingly. “So now we know what you’ve really been up to, locked in Lia’s apartment all these days, huh?”

The teasing had both Lia and Noah blushing again, though this time, it felt a bit easier. 

Folio clapped his hands together, heading to the fridge. “Well, I guess this calls for a celebration. Who’s in for a beer?”

He stopped mid-reach when his eyes met Lia’s. There was a beat of silence, the group looking at her, suddenly remembering.

Lia, catching his hesitation, smiled softly. “It’s okay,” she reassured. “You don’t have to make it weird because I’m here. Go ahead, drink. It’s fine.”

Folio hesitated for a second, then nodded, relieved, and started passing out beers to the others. When he handed one to Noah, though, Noah declined.

“I’ll stick with tea,” Noah said casually, motioning to the kettle on the counter.

Lia glanced at him, her brow furrowing slightly. She noticed his quiet decision, wondering for a moment if it had something to do with her. 

Jolly called Emery to come over, and soon after, Bryan and Davis joined them, Bryan arriving with several boxes of pizza in tow.

As the hours passed, it felt like old times again. Lia found herself sitting between Noah’s legs on the carpet, her back resting against his chest, as they indulged in different pizza flavors and shared jokes. Emery sat comfortably in Jolly’s arms on the couch, the two of them whispering to each other and stealing occasional kisses, and Bryan and Folio fought for the last slice of peperoni pizza, keeping the others entertained in their silly wrestling.              

Lia felt a deep sense of gratitude as she cuddled in Noah’s arms and watched her friends. Despite everything she had gone through, here she was, surrounded by people who loved and supported her. It felt like nothing had changed, like the bond between them all was as strong as it’d always been. 

The night wore on.

Lia and Emery eventually retreated to a quieter corner of the living room to talk. It felt comforting to reconnect with her best friend, knowing that despite everything, their friendship hand’t changed. Lia had struggled to be the supportive friend Emery deserved during her new relationship with Jolly; right when it began, she had fucked things up with Noah. When she apologized to Emery, she smiled reassuringly and said it was okay; that what mattered now was that they were all in a good place, and that she got her best friend back. Ah, and on top of that, they could now chat about their hot boyfriends, tease each other, and share bits about how good they were in bed. 

Meanwhile, Jolly, Jesse, Noah, and Matt were standing in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, glancing occasionally toward Emery and Lia. They watched the latter, talking animatedly with her girlfriend, a glow of happiness on her face.

“She looks… different,” Jesse mentioned, his voice low but thoughtful.

“She looks happy,” Jolly corrected. He crossed his arms, a slight smile tugging at his lips.

Noah, who had been absently running his hand up and down his mug of tea, couldn’t take his eyes off her, mesmerized by the way she laughed and smiled. That’s how she wanted her, always —aside from in his bed, naked.

Matt, leaning against the counter beside him, nudged his side. 

“You look good too, man. Did you two catch up on sleep, or have you been using your nights for some well-deserved sweet time?” 

Noah wasn’t one to bask in the attention, especially when it came to him and Lia and their private bedroom matters. However, he couldn’t hide the smile that gave him away. 

The night continued, and the city outside turned pitch black. The sounds in the apartment began to mellow, as everyone settled into their own rhythms. The Nicks, Bryan, and Matt had retreated to their video games, completely absorbed in their battle on the screen, while Jolly and Emery shared soft kisses in a quiet corner of the sofa.

Noah, always drawn back to work, had disappeared into the studio again with Mike, Davis, and Jesse, likely refining tour setlists or tweaking final production notes. As the group dispersed into their various corners, Lia found herself alone for the first time all night. She stood up quietly, leaving the lovebirds and the boys playing videogames behind, and made her way to Noah’s room. 

The warmth of the evening was still wrapped around her, but a part of her longed for a moment alone. The air in the hallway was cooler, quieter. Once inside Noah’s room, she let out a long breath. The familiar scent of him filled the room—it smelled like home.

A small pile of her clothes still lay neatly in one of his drawers, and his bed remained perfectly made, just as it had been since they left for the US tour. She smiled at how organized and clean everything was, a reflection of Noah himself. 

Her gaze lingered on the bed, and a flood of memories rushed back. Not long ago, she had slept in that very spot, bruised and heartbroken. The thought twisted her stomach, so she sat down in the armchair in the corner, trying to focus on the quieter, more peaceful moments she’d spent there—reading books or sketching while Noah took care of her.

But her eyes kept drifting back to the bed. She couldn’t help but think of the nights when Noah had held her through her nightmares, his presence always the comfort she needed. 

Curling up in the armchair, she wrapped her arms around herself, sitting in silence for a few minutes.

Eventually, her attention was drawn to the stack of books on top of the drawer beside her. Absentmindedly, she read the titles until one caught her eye: The Seductive Art of Japanese Bondage, the words printed on the spine white and faded yellow.  

She stared at it like it was Pandora’s box—something she shouldn’t open but couldn’t resist. Before she could stop herself, she reached out, picked it up, and flipped it open.

It started as an act of curiosity—the same curiosity that had led her to ask Noah about shibari in the first place—but it quickly became something more. 

As Lia flipped through the pages, her interest on the topic seemed to grow. The book was a deep dive into the history and philosophy behind the practice. She learned about the origins of it, and how, over time, the martial art had evolved into the erotic art of shibari, shifting from control and confinement to an expression of trust, vulnerability, and intimate connection.

Many of the passages mentioned the meditative aspects of it, the idea of releasing control and being fully present in the moment. There was emphasis on the importance of trust between the participants—how the one being tied must surrender to the process, allowing themselves to be vulnerable, while the one tying held the responsibility of creating a safe and secure space. The knots themselves were described as more than just physical restraints; they were symbols of the bond between the partners, a delicate balance of power and intimacy.

The more she read, the more Lia saw how shibari could be about empowerment, not just surrender. The art required both participants to be attuned to each other, heightening their connection through every twist of the rope. It sounded like something she could benefit from, a way to rebuild her trust and connection with Noah—if she could get past her fear.

But as the thrill of trying something new began to bubble up inside her, so did the unease. Her last therapy session had forced her to confront a hard truth—she feared losing control, especially after Mitch had manipulated and controlled her. The idea of someone, even Noah, holding that kind of power over her was terrifying. Could she really trust him enough to let him tie her up?

She hadn’t even realized that she had been thinking about practicing this crazy thing called bondage with Noah until the thought hit her. Heat flooded her face, and a strange ache bloomed between her legs. The mix of fear and excitement left her feeling exposed, as if the very pages of the book had unlocked something she wasn’t ready to confront.

Lia’s mind raced as she lay back on the armchair, her thoughts spiraling deeper. Sex with Noah had already proven to be a release, a way to let go of the fears and insecurities that gnawed at her. He had shown her that she could be vulnerable with him and he would only love her more. He had pleasured her while making her feel safe and loved.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so cared for, so satisfied, so beautiful. Noah had looked at her like she was the most precious thing in the world, had touched her with reverence, making her body feel alive in a way it hadn’t been in a very long time. 

But as much as she craved that feeling, there were limits. Her trust in him was still fragile—not because she doubted him, but because she doubted herself. She was still easily shaken by the ghosts of her past. The idea of letting him tie her hands, to give him control in that way, sent a ripple of anxiety through her. She couldn’t trust herself not to panic, to be overwhelmed by the memories she tried so hard to bury. 

Lia shook her head, trying to push the deeper thoughts away. She didn’t want to dwell on it. Not now, at least. Instead, she focused on the pages of the book, letting herself get lost in the descriptions of the intricate knots and the philosophy behind the art.

Barely a few minutes later, the door creaked open. 

“Lia?” Noah’s voice cut through her thoughts, soft but filled with concern. “Hey, I got worried for a sec. You okay?”

Lia sat up quickly, her heart racing. She nervously tried to hide the book, heat rushing to her cheeks.

“Yeah,” she mumbled, standing up and keeping the book behind her.

Noah stepped further into the room, his eyes catching the way she held something in her hand. 

“Were you reading?”

“Hum… yeah.” Lia felt her pulse quicken, trying to act casual. 

Noah’s eyes shifted down to her hand, and when he noticed the book, a small smirk played on his lips.

“Is that...?” he began, amusement creeping into his tone. “Are you trying to hide it from me?”

“No,” she said while moving the book behind her to hide it better. 

Noah chuckled, stepping closer, clearly amused. “Lia,” he said, “are you embarrassed?"

She bit her lip, her fingers tightening around the book. “I was just… I saw it there and I remembered what you read to me. I got curious and—”

“You wanted to learn more?” Noah finished, his smile soft but knowing.

“Yeah. I mean—I was just curious. The book was lying there and…” She stopped when she noticed the way his eyes were boring into her. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. 

“Like you want to do these things to me,” she replied, shaking the book in her hand. 

Noah’s playful grin faded when he saw her expression shift.

“I do,” he said, his voice suddenly serious.

“What?” she asked, her throat tight.

“I’d love to tie you up,” Noah admitted, his eyes locking with hers, but his smile quickly fell when he noticed the fear behind her gaze.

Before he could ask her what was wrong, Bryan’s voice rang through the house, calling Noah’s name. The moment shattered.

Lia took the opportunity to escape the intensity of the conversation, leaving the book on the armchair as she crossed the room and brushed past Noah to open the door.

Bryan was standing in the hallway.

“I’m heading out, and so are the others. Just wanted to let you know.”

The house began to empty after that. Slowly, one by one, everyone trickled out, offering their goodbyes with tired but happy smiles.

When the last of them had left and the house had grown quiet, Noah and Lia followed suit, heading back to her apartment. Right before Noah put on his hoodie, Lia suggested staying there, pointing out that the band’s equipment was in the house and it’d be more practical for him to be there instead of at her place, but he refused. 

The ride home was quiet. Noah glanced at Lia several times, concern etching his features, but she seemed… content. Despite the encounter in the room, her expression was soft, pleased even, though her tiredness was evident.

Once they were settled in her bedroom, Lia returned from the bathroom barefoot, wearing only one of Noah’s old t-shirts and her panties. As she adjusted her long hair behind her shoulders, Noah spoke. He had been looking through the window, fear prickling at him. What if he wanted too much from her?

“Did I scare you earlier?” he asked.

She looked up at him, a slight furrow forming between her brows, her hands pausing mid-motion in her hair.

“When I said I wanted to tie you up,” he clarified.

Lia froze briefly, then let her hair fall as she exhaled slowly. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, her hands rested in her lap, fingers nervously twisting, then tracing the hem of the t-shirt. The only light on in the room was the bedside lamp, which casted a warm glow across the space.

“No, you didn’t scare me.”

Noah moved closer until he was in front of her. Then he knelt on the floor, his gaze steady as he looked up at her, his hands gently resting on her knees. The intimacy of the position was grounding, his presence there at her feet a quiet reminder that he wasn’t going anywhere. 

“But something was off. I could see it,” he continued. 

Lia hesitated, her mind flashing back to the swirling thoughts that had been spinning through her head. She wanted to be honest, but part of her didn’t want to admit how deeply the idea unsettled her.

“It’s not you,” she finally said, her voice soft. “It’s just… I want to trust you, Noah. And I do. It’s just that… I’m scared of losing control.”

“Do you think I’d ever hurt you?”

“No.” Lia shook her head. “But it’s not about that. It’s about me, about what I went through with Mitch. I’m just… not sure if I can handle being that vulnerable again.”

Noah’s expression softened with understanding. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her temple. “We don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for. You know that, right?”

“I know,” she whispered, leaning into him. “But a part of me feels like... maybe this could help me. Help me let go of the fear. At the same time, I’m not sure I’m ready to try all of that just yet,” she admitted, her voice softer than before. “I’m curious… and I want to try it with you, but I don’t think I can handle it now.”

Noah’s fingers traced soft circles on her knee, his touch light and reassuring. 

“Of course,” he said, his voice calm and patient. “It makes total sense, and I told you before—I’m in no rush. This is about us. We have all the time in the world to try new things and explore what we like and what we don’t.”

His eyes flicked up to hers, holding her gaze with a quiet intensity. 

“I just want it to be you. And I want to be the only one to give that to you,” he admited. “And I just know you’d look so pretty tied up and naked.”

Lia felt a flush rise in her cheeks as something twirled in her lower belly. She looked down at Noah, the tenderness in his expression making her heart ache in the best possible way. She reached out, cupping his jaw, her thumb brushing across the stubble on his cheek.

“You say that, and you still manage to look so sweet,” she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. “How do you even do that?”

He chuckled softly, leaning into her touch for a moment. 

“It’s my charm.”

Lia smiled, but it quickly faded into a sigh. She felt the gravity of the conversation settle over them again, the air between them thick. There was something about the way Noah was looking at her, the softness in his eyes, that made her feel safe enough to let down her guard a little more.

Noah cupped her cheek this time, his thumb tracing her jaw. 

“We’ll take it slow. And if you’re ever uncomfortable, we stop. I don’t care if it’s mid-knot or mid-anything. You say the word, and it’s over. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“We don’t have to do anything tonight. Not because of this talk or anything else. I don’t want you to feel pressured. We can just lie down, watch something, or fall asleep. Whatever feels right for you. Anything.”

Lia’s fingers slid down to rest against his shoulder, her soft breath mingling with the stillness in the room. She gave him a small nod. 

“Anything?”

Noah nodded, his eyes never leaving hers.

For a moment, she hesitated, then slowly stood up from the bed, her legs brushing against his as she moved. Noah stayed where he was, kneeling on the floor, looking up at her with a quiet mix of curiosity. She stood before him, wearing nothing but his t-shirt that fell just shy of her thighs and a pair of panties.

She could feel the heat of his attention—desire simmering but held back by his endless patience. It made her feel both exposed and empowered.

With a steadying breath, she reached down and slowly peeled off the t-shirt. The fabric slipped past her bare skin, falling softly to the floor. Noah’s breath hitched as her breasts came into view, but he didn’t move. His eyes followed the movements of her body like every shift she made was sacred.

Lia stood there, wearing just her panties, feeling the warmth emanating from his brown almond-shaped eyes. There was no rush, no pressure, just the weight of his eyes on her, heavy with desire but still so respectful. It was his restraint, his quiet reverence that made her feel powerful in a way she was learning to love. 

Slowly, she hooked her fingers around the waistband of her panties, pushing them down until they joined the shirt on the floor.

She stood completely exposed now, and yet somehow it didn’t feel like vulnerability. Not with him. His eyes traveled the length of her body, not with hunger, but with something deeper. Like he was seeing her for the first time, all over again.

“Anything,” Noah whispered, his voice barely more than a breath.

Lia stepped closer, her body so near that he could feel the warmth radiating from her skin. His hands instinctively found her hips, pulling her just a little closer as he pressed a soft, reverent kiss to her stomach, just below her navel. Her breath caught, but she didn’t move. She trusted him to take his time, just as he had trusted her.

Noah kissed his way along the soft plane of her abdomen, his nose brushing lightly against her skin, while one of his hands slid to the back of her thigh. Gently, he lifted her leg, guiding it over his shoulder. Lia’s fingers threaded through his hair, her breath coming in slow, steady waves as she guided her core toward his eager mouth.

Her heartbeat quickened, but it wasn’t from fear or hesitation. She wasn’t giving up control; she was choosing to share it with him. And that made all the difference.

She let herself sink into the warmth of his touch, into the safety of his presence, her anxiety fading as she surrendered—not to him, but with him.

— prev. chapter | chapter eight

Taglist:

@somebodyels3 | @respectfulrebel | @xcllnt | @bluestdai | @lma1986

@sweetwombatpizza | @missduffsblog | @shilohrosechicken | @jilliemiw86 | @alwaysfightforwhoyouare

[stormz369]

☕💖 Can I Get Your Number? ☕💖 Ch 3

Jason Todd x Chubby! Reader (fem)

written with a female reader in mind, first person pov, no use of Y/N, fluffy, mild angst, will probably get NSFW later, let me know if there's anything else I should tag this with!

warnings: reader character dealing with anxiety from previous chapter (non-descriptive),hinted at trauma from fatphobia, hints of Jason's self esteem and body image issues, otherwise it's fluff central

word count: 2.2k (oops? 😅)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Ding!

I looked over at my phone, briefly considering not picking it up. When I got through my front door I had ripped my jeans off, suddenly hating everything touching me. I showered, scrubbing the night off until my skin was raw and tingling, and now I was curled up on my bed sheets, having a good cry. I didn't really want to talk to anyone right now…

Ding! Ding! … Ding!

God, whoever it was was insistent though … I sighed softly and picked it up, checking the messages:

Jason: Good morning! I am so sorry for the sudden disappearance - my phone broke on my way to visit my brother!  3:15am Jason: Just got back into town, so I've finally got the sim card in an old one for now. 3:17am Jason: I feel bad, I owe you a week of good mornings! 😭 3:17am Jason: And sorry for spamming you - I just didn't want you to think the worst for a second longer than necessary… 3:18am

I stared at the screen for a long while. Jason was back … just like Red Hood said. Huh… 

Me: Don't worry about it, shit happens! 3:40am Jason: … What are you still doing up?  3:41am

I briefly considered telling him everything. Maybe it would feel good to tell someone … or maybe it would feel even worse. We didn't really know each other yet, who knew how he would react? Nausea gripped my stomach and I shook my head, taking a few deep breaths before replying.

Me: Just got home is all. Picked up a late shift tonight. 3:50am Jason: That's a hell of a late shift, that must have sucked! 3:52am Me: … Yeah, honestly it wasn't great… 😔 3:53am Jason: What are you doing tomorrow? 3:54am Me: Nothing in particular, y? 3:56am Jason: That settles it then! No more excuses, come hell or high water I will see you tomorrow! 3:56am

I stared at the screen, not sure how to feel about that idea. I did want to see him again, but I also really just wanted to sleep for 48 hours straight…

Jason: Seriously, name a time and place. We'll do anything you want! 😁 3:59am Me: You don't have to do that, Jason - you just got back! Don't you need to work? 4:00am Jason: Nope! We came back a day early, so I am all yours! 4:02am Me: … All mine, huh? 😏 4:05am Jason: 100%! Anything you want, name it! 4:06am Me: … Gotham City Mall, meet in front of the bookstore at … say 4? 4:08am Jason: Perfect, see you in 12 hours! Good night 4:08am Me: Good night Jason 4:09am

I was exhausted, but couldn't seem to sleep. I was still coming down from the anxiety and adrenaline from being attacked, and now I was also nervous and tentatively excited about seeing Jason. This was the step that usually proved someone was playing games with me. I sighed softly, sliding a hand down my soft tummy. I didn't mind the way I was shaped, but other people sure had a way of making it seem like the end of the world… I silently begged the universe; let this one be good. No more games, let it be real this time…

When I finally did sleep, my dreams were filled with red. Blood all over the pavement, staining everything. Red chrome staring me down as I cried. Large hands, so gentle against my cheeks, pulling me against a warm, broad chest…

I woke with a start and peered over at my discarded clothes in a heap from the night before. Red Hood's flannel peaked out from under my ruined pants, taunting me; I was about to go on a date and I was dreaming about another man? A man I was surely never going to see again no less? That's real healthy, well done Brain.

I stepped over the clothes on the floor, not wanting to deal with the mess left over from last night, and selected a cute but comfortable outfit. I ate a quick breakfast, spent longer than I'd care to admit on my hair and makeup, and headed downstairs to catch the bus to the mall.

My anxiety grew as I approached the front doors. It’s a trick, it must be a trick. The cold air conditioning hit me in the face, a welcome respite from the summer heat, and I made my way toward the bookstore. He's a hottie, and really sweet. Or at least knows how to play sweet. He's definitely not actually interested. I could see the sign for the bookstore on the other side of the mall. And he's a Wayne too! What could a Wayne want with me?? … Oh god, I threatened them, didn't I? I told the little one I'd stab them if they came back to the table. Why did I say that???

I blinked a bit, pausing. That was him, leaned against the wall right next to the bookstore. He had actually shown up. I watched him scroll on his phone for a minute before looking up and scanning the crowd. When his eyes landed on me I continued walking toward him. He pocketed his phone, kicked off the wall, and walked over to meet me, a little grin lighting up his face.

“You're actually here…” the words left my mouth before I could reconsider, my disbelief apparent in my tone. Jason looked a bit confused at that, awkwardly rubbing the back of his head.

“Well, yeah? … You said 4, right?”

“Sorry! Yes, I said 4. I just … I honestly wasn't sure this was … real…”

“Why wouldn't it be real?”

I blushed a bit, clearing my throat slightly; “n- never mind! Sorry, I had a weird week; my brain hasn't fully caught up.”

He nodded a little, smiling gently. “Well, I hope it's getting better at least.”

I nodded. “Yeah, it is. Thanks. … So, what should we do?”

“Like I said last night; anything you want.”

“Well, … we're right here, do you want to start at the bookstore?”

He nodded and fell into step beside me, smiling gently. I could feel his eyes on me as I walked into the store, browsing the aisles. It was odd how comfortable this was; he was a good half foot taller than me, and at least 200 pounds of pure muscle. If his arms and cheek were any gauge he was absolutely covered in old scars, and he had a bandage on one forearm so whatever gave him the scars probably wasn't confined to the past.

I should be terrified - everything about my upbringing told me this was a dangerous situation to be in. But when I saw the look in his eyes, like I was the most interesting thing in the world, all of my self-defense training fell out of my head. The voices urging me to get to safety quieted, all my instincts stilled, and there was peace. His eyes were so beautiful… 

“... Is there something on my face?” He blushed a bit, chuckling awkwardly.

I blinked, looking away. “Sorry! I wasn't staring, I just …”

“... Did you want to ask about this?” he pointed to the scar on his cheek.

“Huh? No! I have a policy of not asking people about stuff like that; you'll tell me or not on your own time. No, I just … I like your eyes is all …’’ I blushed brightly, staring at but not reading the back cover of a book.

“... My eyes?” I nodded, still pretending to read the back cover. “... You're really not going to ask about my scars?”

“Unless you want to talk about them, it's not any of my business.”

“... You're a very unusual girl.”

“Because I'm not going to pry about something you may or may not want to talk about, particularly on a first date?”

“Well, they're usually the first thing anyone wants to talk to me about. If they don't avoid me in the first place…”

I frowned a bit at that. If we met under any other circumstances, I would have taken one look at him and ducked my head to avoid an interaction. “... People suck…”

“It's not their fault; I'm intimidating…” I cautiously looked over at him. He was also staring at a book cover, a pensive little frown on his face.

“... I don't think you're intimidating.”

His eyes darted over and back to the book, and the corner of his mouth curled up ever so slightly. “... Thanks.”

I nodded, setting the book down. “.... So …”

“So? …”

“... Play a game?”

He chuckled, looking over at me. “A game?”

I nodded. “You tell me some of your favorite things in books, I'll tell you some of mine. We separate, select a few of our favorites that the other might like, and reconvene.”

“Alright. Is there a way to win this game?”

“Well I assume we'll each pick at least one book the other hasn't read, so we'll get to make each other read at least one of our favorites. That sounds like a win to me.”

He chuckled. “Alright. Meet back up at those comfy chairs in the back?”

I nodded, telling him some of my favorite tropes, genres, and settings. He did the same, and we darted in opposite directions. He beat me back there, but I eventually approached with a small stack, falling into the seat next to him.

He gestured toward my books; “ladies first.”

I tucked my feet under me, passing him each book in turn and making a case for it. He took each one, read the back cover, and listened intently. He had read one of them, and I figured he'd pick one of the others, if that, but he insisted he was going to get them all. When it was his turn, I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but Pride and Prejudice wasn't the first thing that came to mind. 

“I've seen a few movie adaptations, but I haven't gotten around to reading it.” I smiled softly, taking the book. It was a beautiful blue cover with swirling calligraphy font in gold.

“An unparalleled tragedy - I insist this is the one you're taking home!” I giggled at his determined tone and nodded.

“Yes, sir!” I made a little mock salute, trying not to smirk at the sudden wave of pink overtaking his face. “... Well, what else do you have for me?”

He cleared his throat awkwardly, looking at the books in his hands. “Ah, um …”

One by one he passed me, Hamlet, the Three Musketeers, a book of Greek myths, and … a trashy romance?

“... Not gonna lie, this is an unexpected choice.” I read the back. It looked like your typical bodice ripper.

He chuckled, blushing a bit. “Look, it was the only book I had access to one day and I was losing my mind with boredom. But if you give it a chance, it's actually really well written, and the love interest isn't one of those creepy possessive guys the genre is known for, so …”

I nodded, taking a picture of the book covers. “I will give it a chance then!”

“... Why are you taking a picture of them?”

“... To get later? I'll start with this one, since you were so determined that I read it.” I held up Pride and Prejudice. Jason gathered up the others, putting them on his stack, then gently took Pride and Prejudice from me as well.

“Or I could just get them for you.” 

“What? Jason, no. I mean, that’s really sweet of you, but that's way too much!” Between the books he'd picked out for me and the ones I'd selected for him, he was holding at least $200 in his hands. And he'd picked the pretty hardcovers too! 

He shook his head. “I've had to cancel on you at least 5 times, and then I disappeared with no warning. You have been incredibly patient and understanding, and I will make today worth it.”

I blushed brightly, a bit surprised. “Jason, … you're worth waiting for. I enjoy talking to you, you don't have to spend money on me for today to be worth my time.”

He looked away uncomfortably, bright red, holding the stack of books to his chest. “... I … I like talking to you too … just let me do this, yeah? Call it a first date splurge.”

“... Alright, if you're sure. But I don't want you making a habit of this.”

He nodded, smiling softly. “Don't worry; I know you're a strong, independent woman.”

I nodded once, chuckling. “Damn right.”

Jason grinned, god he had an infectious grin, and led me to stand in line together. He held the stack of books in one hand, and we chatted a bit more while we waited for our turn. I was looking at a selection of little plushies in the impulse items when I felt something brush ever so slightly against my finger. I looked down; his trembling hand was next to mine, his pinky slightly extended toward me. I chuckled softly, extending mine toward him, and gently linked our fingers together. He stiffened ever so slightly before relaxing into it, gently squeezing back.

Divider by @saradika (and my thanks for making them free to use!)

Taglist (let me know in the comments if you want to be added or dropped!)

@jawdropforkpop @krys0210 @snowy-violet @superthoughts @wordsfromshona

[bonezonejpg]

୨୧ : INTRODUCING MY INK VARIANT INX

Based off of my personal experiences. A year ago I was in a pretty bad headspace and had created him to help cope with my situation. Came upon him again and decided to make a ref+ revamp !! Anyways !! Some info about him <3 Inx deals with Chronic anxiety and Derealization. Despite the fact that knows the world around him is real, he struggles to fight with those irrational thoughts that its in fact not real. He feels like he's in a dream while existing which causes him to panic, and will get intrusive thoughts about him or others around him not being real. These intrusive thoughts can trigger panic attacks which happen to him frequently. Instead of using close range attacks, he specifically sticks with using long range attack as much as possible. Getting close to his targets causes him to panic, and most of the time he's not in a calm enough headspace to react on time and make strategic battle decisions. He tries his best to support Dream and Blue from the sidelines. He shrunk from stress.. LOL Dream is one of his comfort people. The two of them now live together and he spends most if not all of his time with Dream. When not around the other he can panic or go into spirals which take a very severe toll on his mental health. Because of this Dream makes sure to stay close to him and tries his best to accommodate him. He does have medication he uses sometimes, but he only uses it when having severe panic attacks. The viles are extremely hard to continuously manufacture so he has instead developed coping skills to deal with his issues best he can instead of taking his "medication" 24/7. The viles basically help him calm down and sort of reset his magic nervous system or whatever it would be so his panicking starts to cease. It doesn't last forever, but its a really good feeling when he takes it and it reminds him of how he used to be before dealing with all of this. These issues completely popped out of nowhere and the root cause is unknown by him and others around him. He had a thought that the world "wasn't real" and then got triggered into his first panic attack which then spread out into the issues he now has. [Literally exactly what happened to me except I'm okay now! Well sort of, not the same but def a LOT better :3] His eye will flash a bunch of different colors when he's about to have a panic attack or having one. This is a telltale sign that his stress has pretty much reached his limit and he's at his breaking point. He will leak and spill Ink from his mouth when trying to express the thoughts going on in his mind or his emotions. This is because his anxiety causes him to assume others will think he is annoying or attention seeking so he literally becomes choked up on his own words. Inx deals with constant paranoia that no one likes him and everyone finds him to be a burden. Despite others and himself trying to reassure himself, the sinking feeling that no one truly loves him also resides deep inside his bones. He doesn't get a lot of his sleep because of his derealization and anxiety. Constantly being in a state of panic makes it quite hard for him to rest because his body can't calm down enough to actually relax so he can fall asleep. He usually can only rest when with another person with some TV playing, or when he is so exhausted he literally cannot stay awake anymore.

Inx still enjoys to draw and visit AUs, it just has become quite difficult now because of the amount of stress he deals with. Obviously this has caused him to become pretty depressed so he has a really hard time picking up his hobbies, but he still attempts to use them as coping mechanisms even if he can't really make anything detailed anymore. Inx will constantly think about how he used to be before all of this and will wish that he could go back in time and just be normal again because he's so exhausted from everything.

Alrighty... For now thats all I can really think about!! I probably will look back at this and be like "awh dang why didn't I add this.." So expect me to most likely edit this little post at some point !! Also, all of these facts are 100% based off of experiences that I have went through. If you have any questions then feel free to send me an ask and I'll totally answer !! Plus some old art from when I first made him in 2023 when I was having that EP

Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy reading all this despite it being super long... heh.. I'LL SEE U LATUR !!

[doumadono]

EMERGENCY REQUEST

Hello! So, I think I just got sexually harassed and my anxiety is off the roof because of it, so I could really use some comfort. Would you be willing to write about Shinobu and a gender neutral reader where the reader has really bad anxiety? If you don't want to/can't, I totally get it! And if you do, thank you so much!

Breathe with me - Shinobu x gn!Reader

EMERGENCY REQS - PART 2

"You're trembling," Shinobu's voice was soft, laced with concern as she stood by your side. Her violet eyes held a gentle warmth, a stark contrast to her usually sharp, teasing demeanor. "Can you take a deep breath for me?"

You hadn’t realized how badly your hands were shaking, curled into fists in your lap as if clinging to something invisible, something that could tether you to reality. The anxiety had built up so fast, like a wave crashing over you, and now, the air felt too thick to breathe. "I... I don’t know if I can talk about it," you managed, your voice barely a whisper. It felt stuck in your throat, raw and aching. "It’s just too much. I feel like I’m falling apart."

Shinobu knelt down in front of you, the soft rustle of her haori the only sound cutting through the silence. Her expression, though calm, was filled with something you rarely saw in her: pure compassion.

“I…” Your voice faltered, words slipping away before you could grasp them, replaced by the sinking weight of fear. You could feel the panic building, the tightness in your chest making it hard to breathe.

"Shh, it's alright. You're safe," she said, her hand resting lightly on your arm, her touch feather-soft but grounding. "I know it feels unbearable right now, but I’m here with you. No one will hurt you while I’m by your side."

Her words, steady and certain, began to cut through the whirlwind in your mind. You focused on the way she spoke to you — not with pity, but with unwavering confidence, as though she fully believed in the strength you couldn’t see in yourself at this moment.

"You don't have to talk about it until you're ready," Shinobu continued, her tone patient. "But let me help you breathe through it, alright? In for four seconds, out for six… just like I taught you."

Her fingers traced small, soothing circles on your skin, a grounding point in the chaos of your thoughts. You nodded faintly, even though it felt like the world was still spinning too fast. Still, you trusted her. Closing your eyes, you focused on the rhythm of your breath, mirroring the slow, measured inhalations and exhalations she guided you through.

"In," Shinobu murmured gently. "And out."

With each breath, the crushing weight in your chest began to ease, if only a little. The way she stayed so close, without pushing or rushing you, made you feel safer than you'd thought possible. The knot of anxiety loosened, and though the fear hadn't completely dissipated, it no longer threatened to choke you.

"Good," she said, her voice filled with quiet encouragement. "You're doing so well. I’m proud of you, Y/N."

You opened your eyes to find her watching you with a soft smile, her eyes radiating warmth. There was no trace of mockery, none of her usual teasing nature. Just kindness.

“Shinobu,” you whispered, your voice finally able to form words, though they came out hesitant and raw. “It was awful.”

The woman's expression darkened slightly, though she kept her composure. "You don’t have to explain it now, but know that what you’re feeling is valid. I’m not going anywhere, no matter how long it takes for you to feel like yourself again. If you need me, I’ll stay."

You nodded, tears welling up in your eyes as the vulnerability of the moment hit you.

Shinobu pulled you into a gentle embrace, her arms wrapping around you with surprising tenderness. "We don’t have to talk about anything. We can just be."

You smiled weakly, the words escaping you, but she understood.

And as she sat beside you, her presence steady and reassuring, the weight of your anxiety seemed to lift, just a little. It wasn’t gone, but with the Insect Hashira by your side, it felt like something you didn’t have to carry alone anymore.

[thesleepyfable]

~ SWTD: Still Here AU Part 12: ~

Operation Spy Part 1:

Here we go. The moment we've all been waiting for. The rescue. How will it go? Knowing this lot...

Step 1. Grab the yellow paint and mark the infected containers.

Step 2. Load the infected inside.

Step 3. Get back to the mainland.

Step 4. ...

Well, we'll see what happens afterwards.

Brodie and Roper waited at the Under Rig. They watched the horizon. An outline of a cargo ship came into view. It was a strange feeling. They were all so relieved because this was it - they were going home - but how can you just walk away from this? Easy. You don't.

The pair had to count their lucky stars. They weren't dead like Gregor or turned into something no one thought possible like Rennick. They can still have a normal life. Until then, they just had to go through an investigation, followed by a debriefing and possible firing from Cadal to cover their own arse. It's not like anyone here would care. If Cadal was thinking about sending anyone here to another rig, then they had another thing coming.

'So, what's your plan, Roper?'

'I think I'm going to take myself and the misses on that long needed holiday to Spain. What about you?'

'Take myself and Raffs back to Skye and...'Brodie shrugged. 'I dunno. Rethink my life choices.'

Roper wasn't daft. He was basically the crew's therapist when he wasn't manning Marine Control, and he knew something was bothering Brodie. Which was an oddity in and of itself because nothing bothered him. He was a father figure to most of the younger lads here, especially Raffs. Brodie's known him since he was a child. Roper's eyes lingered towards Brodie's crossed arms. His hands gripped to the sleeves as if he were hanging onto them for dear life. His breathing was laboured, which he'd just pass off as the cold.

'Don't blame yourself,' Roper said. Brodie's shoulders and jaw tensed. 'Raffs is fine. You're fine.'

'I know.' Brodie spoke through gritted teeth. 'But, I shouldn't have let him go down there.'

'He wasn't infected.'

'The lad wasn't ready.'

'Yes, he was, Brods. If none of this happened, he'd be going head first back into that diving bell. Give him time. He'll tell you what he wants.'

Of course, Roper was right, and with a supportive pat on the shoulder, he made his way to the Deck for an update. Brodie continued to watch the cargo ship come into view and took a deep breath to help himself relax.

'He's right.' Raffs' voice broke Brodie out of his spell. The pair had failed to notice that the young man was just around the corner. He approached and leaned against the railing. He seemed happier today. More relaxed. His wide eyes were calm, and his hands weren't shaking. 'I mean - Yeah, I was terrified, but I knew I was safe. Plus, I did hit my head in there. Of course, I'm going to be shak-'

Brodie didn't let Raffs finish his sentence. He just grabbed the young man he saw as his son and held him close. Raffs knew what this was. He's felt this crushing hug before, where Brodie kept him close and refused to let go. The last time he felt it was when Raffs nearly fell down the stairs carrying one side of a dresser. You couldn't fight it either. Any second now...

'I'm sorry.'

There it is.

Raffs returned the hug, though he could never have the strength of Brodie. 'I'm fine,' he said with reassurance whilst he pulled away. 'Just needed to wrap my head around all this.' Brodie's heard that excuse before, but he'll take his word for it. As long as he was okay.

The same couldn't be said for Muir.

Anxiety suddenly gripped him, and the heartbeats he could hear weren't helping. If this was his power from The Shape, then it was frankly shit. The excitement from everyone made him uneasy. There was no warning. The anxiety just came knocking on the door before kicking it down. Muir's mind began to race with ridiculous possibilities. What if the ship sank? What if the police are waiting for Caz to just shoot him? What if The Shape isn't really dead and it'll follow them to the mainland? What if he's taken away and he never gets to see Innes again?

Muir held his breath with a thousand yard stare. No one seemed to notice. Not even Innes, who came into the container with a backpack he left for his partner. All of Muir's eyes turned to him, yet his head stayed seated in the same position.

'Alright. That's all of your stuff.' Like everyone else, Innes was happy. 'Yes. I brought the bloody harmonica before you ask. But don't go playing it until we get ye home.' Muir didn't answer and continued to stare. His mind wouldn't shut up. Everyone's heartbeats drowned out whatever Innes said. It was an echo for him. Everything began to blur. Not because The Shape had suddenly returned, but because he was crying. Muir could finally allow himself to breathe again. Innes looked, and his smile dropped. 'Muir?' He felt a tendril wrap around his hand, and he instinctively began to stroke it with his thumb.

'Please don't go.'

Innes frowned. 'I'm not going anywhere.'

'Stay in here with me.' A pause. 'What if this doesn't work? And what if I'm taken away, never to be seen again?'

'I think that's impossible.'

'Innes, please!' Muir snapped as he began to tighten his grip on Innes and shook his head, because he couldn't run a hand through his hair anymore. 'I don't want to be on my own.'

Innes moved towards him and wiped Muir's tears away. Muir hugged and pulled him closer for him to rest his head on his shoulders. Of course, Innes allowed it and, in return, gave Muir a kiss. 'Alright... Alright, Muir. I'll stay, but we have to be quiet.' Muir nodded before buring his head into Innes.

The pair were so worked up in themselves that they didn't notice Gibbo, Trots, and Roy watching. None of them were surprised. They all suspected something for a while. I'm glad to see they had their confirmation.

Roy often wondered what that felt like. To love someone so near and dear in that way. He's loved friends and family, but nothing you could conclude to be romantic. His only real love outside of that would be football and cooking. He caught on that the three were just staring at this point and gave Gibbo and Trots a small tap.

'Right, you two, get in.'

With their belongings tucked away in the corner, Gibbo, being bigger of the pair, went first and soon settled by using his bag as a pillow. Trots soon followed and didn't exactly know what to do with himself. He had this coat pocket, but it was just awkward for him. Like Rennick, he felt like a rescue horse being led to a stable.

'Hope you don't mind me sharing with you, Gibs.'

'As long as there's no Cadal this or Cadal that.'

'Oh no, this has made it worse,' Roy laughed. 'But hey, if he gets bored, Animal Farm is in his bag.' It wasn't. Trots knew it wasn't. The comment got Gibbo laughing. Trots just smirked before using the tendrils to make himself taller before giving Roy a quick shove on the shoulder with a chuff.

'Off with ya, ya prick.'

'Seya on the other side, lads.'

Of course, the men weren't in complete darkness. Along with the sun coming through at the bottom of the door, Caz and Finlay made some adjustments to the containers, other than paint. A few holes for the natural light. No one thought about possible rain, though.

'Are you really going to use your infection to get a Union?' Gibbo asked out of curiosity.

'Of course,' Trots said. 'How can they say 'no' to this?'

'Ah Christ.' Maybe Gibbo should have taken Rennick as his container-mate. He made his stance known by grabbing Trot's bag and holding it over his head like a pillow trying to block out the noise.

'Right, you two Roasters,' Finlay said in her usual tone that commanded your attention. She was never scared to use it towards Rennick and Addair before, and them being infected didn't change that. The pair awkwardly stood in their own shared container. 'I better not hear a peep out of either of you.'

'I want off this rig, Finlay,' Rennick said in that tone when you're about to get an earful. 'Why the fuck, do you think I'm gonna be loud?!'

'Because you always have to get the last word.'

'Then give me my own container.'

'No. We take you in pairs. Muir's too big for anyone else.' Except Trots, but wanted to be with Gibbo. 'Now keep ye' voices down, or I'll come in there and ring both of ya necks.'

Was Rennick scared of Finaly? No. Was Addair scared of Finlay? Also, no. But, the pair had to admire her attitude, even if they didn't like being spoken to like this. She always carried herself with authority and had bigger balls than most of the men here. Even if she couldn't swim.

'Hey Finlay?' Addair called as she began to close the door. Finlay stopped and listened. 'Why did the military say no to you?'

'Because they don't take women. Is that why they refused you, Addair?'

With that, the door shut, and Finlay could finally feel her blood pressure return to normal. Faint snickering from Rennick could be heard through the metal, followed by a small smack. She spotted Roper and gave a thumbs up, who gave one in return.

Within minutes, the cargo ship docked beside them, and a man stepped off and onto the walkway that connected to the rig. Thankfully, the sea was calm this afternoon. Roper went to greet him.

'Are you Rennick?' He asked.

'No,' Roper said. 'We did a headcount. We lost him.'

'Didn't take a lifeboat?'

'Considering none of them worked, the answer's no.'

The man noticed the exhausted look in Roper's eyes. He was putting it on just so they could leave faster. They then noticed the amount of holes and smashed windows were on Beria. And this was only one part. Their eyes went wide and confused as they scanned the rig before looking to Roper for answers, who exchanged a look that said, 'I know.'

Nothing else needed to be said. The man gave a nod of approval. 'Oh, and we still have some equipment that Cadal will want back.'

'Will they?'

'Do you want to pay for anything we lose?' Seems Caz's sarcasm had finally rubbed off on Roper.

'Fair enough.' He turned and called to his crew. 'Get the crane going!'

And breathe.

Soon, the crew of Beria were safely secured on the cargo. The infected were all sat next to each other, but the equipment sat on top. So much for the holes to give them sunlight. Maybe they could see in the dark?

Caz found himself watching the containers from the safety of Bridge. He couldn't feel their presence from this distance, and it left him on edge. He hoped they were okay. Yes, even Rennick and Addair. He turned and, along with the others, watched the Beria slowly disappear from view.

'Good riddance.'

[harksness]

No Going Back

Summary: An incurable illness plagues you, something one of a kind that has never been seen before. It corrupts magic, leaving you unable to use your powers without risking death or worse. Someone wants all of your unused power themselves, and a reluctant Agatha Harkness is convinced to keep you safe after some bribing.

A/N: aaa I've had the idea for this for like 2yrs now!!! I'm super excited to be finishing it and posting it finally!! It's my first in depth, planned fanfic and I'm super excited to share it I hope you guys like it <3

(Also lowk paranoid that some of the creative decisions I made for this fic are gonna end up being explained in the show so just nevermind that if it happens we're just here for some fun romance and smut with Agatha ok)

WC: 3k

Anxiety gnaws away at your insides as you flick on your blinker, knuckles tightening around the steering wheel as you turn down that familiar dirt road that you hate so much. That long, winding dirt road that also leads to the house that you hate so much.

You try the breathing exercises your therapist taught you. The slow, calculated inhales, the holding your breath, and slow calculated exhales, but it does nothing to relieve the feeling in your chest that’s suffocating you. 

The cars headlights cut through the darkness, thick layers of tall, old trees swarming each side of the road as their branches bow overhead. You can’t even see the night sky through the thick layers of leaves.

You’re positive that if you had consulted your therapist about this little visit before coming, she would have told you that it’s not a good idea. That reopening old wounds after basically being no contact for four years would undo a lot of healing and hard work. 

But, when you listened to your fathers urgent voicemail, you knew you needed to come. You had no choice. The deal you made with him before leaving was more than fair. He agreed to leave you alone and only contact you if it was a necessary emergency. And you agreed to that more than fair deal.

He wanted you to be as far away from him as possible, and you wanted the same thing. To be far, far away from him and any reminders of what happened to you, your childhood and the toxic magical community you grew up in.

You’re sure that you were only able to get away because of your little defect. And because after your mother died, he immediately remarried and your father didn’t waste time popping out plenty of new babies, pureblooded heirs that could flawlessly wield their old blood magic unlike you.

If your father called you back home you know it’s a serious, urgent matter. And that only makes your chest grow tighter as you turn the last bend and your childhood home comes into view.

“Well.. Here we go..”

You grumble to yourself, the tall, menacing house looming over you amongst all of the trees. The night sky actually cuts through these parts, the moonglow illuminating the house and its surroundings as you pull up to the front door. Immediately you kill the engine and shift your car into park, leaning forward to peer up at the house.

The pristine white under the moonlight makes it look like it’s glowing. It stands tall and proud and perfect, no chipping or dirt in sight. A black roof sits on top, perfectly black framed windows spread along the sides of the house, and not a single one is lit up with evidence of life. Curiously, you keep peering, checking for a sign of anyone being in the house. With a deep breath you grab your keys and your bag and exit the car.

It’s dead silent, save for the sound of crickets and the rustling of leaves in the trees when a soft breeze blows through. You pause as you take a deep breath to steady yourself. Cautiously, you walk around to the other side of the house, leaning over and peering just enough to see if any lights were turned on. 

Nope. Nothing. All of the windows are black as pitch. You groan, pinching your eyes shut as you try to soothe yourself by rubbing your fingers on your forehead.

Whatever. You’ll just go inside and call your father. You’d be dead meat if you left without his permission, anyways. He sounded very urgent. Deathly urgent. With a deep exhale pushing past your lips, you walk back around the house, the wind chilling your cheeks as you start to make your way up the front steps. 

No door handle, just a block of smooth painted wood that looks like a door. A wave of exhaustion overtakes you as you press your palm to the smooth center of the wood, your features dropping as an electric blue glow flows in ripples over the door before it parts for you, splitting down the middle and swinging open.

The main hall is eerily dark and you have to force yourself to move forward. The moonlight is bright enough to where you can see, but everything is shadowed. The hall stretches out far, down the length of the entire house before leading to the wide, open stairs that would take you up to the expansive second level. 

A hard, loud slam echoes through the halls and shakes the house. It’s enough for you to let out a scream and jump as you fling yourself around to the source of the noise, noticing the front doors are sealed closed. Your face scrunches in confusion at the sight. It should just.. Close like a normal door as soon as you are comfortably in the threshold of the house. Never have you seen it linger or slam like that before, not even in your years growing up here.

You sigh, deciding to brush it off even though you know something is wrong, more so because you know that you’re incapable of protecting yourself like a normal witch would be able to so gaslighting yourself is just the easier option for now.

Besides, whatever’s wrong can’t be life endangering to you. The property is warded and safe, it’s basically impossible to get through to the house let alone inside of it. Hundreds of years of magical wards and barriers make sure of that. So, you grab your phone out of your coat pocket, your fingers cold as you pull up your fathers contact and press the call button.

You raise the phone to your ear as the sound of the monotonous chimes ring through the silent rooms as you pass through them, cautiously walking into the family room. The sound of your boots is muffled by the thick carpet as you walk over it to peer out of the window. The wind rushes against the side of the house, the echo of the noise whispering through the silent halls of your childhood home.

“Okay, I’m at the house. What’s going on and where are you? Please… Just call me back.”

Lowering the phone with a tense sigh, you drop it back into your coat pocket before turning back to the window. You decide to analyze the treeline for any sign of something being off, and you see something that makes your heart drop into the pit of your stomach.

One of the protective runes carved into one of the trees has been singed off. You can tell by the sizzling burn marks that it was magic, the bark of the tree burned all the way through and to the wood underneath, leaving no sign of the runes that were previously there. Your throat dries up.

Whoever did that had to have broken through two other protective barriers on the property. It’s tough magic and in order to break through it… You’d need some scarily powerful magic on your side.

There’s only been a few times over the decades since the house was built that someone has been able to break through the protective barriers. The last time was when your mother was assassinated and you were left for dead when you were a child.

You can’t stop the panic from bubbling in your chest this time, not knowing what to do or how to protect yourself. Your mind is frantic as you search for a solution, your hand moving to fist the pendant hanging from your neck, but something catches your eye and you freeze. In the reflection of the window you see her, a woman reclining in your fathers favorite chair. The back of the extravagant, plush red chair reaches high, the woman is slumped down in it, her black heeled boots dangling over one armrest of the chair as she gently swings her feet back and forth, the fabric of her purple skirt swaying with each movement.

Her body is twisted just a bit so that her front is tilted towards you, her chin resting in her palm. She’s donning a very traditionally witchy getup. Her wild, brown curls fall off of her head in crazy waves as it cascades over her shoulders. Her lips are quirked in the snarkiest smirk you’ve ever seen, your chest tightening even further when you notice her bright blue eyes are planted right on you. 

You whip around to face her, your eyes widening when you see her with your own two eyes and not in the window's reflection, confirming this is real and not a figment of your imagination.

“Oh my goodness! It took you long enough to notice me! If this were a horror movie, or if I actually wanted to kill you, you would’ve been dead the second those doors slammed shut, sweetheart.”

The woman's smooth voice has a taunting edge to it. She swings her feet over and around and they land against the carpet with a dramatic thump! before she pushes herself out of the chair and onto her feet.

“Thank god I don’t want to kill you.”

Her smirk drops into a warning smile, her voice doing the same. You’re gripping your pendant so tightly that you can feel it cutting into the skin of your palm.

“What do you mean? What do you want?”

You ask, your voice shaky and soft. She drops her gaze to your fist, pointing at it.

“That’s what I want.”

Her eyes meet yours again as she takes a few steps towards you. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl and give it to me? Or do I have to take it from you?”

She holds out her hand, and that’s when your gaze catches on the pendant on her neck. Your eyes widen in horror, taking a slow step backwards.

Every witch knows about Agatha Harkness. About her long list of crimes, both magical and not. Especially those of you connected to the elder families. She’s successfully stolen from some, even killed a few. She was a suspect in your mothers murder and your assault, but was ruled out for having been out of the country at the time.

“Why do you want it?”

You stutter through the sentence, trying to distract her for a moment as you mentally prepare yourself for what you’re about to do. You just keep hoping, praying to whatever god is listening, that you can get your magic to work right just this once.

“Stop stalling, honey.. You know exactly why I want it.”

You take her words as your signal to call on your magic, and it appears in a sickly blue-ish yellow glow, enveloping you as you feel it wash over you, turning you invisible. You start cursing internally, knowing your magic won’t last long enough to keep you safe. But you have to try something. 

You don’t know what to do. Just run to your car, which probably won’t work, hide, which also probably won’t work, or somehow try to distract her which is your best bet but also probably won’t work.

So, you start booking it down the hall, the hard thumps of your feet on wood rattling through the old house as you dart for the stairs. Your fingers wrap around the bannister and you start running up the steps, taking them two steps at a time as you desperately search your mind for a good place to hide. 

“It’s funny you think you can hide, sweetheart.”

Agatha calls after you, and you can already hear her making her way up the stairs. She’s taking her time as she follows after you. You bolt down the hall, finding your old bedroom. When you throw open the door you’re not surprised to see that they renovated it, it seems to be an art studio for your step mother now.

You step back into the hallway, remaining invisible as you quietly move out of the way. Agatha is making her way down the hall, her robes and long hair flowing dramatically behind her as she approaches the door you flung open.

“Oh, come on.. Just make this easier for the both of us and come on out.”

She laughs as she sticks her head into the room, surveying it. She must be suspicious that you’re not actually in there. You take the opportunity to do something you’ve never tried before, something stupid that could kill you- and you call on your magic.

You raise your hand, closing your eyes as you carefully begin to draw your power from the pendant around your neck. It’s unstable in its pure form like this, your anxiety bubbling in your chest as you draw it into your hand, feeling it crackle and pop like a fire. You feel the invisibility spell wash off of you like water, your fingers flicking backwards in time with the powerful bursts of magic.

You build the magic steadily, higher and higher as you wait for her to turn around.

When she finally does, you twist your arms, using all of your strength to fling the yellow-blue ball of magic right into the woman. She flies backwards, and you hear the crashing noises as she falls right into all of the easels and canvases.

Peering through the door, you see her in a clump on the floor with the broken and tattered art supplies. She blows a long piece of thick brown hair that hand landed in her face out of the way with a dramatic puff of her lips.

“I thought you couldn’t use magic..”

Agatha grumbles as she climbs to her feet, dusting herself off. She pauses, an uneasy look overtaking her face.

“What.. What was that?”

She groans, wrapping her arms around her stomach where your magic had landed. You let out a breathy, surprised laugh. 

“What did you do to me!? I thought you couldn't use magic!”

Agatha yells at you, rage seeping through her voice as it booms in the halls of the house. Fear grips you again as you straighten up, not bothering to give her an explanation.

She groans out in pain behind you, and you start running. Your feet heavy thumps as you book it down the hall, thinking you finally got a chance.

Not only does she need to realize what's happening to her, she needs to purge it from her body. Someone that powerful shouldn't have an issue dealing with it, but fighting it out should stall just long enough for you to get away.

Or so you thought.

Something hits you so hard that you fall to the ground, landing roughly on your right arm. The force of your body hitting the hard wood beneath you causes your head to snap against the floor too, a loud yelp of pain pushing out of your throat as pain shoots in hot flashes across your skull and down your arm.

A few seconds later you’re blinking dumbly as you try to regain your senses, your head ringing and vision blurry from your hard fall. Your eyes roll in your head, a groggy groan escaping your lips as you desperately try to pick yourself off the ground.

Your right arm is stuck. Shoulder to hand, as if it’s superglued to the wood beneath you. Desperately you pull on your arm, trying to sit up to no avail as you hear the woman approaching you from behind.

You’re basically a bug that walked into a sticky trap, helpless as you watch your impending demise approach you. You turn your head to the sound of boots on the wooden floor, seeing Agatha sauntering towards you, purple skirt swaying around the ankles of her black boots. You’re just barely able to make out a coherent thought through all of the pain and fog clouding your mind- you’re fucked.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, your head throbbing in time with every beat as the woman crouches down before you. You’re unable to focus on her features, desperately wincing and pinching your eyes shut to try and get rid of the pain. Her fingers wrap around your jaw, biting softly into your cheeks as she focuses your lolling head on her gaze.

“I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean for you to hit the ground that hard. Don’t wanna risk damaging that pretty face, hm?”

You blink rapidly as she starts to come into focus. You try to gargle out a response, but find yourself unable to as pain shoots through your skull. She coos at you with wide eyes, raising her free hand to run softly over the top of your head.

“At the very least, there’s gonna be a bump. At the very most, a concussion.. I really am sorry, but I needed this-”

Her hand is reaching towards your neck. Panic spikes in your chest when you realize she’s going to grab your necklace.

“N-no!”

You force the word past your lips in a desperate stutter, your voice echoing through the long hall so loudly that it surprises you. The witch before you even seems a bit taken off guard, curling her fingers back as she retreats her hand only slightly.

“What’s wrong with your magic..”

She asks, her voice soft and firm as her eyes narrow at you in curiosity. Panic is bubbling in your chest, rising in your throat.

“I don’t know.”

You whisper in return, before that all too familiar flash of blue-yellow magic lights up between the two of you. Agatha raises her hands, manifesting a wide, purple shield the exact moment your unstable magic collides with it. A loud noise sounds right when it collides with hers, shaking the house and echoing loudly in your ears. Your head flies in the opposite direction at the force, smacking against the floor once again as your vision goes black.

[malopascal]

One shot: we found our way back to each other

"Can we please just talk..." Pedro begged, his eyes looking so tired and his composure exposing nothing but defeat and heartbreak.

A sigh left your painted lips as you avoided his begging gaze, looking through the room of his sister's home, silently missing the hours the two of you had spent in here, laughing, talking and making love.

"Talk about what? You told me two months ago that you weren't ready for a relationship, that I should find someone else who could settle down", you purposely threw Pedro's words back to him in hopes that they would also cause him the same pain it caused you eight weeks ago.

You finally focused your eyes on the Chilean actor and saw how he closed his eyes in shame and shook his head. "You're trying to kill me, mi amor" he whispered before opening his eyes.

"No, you killed me with those words. I thought that I had meant something to you, we had spend four months together, making all these beautiful memories that I can never forget", you spat as tears started to brim your eyes.

"I know, I know (Y/N)...".

"No, you don't. You don't know that I've been faking a smile for weeks, pretending that my life is so fucking awesome and continuing to work like you didn't rip my heart out of my chest, Pedro".

The actor took a step closer to you and quickly took your soft hand in his, his eyes were begging you to take him back. "Words can't describe how foolish I was. I thought that I had made the right decision, allow you to go and be free before my crazy and hectic life would get in between us, and we'd be forced to break up anyway...".

His words made you frown as you slowly shook your head in disbelief.

"Bullshit, Pedro. I accompanied you while you worked and traveled, still made time for my own life and friends and family and not once did I ever voice or think that your celebrity life would become too much for me...How could you make this decision for yourself and then punish me for it?", the tears were now streaming down your face, the aching pain in your chest making it hard for you to focus as you stared at your love. The betrayal still sat deep in your soul and you wondered if you could ever get past this.

"You tossed me aside for nothing, based on assumptions...And then you moved on like we never happened, like I didn't give all my love to you!" you couldn't help but increase the volume of your voice as you finally had the chance to speak about your heartbreak.

After Pedro had suddenly broken up with you through a quick phone call, he had blocked you and went on a promotional tour of his upcoming projects, making you feel lost and abandoned while he continued to live his life in front of the cameras.

Since the two of you were able to keep your relationship private, due to the fact that you were an actress as well, barely anyone noticed how you were crumbling and pretending like you hadn't lost the greatest love of all time.

"My love, I-" Pedro chocked back on a sob before clearing his throat and wrapping his strong arms around your waist, still looking at you like you were the only, most precious thing walking the earth.

"I just wanna know why. Why did you get rid of me like that?" you placed your hands on his broad shoulders, hating how your heart skipped a beat and a delicate sensation of adoration rushed through your body. You knew that touching him alone would have you weak, but in that moment, you didn't care at all.

"I'm almost fifty, it's been years since I had a serious relationship (Y/N), I have anxiety and assumed that it would take a few more weeks before you would get sick and tired of me and my job and leave me..." the actor confessed with a heavy heart.

"But I can't describe the agony I have been in ever since we parted ways. All I can do is think and yearn for you", his beautiful brown eyes gazed deeply into yours while he leaned in closer, his breath dancing along your lips as you let out a soft sigh. God, that man still had you so crazy in love and a part of you thought that he'd try to make up sappy excuses and then leave you alone.

"I am so sorry for what I did, and I know you're just as heartbroken as I am. It's my duty to earn your trust back and show you the blessing that you are to me. Please...." Pedro leaned in and pressed his soft lips against yours, frowning at the pure sensation of your soft lips against his. You pulled away, your head spinning from the passion while you stared deeply into his eyes, your breath coming out in short puffs as you were overwhelmed.

"Please what?" you exhaled as the tension in the room shifted from sad to something else.

He leaned in again, stealing another passionate kiss while his arms pulled your body closer to his. That's when you noticed something throbbing against your lower stomach. You couldn't help but let out a weak moan as your body was succumbing to this man.

"Allow me to win your trust back and show you that I am your man. Yours." Pedro whispered, his breathing increasing by the second as the two of you stared longingly into each other's eyes.

The wetness already had gathered in between your thighs as all you could now think about was feeling him move deep inside you, have him fill you up all the way and talk you through the sensual acts of love.

"I-" Pedro didn't even let you finish your sentence before he had stolen another kiss from your lips, his tongue tracing your lower lip and silently asking for permission. Which you instantly granted.

His big hands immediately started to roam your body, caressing your breasts and shoulders while he moved the two of you towards the bed.

He kissed your neck after having placed you gently onto the mattress, your silky black cocktail dress already being torn from your body. "I need to taste you", he begged.

You instantly opened your legs and quickly got rid of your thong before your love had his head position in between your thighs. "You're so wet" he praised while giving you a soft smile, leaning in closer to where you needed him the most before darting his tongue out and flicking your sensitive clit.

"Yes", you mewled while throwing your head back, your wetness sliding down your inner thighs while your love instantly got to work and devoured you right then and there. His eyes didn't dare to move away from your face as he needed to look at you. He needed the assurance that he was pleasing you, giving himself to you.

He licked and lapped at your swollen clit and drenched folds, dipping his tongue into your hot and wet cunt, loving the way you weakly moaned his name and grind your hips in sync of his movements. Behind your clenched eyelids, you saw stars as the pleasure took over your mind, body and soul.

"You taste divine" Pedro whispered, moaning your name over and over again while his eyes still didn't look elsewhere. He had always been in awe of your beauty and knowing that no other had seen you like this was making his heart swell in his chest with pride.

Before you knew it, your love was kissing his way up your body, positioning himself in between your thighs while he quickly got rid of his dress shirt and freeing his hard cock from its tight pants.

Your eyes fluttered open and you couldn't help but moan at the sight of Pedro staring down at your face, his eyes drinking in the beautiful sight of you. It took him a few seconds to let his hard cock slide up and down your folds, gathering the slick wetness before whispering how much he loved you.

You couldn't even answer as the sensation of his cock slowly sinking deep inside you overwhelmed you. Your inner walls welcomed the hardness as they stretched and took him deeper. A weak moan left your lips.

"I missed you so much" you chocked out before the first stroke hit you. Pedro closed his eyes and immediately started to snap his hips against yours, hitting your sweet spot over and over again while having leaned down and now gently kissing and sucking on your sensitive neck.

The pure pleasure raging over your body was too much.

The feeling of him buried deep inside you...

His weak moans of your name...

The quick motions of your body desperately wanting to reach that beautiful high together.

It was all too much.

Your toes curled as you felt the delicious knot form in the pit of your stomach, your inner walls were clenching onto your love's cock for dear life while the delicate shivers running up and down your back made it hard for you to focus on anything.

"I am right here, my love. Come on, take all of me and show me you love it. Take it all, it's all yours" Pedro groaned, his hips snapping faster against yours while his hand was now circling your sensitive clit, making the knot tighter and tighter by the second.

You clung onto his broad shoulders as the next deep thrust threw you into the wild, gushing and overwhelming peak. Your orgasm rippled through your body and you couldn't control it. Your inner walls clenched tightly around Pedro's cock as his warm spurts filled you all the way up. That man was almost screaming your name as he continued thrusting his hips in a sloppy manner, wanting this intense and beautiful sensation to never stop.

The weak moans leaving your lips grew softer by the second while the tremors of your high tingled through your body. Your eyes slowly opened and Pedro's adoring smile made your heart swell in your chest.

"I love you'" he confessed.

"I love you too" you responded in a soft huff, still trying to catch your breath.