#we gonna populate this tag babes

[terrytheboxwithlimbs]

"i think we all do shit because we think it's the right thing to do. and sometimes it's not, and we can't change what we've already done, but we can, like, try and be better next time. like make better mistakes for better reasons."

- Alex (Everything Now)

[powderblueblood]

the king of hawkins high

hawkins, indiana. 1960-somethin'. al munson reckons with the reality of his brother being shipped off to vietnam, and carries on a years-long tradition of swapping a ring with his best friend, ray doevski. which could mean nothing. cw: swearing, mention of criminal activities, era-typical misogyny and implied homophobia, guys is it gay to wipe motor oil from your homie's face when they've possibly just set a heinous crime in motion, murder but kind of not really. i didnt proofread this i am really just running on the fumes of vibes atp wc: 6.1k. what goes on. tagging @slowdancer, without whose continued interest in the old man yaoi aspect of hellfire & ice, this would not be possible. i appreciate you more than you know part of the hellfire & ice universe

He comes to with his head against the tile. 

Comes to as in wakes up or comes into jettisoned back to sobriety by the force of his own piss stream, he’s not sure, but he is here and he’s awake. 

With his dick in his hand. 

Al’s mouth feels like a fucking shag carpet. Every bud on his tongue has grown its own ecosystem after the amount of beer and whiskey and tobacco and ketchup and mustard and sugar and salt and smoke and someone else’s spit he’s let populate there. 

It’s been a long… however long it’s been, cooped up in this clubhouse on the outskirts of town. 

Undesirable types like to hole up here and pretend it’s a bar, but it functions more as a halfway hovel. Some genius calls it the Hideout. 

Al just about keeps himself steady as he shakes the last drop out (more’n three and you’re playin’ with yourself), zipping his pants back up with a hop that he instantly regrets. A knife slices right through his temporal lobe. 

The tubular bells have begun to ring and remorse starts to churn in his stomach. 

Time’s up, party’s over, away we go home.

Staggering back out into the front bar, Al catches a fond sight–a shapely, tanned rump lying bare across the pool table. Given that he’s missing a shirt, he figures he must have been splayed underneath that body before nature had called. 

God given miracle he’d made it to the bathroom in whatever state he was in.

One of Al’s hands reaches out and caresses a perky, round cheek, giving it a squeeze. A grumble from the mouth it belongs to, buried under a mass of blonde curls. 

“Kar-ennn,” he sing-songs, voice sputtering like a fuckin’ chainsaw, “It’s after ten.” 

“Mmnff.”

“On a Sunday.” He bends, bringing his mouth to the peachy mound. Teeth sink in. “You’re gonna be late for–”

“--church!” yelps the blonde, darting up and rolling over in this mad scramble to get her frilly old halter dress back on her body. “Shit! Shit-shit-shit!”

“Oh, slow down,” Al says, his brain moving a little slurrier than he’d anticipated–which is to say, he’s still polluted. He cages his arms around Karen where she’s sitting, leaning his perspiring forehead into her chest which stills her in an instant. “God ain’t goin’ anywhere.”

“Yes, but my mother is,” she grabs him by the ears, yanking him to her eyeline–woof, way too much movement, “gonna kill me.”

“Proposal,” Al mumbles, leaning for her mouth but landing on her neck, “I tell your mama that we’re gettin’ married. Tell her the next time you enter the house of God it’s ‘cause you’re gonna make an honest woman outta me.” 

“Al,” Karen sighs, shoving him off and dismounting the pool table. This bouncy blonde, this head cheerleader apple pie type… Al had her nailed the moment he walked into her homeroom that first day at Hawkins High. Stacked to the ceiling, her gorgeous baby blues stuck on him like a fly trap. 

He hadn’t expected to stumble across a babe like her in this glorified cornfield of a town. 

“You’re very cute, and you’re a lotta fun. I mean, we have,” she shuffles in her little skirt; so cute, scandalized by herself by the light of day, “a lot of fun, but no matter how many times you ask, there’s no way I’m marrying you just so you can avoid shipping out.” 

He adopts a slump. “But what if I said I loved ya?”

“You’d be lying!” Karen cries, a phosphate giggle. She manages to find that letterman jacket she came in here wearing and slides it over her shoulders. Lobs a guilty look over her shoulder at Al.

Like he’s supposed to share in some reverent moment of shame, like he should feel bad that he’s giving her what that Wheeler meathead can’t. 

Guy’s graduated and still insists that she wears his letterman jacket. It’s sad. 

“Look, are you coming to that Gomes chick’s party, at least?” 

“Gomes? Gloriana Gomes?” Karen’s gone all incredulous on him. “Al, I’m going to have to try and sneak past my mother after being out here all night–you really think I’m going to risk my neck going to some greaser cookout?” 

“Tell them you’re goin’ to Bible study. Repenting and all that.”

Her mussed curls shudder as she shakes her head, heading for the door with her tennis shoes in her hand. “See you at school. Last week of senior year!” 

—

To Al’s shock and delight, someone’s been paying the phone bill at the Hideout–he wonders what kind of bootlegging operation necessitates a phone line, but he’s thankful for it all the same. Lets him punch in one of the only numbers he knows in this shitheel town and bark, “Bring the Caddy ‘round, Jeeves!”

Forty minutes, his found shirt and a flat beer later, a battered, rusted truck kicks up dust outside of the Hideout. 

“Thought you were dead,” a clipped voice echoes out the driver’s side. 

Al takes his time ambling over. He reaches through the driver’s window and chucks Ray Doevksi’s chin with his ringed hand. 

“Wished I was, more like.”

The greased slick of Ray’s pompadour catches an offensive amount of light, and Al’s got to shield his eyes. He throws himself into the passenger side and lets Ray size him up with customary disapproval.

“Christ, you smell like Corn Nuts and pussy.”

“Take a big whiff, Doevski!” Al rifles through the glove compartment before Ray shoves a soft pack of cigarettes at him. “Might be the last one you get for a while, seeing as you’re liable to strike out tonight.” 

“And what makes you say that?”

“Because you’re sniffin’ after a girl whose big brothers are known Hawkins heavies,” Al scoffs back a mouthful of smoke, more to curb the ever-present craving than anything else. “You don’t got the stones to see a thing like that through.”

He catches Ray’s sidelong glance at him, the line of his hardened jaw with the shiny fucking hair on top. A dollop of oily black, showing up starkly against his pristine white t-shirt. Ray is crisp and calculated-looking, without the starched strangulation of looking like some prep. Ray looks like they peeled Jimmy Dean off the blacktop and reinflated him, gave him a Presley dye-job. 

Brought him back wrong. 

See, Ray Doevski, Al’s best friend, he looks like the sensitive type but he’s all mean streak. 

Al, ever the other boy’s foil, looks like exactly what he is. A hick with a perpetual hard-on and a mouth too smart for his brain to catch up with. Luckily, Al sucked up all the charm in his gene pool; Hawkins has been a cakewalk ever since his folks moved him and his sullen older brother down here from the good ol’ hills of Appalachia. 

In fact, Ray was the first person to step to him about that. Make some crack about they got running water up there yet? Or y’all still bathin’ in pig spittle? 

‘We haven’t quite gotten to experience the spoils of modern plumbing, but your mama was kind enough to let me wash off after I balled her into oblivion.’

Up went the scuffle, and they were immediate friends after the fisticuffs were thrown. 

Since then, Ray’s led Al into the underbelly. The doper contingent that Ray’s foster family has connections to, the bikers trafficking shit through places like the Hideout. The only exciting thing about a town like Hawkins is how many secrets it can hold, and there’s not a whole lot, but enough to keep them entertained for now. 

Ray has designs on fleeing to business school after they graduate. 

The only designs Al has on are his boxer briefs. 

Speaking of, he scratches his crotch. 

“Don’t get crabs on my passenger seat,” Ray monotonously scolds him.

“This passenger seat’s a ward of the state,” Al grumbles. Translation: he knows this truck is stolen. 

“Am I driving you home, then? Is your tail sufficiently tucked between your legs yet?” 

Al hates when Ray acts like he’s his own personal O. Henry story, reading him down to the last punctuation. 

See, his last three lost days on the tear with Hawkins’ grimiest and all their passers-through had been the result of some family problems. Well, not problems. Consequences. Of living as a part of the greatest country in the world. 

Al’s brother Wayne had been drafted. Ticket up, number called. Death certificate as good as signed. 

You’re next, boy, Al’s father had said, If they can find any goddamn use for ya.

 “I’m conscientiously objecting to the whole thing.”

“Shit. Didn’t know you had one of those.”

“Just trying it on for size. I can still return it for store credit.”

The rubber on Ray’s tyres squeal onto Philadelphia, stopping dead outside of the Munson household. Clapboard. Best they could do on short notice–needs a lick of paint that no one got around to sticking their tongue out for. But it’s home. 

It always will be. Al understands that might be why his heart feels like it’s sinking. 

He feels Ray watching him as he stares out the passenger side. A dry swallow. 

He doesn’t want to go back in there. He toys with the idea of telling Ray to hit it again, to keep driving til the wheels come off this thing, so he can stay unmoored and un-privy to the disappointment dripping down the walls of that house. Those stains don’t lift. 

They never will.

“Pick me up at eight, sugar?” Al snaps back into character, simpering with Donna Reed sweetness at Ray. He rolls his eyes under long-lashed lids. 

“If you survive ‘til then.” 

A heave to the rustbucket of a door and Al’s hopping out of the truck. 

“Al,” Ray calls, gunning the engine back to life. “If I make it with Gloriana Gomes tonight…”

“Mighty girthy if.”

“... that calls for a changing of hands.” Ray gestures to the rock on Al’s finger. The Hawkins High class ring, the big brass bastard with its imitation emerald. Green and gold, the colors of their proud and mighty cowpat of a school. It had been Ray’s originally, seeing as how Al had all but dropped out at this point. But there were few things Ray had that Al didn’t want, and vice versa. 

Balls. Charisma. Something big and ugly and shiny. 

Something to be proud of. 

So one day Al goes, ‘Bet your ring I can’t aim this stink bomb clear through O’Donnell’s classroom window,’ continuing his habit of torturing the newest faculty member. Ray’d said sure, because Al’s aim was reliably shitty– except for that day. Bullseye. Screaming. 

Ray had reluctantly handed over the ring. 

Then, at the derelict drive-in where they’d watched On the Waterfront together, Ray’d said, ‘Bet your ring I can’t shake down the candy shack for whatever’s in the register.’ 

A made-up kid-choking emergency and fifty-odd dollars later, Al was handing the ring back.

It went on like that, the bets increasing in risk and moral soundness. The ring bearer was dubbed the King of Hawkins High, a stab at the squares that actually gave a shit. Al lived for it. Not because Ray was easy to best, he wasn’t. One really had to get creative, or not be afraid to be hauled in by the heat. Ray was a worthy adversary. 

Made Al feel like he could accomplish things. 

“That’s a little tame, don’t you think?” Al says. The stakes had crawled up a little higher than balling some chick, no matter how white hot her family supposedly was. Unless, this is Ray really trying to prove something.

The Gomes brothers were the number one name in town for racketeering, gun thuggery, speed distribution… you name it, they had dominion over it. 

If he won over their princess Gloriana, eased into their good books… that’s the making of a man. Al knows that. 

Ray knows Al knows that, leveling him with a steel-edged stare over his sunglasses. 

“See you at eight, sugar.”

—

The Munson household is dark and quiet, thank Christ, allowing Al to slink into the bedroom he shares with his elder brother and catch some well-earned hungover shuteye. 

Sleep sinks him quick, his exhausted, wrung out form hitting the mattress without so much as kicking his boots off. His dreams are vivid and vague, parched and sweaty, indecisive and arresting as they always are after a sleepless bender. In the one he can recall the best, he sits behind a cartoonishly large wheel of a cartoonishly small van. He’s driving around labyrinthian turns, around a trailer park that he vaguely recognises from the outskirts of town. 

Gravel crunches underneath, sounding like bones cracking. Grinding teeth. 

He wants to get out, but he can’t find the lot that he’s looking for. Someone’s yelling at him from outside the vehicle; and he can’t exactly turn his head to see, but he’s vaguely aware of a baby girl lying in the passenger seat beside him. She’s crying and he’s hushing, promising that they’re almost there. 

It’ll all be okay, honey bear! Al’s gonna fix it.

The window of the van is slung low, and hailstones begin to rain in on him and the baby, pelting him in the forehead–

Takes him a minute or two to come to. Wayne stands, a shadowy figure in the doorway with a handful of peanut shells. 

“Dinner,” the elder Munson grumbles. 

“I’m comin’! Jesus!” Al whines.

“No, this is your dinner,” Wayne keeps tossing the shells. “You wanna run off and join the circus, you better get used to circus food.”

“I’d sooner crawl inside of a lion’s asshole than bend over and take it up the chute for Uncle Sam, I’ll tell you that,” kid brother grumbles into his flat, yellowing pillow. 

“Real nice, Allen.”

“You know what,” Al, annoyed now, rustles up in bed, furiously blinking his bleary eyes at Wayne, “When did you go and get so fuckin’ patriotic anyway? Far as I know, your greatest contribution to society was teaching me how to boost a car on my sixteenth birthday.”

Wayne scoffs, tossing the last of the shells onto the floor. “Yeah, and a fat lotta good it did. Still got that… Doohickey pansy chauffeurin’ you around, huh?”

“Christ, you really fell out the sad bastard tree and hit every branch on the way down, huh? Just ‘cause you ain’t got no friends, man–”

“Allen.”

“--doesn’t mean you need to go buzz your head and get a rifle about it, I mean, my god–”

“Al.”

“I think it’s really pathetic, y’know, real pathetic that you’re gonna go play stooge for a system that wouldn’t piss on folks like you or me or Ma or Pa if we was on fire–” 

As if Al really gave a damn about the system.

“Al, you’re gonna have to grow up pretty soon. You know that, don’t you?”

That plugs him up fast. Al’s vision has unbleary’ed itself. A cold jolt arcs through him, one he tries to scoff away. Wayne always does this, drags out the stoic shit because he knows it’s a surefire conversation ender. He’s so solid that way, this living full stop Al has to call a brother. His way or the highway. His way or the chopper. 

Wayne was always telling Al no, always telling Al do this and do that and take the fall, they won’t care, you’re the youngest, they’ll go easy on you and watched as their father snatched a knot into Al’s head that a navy man couldn’t untie.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean?” 

Wayne leans a little heavier on the doorframe. Al can see paint chips loosening where his shoulder presses. 

“Means I gotta go and do this because Ma and Pa won’t be able to survive if I don’t. Not if they got you leechin’ off ‘em still. Which, signs point to,” Wayne gestures to their shared bedroom. A harsh split down the middle; Al’s side is a ragged explosion of dirty socks, underwear, records, comics, cigarette butts. Wayne’s side is so orderly, Al bets he could bounce a quarter off the bed. 

Like he’d been waiting to ship out his whole life. 

“I’m warnin’ you, boy,” Wayne’s tone darkens. Al wishes it didn’t make him flinch on instinct, but it does. “You better clean up your act. Get some kinda life together. Otherwise, you’re gonna end up in prison before your ticket’s even drawn.”

He lets it simmer for a minute, drawing out the silence that he’d usually feel like he has to fill. It’s so muggy, it has been muggy, this quiet between them since Wayne decided he was the kind of person that wanted to do the right thing. Do what he’s told, more like. 

Another knot of a different kind tightens in Al’s sternum. Fear. He doesn’t look at Wayne because to look at him, he would know. Wayne would see it in Al’s face, and Al would see it in Wayne’s. They’re terrified, the both of them. 

Munsons are no heroes. They don’t pull out of things like this. 

Even if Wayne uses all the right moves, likelihood is he catches a stray bullet or blowback from a bomb and goes down. Stupid for him to think anything else would happen. 

Every time Al looks at him, he knows it might be one of the last.

Then again, what else has Wayne got? He wasn’t happy about being dragged by the ear from Appalachia to Indiana. He couldn’t shake the stubbornness to make friends in town. Left school before he even broke tenth grade. He couldn’t hold down a job for nothin’-- Hawkins decided they didn’t like the smell of hick shit that the Munsons were dragging through the place. Their father was barely hanging onto the gig he’d moved them here for, drinking what little he did make. Their mother was catatonic most of the time, drinking twice as much as their father did. 

Wayne is floundering, if not practically dead in Lover’s Lake already. 

Might as well die someplace tropical. 

But where does that leave Al? Al, the spitfire kid who needs Wayne to anchor him so he doesn’t spin completely out of control. He gets this notion of speed, thinks he’s capable of beating God at his own game–not in small part spurned on by Ray Doevski. Gasoline, matches. He needs Wayne, needs his big brother to remind him that the ground below him is hard, not soft. What goes up must come down, and all that shit. 

So, how dare he. 

How dare he choose Vietnam over Al. 

“Well, brother mine,” Al says in a tone smooth as silk, rolling onto his back and stretching his wiry arms up like a languid cat. Smug beats stoic. “Just so happens that army green ain’t really my color. I’ll take my chances.”

—

Hastily scrubbed and half a shoulder of stolen bourbon deep, Al kicks rocks in his shoddy driveway. If he had a watch that wasn’t broken, he sure would check it, then drunkenly shake his fist at the sky and curse Ray Doevski’s tardiness. 

Just as that thought occurs, of course, Ray hits his mark. Skids up to the facade on Philadelphia with a little more urgency than usual. 

“Don’t burn that rubber too fast, now,” Al says, almost missing the step as he climbs in, “You know how tyres are a bitch to lift.”

“Ain’t you gonna offer me a drink?” Ray’s voice is a little reedier than usual–that usually means he has something on his mind. Something cooking. 

Through the encroaching fog of his inebriation, Al gives him a little once over. He’s got a smudge of motor oil on his cheek. 

Al wipes it away with a clumsy hand and feels Ray stiffen. His dark, delighted eyeballs seem to jitter in his skull before he jerks his head away from Al’s hand. 

A moment throbs, and Al pushes the booze towards him. He doesn’t totally understand and it shows as much on his face. 

“S’goin’ on with you?” 

He watches as Ray mechanically reminds himself to relax, chill out, they’re headed for a party. Like the gears are clicking behind his face, evening out his expression.

“Lemme ask you something,” and that vibrancy is back in Ray’s voice, “Your folks still on your ass about gettin’ a job?”

“Like flies on shit.”

“What if I told you I had an opportunity that would make them very happy?”

“Happier than they are with my brother, the Colonel?”

“Way,” Ray’s teeth gleam in the late Autumn sunset, the bodacious orange twisting the planes of his face into a handsome Jack o’ Lantern. “Real cash. And fast.”

Al slugs a little whisky and slouches further down in his seat. “Can’t be any dumber than the bullshit I’ve already heard. Hit me.”

“You’re gonna fuckin’ flip,” Ray shakes his head, “The Gomes brothers wanna cut us in on a deal. They, uh, they’ve gotten familiar with us. Told you it was worth showin’ your face at the Hideout every once in a while.”

Every once in a while, sure… Ray and Al skulking the parking lot, chainsmoking and playing marbles like a couple of errant kids in order to get familiar with the local heavies. Prove they were trustworthy. That they’d see shit, but they wouldn’t say shit.

Flies on shit.

Al jerks forward as Ray steps on the gas. 

“A deal, huh?” Al finally manages. 

“Distribution,” the gentlemen’s term for slinging dope. Speed, hash, benzos. Whatever. “This is a real business, Munson. With real payout. We make the right connections, there’s no tellin’ what we can do with it.”

Ray’s just about frothing at the mouth; Al’s never seen him so jazzed about something before. Similar to Wayne with that cool as ice, hard rock front. It’s unnerving to see it crack. Al’s stomach winches. 

Prison before your ticket’s even drawn.

Then again, what else has Al Munson got going for him?

Ray’s shark eyes reflect a bolt of lightning that doesn’t appear in the sky. 

Al’s groan sounds like thunder. “Fuck it. Sure.”

“Thatta boy! We gotta be at the pickup spot at midnight sharp, Cinderella.” Ray’s hands drum against the wheel, and Al could swear that he sees his bare ring finger twitching. “And–listen, Al. Don’t go spreadin’ this around at the party, alright? Especially to the boys. Mixin’ business and pleasure… just puts a bad taste in people’s mouths, y’know.”

“I’ll behave.”

—

Easier said than done. 

Al wobbles through Gloriana Gomes’ backyard with the grace of a newborn gazelle, but at the very least he can make almost falling into the band’s drumset look cute. Lantern lights above him triple, quadruple, and he’s wondering just what the hell the bruiser bitch put in this punch. 

“Munson.”

“Ah! The lady of the hour,” Al manages almost coherently. “Lemme get look at you.”

He squints through one eye to take in Gloriana’s shapely figure, packed tight into a halterneck catsuit that would make any man shed a tear and cry glory to God. She’s stunning, this chick, with her blunt black bangs and her lacquered cherry lips and her spike heels–but by god, is she lethal.

Al needs exactly this amount of Dutch courage to even fathom speaking a full sentence to her. 

He heard she keeps a switchblade in her bra, which is how she’s won so many pageants. Pure intimidation.

He wants her to shave him bald all over with that very same switchblade.

Lurching forward, his lips brush her bouffant and almost swallow her earring. “Happy birthday, sweetheart.”

“It’s not my birthday,” Goddamn, he can feel her nails dig into his bicep. Whisky dick is being rendered a myth with every passing second. “It’s just a party.” 

“Thassa damn shame, ‘cause here I am with this biiig ole gift for you,” Al’s choking on the chemical tinge of her drugstore perfume and the copious amounts of hairspray she wears. This, the girl with always has a lit cigarette perched in her fingers… walking fire hazard. White hot. 

Al’s hand slides over Gloriana’s hip, only distantly aware that he’s likely in Ray’s direct line of vision–that man rarely takes his eyes off the baddest Betty Hawkins has to offer. 

“You wanna see it? S’in my pocket…”

Those Dutchmen are really onto something.

Her nails dig again and Al wonders, with a throb to the crotch, if she’s drawing blood yet. 

“I’m gonna do you a favor, creep,” Gloriana hisses into Al’s ear, “I’m not going to slap the shit out of you in front of my brothers and their friends, because I don’t feel like helping anybody chop up your lousy little body tonight. I just did my nails fresh.”

“I can feel that.”

Gloriana lightly but politely shoves him off. Her face curls up into this charm-offensive, butter-wouldn’t-melt smile, which is completely at odds with her tough girl appearance. Still, it’s like a cherry nipple on a milkshake tit. Just perfect.

“You and that foster home freak are made for each other,” she says to Al, and he sees two pairs of ruby red lips instead of one. She makes it sound like she’s being friendly. Foster home freak—that’d be Ray’s calling card. Hawkins loves to remind Ray and Al that they don’t really belong here.

And then she’s gone, and Al feels a hand physically propping him upright. It’s dinky, bony and feminine so it can only belong to one person–

“Joycey!” he bellows into the young Maldonado birdy’s face. Now, Joyce is a gal that Al has always had a minute for and vice versa. She was always good for a smoke and a jaw about nothin’, as was he, but he didn’t love having to share his stash of finely toasted tobacco with that lug Jim Hopper she’s so goddamned fond of. 

Joyce flinches at the greeting, wiping a little of Al’s spittle off her cheek. “Jesus H., Munson, wake the neighbors muchly?” 

“Oh, between me and Dick fuckin’ Dale over here,” he gestures in the vague direction of the garage band that belongs to one Gomes or another, he’s sure, “they’ll be up all night. What’s shakin’?”

Joyce digs around her grubby jeans for her smokes, doing Al the honor of both putting it in his waiting maw and lighting it. She shrugs in that tight-shouldered way that she has, always wound up about something or other. She’s so twiggy, this girl–probably why Al’s never tried to put a move on her. He’s scared she’ll have a nervous breakdown or something. 

“Just wanted to see how you were.”

That’s the other thing. Bleeding heart Maldonado, always checking in on her good pal Al. Ever since he’d broke the news that Wayne was Viet-bound, she kept looking at him sidelong, all sadlike. 

“Me? Spiffy, sweetheart. Just darling, if you must know,” Al says, volume and theatricality increasing. “Any day now, I’ll have a full bedroom to myself. Ain’t that exciting?”

Joyce snorts, a puff of smoke coming out of each nostril like she’s the world’s most anxious dragon. “Gonna invite Karen over for a sleepover?”

“Ixnay on the aren-kay, Joy-say! My god, we can’t have the whole of Cherry Lane know I’m balling a cheerleader,” hands cup around Al’s mouth, cigarette still dangling from it, “It’d be just about my ruination!” 

Joyce giggles all big and unbridled, which Al likes because he likes when she loosens up, but it’s swiftly cut off as Al finds himself stumbling into the nearest deck chair–which is to say, into the lap of the person sitting on it. This lucky customer happens to be one Leonard Gomes, affectionately nicknamed Lurch. Guy’s built like a brick shit cathedral, not just a house, with a selection of fascinating prison tattoos covering his neck. Al can’t make ‘em out, even up close.

“Myyy sincerest apologies, big boy!” Al slurs, but doesn’t get up right away. Lurch’s little black eyes are blackening and blackening. “But hey, I’ll catch you later. For our big date, right? Right? Can ya gimme any clues for what we’re movin’, can–” 

Oof, hauled up by the front of his ribbed tank! Only Ray Doevski in full crisis management mode could manage such a feat. 

Just kidding. Joyce could probably do it if she put her mind to it. Al’s about a hundred pounds soaking wet. 

“Hey, this is my favorite shirt, man! Don’t stretch ‘er out!” 

A seething Ray hauls him all the way to the front of the house and about heaves him into the truck. Al complies pretty limply, not hating the feeling of being puppeteered around. His limbs were getting heavy. 

“Daddy’s givin’ me a time out,” Al pouts. And promptly leans out the passenger door and pukes. It’s all bile, three or four days of full bender bile. He’s barely eaten. It scores his nostrils and steams up on the pavement. 

Ray stands just out of the splash zone with his arms folded, waiting for Al to let up. 

When all the blood has been sufficiently drained out of his face, he does. Slumps against the seat. 

Ray doesn’t exactly look at him with anger. Or annoyance, even. There’s a pillowy nature to the way he stares him down, before he walks over to the Gomes’ garden hose and turns it on, stretching it so it’ll reach Al. 

He laps at the water gratefully. A hound. 

Ray digs a vial from his pocket, the kind that comes complete with its own little spoon. Something he’d lifted from some foster kid he’d lived with, he had told Al before. This little number is a sight for sore eyes. 

“The smelling salts. You shouldn’t have.”

Al huffs a bump up each nostril and shoves the heels of his hands into his eyeballs. 

Whammo. Slowly coming back to reality. 

“Sorry.” 

“S’alright.” Ray’s head swivels around, evidently spotting the Gomes brothers heading to their hot rod. His voice comes out tight and he bolts for the driver’s side of the truck. Moves so fast he makes Al dizzy. “We gotta move anyhow.” 

“Midnight already?”

“The witching hour.” 

—

His head wedged into the corner of the open window, Al breathes deep the dusty night breeze on Holland. On the drive out here, you can count down the seconds until you smell the lake. 

Five, four, three, two… Cannonball. 

They drive in an imbalanced silence. Tense on Ray’s end, nauseated on Al’s. But he’s just about starting to come to, starting to clock into the reality of their situation. 

Al had tossed around a little grass before; he came by it easy and could move it even easier. An operation like this, however, with clandestine pickups under the cover of night, with the armored Gomes vehicle tailing them–this is serious. 

Wait. 

Hold on. 

Al cranes his neck to get a look out the back window. They’ve lost the Gomes’ headlights. Nothing but dark, dark road beyond the reddened back beams of Ray’s truck. That’s funny. Guys of that caliber, big pieces of gristle and meat, they’re hardly going to be tardy to their own drug pick-up party. 

“Where’d they go to, Ray?” Al’s voice is a croak when it comes out, fighting against his burning throat. 

“Shut up, Al.” 

“Ray–”

“Shut up, Al.” 

Al shrinks down in his seat, a child admonished. Ray’s hand flexes over the wheel, a man desperately trying to keep control.

They pull around to this shitheap looking place on Lover’s Lake, so bent it’s practically sliding down the embankment. A van already sits there. Black, sleek. The kind a serviceman would have or something. 

Ray kills the engine and some force from beyond prompts Al to grab at his arm before he can jump on out. 

“Ray.” 

“You’re doing this for your family,” Ray seamlessly reminds him, the gaze he turns on him empty. There’s not a waver in his voice. Like he’d been preparing this little bon mot of encouragement. “I’m doing this for mine.”

“But w–”

“Doing it for love. That’s honorable,” Ray nods. His features have taken on this waxy sheen under the moonlight that threatens to bring Al to a dry heave. He’s like a ventriloquist doll, down to the wooden way he’s moving. “I’ve done things for love that you wouldn’t believe. Now get out of the fucking truck.”

Beat for beat, Ray exits the truck, Al exits the truck, then a guy in overalls appears from the shiny black van. All of it moving in this rhythm that’s making Al’s head swim–feels like an unreality. Feels like he’ll blink, be behind the wheel of that van with a crying baby to his right. Feels like a dream. 

Al, for once, clams up. Doesn’t say anything at all, because it’s the only way he can mask the nervous twitch his face takes on when he’s this piss-pants scared. 

But it’s funny. It’s not like a drug operation he’s ever dreamed of. There’s no real shadiness to it. Guy just opens up the back of his van and tosses Ray a brick wrapped in brown parcel paper. 

“Lurch and Palo on the way?”

It’s incredible. To Al’s knowledge, this guy, this guy with all the drugs in the back of his fucking van, has never seen Ray before but implicitly assumes he’s taking point on this deal. What if he had been a cop?!

But Ray Doevski does have this thing about him. Gives you one good, meaningful look and he has you shackled for life. You can’t help but trust him. 

Still waters, man. Just like Wayne, Al thinks and feels something different rise in his throat. 

“Lurch and Palo got caught up. Car trouble.” 

Overalls guy just shrugs and helps load the rest of the packages into the passenger side of the truck. Al, he just stands there. Rooted. Watching him. Ray doesn’t pass any heed; like he’s not even there. 

“Not much of a talker, your guy?” Overalls jerks his head in Al’s direction. 

“Nah,” Ray grins in the briefest of flashes. “Strong and silent type. Right, Munson?”

A light flashes on at the porch of the half derelict looking house. Al can spot a hulking figure in the window, obscured by what has to be clouds upon clouds of smoke.

Ray raises a hand in the form’s direction, as howdy doody casual as a fucking neighborino.

“Who is that?” Al hears himself ask.

“Rick. I’ll introduce you next time. You two’ll like each other.”

Next thing Al’s physically aware of is the pile of packages at his feet as Ray guns the truck to life. This insufferable smirk curls up the corner of his mouth, the kind that Al has an immediate instinct to slug right off. 

A bad feeling, a terrible feeling twists up his guts.

It’s justified about fifteen minutes into their drive back. 

Al sees the flames licking around the plumes of black smoke first, easing up into that inky sky stabbed through with needlepoint constellations. He sees mangled hot rod hardware wrapped around a great big tree. He sees blue lights, he sees red. He sees an ambulance. He sees two stretchers and two body bags. 

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he spits, his lips feeling loose and panicky. “Ray, Jesus, we have to stop!” 

“You wanna stop?” Ray laughs, voice so light you’d swear Al had asked him to pull in so he could take a piss. “You’re sittin’ on a small fortune of narcotics and you wanna stop? Don’t be such a morbid little rubbernecker, Munson.” 

—

The untimely passing of the Gomes brothers brought with it a varied reception. The angle from one end of town was that it’s great when God deals with hoodlums before the law has to. On the other, someone had to pick up the slack and keep the seedy underbelly of this wicked little place nice and satiated. 

Ray Doevski didn’t leave Gloriana Gomes’ side from the moment she got the news about her beloved brothers. She’d broke down wailing in his waiting arms, her red lipstick bleeding at the edges.

Those same brothers who regarded the scheming nowhere kid with such distaste that they’d never let them anywhere near their sister, or their business. 

Over their dead bodies.

The only reasonable move was to remove them from the picture entirely, and step in gallantly. The hero. A picture of suave severity, backroom business acumen seeping from his blacktop hairdo. He’d fill the hole, he’d keep the cash flowing.

When he got the time to cut the Gomes’ break lines, we’ll never really know.

Al couldn’t fathom pulling off such a stunt. 

Ray never admitted to it, of course. Can’t show your hand. Not to anybody, not even your best friend. But there was always this sense of knowing… even if he didn’t do it, he was capable of it.

Once he got over the shock of it all, how quick and seamless Ray had made that elimination, Al was overtaken with admiration. Tinged with latent fear, of course, but admiration all the same. 

When Ray dropped him off at the house on Philadelphia in the wee hours of the morning, Al pressed the Hawkins High class ring into his hand. 

“Well played, my liege.”

“Couldn’t’ve done it without ya,” Ray smiled. “Pleasure doing business.”

Business was right. At Al’s feet sat serious cash. Cash he could use to pull his weight around the house. Cash he could use to get out of Hawkins entirely. Cash he could rub in Wayne’s face, show him, hey! I’m not nothing! I can move this, I can be part of something huge and heavy! I can run this fucking town!

But he didn’t have any clear designs on doing anything without Ray’s say so.

The only designs Al had were on his boxer briefs. 

He was only really sure of one thing. He’d spend his entire life trying to best Ray Doevski. Trying to get that ring back on his finger.

Just for the love of the game. 

[dame-zoom-a-lot]

Boba

For @steddiesmuttyseptember week 4 Prompts: breeding kink | slap | loud | vibrator

Tags: Breeding kink if you squint, Soft Dom Eddie Munson, Brat Steve Harrington, Brat Enabler Eddie Munson, Weird Biology, Human/Monster Romance, Monster Eddie Munson, Monsterfucker Steve Harrington, Getting Slapped with a Dildo Beta: @stervrucht Inspired by the podcast section in Lydia135's "if you need me, let me know, gonna be around". The entire series is so GOOD. I was knocking the 'brat enabler' concept around in my head after reading this section and I hope I've done it some justice. Rating: E Ao3 Link

“How does this even work? You literally can’t get pregnant?”

“Look,” Robin sighs deeply. “It’s not about actually getting pregnant. I can’t even keep a plant alive. Why the fuck would I ever want to be a mother?”

“Then what is it about then?” Steve asks, nose wrinkling. “And why do you need this… squirting thing?”

“It’s about the fantasy!” Robin exclaims. “It’s about thinking about getting changed. It’s just… it’s hot ok? Eddie! Back me up here!”

“Oh, I’m sorry. I thought I was in time out for stating correctly that breeding kink is just normal sex,” Eddie says from the couch, carefully lifting the page of his book with his knuckles to avoid tearing the paper with the sharp claws he has now.

“Ugh, talk about hypocrisy,” Robin says, lightly rapping her knuckles on Steve’s head. “You have a stabbing kink!”

“And? At least with my stabbing kink, I actually want to get stabbed. Right babe?” Steve calls out to Eddie.

Eddie wiggles his talons, grinning delightedly.

“Ugh, you’re perfect for each other. Never break up. Keep that shit contained from the population.” Robin presses her fingers to her eyes. “We are going to discuss this again when I’ve had more time to articulate my correct position. But, the point is, you have to get this with me dingus. I need the discount!”

“Can’t you just get all your girlfriends to buy one each?”

“We’re going to share,” Robin pouts. “And I’d have maybe ten dollars in my bank account after this and that’s with the group discount.”

“And you want me to enable you to buy this expensive-ass breeder dildo?”

“Yes! As you should! As my best friend!” Robin gestures so hard that she knocks her water bottle over. She bangs down on the the table for good measure. Eowyn the husky makes a deeply aggrieved huff and leaves the living room, making as much noise as possible. “See?! Eowyn agrees!”

“Eowyn just thinks you’re being loud and annoying,” Eddie says. “But, Stevie, darling, Birdie’s got a point. Who are you to deny her highness her fated sex-toy fueled bankruptcy?”

“Are you serious Eddie? This thing is like eighty dollars!” Steve sputters.

“Please Steve pleeeeease?” Robin begs.

Steve is getting assaulted by puppy dog eyes from both the side (Robin) and the back (Eddie). There’s only so much he can tolerate. He sighs. “Alright. I’ll get this stupid thing with you. But when you end up moving in with us because you can’t make rent, I’m going to tell you I told you so like a billion times.”

Robin squeals and kind of crushes him into the table with an over-enthusiastic hug.

Eddie throws him over his shoulder and marches him into their bedroom the moment Steve gets home.

“Eds, baby, what,” Steve wiggles, trying to find some sort of balance. “At least let me wash my face first, you menace.”

“Dude. Lay off your routine for one day,” Eddie insists. He throws Steve on their bed. “You’ve got to see this. It’s here!”

“What’s here?”

“The breeder dildo thing Robin made you buy with her?”

“Oh, ok?”

“Did you forget Steve? It’s only been a few weeks!”

“I didn’t… I didn’t know you actually wanted to use the thing,” Steve says laughing. “I thought we’d give it to Robin once she realizes it’s kind of gross to share a toy between partners.”

“Well, I did want to use this thing, my light, vanimelda,” Eddie pauses to lick up and down Steve’s neck. He jumps off the bed to grab something off the drawer. “And it’s here!” Eddie probably meant to hand Steve the toy. But he’s so excited that he kind of chucks it at Steve. The thing bounces off his face to land on his lap.

It’s not like any dildo he’s ever seen before. It’s vaguely phallic, sure. But it looks more like some sort of tentacle. A tube runs through the middle. There’s a pouch attached to the end of the tube. Some sort of a switch and dial dangle off the dildo itself. The pouch is full of some sort of liquid. Steve squeezes the pouch and whatever was in there gets pushed out the toy. It’s more of a sad dribble than the ‘squirt’ the ad promised, but it’s something.

“Ok, so the pouch is to squeeze...the eggy cum and that’s what’s coming out of the dildo?”

“Yep, yep,” Eddie nods.

“And what’s the… dial for?” Steve tries twisting it. He jumps back when the thing whirls to life, spraying fake cum everywhere. It’s loud.

“It’s a vibrator,” Eddie says with a glint in his eyes.

“I see that.” He feels it too. The vibration travels up his inner thighs right to his balls. The wetness feels pleasantly sticky. He was dubious before, but he isn’t anymore. Steve shifts a little and moans. Eddie giggles and pushes the vibrator harder into Steve’s legs right below the crotch.

“Do you see the vision now my love?” Eddie croons. “I’m going to get you nice and open with my tongue while this thing is vibrating against your cock. Then I’m going to put it inside you, still vibrating, while you fuck me. Does that sound good? Would that please you my dearest? My preciousssss?”

“Yes, please, all of that, minus the Gollum voice.”

“Alas, I see that I’m too far ahead of my dear Steve, but one day you’ll see the full vision.”

“Munson, I swear to god, if you make me picture fucking Gollum as I cum—”

“That would hardly be the weirdest thing I’ve done to you so far,” Eddie says, gently tracing the vibrating toy up and down Steve’s inner thigh. “Now, let’s put our hard-earned dollars to use, shall we?”

*********

Steve is on his back, wrists and ankles tied to each other on either side so he’s held open. His hair is still wet from his shower earlier. He has his blindfolds on. He can hear Eddie moving around him, taking his sweet time, occasionally licking him.

“Eddie. Please,” Steve gasps out. He’s been hard for so long it’s getting kind of painful.

“Please what babe? I thought you wanted to get all nice and cleaned up and ready? Weren’t we taking our time?”

“I just wanted to get the work gunk off of me! Not permanently lay splayed out like this!” Eddie laughs. Steve feels Eddie’s palms go up and down his belly. He writhes around, humping at nothing, trying to get any kind of friction on his poor sobbing cock. Then Eddie finally, finally, scratches down his side. Steve moans loudly. “Yes, please, that, again.” He hopes it’s bleeding.

Something soft and slimy slaps him hard on the face. The slime runs down his cheek. Steve pokes his tongue out as far as he can to catch and taste it. There’s something soft and bubbly in it. Steve keens and works his tongue, trying to work more of the thing in his mouth. He wants to swish it around, play with it, figure out what it’s reminding him of. Why does it make him feel so much hotter and worked up?

“Awww Stevie, you just wanted a good cock slapping?” Eddie croons. Something sharp, probably Eddie’s claws, pricks into Steve’s pecs. It hurts just right.

“Yes, yes. Again. Please.” Steve pants. Eddie slaps him with the toy again on the other side of his face. Then the thing gets shoved right into his mouth. Steve can feel Eddie’s cock rubbing against his. Steve sucks the toy hard, mewling. He’s pretty sure he’s drooling all over the pillow. He can feel the toy’s weird custom lube running off his cheeks onto the pillow as well. Laundry’s going to be a bitch. But it’s hard to care about that right now. Eddie’s soft fur rubs against his side. Eddie’s claws at his jugular, holding him in place. And there’s something delightfully slimy and squishy leaking into his mouth and out the side. Why is he getting so hot and bothered by the texture?

Eddie leaves the dildo in Steve’s mouth and moves away. Steve wiggles and whines, blindly looking for Eddie.

“Just a second love. Just a second. Gotta get to your pretty hole,” Eddie says with a reassuring pat on Steve’s exposed belly.

The bed shifts as Eddie moves off the bed then back on. Eddie’s tongue prods at Steve’s asshole. Steve can’t talk–there’s a leaking silicon tentacle in his mouth. Instead, he lifts his ass as much as he can to communicate that Eddie’s tongue should have been in Steve’s asshole yesterday (well, it was there yesterday, but that’s not the point).

Eddie’s particularly messy today. The slobbering, schlep sound of Eddie eating him out is driving Steve insane. He accidentally bites down hard on the very expensive dildo to. Fortunately, the thing holds. A training bead joins Eddie’s tongue, then two. Steve starts pumping his ass against Eddie’s tongue because he needs something bigger than just anal beads and tongues in there now. Eddie sputters and laughs.

“Ok, ok my liege. I did promise,” Eddie tries to pull the toy out of Steve’s mouth. Steve knows he should stop sucking on it. But it feels so good now that he’s gotten used to the silicon-y smell and taste. “Steve, baby, I can’t put this in you if you won’t let me take it.”

Steve keeps sucking.

“You want to keep it in your mouth?”

Steve shakes his head, whining.

“You want it up your ass?”

Steve nods, sucking even harder.

“So no take, only plug?” Eddie’s hands shake. He’s laughing so hard.

Steve knows he’s being impossible. But it tastes so good.

“What if,” Eddie says, running a knuckle up and down Steve’s taint, sending little jolts of pleasure across his inner thighs. “What if, I replace the dildo with my cock, and you can suck me off while I put the dildo up your ass and make it vibrate?”

Oh, that sounds perfect actually. Steve finally lets go of the dildo so Eddie can pull it out. He can’t resist giving it a little suck on its way out. Just a little one, as a treat. There’s a loud pop when Eddie manages to extricate it.

Steve smacks his lips, missing it in his mouth already. Eddie gently eases the toy up his ass. It goes in easily. It’s shorter than Eddie, but much thicker. The novelty of this new type of stretch almost sends Steve over the edge. He flexes his thighs, determined to last at least until Eddie gets his cock into his mouth.

Eddie eases himself in, and it’s heaven, being filled both top and bottom. Steve runs his tongue up and down Eddie’s cock, paying special attention to the sensitive scales that run along the side of Eddie’s dick. Eddie bucks a little, then hisses an apology. Steve can’t tug him deeper into his throat since his hands are tied, or tell him to buck harder, since his mouth is full. He tries to send the message anyway by bobbing his head as much as he can. Eddie gets the message and starts thrusting hard.

Then the dildo up Steve’s ass starts vibrating like Eddie promised. But in Steve’s defense, he was a little distracted by Eddie’s delicious, bumpy cock hitting the back of his throat. Steve almost clamps down on Eddie’s dick in surprise. Eddie squeals when he feels the beginning of Steve’s teeth. Steve manages to right himself.

“You good?” Eddie asks, giggling a little hysterically. Steve nods.

“Not gonna bite my dick off?” Eddie continues. Steve shakes his head.

“Not gonna bite my dick off even if I turn up the vibrations?”

Holy shit. He’s already so close, and he could have sworn that the vibrator was at its max setting already. It’s ripping through all of him from head to toe. But he’s not going to back down from a challenge. Steve opens his mouth wider and loosens his jaws, getting ready the best he can. He shakes his head.

Through the power of love and some other minor miracles, Steve manages to leave Eddie’s dick intact in his mouth as Eddie turns the vibrator up, and up, and up. He shakes with the effort of keeping the dildo inside; of not biting his boyfriend’s cock off. The toy is so loud it nearly drowns out Eddie’s grunts and moans as he chases his own orgasm up and down Steve’s throat. Steve feels perfect, like a thing made to take and give pleasure. He comes at the thought of being used and at the spurt of Eddie’s cum down his mouth. Steve swallows, relishing the slimy texture and the little squishy bits that pop in his mouth. Oh.

Eddie pulls out in a rush when Steve starts choking and sputtering. Steve howls with laughter as soon as his airway is free. Fuck oxygen. He needs to get these feelings out.

“Steve, Steve, talk to me. Did I break you?” Eddie sputters, laughing with Steve now that he’s sure Steve isn’t about to die from choking on his dick.

“No, no, it’s just…” Steve works his jaws. He sounds wrecked. He definitely feels like it too, loose around both his mouth and his ass. Words take so much effort. “I was trying to figure out why that dildo’s custom cum thing felt so nice.”

“Because it’s slimy and wet?”

“Yeah, but it’s also got like… little squishy bits in it.”

“Oh, what? Eww,” Eddie wrinkles his nose.

“No! It’s like eggs! Like tadpoles!”

“You’re really not selling the appeal here Steve,” Eddie says, gently untying Steve’s right wrist from his right ankle.

“Well, your cum’s like that, so,” Steve says, using his freed hand to stroke Eddie’s side.

“What?!”

“Babe, did you not know?”

“Oh, oh my fucking god. I’m never coming down your throat again. No, more than that. I’m doing a celibacy pledge. I’m a monk now. Stevie, you’ll never have to deal with my squishy cum again.” Eddie stops untying Steve to hide his face behind his hands and fluffy hair.

Steve finishes untying himself and tackles Eddie. Eddie squeals as Steve kisses him all over. “Eddie, if you really want to be celibate for the rest of your life, I’ll stay celibate right with you,” Steve says between little pecks and caresses. “But! I’m so into your cum. I’d guzzle it down any day. And judging by how many people want this dildo, I’m not alone.”

Eddie blushes. “You mean that?” He asks quietly.

“100%. You’re perfect. This was lovely.”

“Can I deal some psychic damage though? I thought of something while you were pulling me away from the brink.”

“Ugh, way to ruin the moment.” Steve pouts. “Alright, shoot.”

“So, you said this payload is a lot like my cum right?”

“Yes, and that’s why I liked it so much. Because you’re hot, and smart, and beautiful. I love how everything with you is so different, and this thing reminded me of that and—”

“Right, right! I’m assured now Stevie. So assured. But let me get to the point.”

“Ok?”

“Robin and her harem are all going to be breeding each other using my cum,” Eddie sings out. He cackles when Steve pelts him with their slimy, drool-soaked pillow.

[hadesfucks]

do you have wenclair fanfiction recommendations to share pls?

Omg omg finally *shuffles notes* yes!

All fics are completed and linked! Let me know if one isn’t working!

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

Wenclair :: Catch me, if you can by @bitusgardn

The Wenclair Detective Au everyone knows and loves, brought to us by bitusgardn. Featuring my new favorite tag “Enid is a homicidal killer”

To Love So Deeply, To Not Fear Death by AnimeWolf38

In which the Addams Family is immortal! Cute little oneshot to give anyone a little pick-me-up

Welcome to the Internet by Bee-nut

Enid has Wednesday create a Twitter account, and much like all of us, the internet population thirsts over Wednesday Addams. Enid gets jealous, hilarity ensues.

The Taste Of Yellow (It’s My Least Favorite Color) by SaltyKombucha

Wednesday “what did you just say to my girl” Addams. Protective bitches. Gonna be honest I can barely remember it but I remember it was dope as hell!

Practice Makes Perfect, After All. By Aliakim

The age old “practice kissing” trope, and it’s glorious. Featuring Wednesday “totally not projecting onto the main character in my book” Addams.

Unpacking by Incomplete_pegasus

The babes have separation anxiety. Softness ensues.

Reset by Eggplant_Crusader

Wednesday Addams is oblivious as hell. Please check out eggplants other works they’re so great omg

Hall of Fame

Dances With Wolves by wolfwars

The Wenclair Fake Dating AU except it’s with Enids family! Mild spice warning I guess? They make out and Wednesdays a masochist but we knew that already. Justice for Mr. Jellybean

If we make it through December by overnights

Fake dating AU but with the Addams Family! Very in character of both of them. Eventually no one can find the line between real and fake. Bianca is mentioned once (1) and is still a whole mood.

(unless you’re dying to) cry your heart out by exalteddm

THE BEST FIC OMG (I finished it when I got this ask). FEATURING: AroAce Wednesday Addams, Hanahaki Disease, and exploration of a potential QPR. This fic truly has it all!

if you smell something burning, it’s my heart by Rennajade

Flirting through music! Feelings realization and denial! All in one! One of the best concluding chapters I’ve seen yet. Thing is a little shit. Wednesday Addams is Autistic.

Happy Reading Anon!

[ommsims]

caption: living the chai life

ps @boomchicapopdatsims i didn’t forget about that cutie you sent me either. 😉

[cinnamonest]

(Omg I saw asks were open again 😭💦 just wanted to give you some appreciation firstly. You've been putting out such amazing works. Thank you for working so hard. 🤍) I wanted to ask if you had anything to add to the male majority au you wrote about last time 👁👁🔥 I was wondering more about the laws I guess? Are there any repercussions for taking someone's wife? not an unmarried runaway or public property but legally owned and married to one man. I figured some men are powerful enough to have a whole harem 😂 (zhongli comes to mind.. and Xiao is just like 💔 all these wives and I don't even get one 🧎Zhongli's wife may or may not be off limits.. but his mistresses... 😗) And what would happen if someone other than Venti touches one of the nuns in mondstadt?? 👀 the lonely horny guys who pretend they visit church for prayer- but they go there to see the cute girls 😂 one might end up missing if no one's looking 😗 and if any of the nuns run off for any reason or get their virtue taken away (by force or otherwise) are they stripped of their status? You can elaborate on anything else you feel like babe!! Keep up the great work 🤍🤍

Male Majority AU - Continuation

YES I have had so much more thoughts on it since I originally wrote omg I love this worldbuilding (and ngl I'm so glad y'all asked for more bc now I have an excuse to ramble on and on about this AU lmao). I'm including more... worldbuilding lore...? Or whatever to call it lol, plus some updates on our poor darlings from last time, and a few new ones (and revised one for Xiao bc I had a new idea!) Eventually I want to update on the other boys in this AU as well, and yes especially an idea I had for Venti :3 and have some other more specific asks regarding it that I'll be getting to as well, but have this in the meantime!

Here is the original post for anyone who missed it as well! And as I just said I'm gonna get to some of the other asks for it as well, I got a surprising amount of them! I'm surprised people liked this so much :0 so soon I'll add this to the masterlist and the tag will be "#.mmau" from now on >:3

Some notes:

- I made a section for the Fatui mobs bc I know we're all horny for them

- after being a heartless enabler for so long, and due to mentioning that Verr would merely have to be the wife while Huai'an would be the actual inn owner, that inspired me and now I have finally decided Verr needs to get what's coming to her, we finally have a Verr!Reader to compensate for her transgressions against all the poor Xiao darlings in the other universes

Warnings: horrendous misogyny (like. it's bad. steer clear if that's not your thing), slutshaming, breeding/impreg galore, gangbang noncon in addition to the normal noncon, forced fem/forced changes to a feminine appearance in regards to clothing/hair, slavery/trafficking/prostitution, degradation, all the good stuff. This is morally abhorrent and a sin against femalekind. Neat!

But firstly, some more worldbuilding stuff:

There is definitely some unrest among the average male citizen population. A large portion of the girls are owned by the wealthy or at least middle class, more or less. The ratio of the population to the number of females possessed is highly unbalanced -- the top 10% maybe of wealthy men own about half the world's women. Then some middle class, and then maybe a few commoners, but it's rare. Another reason for this, of course, is a commoner can't afford to have a girl guarded and secured like a rich guy can and thus puts himself at risk, but still, it's unfair. (But yes it's the bourgeoisie female-havers versus the proletariat incels lmao)

So there is a lot of resentment. And consequently, there is certainly some theft going on, among other means. I mentioned this in the original post but, come wartime or any sort of conflict between rival nations or groups, they figured out a long time ago how to get plenty of young men to voluntarily sign up to go fight -- advertise and propagate the possibility that they could obtain a girl! They... leave out the part where it's still very unlikely they'll get one. They inflate it to the best of their ability, they go hard on using it as a means of attracting potential soldiers. And... it works. Hell, they don't even need a draft. Even the normal world and this one alike, if there is any one thing that can be used as a motivator and lure like none other, it's pussy.

In that time, it's fair game, finders keepers, that sort of deal. Now, in contrast, in peace times, and unless you're from some organization that tends to kinda bully their way into what they want (read: Fatui), there are some less savory methods. As mentioned in the last post, runaways are a somewhat common occurrence. The law technically says that if you find them, you turn them in so they can be restored to their proper owner... but come on, it's idiotic to think any individual guy would actually do that. The only issue is the paperwork.

See, each girl is registered with an owner, there's a written database somewhere per nation that keeps tabs of each one and who legally owns them. In the case of a runaway, the girl is still, technically, the legal property of her owner on paper. Within the same nation, at least. It gets... legally messy when border-crossing is involved, since the registrations are per nation. Technically, there are international laws stating that if one is found, they must be returned... but in practice, it's iffy. Law enforcement may return you to your home nation and owner, but reassigning you to someone new is often less effort on their part, or just selling you to a market for profit, or one might even take you for themselves. Even without that though, traveling to another nation is ideal, as your home nation will have posters with your face on it, law enforcement alerted to your situation, etc. Consequently, most escapees make a direct beeline to the nearest border -- even if you're caught, you stand a chance of being assigned to a better owner than the one you ran from. It's about a 50-50 chance of being sent back to your original owner versus being shoved onto a new one if you're caught in another nation (think like a 50-50 pull guarantee... but both possibilities are awful). That being said, the owner can make a report, and offer a specific reward amount/bounty for finding the runaway, and if it's high enough, even the law in another nation might see it as worthwhile to return you.

However, in the case of being found by someone who isn't the law... well, you don't belong to anyone here. So while they're technically not supposed to, most legal agencies will allow property registration for "unclaimed" girls who are very clearly runaways from another nation. First they just run a check to make sure it's not a runaway from anyone in that nation, but they're not gonna bother to check outside of it, so the boy can essentially just sign some papers and be done. Generally, any boy in this situation will do exactly that, because now that you're his property, if you go missing he can legally file for a search, and anyone who finds you will be legally obligated to return you. A man caught harboring/holding captive a girl that legally belongs to someone else, and especially daring to engage in any sexual activity, are crimes known as human property theft and human property damage respectively, terms coined specifically for this occurrence.

Alternatively, you can forge papers -- a lot of the black markets mentioned in the previous post will provide fake registration documents you can present when asked for papers. Some will even have people on the inside who can forge your name onto official written database documents. And, of course, if you're good enough friends with someone in the actual legal system, they might be able to turn a blind eye and/or change up some documents as a favor for a friend.

And, as aforementioned, there's straight-up theft. This is the most dangerous for the male party, of course, because as you can imagine, punishment for that whole 'human property' crimes is severe and, depending on the nation, can range anywhere from years of prison to actual death. But it happens, boys are just desperate... and often times the girl is in on it too. Belonging to some wealthy, but gross old dude, one that beats you and is cruel to you and uses you? Who would want that? The money isn't worth it... but there's that cute guard that works on the estate property, who's so so sweet to you, who blushes and smiles and is younger and handsome... as you can imagine, this is a scenario that is not actually all that uncommon. Especially as there's so many owned by the wealthy, and even the black market ones either have to be somewhat well-off. Obviously, this leads to a lot of buyers being very old rich dudes, and not exactly appealing to the girls they own. It's considered something of a stroke of good luck to be owned by a younger, rich-kid sort of boy, or bought by a younger guy who saved up money.

Another important thing of note is that, despite being overall more horrendous for women, virgin obsession isn't nearly as big of a deal, although they still have obnoxious ideals of "purity". Virgins are virtually unheard of and nearly nonexistent, but most still would be devastated to find out you've been communal at any point or had a ton of men before... everyone knows that the more cocks one girl has taken in her lifetime, the more addicted she is and the less satisfied she'll be with just one! And she'll almost certainly try to run off with another man! This is a well-known fact. Still, sometimes they just can't help which ones they fall in love with... so most guys are forgiving, they'll just have to keep an extra close eye on you and make sure to keep you more frequently stuffed full to ensure you don't get any ideas.

All of that said, there's an obvious logistics issue to be worked out here, of course, something that really doesn't make sense on it's own - if there are only so few women... where are all the guys coming from? Which would be the natural question to have about such a universe.

Well, seeing as the birth ratio is so unbalanced, it stands to be reasonable that other aspects of birth are equally different in this universe -- twins and triplets are extremely common, expected even. Single births are the less common occurrence. Not to mention, fertility goes on quite a bit longer, a woman is still very highly fertile even well into her 40s and 50s. And culturally, they... really push poor girls' breeding capacities to their limits. The average girl will spend pretty much the majority of her adult life getting pregnant back-to-back with very little time for respite in between. And with the frequency of multiples, this all amounts to the average woman having a lot of children, averaging around 20. Which may very well all be boys, seeing as (if we go with the original premise of a 95-5 male-female ratio), only about one in every 20 births are a girl, but plenty have even more yet never have a girl.

Which presents a new problem -- who has the resources for that? Well, they don't. Only the wealthy can really afford to keep all their kids, and even then they often hire caretakers since the mother has difficulty handling it on her own. As for less wealthy people... well, some just actively choose to have fewer kids. But in this universe, that's actually somewhat shamed -- see, people are gonna have kids anyway, so if you don't have a ton, you're not helping to keep society running! Not to mention everyone should have as many kids as possible so there will be more girls in the world, right? If people only have a few kids, that means women will become even rarer, and that would be tragic.

It's a cultural thing.... well, a cross-cultural thing, seeing as it's a present sentiment in literally every culture here. But people don't really stop to question it, it's just a known cultural pressure to have as many as possible. And you know all those brothels and gloryholes? None of them get birth control of any kind, unlike many in the real world. Why would they? Breeding is the goal at all times, even if the father is a guy who you only ever felt through a wall for about 45 seconds. Of course, it's better to have an actual owner, since that makes life more bearable in general and gives a kid an obviously better environment.

Still, ultimately the many young boys are dealt with in various ways. Many are adopted out -- after all, there's so many men out there who will unfortunately never have a girl (tragic) but still want a kid, even if not by blood. Many of such men are basically just craftsmen, operating under a system (there was a similar thing in our world across various cultures in eras past) where a young boy is basically adopted out to him at a very young age and trains under him so that he has someone to inherit the business. Then that boy grows up, and if he's not fortunate enough to acquire a girl, the cycle continues. So ultimately, the average couple will keep the firstborn and maybe the second and third or so on before they simply run out of resources and have to start adopting out. Unless, as aforementioned, you're wealthy, in which case you just hire people to help raise the kids. But for those boys that get adopted out from middle or lower class families, often times it's shortly post-birth, and they don't live in rich areas (where female-havers are more common), which means you have a good deal of boys who have literally never seen a female in their lives.

And speaking of age and the whole wealth disparity, part of the reason that girls are passed around and resold so often, and so often the same ones over and over, is because due to the wealth and class standing imbalance, unfortunately many men participating in owning girls are gross old dudes, as previously mentioned. And, well, they die. But seeing as women are not exactly considered fully autonomous humans, they don't get the luxury of being able to live comfortably off of his inheritance, and there's no point in leaving a perfectly good female to sit around not being actively used. So they're just collected by whatever law enforcement or legal system is in place in that particular nation and resold again. Being sold to a young man is, as addressed, often considered by girls to be both a potential blessing... but also can be a curse -- sure he's not gross and could even be cute, but you're stuck with him for the foreseeable future, possibly the rest of your life. So if he's mean or annoying, well, you're stuck with that.

Now, checking up on our poor, poor girls from the last post since they ended up in their situations...

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Childe is so, so happy now that he finally has his own trophy! Now he doesn't have to sit there at meetings as the only one without a toy in his lap.

Of course, even someone of his status still has to go through the whole registration/legal process. It's always so hard to get the girl's thumbprints, sigh. But the legal agencies are used to how much they thrash and struggle, so they hold the paper down with paperweights and help the man hold the girl still and force her arm out enough to press the ink sponge to her thumb and then thumb to paper, all with fury in her eyes and making awful, almost animal-like sounds through clenched teeth. They even keep a little jar of cotton balls on the shelf for those occasions where someone gets scratched or bitten.

See, they have developed technology (through whatever fantasy explanation you deem most believable - ancient Khaenri'ah technology rediscovered, some sort of kamera-esque mechanics, etc) that reads thumbprints, and most girls know this. It's basically a death sentence to any hopes of freedom from the man you're with once that print is on record. Childe is fairly strong though, so he doesn't really need help forcing you still. Intertwines your fingers so you can't curl your thumb back (it also doubles as a cute romantic gesture, how nice!), pins one arm behind your back and holds the other extended, easy. Besides, if you put up too much of a struggle, he can grab you by the jaw and murmur through clenched teeth exactly what will happen to you if you continue to be a little brat about it.

In general, whenever his sweet little wife is being bad, he can remind you how lucky you are to be his and not a piece of public property, not like the communal fucktoys of the rest of the Fatui either. How would you like to be shared between fifteen different men, hm? Fucked day in and day out and constantly having to quell fights over your holes? No, you wouldn't like that at all, would you? Instead, you get one man who really cares about you. And yet you continuously misbehave, as if you're not grateful for the life you get to lead. Little reminders are necessary.

They are also a lot more... open, in this place. The communal property girls don't always get the decency of privacy. It kinda depends on the guy, but most... don't really have a privacy option. Most very low-ranks sleep in military-style housing, you know, like huge rooms with multiple rows of small bunk beds. The most privacy you can get is fucking with the covers over you both in a room with at least several other guys in there at any given time, or trying to sneak off to a closet or something, but that's more difficult maneuvering. But plenty are shameless -- you can easily walk down the hall and find some poor girl on her knees while some guy is leaned against the wall skullfucking her, pulling her head up and down. Walk into the locker rooms to shower, they already have some bukkake-esque gangbang going on with every orifice in the girl's body completely stuffed all at once and drenched in cum from the rest jerking off on her. If a meeting or announcement is taking a while to start because someone is running late, someone might just bend one over the meeting table and the others join in and soon they're running a train on the poor thing. Some random locations around the building complexes at HQ will even have random soft mats and pillow-esque cushions and furniture laying around here or there if there's no beds nearby, since bending them over tables can get uncomfortable. While each girl is *technically* assigned to a specific group of anywhere from 5 to 30 guys or so (depends on her rank), in situations like that, no one is really going to take time to check whether or not each one in line is a part of the assigned group. Nor would anyone notice when you yourself used to sneak away when such things took place, not wanting to be exposed nor being able to stomach watching it happen. It always made you sick for the rest of the day imagining that that could soon be you if you made a single small mistake.

You, on the other hand, now get a nice bright collar that's specifically a different color from the other ones so people know it's off-limits. They have a whole color-coded collar system to designate which rung or group a girl is assigned to. Neat. Yours is even more special in that, as with other harbinger pets, it gets a metal plate with the owner's name engraved on it. Not that that matters too much, it's not like you're really ever more than a few feet away from the man. But you never know what bastard might be stupid and desperate enough to try anyway. But it's the same idea as far as privacy, the harbingers don't really have any either. They're desensitized to the point that they don't even cast a glance your way, as if you're not even there when you're squealing or crying out -- unless it's one of the ones that likes to watch. But if you really screw up, he's not really going to hesitate to punish you in front of others. In fact, the humiliation just makes the punishment that much more effective.

Unfortunately (to him), you spent so much time trying to pass for a male that you have some of the behaviors ingrained, so he thinks. You just have to... unlearn those behaviors. Because, based on what he's observed of the communal ones here, they're naturally really submissive and obedient, soft-spoken, sound a bit nervous when addressed. Yet you continue to act otherwise -- something must have gotten mixed up with your brain and needs to undergo a sort of factory reset, back to default settings, somehow. And besides, all boys grow up being told what girls are like, even if they're never met one, and read about them in books, see representations of them in theatre, etc. And they're always portrayed the same way, sweet and docile and submissive and loving, and that they love being owned. They like being property. He's read once or twice that they don't even really have thoughts and opinions other than pleasing their owner! That's what all the ones in the media representations and tales are like, and those are written by guys that know a lot about women, right?

But you, you're very... masculine... Well, keeping in mind that he sees basic dignity, having a will of your own, and ever doing anything but smiling and agreeing with everything he says and doing everything he wants as masculine traits. You speak loudly sometimes, like, at a volume where people can hear you?? The only time girls are supposed to be heard is the squeals and cries of getting fucked in public. That's excusable, but actually talking? Especially in a defiant tone? All that time pretending must have messed with your head. But no worries, it is a well known fact -- so he was always told -- that sex is more or less a cure-all for their behavioral issues.

Which turns out to be quickly proven correct -- bending you over and pounding you back and forth has you quickly apologizing, whimpering that you're sorry and won't do it again. Even after he cums in you, you just lay there twitching and staring off into space. You must be deep in thought reflecting on your actions, and thinking about how wrong you were to misbehave like that. Sometimes you just forget your place, which makes sense considering all that time you spent pretending to be a guy... so you just have to be reminded of what you are and how inferior you really are, and the best way to do that is overpowering you and stuffing you full.

Also making sure you present normally again. Nice soft dresses and socks that come up to your thighs. If you had short hair and it's possible to grow it out, obviously that will be a required change as well. Jewelry and pretty little bells and ribbons for your collar. All little things to hopefully set you back on the right path.

---------------------

I also like to think of another poor darling that is communal... assigned to the lowest grunts (don't lie to yourself you know we all thirst for the Fatui mobs), to take care of their needs. The Fatui buys them in bulk, saves money that way. Such bulk deals are usually available to organizations and the like. Like if you buy 10, each one is 25% off, that sort of thing. However, being assigned to that lowest rung on the hierarchy is considered by the girls themselves to be the worst possible role you can be assigned.

See, they don't bother to assign you to a specific group. You're just... communal. A couple of girls are assigned to the entire rank of those lowest grunts. Go walk around the premises, so you're told on the first day. They have that color system for the collars, so people know what you are. Just go in circles around the facility, you'll easily be stopped dozens of times before you can even make one full lap. The lowest rung of newbies and grunts has a lot of people, though. And what's worse, the newbies are, well, newbies. Mostly young guys (and thereby hornier), and you might be the first female they've seen in their lives. Many such young boys who have recently reached adulthood leap at the first chance to join the organization that promises free sex with a real live girl -- in fact, you kinda start to think many of them joined for that sole purpose... not that they can just get theirs and leave though. The organization (despite being the ones who actively advertise the free sex thing in the first place, it really is a good recruiting method!) has planned for the possibility of those who join just to get some coochie and then bail, so they're required to sign contracts of guaranteed service time.

Still... the phrase that comes to your head is like animals. You're not sure how many in total, you're just sent out into the general crowd of all the newbies and lower ranks all gathered around, there's at least 200 or so, and only yourself and maybe two others... You cautiously walk along and get your first face to face encounter with a group of five or so who are very clearly young guys... the kind who you're fairly certain truly have not seen a girl before you, especially given the look of awe and fascination and lust in their eyes, and the way they were all talking to each other but dropped silent and open-mouthed as you turned the corner. It's... awkward for you... should you say something... are you supposed to offer or...?

But you don't really get the time to consider it. It really is animalistic, you don't get to say a word or do anything before being more or less pounced upon, body contorted in all sorts of ways as different pairs of hands grab at various parts of you trying to pull you in different directions. One of the bigger ones can more easily brute force his way into shoving the other aside and getting inside you rather quickly, picks your whole body up to twist you to face him and fucks you from underneath, making your ass and mouth available for two more, and maybe one more cock in one of your holes once you start to dissociate and your muscles involuntarily go lax. But of course, the commotion just draws more of them over, and quickly gains interest. At first, you can acutely feel when one slides out and another in, usually only a second in between or so, but soon you start to go numb from friction, only barely aware of the sensation of friction and gagging on the repeated pounding on the back of your throat. You can only really tell when there's a rotation between the ones taking your mouth based on the fact that you can see them, and even when you close your eyes you're aware of the gasps of breath you get to take when your mouth is empty. You lose your sense of time. And your consciousness, since you only get a few breaths here or there. There's finally a point at which most of them are spent, you get a few moments to lay on the ground twitching and staring out blankly with empty eyes. And then someone comes over and starts shaking you, a concerned sort of voice asking if you're alright... oh, your eyes turned to look at him, so that means you're okay. Now he can fuck you without worry. There's always some of those 'vultures' as you come to think of them -- they feel uncomfortable or nervous trying to get in when there's more of a... crowd participation, so they wait until things have died down to come enjoy what's left afterwards.

It's only a taste of the coming days, some worse than others. The days tend to meld together, you sleep in short intervals of a few hours at a time to a point where you are only barely aware of whether the sky is light or dark. It's all one repetitive cycle of the same thing over and over. You prefer it when it's just one at a time. Training days are much better for that reason, only a few have breaks at a time and you have a lot more one-on-one encounters. In contrast, once a month or so they all get a day off all at once, which you regard as your least favorite day of each month.

Due to the normalization of it and lack of privacy, it's a lot of scenes that would probably look bizarrely casual to someone from the outside. A group can just be up on a weekend night drinking and talking but on the other side of the room the rest of them have a girl bent over a table. They have military-style athletic drills each morning, but as part of motivation the ones currently drilling can see off to the side where the ones who have already finished running the laps are getting ridden and sucked off laying on the grass. Guys in their down time talking in a group, each sitting on their own tiny bed, but after a few minutes they have to shout at the guy all the way at the end the room to put his hand over the girl's mouth because she's so loud they can't hear each other. ...And that when he's done, tell her to come over their way. They can keep having their conversation over the wet sounds of each one getting sucked off, you move from one to the next in a short circle.

Of course, there would seem to be an easy solution... hide, right? Go sit in a closet or something for the duration of the day. And you can try... but the thing is, over time, the boys learn who you are, learn to recognize your face and voice and can tell you apart from the others. Some consider you their favorite. Talk to you a bit even, as they often tend to do when they want someone to smile and nod while they complain. You get a lot of repeats, each one tends to gravitate towards a different girl based on their preferences. They're so sad when they can't find their favorite... sad enough that they go tell a higher-up that they can't find you... and then they come looking for you... and that does not end well. The girls who attempt to hide or sneak around and get caught (and they all eventually do, even if they get away with it for a while) generally don't ever try that again.

And the other problem with "favorites" is that there's only one of you and maybe ~30-40 or so boys that consider you their favorite. And they want to spend time with (and inside of) their favorite whenever possible - and some whose "favorite" is occupied decide to come to their second-favorite instead, there's still plenty of sharing all-around. This creates conflict. Sometimes mild aggression, snapping and snarling at each other until one gives in. And then sometimes, the conflict actually gets violent. Like watching rams butt heads. It's almost difficult to believe they would get so violent over something so trivial in your mind, but all you can do is stare wide-eyed and stammer trying to get them to stop.

But occasionally, you get the soft ones, and that... makes things more bearable. Sweet boys that only come over when the others aren't around, because they don't want to fight (or know they couldn't). pull you over to their tiny little assigned bed or into a closet and actually have the humanity to ask if anything hurts or if he's doing something wrong. Usually spewing nice things about how you're so pretty and feel good, even awkwardly thank you for your... services... once you're done. Stammer something about how he didn't know they'd be so warm... as if he was expecting females to feel like a plastic doll or something. Other "softies" as you think of them are the opposite... they're silent, saying nothing, not looking you in the eye, but you can feel their trembling hands and recognize their efforts to be gentle, actually caring about your own well-being. Some even seem to try and make you feel good. And sometimes, afterwards, they will ask you to stay... for just a few minutes... if you can...? Is that allowed?

It's not -- you're supposed to go try to find another as soon as one is done -- but you can make an exception. Sometimes they ask you questions... boys in general always seem so fascinated, like you're an alien species or something, and almost seemed surprised by how similar you are to their own humanity. Sometimes they end up venting. Spilling out all their problems and frustrations, emotions all pent up and no one in the world to share them with except for you... they usually apologize and get embarrassed afterward, though. And some just lay there quietly, hug you close to them, nearly fall asleep. Might be the only chance they'll ever have to do so. It can only last a few minutes until someone inevitably comes around and notices your holes aren't being stuffed and tells you to either fuck the boy or get up and find one that will. You at least offer the poor thing another round if he's able before you go.

And sometimes you remember them, too. There's tons of them, sure, but sometimes you recognize the same faces, and they recognize yours too. Once again, for some you're the favorite. Some boys develop an attachment to you and specifically seek you out, desperate for a sense of connection and relationship and not just empty sex, even if that "relationship" is as pathetic as searching around for the same girl again. They call you by name, but you don't have the heart to tell them that you don't remember theirs. Not among the dozens and dozens of ones you've met. It's much easier for the 100+ boys to be able to distinguish between three or four girls than it is for you to tell them apart... but over time, as the whole "favorites" thing gets settled in, the same boys come back to you over and over so frequently that you do start to get a somewhat better idea of who is who. You remember little details about them, some act or position they like, something they once vented to you about... but the names you always have trouble with.

You like to think that you can come across those boys again, once you've completed the first year of service and automatically get promoted up a rank where you can finally be assigned to a specific group. The starting rank is 25-to-1, so there's a chance of having one of those sweet soft ones in the group, right? You hope so. Besides, apparently at the third rank up you can actually wear clothes! They give you lots of motives to hope for 'promotions,' but after the initial one you have to actually be chosen for a promotion, so the motive ensures you're on your best behavior.

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Chongyun is a special case -- I didn't mention him in the last post but I have since thought of him more in regards to this. He gets a female after they realize it would be, well, good for him. Yang energy is traditionally associated with masculinity, yin energy with femininity. So, how to curb his whole yang energy problem? Balance it out with a healthy dose of pussy yin energy. At least, such is what his family decides on. So they all pitch in a bit, it's the least they can do for him, given his talents and effort, and eventually gift him a girl.

And, as aforementioned, you're rather lucky -- he's a sweet young man, handsome, won't harm you or beat you and genuinely cares about you. He really does try, albeit very awkwardly, from the moment you arrive he's stammering out constant questions to ask if you're okay and comfortable or if you need anything.

And, to everyone's satisfaction, it turns out it works! He has noticeably less episodes and maintains better calm around you. Of course, it's probably not so much your presence so much as the fact that he's pounding every conceivable frustration into you, but same idea. He uses you in the same way he used to use the popsicles - whenever he starts to feel angry or heated, he just defaults to pulling you away to the nearest private or secluded spot. Even if there's nothing to bend you over, pounding into your throat works just as well. He always feels a little bad after, apologizes for getting so rough, but that is your purpose after all, you were specifically purchased for the purpose of assisting him with this issue.

On that note, you actually uh... help attract demons. The whole energy thing balances out and helps neutralize his energy so that demons won't vanish at his mere presence. So really, you do help him with his job. He's very proud of this teamwork. You... exist, and he takes care of the rest! You make a great duo that way.

However, in this universe he's essentially forced to be a little more severe than he'd normally be. Here, the whole "every other man is a threat" isn't just a yandere's delusion, it's like, actual reality. So while he can normally be a bit lenient and a bit of a softie, the inherent nature of this universe dictates that he can't afford to be like that here. He tries his best to be understanding, but you have to understand you can't just run off like that! Don't you realize someone might steal you? Hurt you? What would he do then? He wants to protect you as much as he can, but come on, you have to cooperate with him. If you can't listen, you'll just have to be on a collar and leash like a lot of other guys do with their females. He knows it's humiliating, but you left him with no choice.

And consequently, he's a lot more defensive towards others than he'd normally be. He's self aware enough to know he can be a little bit naive and dense at times. So he can't trust anyone, they're probably all looking at you and plotting in their heads how to steal you. Consequently, he spends a bit more time secluded than he used to, preferring to take you out for walks in the wilderness area rather than the harbor. Whenever you walk in public, heads always turn to look at you, some guys point at you and there's murmurs of wondering how a guy so normal and young-looking managed to get one, must be secretly rich or something.

And if someone tries to come up to you or speak to you or mock him, poor thing is immediately defensive, assumes they're trying to initiate physical combat... and responds by pulling out his weapon which basically IS initiating physical combat... at least he's managed to win every fight thus far.

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I actually really like the idea briefly mentioned from last time that Diluc's darling actually was one of the public property girls. But consider, you just... kinda kept quiet about that when you were being looked over... You knew that this man telling you about his son would be less likely to buy you if he knew that, and you latched onto the hope of being with a younger guy.

But the behavioral standard is huge among the upper classes. Poor thing... you're all wide-eyed with fear knowing full well you're never going to remember all the things this man is telling you about his son and exactly how you're supposed to behave for him. He lays out all these house rules, not only simple "don't do this" rules, but rules about everything -- what you can and can't touch, a specific set of tasks which are the only ways you are allowed to spend your free time, which house staff you may and may not speak to, how to address him, how to address your new husband, how to behave when there is company, topics you may not bring up and which topics you should to make him happy. But, as he says, that's more specific to living here -- he trusts you already have the basics of how to be submissive and respectful ingrained, right?

You don't know how to tell him that you weren't raised to know any of these things, that the only thing you were ever taught how to do was take dick, none of the etiquette. You don't know how to be a good wife, you were never taught, it was assumed you'd never be in that position...

But he's not cruel, he softens a bit when he sees your wide, nervous eyes. Alright, maybe he's going a bit too fast... you're of lesser intelligence, after all, your brain probably can't absorb so much information at once. You'll go over the basics, then. Don't look anyone else in the eye except your husband (you may also do so with himself, since he's trusted). If anyone else is in the room, don't speak without permission. Said permission may be obtained by looking at him and pointing to your mouth or tug on his sleeve, to which you then see if he nods or shakes his head or asks what you want to say, and comply accordingly. And if you do speak, speak to him, not to the room as a whole. You should already know this, of course, it's only standard. If there is something you wish to communicate to another person or the room -- a situation that shouldn't really occur often, but just in case -- you lean over and speak into his ear and he can repeat it to the other person if he finds doing so acceptable. You do not speak directly to or look at the other person.

That being said, such a scenario shouldn't arise often. Your husband will know enough about you to answer basic questions -- surely you are also aware of that much. That if someone asks your age, your name, your place of origin, or anything of the sort, you stay silent, he'll answer the questions, not you. After all, the other party isn't going to be asking you anyway. They're going to ask how old is she, what's her name, not "you" or "your." No man is insane enough to speak to some other man's girl directly, such a thing would be considered extremely inappropriate and even possibly an insult or sign of aggression or a threat.

You're so, so nervous when you first start out, trembling and afraid of messing up... but it turns out your master is fairly understanding. A bit blunt -- says there's no reason to be so afraid, he's not gonna hurt you or anything. That being said, he does quickly prove to have some... explosive tendencies. It turns out that he will, in fact, hurt you when you screw up, albeit not too severely. It's only so that you learn your lesson. And he's fairly understanding at first, he cuts you some slack for the first week or so, letting you off with a sigh. Only a week in or so does he start implementing more serious consequences for bratty or defiant behavior or failure to comply with a rule.

Eventually... the truth comes out and, one day by some means, you accidentally more or less let it slip that you were once one of the public property toys, either a brothel worker or a glory hole or the like. You freeze up with wide eyes... he closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Well, this is... not a pleasant thing to hear. Still, he forgives you.

That's his specific wording. Forgive you. As if it was ever your choice. Forgive you for being a slut, forgive you for hiding it... but, that explains why you're such a brat sometimes. You're so used to being full of cock all the time, that you get grumpy whenever you're not. Well, that can be worked out. Now when he works, you can just cockwarm him while he sits at his desk, or ride his fingers too. Problem more or less solved. But he'll still keep a closer eye on you... and be a bit more insecure from now on.

---------------------

Xingqiu's darling is in a similar situation. His family puts a slight more emphasis on a certain issue though... his father is rather disappointed to hear that you've been here for all of three months and you aren't pregnant yet! Does his son not care about having heirs? They already hired caretakers and consulted a doctor and everything, all in preparation that once his son got a wife, there would certainly be a few kids soon after.

They hire a doctor, of course, hoping that will fix things. Said doctor merely tells them that you're just uneasy and nervous and adjusting to a new environment... nothing to worry about. Soon, the issue will work itself out. Until then, just make sure you're breeding multiple times a day, every day, make sure nothing spills out. He even recommends specific positions that are more likely to conceive.

In general, though, your new life is pretty easy to adjust to, especially considering it's incredibly relaxed and luxurious. You don't really have to do anything other than sit there and open your legs whenever you're told to do so. The rules are easy to follow - much like the Mondstadt norms, it's mostly basically just not looking at or speaking to anyone besides him. He gets pouty when you make a mistake of looking up at a house guest, or once when you accidentally forgot and spoke to his older brother unprompted. That being said, he's not as strict on rules of dress. While you're supposed to be extremely modest as per the norms, he actually kind of likes seeing you show a lot of skin, especially if others are present that can see it.

That brings us to another issue with him as a result of him being... the way that he is. He likes showing off. He does have a degree of humility to him, and we know he's generally very pleasant and good-natured, but he's sometimes very lacking in self-awareness in regards to things like wealth and advantages he's had. He's always been that kid that would just "why don't you just buy a new one?" whenever something expensive breaks, stuff like that. That is, he's aware he's wealthier than others, but sometimes fails to grasp just how significant the gap is, and just how much of an advantage he has over others.

Thus, he commits a mistake made by many younger guys that get wives when they're just a little too naive -- he shows you off to everyone. I mean, can't really blame him for being excited, you know? So whenever he sees one of his friends in town or has friends come visit him, whenever people come visit his brother or father even, basically whenever there's anyone at the estate, he's very quick to bring you out to stand beside him in a not-so-subtle gesture as if to say look at what I have! You can always feel the jealous, seething gazes of less-fortunate others, even witness the occasional whining of a young man of similar age asking his father how come he doesn't get to have a wife while that guy does? And that -- knowing how jealous others are -- makes him very, very happy.

It's also very, very stupid, which his father has tried to remind him multiple times. It's like he's trying to get into trouble. If he keeps showing off, some dude is going to try and steal you, if not even try to attack or even kill him in the process. But he just can't resist the temptation, everyone has to know! It's bound to get him in trouble eventually...

And it does... from one of the estate servants, of all people. At one point, the guy decides has had enough of seething in bitterness as he watches you every day, waits until he knows the young master is occupied. You always try to escape the guards who are set to watch over you at those times, they're so suffocating. It's one of the few rules you break regularly, much to your master's displeasure, but you can't help it, you need your space. You take a nice little stroll to your usual secluded spot, out in one of the family's gardens... but you feel watched. Like there's someone there... but you're convinced you imagined it until there's a hand over your mouth and a voice telling you to hold still. Well, while he intended on just stealing you away, the way you squirm and whimper is just too cute, so it won't hurt to have you once right here and now... but oh, it does. The guards are rather used to you running off by now, so they check on you more frequently, know the spots you often hide in, and it's not long before one finds you, right as the poor guy was about to shove his cock inside...

And you do almost feel bad for him. Having taken a chance at something he'd otherwise have no chance of getting in his life. They don't really forgive these things or take any chances, and the wealthy can more or less do what they want in this regard, so said guard follows through with the known instructions and runs him through on the spot. You wince and cover your mouth, tears fill your eyes... and the guard realizes he'll probably get chewed out for doing it right in front of you, sigh, should've thought about that.

But not as reprimanded as you. What were you thinking? Not to mention how many times you've been scolded and punished for trying to run off in the past. It's inexcusable. He realizes now he's been far too lenient with you, letting you get away with this in the past with a mere slap on the wrist. But this time, you will be punished more severely, and in the future you will be attending all major functions with him, no matter how much you complain about being 'bored,' unless it's something private that he can't bring you into. In which case you will be watched by the guards consistently, rather than having them guard your room and merely checking in on you every few minutes. It's necessary, so his father and older brother advise him -- they're incapable of 'learning from their mistakes' in the way men are, they simply don't have the brain capacity to understand how their actions lead to these results nor recognize when they're engaging in the same behaviors again. So it's for your own good that for now he'll be keeping you on his lap at almost all times.

---------------------

Kazuha has an interesting case because him and his darling are going to be on the road a lot. With his complicated relationship to Inazuma and his status as a wanderer, he can't really go get you registered, as he's not a citizen of Liyue or Mondstadt or any other places you travel.

Of course, he still introduces you as a wife whenever people meet you. He can't tell them the truth and risk someone taking you or reporting him, of course. You two are just a traveling duo, going from place to place (I keep envisioning a Lawrence/Holo dynamic except much less willing girl lol) together... except it's not exactly willing on your end.

But unfortunately... he finds out you are from the nation he found you in. And, according to your own words, your (legal) master is a fairly influential, wealthy person. If you were caught by law enforcement, they'd surely take you away and imprison him for theft or worse. Still... he's had a taste of what it feels like to be inside you... it's worth it honestly. He can't just let you go. He might end up one of the guys who purchases fake papers in the end to be honest.

But yes, he has no intentions of returning you. He can be your master now. If you had a mean one in the past, he promises he'll be better. He's very insistent on this, brings it up quite a bit. It's what he always reminds you, always says -- he'll be better than any master you had before. He'll be good, promise, make you happy. So don't be scared of him. You'll like him if you stop being so nervous and distant. He makes up this concept in his head that you had a horrible master before him, and any issues you run into are attributed to that, regardless of whether or not that's true (although confirming that is the case will just make him more insistent on the matter). He has heard lots of awful stories about terrible people who don't appreciate their wives. He's not like that, promise. You're just defensive because you're afraid he will be the same. Traumatized, poor thing.

He's sure you'll like him more eventually. But without legal registration of you as property, how can he get you to stay, you ask? Well, he has his ways. After the first little while of encountering you (and forcing you on your hands and knees and breeding you right there by the river you were bathing in), he tells you that he's rather exceptionally fast. If you run from his side, he will catch you. That is the simple truth and something you need to accept. You cannot outrun him, he guarantees that much, he says. It will be easier on you both if you just stay by his side.

After acquiring you, he makes a beeline for the nearest blacksmith to order a set of iron-linked leather handcuffs (they already have a ton for sale, as its a very popular item). Two pairs, actually, just for security in case one breaks. So, his solution is rather simple: when you sleep, he cuffs your wrist to his. He wears the key as a necklace and tucks it into his shirt, makes it so that you can't retrieve it without waking him, and, well, that's how you two sleep. Although, if you've been bad or tried to run, he'll leave it on throughout the day too. In most cultures, young boys are taught lots of things about girls, in case they end up with one. It's usually incorporated into the education curriculum. For example, he was always told that females have a habit of being very spiteful and overdramatic, and often they will run off... not because they really want to get away, but because they are being bitter, or angry over something and want to make their master panic out of spite. Or, if they feel ignored and unloved, they will become bitter and run off to try and get their master's attention and affection.

So when you inevitably do try to bolt, he tries to handle the situation based on his knowledge. Has he done something to make you feel unloved, that you want his attention? If you wanted attention, you only need ask. Perhaps you were embarrassed to ask for such a thing... well, he will make more of an effort to be affectionate. Your long walks down the roads are often quiet, maybe he'll try speaking to you more.

But like any young man, he's fascinated by your existence. Never been around one up close. You don't get much traveling done, the first few days. Too busy finding out what he's been missing out on his whole life. He's so sweet about it, yet... forceful nonetheless. You're very clearly trying to pull away, but he just murmurs that it's okay, you just need to get used to it. You probably really are traumatized... from the bad master you had before. Maybe he was mean to you. But he's better. If you stop squirming so much, you'll start to feel good. That was another thing he learned from a young age... they often may be reluctant to have sex because they're scared or unconfident, and that's usually because of past experiences. So, you have to be extra nice, or so was the solution they were given. Because they're made to breed, so once you get past the mental barriers they may have, they start wanting it all the time.

He certainly can't wait for that. So he encourages you to transition to that as soon as possible... he figures praising you should do the trick. Every night out by the little campfires you two set up at dusk, pounding you on your knees, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close. He goes out of his way to praise you as much as he can, telling you how good and pretty and tight and warm you are, how much he loves you, how hard you make it for him not to cum in you too soon. If you feel more confident, you'll reach that breaking point and become a little slut for him more quickly. And, he has heard that girls can orgasm too, it you rub at their parts and kiss them enough, so he tries his best to achieve that as well, feeling very proud of himself once you finally do. He's sure you're well on the way to accepting him soon.

---------------------

The best thing about Albedo's synthetic girl is that she's continuously modifiable. He can add new features on at any time through a process he developed that will allow him to make certain changes to the brain at small levels. So when there's a behavior he doesn't like... He modifies. Over and over until his little wife is perfect.

He can influence the things she likes, even, the very core of her thought process, he manages to go above and beyond in perfecting the process used to make himself and take it so much further. He makes you like the same activities and foods and topics that he likes. He makes your internal sleep rhythm the same as his. He makes you like the same temperature of the room as he does.

And he makes you like him. The first modifications are things that he could, perhaps, manage to find a real-life girl who matches it, but he creates in your head an innate dependency on him. Your brain is set to trigger and release large rushes of certain chemicals and endorphins with specific word phrases or actions. If he walks into the room from outside, you get a huge rush of serotonin. When he's been gone exactly five hours, any happy chemicals are rapidly stripped so that you'll feel a sudden wave of sadness, increasing the contrast to the burst of happiness you'll get when he returns (he's kind enough to at least allow you a little bit of time without having to put you through misery every single time he leaves for a few minutes). And when you disobey him, your pain receptors go off, so that you can't do anything he told you not to or not do what he asked without feeling physical pain that will get worse and worse the more you defy him. And when you do what he wants -- when he pats the top of your head or calls you good -- that word and that action are set to trigger another onrush of happiness. You become addicted.

And, of course, he took the liberties of some other modifications as well, specific to your very nature. You have a very low IQ. Your thoughts are limited. You don't really grasp a lot of complex topics. And that's fine. You don't need to grasp much of anything. You really only think about making him happy and the things you're supposed to do. But a lot of your time is spent with your head quite literally empty. Sometimes he lets you stay "on" while he's gone, lets you do things like draw or color or make food, but sometimes he has something he does that puts you into a sort of "dormant" state -- not quite sleep, but rather the absence of thought. Your eyes close, but you don't enter sleep, yet your brain has no activity at all. Just... dormant. Perhaps he's simply so paranoid that, despite all the measures he's taken, he's worried that somehow you'll still find a way to think thoughts he doesn't want you to have, or to think about running away, to think about others... so it's best you don't think at all. He sees cases all the time of how men who thought they had loyal loving wives still have them run away... that only contributes to his paranoia.

Finally, of course, it only makes sense to make the sexual modifications. You have a significantly higher amount of certain hormones rendering you horny more often than not. Not that you can do anything about it on your own, since he has a belt fastened around your poor cunt -- specially sized to fit you specifically too! The most you can do whenever you're alone is desperately hump at pillows, poor thing. Not that that works either... obviously he would make it so that you physically can't orgasm unless he's the one doing it.

You're afraid of going outside, too. The four walls are comforting. If he's there, it's okay, but to even walk close to the door on your own makes your heart beat fast. You'd never dream of leaving. And when there are other people -- other people terrify you. Unnaturally so. Which he's rather proud of -- ah, those other guys are out there fighting for scraps for girls who are just going to be grumpy and disobedient anyway, all because they're desperate for sex. Not him, no, he has a perfect girl.

A little too perfect. So perfect that he has to constantly watch out. He does become rather paranoid. You're so perfect that anyone who sees you will certainly want to have you. Guys killing other guys for a female is already a not-too-uncommon occurrence (hell, even in our real 50-50 ratio world it isn't all that uncommon), so how much more then does he need to worry? That's why, after a while, he decides people can't know you exist. At first, he was somewhat proud to show you to others... after all, just having one is something that gives most guys bragging rights. But he's rather perceptive, quickly catches on to the looks of bitter hatred from other guys, not to mention that the first time he told people he made you, he was flooded with desperate guys wanting him to make one for them too... and his refusal to do so was probably a source of frustration... so he knows he needs to be a bit more discreet.

He just sort of starts hiding you. Spending more time in secluded encampments and not taking you outside unless there is no one else. Hoping people kind of forget about you and stop bothering him. But they don't. People still ask him where's that girl he normally has with him?? It gets bad enough that, in order to deflect, he finally 'confesses' that you 'ran away' and that he's been looking for you, but he didn't want to come across as so incompetent he'd let a girl slip through his grasp... sigh. He even goes so far as to officially report you missing, so that way it looks really authentic when there are posters and the like out for you.

The problem is that now he can't afford to slip up and have anyone find out that he was lying -- he has to keep you completely and entirely secluded, living away from others permanently, always looking over his shoulder every now and then. He knows you mean well, but he doesn't trust you to not accidentally make a sound or something if someone is coming by, so he puts you into that dormant state and slips you into a box in a closet or under the bed whenever there are people coming to visit. He always takes such good care of you when you come out of that state all groggy.

But you don't mind the fact that you never see another human being, that he's the only thing in the world that you know. You wouldn't know any better. And besides, he's already modified your brain to be incapable of being angry or resentful of him anyway.

---------------------

Xiao is only vaguely aware of how it all works... he mostly ignores the relations between humans themselves. But to be honest, he always has been somewhat curious about the females themselves... shrouded in confusing mystery to someone like him even more so than the average guy. There's a twinge of curiosity, every time he sees someone come through with one in tow... but it doesn't concern him, so he just shakes his head and clears his mind of the curiosity whenever such thoughts arise.

Of course, here the inn is owned by Huai'an, so that's the only person he ever really sees. But sometimes... he hears a voice coming from the room where the owner stays. The distinct sound of a voice that is so different from anything he's used to hearing that it immediately captures his attention. Softer, higher than anything he usually hears. He's aware that the guy has a wife (she was a gift actually, courtesy of the Qixing for all his hard work), but he's only very rarely seen her, and only at a distance, she almost never comes out. Understandably, there's so many unsavory types of men that come through the inn. Though he believes he wouldn't do anything bad and he's not a threat (yet), he is culturally aware enough to know he's not supposed to get too close to someone else's property. He's seen plenty of fights break out over things like that with humans.

But over time, he does at least become curious. It can't hurt to try and physically see what you're like up close. The women that visit the inn, whenever one of the ones fortunate enough to have one comes through, always stay close to the guy's side and cling to them and quickly get behind closed doors, he never catches their faces, they usually look at the ground. But there's a window to the innkeeper's room, and there's a perfect large branch of the tree that runs right below the window that would be perfect for perching upon to look through, and he can disappear in a mere instant if you spot him, so he waits there... tilts his head to watch... you're just sitting there now. Reading something. A normal activity to be engaged in, so that's a similarity. Although he knows a lot of them can't read, so you must be more educated than most, hm.

But many suspicions and rumors he's had are very quickly confirmed just by watching you go about your day, many things that he's heard spoken of can be seen. The clothes you wear over your chest when alone in your room are somewhat tight, so when you breathe he can see the... chest mounds move up and down with each breath. It's captivating. He could just kinda watch those for hours. And he does.

And eventually, you stand up, stretch. Change clothes. Huh, they're shaped weird. The waist and thighs and hips look different. They're not quite as straight, depending on the darling he notices they kinda... have a curve here or there... or for others, it's really curved, either way, how strange... are they all like that? Surely it's not just you, right? It really is weird. But it's a good weird. Nice to look at. In fact, lots of things are different... the way you walk and stand, even, when you stand still you sort of rest your weight on one foot and your hip pokes out.

And then, you start to turn around, so he has to dash away for a bit. And then the innkeeper comes back too, so all he can do is listen. He can't make out the words, just the muffled voices. But he can make out the sound when you laugh at something. The sound sends a warm, tight feeling through his body... odd. He was unaware their voices had physiological powers. In fact, he notices he feels all fuzzy and warm and jittery every time he spends time watching you. This is something particularly interesting, a similarity you have to him -- he assumes this effect is due to an energy you exude, just like how he had adepti energy that can have effects on humans. He must have just never been close enough to one before to have had their energy take effect on him. How do the humans withstand that energy for extended periods of time? It makes him feel so strange, and he's unsure yet of how to deal with it. He can't imagine they simply bear the effects without doing anything.

His curiosity probably should have been satiated from that, so he's not entirely sure why he comes back a second time. A third. A fourth. Watches you go about your everyday life. He tends to wait around for the part where you change clothes, and has memorized the time of day at which you usually do so. Sometimes you hum to yourself, and he likes that sound a lot, can just close his eyes and listen and rest. It's soothing. And he does that for a while... and becomes progressively more daring. You take naps during the day, so finally he gathers up some courage and decides to kinda... slip in through the window... oh, wow. Up close the differences are more obvious. Your shoulders and the shape of your face and body. It's all so strange. He has just an urge to... touch you... presses a hand to your skin... so warm. And then he hears someone coming up the stairs and has to bolt out again.

And that... becomes a routine. He finds himself thinking about your more and more and the urge gets stronger and stronger and soon he's jerking off over your sleeping form and trying not to cum directly on your face. Cautiously pulling your shirt up to expose the chest-mound things you have. Personally, that's his favorite of the "different" things of yours. Needless to say, he realizes that this is the method which humans use to purge the effects that your energy has on them.

And he finds himself feeling some tight, unpleasant knot in his stomach whenever he sees the inn owner walking around. Hmph, what did that guy ever do to deserve something so pretty? All he does is run an inn. And he doesn't even let you really leave the room! Well, he'd do the same in that position, but it just makes him mad to see someone else have such a policy. And at night, he can hear the sounds of you squealing and moaning through the walls... it makes him feel nauseous. Makes him grind his teeth.

And the worst part is that the owner can be mean to you. He ignores you, doesn't spend any time with you, only comes by to fuck you and then goes back to his business. He's even cruel, sometimes speaking rudely to you and getting angry at you and yelling. Sickening. It makes him seethe. How could someone be so ungrateful?

Well, if something were to happen to the owner...

I mean, is the inn really even that necessary? Sure it provides him with a place to stay while in the earthly realm, but it's not as if he doesn't have his own place to go whenever he needs to. It's bigger too, expansive, maybe you would like it better. Then you could go outside sometimes, out in the sun and grass, and you'd be safe from any other male while doing so. And he'd be so much nicer to you, he'd actually spend time with you.

Yes, you would like being his so much more. And, while he's normally humble and has no issue with a thankless role, he starts to rationalize it that way -- doesn't he deserve it? He keeps humans safe, takes care of evil for their sake, the least humanity can offer to thank him is a nice wife. Specifically that guy's wife. There's limited supply, after all, it's not so strange to want one that already belongs to someone else. He has seen plenty of human men fight and even kill each other in competition for one. And plenty of human men that straight-up premeditatedly murder another and take the female for themselves. It's normalized among humans, so when the inn owner is found in the lobby with holes run through his torso and his wife nowhere to be found, he doesn't feel particularly guilty.

But you, you are very difficult to reason with, you see. He has already explained more than once that he has no intention of harming you -- he didn't intend for you to see either, you just had to get curious over the sound of the man choking on his own blood and open the door to see him getting actively impaled. It was rather awkward, you both just sort of froze and stood there equally wide-eyed at each other until you started shrieking (so it's true that their screaming is incredibly high-pitched. Hm.). But you continue to act afraid, despite his explanations. Is this what he's always heard spoken of, that the females are irrationally emotional? Perhaps so. There's still so much he doesn't know, but he's patient and can learn with time. There's already so much he's seeing up close that fascinates him - the shape of your body is even more noticeable up close, and your voice sounds so different, and a lot of your words and actions make him feel very confused, like there's a lot of subtle things you're saying without saying them directly and he's not grasping any of it.

He'll be patient with such behaviors, too. Soon you'll understand that he did this to save you, and that he only has the best of intentions. Until then, he can tolerate this... what's the word...? Ah, hysteria.

[fivelakesinwriting]

Hi babes, so to fuel our drew/rafe obsession, I think we can all agree drew is a boobs guy like no one can tell me different.

He just likes to lay on them when he’s sleeping or y’all are cuddling or when their watching a movie he has his arm over their shoulder with his hand on their boob 😏. pls i need a blurb on this and i feel like you could write this perfectly

-💫

Author's Notes: I see him as an ass man, honestly - but that could be because I am all ass, with ample boobs. But for you - anything, my friend. Also...I want this... Let me know what you think if you have a moment! If this was your request, I hope you love it. Thank you! xoxo

Warnings: None really. Fluff. Sexual references - sexual innuendos (just lots of touching)

Requested? Yes! Requests for OBX are OPEN!

*My work is not to be transferred, copied, translated or reposted to any other sites without my permission. Please see my masterlist for all other works and warnings. Thank you! xoxo

They both felt so lazy that day. If it wasn't evident by the blankets strewn about the apartment in a trail from room to room, it was certainly made apparent in the way they lounged about. Limbs stretched across furniture, oversized clothes on as the rain dropped heavily against the windows the apartment.

"Sweetie." Drew mumbled into the top of her head, hair messy from never being brushed that day. He ran his fingertips up the back of her shirt along her warm skin and held her flush against him.

"Yeah?" She replied into the crease of his neck, fingertips running through his gold chain. He felt her eyelashes tickle his neck, so he knew she had not fallen back asleep quite yet.

"I'm getting hungry." Drew stated softly as his fingertips traced soft patterns over her back, and down her spine. He hooked his thumbs in the waistband of her sweatpants and gave a long exhale as she sat up to straddle his hips.

"I don't think we have a lot here, baby. Probably have to order something, it's yucky out there." She replied as she pressed her palms to his chest for leverage as she tried to look out the door of the balcony.

Drew reached his hands up under her sweater, which he immediately noticed was his, and filled his hands with her bare breasts beneath. He took notice of the shivers on her stomach, and along her neck as he softly palmed at her ample flesh, thumbs brushing over her nipples every so often.

"Whatever you like. You pick this time." Drew whispered with a soft smile up at her with a soft bounce of her breasts in his hands.

"Don't! I can't focus when you do that." She whined with a soft laugh as she pulled his hands out of her shirt by his elbows, making him smirk.

"Fine. Keep my hands to myself." Drew mumbled with a grin as he crossed his arms over his broad chest, his eyes on any bit of her exposed skin he could get.

"Stop looking at me like that." She shivered, her eyes closed as she slowly climbed off the much larger man and stood on unsteady feet.

"Like what?" Drew laughed as he reached for her thighs with his paw-like hand to try and pull her back. He most certainly was not done cuddling and touching.

"Like you're going to take my clothes off, and I'm not gonna get to eat food. I know that look, Starkey. Sit on your hands or something." She laughed while she wrapped her hand around his thick wrist in a lame attempt to move his hands away from her.

"Don't have a look." Drew grumbled while he reluctantly pulled his hands off his girlfriend once more and watched her backside as she walked away from him, towards the kitchen to look over takeout menus.

"You do have a look, and you've been giving me that same look since our first date." She called to him over her shoulder as she reached the kitchen, standing on her toes to reach the menus that were placed on top of the refrigerator.

Before she could ask him, Drew was up off of the couch and in the kitchen standing behind her, easily reaching above her head to grab the small pile of takeout menus and handing them to her. He pressed a kiss to the top of his short girlfriend's head and gave her backside a soft pat before he turned around to check his phone that had been charging. He checked his few messages and emails while he heard his girl hum and haw as she looked through the menus. He quickly sent a handful of replies then switched his phone back off.

"I think we should just go with the usual." Drew stated softly as he took the few steps over to his girl, standing behind her. His right arm wrapped around her, his hand reaching beneath her shirt again to palm at her breast while his left hand reached for a weathered Thai food menu, covered in wine stains and spilled sauce from favoured dishes.

"Because delivery takes over 30 minutes and you have a look on your face?" She questioned as she leaned back, succumbing to his affections as he pressed a kiss to the side of her face and his thumb ghosted over her nipple once.

"This is just my face." Drew scoffed, lips pressed to her temple as he pulled her back against him.

"It's distracting."

"You're distracting." Drew mumbled as he dropped the menu back on the counter and wrapped his other arm around his girlfriend to give her a loving squeeze.

"Order me food, Starkey. I'm hungry." She laughed, her arms folded over to squeeze at his biceps as he kissed her face over and over again. He grabbed her inside her sweater once more before he pulled his hands off his girlfriend and accepted her phone, their favourite Thai food place already dialed and at the ready.

"Tell them to bring you extra rice and that sauce you like if you go wait for me in bed with your clothes off." Drew nodded, eyebrows raised, just as the nasally voice of the teen on the other end of the phone greeted him.

"I was gonna do that any way!" She whispered to him as she unzipped the sweater that had belonged to him, dropped it to the floor, and raised her shoulders in a small shrug.

"Go." Drew stated under his breath with a snap of his fingers, pointing towards the bedroom down the hall and watched as she all but skipped away from him.

Drew shook his head, running his fingertips through his hair as he waited impatiently for this kid on the other end of the phone to give him the time and total amount of their food.

"That'll be about 50 minutes for delivery , Mr. Starkey. Sorry. We're busy tonight."

No worries, kid.

Hotties:

@whcclxr @pogueslandia @maybankslut @fashion-fasting @barrysjumpsuit @starkey-babie @beauvibaby @sodasback @soph0864 @rottenstyx @plutooryectors

*tag list is open, please let me know if I forgot you or you would like to be added/removed from particular posts. I've removed the people that don't pre-populate :(

Please let me know what you think if you have a moment! Thank you so much xoxo

Requests for OBX ARE OPEN!

[spacetimewraithwrites-archive]

Out of Context Quotes Tag

I was tagged by @sleepyowlwrites to do this really cool tag game! I’m not sure I’m doing it right, but I’ll also be choosing 17 quotes randomly from my books with the help of a virtual assistant and picker wheels lmao. this’ll be so out of context that I’m not even gonna list from which books they were taken 😜

I’m tagging @drippingmoon, @drabbleitout, @ashen-crest, @zmwrites, @asomeoneperson, and anyone who thinks this’ll be a fun thing to do!

Quotes:

"It is frowned upon for clairvoyant-empaths to seek the companionship of another. Not illegal. Seeking companionship from the royal guard, however, is."

"We always knew, in a way, that this would happen. We've always felt it. We couldn't put a name or a face to it, but my eventual loss was something we both expected."

"He's said he has things to take care of first, like uprooting the entire government or something."

"I suppose...it would be worth a try. But if I fuck up and this ship takes a wrong turn into a wormhole, don't come crying to me."

"His stability is wearing very thin and I worry this will break him. Just...be careful. Putting yourself at risk like this won't help regardless of if it has to be done."

"...Perhaps not everyone, as the station's capacity couldn't withstand the entire population of the galaxy, sir."

"I merely wonder if the betrayal of your people strikes fear into your heart, Sovereign. It's been happening a lot."

"Appreciated, but unnecessary. We've committed atrocities and shouldn't have gotten away with it."

"You have been thoroughly wrapped around my little finger, are you aware of this?"

"...But I've potentially sentenced millions of others to die before we'll get a chance to figure out how to do it this time."

"I'm curious about how he would perform with someone like me."

"I've heard rumblings within our very tight-knit inner circle that someone in this room may or may not be unhappy with their current branch on the political tree. Enough to do something about it."

"Yeah...something about watching your friends get terribly hurt has a tendency to cause insomnia."

"I don't think you're telling me the whole truth. I think...we've evolved past the point of...of hiding things from each other."

"Damn, babe, keep it in your pants; we're in the middle of a mission here."

"Extremely pompous. Seeing you in that t-shirt again reminded me of how much I want to knock your teeth out sometimes."

"I...can't even begin to describe how unreasonable that is."

[strawberrysoup]

Pocketful of Posies || Chapter 5

You’d been hiding for years and years now; from your family, from society, from alphas and packs. Suppressants were dangerous but effective and necessary for an omega who refused to be owned—but no suppressants were strong enough to fool the nose of a super soldier, who together with his pack would stop at nothing to bind you to them forever.

pairings: dark!Avengers x reader

word length: 4.7k

chapters: 5/?

warnings: A/B/O dynamics, power imbalances, noncon and dubcon sexual situations, loss of autonomy, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat — this is a dark!fic, read at your own risk. more detailed content warnings are included at the end of the chapter to avoid spoilers, click through the read more, CTRL + F “content warnings”. 

Rationality within Carol’s pack was often treated like a talking stick; only one person could have and use it at a time, and stealing it required either brute force or a clever trick—which was why she and Loki fumbled it back and forth so often. Sam seemed to have snatched it for a moment, until their omega’s sharp tongue made him fumble. She was cutting and brutal, as wild as she’d looked the first time Carol saw her: covered in mud and blood, half soaked from the bath and thrashing violently while Thor and Peter tried to gently get her in the tub.

The blonde figured it was time to regain the upper hand over their omega and came to stand at the top of the stairs, eyes locking on Sam from behind. He was turning the corner from patience to frustration, their little omega’s demeaning comments making the muscle in his jaw clench. It was impressive though; any of the other alpha’s in the house (plus herself and maybe minus Peter) would’ve had her nose in the corner by now, bent over to hold her own ankles and struggling for balance so that her forehead didn’t press against the wall lest she earn herself a spanking for being sulky.

“Alright Sammy, tag out,” Carol made sure that there was an undertone of mirth in her voice, hoping to bring the other alpha out of his anger. “You should probably go check on dinner and—Bruce, test results?”

“Oh, you’re right,” the beta nodded, immediately headed for the stairs. “Her hormone analysis should be ready at the least.”

The moment her eyes landed on the little omega on the bed, Carol felt her heart melt just a bit. Despite the vitriol she’d been spitting just moments before, the precious thing looked like an angel sprawled out in their den. All she wore was one of Thor’s t-shirts, the hem brushing the tops of her thighs and perfuming her scentless skin with his musk—she couldn’t wait until the suppressants were out of their omega’s system, Carol desperately wanted to know what she smelled like.

“Sammy?” The blonde prompted when the male alpha didn’t move, leading him to sigh.

“Yeah babe,” he leaned over and pressed a kiss against the omega’s forehead, ignoring how she shrunk back into the pillows behind her. “I’m out. Take care of her, beautiful.”

Sam stopped to press a kiss against Carol’s cheek on his way down the stairs, gesturing for Tony to follow. The genius rolled his eyes and huffed but followed nonetheless, only after tossing a wink at the scowling omega huddled in what would hopefully soon be a nest. Carol waited until they were both down before returning her attention to the younger woman, stomach filling with butterflies.

Carol had wanted an omega since she presented as an alpha at twelve. 90% of the people she interacted with thought she was such a waste—a female alpha? Objectively, a useless combination. Female alphas were weak and passive, certainly not strong enough to lead a pack or produce strong alpha babies. If only she’d been a delta or a beta, she could’ve at least carried children. She’d always been fully aware that society’s perspective was incredibly flawed; she was as dominant as any male, just as potent and just as strong. Stronger even—more recently by unimaginable levels.

But omegas rarely looked negatively upon female alphas. Omegas preened and clamored for the attention female alphas provided, they saw it as more tender and careful. Carol didn’t know if she exactly agreed with that either, but at least an omega would never look at her and consider her a very pretty waste.

Or so the blonde had thought, right up until making eye contact with the sweet-faced omega her pack had managed to stumble upon. She certainly didn’t look pleased, her glare verging on incendiary.

“You sure are feisty,” she felt her lips quirking at the corners, especially when the omega seemed to puff up like an angry kitten. “What you said to Sam wasn’t very nice. You gonna hiss at me too?”

The answer was a resounding yes, the cute, clicking cub growl she made only reinforcing Carol’s gut instinct that the little omega was perfect. She liked that fire, it wasn’t disrespectful—it demanded respect and the blonde could certainly understand that sort of attitude. Considering her omega’s evident disdain for modern presentation centered care, it could even be considered mild.

“Claws away, baby,” she ordered, tone amused and the smile still curling her lips as she toed her shoes off at the edge of the bed. “Be a good girl for me now.”

Carol pressed the omega flat to the bed before she could fight, plastering herself against the half-naked woman and burying her face in the crook of her neck. Scenting deeply made the blonde’s eyes roll back in her head—the faint scent of panicking omega wafted off her skin, only noticeable at such a distance. Thank God the Hulk picked it up, the alpha’s senses so incredibly strong that even while masked by Bruce’s beta he had picked up the faint whiff of omega; if Bruce hadn’t prompted Steve to scent carefully they might not’ve found her. Carol hadn’t been the only one in the pack desperate for an omega.

Thor had been… devastated to learn of the lack of omegas on Earth. With the destruction of Asgard and the remaining population’s relocation, it had been another gut punch to the alpha prime who’s people had already endured so much. He’d spoken at length about how omega Aesir were different than humans’ and the tone of longing and sadness in the prime had radiated through their entire pack.

The deltas, Bucky, Tony and Loki had all realized years ago how sorely their dynamic suffered without an omega. A delta’s overwhelming physiological drive was to provide support and comfort to pack members, their intuition let them see their packmates in a way the other presentation’s couldn’t replicate. Their pack’s deltas were all incredibly intuitive, beyond the norm, and without an omega to properly direct them they got manipulative. It was rarely antagonistic or cruel and if there had only been one delta in the pack, it would’ve slid by without notice—but deltas perceived the deception where others didn’t and it usually led to dissent amongst the three.

And while Steve had never said a word, Carol knew that as a sickly little beta he’d dreamt of being ‘strong enough to deserve an omega’. Bucky had mentioned it briefly—as had Tony, who’d heard it from his father at least biweekly. Steve loved omegas; he loved that they balanced an incredible strength with equal fragility. The very nature of them spoke to his inner artist, ‘his inner romantic,’ Bucky had teased. Now that he was a big ass alpha prime? He could deserve an omega now, he was strong enough now.

Their omega was practically a miracle, considering how few of them there were—so few adults, especially. Some claimed the overall population of omegas was going up despite the overwhelming evidence of the opposite and besides, the number of omegas born every year didn’t matter when you had packmates approaching their mid-forties. Tony, Bruce, and Clint were getting up there, as everyone liked to tease. Finding a reasonably aged omega that was also unclaimed? They’d never even considered the possibility, it was unfathomable.

Carol had consoled herself with the knowledge that her pack loved her deeply, found no fault in her gender or presentation. She knew it would take time, but soon her omega would realize the same. There was nothing wrong with her, she didn’t need to hide or put on a façade; not in their pack, not under their protection. Whatever the omega had gone through in her life must’ve been traumatizing, the blonde could only assume some sort of abuse, and it would be tough to instill confidence in her. They’d need to build her back up from scratch.

“You know, if you’d let Wanda search your mind, we’d have a much easier time understanding what’s going on,” the blonde murmured into the omega’s neck, nose brushing back and forth over her left scent gland. “Will you tell me why you’re so scared? Are you afraid of alphas or of packs? Or deltas?”

“I’m afraid of being trapped forever by a bunch of fucking rapists and kidnappers!” She spat furiously in response, struggling futilely under Carol’s careful grasp. “Get your fucking face out of my neck!”

“Packs it is then,” Carol sighed, lifting her head but keeping the woman pinned beneath her.

“You’re so shifty ‘mega, calm down. There are some horrible people out there, we know that better than anyone, and I’m sorry that you were hurt. I’m sorry you had to go through whatever it was.”

The omega froze, muscles pulling so tightly that she started to shiver. Her lips pursed, jaw clenching and her eyes got dim, lashes fluttering as she looked into the distance over Carol’s shoulder. It was a dead-eyed stare, one the blonde had seen before. Her baby was half trapped in a memory, tightly clenched hands clawing at Carol’s shirt and trying to force her body away.

“I’m sorry baby, I’m sorry, come back—” Carol cooed into the omega’s ear, holding her tighter as she struggled. “You’re with me baby, you’re safe. Breathe with me, come back to me.”

“Would you fucking get off!” The omega choked, sounding both parts desolate and frustrated. “Why don’t you people fucking listen? Am I speaking gibberish?”

“I’m sorry you’re so angry omega,” the blonde’s eyebrows furrowed, sadness permeating her expression as she lowered her head to rest her forehead against the omega’s. “I’m sorry, I can’t get off—you need the pheromones, the alpha contact chemicals. Even if you’re traumatized, once the suppressants you’re on start to wear off you’re going to have to submit. We need to start practicing now so you can get comfortable with it, before it’s critical for your health.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry, you’re not sorry! If you were, you would’ve let me go. You wouldn’t be holding me here! I don’t need or want your help, I don’t want to be in a pack!”

“I hear you, baby, I promise I understand what you’re saying,” Carol carefully pinned one of the flailing omega’s arms down with her knee, reaching up to stroke the woman’s face. “You don’t want to be here, you don’t want to have a pack, I’m sure you don’t want to be bonded to us. But you’re on so many suppressants baby, there are so many mind-altering chemicals in the shit you were taking—”

“If you force me to stop taking them I’ll only be under the ‘mind-altering’ chemicals produced by the other presentations and—and this stupid collar forcing my body to produce addictive chemicals at a rapid rate,” she argued, “you want to argue that I’m out of my mind like I can’t be trusted with my own safety! I’m fully conscious, I’m not stupid, I’m an adult for fuck’s sake. The only thing that’s going to fuck up my personal agency is you!”

“We’ll know for sure when Bruce gets your test results back,” Carol sighed realizing how unlikely it would be for her to get through to the omega. “Tony’s having some equipment dropped by in the morning so he and Bruce can run some more. If your hormone levels aren’t entirely trashed, we’ll revisit this conversation.”

“You have to let me take my suppressants tonight then,” the omega pushed against the blonde again, grunting with effort and irritation when she didn’t move at all. “Otherwise the test results from today won’t match the ones tomorrow, missing a dose will entirely trash my hormone levels! The tests won’t provide an accurate reading!”

Carol was shaking her head before she’d even finished the explanation. “No way, there’s a reason those are illegal, baby. They’re so dangerous—”

“I’ve been taking them for fifteen years and I’m completely fine, come on—”

She watched the omega’s face fall when she sighed, “it’s not gonna happen baby. This one isn’t up for debate.”

“This one?” The omega scoffed bitterly, lips twisting as angry tears collected in her eyes. “Nothing is ‘up for debate’. I’m here, aren’t I? Obviously against my will. I’m not even wearing my own clothes, you won’t let me move! You’re acting like this is the one bit of agency you’re planning to strip from me but you’re either too stupid to realize that or you’re too caught up in the idea of having a house bitch to care!”

“Hey, don’t say that,” Carol frowned, thumb smoothing over the crease between her brows. “We’re not looking to ruin your life, baby. The last thing we want is to make you meek or take away your ability to make your own choices, but we have to take care of you.”

“Y-you don’t though,” she hissed, breath hitching as she fought not to cry in front of the alpha. “I’ve been taking care of-of myself for years. I’ve never had a problem I’ve—I’ve never been attacked or assaulted or—”

Carol shifted until the omega was cradled in her lap, easily blocking the omega’s attempts to escape her grasp, “If that’s true baby girl, I don’t think you understand how rare it is—or how it would mean you were poisoning yourself so thoroughly that no alpha could scent you. There’s too many people out there would hurt you just for being you; the only way for you to be safe is with us, where you don’t have to keep taking the pill equivalent of drinking gasoline and bleach.”

“I should have the choice!”

“The choice to slowly kill yourself?” The blonde looked down into the omega’s face in disbelief. “No one in their right mind would allow another person to suffer like that.”

Their attention was suddenly and brutally drawn to the stairwell, both of their hindbrains reacting to the scent of overwhelmingly aroused alphas accompanied by raised voices and shouting. The omega in her lap went completely and utterly still, instincts locking down all movement as if it could prevent her from being seen. Carol sighed quietly through her nose, nudging her forehead gently against the charming little creature hiding against her chest. She couldn’t really tell what they were yelling about but she figured it had something to do with whatever Bruce found.

“Someone has to—!”

“That doesn’t mean—!”

“It should be—!”

The blonde cracked her neck, arms slipping around the waist of her omega and locking in place like iron bands. The cowering made it easier for Carol to snuggle her tightly against her chest, wiggling them carefully as several pairs of feet began stomping up the stairs, until the omega was entirely engulfed by the alpha from behind. Steve and Thor made it up first, shoulder to shoulder and passive-aggressively nudging each other in the ribs. Sam was next, along with Bucky—both of whom were being decidedly antagonistic to poor Peter who followed behind.

“Would you guys shut the hell up? What’s going on?”

Before anyone else could respond Bruce forced his way between the group of more dominant males, eyes flashing green even as he attempted to shake it off, “the amount of alpha pheromone in her blood is so low it’s amazing she isn’t in shock.”

“What?!” The omega snapped furiously, eyes darting between the people standing around the room nervously. “There’s nothing wrong with me—!”

“Carol, hold her,” Steve ordered, as if the blonde hadn’t locked the omega down the second they heard them coming. “Thor, how are we gonna do this?”

Both primes looked almost pained, their faces painted with grimaces as they exchanged glances. Their struggle was easy to identify; neither wanted to cause any strife between them, damage to their partnership would damage the pack but they wanted to be first. Their hindbrains could barely function beyond the desire to fuck their omega, their pretty, sweet little omega who desperately needed alpha semen because her body would stop functioning without it. Primes always got first take on omegas, but when there were two primes in a pack things got dicey.

“Have one of us do it,” Carol chimed, carefully maintaining an expression that relayed she wasn’t trying to step on toes. “Both of you are massive, you could do damage without proper prep and if it’s that serious we can’t wait on that.”

“I’ll do it!” Peter was quick to step forward. “You all know I’ll the gentlest and she’s already upset—”

“Shut it Spiderboy,” Sam quickly interjected, giving the younger alpha a stern look, “she needs careful handling, not some teenager fumbling with his knot.”

“I’m not a teenager anymore you asshole—!”

“Carol’s cock is the smallest,” Tony stated nonchalantly as he kicked off his shoes in the closet that faced the den, “no offense babe, just logistics.”  

“None taken,” the blonde snorted slightly in amusement before turning her attention to the two primes, “I can get her started, at least get her hormones on the right track.”

“Let go of me you psycho!” The omega howled, voice constricted by her collar. “Get away from me, let me go!”

A low, bone-deep rumble suddenly washed over everyone in the attic, the growl emanating from both Steve and Thor. A keening moan escaped the omega, her breath hitching and eyes rolling as viscous slick gushed from her pussy. The scent of it made waves through the rest of the pack, a cacophony of moans and growls echoing off the high ceiling as the responding scent of hot and bothered emanated through the den.

“Thor?” Steve questioned the other prime imploringly, knowing that they needed an immediate answer and follow through.

The taller man grit his teeth, nose flaring for several moments before he let out another low growl that made their omega cry with arousal. “You first—leave my shirt on her, please.”

“Oh God, oh God,” the whimpering omega shifted in Carol’s arms, likely about to try to make a break for it when Steve swept her up into his arms. “Please, wait—!”

“Your pussy is dripping for your primes, isn’t it precious?” The alpha male hummed quietly as he swiftly lowered them both to the bed, hands grasping the backs of her thighs and pressing her knees towards her shoulders. “So much slick for such a little thing.”

The whine that came from Peter sounded wrecked, only minutely more embarrassing than the groans and panting coming from the rest of the pack as they watched. The omega looked to be approaching frantic and Carol sighed, shifting farther away from the prime on the bed—there was no reason to test Steve’s incredible patience. Well, that had been Carol’s opinion anyway.

Evidently Loki believed otherwise, but then again the delta was habitually prone to testing Steve’s last goddamn nerve. The brunet had appeared with a shimmering green light, lying on the bed so close to the omega that the scent from his ridiculously expensive Fendi sweater was transferring to her arm and shoulder. The prime had barely flinched, certainly hadn’t reacted in a manner more noticeable than a slight dilation in his pupil. Thor made a reprimanding noise but didn’t move forward to remove the delta, much to Bucky and Tony’s immediate disdain.

“Why the fuck does he get to—!”

“You better rethink that, Ice Man!”

The combined snarls from both primes quickly brought all three deltas to heel and while Loki didn’t retreat, he did keep his hands to himself. One hand propped up his head, the other tightly fisted and rested on the bed between himself and the omega’s borrowed shirt while eyes burned into him from all sides. The omega’s wide eyes were locked on the man, some flicker of recognition fleetingly passing over her face. Loki was good at surprise entrances and even better at taking advantage of his brother’s status in the pack—not that he necessarily got away with things the others wouldn’t, but none of the others particularly wanted to find out what the prime’s breaking point was either.

“I just want to keep her calm, is that so horrible?” The tone the God used was smooth and Carol remembered the talking stick analogy again. “You can smell the poor thing’s terror, is it really necessary?”

Steve looked conflicted for maybe two seconds when a light went off behind his eyes. “Keep her calm so I don’t have to purr and you can stay.”

The delta’s hand immediately slipped up the front of her shirt, cupping the curve of her rib cage just under her breast. His nose pressed into her neck in the following moments, a small golden glow flowing over the little omega’s skin where he touched her. The odor of fear was quick to recede once the windows were open, replaced with the tangy-sweet scent of her pussy. Carol inhaled sharply and whined, drawing Steve’s attention to her wide, sad eyes.

The prime huffed, running one big hand through his hair while Loki held the omega’s thigh in place. “Hands to yourself, Carol.”

The blonde immediately tucked her nose into the other side of the omega’s neck, hands clenched into fists and tucked tightly against her stomach. She could hear the rest of the pack shuffling around, vying for space and views on the bed. Steve seemed entirely unbothered, his gaze once again locked on the pretty omega’s.

“Is your cunt working your slick hard enough precious?” He murmured directly into her ear, lips brushing the skin gently. “If those muscles aren’t strong enough we might have to put in a bit more effort to stretch you out. Squeeze around my fingers baby.”

Carol’s eyes rolled back when a breathy whine escaped the omega, the only perceivable reaction that might’ve betrayed her fear—otherwise, whatever magic Loki had used made her eyes shine with bliss. Steve had two fingers knuckle deep in her cunt, still pressing forward while his slick coated thumb swept up through her folds to pass over her clit. She shook under the grasp of his packmates, hips shifting without her consent to follow the movement of his hand.

“Come on sweetheart, please?” Steve implored quietly, looking at the loosely pinned omega with soft eyes. “Clench your pussy for me, let me take care of you. Please, I—oh, there you go, that’s a good girl.”

He hummed, working his fingers deeper into her cunt and scissoring them carefully. A smile lit the prime’s face when the cutest hiccupping moan escaped the omega, her legs pressing futilely against his hold. Muscle memory tried to guide her legs closed but Carol easily slipped a hand around her knee, keeping her spread wide while Steve continued to stretch her pussy. Another bass toned growl from Thor reverberated off the walls and she wailed, slick dripping over Steve’s fingers while her pussy contracted in waves as commanded by the prime’s guttural growl.

“I’m gonna take care of you precious,” her low whine prompted a moan from Steve as he added a third finger, carefully pressing the pads of his fingers up against her g-spot. “You’ll feel so much better once we fuck you, I promise.”

Carol watched with heavily lidded eyes as the omega’s attention was sparked by Steve’s use of the collective we. Likely it was only Loki’s magic that kept her from lashing out as viciously as they knew she was capable of. In spite of it, her little teeth showed, sharp incisors flashing in a botched hiss. The prime poised himself over her carefully with a small grin, fingers still fucking into her with vigor while he rested his weight on his elbow next to her head.

“It’s gonna be okay omega, it’s gonna be okay,” he cooed quietly against her ear, removing his hand only to pull his cock from his pants. “Take deep breaths, baby.”

“Don’t—” She didn’t sound distressed, the omega sounded aroused and desperate, “I—”

“Shhhh,” the prime’s lips skimmed over her cheeks, down her nose while his hand guided his dick up and down her slick folds until he was dripping with her arousal. “I’m gonna take care of you, precious. We’re gonna take care of you.”

The sound that escaped the omega’s lips as he slipped into her was goosebump inducing in the best way. She whined as the head popped in, breath hitching with every millimetre that came thereafter—and there were a lot of them. The omega was squirming, her heels scrambling against the blankets and both Loki and Carol found themselves having to focus much harder than expected on keeping her still while Steve bottomed out.

“You’re doing so well, darling,” Loki cooed, his nose brushing the line of her jaw. “I know it’s a lot but you’re taking it beautifully. Stay still love, just relax we’ll hold you.”

“That’s right ‘mega,” Steve groaned as he withdrew, the squelch of her cunt making his teeth clench. “We’ll do all the work precious, you just have to be a good girl and take my cock.”

It was easier said than done and everyone in the room save Thor was fully aware of that. The omega’s sweet little whines and cries were causing a massive feedback loop of arousal in the pack’s consciousness and Carol was pretty sure she could hear the sounds of several people going at it but she couldn’t pull her gaze away from where Steve’s cock was drilling into that pretty cunt. Evidently said feedback loop was also affecting Steve, who very suddenly growled possessively.

“Carol, Loki, off,” The prime snapped barely hesitating before dropping his elbows into the pillows on either side of the omega’s head, narrowly avoiding giving his pack mates concussions. “Now.”

Both the alpha and the delta were yanked off the bed by their ankles—well, Carol was yanked off the bed. Loki was yanked off the bed and then promptly thrown into the wall by said ankles. The reinforced exterior wall meant there was only a small dent where the god had landed, but the ensuing ruckus had a strong potential of causing even more damage. Thor immediately turned to deal with the problem, along with several other packmates.

Several things occurred in the next few seconds and the pack would probably fight about what really happened for the next twenty years, but somehow Bucky was thrown through the window and Tony’s right ring finger was broken.

And Wanda—poor Wanda, Thor pushed her out of the way before Bucky could accidentally take her through the window with him. The beta was sent flying, sailing across the bed until she hit the unyielding form of Steve. He startled in shock, immediately drawing back to assess her condition—only for a heel to slam directly into his nose. The prime’s head snapped back from the force, big body falling backwards while his hands scrambled for purchase on his face.

The omega probably would’ve even gotten down the stairs if Natasha hadn’t been ascending the stairs at that moment, having heard the commotion from where she and Clint had been putting away groceries. The redhead smelled her before seeing her, a somewhat sinister grin pulling Nat’s lips when the omega ran directly into her while attempting escape #2.

“Now where are you going, kitten? With that mess dripping down your thighs,” the beta cooed, head tilting as she scented the air. “Why can I smell Steve on you, but not his cum?”

There was a horrible, long pause while the omega seemed to consider her options before landing on Go For Broke. She attempted to dodge past Natasha but the beta’s strong arm immediately lashed around her waist, her superior strength making it easy to force her up the stairs even as she refused to hold her own weight.

Steve met them just two steps from the top, dick out and covered in blood. The prime’s expression wasn’t so much angry as it was disappointed and Natasha hummed in false sympathy.

“Someone’s been naughty, huh kitten?”

content warnings: nonconsensual sex, voyeurism 

[dramaqueeenamby]

Waves: The Read

A/N: I am a shady bitch, and I regret nothing.  Also, if ya’ll remember, Mercedes is Summer’s publicist/manager. I mentioned that in a few waves, so don’t get confused, friends!

Warnings: None. 

Word Count: 2K

Masterlist

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"How many solos has my sister had?"

The room grew quiet, all eyes on the speaker. They’d just finished a number, or rather, Finn and Rachel had just finished a number. The rest of the students served more as props than singers. Ad-libs only constituted so much.

Mr. Schue’s smile dimmed. Slightly. "W—what?"

Alexus shrugged, motioning around the room. "Or any of the kids whose names aren’t Flipper or Rachel?"

"It’s Finn."

"I don’t care," she dismissed, eyes still on the instructor. "I’ve been here a whole week, and not once have I seen someone other than Cher and Sonny score solos."

Mr. Schue scoffed, crossing his arms. "Now, hold on a second, I treat all my students fairly. Any student is allowed to audition for a solo—"

"And how many who have auditioned actually received one, other than your prized pupils?"

Mercedes stood up. "Alexus—"

"No." Alexus lifted her hand and looked over at her sister. "This isn’t right, and you’re too kind and understanding to say anything, so I will."

"You’re out of line, Alexus."

She laughed, looking back at him. "Out of line? I’m not one of your little students, and you’re not going to shut me down like you do them. I’m going to say what I want and need to say, and then I’ll leave, but you’re going to catch this read, first."

"And, cut!"

Summer broke from character and offered Matthew a fake smile before turning away and catching Amber’s gaze. They shared an unspoken exchange, one that caused Amber to laugh after Summer rolled her eyes.

Summer didn’t know why she was so weary about accepting this role. Only 10% of it was acting, the rest was her actually reading the problematic cast members, which was all but a handful. But, to fulfill her petty side and get paid?

It was a double win.

Summer noticed Ryan was speaking with Lea, which ignited another eye roll. She was the guest star, not that Barbara Streisand wannabe. Still, Summer counted her blessings, because she could only take Ryan in small doses. He wasn’t as bad as his prized actress, but it was the fact that he allowed her to treat everyone like shit that made her think less of him.

Perhaps she was spoiled in the sense that every other director she’d had the privilege of working for would never tolerate such behavior. She had to accept that Hollywood was a game, and the rules changed constantly.

"Someone was having fun," Mercedes, Summer’s assistant chimed, coming to walk beside her.

Summer feigned innocence. "I have no idea what you’re talking about."

Mercedes smirked. "Yeah, right. You weren’t acting. You were giving them all a piece of your mind."

Summer retained her smile as they reached her trailer, Summer opening the door so Mercedes could enter first. "Are you trying to insinuate that I was using my job to tell these people how I really feel?"

"I surely was."

As soon as the door closed, Summer confessed. "You know me so well."

The two laughed. "Girl, you know Lea is probably complaining to Ryan right now."

Summer sucked her teeth. "You know she is." Walking over to the kitchenette area, she turned on the Keruig and opened the drawer to select a pod. Her hand ghosted between the caramel and the dark magic, before she settled for caramel. "That black bitch—"

Mercedes snickered. "You sound just like her."

Summer frowned as she insert the pod and selected 8oz. "God, you’re right. I have to have to get out of here."

Smiling, Mercedes swiped down to refresh her emails. "Hey, look at it this way, you keep up this level of performance, and you’re a shoe-in for that Primetime Emmy.

The idea of adding another award to her resume was more than enough to keep Summer focused and dedicated. As a dark skinned black woman, she had to work ten times harder just to remain 20 steps behind. Anything she could do to push herself, she cherished.

Summer added creamer and sugar to her coffee, blowing before taking a sip. "After this, I need a quick break."

Mercedes hummed. "Umm, about that—"

"No."

"Summer—"

"No, Cedes, I’ve been working back to back since I scored 4AM, I think I’ve earned a little vacation time."

"I don’t disagree." Mercedes raised her hands in surrender.

"Thank you," Summer nodded, taking another sip of her coffee.

"But—"

"Here you go."

"I’m just saying, I’m hearing rumors about a potential role that’s gonna start casting in a couple of months."

Summer rolled her eyes and brought the mug to her mouth. "And?"

"And." Mercedes also rolled her eyes. "It’d be perfect for you."

"Mmmhmm."

"Summer," Mercedes lowered her voice. "It’s Storm."

Summer narrowed her eyes. "Storm?" Mercedes nodded. "You don’t mean—"

"X-Men Storm? I surely do."

Summer gasped and covered her mouth. "Bitch!"

"I know!" Mercedes giggled, shushing her client. "So do you see why I want you to keep your options open?"

Summer downed the remainder of her coffee and washed her mug in the sink all the while still stuck on the information she’d been told. "Do you really think I could be Storm?"

"Summer, please, you won an Oscar for your first Hollywood role. You’re a shoe-in."

"What about Shipp?"

"Shipp can skip her ass off somewhere."

The two women laughed when a knock on the trailer door prompted Summer to walk over, opening and smiling when she saw Amber. "Hey girl, come on in."

"I wish." Amber rolled her eyes. "Lea’s ready to start filming again. I mean, Ryan is ready to start filming again."

"You’ve got to be kidding me." Summer checked the watch on her wrist. "It hasn’t even been twenty minutes."

Amber sighed. "You know the saying. She says jump. We say—"

"Trip, bitch."

Amber laughed, as Summer looked back at Mercedes, pointing a finger. "This conversation isn’t over."

Mercedes winked at Summer, the two actresses sauntering back onto set.

Summer wondered if Lea had been listening outside her trailer, because it seemed as if Ms. Michele was purposely antagonizing Summer. Any scenes they had together, Lea would abruptly call cut and give Summer "pointers," all the while Ryan sat in his chair and said nothing.

Summer, forever the professional, managed to keep her composure, but there was only so much she could take.

Finally, when it came time for Summer to film her final scene, she saw an opportunity.

"Alright, and action!"

"I just want you to know that despite your distasteful behavior toward me, I hold no animosity and hope that one day you can release your unwarranted rage, and we can be cordial once I’m on Broadway."

Alexus turned to Rachel and tilted her head, crossing her arms. "I don’t like you. Never have, never will."

Rachel’s smile faltered. "Well, I-I’m sorry you feel that way, but--."

"Let me explain something to you, Berry. This is Lima, Ohio. The biggest thing we have going for us here is Breadstix, a restaurant chain that’s been on it’s last leg since that lawsuit filed by the kid who got two breadsticks stuck up her nostrils."

"I’m much better now."

Alexus ignored Britany and continued. "So, I’ll give you this, this small town notoriety and fame, because I know and you know, that once you actually make it out into the real world, reality is going to slap you so hard, you won’t need to have a nose job."

"Alexus—"

"Your stardom is limited to this pathetic town and its almost entirely pathetic population. And don’t get me wrong, you’re very good at manipulating and controlling individuals, because you can. For now. But, let’s be real, your voice isn’t anything I haven’t heard coming from street singers in NYC. Face it, you don’t have the talent nor the looks to make it into this big star you think you’re going to be. NYADA?" Alexus laughed. "Maybe you’ll make it, I doubt it, and even if you do, once you realize how utterly mediocre your narcissistic ass truly is compared to real talent, you’ll come crying back to Lima and spend the rest of your life working nights at Breadstix while watching reruns of Funny Girl on a goodwill VHS player." A beat. "Now, how’s that for raining on your parade?"

"And, cut!"

——

PRESENT TIME

"Christopher, stop!" Summer laughed as Chris came from behind and lifted her up against his solid frame. "I’m trying to do my makeup."

"You don’t need it," he murmured into her neck. "It’s going to end up all over the pillows anyw—"

"Sir!"

"Autumn."

"Would you please leave me alone?" Summer managed to wiggle herself free from her husband, flipping him off when he slapped her ass. "I am a human being."

"Allegedly."

"Alleged—lemme stop before I end up going to jail." She leaned over and examined her skin, feeling for the tackiness to see if her primer had settled. "This is why I can never do my makeup right. If it’s not him, it’s the twins."

We wanna see the babies!

I don’t get it. Why is she always so mean to him???

^^^^You must be new around here…

What makeup do you use?

Summer caught the last comment and grabbed her foundation and concealer, flashing them on the camera. "You know I have to support my girl, Ri. It’s Fenty Beauty all day everyday over here, ya’ll."

More comments came rolling in, Summer partially paying attention while she tried to do her makeup. Chris was taking her out on a date, the first they’d been on since the birth of the twins.

Summer was actually excited. She was in much need of alone time with her husband.

She grabbed the Snap shadow and blending brush when she noticed majority of the comments kept mentioning Lea Michele.

She didn’t even attempt to hide her distaste. "Why are ya’ll asking me about that girl? Did something happen?" Different stories were coming in prompting Summer to do her own research. "Baby, can I see your phone?"

Without hesitation, Christopher jogged into the bathroom, grabbing onto Summer’s hips while she typed Lea’s name into google.

Five minutes into reading, Summer slammed his phone onto the counter.

"Finally!"

"You’re paying for that," Chris muttered, grabbing his phone, thankful that it wasn’t cracked.

"Sorry, baby." She leaned up and kissed his cheek before looking into her phone. "Ya’ll, okay, most of you should remember I played Mercedes sister, Alexus, on Glee, right?" A wave of "yes" rolled in. "So, I’ve worked with the bitch, and I am not exaggerating when I say bitch. That heifer is literally the worst person I have ever had the displeasure of working with."

Summer pushed Christopher out the bathroom, in case her adding onto the Lea Michele drag train somehow ended up bad. "Now, I’d heard she was a nightmare, but I like to give everyone the benefit of the doubt."

"But, literally the first time I walked onto set and introduced myself to her, she looked me up and down, turned up her nose, and walked away." Summer clapped and covered her mouth. "It took everything in me not to call her ass out, but it was my first day, and I didn’t want to cause a scene."

"Obviously, I was a recurring star on the show so I would make appearances throughout the series, and each time I was there, she treated me, and everyone around her, like trash."

"Okay, but here’s the real tea, you know that read Alexus gave Rachel in season 3? That wasn’t in the script." Summer laughed at the comments. Her fans were freaking out. "My line ended when I told her I didn’t like her or something, but it was my last day of filming, and I’d literally had enough of her."

Even more comments came rolling in of laughing, frog, and tea emojis. Summer sucked her teeth and placed her hand on her hip. "Ya’ll, her white ass thought she was gone’ be a thirty something Maria from West Side Story on broadway." A beat. "Somebody had to let her know!"

[1kook]

skirt chasers

jjk x (f) reader

summary “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.” tags f2l, triple texting king kook, ncampus crush kook who is also the weird gamer boy, the skirt aspect is forgotten towards the end tbh, dumbassery is a disease and we are all affected by it, confessions SO CORNY it could be a 2005 teen romcom warnings smut in the form of: unprotected sex, use of mirrors, mostly heavy petting as foreplay I’m sorry, mentions of Jk’s furry ways as a gag kinda, like an unnecessary amount of swearing  wc 7.8k 

to make a long story short, i saw this nsfw gif and wrote this entire fic between 2 am and 6 am anyway i actually really like how this turned out!! lmk when u think

Part of the ideology behind the pleated skirt was in hopes that buying a new wardrobe would somehow help you rebrand your image around campus. Truthfully, it was kinda too late for that now; you’d been here going on three years, your friends and anyone with eyes could see that the style of clothing you leaned towards favored comfort over fashion. However, someone—it might’ve been Taehyung—had gone on a drunken spiel the other night concerning the importance of presenting oneself via fashion. It wasn’t aimed at you, but it certainly left you wondering. 

Which is how you find yourself shivering to the bone now, lingering around the west quad as you wait for Jungkook to come out of an anatomy lab. He’s at that point in the semester where grades mean nothing and everything to him at the same time, so Namjoon’s commissioned you and your other pals to take turns babysitting him once a week to make sure he gets at least some assignments done. 

You don’t know where any of you would be without Kim Namjoon.

Anyway, your legs are fucking cold and if this is what it takes to be known as the fashionably cute girl around campus, you’d rather choke. The imaginary sound of your bones rattling is cut off when Jungkook throws the door nearest you open, his big dopey smile engulfing his face the moment he sees you. He barely acknowledges the gaggle of students that follow after him, all calling out a chorus of goodbyes to him, because unlike you Jungkook was the cute, campus boy crush with his suave looks and comfortable fashion. God, if only you could pull off sweats and mustard-stained Venom shirts like him.

“Lets go,” you yawn, hands stuffed deep into the pockets of your long cardigan. Jungkook jogs over, slinging an arm around your shoulders and nearly knocking you into the emergency telephone you’d been brooding by. “You smell sterile again.”Jungkook grins. 

“That’s because I was touching dead people again,” he informs you, too giddy for someone who’d probably fingered the fuck out of a gallbladder twenty minutes ago. 

“Ew,” you whine, the sudden urge to shove Jungkook and his dead people germs away from you. He cackles in your face, and you wonder again how he single handedly enthralls half the campus population with a laugh like a seagull. 

You’ve barely moved ten feet when Jungkook finally notices your vibrating body, and it’s only because you’re nearly convulsing with shivers at this point. “Woah, what are those,” he exclaims, eyes pointedly eyeing your legs. 

You know your bare legs are a rare sight when Jungkook has to resolve to overused memes to refer to them. 

“They’re my legs, and they’re fucking freezing,” you calmly reply. 

Jungkook seems shocked for only a moment longer, and you almost think he’s gotten over it when he suddenly snorts and scares the shit out of you in the middle of the crosswalk. “Why the fuck are you wearing a skirt in this weather, you dinglehead?” 

You shove him, and he stumbles over the curb, but you get the feeling he’d do that without you pushing him. Jungkook was clumsier than Namjoon on his bad days. “I’m trying to be fashionable, you hater,” you huff, not even bothering to say thank you when he pulls open the coffee shop door for you. “I shouldn’t have to explain myself to someone who doesn’t even wear the right size shirt.” 

Like always, he’s one step ahead of you and hands the cashier his card before you can even reach for your wallet. Next time. “Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn’t know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls.” 

“For your information I bought this from H&M,” you retort, though you can’t hide the flush that warms your cheeks at his comment. “Also, what's the point of working out your hotbod if you’re just gonna hide it under shirts long enough to be a mini-dress, huh? Riddle me that, Jeon.” 

You flinch when your bare thigh touches the cold seat of the booth, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Your skirt is mad short,” he points out, and you kick his shins. 

You’ve already got a Google Doc open on your laptop from last night when you and Jimin had been going ham on a psych essay, but you also have a Fashion Nova cart on another window that’s just begging for you to check out. 

“Short skirts are just a concept made by men with lingering eyes to demean and belittle women who don’t submit to their every want and need.” 

“Oh my god,” he groans, and you watch him muffle a laugh into his palm as he gets his own work out. “Do you think I’m gonna pull the meninist card out on you and call you a slut or something?” 

You fake gasp, eyes wide and shocked as you give him your best disappointed face. “Jeon, how could you? I expected better from you.”  

This time he does laugh, a dorky sound unlike his witch cackle from earlier, and you finally let a smile slip. Jungkook was funny, too sweet and kind hearted for his own good. A little dumb, but most cute guys were. He’s one of those guys who thinks girls are nice to him out of their own free will, and not because they’re trying to bag the campus hottie. 

“Seriously,” he says once he’s pulled his fat anatomical reference book out, stuffed to the brim with worn scientific essays he’d printed out, and pictures he’d taken at every single one of his visits to the cadaver lab. His voice is earnest and genuine when he speaks again. “You can wear whatever you want, I was just curious about the skirt ‘cause you normally wear things past the knee and elbow.” 

When he puts it like that you kinda sound surprisingly conservative. 

You shrug, tapping away at your computer as if the sight of you in anything other than what he said isn’t really weird. “Just thought I’d try something new. Why, does it look too weird?” Your voice suddenly feels meek, and you’re not sure if your cheeks are warm from the chill outside or from something else. 

Jungkook shakes his head, coconut hair bouncing from side to side. “Nah, you look cute,” he says, and then, as if an afterthought, adds, “weirdly sexy, too. Like you belong in a Brazzers video?” 

“What the fuck, Jungkook,” you groan, sinking your head into your palms. 

“What! You asked for my opinion and I gave you it,” he defends, too casual for someone spewing their unwarranted porn knowledge at you. You urge him to do his homework, drink his coffee, anything besides embarrass you further. 

He does, but you don’t miss the goofy way he glances under the table one more time. 

The pleated skirt makes it’s return three weeks later, this time accompanied by her best friend, the sheer pantyhose. 

“Oh, who’s this sexy schoolgirl?” Taehyung exclaims the moment you step into the diner. Your cheeks flush red when the family beside you send you and your friends a disapproving look. 

“That’s what I said!” Jungkook says as he gets up to let you slide into the booth. He has this incessant need to be sitting at the end of the booth just in case nature calls in the middle of dinner and he can’t usher the rest of you out fast enough. 

(It almost happened once, and the sight of Jungkook shoving Hoseok flat on his ass had been too funny to forget.) 

“Wait a minute, is that why you stopped using EOS and started using the Dove shaving cream?” Chaeyoung interrogates from across you. “So you could show off your sexy model legs?” 

“No, Dove is just cheaper,” you reply, trying to sound as aloof as possible but if anyone at this table knew you like the back of their hand, it was definitely Chaeyoung. “Why can’t you guys let me live my best life?” 

Taehyung scoffs. “Who the fuck are you?” 

“Who the fuck are you?” You snap back, but your level of sass can never seem to match his. 

“We all know your ‘best life’ would be spent in those fuzzy Cookie Monster pajama pants and one of Kook’s big ass shirts,” he points out, and you hide behind your menu much to everyone’s amusement. 

You whine, “why can’t you all just be supportive besties and tell me I look cute?” 

“You look gorgeous, babe,” Chaeyoung assures you, gesturing for you to pass her the sugar for her coffee. “It’s just weird seeing your legs out. Almost weirder than if you randomly pulled your tits out right now.” 

Behind her, you can see the same mom from the family glaring at you guys. You lower your head in shame. 

“For the record, I’m team skirt, but I wouldn’t be opposed to the other,” Jungkook adds after being silent for so long. Taehyung fist bumps him as you slap your hand over your eyes. At this rate you’d rather just put a paper bag over your head. 

“We’re sitting on the same side of the table, so you’re supposed to be on my side!” You groan, and Jungkook shrugs mid-milkshake sip. 

“I am!” He splutters once he’s gulped down the thick substance. “I just said I was team skirt, did I not?” His scandalized pout twists into the same sneaky little smile he has whenever Taehyung has convinced him and Jimin to do something stupid. “But I’m also a man, and therefore, a skirt chaser,” he winks. 

From the other side of the table Taehyung’s eyes twinkle. “Bro, your mind,” he says in awe. He reaches over to shake Jungkook’s hand as if he’s just presented the table with some riveting discovery in the medical field, and the fucker has the nerve to look smug about it too. 

“You guys are so stupid,” Chaeyoung whispers right before the server sets her pancakes down. 

“Hey, have you seen Joon’s book? He said he might’ve left it—oh, Jesus, fuck sorry,” Jungkook says before whirling around to face the wall. 

You turn from your bent over position by your bed where you’d been rummaging around for a book you coulda sworn you stuffed there last week. Jungkook’s blazing cheeks don’t register with you until you realize your favorite skirt is draping over your rear, giving him a clear view of your dorky star-printed panties. 

“Kook,” you stammer, quickly jumping to your feet and brushing your hands over your skirt. “H-How’d you get in?” You ask for lack of greeting. 

“Um, uh,” Jungkook stutters, eyes laser focused on some point on your wall. “Chaeyoung let me in.” 

“Oh,” you say, and then silence falls over the two of you. 

Holy shit this was awkward. 

Despite being friends for going on three years, you don’t ever remember there being any stale moments between you and Jungkook. You were the type of friends that just clicked, never having gone through that awkward phase before. But you’d also never seen each other in any state less than presentable. (Being drunk at parties did NOT count, and even then, you’ve always been pretty collected.) 

To know that he’s seen your ass, covered or not, tilted your Golden Friendship with Jungkook scale extremely off center. Your fingers twiddle at your sides, not really sure if you should mention what just happened or… what?

He coughs, and you snap back to reality. “Um,” he drawls, still not looking at you but at the socks you’d thrown off the second you got home. “Sorry about that,” he apologizes, voice soft and earnest in that Jungkook™ way that made all the girls swoon. “I should’ve knocked before coming in all rude.” He finally gathers the balls to look you in the eye, and the dude looks like a kicked puppy. 

“No,” you wave him off, hands fluttering in front of you because standing like some Macy’s holiday mannequin certainly isn’t making this situation any easier. “It’s okay, the skirt—y’know this wouldn’t happen if I just wore pants,” you say, tacking on a self-deprecating laugh. It’s your turn to look away in shame. 

Jungkook jumps at your words. “The skirt’s cute!” He basically shouts and you flinch at the sudden increase in his tone. Then you’re both left looking at each other wide-eyed again as he scrambles to assure you it isn’t your fault. “I like it, and it makes your legs look really nice, so don’t-“ he stutters, as if realizing the meaning in his words, “don’t stop wearing it...” he trails off, cheeks rosy. Your mind goes blank. 

“R-Really?” You stutter, surprised at his compliment. It’s not like Jungkook never complimented you—dude couldn’t go fifteen minutes without telling his friends how much he loved them—but for some reason it feels different now. 

“Yeah,” he assures you. “Makes you look nice, and um. Pretty.” 

“Jeon Jungkook telling me I look pretty? Someone call TigerBeat magazine,” you joke, trying to ease the tension somehow. Your chuckle sounds awfully robotic to your ears, but it makes Jungkook crack a smile and that’s all that matters. 

“Shut up. You know I’m not friends with ugly people.” 

“Wooow,” you laugh, real this time. “How noble of you,” you retort, and he gives you his best snobby expression possible. 

“Ya, you’re welcome,” he teases, and then suddenly remembers what he came for in the first place. “Give me Joon’s planner, I know you’re holding it hostage.” 

You roll your eyes, and point over to the notebook on your desk that’s absolutely overflowing with sticky notes and bookmarks. “As if I’d want his nerd diary ruining the good vibes in here.” 

“These good vibes smell a lot like Bath and Body Works perfumes, you cheapskate,” Jungkook says as he snatches the book off the surface. He’s at the door again, narrowing you with another faux uppity look when he adds, “this is a Victoria’s Secret Bombshell household.” 

“Bombshe—you don’t even live here!” You huff in laughter, ushering him down the hall to the front door. He’s half a foot out the door when he suddenly whirls around, making you take a step back in surprise. 

“The stars are cute, but I prefer hearts.” 

He slams the door shut behind him so fast, that you almost don’t catch the smirk tacked on at the end. 

You were many things, but a liar was not one of them. You couldn’t lie to your parents when you were younger and wanted to sneak out, to your teacher when she asked where your homework was, or to your friends when they asked you who you liked. You couldn’t even lie to yourself. 

You’ll admit it, there was a time your eyes had lingered a little longer on Jungkook. When you would spend moments tracing the slope of his jawline, and memorizing the twinkle in his eyes. He was devastatingly handsome, and you would be blind not to see it. 

But that was before you became close friends—before game nights at Hoseok’s became a regular staple in your schedule, before your little makeshift picnics in the quad, before you all became Park Jimin’s dedicated fan club (it’s a rotating unit consisting of whoever’s able to go to Jimin’s showcases). 

Those fantasies of kissing Jungkook and going on dates were stuffed to the back as you became pals. As you’ve mentioned a million times now, Jungkook was the campus dream boy. He was hardly the skirt chaser he made himself out to be, too sweet and romantic for his own good. Besides, there was no need to be when the skirts flocked to him. 

He’d had flings, and even girlfriends, in the time you’ve known him, but he rarely mentioned them to his friends. And even though you pushed that teensy crush aside, you still wondered how Jungkook acted with girls he was interested in, if it was the same he treated you and Chaeyoung, or special on an intimate level a platonic friendship could never be. 

It’s the middle of the night when you first get a glimpse. 

[1:21 am] jk wyd 

[1:21 am] you sleeping , u? 

[1:22 am] jk same anyway I finally beat world 8 in super Mario bros

[1:25 am] you omg the 1 w dry bowser?? [1:26 am] you wait u said u wouldn’t play w/o me :/

[1:27 am] jk u suck at Luigi and u know it 

[1:30 am] you fuck u  [1:31 am] you ok but seriously what do u want I have a test tmrw morning and am pretending to be asleep 

[1:32 am] jk damn ok can’t I just talk to my friend about my successes  [1:33 am] jk but if u must know 

[1:33 am] you I must 

There’s a lull in messages for a while, and you decide you should finally actually go to sleep, dabbing some spot ointment onto your skin before hopping in bed. You turned off the overhead light long ago, so the only light illuminating you now is the lamp by your bedside. You tap your phone once again right as Jungkook sends another message. 

[1:40 am] jk you looked really pretty today

Oh. Your entire body pauses for a moment to process the sudden message, cheeks slowly heating up. You roll your lips in to stop the squeal that threatens to rip itself out of your throat, scrambling for something to type. But it’s the first time he’s randomly thrown something like this on you, and your brain feels like that episode of Spongebob when everything’s on fire. 

Before you can send the jumbled letters you’d convinced yourself was acceptable, your phone vibrates with another alert. 

[1:42 am] jk I know its weird to say that but I gotta make sure someone told u at least once today 

Your heart flutters at the explanation, and you have to slap a hand over your face to get rid of the goody smile that overtakes your features. This time, you’re a little less thrown off and quickly tap out a reply before he can say anything else. 

[13:43 am] you thanks kook :) was it the red skirt lol 

You’d been experimenting with different skirts lately, quickly growing bored of the black pleated skirt you’d originally worn. Your latest trip to the mall had you coming home with a variety of colors and styles, like the dark red denim one you’d worn today. 

[1:45 am] jk no!!!! [1:45 am] jk maybe… [1:46 am] jk ok yes you looked gorgeous 

The tiny letters blink back at you, and you set your phone down for a second to smile stupidly at your dark ceiling. You only let yourself wildly kick your legs around for five seconds because Chaeyoung was asleep next door. 

[1:47 am] you haha well I’ll make sure to wear it again for u :)

It’s only after you’ve sent the message that the last two words have you stuffing your face into your pillow to hide your embarrassment. Girl, what the fuck!!!

Oh my god, he could’ve just been friendly and polite this whole time. Jimin had said the skirt looked cute on you as well, and you hadn’t responded like this. All it took was a few compliments from Jungkook to have you dopily acting like a clown for his affections.

Before you can scold yourself anymore, your phone vibrates and you have to sit up to retrieve it from where you’d tossed it across the bed. 

[1:50 am] jk for me? I’m honored :)  [1:51 am] jk anyway get some rest before ur exam!!! [1:51 am] jk night cutie

You squeal, and Chaeyoung kicks your shared wall. 

You liked to clown Seokjin for being the president of his fraternity. He was already a stereotypical frat boy, so it wasn’t that hard anyway; he came from money, was ridiculously gorgeous, and played on your school’s soccer team. However, behind that facade he liked to put up, he, too, was infected by the dumbass disease.

“Wait, are those your legs?” He says the moment you step into his frat party. Normally, he wasn’t prone to the same stupid questions that regularly plagued Taehyung and Jungkook (sometimes Namjoon, but everyone had their weak moments), so you deduce that he probably had some alcohol in his system to openly be asking you such a question. 

“Yes, now give me whatever’s in that cup,” you brush off, not bothering to stick around to watch him not-so-subtly grope Chaeyoung as she enters behind you. You trust him enough to hand you a drink that hasn’t been roofied, but you’re also aware that Jin drinks like he’s trying to die three times over. One sip has your face scrunching up at the sour bitterness of it all. 

There’s a loud cackle of a laugh that you’d recognize anywhere, and you turn to find Jungkook leaning against the staircase banister looking like a wet dream. “Someone lost on their way to Weenie Hut Jr?” he sneers, cheeks a nice rosy color. You flick his forehead. 

You don’t bother gracing him with a reply, instead shuffling over so you’re stood side by side observing the party before you. Yoongi’s here, which is an even weirder sight than your legs being out, so you wonder why no one is talking about that. But then you see the way he’s trailing after Seokjin’s cat, Jalapeño, and realize he’s only here to make sure no one hurts her (she’s more important than anyone else here). You honor his service with another sip of Jin’s whatever the fuck mix. 

“Wow, getting braver every day, huh?” Jungkook teases after giving you a very intense once over. He’s referring to the skirt you’re wearing, a little black circle skirt that flows around you like the first one you’d worn a couple months ago. Call it a tribute to the one that started it all. You’ve definitely experimented with lengths a little more, the one you’re wearing now brushing just barely below your ass. Appropriate for the frat party, but definitely not for your theology elective. 

You hum, stepping aside as a couple makes their way up the stairs. You’re tempted to go tattle on them to Seokjin, but decide against it when you feel Jungkook’s fingers brush against your thigh. 

He grins at the surprised little gasp you let out. “Pretty,” he chuckles, deep and seductive in a way you’ve never seen before. You were used to giggly Jungkook, and Jungkook who laughs like the stepmom from Cinderella, but you’d never seen this one before, the Jungkook who looked and laughed like he was straight out of a Calvin Klein campaign. 

You giggle like a teenager at his compliment, unsure of what else to do so you settle on chugging Jin’s death drink. You only get a good three gulps in before Jungkook’s tugging the plastic cup away from you and setting it down on the nearest flat surface. “Don’t get all drunk on me now,” he jokes, eyes the teensiest bit glassy. He doesn’t look drunk, and he’s certainly not acting drunk. He might be a little tipsy, you think, because a completely sober Jungkook would never have the balls to tug you closer by the waist like this one does.  

Your hands fall flat on his chest, warm beneath the material of his shirt. Not one of his super baggy ones today, but still a bit loose where it could hug his build. “What happened to the little red one? You said you’d wear it for me…” he questions, lips playfully pushing out into a pout. 

You struggle to meet his gaze, focusing on the mole beneath his lip instead. “I, um, haven’t got around to washing it,” you stutter, absentmindedly shifting your weight from side to side. 

“Really?” Jungkook presses, sounding like he doesn’t believe you at all. After a moment in which he ducks down to catch your gaze, he seems to accept. “That’s fine. This one’s cuter anyway.” 

His words are emphasized by his fingers, tracing along the edge of your skirt while purposefully making sure to graze your skin. You shiver, unconsciously arching your chest into him. It’s only afterwards that you realize when Jungkook smirks in triumph. “Easy access too,” he murmurs, and your heart leaps in your chest. 

“Jeon,” you whisper, hyper aware of all the people in this house right now. You’re standing at a point where everyone walks by, and the idea of Jungkook groping you in front of these people, some of which are friends, seems horrifying. “People can see.” 

Jungkook’s Cheshire smile grows even wider, and you muffle a yelp when his hand slips beneath your skirt to grope your ass. “Since when were you shy?” He says, voice soft and lilting over the hum of whatever music is playing now. “Weren’t shy when you had your ass in the air that one day in your room.” 

Your cheeks burn at the memory, but your core surges with a newfound heat at his wandering hands and teasing words. “Remember?” 

You nod, tucking your head against his neck in a last ditch effort to hide your embarrassment. From here, your senses are bombarded with Jungkook and only Jungkook. 

You feel him let out a long sigh. “Been thinking about you since,” he admits. “Nah, even before that. When you wore my shirt that one day after our balloon fight in the west quad.” 

Your heart thunders at his sudden confession. The balloon fight in question had been a little over a year ago, a rallying effort from your friend group to cheer Taehyung up after an exam. After soaking each other to the bone with water guns and balloons, Jungkook had let you wear one of his stupidly big shirts home. So you’d ditched your usual jeans and shirt, wearing his shirt like a dress all the way home. 

The fact Jungkook’s been thinking about you since then makes the butterflies in your stomach flutter. 

“Every time you wear these little skirts, I think of that day. You, in my clothes, looking so soft and warm. Fuck, baby, you don’t know what you do to me.” 

You glance around, and your soul almost leaves your body when you make direct eye contact with Yoongi holding Jalapeño across the room. He gives you that Yoongi look, the whatever you’re doing is weird but I won’t say anything because I don’t care look, and that’s your signal to stumble your way upstairs before Seokjin can see you two and scold you. 

You’re not sure who’s room you end up, just that it has one and a half bunk beds in it, so you don’t hesitate to push Jungkook down onto the half. He plops down like a little cherub, all sweet smiles until you see the way his pants strain at the crotch. Of fuck, this is happening, you think as you climb onto his lap. 

His lips envelope yours the second you’re in his arms. You’re not usually one to give into those John Green cliches, but everything about being in Jungkook’s embrace feels so right. Like you belong there, or whatever. 

He’s a good ass kisser, but you shouldn’t be surprised. Jungkook was good at everything he did—such was a known fact. But he still kisses you like he’s trying to prove something, like he wants you to melt into him, and he succeeds. His mouth moves against yours, tongue sneaking it’s way past your lips until it’s inside yours, and you’re swapping spit. His breath hot, but you imagine yours is as well because just making out with Jungkook has your body temperature hotter than the inside of a sauna. 

“Jungkook,” you groan when he pulls away, desperate to feel his mouth on yours again. He smiles, lips slick and cherried as he drops his hands to your waist. 

“‘M right here,” he assures you, pressing a few pecks to your mouth before trailing his lips down your neck, deliciously licking and kissing every inch. You let out a choked moan, and you can feel his smile press against your skin. “Cute,” he croons. 

“More,” you beg, fingers curling themselves into his hair. It’s gonna way longer these last few months, the front pieces almost brushing the tip of his nose. He looks sexy as fuck. 

“At least let me stretch you out first,” he teases, face too cute for someone about to fuck your brains out. You huff in annoyance, snatching his hand away from its path to your panties. 

“No,” you whine, and then shuffle forward to grind your center onto him. Jungkook groans, jaw tight as he watches you. “Just fuck me, Jungkook.” 

His eyes roll back at a particular roll of your hips. “I-It’ll hurt, though,” he tries to reason, but his hands are already hiking up the back of your skirt. 

“Make it hurt,” you mumble, so caught up in the moment that your eyes bulge out when he suddenly lifts you to your feet. “What’s wrong?” You huff in dismay, lower lip trembling at the thought of him changing his mind. He lets out an airy chuckle. 

“Turn around for me, doll,” he softly demands, and not a single inch of you feels the need to go against him. 

You’re met with the sight of your own expression, staring back at you from the closet’s mirrored sliding doors. It’s a little dark in the room, most of the light coming from a desk lamp on the other side of the room that had been on when you first broke in with Jungkook. 

“So pretty,” Jungkook praises from behind you, and you watch in the glass as two firm hands snake around your waist, slowly easing you back into his lap. In the seconds you were distracted by yourself, he’d unbuckled the front of his jeans, the cotton fabric of his boxers brushing against your ass. “Gonna fuck yourself on my cock, baby?” 

You nod, unsure of what to do with your hands. You needn’t worry any longer, your body naturally guiding you through the motions, until one hand grabs his thigh and the other grapples for the bedside drawer next to you. His fingers trace around your waist, hiking your skirt up to—only to reveal a pair of white undies with red hearts. Jungkook’s chuckle against your ear makes you clench your legs together. “Fuck, it’s like you knew this would happen,” he murmurs, and you can’t take your eyes off the mirror as you watch his fingers trace over your covered mound. “Did you?” He asks, breath fanning over your ear. 

“N-no,” you gasp, hips jumping when he presses a lone finger to where your clit would be had your girly panties not obstructed the way. You’re embarrassingly wet just from kissing Jungkook, and his playful fingers only worsen your state. “Please hurry, Kook,” you plead, grinding back against his engorged cock. 

“You sure?” He checks, and your bobble head nods have him muffling more laughter into your shoulder. “If you say so, baby.” 

He lifts you up just the slightest bit to tug his cock out of its confines, and this is the only instance where you wish you weren’t looking at the mirror. His fingers dance along your skin again, tugging your panties to the side. 

Screw it, just do it, you say to yourself before sinking down on his cock in one go. “Oh fuck,” you cry, head lolling back to rest against his shoulder at the sudden intrusion. 

“Holy shit,” he sighs into your hair, one hand circling to the front of your waist, while the other creeps upwards to rub at where he knows your nipple is. If he were to pull your shirt and bra away, he’d see how rock hard your nipples were right now. “Relax for me, doll, I promise it’ll feel better if you relax.” 

You nod, eyes squeezed shut as your body slowly assimilated to the feeling of being stuffed full. God, he felt good inside you. Fit every crevice of you pussy like he was made for you. “Jungkook,” you moan, and he hums in response. “You feel so f-fuckin good,” you babble, swiveling your hips much to both your pleasures. “Can feel you everywhere.” 

He presses a kiss to your scalp. “Can you move for me, baby?” He questions, dropping his hands to your waist before slowly pushing you up so you’re not flopped against him like a rag doll. “Wanna see you bounce on my cock. You can do that for me, can’t you?” 

You nod eagerly, desperate to show Jungkook how good you ride dick. You muster up the strength to sit up, one hand right around his thigh again, but this time the other one clamps down over his hand on your waist. “Good girl,” Jungkook praises, giving your hips a tight squeeze. 

It’s like you thrive off Jungkook’s compliments, because soon enough you’re riding him like your life depends on it. 

It’s a rhythm of pushing yourself over and over, thighs tense from the effort it takes to pull yourself away from his cock until only his tip breaches you, before dropping back down. You can’t entirely take the credit, because Jungkook’s arms are there, lifting you up before pushing you back down. Truthfully, he’s probably still doing most of the work in fucking you with the way you see his arms flexing in the mirror. 

“Lemme hear you, doll,” Jungkook huffs, and you don’t hesitate to moan for him. It feels overwhelmingly good, his hands tight on your waist as they move you up and down, the material of your skirt bunched up between his fingers. What you’d give to feel them inside you some day, a day in which you’re not dying to feel his cock inside of you. “That’s it,” he grunts, and doesn’t even complain when your legs begin slowing down. 

He picks up the slack for you, thrusting his hips up into you like you’re just some toy for him to use and discard. But the soft praises slipping past his lips assure you you are anything but. “F-fuck,” you whine, forcing yourself above and beyond as you begin to feel that familiar coil of heat grow tighter in your abdomen. “Your cock’s s-so f-fucking big!” You cry, and one look at the mirror let’s you know you look as stupid and fucked-out as you sound. 

“Really?” Jungkook smirks, drilling into you like his life depends on it. There’s an embarrassingly growing stain on the front of your panties that you catch sight of in the mirror, and part of you wants to clench your legs shut so he doesn’t see. But it seems to do it for Jungkook, and he starts rambling about that next. “Look at you. Fuck. You’re ruining your cute little panties. Absolutely fucking soaking them with hot wet you are. I get you that wet, doll?” 

You squeal at a particular thrust of his hips, feeling his cock so deep in you that your eyes momentarily go cross eyed. “Yes, yes!” You agree, bouncing yourself with a renewed vigor. 

The answers please Jungkook, and he rolls forward until he’s pressing his tip faintly against your cervix, and your body damn near leaves your soul. “O-oh fuck!” You scream, body turning into jelly as your orgasm has you spurting hot cum into your panties and over his cock. 

“Pretty even when you come,” Jungkook huffs, hips rocking up into yours for a few more minutes until he eventually comes when you roll your hips backwards. “Holy fucking shit,” he moans, finally releasing your skirt from the death grip he had on it. 

You watch it flutter back into place around you, and you almost look like two platonic friends sitting together, but then Jungkook shifts inside you and your body convulses from the oversensitivity. 

“Wait, you and Jeon finally fucked?!” Chaeyoung exclaims halfway through breakfast, which she had so lovingly prepared at three in the afternoon. “When? Is that why you made us get waxed last week?” 

“No!” You flush, shoving another forkful of burnt scrambled eggs into your mouth. “We waxed our coochies before that, but I didn’t know we were gonna fuck.” 

Chaeyoung blinks. She’s stupid pretty even with avacado spread on her cheek. “So do you have like a seventh sense on when to get your kitty trimmed?” 

“What? No,” You scoff. “Seventh? What’s my sixth?”

“Knowing the exact moment Taehyung’s gonna throw up at a party.”

You accept. “Anyway, we just… I don’t know. It was at Seokjin’s third birthday bash last weekend.” She nods like she remembers anything besides sucking face with him all night. “We were talking and then suddenly we were upstairs and...” you trail off, glancing at your fake collection of succulents lining the kitchen window. 

“Was he good?” She interrogates. 

You flop back onto your chair dramatically. “Chae. He was so good,” you whine, and she slaps your arm in enthusiasm. “He made me ride him facing a mirror,” you spill. 

Chaeyoung squeals. “Bitch!! Here I was thinking Jeon Jungkook was the poster boy of vanilla sex,” she pauses. “I mean, still pretty vanilla compared to the time Seokjin stuck it in my—“ 

You gag and she rolls her eyes. “Have you been talking since?” 

This is the part where things get awkward, and Chaeyoung immediately senses as much. “Oh, honey,” she frowns, eyes furrowed in worry. 

“He walked me home,” you mumble, toying with the tablecloth ends. “Kissed me on the doorstep and all, but besides a few texts, I haven’t seen him around,” you lamely finish. It’s been a week. 

“Ugh, men are trash,” she spits, turning in her seat to play with your hair. “I swear if I see him on campus I’ll rock his shit. My older brother used to practice WWE moves on me, I could easily smash him through a table.”

“WWE wrestling is staged, Chae,” you point out. Chaeyoung was about ten thousand times more experienced when it came to men and their behaviors. She’s been played but also has played, so her reaction to you telling her about Jungkook is all you need to hear. 

In all the scenarios you’ve ever had about Jungkook, him randomly ghosting you had never even been a possibility. The Jungkook from your imaginary universes either just dumped you, or awkwardly friendzoned you. But completely disappearing on you? Now that was some John Greene shit. 

You’ve gone long periods of time without seeing him, like your freshman year you saw him one time in March. But even then he’d made sure to keep in contact with you, randomly blowing up your phone with Cup Pong and 8Ball requests. 

He sent you two texts this whole week, and both of them had been to cancel your homework sessions. 

You almost couldn’t believe you were living this life. The men are trash, love isn’t real, heartbreak can possibly cause death life. Forget John Green, your life had taken an unexpected Shakespearean turn. 

“Oh,” you say the moment you step into Taehyung and Jungkook’s apartment, surprised at the fact Jungkook is there despite the fact he, y’know, lives there. In retrospect, you should have seen this coming when Tae had asked you over to help him decorate a poster for Jin’s next game. He’s never been to a single soccer match in his life. “Is Tae here?” You ask, looking every part the stupid bitch. 

Jungkook’s cheeks had flushed the moment he opened the door. “No…” he answers, glances at the shoe rack behind the door as if to make sure. “Were you supposed to meet him?” Well no shit. 

“Uhh, yeah,” you say, and it’s even more awkward than the time he saw your star undies. Granted, now he’s become very familiar with your underwear and what’s hidden beneath it. You would think such an encounter would bring you two closer. “I’ll just come back another time.” 

“Do you wanna come in?” He blurts out before you can even turn away. You flinch at the sudden intensity of his voice, and then both of you are left staring at each other like cringey high schoolers. “I cut some cucumber slices with lime and that one spice you like.” 

“Taíjn?” You confirm, and he nods. “I mean...sure, if it’s not a bother.” 

Usually when you and Jungkook hung out at his place, you’d throw your bag across the room and flop onto the ugly armchair the moment you stepped in. Now, you’re awkwardly hovering by the armrest of the sofa, like this is your first time here. 

Jungkook disappears into the kitchen to, you assume, get the cucumber slices. He comes back empty handed, and with a heavy heart. “I lied. There’s no Tajín,” he confesses, and you rush to tell him it’s okay but he beats you to it. “There’s no cucumber slices either. I just needed to get you inside to talk to you.” 

“You act like I needed to be lured in, Jungkook,” you say, forcing a tight smile on your face. Jungkook visibly deflates at your tone. 

“No, this isn’t right,” he huffs, dramatically throwing himself onto the couch. You jump at the loud groan he releases from his position, which is face stuffed into the cushion. 

“You...okay?” You tentatively ask, clutching your bag even closer to your side. Jungkook shakes his head no against the couch. “Should I call Namjoon over?” 

He sits up so fast you worry he’ll get whiplash. “I have a confession to make,” he informs you, doe eyes wide and serious. 

Your brain processes for a minute before slowly responding. “Okay…”

At your response he jumps to his feet. “This may come as a shock, but I’m not a womanizer.” 

You blink. 

“When have you ever been a womanizer, Jeon?!” You nearly exclaim when you mull over his absurd proclamation. “Are there people who actually think that?” 

“I think that people think that,” he stresses to you, running a hand through his hair. “Look. I don’t mean to brag, but I’m really nice and cool, and sometimes people think that means I’m flirting with them.” Valid point. “But I’m not, because frankly I’m terrible at shooting my shot.”

The fact he’s actually admitted it out loud leaves him devastated, and you have to stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Finally, something Jeon Jungkook isn’t good at. 

“What lead you to that conclusion?” You carefully press on. 

“Because,” he sighs, dropping back down onto the couch, except this time he’s sitting like a normal person. You sit beside him, close enough to the edge that you can just spring yourself out the door if need be. 

“There’s this girl I like,” your heart pangs, even though the logical side of you can more or less guess where this is going. You’re stupid, but not that stupid. “She’s amazing, like everything about her makes me like her. God, she’s so cool, like everyone wants to be her friend, even though she sucks at Super Smash Bros., and burns her ear on a straightener at least once a month. But she’s funny and sweet, and makes me wanna join a clown troupe just to hear her laugh. And she looks gorgeous in skirts, and the way she rides dic—“ 

“Alright, that’s enough of that,” you interrupt, glancing at the coffee table decorated with Jungkook’s anatomy books, because you don’t want to look at the big dopey grin on his face as he talks about you and your dick riding abilities. 

Jungkook grins, this much you can tell from your peripheral, before it drops into a frown. “Whole point is, she’s cool as fuck. And I… I think I might love her,” he admits, and you whip around to face him. His cheeks are as red as Taehyung’s current hair dye, which is to say they’re as red as a fire truck. You get th feeling you're mirroring his expression. 

The silence following his confession seems to drag on an eternity, but truthfully, you and Jungkook both have the patience of a soccer mom of three, so he jumps to fill the spaces between you. “And like, I just wanna kiss her and hold her and watch her eat and cuddle her to sleep and hold her hand and buy her gifts, and I think I would die for her?—”

“Okay chill, Romeo,” you scramble to cut off that train of thought. Jungkook’s looking at you like you were the creative director behind Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker and the trailer released two minutes ago. It’s a weird reference but coming from Jungkook, it means a lot. 

You don’t know what to say, but Jungkook beats you to it anyway. “There’s this girl I like,” he repeats, and your heart does nearly implode on itself when he reaches over to clutch your hand in his. Your hands are sweaty and fidgety from his confession, but so are Jungkook’s. “How do I tell her I like her?” 

You gulp, before reaching over to smack at his bicep much to both your surprise. “Jeon Jungkook! How’re you gonna give me the best fucking of my life and then ghost me for a week, because you’re too much of a pussy to tell me you like me!” You almost want to cry, and you almost do when he wraps you in his arms with a delighted, warm laugh rumbling through his whole body. “You suck,” you huff, and sniffle once, and only once. 

“Thank fuck,” he sighs in relief. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if you friendzoned me.” 

“The friendzone—“

“—is a made up concept created by men who feel like they’re entitled to women and their feelings, I know,” he huffs and you laugh. You push yourself away from his chest to meet his gaze, stretching up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss that quickly turns naughty when you feel the flex of muscles beneath your hands. 

“Ugh, you beefcake.” 

“I wish,” he snorts, tugging you back into his chest as he flops down onto the couch. You snuggle into him, the position all too comfortable in your skirt. The only reason you’re reminded of it is because Jungkook traces his fingers along the edge of the material. “You asked me why I workout out but hide in big clothes, and the truth is its so I can beat up any meninist douchebag that tries to slander my girl in her thot skirts.” 

You sputter. “My thot skirts—you asshole! All my skirts are of appropriate length,” you defend, pinching his side and winning a giggle for your efforts. “That doesn’t even explain the baggy clothes part either.” 

“Shh, your thot skirt is tempting me.” 

“He made you dress up as a what now?!” Chaeyoung exclaims, fork clattering loudly against her plate as everyone in the diner turns to look at you two. You try desperately to quiet her, but the damage is done and even the server whose long since become familiar with your antics looks disgusted. 

“Oh my god,” Chaeyoung sighs, her concern on everything but this public humiliation. “I knew it. I told you he got along too well with Jalapeño, remember?” 

[ NOW WITH A DRABBLE WOW!!! ]

[chickensarentcheap]

Never Gonna Be Alone - Chapter 36

Title: Empty

Warnings: profanity, some angst

Tagging: @innerpaperexpertcloud, @c-a-v-a-l-r-y, @tragiclyhip, @miss-smutty, @alievans007​

He watches her as she stands in front of the Christmas tree; countless strings of light bathing pale, smooth skin in a multicoloured glow. She’s at her most beautiful during moments like this; enjoying silence and the relief and relaxation that comes with a warm and comfy house, clad in an oversized plaid nightshirt and her hair slightly damp from a much needed and deserved soak in the tub. She’s always been naturally beautiful; appearing much younger than her actual age and make up only taking away from her features instead of accenting or showcasing them. She’d been perfectly at home in Australia right from the start and had easily adapted to -and adopted- the casual ‘beach’ vibe; constantly bare foot and clad in tanks and shorts with wind swept hair and sun kissed cheeks and the hint of salt lingering on her skin.

While she’d been breathtaking from the very moment he’d laid eyes on her, she’s only become even more so over the years; his love for her growing with each passing day and bringing with it a new found wonderment for every inch of her. Body thicker now; cheeks rounder, breasts fuller, hips wider and curves in all the right places. It’s an appreciation made stronger by not only a strong and seemingly unbreakable bond, but a friendship as well; his truest and most loyal confidant and the keeper of his deepest and darkest secrets and his biggest and most fervent supporter. And the mother of his children. Willingly giving him the large brood that he so desperately had graved; selflessly sacrificing her own body and allowing it to become a safe haven for all the incredible little human beings that would grow and thrive inside of her. Watching someone grow bigger with your child and then become a mother brings on a whole new level of adoration and respect; putting them even higher on the pedestal that you long ago constructed for them.

Her body sways from side to side; slowly and rhythmically in an attempt to keep Tabby quiet and content. The baby had spent the better part of an hour extremely unsettled; fussy and irritable as she continued to fight sleep without the comfort of either parent. They’d offered to keep both children and Ovi and Riya had jumped at the chance; planning on coffee and dessert at an all night cafe close to their home in Queens. With two little ones and his hectic and overwhelming schedule at the hospital, it makes it nearly impossible for them to get any alone time together; much needed considering the several months of non stop wedding planning and the stress and headaches that had accompanied it. Ovi would return for his daughters -and for breakfast with the family- in the morning; Tabby accompanying him and Tanner to the American Museum of Natural History while Micki got to enjoy time with grandpa and lunch and a shopping spree at the American Doll store.

The time together as a family is rare; thousands of miles and a handful of different time zones separating them. Moving to New York City simply out of the question; neither Tyler or any of the kids fully able to get comfortable and happy in a much bigger and chaotic place. Australia is where their hearts are; their dream home tucked away at the end of a gravel street and accompanied by acres of both forest and beach. It’s quiet and it’s relatively secluded; giving him the privacy that he craves and the sense of the security that he needs in regards to his family. And while Esme had spent years living in the Big Apple and had loved her time there and once dreamed endlessly about going back and finding an area to settle down in, those feelings have long dissipated. Content with simply visiting a handful of times throughout the year; getting to experience the different seasons and enjoying the magic of a white Christmas and loving the convenience of being somewhere so vast and populated.

He had mentioned it a time or two; perhaps moving back to the States and calling the brownstone their permanent residence while using their home in Cooktown as their ‘getaway’ spot. But she’d vehemently argued against it; not keen on the idea of permanently living in her country of origin. Her happiness and her own sense of peace long ago settled Down Under; falling in love with the people and experiencing genuine awe and wonderment with every stunning sunset and brilliant sunrise. It’s where her heart is. Where it always HAS been. She left it behind years ago when they’d been forced to flee; her happiness lingering in that little two bedroom apartment that they’d called home. It hadn’t been much; the rooms shockingly small and filled with second hand furniture. But it’s where their love for each other had been fully discovered; getting to know each other -outside of sex- while he recovered from the wounds suffered in Dhaka and she’d been growing and nurturing their child inside of her.

Most of all, he’d enjoyed having her -the love of his life- in his homeland; marvelling at how she so effortlessly blended in, proud of how not only the locals so willingly and easily accepting and falling in love with her, but how she handled being thousands of miles away from her own home. Although he was -and still is- notoriously private and withdrawn, she made acquaintances so easily; Aussies quickly drawn to that bubbly personality and that cheerful and positive outlook on life despite everything she’d been through. She’d taken the place by storm; falling in love with her new life and thriving in the environment and getting up every day ready to tackle the mountain of change just dropped into her lap. Her dreams still haunted by what had taken place in Bangladesh, but her heart still so open and accepting; taking every opportunity to explore everything around her and quickly returning to loving life and everything in it. And even on the hardest of days, she’d never fail to make him smile. The way she’d giggle when learning all the slang words or how her nose would crinkle in disgust and she’d give a long, drawn out ‘ewwww’ whenever he attempted to turn her into a Vegemite lover. The fascination in her eyes whenever they’d hit up a zoo or a wildlife reserve and she’d get to come face to face with some of Australia’s most famous of creatures; crying when she got to hold an orphaned koala and then staring in absolute amazement when a kangaroo Joey hopped over and ate goodies straight out of her hand. Even at the beach she was like a little kid on Christmas morning; not quite enjoying the feeling of the sand between her toes, but marvelling at the expanse of the ocean and the way the sunlight sparkled on the water.

Even now she remains in awe of the life she’d been given; he still sees that disbelief that captures her face during a particularly stunning sunset. Mesmerized -and even moved to tears- by the colours; vivid shades of purple, pink and orange. Always expressing how grateful she is. In awe that she’d been given such an amazing opportunity; an incredible life in a beautiful place with someone that loves and worships her and children that absolutely adore her.

He doesn’t speak as he joins her; placing both hands on her shoulders and pressing a kiss to the back of her head. He savours the moment. Eyes closed and his palms running up and down her arms; face buried in her hair as he deeply inhales the familiar yet still alluring scent that clings to those dark, damp tresses. And with a peck to the cheek he steps alongside of her; hand moving to her shoulder as he tucks her tightly into her side.

“She okay?”

Esme nods, then smiles down at the little one resting along her arm. Still fighting sleep but quiet and content; snuggled tightly into her grandmother’s chest and wrapped tightly in Addie’s well loved blanket. “She is now. You just had a bit of a hard time, didn’t you Tabby. You were just missing momma.”

He moves his hand down and settles it on her hip. Reaching across her with the other, a callused palm rests gently on the top of the baby’s head; his thumb smoothly and repeatedly brushing against her brow. Tabby gives a content sigh and long yawn in response; enormous brown eyes -constantly fluttering as they continue their valiant battle to stay open- staring up at him.

Esme tugs the faded and tattered blanket upwards, smoothing it around Tabby's tiny body.

“Everyone asleep?”

“The oldest are still awake. I told them to keep it down. So they wouldn’t wake the littles up. I might have threatened them a couple times; told them I’d take their tablets away AND throw them...the kids...not the iPads...out into the snow.”

“Might work for a little bit. I think they’re used to you by now ; they know daddy is full of empty threats.”

“Guess it will really shock the shit out of them when I finally do act on it and out they go.”

“I’ll see it when I believe it. I’ll probably be the one that snaps first and DOES offer them as sacrifices to the sharks.”

“That threat held in there longer than I thought it would. We still have three that fall for it.”

“Let’s hope it continues for a little while more. She’s perfect, isn’t she?” Esme muses, beaming down at the baby and then up at him. “Absolutely perfect.”

“She is,” he agrees, and places a lingering kiss to his wife’s temple.

“And so beautiful,” she looks down at their granddaughter once more. “Just like her mommy.”

“And like her grandma.”

She gives a quiet laugh and looks up at him. It’s always there; all that love and adoration and pride that she possesses for him. It never fails to make his breath catch; overwhelmed by the amount of blind faith and trust that she holds for him. “As much as I appreciate you feeding my ego, that compliment would only work if we were biologically related.”

“Doesn’t matter, babe. You’re beautiful. And I love you. So fucking much.”

“Christmas time always gets you right in the feels, doesn’t it,” she teases, and then moves to stand in front of him; body pressed tightly into his and the back of her head resting against his chest.

“Not just Christmas lately. A lot of things, it seems.”

“I like it. When you’re sweet and sappy.” She tilts her head back to look up at him, a soft smile curving her lips. “And adorable.”

“You know, I SHOULD divorce you for that. Of all the insults you’ve hurled at me…”

“I swear you’d rather me call you a dick head or a shit for brains. Accept it, you’re adorable. You will never, EVER, change my mind. And divorce me? You’d never. You’d miss me way too much. You’d miss me and all my bullshit.”

“I actually would. Would you miss mine? All my crap?”

“I don’t know about that. You CAN be really tiring.”

He frowns.

“I’m kidding. I would take every single ounce of your bullshit over not having you around. You’re relatively tame, considering. Everything you've been through? All the shit handed to you since you were a kid? You could be A LOT worse.”

“That’s a compliment, yeah? I THINK that’s a compliment.”

“It definitely is. When I think about what you've been through? From the time you were little until now? It’s remarkable. That you’re as normal and sane as you are.”

Smirking, he leans down to press a kiss to the tip of her nose. “Did you really put me and normal and sane in the same sentence?”

“Considering what your father did to you, being in the army and out there in war zones, AND being a mercenary? Babe, you’re lucky to be how you are. You realize that, right? That you could be SO much worse. You could have totally gone in another direction; when it comes to your personal life. You could have easily turned out violent and aggressive and a complete prick. You know how many times I saw that? You know how many mercenaries I came in contact that were horrible, horrible people? Ninety nine percent of them. You? You were...ARE...a total study in contradiction.”

“I guess I never thought about it that way. How much worse things could be. I could be.”

“You could have turned out to be the worst case scenario. You could have been one those that actually LOVED killing other people. Just thrived and got off on the violence and the bloodshed. You could have turned out to be like Gaspar.”

“That’s a little...unsettling.”

“Right? He was nuts. A total sociopath. Look how quick he was to backstab you! Someone he’d known for years! Someone who’d saved his life! He was ready to kill you. To get to me and Ovi. All because you WEREN’T like him. And don’t even get me started on that whole killing doves thing. DOVES. The bird of peace! What the hell kind of person kills THEM?”

“A pretty messed up one.”

“My point exactly. He WAS messed up. Huge. And you could have so easily gone that way. Especially hanging around him. Having him for a friend? That could have been bad news.”

“First off, he wasn’t really what I’d call a friend. It's not like I saw him outside of work. I never visited him, he never visited me, we never talked on the phone or texted or anything like that. Any interaction I had with him was done on the job. And when I WAS around him? I was drunk. That’s what we had in common. Getting wasted.”

“The way he acted and the way he talked, you would have thought you’d been friends since the two of you were in diapers. I still can’t believe he screwed you like he did. You SAVED his ass. And that’s how repays you? Like what the hell?”

“Babe, it’s a long time ago. And yeah, it sucks. It was a bitch move on his part. But I was never, EVER, going to go along with what he wanted.”

“I only asked that once. Five years ago. If you even considered it for a second. I never meant to suggest you were that person Tyler. And I still feel like shit for that. I never meant to hurt you. And I know what I said did. And I’m still sorry I ever said it.”

“Trust me, there’s a long list of things I’m sorry for. Things that I kick myself in the ass for every day. I regret EVER taking you and the kid there.”

“You were just doing what you thought was best. We didn’t really have options, did we. There was really nowhere else for us to go. No way you could have known what he was going to do. It’s not your fault, Tyler. The way things ended up. I’ve never blamed you for any of it.”

“I know.” Curling his arm around her waist, he drops a kiss on the top of her head. “Let’s stop this where it is, yeah? There’s no need to talk about it. It was thirteen years ago almost. And I know you’re still pissed and you’re having a hard time getting over some of the stuff that happened. I get it. There’s still shit that bothers me. But can we at least let it lie for now? Until we get home? And bring this all up at therapy? That’s the place it needs to be brought up, don’t you think?”

“You’re right. This is definitely not the place and certainly not the time. Not when I’ve got this little sweetie with me.” She smiles down at the baby in her arms; body commencing its slow and smooth swaying. And she places a hand on Tabby’s stomach; all five fingers immediately curling around one of hers. “He did good, huh? Ovi?”

Tightening his hold on her, he rests his chin on the top of her head. “He did real good. He’s come a long way that’s for sure.”

“He really has. He’s a man now. With his own family. He’s going to be a DOCTOR. Sometimes it seems like just yesterday; trying to keep him calm in that factory in Dhaka. Now he’s living in Queens and he’s got a soon to be wife and two beautiful little girls. How did that happen? How did he grow up so fast? It’s like I blinked and he went from boy to man.”

“It’s been almost thirteen years, Me. As hard as that is to believe. And a lot’s happened in that thirteen years.”

“You’re not kidding me. If someone had told me, when I walked out of your place, that you were going to go from being my fake husband to my real one? I would have told them they were nuts. That was so not on my radar; getting into a serious relationship, never mind MARRYING someone.”

He nuzzles the tip of his nose against her ear, then presses a kiss to the lobe. “I knew it. You really did just want me for my body. Sex. That’s all I was to you. A piece of ass.”

“Maybe at first,” she admits, and then giggles when he playfully nips at the side of her neck. “But somewhere between the third and sixth orgasm, I realized that hey, maybe there IS something to be had out of all this.”

“So basically you came to that on the first day. Because if I do remember correctly, we didn’t just get down to business once. And you were on your fifth orgasm by the second round, so…”

“I realized very quickly that there was something different about you. Something that you didn’t let many people see. You weren’t like anyone I’d ever met on the job. Especially other mercenaries. You were special, Tyler Rake. I recognized that pretty early on.”

“Man, your standards really WERE low.”

“My standards happened to be very high, thank you very much. Which is why I went on my eighteen month sexual sabbatical after Mark. So what does that tell you? You had to do something awesome to get me to break. And you broke me right quick, let me tell you. I actually thought maybe you would break me a couple times, actually. Physically speaking.”

“You shocked me. That someone so tiny could take so much. From a guy so much bigger. You weren’t scared? Not once? Not even when I grabbed you by the neck?”

“Nope. I’ve never had a reason to be scared of you. Not even back then. I saw it in your eyes; you weren’t trying to hurt me. You were trying to protect yourself. You didn’t want me getting too close. And you didn’t want to feel anything. YOU were the one that was scared..”

“I was,” he admits. “It scared the hell out of me. That I WAS feeling things for you. Especially that quick. I never thought it was possible. To be that into someone so fast. Always thought was bullshit when I heard people talk about it. Then I met you. All five foot nothing and a buck twenty soaking wet. And boy did you turn my world upside down.”

She smiles and turns her face into his, tip of her nose pressed into the side of his. “In all the best ways though, right?”

“Nothing but the best, Me. Smartest thing I ever did? Agree to that job.”

“I told Ovi the same thing tonight. That it was the smartest decision I’ve ever made. I mean, it was crazy and it was weird and it was twisted, but it led me somewhere...and to SOMEONE...so beautiful and amazing. I don’t regret a single second, Tyler. Or any of the decisions I made. It was the best thing I ever did. YOU’RE the best thing I ever did.”

A grin tugs at the corners of his mouth. “Are we talking just sexually or…?”

She laughs. “You totally blew it out of the water. Sexually speaking. And you continue to you ALL the time. But I mean in EVERY way. You’re everything I could have ever asked for. In a best friend, a partner, a husband, a baby daddy. You just came into my life and everything changed. I changed. It’s all been worth it. Even the bad times.”

“You know how you always say I have a habit of making you cry at the holidays? You're giving me a run for my money.”

“Even men deserve to hear all that mushy stuff. No matter how big and strong and how bad ass they are. And you, husband, re very big and strong and bad ass. And I love every damn inch of you.”

“Baby, I love you.” Tears sparkle in his eyes as he presses a kiss to the bridge of his nose. “And thank you; I DID need to hear all that.”

“I should tell you more often. And I would. If I wasn’t afraid your head would get too big to fit through the door.”

“Always following up the corny shit with some shitty, smart ass comment. That’s my girl,” He slides his hand under the bottom of his shirt and traces a fingertip around her navel; chuckling when she shivers against him and shoves his hand away.

For several minutes they stand in silence; his arm once more wrapped tightly around her waist and her head resting back against his chest. Both watching the child being rocked in her arms, his hand seemingly even larger and more powerful as it rests upon the baby’s coal black hair; thumb continuing to brush across her forehead.

“Look at the way she watches you.” Esme says. “Look how big her eyes are. How they’re sparkling. What is what with you and babies? They always love you. Our babies could NEVER get enough of you.”

“I don’t know. Voice, maybe?”

“Could be. When you’re not pissed off about something and you’re totally relaxed and comfortable, it’s so deep and so soothing. Soft, even. I used to think about that all the time in Dhaka; how your voice would seem so different when we were in bed together and having those late night chats. YOU’D seem different, actually. You were so calm and you completely let your guard down and you were so...I don’t know...different. You weren’t the guy you were when we were out on the street. Not that there was anything wrong with THAT guy. That guy was insanely sexy and man, could rail me like no other. Just the other guy? The calmer one? He really set the bar high.”

“And now?”

“You’re still him. You’re still Tyler. You still have all the different sides and I still love them. I love them more and more every day.”

“How much have you had to drink tonight? Because I know you can be sappy, but you’re even sappier than usual.”

“I barely had any. I don’t even have the slightest buzz going on. I’m just feeling sentimental, I guess. Seeing how good Ovi is with Riya and the girls and finally coming to terms with him being a daddy and someone’s soon to be husband. It’s just brought up a lot of things. A lot of GOOD things. When it comes to us.”

“Like?”

“Just how we were when we first started out. When we first got married and I was having Millie and we’re living in that little apartment. You were still recovering and still had quite the road ahead of you, but just got your shit together and stood up. You were so good, Tyler. At everything. No matter how much pain you were in or how much you were struggling mentally to get over things. You just shelved your shit so you could be there for me. And our baby.”

“All that mattered to me was you. And our daughter. That’s it.”

“And you showed it. Time and time again. Best damn lamaze partner and labour coach EVER.”

“Even if I almost DID faint?”

“Even then. You were awesome. You were such a good daddy to be. You were so in awe of the whole thing. The way you’d always touch my belly and you’d read surfing magazines to her and you’d go out at three in the morning to get me fast food or ice cream. You never even complained. Well, maybe when you were in the car you did.”

“Honestly? No. I was just so fucking happy to be getting the chance to have another kid that I was enjoying every second. I wasn’t going to take anything for granted. Even middle of the night Maccas runs.”

“I mean it, you know. When I say I couldn’t have asked for a better father for my children. You’ve been incredible. Right from the start. I lucked out, that’s for sure.”

“I don’t know, Me. I think I got you beat in that department. Luck.”

“How about we both agree that we’re lucky? That we BOTH bring some amazing things to the table.”

“I don’t know…”

“We BOTH lucked out. Big time. We definitely both upgraded. From our first marriages.”

“We can definitely agree on that. I certainly made the right decision. When I got up the balls to ask you to marry me. Even if it was in the bathroom.”

“It was perfect. For us.”

“You know what else is perfect? Seeing you with her. Our granddaughter. Makes me think of all the times with our babies. Watching you with them. Thinking how beautiful it was. Being just so in awe of you. Is it wrong I kind of miss it? You with a baby? Even you pregnant?”

“No,” she shakes her head. “Not wrong at all. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss it. I mean, I always had issues, but I actually liked being pregnant. I liked watching my body change; my hair thickening and darkening and my boobs and my butt getting bigger.”

He grins and pecks her ear. “That last part was DEFINITELY my favourite.”

“And feeling them move inside of me. I didn’t matter how many times I went through it; it was always so amazing and beautiful to feel them. And you’d always get that dorky smile. That one that’s reserved solely for expectant dads. The one that says ‘hey, look what I did!’. You know, I should have had a t-shirt made for you. With those words on it. And an arrow pointing at my belly.”

“I would have worn it, too. Like I wear that Super Sperm every now and then.”

“I can NOT believe you do that,” she laughs. “It was meant as a joke. Not for you to wear it and be proud of it!”

“But I am proud of it. Of my accomplishment. I knocked you up FIVE times. A total of SEVEN babies. That’s some fucking skill, Me.”

“I don’t know if your boys are skilled or just plain lucky, but I’ll let you have it. Your pride in your handiwork. Congratulations, honey. You came inside of me. Quite the feat.”

“Listen smart ass,” he playfully pinches the sensitive area below her right rib cage. “Can’t you just let me have this? Can’t I have my moment? Those kids are the best thing I’ve ever done. Other than their mum, of course. She’s my favourite thing I’ve ever done.”

“You never miss the opportunity to be dirty do you. I do miss it, you know. Being pregnant, having a baby in the house. It’s kind of bittersweet; knowing it won’t happen again. I spent the better part of seven years pregnant. Starting with Millie and ending with the twins. We had seven kids in a VERY short period of time. It’s kinda hard to get used to; not having an infant or two around.”

“I mean, it COULD happen. We could both get things reversed and just hope for the best.”

“I don’t know if I can do it. If my body can even handle that. I think I’m babied out. As sad as that makes me to admit.”

“We could get a surrogate.”

“That’s a no from me. I know it’s an amazing thing and I admire the women who do it. I really do. But I do NOT like the idea of you having a baby with another woman.”

“You realize I don’t actually get to fuck them, right? I don’t get to actually enjoy the baby making process?”

“Of course I realize that. I just don’t like that idea. I’m not comfortable with it. Your sperm in someone else. Even if it WAS put there by a turkey baster.”

“A turkey baster?” He chuckles. “Is that seriously how it’s done? I do my thing into a cup and…?”

“I don’t know. Something like that I guess. I just can’t deal with that. The thought of your stuff inside of some other woman. Sounds stupid, right? Tell me it’s stupid. That I’m being totally irrational.”

“Actually, I get it. I understand where you’re coming from. If I couldn’t pitch in, I wouldn’t want some guy’s sperm being put into you.”

“Oh it wouldn’t just be put in me. I’d totally sleep with him.”

Tyler scowls. “Excuse me?”

“I’m kidding! You know I’m kidding! Baby, there is no other guy in this world I want to sleep with. You’re the only one I want to do those things with. Why turn around and settle for less when I already have the best? When I’m already married to someone that’s walking sex. A God among men. Only you, Tae. You’re the only one I want to sleep with.”

“Yeah?” He presses a series of kisses along the outer edge of her hair, followed by the length of her jaw. “You want to sleep with me tonight?”

She grins, then sighs when his teeth nip at the side of her throat. “I want to do A LOT of things with you tonight.”

“Oh really? Well in that case…” he places a kiss on her temple, lips lingering as his hand once more slips up the front of her shirt; fingertips grazing along the smooth skin just above the waistband of her pyjama pants. “...maybe we should close the house up for the night and go upstairs.”

“I think that’s a very good idea. Tell you what, I’ll lock everything up and set the alarms. You take your granddaughter and put her to bed. I already set the playpen up for her. In the den.”

“You already have her. Why don’t you do it?”

“Because you have a knack of getting babies off to sleep. You’re a natural. And besides, you doing the whole big, strong man with a baby thing? It totally turns me on.”

“Why didn’t you just say that in the first place?” He gently and carefully removes the baby from her arms. Holding Tabby tightly to his chest; a forearm under her bum and a hand on the back of her head.

“Very nice,” Esme enthuses. “Is it wrong that I’m wet for you already?”

He leans in to kiss her. “You’re dirty.”

She lays a hand on the side of his face, and kisses him eagerly in return, pausing when she giggles into his mouth. “You have that effect on me.”

******

“Adoption.”

His voice rumbles deep in his chest; reverberating against her back and tearing her away from the edge of sleep. Their love making had been a welcome change from the nights past. A bruising and punishing pace exchanged for something much slower and attentive; slow, deep thrusts that kept her whimpering in delight and her nails clawing at his back shoulders. Long and languid kisses; little pecks interspersed with the movement of closed mouth upon closed and followed by greedy yet explorative tongues. The degrading names and the filthy words replaced by whispered praises and declarations of love; her cheek cradled in the palm of his hand as he gazed down at her with so much admiration and adoration that it both brought tears to her eyes and took her breath away.

She’d been enjoying the sensation of his naked and sweat slicked body pressed against hers. Her back against the muscled and solid expanse of his chest and one of his thighs wedged between both of hers; a forearm stretched across her pillow and her head resting in the crook of his elbow. A large, strong hand hovering near her stomach; calloused fingertips tracing slow and intricate patterns on the skin. Her body completely sated and so relaxed and secure in his arms that sleep had come on quickly; encouraged by the soft breath that tickled the back of her neck and fluttered her hair.

“It’s what we should do,” he continues, as his index finger draws continuous circles around her navel. “Adopt.”

“Are you seriously back to thinking about that?

“Back to thinking about it? I haven’t STOPPED thinking about it.”

Esme frowns. “You were thinking about adoption while we were…?”

“Not WHILE we were. I did stop for THAT. I do have to concentrate more now, you know. I’m getting old.”

“Oh please…” Esme rolls her eyes. “...how many times have we had sex? In almost thirteen years? You could be fully comatose and still get things done. Muscle memory and all that. And you are NOT getting old. What’s the saying ? You’re only as old as you feel?”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better? ‘Cause I feel like I’m ninety.”

“You have just as much stamina and enthusiasm now as you did when we met. If not MORE. You’re hardly getting old. What’s gotten into you lately? You’ve been talking about the weirdest things. Getting married again, having another baby, adopting a kid. Are you okay, honey? You don’t seem okay.”

“I’m pretty far from okay. I thought we established that a few days ago.”

“OTHER than that. What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing. Nothing is going on with me. It’s just things I’ve been thinking about. Things I want to do. With you.”

She rolls over onto her other side, settling her head on his bicep as she faces him. “Are you going through a midlife crisis? Is that what’s going on here? Last month, you went and got a motorcycle after I finally caved. You went back out into the field. You’ve started talking about wanting to renew our vows and how we could get things reversed and have another baby. Now you’re onto adoption. Is that what all this is? A midlife crisis?”

“No. It’s not. No one lives to be ninety four.”

“A LOT of people live to be ninety four, thank you very much.”

“Well I hate to break it to you, but I won’t be one of them. And nothing’s gotten into me and I’m not going through any kind of crisis. It’s just things that I have on my mind. That I’d like to do with you.”

“Well the baby thing is off the list. I can’t go through the whole process of having things reversed and MAYBE getting pregnant. There’s no guarantee I would and I honestly don’t think my body can handle it again. I had problems with EVERY pregnancy. And each time things got worse and worse. Do we really want to take that chance? That I do get pregnant and something horrible goes wrong?”

“Nothing went wrong with Takota and Brookie. It was the best pregnancy you had. I mean, you had the cramping and the bleeding in the first three months, but after that…”

“They each weighed eight pounds. Or close to it. They were BIG babies for twins. Do you want to take that chance again? That we’d have another set?”

“I highly doubt we would. That seems pretty unlikely.”

“We thought having a second set would be unlikely. But it happened. I had all kinds of problems with Addie; I almost lost her twice and she was early and so tiny when she finally came. I gave birth to Declan on our living room floor. And don’t get me started about TJ and Tanner. Because that was a nightmare. I can’t do it again, Tyler. I just can’t. I can’t put myself through that; procedures to reverse everything and then getting pregnant and something going wrong. I just can’t.”

“Okay, so we don’t go that way. We adopt. It’s not like we can’t afford it.”

“What is going on with you? I used to think it was a breeding kink. And I was more than happy to go along with it and I figured you’d just grow out of it. Now I’m starting to think it’s something more than that. What is your issue? About needing so many offspring? How come every time we agree to stop, you change your mind a few months or a couple years later?”

“I don’t HAVE an issue. Maybe I just like having kids with you. Having a big family. What’s wrong with that? It’s what we wanted, isn’t it? What we agreed on.”

“We agreed on three. Then you changed your mind and talked me into it and we settled on four. I lost one and then we split up and one of our little hookups ending up with me getting pregnant with Declan. He was supposed to be the last. That was it.. And low and behold…”

“I changed my mind and we had Addie.”

“And then Kota and Brookie. Even though we BOTH swore up and down that Peanut would be very last. You even went and got a vasectomy. Didn’t exactly work, did it.”

“That was totally my fault and I owned it.”

“We have our big family. Way bigger than either of us really ever planned on. And now you’re talking about more? This is when we’re supposed to start really enjoying each other. All of our kids are in school; we have the entire house to ourselves. We should be capitalizing on that. Going places together; out to lunch or taking those road trips we like we used to or even spending time on the beach. You can try to teach me to surf. AGAIN. Now that you’re home more…”

“That’s just it, Me. I’M home more. Not you. Me. I spend ninety nine percent of my time working from home. That’s what YOU wanted. You didn’t want me going out anymore; you wanted me home and running the business and not going out there and getting my hands dirty. I gave you what you wanted, didn’t I?”

She frowns. “I thought we both wanted that. We AGREED on it. You even said yourself that it was the best decision you could have made. Considering how long you had to rehab for and the little setbacks and the complications and having to get your knee redone. You admitted that you would never have been able to go back out. At least not at the frequency and the pace you were used to.”

“I did. I DID say that. And I meant it. I CAN’T keep going the way I was. I’m nowhere near the same guy I was thirteen years ago. Or even five years ago; before Nathan got his fucking hands on me. I CAN’T do it anymore; not full time anyway. My body can’t take it. Neither can my brain. And that’s the one I worry about the most.”

It’s a bitter pill to swallow: admitting aloud that you’re nowhere near the person you’d been not even a decade ago. That you just don’t have it in you anymore; physical and mental exhaustion finally getting the better of you. And he is better behind the scenes; he enjoys running things and being the one to delegate and the guy that others look to for answers and help. But it’s still a kick in the gut. Admitting that you just can’t do it anymore.

“But I thought being home almost all the time meant getting to spend more time with you,” he continues. “That’s what I thought would happen. I thought we WOULD get a chance to enjoy being around one another more. Because you know what? I genuinely like being around you. I WANT to be around you. I want us to go places together and do things with one another. And that’s not what happened, did it. When I agreed to this whole bookstore thing. When I bought you that place.”

It had been a tenth anniversary gift; the purchase of the building and the help of both a contractor and a designer to make her vision -her dream- come to life. And it’s flourished; the locals falling in love with Esme and the business and making it far more successful than she could have ever imagined it would be. And while he’s proud of her and the success that she’s achieved and would never stop supporting her, it has come with its downside. There’s been moments of animosity towards the business itself; never expecting that it would eat up so much time or her time and take her away from him. He'd certainly never expected to miss her THAT much; hating the loneliness of a completely empty house and the mere absence of her voice. And it isn’t so much the intimacy that he longs for. The sex and the moments of more innocent displays of affection; walking along the beach with their arms around each other, the kisses while standing in the surf, holding hands while walking through the town. It’s the friendship. The laughs they have together when he’s attempting -yet again- to teach her surf and the conversations over lunch on the back deck and the road trips they take; either making a picnic the night before or simply grabbing food at a drive thru and then just driving with no set destination. Listening to her singing along to the radio and laughing when she dances in her seat or even letting her talk him into a silly and childish game of ‘eye spy’. And that little shriek and giggle she gives when she sticks her arm out the window; the accompanying breeze both startling her and tickling her skin. He enjoys those moments with her. Not just his wife and the mother of his children, but his best friend. His confidant. His most loyal and steadfast supporter. The keeper of his deepest and darkest secrets.

“I just thought we’d have more time,” he adds. “Together. That me stepping back and being a boss meant that we would get a chance to be with another more. Especially when all the kids ended up in school.”

“And I agreed that I’d cut back. I’ve already adjusted the schedule and everyone has stepped up and are more than willing to take on extra hours. Xavier was more than willing to take on a management role; I gave him more hours, benefits, a business account he can use for meals and gas costs. I’ve already taken care of all of that. Just like you asked me. Like you wanted.”

“I wanted you to want it too. I wanted you to want that time with me.”

“And I DO want that time with you. Have you ever thought maybe I felt being home more somehow hindered you? That maybe I’d be a distraction? That you’d put off work in favor of catering to me? I didn’t want to get in your way, Tyler. I know how important the business is. How well it’s doing. And I didn’t want to feel like I was taking you away from it and making you neglect things.”

“Why didn’t you just TELL me that? Why didn’t you let me know you were feeling that way?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t want to come across as whiny and needy. You’re running a company. A very successful one. I didn’t want to hinder that.”

“Baby, you could never hinder it. Or be a distraction. Well, unless you’re coming into the gym in the middle of a work out and you’re only wearing a bathing suit or a bathrobe with nothing underneath. Then you are DEFINITELY a distraction.”

“I’ve been good lately. I’ve held off. If I’m horny and don’t want to handle things myself, I don’t come in until you’ve got at least an hour and a half in. Isn’t the last thirty minutes to an hour cardio? Well I show up, offer you sex, and then you don’t have to go on the treadmill or the rowing machine or use the assault bike.”

Grinning, he uses two fingertips to clear her hair away from her face , tucking wayward strands behind. “So THAT’S your game plan. You’re an evil genius, you know that?”

“I know how much you hate standard cardio. How the rowing machine makes your back act up and that running on the treadmill bothers your knees. So I figure why not offer myself up? Spare your body any future agony. And if we go really hardcore at it, it’s DEFINITELY better than any other form of cardio out there.”

“You think so do you? Did you read that somewhere? Google it?”

“I DID google. It was actually in a highly respected and esteemed publication, I’ll have you know.”

“Cosmopolitan is NOT a highly respected and esteemed publication. No matter what you think.”

“I don’t know, their sex advice is pretty damn good. I’ve used a few of those things. You never complained, that’s for sure.”

“Which tricks? What did you try on me?”

“I refuse to give away all my secrets. But you enjoyed them. Very much. And sometimes you even ask me to do them again. How long have you been feeling this way? Like I’m neglecting you? Neglecting US?”

“I didn’t say you were neglecting anything.” Combing his fingers through her hair, he cups the back of her head in his palm and places a kiss on her brow. “I just…”

“It’s neglect. Let’s not sugar coat it. I put my business before you. Before us. And I never meant to, Tyler. Other than our children, there is nothing or no one more important than our marriage and you. I just didn’t want to get in your way. Honest. That’s all it was about. I wasn’t staying away because I wanted to. Or because I didn’t want to spend time with you. It was never about that. It was never about you. And I’m sorry. That I made you feel you were being put second. I never meant to make you feel that way.”

“And I never meant to make you feel you were going to get in the way. I didn’t even realize I WAS making you that way. I guess we haven’t made as much progress as we thought. In the past five years.”

“Are you kidding? We are totally different people. Separately AND together. We’re stronger. Our marriage is better. We hardly fight anymore. And when we do it doesn’t get nearly as heated and ugly as it used to. We’re able to calm ourselves down and not let things get out of hand. We HAVE come a long way. And I see that every day. You must see it too.”

“I do. But we still got work to do. We’re still lacking a bit on the whole communication thing.”

“It is one of our weak spots,” she admits. “But we’ll just keep working at it. Reminding ourselves that we can and WILL do better. I don’t want us going back to how we were.”

“Trust me, that is the LAST thing I want. I like where we are now. And I like that we still keep working on things. I’m proud of us, Me. And you. I’m proud of you.”

Smiling, she lays a hand on the side of his face and kisses him; long and soft and sweet. “And you call me sappy. Is that why you got onto this wanting another baby stuff? Because me being pregnant meant I’d be home more?”

“I guess so. I don’t know. Maybe it’s part of it. But there’s more to it. The way I’m feeling. I don’t even know how to describe it. I just know what it feels like.”

“You want to try telling me? What’s going on with you? You know you don’t have to keep this shit from me, right? That you can tell me ANYTHING?”

“I do. I DO know that. But that’s the thing, Me. I want to tell you. I just don’t know how to. Because I can’t even make sense of it. So how are you supposed to?”

“Try me. Just talk. Don’t even think about it. Just say whatever pops into your head.”

“That could be dangerous you know. Aren’t we supposed to be working on me trying to get some of my filter back?”

“Baby, you wouldn’t be you if you had a filter. It’s been almost thirteen years. I’m used to you. Just say whatever you need to say. Nothing could possibly shock me. Or offend me.”

Sighing heavily, he closes his eyes and rests his forehead against hers; fingers buried in her hair and gently kneading at her scalp. She gives him time; patiently waiting for an often confused and muddled mind to not only put the bits and pieces together, but for him to find a way to adequately express them. It’s part of the brain injury; the minutes he’d spent deprived of oxygen when he’d coded twice in the operating room. It brings with it a wide variety of issues that can go radio silent for weeks, months, and sometimes even YEARS at a time; short term memory issues, problems controlling and expressing emotions, lack of impulse control, bouts of confusion and an increased temper and sexual drive. And she knows how frustrating it is for him; those times he struggles to concentrate on even the simplest of tasks and conversations or he forgets what he did half an hour before or can’t recall something she told him ten minutes before leaving the house. And when he takes in another sigh -longer and shakier than the one previous- she pushes her hand into his hair and presses a kiss to the bridge of his nose.

“It’s okay.” Her voice is calm, quiet, and patient. Nails lightly and briefly scratching at the back of his head before her hand moves to the nape of his neck. “Take your time. There’s no rush. I’m not going anywhere, babe.”

She can tell by the way his shoulders tense and his nostrils flare that he’s struggling; desperately trying to piece everything together and express exactly what he’s feeling. And her heart aches for him; this strong, powerful, BEAUTIFUL man continuing to be tortured by a troubled past. He’ll never be able to fully shed the memories of Dhaka; the brain injury and its side effects and the numerous scars permanent reminders of the hell he’d been through.

“You okay?” Her hand once more moves back into his hair, gently tugging at the longer strands. “You doing alright?”

Nodding, he clears his throat noisily and opens his eyes. “I love you. And my kids. So fucking much.”

“I know you do, Tyler. I never doubt that.”

“I need you to hear it. I need you to KNOW it. Because I don’t want you taking what I say next out of context. Because it’s probably not going to come out the way I want it to. The way I MEAN it to.”

“I know you love us. I’ve never once doubted that. Just say what you have to say. No getting upset, no judging you, no taking offence. I promise. Just tell me.”

“When I met you, I had nothing. Inside of me. I was empty. And you came along and you filled most of that up. Very quickly. And then we had Millie and we started having more kids and adding to our family and each time we did, more and more places inside of me started filling up. Am I making any sense? I hope this is making sense.”

“It is,” Esme assures him. “Total sense.”

“And it should be completely filled, yeah? That emptiness? You’d think between you and seven kids and the fact we have this incredible life and all this money and two beautiful homes that there’d be nothing left to fill. But there is. And I don’t know why. I don’t know why I can’t fill that last piece. There’s this hole. In my heart. And I can’t find the piece that fits it. No matter how hard I try.”

“So you thought another baby would fill it? Be the answer?”

“A baby of our own, adopting, going back into the field. I guess I thought one of those three would be the answer. That one of them would do the trick.”

“You realize NONE are the answer, right? That none of those things are what you’re really looking for?”

“That’s just it, Me. I don’t know what I’m looking for. But whatever it is, it’s out there but I can’t find it. And I’m not saying this to hurt you or make you feel like you failed in some way. Because you haven’t. It’s not about you. Or our kids. Because I love you; with everything I am and everything I have. None of this is about you.”

“I know. I’m not upset or hurt. I know you love me. You show me and tell me all the time. When did this start? Feeling like this?”

“Couple months ago, I guess. Four at the most.”

“Right around the anniversary of Austin’s death?”

“Yeah...maybe...I don’t know…” The mere mention of his son causes tears to fill his eyes and a lump of emotion to settle in his throat. “...I guess that could have done it.”

“Baby, it’s okay to grieve. It’s okay to still be heartbroken.”

“It’s been seventeen years.”

“There’s no time limit on these things. I still miss my dad. A hell of a lot. Every day something happens where I’m reminded of him. One of the kids will do something and I’ll think about how I wish I could just call him and tell him about it. Or send him pictures of them. Or videos of Millie doing her MMA stuff or TJ scoring goals in lacrosse or Addie at dance recitals in her cute little outfits. It hurts like hell when I realize I can’t share those things with him. When I think about everything he’s missed and how much he’d love those kids. And you. I don’t think it ever really goes away. Grief. I think it’s always there in some way.”

“I just didn’t think it would be this hard. Hurt this much. Especially after so long.”

“You lost a child. A human being that you helped make,” she reasons. “I can’t even bear it when I just think about losing one of mine. So I can’t even begin to imagine what it feels like when it actually HAPPENS. To have to sit there and see your child suffer.”

“But I didn’t sit there,” he reminds her, voice cracking with emotion. “ I took off. I left him there. That was my son. And I LEFT him.”

“You were scared. You were young and you were…”

“I was thirty one years old. I wasn’t a kid. I was a grown ass man. I wasn’t some fucking kid right out of high school. And I wasn’t scared. I was weak. I was a fucking coward and I left him. When he needed me the most. He was sick and he was terrified and I left him.”

“Tyler…” She cradles his face in her hands, thumbs clearing away the tears that slip down his cheeks. “...it’s okay. It’s okay to talk about it and it’s okay to feel the things you’re feeling. But beating yourself up like this? Hating yourself? This isn’t good, babe. You can’t hate yourself forever.”

“You think so? You just watch me.”

“Listen to me,” she pleads, and digs her nails into his face. “You can’t do this. You can’t spend the rest of your life hating yourself. You made a mistake. And yeah, it was a really bad one and I am so fucking sorry that happened to you. That Austin got sick and suffered like he did and that you felt you had no choice but to leave.”

“How can you not hate me? How can you look at me like you do? Why don’t you see me like a monster? Like the huge piece of shit that I am?”

“Because you’re not a piece of shit and you’re not a monster. You’re just a human being that made a bad mistake. I could NEVER hate you. I love you. More than I ever thought I could love someone. And if there was some way I could go back in time and change things and make them better for you, I would.”

“No. Don’t say that. Don’t ever say that. Don’t ever even wish that. Because going back and changing everything would just change everything now. It would mean I’d lose you. And my kids. I loved my son. But I would never bring him back if it meant losing everything I have now.”

She kisses him softly; tasting the salt of his tears as her fingernails lightly drag along the lines of his jaw. “You need closure, Tae. It’s something you’ve never gotten. If you knew where he was…”

“She’d never tell me. Not even seventeen years later. She wouldn’t even tell my lawyer. When we got divorced.”

“Have you tried tracking her down? It’s been a long time. Last time we saw her was thirteen years ago. She may have mellowed. She might be willing to tell you now.”

“I’m not exactly her favourite person, Me. And do you blame her? I didn’t just leave him, I left her too. When she needed me. I know she was a shit wife; constantly fucking other guys when I was away. Sometimes when I was even still in town. But she didn’t deserve that.”

“Do you want me to track her down? I could call or go and visit and ask if she’d…”

“No. That is the last thing I want. I don’t want my past mixing with my present. My future. I appreciate it, Me. And I love you for wanting to do that. For being WILLING to do it. But no good will come of that. You and her meeting up.”

“Is there anything I CAN do? Because I hate that you’re going through this. And I especially hate that you hate yourself. That I can’t take that away. Because you don’t deserve that. That hate. From yourself or anyone else. Tell me what I can do. Please.”

Sniffling noisily, he swipes the back of his hand across his nose. “You can’t fix me, Esme. No matter how much you want to. Or how hard you try.”

“I don’t want to fix you, Tae. I just want to love you.”

The tears immediately return, and when he chokes back a sob she gathers him in her embrace and rolls onto her back. An arm across the middle of his spine and hand moving to the back of his head; fingers tunnelling in his hair as he rests his brow against her chest.

“I don’t deserve that. I don’t deserve YOU.”

“You deserve EVERYTHING. And you’ll never convince me otherwise. Let me love you. That’s all I want. To love you. Can you let me do that?”

Nodding, he slides further down the bed; both arms circling her torso as he buries his face in her stomach.

“It’s going to be okay, Tyler.” Both hands push through his hair; tightly gripping the dirty blond tresses, nails digging into his scalp. “I’ve got you.”

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

What a Time to be Alive - Diego Hargreeves x reader Season I

Chapter 7- The Day That Was

Summary: Five has popped in from nowhere, yet again. Now you, Diego, Five, and Allison are on the hunt for an important file.

Masterlist - where all the other chapters are⚔️

Tagged: @sambucky8 @white-wolf-buckaroo @2cuteforyourlies @la-vie-en-amour1 @fandomoverlord221 @thatfandombitcch @alonewolfsblog @starrrybarnes @winterboobear11

“Who the hell is Harold Jenkins?” Questions Diego, bewildered at the random insignificant name Five just handed Allison on a folded piece of paper. Five glances up at the six of you, who are all gathered around Allison in various states of befuddlement. He lets out a short huff before taking one more sip of coffee, promptly chucking it behind him where it soars across the room forgotten and out of sight.

“I don’t know...yet. But I know that he’s responsible for the apocalypse. So we have to find him. And we have to do it now.” Explains Five, setting up a new plan of attack.

“How is he connected to what’s gonna happen?” Wonders Luther doubtfully.

 “I don’t know.” Answers Five, Diego cutting in with his own questions, “Wait so you just know his name? That’s it?”

“That’s enough.” Assures Five to the rest of you. You let out a snort, amused by his ready-to-go vagueness.

“There are probably dozens of Harold Jenkins in the city.” Adds Diego, making a compelling point, how are you guys supposed to find one guy within the giant populous of the city?

“Well, we better start looking, then.” You deadpan, not thrilled with the idea of playing a game of Where’s Waldo.

Five then goes on to fully explain the reasoning and valuable information about how he came to the conclusion of Harold Jenkins causing the apocalypse. Further diving more in depth about his former employer and what the Commission is, as well as what it does, which is to protect and maintain the timeline. It’s a large informational dump, but it does clear up more about who Hazel and Cha-Cha are. As well as what they do, so they’re timetraveling assassins who help keep the timeline in order. And you already thought your life was weird enough.

Five finishes his little rant, the rest of you all beginning to speak out at once, rambling on with more opinions and unnecessary questions. Allison commenting on how completely insane everything he just said sounds. Five’s head snaps up at that, “You know what else is insane? I look like a 13 year old boy. Klaus talks to the dead, Y/N can get shot in the head and come back to life, and Luther thinks he’s fooling everybody with that overcoat. Everything about us is insane. It always has been.” You nod at that, Klaus adding his two cents from his spot laying on the couch, “He’s got a point there.”

“We didn’t choose this life, we’re just living it. For the next three days, anyway.” Five ends with, hoping everyone will see the importance of sticking together. “But the last time we tried to stop it, we all died. Why is this time any different? Why shouldn’t I go home to my daughter?” Worries Allison.

“Because this time, I’m here. We have the name of the man responsible. Guys, we actually have the chance of saving the lives of billions of people. Including Claire.” Replies Five, a new determination pushing him forward. Allison’s eyebrows furrow in thought, “You know her name?”

“I do, and I’d like to live long enough to meet her.” Five tells her honestly.

“All right. Let’s get this bastard.” She agrees, walking closer to Five. “You had me at Gerald Jenkins.” Says Diego, you roll your eyes, Five correcting him “Harold Jenkins.”

“Whatever it is. Too many people have been killed his week, let’s not lose anyone else.” You add, walking towards the door.

“You, Luther?” Five says, surprised that Luther hasn’t joined the band wagon yet. “Yeah, you go. I’m gonna stay and go through Dad’s files. I still think this has something to do with why he sent me to the Moon.” Luther tells all of you, his mind still dead set on the Moon and why he was sent there. You roll your eyes, Diego speaking up at Luther’s unwillingness to help, “Seriously? Now you wanna make the end of the world about you and Dad?”

“No. “Watch for threats.” That’s what he told me. You think that’s a coincidence? This all has to be connected somehow.” Luther explains while looking to each of you expectantly. “No, we should all stick together.” Allison reasons, trying to get Luther to see the light. “We don’t have time for this.” You groan while reaching out to touch Diego’s arm, you just really want to leave and get on with things.

“Let’s roll. I know where we can find this asshole. Klaus, you’re with me and Y/N.” Beckons Diego, nodding for him to follow. 

“Yeah. I...I’m good. I think I’ll, uh...I think I’ll pass,” He says from the couch while waving him off, “I’m feeling a little under the weather, so..uh...” He trails off, getting up and walking past you, Diego, and Five.

 Diego and Five look to you for an answer as Klaus walks away and out of sight, you just shrug your shoulders, “The worlds a rainstorm and he’s but a tiny rain forest ant.....I don’t know, lets just leave.” You tell them with a sigh as you start walking towards the front door, the two of them following.

“When did you get all metaphorical?” Says Five.

“Since today.”

“That’s right my babes a smart one.”

“Someone has to be...and Diego it’s not gonna be you.” Five lets out a choked laugh at your teasing comment.

“I’ve missed you guys.”

——

Surprisingly enough, Diego had the right idea when it came to finding this Harold Jenkins guy at the police station. They have all the records of almost everyone in the whole city, so Jenkins record has to be here.

Diego pulls up to the side of the building, while you look out the window at the bustling city life, thinking to yourself about how none of these people could even begin to dream of the life you live. They’re all blissfully oblivious to that fact that the actual apocalypse is supposed to be coming in a couple days. None of them have a goddamn clue. They don’t know what it’s like to die, or what a heartbeat sounds like in the chest of a terrified teenage robber. They’ll never know what it feels like to look at their own reflection in a bullet, as it flies past their head. When it seems like time is rolling in slow motion, and you’re the only one fast enough to react. They have no idea, and they’ll never carry the memories of taking another humans life. But no life you have ended was ever innocent, and the world can sleep a little easier with the loss of another rapist or murderer gone from the streets.

You stay silent as Diego and Five start talking about this Jenkins guy. “I know this Jenkins dude has to have a record. We gotta get our hands on his file.” States Diego, but you do wonder how he’s gonna pull this off.

“And your plan is to what? Waltz in there and just ask for it?” Sasses Allison, doubtful about Diego’s confidence.

“I know the station like the back of my hand, sis. I’ve spent a lot of time inside.” You snort at that, “Behind bars or handcuffed.” He glares at you through the front mirror, you just smile sweetly at him.

“Whatever. Here’s the plan.”

“Plan? I’m just gonna blink in and get the file.” Five says matter-of-factly. Diego shakes his head, “No, that’s not...You don’t know the ins and outs of this place, okay?” Diego jabs defensively.

“I literally just did this yesterday.”

“What.”

“My yesterday, not your yesterday. It’ll take me two seconds. Why don’t I just go?” Argues Five clearly confused as to why Diego is being difficult about this simple task.

“Listen to me. You are not going in there. I made a call. That’s what a leader does. He leads.”

“Okay then Mr. Leader, get the damn file.” You grumble, wanting to get on with the day, considering there’s only three left. He gives you another fake mirror glare, before opening the door and getting out.

——

While Diego is off and away, getting that file, you’re currently leaned against a marble wall of some giant building, Five doing the same to your left. The both of you listening to Allison’s attempt at calling Vanya, who doesn’t appear to want to answer. Finally Diego walks around the corner, “So?” Asks Five pulling himself off the wall.

“You’re welcome.” He says while Allison snatches the file out of his hand. Suddenly her eyes go wide, “Holy shit.” She exclaims, taken aback by whatever she’s looking at.

“What?” You question, leaning in closer to see what the big deal is.

Allison turns the file around so the three of you can see the photograph of a man, “Harold Jenkins is Leonard Peabody.”

Your brows furrow in confusion, “Am I supposed to know who the fuck that is?” 

——

It feels like you’re playing a game of clue or something of that nature, the file leading the four of you to Harold/Leonard’s house in some suburban neighborhood. You all get out of the car, making your way up to the front porch. “Be careful, okay? We don’t know what Peabody’s capable of.” Warns Allison in that concerned motherly tone of hers, it’s almost comforting.

“Yeah, he didn’t seem dangerous when I first saw him. Looked kinda scrawny.” Replies Diego taking the lead up to the house.

“Yeah, well, so are most serial killers and mass murders.” Allison adds, you laugh at the irony. “Exactly, I mean look at Five.” You tell them, Five gives you a half offended look while muttering a short, “Thanks.”

Five and Diego continue their way up and onto the front porch, slowly walking towards the door. As they’re doing this, Allison goes to the right, heading for the back entrance. You pause on the sidewalk, right in front of the house, while looking up at the roof where you spot a window into the upstairs bedroom, bingo. Crouching down ever so slightly, you spring up, hurling your arms upwards for more momentum as you launch yourself onto the roof. And she lands a perfect 10, outstanding, you think chuckling to yourself. Both Diego and Five completely unaware of yours and Allison’s absence, you continue to the upstairs window. The window’s locked but like that’s going to stop you, you grip the bottom of it and push up, snapping off the lock as you lift it. Giving yourself access into the house, you stick a leg in, ducking under as you make your way inside. It’s clean enough, and best part, there’s no house alarm. You have a look around at your current surroundings, nothing seemingly out of the ordinary that would raise any alarm bells, in fact the place is kind of a bore if your being honest.

Walking down the wooden stairs you see Allison and Five making their way towards the front door to unlock it for Diego. A second later Diego comes bursting through the glass, crashing into the floor and making a nice mess in the process. “Subtle.” Comments Allison looking down at him. Five walks over to the door handle, turning the knob and opening it, “You know, the door was unlocked.” He tells him. You make it to the first step, watching in amusement as Diego picks himself up, “Dramatic, as per usual.” You quip, Five and Allison snickering as Diego just grumbles, “Yeah, well, my way works just fine.”

He stands up, flicking loose pieces of glass stuck to his jacket, “Spread out. Yell if you, uh.... you know, you’re in trouble.” He sighs, walking away and into the living room.

“Ah, inspiring leadership.” Comments Five bluntly. “One of the greats.” Adds Allison as the three of you watch him limp away.

“If we ever have kids, I hope they’re not that stupid.” You mutter, Allison lets out a loud laugh as she turns to you, her face breaking out into an amused smile. Five just shakes his head with a tiny smirk lacing his boyish features, he then moves to walk away and into another room.

You shrug, walking back up the stairs, Allison trailing behind you. She searches in some guest room, as you slowly walk down the short hallway, your nose catching the scent of something odd, you look up. The attic door, “Well this has never let me down in any horror movie. There’s gotta be some creepy shit up here.” You mumble to yourself, incredibly curious as to what you may find. Reaching your arm up, you grab the dangling handle, firmly pulling down the retractable steps. Letting curiosity take the better of you, you march up the wooden step-ladder, only for your eyes to land on the entirety of the Umbrella Academy in its prime. All your faces scratched where the eyes should be, plus a multitude of figurines, some of which are broken and melted. Definitely not weird or anything, totally normal.

“Guys, you’re not gonna believe the weird-ass shit I just found!” You shout down to them, excited about your creepy horror movie like find. You can hear the thumping of their shoes as they all race to where you are from their various spots in the house. Allison peaking her head up first, the others following suit. They all stand around behind you, taking in their peculiar new surroundings.

“All our faces are burnt off.” Says Allison, freaked out and bewildered by this wild discovery.

“Well, that’s not creepy. This guys got some serious issues.” Mumbles Diego, who’s leaning down to get a better view of the damage.

“I was hoping our breaking and entering would lead to something interesting, I didn’t exactly have weird-man-child-obsessed-with-childhood-heroes in mind.” You muse, picking up a half melted figurine of yourself. Your face scrunches up into a grimace at the ugly sight, you then turn to face the others, gaining their attention.

“Look. Mine even has orange eyes. Special Edition Number Eight.”

“That’s nice Y/N. Mine doesn’t have a head.” Retorts Diego.

“Five you still look like your figurine, it’s like a freaky spitting image.”

“My hair looks better.”

“Amen brother.”

“Y/N I can’t say the same for yours..ah don’t hit me I’m kidding.”

“This was never about Vanya. This was about us.” Exclaims Allison, getting more disgusted by the second as she quickly gathers the attention of the three of you. 

Without warning Five falls to the floor, making a loud thud. You all turn in concern, “Five. What...” Allison trails off, getting down on her knees to better assess the situation, you set your half melted Special Edition self down on the shelf, turning to do the same but on Five’s left. Your eyes catch a deep red stained to his fingers. A subtle whiff of blood dissipating off of Five.

You lift up his uniform shirt to better see the damage, he’s got a nasty piece of metal shrapnel stuck in his side. “Jesus, Five.” Whispers Diego, concern lacing every word.

“Five what the fuck, I was wondering why I could smell blood on the way here.” You glance at Allison for a fraction of a second, she thankfully doesn’t catch what that glance was implying, you’d be laughing at the thought if not for the current situation. Five just groans, “You have to keep going. So...close.” He whispers, passing out once again. 

“Five. Five!” Allison shouts as the both of you try and shake him awake. It’s no use, he’s to exhausted.

“Well, shit.” You add dryly, positioning yourself to lift Five’s unconscious body up.

——

Diego holds open the Academy’s door as you quickly make your way inside, holding a barely conscious Five in your strong arms. Allison and Diego right behind you, “We should have taken him to the hospital.” She whisper yells.

“A kid with a shrapnel wound might raise some questions.” Five mutters tiredly, as a stream of blood runs out the side of his mouth.

“Yeah, well, so does the murder shrine in Harold Jenkins’ attic.” Presses Allison, making a solid point. You finally reach the living room couch, laying Five down as gently as you possibly can.

“He’s still losing a lot of blood. What do we do? We gotta get the shrapnel out.” Worries Allison, looking to you for guidance. Diego randomly walks past the two of you, seemingly abandoning ship, nope he’s just found Grace who’s apparently fixed and about to walk up the stairs.

“Diego, where are you going?” Allison calls after him, but he completely ignores her.

“Fuck Diego, we don’t have time for this. I’ll get the medical stuff...just uh...keep the old guy awake. I’ll be right back.”

——

You’re leaning against Five’s wardrobe as Grace puts a fresh bandage on his wound. Your mind flashes to the times when she would have to do the same thing to you, after countless dangerous missions. Although she would actually just be painfully dislodging the shrapnel, doing her best to be as gentle as she possibly could. Those metal and glass pieces would have left you for dead, if not for your miraculous healing capabilities.

Diego leans against the door frame as Allison walks up behind him. “Anything?”

“There’s no answer at Vanya’s place. And the receptionist at her music school said she was a no-show for her lessons today.” Replies Allison, nervous as to where her sister could be.

You turn around to face them, as they both walk into the hallway. You keenly notice how Diego’s face looks almost slightly startled to see Grace up and active after what he did.

“D, you okay?” You whisper walking closer to him and Allison. “Yeah. I don’t know, it’s just surreal seeing her. I just wanna tell her that I’m s...” he doesn’t let himself finish, not wanting to reveal any important details that Allison is unaware about, “We don’t have enough time. We gotta go.” He says, turning for the stairs. “I don’t know, Diego. Five is laying there, unconscious. We need him.” Pleads Allison, holding Diego from taking off just yet.

“We can do this ourselves.” He says, his voice laced with determination. Crossing your arms you take a deep breath, “We did that already, remember? Long story short, we all died.” You sass, also wanting to stay and wait for Five.

“I’m thinking I should go back and see Claire before...” Starts Allison, Diego cutting her off, “You can’t run away from this, Allison. That’s what started this whole mess in the first place.” Diego pauses for a moment sighing, “Luther was right.” He admits, both you and Allison giving him a look. She scoffs, surprised, “I didn’t think I would ever hear you say those words.” He gives an apprehensive smile, “Yeah, well... we gotta stick together.”

You nod towards him, “Alright, hot stuff. Where do we start.” You ask him. He flashes you a small smile, “There’s no other addresses in the file, but there is another relation listed. Jenkins’ grandmother. She lived near Jackpine Road.” He explains turning to walk down the steps, you and Allison following suit. 

“You think he took her there?” She wonders.

 “I wouldn’t mind a late night drive, it’s a good enough place to start anyways.” You conclude as the three of you make your way through the Academy and out the front gate.

Continuing your way into the street, “Nope. Come on, this way.” Diego says, pulling you in the opposite direction of two police cars sitting further down the street. “Wait, but the cars back that way?” Allison says, troubled as to why Diego refuses to go in that direction.

 “Trust me, okay. Come on.” He quickly says, walking briskly away from the cruisers, you lightly touch his right arm, quickening your own steps.

 “What’s up with the cops?” You whisper, he doesn’t look at you.

“They think I killed Patch. Because of all the evidence and all my finger prints were on everything.” He mumbles, your brows furrow in frustration, “What the hell? But I was there too? Guess I didn’t touch anything.” You state puzzled, just as blue and red lights begin flashing behind the three of you.

“We’re gonna have to split up, okay. I’m in charge. Remember Vanya needs you two.” He tells you, his face showing deep worry. Why must things always go wrong?

You grab his hand, holding it tight, “Don’t say or do anything stupid, okay?” You warn him, as Allison turns to quickly flee the scene. You squeeze his hand, “I love you.” You whisper quickly, before jogging away from the cop cars, as you hustle after Allison. You can hear him mumble a quiet “Love you too” as the police cars speed into view. You glance back, your heart stinging when handcuffs are forcefully placed on his wrists. Guns drawn on him, you’d love to kick those pistols right out of their grasp. But alas, you push onward, getting into the passenger seat as Allison starts the engine, taking off down the avenue and towards this house out in buttfuck nowhere. This whole evening has had quit the turn of events.

[marmolady]

The New Taylor: Part 1

READ PART 2 HERE

Book/Series: Endless Summer

Main Pairings: Estela x MC

Summary: (Endless Ending).  Saving the world takes a lot out of a person. For Taylor, growing into her new self beyond La Huerta can only happen as fast as her exhausted body will allow her....

Word Count: 5541

Tagging:   @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr,  @greengroove

______

The light of the rising sun filtered through the thin curtains of Estela’s childhood bedroom, gently rousing Taylor from her slumber. She grumbled softly, nuzzling deeper into the pillow, and snuggling into her wife’s chest and belly. Somehow, she could just never get enough sleep. It was as if her body’s batteries were still relearning the art of recharging, some three?-- four now, weeks after Vaanu’s energy departed her. In exchange for looking forward to a lifetime of waking up in Estela’s arms, a little tiredness was a small price to pay.Some days, though, it felt like an insurmountable hurdle.

Full lips brushed Taylor’s cheek and jaw, whispers of kisses. How could she not smile? Her eyes opened to that beautiful, scarred face. “Mm… morning, babe.”

Estela beamed. It was hard not to when she had her arms around a miracle. Back home with her tio, the promise of a happy future was tangible, a hope that she could just about believe in.

“Good morning, hermosa.” She nibbled the lobe of Taylor’s ear. “Did you sleep better?”

Taylor yawned noisily, and took her time stretching out her body, enjoying the press of her back against her lover.

“Better, yeah.”

Nightmares had been an ongoing problem for Taylor for about as long as she could remember. Every now and then she’d have stretches where she couldn’t even seem to close her eyes without being bombarded. Images of her friends’ deaths… dying in a thousand different ways. The worst, though, the worst by far, was a memory of her own; Estela’s eyes going dull as she took a last, rattling breath, Taylor cradling her in blood-soaked arms. It haunted her in sleep; the feel of blood on her hands so horrifyingly real, usually waking her with a violent shiver up her spine.

“Mmmm…” she turned to press a kiss to Estela’s lips. “I’ll take every good night of sleep I can get. You sleep okay?”

Estela’s face was soft with affection. Her own nights’ sleep had been badly impacted by the traumatic period of Taylor’s recovery from Vaanu’s leaving her. After seeing the love of her life stop breathing again and again… letting go of the fear wasn’t something that came easy, and it made for restless nights.

“I think I made it the whole night. We might just be through the worst of it. I guess you’re not gonna die on me in the middle of the night after all.”

“Like I keep saying; you are stuck with me, Estela Montoya. No way you’re shaking me now.”

With a happy squirm, Estela squeezed Taylor from behind. “Nope-- you’re all mine.” She placed a big smooch on her wife’s rosy cheek. “Come on; I can smell breakfast cooking!”

 ________________________

Several weeks in, San Trobida remained a brand new world for Taylor. It was to some relief when it quickly became apparent that she didn’t especially stand out and draw attention. She slowly got to grips with her place in a world beyond La Huerta, and no one seemed to pay her much notice. Estela had told her, with a laugh, that San Trobidans were not an especially chatty people, and that this shouldn’t come as a surprise. One might expect a polite smile of greeting, but the general population were about as likely to strike up small talk as Estela was-- which was to say, not very.

Initially, Estela had been stuck to Taylor as if by glue, letting her presence be a safety net as her wife grappled with her identity in what was an often overwhelming environment. And it hadn’t just been for Taylor’s benefit. Reunited with her uncle in a post-war San Trobida, her beloved partner by her side, it seemed inevitable to Estela that the other shoe had to drop at some point. Life wasn’t this easy. It just wasn’t. Every other time she’d believed that the struggle was over, she’d been hit with another wallop to the gut. Trusting in ‘happily ever after’ wasn’t something she could turn on like a switch.

But everything hadn’t gone crashing down in flames. Nicolas had welcomed Taylor-- and Jake, for that matter-- enthusiastically into the family. Even for the short years she’d been away, Estela found a San Trobida flourishing without the choke-hold of oppression that she’d always expected to be there. Jake had hit the ground running, having already interviewed for positions with two local airlines to charter tourists-- the thought of tourists coming to San Trobida was staggering in itself. Estela had offered her services to do odd jobs for old acquaintances; something she’d done many years before, when her mother had still been around to prevent her from getting involved in the war. The vast majority of her uncle’s friends had been connected to the rebellion in some way or another, and standoffish as most were, they welcomed her earnest insistence on being useful. Everything around her spoke of recovery, and Estela found herself beginning to believe that she and Taylor were on their way too.

Taylor often accompanied her wife on these errands, taking every opportunity to soak up the essence of San Trobidan life, to make it a part of herself. She was met predominantly with wary looks and grunts, and soon worked out that it wasn’t worth taking such reactions to heart. Today, though, she was striking out on her own. If she was going to come into her own as a ‘new Taylor’, the fully-realised human being that even Vaanu themselves could not have imagined of her, she had to give herself a chance to grow.

“You have the bus timetables on your phone, right?” Estela asked, taking a moment to give her wife’s fingers a squeeze. “It’s still probably best if you don’t go into the city on your own, but you pretty much know your way to the closer towns anyway. And you can call me…”

“...at any time.” Taylor returned the squeeze. “Always.”

Estela blushed. “Yeah… that. Just, be careful. If you’re feeling tired, call. I can drop everything in a moment, but I need you to be safe.”

Whether Taylor’s batteries ever properly recharged these days, was something debatable. Even the simplest activities would knock the stuffing out of her. Walks along the beach were kept short. Afternoon naps were now something of a fact of life. Sex was slow and gentle. It was damn near driving Taylor crazy, and all she could do was tell herself that it would get better, that her lack of energy was a tiny price for the miracle of her continued presence on earth.

She took Estela’s face in her hands and kissed her sweetly. “I’ll be careful, okay? I know my limits.”

  The bus ride up into the hills east of Estela’s home was a scenic one, and a trip that Taylor had now taken a couple of times during her solo explorations, as well as once, of course, with Estela. Passing agricultural plantations-- cassava, banana and sugar cane, she’d been told-- the surrounding vegetation became denser as the road carried on to the next town. Taylor hopped off at the next stop; if she was feeling up to it, there wouldn’t be too much of a trek back down the hill to the bay off which the Montoya house stood. With that in mind, she kept her ambling around town to a slow pace, and coffee in hand, soon took to the walking trails through the surrounding forest.

Almost certainly as a result of feeling so at home in the wilderness of La Huerta, it was in nature that Taylor felt she was at her best-- it had always been on hikes through the jungle or along the coast that she could really get lost in thought and ponder the big questions. Now, though, her body just couldn’t seem to keep up with her mental needs. When she sat down upon the forest floor for a breather-- surely after not even a quarter of an hour of walking-- her legs were like jelly.

Goddammit.

Frustrated, Taylor distracted herself by taking a picture of an odd flower. She’d been collecting snaps of just about anything in nature she came across that stood out as different to what she was used to on La Huerta. If Estela or Nicolas couldn’t identify it, she’d hit their old handbook of San Trobidan botany. It was a small hobby to keep her occupied; at least she could keep on learning even if she was usually too tired to do a lot physically. She’d also taken up knitting-- though she had a way to go before she’d really got the hang of it. Besides poring over books and keeping up a barrage of questions about life here, there was not a whole lot else for her to do. She’d had a couple of driving lessons, but like everything else, they had to be kept short. She’d usually go along with Estela when she was running errands, but if she wasn’t painfully aware of how weak and vulnerable she presently was, getting a good view of her wife’s vigour and strength did nothing to make her feel any better. Of course, there wasn’t a hint of judgement-- but Taylor was so often left feeling useless and unattractive. Estela had fallen for an energetic woman who had taken life by the horns, and right now, it felt like that woman didn’t exist.

She took her time to recover; sending a couple of pictures to Diego who’d been getting an almost blow-by-blow account of her new life in San Trobida, and doing a few easy stretches. Estela was convinced that working on core strength was the best way forward for Taylor’s rehabilitation; once her body was stronger, then they’d work on cardio and stamina.

Limbered up, Taylor walked back to the bus stop. Dearly as she’d wanted to make the trek home, something that just a couple of months ago would have been a piece of cake, she was not fool enough to think it might happen today. Getting off the bus a couple of stops before home was the compromise she’d have to live with for the time being. She plugged in her earphones and watched the world go by-- listening to a soundtrack she’d inherited as a mish-mash of her friends’ tastes. When she hopped off the bus, that beat kept her putting one foot in front of the other, a steady rhythm. From the footpath by the road up the hill, she could already see an easy route home; the sparkling sea providing a beautiful backdrop that she’d never have fully appreciated through a window. She could feel her body flagging with every step, but it was worth it.

You got this, Taylor. All downhill from here.

As Taylor turned the last corner toward home, her legs shaking, a small figure skittered out across the road and towards the beach. A small sickly-looking dog. Strays were not uncommon near the towns and beaches; Estela had said there used to be many more around the place, that with the war over there was more scope for focus on animal welfare. The fact that this one looked like a strong gust of wind could finish it off spurred her.

Well, I guess I can make a slight detour.

She hastily tucked away her earphones and crossed the street, whistling. Most of the dogs that showed up were seasoned beggars with no qualms about approaching humans. Chances were, this little one would come running. Huffing and puffing her way slowly to the beachside village, she found the dog trundling along the behind the now-closed bar. On a longer look, Taylor noticed that its forelegs were oddly bent, facing in opposite directions as it loped, and the scruffiness that had caught her eye was down to great patches of hair loss that accentuated a thin frame.

Poor little fella…. She gave a low whistle and crouched. “Hey, l’il guy… uh, girl actually. Hey, l’il girl. You must be hungry….”

The dog looked around, eyes wary, as Taylor wobbled precariously. It gave a small but gruff bark, and moved further away. Taylor huffed; if the animal didn’t clearly need a vet, she’d have left it be. After her walk down from the bus stop, her head was spinning and she wasn’t sure how much longer she’d be able to keep putting one foot in front of the other. Maybe… maybe she should just come back for the tiny dog later. Then, as Taylor made to get up, she stumbled and fell.

Fuck.

Suddenly, it seemed pretty clear that the mangy little dog was not the one in most immediate physical peril. Taylor gave a weak yell and kicked out the dirt. To her alarm, her vision blurred horribly, and she went from ‘a little bit weak’ to ‘I could faint right here’ dizzy in frightening speed.

Okay, head between your legs. Deep breaths… deep….

The world swam. Taylor could just about make out the dog barking in the distance… then all went black.

  _____________________

Taylor woke slowly, her head aching. The room around her seemed to spin, and it took several long moments before she recognised it as Estela’s bedroom. Propped up at the head of the bed, she’d clearly been brought home by someone after…. Crap, what happened?

“There is water for you on the bedside table,” came the sharp voice of Nicolas Montoya.

“W-what happened? I fainted? I think I… fainted.”

“Thankfully you were found by someone who recognised you as a guest of mine. Now, sit up slowly and take small sips of water. Estelita will be home soon-- I would much prefer she is not coming home to her idiot wife looking like death warmed up.”

Her lips dry, Taylor swallowed, still trying to catch her brain up with whatever had just happened. She’d been chasing after a stray dog, and then…. God, Estela was gonna freak. She mumbled a ‘thank you’ for the water, for the apparent rescue, and tried to hold off from shuddering at the bitter disappointment in her uncle-in-law’s voice. He was pissed. A strong part of Taylor was indignant; she wasn’t a fool, but this was new.

“Drink.”

There was no arguing with that tone. Taylor took a sip, then another. She tried to think. She’d been out walking and… her body had just given out on her. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t known she was exhausted, but….

“It happened so fast. I was on my way home, and I was tired, and then I just… crashed. Where’s Estela--? Does she know I’m okay--?”

“I didn’t take you for a dumbass--”

Anger flared in Taylor’s gut. That was not fair. “Hey-- I passed out. I’m not stupid, I just--”

“No? You are ill, wandering around defenseless… by your own choice, no? Knowing that your wife would drop everything to get you home when you are clearly incapacitated. I give you some credit; I assume you know this is not the safest corner of the world? It seems like you are a maldito idiota to me!”

Taylor could feel her whole body trembling uncontrollably. “You can try, but you’re not gonna make me feel any worse than I already do. I made a bad call, and I’m paying for it. I don’t expect you to trust me; but I learned a fucking hard lesson today.”

Nicolas turned away, seething.

“If I thought it was a risk, I wouldn’t have done it. I would never put Estela through that kind of worry. Not again.”

“Well, we are fortunate indeed it wasn’t she who found you collapsed in the dirt.” Nicolas’ eyes flashed as he looked back over his shoulder at Taylor. “Do you have any idea--”

A creaking signaled the front door swinging open. There was a pounding of frantic footsteps on hardwood floor and then….

“Taylor!”

Estela rushed in, falling to her knees beside the bed where Taylor was propped up.

“’Stel…” Taylor’s eyes welled as both relief and shame washed over her all at once. I’m so sorry.

“¡Dios! Me asustaste hasta la muerte! What were you thinking? It’s okay, just… just let me look at you….”

The tone of panic and the tears rolling down Estela’s cheeks made Taylor’s heart sink down to her toes. This was the last thing she’d wanted.

Nicolas scowled. “Well, she’s in safe hands now. Estelita, I will be in the office if you need anything.”

“Thanks, Tio.” Estela did not turn as her uncle walked away; she had eyes only for Taylor. Tentatively, she climbed up onto the bed, settling down gently beside her wife.

“I really thought I had more stamina than tha--”

“Shh.” Estela put a finger to Taylor’s lips. “Let me check you over.”

Too exhausted to struggle, Taylor leaned back against the head of the bed, letting Estela inspect her for any signs of physical distress. She remained quiet, feeling the tension that hung between them, tension that shouldn’t be there.

Finally, Estela sighed, her dark eyes forlorn. “Looks like no harm done. You got lucky. But you can’t just push your luck like that. I can’t believe you’d just--”

“It was an honest mistake. Part of being human, or at least that’s what I’m told.”

“It was a stupid mistake!”

It was as though an icy bucket of water had been dropped on Taylor’s head. Estela wasn’t just hurt, she was… angry?

“Hey! I have been lectured enough by your uncle, and I am not gonna take it from you. I know you’re scared, but this is new to me. I’m still working out my limits.”

Estela winced, immediately looking ashamed for snapping. She curled up her knees to her chest and stared straight ahead. For a long while, she sat that way, unmoving.

Taylor watched her wife with concern. Where was she? Reliving the long nights in the Elyys’tel medical centre, a hair’s breadth from losing her partner forever? Or was she even further away; remembering the shattering impact of loss and fearing it touching again?

“Taylor,” Estela said hoarsely, “I can’t… I won’t lose you.”

“No. You won’t.”

“So, don’t do that to me again.That was irresponsible and dumb, and that… that wasn’t fair.”

Hurt, Taylor tried hard not to pout. She wasn’t doing this on purpose; surely Estela knew that?

“We both know that you can’t look me in the eye and tell me that you’ve never overestimated what you were capable of. I made a mistake, okay?”

Estela’s nostrils flared. It was difficult to argue with that. Sometime in the future, when he’d cooled off, her tio would no doubt laugh at the thought of her having a taste of all the worry she put him through. “Look, it might seem peaceful here, but beneath the surface, things are still broken. This is not a place that’s forgiving of stupid mistakes. If anything happened to you now, I-- I think it would kill me.”

“I know, ‘Stel. And I was being careful. I thought I was being careful enough…”

As she looked into Taylor’s face, Estela’s expression gradually softened. This sucked. It really sucked. But that wasn’t down to Taylor. She was scared too. Gently, Estela reached out a hand and stroked her wife’s cheek. “You’re safe now. That’s what matters.”

Pressing a tender kiss to Estela’s wrist, Taylor felt herself relax. They were okay. Both kind of freaked out, but they were freaked out together.

“It’s like I don’t know my own body anymore. I feel absolutely useless; I can’t even trust myself, not after what just happened. It’s… kinda shit. ”

Estela huffed knowingly, and stroked Taylor’s hair. “It’s a lot shit. I’m sorry for taking it out on you. The last thing you need is to be stressing out ‘cause I’m being an asshole.”

“You? Never. You’ve had to be scared for so long; you’d have to be a robot if you kept it together all the time.”

“Hmm. Well, if I’ve gotta let off steam, that’s what a punching bag is for. I don’t wanna hurt you. Not ever.” Estela stroked her calloused fingers through Taylor’s hair. It helped to calm the both of them.“Did Tio really chew you out? If he thinks he can lecture you--”

Taylor laughed dryly. “Nothing I can’t handle. It… kinda sucks that he thinks I’m a complete idiot, but I’ll work on that.”

The hurt, though, could not be hidden.

“Carińa, you have nothing to prove. When Tio gets protective he can be… well, pretty damn unpleasant.” Estela sighed softly. “When I found out Mom was dead, it… it’s hard to explain how bad it was. I was unreachable. And obviously it took a long, long time for me to even be close to the person I was before. I think when he found you like that, he must have had a moment when he thought it was happening again. It doesn’t excuse him being an ass to you, but you should know it’s not your fault. You’re not what’s wrong here. Jesus, you’re the opposite of what’s wrong. Okay?”

Taylor found her wife’s hand and squeezed. “I know.” For a little while, she was quiet, just taking comfort in Estela… her being there, her touch. That love was a privilege. “Your tio just… absolutely loves you to pieces. Like you’re his everything. For him to feel as though he’d lost you; it must have been something like torture.”

Her eyes closed, Estela breathed deeply against Taylor’s head, soothed by the scent of her hair. She’d let go of the guilt, but profound sadness lingered. The years since her mother’s death had been little but immeasurable pain for Nicolas, making even the triumphant rebellion hollow.

“I could never thank him enough. No matter what, he supported me, he had my back. Even when I was stuck on a mission that would take away the last person he loved.” She found herself enveloped in a hug, Taylor gently bringing her to her chest and cradling her head there. “I love him. More than I can say. More than I think I’ll ever work out how to show him. But I think… he knows. We’ve been through too much for him not to. I know I fought it; I didn’t wanna risk you even if it meant the world… but he gets to heal now. With me.” Estela looked up, pink dusting her cheeks as she looked into Taylor’s shimmering blue eyes. “You did that. And there’s nothing that anyone could ever give to compare to that. You’re my hero.”

Taylor found herself sniffing, faced with shining sincerity. She didn’t feel like a hero, but for as long as Estela needed her to be that person, she’d try to live up to it. “You’re mine.”

“So, mi querida, it’s gonna be okay.” Estela pulled herself up, so that Taylor could lean on her in turn. “How are you feeling?”

“Actually, not so bad. Like, I desperately needed rest, but at least I seem to be able to bounce back pretty well.”

Estela sighed thoughtfully. The ordeal had been a fright, but it looked like no harm had been done. “You should tell Michelle what happened. She’ll want to know.”

It was hard for Taylor not to groan at the thought of causing even more worry, but she nodded her agreement. Ever since Vaanu left her, she’d been nothing but a burden.

“Actually, what did happen? Tio said you were passed out on the beach-- I thought you were going up into the hills.”

“I did. And I was all pumped up to trek back down from the town--,” Catching a horrified look, Taylor couldn’t help but chuckle. “--cool your jets; you know I’m not that stubborn. I realised pretty quickly that my ambitions were way too high. So, I got off the bus a little ways before our stop, and I walked it. I did it. I mean, it knocked the stuffing out of me, but I did it.”

“...And then, something possessed you to take a stroll along the beach?”

Taylor felt her cheeks flush. Okay, this was the part where I get a little foolish. “There was this little stray dog. Tiny thing, and it looked so sickly. Apparently, the bleeding heart in me jumped out, and then I was on a mission. I think the thought of actually helping someone, and not just being this weak, lost little person just… just sparked something in me. Pretty sure the adrenaline just from that got me to the beach, because when I stopped moving, the fatigue hit me like a train.”

A little smile came to Estela’s face, and it made Taylor blush all the more.

“I know, I know, apparently I’ve got myself a hero complex. Maybe a little bit stupid, but my heart’s in the right place?”

Estela just laughed and held her wife even tighter. “How am I meant to argue with that? One pig-headed crusader to another; it’s not the worst thing you can be. I love you, Taylor.”

Taylor closed her eyes, breathing in the familiarity, the comfort, that came of having Estela so near. Her whole world, her everything. All that she had to give in return was so… small. Helpless and small.

“Hey…,” Estela said gently. “It is going to be okay. I know you’re all right physically, but… you’re sad.”

“I thought I was getting better. I don’t want to be a damsel in distress for the rest of my life. It’s not as if I even know who I am now, but that ain’t it.”

Estela tenderly kissed Taylor’s brow, her own furrowed with concern. “You are getting better. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but from where you came from, this now is amazing. You’re stronger even than just last week. However long it takes, I’ll be there with you. You know, ready to give you a fireman-carry to safety.”

“I guess there’s gotta be some perks to being a damsel in distress. I can’t deny it; that would be kinda hot.”

“Kinda?”

“A lot. A lot hot. I’m sorry, have you seen your arms?”

To Taylor’s relief, the atmosphere had shifted; Estela waggled her eyebrows and giggled, eliciting a weak but grateful smile.

“You’ll be back to kicking ass in no time. If it helps, we can focus more on your physical training-- at least once you’ve recovered from this little, uh, episode. But, um, that little dog you found….”

“If we can find it, I really want to help. Maybe there’s the selfish aspect of me wanting to feel capable of being at least a little bit helpful to someone, but I want to get it fixed up. It-- I think it was a girl-- looked pretty bad.”

“I always wanted to bring home strays when I was little; Tio Nicolas thought he had enough responsibility with a kid around the place, so that was never gonna happen. I’m sure he won’t mind another guest, now. Or at least, he wouldn’t say no. Do you want to get a dog, mi amor?”

“It hadn’t actually crossed my mind what we’d do with her once we brought her home and got her healthy, but… yeah. I think I’d like to have a dog.” Despite all her worries, all her fears, all her shame, Taylor couldn’t stop the small smile that lit her features. If she could somehow claw her way back to a semblance of her old self, what lay ahead looked amazing. “Look at us, ‘Stel; already growing our family.”

A giddy grin plastered across Estela’s face served to sweep Taylor back up into her own insecurities; those voiced and those yet hidden. This was supposed to be their happy ending; after everything her lover had been through, it was all Taylor wanted to make it happen. But now… was she even enough?

This might be as good as it gets. Can you really expect her to be there to catch you when you just can’t stop falling?

Estela stood up and stretched, but gave Taylor a look when she made to follow suit.“We’re not going anywhere until you’re properly rested. I’ll make you some lunch. But then, we’ll see if we can help out your little friend. What do you think?”

Taylor frowned.

What do I think?

I think… I’m scared I’m going to hold you back, when you’re capable of so much.

I’m scared your uncle’s only ever gonna see me as another burden for you to carry.

I’m scared you’re gonna wake up one day and realise I’m not the same person you fell in love with.

She swallowed hard. There was so much love in Estela’s dark eyes, and it was shining there just for her.

I won’t stop fighting to be what you deserve. We’re so close to happy ever after, and I won’t let you down now.

“I think I’ll be up to that. We’ve got saving the world under our belt; rescuing a stray dog is gonna be a cakewalk. Let’s do this.”

[joaquins-angel]

only you

anonymous said: Can you write a Joaquin fic where the reader is upset/insecure about being with him (since he's famous and older)? Then, he comforts the reader :)

pairing: Joaquin Phoenix x Reader

warnings: small angstiness, sad reader, joaquin being a hard loving sweetheart

word count: 1,109

side note: isn’t he so handsome in this gif?? my lord...

Society nowadays is so judgemental about every little thing. They’re against someone’s religion, a little boy shouldn’t be wearing sparkly nail polish, a black family with an adopted white child shouldn’t be allowed, girls shouldn’t cut their hair short, and the list goes on and on. But something that also ignites discomfort are age differences. Whether it’s eight years or twenty years. In society, there’s suddenly an “age limit” on dating people. It’s commonly frowned upon when there’s a young woman dating an older man or a young man dating an older woman. It’s quite frustrating because society is never happy with someone else’s happiness. It’s definitely not perfect, but a majority of the population wants perfection.

Social media is the main cause of people being judgemental and literally having no lives, except for bashing others. There’s the cyber bullies, the Karen’s, the famous models, the forceful older men seeking on barely teens. It’s all over the place. You, on the other hand, are mixed in with the cyber bullies - often being a victim to their sick little jokes. And the reason is because of your relationship with Joaquin. Your social media is always private, only for your close friends and family to access. But somehow, it got hacked into and photos of you and Joaquin got leaked. Some fan pages loved them, while others read you to filth.

She’s like 25????????

Isn’t he wayyyyy older than her?

They don’t seem like a good mix..

Sugar daddy and sugar baby!!!!!

It’s a no from me :)

You knew you should’ve stayed away from the new spotlight, but it just got too hard when your own friends were calling you about what they’ve seen online. You had one close anxiety attack because it all just hit you at once. You’re not sure what to do or how to come to Joaquin with this problem. For now, you decided to stay silent and delete all forms of social media. You didn’t miss it too much. There were new photos you wanted to post, but you kept it to yourself and not for the eyes of the public. You’re not why people frowned upon your healthy relationship. You and Joaquin are adults, you being in your late 20s and him in his mid 40s. Those hateful people didn’t know that you successfully have two degrees in English literature and early childhood education. They choose to ignore all the good you did, how happy you made Joaquin, how pure and kindhearted you are.

Your grandmother was only 22 years old when she met your grandfather who was reaching the ripe age of 37. At the time, yeah, it wasn’t exactly a good pair. To your family’s surprise, they were happily married for 50 years until your grandfather passed away in the 1990s. They were happy and carefree. No judgement was slammed onto them. Not like today where everyone is more harsh and cold hearted. You weren’t aware of how deep in thought you actually were when you felt a pair of cold hands settle on your hips. You dropped the dishes you were washing and helped from the sudden contact. You felt a warm chest collide with your back and felt a few puffs of air blow against your ear.

“Sorry,” Joaquin laughs quietly, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “What’s wrong? Why’re you so quiet?”

“I’m always quiet,” you awkwardly say and finish up with the remaining dishes while Joaquin stays behind you, arms locked around your waist.

“Bullshit,” he says, tightening his arms when you try to pull away from him. “Hey...look at me.”

He turns you around after you shut off the faucet and dried your hands with the towel. You kept your eyes casted down and leaned against the counter as Joaquin plants his hands on either side of you on the marble top. He ducks his head to catch your gaze.

“Look at me,” he gently repeats.

You sighed softly and felt the quiver in your chin and the painful knot in your throat. The stinging in your eyes and tickle in your nose made you cover your face in embarrassment for breaking down in a matter of seconds. Joaquin says nothing, but waits for you to calm down.

“It’s just...” your voice cracked and you shook your head at yourself for being so weak when you’re supposed to strong. “People are just so...cruel.”

“What did they do?” Joaquin straightens his shoulders, but he doesn’t move his feet, instead staying close to you with his body heat and smoky scent giving you comfort.

“They always,” you hiccuped. “...bash our relationship online because I’m younger than you and-and I’m so over it, JP. It’s not fucking fair that they do this!”

You furiously wiped away the warm tears that slid down your flushed cheeks, making the salty liquid irritate your skin. You sniffled and hiccuped again as you tried to keep composure.

“That shit shouldn’t even matter to you,” Joaquin states, hooking a finger under your chin to lift your head. “What matters is that you’re happy and I’m happy. What do they get for making you feel like shit?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled.

“Exactly - fucking nothing,” he frustratedly says. “Do you love me?”

“Of course I do!” You nearly shouted.

“Then why do you let this get to your head?” His tone was more gentle and confused. “Hm? Tell me.”

You sighed and rubbed at your eyes. You shrugged and played with the string of his black sweatshirt. “I don’t know...I just...wanna be accepted, I guess.”

“Babe,” Joaquin quietly starts. “Not everyone is gonna accept you and me being together. And to be honest, I don’t give a fuck. You make me happy. You give me reasons to keep going and you always make sure I take care of myself. I love you - look at me - I love you so much, Y/N.”

“I love you too,” you softly whisper, resting both hands on his scruffy cheeks to pull him down for a gentle kiss. One of your hands curl around his neck to caress his graying soft curls. “I love you so much, Joaquin.”

“Fuck what the world thinks about us. Where we are right now is our own personal space. No one is gonna come here and destroy that, okay? You understand me?” He asks you as his own hands grab your cheeks, his thumbs pressing under your chin to keep your head lifted so he can look into your eyes. “No one.”

“Okay...” you give him a smile that makes him reciprocate.

He’s right - fuck what the world thinks.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧ ﾟ:

Tag List: (let me know if you wanna be removed or added pleath)

@darknessisafriend @impulsiveclown @pocket-clown @ithinkimawriter @fleckledlemonade @ezziesworld @sweet-nothings04 @fleckcmscott @comical-tragedy @clowndaddyfleck @thisnotajoke @jokergirl10491 @joaquinfeed @saint-kore @arthurskitten @itsforyoubitch @tsukiakarinobara

[nekoannie-chan]

Universus

Pairing: Brock Rumlow X Reader

Word count: 1777 words.

Summary: It seemed like a normal training day for you and Brock until Johnny came to ruin the day

Warnings: Angst, this is an Horror AU.

A/N: Universus means Universe.

This is my entry to the @star-spangled-beard-burn ‘s Season of Fiction Writing challenge 2020 with the fall prompt #1:

“I TOLD you I can’t do haunted houses”.

Also my entry to the @marvelgirlonamarvelworld ‘s Val’s 500 Writing challenge with the dialogue prompt #3:

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t the one who fucked us all up. What trouble did you get yourself into now, sweetiepie?”

And my entry to the @anika-ann ‘s 500 Celebration Challenge with the Arrow prompt #5:

“You tell anyone about this, I will kill you”.

“…That’s just an expression, right?”

Is a horror AU.

My native language is Spanish so I wanna improve my writing skills in English if you notice any mistake please let me know and I will correct it.

I don’t give any kind of permission that my fics be posted in other platforms or languages (I translate myself my work) or the use of my graphics (my dividers are included in this), I did them exclusively for my fics, please respect my work and don't steal it. There are some people here who make dividers that anyone can use, mine is not this type, please look for the other's people. The only exception is the ones I gifted 'cuz now belong to someone else. If you find any of my works on a different platform and is not one of my accounts, please let me know. Reblogs and comments are always welcome.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Marvel's characters (unfortunately), except for the original characters and the story.

My other media where I publish: Wattpad, Ao3, ffnet.

If you like it please vote, comment, and give me feedback to improve my skills and reblog.

Tags: @navybrat817

You slipped and winced; Brock turned around and saw you on the floor, he went back to check if you were hurt.

“Are you okay?” He asked offering his hand to you.

"Yes, it's nothing, I just got distracted," you answered taking his hand and standing up with her help.

“Are you sure? You've had a lot of accidents and been distracted all week,” Brock commented with concern.

You dusted yourself off and looked at your boyfriend smiling.

"Come on, we've managed to survive that guy with the weird cloak and the girl who takes daggers out of her hands, as well as the group of weird kids who have a dinosaur."

"I still don't understand why they have a dinosaur," Brock questioned, putting a hand on his beard.

"After all we've been through, are there still things that surprise you?" You questioned incredulously.

"Not exactly, rather it surprises me that without having powers, I am still alive," he replied.

"That is because I’m healing all your wounds in the missions with my powers, but your destiny would probably be different if I didn’t do it," you agreed with satisfaction.

"Always so modest," he said wryly.

“Of course, well next time I won't heal you and I don’t know who’s gonna help you.”

"I don't think you will be so cruel ... are you?" He asked nervously.

"Challenge me and you will see," you threatened.

"You know I love you so much, right?" Brock replied, trying to sound friendly and approaching you.

"Don't even think about it," you stopped him by putting your hand on his chest.

"Don't be mad, babe, but as soon as the fair will be in the town, I will take you to the haunted house."

He got closer and started kissing your arm.

"Noooo, you know I hate haunted houses, let me," you said laughing, you knew what he was trying.

If you let him continue, he would achieve his goal and you could no longer pretend that you were upset with him, although obviously, at night you were going to take revenge. You saw the time and decided it was better to return to compound before they will start looking for them or they will find you in a "compromising" situation.

 Baxter Building

 Johnny saw the object in his hands, he had heard Ben talk about it, and obviously, Reed had created it, although he could not understand what it was for, he shook it a little, but nothing happened.

Maybe he could take it with Y/N and Wanda and see if they could find out what that item was doing or what it was for.

He immediately saved it and went to the compound, it would surely be a very fun visit, as long as the three of you were there you used to have many adventures.

 Compound

 "Hello ladies," Johnny said, entering to the place.

“What are you doing here?” Brock asked.

Johnny and Brock didn't get along at all since Brock thought Johnny liked you.

“What is that?” Wanda asked when she saw what Johnny was holding.

"I don't know, I found it in Reed's lab, but you two are very smart and I know you'll help me find out," Johnny replied, ignoring Brock.

"Well ... it seems ... something Reed is probably going to be very upset if he doesn't find it when he looks for it," you said.

“Oh come on! I don't think…!”

At that time the Multisect activated and everything went dark for a few seconds.

 Unknown place

 You opened your eyes confused, you felt stunned, you assumed that the others were too, you turned looking for the rest, who were lying in the place, you did not know where they were, and you did not even seem familiar.

“Is everyone okay?” Johnny asked, getting up.

“Where we are?” Brock asked sulkily, he was sure you were going to have problems.

"This place is very dingy," Wanda said scared.

"I just hope a madman with a machete or an electric saw doesn't show up and wants to kill us," you said.

"Well, Tinker Bell, take us back to the compound," Brock ordered.

"Yes, of course," Johnny muttered as he waved the Multisect.

You and Wanda exchanged glances, you knew Johnny, and so you would have to find another way to return to the compound… although perhaps you should first find out where you were. Johnny seemed nervous, he didn't know how said object worked.

“Well, well, well. If it isn't the one who fucked us all up. What trouble did you get yourself into now, sweetie pie? ”

“Brock, this is not the time for sarcasm, we must find out where we are supposed to be and, above all, how to return to the compound…”

“Your idiot friend brought us who knows where, we have no weapons apart from those we carry for training, or anything to defend ourselves as we know, we will have to improvise and worst of all, we have not the slightest idea of what the ground, ”Brock interrupted.

"We have Wanda who has powers, Johnny has powers, I have powers, we will be fine, and apart from that is what training is for, right?"

Brock growled disgruntled, he did not like what was happening at all, of course, he could have hand-to-hand combat, which was his speciality, but he knew well that for some things, having some kind of power was more effective and weapons they were a great help too.

“Johnny please, don't lose that thing, I don't care if Reed scolds you, but we surely need it to return home…”

You heard a sound nearby as if someone was dragging chains and stepping on leaves, the four of you put themselves in a position to defend yourselves if necessary.

“What was that?” You asked scared in a whisper.

"I think your question is rather where we are?" Wanda corrected.

"We have two options, or we stay here like idiots while Tinkerbell tries to fix that shit or we start walking to find a way out, obviously we shouldn't separate," Brock suggested.

You turned to see Johnny, who smiled nervously.

"I don't know how it works," he admitted.

Brock sighed exasperated, you would have to walk without knowing what dangers there were.

"I don't know who is more useless if this one or Rogers, although at the moment I think we already have a winner," Brock mumbled.

“Then what do we do? “You asked.

Johnny pushed himself to be able to fly, however, it did not work, just as Wanda tried to use her powers creating a field, there was no success either.

"Okay, we are screwed, I think we will have to walk to get to the highway ... or somewhere that can bring us closer to a populated area, maybe there we can get a phone to call the others and come for us," you said while you were looking for the compass in your pockets.

Once you found it, you started walking towards where the compass indicated that it was the north, Wanda took your hand to try to control the fear that both of you felt, Brock had an angry and Johnny tried to make a flame appear in his fingers.

The forest seemed huge and endless, you lost track of time, you no longer knew if you walked for hours or minutes, each time the place became gloomier.

“Are you sure it's the right way? “Wanda questioned.

"I don't know, I don't even know where we are, I'm just following where the compass tells me its north," you replied.

Suddenly Brock stopped them, you looked at him asking for explanations; however, he put a finger to his mouth to silence everyone, you hid behind a huge tree.

A group of people with masks passed by, it seemed that they had some hostages that they were taking somewhere.

"We should help them," you whisper.

"We cannot care about others."

"Although I never liked him, your boyfriend is right," Johnny said.

you began to walk slowly so as not to attract attention and to run away when you were far enough they ran into another guy wearing another mask, so Brock and you shot him, you did no harm him, he began to chase you, you separated into two groups, you and Brock, Wanda and Johnny, without realizing it.

After you made sure you weren't chasing them anymore, you stopped, turned around looking for your friends while trying to catch your breath.

"Brock ... where are Wanda and Johnny?" You asked raggedly.

"I don't know ... I thought they were coming after us."

“Do we look for them or what do we do?”

"First, not to separate, second, we have to walk trying to avoid those damned fools and find them."

You held hands and began to walk, it was difficult to determine if you had already walked through the place or not, at times you had to run again when you were being chased.

"I TOLD you I can't do haunted houses".

"This is not a damn haunted house, it is a fuckin’ haunted forest," Brock replied.

"Anyway, Brock, I'm seriously scared, we must find Wanda and Johnny," you whimpered.

You were surrounded, it seemed that there was no escape, you tried to run until you ended up crashing into the other couple.

“Are you okay?” Wanda asked terrified.

“We are still alive, but I don't know how long…”

Impulsively Johnny threw the Multisect at the attackers, which activated at the exact moment when it looked like they were going to attack you.

You saw the others without understanding, nobody knew how you came to the compound, and the only thing that mattered was that you were safe. You and Wanda hugged each other while Brock grabbed Johnny by the collar of his shirt to threaten him.

"You tell anyone about this, I will kill you."

"... That’s just an expression, right?"

"No jerk, I'm serious ..."

“Brock is enough, Johnny already learned the lesson, he is going to return the object to Reed's laboratory, right Johnny? “You broke in separating the men.

“Yeah, yeah, of course.

"You know what, we're going to go with Johnny," Wanda said.

You entered the laboratory and Johnny left the Multisect where he had found it, then you went to the hall and there you found Reed.

"Hi guys, haven't you seen my Multisect?" Reed asked.

“Your…what?”

“The Multisect, it serves to travel to other universes… you know, forget it, I don't want you to get into troubles.”

"Doctor Richards, if you knew ..." You spluttered as he left.