#'i cut the whiskers from my face instead of my own throat' i will NEVER be over that. ever.

[p4nishers]

suicidal characters i love u!!!! ignore the sobbing

[residents-of-the-darkforest]

Nine Reluctant Lives (final) (sprouting thorns)

Aldereyes could not hear the displeased murmurings that had been ringing quietly along the edge of every life he had so far been given. Now, there was no talking, no whistle of wind brushing his ears, not even blood pounding within his skull.

It was as if all was still–including his very heart, not falling to the pit of his stomach nor leaping into his throat, not melting with warmth or freezing with ice. It was as if he couldn’t feel anything at all, as if his brain didn’t have the capability of allowing him to look at who he was looking at and process how that would make him feel at the same time. It would be too much. It was too much.

So he was left looking at Sweettree, saying nothing, only gaping and staring like a fish flung onto the sandy shores of Riverclan.

Sweetree’s expression, however, was painfully clear. Her eyes shimmered with a sadness so powerful and deep that Aldereyes was sure that every cat in all five Clans could drown in them, and there would still be room left for the loners. Beneath them were bags so heavy her face drooped, coated in a fervid red like a fever. Her fur was a mess, flat against her frame in some places and sticking out randomly in others. Stars..she looked worse now than when she had died.

And Aldereyes is responsible for it.

The numbness thawed instantaneously, and as though there was the chill of a rainstorm over his head, Aldereyes felt droplets of coldness bury themselves beneath his aching skin, crawling beneath it like worms and inching toward his eyes, where they stung until they fell, soaking his cheeks. His stomach, on the other hand, was uncomfortably hot, and his gut felt as if it were being pulled and twisted. “Sweet-Sweettree!” He gasped, struggling to stand.

His mother stood there, whiskers away yet fields apart from him, saying nothing. Was she rejecting him? His own mother?

Did he deserve it?

An eternity passed, Aldereyes barely holding the strength to keep the wail of anguish from his throat any longer, when Sweettree stepped forward. She seemed hesitant, and Aldereyes couldn’t help but guess-almost feel as if he knew with certainty–that she didn’t want to so much as look at him, because he couldn’t be her son. Her precious kit. She didn’t want who he was anymore, no longer the kitten suckling at her belly or begging for a story, telling her while standing proudly on his small, stubby legs that he loved her and she was his best friend.

She didn’t want this monster.

Right now, he felt like the kit that she so desperately wanted, his own desperation and sorrow crashing through his entire body in endless waves, making his whole body shake and words quiver so much that they were almost incomprehensible. He remembered his mother and how much he missed her, but he had always pushed those memories to the back of his mind to avoid feeling them. Now, they were all around him. He could smell her milk, he could feel her warmth and the way she purred beside him, the way she pulled him close and licked his fur, even if he was already clean, because she just wanted to hold him while she still could. For a few heartbeats, he was that kit again. “M-Momma?” 

Sweettree’s eyes widened. She rushed forward so quickly, Aldereyes had no time to react. He stiffened in surprise when she buried her head into the side of his neck, then melted into the feeling, drinking in her scent as he rested his chin on her shoulder. “My precious son! I miss you so much! If only I had been there–I could have guided you–”

“No,” Aldereyes cut her off, forcing himself to focus on the reality of where he was, instead of the fantasy of the nursery from moons and moons ago. “You couldn’t have.” He frowned, chin trembling. “There’s a darkness in me, mom.”

Sweettree didn’t respond. She couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t agree. After several long heartbeats, she pulled away and faced him. “I love you, all the same. That will never stop, even if I hate what you have done.”

Aldereyes looked at his paws. How could he face his mother now?

“Look at me,” she told him, more firmly. He did so trepidatiously.

A fury began to burn in his mother’s irises. “I hate that you’re a killer. I hate that you’re a betrayer. I hate that you hurt cats that are kind to you, that trust you. I hate that you murder cats that don’t even know you. I hate the thoughts that you allow yourself to think. I hate that you let them control you. I hate what you let them do to my innocent little kit. But I can’t hate you. I don’t think I could, even if I wanted to. You’re still my kit, my precious golden star.”

A whimper escaped Aldereyes. He had forgotten his mother’s nickname for him.

His chest heaved when she pressed her nose gently against his head. He sniffed, hardly holding onto control and resisting the overwhelming need to let the sobs wracked his body. He dug his claws deep into the ground to steady himself. 

“With this life, I give you love. Please, please don’t let it lead you astray anymore.”

What did she mean by that?

Water slipped down Aldereyes’s throat, filling his lungs with a hot liquid that bubbled and buzzed within him. His paws tingled with a pleasant sensation that almost had him bouncing around the clearing. Then his spine stiffened, ice gripping the cartilage, spreading to his ribs and into the liquid like Riverclan in leaf-bare. No! No! He didn’t want the feeling to leave, but even so, he could feel the crackling tendrils spread deeper, and the warmth was completely gone.

Sweetree blinked at him solemnly. Then she raised her head. “Alderstar! Alderstar! Alderstar!”

Hers was the only voice throughout the clearing. If Aldereyes shut his eyes, he could have imagined her as a lone cat in a ravine, her words echoing off of the stones.

Everyone else sat in complete silence.

That was okay.

Sweettree’s voice was the only one he needed to hear.

[overgrowth-wc]

Snowdrift has his plot fueled dream, and meets someone he's always wanted to. 

   Snowdrift opened his eyes, eager to finally see Starclan’s ethereal hunting grounds. Instead, however, the glow of the Moonstone filled his sight. For a moment the weight of his disappointment threatened to crush him- had he been sent no dreams? Did Starclan not find him worthy of his position?

    Behind him, someone cleared their throat.

    Snowdrift nearly leapt out of his fur, spinning around clumsily. He vaguely noticed that none of the other medicine cats were there anymore- have they all left? His thoughts abruptly cut short, however, when he saw the cat sitting a few tail lengths away.

    He was a gigantic snowy white tom, his warm eyes a dark, glowing amber. He was looking at Snowdrift like he might simply burst with pride, and something in Snowdrift’s mind clicked into place.

    “… Dad?” he mewed, hesitantly stepping forward. “I mean- you’re… you’re Snowcloud, right?” The tom gave him a slow nod. While Snowdrift had never met his father, he had heard plenty of stories about him from his mother. She had told him and Cloudclaw about how Snowcloud, the former deputy, had died alongside his best friend Brackenheart defending the nursery from a pair of foxes only a week before they had been born. Tales of his father’s heroism, kindness, and virtue had followed him from birth, building Snowcloud up as an almost mythical figure in his eyes: larger than life, but also so terribly far away.

    That didn’t matter now, however, seeing as his father was sitting a scant few tail lengths away. Snowdrift decided to take advantage of the situation to do something he had always wanted to do.

    He lunged forward, shooting across the distance and skidding to a halt right before he crashed into Snowcloud, shoving his head under his chin with a rumbling purr. Your father gave the best hugs, Whitefoot had told him, voice warm but eyes sad. I’ve never felt as safe as I did when I was with him. If Snowcloud was surprised he didn’t show it, instead letting out a purr of his own. He wrapped one of his paws around Snowdrift’s shoulders, pulling him closer as he gave him a fond lick between the ears.

    “My son,” he rumbled, voice trembling, “I cannot begin to tell you how happy I am to finally meet you.” Snowdrift pulled away at that, whiskers twitching in excitement as he looked up- the first time I’ve had to look up at someone in a long time- to meet his father’s eyes.

    “Me too! I can’t wait to tell Mom, and Cloudclaw- he’ll be so jealous!” he blurted out, eyes shining. Snowcloud laughed at his enthusiasm, shaking his head fondly.

    “Now then, don’t rub it in his face too much. Warriors don’t have the same connection to Starclan as medicine cats do, after all. Do tell him that I am very proud of him, though, and give my love to your mother. I miss you all very much.” His eyes dimmed, a slight frown stealing over his face. “I don’t regret dying to protect you, but I do regret not being there for you when you were growing up.” Snowdrift opened his mouth to protest, but Snowcloud continued. “As happy as I am to see you, however, this is not just a familial reunion. I have a message for you.”

    Snowdrift froze. That was right- this was his naming ceremony night, for the stars sake, this was no time to get carried away! He straightened up, schooling his expression and giving his father a serious nod. A flicker of amusement passed across Snowcloud’s face before he sobered. When he spoke, it sounded like every word weighed like a stone in his mouth.

    “Snowdrift, medicine cat of Thunderclan. The Clans stray towards the edge of disaster. Our enemies work in the shadows and threaten the very foundation of our way of life. No one will be spared the consequences, from the smallest kit to the greatest leader. And, I am afraid, they have already made their first move. This is not something you can stop on your own: it is imperative you find the others to help you stop them before they succeed in their plans.”

    The light from the Moonstone suddenly went out, and the cavern plunged into darkness.

    “The light of the stars must never go out, or the Clans will be forever in the dark.”

    Icy fear trickled down Snowdrift’s spine, and his fur fluffed out in unease. He could no longer sense his father’s presence before him, his scent rapidly fading.

    “Dad?” he called, his voice echoing back in the empty space. The little spark of unease suddenly roared into a blaze of unexpected terror, and he tore out of the cavern, stumbling along the familiar paths of the Mothermouth in his haste. He burst out of the cliff face and into the weak light of the half moon, gasping for breath as his fear slowly began to subside. As he tried to catch his breath, he felt something start to wind its way around his leg. Looking down in alarm, he was met with the sight of a plant growing up and around his leg. He pulled himself from its grasp, only to stumble back as more sprouted from the ground, the plant seemingly trying to snare him. Snowdrift began to run, his earlier terror returning as more sprouts erupted from the ground around him. The sharp scent hit his nose, and he recognized what it was.

    Mint.

    He kept running, the mint kept growing; it consumed everything in its path, covering everything it touched like fire in a dry forest. He raced across the farm: the mint followed behind him, the barn quickly overtaken in green. As he crossed into Windclan territory the mint started growing faster, now creeping past his flanks as if it were trying to surround him. The world around him grew darker, as the mint obscured the landscape and the stars started to wink out, one by one. Everything on the moor was overtaken- the heather, the gorse, the wild roses, the rocks, the burrows- nothing was spared. Snowdrift finally burst into the hollow at Fourtrees, the mint tangling around his paws. He stumbled and then slid all the way down the slope into the hollow, rolling to a stop in a tangled heap. He looked up, and was greeted with a horrible sight.

    The Great Boulder was completely covered in mint, and it was slowly creeping its way up the trunks of the Four Oaks. Snowdrift was also being slowly covered by it where he lay, too exhausted to fight his way out of it. As it covered his back and wound its way around his throat, past his chin, around his eyes, he heard his father whisper in his ear.

    “Find them.”

_______________________________________________________________

    Snowdrift shot awake with a gasp, almost choking on the thick scent of mint that still clung to his nostrils. What in the name of all that is holy was that, he mentally hissed, trying to shake off the fear and panic he had felt as the mint consumed him. Beside him, Softgaze yawned, slowly coming out of her own dreams. He managed to compose himself as the others too began to wake, the cavern soon echoing with their yawns and murmurs.

    “Snowdrift! How was your naming night?” Came a cheery voice to his left. He looked down to see the Shadowclan medicine cat, Fernfire, staring up at him expectantly. Fernfire was a strange fellow: unfailingly cheery, with an eager laugh and quick but gentle wit. That was strange for a Shadowclan cat, but Fernfire very obviously hadn’t been born there. His bright golden fur was odd enough amongst the typically dark pelts of his clanmates, but it was his short legs, half the size they should be, that truly betrayed his foreign birth. Snowdrift hesitated, struggling to come up with a response that wouldn’t give away too much information. The silence between them was starting to stretch, though Fernfire was seemingly unbothered by the pause.

    “I met my father,” Snowdrift finally said, “he died before I was born.” Fernfire nodded amicably, purring as he spoke.

    “Ah, I am quite happy for you then! I suppose that it is one unspoken perk of being a medicine cat- our loved ones are never really out of reach, even in death.”

    Snowdrift nodded, shooting quick glances at Softgaze as she slowly creaked her way into a sitting position. He was anxious to get home so that he could share the message he had received with her. His mentor, observant as always, sensed his desire to leave.

    “Alright then,” she announced, “we’ve all had quite the night, and I know these old bones would rather be in their nest than on this cold floor.”

    There was a murmur of agreement from the others, and Snowdrift lead the way out of the Mothermouth. The walk home seemed to last an eternity. He bid quick goodbyes to the others, trying not to be rude, and set as brisk of a pace across Thunderclan territory as he could, given Softgaze’s age. She didn’t comment on his anxiety, simply plodding along at his side in silence. As they grew closer to camp Snowdrift heard a twig crack in the undergrowth next to them- already on edge, he leapt in front of Softgaze with his claws unsheathed, heart pounding in his ears.

    “Now, is that any way to greet your deputy?” Came a smooth voice from the darkness. A molly slipped from the brush, her pale green eyes and bright white face glinting in the moonlight. Snowdrift relaxed for a moment before tensing again, a small stone settling in his stomach.

    Mintfrost. Thunderclan’s deputy, daughter of Stonestar. She was a very strange choice for deputy, in Snowdrift’s opinion- she was too reserved, too aloof, too quiet to be a proper candidate for leadership. She rarely spoke outside of giving orders, and when she did it was usually in a dry drawl. She was well respected by the Clans for her cunning and success in battle, but even within her own Clan she seemed to lack any close friends. She even seemed distant from her father, which was incredibly strange in a Clan that valued family ties as much as Thunderclan did. Honestly, she had always seemed a little… off, and if Snowdrift had to pick a Thunderclan cat who was secretly up to no good, the deputy would be his first choice. Besides, his dream had been about mint overtaking everything- who else could that mean but Mintfrost?

    “What are you doing up and about so late?” he heard himself ask, and internally cringed at how suspicious he sounded. Mintfrost didn’t answer, though her eyes glinted at his tone, and simply shrugged in response. After a few beats of silence, she turned around, brown tail flicking as she took the lead on the way back to camp. Snowdrift and Softgaze followed after her, Snowdrift’s thoughts racing. Ok, so I may have received at message that my deputy is trying to take over the Clans. This is super not good.

    Softgaze leaned heavily on his shoulder as they picked their way down the ravine, Mintfrost waiting patiently at the bottom. She pushed her way through the entrance tunnel when they reached the bottom, bidding them a quiet goodnight when they all entered the camp clearing. She stalked over to the warrior’s den and slipped in, quiet as an owl in flight. The moment she was in, Snowdrift ushered Softgaze over and into the medicine den, turning to her immediately once they were safely inside.

    “Softgaze, I-“

    “Hold up a moment, dear.” Snowdrift snapped his jaws shut, looking at her in confusion.

    “I’m sure you had quite the dream, but it is too late to be trying to unravel Starclan’s mysteries. It would be better to sleep now and look at everything in the morning with a full belly and clear eyes.”

    Snowdrift wanted to protest, but reluctantly acquiesced, seeing the wisdom in her words. His nerves were shot, he was absolutely exhausted, and honestly, going to bed and worrying about everything tomorrow sounded incredibly tempting. He gave her a single nod and she let out a rusty purr in response. They settled into their nests, and Snowdrift was asleep the moment his head hit his mossy bed.

    Mercifully, he didn’t dream.

________________________________________________________________

    “Good morning, sunshine!” Someone shouted, directly into his left ear. Snowdrift nearly leapt out of his fur, letting out a strangled yowl. Heart racing, he whipped his head around to see his brother, Cloudclaw, in hysterics on the floor, pounding his front paw on the ground in his mirth. Behind him, Softgaze was snorting in amusement, a small pile of herbs in front of her.

    “Be nice to your brother, dear, I’m sure he had a long night.” A soft voice came from the entrance to the den. Resolutely ignoring his still chuckling brother, Snowdrift turned to greet his mother. Whitefoot purred as he approached, standing on her tip toes to lick his cheek when he came to a stop in front of her. “We’ve been waiting to hear your name- Softgaze said that she wanted you to be able to introduce yourself to us for the first time.” Cloudclaw padded over to join them, and Snowdrift puffed out his chest in pride.

    “My name is Snowdrift now!” he announced. Whitefoot and Cloudclaw let out a few cheers, Softgaze joining in, and Snowdrift couldn’t help but laugh at their enthusiasm. His good mood dissipated, however, when Cloudclaw began to speak.

    “Did you have any cool dreams? What’s Starclan like? Oh, wait, did you get some crazy proph-“

    “I saw Dad!” Snowdrift blurted out. Cloudclaw and Whitefoot froze, his brother’s mouth gaping open in surprise. Whitefoot’s eyes welled with tears as Cloudclaw began a rapid fire series of questions.

    “What?! You saw Dad?!? What was he like? Does he look like me? Does he look like you? C’mon, Snowflake, what did he say-“

    “He said he was proud of you, and that he loves and misses us.” Snowdrift decided to leave out the part about Snowcloud’s regret- his mother was already crying, no need to make it worse. “And he looks like me, Cloudpuff, so no need to get too excited.” Cloudclaw let out a huff, but seemed satisfied with the message. Whitefoot sniffed, delicately pawing her tears away before giving her son a tremulous smile.

    “Well, it’s good to know he’s safe with the ancestors. I’m happy that you were able to meet him dear- he had been over the moon when I told him I was pregnant with you two, so I can only imagine how he felt to see you now.” She gave him an affectionate nudge on his shoulder. “And of course, I am very proud of you. Who could’ve thought that my son would be our medicine cat!”

      Snowdrift but couldn’t help but preen under his mother’s attention- Cloudclaw had always said he was a mama’s boy, but who could blame him? Whitefoot was everything he could want in a mother, and he valued her opinion of him even more than Softgaze’s. Chatting with his family helped ease some of the anxiety he felt about the warning he had received. He had his family and his mentor there to support him- with them at his side he could do anything, even figure out the vague and ominous words of the ancestors.

      Whitefoot soon departed for a hunting patrol, leaving Cloudclaw behind. He gave Snowdrift an uncharacteristically serious look before mewing, “Look, I want you to know I’m proud of you too. While I still think being a warrior is the greatest-“ Snowdrift let out a snort, “there couldn’t be great warriors without the medicine cats to help. In fact,” he continued, a familiar sparkle lighting up his eyes, “do you think you could help me with a very important problem, oh great and wise healer? I know you can’t tell anybody about it, and I want to keep it a secret for now.”

      Snowdrift shook his head fondly. Trust Cloudclaw to take advantage of the confidentiality speaking to a medicine cat brought. “Alright, what exactly did you do this time?” Cloudclaw darted a glance over towards Softgaze, who had wandered further back into the den, muttering under her breath as she catalogued their supplies. Finding her suitably distracted, Cloudclaw leaned in close to Snowdrift.

      “Alright, so there’s this molly-“

      Snowdrift burst into laughter. “Are you seriously asking me for advice about Tigerwhisker?” he gasped. Cloudclaw wailed in both outrage and despair, his melodrama drawing Softgaze’s disapproving glare.

    “How did you know?” he hissed, “Even Mom doesn’t know-“

    “Of course Mom knows, Mom knows everything.” Snowdrift mewed dismissively. “Besides, I’m pretty sure the whole Clan knows, given how you pad after her like a clingy kit-“

    Cloudclaw sputtered, “Clingy? Kit?! Excuse you, I do not-“

   “Ahem.”

   The brothers turned sheepishly to face Softgaze, who was glaring up at them.

  “If you’re just going to stand here and bicker, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She started to nudge Cloudclaw out of the den, ignoring his protests with practiced ease. “Ask Tigerwhisker to go hunting, Cloudclaw- she likes squirrels, so make sure you catch her one.” Flabbergasted by the old molly’s sudden advice, Cloudclaw offered no resistance as she gave him one final push, sending him stumbling past the ivy curtain at the entrance of the den. She then turned towards Snowdrift, giving him a firm nod.

   “Right,” she croaked, “onto business then. Go grab us something to eat so we can discuss what happened last night.”

    He nodded seriously, taking a deep breath before he headed out into the camp. The sun was almost blinding after so long in the dim den, and as his eyes adjusted he was surprised to see that it was already after sunhigh. I must have slept for a long time, he mused as he padded over to the fresh kill pile. Cloudclaw had already disappeared, which was unsurprising given the camp was bustling with activity. The short walk to the pile seemed to take forever given how many cats stopped to talk to him. It seemed like the whole Clan had already heard of his new name- probably due to Cloudclaw’s big mouth- and were eager to greet him. As he finally made it to the pile, Turtlepaw raced into camp, a plump pigeon clutched in her jaws. She seemed rather proud of her catch, although she froze when she saw him by the pile. Approaching slowly, she carefully put it down at his feet.

    “H-here you go,” she stuttered. “I, uh, caught this just now, and Mintfrost said I should, um, give it to you…” she trailed off. “Uh, anyway, congratulations?” With that she darted back off towards the apprentice den. Snowdrift shook his head, bemused. The deputy’s apprentice was a strange little thing. Barely seven moons old and still in possession of kit fluff, she was already shaping up to be a fantastic hunter. However, she could barely look anyone in the eye for more than a second at a time, and seemed to dread every conversation she had, rushing off as soon as she saw an opportunity. Odd choice, to pair her with Mintfrost. He couldn’t see the stern and icy deputy being very forgiving towards Turtlepaw’s eccentricities. Snowdrift was relieved to not see the deputy anywhere and decided he would like to keep it that way. He snatched up the pigeon and bustled quickly off to the medicine den. Shouldering through the curtain, he froze, seeing a fluffy brown and white form sitting near Softgaze.

    “Ah, Snowdrift! Congratulations, my boy!” Snowdrift relaxed- it was Stonestar, his familiar booming voice a relief to hear. “I’m sure you’re busy, but I wanted to drop by and offer my congratulations. Thunderclan is lucky to have you as their medicine cat.” With that he swept out of the den, nodding as Snowdrift mumbled his gratitude around the pigeon in his mouth.

    Alone again with Softgaze, Snowdrift put the pigeon down and cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of what to say. She gave him a sympathetic look before giving him a gentle flick with her tail.

    “The first message is always the hardest, dear,” she murmured. “Don’t be afraid to take your time.” As they ate their meal, he haltingly recounted the events of his dream- meeting Snowcloud, the flight from the Mothermouth, the mint overtaking Four Trees, and, almost guiltily, his suspicions about Mintfrost. When he finished it felt like ages later, and his mouth was bone dry. Softgaze was silent, her face contemplative, and he struggled to patiently wait for her response.

    “Well, I would definitely refrain from accusing Mintfrost of any sort of treason,” she started, her tone dry, “given that you have no proof. I would add that Starclan’s messages are rarely so obvious in their meanings.” Snowdrift’s ears burned in embarrassment. Admittedly, the only fault he could pin on Mintfrost was that she was odd, by Thunderclan standards at least. She’d fit in well with Shadowclan, he mused, but I suppose being strange isn’t a crime. “Now,” Softgaze continued, “that is not to say that it’s completely impossible that she could be up to something, but it seems fairly clear that this isn’t a lone agent. Snowcloud mentioned enemies, plural, and did say that you would need help. Plus, they’ve already made a move- it makes me wonder if this has anything to do with Poppypaw’s death.” Snowdrift flinched at that, sadly recalling the fiery little Windclan apprentice. Her death had not just been a blow to Windclan, but to all the medicine cats as well. It still felt strange not to see her padding alongside Kestrelcall, and he jolted as he realized that, had she lived, Poppypaw would have likely gotten her name last night as well. Snowdrift was pulled from his spiraling thoughts as Softgaze continued. “I’d say that should be your first step- figuring out who exactly your allies in this are.”

    “Did you receive any signs?” Snowdrift hesitantly asked. He tried not to feel too disappointed as she shook her head.

    “Unfortunately, I did not receive anything that might help you, dear.” Softgaze sighed before heaving herself to her feet. “Now, there is not a whole lot to be done about this this very moment. Keep your eyes sharp, and be on the lookout for whoever it is that’s supposed to help you with this.”

    Snowdrift got up as well, one last question weighing on his mind.

    “Do we tell Stonestar?”

    Softgaze didn’t hesitate.

    “No, I don’t think we should.”

First / Prev / Next

[pleasantanathema]

Santa Daddy | Jean Kirstein x Reader

Pairing: Jean Kirstein x Reader

Rating: Explicit 

Warnings: Daddy kink, dirty talk, thigh riding, mutual pining, friends to lovers (or, rather, idiots to lovers), lots of holiday fluff

Word Count: 6k

A/N: This is my Secret Santa gift to @whats-her-quirk​ 🎄💕 June, thank you so much for being a wonderful friend; I was truly lucky and privileged to get you as my Elf for Secret Santa! I hope this fluffy (and dirty) little fic with our best boi Jean brings you some holiday cheer! 

           There were only a few things in the world that made you happier than watching Jean Kirstein smile. Like most of your friends, you’d met him through work, but there was always something so special, almost magical, about seeing his darling smile and hearing his boisterous laugh. And you rarely passed up on a chance to see delight spread across his handsome face, which is why you couldn’t say no when he asked you to join him on a get-a-away with your friends for the holidays.

           The inquiry came after you mentioned how you wouldn’t be able to make it home for the holidays due to a winter storm blowing in. It would be the second season in a row that the weather kept you from visiting home.

           You could still hear his voice in your head, “alone? For Christmas?”

           He’d then insisted you join him and his friends at Sasha’s family cabin. It was tradition for them, a gathering of misfits finding communion together out in the wilderness for a few days before the new year. You had taken trips with your friends before to amusement parks, festivals, even to the beach at Armin’s request, but something about being invited to an intimate setting to celebrate holiday traditions had you anxious.

           So, there you were, swaddled in blankets, listening to Eren bicker with Mikasa while Sasha and Connie bustled in the kitchen to make eggnog and treats. Armin had declined to join, citing that he’d seen too many horror movies about young adults alone in cabins to feel comfortable making the trip.

           And, true to form, Jean was running late. He was always late, his mind constantly moving a mile a minute unless he consigned himself to much needed rest and relaxation. Though, this time, you felt a little lonely while waiting for him on the couch, like there was a small part of you missing as you watched the snow fall outside.

           “So, none of you guys go home for the holidays?” You looked over toward the modest, plastic tree that Sasha had thrown down from her attic to bring a little holiday cheer to the living room, a few poorly wrapped presents and bags nestled under the branches.

           “Well,” Eren cleared his throat, “we are orphans.” He pulled at Mikasa’s scarf for emphasis.

           “Oh fuck, yeah, sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

           “Don’t worry about, he just always brings it up to get sympathy gifts.” Mikasa sighed, jerking the red cloth from his hands and scowling. Eren only laughed, brushing a stray hair from his face that had come loose from the bun at his nape.

           You sunk a little deeper into the cushions, eyes glancing out the window in hopes you’d see headlights flash in the driveway.

           “Do you think Jean’s okay? He should’ve been here a while ago and the storm is getting closer.”

           “Jean, Jean, Jean,” Sasha trotted into the room, balancing a mountain of sweet-smelling cookies on a plate, “you’re always worried about him.”

           “Someone should be, guy’s an idiot.” Eren chimed in, green eyes shining from the low flames rolling in the fireplace. He and Mikasa were sitting in the floor, a game of checkers spread out before them, with more stolen pieces resting near the cunning Ackerman’s side of the board.

           Eren wasn’t wrong, but over the years you’d known your group of friends, you’d noticed just how much the man in question had grown. In his early twenties, Jean had been quite the bumbling fool, having literally met you by bumping into your shoulder while leaving work, only to look at you and mumble “god you’re beautiful,” before issuing a quick apology as he rubbed at his neck sheepishly. You’d never mentioned the moment again, though your stomach still churned with a slight thrill every time you thought about it.

           But over the years he’d managed to turn that puerility into something much more charming. He was more refined, almost infuriatingly suave, easily gaining attention from anyone and everyone. And though you sometimes hated to admit it, he’d captured your thoughts as well.

           You kept your budding crush on Jean Kirstein close to your chest, not admitting it to any of your close friends. You always figured he was out of your league, seeing that he had a new, more beautiful girlfriend just about every other month. But, despite your simmering feelings, you still allowed yourself to get closer and closer to him over the years—some might say he’s your best friend, but you might call him your most treasured vexation.

           Another hour or so went by, your time spent nibbling at cookies and reminiscing with everyone about another year passed.

           Then the door finally opened, cold air gusting into the small living room as Jean stomped his damp boots on the entry mat.

           “Have you guys opened presents yet?”

           You glanced over the back of the couch, heart tugging in your chest as you noticed snow dusted in his long hair and a sizeable red and white polka dot package in his hands.

           “No because Christmas is tomorrow, or did you forget that too?” Connie said it with crumbs in his mouth, feet kicked up on the coffee table.

           Jean laughed, running a hand through his hair before wrapping the gift in his arms like it was something valuable.

           “I know, I know, and sorry I’m late, had something important to go get.” He smiled, bright and cheery, hazel eyes bouncing between his friends and the carefully guarded box, “I ask because…uh, this needs to be opened kind of soon.”

           “Is it perishable?” Sasha perked up, already ready to go make room in the fridge if something delectable was waiting as a gift.

           “I mean…you could say that? It may or may not be alive.” He was laughing, that kind of infectious laughter that had everyone in the room grinning whether they wanted to or not.

           Jean didn’t set the present down to even take off his shoes, instead tracking snow in with him and plopping onto the couch with flurries still on shoulders. He nudged your knee with his, pushing the present toward you. You pressed your lips together, hands getting sweaty as you pieced the puzzle together.

           “Is that…?”

           “Yeah,” his grin was pulling at his cheeks, eyes so sincere and happy and it almost startled you, “it’s for you.”

           The top of the box moved, the green bow popping on top of the polka dots.

           You moved the gift into your lap, pulling off the top to find perky ears and green eyes peering up at you—a kitten, grey and striped, with long, white whiskers and a pink bow around its neck greeted you with muted curiosity. You just stared at it for a moment, and it stared back, like you were both wondering just how it got into your lap.

           “I just,” Jean was getting nervous, carding his fingers through his hair again as he waited for your reaction, “I wanted to make sure you’d never spend another holiday alone, you know?”

           You carefully picked up the little cat, watching how it stretched and yawned as you pulled it from the carefully lain blanket inside its temporary home.

           You smiled, pulling the warm little bundle to your chest.

           “Um, Jean, this cat has six toes on her paws,” you said, pressing your thumb gently against one of the extra appendages in question.

           “Six toes?!” Sasha was jumping up from her seat, bounding over to kneel in front of you and pluck one of the kitten’s paws into her fingers. The cat quickly pulled its paw back, little black toe beans curling to its chest.

           “Yeah, it’s what drew me to her. She’s extra special…” you could’ve sworn you heard him mutter something under his breath, a little musing of “just like you,” but any hushed murmur was overshadowed by the ohs and ahs of your friends gathering around to look at the adorable little creature.

           The kitten had been lulled to sleep by the car ride from the shelter to the cabin, content to just curl up in your arms as inquisitive fingers prodded at her little kitten mittens and the silky, white tufts in her ears. Even Mikasa was enraptured by the tiny animal, taking the time to retie the little pink ribbon around her neck to make a bigger, prettier bow.

           You noticed how your friends were whispering, cheeky grins pressed against eager ears as they looked between you, the precious kitten, and Jean on the couch. You were starting to feel like you were missing something, or maybe that you were at the end of a joke you hadn’t caught on to yet.

           “Thank you,” you whispered to Jean after the fuss died down, everyone returning to their seats and back to their previous fixations.

          You’d mentioned perhaps wanting a cat a few weeks ago; it was just a silly, off-hand comment you made over coffee about how you’d once read that people with cats live longer because they pick up on the nine-lives of their feline partner. You didn’t believe it to be true, but you’d mused about the idea of having a cute kitten of your own to snuggle up with on lonely nights.

           “I know it’s sudden and a lot of responsibility, so if you don’t want her—”

           “No,” you cut Jean off, bundling the kitten a little closer in your arms, your heart singing as you felt her start to purr, “no, I want her, she’s perfect.”

           Jean finally started to get settled himself, standing up and shrugging off his jacket. He was in a tight turtleneck, coal black threads stretched to their limit across his broad chest and shoulders, hugging his trim waist. You were careful not to stare for too long as he stretched his arms above his head to shake off the weariness of his drive through the snow.

           He always looked like he stepped out of a fashion catalogue, fresh and so put together that sometimes you were tempted to snap his photo when he wasn’t looking; he just looked that good all the time. He loved to wear designer clothes and keep up with the latest menswear trends, and tonight was no different, that beautiful black turtleneck (that was covered in grey fur) undoubtedly belonging to a designer whose name you probably couldn’t pronounce.

           “What are you gonna name her?”

           He sat a little closer this time on the couch, a brawny arm outstretched behind you as he leaned over to scratch at the kitten’s chin.

           “I don’t know,” you admitted, gazing down at the serene, sleepy face in your arms, “I’ll have to get to know her first.”

           “Well, I’ve been calling her Frankie.”

           “Frankie?” You smiled through your confusion, the name sounding oddly right.

           “She was pretty wild in the car and kept meowing when Frank Sinatra was on the radio.”

           “I see,” you laid the kitten down into your lap, sweeping your fingers through her fur and watching as she curled up into a tighter little circle, “well, I’ll consider it.”

           You felt warm, heavy fingers brush against the back of your neck, Jean absentmindedly painting figure eights into your prickling skin. Heat flushed to your face as you realized just how close your bodies had become—his thigh was pressed against your own, dark jeans tight and hot, the scruff of his cheeks brushing against your own as he toyed with the sleeping cat’s tail.

           There were voices all around you, the muffled sounds of your friends relaxing together falling almost on deaf ears. Your whole world felt like it just revolved around this couch, like nothing else mattered beyond the simple touches to your skin and the drowsy kitten beneath your hands. He never wanted you to spend another holiday alone, you replayed his words, the sweet sentiment finally settling into your spirit.

_______________

           You could tell everyone was starting to get a bit sleepy, a few hours spent drinking spiked eggnog and chasing the new kitten around with a feather toy having left you especially exhausted. Your head was a little swimmy as you bid everyone goodnight, the grey tabby cat following closely on your heels to your bedroom where Jean had already brought in a litter box and a bed for her to sleep in. Jean, underneath all the designer bravado and smiles, was perhaps the most thoughtful person you knew.

           But despite the heaviness in your head, you couldn’t seem to sleep. You tossed and turned in the bed, occasionally picking up your phone to scroll through it or just watch the time tick by. You had a lot of thoughts mulling around in your mind, most of them revolving around the man sleeping just right across the hall.

           Never in a million years did you expect Jean to walk in with a beautiful, perfect kitten as a gift. The little thing was back to sleeping again, this time curled around one of your feet, each exhale a little purr against your toes.

           You’d carried the weight of this crush around for too many years. You rubbed your palms against your eyes, sighing as you came to terms with your feelings for Jean for what felt like the thousandth time. Your pining was starting to take its toll, too, what with the sleeping giant so close yet so far away.

           And you still felt like you were missing something.

           Throughout the night, your friends had seemingly been playing coy, teasing Jean about getting you such a big, sentimental gift. Maybe they had all caught wind of your suppressed feelings and were poking at Jean for even daring to indulge you. Now you were just getting frustrated with your thoughts, sighing as you tried to squeeze your eyes shut and force yourself to sleep.

           But then you heard a little sound, the soft buzz of your phone against the wood of the night stand.

           Jean: You awake?

           Your heart skipped a little in your chest as you saw his name flash upon your screen. You texted him nearly every day, yet he never failed to send a little jolt of adrenaline down your spine.

           You: Yeah. Can’t sleep.

           Jean: Me either. Cabin is too fucking cold.

           You: I have a kitty asleep on my feet, definitely helps beat the chill.

           Jean: A warm kitty sounds nice right now.

           Only a few seconds passed before the next message appeared.

           Jean: Wanna come keep me company?

           Your thumb hovered over the keyboard for a moment, your mind not even thinking about the words in front of you. Instead, you were picturing Jean in his bed, hair tussled with his own phone in his hand as he texted you, light spilling over his bare chest in the dark. You wondered what he was thinking—maybe he just wanted you to bring the cat over to see him for a bit, or maybe his mind was wandering in the same place yours was, which was picturing him naked beneath his sheets.

           You set the phone down, momentarily starting to panic.

           You hadn’t prepared for this, hadn’t prepared for the possibility that Jean might be asking you to come get in his fucking bed with him. Thank god you took a leisurely shower earlier—and you still smelled good, you checked.

           You stood up from the bed, watching the kitten stretch and quickly fall back asleep on top of the blankets. You bent down to slip on your pajama pants, but then found yourself debating if you should just leave the flimsy material behind.

           If this was what you were hoping it was, walking in without pants would send the “I got the hint, I’m here to fuck,” message loud and clear.

           But if this was just “hey pal come keep me company, I’m bored,” walking into his room in nothing but a shirt and panties could be quite awkward.

           You decided to hedge your bets, stuffing your pajama bottoms back into your bag as that lingering liquid courage from the eggnog set in. If worse came to worse, you could always say you forgot to pack them.

           You carefully closed the door behind you, making sure the cat didn’t follow.

           Then, it was literally just a few steps to Jean’s room. Conveniently, his door was cracked. Did he get up and leave it open for you? Did he always sleep with his door cracked? Or had he planned all along to ask you to come over?

           You shook your head, taking a deep breath. Those inessential thoughts needed to be quieted.

           The door creaked as you slid past it, the old hinges signaling your arrival and making Jean’s attention whip towards you. His phone was still in his hand, like was watching your messages and too-eagerly anticipating your reply.

           “Hey,” you whispered into the darkness, wincing as the door kept groaning as you pushed it shut behind you. You leaned against it for a moment, too nervous to just waltz up to his bed and fall in. You chewed at the inside of your cheek as you waited for him to break the silence.

           “Aren’t you cold?” He whispered back, shifting in the bed.

           His figure was illuminated by the pale, grey light from window, the snow clouds still keeping the moon suppressed in the sky. Like you’d imagined, he was shirtless, all those hard-earned muscles on display from where he was propped up on his elbows, sheets low against his waist.

           “I thought you were cold, Mr. No Shirt.”

           “You’re not wearing pants.”

           “I’m not wearing pants,” you parroted back.

           You watched the smile spread across his face, that darling, infuriatingly pretty smile that made you a little too happy in this moment.

           He pulled his sheets back in invitation, revealing that he, too, was not wearing pants, only clad in blue boxer briefs that were sinfully tight around his upper thighs, etchings of Calvin Klein pressed against his lower stomach.

           His hands were on you before you even settled onto the mattress, warm and greedy and pulling you flush against his body. All those worried thoughts you had before vanished under his touch, the message you had been missing suddenly loud and clear: you weren’t the only one hiding your feelings. All those veiled emotions came alive beneath wandering hands, your fingers digging into the meat of his shoulders as his found the flesh of your thighs.

           “Was this what you were thinking about when you invited me here?”

           You breathed in the smell of his warm skin as you settled against him, notes of his cologne still lingering against his body.

           “This is what I think about all the time,” he confessed, nudging his thigh between your legs.

           You couldn’t stop the moan that fell from your mouth as the muscles of his thigh pressed against your aching core.

           “Me too,” you were pulling his face down to yours, thumbs against his cheeks as you pressed your lips to his.

           A satisfied sound rang from both of your throats, lips melding and slanting against one another hungrily.

           “Why didn’t you say anything?” His words were lost within the kiss, being swallowed down as you kept drinking him in.

           “Why didn’t you say anything?” You echoed back, gasping as his hands slid underneath your shirt and began to wander across your belly, reaching up toward your ribcage.

           You both knew the answer to that: you were idiots, too scared to admit feelings even though they were clearly on display for everyone around you. But now the question didn’t matter, all the answers you wanted about to be shared between your anxious bodies with starved kisses and touches.

           You shamelessly pressed yourself a little harder against his thigh, sighing as your pussy found relief against his leg. He groaned at your action, moving his thigh back and forth a little bit to see how you would react. When you whimpered, your own thighs squeezing around his, he smirked, repeating the motion of sweeping his thick, sturdy thigh back and forth between your legs.

           “You like that?” His head was tilting down, teeth nipping at your jaw and down your neck as your head fell back against the pillow.

           “Y-yes, feels so good.”

           His hands were still traveling, wandering across your heated skin like he wanted to map your curves into his memory. He groaned against your throat when he discovered you’d also forgotten to wear anything under your t-shirt, his thumbs lazily brushing the undersides of your breasts.

           You felt like you were burning beneath his sheets, like he was painting fire against your skin with every touch. His large hands engulfed your breasts, carefully kneading and rolling your soft flesh in his palms. He was eager to kiss you again, to slip his tongue past your parted lips and get addicted to your taste.

           Jean pinched and pulled at your hardening nipples, greedily taking your little mewls into his mouth. He touched you like he already knew you, pulling at your body like you were the perfect little sex doll on strings for him to play with; rocking you on his thigh, tugging at your nipples, tongue dancing in your mouth, his hair tickling your cheeks, his cock hard and hot against his stomach.

           Your panties were getting more and more wet by the second, the soaked material sinking into your folds as you rubbed yourself against the downy hairs and rounded, solid muscle of his upper thigh. His boxer briefs were bunching closer to his hips, pre-cum already staining against the fabric where his cock was imprinted into the threads. You slipped your hand down his impressive chest, fingers dipping into the elastic of his briefs.

           “Oh fuck,” he groaned against your lips, pulling back to suck in a breath as your fingertips brushed against the head of his cock, “fuck you’re so hot riding my thigh like that, so fucking wet.”

           “You did say you wanted a warm kitty.”

           Your words had him pinching harder at your nipples, making you gasp as he chuckled.

           “Mhm I can’t wait to play with your kitty, make you mine,” he punctuated his sentence by bouncing his leg up, sending electric pulses of pleasure racing over your nerves.

           You responded by pulling his cock from its confines, wrapping your fingers around it and tugging at the silken skin. God he was thick, barely fitting in your palm as you moved your wrist up and down. You suddenly felt so small against him, realizing that he was dwarfing you just by lying next to you in the bed. His long, thick fingers could spread across the entirety of your chest, the thigh sliding against your pussy was enormous, but it felt like it belonged there; you could get used to riding him like this.

          You both fell into a frenzied, delirious rhythm, your bodies bucking and panting as you found bliss against each other.

          His hands slid down your body, leaving your tender breasts and searching for a new home. He found your hips, fingers digging into your skin as he rocked you back and forth against his thigh himself, using the strength in his forearms to have your pussy pressed down against him in the most perfect way to have you seeing stars and whining his name.

          “Gonna cum, baby? Gonna cum just from riding me?”

          “Fuck, yeah, yes, please, make me cum like this.”

          Your hand had gone slack against his cock, your mind almost unable to concentrate under the waves of pleasure building and coiling inside you.

          It felt too good to have his rapacious hands on your hips, grip mean and tight as he basically fucked you against his thigh. You wanted to scream, your other hand clawing at the back of his neck for stability.

          “Baby,” he breathed, peppering a few kisses along your cheek, “could…could you call me daddy when you cum?”

          There was a hesitancy in his voice, like he was ashamed to ask such a thing.

          Your lower belly clenched, heat racing across all your nerve endings like he’d just poured sin straight out of his mouth.

          You nodded your head for him, uncontrollable moans and gasps getting in the way of your own words. The thought of calling him daddy, that sent something wicked down to your pussy, had your fingers squeezing and tugging at his cock again and your eyes falling shut.

          It felt like your sanity was breaking, like reality was splintering and this wasn’t real—you were dreaming again, weren’t you? But then you felt his cock twitch in your hand, felt your swollen clit brush against your panties and his thigh, and you were thrusted back into the actuality of your situation. You were with Jean, he was groaning in your ear, and you were about to cum all over him.

          “D—da…,” you were choking, so overwhelmed with a final cresting of bliss that you almost felt like sobbing.

          But he just clutched you more tightly, pressed you harder against him, whispering your name in encouragement to let yourself go for him.

          Then, you lost all of your sensibilities, euphoria washing over your body as you snapped and came undone with a little whine of, “daddy,” against his lips. You slowed the rocking of your hips, your heart beating out of your chest, your pussy pulsing and clenching as you rode out the last remnants of your orgasm.

          “Holy fucking shit that’s so hot, you’re so hot,” he mumbled, one of his hands smoothing against your cheek.

          “Wha—,” you smiled, shaking your head as you caught your breath, “what are you doing with a daddy kink, Jean?”

          He mimicked your smile, hands moving to slide your ruined panties down your legs and removed the rest of your clothing as he repositioned your bodies. You let him move you around like a ragdoll, so delirious in your afterglow that you barely even registered how he was hooking your legs onto his shoulders.

          “Do you not like calling me daddy?” There was a seriousness laced into his tone that told you he’d drop it if it made you uncomfortable.

          “I like it,” you fisted one of your hands in his hair, bringing his lips to yours for a slow, messy kiss, “just didn’t expect it.”

          “I’m full of surprises, baby.”

          You felt the head of his cock nudge between your wet folds, his hands back on your hips where they belonged. Your head fell back against the pillow as he started to push inside of you, stretching your walls and making your toes go almost numb from the pleasure. You felt like you were splitting apart, like a fissure was forming down the middle of your body, stemming from where he was spearing into you.

          With your legs on his broad shoulders, he was pushing you into the mattress, his hands urging your hips to relax and let him sink into your warm heat.

          “Ohhhh fuckkkk daddy,” you couldn’t help but to whine, all your senses suddenly overwhelmed again. You were drowning in him, falling deeper and deeper into the throes of heaven with every inch of his fat cock slipping inside of you.

          “God you’re so tight,” he presses his forehead to yours, keen eyes watching how your lips were falling apart and your eyebrows scrunching together in pleasure, “that’s right, daddy’s going to take such good care of you.”

          It felt like all your history with him was being wiped away, like this moment wasn’t about two friends fulfilling all their years of mutual pining, but instead about a new relationship blooming between two bodies full of lust and desire. This was about Jean fucking you senseless, about him taking control and finally having what’s belonged to him for longer than he probably even realized. You wanted to lose yourself to him, lose yourself to his appetite and just let him devour you.

          All the air left your lungs when bottomed out inside of you, your walls clenching and sucking him in. He stayed still for a moment, nearly lost himself at the feeling of your cunt wrapped so tightly around his cock.

          “So fucking perfect,” he groaned, dragging his cock out of you slowly before pressing in again, your cunt greedily sucking him back in.

          “I always have been,” you teased, one hand lost in his hair while the other slid down the expanse of his back. You bucked your hips in his hands, coaxing him to keep moving.

          “Oh fuck. Good girl.”

          His praise made you feel drunk, liquid heat rushing to your ears and between your legs.

          He began to snap his hips, repeatedly burying his cock into your depths, the angle of your body making him hit that fleshy patch inside of you. You cried out at the feeling of being so stuffed, your walls burning from the intrusion but that coil inside your belly tightening again, hotter and more intense than before.

          “Mhmmm, such a good girl, I promise,” you pressed your lips to his in reassurance, letting your breathy moans fall into his mouth as he started to get a little rougher. His pace was steady, solid, a hard motion of his cock thrusting in and out of you, each push and pull full of purpose and passion. Every plunge was making your lower stomach spasm, making pleasure burst across your body so forcefully that you felt that urge to cry again.

          “Wanted to fuck you for so long,” his face was tucked underneath your chin, mouth trailing across your throat between his words. A particularly hard suck against your neck had your back arching, breasts flattening against his chest and your nails clinging to him.

          Jean sat back on his knees, big hands smoothing down your thighs as he looked to where your bodies were conjoined, watching how your pussy enveloped his cock with every thrust of his hips, sweet skin encasing all of his length. He looked enraptured by the sight, groaning and hissing every time he pressed inside of you.

          Then his eyes were flashing up to your face, softening as he took note of your blissed-out state, your face flushed and your lip between your teeth.

          “So pretty,” he mused, a palm ghosting up to your chest to toy with one of your tits as he found a new rhythm.

          You were ensnared by the scene before you as well, eyes wide with delight as you admired the man before you. Jean felt unhinged, electric between your legs, like he’d finally let go and was pouring all his clandestine secrets into your willing body. His chestnut hair was swept over his shoulders, the muscles in his arms and across his body rolling, rounded and thick like he was marble come to life. And his face was smooth, pretty, concentrated, cheeks dusky with a dark blush as he found euphoria from within your body.

          Your hips began to match his thrusts, bucking up into him in order to feel his thick cock fall deeper into you. His strong hands encouraged you, gripping into the supple flesh of your thighs as he pressed himself into your wetness, faster and faster with every thrust.

          “Daddy,” you called out to him, having to bite back a grin as you observed how quickly you earned his attention, “you feel s-so good,” your hand was traveling down your chest, trailing over his fingers on your breast before snaking down to your clit, “p-please let me cum again.”

          You had an inkling that he would take over for you.

          His thick, long fingers hovered over your own, carefully aiding in swirling over your aching clit. You hissed, recognizing the buildup to orgasm pooling within your belly.

          Jean’s other hand slid higher upon your body, fingers lacing around your ribcage, framing the underside of your breast. He began to forcefully pull your body into his, sliding you upon and down the sheets and upon his cock. You cried out, legs tightening at his waist, pulling him closer, deeper, begging him to devour you and take what he wanted. His thumb was almost impatient on your clit, now circling so quickly that your body was shaking, lower stomach clenching and unclenching repeatedly like you were lost in a reckless tide.

          “Shit, I’m not gonna last with you squeezing me like that, baby.”

          Your mouth watered at the thought of him finding that ultimate pleasure inside of you. Your ears became tuned to the chorus of resonances between your legs, the sweet, wet sounds of skin against skin, of slick at the base of a fat cock, of Jean grunting your name like a lost prayer.

          The final chord of your sanity was threatening to snap, you could feel it again, like he was pulling the strings of your body too tightly and you were going to splinter and break with just the right swipe of his thumb.

          “I-inside,” you mewled, unable to keep your eyes open any longer as your thighs began to quake, “daddy—oh fuck, fuck—cum inside me, please,”

          God you were so fucking close to falling off the edge, and he could feel it, using his grip to bring you even harder and faster down onto your cock to get you careening and falling again.

          Your push into oblivion came when you heard him pleading, almost whining, above you, sweat dripping down his skin as his syllables flowed together, “please, please, please, fuck, cum for daddy, cum for me, please.”

          You could both feel it, how you creamed around his cock, pussy sucking him in so deliciously tight that it caused him to lose all control. His fingers dug a little too deep, his cock throbbing and pumping deep inside of you with his release. It was like the world went quiet, like a blanket of snow fell onto your bodies and hushed your sounds and cooled your skin. You could feel the heavy weight of him inside of you, like he was meant to be there. Your body relaxed, feeling like you were sinking into the mattress and he was the only thing keeping you from being lost.

          When he finally pulled his spent cock from inside you, he wasn’t gone long. His hands were back on you again, pulling you in for simple, affectionate kisses and rubbing tenderly at the places he’d perhaps explored too roughly.

          “Jean…” you cut yourself off with a yawn, fatigued limbs winding into his own.

          His thigh found its home between your legs again, both of you groaning with a mixture of lust and disgust as you felt his cum drip into a mess between your thighs.

          “Whatever it is can wait until morning, we need to sleep.”

          “Oh fuck, it’s Christmas.”

          He nuzzled your cheek, lips searching for yours.

          “Mhmm, Merry Christmas, baby.”

          You laughed, laying your head against his chest.

_______________

          You weren’t sure how long you slept, but it felt like you spent a small eternity in Jean’s bed before your eyes opened again. When you awoke, he was already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with the kitten in his arms. She was ready to play, striped tail swishing as he dangled a toy mouse just out of her reach.

          “What time is it?” You stretched, suddenly all too aware that you were still very naked beneath the sheets.

          “It’s only eight, everyone else is still asleep aside from Mikasa who actually went for a run in the fucking snow.”

          Jean smiled, hair tucked behind his ears, and you felt your heart skip a beat as you realized just how madly in love with him you were. You always aimed to make him smile, to hear him laugh, but to see him gazing at you in the morning sun with pure adoration shining in his hazel eyes had you practically melting into the bed.

          “I meant what I said last night, you know,” he said, turning the kitten loose to run across the bed.

          “You said a lot of things last night, daddy,” you teased, watching his cheeks turn a pretty pink at the mention of that name.

          “I meant about you never spending another holiday alone. Because, you know, I’d like to…” he trailed off, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was genuinely nervous.

          You sat up, running a hand down his arm before kissing at his shoulder, momentarily getting lost in the smell and feel of him.

          “Yeah, I’d like that.”

          No one was surprised that the two of you, and the kitten, spent every single holiday together thereafter, mostly naked, and always smiling.

[bounce-a-coin-off-your-witcher]

and then I don’t feel so bad

thanks again to @thecomfortofoldstorries for coming through when I whined at her about needing ideas

also shout-out to my older sister for being the coolest and getting this song stuck in my head today (happy birthday, sis. wish we’d been raised together)

---

Geralt holds the package tightly with both hands and glares down at it with icy anxiety building at the center of his chest. The cloak he’d special ordered two weeks ago is wrapped in brown paper, tied closed with a length of dark blue woolen string. The Witcher, who has faced countless monsters and angry villagers and vengeful nobles alike, takes a deep breath in through his nose and shudders at the thought of his next self-chosen contract: giving Jaskier a Solstice present. He hopes the cloak is good enough. He hopes that he chose a fashionable color, one that Jaskier will enjoy wearing no matter where he chooses to go this winter. Geralt hopes that the heavy wool he’d painstakingly decided on is the right kind of material for Jaskier’s tastes. He hopes… he hopes that everything he’s about to say and do goes well and that he doesn’t fuck this all up.

“Jaskier,” he calls, keeping his tone light as he knocks on the door of their shared room. “Are you decent?”

“Never!” Jaskier laughs from within. Geralt hears a series of quick, light-soled footsteps crossing the floor before the door is flung open to reveal Jaskier in all his evening glory. The bard is, as usual, painfully correct. He’s not very decent at all; his hair is a mess of brown waves that tumble down to cover his smooth, pale forehead. The apples of his cheeks are flushed fuchsia with a combination of wine and the high of a good show. His frilly white shirt is unlaced at the throat and loosened all the way down to reveal the sharp angles of his collarbones. Geralt gulps air like a man near to drowning and pushes his way inside. Has it gotten hotter, all of a sudden? Jaskier’s eyebrows furrow with worry and he closes the door behind his Witcher. “What’s got you even quieter than usual? Are you sick? Injured? Cursed?”

“Witchers can’t get sick,” Geralt answers, almost automatically. Jaskier rolls his eyes. 

“Your version of sick, then?” 

Geralt doesn’t know what his version of sick means so he ignores the comment entirely. Instead he shoves the package in his hands towards the bard and huffs. “I got something for you. I thought you might like to wear it to keep you warm, especially since I wanted… I was wondering if you’d like…”

Geralt growls and spins on his heel, running one shaking hand through his hair as if that might calm him down. It doesn’t.

“Fuck! Why can’t I be like you? Why can’t I just… say all the things I’m thinking? I’m no good with words, Jaskier.”

“I actually don’t say most of the things I think,” Jaskier shrugs. He bites the inside of his lip to keep from talking any more and ruining the moment. This is clearly something the Witcher needs to do on his own, whatever it is. He smiles softly and holds the paper-wrapped lump against his chest. “But I’m happy to wait for as long as you need, dear heart. Figuring out the right thing to say is hard.”

Geralt’s heart is pounding in his chest. Each beat rings out like one of Roach’s shoes against unforgiving cobblestone. He can practically see the sparks flying from it, igniting something in his chest that flares and wavers like a candle flame in the high breeze. He wants to protect the wavering warmth with every ounce of strength he has.

“I… I got you this,” he gestures towards the gift Jaskier has yet to open, “Because it’s cold at Kaer Morhen. The pass is treacherous, difficult for a human who isn’t prepared, so I wanted you to- I mean if you wanted to come with me, I would-”

His fumbling proposal is interrupted by a dull thwump as the package Jaskier was just holding suddenly hits the wooden floorboards. When Geralt looks up, terrified of the incoming rejection, he’s met with two watery blue eyes. Every one of his worst fears is being actualized in front of him and there’s nothing he can do to stop it now. 

“Fuck. Shit, I- I’m sorry for asking. I didn’t know if you would eve-”

Geralt is interrupted again, this time by Jaskier throwing his arms around the Witcher’s shoulders and starting to sob. Geralt panics and instinctively reaches to pull Jaskier closer against his chest. He tucks the bard’s face against the side of his neck and cups the back of his neck with one broad palm; his fingers scratch up the base of Jaskier’s scalp and into his soft, tousled locks. With his other arm Geralt holds the bard tightly around the waist, rubbing small circles into the meat of his hip as he waits for Jaskier’s breathing to return to normal.

“Do you not want to come with me to the keep?” he asks, voice low and gravelly but somehow smaller and more frightened than Jaskier has ever heard it sound before. His heart cracks wide open and his love for his grumpy White Wolf comes spilling out like water from a burst dam. 

“Of course I want to come to Kaer Morhen,” Jaskier chuckles wetly. Sadly. “I just never thought… I thought you didn’t want me there.”

Geralt considers the words for a moment. He really hasn’t been the most welcoming friend, all things considered. He can understand why Jaskier feels a bit lost and a bit confused. Overwhelmed, his brain supplies. Jaskier is overwhelmed. 

He slowly releases Jaskier and steps away.

“Here,” he grins, kneeling and offering the package back up to the bard, who accepts it slowly. Now those bright blue eyes are shining with a different emotion, and Geralt envies the mages who can read other peoples’ minds. “Open it.”

Jaskier slowly unties the blue string and pulls two or three layers of plain brown paper aside to reveal a cardinal-red woolen cloak. A cloak that Geralt has bought for him. The hood and the hem are just the right size and shape for the season. The shade of red Geralt has chosen really brings out the pink undertones of Jaskier’s skin and the darker flecks of blue in his eyes. Jaskier knows that this cloak’s design is haute couture and probably cost the Witcher a great deal of coin. “Oh… Oh, my sweet, darling Geralt.”

Hearing his name said like that, with such affection and gentle reverence, throws the Witcher into another frenzy of emotion. He can barely stand it. His fists clench at his sides. It takes Herculean effort not to sweep the bard off his feet and spin him through the air, peppering him with excited, happy kisses. Jaskier is coming to Kaer Morhen with him! Jaskier is coming home with him!

“Geralt?” 

“Jaskier,” the Witcher whispers, taking one slow step and closing the distance between them. The bard does not flinch. He does not move away. He does not step back. “Jaskier, if you don’t mind, I’d like to kiss you very badly.”

“Of course,” the bard breathes, his hand floating up to rest against the warm, stubbled skin of Geralt’s cheek, “I’ve been waiting so long…”

When their lips finally meet, time stops. There is only the warmth of their skin where it’s touching and the soft, gentle desperation of two people trying to prove, for once and for all, that they love each other. When they pause for air Jaskier pulls away a fraction. “Let’s go sit by the fire and chat, shall we?”

“Hmm.”

Geralt settles himself before the fire and pulls Jaskier down onto his lap, arranging him until they’re both comfortable. “Will your family mind my coming with you?”

“They’re expecting you. Actually, they demanded your presence this year. Lambert actually threatened me with bodily harm.”

“Did they, now?”

“Aye. Eskel said he’d find you and bring you back himself if I was too cowardly to buck up like a real Witcher and tell you that I-”

He cut himself off with a blush.

“That you what?”

“That I love you.”

“Well that’s good news,” Jaskier giggles, “And quite the relief considering I’ve been head over heels in love with you for years, now. A decade at least!”

“Y-you…?”

“Me, indeed.”

“I’m glad we’ll all get to hear your wonderful stories this winter,” Geralt nuzzles down against the side of his neck and sends Jaskier into another fit of giggles. “And songs.”

“Do you like it when I sing?”

“I like it best when you make up little songs as we travel,” Geralt admits. “They’re sweet... and I feel like- like they’re just for me.”

Jaskier lights up brighter than a well-cast Igni and settles himself into the Witcher’s tender embrace entirely. He begins to hum to himself and then slowly, in a way that always leaves Geralt impressed and entranced, words begin to form into verse:

“Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, Big grumpy Witchers that have me quite smitten, Brown paper packages tied up with strings; These are a few of my favorite things.”

Geralt presses a kiss to Jaskier’s temple and hides his blush in the bard’s warm neck.

“Hair soft as silk that went white in the Trials, Arms that can hold me and heft me for miles, Eyes of warm amber I search for in Spring, These are a few of my favorite things.”

The Witcher swears he can’t fall any more in love. It has to be impossible; but then Jaskier’s voice gets even softer and the words are sung so close to his ear that it makes him shiver. 

“When the wolf bites, When the bee stings, When I'm feeling sad, I simply remember my favorite things, And then I don't feel so bad!”

[devildom-tyrant]

hi! i absolutely adore your writing! this blog and your undertale blog are just *chef’s kiss* anyway, i was wondering if i could request some headcanons of Lucifer, Mammon, Satan, and Beel concerning the new animal event? as in, MC wants to touch their animal ears and/or tails! how would they react and how would it turn out? could MC also already be their S/O in this? thank you! ❤️

Lucifer

Before your wandering hand can reach his wolf-like ears, Lucifer grasps your wrist, a smirk curving his lips.  Even though he’s a literal predator now, he’s always had a predatory gleam in his eyes, one you can see clearly as he leans in toward you.  

“Your pulse is racing,” he murmurs, and the blunt way he points it out causes your face to flush.  It’s so difficult to not be flustered by him, even now.

“It doesn’t take wolf instincts to know that,” you shoot back, tugging your wrist from his grip.  

“True.  However, I can tell that you want something from me.  You’re excited; your blood is practically pounding in your veins, and even your eyes seem slightly dilated.  It’s easier to detect subtle changes in this form.”

“You could already read me like a book,” you insist, your face heating up even more.  There’s something about the way he’s looking at you that’s making your heart pound... It makes you feel like prey, like he could pounce on you at any moment.  Honestly, the anticipation is something you’re discovering you like. “So, tell me what I want from you.”

“The same thing I want from you.”

That smirk hasn’t left his lips.  For a non-answer, he’s spot-on; you know he wants to touch you, to put his heightened senses to the test and see what draws what reaction.  What you want right now, however, is a bit more innocent.  

“Okay then.  I’ll go first,” you return, reaching toward him again.  He quirks a brow, but doesn’t halt your hand’s progress this time, and your fingertips graze the side of his ear.   The fur is soft on the inner part, with a coarse layer on the outer portion, and they twitch beneath your touch.  They’re interesting, but what really has your attention is his tail.  

His smirk has faded slightly, but his attention is still riveted to you as you move your exploration to the fluffy wolf tail that remains still behind him.  His expression is more guarded now, but he doesn’t move to stop you as you stroke the fur gently.  It isn’t as soft as Belphie’s, but it’s still fluffier than most of the other tails, and you enjoy petting it.  

Suddenly, it jerks from your grasp, and you think for a moment that you hurt him.  One quick glance up at Lucifer, however, reveals a light blush to his features, and that he isn’t quite meeting your gaze.

His tail is still moving back and forth.  Realization dawns, and you grin.  “Are you wagging your tail, Lucifer?”

“Be quiet.”  His words lack any actual bite.  “Do you realize how hard it’s been to keep it from wagging?  It has a mind of its own.”

“I think you’re just happy, and your tail is showing that,” you claim, reaching up again to give an ear a pet.  Lucifer finally looks at you again, his hands coming up to rest at your waist.  

“You should already know that I’m always happy when you’re near me.”

Mammon

“You’re starin’.”  

There’s a blush across Mammon’s face as he side-eyes you, and you snap back to reality.  Yes, you had been staring at Mammon’s new features, but you just couldn’t help it.

“Your ears and tail keep moving,” you point out, and he crosses his arms, blushing harder.

“I-it’s not like I’m doin’ it on purpose!  They won’t stop!”

“Maybe it’s because you’re happy?” you tease, trying to get him to turn an even brighter red.  He’s always been so easy to fluster.  

“W-well, yeah... Yeah, you could say that.  But if they’re gonna move every time I’m happy, this crap’s gonna get annoyin’ fast.”

With a grin, you reach out and touch one of his tiger ears, and Mammon’s attention snaps to you.  “What’re ya-- Oh.”  His voice trails when you gently scratch behind his ear, and you quirk an eyebrow.  The thin tiger tail flicks behind him.  

“Does that feel good?” you inquire, trying to read his expression.  He’s still so flustered, torn between dismissively lying or being honest, but you’re at the point in your relationship where the latter often wins.  

“Y-yeah...”  There’s a growl to his voice that you haven’t heard since he first changed and ran off to avoid devouring you.  He clears his throat, trying to rid himself of it, even though you find it pretty hot.  “Dammit, I feel weird sayin’ that.  This whole animal thing’s weird, even for us.”

Your fingers hesitate.  “Should I stop?”

“No!”  He cuts in a little too quickly, and then closes his eyes, taking in a deep breath.  “I mean... you seem like you’re enjoyin’ yourself.  So ya don’t gotta stop.”

“Okay, then.”  You keep rubbing his ears, and your smile grows as he leans into your touch, tilting his head toward your fingers.  His tail flicks toward you, hitting against your thigh, and you reach down with your free hand to stroke it.  Mammon keeps his eyes closed to avoid the embarrassment, though his tail continues to flick away, and his ears move beneath your fingers.  

You have to admit, you like him in this form, and you’re glad it’s going to last another week.  Even if he still has trouble admitting his feelings sometimes, these new features make it difficult for him to hide them.

Plus, you really like petting him.

Satan

The cat of Wrath may just be sitting next to you on the couch, reading a book, but you can’t stop wistfully looking at his cat ears.  It’s fitting that he would change into a cat, you can’t help but think, especially considering his contact picture in your phone is a selfie of him with a cat ears and whiskers filter overlay.

“Do you want to touch them?”

Startled from your thoughts, your gaze drops to Satan’s face, but he’s still looking at his book.  “I can feel your eyes on my ears.  You can touch them if you want.”

“Really?” you blurt, scooting closer on the couch.  

“Of course.”  He sets the book down on his lap and turns toward you, a smirk suddenly crossing his lips.  “But I can’t say I won’t touch back.”

Just like that, he cups your cheek, fingers cradling your jawline to tilt your head back.  You can feel your face reddening, and you realize his expression is the very picture of the cat who caught the canary.  “We’re in the living room,” you point out, causing him to shrug.  

“Yes, and?”

“And we’re not going to play cat and mouse in the living room,” you return, reaching up to pet affectionately pet his ear.

“Cat and mouse?  Is that what you-- ah...”  His eyes flutter closed, and he leans into your touch.  “Actually... keep doing that.”  

Just like that, Satan abandons his need to tease you, fingers slowly falling from your cheek, and he instead moves to curl up on the couch next to you, his head pillowed on your thigh.  It’s a rare moment -- you don’t think he’s ever laid down with his head in your lap before -- but it’s easy to comply to his request and continue scratching behind his ears.  They flick against your hand, the short fur tickling your palm, and you notice his tail curl around his waist.  

After a moment, you can feel Satan’s chest vibrating, and his hands are moving against the couch cushion.  He’s purring, actually purring!  But that’s not all.  

“Are you making biscuits?” you blurt, unable to keep the laughter out of your voice.

“What?  For breakfast?”

“Nevermind.”

You keep petting, and the purring starts up again.

Beel

“Are you scared of me?”

Your eyes widen at Beel’s somewhat timid query, and you shake your head.  “I’d never be scared of you.”

Beel’s eyes have a sad glaze as he frowns.  “That’s not true.  You looked scared when you ran away in the dining room, and that’s okay.  I was scared of myself, honestly.”

Reaching out, you touch Beel’s arm and catch his gaze.  “Okay, that was a little scary because I didn’t know what was happening.  But, I’m not scared of you right now.  I know you would never really hurt me.”

He doesn’t look reassured, but he shakes his head, swallowing back whatever is on his mind.  “All right.  Then why do you keep staring at me?”

“Oh, that?  Because you look cute like this... and I really want to touch your ears and tail,” you admit with a sheepish smile.  “They’re cute.”

“Oh.  Is that all?”  A relieved smile washes over his features, and he leans down, giving you better access to his ears.  “Go ahead.  I don’t mind.”

Grinning excitedly, you reach up and pet his ears, feeling them twitch beneath your touch.  “That kinda tickles,” Beel says with a light chuckle, and his tail swishes closer to you.  You turn your attention to it next, your palm stroking along it to the darker, bushy end.  The fur there is fluffy and soft, and as Beel watches you pet it, all traces of his previous apprehension disappear.  

“You look like you’re having fun.  I’m glad.”

“I’m always having fun when I’m with you, Beel,” you reply, beaming up at him.  His smile is gentle as he reaches up and pats your head, petting you just as you pet him.  

[stevie-wicks]

red, black and blue

She’d taken the photo in some empty parking lot in downtown LA, sunlight two years younger glinting off the hood of the Camaro. Billy’s moustache was still a couple of stray gold whiskers on his upper lip; his hair just past the tips of his unpierced ears. A different Billy to the one Hawkins had seen, but post-California Billy hadn’t had much time for Max’s amateur attempts at photography. Or for Max, in general.

“It’s a good photo.”

Jonathan Byers was not a formal wear kind of guy. He looked stiff and uncomfortable in his ugly suit- or maybe that was just an extension of how he was feeling. How they all were.

Max wrapped her hands around her elbows, suddenly regretting resisting her mother’s attempts to usher her into a jacket. “Thanks. I know he looks- different.”

Jonathan looked for a moment like he might offer her his ugly coat; then he probably remembered the uglier shirt he wore underneath. “He looks happier.”

“He was.” Max dug her nails into her skin. “He hated it here.”

Jonathan shoved his hands into his pockets. “Listen, Max; I know it’s not- it’s not really the same, but when I- when I thought Will was gone, I-” He swallowed. “Will is my best friend. I know that sounds really lame, but I just thought that. Maybe you’d feel better, or, I dunno. I know what it’s like.”

He was trying so hard. Max almost felt bad for him. “I don’t think you do.”

She’d wanted to sit next to Lucas, but her mom hadn’t. Some murmured nonsense about Neil not liking it; some louder nonsense about how they were a family and that now, more than ever, they had to stay together.

El became the compromise.

Not that Neil was gung-ho about El, either; not with the oversized flannel and suspenders she’d refused to change out of. Light blue eyes bore a hole into the side of Max’s head as she shuffled into the pew next to El. They weren’t the same shade of blue as Billy’s; he’d had more green to his, more like Max’s own. Neil’s were like ice chips.

A bony hand reached over, and Max looked up at Joyce Byers’s warm brown instead. “I’m sorry, sweetie,” she whispered.

Stupidly, Max said, “He owed you a plate.”

El stirred. “I owe him my life,” she said quietly.

The last funeral Max had been to had been for some distant Mayfield relative. She’d been six and she’d cried all the way to Glendale because she was missing Jabberjaw. Then Dad bought her an ice cream and she’d forgotten all about Jabberjaw. She fell asleep halfway through the service, and they got home in time for Speed Buggy.

Billy’s service took half as long and felt an eternity longer.

Mom had offered to do a eulogy. She’d brought it up over breakfast, nervous eyes darting between Max and Neil, as if either of them would put up a fight. She tottered to her feet now, shuffling awkwardly to the front, in a dress a few laundry cycles short of being grey. For a fleeting moment, Max wished she had put up a fight. Billy would’ve died-

Max bit her cheek hard enough to taste copper.

Mom cleared her throat. “Billy and I didn’t know each other for very long, but I wish we had. He was a wonderful young man.” She dabbed at her eyes with a ratty handkerchief.

Max sank back into her seat. Maybe it was for the best; she could never lie about Billy the way her mom did. Not when all she could think of was the blood- God, so much blood, his blood- his last scream torn out of his chest by misshapen claws- apologies on a dying breath-

She stood up. Mom paused midway between some crap about Billy’s ‘respect and responsibility’.

“Maxine,” Mom said, mortified.

“I have to go.” She tore outside, knuckling her burning eyes.

The breeze nipped at her skin. She leaned against the wall, rubbing her hands up her arms. It was mid-July, for Pete’s sake.

She should’ve worn the stupid jacket.

She wiped at her face roughly. When her vision cleared, Lucas stood in front of her.

“Your mom’s done talking, if you wanna head back inside.” He kicked at a pebble.

Max kicked it back. It skittered away, just out of Lucas’s reach. “Not really.”

He squared his shoulders. “Mind if I join you, then?”

She shrugged. He hesitated for a moment before sidling up next to her, arms barely brushing.

“Steve’s giving his speech now.”

Max’s eyebrows reached her scalp.

“For the basketball team,” Lucas clarified, then added, a little awkwardly, “None of the other guys showed up.”

It shouldn’t hurt, but. “Yeah, well. Didn’t think Steve would, either. He hated Billy’s guts.” She dug her heels into the gravel. “You all did.”

Lucas fell quiet. “I didn’t hate him.”

Max snorted. “’Cause you’re not supposed to hold grudges over people who are-” She blinked back a fresh wave of tears. God, Maxine; you’re such a goddamn girl, Billy would’ve said. “You should. He was awful to you.”

“I didn’t hate him,” he repeated. “I mean, he scared the shit out of me, sure. But still. He was your brother.”

“That’s not an excuse. And he was my step-”

“He was your brother.” Lucas had turned on his side, fully facing her now. “And I know you lo- cared about him. And I’m trying to tell you that it’s okay to cry.”

Her eyes welled with tears. She hadn’t allowed herself to; not since Starcourt, not since she’d read the twenty-eight other names in the paper, not since she’d come home in an ambulance and her brother in a casket and Neil locked up Billy’s room and tore down everything else that had belonged to his son and threw it all in the trash like he’d been waiting to get rid of it-

Lucas held out an arm. Max buried her face in his chest, clutching the fabric of his shirt and turning it translucent with her tears.

She cried long enough for her tear ducts to run dry, and then stood sniffling into the wet shirt. She was probably making it all gross with her snot, but she didn’t let herself get too torn up about it. The Sinclairs could afford a washing machine.

“Maxine.”

Max went rigid. Lucas, unbothered and oblivious, kept his arms around her. “Hey, Mr. Hargrove.”

She turned around slowly, just in time to catch the flicker of revulsion that passed over Neil’s face. “And who are you, boy?”

There was a painful pause. Max’s nails carved crescents into her palms.

“Lucas Sinclair, sir,” Lucas said at last.

Neil’s eyes were glacial. Max barely suppressed a shiver when they trained on her. “Maxine; something you learn when you grow older that there are a certain type of people in this world that you stay away from. And this boy?” Neil cut his gaze to Lucas. “This boy is one of them.”

Max reeled back. “I-”

“You stay away from my daughter, Sinclair; do you hear me?” Neil hadn’t raised his voice once since he’d started speaking. To any passers-by, this would look like a normal conversation. “Stay away.”

He didn’t wait for Lucas to respond, tugging Max away with a harsh grip on her wrist. She didn’t dare to turn around.

“I don’t want you anywhere near that boy, Maxine.” His hold loosened the closer they got to the car- Neil’s car, a respectable Ford sedan. She didn’t dare tug her hand free, either. “I hope you learn your lesson with this. Billy didn’t; not at first. I’m afraid I had to use more- forceful- methods with him. I trust I won’t have to do the same with you.”

Max turned to Neil despite herself. It was the first time he’d said Billy’s name since the Fourth of July.

His eyes gave nothing away. “Do I make myself clear?” His fingers tightened again.

“Yes, Papa.”

“Good.” Neil’s smile was a mirror of Billy’s; shark-like and vicious, moments away from tearing into your throat. “It’s about time you got some new friends, too. Girls your age shouldn’t be hanging around with boys too much.”

“El’s a girl,” Max told her shoes.

Neil scoffed. “Really? Did she show you proof?”

What happened to you, Mad Max? Billy would’ve asked. You’re not going to stand up for your little hick friends?

Or maybe-

I had to use more forceful methods with him - the bruises she’d see on Billy while his own knuckles remained unscathed- Mom whisking her away on impromptu shopping trips whenever Neil and Billy raised their voices- forceful methods -

- maybe he would understand.

★

Billy’s life couldn’t have fit into a garbage bag.

Max hadn’t gone into his room since she’d gone with El, but he had to have more than what Neil had thrown out onto the sidewalk. Outside the four walls of his room, it was like Billy hadn’t even existed.

She slipped out of bed in the quiet.

Billy had taught her how to pick a lock, back in California. “Use a hairpin, or somethin’- you got one of those?”

She unfurled her fingers. The hairpin was damp with sweat. She wiped it on her t-shirt, and slid it into the keyhole.

“Keep your big ears close to the door; you won’t hear squat that far away.”

She held her breath, pressing her ear to the cool wood.

“Wait for the sound- there, you hear that? That’s how you know the tumblers are in place.”

The door swung open with a soft click.

Max half expected to be assaulted by cigarette smoke and hair metal. But it had been almost a week, and all that Billy had left behind were stale air and silence.

She flicked on the flashlight. The blinds were drawn, the bed unmade, half his closet on the floor. Air the room out, and you could pretend he’d walk right in.

His schoolbooks balanced an ashtray; the desk was not for studying. Instead, he’d cluttered it with beer cans and tapes and a tree’s worth of loose-leaf.

She padded over and sat down in his chair, trying to imagine him hunched over the desk, scribbling on page after page in messy letters. Billy’s handwriting was just as angry as he was.

Her eyes flickered over song lyrics- snippets from the racket she’d been forced to sit through every weekday morning and afternoon. Somehow, silent car rides had lost their appeal.

Strange little doodles decorated the margins- band logos and cars and anatomically inaccurate depictions of women. “Gross,” Max said aloud, pushing the papers away with a theatric shudder.

The tabletop had not been exempted from Billy’s artistry; Max shone the flashlight on more band logos and cuss words and names engraved into the wood. Here there was a crude AC/DC logo, the lightning slash extending down to form the ‘t’ in ‘TWAT’. There was a ‘María’ right next to that, the accent mark angled in the wrong direction. Max remembered her; she’d gone out with Billy for all of sophomore year- the longest Max had ever seen him go out with one girl. She’d taught Max how to do makeup.

A few paces away was Tina- the prettiest girl in Hawkins High, everyone agreed- Laurie was a slut, but she’d complimented Max on her hair- and then Karen. Max traced the ‘K’; she didn’t know any Karens who went to Hawkins High- but then again, she barely knew all the kids in the middle school. There could be a pretty blonde cheerleader somewhere, talking to her friends over the phone. “Yeah, I went out with him a couple of times,” Max imagined her saying. She’d twirl a strand of hair around her finger, lips pulled down in a pout. “And now he’s dead. Spooky.”

She knuckled her eyes. The beam of the flashlight caught on the letter S.

She held the flashlight up, frowning at the name that made itself obvious. Stevie- except the ‘i’ was jammed haphazardly between the ‘v’ and the ‘e’, like it had been an afterthought.

She stared at it until the light flickered overhead.

“Shit!”

Max dropped the flashlight, head snapping back to the door. It hung ajar, just as she’d left it. Heart in her throat, she inched towards the doorway.

The hallway light flicked on.

Max held the flashlight close to her chest, knuckles bone-white and stark. She stepped outside, and the light turned on in the living room.

When she stood in the doorway, staring out at the lifeless room, the telephone started to ring.

Her feet felt heavy as cinderblocks. She plucked the receiver from its cradle, bringing it to her ear with shaking hands.

From the other side, someone breathed heavily.

Max pressed the phone closer, hard enough to hurt. “Billy?”

A crackle of static. Some peculiar noise.

Apologies on a dying breath.

Then, “Max.”

ao3

[bunnyywritings]

sugar, spice, and everything nice

streamer!kozume kenma x gn!reader

day 1: baking together

word count: 1k+

𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭; 𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝟐

[a/n: alright here it is! Fluffvember day 1! I’m sorry this first one is a little short but I hope you all enjoy 💓 taglist is still open ! -yours truly, bunnyy ]

“Are you ready?” Kenma asks as the watcher count goes up.

Both you and Kenma were fairly popular streamers. His streams usually consisted of gaming and an abundance of memes while yours consisted of gaming, baking, and other things. On a joint game of among us with Kuroo, Shoyo, and other streamer friends of yours, it was revealed that you two were dating courtesy of none other than Kuroo Tetsurō. The chat was calling Kenma out for “simping over you” to which Kuroo replied “Yeah Kenma, you can’t just believe everything (y/n) says just cause you guys are dating.”

Even though you and Kenma had been in your own streaming rooms, you could feel the anger radiating from him as the deafening silence became much, much louder. The both of you had tried so hard to keep it a secret. Making sure that the cats were never on stream because having the same breed of cat is a believable coincidence but having a cat of the same breed with the same name is much harder to explain or being quiet while the other is streaming and send them a text to ask what take out they want instead of barging in and asking.

So now that the cat was out of the bag, everyone was basically demanding that you two stream together. Whether you were playing a game or baking, they didn’t care. They just wanted to see the interactions.

Now here you are, getting everything ready to bake an apple pie.

“Yup! I’m ready.” You smiled at Kenma. You knew he was a bit hesitant to be on stream with you what you didn’t know was that it was because he just knew that it would be IMPOSSIBLE to hide the way his eyes soften when he looks at you or the way that he’s just so soft for you in general.

So as Kenma removed the ‘waiting’ screen, you two began to do your usual introductions.

“So we’re just gonna kinda start to do this and we’ll just keep an eye on the uh the chat, so yeah.” It was a little awkward as you instructed Kenma to peel and slice the apples.

“We decided to make apple pie because Kozu loves apple pie, it’s his favorite thing that I make. Especially in the fall when we go pick fresh apples.”

The chat exploded with fans cooing over the fierce blush that made Kenma’s cheeks glow. Some donations had come in, the text to speech relaying the messages along with them.

So far, things had been going smoothly. Kenma cut the apples and you showed everyone how to make the cinnamon filling. You grabbed your spoon and dipped it into the filling and brought it up to your lips, a satisfied hum leaving you as the sticky sweet concoction coated your tongue.

“Is it good?” Kenma inquired as he tilted his head to the side, a mischievous glint in his eyes as you enthusiastically nodded. “Can I taste?” You nodded but before you could move to dip the spoon back into the bowl, he gently took your chin in between his fingers and brought your lips to his, tongue cheekily licking at your lips before pulling away. You can tell that he had forgotten what you two were currently doing since he hadn’t cringed back or started to blush.

“Mmm it is sweet, almost as sweet at you.” There was a beat of silence before the donation notification rang throughout the kitchen and the robotic reading of ‘wow what a simp’ followed not long after.

You watched as his eyes widened and he flushed red, hands coming up to cover his face. You snickered teasingly, a blush matching his own was coming up your neck. Another donation with the note ‘didn’t know that kodzuken could be so cheesy’ and made Kenma shrink down to the floor and hide from the camera.

After that, you continued to show how to make the pie. Flattening out the crust that you had made prior to the stream and laying it into the pie tin, mixing the filling with the cut up apples and pouring the mixture into the bottom crust before showing how to lay a lattice crust on top, coating the edges with an egg wash and using leftover dough to make decorative cat ears and whiskers on it before finally slipping it into the oven.

“So uh why don’t we answer questions while we wait.” You suggested, glancing at Kenma who was currently eating the leftover filling coated apples. He agreed, moving further into frame.

Questions ranged from what your favorite tiktoks were to how long the two of you were dating. At one point, Kenma had started to introduce your two cats to avoid answering a question.

It was adorable.

Apparently, Shoyo had been watching the stream and decided to video call the both of you. Kenma was visibly relieved once all the questions shifted to how you two had become friends with one of Japan’s top volleyball players.

The steam had ended with you announcing that another joint stream was coming soon, one that would involve Kenma teaching you how to play Valorant.

“That wasn’t too bad was it.” You asked as you hugged Kenma from behind, resting your forehead on his shoulder, pressing a few kisses against his neck.

“Yeah, it was okay.” His voice was a little muffled since he was munching on some of the fresh pie. A small moan left his throat. “God this pie is delicious.” He shoveled another fork full into his mouth. “I’m gonna get fat if you keep feeding me like this.” He joked.

You rubbed your hands over his tummy, “I wouldn’t mind that one bit, you’ll still be my pretty boy Kozu.” You didn’t have to look at his face to see the bashful expression on it.

“You know that I’ll love you no matter what Kenma.”

He turned in your arms and cupped your face in his hands. “I know, I’ll love you no matter what...well maybe not if you cheat on me.” He squished your cheeks so your lips puckered up like a fish. “You haven’t cheated on me, right?” The tone in his voice was purely playful.

“Well about that…” your words were garbled but still understandable since he rolled his eyes.

“I swear to god, if it was with Shoyo I will murder you. We agreed he was mine.”

“I mean I was gonna say Ku-” his little glare cut you off. “I mean what, who’s that?”

The both of you fell into a fit of giggles before he leaned in to give you a proper kiss.

𝙩𝙖𝙜𝙡𝙞𝙨𝙩 (open): @soul-of-rwby

[n0tamused]

- | Afterlife

Warnings: angst, description of gore, talks about death, character death.

Song recommendations: Her & the Sea - The Clann

Word count: 1,945

Characters: Kaliyah Sen-Ryokō, Ginjiro, mentioned/implied Tobirama?

"What happens after we die?"

The question made the silver beast stirr from his half-sleep, his large emerald eyes opening to stare at the back of his master. She sat closer to the edge of the great mountain cliff, a giant towering over all others. The sun was still high in the heavens and the wind was ever present, eternal on the mountain peaks. Leaves rustled in it, brushing against each other and creating a symphony of nature along with the little songbirds who sat scattered across the treetops. Waves crashed against the nearby shore below, the sight going on for miles and miles with nothing but vastness of blue. Specs of white dotted the sky, fluffy and shifting with the currents of wind.

"What brings this question forth all of a sudden?" Ginjiro asked in turn, silence following his question for a moment before pushing his head and body forward in the slightest, dragging across the lush grass until his head sat beside her. Kaliyah sat quiet, watching the sea move, waves lapping at the shore. Her lips moved into a thin line, her throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed. Ginjiro's eye went over her features, and she seemed to shrink under his gaze. Her eyes were glossy and watery all of a sudden but her expression remained cold and unmoving.

"I don't know.. it just appeared in my mind. Along with that "prophecy" of the Old Nan." she finally answered, her voice as stable as it could be although it wouldn't take Ginjiro a moment longer to understand that this was bothering her for a long time, much longer than what she was letting on now. Deep within his chest he could feel the phantom sting of pain, anxiety in gut and lungs that she was feeling.

"Prophecy?" He opted to ask; he didn't remember her mentioning any prophecies of her.

" I never mentioned it to you.. She said... 'Water will destroy you' " said Kaliyah after a long moment of silence. Her eyes still remained on the far horizon, knowing if she even dared to look at Ginjiro that the feeling in her chest would seize her whole.

"I know I shouldn't believe in it, Old Nan gave many so-called prophecies and none of them ever came true but this… this one is harder not to believe." She continued, chest heaving in silent and forceful breaths. Lifting her head up she hoped for the fresh air to soothe her nerves.

Ginjiro retorted to look forward towards the sea too, removing the tension of his gaze.

"You were always an amazing swimmer, you're like a fish, I'm not sure how that prophecy would ever apply to you" said the beast calmly, his great and slim whiskers moving as he spoke, flowing. She has always seemed to love the water, to swim and dive and retreat many shells and pretty rocks. His hiding cave was filled with them, all of various sizes and colors. At his words Kaliyah shook her head, shamefully.

"And all I can think of is how many times the water almost took me; and I may be a good swimmer but unlike fish I can not breathe under water. The waves are always too strong, the currents too quick and the many times they almost took me for themselves I…" she trailed off. More and more of her fears started to surface.

The beast beside her opened its mouth to speak, only to be cut short by the girl again- "It's not death itself that frightens me."

That went back to her question, he noted.

"I am not scared of the pain either, the pain is the least of my worries, Ginjiro. What scares me is what comes after that. Is it darkness that awaits me? An eternal hell of raging oceans that keep drowning me? Which I can't escape from. Will I ever see the ones I love again? Or will I just... disappear?" It was getting harder to breathe, yet she forced herself not to shed any tears. Her chest began to quickly rise and fall with labored breaths, her hands tightening their hold around her legs, knuckles turning white and trembling. The view of the sea was no longer clear but blurry instead, dancing with her unshed tears that kept building up.

"You… are too good to keep suffering in death, my little one." Ginjiro said reluctantly, for even he wouldn't be able to answer such questions, nothing was certain about that inevitable fate.

"I hear many talk about the Pure Lands. And there, there is no suffering, no raging fires or oceans and certainly no darkness." He kept going only to see Kaliyah crumble furthermore. The sight immediately silenced him,more concern sprouting within him; he had never before seen her like this. Not even when she came desperate for his aid.

Big tears ran down her cheeks as she finally succumbed to the feelings that were eating her inside out like a beast. Her legs went to tuck themselves beneath her as she bent forward until her forehead touched the ground, her hands covering her face as she wept. Blades of grass poked at her neck and arms. Ginjiro was swift to lift himself from the ground, pained expression painting his draconic features. He grumbled quietly as he came to lay his large body between her and the sea. Casting a large shadow to befall on the girl. His wing came to come over her, in the form of a hug; shielding her away from the offending sights and the stares of trees, birds and the sun. All fell quiet suddenly, only the whistling of wind remained.

"Shhh now.. shhh.. don't you cry." Ginjiro was at a loss for words once again. And it was believed he was wise, he knew the answer to many questions and riddles but not to this. This was way out of his reach, and it pained him further that he couldn't bring any comfort to the one that grew so close to him.

" I- I don't want to forget anyone after death! I want to see everyone, I want to reunite with the ones I love; another life would be a blessing to me as long as I don't get to sit in darkness." she spoke through numerous gasps for air and hiccups, her throat closing on itself. It sounded as if she was angry at the world for this mystery. Ginjiro wrapped himself around her completely, as much as his flexibility would allow him. Now she was pressed against his belly, right beneath his shoulder while his maw nudged her carefully in affection. One of his whiskers came to drag across her arms and hands. Small noises came from him, rumbling through his throat. A noise that could easily be compared to a cat's purr, only softer. Like a turning of many wooden wheels behind layers of thick walls and even more soft cottons. It was distant and warm like a blazing hearth. Crackling of fire that brewed.

She continued to weep, watering the grass with her tears while her hands remained clamped over her eyes and face. A desperate attempt to shield her sorrows, something she found weak, shameful. Everything felt out of place, forced against her.

"I don't want- to die." came a small voice, Kaliyah's voice. A stark comparison to her usually stoic tone, a commanders voice. No- this was the voice of a girl ashamed of her fears, scared and paranoid of most things around her, scared of the future and scared of her own mind and doings. Ginjiro nudged her head again, her whole body too, to get her attention, to try and get her to look up.

"You will not die Kaliyah." he said.

And at mentioned of her name she seemed to recollect just the smallest bit of courage. She looked up, her weeping ceasing for only a moment. His eye shone like fragments of emeralds exposed to the sun, even under the umbrella of his wings. It was dark, only small bit of light came into the tent that was his body.

"Not for many more years to come." Her eyes widened, staring at his narrowed eye, brows furrowing in confusion. What the beast said was a promise. "And certainly not from something as silly as water" he finished.

-"I would sacrifice my last breath to give you one more. I'd give up the world so you may remain whole.. so worry not, little one. An infinity of such pain is nothing compared to the mere thought of losing you-"

Now as she watched blood trickle down his scales as she repeated the same words, she cried even more than she did that day. Screaming at the world and at it's cruelty. She wished she could give him the life he had promised her, wished she could take away the pain and the wounds. He had kept the promise.

It was the only thing that was shared equally in the world and that thing is unfairness. She wished she could go back to those cliffs and stay with Ginjiro forever, overlooking the world from the enormous heights.

Blood coated her clothes, tattered and dirtied, it matted down her hair and his silver mane. She stood in his blood and her own. More rivulets sprang forth and ran down her body from her own wounds. Still, she forced herself to stand, to go to Ginjiro and be beside him. None of the pain could compare to the one in her heart. She would rather face a thousand of swords all over again, she would face those raging oceans and empty darkness for an infinity of time rather than be here now. Here where Ginjiro lied dead and she kept on trying to move him, fisting his long mane in her hand.

All the power in his last breath went to pouring all his life energy into her, and the stone that hung around her neck. One they both created. Blood had stopped circulating in his system minutes ago, yet she couldn't bring herself to accept it. She wouldn't. Despite all the proof, she wanted to believe he would live. Even with his hollow wounds gaping at her from his chest and wing; wind whistling through them. His giant wing stood above her, shielding her from the sky. The contents of his insides were spilled across the ground outside the village grounds. The great walls looming in the distance, while the surrounding woods remained silent in sympathy. Moments ago his blood was steaming hot, pouring like waterfalls from a hot spring. Now, his body lost its fiery heat. Many wounds littered his body, painting a print of a tiger on his body in red.

The soil was soaked with his blood, so much so that the earth couldn't accept more, leaving a large puddle behind. Crimson puddles swirled with the dust and dirt. And a stray leaf went to fall into it, dancing with the current the wind created. With all her might she tried to shake the beast's head to get him to wake, he was so much larger than those years ago, so much heavier. His eyes stared at the sky overhead, stars looking at themselves in his dilated pupil like a mirror.

Darkness started to dot in her eyes, vision dancing with tears. It all tunneled until all she could see was the dull green eye. And for a moment she could swear she saw it move, all color return to it as it lazily blinked at her before the ground disappeared under her feet and hands seized her shoulders

___________________

-My Ao3

[mxvladdy]

A Break- Chapter 5

Oh lord this took too long and ‘bout killed me. I hope my edits are good! 

It’s a biggen so it’s all under the cut! 

Hope y’all like it! I know it was long over do :/

He dreams of dragons. A swirling blur of purples, reds, and yellows. His mindscape was a rich profusion of colors. Two become sharper standing out in the sea of hues. His father’s dragon emerges from the mass. The great black dragon floats ethereally around him, judging him. But, unlike the years spent under his father's tutelage, all he got were stern looks and cold words of praise. Now, he can feel a warm sense of- pride. Was his father finally proud of him? How? Of what? Next to him, another dragon appears. His mother’s dragon wove around the long form of his father. Black and pearly pink twisting and revolve hypnotically around his body. They radiated peace, and rest. An urge to join them began to overwhelm him. A break sounded nice. He deserved one, didn’t he?

When was the last time he had felt this at peace? There were a few times perhaps in recent memories. A blurry face comes to mind. A sweet smile and a laugh that is so warm and bright. He remembers the feel of soft fingers scratching along his goatee. He felt at peace then, safe and loved. It gives him pause- the urge to slip away waning. His paternal dragon stops its coiling, eyes locking with his partner. He pulls backs, separating from his mate. His mother’s dragon chirps, drifting closer and closer, she tries to touch her son. Her whiskers mere inches from his floating hand. Obsidian claws stop her from touching her eldest. His father’s dragon huffs once in warning, shaking its great head. His mother snaps at the claw, stubborn in her convictions. She wanted her son back, safe within her clutches in the afterlife. Had he not gone through enough? From the clan to his own penances? She had been so close to getting her youngest back years ago. Yet she had been robbed then too.

She wouldn’t be denied twice.

Hanzo watches helplessly as the two beasts argue in a language he does not know. He is torn between a want to be here with them, and the warm thoughts trickling slowly back into his mind. The pearlescent dragon rears back with a cry of anguish, nostrils flaring at whatever the black dragon had said. She makes eye contact with him once more. The dragon’s eyes were the same color as his mother's before she turned from him leaving his line of sight. His father gave him one last look filled with, pride? Before disappearing too. He shouts for them, crying out for his mother. To not be left alone again. But they were silent in the void. Not even in death was he good enough.

He floats again, or lays? He truly cannot tell what axis or plane he was on. But he could still feel. He felt cold and so so tired. Where were his dragons? If his parents were here surely his dragons must be too. He calls for them, but he gets no answer. The seal on his arm was horribly quiet.

He can do nothing but drift now.

He hears things sometimes, a soft sweet voice reading to him. Other times it’s a smooth accented voice walking him through something they were about to do. Hallucinations or reality he couldn’t tell. They get stronger though. Soon he begins to feel a warmth on his face. Like he was basking in the heat of the summer sun. Other times it’s the brush of something cool and wet on his neck and arms. The fingers were too smooth to be human but dexterous like them. They were humming, the tinny and augmented drone familiar. Hanzo knew that melody, he knew that voice, but he just couldn’t place it. Hanzo listens for a while, floating on the melody before it too disappears. They leave him, only an incisive beeping echoing in his head for company.

His dragons come to him after what felt like an eternity. Akuma approaches first, his massive body colliding with Hanzo’s. The archer clings to the great beast burying his face into the fur. Hanzo cares little for the claws puncturing his skin and scratching him as Akuma clicks and coos in delight. Ibuki wraps herself around them both, quiet but vibrating with relief. Hanzo opens his mouth to speak. His throat clicks, dry and inflamed. Something is choking him.

No-rest. We will get you out soon. Out? He stiffens in their warm embrace. He didn't want out. It was nice here, quiet. He didn't feel pain or much of anything in here. He could stay like this... No. Akuma nips his cheek in aggravation. Family, they need you. She needs you-

It comes back to him hard and fast. His last kiss with you before leaving for the terminal. The video before bed. Him whispering goodnight to your sleeping face ending the call before turning in himself. To the security breach and his fight. He needs to get back. If his parents left him here then he should wake up. Why wasn't he waking up? We will protect. His dragons nuzzle him once more before they push away returning to the great beyond, promising to take care of you while he gets stronger. Their determination fuels him to fight, to survive.

He trains his mind to pick up on the noises and touches happening around him while he waits. He picks up the tick of a clock and the sound of waves by his side. Their constant background noise soothing and grounding. Genji comes daily to hum and chat in their native tongue. He spoke of idle, sweet little things. The weather, who was on kitchen duty that evening, the training schedule. He sounded so hopeful every time he visited. Like his big brother was going to wake up at any moment and respond. After Genji came Mei and Ana. The two mostly acted like he was with them and discussed whatever book they were reading while waiting on him. They would come in the evenings and read passages aloud for him. It was a welcomed break from the monotony of silence. Ana came more often than Mei. He could smell the tea she would bring in when she sat by his side reading aloud in Arabic. Ah- her favorite book of poetry. She never translated this book for him, but between her cadences and phrasing, she wove the beauty of the verses nonetheless.

Ana was interrupted today though. Midway through a verse, she stopped. Her tongue stumbling over itself uncharacteristically. Hanzo felt her shift and rise without another word. He recognized Baptiste and Angela's voices talking to her, their voices low and hurried. He hears Ana laugh gently and the door to his room snaps shut.  His doctors bustle around him for a moment though he senses another person in the room with them. Odd- unless his brother came back. No, much too quiet to be him. Angie and Baptiste leave quickly, their check-up done, leaving him alone with the new visitor.

"Hey, Hanz." A soft voice brushes his cheek. "How are you today?" Hanzo’s heart hurts. How did- when did you come here. He wanted to be angry, to yell at you for coming to such a dangerous place. He wanted to hunt down whoever found you and throttle them. This was putting you in harm’s way. Yet, at the same time, he wished he could see you. He wished he could tell you how much he missed you and that he was there. Instead, floats in his own subconscious. “I-Angie says that you might hear me. Something about your brain scans?” You squeeze his hand with a light chuckle. You trail off distracting yourself by rubbing soothing patterns in his palm. “If-if you can, know that I know. Not everything, your brother has been so kind to me.” You squeeze his hand, bordering on almost uncomfortable. “But I need to hear the things he said from you. So-so get better soon, please? I miss you.” Now more than ever he wishes he could comfort you. Why hadn't he just swallowed his pride early? This could have been avoided. He hoped at least.

The rest of your visit passes too quickly for his liking. The scant bit of privacy he had with you was filled with your tender voice and gentle touches. He felt your fingers brush along his smooth jaw, stroking it like you did whenever you would lounge in bed sweaty but happy after a lengthy reunion. The kisses you placed on his brow were just as sweet too. You only left after one of the doctors came in to force you out to get dinner and stretch.

You poke at the warm meal Ana had plated for you in the mess hall. The steaming rice and tomato covered lentils sitting comfortably in your stomach. “Eat, dear. Then I think it’s best if you take a nap. When was the last time you slept horizontally?” Ana winks at you over her shoulder stirring a pot filled with browning onions and spices. The elderly medic had lost count of the number of times she had walked in on you sleeping in the chairs in the medical wing.

“I’m fine-really.” You smile rubbing at your sore neck. The hospital chairs here were soft, sure, but not meant for daily sleeping. Ana snorts but doesn’t say anything more on the matter. Instead, she distracts your haggard mind with recipes and tea ideas, sprinkling in little stores of her childhood. You find yourself relaxing more and more; the time between when you wanted to get back to Hanzo’s side and since you sat down for dinner growing longer and longer in between. You yawn widely, failing to cover it with your mouth with your hand. “Shit- sorry.” You flush. The other woman waves it off.

“It’s fine sweetheart. Just means my food and company did its job.” She smiles collecting both of your dishes to place them in the sink. “Come-let me escort you to your room.”

“You really aren’t going to let me go back huh?”

“Not a chance child. He isn’t going anywhere trust me.” She grips the back of your shirt to lead you in the opposite direction of the ICU. You scowl but follow along, dragging your feet along a little in the process.

You had been offered Hanzo’s room when you landed last week. It had been untouched since he had been transferred to the Ilios base. But you couldn’t, it felt almost rude to. He hadn’t consented to any of this. It just felt wrong. His room was what you had always imagined. Clean and tidy, the few items he had well loved and maintained. Some looked pricy, but most were homey little things that must have reminded him of Japan. You ask to stay in a vacant room but still find yourself in his room from time to time, dusting his heavy bookshelf or to vacuum his rug and shake the linens out. You only broke down once in his room, but it was enough for you to never want to go back in there. Not until Hanzo was back living in it. While mopping one day you stumbled across a little box, it was your box, the old thing was filled with letters. The creases in the paper thin and tearing from constantly being opened and reread over and over again. The trinkets you had sent him over the years were worn, but clean. The metal pins and coins shiny and discolored from fingers rubbing them lovingly. You put the box back where you found it and leave. Athena could clean from now on.

Genji and Angie had discussed a lot with you since you took up residence. You were grateful for their updates and check-ins. Baptiste even gave you some reading about what to expect when Hanzo is up and going through physical therapy. He emphasized that the longer he was in the ICU the longer recovery could be. “But don’t stress,” He pats your hand warmly. “That man is as stubborn as an Ox. He’ll bounce back in no time!”

You hope so. From the bits Genji told you after they found him...it had been- disparaging. The road had been rocky, though they wouldn’t disclose all the details to you. The first few weeks were touch and go before Angie finally could sign off on putting him under medically. She spoke as simply as she could but it was still a lot for you. But she was certain he would pull through, and that as soon as he could breathe on his own again she would begin the process of waking him up.

How long that would take no one knew.

You met quite a few interesting characters while you sat vigil by his bedside. Mei is a riot. The plucky young scientist is a delightful conversationalist and had many stories about Hanzo. When she talked about him you could immediately understand why they were friends. Both mathematically minded and sentimental to a fault.

Satya was more pensive when she visited at first, but warmed up to you gradually over talks of your business. Her eyes lit up when you told her your struggles with tin designs. “Let me design some for you. Your tins are wonderfully shaped, but ultimately boring.” She looks down at Hanzo’s resting form. She strokes his head lightly. The stubble growing on his crown had been recently washed. Baptist came in earlier to remove the stitches around his temporal lobe.  “I’ll send you some designs tonight.” She nods curtly before leaving you alone again. Over the next few weeks, you gradually met the rest of the agents. Whether it be them coming to say hello and check up on their comrade or in the kitchen, welcoming you to a warm meal, and thousands of questions about how you met.

It wasn’t until the second month of your stay did you meet Hanzo’s dragons. It was late, later than any of the medical staff would advise you to stay up. But, you could only stay away from work for so long and it was finally quiet. You were working by Hanzo’s side, the beeping of his monitor lulling you into a trance while you read over your spreadsheets. At first, you didn’t notice, the rhythmic beeping of his machinery was white noise to you at this point. The first few hitches you missed, too preoccupied with moving numbers and shipments around. The skips steadily grew faster and more erratic, it pulls your focus from your screen. “Hanzo?” You toss your laptop to the side, ready to buzz for help. He doesn’t move, not even a flicker behind his eyelids. Nothing was out of place until you touched him. His arm is warm underneath your fingers. Too warm, near scorching. You yelp in pain falling back at a sudden blinding light that erupts from his tattoo. The room fills with a blaze of blue and gold, the energy of the blast knocks you to the floor. You scream as two massive dragons irrupt from him. They swirl around the tiny space, scleraless eyes scan the room for something.

That something just happened to be you. Two sets of eyes lock with yours. Large fanged jaws open wide, hackles raised. You sit frozen in awe and terror. Were they going to kill you? No-surely not. Genji said they would recognize you-hypothetically. They were an extension of their master's souls. The two lunge for you, three-clawed feet open wide like birds of prey. Squeezing your eyes shut you wait for the impact of scales and teeth.

Two small projectiles collide with you. The force of which knocks the air from you. “Oph!” You wheeze arms wrapping instinctively around the squirming warm creatures clinging to your chest. Two thin dry tongues flick out and tickle your jaw and cheeks.

“I heard a scream! Are you-” Genji burst in looking about frantically, his wakizashi drawn and at the ready. Angie and Baptist barge in behind him, both armed as well. “Oh.” Genji gasps, his sword drops limply to his side. “Aniki.” You look up from your prone position, still dazed and confused by the now tiny blue dragons nestled on your stomach.

“Are you alright?” Genji asks, helping you up back to your feet and righting your upturned chair. His eyes never leave the two spirits in your hands. You nod meekly. “Come, let’s give them room to work.” He takes one last look at his brother and the doctors before leading you out with him. “What happened?” He asks in the hallway eyeing the two blue dragons now wrapped around your upper body. He punches in the code for his room and lets you in.

“I-I don’t know.” The larger of the two dragons chirps as it loses its grip on your sweater. You scoop it up to nuzzle your neck like you would an infant. It coos, wrapping its fluffy tail around your wrist. The slimmer smaller one squawks indignantly, jealous of its partner's attention. It too nuzzles at your neck, draping itself around you like a scarf. “One minute I was balancing my checkbooks, and the next I heard the heart monitor going crazy. Then these two jump me.” You glanze up at Genji. He looks so hopeful. A small sigh of relief escapes him. “Is this good?”

Genji sighs heavily and flops onto his bed. He rubs at the synthetic skin of his chin thoughtfully. He points at the two dragons. “Look at how translucent they are. It takes a lot of energy to summon them to our realm.” You clutch at the squirming reptiles taking a good look at them. The two look at you with large innocent eyes. What he said was true. You could see your hands through their bodies. Their scales were dull and lacked the luster of Genji’s dragon. The larger one’s left antler was chipped and flaking onto the floor. The smaller one was very thin and hollow looking. Genji sighs looking miffed. “My best bet is they told Hanzo you're here and he sent them out to look after you. Which is sweet, but foolish. Summoning when we are mentally or physically weak could kill us if we are not careful.” He drags his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“What happens now?”

He shrugs. “I can’t say. It’s up to him now. But, I believe this is a good sign.” Genji reaches out and scratches behind one of the dragon's ears. “Thank you for coming out to us.” He speaks directly to the dragons, bowing his head low in respect. They preen, clicking and cooing in delight. Genji’s little dragon appears shortly after jumping into the fray of blue and gold.  You sit in the cyborg’s cozy room watching Hanzo’s dragons play. For the first time in ages your chest cliches with something other than fear.

It takes another 3 weeks for Hanzo to open his eyes. Of course, he had to do it the one night you decided to sleep in a bed. Your back had been pleading for days for a normal night's rest. It felt like your head had barely hit your pillow before his two dragons woke you. Tiny claws kneading your stomach and chest. They were solid and heavy. Their scales are bright and iridescent. The larger one, Akuma bumps your face hard with his antlers. Huge, arching healthy antlers. He trills at you expectantly.  

Genji beats you to the medical ward by seconds. His exhaust vents pumping steam out like a geyser. He speaks quickly, his words fast and agitated. He switches languages rapidly, getting more and more agitated at the blank look the assistant barring the door gives him. He is getting flustered and quickly. His green lights blazed brighter and brighter with agitated arm gestures.

“Genji-Genji!” You rest a gentle hand on his cold shoulder. He rounds on you blindly, eyes electric. The hairs on your arm begins to rise as his dragon begins to awaken just under the surface. His temper cools when he recognizes just who was trying to calm him. You glance over to the trembling medical assistant. “Come- we’ve waited this long. They will get us when it’s safe to.” You assure your friend. Genji nods jerkily, taking your offered hand. He follows you down the hall back to his room. You were both tense and vibrating with nervous energy.

You lead Genji to his room, much like he did weeks ago. Punching in his room code you collapse onto the mountain of pillows he had on the floor for a chair the moment the door closed. You hug his pillows close, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach “He’s up.” Genji spoke in awe. You crane your neck to look as Genji paces around you. His tone was tight but hopeful. “He’s up- He’s ok.” He smiles down at you, his face the brightest you had ever seen it. He wipes at his eyes and exhales a curse of joy. Dropping down next to you, he sits cross-legged by your side.

“Yes-” It was all you could manage to say. You squeeze his knee in reassurance, your own eyes prickling around the corners. Hot tears threatening to overflow. You didn’t want to admit it to him, to anyone, but you had started to lose hope. How many times had you sat there painstakingly etching each and every angle and blemish on Hanzo’s unconscious face into your memory, just in case it was to be your last time with him? How many nights had you held your breath, eyes locked with the complex monitors and pumps looking for something, hitch in his breath, or a twitch of a finger. Something to tell you he was still there. A wave of guilt washes over you just thinking of how he had woken up alone, how you weren’t there for him.

It’s not like he knew you were here, but it hurt your heart regardless. Doubt hits you. Would he even want you here? He clearly had no intentions of telling about this part of him. He had his crew to support him, and his brother here. “What are you going to say?” Genji asks gently. You feel his warm human hand land on top of yours giving you a comforting squeeze.

“What are you planning to say?” You parrot.

Genji thinks on it for a second, biting the synthetic skin of his lower lip. “Ugh- that’s why I asked you first! I don’t know if I want to punch him for making us all worry, or hug him.”

“I wish I had an answer too.” You confess. “I don’t even know if I should go see him.”

“What!” Genji gasps. “You have to! He’ll be so happy to see you.”

“Genji,” You roll on to your side. “I’m not even supposed to be here.” You nestle into the multicolored pillows rubbing at your eyes wearily. “Maybe it would be best if I went back home. Give him some space to recover. Give whatever this is time.” Your conversation partner goes quiet. His dark eyes, so expressive like his brothers bore into you. It wasn’t judgment. Nothing of the sort. It was understanding and flickers of sympathy.

“Do you want to leave?” He asks. No. Deep down you didn’t, but the high of hearing Hanzo's condition was slowly being replaced with the reality of the situation. The reality of what now? You shrug hiding your face in your arms too ashamed to admit. He lets you stew for a moment. “My brother-” He starts slowly. “My brother is many things, he is prideful and arrogant. Sometimes to the point of being unbearable to deal with. He can be as immovable as a mountain, as you might say bullheaded. ” Genji chuckles. “But, he is incredibly patient, I never noticed it as a child…but now, it’s a trait I envy.” He rubs at his eyes thinking back to the box he found in his brother’s room, the hidden pictures of you and him. He had never seen his brother so relaxed before. He would do anything to keep seeing that smile on his brother’s face. “I guess what I’m trying to say is,” Genji continues. “ just please try to see him once? If you're able to talk to him, do. I can tell you’re special to him, he will do what it takes to make this work.”

You bob your head in understanding, working to swallow around the lump growing in your throat. “I’m scared.” You admit timidly. Genji gives you a gentle pat on the leg.

“It is a scary situation, but trust me when I say you have nothing to fear from Hanzo.”

Genji leaves you at that, you both decided that when they were given that all clear to see Hanzo he should go first. He tries to object, but it was merely a formality. You could see how desperate he was to go. You spend your time waiting in his room, with his dragon Mizuki and her siblings. They could tell you were in distress and tried their hardest to comfort you. Their warm bodies blanket yours, their purring helping drift you off to sleep.

A sharp knock wakes you and your three dragons. They all perk up, ears all twitching towards the door. Akuma growls low in his throat. You open the door to Angie. She beams at you, hand hovering mid-knock. “Ah good! Sorry if you were resting.Hanzo was asking for you.” She steps back to let you out. Mizuki yips shrilly and leaps at the doctor. She catches them gracefully and strokes their head. “You can visit briefly. I am still monitoring him.”

“Right- thank you Angie.” You turn to go.

Angie stops you with a firm hand on your shoulders. “His larynx and trachea are still healing. Talking on his end is strictly forbidden, understand?” You nod. “I’m keeping him for observation for the next week- you are welcome to visit whenever he is feeling up to it.” With that she gives your shoulders a firm clap and lets you go. You walk slowly to the medbay, Hanzo’s dragons quiet and contemplative on your shoulders. For all your anxiety your mind was completely blank. Where would you even start? Knocking softly on the door to Hanzo's private room you enter.

The sigh of relief that escapes is loud in the open space. He turns to watch you from his inclined position on his hospital bed. He looks better. The tubes and wires helping him breathe and heal had been condensed down to just a heart monitor, IV drip, and oxygen. You take in the muted colors of healing bruises on his face and chest. He hardly looked like himself though. His face was clean shaven from surgery and his hair buzz cut short. It wasn’t him, but it didn’t matter. The fire was still there behind his dark eyes. They still screamed strength and perseverance. It was the same look that had attracted you from the start.

Hanzo regards you heavily, his expression gives nothing away as you come to sit by him. His fiery eyes flicker for a moment when he notices the unshed tears threatening to spill down your cheeks. He opens his mouth to speak and winces. Each breath felt like fire in his lungs. Hanzo rubs at his bandaged neck in agony. “You know you’re not allowed to talk.” You chastise him rushing up to grab his water and straw. He waves it away with a frown and sinks back into the thin pillows of his bed. You sit back down, playing with the metal straw between your fingers. “We have a lot to talk about huh?” You ask to break the silence. Hanzo huffs at the understatement of the century. He rubs his sweaty palms across the sheets covering the stumps of his legs. You watch him, he always rubbed at his knees when he was nervous. You reached for his hand not filled with wires and tubes, but stopped. Hanzo grabs your hand before you could pull it back. His large hand covering yours, he was so warm and safe. “I’m sorry.” You can feel yourself falling apart at the seams. A mix of relief and anxiety creating an indescribable feeling in you.

Damn, what were you even apologizing for? Knowing his secret? Learning about the Shimada clan without his consent, especially since he made it clear he had no intentions of telling you himself. Genji hadn’t told you everything, but it was enough to add fuel to the fire of nightly rants with his dragons. You wipe at your face hating how hot your skin felt with tears. Hanzo tugs at your hand to get your attention. “Wha-” He grunts pointing to the side table by the door and mimes writing on his palm. His com and phone sat innocently alongside his gold ribbon and a few get-well cards and dried flowers, all gifted to him by the team. He takes the phone from you eagerly and opens up to his notes app. He writes out something quickly and trusts it at you without hesitation.

I love you, I’m sorry

What little resolve you had left breaks at his admission. You pepper his waxy skin with tear streaked kisses “I love you too- truly.” You whisper into the bandages on his skull. The strong smell of antiseptics not deterring you in the least bit. He catches a stray kiss and turns back to his screen with vigor.

I know I have much to explain, secrets that I’ve held for too long and for no reason. You were never at fault for any of this, I trust you implicitly I have for a while.  

Hanzo swallows thickly, thumbs hovering over the keyboard while you read in silence.

I know I have damaged what trust you must have had in me. If this is too much, if you deem this unsalvageable… I cannot blame- I would never blame you for wanting to step back. If you desire a clean break.

“Hanzo-” He wouldn’t-

But, if you are willing to give me a chance- I will give you everything. If you are willing to wait…

He looks to you waiting. You would either stay or leave, it was up to you. You read and reread his words, both of you trying to ignore the uptick on his heart monitor. You click the phone off and put it on the windowsill. Breathing deeply you stare blindly out the window. You don’t answer with words. Truthfully you think you had any that would express what you felt in that moment. Instead, you take his hand in both of yours. You kiss along his knuckles, brushing your lips along each scar you see, both old and new alike. You knew them all by heart. They had been a calendar of sorts, the mending of torn skin and removal of stitches, your anchor. They were what kept you going on the hardest nights, they kept you knowing that the wait was worth it. You couldn’t think of stopping now, fear be damned. “I’ll be here as long as you need.”

The smile that graces his face was well worth the wait.

[aaliyah-babe]

Pilot: Part One

Pairing: eventual joey x reader

authors note: i do not own anything from friends, all credit goes to their respective owners. feedback is always appreciated.

Feedback is the glue that holds my writing together!

the group of five sat in the coffee house, monica and pheobe on the long sofa with chandler on the arm of it, and then joey and y/n sitting on the chairs next to it, as monica explained her ‘not a date’ date,

“there’s nothing to tell! he’s just some guy i work with,” she explained,

“come on. you’re going out with the guy, there’s gotta be something wrong with him,” joey pushed her to tell him, which made y/n hit him on the back of his head,

“now, now, joseph. play nice,” she warned before turning to monica, “does he have twelve fingers?” she joked,

“so does he have a hump? a hump and a hairpiece?” chandler joked which made everyone laugh at his comment.

“wait, does he eat chalk?” pheobe asked, which made everyone stare at her in confusion, once she noticed the stares she explained her question, “just ‘cause i don’t want her to go through what i went through with carl- oh,” she sighed at the memory.

“okay, everybody relax. this is not even a date. it’s just two people going out to dinner and not having sex,” she said which made chandler speak up,

“sounds like a date to me,” he said which made everyone nod in agreement,

time had passed and they hadn’t left the coffee house, but moved seats, monica and chandler were still on the couch, pheobe was on the ground, joey was sat on the green chair, and y/n sat on joey’s lap.

“i’m standing in the middle of the cafeteria, and i realise i am totally.... naked,” chandler explained,

“oh yeah,” joey nodded, implying that he’s had that dream,

“i’ve had that dream,” monica laughed,

“then i look down, and there is a phone.... there,” chandler explained further.

“instead of?” joey questioned him,

“that’s right!” chandler yelled, which made everyone shake their heads no this time,

“cant say i’ve had that dream, bing,” y/n sighed,

“all of a sudden, the phone starts to ring. and it turns out it’s my mother, which is very, very weird because, she never calls me!” he said, making everyone laugh a little.

it was a while later and they were still in the coffee house, joey and y/n we’re talking,

“okay so if i win, you have to buy me a cookie,” y/n explained,

“yes, but if i win, you have to buy me a cookie,” he said holding out his hand,

she shook it before replying, “deal!”

“or you two could just eat the cookies chandler bought,” monica motioned to the plate of cookies, y/n and joey shared glances before reaching over and taking one each.

the coffee house doors opened and ross walked in, with a sad look on his face,

“hi,” he said sadly, and joey leant over to y/n,

“this guy says hello i wanna kill myself,” she pushed his head back to ross and the rest of them,

“are you okay, sweetie?” monica asked her brother,

“i just feel like someone reached down my throat, grabbed my small intestine, pulled it out my mouth and wrapped it around my neck,” he said walking over to chandler’s side of the room, where chandler raised his plate of cookies to him,

“cookie?”

“carol moved her stuff out today,” monica explained for ross,

“oh, i’m so sorry honey,” y/n said to him,

“let me get you some coffee,” monica said, getting up,

he thanked her before sitting down, pheobe immediately gasped, and started cleansing ross’s ora,

“no. oh, no. no, don’t!” he yelled at her, making her stop for a second, “stop cleansing my ora,” she continued anyway, “no just leave my ora alone,” making her stop ross said,

“i’ll be fine, all right? really, everyone. i hope she’ll be very happy,” ross lied,

“no you don’t,” monica said from the counter,

“no i don’t. to hell with her she left me,” ross declared,

joey shook his head before asking, “and you never knew she was a lesbian?”

“no. okay? why does everyone keep fixating on that?!” he asked angrily, “she didn’t know, how should i know?”

“sometimes i wish i was a lesbian,” chandler said, still focused on the paper, he looked up before realising, “did i say that out loud?”

“alright ross, look. you’re feeling a lot of pain right now. you’re angry, you’re hurting. can i tell you what the answer is?” joey asked him and he nodded, “strip joints!” he said which made mos of the group roll their eyes. “oh, come on. you’re single. have some hormones!”

“see, but i don’t want to be single, okay? i just, i just, i just wanna be married again,” he stuttered, just as he said those words a woman in a soaked wedding dress ran into the coffee house, frantically looking around.

“and i just want a million dollars!” chandler motioned to the door,

y/n noticed something about the girl, very farmiliar and she saw that monica noticed too, monica looked at y/n, “is that?” and y/n nodded excitedly, her and monica getting up,

“rachel?” they both asked,

“oh god, guys, hi!” she smiled looking at the two, she hugged them both before continuing, “i just went to tour building and you weren’t there and then this guy, with a big hammer told me that you might be here and you guys are! you are,” she hugged them again, before y/n walked back over to the couch couch,

“can i get you some coffee?” the woman behind the counter asked,

“decaf!” monica pointed at rachel before walking her over to the couch,

“okay, everybody this is rachel another lincoln high survivor,” monica introdouced everybody to her before she introdouced ross.

“and you remember my brother ross,” monica said in more of a question tone.

“sure!” she smiled, and held out her hand,

ross got up to shake it but when he did the umberella popped open, invading the space between them, making them jump.

rachel sat down, as if she isn’t wearing a wedding dress,

“so you want to tell us now?” monica asked her,

“or are we waiting for four wet bridesmaids?” y/n laughed a little at her comment.

“oh, god. well, it started about a half an hour before the wedding. i was in this room where we were keeping all the presents, and i was looking at this gravy boat; this really gorgeous limoges gravy boat. when all of a sudden,” she started but the lady walked up with her coffe, “sweet and low?” rachel asked, the woman nodded so rachel continued.

“i realised that i was more turned on by this gravy boat than by barry! and then i got really freaked out and that’s when it hit me; how much barry looks like mr. potato head. you know? i mean, i always knew he looked farmiliar but.. anyway, i just had to get out of there and i started wondering, why am i doing this and who am i doing this for? so anyways i just didn’t know where to go and i know that you, you and i have drifted apart but you guys are the only people i knew that lived here in the city,” she said pointing at y/n then at monica,

“who wasn’t invited to the wedding?” monica asked her and y/n raised her eyebrows,

“oh, i was kind of hoping that would’nt be an issue,” she said.

they decided to head back to the apartment and watch some tv, while rachel was on the phone to her father.

on the tv was a spanish telenovela,

“so i’m guessing that she bought her the big pipe organ, and she’s really not happy about it,” monica guessed,

“daddy, i just. i can’t marry him. i’m sorry, i just don’t love him... well it matters to me!” rachel said to her father over the phone.

there was a woman on the stairs of the show and she was wearing pants that she should not have been wearing,

“oooh, she should not be wearing those pants.” chandler said,

“i say, push her down the stairs,” joey said and everybody started chanting,

“push her down the stairs! push her down the stairs! push her down the stairs!” and when the woman pushed the other woman down the stairs everybody cheered.

“come on daddy listen to me!” rachel said which made monica turn off the tv and everybody turned to her,

“it’s like all of my life, everyone has always told me, your a shoe. you’re a shoe, you’re a shoe, you’re a shoe! and then today i just stopped and said, what if i don’t want to be a shoe? what if i wanted to be a purse? or-or-or a hat?!” rachel frantically said, “no i don’t want you to buy me a hat, i’m saying i am a hat- it’s a metaphor daddy!” she yelled into the phone,

“you can see where you have trouble,” ross said walking back and sitting down next to y/n.

“look daddy, it’s my life. well, maybe i’ll just stay here with monica!” rachel yelled into the phone and everybody turned to monica,

“so i guess we’ve established she’s staying here with monica,” monica said, and everybody turned back to rachel,

“well maybe that’s my decision. well maybe i don’t need your money. wait, wait! i said maybe!” rachel yelled before placing the phone down, her father had hung up on her.

the guys were in the kitchen while the girls sat in the living room with rachel, who had a brown paper bag over her mouth to calm her down,

“okay, just breathe. that’s it,” monica soothed her,

“don’t worry rach, just keep breathing,” y/n told her,

“just try to think of nice calm things,” monica told her,

“raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens, doorbells and sleigh bells, and- something with mittens, la la la something with string, these are a few...” pheobe began singing, poorly when rachel cut her off.

“i’m all better now,” rachel told her, making her stop singing and smile,

pheobe turned around and faced the guys, “i helped!” she smiled.

“okay, look, this is probably for the best, you know?” monica asked her, motioning for y/n to help her,

“yeah! independence, taking control of your life,” y/n side-hugged rachel.

“and hey, you need anything you can always come to joey,” joey said, putting his hand on rachel’s shoulder, “me and chandler live right across the hall, and he’s away a lot.”

“joey!” y/n hit him on his arm,

“joey stop hitting on her, it’s her wedding day!” monica reminded him,

“what? like there’s a rule or something?” he said.

the intercon buzzed so chandler checked who it was, “please don’t do that again it’s a horrible sound,”

“uh, it’s-it’s paul!” paul shouted through the speaker,

“buzz him in!” monica told him and he did,

“who’s paul?” joey asked her,

“‘paul the wine guy’ paul?” ross asked from behind her,

“maybe,” monica smirked,

“wait- so this whole time your ‘not a date’ date was with paul the wine guy?!” y/n screeeched excitedly,

“he finally asked you out?” ross asked her,

“yes!” monica exclaimed,

“ooh this is a ‘dear diary’ moment,” chandler joked,

“i can’t believe this!” y/n said excitedly,

“wait- rach, i can cancel,” monica said to rachel,

“please, no, go! i’ll be fine,” rachel insisted and monica turned to ross,

“ross, are you okay? i mean, do you want me to stay?” monica asked him,

“that’d be good,” ross said,

“really?!” monica and y/n said,

“no! go on! it’s paul the wine guy!” ross exclaimed, and right on cue, paul knocked on the door,

she opened it and said, “hi! come in,”

he walked in and everybody stood watching him, “paul, this is... everybody,” monica introdouced,

“everybody this is paul,” monica then turned back to paul,

“paul the wine guy!” everyone yelled,

“i’m sorry, i didn’t catch your name. paul, was it?” chandler asked him,

“sit down, i’ll be two seconds,” monica said running into her room,

y/n, joey and chandler went to sit down with paul,

“so paul, long time no see huh?” joey asked him,

“you’ve never met me before,” paul said making y/n and chandler laugh a little,

“right,” joey said embarrassed,

“so, how’s working in the restaurant?” y/n asked him,

“good, it’s uh, it’s good,” he stuttered,

it went silent and awkward until joey pulled y/n away, leaving chandler on the couch,

“what’s up, joey?” she asked him,

“nothing, just didn’t want to be there for any longer,” he told her, handing her a beer,

they stayed in the kitchen as ross talked to rachel, before chandler joined them,

“anyway, if you don’t feel like being alone tonight, joey and chandler are helping me put together my new furniture,” ross said to rachel,

“yes and we’re very excited about it,” chandler sneered,

“thanks, but i think i’m just going to hang out here tonight, it’s been a long day,” she said walking to the bathroom,

“hey, pheebs? you wanna help?” joey asked her,

“i wish i could but, i don’t want to,” she said which made y/n laugh,

“y/n/n, what about you huh?” joey asked her, squeezing her shoulder,

“meh, okay i guess, but i got to leave early though, because i got these new bath salts i want to try,” she smiled

“can we join you, or...” chandler joked, and she laughed, pushing him away,

it was later on and the guys and y/n had headed off to ross’ apartment, and started putting the furniture together, which was not working out so well,

“i’ve finished with the bedside table,” y/n told ross and everyone looked at her with their mouth open, as they were not close to being finished,

“okay, great! thank you! go take it in that room, please,” ross told her and she nodded, walking into the bedroom, she placed the table next to a bed, probably ross’ bed.

she walked back out, “anyone need any help?” she asked them and instantly, three arms flew into the air,

“okay...” she walked to ross since joey and chandler were working together,

“so what are we doing?” y/n asked him,

“well, i’m supposed to attach a brackety thing to the side things, using a bunch of these little worm guys. i have no brackety thing, i see no worm guys whatsoever, and i can not feel my legs,” he said standing up,

ross walked over to the kitchen and y/n joined chandler and joey,

“what’s this?” y/n picked up a piece that wasn’t on the bookcase,

“i have no idea,” chandler told her, while joey shook his head and shrugged,

joey grabbed it off her and tossed it into the plant pot before shouting, “done with the bookcase!”

ross walked in sadly, holding a canned beer, “this was carol’s favourite beer,” he told them,

they looked at eachother, before looking back at ross, “she always drank it out of the can, i should’ve known,”

“hey! wait a second, i drink out of the can and i’m not a lesbian,” y/n said grabbing her beer, “see, look,”

she took a sip of her beer, from the can, after she finished she turned to joey and grabbed his face, pulling him in for a kiss, the kiss only lasted a few seconds before she pulled back,

“see!” she smiled at joey who was smiling happily at that,

“okay, uh ross, let me ask you a question.” joey started after he stopped smiling, “she got, the furniture. the stereo, the good tv. what did you get?” he asked him,

“you guys,” ross told them,

“you got screwed,” joey replied,

“not a good trade,” y/n said at the same time,

“oh my god!” chandler exclaimed.

“well kiddos, i’m going to head home, take that bath,” she said and saw chandler about to say something so she interrupted him, “alone!”

“let me walk you out,” joey said, walking with her,

they got outside of the apartment and joey closed the door, “well, that was... interesting,” joey smirked,

“oh joey! shut up!” y/n smiled at him,

“i’m just saying, you’re a good kisser!” he smiled at her,

“thank you, you are too,” she said.

joey called a cab and y/n got in it, waving at joey who started walking back to the apartments.

she got back to her apartment which was next to monica and rachel’s, before walking in.

she took her coat off and set it down on the kitchen chairs and got changed in her room, before watching tv.

there was a knock at her door, she got up and turned the tv off, opening the door to reveal rachel, a sad rachel,

“honey, come in,” y/n hugged her and she layed with her on the couch for a bit.

“want to talk about it?” y/n asked her and she shook her head no.

“well i’ve got something that might cheer you up,” y/n said running into her room,

she went into her closet and pulled out a black dress, that she didn’t like on herself, but knew it would suit rachel,

“i’ve had this dress for quite some time now, and it’s not my style, so here, take it,” y/n handed her the dress and rachel thanked her,

“oh it’s beautiful, thank you so much y/n/n!” rachel hugged her greatfully.

it was later on and rachel had went back to her apartment and y/n had decided to go to sleep.

read Part Two here!

[hushnow-hun]

Are You Kitten Me?

For shinkamiweek2020. Day 4: College

AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25302205

---

“Kaminari, you’ll never guess what,” Shinsou said, closing the door behind him with a soft click.

Kaminari was laying on the bed on his front, phone in hand. He peered at Shinsou curiously over his shoulder. “What?”

Careful not to jostle his backpack too much, Shinsou sat on his bed across from his roommate, who was still looking at him expectantly. He unzipped the bag and a pair of round, yellow eyes blinked up at him. “Hey there, girl,” he whispered, gingerly lifting the cat out and putting her on his bed.

“What?” Shinsou looked up to see a gleeful look slowly spreading on Kaminari’s face. “You did not,” he breathed out, sitting up and leaning closer.

A corner of Shinsou’s mouth quirked up. “I did.”

“Oh my god. You brought a cat to our dorm.” He stared at the cat, who for the most part had gotten over Kaminari and was now craning her neck this way and that, surveying their room.

Shinsou extended a finger and she sniffed it briefly, before hopping off the bed. “It’s fine,” he said absently. “It’s not like anyone was there when I came in. Nobody saw my mysteriously wriggling backpack.” Shinsou had speedwalked all the way to their dorm room nonetheless, not too keen on taking chances.

“Can I pet her?” Kaminari asked suddenly.

Shinsou gestured offhandedly. “Go for it. She’s pretty friendly. She didn’t even try to scratch me when I found her.”

Kaminari scooped the cat off the floor and into his arms, cooing softly. Almost instantly, she melted into it, purring when he rubbed a finger on her head. “Found her where?”

“On the way back to campus,” Shinsou answered vaguely. He had spotted the cat sitting by a lamppost when he stepped out the convenience store nearby, blinking back at him. When she butted her head against his knee after he crouched down to pet her, that was it. There was just no way he was gonna leave her there.

“She’s surprisingly well kept for a stray,” Kaminari mused, running a hand over her black fur.

Shinsou hummed, dropping his bag to the floor next to his bed. “Maybe she just got lost recently.”

“You didn’t steal someone’s pet, did you?” Kaminari asked, eyebrows shooting up.

“She doesn’t have a collar,” Shinsou said defensively. Hang on. Don’t tell him the cat could’ve belonged to the nice old man who owned the convenience store. Oh, it’d be even worse if he actually saw Shinsou taking his cat.

The cat meowed loudly, effectively cutting off his train of thought. She squirmed out of Kaminari’s hold and started pacing around the room.

“Do you think she’s hungry?” Kaminari asked.

“Er.” Shinsou blinked. “Must be. You got any cat food on you by any chance?”

Kaminari gave him a weird look. “Dude, did you think this through at all?”

Well. That’s fair. Shinsou wouldn’t call himself an impulsive person, but apparently all that rationale goes out the window when faced with a pair of whiskers. He shrugged at Kaminari.

The cat let out a loud meow again, walking in a circle. Maybe they could give her one of Kaminari’s granola bars for now. She’d like that, right?

Before he could offer the suggestion, there was a knock on the door. Shinsou exchanged wide-eyed looks with Kaminari.

After a beat, Shinsou dove to grab the cat, but she yelped and skittered under the bed, narrowly escaping Kaminari’s hands as well.

The knock came again. “Kaminari? Is everything alright in there?” Iida.

“Everything’s fine!” Kaminari said. He kept shooting panicked glances at the door while moving up to give Shinsou space as he got on all fours and peered under the bed. The cat blended well in the dark space, but Shinsou could still see the wary glint in her eyes as she crouched in the corner.

Iida’s voice came again. “I thought I heard a cat in there.”

“No you didn’t,” Kaminari said, voice comically pitched. Shinsou almost threw a lamp at him. Instead, he settled for gesturing wildly at him to answer the door. Kaminari gestured something back, making faces at him. Shinsou crossed his arms and Kaminari groaned silently, muttering something under his breath before going to the door.

“Iida!” he greeted. The door was open just wide enough for him to pop his head out. From where he’s down next to the bed, Shinsou ran no risk of being seen. He ducked his head down to look at the cat again, if only to keep an eye on her so she doesn’t suddenly dash towards the door. He can’t get her out from under the bed without a guarantee that Iida won’t hear.

“Don’t worry about it. That was just me,” Kaminari said, gripping the door’s edge with the hand above his head. Most likely to keep blocking the view of their room.

Iida sounded skeptical. “That was you meowing?”

“Yup!” Kaminari gave a nervous laugh.

“Why?”

This seemed to catch Kaminari off guard. “I mean, you know,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s like, nya.” He pawed the air.

Shinsou had to muffle his snicker.

“Oh, well, alright then.” Iida sounded like he didn’t know what to do with that information.

“Leave him be, Iida.” Was that Sero? How many people were out there? “Kaminari probably just likes that kind of thing.”

Kaminari nodded his head enthusiastically. “Yeah! Thanks, Sero— wait.” Shinsou couldn’t see his face, but he was willing to bet Kaminari was narrowing his eyes at his black-haired friend. “What do you mean by that?”

Sero snickered. “Is Shinsou in there with you?”

“What?” Kaminari’s voice had gone a pitch up again. “No, he’s not— hey!” He was now trying to shut the door, using both his hand and knee. “Stop it! He’s not here! He went out to buy some stuff a while ago.”

Sero laughed, giving up on trying to barge his way in. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’m sure he’ll be back soon.”

“Sero!” Iida chided. “If I’m thinking what you’re thinking, and what you’re thinking is correct, then we shouldn’t interrogate Kaminari like this! It’s plain rude.”

“You know what? I’ll see you guys later!” Kaminari shut the door with finality.

Shinsou had moved back to his bed after feeling the strong urge to sit down. He watched Kaminari drop on the bed across from him, the tips of his ears red. The silence stretched between them. “Well,” he said eventually, clearing his throat. “That took a turn for the worse.”

Shinsou bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Easy for you to say,” he said, huffing. He finally looked over at Shinsou and pointed an accusing finger at him. “You don’t have to deal with him on a daily basis.”

Shinsou swatted the hand away. Keeping his tone light, he said, “So you’re saying he does that on a daily basis?”

“I—“ Kaminari caught the look on his face and chucked a pillow at him. “Anyways!” he said, clapping his hand loudly. “So that was reason number one on why we can’t possibly keep her.”

Right on cue, the cat crept out from under the bed, peering up at them. Shinsou sighed, leaning back on his hands. “I know, but I figured we could keep her here until someone claims her.”

“Still a bad idea,” kaminari said in a sing-song voice.

“It’s an idea.” Shinsou picked up the cat and placed her back on his bed.

“Well, what if no one claims her?”

Shinsou thought this over. “I could always bring her to my dad. There’s no way he’d refuse.” Aizawa’s brought home his fair share of felines after all. Hizashi should be pretty used to it by now too.

Kaminari hummed, settling on his back. “We should probably give her a name,” he said after a while. “If she’s gonna be staying here for a bit, I can’t just keep calling her ‘Cat’.”

“It’s not the worse name.” At kaminari’s raised eyebrow, Shinsou added, “It’s definitely accurate. We won’t be mistaking her for something else.” Kaminari gave a snort at that, and Shinsou continued petting the cat. “Anything in mind?”

“How ‘bout Muffin?”

“Muffin?” Shinsou said incredulously. The cat glanced at Kaminari briefly, before going back to inspecting the bed sheet.

“Hmm, Belle?”

“Can’t we pick a name that would actually suit her?”

“Yeah?” Kaminari propped himself up on his elbow, a lazy grin on his face. “What would you name her then? Ebony? Eclipse? Moon Shadow?”

“Oh, fuck off—"

[rayshippouuchiha]

does Karin come in to team Uzumaki cuz like i can just picture Naruto coming home with her slung over his shoulder screaming "Guess what Kits! I got you an Aunt-y!! Meet your new family Karin!"

Sure I could see Karin coming in to things in the future.

Okay because this AU takes so much of the canon and just … shoves it in a corner and throws a tarp over it, Naruto totally meets Karin differently too.

So maybe it happens a little like this:

Naruto’s running a mission alone outside of the village, because team or no team there’s still responsibilities he has to deal with without them.

And he’s on his way back, cutting through a local town or something instead of skirting too close to Sound’s boarders maybe, when he runs across Karin who is out doing recon or errands or whatever.

It’s her hair, more than anything, that catches his attention. a swath of color that he catches out of the corner of his eye and has to turn towards.

He’s not seen red (Uzumaki red a part of him whispers even though he knows it’s more than likely not true, Naruto is the child of dead parents, the legacy of a dead Clan, the remnant of a dead Village) like that outside of the few photos he has of Kushina so even if the shade’s not perfect it still makes him hesitate for a minute.

It’s long enough for Karin to get a feel of his chakra, bright and warm and dazzling with something wild and raging running just below the surface.

It’s unlike anything she’s ever felt before and, for a split second, she feels as if she can hear waves, can smell the ocean. Can smell salt and sun and can hear the churning of the whirlpools like from the stories her mother used to tell her.

Like the Uzu-

She whips around to face him, hope welling, heart in her throat, and they lock eyes.

The blonde hair throws her, the whiskers are a shock, and disappointment tastes like burning stone and smells like snake skin.

Not what, who, she’d thought then, not with that hair.

But when Naruto shakes himself out of his own daze, he smiles at her, and then when he turns to go…

Karin follows after him at a distance.

His chakra is like an inferno against her senses and a part of her … a part of her thinks she could find him anywhere.

A part of her wonders why she never found him before.

He’s waiting for her a ways off from the town, hands clasped behind his head, kimono bright in the setting sun.

“Hi,” he practically chirps at her.  “You following me for a reason?”

“You … your chakra …” Karin manages to say. 

And something bitter and old wells up in Naruto’s chest at that because of course.  It always seems to come back to that doesn’t it? Even with strange girls with hair that makes him ache.

Naruto tisks, hands coming down to his sides, balled fists hidden by the sleeves of his top.

“I don’t wanna fight you for no reason so let’s just … not.  Okay?”  Naruto waves absently in her direction as he turns to go, mind already traveling back towards his kits and home.

“Wait, please,” Karin scrambles forward, hand reaching out for his trailing sleeve and not even sure why.

And Naruto, for some reason and despite all instinct, lets her.

“Your chakra,” Karin fumbles out, fingers twining with the fabric of his sleeve, “it feels … it’s so familiar.  Like the stories.  I thought … I hoped that … maybe …”

Karin stops, takes a deep breath, gathers herself.

“I’m Karin,” she finally says forcefully.  “Uzumaki Karin.  And your chakra feels like home.”

Naruto feels his entire word freeze, feels all of his senses sharpen.

He turns back to her, eyes and senses and soul searching, but he can’t find any malice.  Can’t find a hint of deception in her.

His hands move, the one in the sleeve she’s grasping coming up and twisting to wrap his fingers gently around her wrist, fingers brushing over what feels like the raised bumps of multiple scars hidden inside the bell of her sleeves.

The other comes up towards her face, clawed fingertips gentle as he presses them against her cheek.

Karin doesn’t flinch, just stares up at him.

This close Naruto thinks he can see it, just a bit.

Echoes of hints of Kushina in the shape of her eyes behind those glasses, in the point of her face, and maybe in that Uzumaki hair that’s just a shade off or so this far from the sea and the salt that birthed it.

Naruto thinks he might be crying but he’s not sure.

“I’m Naruto,” he finally manages to choke out.  “Uzumaki Naruto.”

Karin’s breath catches.

Her eyes well up in turn.

The truth of what they’ve managed to stumble across reverberates between the small space separating them.

Family.

After all this time.

Finally.

“Are there …” Karin whispers, voice breathy and small, “where have you been?  And are … are there more of … us?”

“I’m from Konoha.  And you,” Naruto’s voice is ragged and rough, “you’re the first I’ve ever seen.  My entire life I … you’re the first.”

Karin’s free hand comes up, presses against the sharp cut of Naruto’s whiskered cheek.

She thinks of her mother, dead before her time because of Kusa’s greed, thinks of being alone for so long, thinks of Orochimaru finding her.

She thinks about the bite marks littering her skin and the experiments and the pain and she just …

“Can I come home with you?”

The question’s out before she decides to ask it.

“Please,” Naruto half begs. “Please.”

And so she does.

[lettheladylead]

avoid the unhappy ending (ch10)

ships/characters: Goldie, Scrooge, Scrooge/Goldie words (ch10): ~1800 summary: Goldie comes to town to see Scrooge. Instead, she somehow manages to run into literally everyone else. ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27108943/

[1 & 2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9]

Chapter 10 under the cut:

There’s a lot of comic references in these next chapters. Nothing that couldn't fit into DT17 canon, so I’ll quickly summarize for context:

Scrooge and Goldie met in Dawson during the Klondike Gold Rush. She drugged him and stole his giant gold nugget. As punishment, he took her to his claim and made her work for him digging gold. Goldie stayed because she wanted to steal Scrooge’s lock box which contained the deed to his property, the giant gold nugget, and (unknown to her) a lock of Goldie’s hair that was cut off in a scuffle with a bear. They went their separate ways after falling in love and not wanting to admit it to each other. (‘Prisoner of White Agony Creek’)

Two years later, Scrooge made his first million dollars and decided to go back to Dawson to settle down. He went back to his claim in White Agony and grabbed his old stuff, then wrote Goldie a letter and bought her a box of chocolates. He lost them on the trip to Dawson and decided that trying to settle down was bad for him and he should just keep working instead. Fifty years later he found his stuff and she finally read the letter, but nothing came of it. (‘Last Sled to Dawson’)

x

Beakley gave her directions to the right spot. How had she gone all these years unaware of a Klondike Room? Maybe she wouldn't have anything to steal from there, but it'd be nice to explore and enjoy the nostalgia. And hell, maybe there was something to steal. A goose-egg sized gold nugget, perhaps.

The path she was going in took her towards the Other Bin, which Scrooge thought was a secret, but Goldie had been there more than a few times to borrow certain mystical items and even stored some of her own there. Having Scrooge keep them safe was much easier than trying to build her own magically fortified bin.

And it was kind of nice to have things of hers in his home. A bit more meaningful than a toothbrush, at least.

She could see the room that led to the Other Bin down the hall, and the one Beakley had mentioned should be just a few doors further. Goldie took a moment to peek inside and took note that the room was still as junked up as always. A housekeeper and a ghost butler, but Scrooge still managed to have rooms that looked that bad.

Four more doors and Goldie wondered if this was an elaborate, annoying prank Bentina was playing on her as revenge for...well, a lot of things. Didn’t seem like her style. But she supposed it didn’t matter, she was checking the room either way.

Opening the door as quietly as possible, Goldie’s eyes widened at the display in front of her. The room was chilly, but filled with some very familiar pieces of furniture. It felt like a cabin. Scratch that, it felt like the cabin. His cabin.

On the other side of the room, she (finally!) saw Scrooge - wearing his old coat and even older hat - sitting with his back to her on the edge of a bed (and based on how it looked, she was pretty sure that was the bed), looking into a little lock box on his lap.

Of course, it was the box, too. Walking into this room felt like walking into a time machine. And she wanted to say something clever and cute. Some reference to their first meeting or something that would send a shiver down his spine.

Instead, she simply said, “Hey, Handsome.”

Scrooge didn’t react right away, then slowly closed the box and put it to his side before turning around to look at her. “Goldie, Dear, I wondered when you’d find me.”

She closed the door and walked over to the bed, taking a seat on the other side. “So you did know I was here.”

“Aye, Gyro sent me a message about it a few hours ago.”

Goldie turned to him and scoffed. “It has not been that long!”

He just smiled at her and she felt her heart beat faster. Damn that man. She wanted to yell at him for all the trouble she'd gone through, but one look at the space made all her complaints melt away. Clearly there was something more important going on.

“So...how didn’t I know about this?” she asked, stretching out her arms and emphasizing the room.

“You never asked,” he responded with a shrug, moving the box down to the floor and under the bed.

Goldie fell back and spread out her limbs all over the mattress, sighing at the familiar creaks and groans of the old, worn thing. “I can’t believe we slept on this.”

“Don’t complain - you only slept on it for a month,” Scrooge said as he laid down next to her. “Feels terrible, doesn’t it?”

“Hmm,” she hummed, turning to the side so she was looking at him. “It could be worse.”

They stayed silent for a minute while Goldie stuck her hand out and started playing with his whiskers, enjoying the smile and blush that graced his face while she did.

“Seems like you talked to the whole family today.”

“Mhmm.” She kept playing with his feathers while she answered. “Everyone wanted to harass me about not marrying you.”

His face got a little redder. “I didn’t ask them to.”

“I know. You didn’t ask me to, either.”

Scrooge’s eyes darted around the room in a clear attempt to avoid looking at her until he sat up and cleared his throat, cheeks still very colorful. “Um...not in so many words, but…”

Goldie leaned on her arms and watched him, smiling and enjoying his nervousness. Together on-and-off for one hundred and twenty years and he still got like this around her. It was so adorable it bordered on annoying, but she loved it nonetheless.

She sat up next to him and planted a hand flat on his chest, leaning over and kissing his cheek. “I’m just kidding, Scroogey.”

He laughed awkwardly and tugged at his collar, not wanting to continue that specific line of conversation. He started playing with his hands and his eyes darted towards the side of the bed where he’d hidden the lock box.

Goldie smirked. “You know I already know what’s in there. If you think I’ll be weirded out about the hair, you’re a century too late.”

“Ach,” Scrooge grumbled and shrugged her hand off. “It’s not that. Being in here with you...it just brings me back. I feel like you could take the nugget any second.”

“Well I certainly could, if you’d like to chase me down,” she said smugly, started to crawl past him to the other side of the bed.

Scrooge quickly grabbed her wrists and roughly pulled her back to where she was before. “Not on your life, you heisting harpy!”

Goldie winced momentarily as her shoulder stung, but shook it off before he could notice. She smiled and leaned closer, nuzzling her beak under his. “So what are you doing in here, Scrooge? I've been looking for you everywhere."

“Oh, I heard,” he said with a chuckle, letting go of her wrists. “Duckworth stopped by a few times to tell me if you’d gotten close.” He laughed harder at Goldie’s irritated expression. “I cannae believe you went and asked Beakley for help!”

Goldie groaned and shoved her side into his, trying and failing to seem annoyed. “You’re such a lousy old sourdough.”

He shoved her back. “And yet, here you are.”

“Here I am.” She leaned her head onto his shoulder and stared at the furniture set up in front of them - it was his old table and chair set. She was pretty sure the pan she cooked him eggs and bacon in was there, too.

He sighed and leaned his head on top of hers. She could hear his heart beating faster at the contact.

“So…” she mumbled softly. “Why are you in here?”

There was a few seconds of silence before he finally answered. “...you’ll just make fun of me for bein’ sentimental.”

“That’s probably true, but my curiosity stands.” She scooted herself around him so she’d be facing him directly. “I don’t remember today being special for us, but your staff seems to think it is.”

“It’s not special for you,” he said with a shrug, not looking at her. “Just for me.”

“...why’s that?”

He blushed again and she raised an eyebrow. “Scroogey, just tell me. I promise not to make fun of you. For at least an entire minute.”

“It’s nothin’ ridiculous,” Scrooge grumbled. “It’s just...it’s an anniversary. Of me...buyin’ somethin’. For you.”

She gave him a curious expression. “That’s what all this embarrassment is about? I don’t remember you getting me anything.”

“I never gave it to you,” he answered with a shrug. “Lost it in an ice storm.”

Goldie huffed and put her hands on his cheeks, forcing Scrooge to make eye contact with her. “What was it?”

He put his hands over hers. “It was just a stupid box of chocolates.”

She smiled. “How romantic.”

“I suppose.”

“Do you spend the day in here for every mundane anniversary?” Goldie said with a smile as she pulled away, moving to the edge of the bed. “At your age, I’m surprised every day of the year isn’t reminiscent of something or other.”

“What about you?” he asked, genuinely curious. “You’re goin' to pretend you don’t have a million things to celebrate?”

Goldie stood up and chuckled. “Of course I do. I always visit you on the day we first met.”

“And you always steal somethin' gold.”

She turned her head to give him a sultry look. “Would you expect anything else?”

He stood up behind her and let his hands drift to her hips. “From you? Never.”

Goldie spun around and ignored the sparkle in her eyes as she wrapped her arms around his neck. “I’m glad I came today. I always enjoy when you’re nostalgic and this room really takes the cake.”

Scrooge pulled her a little closer. “Oh? Even with my family bothering you all day?” He smirked. “Don’t tell me ol’ Glitterin’ Goldie is startin’ to enjoy domestic life…”

She just hummed softly for a moment before closing the gap between them and pressing her beak to his very gently, gliding her left hand from the back of his head to his whiskers so she could play with them a bit more. She pulled away after a few seconds. “I think I could deal with this every once in a while.”

He broke out into a huge grin and leaned over to peck her beak quickly before squeezing her tight around her middle, lifting her up, and spinning her around.

“Whoa, hey!” she squeaked as she held onto his shoulders. “Watch your back, Old Man!”

Scrooge laughed as he lost his balance and they both fell back onto the bed - Goldie dizzy on her back and Scrooge winded on top of her. It only took a few seconds before Goldie started laughing with him and then they kissed again, losing themselves in the moment and the memories.

A few minutes later and they were back to where they started - laying on the familiar bed and staring at each other.

“Any chance you’re really plannin’ to stay for dinner?”

Goldie huffed and held back a laugh. “Come on, Scroogey. No one besides you and Della want me taking up a seat at that table. And she’s probably on the fence about it still.”

He reached over and grabbed her hand, holding it in front of his chest. “Just come anyway. I have a feelin’ we’ll just be talkin’ about you whether you’re there or not. Might as well come and defend yourself.”

She laughed again and tugged her hand out of his grasp. “Well with an offer like that, how can a girl refuse?”

[missingartist]

The Witcher's Mate Chapter 7

Geralt’s cat eyes followed the two walkers with predator-like focus. A deep growl pushed itself from his chest as he watched Jaskier knock his shoulder against the women gently as he told her another tale from his repertoire. The Witcher’s eyes narrowed as the Adva chuckled weakly and attempted to push him back. For the past three days, they had been travelling through miles of muddy roads and dense woodland; it was beginning to take its toll on the young women’s body. Despite Geralt’s best efforts Adva refused to join him on his horse even though he could see the slouch in her figure and the exhaustion in her features as they travelled. It took all of Geralt’s free will to stop himself from yanking her up, throwing her across his saddle. The smell of apples and the ocean was teasing him; he needed it closer; he wanted to bury his face in her neck and drinking in the heady scent. It was craving, a need, a yearning, burning him from the inside out.

In the darkening sky, there was a dim glow in the near distance, a small town. The Witcher surveyed the town for a moment before returning his gaze to his new travel companion. She had been subdued since her eruption the days previous, choosing to ignore his presence and focusing on the babbling bard.

‘Geralt…Geralt there is a town...wine…meat and beds. Think about it…real-life beds. Soft, fluffy warm beds. Come on Geralt lets stay the night. We might even find a new tale...or at the very least, a warm bath and a change of clothing.’ Jaskier prodded, shinnying his best puppy dog eyes at him.

Adva look up silent at the two men, there was almost a playful banter of faux hated from the older man. In truth she didn’t care where she slept, a bed, a muddy hole on top of a bed of nettle as long as she got some rest, her body ached, literal ached, she was used to being tired especially in the last weeks in Brightwater after the attacks, but this was on a whole other level. The sort of tiredness that seeped into your bones and made you eyelids feel like lead. Adva wrinkled her nose, the clothes she wore were stained, bile rose in her throat as she runs her hand over a sticky rust colour stain on her dress, a mix of hers and Tradi’s blood. It was only then she realised she hadn’t had a change of clothes since Brightwater. The same dress that has a massive slit in the side where Griffin’s talons caught her, an overshirt had been pulled over the bodice, and her old cloak flung round her. It covered her modestly, but she dreaded to think what a state she looked. She hadn’t bathed in a week, no hairbrush or fresh clothes, she had nothing, every possess she had ever own was gone, everything she owns was currently wrapped tightly around her body. Tears welled up in her eyes.

Staring up at the Witcher, she could feel his heavy gaze on her but refused to look away; instead, she shifted uncomfortably on her feet. It didn’t take a Witcher to see the line of water collect against her lashes. Casting his golden orbs back the town he sent his jaw in a tight clench as he urged Roach onwards.

‘Hmmm’

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Heavy spices filled the air, sage and rosemary, cinnamon and nutmeg. Merchants voiced echoed through the street as people rushed from one place to the other, in a rush to get the last of their supplies before darkness fell. Upon reaching the town gates, Geralt dismounted his horse and led him through the dwindling crowd. People parted allowing the trio to slip through, edger eyes cast upon them, intrigued at the white-haired hulk of a man.

Jaskier pranced across the ground, strumming his lute softly, making the pretty young girls laugh behind their hands as he blew them kisses. Adva fell as little way behind the pair, eyes scanning the town stalls as she went. People chatted and bartered with the tradesmen; carts served the busy people with spiced ginger cake and pies as they rushed off home, the hearty smell of soup lingered in the air. A low rumble bubbled in the girl's stomach cause a pale blush to spread across her cheeks as the Witcher turned slightly, watching her out of the corner of his eye as a seller pushed his wares. Jaskier was on the other side of the street purchasing spare lute strings and bathing salts from an overly busty young woman.

Flashes of vibrant colour caught her eye. Rich pinks and orange against the vivid blues and reds. Rolls of cotton, silks and velvets in every colour imaginable. They were hanging against the wooden frame where a full range of garments,  headdress, bands, girdles, overcoats, cloaks, tunics, gowns and dresses.  The blue eyes searched the overladen walls that hung various outfits. Fingering the soft cotton of a deep red dress, she traced the simple gold embroidery design that framed the lace corset of the bodice. The next thing that caught her eyes was a dark leather underbust corset, with a cross-hatched design. Never in her life has she seen such a garment; women in the brothels often wore such a thing but made of flimsy silk or whalebone to tuck and frame their waist and push their bust-up. This, however, was a work of art, probably made for lady judging from the quality. Next was a basic blouse one in royal red and the next in aqua blue, in the softest cotton.

‘Ahhh madam, you have excellent taste…those colours would complement your skin…madams’ figure is exceptional… perhaps a tighter corset, it would empathise your hips and waist.’ A chirpy deep voice cut in.

Out of nowhere, a large jolly man bounded in her eye line. The merchant was dressed in an elegant doublet, in a brilliant shade of emerald green. Fine white whiskers framed his plump red cheeks; a large belly jiggled when he laughed. The violent greeting almost made Adva flinch back in shock, but his large friendly smile relaxed her tense shoulders. The old man waddled over and lifted up the dark leather corset and inspected it with glee.

‘I pick up this little thing in Nilfgaard year ago…it belonged to a master craftsman…see this leather work he almost went blind making it. I could not part with it to a lesser specimen of womanhood.’ He gushed as he held it up firmly against the curly-haired woman.

Adva shrieked back as the man touch, bumping into the broad chest of the brooding Witcher, who glared down at the pudgy old man.

‘Ahhhh this must be your husband… such a handsome couple…perhaps I could persuade you with some undergarments for the lady…’ the man winked up at Geralt as he pulled out several nightgowns. A simple thing, of plain sheer cotton cut in a princess style. Followed by a short lacey thing with a silk ribbon belt. A deep red blush moved across her face as Geralt peered down at the man with an unwavering gaze.

‘Geralt…Adva…where are you? I found a tavern!’ Jaskier bellowed.

With a sigh of relief, Adva darted off toward the tavern, leaving the orange eyed man behind.

‘By gum, you gotta good one there…a homely figure, a good hand full there’ The man crowed as he hung the garments back on the rack.’

Geralt’s eyes burnt into the merchant as he moved around the stall, minutes past before the silver-haired spoke. The man busied himself with plucking various garments from the walls of the stalls and folding them neatly into a bundle.

‘I need some clothes for my…wife. We left our last town in a rush.’ Geralt grunted out

The man smiled up as she continues to fold what looked like a dress into the bundle. ‘I thought so… a husband like your self can’t have a woman like that dress in rags. These should do…’ the man smiled pushing the buddle across her.

Geralt glanced across as the bundle before his eyes danced across the stall. Never in his life had he taken an interest in women’s clothes, yes he appreciated the women who wore them, but as most of them end up on the floor or ripped apart, the wasn’t much point it taken an interest. However, in this instant, he took his time to access each item, ignoring the man grinning like an idiot behind him. He had seen her finger some of the items before and picked up the garment and throw them over his arm. Glancing around he examines the remaining items, there were several lovely dresses but nonpractical for travelling long and hard across the country. The golden-skinned Adonis picked some oiled skinned brown trousers and riding boots.

Geralt tossed 30 coins into the man’s hand as he picked up the role of clothes. Grunted at how light her purse now felt.

‘ere take this.’ The older man grinned at Geralt as he tossed the underbust corset. ‘I’ve had this thing for five years, and I couldn’t let it go to a less worthy filly. You’re a lucky man, and she is a lucky woman don’t know many men that would toss down 30 coins for their woman. You must be quite enamoured.’

‘Fuck’ Geralt grunted as he turned and left in the direction of the pub.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Adva sat in the snug of the pub nursing a small cup of mead from the pitcher Jaskier had brought before fluttering off after some barmaid with gorgeous Auburn hair and a pale, freckled face. The tavern was nice, large and open but most importantly, clean. Taking another sip of mead, she cringed as the yeasty drink run down her throat. It was sickly sweet and crisp in flavour but most importantly strong, the fumes for the drink along where enough to make her lightheaded.

Sighing, she forced down another gulp and rested her back against the oak seat and closed her eyes as her mind wandered over past few days. It took all her will power not to let the overwhelming emotion to pour from her. The shock was beginning to wear off, and she flight between hatred and gratefulness, she still couldn’t get her mind around what happened or why.

‘Well hello, little girl…looking for some fun?’ a voice roared drunkenly as his clumsy plopped himself down on the bench beside her.

‘Hullo love… fancy coming outside for a bit?’ the man slurred as he sloshed his flagon around.

‘No, thank you. I am waiting for my friends.’ Adva wrinkled her nose as the overpowering stench of ale the attack her, attempting to push herself to the other end of the bench.

‘That doesn’t make matta… they can join, well as long as they got nice tits.’ The man leered at her as he snatched his arm around her pulling her to him.

‘What do you think you are doing?’

Adva had never been so relieved to see anyone in his life. The hulking frame filled up the archway, his eyes were full of rage, burning away.

‘Nothing mate…Didn’t know she was your whore. Though mate I would have thought you’d have better taste…this one looks like she been dragged through a bush…though she properly has.’ A creepy laugh pushed itself through his teeth, making him hiss like a snake.

The brunette cringed as he laughed; it made her feel unclean. There had been those sorts back in Brightwater, lecherous louts who often tried to pitch her bottom as she walked past.

Geralt cleared to the other side of the room in two long strides. The supplies cast across the table as his gloved hands crumpled as he lifted the letch off the seat by his collar. The man's feet dangled off the floor, kicking weakly as the skilled arms of the Witcher lifted him higher. Adva tensed, the look in his eyes was murderous, raw and untamed, a look that she had never seen before.

‘You even look in her direction again, and I’ll gut you like the yellow-bellied fish you are.’ Geralt roared chucking the man across the floor where the landlord slammed down the pewter flagon he had been polishing to drag the man up.

‘Cumm ere Rodrol’ The older man grunted and pulled the young man by the scruff of his shirt and ejected him the muffled scream from the front of the door with a dull thump.

The landlord hurried over with some ale and a board of cold meats and cheeses, placing the offering in front of the pair with a grovelling apology before escaping promptly back to the bar.

Automatically, Adva began pouring a dishing out the mean onto the Witcher’s plate; cheese was soft and crumbly with a sharp smell. The meats moist and juicy, beef, chicken and pork, serves with chutney and mustards and thick slices of brown bread.

‘You know you don’t have to serve, you’re not a tavern wench anymore’ Geralt purred from deep in his chest.

Adva cast her eyes down and retracted her hand from the jug and placed them by her sides. It was right; she wasn’t anymore; she wasn’t sure what she was anymore. Plucked up and removed from everything she knew, stuck in an unfamiliar town with the man who had uprooted her not a penny to her name. A pained groan fell from The Witcher’s lips, so soft she was sure she imagined it. His face was pitched and concerned as he gazed at her

‘Where is Jaskier? The bard should have stayed with you.’

‘He went to sort out the rooms. A young maid was helping him.’

‘Typical’ Geralt quipped, taking a gulp of a cup in front of him and wolfing down a thick slick of tender beef, a trail of juices travelling down his chin. Adva’s eyes transfixed as tongue darted out and collected the delicious droplet.

‘Look..’ Geralt swallowed a mouthful. ‘I got you some clothing… and a few other things you might need..’

The Witcher voice was impassively soft now, almost inaudible, the deep rough sounds that made her feel safe. In front of her, he pushed a large bundle of clothing. Adva recognised them instantly from the market stall, the lush red and blues in the softest cotton she had ever touched, brown shammy trousers and a pair of boots. Digging deep a brush and soap lay on top of the red dress and undergarments. At the bottom of the bundle was the beautiful leather corset. Never in her entire life had she had new clothes given to her, instead of living on hand-me-down and cast of given to her from the working girls, that she had to stitch together into something respectable. These were her clothes.

‘These are for me, and I don’t need to do anything to keep the? No strings attached?’ Adva asked slowly, unsure and cautious.

Geralt looked up and held her gaze as he ripped a crust of bread with his teeth and washed it down with the last of his ale and refilling his cup. ‘What do you take me for? They are your clothes.’

Deep blue eye flickered across the expressionless face, her pupils darted to the deflated purse, no longer brimming with the coin from Brightwater. The Witcher had spent hard-earned coin to purchase clothes for her when he could have just thrown a pile of rags at her. No longer could contain the question that burnt at the back of the throat.

‘Why did you take me?’ the question sounded small, but it has the power to stiffen in his seat.

‘Because you weren’t safe there.’

They sat in silence for a couple of minutes, Adva’s mind reeling as her mind process the series of event that lead her to where she was today.

Carefully she asked her next question. ‘What Tradi did…the experiments… the things he did…Am I really in danger? Did he really do all those awful things to get to me? Did they all die because of me?’

‘They all died because Tradi of Brownstone was a cunt. People like Tradi want power, don’t care how they get it. That is why I took you, your safe with me. Most mages are so concerned with their self they don’t care who they step on to get it…or at what cost especially if it other people.’

‘Do you know many Mages?’

‘For my sins…and there are a lot of those.’ Geralt dryly joked as he shoved a chunk of cheese into his mouth.

Adva smiled warmly across at him as she brought the clothing onto her lap to sort out. ‘Thank you… I have never had clothes like this. Thank you.’

Air rushed from her lungs as the man gave her a warm smile. It lite up his entire face, it was inviting, and a tingling sensation sparked across her body. It caused her to wonder why she had never seen him smile, most of the time he strutted around with a permeant scowl, the disdain that kept everyone at a distance.

‘Aww fuck, don’t cry.’ Geralt growled, he sat straighter in his chair, looking alarmed.

Reaching up, Adva was shocked when her fingertips met the dampness on her cheeks. Geralt was quick, so quick that she didn’t even see him move till she felt him thick arm awkwardly curl around her shoulders, pulling her body to his. A strong pulse on energy ran through her, and her heart slowed, and the nervous anxiousness that she had been carrying round in the pit of her stomach for the past three days disappeared.

They sat like that for a few moments while Adva dried her eyes, he scent was comforting, spice, ginger and cinnamon and cedarwood, she could get drunk of the smell, and subconsciously she felt herself melt into his arms and his arms tighten around her nestling her into his chest.

‘Ahhhh Geralt that is where you are. A tiny problem with the rooms. The tavern only had one room available. The delightful Griselda has selflessly allowed me access to her bed chambers, but you two have got to make some arrangement… should be too difficult seeing how you to cosy up as soon as I let you out of my sight.’ The bard sang playfully as he slid into Geralt old seat.

Jaskier settled himself down and picked at the tray of food I fronted of him and poured his cup of ale. Adva moved away out of Geralt arms and instantly became fascinated in her cup, taking small sips as Geralt glowered at the man in front of her.

‘Oh Geralt there was a man asking about you’ Jaskier mumbled his mouth full of cheese and meat.

‘Who?’ Geralt bite out.

‘Him’ the bard pointed as he stuffed another slice of pork into his already stuffed mouth.

Adva cast her eyes across the sparsely populated tavern to a group of three men, cautiously glancing at them. The trio stared suspiciously at the men as they whispered to one another. They were men of quality, at least for this small town, clothes of good quality, fur-lined cloak and full leather boots. Geralt’s hand inched towards his sword as they made their way across the small room.

‘Ahhhh Geralt of Rivia it is an honour to have you and your wife into our unworthy town.’ A middle-aged man greeted bowing lightly. ‘We hope you and your wife has been well looked after…we have something of a problem that we need help with.’

‘How much?’

‘Wife?’

[imnotwolverine]

The marriage pact - Red alert

Henry Cavill x OC Alice - multi-chapter

< Part 22 | Part 23 Red alert | Part 24 >

Disclaimer: A little naughty (maybe not entirely PG13? What do you kids watch these days anyways?) and a bit of travel sickness 

Author’s note: 🔥(That’s all I have to say) 

Word count: 1.919

(Link to my Masterlist)

Dear readers,

I never thought I would come to say this, but I think I’ve learned to appreciate the cold. I’m still not a great fan of it, let that be clear. But there’s something quite funny about the routine you build around such extreme temperatures. Digging yourself out of your trailer? Check. Doing jumping jacks while letting your dog pee in the snow? Check. Ice fishing and making Maple Syrup Taffy (which I adore by now)? Check.  

Today is our last day here in Canada and I’ll miss the polite fun folk we have met, the film crew whom are absolute rockstars no matter how extreme the cold got and I’ll most definitely NOT miss the trailer we lived in. Three broken heaters. A leaking shower. A bed that was barely large enough for me to stretch my legs (poor chocolate cake had to almost sleep folded in half) and no place to properly dry your clothes meant it smelt like old fart if you didn’t light some scented candles.

But no more old farts! We are going home!

See you soon dear parents, friends and other good acquaintances. I can’t wait to share all my stories with you in person!

Ali

‘Oophh..I’m not feeling so well Hen.’ I croaked, gripping the arm rest of the airplane seat tightly. I felt about as green as the puking bag I held in my other hand, ready in case my body would no longer hold in the two puny sandwiches I had for breakfast.

Henry rubbed a strong hand over the nape of my neck, cooing some comforting words in my ear over the loud noise of the plane engines and storm outside.

And…DROP…there went the plane again, my bowels drifting for a few milliseconds too long, making the bile rise in the back of my throat. Shaking my head in terror I opened the bag, trying my utter best to breath in deeply through my nose.

Somewhere in the racket of the aerial doom I could hear the quiet whining of Kal, the poor dog folded in between Henry’s legs.

Quite a pair we were, hmm? Scared Kal, sick Alice.

Slowly I felt my breathing calm, the bile sinking back where it belonged, the cold sweat on my skin drying somewhat.

‘Please tell me it..’

DROP. The plane made another dive through the air, my previous green hue right back where it was just moments ago. My face got sweaty again and my breath choked as I kept my mouth clenched tight to prevent any bile from exiting any orifices. 

Usually I was pretty okay with flying. But this? This?! Oh my word. This was something else! I wasn’t even sure if Henry was an actual human, his body calm and relaxed, voice soothing. Like nothing was the matter and we weren’t right now looking right in the gaping mouth of a hell storm, ready to be devoured.

‘I can’t do.. This.’ I gulped, sitting back up and looking white as a sheet, my eyes trying to focus on the chair before me.

‘You’re doing real well.’ Henry praised, his warm hand pushing some sticky strands of hair away from my face. ‘Deep breath in and puff puff puff out.’ He puffed along with me and the very act made me somewhat forget about our predicament. I swallowed back another bit of bile and quickly looked over at him, his mouth still shaped in a little “o” as he helped me puff. ‘I’m not having a baby over here Hen.’ I sniffled, then felt my body protest again, the bile jumping back up in my throat.

Henry laughed. ‘If it works, it works. Besides, a little practise is always good.’ I could clearly distinguish the humour in his voice but feeling sick as a dog I first needed another one of those long inhales followed by a series of puffs before I could look back at him. With an exasperated look I puffed into his face, making him laugh even harder. ‘You’re nearly there baby!’ He cheered, taking the piss with me a bit. I growled and shook my head in annoyance. ‘You…’

‘Just another..four more hours.’ He winked, pointing at the screens that showed the flight time.

‘I hate you right now..*breath in* Cavill *ppfffff pfff pfff*’

‘Just wait until I put an actual baby in you.’ He whiskered huskily in my ear.

Oh how glad I was that nobody could hear us over the loud racket. That nobody could hear my stomach make an actual somersault - both in a good and bad way at the same time. And oh how glad I was I wasn’t physically able to launch myself at him right now, because truly..this man? This man was the greatest of teasers and right now he could most definitely need some..well..let’s say “putting in place”?

—

‘Home sweet home!!’ Henry turned the key of the blue slated house, the hour late and Kal lagging behind us as he was making a reintroduction with the front yard. Tail wagging, nose sniffing, he was acquainting himself with his new home. Our home. Our very own home. A very empty home, too.

We had not really had any time to move and buy furniture, so right now the large house only had a few basic pieces; a bed, a small couch, a kitchen table with two chairs and a few lights. Henry flicked his hand over the light switch to turn it on, but darkness did not evaporate with the burst of yellowish light. It remained dark instead. Grumbling Henry took his phone from his back pocket and used it to shine some light on the light switch.

‘Strange.’ He grumbled, looking over at me as I was calling Kal inside. Stepping in behind him I noticed that something was amiss. ‘Missing a spark there, sir?’ I winked and just like that his annoyance was forgotten, his face breaking into a smile. ‘Looks like it’s going to be a romantic night in the dark ages, my fair lady.’ - ‘Mmm…sounds terribly romantic.’

Closing the door behind us and following Henry’s flashlight into the kitchen, our feet echoing loudly in the empty hallway, we found some groceries his parents had done for us earlier that day. We filled Kal’s bowl, opened the bottle of red wine we found and decided to drink our first celebratory glass of alcohol in bed, the house being a bit chilly as the heating also seemed to have died along with the electricity.

‘I think the dead heater has cursed us.’ I mumbled, trembling under the sheets, body propped up against the headboard and Henry pouring us two glasses. He chuckled. ‘We’ll make sure to sacrifice a virgin later. But first things first; a toast!’

I laughed and clinked glasses with him, the mattress shifting as he moved in close beside me, his lips quite instantaneously finding mine before I could even take a sip. ‘Mmmm..it may have taken me a good 37-ish years to woo you, dear Alice, but please let me tell you that I am the happiest man in the world right now.’ He kissed me again, more passionately.

I chuckled into his kiss, pulling back slightly. ‘I am glad about that too. Even as I lay here in all my clothes, shivering under a blanket, stinking of airplane and probably tasting of bile, too.’ I winked at Henry, his features half-lit by the light of his phone’s flashlight that he had now placed on the foot end of the bed. He laughed and pressed another kiss on my lips. ‘Oh no. Nothing can quite stop me from loving you, I’m sure. Absolutely..’ He pressed a kiss lower on my neck, his teeth gripping onto the neck of my comfy, but totally un-sexy turtleneck sweater. ‘Nothing.’ He growled, tugging at it playfully, making me laugh even harder.

We had taken only two more sips of our wines before we busied ourselves with reacquainting with another piece we had missed very much; his bed. Now, our bed. Limbs tangling together, lips locking, there were a few things that simply didn’t change. Henry was a bear in every..sense..of the word. Big, bulky, sweet, hairy bear hugs. 

And apparently next to family planning, long airplane flights ALSO got him terribly horny.

—

Squinting my eyes I looked to my side, finding a still asleep Henry entangled with my arms and legs. Which, in and of its own was quite unique as Henry was usually up way before I even managed to blink open a heavy eyelid. Grumbling I shifted my hip and felt something weird on my leg.

Was that a …SNAIL?

Squirming and huffing in disgust I quickly shot out of bed, only realising a moment too late what it actually was. Not a snail or anything of an animalistic nature. A condom. Gasping quietly I saw Henry wake up as well, his blue eyes immediately searching for me and finding me next to the bed. Quizzically frowning at me he grumbled. ‘Mmwhat is it?’ He rubbed his eyes and yawned, then saw what I was pointing at. The condom.

‘Oh..’ He blinked, picking it up with deft fingers, then blinked a few times more when he realised that it was not just a condom. It was a..broken..condom. We both held our breath, the last remains of sleep immediately lifted.

‘Holy crap.’ I gasped, our eyes meeting in a moment of silent understanding. Henry sat up and swallowe harshly. ‘I’m SO sorry. Oh..’ He quickly tossed the condom aside and pulled the sheets away, large crusty stains everywhere. ‘Oh god I’m so sorry Ali. I didn’t know..I…’ He gave me a pleading look, large hairy chest heaving with terror.

And yet, despite the fact this was not truly a funny thing, I laughed. ‘Oh my..’ I chuckled, shaking my head slightly. ‘Well that was an adventurous night, for sure.’ I said, slowly crawling back on the bed, evading the large crusty stain in the middle. Henry sighed and rubbed his face again. ‘Damn. Do you want to go to the pharma..-’

‘No.’ I cut him short. Our eyes met again and just like that another silent agreement was made, Henry’s pleading eyes melting into ones of tender love. ‘Really?’

I giggled and crawled into his lap, nuzzling his nose and enjoying the warmth of his arms as they wrapped around me. ‘Really Ali?’

‘Henry! Please do not make me regret a thing that feels good.’

Henry’s chest rumbled with a deep chuckle. ‘So.. it’s okay?’

I nodded and looked deep into his ocean blue eyes. ‘To me it’s okay. Is it for you?’ I asked with honest curiosity, but I couldn’t keep a serious face for long when I saw Henry’s over enthused face. ‘Alice..Alice Alice Alice..is this what I think it is?’ He whispered, eyes large and expecting, his hands rubbing slow circles over my lower back. I grinned and nodded, shrugging ever so slightly. ‘It’s not like we aren’t on the same page. No matter what happens. We want this, right?’ - ‘Right.’ - ‘Then let this happy little accident make it so.’ - ‘Okay.’ Henry said, still coming up to speed with what we had just decided upon.

‘AAAHH!!’ He exclaimed rolling us over, the dirty sheets sticking to our bodies, making me laugh with joy. ‘I love you, I love you, I love you!’ He whispered with great contentment, his lips travelling down my jawline, pressing sweet kisses on every inch of skin he could find.

‘I love you too Henry. Now better warm me up before we’re going to probably have our coldest shower EVER.’

‘With pleasure.’  

--

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