#And then the thoughts start eating away at her:

[partiallysame]

I'm sorry if this is a weird request, I love your writing a lot and you bring me great comfort, and I've been binging ur stories after my ex cracked me in the face (enjoy jail Ryan)

how do you think poly 141 with a civilian s/o who comes home from work, not expecting them to be home from deployment, with a bloodied lip and black eye, a tear across her forehead that slowly oozes blood. Maybe her own knuckles are bruised and split from where she had fought off the two men who jumped her. Her pants were torn at the knees from where she grappled on the ground. Johnny's jean jacket he let her borrow was nowhere in sight left in dust as she ran for her life.

I love your writing again, I hope ur safe and please eat well and rest ❤️❤️ don't let anyone get away with putting their hands on you.

First and foremost fuck you Ryan rot in jail and hell bitch

The adrenaline had finally started to wear off as you pulled your car into the driveway, only to start to panic again when you realized your husband and your boys were home early. Like two weeks early. You sat in your car for a few moments trying to wipe the blood from your face, your hands, your knees, trying anything to look like what just happened didn’t actually happen. But the second your car pulled in they all made their way out, too excited to see their Missus to wait for her to come inside. Johnny was the first to reach the car, always so eager to see you. You sat still in your car. He tried to open the door but it was still locked. Crouching down to motion for you to open the door, maybe you were on the phone or something and that's why you hadn’t gotten out yet. But as he lowered himself to see you, only to be met with a nightmare sight. 

“Sweet’art open the door.” Voice serious in a way you had never heard before. His hand reached behind him to wave the rest of the men over, not wanting to yell for them and scare you more than you already seemed. You shook your head no. They weren’t supposed to see you like this. You were fine. You made it home, you were safe now, you were gonna fix up all your wounds and be healed before they got home. But here they were trying to coax you out of the car as tears streamed down your face. Fingers slowly pressing the unlock button, both the drivers and passenger side doors were swung open. Johnny reached over you to unbuckle your seatbelt and scooping you up out of the car. 

“Bring me my wife.” It was an order that MacTavish was not going to follow until you were pulled from his arms. “M’sorry’s” poured from your mouth between sobs as you clung to your husband and were brought into the house and set so gently on the kitchen counter, allowing the four men to get a full view of your beaten body. You sat, body shaking slightly from the adrenaline and pain that was starting to set in as they stared. Stared and the dark purple forming around your eye. Staring at the gash across your cheek and your split lip. Drops of blood on your torn shirt, jeans shredded at the knees, wet bloodied fabric stuck to the scrapes on your knees. They were all looking at you so differently. You thought your husband was going to cry, Johnny too. Kyle looked so broken. You had been working so hard for Simon to soften to open up to you and he was, but the look on his face scared you. 

Working in perfect unison the men started to undress you, removing your bloodied clothes. A first aid kit was set next to you as they each took a portion of you to care for. Apologizing when you’d wince at the pain of being cleaned up. Johnny was holding an ice pack up to your eye as Kyle took off his shirt for you to wear. None of them were willing to leave your side long enough to just grab new clothes from down the hall. Another “I’m sorry” fell from you and your husband felt like he was going to snap.

“My Love, please stop apologizing. It’s not yer fault honey. Can ya tell us what happened?” You nodded and recounted how two men had cornered you after work, wanting your purse. How they thought you weren’t handing it over fast enough. 

“But I’m a captain’s wife you know? Not just gonna take it lying down now am I? You should see the other guys.” You tried to joke and motioned to your split knuckles that Simon had so carefully wrapped up for you. 

“Where?” Simon’s voice came out harsh and the men snapped their heads toward him, a warning to calm down. (They’d find who did it later but rn the focus is on their Missus)

“I’m sorry Johnny.” You turned toward the large scot still holding the ice pack. He lowered it because he wanted you to see his face when he told you there was no reason to apologize.

“But I was wearing your jacket. You know the jean one you left for me. The one that smells like you. The one you look so handsome in. It came off and I left it there.” Your breathing picked up again, tears threatening to spill at losing his favorite jacket. You barely finished your confession when he was pulling you into his chest, strong arms feeling so warm and gentle around you.

“Don’ care about a fuckin’ jacket. You came home lovie. That's what I care about.”

[rafesangelita]

♡ deciding to take a ride on the ‘tunnel of love’ roller coaster at the annual valentine’s day fair, rafe happens to catch you before it starts, conveniently locking himself in next to you. annoyed, you tell yourself you’ll be out and away from the man once the ride is over but (un)luckily for you, it just so happens to break down, leaving you two stuck together until it’s fixed..

warnings: one sided enemies to lovers (reader is the one who can’t stand rafe lol), forced proximity, teasing, flirty banter, slight angst (just a teeny tiny bit, it’s literally almost nonexistent), light fluff

a/n: now presenting… ‘TUNNEL OF LOVE’ 🤍 my town just so happens to be having a valentine’s day fair.. maybe (hopefully) i’ll go!

link: VALENTINE’S DAY CELEBRATION ໒꒰ྀི｡- ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

wc: 1.4k

[7:57 PM] bestie ♡: it looks like kelce is going to take me out for v-day after all!! don’t wait for me, i’ll catch up soon, promise!

you had just bought an extra large funnel cake for you and your best friend to share when you read her text, your sugary sweet smile faltering as you took a seat at a nearby bench. “more for me, i guess..” you sighed, feeling a little bit silly at the fact that you sat here by yourself when everyone who passed you by was either in a group setting or hand in hand with someone who was most likely their significant other.

you picked at the fried goodness, not really feeling as festive as you were just two minutes ago. “yo, y/n!” you recognized the voice before you even looked up, your eyes immediately rolling as none other than rafe ‘insufferable daddy’s money’ cameron made his way over to you. ‘please let this be quick..’ you whispered under your breath, not sparing the man a single glance as he plopped down ridiculously close to you.

“what do you want, rafe?” he smiled when he heard his name roll off of your tongue, his muscular arm draping across your shoulders as his mouth dropped next to your ear. “can you at least act like you could tolerate me?” you scoffed, shrugging him off. “no, i can’t,” you finally looked at him, “because even that is too difficult to do.” he swallowed thickly, feeling slightly defeated before he went for the funnel cake that sat in your lap.

“i’m really not that bad, i’ll make you realize that soon.” rafe was also too confident and cocky for your liking— more reasons you could add to your seemingly never ending list as to why you think you two would never work out.

“i highly doubt that.” rafe was licking powdered sugar off of his fingers when you met his gaze again, your eyes flickering down to his tongue. the one thing that you couldn’t put on your list was that he wasn’t hot. anyone with eyes can tell you that rafe was insanely attractive, but of course, you’d never admit that to him out loud.. or so you thought. “you’re staring.” he smiled when he saw that your eyes stayed trained on his mouth, a smug expression taking over his features.

you blinked away, deciding you had enough chit-chat for one night. “in your dreams, ‘cameron.” rafe watched you get up from your seat, gladly taking the funnel cake you basically shoved into his hands. “why, thank you.” he took another piece, popping it into his mouth. you flashed him a fake smile before adjusting the strap of your crossbody purse. “i’ll see you around!” he called out, waving obnoxiously in your direction. “no you won’t!” you whispered to yourself, deciding to explore the fair a bit more.

little did you know conversation between you and rafe was far from over.

you walked around the fair grounds for almost fifteen more minutes before you had decided you were better off at home eating some greasy takeout and having a rom-com movie marathon in nothing but your comfy pj’s.

just as you were on your way to the exit, a flashing heart with the words ‘TUNNEL OF LOVE.. find your lover inside!’ caught your attention. deciding you’d at least inquire about it, you walked up to the ride operator and asked away. “excuse me! hi, i was just wondering what does the whole ‘find your lover inside!’ thing mean?” the woman lit up as if she had been dying to answer this question.

“so basically there’s another roller coaster coming from the other side, and once you two meet inside, the ride will stop for two minutes before coming back out to the respective entrances.” she explained. “so it’s like speed dating?” you smiled, the idea enthralling you. “yeah, that’s exactly it!” she nodded. you weighed out your options and decided a little excitement wouldn’t be such a bad idea.

“i’m suprised you don’t have a line, how much is it to get on?” you took your wallet out of your purse as she replied. “if you have a full-access wristband it’s free, but if not then it’ll be five dollars exactly.” you handed over the small bill, smiling to yourself as she let you through the metal gate. “it looks like two people can fit in here—” just as you stepped in, rafe came running from the opposite direction.

“stop the ride!” he shouted, his chest rising and falling as he bent over to catch his breath. you blinked. “it’s not even on, you drama queen.” taking a seat, you were about to pull the metal bar over your lap before he shouted again. “i’ll give you fifty bucks if you let me get on with her!” you crossed your arms over your chest, not expecting the ride operator to actually let him in. “seriously?!” you gasped when he walked through, flashing you a wink.

“sorry!” she pushed the guardrail over you and rafe until it locked in place before starting the ride. “this will all be over in two minutes.” you glared at him, trying to scoot as many centimeters away from him as you could. “that’s fine with me.” he shrugged. he leaned back in the cart, red and pink flashing lights illuminating the space in which you two rolled into slowly.

rafe kept his eyes on you, watching as you avoided his gaze. “why don’t you like me? serious question..” you sighed, finally giving him your full undivided attention. you opened your mouth to speak but no words came out. “what?” you acted like you didn’t hear him the first time, wracking your brain for any kind of answer. he smiled teasingly, pointing a finger at you. “i asked you why you don’t like me and you can’t even answer me!” you waved him off, facing the other way to hide the smile on your lips.

truthfully, you didn’t really know who rafe was. like just by himself as an individual. you knew that his friends were all assholes though, including the one who your best friend was willing to drop everything for. “i hate your friends,” you started, “and you are who you keep company with, sooo..” rafe cleared his throat as the roller coaster came to a stop. the inside of the ‘love tunnel’ was lit up with baby cherubs along the walls, red hearts and fairy lights adorning the interior.

“me and my friends are very different from each other.. i think you’d be surprised.” you hummed, adjusting the pendant on your necklace. “maybe..” the other roller coaster cart strolled in from the other side, the seats empty. “i guess it’s a good thing that i tagged along, since you would’ve been all by yourself if i didn’t.”

you glanced over at him, his blue eyes standing out in the pinkish lighting. “..yeah, i guess.” rafe’s head shot up as soon as the words left your mouth. “you really think so?” he scooted closer, the action making you laugh. “don’t push it.” you warned him, in which he held his hands up defensively. “okay, okay!” rafe had this smitten look on his face as if making you smile was his life’s greatest achievement.

“so you told me why you didn’t like me, which is fair, but i want a real chance at proving you wrong. can you at least give me that?” rafe hesitantly rested a hand on your knee, the hopeful look in his eyes making your heart melt into a soft puddle of mush. “hmm..” you pretended to think, the anticipation making rafe’s leg bounce. “okay. only under one condition though..” rafe nodded frantically.

“anything.”

“tell me why you like me so much when i avoid you like the plague, and never seemingly look in your direction.. like ever.” the man next to you snorted. “you want me to go down my full list? ‘cause we’ll be sitting here all night—” just then, the ride operator’s voice boomed through the intercom speakers from inside the tunnel. “hi, i’m so sorry for the inconvenience, but we’re having some technical difficulties and my electrician guy says it’ll be at least an hour or two before you could leave. i promise to issue a full refund once you two are off.”

you and rafe looked at each other half concerned and half amused. “..so, you were saying?”

[waynes-multiverse]

Aww, these were so sweet 🥹 (Even SB 😭)

Also, as someone who gained a lot during pregnancy, I greatly appreciated these! Good reminder to be a little kinder to ourselves sometimes (and rock those curves) ☺️🩵

You inspect yourself with growing dejection, noting all the places that are rounder, heavier, less firm than they used to be.

Giving me full PTSD here, girl 😂

Too much shitty fast food, too many times you indulged yourself with snacks and dessert alongside your foodie boyfriend.

And yep, that's always the worst when your partner eats so much crap and does not gain an ounce. Like, how?! Are you magic???

Dean's heart clenches. He's downright shocked at your confession, and more than a little disheartened. He presses a hand to your cheek and guides you to look at him.

Sobbing 😭 He so would do that! And honestly, love doesn't give a shit about looks. I mean, at some point, we all will be wrinkly and saggy, so you better hope there's more there than looks 😅🤷‍♀️

"Feels that much better when I fuck you."

Bury me in a ditch... 🫠🫠

"I'd like to, but I think I'd just smother you. I'm about to pass out."

Lovely 😆

Oh, Beau! Sweet, sweet Beau... I can so see him and reader getting their wires crossed, and him not even registering it while she quietly suffers 🙈 I feel like that happens a lot to couples, though, when times get a little stressful and busy. Loved the realism of this!!

The mere thought dredges up what's been plaguing your mind recently, and it has your throat tightening. Tears of embarrassment and upset well up in your eyes, no matter how much you try to push it down.

Poor, tired Beau, though, now dealing with a crying and upset reader 😂 (Do you think he retrospectively wished he would've just let her hop on for a quick ride? lmao)

The man may not be very patient, or particularly perceptive, but he's not an idiot. At least, not about sex.

DEAD 💀

Also 💯 agree with this SB headcanon 😂😂

And weirdly, I thought from the start that Ben would probably mind the least of all of them if his partner put on a few extra pounds. If grannies don't scare this man, weight certainly won't either lol (His answer was perfection 😂😘)

He snorts. "And? You think it's anything I haven't seen?"At that, your head tilts in consideration. Butcher's Granny Fucker remark comes to mind. You bite your lip against a smirk.

EXACTLY 🤣🤣

But so on point for him to be jealous at first and accuse her of cheating 🙈 I also wonder how long she got away with it, considering that man's sex drive.

Loved all of them so much, friend!!! 🩵🩵🩵

Headcanon: Body Insecurity/Appreciation

Pairings: Dean Winchester x Reader, Beau Arlen x Reader, Soldier Boy/Ben x Reader

AN: This one was requested by one of my lovely Patreon members, @roseblue373. 💜 It's a special one to me personally, being plus-sized myself and having gone through my share of insecurities. Wish I had one of these guys to make it better lol!~

Prompt/Request: Great job with the latest Dean/Beau/Ben reacts vignettes! I'd love to see one where reader has put on weight and isn't happy with their body, and how each would make her feel better!! IF the muse agrees, of course! ❤️

HC: How Dean Winchester, Beau Arlen and Soldier Boy (Ben) would react to your body insecurity.

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! Established relationship, body insecurity (but also body appreciation), thicc thirty, angst, hurt/comfort, fluff, spiciness/smuttishness.

Dean Winchester

You've started breezing past mirrors when you get out of the shower.

Because if you catch sight of your own reflection, you can't help but utter a sigh, your lips dipping into a frown.

In the privacy of the room you share with Dean in the bunker, you take a risk in unwrapping the towel from your body in front of the mirror.

You inspect yourself with growing dejection, noting all the places that are rounder, heavier, less firm than they used to be.

Looks like no amount of running down leads and killing monsters has been enough to keep you in shape.

Too much shitty fast food, too many times you indulged yourself with snacks and dessert alongside your foodie boyfriend.

"What'cha doin', sweetheart?" Dean asks. He steps into the room while wiping donut icing from the corner of his mouth.

Speak of the devil.

When Dean finally catches you frowning at yourself in the mirror, you inhale sharply and close the towel back up.

"Nothing. Just need to get dressed," you reply quickly. "Shower's open."

You try to offer him a smile, despite the pang of jealousy when you eye him.

He gave you the first chance at the shower after the latest case wrapped up, so he's still wearing most of his FBI suit, sans jacket. The white dress shirt is rolled up to his elbows, a few days of scruff neatly trimmed across his cheeks.

The man can cram an entire pizza down his gullet and wash it down with three slices of apple pie, not to mention countless beers. And still, Dean stays looking downright edible.

By comparison, you feel...fat. Like you've let yourself go.

You turn away from him to grab your well-worn sweatpants and an oversized shirt; you plan to change alone in the bathroom, but Dean grabs your arm.

"Who says you need to get dressed?" he says, popping his brows with a suggestive grin. He slips his arms around your waist, but your instinct is to shy away from his hold. You chuckle awkwardly and avoid his now curious gaze.

"Sorry, babe. Um...I'm wiped. I just want to get to bed," you say.

But Dean isn't fooled. His spidey sense is tingling, and his gut is almost never wrong.

His hand slides down your arm and grasps your hand, tugging you back into his arms. You utter a little gasp, but you ultimately smile at his familiar grin. There's a perceptive gleam in his eyes though.

"You know, seems like you've been pretty wiped lately," he says, raising a brow. "It's been a while since we, uh..."

He waggles his brows playfully, squeezing your hips. You want to smile, but you can't let yourself. You can't quite look at him either.

For Dean, it's another glaring red flag. His lips form a frown, and he dips his chin to find your eyes.

"Hey," he says. "What's goin' on? Talk to me."

His tone is so sincere, you have to blink against the sting of tears. Your lower lip wobbles, and Dean frowns in earnest. He presses a hand to your cheek and gets you to look at him with your watery eyes.

"Sweetheart, you gotta tell me what's wrong," he says, more gently, but serious.

Eventually, you're able to get it out. You can't bear the thought of him touching you, because lately, you can't even bear looking at yourself.

"I know I've been gaining weight, I just..." your voice breaks, and you gesture haphazardly at your body. "I'd get it if you're not really into this right now."

Dean's heart clenches. He's downright shocked at your confession, and more than a little disheartened. He presses a hand to your cheek and guides you to look at him.

"All right, hold up just one damn minute."

His calloused fingers gently brush away your tears, but his hands keep moving, slowly traveling down your body. They slide down your bare arms, skimming the sides of your breasts.

Your breath hitches. Your hand is still fisted over your beating heart, keeping your towel closed. His hands continue to move, molding to the curve of your waist over the fuzzy fabric.

"I'll admit, we've been pretty busy lately with everything we've got going on. But if you think that means I'm ever not into this delectable, sexy, voluptuous, goddess body you got rockin' the house?" he says, grinning that utterly Dean grin of his.

You bite your lip against a bubble of laughter. He's too fucking much sometimes.

Dean tugs you closer, until your hips fit snugly against his through his slacks. His tall, broad frame crowds you. His lips skim your cheek, then over your lips in a tease.

He squeezes the flesh of your hips, tender and sensuous.

Your heart flutters at the feeling.

"Mmm, I like you nice and soft," he murmurs against your cheek, close to your ear. "Feels that much better when I fuck you."

A small gasp gets trapped in your throat, while the gravel depths in his voice go straight to your pussy in a pulsing throb of warmth.

By the time he claims your lips in a devouring kiss, you're all too willing to let him peel your towel open, drop it to the floor, and guide you backwards onto the bed.

There he'll take his time, forging yet another mental map of every plush square inch of you.

Beau Arlen

Beau is a busy man. You understand that.

As Sheriff, his job demands a lot from him. He's also a father and has an ex-wife to contend with. (You knew that going in, and you've come to love Emily too.)

However, you can't help but start to take it personally when your sex life begins to suffer. He's often claimed being tired...but there's another suspicion that's been taking root in your mind, feeding your doubts and insecurities about how your boyfriend sees you, and about how you see yourself.

When you slip into bed at night, a kiss goodnight is all he gives you lately, before he's sighing deeply and closing his eyes, his soft snores soon filling the room.

One night, you try touching his shoulder, leaning in to kiss his bearded cheek. He hums at the pleasant feeling.

"You wanna...?" You trail the question in his ear, pressing more sweet kisses down his neck.

"Aw, sweetheart," he groans. "I'd like to, but I think I'd just smother you. I'm about to pass out."

You huff a laugh. You teasingly walk two fingers across his chest. "What if I make it easy for you?"

You shift onto your side. Resting a hand on his chest, you lean down to kiss him. He hums at the softness of it, but the more passion you try to imbue into each new kiss, Beau isn't as responsive as you would like. Eventually, you stop all together.

You frown, becoming disheartened. "You're not into this, I guess."

He opens his tired eyes, gazes up at you in apology. He opens his mouth to reply, but you beat him to it.

"You know it's been a month since we've had sex," you say.

Beau frowns, sliding a hand up your back. Only now does he notice, with appreciation, the familiar silky négligée you're wearing.

"Nah, that doesn't sound right," he says.

"Well, it is," you say. "I know you say you're tired, but I mean, you've had this job for as long as I've known you, Beau." Your eyes fall away from him. "So is it the job, or...is it me?"

Beau's brows furrow. "Now wait a minute."

The mere thought dredges up what's been plaguing your mind recently, and it has your throat tightening. Tears of embarrassment and upset well up in your eyes, no matter how much you try to push it down.

You push away from him and turn away, crossing your arms. You try not to look at yourself in what used to be your favorite lingerie.

You can't stand the extra weight you've put on, mostly in your hips and ass, but in your middle and arms too.

You've gone through your own stress at work this year, with less and less time to try and take care of yourself, along with making sure Emily gets to and from school, cooking for the three of you, going to PTA meetings when Carla can't make it (since Beau often can't), and every other proverbial hat you wear.

Beau follows you, sitting up and laying a hand on your back. "Sweetheart--"

"I know I've put on a few. Hell, more than a few," you admit, hastily wiping under your eyes. "God, I can't even look at myself right now, let alone have you--"

"Hey. You stop right there," Beau says, more firmly. He gets you to turn around with his hand on your shoulder. He doesn't like the way you're curled in on yourself, as if hiding your body from his gaze.

That, and the sight of your tears damn well break his heart.

He cups the side of your face gently and presses a tender kiss to your forehead, followed closely by your lips.

You don't want to melt, but you just can't help it. You cling to the front of his shirt and lean into his kiss, like you've been lost in the desert, and his lips hold the breath of life.

You almost don't realize it when his arms slip around your waist. He earns a surprised yelp from you when he gathers you close against his chest and rolls you underneath him.

You land against the pillows in a huff. You stare up at his playful smile, his green eyes glinting with amusement, with fondness, and also with desire as they roam over your breasts, barely contained by dark green satin and lace.

"I've been neglecting you, haven't I?" he says. His voice is a low, earthy drawl as his gaze rakes over you. His big hand runs down your side and over your hip, then down your bare thigh, squeezing soft, tender flesh. He slips that hand under the satin night gown.

His hand can't span your entire thigh, but it's not for lack of trying. Your heart beats a staccato rhythm at the way he looks at you, your breath hitching when his thumb dips between your legs, brushing against the damp, silky fabric of your panties.

"It's not because I don't find you sexy as hell. Believe me, darlin', I do," he says. "You're so fuckin' beautiful, especially when you're all laid out for me here."

And he means what he says. You know it by the hardness you feel pressing against your hip. You slip your fingers into his hair with a sigh.

He bows his head to press kisses along your neck; down and down, he noses at the thin strap of your night gown. His path of kisses continue, and he indulges himself by dipping his tongue between the valley of your breasts.

"Filling out this lacy little thing so nice," he murmurs into your skin.

Your upset has turned to abject relief, but you still have to blink away the remaining urge to cry.

You let out a slightly tremulous breath.

"Oh, yeah?" you ask.

Beau pauses. He pulls away, just so he can look up and meet your eyes. He still finds insecurity in yours, so he meets you with a kiss filled with heat and intent.

He's now wide awake. He plans to take his sweet time taking you apart, inch by inch.

In fact, in the back of his mind, he also plans to do better about letting his deputies help him out more at the precint so he can have a better work-life balance.

(Because going a whole damn month without the taste of you is "no bueno," in his words.)

Soldier Boy (Ben)

The man may not be very patient, or particularly perceptive, but he's not an idiot.

At least, not about sex.

He knows that you've been feigning tiredness, and generally avoiding his touch.

What's strange is that you haven't been avoiding him. You still cook for him, still share conversation with him, still insist on having him spoon you on the couch while catching him up on the past four decades of TV shows and movies.

But when he begins to sneak a hand under your oversized shirt (an old one of Ben's), caressing your hip, then dipping down to your softer stomach on the way to your panties, breaking your concentration from the movie as unease laces down your spine.

You grab his wrist on reflex, instead lacing your fingers together.

"What's the matter now?" he asks.

You look over your shoulder at him and find him frowning at you, a divot between his brows. You don't manage to hold his gaze for long.

"Sorry," you say quietly. "I'm just, um, tired."

Ben doesn't believe you, and he's direct when he calls you out on it.

Reluctant to put what you've been feeling into words, you pause the movie and leave the couch (and him) behind.

Ben is annoyed enough to follow you (and underneath, he hides an edge of concern). The conflict leads into the bedroom, where you're still unwilling to open up.

He finally stops you from walking away from him, pinning you against the dresser by your hips. He practically looms over you as he demands an answer. He knows you're hiding something — something that's had you reluctant to let him touch you.

"Is there something you wanna tell me?" he says, a raw edge of warning in his tone. "What, are you fucking somebody else?"

Shock flashes in your eyes, making you angry. "What? No!"

"Well, you seem to be getting your fill somewhere, and it hasn't been from me--"

"Are you fucking serious? I'm not..." Your lips purse. You're actually hurt that he would hurl that accusation your way--and it couldn't be farther from the truth.

You tug your long shirt downwards and cross your arms, but it's more like you're hugging yourself, shielding your body away.

Ben's brows furrow a little bit more.

Eventually you get it out; you haven't been feeling up to being intimate because you're having a hard time even looking at yourself lately.

"I know I need to, um, get back in shape," you say, taking in a shaky breath to try and steady yourself. Your throat constricts, the beginnings of tears stinging your eyes. You want to look at anywhere but at Ben. "I just haven't had much time, with everything going on. But Annie gave me this guide on some different diets, like intermittent fasting, Keto--"

"Fasting," Ben intones. "What, you wanna fucking starve yourself? What the fuck is Keto?"

You sigh, barely resisting the urge to roll your eyes.

"No, not starve myself. And Keto's just..." The idea of trying to explain the new diet craze to your boyfriend is too daunting a task to consider. "Never mind. The point is, I have a plan. My hips, my thighs, my ass--"

Ben squeezes your hips at the mention of them. He happens to like the softness.

"Yeah, you've got a little extra. So fucking what?" he says, his voice deep and exacting as his gaze roams over your body. "Just gives me more to hold onto when I'm fucking you."

You utter a shocked laugh. "Ben!"

He grins lazily, and he turns you this way and that, admiring you from all angles. In his eyes, he doesn't find a side he doesn't like. You can't help but blush hotly under his gaze.

"Sweetheart, do whatever you want if it makes you feel good. But you don't need to starve yourself." His hands move to your ass, squeezing a bit harder on the plush flesh.

A yelp escapes you; he's pressing into you from the front as well, and you feel him heavy and already half-hard against you. You grab onto his arms for stability as your breaths quicken.

His attitude kind of surprises you, even though it soothes the frayed, insecure part of your soul that wants to be as beautiful and attractive in his eyes as he is in yours.

Ben is literally a super soldier. You're actually kind of jealous. The man can drug and booze hard and eat whatever the hell he wants, but his super metabolism just seems to absorb it into his washboard abs.

(The more you think about it, the more you want to smack him.)

Nothing about him isn't hard and lean, muscle and strength.

Only his hands have a measure of gentleless when they're holding you like this.

"I've just got so many stretch marks now," you begin to complain, in an emotional whisper.

He snorts. "And? You think it's anything I haven't seen?"

At that, your head tilts in consideration. Butcher's Granny Fucker remark comes to mind. You bite your lip against a smirk.

Ben crooks a curled finger under your chin. He guides you to meet his eyes, before he lures you into a lusty kiss.

It's somewhat rough because of his beard, but you still smile afterwards, leaning against him now.

"Ain't nothing about you that I can't handle," he adds, all smirking and cocky. To prove his point, he hooks those strong hands behind your thighs and lifts you onto the dresser.

You gasp and cling to his shoulders. From there, he makes quick work of ridding the oversized shirt from your body, revealing you to the cool air and his hot gaze.

You take his face in your hands and bring him in for an even steamier kiss, your heart lighter and trembling with anticipation.

You've held yourself from him long enough, Ben thinks, and he has every intention of devouring you right on your old dresser -- before you two even get to the bed.

AN: 😮‍💨 I feel like each of these could've been even longer with their own one-shot loll. I wrote the Midnight Espresso-verse for Dean, partially to explore what his relationship would be like with a plus-sized reader. 💖💖

Let me know which one you liked most this time!

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[reidrum]

let it once be me | the prophecy part 3

note: hey ,,, remember her ,,,,,,,,, ! feeling hashtag nervous to post this but pls tell me ur thoughts this went through !!! so many drafts !!! almost lost my mind like thirty times lol but thank u for reading <3 (reading prior parts may be helpful in having context for this part but im not really sure it's necessary, they're way shorter than this part either way)

summary: you and spencer are faced with yet another wedge in your relationship, and you're not sure if it'll survive this time

cw: heavy spoilers for everett lynch arc (15.10), we're ignoring the cm tl and time doesn't exist, maeve flashback, hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending !

wc: 8k (wtf)

part 1 part 2

Spencer feels he’s lived many lives, and that his lived experiences have thoroughly prepared him to navigate novel situations with a small familiarity. A cushion really, to allow him the comfort of seeing the path before he has to walk it blind. It almost acts as a sense of pride for him, a testament to what he’s overcome and capable of facing.

There’s nothing prideful about how awful things have been going with you.

It’s been weeks since your talk with him. Weeks since he vowed to prove to you that you were it for him, and he’s made so little progress he finds it embarrassing for someone with his caliber of intellect.

He’s toeing a fine line between being in your presence enough for you to see that he’s trying, and giving you  space so that you don’t feel smothered. It was harder in the immediate days after your talk, when you couldn’t even stand to stay in the same room as him for more than five minutes. You had come home to his apartment the day after having decided Penelope had enough of your moping. Once you got in you immediately went to settle into the guest room.

It was near radio silent between you both those first few days. He didn’t want to force you, but it didn’t feel great when you would leave a room as soon as he’d enter. As the days went on, Spencer started getting resourceful. He’d make you breakfast in the morning and leave it on the table for you, your coffee next to it made exactly how you take it. Then it was little notes left in the most random places, all written with different things he loved about you. He never saw your reaction when you read them, but they’d always disappear from its spot the next day. Little things to remind you he’s there for you.

More days passed and it finally felt like the ice was starting to melt away. You’d started lingering longer in the living room if he was sat at the table still. One time you even made breakfast for the both of you, and although you weren’t there to eat it with him Spencer had never felt more hopeful.

In the field your dynamics changed even more. Normally, he would make sure to be paired up with you in the field to personally ensure that you were being safe. Since the fallout however, he didn’t want to be an unwelcome presence that only left you more tense in high stake situations. So he’d do things like privately tell Emily to double check your bulletproof vest, or make sure Luke was at your 6 if he couldn’t do it himself.

The last thing he wanted was for your current circumstance with each other, one that he knows he created, to distract you in the field and god forbid cause something to happen to you. He would never forgive himself if you got hurt because of him, but Spencer remembers he’s already done the worst hurt he can fathom to you, and what he really means is that he can’t afford to hurt you any further. As much as it worried him to do so, he had reluctantly learned to place some trust in his teammates to keep you safe. It was a balance he’d learned to adapt to.

It worked fine until it didn’t.

The silent car ride from the jet back to your apartment was so thick with tension, but not the one you’ve both become accustomed to over the weeks. No this was a different strain of anger, one that descended down to the primal nature of your relationship—you endangering yourself.

Spencer opens the door, barely waiting for you to enter behind him before slamming it shut. “That, what you did today, was fucking reckless.”

The anger flares through your widened eyes, “Reckless? I saved the hostages, Spencer. He would have killed them!”

“And what about you?”

“What about me, I had it handled.” you huff.

He raises his hands in exasperation, “He had a gun to your head!” he yells, “You have no idea what it’s like to see that.”

“This isn’t the first time someone drew a weapon on me, and there’s definitely more times than I can count when they’ve drawn one on you,” you pause, “Or is it different right now because you got deja vu?”

“What’s that supposed to mean—” Spencer’s face pales in recognition, “That’s not fair.”

“The hell do you mean it’s not fair? You expect me to believe otherwise?”

“He was going to shoot you!” he loudly repeats, “You don’t think I care about your safety?”

“I think you only give a shit right now because you thought another girl you loved was about to get her brains blown out in front of you. Again.”

He’s stunned into silence. Your words feel like a paralytic to Spencer. Like venom slowly traveling down his veins seizing any chance for his body to save himself. All the progress he thinks you both have made just unraveled itself into nothing. It’s paradoxical that his mind is quiet. You’re usually the reason his mind can relax, but somehow you’ve achieved the same outcome by metaphorically stabbing him square in the face.

He can’t understand when you developed the idea that he could care less about you. He can’t understand how you can even think he would be capable of 

of not being with you entirely. He can’t understand where along the line you started believing that he stopped loving you.

It may not be a sentiment you actually hold, but he prides himself on being a good profiler, and more so knowing you better than himself. He knows that’s what you’re thinking, and there’s nothing he can do to fix it.

He speaks under his breath after a couple of minutes,  “How long are we going to keep doing this?”

“Doing what—“

“This!” He gestures wildly with his hands. “This back and forth where you’ve convinced yourself you’re able to move past this but clearly can’t!”

You stare at him, “Look, I’m trying.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

The familiar sting burns the backs of your eyes, the first sign of your resolve crumbling. “That’s not fair.”

He sighs and moves closer, your head hanging low and finding the wooden floor patterns deeply interesting. “You won’t even look at me.” he whispers, “Do you still love me?”

You look up at him stunned, “Spencer…I—I do…It’s just…”

He feels his heart breaking in a new way, “That’s not convincing.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No, I guess I can't,” he shakes his head defeatedly. “I don’t know what else I can do, baby.”

“…I want to forgive you.”

Spencer’s eyes blur from tears, “But you can’t.”

“I don’t know how,” you whisper before a sardonic chuckle leaves you, “You know me, memory like an elephant.”

Spencer refrains from telling you that dolphins are actually the species with the longest memory capacity, and that the reason for possessing such a feature is to maintain the social dynamics and relationships that come with survival in the ocean. A dolphin’s memory is what keeps them rooted back to where they belong, being able to remember individuals and behaviors even after being apart for so long. That no matter how far they stray, they’ll always come home. 

He settles for a soft agreement, “Yeah, I do know you.”

You make the mistake of meeting his eyes, equally and tragically as broken as yours, puffy and red rimmed.

“I don’t know what to do.” you whisper brokenly.

“I don’t either.”

The silence weighs heavy in the living room. The metronomic tick of the clock becomes louder, the birds and the wind outside whistle louder. You’re cornered, forced to come to face the results. And like a prey backed into the corner you do what the prey do best—You run.

“I have to go.” you grab the keys and put your shoes on.

“What?” he steps closer, “You can’t just leave, we just got home.”

“I can’t be here right now,” your voice cracks, “I just…need some time to think.”l

Spencer’s heart falls straight through the floor. Time to think about what? Is this when the foundation beneath you both finally buckles under the immense pressure it’s been on for weeks, and you’re left to scavenge the ruins?

As much as it pains him to let you walk out the door, he knows that nothing would be accomplished at home and it would only hurt you more to stay.

“Okay.” he whispers.

“Okay.”

“Be safe.” I love you.

You look back, “I will. You too.” I love you too.

The door shuts gentler this time, as if careful not to disturb the few pieces of Spencer still left standing behind the door. It doesn’t matter, they’ve already fallen over. Any resolve he had left is slipping away with every step you take further away, never feeling more defeated in his life than this moment.

He trudges over to the study, hoping he can at least bury himself in work to distract himself from the turmoil of his reality. The desk is strewn across with files and papers, mentally making a list of the tasks he has to do. At the top of his to-do list is the Everett Lynch case, having just closed the case a few days back meaning the paperwork would be due to the brass soon.

Spencer glances over the open file and reviews the details of the final moments of the case, recalling the stark change in Lynch’s MO that still left him puzzled. The victimology and the profile just didn’t add up to what actually happened, why he ended up dying with his mother in the house. That wasn’t supposed to happen, Spencer wasn’t supposed to send five SWAT agent in not knowing their fate only seconds later. How the case simply ended anticlimactically after nearly a year long chase. A dull ache begins to form in his head as he thinks, the bureau is going to have a field day processing this case.

He rubs his forehead with his hand to soothe the pain building up, making a note to get painkillers after he finishes. As he continues to read the file he starts to see his confusion take a basis as the initial profile doesn’t add up at all to what actually happened, in fact for as long as he evaded the FBI he really shouldn’t have just, died.

Spencer freezes. Did he die?

Lynch wouldn’t just commit suicide, that was too easy. He watched the house blow up with him and his mother inside, not even including the agents the explosion took out with it. The pain in his head is too much to bear at this point and he decides that getting Advil can’t wait until he’s done. He stands up and immediately wobbles as he grips the desk for support. Through the blurred vision and spinning room Spencer tries to makes sense of Lynch’s discrepancy. 

Everett Lynch wouldn’t commit suicide, because he didn’t. 

“He’s still alive.” he realizes gravely. Then it all goes black.

———

You get in your car and drive off to god knows where, just not there. It’s sheer autopilot driving you to the other side of town, which is more than welcomed as the tears threaten to blur your vision coming down in hot trails. You end up pulling into the parking lot of your favorite donut shop, one that you discovered with Spencer a little before you started dating. There was time to kill after being paired up to visit the unsub’s  dump site and you were so insistent about needing a sweet treat, Spencer thought it was clinical.

“You’re acting like you’ll die if we don’t stop for a, what did you call it? A sweet treat?”

“I will!” you whine, “Don’t you know that girls, specifically me, are mandated to have at least one sweet treat per day?”

He pulls into the parking lot of the donut shop he’d spotted on the way there. “Oh yeah? What happens if you don’t?” he teases.

“You’ll see me as the unsub in the next case.”

Spencer can’t help the laugh that leaves him, loud and earnest. “Alright, c’mon. We already have enough criminals to last us till retirement.”

You and Spencer are definitely not together at this moment in time, but the little old lady owner of the shop really can’t believe otherwise as she watches you both bicker about which flavors you’re getting for the half dozen box. She’s almost certain you’re together as she watches Spencer end up getting all the flavors you wanted despite putting up a fight for others. And she’s fully convinced, with no room for sway, that you are together as Spencer pulls his card out before you can even protest and watches as you miss the look he gives you as you dramatically sigh in content after the first bite.

Spencer would later tell you after a few months together, that the donut shop was the first time he realized he was in love with you. You recall how the same half dozen would appear on your desk every Friday since that first visit, with one chocolate sprinkled donut missing but placed on a napkin on Spencer’s desk. You would joke that he pavloved his way into your heart with donuts, but wouldn’t reveal your true cards that you fell in love with Spencer after a month on the job. The donut shop happened the week after.

“You alright, hon?” the little old lady owner breaks your thoughts.

You look around and realize you’ve walked yourself into the shop. You wipe at your eyes quickly, “I’m okay, Dolores. Can I just get the usual half dozen please?”

She’s not convinced but it seems she knows better than to ask and pry. She gathers the usual six donuts for the box, slipping in an extra one just for good measure, and rings you up at the register.

“Seven right?” you mumble as you file through your bag for the loose ten.

Dolores smiles, “It’s on the house today, hon. Don’t worry.”

You look up at her, knowing she’s only doing that because you showed up with tear streaks on your face, “Oh, no it’s okay you don’t have to do that let me just—“

She pushes the box towards you, “You both tip enough to cover the box anyway, please just take it. Hope you feel better soon, hon.”

Her kind gesture thaws your heart out a little and you give her a small smile. “Thanks, Dolores.”

You walk back to your car, locking the doors once you get in. You don’t move to turn the car on, opting to allow your emotions to overflow again in solitude with the comfort of a bavarian kreme donut. The tears prick your eyes on instinct thinking of the current state of your life, of your relationship.

Spencer was right, have you convinced yourself you’re capable of moving past this? You do still love Spencer, you knew that much. But you are hurt, you are tired, and you just want to stop feeling like you’ll always come in second place even when there’s no one to occupy first place. You’ve waited so long to feel chosen, like someone has waited all their life for someone like you to come around. Meeting Spencer felt like finding the little daisies that grew in between the cracks of concrete, proof that despite your stone hard exterior you were still worthy of being loved.

The sound of your phone ringing jolts you up, almost dropping your donut. With your free hand you look at the caller and press accept.

“Hi, Emily.” you try to make your voice sound even.

“Hey we’ve got a—wait are you okay?”

You clear your throat, “Yeah, totally fine don’t worry. What’s up?”

It’s clear she doesn’t believe you but Emily really doesn’t have time right now, “Listen, Lynch is still alive.”

You almost choke. “What?”

“The casualty report doesn’t include Lynch and they couldn’t find his body anywhere. While they were searching the house they found tunnels. He escaped.”

“Fuck, okay what do you need me to do?”

“There’s a gas station clerk who thinks he saw him and his car, I need you and Matt to go check it out and see what he knows.”

You scramble to put your donut down and wipe your hands on the napkin, “Yeah, of course I’m on my way.”

“Okay, Matt will meet you there,” she pauses, “I…Is Spencer with you?”

Your heart clenched again, “No, he’s not. He’s at the apartment.”

Emily hums, “He didn’t pick up when I called, it’s okay I’ll send JJ and Penelope to go get him. Reconvene at the bureau in a couple hours?”

“Sounds good.” you hang up and immediately start driving over to the gas station. Something doesn’t feel right, you can feel it in your gut. You quickly check Spencer’s location just to be safe, and relax when you see he’s still at home. He’s probably just taking a nap.

What Emily decides you can’t ever know about is the call she gets twenty minutes later from a hysterically crying Penelope, who in between sobs tells her that they’re on the way to George Washington Hospital. That when JJ and Penelope opened the door to Spencer’s apartment he was passed out on the floor, blood dripping from his nose. How when JJ went to start CPR he entered a seizure and coded in the ambulance.

No, you can’t know this, because Emily knows that the call alone that she has to give you is going to shatter your broken pieces even further.

—

You pull out your phone to call Emily and see an incoming call from her, “Hey, I was just about to call you. The guy said he drove a red ford pickup, we were able to get the license plate from the security cameras but it came up as a stolen plate—“ 

Emily says your name in a tone you’ve never heard her use. It makes you stop in your tracks, an icy chill shooting down your spine, “What?”

“Something’s happened.”

You step outside of the gas station shop holding your breath, “What do you mean?”

Emily pinches the bridge of her nose, “It’s about Spencer, he’s…”

She pauses for too long. The panic rises fast. “Emily.”

“They found him passed out on the floor of his apartment. Penelope called 911 and they’re on the way to the hospital right now.”

No. 

No, no, no.

The color drains from your face as fast as your heart plunges to the ground. “Wh—what?”

She’s lying, she has to be right? You just saw Spencer literally a few hours ago and he was fine. No signs of distress or anything, she has to be lying. She has to be lying.

“The EMT thinks he has a brain bleed, it um…caused him to have a seizure when JJ and Penelope found him.”

The nausea rises before you can anticipate it, scanning your surroundings for a trash can and immediately hurling up the contents of your stomach. Wiping your mouth with your sleeve you put the phone back to your ear, “Which hospital?”

“George Washington Memorial, they should already be there by now.”

“Okay, I’m on the way.” you sniffle.

Emily doesn’t know what other encouraging words she can provide you, she doesn’t think any words exist to comfort herself even let alone you. “Keep me updated please.”

The call ends and you have to steady yourself on the nearby wall, head reeling with mountainous emotions and unable to make sense of any of them. 

You look around through blurred eyes for Matt calling out to him, “Matt, Matt give me the keys I need to go to the hospital.” you hold a shaky hand out.

He looks at you confused and concerned, “What? Are you okay, why do you need to go—“

“Sp—“ you stutter, unable to even speak the words into existence, “Spencer’s in the hospital.”

Matt’s face pales, “I’ll drive you, come on.”

—

“They said it’s a brain bleed.” you mumble after a few minutes of silence in the car.

“A brain bleed? How could that have…” he trails off in realization.

“What?” you ask nervously.

He grips the steering wheel harder, “The bomb, at the Lynch house.”

Fuck. The EMTs who checked him out that day said he only had a mild concussion, nothing else to be concerned about. A few cuts and scratches but nothing that wouldn’t heal. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

You sniffle and hastily wipe at your face again, your skin growing red with irritation with every contact.

Matt looks at you with a look he wouldn’t call pity, but certainly close, “It’s going to be okay, he’ll pull through. He always does.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as if it could prevent the fresh wave of tears from falling, “You don’t know that.”

He sighs deeply and turns into the hospital parking lot, stopping in front of the entrance, “Go in, I’ll park the car.”

You open the car door and rush inside the lobby, finding the receptionist immediately. She looks up at you and her face softens in empathy, “Who are you here for?”

“Um, Spencer Reid. He should have just gotten in.” you strain.

The receptionist clacks a few buttons on her keyboard before speaking again, “It looks like he’s in the ICU, are you blood related?”

“Are we…what?” you ask confused.

“Well honey, because he’s in the ICU we can only let in blood related family or spouses to stay with them.”

You outwardly deflate, “Oh…I—“

“She’s his fiancée!”

You look to the source of the new voice and are met with Penelope, donning matching red rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks. Her eyes look at you in silent communication and you turn back to the desk, “Y—Yeah, I’m his fiancée.”

If the receptionist isn’t convinced she doesn’t show it, willing to turn a blind eye in pure understanding of the situation. “Room 204.”

“Thank you.” You duck down the hall scanning the numbers before coming up on 204, the door cracked open slightly. Your hand hovers over the handle in hesitation, scared of what you’ll find on the other side. Penelope comes up behind you and rests her hand on yours and helps you open the door.

The sight hits you like a truck. All the wires hooked up to his limbs pumping IV fluids and the heart monitor beeping steadily. He’s paler than you’ve ever seen him. His skin is clammy, the hair sticking to his forehead. You can see that from across the room and all you can think about is how uncomfortable he must feel from the sweat coating him. You used to tease him once upon a time when he’d sometimes take multiple showers a day because of how much it bothered him.

“Another shower? Spence, our water bill is about to be crazy.”

He laughs and waves you off, “Don’t worry about that, I can charge the water bill as bureau compensation.”

“Okay, one that sounds illegal. Two, the more time you spend in the shower, the less time you spend with me.” you moan with fake petulance.

You yelp as he suddenly sneaks up behind you, caging you to his chest with his arms, “So join me.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of getting clean?” you giggle, leaning your head back into the crevice of his neck.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, “You do know what showers are for, right?”

You nod, “To get clean! It would get even dirtier before it got cleaner.”

“I think that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

The smile on your face grows the widest it can before you break off into a sprint down the hallway towards the bathroom, Spencer trailing behind with your laughs mixing in the light air.

You don’t know why you’re thinking so deeply about the state of his perspiration, maybe a convoluted defense mechanism your brain conjured up so you don’t have to come to terms with Spencer lying near comatose a few feet away.

Your feet hesitantly carry you closer to the bed, feeling somewhat calmed by the slow rise and fall of his chest. You lean down and look him over, as if you could see the damaged inflicted on him even though it’s nestled deep in his brain. Spencer always said his brain would lead to his demise, and you hope all those times you played it off as a joke that it cemented itself as one, a joke. That you would be able to see his hazel eyes open again and they’d fill you with reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere, that all he needed in this world was you, and that he loved you.

You will and wish and hope to have his eyes open. You try not to think about if you’ll ever get to see them again.

A choked sob escapes your throat before you can help it, your hand coming over your mouth to muffle the impact. Spencer is hurt. Spencer is fighting for his life, and you were fighting him not even a few hours ago.

“Oh, honey,” Penelope reaches for your shoulders and pulls you into a hug, “He’s gonna be okay, the doctors said the surgery went well. Just waiting for him to wake up now.”

You cry even harder and Penelope tightens her grip on you, determined to not let you fall further down the slope.

“W—We got into a fight,” you sniffle, “before I left. It was bad, Penny. He was so mad, and then I was so mad. And then I just left.”

“You didn’t know this would happen, honey. None of us did.”

“I didn’t even say I love you. Th—The last conversation we had was a fucking fight a—and now…” you cry, “He can’t die, Pen. He can’t die I didn’t even get to tell him—“

Penelope grabs your face with both of her hands, “Hey. No, we’re not doing that. We are not spiraling, not when there’s no reason to. Okay?”

Whatever response you had falls dead on your lips when you take another look at Spencer’s motionless body on the bed. The calmness on his face is a stark difference from the Spencer you saw only a few hours ago.

She was right, there’s nothing you can do right now but wait. You’d just have to trust that Spencer would pull through.

You almost chuckle dryly through the tears. Trust and Spencer? The irony of it all laughs in your face.

—

Spencer’s eyes blink open and adjust to the bright light blinding him. He takes in his surroundings and realizes he’s standing in the middle of the bullpen. That’s weird, he thinks, I thought I was in the study.

“Reid, you sure you don’t want to join me and Elle in Jamaica?” Derek sings, “My guy can swing you a great deal.”

Derek? Elle?

He snaps his head in the direction of the voice, seeing Derek not even looking in his direction but still looking towards Spencer. Just, a different and much younger Spencer.

“Have a great two weeks off everyone, you all deserve it. Don’t call me at my cabin.” Gideon rushes out as he beelines to the door right past Spencer. “Seriously, don’t call me.”

Gideon? But Gideon…died. Where is he?

The scene changes with a snap and suddenly he’s back in his apartment, his old apartment. The one he lived in before he moved in with you. He is definitely in a dream, though with the vividity and theme of important people in his past he’s not entirely sure he’s only sleeping. A head of blonde hair on his couch catches his eye. He slowly walks around and his breath hitches at who he sees.

“Maeve?”

She smiles softly, “Hi Spencer.”

He slowly walks around the couch and kneels in front of her. The tears prick his eyes before he can help it, “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again. I—I’m so sorry for—“

Maeve holds a hand up, “What happened to me wasn’t your fault, I promise. You did what you could. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“It’s not?”

She shakes her head. “You’re dying, Spence.”

His face falls, “I am?”

“Collateral from the explosion, you have a brain bleed.”

It takes a few minutes for him to comprehend what she said, and he can feel his head spinning fast in his head. He can’t actually be dying right? The explosion happened days ago and yet now is when his brain decides to tap out, that can’t be right.

It simply cannot be right because that’s when he remembers you and the last conversation he had with you, and he has to clutch his heart at the prospect of his fate.

He won’t know if you’ll ever forgive him, if you’ll ever learn to trust him again, if you even still love him. He won’t know anything if he dies. He cannot die.

“M—Maeve, I can’t be here I—“

She places her hand atop of his own and he feels her. He can feel her hand on his, like she’s real and here.  It’s alarming, and warm. “I know, it’s okay. C’mon, let’s go for a walk.”

Maeve gestures for him to follow her and before his eyes the scene changes again to a nearby park, one that looks a little too familiar to him.

She starts walking through the park, “We’re all okay up here you know? I get to read a lot more now, there’s so much time to read and postulate. Sometimes I get lucky and I can meet the authors. I got to meet Kant and Dostoevsky a while ago, very interesting people. Gideon plays with this nice little octopus friend. I know he’s having the best time.” she laughs, “But you, Spencer Reid, are not okay down there.”

He looks up at her and swallows, “I know.”

She turns onto the fork in the trail, “What’s holding you back?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs.

“I think you do know.”

A few silent minutes pass. “I…I’m scared to let myself be happy again,” he admits.

Maeve looks at him with a saddened smile, “And why’s that?”

Because everything he loves leaves him. Because when he laughs just a little too hard, he’s already scanning the surroundings waiting for the other shoe to fall. Because when Spencer feels he’s trekked up the mountain with long and winding breaths, something always seems to be waiting at the top ready to knock him down.

“Don’t think I deserve it, to be honest.” he admits, “I keep…messing up everytime.”

Maeve stops walking, “You love so deeply, Spencer. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“Emphasis on the curse.” he deprecates.

“It’s only a curse because you don’t let yourself feel wholly. I know given everything that’s happened it’s hard but,” she pauses, “You’re not a clipped bird, Spence. You just…lost a few feathers. Nothing you can’t get back.”

It’s easier said than done when it feels like his mere existence causes you pain as of late.

“I feel like I have to hold parts of me back so I can protect her…from myself.”

Maeve turns to him, “She deserves all of you, Spence. It is a privilege to be loved by you, but it’s a greater privilege to be loved. And you deserve to feel loved.”

“What if I ruin it?” More accurately, what if he’s already ruined it, is what he means.

“You are not destined for sorrow and misery, despite what your life has made you think. She loves you. She would not have stayed this long if she didn’t. But there is one thing I think she could use from you.”

Spencer looks at her expectantly waiting for her to continue.

“She wants to feel chosen, Spencer. And I know you think you choose her everyday just by loving her. But the reality is, you can’t fully choose her without choosing yourself first. That means allowing yourself to be happy.”

A few stray tears streak down his face and he haphazardly wipes them away. For the entirety of Spencer’s life his purpose was to be of service to others. With his intelligence, his kindness, his courage. His needs always came second because the few times he thought to put himself first, disaster struck. 

When he met you this notion only reinforced itself, wanting to ensure he could make you as happy as he could. You became his priority and he didn’t mind that at all. It was easy being with you, you made life feel easy. So when Spencer started to let his guard down piece by piece, allowing himself the little bits of your happiness to seep into his being, he wasn’t thinking about the abyss that had always loomed over him his whole life.

He couldn’t, not when you managed to infiltrate his entire existence by wrapping and tethering yourself to him with strings of gold. How could he? You made things so easy.

But then prison happened. Then Cat, again. Then Maeve, again. Three strikes. It should have been game over by now. He broke your trust, betrayed your love and he wasn’t sure if you would even stay long enough to see the damage unfold. But you did, and he still can’t really figure out why.

So here he is in limbo? Purgatory? Some figment of his mind in the wake of near death that is giving him the opportunity to make amends. Not with Maeve or Gideon or you or any other grudge he has yet to settle in his life. No, he has the chance to make amends with himself and forgive himself for standing in the way of what he really deserves.

A faint beeping in the distance reels him back to the present moment, Maeve’s face coming into focus again. The dull ache in his eyes coming forward again with how many tears are falling.

“Love is our true destiny, we do not find the meaning of it alone, we find it with another.”

He smiles with a watery chuckle, “Thomas Merton.”

“Spencer, I promise you, you will be happy again. And forever. Just keep the door open when it comes knocking.”

The beeping starts to get louder, like it’s approaching him fast. A warm glow begins to build around him, then light. He looks around the park again and sees the trees and benches begin to blur. He looks at Maeve as she stands with a fond smile, her figure slowly fading as well.

“Take care, Spencer.” and with a blink Maeve is gone.

In the silence he is left in, he looks to the epitaph of Jason Gideon in front of him and back to the spot where Maeve was standing, whispering a soft, “You too.” before closing his eyes and succumbing to the beeping.

—

It’s been 4 hours since you’ve been sat next to his bed. You’d be a lot more concerned than you were, which is already a lot, if it wasn’t for his heartbeat monitor beeping steadily throughout the hours. A sign of life, as morbid as it sounds, but it’s hard to be rational given the circumstances.

It had taken all of 3.5 hours for you to braven up and hold his hand in comfort. Hour one you simply stared at his hand, as if it would regain mobility and reach out for you. Hour two you were able to place your hand on the bed, not anywhere near his obviously. But enough to feel close, satiated. By hour three you had your fingers mere millimeters from his own, feeling like a magnetic force of the same poles was repelling you.

The 3.5 hour mark is when the exhaustion of the day caught up to you, and finally allowed yourself to relax in his hand.

At hour 4.5 is when you felt the twitch.

You look up and whisper, “Spencer?”

He slowly opens his eyes, revealing his hazel brown irises with gold flecks on the insides that meet yours sitting right beside him. You can see the recognition begin to flood his face, but is stopped momentarily when he starts to panic realizing the breathing tube is still in his throat. You hit the call button besides his bed and watch the doctors rush in to help stabilize him back down.

It’s another two hours of testing and scans before the three of you are left alone again, with the nurse promising to check on him in a few hours.

You’re stiff next to him, unsure what to do now that he’s awake and perceiving you again. With a small voice you speak, “They said they found you in the study.”

Spencer racks his brain for memories of before his fall, only able to remember bits and pieces. He remembers fighting with you and when you left. He remembers walking to the study. And he remembers reading…”Lynch! Did you get him? He’s still alive, you have to call Emily—“

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” you shush. “We know he’s still alive, they’ve almost got him right now. It’s okay.”

That seems to make him visibly relax knowing the immediate stressor was almost resolved. Now there’s just the matter of the other elephant in the room.

“You’re here.”

Your eyes soften as your brows raise in shock, “Of course I’m here, Spence.”

He stares at you and takes in your features—your puffy cheeks and red eyes, the skin around your nails picked to death, your lip nearly split in half from the bites and bleeding. He needs to apologize again, he knows that. But the second he opens his mouth you cut him off.

“Penny, can you give us a minute please?”

She smiles and stands, “Sure hon, I’ll be right outside.”

Once she leaves you turn back to Spencer, “We don’t have to talk about all of that anymore, it’s okay. You’re hurt and that’s more important right now.”

He should have expected that you would do this, selflessly push your discomfort and feelings down because someone you cared about was hurting. It was one of the few things he didn’t like that you did, and he’s not going to let it go again.

“Angel, you can’t forgive me just because you thought I was going to die.” he says sadly.

You’re taken aback. “I—I know.”

He swallows, “I really want you to.”

Your eyes blur again, “I know.” Another pause. “I’m trying really hard.”

A gentle squeeze, “I know.”

“I…I still love you, Spence. I don’t think that will ever change, but I’m nervous if one day it won’t be enough…that I won’t be enough.” you trail off.

Again, he shouldn’t be surprised that’s what you’re thinking. He hasn’t done a very good job at convincing you yet. It still hurts knowing that you feel that way.

“Do you know what I thought about everyday when I was in Millburn?”

You shake your head as he continues, “I thought about how when you eat cupcakes you tear the bottom half and stick it on top to make a cupcake sandwich. When we’re watching Doctor Who and you’re singing along to the theme song with only syllables. How you let me eat the olives on your plate and I give you the pickles on mine.”

“Why would you be thinking about that?” you ask confused.

“Because I don’t think I would have survived if I didn’t.”

The lump forms in your throat, “But…you took me off the visiting list after the first time I came to see you.”

“I couldn’t let you keep seeing me like that, honey.” he strains, “The way they were looking at you, what they did to me. I had to protect you.”a

You swallow hard, a few tears falling down your face, “Th—That’s not fair, Spence. I understand why you did it, but then when all the other shit happened… I don’t know what I was supposed to believe. I couldn’t stop wondering if I ever was enough for you.”

Spencer can feel his heart splintering.

“You will always be enough, because it is always you. God, sweetheart it’s not even a question of how much, it just is. I see you in everything I do—you’re the tangled headphones we use to listen to music flying back on the jet. You’re the annotations I make when I read something that reminds me of you, or if I think you’d enjoy it. You’re the smell of bavarian kreme donuts from Dolores’ even though the chocolate sprinkle ones are far superior.”

His heart blooms hearing a soft giggle from you, an earnest smile forming on your face.

“You are entangled in the things that make me happy, and you make them too good to be true. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I meant it when I said I would spend all of time making it up to you. You are my Catalina comet, and I love you.”

You can’t help the sob that leaves you as you remember the memory.

“I’m cold Spence, are you sure we’ll be able to see it?”

He tugs you closer under his arm as he keeps trekking to find the perfect spot, a chaste kiss to your temple, “I promise it’ll be worth it. Come on, I think it's a good spot over there.”

You help Spencer set out the blanket on the ground and use the extra one to wrap around you both, huddling closer together as you wait for the celestial body to make its appearance.

“The first time they did the calculations they used old observational data that led to some incorrect results, and they thought the orbit was only four years.”

“They just got it wrong?”

“Not everyone gets it right on the first try, sweet girl.” he says softly, “But then they did the math again, made sure all the factors and numbers were correct. And you know what they found?”

You ponder for a moment, “Did they realize the orbit was longer?”

Spencer beams down at you, “My smart girl. That’s exactly what they found. So when they did the calculations again, they found out that the Catalina comet is even more special than anyone thought. It’s even more of a rare sighting to get to see it, once in a lifetime really.”

You hang onto his every word, captivated by the story, “Do people wish on comets?” you ask doe eyed.

His hand smooths your hair back, “They do, some say the rarer comets have extra special energy to aid their wishes.”

You look at him skeptically, “Do you really believe that?”

“Do you?”

You look back to the sky, “I think I do.”

Spencer doesn’t look away from you, “Then I do too.”

You giggle and lightly shove him, “Cheesy…” He smiles fondly and pulls you closer into his chest, his arms warming you up before you gasp, “Look!”

There across the night sky streaks the Catalina Comet in all her glory, Spencer watches the comet track through Ursa Major and before he can start telling you about why it goes that path, you’ve already clamped your eyes shut and squeezed his hand, silently gesturing for him to do the same.

He complies, obviously. You open your eyes again after making your wish, “Did you make yours?”

Spencer opens his eyes and admiringly looks at you, “Yeah, I did angel.” 

He didn’t need to make any wishes.

“Spence…” you whine through sobs.

His hand comes up shakily to wipe the tears from your cheeks, “Didn’t mean to make you cry, honey.”

“Well, what did you expect by bringing that story up?” you laugh with fake anger.

“To be fair, you were already crying.” he chuckles.

You scoff, “Mean.” You look at his eyes, and really look at him and see nothing but love and adoration staring back at you. You take a deep breath, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I believe you.” his eyes soften, you continue, “I love you.”

He brings your hand up to his lips and gently kisses it, “I love you so much. I’m sorry again, sweet girl.”

You lean up to him on the bed and press a soft kiss to his lips, and Spencer can feel his wounds start to hurt less and less. “You should get some rest, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You make yourself as comfy as you can whilst sat on the armchair, bent over to be able to rest your head next to Spencer. It feels okay for a bit, and then he tangles his hand in your hair gently moving back and forth and suddenly you’re satisfied with never moving ever again.

The quiet air between you both is enough to lull you to sleep, before a thought runs through your mind.

“You know something funny,” you mumble, “Pen told the receptionist I was your fiancée so they’d let me see you.”

And poor Spencer, in between his sleepy haze and the dull ache of pain from his injuries, only hears the word fiancée.

“You found the ring?” he sighs, “I thought I hid it well.”

You still under his hand.

“…There’s a ring?”

His eyes shoot open, realizing he misheard you and tries to play it off, “So…Penelope lied to staff. Tsk Tsk.”

“There’s a ring.” you say pointedly, the corners of your lips upturned to reach a smile.

Spencer thinks he can try and get out of this but decides it’s better to come clean, “Fine, okay. Of course there’s a ring.”

“Of course?”

The surprise on your face honestly stuns Spencer, and he feels a little saddened that you were in disbelief of the possibility.

“Yeah baby, of course.”

Your bottom lip wobbles with a creeping suspicion of his answer, “How long have you had it?”

“Got it after our six month.”

You shakily exhale. There is no ounce of doubt in your body that he loves you, and that you really are all he needs. “ ‘M sorry I ruined the surprise.”

He grins, “It’s okay, you won’t know when I’m going to do it. It’ll knock you off your feet, I promise.”

You definitely aren’t expecting it during a Planetarium date months later where he got the museum people to show the Catalina Comet passing over you both as he got down on one knee. You are expecting the endless stream of tears from the both of you, the aching cheeks from smiling too much, and the multiple missed attempts at sliding the ring on from how much you both were shaking.

[kekewrites]

LADS Caleb x pervert!reader

Tw: just reader being perverted and gross, reader is going through it, reader being nasty, weird thoughts, horny thoughts, tension

Thinking about a pervert!reader. Being a high schooler and entering a new stage in life where your hormones goes rampant, making you more aware of the opposite gender. It doesn't help how you're currently living with someone so handsome, caring, kind... and so... manly.

Wait- you shouldn't think about your childhood friend like that!

You didn't know when it started. It just happened one morning when you came to the kitchen to eat breakfast, his back seems broader than usual, his tank top showing off his big juicy biceps, and his tall frame-

"Oh, you're awake pipsqueak? Why are you standing there?"

His voice snap you out of your thoughts, shaking your head to rid of them before settling down on the chair. Trying to act normal and totally not conscious of him, you grumble how cold it was in the morning.

Caleb's eyes swept over your form appraisingly, a flicker of something unreadable sparking in their purple depths as they lingered perhaps a moment too long. He leaned back against the kitchen counter, muscled arms crossed over his broad chest, the fabric of his tank top stretching taut against his biceps.

Damn...

Something in your demeanor struck Caleb as... different. A faint blush colored your cheeks, and you seemed to avoid his gaze. He quirked an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Cold, huh? Well, why don't ya come over here and let me warm ya up then, short stack," he teased, reaching out to ruffle your hair affectionately—though his touch lingered perhaps a heartbeat longer than usual. 

Why does his hand feel bigger than usual? Or were they always that big?

Thinking about a pervert!reader. Staring at the toothbrush innocently sitting in the cup along with her own. The blue toothbrush and her pink one beside each other, just like those married couple have. The blue toothbrush that had been inside Caleb's mouth. The blue toothbrush that soaks up his saliva mixing with toothpaste.

Caleb's saliva...

I wonder how it taste like?

Your mind snapped as you stare at the blue toothbrush in your hand, your subconscious already grabbed the toothbrush now currently sitting in your hand.

It wouldn't hurt to try, right?

Nervously gulping, you opened your mouth ready to use his toothbrush not until, the person you're currently crazy about walks in, making you freeze on the spot.

"Hey, did you see where I put my notebook? Huh? Is that my toothbrush?"

Heart pounding, you quickly switch the toothbrushes, your face burning with embarrassment as you turn to face Caleb. You try to keep your voice steady, but it comes out in a panicked squeak.

"N-no, of course not! I mean, I was just… I got confused and grabbed your toothbrush by mistake." You let out a nervous, slightly manic laugh. "You know how much of a ditz I can be in the mornings!"

You turn away, hiding your flushed face from sight as you begin scrubbing your teeth with fervor, hoping Caleb didn't notice the way your hands shook slightly.

He raised an eyebrow, "Ok? So, have you seen my notebook?"

Pausing your toothbrushing to glare at Caleb's reflection in the mirror, you huff in annoyance, "No! I didn't see your stupid notebook."

That was close...

Thinking about a pervert!reader, being extra moody and defensive when you're around him. Totally not because you're starting to see him as a man. Totally not because you're starting to realize how attractive he is.

Starting to feel guilty about imagining some inappropriate thoughts just be staring at him. It would be just a normal hangouts with him, eating popsicle stick with him. Your eyes darting at the way he licks the popsicle, his adam's apple bopping down.

"What's up?"

You froze as you realized Caleb had caught you staring.

"N-no, it's nothing!" you stammered, tearing your gaze away. you could feel the heat rising in your skin.

You fidgeted in your seat, suddenly hyperaware of every little detail—the way his tongue flicked out to catch a drip of melting ice, the flex of his broad shoulders as he raised the treat to his lips once more.

Why is he doing that?!

"It's just... it's cold in here, that's all," you avoided his probing gaze, staring down at the half-eaten popsicle stick in your own hand. You swallowed hard past the lump forming in your throat, your heart hammering against your ribs.

Why am I always having those thoughts? I don't wanna be a creep!

Caleb's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied your face, not entirely convinced by your flimsy excuse. The blush staining your cheeks and the way you couldn't quite meet his gaze spoke volumes.

Thinking about a self-aware!caleb, who knows the effect he has on you. His hidden smirk every time he knows what you're thinking about.

Caleb sits across from you, his expression unreadable, eyes shadowed by something you can’t quite place. You tell yourself it’s just your imagination, that the way his gaze lingers is nothing more than coincidence. That the way he angles his body ever so slightly toward you isn’t deliberate.

You shift in your seat, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck. It’s ridiculous, really, how easily he manages to throw you off balance. The way his voice lingers in your mind even after the conversation has ended. The way his presence alone feels like an invisible tether, pulling your attention back to him no matter how hard you try to resist.

But he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t do anything.

Just sits there. Watching.

You convince yourself he doesn’t notice the way your eyes flicker to his lips when he speaks, the way you fidget under his gaze. You tell yourself he isn’t aware of how your pulse betrays you when he leans in just a fraction too close.

But then, just for a split second, there it is. A barely, there shift in his expression, a flicker of amusement, gone before you can catch it.

You don’t notice the smirk he hides behind his next words. You don’t realize that every stolen glance, every shaky breath, every fleeting moment of hesitation and he’s seen it all. And worse?

He knows exactly what it means.

And he's enjoying it.

[hanasnx]

Hop hop 🐇 hiya :). I like the thought that the first time reader really got a hint of Peter's strength is when he ate her pussy for the first time. He spread her legs and locked em down with his forearms and hands on her waist. For all her squirming and bucking with pleasure his muscles didn't budge a single millimeter, he didn't even notice her trying. It's not like he meant to, he was just losing himself a little, overeager, a pleaser, and that morsel of strength that peaked through was enough to tip her off that he's not normal. She doesn't know he can lift a bus. 🐇 Hop hop

“ SWEET KIWI, YOUR JUICE’S DRIPPIN’ DOWN MY CHIN ” — peter parker.

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: this shit made me bite my fucking finger. eyes rolling into the back of my head type shit. melting in my seat i’m liquid. bcos this is exactly it. WARNINGS: not proofread, barely correct grammar/punctuation bcos i wrote this in a goddamn fevered rush. i’m not usually like this. established relationship. smut via fem receiving oral.

you look at PETER PARKER and you know he’s got a sleeper build, he may be tall and lanky but you’ve seen what he looks like flexed. but there are limits, you’re not kidding yourself here.

so when you finally get over it and let him go down on you, all nestled up into some pillows, real comfy, watching him get your legs undressed, your suspicions are at an all time low. you feel the excited pool into your core, the anticipation making you a little bubbly and nervous. he starts off small, lets you get used to things, tries to gauge your reactions to delicate sensations. he knows he’s prone to overstimulation, last thing he wants to do rn is give you too much too fast. he doesn’t know you that well, so he wants this to be a learning experience for him while you relax.

you sink further into the mattress while he licks at your clit, a fragile and unstable pace, looking up and over the mound of your pussy to gauge your reactions—both in expression and audible. when he starts sucking on it between his silky lips you cry out, throwing your head back instinctually. the way he’s restraining himself is more torture than it is pleasant, and all he’s done so far is kiss on your little clit you feel like a virgin.

your feet pick up, your hand comes to palm the back of his head, get all up in his hair. he hums against you, and your hips buck. toes pointed and back arched, you try to grind his face into your cunt. he takes the hint, and ups the fervor. sweeping his face side to side, he digs in further, and when he dips down to lick the moisture up your slit you can barely take the suspense. your hand draws him in to keep attention on your clit. you don’t want penetration, you need friction. you crave it.

it’s the kind of feeling that has you literally fighting to fuck his face. your entire body is moving as you’re keeping him pinned there and using him to get off.

when your hips start to stutter, and a shudder locks up your spine, peter doesn’t get the gist. you’re close but he’s not done. he starts putting in place some key features while you’re occupied. one arm scoops under your leg, wrapping your thigh with his bicep and the crook of his elbow. the other does the same one after another. his hands, big and warm, rest on your stomach and lace together, locking you in. the weight of them press down on your lower abdomen while he eats you out. all in the name of getting you as close as possible while your body writhes.

you’ve released his hair, jelly-like arms falling to your sides while your hips chase your release. peter’s eyes fall closed while he gets lost in it, taking in the taste of you, taking in what you smell like, what you sound like. it’s the kind of sensory overload he can get carried away with, a symphony of chemicals in his brain whisking him away while you’re left with the exhilarating and torturous reality. your body is screaming. you can’t shut the fuck up either. he’s locked you in while your little hands futilely grab at whatever they can reach to try and make him let up. if you just had a break or a second to breathe then things would be different, but even if peter were conscious he’d know better anyway.

while you’re squirming, you can’t help but feel like there should be more budge. there’s a give that’s missing when you jerk your body. it’s an odd discovery. perfectly flexed muscles don’t move a single millimeter when you try to wiggle your hips out of his grasp. his laced fingers stay intact when you try to ground your feet and pick yourself up. and when you try to crawl out from under him there’s not spare room to slip your thighs under. you’re trapped. and peter’s warm mouth envelopes your pussy with spit sodden lips while his tongue flicks at your clit. the kind of shit that makes you clutch at his wrists and beg, “peter, peter!” bcos you’re about to flood his face.

[songbirdreaped]

❝ i do, ❞ the brunette grinned as she looked at him, reaching her hand out to touch his for a moment and then pulling it away again. as the waitress placed down their food, lucy gray offered a smile toward her and thanked her. she began to start eating as coriolanus continued his thought, nodding along to what he was saying to her. ❝ darlin', i don't think that'll be any kind of issue. i might be too much for her, if anything. ❞ a soft chuckle escaped as she took a sip of her drink. ❝ it's okay, really if she gets excited and goes overboard, i like seeing people excited about their interests. ❞ nothing would be too much for her when she was typically considered too much herself.

"Thank you. You think so?" Head tilts with a smile twitching at his lips, of course... he knew so. But compliments to being eloquent with his vocabulary were even bigger to physical compliments. The waitress coming in between their conversation momentarily, placing down their items before leaving again. Coryo picks up where he left off, "I'm sure she'd like that, too. I'm certain it'll happen sooner than later." he can see Tigris all over the idea of meeting Lucy Gray, the idea of it makes him chuckle while he's grabbing for his fork and starting to cut into his banana and berry french toast. "Hopefully, she won't be too much. I'll warn her in ahead of time to not go too crazy just because she'll have a girl over, she loves to style new people in her designs and go overboard sometimes but she's harmless. She means well, just gets a little overly excited with her workshop and love for fashion."

[multi-fandom-imagine]

could I request one where reader tells Fred that she's pregnant and he gets a bit overprotective of her?

A/n: DAD!FRED

You’d been trying to find the right moment to tell Fred all day, but as usual, the Weasley twins had been busy causing mayhem in the shop. Every time you thought you had a second alone with him, someone would burst in needing something.

Finally, after the last customer left and George conveniently decided to “check inventory” in the back (which you highly suspected was his way of giving you privacy), you took a deep breath and turned to Fred.

“Fred,” you started, trying to steady your nerves.

He grinned, draping an arm around you. “Yes, love? What can I do for you? Want me to prank Percy again? Because I’d be delighted.”

You laughed but shook your head. “No, it’s… something else.”

Something about your tone made him sober up instantly. His playful smirk faded into concern, his eyes scanning your face. “You alright?”

You reached for his hand, squeezing it. “Yeah, I’m fine. Actually… I’m better than fine.” You took a deep breath and finally said the words. “I’m pregnant.”

For a moment, Fred just stared at you. His mouth opened, then closed, then opened again. It was like watching a broken puppet try to function.

“You’re… what?” he asked, voice higher than usual, your once confidant husband looked like he was hit with a Bludger. The man who survived the Battle of Hogwarts looked like he was two seconds away from keeling over.

You laughed softly, nodding. “Pregnant, Freddie.”

A slow, disbelieving grin spread across his face, but then—just as quickly—it shifted into something else. His hands suddenly hovered near you like he wasn’t sure if he should touch you.

“Merlin’s beard—okay, okay, sit down. You should be sitting.”

“Fred—”

“No, no, no, I mean it,” he said, ushering you toward the nearest chair. “You should be resting. Are you tired? You must be tired. You’re making a baby, that’s got to be exhausting....I... oh god." Fred gripped his hair now realizing how tired he must have made you.

You rolled your eyes as he kneeled in front of you, looking you over like you might break at any second.

“Fred, I’m fine.”

“Well, you won’t be if you keep standing around like that!” he insisted. “We need to get you something to eat. You’re eating properly, right? Oh, I need to tell Mum. She’ll know what to do. And Healer appointments—do we need to make one? When do we make one? You need to sit! Why are you standing! You shouldn't be standing."

You burst out laughing. “Fred, breathe!”

He sucked in a deep breath, exhaling slowly, but his eyes were still filled with excitement and overwhelming concern. “Okay. Right. I’m breathing. I’m calm.” He took another breath and then suddenly turned toward the back of the shop.

“OI GEORGE! SHE’S PREGNANT!”

You groaned, covering your face as George came running in, eyes wide. “Blimey, really?” He grinned at you before turning to Fred. “And you didn’t pass out? Proud of you, mate.”

Fred glared at his twin before turning back to you. “I swear, love, I’m going to take the best care of you. No heavy lifting, no stress, no....no nothing..but pure relaxation."

You sighed, already knowing that Fred was about to become the most overprotective man in existence. But as he kissed your forehead and pressed a hand gently against your stomach, his wide-eyed awe and love made your heart melt. A nervous smile on his lips as his he held you close, the man now guiding you to the back of the store to sit down.

Overprotective? Yes. But the love of your life was also about to be the best dad in the world.

[letstalkaboutfandomsbaby]

Omg, I read and reread your fitness influencer x chubby cooking influencer like five or six times already! Would you consider writing more parts to it, please?

Omg i would love to, lemme cook for a sec sksksk

CW: chubby fem cooking influencer reader x fitness influencer fave, fluff, smut, mentions of internet trolls being mean, not proofread i am sorry sksksk

So, chubby cooking influencer reader and fitness influencer

A match made in heaven tbh sksksk

But it's very normal at first! Like i said in my original post, reader and fitness influencer (i.e. your fave) just start the relationship with simple conversation

Your likes, dislikes, hobbies, interests, you chat about it all on social media!

His instagram has a lot of tagged photos of your recipes that he tries, as well as photos of him at the gym

His youtube is mostly vlogs of his days as an influencer and workouts and all that

He's always very good about tagging you, even if he just mentions your channel in passing, he's tagging you in the description AND comments

And you always thank him in his dms for tagging you

He starts expecting it now, seeing your notification and it brightens his day

He plays it cool tho, always thanking you in return and asking how your day is going

Which of course leads to conversations about other things (what did you do today, what did you eat, what are you up to)

He likes you, he really likes you

But he tries to be suave, just being nice at first, but he's always thinking of you tbh

At the gym, at home, when he's eating, in the shower, in bed 😏

He ends up jerking off to you quite a bit, though he won't admit it, he's too shy for that sksksk

He does ask about the general area you live in and gets excited when he finds out how close you are

Takes a lot of guts but he ends up asking you on a date, offering to pay for a nice meal and a movie if you want

Does a fist bump and jump when you accept sksksk

He dresses nice for your date, opting to wear dress pants and a tight button up shirt to show off his muscles

BUT YOU?? OMG YOU LOOK SO CUTE

You've got on a yellow sundress with flowers and white heels and a sun hat and he is just UGH so obsessed with you

Date goes well. He's happy to see you eating freely and without a care about how he may think, plus you get dessert and you lick cream off your lips and he has to excuse himself to go to the bathroom and calm himself down bc he got a boner 😔

Before the date ends, he asks you if you two can do this again, and you turn bashful

"You really want to hang out with me again??" you ask with big doe eyes

"Of course I do. I wanna date you, Y/N. And fuck you the way you deserve"

....is what he wishes he said sksksk

But instead he just nods, screaming inside bc you are honestly just so precious

You go on a second date, and a third, and a fourth and a fifth and honestly he is getting a little frustrated bc you have not even tried to hold his hand yet

He tried making the first move, but you're always just out of reach, just a little too far away from him to do anything

He agonizes over it a little bit, asking his gym bros what he should do

"Maybe she's just not into you dude"

"Just grab her and kiss her dude"

"I don't know man, i like men, not women"

They're no help tbh sksksk

He just decides to ask you on your next date and figure out why you won't initiate things with him

When he asks you, your eyes go wide and he thinks that if you could blush, your whole body would turn red

"What?! This whole time we've been going on dates?! I thought you just liked food as much as me and wanted to share it!"

He feels like he's gonna bang his head against a wall sksksk

TO BE FAIR! When he asks you out, he always refers to it as "hanging out" so you can't be blamed for getting confused

You decide to sit down with some ice cream and talk about how you both feel

He admits that he's been crushing on you for a while before you met and that he wanted to date you

You shyly admit that you find him very attractive but thought he was out of your league so you never considered that he could have feelings for you he's gonna crack his head open on the pavement omg sksksk

He reassures you that he genuinely likes you and is attracted to you and wants to have a romantic relationship with you

It's hard for you to believe, he's just so handsome and big and strong, is this real life or a dream??

You decide to let him prove it to you with more dates uwu

You start getting closer to him, letting him put his arm around around you, holding your hand

You're very anxious when he tries to kiss you, but once it happens it feels like fireworks are going off in your brain

You really like kissing him, just because he's always so gentle and he's so close and he's warm

You really, really like him 🥺

But don't worry sweet love, he likes you just as much if not more sksksk

He's so obsessed with you it's honestly kind of silly sksksk

He thinks about you all the time! And he wants to be with you all the time! He feels like he's gonna explode every time you show up to a date in a cute outfit!

He wants to make the relationship official and exclusive, so he asks to make a vlog with you

You agree! Not only do you think it would be good traction for your channel, but it would be nice to spend the day with him :)

You both bring your cameras on the day of the vlog!

You start by getting breakfast, showing off your coffees

He gets annoyed that you JUST have a coffee, but you swear it fills you up and he lets it slide as long as you eat a good lunch

Then you go to the gym together! You just hang out on the treadmill while he does his weight lifting

Tbh he's very distracted by your outfit, your leggings make your ass look so fucking good, and he would've been fucked if he didn't have a spotter

Then you go to lunch and you gush about the food and the restaurant and he's infatuated with you 💕

You turn the camera towards him and he's just got a lovesick look on his face

Then you go to a movie and then you go to his apartment for dinner!

You cook dinner together, making a meal that the both of you can enjoy, one that is nutritious AND delicious

You finish the vlog by showing off your finished plates and talking about what a fun day you had :)

You're ready to pack up your stuff and go home, but he asks if you'd like to stay and hang out a bit more

You oblige. You're dating now so it makes sense for yall to spend more time together

You decide to cuddle up and watch a movie, but 20 minutes in, you guys are making out on his couch sksksk

Things get hot and heavy pretty quick, and now his hand is going up your shirt and he's squeezing your waist and you start getting shy 😔

Does he really want you? Is he really interested in you? Is he sure that he wants you and your body?

But then your leg moves and rubs against his crotch and good lordy you can feel his boner 😳

Ok, goodbye insecurities, he's def into you and you're gonna get your man 😏

You go to the bedroom, undress, and oh boy he is enamored by you

Your breasts, your thighs, your BELLY?? You're gorg and he's obsessed

But he's not the only one drooling sksksk has he seen himself lately? He's sculpted like a god, you can't believe you scored a guy like him

AND NOT TO MENTION HIS COCK SKSKSK like that thing is long and thick, you're genuinely wondering if it's gonna fot

The two of you spend a good five minutes just staring at each other and complimenting each others' physiques

Eventually you get to the sex part sksksk but there's a lot of praise along the way

He's so cute the way he kisses down your body and spreads your legs and nuzzles into your mound

He's not too bad at giving head. You have to give him a little direction but he gets the hang of it and makes you cum

You admit that you're a little scared of sucking his dick so he doesn't make you, you just go to the main event

You're not sure if you should let him hit it raw but you're too impatient to let him get a condom, you're on birth control and you need that dick NOW

He slides in very easily, you are unbelievably wet and oh my god, if he doesn't focus then he'll cum so easily

He fits inside you so well, filling you up just right without any pain

It's such a good fit, his cock feels soooooo good inside you

And then he starts thrusting and all bets are off

The sex is so fucking good, oh my GOD

He just keeps hitting your sweet spots and rubbing your clit and oh god you're cumming already

Your cunt squeezes him so deliciously and you're so pretty and cute when you cum and holy fuck the noises you make are just sinful and he needs to slow down bc if he doesnt he's not gonna last long

He makes you cum three times before he pulls out and cums all over your tummy

Thinks you look so cute covered in his cum 🥴

He ends up cleaning you off with his tongue which just makes you needy again and you ask him oh so sweetly if he can fuck you one more time and whoops now his cock is hard again, guess he's gotta fuck you 🤷‍♀️

You guys go at it all night, eventually showering and going to bed around 4am

Of course you sleep over, ain't no way in hell he's letting you leave after all that

You sleep in together and when you wake up he makes you breakfast 🥺💕

He uploads his vlog after editing it the next day, and you upload yours

Your comments are very sweet at first, congratulating you on your new relationship with this other influencer

But then they turn mean :( people start to say that you're not good enough for him, why is he even with you, he should be with this other fitness influencer instead :(

He is pissed. His fans are attacking you on your page 😡

He makes a video the next day and posts it where he explains that he loves you and is happy with you and that until the hate comments stop, he will not be posting on his page

He helps you delete and mute and block and filter comments and users

He's very upset about this entire experience

"I guess you don't want to be with me anymore, huh?" you ask

He's offended and hurt!

"Why would you say that?"

"Well, you saw what they said. Maybe you should be with someone better..."

"What are you talking about? I love you, Y/N. You're perfect for me and I don't want anyone else. Do you just not want to be with me?"

"No! I do! I just... worry that I'm not good enough for you..."

He grabs your hands and makes you look at him

"Y/N, you are perfect to me. I couldn't ask for anyone better. I love you and I want to be with you. Please don't let these trolls dictate your life."

You're still hurt by the comments, but your feelings for him overpower the negative things you're feeling

You keep dating, and as time goes on, you care less and less about the comments that were made about your relationship

You continue with your channel and vlogs with him and enjoy your life

You still get backlash every now and then from obsessed friends, but when that happens, you just turn your computer off and go on about your day

Negativity can really affect your life, but he's always there to cheer you up and fuck you stupid so you forget all those mean comments sksksk

You become the "it" couple in the fitness and cooking communities, everyone thinks you're so so cute together and such a good match, so fuck those online trolls! Your cooking besties and his gym bros love you two together and that's all that matters 💕

I imagine he proposes after a year of dating, not wanting to waste any more time without you

He proposes at your favorite restaurant, but you say no :(

To be fair, your reasons are justified. You guys have rarely had arguments, you haven't gone through many trials in your life, you don't even live together! How can you be sure that he's the one when you haven't truly struggled with him yet?

He understands, although he's diappointed 😔

On the bright side, you suggest moving in to an apartment together once your leases are up! And he's very happy about that :)

You guys adopt some kitty cats after you move in together! You adopt two kittens from the same litter and you love them so so much, they often appear in your vlogs and sometimes you do cat reviews like on cat trees and toys and stuff

He encourages you to go to the gym for health reasons, but he doesn't push it. He just wants you to take care of yourself so you can be around for as long as possible 💕

He's gained a little bit of pudge! He's still strong as hell, but he's got a little layer of fat over some of his muscles like his abs, he's just not as sculpted now

It's bc he can't resist your food sksksk

But you're still very attracted to him so he doesn't care so much

Overall, beautiful love story, match made in heaven 💕

[treatbuckywkisses]

The yearning and tension are so well written:( this made my tummy hurt in the best way😭😭 all mixed in with a very enticing side story this was so incredible it felt like I was really there in the room !!!! 

     Your stomach twisted at the words, the culpability of your actions threatening to eat away at it. Even after everything you said, even after running away from him and deserting him at the fair, he still only wanted to know you were safe. There were so many things you wanted to say. Nothing, however, was a good enough response in your mind. There was nothing you could say that wouldn’t leave a door open for more. No matter what you told him it would either crush his heart or give him hope.      You didn’t dare do either. :( when we start with the angst it really gets me😭 the last part of this is SO good 

     Natasha sighed, her lips in a tight line,” Y/n, you’re joking right? You two have already been something more to each other for a long time now. Please, none of us are blind to how you two favor each other over the rest of us.” You took a second to let her words sink in. idiots in love 💕 I'm a SUCKER 

     But in this case, it was okay, because at least in this case you were the bad guy. You were the heartbreaker and everyone can hate you. No one has to pick sides because you made it easy for them to choose Bucky, and you were okay with that.  baby:( this paragraph punched me in the gut so hard

     Bucky was one of those people. When your eyes locked as you looked out into the sea of the trial audience he sent you a small smile and gave you an encouraging nod. That was all you needed to knock your closing statement out of the park. UGH WHEN IS THE LOVE COMING I'M SICK THEY ARE SO IDIOTS IN LOVE😭😭

     “You’re scared of things changing, but can't you see they already did?” iconic nat always so smart

     There was a slight shifting sound on the other side of the door before he spoke, “Look, these past few weeks I tried really hard to push my feelings away, but I was only getting more frustrated with myself. In pushing my feelings away, I pushed you away and I don’t want that. I miss you,” his voice broke toward the end and he paused before continuing, “I want you—no, I need you to be a part of my life even if it's just as friends. Y/n, don't think for one second I regret taking you on that date because I don’t, but I can’t keep going on acting like we don’t know each other anymore.” shutup im crying:( this is sooooo precious:(((((( my heart is HURTING for him

     You were in love with Detective James Buchanan Barnes. GOOD YES FINALLY😭😭😭😭 IT'S LIKE I CAN BREATHE AGAIN

      The cookies were to sweeten up your apology, which was a long thought-out one you wrote in the notes app on your phone before going to bed. It could honestly rival any speeches you had ever given in court. so relatable (I live in my notes app) 

     The apologies, the loneliness, the anger, the sadness, the frustration, and everything in between melted away leaving only the love that was blossoming between you two behind. I love angst with a happy ending ( this made me physically ill and if I didn't read love soon I would DIE ) this is so cute I love them: ( even though it hurt

love them love you🫶🏻

Conflict of Interest - II

Pairing: Detective!Bucky Barnes x Lawyer!Reader

Summary: After deserting Bucky at the fair, you are left dealing with the consequences. This becomes difficult as you are all assigned to a new case. 

Word Count: 8.5k

Warning(s): crime show level of violence / homicide investigation details / drinking / angst / fluff / mentions of a car accident and injuries, but no major details / slight cursing / anxiety / overthinking / insecurities / lots of back and forth / misunderstandings / angst with a happy ending 

a/n: It has been a while, but part 2 of this beautiful duo is finally out! ❤️ I hope the length of part 2 can make up for how long it took me to finally finish writing it. It’s angsty with a happy ending, although the happy ending doesn’t come so easily. 👀 Thank you for reading! ❤️ Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated!! 💕

➵ Prequel Drabble // ➵ Part I 

     You tossed and turned in your bed once more, the sunlight peeking through your blinds, disturbing your sleep. The events of last Saturday weighed heavy on you. So much so, that you hadn’t gone to work in the past two days—today would be the third. You claimed you came down with the flu, putting on the best performance you could when Natasha called you. You were never able to lie to her face, but over the phone wasn’t as hard. Eventually, however, you would have to go back. 

     Eventually, you would have to face him. 

     Bucky called you a few times that night after you deserted him at the fair. The guilt set in almost immediately and you were too ashamed to answer him. You managed to read one message before silencing all of the notifications on your phone.

     Can you at least let me know you got home safely?

Keep reading

[aettuddae]

business matter — chapter 141.

↳ synopsis: two of the most important kpop companies covet a partnership with a huge global brand, only to be surprised when the deal is extended to both labels. fearing potential sabotage and cynical strategies to secure exclusivity for just one of them, both CEOs resort to desperate measures. in a bid to maintain trust and prevent betrayal before the signing, they come up with a pact: forcing a fake relationship between the leaders of their star girlgroups. if one side attempted to fail the other, they threaten to expose it all to the conservative south korea.

masterlist | prev | next

[written chapter]

[warning: smut 🧍]

serim and jimin got into the car, the latter slamming the door and with an expression that denoted annoyance everywhere you looked. she was quiet, but grumbled with intentions of letting the other woman notice her discomfort. she grabbed the seat belt and tugged at it with annoyance as she put it on.

"jimin, can you stop trying to wreck my car?" finally spoke serim with a kind tone. "i know you're mad about yeeun-"

"i'm not mad about yeeun." she interrupted, her attitude cold. "in fact, i couldn't care less about yeeun."

"baby." the older one leaned down to put her hand on her thigh, stroking her skin with her thumb trying to soothe her.

"don't 'baby' me." she interrupted her before she could say anything else, mimicking the way she called her.

"okay." she watched her tenderly and patiently. "jimin." she called her again.

"what, namu? what?" she asked frustrated.

"i don't feel anything for yeeun." she clarified.

"i'm not interested." she pushed the girl's hand away from her leg, her eyebrows furrowed in anger.

"clearly you're interested because otherwise, you wouldn't be like this." she reasoned, moving the hand she had pushed up to the back of her neck, squeezing her fingers gently as if she were massaging her.

"i'm not like this because of you." she didn't even look at her and her sentences came out forcefully, the way you speak when every word is laced with anger.

"then what's bothering you?" she raised her tone to a sharper one speaking ironically because she didn't believe her. "tell me so we can work it out." she looked at her amused knowing that no excuse would be good enough.

"can you leave me alone and drive?" she pointed to the steering wheel and then brought her hands to her face to rub it wearily.

"fine." she put on her seat belt. "i'll take you home." she wanted to play with her until she admitted the reason for her discomfort.

"to my place?" that wasn't what they had agreed on.

"you're mad at me." she explained simply, a calmness that was beginning to eat away at karina's insides. "i don't think you want to stay with me in this state."

"the plan was to sleep together." she watched her in bewilderment.

"jimin." she started the car. "not like this." she shook her head.

"turn off the car." she ordered, but the older girl ignored her because she thought she was being dramatic. "namu, turn off the car." she reiterated in an exclamation.

"are you going to calm down?" she obeyed and turned the key to the opposite side. "or are you going to continue with that attitude?" she glared at her, her eyes already beginning to expose the exhaustion this situation was generating in her.

"how can i not be angry?" she said reluctantly. "you bring me to a place where your ex-girlfriend is and i have to watch her rub up against you all night." she brought her gaze forward, staring at the parking lot wall as she let out a deep sigh. "it was our first event as a couple." she mentioned, disappointment in her voice. "or as whatever we are."

"baby." she gave her cheek a caress. "i didn't know yeeun would be here." she justified. "but the moment i saw her i told her i was with you." she assured. "yes, she was drunk and too fond of me-"

"don't remind me." she rubbed her temple pressing a little hard against the jadedness.

"but i kept pushing her away and reminding her that i was with you." she added softly trying to show her that there was nothing to worry about. "i haven't felt anything for her for years." she made it clear again. "no approach from her made me feel anything, i love you." she took her hand gently and lifted it to leave a kiss on the back of it.

"i know." she sighed. "you don't need to tell me, i already know." she redirected the hand serim was holding to rest her palm on her leg. "but i just hate seeing you around other girls." she confessed laden with row. "and yeeun is your ex-girlfriend." she squeezed the older girl's thigh as a result of her annoyance. "she's already hugged you, kissed you, seen you naked." she bit her lip, her eyebrows still a sign of her emotions.

"but it hasn't been that way for a long time now." she let her touch fall on the hand the contrarian held over her. "and now i want you to do those things." she leaned in to leave a kiss on her cheek.

"it drove me crazy all night." she commented, now speaking as she had a pout on her lips. "but the worst moment was when she sat on your lap." she reminded overwhelmed. "i'm going to sound crazy, but i fantasized about pulling her off you by the hair." she laughed wickedly.

"you are crazy, my love." she confirmed, laughing with her, a little terrified. "and delusional." she added. "with those little hands of yours do you think you could hurt anyone?" she pointed to said parts of her body, laughing even more at the idea.

"they're the hands i touch myself with when i think of you." she let out with complete seriousness, her eyes locked on serim's as if she was expectant of her reaction. "i have no problem with them for that."

"jimin, what?" her breathing had stopped in her throat due to the unsettled she had been at what the opposite had said, she turned a little back to her seat so she could see her face well waiting in case she started to laugh and prove it's a joke, but she was serene. "do you touch yourself thinking about me?" she resumed, she didn't know what to say.

"namu." her touch on her thigh began to rise leisurely. "you are mine, you know that, don't you?" her gaze was penetrating, the kind where you feel that the other is really seeing you, that they want to tell you something with their eyes.

"of course i know." in her orbs you could see the anticipation of what was about to happen.

"only mine." she stated, causing the oldest to slowly nod her head. "let's get it straight."

karina ran down what was left of untouched leg until she reached as high up as she could, to the point where serim's leg ended, her crotch covered by her clothing. she gave her a blank stare, as if asking for permission, and while their eyes were silently connected, she lifted her fingers a little being able to brush her fingertips over the area she really wanted to get to.

"jimin." she cocked her head as if warning her of possible danger, but the younger girl didn't care.

"namu." she replied defiantly.

the blackhaired girl turned back to her seat to quickly detach her seatbelt which had had no use as the car had not moved, turned to her partner and leaning on the steering wheel of the idle car propelled herself, rising from her seat and swinging her leg over the girl so as to sit on her lap. she moved back a little until her back was pressed against the wheel and she was over the girl's knees, leaving a small space between them where her hand conveniently fit perfectly. wordlessly, under the watchful eye of a serim who was still trying to process what was happening, she darted to one of the sides looking for the lever that tilted the driver's seat back, pulling it slightly once she found it, causing the chair to recline and thus finally pouncing on jang to capture her lips.

the kiss was desperate, frantic, charged with need and anger. jimin was angry, as her lips intertwined with her girl's, the image of her ex touching her, climbing on top of her, seeking her kisses ate her, burned her. she wanted serim to get things clear, to determine what kind of person she was and how she would react if something like this happened again, that she didn't like it, that she was hers.

serim was out of place, she hadn't had that kind of contact with jimin in a while and at that moment she wasn't expecting it at all, leaning back against the backrest she clasped her hands around the younger girl's waist, holding her tightly to keep her in the position she was in. she gave in to the kiss with pleasure, she would never object to kissing the woman she loved, not even in a public parking lot.

they both ate each other's mouths fiercely, quickly, the kind of desperation that desire brings. jimin's tongue gave a small lick to serim's lower lip asking her permission to enter, to which the contrary granted her the act thus initiating a battle for dominance between the two. the younger woman's hands began to wander from her partner's jaw heading down, past her shoulders and down her arms, taking her hands as she reached them and positioning them on her thighs, because she knew she liked them. after taking her woman's touch to her legs, she brought her palms to her chest to begin to feel her torso patiently moving slowly down to her abdomen where she paused for a second to touch. she continued her way down to the edge of her pants, holding them between her fingertips, moving them tantalizingly as a smile tugged against serim's mouth.

"what are you planning, baby?" serim broke off slightly to ask in a whisper.

jimin just bit her lower lip as she smiled.

she connected her lips with the girl's again, but this time slowly, calmly, a caress between their mouths, but the kind of caresses you give to skin when you have nothing covering it, the intimate kind that no one is allowed to see. she held the edge of serim's pants securely so she could grab the button and pull it loose, causing serim to gasp for air through her nose. the blackhaired grabbed the zipper and started to slowly pull it down giving her room so she could slip in.

she pulled serim's pants down as far as she could and gradually slipped her hand into her underwear, deep down, until she reached her lower lips. she gave a gentle caress as they kissed each other slowly. as she felt the touch on her core serim couldn't resist the urge to dig her nails into the skin of jimin's bare legs who was wearing a dress.

she subtly moved up and down her fingers without putting them in yet, drawing low sighs from serim's lips, who struggled to concentrate on the kiss when in reality she wanted to fully feel the hand exploring her intimacy.

jimin cut the kiss short to stare into serim's eyes as she parted her lower lips with her fingertips to enter a finger that would then wander along the expanse of serim's pussy, doing it once, a second and a third time. serim wasn't the type to moan, so heavy sighs escaped her lips each time the girl played with her as she did.

although she couldn't hold back a soft whimper when karina started to make circles on her clit. at a slow pace, as if she wanted to torture her, she seemed not to remember that it was all happening in a public space and that if she didn't hurry they could get caught. but serim wouldn't stop her even being aware of that. she couldn't. it felt good, how could it not feel good. the girl she loved had her fingers in her pants.

jimin added one more finger and rubbed the girl's center with them, making little circles that had the oldest moving her waists against her hand slyly.

even for lovemaking she didn't like to give jimin the upper hand, but she was enjoying it.

the younger one probed the area again covering it with her fingers so she could reach the hole that begged for her, with the tip of her index finger teasing and playing with it, barely dipping it, barely leaving the surface. it was so wet and wanting that jimin couldn't help the feeling of fulfillment. she loved remembering the power she had over serim, how much she loved and needed her.

"jimin." muttered jang, as if she was nagging at her.

"don't call me jimin." she teased, a pout on her lips.

"my love." she corrected.

"what do you need, my namu?" her hand kept circling her entrance without giving in yet. she loved playing with her.

"put them in." she demanded, her gaze serious, her eyes slightly squinted.

"what do you need, my namu?" she cocked her head to the side feigning confusion.

serim sat up, her legs as wide as they could be with jimin on her knees, giving her room to do whatever she wanted, she raised her hand quickly and grabbed the girl by the hair to pull it, causing her head to throw back a bit, the act was a bit brutish, but serim knew yu wouldn't mind and confirmed it with the moan that escaped the girl's lips. "stop fucking around and finger me, my love." she reiterated in a sarcastic tone.

jimin could try all she wanted to have control over serim, but deep down she knew she was a sucker for her, that as much as she enjoyed fighting her and taking things out on her, she lived to do whatever she asked of her. because she loved her, loved her in ways she didn't understand, and wanted to give her all of herself.

but she was still angry, she still saw yeeun every time she closed her eyes and jealousy was the only feeling almost as strong as all the love she felt for serim, forcing her to remember whose woman she was and why no one else could touch her. she regained her composure and made enough strength to straighten her head again, causing serim to let go of her hair and before her palm could begin to slide down her back, karina had already pushed her back against the backrest and succumbed to her desires.

she inserted a finger into her clenching hole, everything else she had done calmly, but now she had no patience, taking advantage of the dripping fluids to insert it cleanly all the way in.

serim closed her eyes and arched her back a little at the intruder in her body, opening her mouth without a sound, but all her body language was enough to know that she had given her a wave of pleasure that crashed against her whole body. at a not so fast pace, jimin began to move it outward and inward.

"i told you my fingers work wonders." she said as she moved into the girl's pussy, gentle thrusts at a steady pace. they weren't serim's fine, veiny, long-fingered hands, which just thinking about them already felt like her own pussy was dripping, but they were giving her the pleasure she wanted.

"you're so full of yourself." replied the oldest laughing, but interrupting herself with the gasping breath she couldn't hold as she was being fucked by jimin.

karina added a second finger, feeling serim's walls contract around these, wanting to trap them so she wouldn't come out of her until she came in them. serim bit her lip as her hips pushed against the opposite hand in search of more contact in a way she could no longer disguise.

"baby." she let out with the air that escaped her at the thrusts from the youngest, her pussy throbbed at the situation, the touches that were now firm and more continuous, the way jimin was playing with her entrance with her fingers that were making her see lights while her eyes were kept closed to enjoy the world of sensations she was feeling.

still lost in the touch of the younger one, serim had the strength to detach her claws from her girl's legs and moved her caresses up them until she reached the edge of her dress, she wanted to lift it, but with her free hand jimin stopped her, pushing them away.

"let me please you." jang pleaded with her gaze locked on her thighs.

"this is about you." she threw her body forward coming within inches of her lips. "do you want to please me?" she left a chaste kiss on her mouth. "choke me." she ordered.

and serim didn't need to be told twice, she took advantage of the closeness between their bodies to raise her arm and capture karina's neck between her fingers, squeezing hard, biting with intensity as she watched her eyes roll back as she felt the contact. for a moment she even felt her thrusts stop as she succumbed to the lust she felt at being deprived of air by those hands she fantasized about when she was alone, but quickly and under her girl's oxygen restriction, she resumed the movement, now not only moving frantically inside the older woman but also rubbing her palm against her clit, exerting pressure on it with each lunge.

serim had two fingers stretching her hole as they fastly pushed in, apart from feeling the stimulation in her center, her head was on either side, blinded by passion and pleasure, as she tried to remember to keep the strength on the younger's neck. jimin's fingers slid as far in as they would go and slid out and back in as fast as they could.

serim let go of karina's neck making the girl whine, but quickly shut her up by slipping the same amount of fingers that were fucking her pussy, but inside her mouth, to which the blackhaired had no more complaints as she started licking and sucking them without thinking about it much.

but nothing could distract her from her work inside her girl's underwear, her fingers went back and forth inside her while serim no longer controlled her hips that begged for release, pushing against her hand, fucking herself against it, her breathing agitated and some low, almost inaudible whimpers were coming from her lips.

jimin could feel her fingers being squeezed inside the girl whose pussy pulsed uncontrollably and she knew she wouldn't last much longer so she increased the speed of her thrusts as much as she could helping her reach orgasm.

serim's ears suddenly heard nothing anymore and her hand that was still in jimin's mouth suddenly fell out of it. her back that had arched fully during her climax became discontracted, her eyes remained closed and her mouth went from biting tensely due to the desperation she had felt to cum to being slightly open to catch her breath.

she had to stop smoking.

jimin was also agitated and took that moment to relax and breathe, while looking tenderly at her partner. she carefully pulled her hand out, causing a startle in serim as she removed her fingers from inside her and immediately brought them to her mouth to clean them with her tongue. act that serim opened her eyes to watch attentively.

"if you keep doing that i'll be the one who will have to fuck you." spoke the oldest lost in the way both digits went in and out of karina's lips.

"then let's go home so you can fuck me." she replied simply.

(!)

— taglist [CLOSED]: @yoontoonwhs @cwpiqwon @aliceiwk @xen248 @gtfoiydlyj @rinapomu @aeriuchinarga @multiliker @somedaydream @impossiblesharkcashrebel @yjiminswallet @nwjnsloona @yerimbrit @73vyn @dni-unavailable @yizhuobberi @sewiouslyz @yeetaberry127 @masuowo @yallatalla @chaenniefirst @minfolio @starrynini05 @hotluvlet @wmnrhot @mineige @lisaswifey @brocoliisscared @fae-the-wanderer @vivilvr

[fallenclan]

Do you think you could add Sleepydawn’s Journey to tumblr to make it easier?

sure :)

Sleepydawn's Journey

“This is it.” Tangletail turned to look at him, her green eyes glossy but unsympathetic. “End of the line, Sleepydawn.”

A thousand rebuttals bunched on the end of Sleepydawn’s tongue. For you, maybe. Or This won’t be the last time you see me. Possibly even something as simple as, You’ll regret this.

Sleepydawn said nothing. Tail dragging on the ground, he turned away from his clanmates and stepped across the border. 

He felt their eyes watching him as he went, as the ground turned from soft grass to hard dirt to even harder black stone. He itched to turn back, shoot them a glare or just soak in a final look at his clan. It’s in his nature to be impulsive. But where had impulsivity gotten him?

He rounded the corner of a twoleg nest, and then he was gone.

It was then, and only then, that he stopped, sitting hard on his rump in the narrow gap between structures. It smelled there--like rotting vegetation and some unique twoleg stench, but he had bigger problems than whatever odors he’d have to wash off his fur later. 

What would he do now?

He wasn’t a Fallenclan cat anymore. Not even a warrior. Maybe he could be, if he traveled around the territories--to Cricketclan, Gooseclan, Shallowclan, even. They weren’t even far, all things considered, and most of them would probably accept a new warrior, but the idea of belonging to a different clan, a clan besides his own, soured his stomach. He wasn’t meant to live in a swamp, or a dense forest, to live in nests made of reeds and moss. 

He wasn’t meant to be a loner, either, and yet…

He could wait for Levi. Levi, who was Ravenstar’s right hand, his deputy, should by all accounts be Sleepydawn’s leader now, even if he wasn’t Fallenclan’s. He could wait for Levi to join him, and Patchback, and whoever else as an outsider (If Wolfbite doesn’t kill them, first), and then… what? Start a new clan? How was that different from joining one that already exists?

Fallenclan was Sleepydawn’s home. That was who he was. Did Levi really mean anything to him outside of that?

Perhaps it was a question for a better day. Now, Sleepydawn was tired, and he was going to need to eat soon, even if he wasn’t hungry. Wolfbite had offered him a piece of prey from the fresh-kill pile before he left, and he’d refused, blinded by anger and despair and grief. He didn’t know what he’d be able to find in twolegplace, but there was no harm in looking. Hunting might help clear his mind, anyway.

Sleepydawn stepped further into twolegplace, and began his first day as a loner.

. . .

Twolegplace was. Different.

He’d been there before. As an apprentice, in any of his spare time he didn’t spend training, he liked to wander. Not far, of course, usually not more than a tree length in, knowing that twolegplace was dangerous and not for clan cats to explore, anyway, but enough to get a decent look at what the place had to offer.

Or so he had thought, anyway.

The place seemed devoid, at first, of anything but twolegs and monsters. They stalked around their flat, grassy patches of land outside, peered at him through the holes in their nests. Very few spared him more than a glance--just a couple of kits that crouched their long legs and made noises like a broken hiss-- pspspspsps.

He ran off quickly after that.

And the monsters, of course. They were everywhere. Mostly asleep, thank the stars, either resting on those patches of smooth black or silver stone, or tucked inside perfectly sized nooks in the twoleg nests. The ones that were awake slowly prowled up and down the rocky pathways, growling and rumbling all the while. Sleepydawn gave them a good berth, knowing that they wouldn’t stray from their marked walkways, on edge despite his knowledge. If nothing else, their constant noise made it difficult to listen for other dangers.

After a long while of aimless wandering, though, he found that perhaps twolegplace wasn’t as devoid of life as he thought. 

There were birds everywhere. Just as abundant as they were in the mountains, maybe more. They seemed drawn to these odd little twoleg structures that seemed to be filled with seeds and nuts--perhaps something to lure them out of hiding so that the twolegs could catch a meal? It was smart, but if that was the case why didn’t he see any twolegs hunting them? Rather, most twolegs seemed to give the things a decent berth, as if perhaps they didn’t want to frighten the birds away. The birds didn’t seem too startled, anyhow, like they were used to the twolegs wandering nearby. Probably they were.

There wasn’t a lot of ground prey, besides a few lizards and squirrels, but those all scattered before Sleepydawn could get close, not yet trying to catch something now that he knew it wouldn’t be too hard to find a meal when he was ready. 

There were other animals too, not just twolegs and prey. Cats--a not-insignificant amount of them, lounging on sunny rocks, or inside twoleg nests, but more importantly…

Dogs.

Inside twoleg nests. Bound to twolegs by long tethers. Barely trapped in big, wooden enclosures. The fur on the back of Sleepydawn’s neck raised, the old injury on his leg aching. 

He didn’t like dogs. Hadn’t for a long while now.

He did what he could to avoid them, and began to look in earnest for a meal.

. . . 

Sleepydawn knew the story of his grandfather, okay?

Otterslip. Born an outsider, adopted by the clan leader and the deputy, raised a warrior. Adopted kits of his own. Lost one. Lost his mind. Killed the medicine cat. Got exiled.

Sleepydawn was not his grandfather. But he’s not his father, either.

His father, Sleepycloud. His namesake. Born to Bluefern, Evie, and Newtscar, grew up to be one of the greatest warriors the clan had ever seen, scarred in valiant battle in the war against Shallowclan, drowned trying to save Foxdust. Spent every living (and dying) moment being a hero.

Sleepydawn wasn’t like him. Maybe it wasn’t a good thing, like he’d always told himself it was.

He wanted to be different. He wanted to be different in a good way. Stronger, more heroic, more valorous. Maybe he could make deputy, where Sleepycloud never could.

Looking at himself, trying to sleep uneasily in twoleg territory, belly full of outsider prey, exiled from his clan, perhaps Sleepydawn was more like his grandfather than he realized.

. . .

Sleepydawn rose with the sun the next morning, leg aching from an uncomfortable rest underneath a bush, and began to walk. 

He didn’t have a destination, really--he just knew that with each breath he took so close to Fallenclan territory, yet forbidden from entering it, he felt sick. Like he ate something rotten, and he couldn't get his mind away from the heavy, nauseating feeling in his stomach. He needed distance, now, more than anything.

Maybe not more than food. Despite his nausea, he was starving.

If he were still with Fallenclan, he’d go to the freshkill pile and pick out something from last night. It’d be a bit stale, and cold, but filling, and it would give him the energy to go catch something fresher, or to go mark the border and pick out something fresher when he got home. Now, there was no freshkill pile, no border, no patrol. It was just Sleepydawn and his grumbling belly.

He found and caught a squirrel without much trouble. It was difficult, when he was already hungry and still groggy from sleep without Hazelthorn or Frecklefox or Ashblink to groom his pelt and make fun of him when he’s tired and incoherent--think about something else.

It was difficult, when he was already hungry and still groggy from sleep, but he managed, and the fresh taste of prey-blood on his tongue was worth it, sweet and nourishing. He swiped his tongue over his lips, but didn’t get the chance to eat any before a voice piped up.

“Wow, that was great!”

He was bristling immediately, whipping around with a hiss. The grassy enclosure had reeked of kittypet already, layers and layers of scent, like a territory, so he hadn’t noticed the cat approaching. She was sitting primly next to the entryway of the twoleg nest, ears twitching. A lithe brown tabby, with a green collar.

“I’ve never been able to catch a squirrel before,” She chirped, unaffected by his hiss. “I mean, I’ve gotten lizards and baby birds and things, but never anything like that.”

Sleepydawn bared his teeth. “I’m not sharing.”

The kittypet looked a bit disappointed, but not necessarily surprised. “That’s alright, I just ate. I’m Katie, what’s your name?”

“None of your business.”

“That’s a weird name. Nice to meet you, Noneofyourbusiness!”

For a second, he was appalled at her stupidity, but then he saw the mischievous gleam in her eye, and it turned to anger. He wanted to swipe at her face, or spit, or just scare her off, but he saw the skinny, leggy look to her, and the size of her eyes and ears. She wasn't much older than a kitten, maybe seven moons old, and Sleepydawn wasn't so cruel that he’d attack one that young, or that untrained. He gritted his teeth through the anger and picked up the squirrel, making to leave.

“Wait!” Katie cried. “I’m sorry, I’m just kidding around. Are you new to the neighborhood? I haven’t seen you around before.”

Sleepydawn stared for a second, then reluctantly dropped his prey. “I’m not a kittypet.”

A frown. “What?”

“I don’t live with twolegs.” He snarled. “I don’t stay in a nest or let them pet me with their awful naked paws.”

“Oh, you’re a stray.” Katie blinked. “Or- are you feral? You don’t like housefolk at all, huh?”

He huffed an angry breath. “Obviously.”

“Katie!”

There was another kittypet. No collar, but he could smell the stench of twolegs clinging to every fur on her pelt. She was mostly black, with a white muzzle, paws, and underbelly. Crouched on the wooden wall, she looked down on the both of them with fear.

“Katie, get away from him!”

“It’s okay, Socks, he’s nice!” Katie chirped. “Or, well, he’s actually pretty crabby, but still. He’s just feral.”

“He’s not just feral,” Socks hisseed. “He’s a mountain cat, Katie.”

Now Katie began to bush up, her eyes going wide. She looked at Sleepydawn and slowly took a few steps back.

Good, he thought vindictively. They should be scared.

Sleepydawn bared his teeth a little at the both of them, hoping that the squirrel-blood from earlier was still clinging to his gums. He wasn’t sure if it was or not, but they both shrank away anyway, bristling and tense.

“I’ll be leaving now,” Sleepydawn spat, tilting his head up a bit to glare. “Unless you want to talk more.”

“No,” Katie mewed softly. “I’m sorry for bothering you.”

Sleepydawn huffed, picked the squirrel up in his mouth, and hopped over the wooden wall.

He ate his breakfast behind another twoleg nest a bit further away, but it didn’t taste as good as it did before. He told himself it was just because it’s cooled, now, and wasn’t quite as fresh, but there was a small, quiet part of him that whispered food always tastes better with company.

He bitterly told the voice to shut up, and took another bite.

. . . 

The sun sets, and rose again. Sleepydawn had to assume he was on the other side of the twolegplace, now. It was a long, long ways away from home, but. Not far enough. It was there that he had his second encounter with kittypets.

He was in one of those grassy enclosures behind a twoleg nest. He’d crossed so many by now, wanting to avoid the stone pathways outside where the monsters roamed. He stayed on top of the wooden walls, mostly, but this enclosure had a bit of water in it, and his mouth was dry.

Halfway through drinking, he heard pawsteps behind him.

Choking on water, Sleepydawn was off like a startled rabbit, tearing at the ground under his paws. There was heavy breathing behind him, growling, and then a few barks. It wasn’t a huge dog. It was smaller than the one that Sleepydawn nearly lost his leg to.

But he couldn’t think.

Riddled with fear like a bug-chewed leaf, Sleepydawn ran for the first familiar thing he saw--a tree--and scrambled up it, hearing teeth snap at his heels, just narrowly missing his tail as he shot up the trunk. He got halfway before he could convince himself it's far enough, trembling and breathing heavily.

Below, in the enclosure, a twoleg burst out of the nest, growling and barking back at the dog in its own clumsy language. It grabbed the beast by its collar and dragged it backwards. Just as the two disappeared inside, another form slipped out.

Sleepydawn barely noticed. All he registered was that the dog is gone, he was safe, the dog was gone-

He was having trouble breathing.

“All right up there?” Called a voice, croaky with age.

Sleepydawn crushed his eyes shut, gripping the branch under his claws with a vicious force. The dog is gone, the dog is gone, the dog is gone.

A sigh, faint. “I’m too old for this.”

Sleepydawn didn’t register the cat crawling up the tree, not even when they settled next to him. Long fur, gray, maybe, a stench of twolegs. Sleepydawn was trembling too hard to notice.

“Calm down.” A tongue rasped reluctantly over his head, face, ears. It was a familiar gesture, and he relaxed into it a little--flashing back to when he was a tiny kit and Ivybounce would do the same to him, laughing and calling him Sleepykit, my little sleepy kit, when he would yawn and complain.

“You’re alright.” The grooming paused when the cat spoke, then continued. “Deep breaths, son.”

Sleepydawn snapped back to reality abruptly. He was a warrior, crouched in a tree shaking with fear from a dog while a kittypet calmed him down. As if he couldn’t be any more of a failure. With a snarl, he snapped his teeth at the kittypet until they draw back.

“Ungrateful little shit, aren’t you?” The cat huffed, not looking particularly alarmed, just ticked off. “Saved you from panicking out of your skin and that’s what you give me?”

“I wasn’t panicking,” Sleepydawn lied, fur bristling along his spine even more than it already was. “I’m a warrior.”

“Mountain cat, huh?” The kittypet scoffed. “Met one of you once when I was young. Not so scary. That how you got your scar? Battle?”

Sleepydawn glances down at his scarred leg. The fur is parted oddly all down that limb, awkwardly trying to grow around the thick pink tissue. Ravenstar had called it a mark of a true warrior. Sleepydawn called it painful.

“A dog.” He answered without thinking.

“That explains it.” The kittypet shook their head. “Listen, it’s late, you’re clearly exhausted. Stay here and I’ll bring you something to eat.”

“I don’t want your kittypet food.”

“How about a bird, then?” The kittypet chuckled a little when they saw the hungry look on Sleepydawn’s face. “That’s what I thought. I’ll be back.”

He told himself he’d climb down and run the moment that the kittypet disappeared, but he found his body strangely shaky and weak. He spent a few minutes trying to gather the strength, and then the kittypet was returning, sitting on the grass below with an oriole in their jaws.

“Dinner,” They called. “Hop down into the yard, the dog is locked inside now.”

Sleepydawn swallowed. His voice was uncharacteristically weak when he meowed, “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. And anyway, Buttercup is no wild dog. She likes to chase, but wouldn’t know what to do if she caught anything. You ever catch her chasing you again, just give her a scratch on the nose and she’ll head home.”

Sleepydawn reluctantly chose to trust the kittypet for now (not that he had much of a choice), and climbed down from the tree, only a bit shaky when he landed. The kittypet dropped the oriole in front of him and didn't speak until Sleepydawn started to eat.

“My name is Dust Bunny,” they said. It was a bit of an odd name, but it was clanlike, and it made a part of Sleepydawn relax. “You can call me Dusty if you want. This is my housefolk’s yard and you’re welcome to stay in it for the night, if you want to.”

He didn’t want to. But he does think that he wouldn’t be able to go much farther without a rest.

“I’ll sleep in the tree,” he grumbled out between bites. 

“The manners on you,” Dusty snorted. “Did your mother raise you to talk to your elders like that?”

Sleepydawn bristled a little. Not because he was mad, no--because Dusty was right. Ivybounce would be disappointed in him. For more than one reason.

His heart ached at the thought of her.

“...Sorry.” He meowed after a minute of pause. “Thank you for the food. And the shelter.”

“That’s more like it,” Dusty sat and wrapped their tail around their paws. “The tree is fine and all, but there’s a bit more shelter inside the shed, and Buttercup can’t get in there, which I can guess you’re worried about.”

Sleepydawn swallowed down a heated retort at the same time he swallowed down the last bit of oriole. “Thanks.” 

As he washed his face, cleaning the orange and black feathers off his muzzle, he considered Dust Bunny. They were old. Elder age, certainly, with white hairs around their muzzle and an audible creak from their joints. It was beyond Sleepydawn how they managed to climb up and down a tree and still catch him a bird with energy to spare, but perhaps living with twolegs would do that to you. He knew they tended to grow fat on plentiful food. Perhaps in their younger days they had even more energy. Enough to wander across twolegplace, to poke at the mountain cat borders, meet a Fallenclan cat or two. Still, this den was a long way from Sleepydawn’s home. It was unlikely they would have met a Fallenclan cat unless they, too, were wandering.

“You said you met a mountain cat before,” Sleepydawn meowed. “Will you tell me about him?”

Dusty’s ear twitched. “What makes you think they were a him?”

They must have caught the disappointed look on his face, because they chuckled a little. “You knew him, huh? Well, I don’t envy you if you did. He was a nasty son of a bitch. Long brown fur, stripes over his eyes, scar on his cheek, sound familiar?”

“Otterslip,” Sleepydawn breathed.

“That’s the one.” Dusty tilted their head. “He said he was exiled, but that he’d be returning home soon. That his clan would ‘come to their senses’. Seemed very determined. You wouldn’t happen to know how that story ended, would you son?”

Sleepydawn avoided the old cat’s gaze. “Yewberry and Ivybounce--his kits--found his body a long time back. Infected wound, but they weren’t sure what from.”

“Figured as much.” Dusty nodded. “Not the dying part, that is, just that his clan wouldn’t accept him home. Once you get exiled from a group like that, I reckon there’s not much of a chance of returning.”

Sleepydawn flinched. It must have been visible, because Dusty’s eyes narrowed.

“...Well, I’ve told you a story,” They meowed eventually. “How about you tell me one? How’d you get that scar?”

Sleepydawn blinked. It wasn’t the story he’d been expecting to be asked about, but- he wasn’t any more excited to tell it, really. He flicked his ears backwards a bit and thought, for a long moment. Dust Bunny waited with a patient expression.

“My leader,” Sleepydawn said finally. “He ordered me to chase a dog off our territory. Normally it’d be a mission for a whole patrol, but he wanted me to prove myself.”

“Hm.” Dusty blinked. “And did you?”

“I nearly died,” Sleepydawn admitted, his throat getting a bit tight like it often did when he spoke of that day. “But yeah. I managed to injure it bad enough that it fled, and made it back to my camp. After that, Ravenstar accepted me as one of his most trusted warriors.”

Dust Bunny looked at him for a long moment. “Accepted you as a trusted warrior, huh? But only after you’d proven yourself like that?”

Sleepydawn nodded. An excuse perched on his tongue, It’s typical clan behavior, you wouldn’t understand. But he didn’t want to lie to this kittypet. Not after the meal and shelter that had been offered.

“Sounds like some leader.” Dusty’s voice was dry with sarcasm. “Tell you what, I’m gonna hit the hay. You have a good rest and I’ll see you off in the morning, alright?”

“Alright,” Sleepydawn agreed hollowly as the kittypet padded across the yard, into the twoleg den, and disappeared.

. . .

When Sleepydawn awoke, he became quickly aware of the ache in his leg.

The small, abandoned twoleg nest (a shed, Dustbunny had called it) was sturdy, safe from dogs, and solid enough to keep the draft mostly out, but it did nothing for his old injury. He’d chosen a high ledge to rest on, and tried to sleep on only that before giving up halfway through the night and curling up in a weird, crinkly sort of twoleg material that smelled like a thunderpath. It had a bit more cushion to it, at least, but he still found his sleep restless and woke with a deep, sharp ache running all the way from his paw to his shoulder.

Moons ago, when he first healed from the injury, Bristleheart took him on a walk and explained that he would always feel that pain, as long as the leg remained, and that he had to exercise it in particular ways in order to keep the pain to a minimum and to keep himself from damaging it any further. He’d then proceeded to run Sleepydawn through a series of stretches, each of which made his leg hurt more than the last. 

He wasn’t ashamed to admit that he hadn’t kept up on the exercises. First it was stubbornness, then lack of time and energy, that pulled him away. He tried to do them a few times a moon, but why would he keep up with them if they only made him hurt worse?

Now, he pulled himself upright and moved into the first position. A sharp twinge fired up into his spine, and he bonelessly collapsed. This had been easier when he was younger.

“‘Morning,” A drawling voice meowed. Dusty poked their head through the cracked entrance of the shed and looked around for a moment before peering up. “There y’are. Sleep well?”

“Fantastic.” Sleepydawn replied in a flat voice, shaking out his bad leg before hopping down to the ground, leaning heavily to his right. “Twoleg dens really are a wonder.”

“Yeah, well, more comfortable when you’ve got a pillow or two to keep ‘ya warm.” Dusty licked their lips. They smelled like meat, almost, but dry and strongly hinted with twoleg stench. “Should I catch you another bird?”

Fire suddenly rose in Sleepydawn’s stomach. He was tired of being in pain, of being uncertain, of missing his home, of being coddled. “No. I’ll be moving on.”

Dusty had the nerve to look surprised. “So soon? Where are you traveling to in such a hurry?”

Away, Sleepydawn thought. Anywhere but here. Anywhere that I can’t be looked at by another cat like I’m something alien and unnatural. Anywhere but home.

“None of your business.” He meowed instead.

. . .

He left Dusty’s yard as the sun began to stream over the trees, and didn’t stop walking until it was at his back again. 

Unsurprisingly, his leg still ached. Now the others did too, down to each pink paw-pad. His back and neck throbbed with dull pain from being upright all day. His tail was sore where it had been dragging on the ground.

Having passed through twolegplace and ended up in some sparse oaken woods, he tried to haul himself into a tree, failed, and squeezed himself into an abandoned rabbit’s burrow instead. The earth, not wet but still leeching the heat from his pelt with every breath, pressed softly against each side and crumbled a little around his ears. He’d be filthy in the morning, and even more hungry than he already was. 

Being underground was comforting though, in a way. It was nothing like Fallenclan’s camp, which was rocky and sandy and really only earthy in a few places, but the way that the starlight seeped through the entrance a few tail-lengths in front of his muzzle was familiar. Wrapped in dirt, he closed his eyes and imagined it was fur, instead--he was a kitten again, Ivybounce was cleaning the space between his eyes, Hazelthorn and Frecklefox were curled against him.

His leg ached some more. He fell asleep.

. . .

Sleepydawn had gotten used to crossing thunderpaths. 

The first time he’d done it, he was terrified. It seemed like the end of the world when a monster came snarling around the corner from so far away. Fallenclan didn’t have any thunderpaths inside their territory--there was one, on the border, but it was quiet and usually barren. One could sit at the edge of it for a whole day and see less monsters than there were toes on their paw.

Now, more recently (he refused to think about how long it had been. It couldn’t have been more than a few moons, surely), it was routine. Look left, look right, scamper across when it was safe and pay no mind to the big metal beasts.

Today, Sleepydawn looked left, looked right, and scampered across. He looked for the sharp gleam of metal in sunlight, in those massive black paws, those shiny silver teeth, enormous and impossible to ignore.

He wasn’t looking for whatever had hit him. Small, boney, like a collection of metal sticks, with two big but slender paws, and a single twoleg perched on its back.

If it was a true monster that hit him, he’d be dead. Whatever this one was (a baby monster, maybe?), the impact itself hurt, but it wasn’t what left the damage. What damaged him was the slender paw that rolled over his bad leg when he’d thrown himself backwards, and the sharp metal that came crashing down on him once the baby monster had lost its balance on his body. Sharp bruises and gashes formed on his skin, and he shrieked at the same moment the twoleg did, both of them pressed into the hard black stone.

A full grown monster, ash-gray and snarling, rumbled to a halt next to the collapsed baby. The sight of that alone was enough to force Sleepydawn to his feet, adrenaline flooding his pain receptors, and hobbling off into the woods.

He knew the feeling. His leg was broken again.

The twolegs began to chatter behind him, their meows high with alarm. Sleepydawn pushed forward into the woods, away from them, blinded by pain and terror and dread. 

Something dark descended over his head, like a great black heap of snow falling from a tree branch, except it was faintly warm and reeked of twoleg stench.

Sleepydawn screamed, lashed out with both his front paws, and blacked out as the pain overwhelmed him.

. . .

“What are you doing?”

Hazelkit turned to look at him at his question. In her mouth, a clump of oddly-smelling grass, which she spat out to answer him, struggling to get the last few blades off her wet tongue.

“Bristleheart gave us this lemongrass,” She explained, inky-black tail waving slightly. “He said if we rub it around camp, it scares away snakes!”

Sleepykit wrinkled his nose. “So, chores?”

“We’re protecting the camp,” Frecklekit interjected, chest puffed out. “It’s an important job.”

Sleepykit pondered this for a moment, debating pros and cons. “Can I join?”

His sister, in all her graciousness, heaved an over-dramatic sigh. “I guess.”

At this, Sleepykit perked up, and swooped down to grab a mouthful of the grass. It had a harsh, acidic smell to it, but he bravely wrinkled his nose and plodded his way towards the camp entrance, head tilted back to keep the long ends from dragging on the ground. 

Broccoli was sitting guard at the mouth of the cave, sharp amber eyes peering over the horizon. At Sleepykit’s approach, he turned, a warm smile on his face.

“What’ve you got there?”

Using his paw to quickly scrape the plant off his tongue, Sleepykit responded, “Lemongrass! Bristleheart says it scares away snakes, so me and Hazelkit and Frecklekit are rubbing it everywhere! It’s really stinky, though.”

“Very clever,” Broccoli praised. “Sounds like something your father would have done.”

Sleepykit frowned.

Cats told him that his father, Sleepycloud, had been one of the bravest warriors ever. He was born in Fallenclan and spent his whole life protecting it--and he died trying to save another cat, Fox-something. Sleepykit never got to meet him, but he was named after him, and cats said he looked just like him.

But Sleepykit was the one rubbing lemongrass around camp to scare away snakes. Not Sleepycloud.

He opened his mouth to tell Broccoli this, but the other cat had already turned away, finished with the conversation. Sleepykit’s jaw closed with a quick click, and his tail lashed. Whatever. Mama said it didn’t matter what other cats thought about him, anyway.

. . .

“I hear you got hit by a bike,” was the first thing Sleepydawn heard when he woke up, shrouded in a haze of pain, his head cloudy with some fog he couldn’t identify. “What was that like?”

He was… underground. Or in a den. Everything was silver and white and far away.

“Hey, are you listening, tripod?” 

The world faded out.

. . .

“You look very handsome,” Ivybounce gave his face a last few embarrassing licks before nudging him forward. “Go, go, she’s about to call you.”

“Sleepypaw, step forth.”

Craning his neck to stand as tall as he could, Sleepypaw padded across the sandy earth towards highledge. Frecklefox, newly named, grinned at him from alongside Hazelthorn, both of them gleaming with pride.

He took his seat just below the ledge, looking up at Cherrystar. She smiled down at him, eyes crinkled, before speaking.

“Sleepypaw, you have worked hard to learn the ways of the warrior, and have earned your name. From this day forth, you shall be known as Sleepydawn. Fallenclan honors your vigilance and welcomes you as a full warrior.”

Hazelthorn! Frecklefox! Sleepydawn! The clan’s chant rose around them, spiraling into the air. Sleepydawn stepped back to join his siblings and felt a smile grow on his face.

It’s a different name, he told himself silently, eyes closed to bask in the praise. My own. No one else’s.

He opened his eyes again to catch his mother’s gaze. She was grinning, wide and sunny, but tears were rolling down her cheeks.

No one else’s.

. . .

He woke again. Possibly. A little more aware this time, he noticed something sharp stuck into his right front leg, like a thorn. He wiggled, found it didn’t hurt too bad, and left it alone.

A wet sound, like someone throwing up. A faint smell of blood. Something overwhelmingly sharp and unnatural. And twoleg, twoleg, twoleg. So many smells…

“Hey, wanna hear a joke?” Someone mrrowed. “I’d tell you one about fish, but I don’t think it would land!”

Sounded like something Frecklefox would say. Sleepydawn tried to reply to his sibling, but found that he was asleep before he could.

. . .

I’m not him. Sleepydawn wobbled on his paws, dangerously close to the edge of a steep hill before getting his bearings again and moving away, still, slowly towards camp. His body felt oddly light, yet so, so heavy. Every movement was a marathon.

I’m not him. Blood ran lazy rivers down his shoulder, tracing delicate lines around his paw and leaving a messy red trail behind him. He half-thought his ear might have been torn, too, just a bit, but it was hard to tell.

I’m not him. Sleepydawn had survived his big hero moment. Sleepycloud hadn’t. 

I’m not him. Sleepydawn was not his father.

. . .

Wakefulness came back to him slowly. First, he was aware of the sensations in his body--a low, dull pain, something foggy and fuzzy, like he was filled with cobwebs, and some kind of bedding underneath him. Then sound, smell, and the dry dry dry taste in his mouth. The sharp thing in his leg was gone. He cracked open his eyes and found that they were sticky and clumped with goop, like he’d been asleep for days and days without knowing. He drew a few raspy breaths. His throat was sore.

Oddly, his leg didn’t hurt.

He wobbled upright, eventually, and looked around. Flat, silver walls on every side except for one, which was caged away with some kind of mesh. Behind it was an alien landscape--every angle sharp and perfect, smooth wood and metal and materials he didn’t know the name of. Two twolegs milled around beyond.

He lurched away, but there was nowhere to go. He was stuck--at their whims, no matter what they may be. Saving him, maybe, for a meal. His shoulders hit the wall behind him with a shockingly loud bang. Why couldn’t he catch his balance?

“Hey, are you awake already?” Meowed a voice. It sounded a little familiar. Young, feminine. A second later, a little golden and white paw poked into view at the bottom of the mesh wall, flapping around like it was trying to catch a bird. Or someone’s attention.

With the terror running a line down his middle, words failed him. He managed only a low, strangled growl. His throat was sore, like he’d swallowed twigs.

One of the twolegs turned its odd, naked head over to him, and made a quiet noise. It didn’t approach, didn’t make a move towards him, but just its pale eyes facing him sent a horrible involuntary shudder down Sleepydawn’s entire sternum.

After a few moments, it finally looked away, but that awful, crawling sensation didn’t leave him. Trapped. Trapped to their whims, like every horror story he’d heard as a kit--he remembered the tale of Jaggedstripe, who wandered into a silver mesh box like this one and hadn’t been seen for moons, returned different and more hollow with tales of the creatures that stuck her with silver thorns and wrapped woven grass cords around her throat. 

He had to get out, as soon as possible. The longer he stayed, the less likely he was to leave, but when he tried to step forward--

Something was on his leg. Clinging, wrapped around, like an awful, shiny green limpet. It was unnaturally colored, like newleaf grass but a hundred times more vibrant. It didn’t hurt, but it was heavy--he couldn’t feel the leg underneath, not even that buzzing hum that would tell him it was asleep. Just nothingness. If it werent for the very tip of his paw poking out, he would have thought it had been taken off altogether.

His voice was a whispered rasp when he finally breathed, “What is…”

“I knew you were awake!” The young voice meowed again. “I’m Fishstick. It’s been so-o-o boring in here, there hasn’t been any other cats in ages. Just me, a couple dogs, and a raccoon the other day.”

His heart skipped a beat at the mention of dogs, but his brain caught on the name. “Fishstick… are you a warrior?” She sounded far too young, but…

“No.” Fishstick’s voice was suddenly glum. “I wish. That’s just the name my mama gave me ‘fore she ran off. What’s yours?” The blooming hope in Sleepydawn’s chest withered. Of course not. Even if she had been a warrior, she certainly wouldn’t have been a Fallenclan one. Gooseclan, maybe--she had the sort of rounded accent that he’d come to associate with that clan, though he was coming to realize it might be from the proximity to Twolegplace that gave them that inflection. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he responded, suddenly exhausted. Despite the Twolegs, and the mention of dogs being near, he slumped down. His eyelids stubbornly drooped, but he blinked a few sharp times to keep them open. “I need to… get out of here.”

“Don’t we all,” Fishstick snorted. “Did they take your leg? I heard ‘em talking like they might.”

He shook his head before realizing the young molly couldn’t see it. “Still there.”

“Bummer. I could’ve called you Tripod, since you don’t wanna give me your real name. I could just call you what the Upwalkers are calling you.”

Sleepydawn scowled. Why was he entertaining this young fool? Still, curiosity tugged at him… “What are the Upwalkers calling me?”

“Mr. Mayor Whiskers,” Fishstick said, with a smugness to her voice that suggested this was perhaps something to make fun of. Sleepydawn wasn’t sure what Mr. or Mayor meant, but Whiskers seemed a fine name, at least. Hazelthorn had once wanted that to be her full warrior name--Hazelwhisker. She’d gotten Thorn, though, and liked it even better. 

“It makes me sound tough, but mysterious”, she’d meowed, a twinkle in her slitted eyes. “Your name is awfully cutesy, though. A nice, sleepy morning, no dawn patrol, just cuddled up with your little brothers and sisters…”

He’d swatted her, after that. Always hated his name, branded his father’s son until the day he died. When he’d fallen into step with Ravenstar, practically his second deputy, he’d thought about asking if it could be changed. Somehow, it felt like a defeat to do such a thing--like admitting he couldn’t be bigger than his father’s name. He didn’t know what he’d have changed it to, anyway, but Whiskers was alright. Better than Fishstick, anyway.

He thought about telling her this, but stayed silent. He was more mature than to make fun of the name of a cat who must have barely been apprentice-aged. 

“Anyway, Mr. Mayor,” Fishstick meowed again, incessant, “I heard you got hit by a bike. How’d that happen? They’re slow as slugs.”

A ‘bike’. Was that what kittypets called those small monsters? Sleepydawn’s tail twitched in annoyance at the teasing, but he kept his mouth shut, watching the twolegs beyond. One was sitting on some odd contraption, its paws on another, even weirder machine that seemed to be giving off a white light. The other had a stick in paw, and was scratching it on the surface of a very thin plank of wood held in its opposite paw, periodically glancing up at the array of the objects--bottles?--in front of it. 

“What am I in for, you ask?” Fishstick continued. “Well, I’ll tell you. There I am, headed down an alley for some dumpster diving. I’d smelled chicken in there, see, and it was fresh. Hadn’t been rotted or nothing, not even gotten soggy in garbage water, so I’m off to find it. There it is, middle of the alleyway, sat on a nice paper plate. I was so hungry I didn’t even notice the cage over it until it was too late. Soon as I got a bite, wham! The cage fell, and I was stuck. ‘Course, if I’d noticed it beforehand I’d’ve slipped out and given those Upwalkers what-for, but as it was I was too hungry to do much. Next thing I know I’m in here. They said something about getting my weight up so they can spay me, no thank you! I’ve got a plan to get out of here before anything like that happens.”

Sleepydawn perked up. “A plan?”

“Oh, that caught your interest huh? Yeah, a plan! See, I’m gonna act all sweet to the Upwalkers, like I’m a real tame kitty, then, when they let me out on good behavior, I make a break for it. Course, I’ll have to get through the door, but I’ll break that branch when I get to it.”

“It’s cross that branch,” Sleepydawn muttered. “Breaking the branch is something else entirely.”

“Whatever,” Fishstick groaned. She sounded like Minnowpaw, whining about being sent on dawn patrol.

Regardless, the plan… could work? Sleepydawn didn’t know enough about the habits of Twolegs to say for certain, but it sounded possible, at least. Could he do the same? Act sweet to get his way? He could recall, faintly, doing it as a kit--looking up at Ivybounce with the biggest hazel eyes he could muster to plead for a bit of extra playtime before bed. It worked sometimes, but now--he had a feeling it wouldn’t be as effective. Not with the scars twisting up his leg, his crooked fangs, the always-tired look in his eyes. It was un-warriorlike to act like that towards a Twoleg, anyway. 

He’d find some other way. For now, Sleepydawn rested his chin on his paws and pictured a mountain climbing up into the clouds.

. . . 

The Twolegs stopped in front of Sleepydawn’s cage twice a day to refill his food and water. Sleepydawn, who had already been hungry and thirsty before he’d been hit by a bike, didn’t last long before eating and drinking--the food was dry, with some kind of wet paste, like chewed meat, piled on top of it, occasionally littered with an odd, bitter taste. The water was bland, somehow, which Sleepydawn found odd since he had thought water was already bland, yet somehow this Twoleg water managed to be even blander.

And he still had no plan.

Not even the beginnings of one, though it was difficult to concentrate with Fishstick’s incessant yapping. Only four moons old and already convinced she knew everything, had seen everything, and had everything to say about it. 

She acted like any other excitable kit, or apprentice. She also didn’t treat Sleepydawn like he was something strange or other--until she found out where he’d come from.

“-I found a big fish in a trash can once, but I guess that doesn’t count as catching it, really,” she meowed. “But once in this Upwalker’s backyard I found these huge birds, bigger than me, and they had all these little babies running around, and I got one of those before the mama chased me off. What about you?”

“Hm?” Sleepydawn grunted, having been practicing his skills in tuning her out entirely.

“What’s the weirdest prey you’ve ever caught?” “A kitten. Just about your age, killed it bloody and ate it, now shut up.”

“Oh come on,” Fishstick whined, just as complainy but not quite as gullible as a clan-raised kit. “If you tell me the weirdest prey you’ve ever caught, I’ll shut up.”

“Forever?”

“For the rest of the day, but you also have to tell me how you caught it.”

Sleepydawn marinated on this for a moment. Fair enough price. His ears were about to start bleeding.

“Well,” he began, pretending to not notice the excited squeal that Fishstick released. “One early newleaf morning, I was out on a hunting patrol when I stumbled across a fawn. Usually the mother deer will fight you away from their young, but this one was left behind while she went to find food. It tried to run as soon as I pounced, but Boulderstep jumped on top of it, too, and the weight of us both was enough to bring it down. Took the whole patrol to carry it back to camp.”

For a moment, Sleepydawn was lost in the memory. He remembered it clearly--it was one of the first hunting patrols he’d gone on after his leg healed. Ravenstar ordered him to lead it--even though Boulderstep was his senior, and the better hunter. Perhaps cowed by Ravenstar’s insistence, nobody had challenged his leadership the whole way. They stalked out of camp into the early morning fog, brisk on the tips of their noses, and found the fawn in a cluster of spruce trees on the edge of the plains. Nothing had ever tasted as good as the prey-blood sweet on his tongue as he helped drag it home. Ravenstar had been sitting on the camp-ledge when they arrived--not calling a meeting, simply observing his clan--and his eyes had shone with pride. After the clan’s excitement over the huge prey subsided, he was pulled aside next to the medicine den to hear Ravenstar’s muted words. 

“I knew I made the right choice.”

“Hold on,” Fishstick blurted, completely bypassing the impressive catch and nitpicking on the details. “Who’s Boulderstep?”

“My-” A lump suddenly formed in Sleepydawn’s throat. He swallowed it, and it scraped the whole way down. “A clan cat I once knew. Not really a friend.”

“You knew clan cats?”

Sleepydawn groaned internally. “Used to. Weren’t you supposed to shut up for the rest of the day?”

“What kind of clan cats?” Fishstick pressed. “Do they live in the plains? The forest? Where are they? How long ago?”

“Oh be quiet!” Sleepydawn snapped. “Why do you care, anyway? You think they’d let a soft kitty like you join up with them?”

“I’m no soft kitty!” She argued loudly.

“Sure are acting like it, every time those Twolegs come in here. You really think your plan will work? You think they’ll just let you out? Wake up and smell the daisies, kitty, you’re not getting out of here. We’re both going to sit here in these little cages eating slop and withering away until our hearts give out or the Twolegs get tired of us and kill us. Welcome to the real world.”

Silence, finally--blissed silence. It echoed in the metal cages and out in the harsh room beyond. Sleepydawn sunk into it like a fresh bed of moss, letting his eyes slip shut.

Then-

Sniff.

Fuck.

Sleepydawn shook his head, quietly. He really never had been good with kits, he always backed out of kitsitting, and helping his clanmates train their new apprentices. Still, making a kit cry was a new low--one he wasn’t proud of.

“Fish-”

“I’ve been a loner- ever since I was a kit,” Fishstick meowed, her voice cracking with tears. “Never lived with Upwalkers, just around ‘em, and I- one time I heard stories about these cats. These cats that lived in big groups and always fed each other and protected each other, and- I’d always been by my lonesome. Always have been. And I thought that sounded like- something real special. I’m going to be a warrior, even if I have to fight my way through a hundred Upwalkers. You don’t know nothing about me, and I ain’t no soft kitty.”

“Alright.” Sleepydawn acquiesced quietly. He’d seen things that would make her stomach curdle. Done things that would give her nightmares. “You’re not soft.”

“And I’m gonna be a warrior. Say it.”

“You’ll be a warrior.” Sleepydawn hoped she never knew the battle. The heartbreak. He wondered if all the love he’d lost was worth it.

“That’s right.”

Fishstick was mostly silent for the rest of the day. Sleepydawn found it difficult to enjoy.

. . .

A day later, Fishstick woke him by slapping her paws against the bottom of his cage.

“Psst! Mayor!” A pause. “Mr. Mayor!”

“What?” Sleepydawn grumbled, knowing she’d only stop if he responded. 

“Do you think I really could fight an Upwalker? To get out, I mean?”

“Dunno.” He huffed. “Maybe. There’s usually two of ‘em, though.”

“Oh yeah.” He could hear the frown in her voice. “D’you think I could escape ‘em, then? Just slip out from their paws during the next checkup?”

“You’re forgetting this whole place is closed off. Where would you go?”

“Right.”

Sleepdawn waited, then let his eyes drift closed again.

“Well, what if-”

. . .

“Tell me a story.”

“Hah,” Sleepydawn responded dryly.

“Ugh.” Fishstick’s little cream-colored paw appeared at the bottom of his cage. “Come on, Mayor, I’m bored out of my fur! Just one!”

Her words devolved quickly into a wordless, petulant whine. Reminded sharply of Frecklefox, flattening his ears to his head, Sleepydawn snapped, “Fine!”

Instantly, the paws disappeared, and he heard a shuffle, as if she was getting comfortable. Typical.  He wracked his brain for a story, and found only one--a story that had been haunting him for many moons. 

“Once upon a time… there was a cat.”

“Strong start.”

“Can you shut up and listen?” He huffed.

“Once upon a time, there was a cat. His name was Sleepydawn.

“Sleepydawn was a Warrior. A clan cat. When he was born, his father was already dead. His mother had discovered that she was expecting in the same moon that he died.”

“How did he die?” Fishstick chirped.

Sleepydawn bit back a retort. Then slumped, a little. He didn’t have the energy to be mad, or to lie. “He drowned trying to save his clanmate. Failed.”

Fishstick gave a sad little whine. Sleepydawn pushed on.

“When Sleepydawn was born, he looked so much like his father that his mother decided to name him in his honor. That’s where he got the Sleepy part of his name. Though they matched in name and appearance, Sleepydawn wasn’t anything like his father--his father was a hero, an amazing cat who dedicated his life to protecting his clan. Sleepydawn tripped over his paws on hunting patrols, and bit his own tongue more times than he ever bit an enemy warrior. In the shadow of his father, he grew up angry and resentful. Not many cats liked him.

“The clan that Sleepydawn lived in was under the reign of their leader, Ravenstar. Ravenstar was a harsh and sometimes unfair cat, but Sleepydawn looked up to him. One day, when a dog found its way into their territory, Ravenstar decided to have Sleepydawn chase the dog out by himself, rather than send a patrol after it.”

“Why?” Fishstick interrupted.

Sleepydawn opened his mouth to reply, and found his tongue curled. A gaping absence of explanation found a home in his throat. Why?

“I don’t know,” he finally meowed. “Maybe Ravenstar wanted Sleepydawn to prove himself. Maybe he wanted Sleepydawn to learn a lesson. Whatever the reason, Sleepydawn refused. It was a suicide mission for the most skilled of cats, of that which Sleepydawn was not. But all it took for him to change his mind was for Ravenstar to suggest that this was the way to prove he wasn’t his father. And before he knew it, Sleepydawn had left camp.

“He found the dog on the plains, hopelessly chasing rabbits. Sleepydawn fought with everything he had, but the dog was quick, and vicious. It bit nearly clean through his leg, shaking him like a terrier with a rat. He thought he would die that day, alone on the plains, facing a dog by himself, leaving his family behind to grieve. Instead, he got lucky. The dog stumbled its foot into a rabbit warren, and it left an opening just big enough for Sleepydawn to tear its throat out.

“The dog fled. Sleepydawn would never find out if it died or not, because he couldn’t follow it. He’d chased it off the territory, and very nearly died in the process. He struggled his way back to camp, trailing blood all the way, and when he returned, Ravenstar praised him. It was the most that Sleepydawn had ever gotten--a cat telling him that he was better than his father. He knew then that he would follow Ravenstar to the ends of the earth.

“And that’s where Ravenstar led him. After that day, he grew only crueller and crueller, starting wars and even killing his own cats in the middle of camp, and Sleepydawn was at his heel every step of the way. He did terrible things in Ravenstar’s name.

“Eventually, Sleepydawn’s clanmates revolted against Ravenstar. He was killed, and Sleepydawn, along with Ravenstar’s other followers, were banished from the clan forever. The End.”

Silence, for a few moments. Sleepydawn wondered then if his story had lulled Fishstick to sleep, when:

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean that’s it?” He huffed in response. “I said the end, didn’t I?”

“Yeah but.” Fishstick shuffled above him. “Stories are supposed to have a happy ending. The villain gets punished at the end, and everyone lives happily ever after. There’s supposed to be a moral to the story.”

“The villain did get punished,” Sleepydawn snorted. “Ravenstar died, Sleepydawn got exiled.”

“But he should have realized the error of his ways!” Fishstick cried. “He should have joined with the cats that killed Ravenstar, and become the hero!”

Sleepydawn let those words hover in the air for a few moments, then laid down, curling his tail over his nose.

“Yeah, he should have.”

. . .

Their opportunity to escape arrived one cold morning, as Sleepydawn woke with his face pressed against the artificial moss bedding.

Less than a moon had passed, from what he could tell through the clear-covered opening that he could see from the mouth of his cage, but it felt, in many ways, like an eternity. Fishstick woke him most days with her mindless chatter, and kept him from dozing the day away with much of the same. This morning was different in that he woke to her screams.

“Don’t touch me!” He heard her howl as he woke with a start, the sound of clattering metal and mumbling twolegs alongside. “I’ll take your pelt off! Don’t!”

He jolted upright as quickly as he could with his cast, flooded with instinctive adrenaline. Just below him, a twoleg was crouched with its hands near Fishstick’s cage, repeatedly reaching forward and flinching back and making soft cooing noises.

“Fishstick!” He called out.

“Help!” She wailed, sounding every bit the young cat she was. “They’re trying to take me and- I don’t know what they’re gonna do!”

She sounded near tears. Sleepydawn didn’t think, just knew that he had to get the twoleg’s attention away from her as quick as he could, and he couldn’t fight them.

He slammed his cast into the wall of his cage, flinching at the loud bang and the shooting pain, then collapsed on his side, splaying all his limbs out and summoning the saddest, most agonized sounds he could.

The twoleg immediately lurched to look up at him with wide eyes, hesitating only a moment before closing Fishstick’s cage and reaching up to open Sleepydawn’s. 

Its paws moved over him, gently stroking his pelt and prodding him. He resisted every instinct that screamed at him to attack, thrash, escape; knowing that he needed to remain the center of attention even through the uncomfortable sensation of touch.

After a moment, the twoleg scrambled away, leaving his cage open.

As soon as its back was turned, Sleepydawn jumped up as quietly as he could, and hopped down to the smooth, cold ground. He landed awkwardly, but sent a silent thanks up to Starclan when it was, at least, silent.

“Mayor?” Fishstick cautioned.

Behind him, she was still locked in her cage, pelt ruffled. She had pale ginger striped fur and creamy white paws and muzzle, her pupils narrow slits. Huddled at the back of the metal box, she looked smaller than she probably was, even puffed up in fear.

Sleepydawn glanced behind him to make sure that the twoleg was still occupied before hobbling over to the mesh of the cage. “How does this open?”

“Bite there,” Fishstick hurried closer, gesturing with her nose as he followed her instructions. The metal cut into his mouth as he pressed down, made his teeth ache, but after a moment of increasing pain it began to swing open.

Fishstick pushed her way out instantly, jostling him in her hurry, and immediately rushed to his side, stretching up to her tiptoes to wrap her neck around his.

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” She trilled, grin stretching her muzzle even as he pushed her away.

“Enough.” He huffed, and started quickly hobbling to the doorway, cracked open just a smidge, a miracle upon miracles. “Let’s hurry out of here and then we can go our separate ways.”

“What?” Fishstick hurried along with him. “Wait- you have to show me where those warriors are, so I can join them!”

“I have no such obligations,” Sleepydawn huffed. “Now, be quiet.”

“No!” Fishstick jumped in front of him. “No, if you don’t- you have to swear that you’ll show me where the warriors are. Or else.”

Annoyance flared deep in his chest. He bared his teeth, stretching to his not-unimpressive height to loom over her. “Move.”

“No.” Fishstick hardened her expression and drew to her full height, her head only reaching his shoulder. “If you don’t give me your word, right now, I’ll scream. Then we’ll both get caught.”

Manipulative little shit!

“You-” Sleepydawn gritted his teeth, tried to remind himself that the most important thing right now was getting out, and then they could argue about this. “Fine, yes, word given, let’s go.”

Fishstick’s face lit up like a forest fire, and just like that she was racing him for the exit, unbeknownst to the twolegs behind them.

Freedom, at the tips of his whiskers again.

. . .

Sleepydawn had done many things in his life that he wasn’t proud of, but nearing the top of the list was losing an argument to an apprentice. Twice.

So he was taking her to Fallenclan’s territory. Fine. He wouldn’t even have to cross the border--or even get close to it. Just as soon as it was in eyesight, he could tell Fishstick to look for the mossier side of the mountain and make a beeline for the second-biggest cave. As long as she didn’t describe him too in-depth to the cats that she found there, she’d be fine. And if she did, he had to hope that his siblings would convince Wolfstar to let her stay anyway, regardless of what awful cat led her there.

“We’ll have to figure out how to get that cast off you,” Fishstick chirped, trotting along at a pace that made him ache up to his shoulder. “You’re slow.”

“I’m old,” which wasn’t really true, but a lifetime of hardships and work made him feel older than he should. “You’re too fast.”

“Anyway, I used to know a kittypet who lived around here, he had a cast once.” Fishstick waved her tail for him to follow. He briefly considered making a break for it. “He’ll know how to get it off.”

Sleepydawn wasn’t keen to take advice from a kittypet, but after only a bit of bullying from his young companion, it turned out that the cat’s advice was good. Sleepydawn soaked his cast leg in water for only a few minutes before it started to slough away in stringy green chunks. The white wrapping underneath, which felt a bit like thick cobwebs, followed without much trouble.

His leg underneath was skinny and hurt to put pressure on, but not so much that he couldn’t walk on it. It had always been a little crooked since his accident, so when he found it straighter than before, that surprised him more than anything else. He hadn’t known that was possible.

“Yeah, there’s something to be said for Upwalker medicine,” Ace, the kittypet, meowed conversationally. “Can’t have kits anymore, but it’s a small price to pay for a lifetime of good health.”

…Sure.

Ace invited them to sleep in a comfortable nook underneath his Twoleg’s shed, which Fishstick accepted before Sleepydawn could even think about refusing. He also offered them some dry kittypet food, which Sleepydawn stood his ground on.

“Absolutely not,” He snapped. “I’ve been eating that shit for way too long. Come on, Fish.”

Fishstick hurried after him, jumping along like a tadpole that had just grown legs. “Are you gonna teach me how to hunt?”

“I’m not your mentor,” Sleepydawn snorted. “I’ll catch something for the both of us. You’re gonna follow along quietly and keep an eye out for twolegs.”

Fishstick gave a deep, exaggerated sigh, but didn’t argue, apparently realizing she’d filled her quota of being annoying for the day.

Hunting with his leg still injured was difficult, to say the least, but working around it was something he was used to. It didn’t take long for him to find a sparrow, feeding on fallen seeds two yards over from Ace’s; carefully, he stalked it, keeping most of his weight on his three good legs, always aware of Fishstick a few fox-lengths back, watching silently for once in her life. He pounced, and made sure to land on his right forepaw, using his left to gently grab the bird and hold it in place for a quick, crunchy bite to the back of the neck.

“This one is yours,” Sleepydawn rolled his eyes at the sheer excitement in Fishstick’s expression, nudging the prey towards her. “I’ll catch another.”

He meant to leave her behind immediately for his own meal, but found himself hesitating, just for a moment, to watch Fishsticks’s face as she bit into fresh prey. If her stories were true, she’d had it before, but you wouldn’t know that from the blissful look that washed over her as she ripped away a mouthful of feathers and went for a bite, chewing slowly with her eyes closed.

Against his will, Sleepydawn cracked a smile. Whatever. Apprentices were fine sometimes.

. . . 

“Is Fallenclan big?”

“Hmm.” Sleepydawn hummed, eyes closed, chin rested on his paws. He usually fell asleep fairly quickly, but even still, Fishstick seemed to know exactly when to pipe up to draw him out of his nearly-achieved slumber. “How so?”

“Like, a lot of cats.” she hesitated. “And the territory, too. Clan cats have a territory, right?”

“Mm-hmm.” Sleepydawn resigned himself to a few more questions before he’d try to convince her to go to sleep. “They’ve got a mountain and some plains. And there’s lots of cats.”

“More than I’ve got toes on my paws?”

“More than twice that,” He cracked one eye open to see her faint outline in the dim light that peeked into the space under Ace’s shed. “Go to sleep. It’s a long journey.”

“How long?”

“Sleep.”

Fishstick fell quiet, blissfully. Sleepydawn began to drift gently away, until-

“What do you think you’re doing.”

“I’m cold,” Fishstick responded, shuffling over and burrowing into her side, jamming her icy-cold nose directly against one of the scars on his leg. “Goodnight.”

Sleepydawn opened his mouth, fully intent on telling her to get the hell back to her side of the space, but…

She was quiet, at least. He might not get that if he started her back up again.

Whatever. He’d tell her off in the morning.

. . .

It wasn’t like Sleepydawn had a small family.

His family was pretty large, actually. He had five siblings in total, though one died before he was born, another when he was an apprentice, and a third when he was a young warrior. His parents were both long dead by the time he was exiled, but both of them had siblings too--giving him a total of four aunts and five uncles, though he’d met only a pawful of them. There was a myriad of cousins, and a niece and nephew as well, the children of his oldest sister.

It had been so easy, at the time, to ignore them all. Looking back it hurt like a thorn in his chest.

He’d been such a lonely kit, and such a bitter apprentice, and throughout his warriorhood so angry that he didn’t blame the cats that didn’t reach out--they were probably afraid he’d claw their pelt off. He spent the young and formative moons of his life so twisted up inside himself that he refused to take the time to make friends, bond with his mentor, or get into mischief with his fellow apprentices. He grew up stunted because of it, and then in his adulthood only latched onto Ravenstar, who fueled his anger rather than trying to soothe it, and fed into his attempts to break free of his father’s memory.

He’d been such a miserable apprentice, despite growing up surrounded by family and could-have-been-friends.

Fishstick didn’t seem to have the same troubles as him.

Her energy was limitless. Her enthusiasm had no apparent bounds. He walked slowly in a straight line, conserving his energy, and she criss-crossed, jumped up onto fences and halfway up tree trunks, over creeks and then back again just for the thrill. Every night she crashed like she’d never had the opportunity to sleep before--shoving her way into his side and passing out before he could complain. 

One morning, the sun rose, and with it came a gentle flurry of snow--a rare sight to see off the mountain that was once Sleepydawn’s home. When he woke, and felt the damp, bitter chill that he knew so well, he resigned himself to an extra-cold and miserable walk, today, or until the snow melted--frozen paws and whiskers and soaked fur. Fishstick, on the other paw, lit up as if she’d never seen something so wonderful before, barreling out of their shelter and into the thin layer of white snow with an air of glee around her more vibrant than anything Sleepydawn had seen in the last four moons. 

She spent that day with even more energy than normal, if that was a possible thing to achieve. The grin never slipped from her face, she raced in circles around him as they traveled, and she even bullied him into a short snowball fight. That whole day, he watched her with quiet eyes, and a thought lingered in the back of his mind.

Is this what I could have been?

. . . 

The snow didn’t melt, per se, but no more fell after the first day--it left a thin coating on the tops of leaves and grass, like gently-laid spiderwebs, melting into their fur as they stepped on it. It disappeared from any twolegplace almost instantly--either melted on the bare stone that the twolegs built their homes around, or shoveled away by the twolegs themselves with great stone scoops to make room for monsters to roam. Perhaps monsters were vulnerable to snow and ice? Something to consider.

Regardless, it left the land bitterly cold as Sleepydawn and Fishstick traveled along. His bad leg always ached a little extra when it was especially cold or wet outside, but even without that added bit of discomfort, they were left stumbling and clumsy after a while, forced to make frequent stops to huddle in some meager shelter and get the feeling back into their paws before continuing. Still, Fishstick’s spirits stayed bright--she suggested scenic detours that Sleepydawn would immediately refuse, and begged on their breaks for him to teach her a battle move or how to catch birds out of the air, despite his reminders that their breaks were meant for resting, and her grin hardly faltered. He finally caved and showed her a basic hunting crouch before they went to sleep one night. He told himself she’d need a leg up, as a former loner in Fallenclan. He ignored all evidence that she’d probably fit in better than he ever did.

Aside from all that, several days of their journey were spent cold, stiff, and vaguely miserable. Distracted.

It made sense that neither of them noticed the dog until it was too late.

It happened quickly--quicker than Sleepydawn could keep up with. One minute, serene, annoyed calm, the next, a dull growl, a single, grating bark, and a brown dog the size of a bicycle was bearing down on them, snapping its teeth as the two of them leapt into the air and tried to flee.

Panic overtook Sleepydawn’s mind like a fungus. He suddenly couldn’t think, couldn’t feel--it was just ice in every bone of his body, a tight, frozen grip, screaming without words or logic. He was blind, deaf, moving without telling his body to move.

And then Fishstick screamed.

Everything snapped back into place, like a bone being reset. Still, panic, but now he could see pearly white fangs closing down around his young companion, and his legs listened as he told them to carry him closer. He remembered his training like he remembered how to breathe--he flew at the dog’s face and howled and raked his claws over the eyes and nose, sinking his teeth clean through one of the ears. The dog howled in response, flinging its head hard enough to send Sleepydawn several feet away, a chunk of meat and fur clenched in his jaw, still. It howled all the way home as it fled back to its twolegs.

Like Buttercup, he thought nonsensically, blood ringing in his ears, a metallic taste clinging to all the corners of his mouth.

Fishstick wasn’t hurt. They called it a night early and found a twoleg’s shed to sleep in, curled up on a high shelf. Sleepydawn wrapped his tail around her and groomed her fur until she fell asleep.

. . .

His journey before he had been hit by a bike seemed to take moons and moons, but it seemed like they’d only just left the twoleg’s clutches before Fallenclan’s mountain started to loom in the distance.

Fishstick’s questions came in greater frequency and urgency the closer they got. She asked who the leader was, and what kind of prey the cats of Fallenclan ate, and how long they’d lived on the mountain. He answered most of her questions, usually truthfully. An ache was forming in him, deeper than the one in his leg. Once they reached the territory, he’d have to leave her behind. He’d be alone again.

Thoughts appeared in his mind, unabbiden--what if after he left her at the border, she found another dog? Or a group of rogues? Or a patrol in a particularly foul mood? What if she wandered straight past Fallenclan, across the river, and met a Shallowclan patrol, instead? There were too many variables. He’d have to take her directly to camp--or as close as he could get before they met a patrol, anyway. He wouldn’t linger. Just long enough to make sure she could stay there, and wasn’t turned away. Would Wolfstar do that? Sleepydawn wouldn’t know.

The first step across the border was like sinking into cool water after a day in the greenleaf sun--the tense muscles of his spine relaxed, a soft breath escaped his lungs. This was home.

Not his. Not his home.

Behind him, the world. In front of him, his world. And to the left, nestled into a bed of rocks and lichen, a sacred place, that he’d only walked past before, never into. The sun was setting, anyway. He directed Fishstick towards the cave with a nod of his head, and the two of them ducked under a curtain of moss into soft darkness.

“We’ll shelter here for the night. In the morning, we’ll make the last leg.”

“Ha! Leg.” Fishstick swerved to bump her whole body into his weak side. He dodged without much difficulty. 

“Show some respect, why don’t you?” He growled. “This is a sacred place. The only place we can speak to Starclan.”

Fishstick quieted, a little, as Sleepydawn led them both down into the entrance of the Glowcave. The light from outside faded out slowly, then began to pick up again as glowing mushrooms appeared on the walls, pocketed by thick curtains of lichen. The air was slightly humid, but the ground wasn’t muddy, just slightly damp enough to stick to his paws in little crumbles.

“Woah.” Fishstick craned her neck to look at the mushrooms overhead. She seemed uncharacteristically meek. “Is it… okay for us to sleep in here?”

“It’s fine,” Sleepydawn snorted. “Starclan isn’t going to kick us out for needing a place to rest.”

Hopefully, he added to himself.

Though he kept the appearance of the confident older cat Fishstick expected him to be, inside, he was wide-eyed as a kit. He’d never seen the Glowcave himself, very few cats had--and it was stunning. At the end of the cave, so brightly lit by mushrooms it might as well have been twilight, they found a little pool of water, fed by a natural spring. Fishstick immediately went for a drink.

Something tickled his mind about that--wasn’t that how you visited Starclan’s territory, by drinking? Whatever. Maybe a visit to her ancestors would humble her.

Sleepydawn curled into a neat ball a few tail-lengths from the water, under a few particularly large mushrooms. After a few moments, Fishstick appeared to burrow into his side and dig her elbows in his ribs. He sighed in resignation.

Comforted in the thought that Starclan would protect her while he slept, Sleepydawn faded away.

When he woke up, it was to the sweet smell of crushed grass under his paws, and a warm breeze. There was no little golden tabby to be seen.

“Hm, Fish?” He meowed, cracking his eyes open, suddenly jolting up. “Fishstick? Hey, Fish!”

“It’s alright, she’s safe.”

Sleepydawn turned. There was a cat there that he didn’t recognize--black and white, with a jagged scar between his eyes. He smelled faintly familiar.

“What do you mean she’s safe?” Sleepydawn snarled. “Where is she? What have you done?”

“She’s with you,” The cat meowed, calm, but with a slight tremble in his voice. “Sleeping in the Glowcave.”

Sleepydawn paused.

He was in a field, he realized. Long grass surrounded him in a huge circle, but the stuff he stepped on was only up to his dewclaws, soft and tickling his fur where it swayed gently in the breeze. The sky above was a dark blue of twilight, dotted with puffy pink and purple clouds. The sun was setting on the horizon, bright as a marigold. The temperature was just on the edge of too warm, exactly as Sleepydawn liked it. He could smell honey and rabbits on the air.

“This is… Starclan.”

“It is,” agreed the cat, whom Sleepydawn was realizing was probably long dead.

“I’m… allowed here?”

Something in his voice, the smallness of it, the surprise, seemed to make the cat in front of him break. His mouth wobbled a bit, his ears twitching as if in a valiant attempt to stay facing forward. He blinked rapidly a few times.

“Oh, Sleepydawn,” he whispered. “Of course you’re allowed. If you want to be.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Sleepydawn snapped.

“It means you regret what you did,” the Starclan cat meowed. “And that if given the chance, you wouldn’t repeat your mistakes. You’ve done awful things, but in your heart is a good Fallenclan warrior.”

“I’m not a Fallenclan warrior anymore,” Sleepydawn lashed his tail, shaking his head to rid himself of the avalanche of emotions this cat was dumping on him. “And I won’t be again. As soon as I show Fishstick where the camp is, I’m leaving. I won’t even give them the chance to chase me away.”

“Do you think they would?”

“Sure,” he scoffed. “Flamefall would bite my tail off if given half the chance. I’m sure Wolfbite- Wolfstar isn’t keen on having Ravenstar’s followers in her camp.”

“I don’t see you following him, now,” the cat sat down, curling his tail over his paws. “Or his memory, for that matter. Not everyone can say the same, you know.”

A pause. “You never killed in his name.”

“I would have,” he snapped. “If Ravenstar had told me to kill a clanmate, I would have.”

“Which one?”

“What?”

“Which one?” The cat blinked. “If he’d told you to kill Hazelthorn, would you? What about Ashblink? Or Feathersight, or Marshjump, or Gizmo. Would you have killed them if he told you to?”

The words he wanted to use made a nest and died in Sleepydawn’s throat. “Who are you?” He meowed instead.

The scarred cat looked at him, long and sad. “I’m sorry.” “For what?”

“For making you live in my shadow. For dying before you were born. For leaving your mother to raise you without me.”

It was Sleepycloud.

This was the cat that Sleepydawn had spent his entire life underneath. That he’d nearly died for. That he’d destroyed his leg in the name of. This cat had caused his mother immeasurable grief, and his littermates, and himself. This cat had ruined his life.

“...Dad?”

“My baby,” Sleepycloud fell forward, no longer holding back his tears, and tucked his head over Sleepydawn’s shoulders. “Oh, little bug, my baby. I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” Sleepydawn, a fully grown adult, wept into his father’s chest. “I’m sorry, it’s all my fault. I should have died instead.”

“Never,” Sleepydawn’s father clamped his head down, pushing him further into his chest. “Never, I’m so glad you’re alive, that you got to live and hunt and fight. And I’m so sorry for the path you’ve had to walk.”

It’s not your fault, Sleepydawn almost said. Wanted to say. He wasn’t sure if it was true. Sleepycloud didn’t let him say it.

“You are my son,” Sleepydawn’s father drew back just enough to press their foreheads together. They had the same eyes. The exact same eyes. Sleepydawn was looking into a reflection of his own form. For the first time, he saw in himself what everyone else had seen. “You are your mother’s son. You are your siblings’ brother. You’re a guardian to this young cat that you’ve brought to live the life of her dreams. You’re a fantastic warrior. Even in exile.”

Sleepycloud’s eyes were teary, and glimmered with stars. “I have no right to ask anything of you. But…”

Sleepydawn grit his teeth, throat feeling thick. He wanted to know. “Tell me. Ask.”

His father’s eyes fell shut. “Let yourself love. Let yourself be loved. Let yourself enjoy life and know that you’ve spent yours serving and toiling and you deserve so much. Please.”

The new, starry world faded away.

Fishstick didn’t have any dreams, when she woke--Sleepydawn asked her just to be sure, but it seemed she hadn’t been visited. Presumably, she didn’t have anybody waiting for her, there. Not in that afterlife.

If he thought she’d been excitable before then, it was nothing compared to her attitude that morning. She frolicked and leapt about like a fawn in newleaf, thrilled more than anything to be a warrior at last. It was a wonder she didn’t alert any patrols to their approach as Sleepydawn carefully led her towards camp.

He wasn’t sure if it would be his last time in Fallenclan territory, but he treated it as if it was. They passed through the plains, close enough that he could point out the Honey Spruce to her, instructing her to keep her distance. Then, they followed the creek upriver, towards the Starpool. He made Fishstick pause, then, so the two of them could watch the fish swimming under the surface for a few minutes. The reflection of the sun on the water dazzled them both. He showed her the best place to cross the creek, over a neat set of close-together stones, and laughed at her when she misjudged a jump and got her hind legs wet.

They had to travel a bit around, for the best path up to the camp. In the far distance, Sleepydawn pointed out the Sky Pine, the tallest tree in the territory, standing stoically near the Gooseclan border. He remembered trying to climb it, as an apprentice. Fishstick probably would, too. One day soon.

Everywhere, the smell of Fallenclan. Like cold mountain water and moss and wet earth and birds. The closer they drew to the camp, the stronger that scent became. Sleepydawn’s lungs ached with it, and not for the first time, he debated turning back. 

It was too late, anyway.

Before the mouth of the cave had even come fully into view, a voice called out. “Stop where you are!” A long-furred yellow molly stalked towards them, expression harsh and guarded for a moment before falling slack in surprise. “It’s…”

“It’s me.” Sleepydawn agreed. “I know I’m- not welcome here. I’m just delivering someone.”

He tilted his head to look behind him, seeing Fishstick. Her eyes were wide, fur prickling on the back of her neck as Moorthistle approached them. 

“We’re here to speak with Wolfstar,” Sleepydawn dipped his head in submission. “And then I will leave.”

“...Alright.” Moorthistle agreed after a moment of careful consideration, green eyes flicking over them both. “Ashblink, I’ll be back in a moment.”

A solid lump formed harsh in his throat as Sleepydawn followed Moorthistle, past his mate. Former mate. Their relationship had been strained before he’d been exiled, and when Ashblink hadn’t come to say goodbye before Sleepydawn left, well… he understood what that meant.

I didn’t treat you well, he realized silently as Ashblink’s cold blue eyes followed him. I’m sorry.

Fishstick had none of the struggles that he was carrying--once she’d gotten over her initial awe, she was trotting after him like a puppy, tail held high and eyes bright, peering at the walls of the cave and the cats that were beginning to gather around them like she’d never seen such things before. Maybe she hadn’t.

She’ll make a good warrior, Sleepydawn thought suddenly, surprising himself. 

She really would. Despite her annoying demeanor, which was something that, really, all apprentices had to some degree, she was intelligent, and curious, and eager to learn. Perhaps one day she’d win a battle single-pawed against a group of rogues, saving her entire patrol, or she’d bring home a ptarmigan in the middle of leaf-bare when the rest of the clan was freezing and starving. She’d probably be a better warrior than Sleepydawn ever was. 

But she wouldn’t be here without me, he realized.

This was how he repaid them. Mistlefrost, Wolfstar, any other cats he’d hurt. He brought to them this promising young cat with her whole future ahead of her. Even if he couldn’t serve Fallenclan himself anymore, he could do this.

He loved his clan. With every breath.

Wolfstar padded up to the two of them, her chin tilted up and her blue eyes icy. The star-shaped white mark on her forehead was still startling to see, such a blatant show of Starclan’s favor. She was their leader. Their true one.

“So, you’re back, after everything.”

[mkarchin713]

Roni couldn’t help but chuckle to herself.

She had been on “Wayne Duty” as her coworkers teasingly called it, ever since Bruce had taken Richard in.

She could still remember the panicked look on her superiors faces when they found out Bruce Wayne decided to be a foster parent.

Everyone was so afraid something would happen, not that the beloved Prince of Gotham would do anything to purposefully harm the children, but, well, let’s just say his reputation didn’t exactly scream responsible caregiver.

When she had been placed on “Wayne Duty” Roni had expected something would go wrong, Bruce not having time with his WE work, that the man who killed Richard’s parents would go after him or most likely, the Bruce wouldn’t be able to handle a freshly traumatized child.

Bruce Wayne went way above, and beyond, her expectations. Richard thrived under Bruce’s guidance and grew into a wonderful young man.

Roni had still been hesitant in the beginning. Her hesitation did not go away even after she got her first “Bat Case”. “Bat Case’s” were not something she and her colleagues really talked about, it was more of an open secret than anything else.

Shortly after she placed Richard, “Bat Cases” started appearing. “Bat Cases” came in two distinct flavors, warnings and recommendations. If a file suddenly had a bat symbol sticker on it, it meant that the children involved were in danger and the Bat had an eye on the situation. If the case had a robin symbol, it meant the foster was Bat approved.

And guess whose file was covered in the symbols of every single bird that graced the Gotham skies?

Bruce Wayne was definitely Bat approved and it wasn’t unusual for Roni’s colleagues and superiors to give her the harder cases, the cases where the kids were in active danger, those involved in police investigations, those they couldn’t place anywhere else and those that just mysteriously appeared on her desk, all ended up on her caseload, all ended up in Wayne Manor.

Out of all of his fosters, Bruce had only adopted four and a half (if the Thomas boy didn’t end up with a hyphenated surname, she’d eat her metaphorical hat). Most fosters only stayed a week at most, but even after they left Bruce would take care of them. She knew for a fact that every foster who left Wayne manor was going to a family who would suddenly be blessed with WE job offers and a nice little college fund set up.

A part of Roni was jealous of the kids she placed with Bruce, mostly because she wished there was someone like him in her life when she was a child.

Despite how Bruce had proved himself over the years, and how many meta’s in particular she had sent to him, she was worried about the Phantom children

Phantom.

That was the name they had given GCPD.

Who would have guessed a routine traffic stop would have led to the discovery of a meta trafficking ring masquerading as a government agency.

Why a meta trafficking ring masquerading as a government agency thought they could drive through Gotham with Metropolis plates and expected to not get pulled over was a mystery to her.

Either way, she now had two traumatized meta’s who refused to tell anyone who they were (never a good sign), could become invisible and intangible and worst yet, they were certifiable “Wayne Bait”.

Roni wondered if she would get double the money for winning the “who will Bruce adopt next” betting pool for giving him twins.

Bruce Wayne's a Foster Parent. Also he avoids death a lot so a dead person can usually tell if a humans meant to have died but didn't.

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

"Bruce you know I wouldn't ask this of you if I didn't have to but-"

Bruce just sighed from his side of the phone, pinching the bridge of his nose.

Nobody ever really expects to get a phone call nearing 3 am but exceptions had to be made when you were a legal foster parent and also a part-time secret super hero. If it wasn't one thing calling for him it was the other.

On the other side of the phone, Bruce heard the caseworker, Roni, chuckle.

"It's just for 3 nights and half of the day after, but I need you to be prepared for something before I can pass them off to you."

Bruce sat upright now on his bed, attentively listening to her words. Usually the kids didn't really come with any pre-warnings from the Caseworker themselves, letting anything about each Foster kid be said inside of their personal files that got sent along with them.

But when she gave out this information it was usually important. The last time Bruce had gotten a warning like this it was for Jason which was ages ago it feels at this point.

"What is it?"

"The kids are-" Her voice trailed off, like as if she was still searching for the right words to say. "They've been through what I can honestly only describe as the equivalent to a meta-kid trafficking lab"

Bruce shifted as he heard the driving continue on the other side of the phone.

"They're very guarded because of what they went through and they might display.. unusual behavior. More unusual then a meta-kids behavior after such a situation would be, but don't let it fool you! The kids are really sweet beyond being afraid."

Bruce frowns at the descriptions before replying to her, mentally trying to prepare himself for the idea of these kids and what they might have went through.

"I'll make a note of it then. Thank you, Roni"

"No, thank you, Bruce. I really appreciate this last minute placement. We'll be by really soon"

He was left with a click as he removed himself off his bed and threw the covers to the side of him. Alfred would want to know that they would have 2 new guests in the manor, at the very least to greet them and have rooms prepared even if they didn't need to have them prepared further then what they already were.

It was less then 5 minutes later that Bruce found himself, with Alfred, greeting the temporary fosters at the front door. Roni looked tiredly at them as she pushed the kids front and center.

Bruce could relate heavily.

"Hello Danny, Ellie. It's nice to meet you both, I'm Bruce Wayne."

Danny just stared at the mans outstretched hand for a second before he turned to look up at him, a pinched look on his face. Ellie matched his expression, although being a bit more subtle about it as she looked over Bruce as a whole.

Eerily, Bruce felt like his very soul was being judge the longer the kids stared at him. He also felt a sense of familiarity with these two kids the longer this continued.

They seemed detached rather than afraid like their caseworker had explained earlier, more so viewing the world as if they were outside of it rather then in it in any way.

Danny was quick to glare at him after another moment, "You're a fruit-loop, aren't you?"

Ellie broke from her own scanning almost immediately when she heard Danny's comment, cackling beside him before shoving him off with her arm. The action made Bruce smile as he took his arm back and placed it by his side.

Alfred also looked amused between the pair of siblings before turning attention to the task at hand again. Bruce just smiled at his pseudo-fathers usual fondness over children, knowing he was being reminded of his own grandchildren.

"This is Alfred. He's going to be the one to show you over to your rooms for the next few nights." Alfred greeted the kids in the same polite way he usually greeted all guests before he leaned down and extended his hands towards their belongings. He didn't grab their belongings just remained leaning over them before questioning the kids if they would like help to take their stuff to their rooms.

Bruce only really saw it faintly and if it were any other moment he might have ignored it as a sleepless hallucination, but for some reason he noticed the change immediately. The twins eyes go from a darker blue to a flashing bright green.

As if alarmed by the sudden movement towards their belongings.

Danny was quick to catch his own staring as well, eyes flashing back to blue for only a second before reverting back to green. Almost as if to give off some kind of warning.

Ellie noticed his staring immediately and shoved Danny again, this time more forceful for his attention before turning to whisper something to him when she had him back.

Bruce felt his skin crawl before turning away to face their caseworker, not really understanding anything they were saying beyond hearing a few words and feeling their eyes look between each other and his back.

Death Touched was an especially new description, and one that stuck in his head the second he heard it.

Bruce waited until the kids were guided away by Alfred before talking to their caseworker officially and waking her up from her half delirious tired drop-off.

"Hey Roni? Is there any chance we can extend the Fenton kids stay?"

There was something going on here with these kids and he was going to get to the bottom of it. One way or another.

[sapphicides]

call me crazy or gay but i genuinely think the writers, directors, and hell, even the actors knew what they were doing when it came to how they portrayed shauna and jackie's relationship in the pilot. watching it for the first time, i went in completely blind, with no exposure to the fandom, the ships, or anything beyond the core premise of "a group of teenage girls get stuck in a nightmarish lord of the flies/lost scenario after a plane crash and do crazy shit to survive." i fully anticipated any romance in this show, if at all, to be straight. yet i still saw how they established shauna and jackie and immediately thought "my god, these bitches are gay"

from the very first scene we see of jackie (almost) by herself being her faking an orgasm with jeff, clearly implying that she's disinterested in her own boyfriend, to the very first scene we see of shauna and jackie alone together starting with this rom-com esque image of jackie stepping out of her house while music plays in the background and shauna goes from resting bitch face to all smiles

from the longing stares they give each other in their school gym, to shauna responding to tai's "freeze allie out" proposal simply with, "jackie wouldn't like it"

from the scene of shauna dressing with jackie in her room before the party, her snapping at jackie when she merely suggests that shauna sleep with randy and jackie looking genuinely hurt and apologetic by it, to the infamous party scene where shauna looks on at jackie and jeff longingly– except, she's only really looking at jackie, because the entire shot is framed around jackie. for the majority of that scene, jeff is barely even in frame, a faded blur in the background, until he puts his arms around jackie and physically puts himself in shauna's line of vision

the way she immediately takes a pained sip of her beer after

the way she turns around to randy flirting with her, only to turn away with a look of disgust on her face (just like how jackie looked disgusted during jeff's attempt at getting her off)

the way she can't pull her eyes off jackie even when jeff is dropping them off, even when she knows she's about to fuck her boyfriend once she's gone

the way she says goodbye to jackie, tells her she loves her, and jackie doesn't say it back, so she asks jeff to say it to her when they have sex

the show sets up their dynamic to be one that feels inherently romantic to first-time viewers, only to flip it on its head when its reveled that shauna's true interest is in... jeff. she's really in love with jeff? the guy who's face we see maybe a couple of times total, that jeff? the guy who's basically a background character the entire episode, that jeff? yeah, i don't buy it

you could argue that the show places so much emphasis on jackie because it's trying to convey that the affair is eating away at shauna. to some extent, i agree with this, but i really doubt that it's only this. it would explain shauna's snappy and, at times, cagey behavior around jackie, but it doesn't explain the way that jackie is framed by the camera, music, or even some of the writing choices. whenever we see jackie through shauna's eyes, the camera is always focused directly on her, often times with her face illuminated brighter than anyone else. the music that plays behind her is shauna's kind of music (both supernova by liz phair, which shauna chooses to listen to in her car's tape deck, and miss world by hole, which undeniably fits her grungey music taste). she's joined at the hip with shauna, even in scenes where she's with jeff– seriously, there's only one scene where she's completely alone with jeff without shauna, and it's that one. and the same goes for shauna

for the entirety of the pilot, they are in a constant state of push and pull with each other, almost all of their actions being dependent on one another. jeff feels like a plot device at best, a character designed to come between them and to be thrown away once they realize who each other's real love interest is. even upon several rewatches, it still feels this way. even in the adult timeline, it still feels this way. we barely see adult jeff, but we feel both jackie's literal absence and her metaphorical presence in the form of shauna's collection of porcelain bunnies

there is so much foreshadowing and detail packed into the pilot that i have a really hard believing that this was just an oversight or mishandling of their relationship on the show's part. do i think there's going to be any kind of big love confession from shauna any time soon? no. but do i think they intentionally laid the groundwork for her to realize the feelings she had for jackie at some point? yes, i really do

[lovhrin]

𓇻   ॱ˖  FROM ME TO YOU park sunghoon mini smau

──ॱ˖ ❀ If there was one person yn would always remember, it would be park sunghoon, the only boy who was kind to her on her first day of school. to her, that small act of kindness meant everything. to him, it was probably just another ordinary day. or at least, that’s what she thought.

in which the most popular boy in school is tired of hiding his interest in the least popular girl in school.

❀ pairing : popular!sunghoon x quiet!femreader

❀ genre : school!au, friends to lovers, fluff, angst, smau, loosely based on kimi ni todoke

❀ taglist : closed! @tasnemluvs @honestlyatomicpanda @hhyvsstuff @skepvids @who-tf-soddhi @beigerin @tinyteezer @sasfransisco @giraffeass @velv3ts @seiamor @steddie-steddie @blvengene @starry-eyed-bimbo @ilovbeshotaro @river-demon-slayer @thinkinboutbin @starsunoo @nishimurarikisfinestan @i03jae @greentulip @naevis-hung-up @itsactuallylina @academiq @rikidaze @en-dream @rkivesfilm @kittyyy003 @haechology @univershoon @riribelle @jiiyen @elegancefr @daniellesyellowhands @sunooqvrlsx @justsvstuff @xeee334 @jungcatwonie @starbyeol1512 @right-person-wrong-time @kirakun @rairaiblog @miukidoll @unstableqi @wonuziex @yurisblooming @yyawnjun @pluggtalkk @mydearyeseo @yurisblooming @juyeoz

00. no boys allowed

soft, soothing music drifted through the café, wrapping the space in a sense of peace as the girls enjoyed their meal. the atmosphere was nothing short of serene just as expected. yn always had a way of finding the perfect spots, places that felt like a hidden sanctuary away from the world.

"yn, maybe try eating the food instead of just taking pictures of it," yizhuo teased, laughing at the way yn's face instantly turned red.

"sorry, they're just too cute," she said, finally taking a bite of her totoro cream puff and letting out a satisfied hum. "i need a good collage of photos before school starts, my photography teacher wants us to document our spring break and school starts tomorrow.”

"well, that shouldn't have been hard," yunah said, mouth full, completely ignoring yizhuo's scolding look before taking a sip from yn's drink. "you document everything, you probably haven't even realized how many photos you've taken over the brea—oh!" she suddenly cut herself off, a teasing glint in her eyes as she placed a hand over yn's. "speaking of school, have you thought about joining me for sports day?"

yn awkwardly glanced to the side, avoiding yunah's expectant gaze.

"oh, come on! i even got yiz to join my team," yunah pouted, giving yn her best pleading look.

"which is never happening again," yizhuo chimed in, taking a sip of her kiki themed latte. "i'm only going because you promised to buy me ramen for a month."

"come on, yn! i want both of my girls on my team," yunah whined, taking another sip from yn's drink, despite having her own.

"this is really good," she mused, making yn nod in agreement.

"i know, right?"

"but that's beside the point!" yunah quickly refocused, leaning in with wide, pleading eyes. "please?"

yn looked at her friend and sighed. she was never the sports type, she got tired too easily. she was more of an artsy girl, someone who kept to herself. plus, she had only transferred at the start of the year and still didn’t feel completely comfortable. but she couldn't ignore the fact that yunah and yizhuo had been nothing but kind to her since she moved. she felt like she owed them at least a little consideration.

"i'll think about it," she said at last, meeting yunah's hopeful gaze. "for real this time."

“promise?”

“promise.”

a comfortable silence settled between them, the only sounds being the occasional clink of utensils and the soft hum of café chatter. the girls stayed lost in their own worlds, scrolling through their phones and picking at their food, perfectly at ease in each other's company.

that was until yunah looked up, her eyes widening as she stared past yn and yizhuo toward the entrance.

"what the hell are they doing here?" she muttered.

yn and yizhuo turned to look over their shoulders. yizhuo immediately groaned.

"i thought this place was girls only?" she joked, rolling her eyes.

but yn barely heard her. her focus was locked on the boy who walked in last, trailing behind the others.

sunghoon.

last . masterlist . next

──ॱ˖ ❀ finally starting!!

[shaunamilfman]

canine teeth (in the side of my neck)

pairing: Shauna Shipman x f!r Summary: Shauna's chasing you through the woods. note: minors DNI. warnings for blood, biting, also kind of dubcon but (spoiler: discussed, consented to before hand and mentioned in the end.). thank @soffsh2 for this one too ngl.

For a brief moment, as your face slams into the ground and everything goes a little hazy around the edges, you think you might’ve just died. Which is a dumb thought, all in all. As if the universe would let you be that lucky by now. The Wilderness, the mystic force that has seemingly guided your life since your plane crashed down into the shithole, wouldn’t let you do something as simple as black out when it could wring out a few more painful hours from you.

You can feel the blood dripping down your face and pooling into the dirt beneath you, like you’re already being prepared to be their next sacrifice. There’s no time to deal with the mess you’ve made of your face in the fall, not when Shauna was so close behind you. You’re scrambling up to your knees when your legs are pulled out from beneath you by a tight grip on your ankle, and suddenly you’ve got another face full of dirt. There’s a loud grunt of complaint from Shauna as your foot lands hard in her stomach in a futile attempt to get away.

She manages to fumble your ankle just long enough for you to get it free, but she’s scrambling over you to plant her knee squarely in the center of your back. You’ve taken more than your fair share of hits, both in soccer and out in the wilderness, but the feeling of her resting the entirety of her weight on that one spot is enough to make your eyes water with pain. You can’t help the pained groan that leaves your lips, even as your hands start searching for some sort of purchase to get out from underneath her. 

God, you would take anything to get away from her right now. Any of the other girls were better. You would even take Misty over Shauna. The fact that you’ve reached a point in your life when that comparison matters would be sickening if you weren’t so fucking terrified you could hardly think.

Her hands wrap around your arm, pulling it out from under you hard enough that you can already feel the bruise forming. She wrenches your arm back far enough that you could feel that strain of it in your joints. Shauna’s treating you like some kind of ragdoll she could just maneuver wherever she wanted. It’s not like she was wrong. The feeling in your shoulder made you sick, like all it would take is one thoughtless tug to do some real damage to you. Something Shauna was more than capable of, shown time and time again.

She had enough leverage on you that the only thing you could do was scream as her teeth sank into your arm like some kind of feral animal.

There was absolutely no warning, not even the mocking taunts you expected there would be. You didn’t even see it coming until suddenly your arm felt like it was on fire. The pain of it was blinding, enough to make the lingering ache of her knee seem like background noise as every nerve in your body was lit up by the feeling of her teeth latching on like she was trying to see how deep she could go before something gives beneath her.

All you could do was writhe and gasp, biting at your lip hard enough that you felt something tear beneath your teeth in some desperate gesture to keep yourself quiet. The only thing screaming would do was bring more of them toward you, which was the last thing you needed. Then again, maybe cooler heads would prevail, and they'd put you out of your fucking misery instead of eating you alive.

You can’t focus, can’t even think.

It’s strangely quiet between the two of you, nothing but the sounds of leaves and twigs crackling as you struggle beneath her and the frantic wheezes that leave your lips when you can manage to rub enough brain cells together to remember you need to breathe. The pressure of her weight on your back doesn’t help, making each and every breath a struggle to overcome as she presses you into the dirt.

Shauna huffs out an annoyed breath that ghosts hot against your arm as you cry out again, pulling away just enough to clearly hiss “Shut up!” before biting back down. It has the opposite of its intended effect as she bites down somewhere new, sending even sharper waves of pain instead of the duller ache you'd grown used to. It tears a sob out of your throat as you feel her jaw flex, grinding her teeth back and forth like some rabid animal. A sawing motion that makes you feel like she’s trying to tear her way through your skin and start ripping pieces off right there.

She doesn't like that at all, a fact she's not shy of making clear. The words she's speaking are so muffled as they vibrate against your arm that you almost can't make them out as she speaks them, and the panic that revelation causes didn't help correct it. It’s like every part of your body capable of conscious thought has fled and left you to flail around helplessly beneath her.

You can feel her hand sliding up your back, her hand pushing with deliberate force that you can’t even begin to fight against. All you can do is suck in another breath before your face is crushed into the damp earth beneath you. It’s cold, still a little wet from the rain the night before, already sticking to your face and smearing across your skin. The scent of dirt fills your nose; the taste clings to your tongue. That’s all you have: dirt and pain.

Finally, mercifully, you’re able to make out what she was saying.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up.” Like if she just says it enough, you’ll be forced to listen. If only it were that simple. Then, so quiet that you think you must have imagined it, "Please."

Still, everything that’s happened so far has nothing on the jolt of pure fear that goes through your body as her grip on your head shifts. Just enough for you to feel the way her fingers are wrapped around the hilt of her knife behind your head. Oh, God. You didn’t think it could get worse.

You stiffen as you notice, and she flexes her fingers purposely around the hilt. She wants you to know, doesn’t she? Wants you to feel the way she holds your life in her hand while you're powerless to stop it. Shauna’s just playing with you now, but that could change just as quickly as she wills it to. It’s a threat and a promise.

“Please!” You cry out, so muffled by the dirt in your mouth it comes out as a strangled whimper. You aren’t even sure she could hear you to answer. But Shauna hesitates just for a moment, her breath stuttering and her mouth going slack for a half a second before she’s biting again.

That’s all you need.

“Shauna, please. Please.”

Shauna doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even justify your begging with a response, but what she does do is answer enough. You can feel her shifting on top of you, and at first you think she might just be getting a firmer position to dig her knee further into your spine, taking the last of your breath from your lungs. 

That’s until the first slow roll of her hips as she’s pressed against your side. It’s a lazy, almost mocking grind. Taking her time with you, knowing there’s not anything that could stop her from it. You shudder, a different feeling altogether from the fear that’s been wreaking havoc on you rising up and settling in your stomach.

She doesn’t say a word. She doesn’t have to.

You beg just the way she wants.

“Please, please,” you garble around mouthfuls of dirt, tongue covered in grit and blood but too desperate to care as you force the words through chapped lips. “Don’t kill me, Shauna. You don’t want to do that–” 

She bites harder in response, and you cry out, your voice cracking.

Shit.

Shauna does want to do that.

Shauna wrenches your head to the side as she rubs your cheek into the dirt, now wet with your drool as you spit out what you can manage even as the taste of it lingers on your tongue. Your head is turned the other way, so you can’t even see her. Maybe it’s better that way.

“Fuck, Shauna. Jesus,” you hiss.

The pressure of her jaw softens just slightly, not because of anything you could say to convince her otherwise, but because in all your thrashing beneath her she manages to find the angle she needs to draw a whimper from her lips as she slowly moves against your side.

But fucking you means she’s not trying to eat you, right?

“Shauna, God. Don’t stop. Please. I’ll do anything.”

Oh, she liked that last one.

It’s one thing to be at her mercy. Another to feel how much she enjoys it. And she is enjoying it. You can tell with each roll of her hips, so wet you can feel the warmth of it through her sweatpants. With each motion, she becomes more coordinated, more set in her rhythm as quiet noises leave her lips and echo against your arm.

She grinds her teeth at your inaction, digging further into the torn skin of your arm.

“Please, Shauna,” you plead, going tense as the blade of Shauna’s knife presses against your face. It’s cold, so fucking cold that the temperature itself is a shock to your system beyond just the threat that it carries. The blade might as well be frozen for how it feels against your sweat-slickened skin. 

Blood drips onto your skin, and for a moment you think she’s killed you before you realize it was hers. A cut on her hand bleeds freely down the side of your face where she must have nicked herself on the blade during the struggle. “Oh, fuck. Shauna, don’t–”

You sputter as it finds its way down your face to your lips, the copper taste causing you to jerk away and only managing to give yourself a shallow cut across your face for your trouble. You hiss in pain, which draws Shauna’s attention for a moment as her jaw slackens. Concern, amusement–maybe both. But she’s too invested in causing you pain and getting off, not necessarily in that order, to pay it any mind.

“Shauna, Shauna! Please, please. Be careful.”

She can’t pull away, can only push closer.

Shauna’s getting closer. You can tell. The sounds that leave her lips make you ache even as she tries to stop them, the heat of her impossible to ignore. Shauna’s lost herself in the sensation, quiet needy noises spilling against your skin as she starts to get desperate.

“Anything you want, Shauna,” you breathe in a low whisper, feeling the way it makes her hips stutter before pressing harder against you. “You don’t want to kill me, right? Then you could only eat me once.”

It should disgust you that those words are what finally make Shauna come with a pitiful whine, hips moving frantically against you as she chases her high. But she just sounded so good. Her jaw clamps down reflexively, tearing another scream from your lips that goes straight through Shauna as she shudders in response.

Shauna groans, finally letting your arm slip out of her teeth to flop uselessly against the ground. She follows it down, drawing pained whimpers from your mouth as she laps at the edges of the wound with her tongue. It’s somehow more painful than the biting was, the slow drag of the tip of her tongue as she maps the bloodied skin. At least you had grown somewhat numb to the biting.

The gentleness was so much worse, each press of her tongue like she’s mapping you. Then she hums, low and unhurried, and you know that she knows. That she wants it this way.

She’s going to be the death of you one of these days.

And what a way to go.

… 

She rolls you over on your back as she stares down at you, the knife still held loosely in her hand where it rests against your collar before she reluctantly hooks it in the back of her pants. You huff a laugh, reaching up to slap at her shoulder. 

“What the hell?” She questions, glaring down at you as she rolls her shoulder. You roll your eyes. That didn't hurt. 

“You fucking bitch,” you accuse. “Thought you were going to break my arm the way you were bending it.” 

Shauna shrugs, like it was a small price to pay until she catches sight of the glare you're sending her. 

“I'm sorry,” she says wryly. “Is that better?”

You scoff, and Shauna just grins down at you with bloody teeth, which is a look. You hate how much you like it about as much as you hate how Shauna immediately takes notice. She raises your bloody arm to her mouth, slowly running her tongue across the torn skin as you hiss in pain. At least, you think it’s pain.

There’s something about the warm press of her tongue as she reopens the skin again that leaves it up for debate. Especially as she grabs your hand, shifting up on her knees to swing one leg over your hip as she brings your fingers where she wants them.

Again.