#BUT ANYWAYS. YES. BACK TO WRITING. I WANT TO POST THE NEXT CHAPTER TONIGHT

[myownwholewildworld]

iii. like obsidian & quartz - acta, non verba

chapter 2 | series masterlist | ao3 | main masterlist | chapter 4 (soon) pairing: conqueror!marcus acacius x ofc!reader. summary: your efforts to get the ball rolling on your plan get shunted aside by marcus' chivalry. a/n: hey, hi, hello! i'm sorry it's taken me a month to post the third chapter, but here it is! 💖 i do find posting this series a bit nerve-wracking, just because i have the feeling that this plot is bigger than my writing skills so i keep wondering if i'm making it justice. but i'm rolling with it anyways haha as always, all interactions welcome, i do appreciate you liking, sharing and/or commenting! take care <3 warnings: 18+, mdni. some impure thoughts. one account of a handjob (👀). sexual tension. misogyny. a fair bit of swearing. sword fight, death, wounds, blood... you know the drill. dialogue in italics means it’s spoken in gaelic (unless stated otherwise, i.e. latin) when marcus and callie are in the same scene. marcus is 48, ofc!reader is 26. w/c: ~9.9k. (i'm truly sorry) dividers by @saradika-graphics taglist at the end (let me know if you want to be added/removed please!)

“Here again, wee lass?” Cormag’s croaky voice caught you off guard.

You jumped in place and almost hit the back of your head against the shelf above.

You were bent over a pile of baskets in the kitchen, trying to count how many wild parsnips there were left. With your family gone, you had to look after your people. You worried there was not much left to eat, but the old cook seemed to be good at rationing. The Romans had no measure when it came to food, rapidly dwindling the stock saved for the village. There were way too many mouths to feed now, and the first harvest of the root vegetables would not be for at least another six months.

Your blood boiled when you saw the feasts the Romans were served every night while the servants had a measle chunk of bread and a watered-down broth. You were all living under tyranny — one you hoped to topple. Only if fucking Marcus Acacius was not such a tight cunt, you would be closer to your goal.

It wasn’t for your lack of trying though. Every night you were as suggestive as you could, considering how many pairs of eyes were watching you — enemies’ and allies’ alike. The first lusting after you, wondering if you were a whore who could warm up their bed at night, and the second curious about what game you were up to. Not many people were privy to your plan.

“Ah, ye ogre! You scared the shit out of me,” you chuckled, hand on pounding heart, when you turned around to face him.

Cormag’s thick brows knitted together, his big, round nose red with rage.

“I told you I didn’t want to see you around here until at least tomorrow,” he barked, arms folded with disapproval.

“Come on, Cormag. I’ll work tonight and then—”

“Nay, I don’t want to hear it. You are not working tonight. You’ve worked the last eight nights in a row,” he said between gritted teeth. “I want you to go home to Bonnie and rest.”

You huffed, now your turn to cross arms.

“I need no rest. I am fresh as a daisy, couldn’t be better,” you lied through your teeth.

The reality was you were knackered. You had been helping out in the kitchens day and night, much to Cormag’s despair. If you were not doing a stock check, you were shuffling stuff around for the next meal or cleaning after those filthy, mannerless soldiers. And you were the savages, the cheek they had was beyond you.

“Don’t bullshit me, I can see right through it. Those grey circles under your eyes are screaming for some sleep,” he replied, getting closer to you.

His heavy hands landed on your shoulders, forcing you to turn around and pushing you towards the door. You resisted, digging your heels into the cobblestone.

“Cormag, mas e do thoil e (please)! If I go home, I’m just going to get bored. I need something to occupy my mind with,” you pleaded with him, but he was deaf as a rock to your request.

“The whole point of sleeping is to empty your mind, not to occupy it with something,” he stopped dragging you once you were through the arch.

Sleep had evaded you since your whole family had been murdered. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Marcus’ gladius sinking in your father’s belly, your brothers’ and sister’s intertwined arms as they burnt to ashes, your mother’s mangled body while the Earth swallowed her whole. As if you didn’t have enough demons as it was, tragedy had knocked on your door once more — unannounced, greedy even.

You spun around, flashing your eyelashes at him, puppy eyes and all. Cormag just shook his head no, unwavering, and pointed towards the corridor that would lead you outside.

“I want you out of my sight for one day, fear beag (little one). Humour me, I beg you,” it was almost a prayer, but you knew Cormag did not have one sanctified bone in his body.

“Okay, just one night. But I’ll be back tomorrow!” You shouted over your shoulder, a proper threat, as you sauntered towards the hall.

It was still the early evening, but the courtyard was brimming with life. There were a few legionaries dotted around, swords at the ready. They seemed to train late into the night before they burst in into the great hall to eat and drink like gluttons.

As your feet slithered through the wet grass, you suddenly felt a heavy pair of eyes on you. Brown, beautiful— no, dreadful eyes, you were sure. You didn’t need to look to know that Marcus was watching your every step — your body burnt hot every time he would study you with so much intensity.

And he was doing that again, just now. You debated whether to lock eyes on him or not, but it was a lost fight. Soon enough, your green orbs located him in his black and golden armour walking towards the keep, mud up to his knees and a wild look on his face. One you had not seen before — a crack in his steadfast façade.

Your brows slightly furrowed, almost coming to a halt, while you tried to understand what was different. Then you saw it: his sword was stained with blood. He was not coming back from training, but… from battle? Your heartrate spiked; your eyes slightly widened as your fingers clutched a fist of your long skirt.

What battle? What had happened? What was going on? Who had he hurt? Did you know them? Had you lost someone dear? Was death knocking at your door once more?

You tamed your features as he approached, putting on your best act as you calmed down your quick breathing. His eyes never left yours, not while he walked from the portcullis to the keep, not once.

As he got to where you were, he nodded in your direction, as if to say, “don’t worry, I’m okay.” You then understood he mistook your concern, thinking it was for him. Oh, how wrong he was… You were not worried about him in the slightest, but about whoever succumbed to his sword.

As soon as he and his retinue disappeared into the keep, you bunched your skirt up and started running towards the village, dreading what you might find there.

Five minutes later, you were in the town’s square. A crowd was gathered around the stone well. The shrieking cry of a mother cradling his dead son pierced through the silence, boring into your heart.

“My wee lad, mo mhac (my son)!” Her screams formed a knot in your throat, one so tight you feared you could not breath.

You forged your way through the multitude, finding the woman on her knees, hugging her son close to her chest. You knew them — you knew everyone in your lands, if not by face, by name at least. These you knew by face and name.

Torcall was standing right behind her, blood on his clothes indicating he had been the one bringing the lad back for his mother to mourn.

Torcall’s sombre expression prevented you from saying anything, even when you looked at him for answers. He just shook his head no and turned around to speak to a young man. You quickly recognised him too, Dòmhnall — son to the grieving woman, brother to the deceased boy. Dòmhnall nodded to Torcall’s words and vanished.

Torcall made his way towards you and pushed you aside.

“What the fuck is going on, Torcall?”

“People are growing restless, Callie. The Romans were by the firth, training in the murky waters. Some lads saw Acacius alone for one second and thought they could take him,” he didn’t need to explain what the outcome had been.

“What were they thinking? Taking on the General? How old were they?”

“Around ten and five. When Acacius killed the boy, his friends panicked, dragged him out and retreated. I found them in the woods. The others were lucky to escape alive,” Torcall sighed heavily and so did you.

“We all need to be careful here. We’ve got to play the long game. Once we have enough information from them, then we can start planning some skirmishes to diminish their numbers, but not before,” you pinched the bridge of your nose in frustration as you both walked towards Bonnie’s.

“People don’t listen to reason when they feel threatened,” he looked at you askance, then back down to his feet, momentarily lost in thought. “You need to speak to some people, let the rumour spread that you’re working towards freedom — otherwise they’ll feel like they’ve been forgotten, and rightfully so. Let people know that they will need to be ready to fight when you command them. Give them some hope, something to look forward to.”

You didn’t want to show your hand too early, but Torcall was partially right. If this continued, if people tried to get their own justice, it would end up being more tragic than what ought to be. You could not endure more senseless loss of life, your clansmen dying for naught.

Your plan was so clear in your head, a simple to-do list —gain Marcus’ trust, kill off his army little by little, then finish him once he was the last man standing— but yet you hoped effective. If someone deviated, if someone betrayed you, then it would all be over way too soon. And you would end up like your mother — left for dead, hung in a cage off the keep as if you were a rat exposed to the elements.

“My athair’s retinue are already in the know,” you thought out loud, lips pouting with doubt. “But I did make them swear they would not tell a soul.”

Torcall propped open the wooden door to Bonnie’s crannog, the creaking noise welcoming you to the only home you knew now.

“I’ll go speak to my cousins, Seumas and Anndra, tomorrow. I know how eager they are to start a war, so this might appease them. I don’t want people up in arms just yet, we’ll wait for the Romans to be at their lowest,” you whispered back to him.

“Uhm, maybe—” Torcall’s voice got drown by the ones of his children.

“Auntaidh, auntaidh (auntie)!”The synchronised cacophony of your niece and nephew swept away part of the guilt you were feeling, forcing a wide smile onto your lips.

“I don’t think she’s here tonight, Marcus,” Maximus jest made his head turn to his direction.

With a cocked brow, Marcus feigned ignorance, the wooden fork in his hand mindlessly pushing around a lone meatball on his plate.

“Who?” He asked, as if neither of them knew who Maximus was referring to.

Your presence in the great hall every night had become a welcomed sight, one he had grown used to over the last few days. Not because it was soothing, but because it caused havoc. That was what he welcomed — someone who was not taken aback by his presence, someone who would hold his gaze and wouldn’t fold, someone who would shamelessly say his first name the way you said it nine nights ago.

And if he was entirely honest with himself, he also welcomed your advances. Not that he was showing it, but every taunting Dux Meus (my General/Leader/God), every suggestive glance, every time you touched him, his skin would set ablaze. It was just a harmless game, as long as it remained just that. He was here to do a job, and nothing should get in the way of that — even if a red-haired, green-eyed nymph tempted him down the path of infidelity.

How hypocritical of him to think of all the things he would do to you if given the chance, when he despised his wife for doing exactly that.

“What was her name? Connie? Charlie?” Maximus tapped his chin with one finger, pretending to think.

“Callie,” Marcus bit the bait without realising.

“Ah, yes. Callie. How could you forget when the poor woman has been throwing herself at you for more than a week now and you have given her nothing in return?” The commander observed with an ample grin. “Have you claimed her yet? Fucked her?”

His whole body went rigid with rage at Maximus’ provocation. Sometimes he hated his friendship with him, the liberties he took even though he was above the man in the command chain. If it wasn’t because there were still people on the dais, Marcus would have punched him square in the jaw to shut him up.

Instead, his eyes darted to his friend’s with a dark warning in them. Maximus laughed it off, leaning back on his chair and looking at him with a mischievous smile.

“I’ll take that as a no then. I bet she’s tired of being ignored and that’s why she’s not here tonight. Maybe she’s fucking one of your legionaries in the barracks right now. Damn, maybe I’ll do that myself—”

“Are you fucking done?” He interrupted, the legs of his chair screeching as he dragged it backwards to stand up.

“Have I touched a nerve now?” Maximus’ smile just grew bigger as he stood up too, palming Marcus’ shoulder. “I’m just messing with you, old friend. Helping you, actually. You need to get laid, clear your mind of war for one night. Your hair is greyer now than what it was a month ago.”

“I don’t need your advice nor your teasing. It may be all fun and games to you, but there’s a lot on the line here,” Marcus sneered as they walked down the corridor formed by cheery and drunk soldiers sat at their tables.

He wasn’t worried about his reputation but all the debts he owed. Not him, specifically, but his wife. The lush life she led at home would ruin him eventually.

Maximus’ demeanour changed, hands laced on his back and head bowed down in deep thought.

“I know what’s at stake, Marcus. We all are doing what we can to find the instigator,” only then Marcus realised that Maximus was talking about the attempt on his life that afternoon. “Valerius’ henchman was able to follow the boy into the forest. He’s definitely dead.”

He said it as if it was good news, but that death would haunt Marcus at night. It had been just a boy, probably not more than ten and six, who had met his fate at his sword. Marcus had tried to keep him at bay, but when the boy lunged forwards with a small knife on his hand, he basically impaled himself on the gladius Marcus was holding to ward him off.

“Good to hear,” he replied with a flat, lacking voice.

Maximus angled his head, then shook it.

“Good night, Marcus. I’ll let you know if I see your Callie entertaining the men in the barracks,” Maximus waved him goodbye, light-heartedly.

“Sod off,” he rolled his eyes, before turning the corner.

A tiny part of him wanted to go after his friend and check himself, make sure you were not fucking another man.

That thought made him frown. What you did or didn’t do was none of his business. In fact, you were a free woman and could do as you pleased. Even if that meant you were not pleasing him.

You threw the saddle on Kelpie’s back — she was your late mother’s horse. The horse was as black as coal with a shiny, short coat. She was a young one, so still needed a fair amount of training — at least, she was properly socialised. Mòrag had died before she could train her newest addition. This horse was, most probably, the closest you would ever be to your màthair (mother).

The mare neighed loudly when you tried to adjust the saddle on her belly and moved around nervously, trotting in place to put distance between you two. You shushed her, caressing her muzzle and chin groove.

“Shh, shhh… It’s okay, àlainn (lovely). I see you don’t like that, do you?” You whispered in a calming manner until the mare quietened down.

You leaned forward until your forehead pressed against hers and then placed a gentle kiss on the bridge of Kelpie’s nose before reaching towards her back to remove the untied saddle.

“Barebacking it is then,” the idea didn’t thrill you, but you didn’t fancy walking all the way to Bun Craobh (Bunchrew).

That morning you had gone out to the barn to speak to Anndra and Seumas, only to find out they were no longer there. When you went back into the crannog, Bonnie mentioned they had left the morning prior. Something about a carpentry job in the next town over required their attention, or that was they had told their mother.

You had a nagging feeling that wasn’t true. The siblings were ardent defenders of your family, so you knew they would not stand idly. What brought them to Bun Craobh though, you were not sure but intended on finding out.

You led Kelpie out of the stables and into the courtyard of your castle. You hoped no one would notice you sneaking out with a horse that allegedly didn’t belong to you, but you were obviously out of luck — had been for a while now.

“Hey, puella (young lady)! Where do you think you’re going with that horse?” One of the roman soldiers cut you off, hands on hips and a deep frown. You recognised him from sitting on the dais with Marcus, although you didn’t know his name.

You cursed him under your breath, but composed a sweet smile, when you just wanted to knee his balls and run past him.

“I’m in need of a horse. We are out of some herbs and spices in the kitchens, so I was going to visit the town’s healer…” You explained with your eyes averted down and fingers laced in front of you.

“I’ll take care of this, Cassius,” Marcus appeared on his back, a heavy, broad and very masculine hand landing on the shoulder of the man in front of you.

For a brief second, you saw a flicker of disgust in his eyes, but Cassius quickly masked it with a deferent nod before walking away. Your eyes followed him, curious as to what you had just seen. Did Cassius despise Marcus? Why?

“Where are you going, Callie?” The General’s deep, throaty voice made you look in his direction.

For a second, you got lost in his chocolate eyes — there was an almost imperceptible sadness in them, a tinge of regret that seemed to haunt him every day and every night. How could that possibly be when he dispatched people to their deaths so mindlessly, so effortlessly?

“Cormag needs some bits for his cooking, Dux Meus,” you explained again, and there it was.

His irises darkened with the last two words, the sadness transforming into something else — liquid darkness. You held his gaze, hypnotised by how the desire rapidly kicked the sadness out of him. And you knew he was holding onto every bit of his control, taming his body not to react to your words — but his eyes he could not govern. They were a window to his lust.

You fought with your own craving. The way he stared at you made your skin run hot as ember and slick pool in your slit. You had been wondering what it would feel like to be fucked raw by a man like Marcus Acacius; you had even fantasized about it a few nights.

An donas dubh (dammit)! If it wasn’t for how crowded Bonnie’s crannog was, you would have even touched yourself to the thought of him plunging in and out between your thighs.

That idea was so foreign to you, it took you aback.

“Is that okay?” His question lingered; Marcus’ head tilted with knitting brows.

You looked at him doe eyed as you came out of your wet haze. Fuck, stop imagining things, he’s right there talking to you! You reprimanded yourself before blinking a few times to clear your mind.

“I-I’m sorry, Dominus (Master)?” The slight stammer in your voice was not faked this time around.

“I said I’ll accompany you to wherever you need to go. It’s not safe out there, even less so for a lonely maid serving the Romans,” he repeated.

That offer shocked you because you were not expecting such gallantry from him. You also had to smother a snicker — you were not at risk of anything, this was your land, your people. But Marcus did not know that.

“Oh, it’s not necessary, my lord. I know my way around—”

“I insist. Please,” he added, his fists curled on his sides.

If the look in his eyes indicated anything, that would be that Marcus Acacius would not accept no for an answer. And that would mess your whole itinerary up, because you could not take him to Bun Craobh, in case your cousins were really planning something. Now you would really have to go to Naimh’s new cottage, even though that was not your plan at all.

“Awright, aye,” you conceded, an unwilling smile crooking your lips.

“I didn’t see you last night in the great hall,” Marcus broke the surprisingly comfortable silence.

He was riding on your left and you couldn’t help but turn your head to watch him. So, your efforts were going somewhere at last. For eight nights you had been on his heels, serving him as if that was what you were born to do. Your attempts at seducing him began to be so obvious, you could hear the other maids giggling to themselves every time you leaned over his shoulder, offering him a clear sight of your generous cleavage.

Even his soldiers had noticed. You had been so obvious, other men thought you were a pleasure woman and that was invitation enough for some of them to try and reach for your ass whenever you approached their tables. Disgusting behaviour, but you had to laugh your way out of it and slap some hands so no one would take offense at your rejection.

“Cormag would not let me work again. I really wanted to be there though,” you said truthfully, watching him in the corner of your eye.

Marcus straightened his back, as if suddenly uncomfortable, and studied your surroundings.

It was still early afternoon, but it seemed to be later due to the thick tree canopy above you. You were travelling westward through the dense forest that neared Beauly Firth. Naimh had moved to a crannog in the road to Bun Craobh after her home in Loch Moy had been burnt to ashes. Thankfully, she had not been home when it happened. A small win in your book.

“I see. He worries about you,” he noted, jaw tight as he spoke.

“Aye, he’s like a father to me,” that old git really was. “I should be back to work tomorrow.”

“Good,” he replied without even thinking and you knew he did not intend to say that out loud. “I mean, you’re one of the few people who speak Latin. It’s hard to communicate with the rest,” Marcus added swiftly to veil his slip of tongue.

You smiled to yourself, realising this was the first time you two were alone, away from prying eyes.

“You only need to ask, Marcus,” you whispered, your voice charged with the right hint of suggestion and provocation.

His neck snapped in your direction at your words.

“Ask what?”

He knew exactly what. The man was stubborn as a mule, playing hard to get. But he was not immune to your advances, as much as he wanted to conceal his lust for you.

“You know what,” was your simple answer before spurring Kelpie on with the heels of your leather shoes.

You spotted a small hut between some trees off the main path, that had to be the crannog that Naimh had found in her search for a new home. You had seen that cottage a few times before, always abandoned and eerie — legend said that was where the wisps would lead you at night.

Kelpie sprinted towards it, and you heard Marcus’ horse neigh a few feet behind you. You needed to act fast before good ol’ Naimh gave you away and revealed your identity. So, the moment you dismounted and Naimh was under the frame of the main door, you threw your arms around her neck.

She was a fragile woman in her late sixties, white hair and wrinkling skin. Her nose a tad too prominent, her lips wide and big, slanted eyes. She was tiny too, with a crouched back that made her look even smaller.

“Naimh!” You exclaimed excitedly, and then whispered in her ear in Gaelic, “He doesn’t know who I am. Call me Callie, play along, please.”

The old woman stilled and then patted your back in understanding.

“Ah, my sweet Callie, so good to see you. I started to think you’d forgotten about this old crone. This how you treat the elderly?” She spoke in your native language, which meant Marcus would not understand a word.

“He doesn’t understand, Naimh, you don’t need to put on the best act of your life, just be mindful of my name,” you sniggered, holding her hands with both of yours. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“So have I, leannan (darling), so have I,” she squeezed your hands before dropping hers to her sides, her eyes squinting with a bit of hatred.

Marcus cleared his throat, standing right behind you. You stepped aside.

“General, this is Naimh, our town’s healer. Naimh, this is General Acacius,” you introduced them in Latin, although you were sure Naimh did not understand much.

“My pleasure,” he bowed his head slightly while Naimh stared him down as if he was a snake trying to steal the eggs off her nest.

The old woman just grunted and walked back inside, not responding to his pleasantry.

Shrugging, you looked at Marcus.

“Don’t mind her too much, she’s not really fond of anyone,” that much was true.

“She’s fond of you,” he pointed out with a raised brow.

“Well, yeah, that’s because I pester her a lot. I can be very insisting.”

“You definitely are,” he muttered under his breath, not intended for your ears, but you heard that.

With a sufficient grin, you turned on your heels and got inside the crannog with Marcus right behind you.

By the time you were done with the visit, it was almost pitch-black outside. The weather, as everything in the Highlands, had turned too — it was dreich and drizzling, a light, damp mist hanging low, close to the ground.

You attached the thread of the little hemp sack around your waist as you waved goodbye to Naimh. She had given you an assortment of different spices she had stocked up: wild mountain thyme, dried pepper dulse and coriander grass. You were not sure if Cormag needed them, but you had to keep up with the lie in Marcus’ presence.

Both horses were lazily grazing around. They looked so different—Marcus’ white as a quartz, yours black as obsidian—they reminded you of how opposite you both were. Ironic, really, that the mare and the stallion were now approaching each other and rubbing necks.

“Kelpie,” you called her. Your mother’s horse barely looked at you, too busy grooming the back of Marcus’ horse with her teeth. “Hey!”

Kelpie almost brayed like a donkey, showing her annoyance, before she cantered towards you with a loud neigh.

“Oi, calm down. We’ve got to go back,” you asked of her, grabbing the reins.

“Kelpie? That’s an unusual name,” Marcus said while he jumped onto his horse’s back graciously.

Your mother had let you choose the name when it was first born, in one of your last visits to your family home as a married woman. A brief respite shared with Mòrag where you had forgotten who you were married to — you had spent the whole afternoon coming up with uncommon names and had finally settled for Kelpie.

“It’s a creature that inhabits lochs. They are shape-shifting spirits that usually take the form of a black horse,” you explained as you managed to get on top of the mare. A difficult task, considering there was no saddle to hold onto. “Some people say they are evil because they prey on us. They drag their victims into the water, devour them, and throw the entrails to the water's edge, so they can lure their next casualty. I think that’s just survival. There is no treachery in their nature.”

By the time you had finished talking, you were by Marcus’ side. His eyebrows almost touched each other, and you wondered if he had picked on your cutting remark about treachery. Whether he did or not, you did not know.

“Are they just stories to scare children away from deep water or are they real?” He questioned after a deliberating minute as both of your horses resumed the path ahead.

“I have never seen a kelpie myself, but I know folk who have perished to them,” you shrugged, the image of dismembered bodies by Loch Ness coming back to you. “It’s not a pretty picture.”

“I bet. Your people seem to have many stories about lurking creatures. I have seen the tapestries telling the story of the dragon-like monster living in the lake nearby,” he said with a pinch of incredulity in his voice.

“Loch. We call them lochs, not lakes,” you corrected him.

“Sorry, loch,” he said back with a soft ch, head cocked towards you. It was a good attempt.

“And that would be Nessie. She’s a staple around here, everyone loves her,” you joked. “She’s a Kelpie, but one which transforms into some sort of dragon. I’m not sure though, never seen her myself. But if you ever speak to Cormag, he’ll tell you all about her. Best mates they are, so he says.”

As soon as you spoke of the cook, you realised your mistake. You were talking too much, telling him all about a land he hated, a land he wanted to steal from you. A land he would destroy along with all its people. There was no point in explaining to him all about what made Caledonia special if he was here to wreck your life.

“The cook?” He pressed and you simply nodded, remaining silent.

For ten minutes neither of you talked. Weirdly, the silence was not ever bothersome. You didn’t have the need to fill it, and neither did he.

Until he did.

“My stud’s name is Faun,” he muttered, resuming the dead conversation where you had left it.  The stallion’s ears perked up at the sound of his name. “They are half-human, half-goat creatures. They inhabit forests like this back home. Some say they instil fear in travelling men and drive them to madness, others say they can guide you to safety. Never encountered one myself either.”

You turned your head around to glance at him. His story was strangely similar to yours, just adapted to his own beliefs. How could two very different people share something so unique as your love for mythical creatures?

“They sound beautiful. And before you judge me for saying that… beauty is on the eye of the beholder,” you added with a mellow laugh. You found goats endearing.

Marcus’ serious expression softened. “Evil or not, I do think they are too.”

Your eyes locked for an eternal second and you wondered why there was an unfamiliar feeling sitting low in your belly.

A split second was all it took to make you snap out of whatever brief connection you suddenly felt.

You heard the whistling sound before you saw the arrow sticking out of Marcus’ left shoulder, in that unprotected spot where the shoulder pad met the breastplate. The arrow had flown just a few inches away from your ear.

Marcus’ eyes widened as reality settled in. Out of nowhere, three men emerged from the woods, face painted with soot—the whites of their eyes sparkled under the full moon.

The sudden movement scared off Kelpie, who harshly stirred around and started galloping towards the trees with no regard for her rider—you. You managed to hold on to the low branches of the trees, Kelpie slipping from between your thighs as the mare ran towards safety alone, leaving you hanging from a branch.

The clink of metal behind you forced you to let go of the branch, landing on your feet like a graceful cat. When you turned around, you saw that Marcus had dismounted Faun. His stud, at least, had not abandoned his rider to the mercy of his enemies the same way your mare had. Little traitorous horse.

“Get back!” Marcus shouted at you as he repositioned his body between you and the threat of the threesome.

But they were no threat to you, you were sure. They were here to kill him. The same way some fucking kids had tried to end him that very afternoon. Were people plain, thick gòrach (stupid)?

“People are growing restless,” Torcall had said to you yesterday. So much so they would endanger you too? Your cover? What were you supposed to do now?

If you helped them and Marcus survived, you would be dead before dawn, your cover blown.

If you helped them and Marcus died, Agricola would appoint a new man in Marcus’ stead. One that might not fit well into your plan. And you would be hunted down too.

If you helped him and they survived, they would go back to your folk and tell them all how you betrayed them, how you turned against them — how you protected the General.

If you helped him and they died… Your conscience would be tainted forever.

Or you could do nothing — let destiny run its course. The General deserved to die for what he had done to your family; it was actually only fair. But Marcus needed to be killed off at the right time — not sooner nor later. Just right, as a pig hung for slaughter on the first days of winter.

As the Romans would say, Alea iacta est (the dice is cast).

“Caileag fealltach (traitorous lass)!” One of the men screeched before leaping on you, sgian-dubh (small knife) on his left and a longer sword on his right hand.

The raucous sound of steel colliding sparked life back into you. Marcus’ gladius had curbed the attack. And with a thundering flourish of his sword, the edge of it hit the man’s side with deadly precision. The attacker crumbled to his knees, a fountain of blood varnishing the grass underneath.

“Mac na galla (son of a bitch), I’ll have your head for this!” The taller man cowed in Gàidhlig.

Marcus’ hand pushed you back — unbeknownst to you, you had taken a few steps forward, wanting to say something, anything to stop this madness.

Marcus and his opponent exchanged a few strident blows. Despite the General being substantially older than his adversary, his movements were more gracious, trained, measured, while the other man’s were sloppy and directionless. It was only a matter of minutes until one of them tired out, and your bet, regrettably, was on your clansman.

“What is a lass like you doing with a man like him? Are you his whore or what? Have you no shame, woman?” The recriminatory voice of the last man came to you in your mother tongue, albeit a slightly different accent.

He had swerved towards you while Marcus was distracted with the other man, too focused on the dance of swords. You were unarmed, this fight you would not win.

Your kinsman’s sword swayed in front of you, and you managed to jump back, avoiding the blade by a mere inch. Your eyes shot back to his, back slightly crouched, trying to predict his next movement.

A malicious smirk appeared on your opponent’s lips, as if he was enjoying himself.

“I’m going to send you to fucking Dubnos (Hell), so you can rot there with the low-lives you get involved with,” the threat was not veiled.

He lunged forward and you dropped to the floor — eyeing the dead man’s blood-soaked sgian-dubh, you grabbed it and held it close to your chest.

“I don’t think so. I don’t want to kill you, please,” you almost begged him between gritted teeth as you dragged yourself back a few feet, slowly getting up as Marcus’ fight unfolded fifteen yards away from where you stood.

A brief glance in his direction told you he was holding up alright, just as you knew he would. You had seen him in a sword fight before — your father had died because of it. Because of him.

“Kill me? You?” he laughed out loud. “You’re just a sad, little, useless woman. What do you think you can do to me? Bet the closest you have ever been to a knife is in a kitchen, where you fucking belong. There and warming up some man’s bed, but not his,” he barked back, almost looming over you.

What he just said struck you as odd. Did this man not know how many battles you had fought besides your father, your entire family, to protect your land, your clan?

You could not recognise him under all the soot, his hair tied back and covered in mud in a pretty good attempt at concealing his identity.

Before you could question him, he lunged forwards.

“Callie, no!” You heard Marcus’ call, a note of fear sullying his words.

An acute relief washed over him when the man in front of you fell to his knees, laying at your feet. A big, burgundy stain tarnished your blue dress around your belly area. A bloody knife was firm on your steady hand, your eyes devoid of emotion — had you done this before? Impossible, he thought to himself, she’s just a maid.

The relief just grew in his tight chest when your eyes locked with his. But what he saw in them caught him off guard — fear?

“Marcus!”

Then he felt it. The ripping of skin, the sinking of metal through flesh, then a few twists of the knife rearranging his guts for good measure — then warmth. Sticky, wet warmth soaking the woollen tunic underneath his armour.

“Die, bastard,” his attacker whispered in his ear, the words strangely clear to him.

Marcus’ eyes quickly drifted down to see one of those small knives the barbarians used, sunken down to its hilt on the left-hand side of his lower abdomen, right under his lorica. He didn’t feel the pain, not just yet — just rage.

He had disarmed his rival but blundered. He shouldn’t have, but the moment he realised you were no longer behind him, he frantically searched his surroundings to find you quite a few feet away from him, from his protection. He thought you dead when he saw you so close to that man, almost entrapped in an intimate embrace. Turned out, you could protect yourself alright.

His left fingers followed the red river dripping onto the ground, almost mesmerised by the sight of his own thick blood.

Snapping out of his trance and with shock still holding him upright, he effortlessly swung his sword — the other man eyeing him with fright, realising those were his last seconds on this worldly plane.

The head of the last man standing rolled off his shoulders and hit the ground with a sharp thud.

“No, Marcus, no! Don’t pull it out,” you whispered into his neck, your fingers wrapping around his on the hilt of the knife.

When did you bridge the distance? How were you so close? He hadn’t heard you. At all.

His mind went numb as more blood poured from his body, his speech slurred as his grasp on consciousness became looser by the minute.

“I need to—,” he mumbled, brows frowned and fingers tighter.

“No, you’ll bleed out. Please, listen to me. If you want to live, don’t fucking touch it,” your sweary prayer finally reached him, and he loosened up the grip on the knife. “Shite. Faun! Fucking shite, Faun! Come, boy, come!” He barely saw you waving down his horse — his sight going too.

Marcus fought to stay afloat, but the waves were relentless, bigger than him, pushing him down to the seabed. He was drowning.

“Can you— Fuck, Marcus, can you jump?”

He looked at you confused, then in front of him. Faun was standing right there, waiting for him to hop onto his back. His hand held on to the saddle but couldn’t bring himself up.

“Ad genua (to your knees), Faun,” he muttered in Latin, and the stallion knelt almost instantly.

“Thank the fucking gods he’s trained be…” Marcus didn’t hear the last of your sentence as he plummeted on top of Faun, the knife and arrow sinking further in his flesh.

If it wasn’t for his impending death, you would have been relieved when Marcus fainted.

“…trained better than my mother’s mare,” was how you ended your sentence. One that would have fucked your whole plan up. And your life too.

“Fuck, this is bad. Really bad,” you muttered to yourself frantically as you sat down on the saddle.

You pushed Marcus’ body up, making him sit upright facing you with his heavy, manly thighs over yours — your knees pressing hard around Faun’s back to keep your balance as the stud stood up. You cradled Marcus’ cheeks and lightly patted him.

“Marcus. Hey, wake up,” you whispered, uprooting no reaction from him whatsoever. “Fuck, I said wake up!” You slapped him harder this time, the sound ricocheting on the trees and the palm of your hand itchy — it shouldn’t given the circumstances, but smacking him felt damn good.

The General groaned but didn’t open his eyes. With your right forearm pressed against his chest, your fingers wrapped around the arrow on his left shoulder. With as much care as you could and trying not to wiggle the arrow, you snapped the shaft at the hafting with the help of your left hand.

Marcus did not complain, so he had to be really out of it right now. You let him lean forward with his sweaty forehead lodged in the crook of your neck — way too close for comfort. You detested his proximity, but your body had a mind of its own. His warm breath fanning your skin made your hair stand.

Not the fucking time.

“Focus, dammit,” you summoned all your strength.

You were closer to Naimh’s crannog than to the Inbhir Nis’ fortress. You did not know what other threats lied ahead and Marcus was in dire need of help — you could feel his blood dripping onto the saddle, staining Faun’s white coat. Naimh would have everything you required to patch him up and her hut was well hidden.

You looked in both directions, Faun patiently awaiting your command. You veered the reins to the left.

“Hyah, hyah!” You compelled the stallion with a subtle kick of your heels.

Faun darted forward, fast as a wildcat, and you wrapped your arm around Marcus’ waist to prevent him from falling sideways to the ground.

It only took you ten minutes to get to Naimh’s again. You reined Faun back and he came to a sudden stop just a couple of feet away from the door.

“Ad genua,” you said to the horse, remembering the General’s command, and Faun knelt.

By that point, Marcus’ mind was very far away. You threaded your arms under his and  dragged him all to the crannog. There was a red trickle all the way from the saddle to where you were now.

“Fuck,” with the heel of your foot, you kicked Naimh’s door. “Naimh, it’s me, open up!”

You heard the rustling of her feet as she sauntered towards the door, swinging it open. With your back towards her, you could not see her expression, but you bet on shock.

“Obh obh (oh dear), what’s happened? Are you hurt?” You could tell Naimh was extremely worried.

“I’m fine. Him… well, not so much. We’ve been attacked. I don’t know who sent those men, but they were out for blood,” you explained as you hauled him back inside.

Thank the gods you were strong enough to grab him by his shoulders and lay him down on Naimh’s bed.

“Did you recognise them?” She asked while searching for her healing kit — a basket with a sharp, small knife, some eyed needles made of bone, wool thread and a few different species of fresh plants and herbs.

“No, I didn’t. They covered their faces in soot and their hair with mud, I could barely tell they were human,” you omitted the fact that you had to stab one of them to death to keep your cover intact and also to save yourself. Naimh was a healer, she would not understand having to take someone else’s life voluntarily.

You, on the other hand, were used to it.

Your hands worked faster than your brain — you grabbed the knife and cut Marcus’ tunic, from the edge of the skirt to his hip, so you would have better access to the wound on his lower abdomen. That was the one which was profusely bleeding, while the arrowhead seemed to block the wound enough so it wouldn’t bleed too.

You focused your eyes on the wound and not on his almost-exposed lap. You had a job to do if you wanted him to survive this. Not wanted really, you needed him to survive for now, so he could die at the right time.

You pressed the injury with your left hand, the protruding blade lodged between your middle and index fingers, and then pulled curtly from the hilt of the sgian-dubh.

Marcus’ eyes flew wide open, a restrained groan ripping his throat. His hand tightly wrapped around your wrist, his arched back slightly off the straw cushion. His orbs were wild with pain — the veins on his neck chiselled on his skin, so pronounced you thought they would explode. You kept the pressure on the wound while pushing him back down onto the bed.

“It’s okay. Relax, I’ve got you,” you tried to calm him down. His big, brown eyes studied you, considering if he should trust you with his life. His fingers were so solidly wrapped around your wrist, you were sure he was restricting your bloodflow. “You have no other option. It’s me or whatever god of the dead you praise,” you muttered, holding his gaze.

With a painful grunt, he let go of your wrist and settled back down. His jaw was so clenched, you were almost worried he would break a tooth.

“Naimh, bring me a stick of wood or something for him to chew on while I stitch him up. And some wine,” you asked of the old woman.

Soon enough you had everything you needed. You offered the woodstick to Marcus, who quickly understood what it was for and opened his mouth. You placed it between his teeth and he bit down on it.

You quickly removed the heel of your hand from the seeping gash and poured wine over it to disinfect it. Marcus hissed in pain, muffled by the stick he was chewing. You patted the area with a rag to clean it and then extended your hand towards Naimh, palm up. She had already threaded the eyed needle.

“This is going to hurt,” you warned him before piercing the first layer of skin.

You focused on the task at hand, blocking out any distractions. The needle was not the sharpest, so you had to really puncture the skin to get it through to the other side — you were sure that Marcus hated every bone of yours every time the blunt tip of the needle stroked his skin.

The wound was very deep, probably too deep for sutures, but you had no other alternative. His attacker had really intended on gutting him like a cow — the skin was ripped around the edges, as if the man had twisted the blade several times once it had already sunk in Marcus’ flesh.

By the time you were done, it still looked gnarly, but at least it wasn’t bleeding so much now. You had been so absorbed in your doing, you had not realised that Marcus had fainted again — probably a combination of blood loss and pain had sent him straight to Aengus’ embrace, God of Dreams.

You knew he was completely unconscious when you pulled the arrow out of his shoulder and followed the same procedure with not a single complaint from him. The starred scar would heal better than the butchering on his tummy. You were no expert, but at least you gave him a fighting chance.

“Naimh, could you prepare one of your concoctions, please? We need to cover the wounds and aid the healing process. Otherwise it’s going to become infected,” you asked while packing away the stuff you had used off her basket.

You saw her shuffling some shelves in search of specific ingredients and let her do her job. After putting away the basket, you walked back to the bed Marcus was splayed on.

What a fucking sight.

The lorica still covered his torso, but you had removed the shoulder plates to have better access to the arrow. The tunic underneath the cuirass that hung from his waist down was ripped apart — you had to so you could patch him up. Just a few inches away, you knew, was the core of his manhood.

You wondered… Better not to dwell there for long.

Then there were his hairy, thick thighs, and a pair of leather sandals plaited around his muscular calves. The man’s anatomy spoke of power, vigour, strength.

Most of his visible skin, along with the tunic and armour, was stained in dry, scarlet blood. The picture in front of you, although suggestive, was gruesome, bordering on sadistic. So, you definitely should not feel the way you did — curious, too curious.

“Here,” Naimh’s offering brought you back. “Apply this to the wounds, should keep any festering at bay.”

“Tapadh leibh a Naimh (thank you),” you thanked her, taking the mortar from her hands.

The mixture looked gooey and greenish — pretty regular, considering there was a ton of aloe vera in it.

“Do you want me to send word to the castle, mo bana-phrionnsa (my princess)?”, she offered, placing a little, fragile hand on your shoulder.

“Aye, if you don’t mind,” a brief pause to jog your memory. “Make sure it reaches Maximus, and Maximus only,” you added.

That commander seemed to be the closest thing to a friend Marcus had here. You had seen them on the dais, exchanging whispers and jests in a brotherly manner. Surely he would be someone Marcus would trust with his life.

“Na gabh dragh, measag (don’t worry, dear). You know my will-o'-wisps only reach those who I command them to,” her voice lowered, a sweet grin painted on her wrinkling face before vanishing through the door.

You knew Naimh came from a long bloodline of druids and sorceresses — she could be found attending to the coirtheachan (standing stones), ensuring they were clean with oblations left at their feet, speaking to animals and trees, or lighting fires with the mere snap of her fingers. Once, as a child, you saw how a wave of her hand over the flames made some sparks flicker away from the bonfire and dance through the air until they disappeared between some trees. The first wisps you had ever seen.

So when Naimh spoke of her will-o’-wisps, you did not question her one bit. You were one hundred percent sure that the message would get to Maximus in record time.

Your attention drifted back to the unconscious man on the bed. You needed to do something about the deplorable state he was in.

His eyelids were so heavy, his mind so foggy, Marcus was not able to open them just yet. Coming back to his senses would take all the strength he had left and that wasn’t much. His limbs felt weighty yet jelly-like too. How damn boorish of him if this was how he greeted death, unable to even shake hands with the Parcae (Fates).

A lifetime of bloodshed and war, and this was how his life would end, away from a real battlefield. What a shame.

His mind kept wandering and almost didn’t register a soft, velvety feeling on his right shin. It was warm and light, and it came and went like a gush of wind. That feeling, that touch, expanded to his thigh, his hip, his tummy, his chest. It was everywhere, right there on the confines on his imagination and on his damn skin.

Weird what the mind would come up with when on its last legs.

Slowly he drifted away again, and when Marcus came back to once more, he wasn’t sure how long it had been. Minutes. Hours. Days?

This time though, his senses flared alive. One more than the others — the sense of touch. The previous warmth, dry before, now was wet. It dripped and dripped, creating a river that ran down his thigh.

The heaviness that had him in a chokehold had softened, and so was able to move one hand, inspecting what that liquid warmth was. Blood?

“Don’t touch,” a firm yet soothing voice warned him.

Something wrapped around his wrist and placed his hand back down on the ground. No, not on the ground… on a bed?

After several attempts, Marcus managed to flutter his eyes open. White vision first, he blinked until the fog dissipated. And then he saw you there, sat by his side — inquiring, green eyes staring him down.

He held your gaze for what seemed like an eternity, while the memories flooded back. The arrow, the attackers, the sword fight, you stabbing that man to his death, the knife deeply lodged in his abdomen. The stitching, the painful stitching.

His eyes drifted down and only then did he realise that he was completely naked. Not even a thin piece of fabric covering him, no — absolutely, fucking nothing. Bare as the day he was fucking born.

Marcus’ eyes quickly shot to yours, his heart pounding wildly, as you held a damp rag on your hand.

“What the—,” he started to complain, his throat dry and coarse.

“No need to panic. I’m just washing the blood off you,” you explained matter-of-factly, unabashed even.

“My armour, my clothes…” was the only thing he managed to mutter.

“Your armour is now clean, and your clothes are drying over there in front of the hearth. I’ve washed them for you. You’re welcome,” you replied sneeringly, rolling your eyes, as you resumed what you were doing prior to being interrupted by his questioning.

You placed the rag back down on his inner thigh and rubbed, the dried blood coming off his skin albeit with some difficulty. Too fucking close to… Fuck, I rather fucking die. He stopped your hand again, teeth gritting.

“I can do this myself,” Marcus protested.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You think I’ve not seen a naked man before? I’m a widow, Marcus. You don’t have anything I have not seen before,” and then you scrubbed his skin some more, moving upwards and stopping just inches shy of his groin.

Marcus held his breath and closed his eyes, summoning all the self-control he could muster. He really had to focus to reign the most primal reaction a man could have when a woman was touching him. He pinched the bridge of his aquiline nose, jaw clenched, as he started counting backwards from one hundred.

The General needed a distraction — if he thought about your hand so damn close to his cock, he would fucking lose it. Would throw you onto that uncomfortable mattress and would fuck some sense into you for playing with fire. Teach you a lesson or two. Maybe three.

As soon as that thought formed, he had to put it out quickly. One would think that a near-death experience would knock some sense into him, but apparently not. He was a damned man.

Your hand moved around his lap languidly, expertly avoiding his not-so-soft-now dick, and focused on rubbing some blood off his lower abdomen. Then the damp rag moved further south, and his heart climbed up to this throat.

His eyes snapped back open, looking for yours, while his fingers gripped your wrist again.

“Is there no blood anywhere else?” his voice sounded strangled, begging almost, letting go of your hand.

“Nay, I’ve already cleaned the rest of your body. I was saving the best for last, Marcus,” you whispered at the same time the rag dragged along the length of his cock.

Then the palm of your hand flattened against his impending erection, the rag forsaken on his thigh now. The little blood he had left in his veins rushed south the moment your delicate fingers wrapped around the girth of his now-throbbing cock.

You just held him there with a tight grip, eyes never leaving his in defiance. Something sinister flicked in the green of your eyes — something mischievous, lustful even, but something really dark too. Your lips were slightly parted with an intransigent smile.

“How’re you feeling? Any pain?” You dared to ask, as if you weren’t the source of his pain.

Because the only real pain he felt was all gathered on his thudding dick. Feeling his agony, you stroked him once, twice… until you were pumping him decisively, shamelessly. Your thumb caressed his glans, buttering it with his own precum.

A moan tore through Marcus’ chest, rumbling — eyes closed, letting himself rejoice in the moment. Your fingers tight around his thick shaft, putting the right amount of pressure, sent him into oblivion. His erection just became harder and harder, steely as his gladius, under your diligent care.

Marcus felt the tension building up, his balls contracting with equal parts of pain and pleasure. His erection beat rhythmically with his heart — your strokes a blessing in disguise, sent to him to release the pressure building up at the bottom of his spine. You were working him so well, so dextrously, so deliciously, he didn’t know how much longer would he last.

“I wonder if it is as tasty as it looks…” you whispered in his ear as you crouched down a little, your lips grazing his skin.

The mere image of your mouth sealed around his manhood wrecked him. So fucking much, he was close to coming just with one single fucking handjob.

And then the door swung open, making both of you jump on the spot. You quickly removed your hand from his lap and Marcus almost died at the realisation that he would not find relief tonight.

As you turned around on your seat to face the door, you threw a blanket over his lap to disguise what had really been happening.

“Naimh is back,” you exclaimed giddily to him, standing up to greet her in your language.

Fuck Naimh. Kick her out, come back.

@orcasoul @immyowndefender @sjc7542 @fairiebabey

@thepalaceofmelanie @harriedandharassed @whoaitspascal87 @mewantpeepaw

@verybigvag @jessthebaker @ivoryandflame @missadangel @pepperstories

[prodagustd]

surprise | myg

this is an extra chapter of the so it goes series.

—pairing: rapper!yoongi x reader

—rating: +18

—genre: established relationship, ex fwb, angst, fluff

—warnings/tags: implied smut, lots of angst, fluff, subtle talk about aborti0n, DON’T trust my poor knowledge in contraceptive methods and use condoms!! english is not my first language btw

—words: 7.6k

a/note: this is proof that if you ask me enough, I'll finish writing my wips!! it's been a long time but I finally get to post the surprise drabble I've been planning and it makes me sososo happy to come back to this couple 😭 I missed them so much I just hope you missed them as much as I did!! BTW I was planning to post this after two other drabbles, so if you read any additional information it's because this was intended to be posted after that, but i wanted to post this so badly😭 so here it is!! hehe anyway enjoy!!

A few years ago, when you and Yoongi were beginning to be a thing and you still lived with your best friend, Nayeon, while he lived alone in his big apartment, he picked up this habit of begging you to stay the night with him every time you visited, even though he knew you couldn’t. You used to say no, trying hard to ignore the way he kissed your neck and sneaked his hands under your blouse while explaining that, if you said yes, he was willing to wake up early and drive you to your first class the next day. You'd think that after the first or maybe even the second time he tried this, the effect would wear off, but you ended up agreeing every single time.

Back then everything was so new to him, he couldn’t remember the last time he liked someone that much, he didn’t know what was happening to him and why he wanted to spend every night with you, why he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Sure you were pretty, sure you were beautiful and funny, and your lips tasted like strawberries and you looked at him like one else ever did, maybe it had something to do with that, who knew? The only thing he knew was that he felt like a teenager everytime you kissed him, or every time you ran your fingers through his hair or every time you were naked under him, or on top of him, or anywhere close to him for that matter. 

It took Yoongi a few hits, ten drunk nights and way too many days to realize that you were the only thing that he needed, that the world only made sense if you were by his side. 

With time, Yoongi learned to kiss slowly, to make love slowly, to take things with ease; he learned that you were going nowhere, but there were still those moments where he felt he couldn’t get enough of you; like tonight, to be exact. 

You were sure that in the last four years of dating Yoongi you had made it clear enough that you were a city girl, and you were certain your boyfriend knew that. You loved the noise and the chaos—the people bumping into each other on the streets, the busy days and nights. It wasn’t something you planned to give up anytime soon; this was the perfect time in your life to embrace the city's hustle. You’d have plenty of time for a quiet life when you got older.

Yoongi liked the city too—he enjoyed the view from his apartment window and the convenience of ordering food at any hour of the night. But he also loved road trips and sleeping in the middle of nowhere in a tent, bonfires, fishing and swimming in lakes. Yoongi had always been into camping, but instead of planning a trip with his good old friend Seokjin, who didn’t mind sleeping in a tent and loved fishing, he invited you—someone who hated bugs and couldn’t stand the idea of walking more than three minutes to find a bathroom.

You were still trying to decide whether not being able to say no to Yoongi was a problem, but it was his last free week before going back on tour. When he looked at you with starry eyes and asked you to go on a trip with him, which included spending the last two days sleeping in a tent, you couldn’t say no.

It was only two days, you were sure you could endure not sleeping in a proper bed for that long if that made him happy, you made the effort of not complaining just for tonight, after all you only had tickets to go visit him on tour in exactly five weeks, you were going to miss him. 

It was easy not to complain when Yoongi’s plans for your last night together were exclusively romantic; he cooked for you, built a campfire and spent the rest of the night stargazing until it was too cold to be outside, and when you were inside the tent he made sure to have hot water bags under the blankets, but they were no use when he was determined to get you naked. 

Did you mention that it was still winter?

Now you were trapped in a tent with him, straddling him as he kissed you deeply and gripped your thighs, begging you to ride him against your lips. That was when you started to complain. 

You felt your whole body shivering when Yoongi’s warm hands pulled your t-shirt over your head, leaving you almost naked. You hugged your torso, attempting to cover your breasts as you sat straight on top of your boyfriend, who was comfortably laying on the sleeping bag, fully clothed. 

“Yoongi, I’m cold.” You whined.

“C’mon, it’s going to wear off” He tried to convince you, rubbing his palms over your shoulders to keep you warm. You shook your head, laying your head on his still clothed chest as he covered your bare back with the blanket. It was easy for him to say that when he was wearing sweatpants and a long sleeve t-shirt. 

You knew that Yoongi was already missing you. He was fully aware that after tonight, he wouldn’t see you for a whole month and he wanted to make it last as long as he could, to hold you and kiss you as much as you let him. He had gotten too used to you—used to sleeping and waking up next to you, having you all to himself—but it became a problem every time he had to leave for work, it was impossible not to miss you. You still had texts, calls and FaceTime, but he was also taking into account time difference, work, and the fact that all of that wasn’t the real thing. And if you were honest, you were already missing him too. 

“What if I catch a cold?” You mumbled over his shirt. 

Yoongi kissed the top of your head, running his hands down your bare back and sending chills to your spine. How was he able to get you almost naked but you didn’t even get the chance to take off his t-shirt? “It’s not that cold.” He said, not willing to give up. 

You raised your head to look at him, frowning “Says the person who’s still fully clothed.”

He huffed, flipping you over to leave you under him. Suddenly, warmth rushed over you as you felt his body hovering over your frame. He was quick to take off his own t-shirt, trying to make you happy, but he quickly realized that maybe you were right, it was fucking cold, but he wasn’t going to back down.

“Happy now?”

“No, it’s freezing out there!” You kept complaining “Why do we have to do it without clothes? I don’t mind clothes, I actually think that doing it while being dressed is quite hot.” 

You threw your arms around his neck, bringing him closer to you. Even though you were in fact turned on from the kissing and grinding session you had a few moments ago, you still were thinking about the logistics of fucking inside the tent. 

Yoongi scoffed, amused.  “And I actually think that you being naked is quite hot, too.” He said, sneaking his face in the crook of your neck to trail down little kisses, nibbling the skin softly. “C’mon, baby. I won’t see you for weeks, let me make love to you.”

You tried not to roll your eyes. “You had been using that excuse the whole trip.” And you’ve fallen for it every time. His plans for this trip were very simple: fishing, camping and fucking you on every opportunity he had. It was not like you were against it, it has been a long time since you and him had time only for the two of you. 

“But isn’t it true?” He gazed up, looking at you with his soft eyes, his hair falling like a curtain on his face. “I’m gonna miss you.” 

You took a second to observe the tenderness of his features, to take in the softness of his voice, and for a moment there you knew why it was so hard to say no to him, you just didn’t want to say no. 

You closed your eyes, scrunching your nose. “We are gonna make such a mess.” You whined, but he just chuckled, knowing he won.

“I’ll take care of it, I promise.” He said with a soft voice, reaching for your lips as he roamed his hands towards your chest. You didn’t exactly know how he was going to “take care of it”, but his hands were gentle, the kiss was slow and when he opened his mouth to let his tongue slip past your lips, you were too into it to keep protesting about it.

As you sat on the cold bathroom floor of the home you shared with Yoongi, you tried to remind yourself of two basic things that you hoped would stop the sinking feeling in your chest. First, three weeks without Yoongi never killed anyone, this was something you knew from experience, Yoongi’s job demanded him to travel all the time, you were used to it, or at least you were supposed to be. Second, you were an independent woman (right?). You have been an independent woman since you were eighteen when you moved to Seoul alone, since you started a new life in a new city on your own. You woke up at six am everyday, worked hard your whole shift, paid the bills every month and managed to keep your house in order every day of the week. Sure, you loved Yoongi, and he loved you, and you could never imagine a life without him, but you didn’t need him, you wanted him. He wasn’t an extension of you, you were your own person, but why did you feel like the world was about to end right now if he was not there?

Crying your heart out like a five year old kid, you remembered the only time you had to take a pregnancy test, and how it looked nothing like this. 

Four years ago when you and Yoongi still didn’t kiss in front of your friends, when he still thought twice before holding your hand in public but still had the nerve of sneaking in your bed. That seemed like a hundred years ago, a universe away, but no, it was not too long ago when you were stubborn and kind of irresponsible for agreeing with him as he kissed your neck and ran his hands down your thighs while asking you if it was okay for him to “pull out” that night, since both of you completely forgot about condoms. You winced at the memory, but in your defense, you were too far gone to say no, take a cold shower and kiss him goodnight. You agreed only for that night, but three weeks later you were three days late and losing your mind, the only logical thing to do was to take a pregnancy test that, of course, came negative, but to this day you couldn’t shake the anxious feeling that you felt in your stomach those minutes before the negative sign appeared, and you couldn’t forget how pale Yoongi’s face turned when you told him about it. 

And now you were there, one hand covering your face while the other held a pregnancy test—only this time, it was positive. 

The one on your hand wasn’t the only one, no. There were two other positive tests laying on the floor in front of you, and even if you wanted to not trust the results, they couldn’t be all wrong, right? The plus sign was very clear in each one of them and you were five days late. The problem was that you were on the pill, you had been on the pill for the last couple years and this never happened to you, this wasn’t something normal or a simple mistake. 

You breathed out, trying not to panic. You got up on your bare feet to look at yourself in the mirror. You were a mess, that was not a surprise at all, your face was all swollen for the amount of time you have been crying and your hair was a big nest above your head. You washed your face, attempting to remain calm and evaluating your options. You glanced at your phone resting on the sink, and an overwhelming urge to call your mother surged within you, but as you imagined how the conversation would go, you quickly realized it wouldn’t be a good idea.

Your mother was not nosy, but she could be a little dense, a bit complicated, and it was not what you needed right now. You were sure that calling her while having a mental breakdown was going to drive her crazy, and consequently, drive you crazy too.  She would want to know every single detail, date, place and hour to understand the situation better, and you would have to explain something you didn’t even understand yet. You could imagine the conversation, she would try to explain every contraceptive method like you were a teenager and ask why you didn’t use a condom, because you knew she would ask, and you didn’t want to explain to her how you went on vacation with your boyfriend to have a bunch of condomless sex, the thought alone made you want to vomit. 

Calling your mother was not an option, not only because talking to her on the phone was complicated enough, but because she was in a different city, which brought you to discard calling Nayeon too, who was on vacation with her boyfriend (yes, boyfriend, that sounded ridiculous to you, too.) 

The last option was something you couldn't even fathom doing unless you were desperate, but you know what they say, desperate times call desperate measures, so you blew your nose, brushed your hair and called the only person in this city who would come running without asking any questions, Jungkook.

Breaking the news to the person in front of you wasn’t easy, especially when the words you needed to say were as unreal as they sounded. You didn’t look much better, you spent the next thirty minutes that Jungkook took to arrive crying, as Holly, the brown fluffy dog, looked at you like you just went mad, the worst thing was that you weren’t far from it. It was difficult to keep it together when your mind refused to look at the bright side of things, when you couldn’t call your mom and Yoongi was in another country, but when Jungkook rang your bell and entered through the door, you tried your best to smile at him and act like you weren’t in the middle of a mental breakdown. 

Your act wasn’t convincing, your friend looked at you like you were about to tell him that you killed someone and you needed help to hide the body.

You would have never recur to a man other than Yoongi for this kind of situation, but you decided to trust your ten years of friendship with the man in front of you and hope that he could be of any help. 

“You are what?” Said Jungkook, standing in the middle of the living room with his eyes wide open, trying to understand the meaning of your words.

There, in your pajamas and your hands on your hips, you closed your eyes shut, sighing. “Jungkook…” You said through gritted teeth. 

“I’m serious.” He said, letting his backpack drop to the floor. “I crossed half the city to get here, are you not kidding me right now?”

“I’m serious, too!” You whined “I’m not kidding, I don’t know what to do.”

He slowly approached you, walking towards the couch to take a seat. He suddenly felt his blood pressure dropping, his stomach sinking and his mouth dry as if he was the one developing a human organism inside his body.  “Are you sure?” He murmured. “Are you not having one of those crises you had when you were a teenager? I remember that time in college when you freaked out when you thought you were pregnant because some guy-”

“Jungkook, I’m sure.” You interrupted him, already knowing the whole story, but this time it was not just you overreacting. “My period is late and I took three tests, all positive.” 

He gulped, letting the room fall silent for a few seconds as both of you contemplated what that meant. You knew he was trying his best not to freak out, so you were grateful for his reaction, at least he didn’t faint like you expected him to do, but he was still white as a sheet, trying to find a solution in his head as though you had told him he was the one who was going to be a father.

“What are we gonna do?” He said under his breath.

“What am I gonna do?” You corrected him, sitting next to him “You are supposed to help me.” 

Jungkook took one hard look at you, looking terrified. “How?”

“God, I shouldn’t have called you.” You rolled your eyes. 

“No, I mean, what do you want to do?” He said. “Did you tell Yoongi?”

“Of course not.” You replied, feeling your eyes getting teary, but still trying to hold back. 

“Do you want to… tell him?” He continued to ask. 

You sniffed “I mean, I don’t know how.” You pouted “I’m seeing him in two weeks, I don’t know if I can wait that long.” 

He threw himself back against the couch, sinking in the cushions. It was like Jungkook’s life flashed before his eyes, how come he was discussing this with you right now? He still felt like you were kids, there was no way you were pregnant right now. “How did this happen?” He murmured to himself, looking at the blank wall in front of him. 

“Is it necessary for me to explain it?” You cried, snuggling closer to him as you rested your head on his shoulder. 

“Did you not use condoms?” He scolded you like he was your mother. 

You shifted your weight uneasily, eyes darting down to your socks. “We don’t… use condoms.” You cleared your throat, the words coming out hushed and hesitant. “I’m on the pill, I don’t know what happened.”

On second thought, that wasn’t something Jungkook wanted to know. It was like finding out how his parents had sex, he squirmed at the thought, shifting in his place. “Can you not call your doctor?” He suggested, his voice laced with uncertainty.

You paused, considering it. It was probably the most logical thing Jungkook could say, but you weren’t sure if your doctor could do anything about it.

“Even if I call her and tell her what's going on, it’s not like I can get a refund.” You huffed, a dry smile tugging at your lips.

He raised an eyebrow. “Well…” he began, dragging the word out. “In some way, you could get a refund.” You blinked at him, opening your eyes wide in surprise. “I mean only if you want to!”

You were so nervous you wanted to laugh. It wasn’t like the thought  didn’t cross your mind for a moment, but only when you tried to evaluate your options; if you were being honest, you couldn’t see yourself getting rid of the baby—or whatever organism had been living rent-free in your body for the past three weeks. Jungkook looked terrified that you might explode at him, especially when it seemed like you were on the verge of tears, but his question made you think, if you didn’t want to get rid of it, what was that you wanted to do?

You sank your shoulders, feeling completely lost. “That’s the problem.” You murmured “I don’t know if I want a refund.” 

Jungkook stood still for a moment, his eyes softening as he watched you. His thoughts swirled, trying to grasp the weight of your words. 

"Would Yoongi want a refund?" He asked, his tone lighter than before, but the sincerity in his voice was unmistakable. Despite the attempt at humor, his eyes betrayed the concern he was masking with the joke. 

A shaky exhale left your lips, the weight of uncertainty pulling you down. “I don’t know…” Was the only thing you could say. 

“But do you know if Yoongi wanted… kids?” He said as if that was a forbidden word. “I mean, do you want them?”

It wasn’t like you didn’t know what Yoongi wanted. You sighed, suddenly remembering all those times when the idea of a family came up in conversations, between drunken thoughts, before falling asleep, at dinner with his parents and on the ride home when he apologized on his mother’s behalf when she asked when you were going to give her grandchildren. His soft eyes, his hand on your tight and the view of the future laying in front of you like a promise. The thought warmed your heart for a moment, but the truth was that there was a difference between talking about it and actually having kids.

“We’ve talked about it…” You admitted. “But we’ve never planned it, let alone now that he’s on tour.” 

Jungkook hummed, still thinking. 

“But you both agreed to have kids at some point.” He affirmed, and you just nodded. 

It was in that moment where you realized you were crying again, tears slowly falling down your cheeks as you stood in silence, contemplating the overwhelming weight of the situation. 

“Fuck, don’t cry.” Jungkook said, rushing to wrap his arms around you, he enveloped you in a tight hug. As soon as you buried your face into his chest, something inside you gave away. You began sobbing against his hoodie, the tears flowed freely and uncontrollable, unable to hold yourself back. “C’mon, it’s okay, you’re okay. Nothing bad’s gonna happen.” His voice was soft but firm, holding you tightly. He pulled back just enough to look at you, his thumb gently wiping away a tear from your cheek, his gaze filled with nothing but concern. “You don’t need to have it all figured out right now. Let’s go step by step, okay?”

You nodded, feeling like a kid lost in the mall. “Okay, if you want to see him as soon as possible, you have to change your flight first.” He said, but you shook your head, trying not to panic. 

“He’s going to ask why.” You said, your voice hoarse “What am I going to tell him?”

He kept silent, his eyes fixed on a distant point as he was trying to come up with a solution. 

“Let’s not tell him.” He proposed.

“What do you mean let’s not tell him?”

“I’m leaving for tour next weekend, you should come with me and not tell him.” He kept going “Say that you missed him and you wanted to surprise him or some shit like that, and when you get him alone you talk to him about this.” 

Now you were reminded that Jungkook had to leave to join Yoongi on tour in just a few days, you completely forgot about that. It was not like you couldn’t get on an airplane alone, but if your friend was going to be there you were sure it would make things easier. 

You couldn’t believe it. After so many years you were there, sad and upset and still with the same idiot as a friend, willing to follow whatever plan he was going to make for you. You didn’t know if the plan actually sounded good or you were losing your mind for listening to Jungkook.

“Jungkook, Yoongi texts me all the time, he facetimes me everyday. It’s impossible to travel to another country without him noticing.”

“It’s not impossible, I’m gonna help you.” He insisted “If he texts you, you say you’re at home, if he wants to facetime you, you say you’re busy, turn off your location, it shouldn't be difficult.”

“It is difficult, what if he realizes I turned off my location?” You groaned, running your finger through your hair exasperatedly. 

“You say it stopped working or something! C’mon, I thought you were smarter than me.”

You threw yourself back against the couch, crossing your arms on your chest, it was almost comical that you were considering the idea. Your friend could sense the hesitation in every move you made, he could only hope that you agreed because his mind couldn’t come up with another idea if his life depended on it. 

“Jungkook, if he suspects anything…” You raised a finger, digging it on his chest. 

“He won’t suspect a thing,” He affirmed confidently. “When have any of my plans ever gone wrong? Never. Trust me, by the time you get back home, you’ll have already decided to name your baby after me.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to hide your laugh and punching him in the arm playfully. The tension was still there, and you still felt an inexplicable ache in your chest that wasn’t going away anytime soon, but being there with Jungkook made you feel that this wasn’t the end of the world, nor of your life, but the beginning of it.  

Jungkook's plan wasn’t the master plan he had been bragging about the whole airplane ride, but it worked. A few days later, after a few calls and arrangements to change your flight, after another three mental breakdowns and several crying sessions in the shower, you had somehow arrived in Berlin without Yoongi suspecting a thing. You had managed to dodge facetime calls and weird questions, maybe Yoongi missed you so much that he didn’t have time to question why you couldn’t wait two more weeks to see him when you arrived at the hotel and hugged in the hall, because, if he were honest, he couldn’t wait two more weeks to see you either. 

Yoongi was happy with the surprise, you went to see his show that night and after arriving to his hotel room he made love to you like he hadn’t seen you in a year, kissing your neck, grabbing your waist, murmuring things in your ear, saying how much he loved you, how much he missed you. For a moment it was like nothing changed, the two of you sharing what happened these last three weeks tangled between sheets, laughing between kisses as you ignored why you were there in the first place. 

“You can’t keep spending time away from me.” He said, hovering over you as he left a small kiss on your lips. “I’ll keep you in my pocket if it’s necessary.” 

You sighed, knowing that you couldn’t keep this a secret for much longer, but for tonight, you’ll let it slide. 

You didn’t know when you were returning home, but you promised yourself that before leaving for the next city, you would have to break the news to Yoongi, which was becoming more difficult by the second, because if you were good at something, that was procrastinating. It was absurd, a few days ago you were crying because all you wanted to do was to have your boyfriend by your side and now you couldn’t even look him in the eye without feeling like you were about to throw up, and your mind wasn’t helping at all. All those doubts invaded your head, attempting to drive you crazy, making you believe you were not ready to tell him yet.

Three days later, when you finished the last show in Berlin, Jungkook gave you a knowing look as you were leaving the arena holding Yoongi’s hand. He knew that you haven’t said a thing to Yoongi yet, he was all over you like he was your mother, asking you if you were okay, if you needed anything, when you were going to tell Yoongi, it almost made you regret telling him, but you knew he was right. 

A night was all you needed, just one night to gather your thoughts and practice what you were going to say. You couldn’t keep declining glasses of wine forever,  you could only hope no one noticed how weird you were acting, how sensitive you were since you stepped foot out the plane. Time was running out; you knew that when Yoongi invited you to an after-party before the whole crew left Berlin. Instead of telling him the truth, you simply said you weren’t in the mood to go, hoping that your time alone would help to gather enough courage to confess.

You weren’t trying to keep Yoongi with you, you told him a million times that he should go without you and that there was no problem with it. You hid under the blanket and hugged your body, watching him change his shirt into a black tee. He ran his finger through his hair in an attempt to tame it, looking at himself into the mirror and stealing a glance towards your reflection. He knew you too well not to notice the sad expression on your face as you scrolled through your phone, searching for a Disney movie to watch while he was out. He turned around, approaching the bed and kneeling beside you to catch your eyes. 

“Are you sure you don’t want to come?” He asked once again.

“Yeah, I just need one night.” You said, which was true. You needed a few more moments to finish fighting with your own thoughts. 

“But are you okay?” He continued to ask, cupping your jaw in his palm.

“Of course, why wouldn’t I be?” The words came out of your mouth with more emotion than you intended to, he couldn’t ignore it. 

“I don’t know… You look like you want me to stay.”

There was a beat of silence in the room. The sweetness of his voice broke your heart into a million pieces. You couldn’t say yes and make him stay just because you were feeling down and you really had no problem with him leaving, but you didn’t have the heart to tell him no either. You were full of contradictions, wanting to be alone but wanting to be with him at the same time, something in your chest pulled, wanting him close. 

“What makes you think that?” You murmured, fighting the urge to cry. God, you were too sensitive.

“Mmm… The Disney movie kinda gives you away.”

You huffled, playing with the fingers of his hands without looking at him. “I don’t want to ruin your fun… You should go, I mean it.”

He scoffed “You won’t, there’s going to be a bunch of parties until the tour ends, this one is nothing.”

“They’ll miss you…”

“You’ll miss me, too.”

“But do you want to stay, though?” You asked him a whisper. 

“Of course I want to… But you have to let me choose the movie.” He warned, automatically making you giggle.

Letting Yoongi choose the movie was the worst decision you have made in the last week so far, but you felt grateful he couldn’t see you as he hugged your waist and rested his chin on your shoulder, because as the ending of Inside Out approached, you were sure you were about to cry. 

When you arrived at the airport you promised yourself not to cry anymore, not in front of Yoongi at least, but your body was full of emotions you didn’t even know you could feel. It was certain that you’ve always been a sensitive person, you cried at the drop of a hat, Yoongi was familiar with that, but now it was impossible to stop it. 

You’d stopped paying attention to the screen entirely; one by one, your darkest thoughts crept in, pressing heavily on your chest. The feelings you’d tried so hard to bury rose up, churning uneasily in your stomach, and when you least expected it, tears began to fall down your cheeks.

A sob escaped from your lips at the same time the main character began to cry, making your boyfriend shift in his place. 

“Are you crying?” Yoongi suddenly asked, softly grabbing your shoulder to turn you around. He looked at your face, at first amused, thinking you were crying because of the movie. But his expression softened when he saw the sadness in your eyes and the damp lashes heavy with tears. You covered your face, unable to hold back, and the sobs came harder, each one swallowing the words you couldn’t say. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” He reached for your arms, attempting to pull them away from your face, but you turned away, burying your face in the pillow.

“Nothing,” You lied, desperate to avoid this conversation again. “I’m just… emotional, I don’t know.” Your voice cracked, hoarse, as the emotions you were trying to hide slipped through.

Yoongi was confused, but mostly worried. You had been weird since the day you arrived, he would be a fool not to notice. 

He turned the light of the lamp on the nightstand, illuminating the room with a soft orange light and turned the tv off. 

“Hey, look at me.” He softly said, brushing your hair with his fingers, it only made you want to cry harder. “I know something’s up, I’m not a dummy.” 

You turned to him, hitting him with the most heartbreaking sight he could witness, your face soaked in tears, nose and eyes red as you pouted at him. What was so wrong to make you cry like that?

“What do you know?” Was the only thing you could say, daring to be upset at him when he hadn't done anything wrong. 

He frowned at your tone. “Well, I know that you suddenly came here two weeks earlier just because. You are weird, you almost don’t eat, your suitcase is almost untouched like you’re going to leave anytime soon, you look… sad? I don’t know, baby, you tell me.”

You kept silent for a second, wiping the tears with the sleeve of your t-shirt. Uncomfortable, you sat in the bed, taking a deep breath as your mind completely blanked. You didn’t realize yet, but there was no way to get out of this one.

Contrary to popular belief, your boyfriend was kind of a dummy. You confirmed it when he decided to say the following words. 

“Is it because of Lily?” He said, making you dart your eyes at him. “You don’t like her being here? 

You couldn’t blame Yoongi for not understanding why you were crying, but the suggestion that you were jealous of one of his coworkers made you want to punch him. Lily was one of the new producers at Yoongi’s label, and a few months ago, Yoongi had noticed that you were starting to feel uneasy about the amount of time she was spending with him, which led him to realize that you were beginning to feel unexpectedly jealous of her. Yes, that was a whole deal back then, but it was water under the bridge now; the fact that she was touring with him and the boys didn’t faze you. The idea that he thought you were crying because of her was ridiculous. 

“Yoongi, are you kidding me?”

“No, I’m not.” He defended himself. “The last time I saw you we were fine, but now you’re here crying and I don’t have a clue what I did wrong.”

Suddenly, you felt your heart sink. He hadn’t done anything wrong; it was you who was an emotional wreck, struggling to keep your feelings in check. A wave of guilt washed over you for the mess you’d just created, convinced there must have been ways to prevent all this conflict. But now, all you could do was sit there, tangled in the aftermath of your own emotions.

You sighed, defeated. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” You said “And it’s not about Lily, I couldn’t care less about that… It’s just that- … Yoongi…”

“Baby…” He said in the same tone as you, “What is it?”

As Yoongi’s gentle question hung in the air, you felt a knot tighten in your chest. The truth sat heavy on your tongue, you glanced away, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeve, buying time as your thoughts spiraled. “Yoongi, my period is late.” You confessed, observing Yoongi’s eyes go wide, his brows lifting in surprise as he tried to understand what he just heard. “It’s been a week now, I don’t know what happened. I tried to wait, but I had to take a test”

 “A test?” he asked, voice low, surprise flickering in his eyes.

“A pregnancy test, Yoongi.” You said, trying not to roll your eyes. “I took three damn tests.”

“And what-... what happened?” He asked, his voice unsteady, eyes fixed on yours.

The room felt suddenly smaller, the air thick with unspoken fears and questions. A quiet stillness settled between you both, there was a weight to the silence, stretching out the seconds as you waited for whatever words would come next.

“I mean, guess what happened,” you whispered. Before you could finish the sentence, you got up and reached for the zipper on your suitcase pocket. Your hand closed around the large object, and you felt his eyes on the back of your neck, following you as you moved around the hotel room. Returning to the bed, you sat down and handed him the pregnancy test.

Yoongi didn’t know anything about pregnancy tests—he’d never needed to. He’d always been careful, using protection with every girl he’d been with, including you, until things had started to get serious. So no, he wasn’t familiar with the variety of pregnancy tests out there. But now, here he was, staring at a white stick with a tiny screen, showing a clear positive sign, which could only mean one thing.

Yoongi’s hands trembled slightly as he held the pregnancy test, his gaze locked onto the tiny screen, staring at it for a moment, speechless. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, loud enough that he thought you might hear it. Now everything made sense, how you said you were nauseous in the morning, each time you refused to drink wine, how you looked like you were about to cry when you saw a stroller with twins this afternoon at the park. How could he not notice?

You pressed your lips together, feeling the familiar sting of tears welling up once more. A small, shaky hiccup escaped your lips, breaking the silence and snapping him out of his daze. “No, no, no,” He murmured urgently, setting the test aside and pulling you close, lifting you effortlessly onto his lap. His arms wrapped around your waist as you buried your face in your hands, trying to hold back the tears. “Hey, there’s no reason to cry,” He whispered, gently guiding your face up, his fingers lifting your chin as he coaxed your hands away. “C’mon, look at me.” His voice was soft, reassuring, his gaze full of warmth and understanding.

“I don’t know how it happened.” You blurted out, your voice shaking with uncertainty.

“That doesn’t matter now, why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, you could tell he was trying to remain calm by the soft tone of his voice, but his face had gone as white as paper, like he’d just seen a ghost.

“I arranged the flight to see you as soon as possible, but... I was scared. I didn’t know what to say. I still don’t,” you admitted, your words barely a whisper.

“Baby, you don’t have to be scared, okay? You can tell me anything.” He assured you, his hand gently squeezing yours. But the uneasy feeling in your stomach refused to go away.

“I know, but… we haven’t planned for this,” you murmured, glancing down. “It just… came out of nowhere.”

“Well, it didn’t exactly come out of nowhere. These things can happen,” he said gently, a faint smile tugging at his lips. You groaned, burying your face in his chest.

“But it wasn’t supposed to happen,” you whined, your voice muffled against him. “I didn’t expect this at all. I was drowning in work when I found out. I’m stressed, I’m lost, I don’t know what to do… and I miss my mom.” The words tumbled out in a frantic ramble, and you were so caught up in your thoughts that you didn’t even notice the soft laugh he let slip.

“You miss your mom?” he asked softly, careful not to upset you further.

“Yes!” you cried, voice cracking. “I feel like a kid lost in the supermarket.”

He shook his head gently and brushed away your tears with his thumbs, pulling you closer. “Baby…” he began, his tone soothing.

“Yoongi…” you whispered, lifting your head to meet his gaze. His expression was still worried, but the warmth in his eyes was reassuring.

“You’re right, we didn’t plan this. But we’ve talked about it before, and you have options. Whatever you choose, I’ll be right here beside you, no matter what. You know that, don’t you?” He searched your eyes for confirmation, and you nodded, feeling the ache in your chest begin to ease.

As his words sank in, a new wave of emotions stirred inside you. The weight of worry and loneliness began to ease, replaced by a warmth that softened the ache in your chest.

“But… what do you think?” you asked softly. You knew that whatever you decided would ultimately be your choice only, but you needed to know what was going on in his mind.

He sighed, a hint of hesitation in his expression. “I mean… we’re not sixteen, baby. We’re adults, we’re about to buy a house together, and we love each other.”

“Well, those are just facts,” you replied, searching his face. “What I mean is… do you want this, now?”

It was hard for Yoongi to believe you were really asking this. There you were, sitting on his lap with swollen eyes and a red nose from crying, asking him if he wanted to start a family with you—as if that hadn’t been his dream all along. Of course he felt like the life he had been living was going to completely change from now on. It was terrifying, but he couldn’t help but feel excited at the same time. 

“I've always wanted it, are you serious?” He laughed, the sound light but filled with disbelief. “And I only want it with you, haven’t I made it clear enough?”

Those were the main differences between the two of you: while he was calm, always taking a moment to think before acting, you were emotional and, more often than not, let your feelings take control of your actions. It was only in that moment that you realized how irrational you’d been. There wasn’t a world where Yoongi didn’t want this, and there certainly wasn’t a world where you didn’t want it either.

“I want it, too,” you whispered, your voice trembling as you fought back tears.

“Then why are you crying, huh?” he asked gently, squeezing your face in an attempt to lighten the mood.

“Because...” you said, struggling to catch your breath. “Maybe you didn’t think it was the right time... You’re on tour right now.”

He frowned, his expression softening with concern. “I won’t be on tour forever...”

“I know, but... we’re not married. What would your parents think?”

He let out a laugh, clearly unable to believe that was a real concern of yours. “You’re not seriously thinking about my parents right now, are you?”

“How could I not?” you said, raising your eyebrows. “What if they force us to marry? God, I don’t want to be one of those couples who only marry because the girl is suddenly pregnant!”

He laughed even harder, shaking his head. “Oh my god, baby, no one’s forcing us to do anything!” He grinned, clearly finding your worry amusing. “If we ever get married, it won’t be because anyone pressured me. Trust me.” He paused, happy to see that the worried expression abandoned your face. “Besides, my parents love you, you have no idea how happy they’ll be once they know. Married or not.”

“Yoongi, it can’t be that simple.” 

“But it is.”

You sighed, feeling like all the mess you’d made was for nothing—and thank God it was. You’d been so caught up in your own despair that you hadn’t realized everything in your life was falling into place for this to happen. Yoongi was right. You were about to move into a bigger home, you had your job, Yoongi had his, and you loved each other. You've always wanted it, this was the perfect moment for this to happen. Why had you been so worried? 

“You’re right, it is.” You finally admitted, letting your body rest against him. 

Yoongi laughed, gently grabbing you by your hips and laying you on the bed, kissing you softly. “You don’t have to worry, baby, not with me.”

“I know.” You breathed out, feeling like a weight was lifted off your shoulders. “But I am-… I’m so scared. How am I gonna have a baby? It sounds crazy.”

“Of course it does, it is.” He said “I’m terrified, too, but we’re together, right? Nothing bad can happen if we have each other.”

You nodded, feeling your chest unclench. “I guess you're right,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I just... needed to hear you say it.”

Yoongi smiled, leaning down to steal another kiss from you, this time deeper, longer. “I love you, baby, don’t you know that?”

You brushed your nose against his, nodding. “I love you, too, bubba.”

“C’mon, baby, stop crying.” He said, making you laugh. 

[it-was-summer]

Video Killed the Radio Star - Tape #4 (Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader)

A/N: Y'all this chapter took so long to write. This is NOT proofread once again me and Grammarly were beefing because she doesn't understand fanfiction. Nonetheless, it is 12 am MST and here it is. Now for an overall warning, this chapter talks about so much that I was to let everyone know that I meant for this to be a dark series. That was my goal. I'm so sorry if some of these topics seem like they're too heavy for you. If you feel overwhelmed, disgusted, or just find it hard to read please remember that it is okay and you are loved. This chapter mentions miscarriages, eating disorders, gunshot wounds, suicide, etc. I love you all and stay healthy. I will try to post my 500 followers post soon! Not proofread because eepy. YOU'LL read my chapter unedited and you'll like it! (hopefully). Thanks for reading. -Love you all, Em.

Video Killed the Radio Star Remake Masterlist

Link to the Ao3: Video Killed the Radio Star

Previous Chapter: Tape #3 > Next Chapter: Coming Soon...

WARNING: miscarriage, eating disorder, catholic guilt, bisexuality mention??, period underwear, stalking, marital problem, divorce, sexual harassment, guns, knives, gunshot wound, This bitch shoots someone, suicide, mention of a skull, blood so much blood.

Tape Contents: We briefly dive into Heather's past. Adeline makes a call that gives the team a reason to visit the suburbs. Heather makes a decision. You see something other than pink for the first time in four days.

Word Count: 6,296

Seven to Four Years Prior- January 10, 20XX

Heather had to get out of Norfolk. She felt suffocated under her father’s watchful gaze and helicopter ways. He was a hard man to love and hard to be around in general. When he drank, she used to pray that he would forget about her, so she became quiet. She didn’t have many friends here anyway, so she took you out of the equation and knew no one else would know her name. 

So, with a heavy heart, she moved her life away to Richmond. She changed her major to nursing and killed that quiet girl from Norfolk. She fabricated real lies that sometimes she couldn’t separate from reality. She stared at girls silently with longing and played it off as admiration if she was ever caught. Catholic guilt stopped it from growing into anything else. 

She was slow to open up about her feelings and showed people an extroverted sorority girl nursing graduate who liked to go to bars on the weekend and let men’s hands pull at her hips desperately in dark corners. 

Now, at twenty-four, she only thought about one thing: how good her stomach looked in this dress. She had thinned out tremendously since the move. At first, it started due to not having enough money to eat anywhere except the shitty university cafeteria. Then, it warped into something else. During its worst moments, she would log her calories or purge food moments after eating it. She could look into mirrors afterward and feel she was achieving something remarkable. Then, sometimes, she would also look at her face and think, ‘Is that what I look like’? 

But tonight, she wanted to do something different, something fun. Having told her sorority sisters this, they all jumped on board quickly, agreeing to meet at the bar around 10 p.m. that Saturday. They were thirty minutes late. 

Heather was gently fiddling with the hem of her short black dress, her eyes flickering towards the entrance every so often as she waited for them to walk in. This year, she wanted to be happier, less suffering in silence, and a little more smiley. So yes, she wanted to have fun with people she called friends. Despite all her efforts, she was sure they could see right through her sometimes. She swallowed nervously as she nursed a margarita. 

The next time she looked at her phone, she saw texts from her former sisters saying that work had been hectic and that they needed to reschedule for another time. So now, Heather Alexander was right back at square one: alone. She glanced down at her dress and frowned slightly at its tight material. It was the kind of dress that made her uncomfortable but made men comfortable. Something always felt wrong with that. Heather always secretly knew that she felt an attraction to women and men, but she always felt guilty at the thought. 

She sighed as she debated her next move when she saw him. He was the prettiest man she had ever seen. He had soft masculine features that almost looked slightly feminine, a uniform clad against his chest, and a charming boyish smile as their eyes met. Heather whispered a silent prayer that he would like her as he approached her and introduced himself as David Hernandez. How could she not fall for him instantly? Deep brown eyes, pink lips, dark skin, and a low rumble in his voice made her feel like giggling. 

It wasn’t long before the two of them were getting married. They spent a few months together in domestic bliss. He got some time off from work, and she kept her last name, and they were… happy. 

At least they were happy for six months, and then her world shattered around her as David was deployed to England. She cried herself to sleep the night she heard, and David stroked her back softly to calm her. Heather didn’t want him to leave her and see someone better overseas. She was sure that women would throw themselves at David’s feet, begging him to kiss them, touch them, fuck them, like whores in the street of Babylon. She couldn’t stand the thought of anyone else touching him, looking at him the way she looked at him, talking to him the way she did in his ear late at night. She begged him to try and find some way out of it, scared to lose what was rightfully hers, but he couldn’t. He left that week.

At first, it was just six months, but then it stretched out into a year of deployment—a year spent being faithful to a man across the Atlantic. She called him when she had time, wrote letters to him, sent him emails, and constantly contacted him in any way she could. 

When he got home, it was clear that all her efforts had gone to waste. David was distant. He would sulk in corners of their home on his phone. He would lament on and on about how England felt like his home and how he missed it. She couldn’t stand it. This house they bought together was his home, and it always had been. Why was he struggling to see that? 

The more he talked of his deployment, the more Heather became frustrated with him. Then he started to go out more. At first, it was just to speak with some Army friends on base a few spread-out weekends in the month. Then it was every weekend. 

Heather found that the only thing that could keep him home was sex. So they had sex constantly, like animals in heat. Disgusting and rutting against each other any moment they could. However, the second that it was over, he would withdraw again. He would get dressed and say he had to get to the base. 

Then he was coming late, drunk and slurring, as he pulled her to the edge of the bed and woke her up with sensual touches and dirty talk. She took this as a good sign he was coming home to his wife. He was fucking her and no one else. But slowly, he stopped coming home. He would call her late at night to tell her he would stay with a friend for the night. The following day, he would come home smelling sweet. 

Heather felt lost, searching desperately for something to save her marriage. She was devoting all of her love to a man who no longer wanted it, and she could feel him falling out of love with her. 

Her saving grace was the morning that she found out she was pregnant. She called David with tears in her eyes and told him softly over the phone, and she heard him laugh for the first time in months. And just like that, he was back. 

His soft touches, kisses in the grocery store, and dancing with her in the living room were all back. Her devoted and dotting husband had returned home to her. She could feel the dark cloud of the past couple of months dissipate and the sun shining on her. 

That light lasted a good three months. Heather sat up straight as pain coursed through her body, thundering in her abdomen as she shook David awake with tears streaming down her face. Something was wrong with the baby; she knew it. He drove her to the hospital as fast as he could, but it was too late. She had already miscarried.

Heather took a small sabbatical from work and took time to think about her life. She would stare out of their living room window blankly for hours. David was attentive at first, coming home after work and tending to Heather’s broken spirit. But he soon became bored of that routine. 

When Heather returned to the pediatric oncology unit, David was notified that he was being deployed again to Okinawa, Japan. He was packed and ready by the end of that month. She didn’t see him off at the airport, picking up an extra shift at the hospital to distract her from the fact that he was leaving her again. 

David called her two months into his leave to tell her he wasn’t happy. He wanted a divorce. Then he hung up before she could get a word in. That’s when it all started. Her obsession with consuming anything romantic was almost debilitating. She would visit bookstores and attend readings at the public library, sometimes calling off from work to sit at home with her romances. That’s when she saw you again. She thought that you would have stayed in Norfolk. You had once told her that you loved the water. You liked how it could look gloomy and promising on different days, with mist rolling off the surface. 

She tried not to talk to you. She did. She didn’t want to scare you away like she scared David away. No, no, no, she was sure it would all work out this time. So she loved you from a comfortable distance, watching you from her car on the weekends at night, leaving you her gifts on your windshield—a silent courting. 

She couldn’t help herself on Valentine’s Day. She had slipped into Nicole Smith’s room without Adeline recognizing her, and she gave the table with Adeline’s purse on it a gentle knock with her hip. Heather apologized quickly, telling her not to worry. She promptly dropped to the floor to gather the spilled contents from Adeline’s bag, and she slipped a labeled key connected to a keychain that read ‘or die’ into her pocket. Once she had copied the key, she quickly returned the original to its owner. 

She felt electric when she entered your apartment on Valentine's Day in a dark outfit, a hood covering her face, and four dozen rose petals in a container. She breathed in your perfume as she perused through your bathroom. She traced the spine of every book she could touch on your shelves. She gently dove into your dirty hamper and quickly pulled out a pair of dirty underwear, blood on the inside of them as she shamelessly slipped them into her pocket. Then she got to work spreading the petals throughout your apartment. By the end, she stared at her work, panting lightly as she lay across on your rose-covered bed. 

She had to have you. 

Present Day- March 5, 20XX

Derek and Spencer managed to get to the public library an hour before closing. They pulled your coworker, Valerie, aside. She was a pretty brunette, glasses resting on her face delicately as she stared at the two men with a soft look of disappointment. She knew that if they were here, they had yet to find you, and the thought made her feel like breaking down in a fit of tears. She fought the urge to cry as Derek asked her a question, sliding a copy of the Polaroid you had received on your windshield. “Do you happen to remember anyone coming in with a Polaroid camera?” 

Valerie stared at the Polaroid with a soft frown, trying to remember something helpful. Spencer spoke quickly, “Sometime around January fourteenth, maybe?”

Valerie chewed on her bottom lip before the memory washed over her, “Yes! Yes, oh gosh, she was blonde, I think. I remember telling her we didn’t like flash photography in the library. I only saw the back of her head, but I remember the back of her head and the flash of a camera.” 

Spencer tilted his head slightly and nodded at Valerie’s words, processing the information silently.“Are you sure it was a woman?” Spencer asked softly before Valarie enthusiastically nodded. 

“Yes, it was definitely a woman who took the picture.” She confirmed in a soft voice before she looked down at the Polaroid with a gentle tenderness in her eyes. “She baked me cookies last week, you know?” She looked up at the two men with a sad smile and tears in her eyes. “My cat is sick, and she made me cookies to make me feel better.” She laughed sadly as the tears started to fall. 

Derek placed a soft hand over Valerie’s and gave her a tender look, “We’re looking for her,” The words caused a shaky sigh to escape Valarie’s lips as she pulled her hand away quickly and stood up. 

Her cheeks were red as she cried out a soft “Excuse me.” before she turned on her heel and hurriedly left the room. 

Spencer picked up the picture and stared at you in the photo. The way your hair shined in the fluorescent light, your eyes and smile trained directly on the person you were talking to. You were personable, and the thought made his stomach turn. He looked over at Derek as Spencer handed the photo back to him. 

The two men walked out of the library silently, and Derek let out a soft sigh as he watched the sun starting to settle against the horizon. Spencer walked beside him with his hand stuffed in his pockets, and his head hung a little low in thought. 

Derek broke the silence first, “We should get back to the station to see if JJ and Rossi have anything,” 

And then they rode back in contemplative silence after that. 

March 6, 20XX

You weren’t sure if it was day or night anymore. All you knew was that you were starting to feel uneven. Every creak of wood, settling of pipes, and rumble of the house had your back straightening against the bed. You were sure that Heather would fly in at any moment and touch you. 

A million options weighed heavy in your mind at the scenario; you could fight back again, but that would get you sliced again or worse. You could go with it, zone out as much as possible, let her have her way with you. That option made your head spin with nausea. You had to find a way to get out. 

You licked at the gash on your lip, gently exploring the cut with your tongue until you could feel the warmth of blood again. You pushed your tongue back into your mouth and looked over at your day-old apple on the nightstand, half-eaten and brown. You tenderly took a small bite that wouldn’t require you to move your lips too much. 

You didn’t have much of the day-old meal left; a half-full water and this apple was all you had. You chewed softly, fighting off the nausea that threatened to creep in due to the morphine. 

You tried to remember anything that could be helpful to you. It was hard to think of high doses of morphine. You had played with the knob often; when you were ready to sleep, it would go up, and when you were up, it would turn down. But lately, you just wanted it to be turned up. 

You tried to think of when Heather came into the pink room. She always stuffed her keys into her pockets. A plan was in the making: Get her out of her clothes, and you could get the keys. 

You nodded a little despite your discomfort with the idea of her touching you again. You just had to seduce her a little, which should be easy considering that she was ‘in love’ with you. The only problem with that plan was that you had a mangled ankle and a body running on morphine; she didn’t. Heather’s temper was quick when you talked back, and rage followed if you did something against her liking. 

Maybe begging would work. No, you tried that already. Why would begging work? Perhaps you could hurt yourself just enough to force her to take you to the hospital. But that didn’t work either; she was a nurse. She wouldn’t incriminate herself like that, would she? Maybe total submission would be the key. 

Convince her that you love her back and somehow ask to be let out with her supervision, but that could take forever. 

You started to cry softly as you set down the core of the apple and laid down, wishing to pull your legs to your chest, but the pain of one ankle and the chain around the other made that physically impossible. 

You cried until you felt your eyelids become heavy, tears still slipping out of your eyes as you fell into a morphine-induced sleep. 

March 6, 20XX

JJ paced back and forth in front of the bulletin board, occasionally flicking her eyes over to the photos pinned to it as she tried to chase what was likely to be a loose end. The number that had called yours and left a message full of sobs had been a burner. 

Spencer had tried to tell her to eat something this morning, but as the clock’s hands crept towards nine a.m., she still didn’t feel hungry enough to try. She sighed out another frustrated huff as Emily appeared in front of her. “If you sigh like that one more time, I think I might have to force a croissant down your throat.” 

JJ gave her another dramatic sigh before she put her hands on her hips: “I’m sorry, I just feel like we have no leads. We know it's a woman, but Adeline isn’t likely to be the unsub, and all her coworkers have alibis. It just feels like we are running around with our heads cut off.” 

Emily smiled and gave her a gentle nod of understanding, “I get it, but you pacing around like this isn’t helping anyone. Let’s get you a drink, coffee, or maybe something to eat.” 

“People who eat breakfast consistently are twenty-five percent likely to be more productive at work,” Spencer spoke up from a desk not too far from the two women. 

Emily pointed over at Spencer, “See? You’re making Spencer freak out.” 

“I’m not freaked out,” Spencer frowned at the comment before looking back at a file on the desk. 

JJ’s smile was slow as she let her hands fall to her side and let out a soft, “Fine.” She agreed as Emily walked over to the precinct's breakroom, JJ following her. 

Derek was clicking a pen obnoxiously in an off-beat rhythm. He was about to say something when his phone started to ring on his desk. He didn’t recognize the number, but he answered it anyway. “Hello?” 

“Hi, uhm, is this Special Agent Morgan?” Adeline’s voice was shaky through the phone. 

Derek relaxed slightly as he set down his pen. “Yeah, Adeline. Did something happen?” He couldn’t think of another reason as to why she would call the number he had left with her if nothing happened. He was too focused on the case to think of any other reason anyway. 

“Yeah, maybe? I was talking to one of the nurses about something today, and I recognized one of them. I don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner, but it was an old friend from college. She was more Y/N’s friend than mine, but I talked to her a little.” Adeline’s voice dropped to a whisper as she continued, “I mentioned that she was missing, and Heather had a weird reaction. She smiled for a second. I swear, she said she was sad to hear that, but she looked… well, for a second, it just seemed like maybe she was happy.” 

Derek picked the pen back up again, ready to write down a name. It wasn’t much, but they could visit her. “What was her name again?” 

“Gosh, it was Heather something… Heather, Heather, Heather,” She bit her lip as she tried to think back. “Alexander! Heather Alexander.” 

Derek wrote it down and muttered quickly, “We'll look into it, thanks.” As a goodbye, he let Adeline quickly thank him over the phone before he hung up and called Penelope. 

Penelope, quick as always, picked up on the first ring. “Center of divine intellect,” was her greeting. 

“Good morning to you, too, baby girl. Listen, could you get Heather Alexander's address? Adeline Smith called saying that she had a strange reaction to hearing about our girl going missing.” 

“Easy,” was her answer before Derek could hear the sounds of keys being tapped against and a soft humming sound emitting from Penelope’s lips as she pulled up the address: “4432 Lake Margaret Pl., Chesterfield, Virginia.” 

“You are an angel, Garcia.” 

“I always aim to please,” 

“And you never fail, baby girl.” 

JJ had begged Derek with her eyes to let her go with Spencer. It was just an interview, not even an interrogation, just to see if the connection between you and Heather went deeper than old college friends. So why shouldn’t she go? 

Derek wasn’t one to put up a big fight, so he let her with Spencer. It was only thirty minutes away anyway, so if they needed the team it wouldn’t take too long for them to show up, right? He stayed behind on the phone with Garcia, who was doing her best to see if Heather had any criminal history on her record. 

As the car rolled around the cul de sac, Spencer’s eyes struggled to look away from the plethora of plants in the fenced-in front yard. Pink anemones were scattered amongst daffodils, and what looked like daisies were blooming side by side. JJ rolled the car to a stop, parking it against the curb. 

“Pretty yard,” She muttered as she took the keys out of the ignition. Spencer nodded a little; he had to admit that Spring came in a close second to Fall as the superior season in his mind. The flowers growing after frozen earth had kept them dormant, the welcomed feeling of the sun getting slightly warmer. It was still somewhat chilly at ten in the morning as he stepped out of the car with JJ, but he had to admit, it was shaping up to be a beautiful day weather-wise. 

His head tilted back a little as he stole a glance at the blue sky above them and smiled before stuffing his hands into his pockets and tilting his head toward the house. JJ smiled and walked beside him, happy to be out of the precinct and in the early morning air.

Heather was washing the paring knife she had used on you in her kitchen sink, facing a large bay window in her living room. She swiped at the hardened blood and frowned a little at the memory. Why was she so upset with you? She could hardly remember herself when she got angry like that. 

It was almost fitting, her flying off the handle over something so simple as you not being ready for her love. Was she no better than a man? Had she gotten so accustomed to men's vile and sharp ways that she had somehow forgotten how to be gentle? 

She felt her hands shake as a voice came into her head, whispering her worst fear: She was worse than her father. 

She let tears blur her vision at the thought as she rubbed the knife harder with a sponge, shaking her head quickly. No, no, no, no. She was not like that man. She was not cold like that man. She was lovable. She felt love. She felt overwhelming love for you. She had felt overwhelming love for David. 

Her downward spiral was cut short as she lifted her weeping head and saw a black SUV parked in front of her yard. She quickly wiped away a stray tear with the back of her hand and sniffled lightly as she gently slid the knife into the dishwasher, watching two people get out of the van. 

Heather’s eyes were glued to the blonde at first, pretty and fair in the morning sun before her eyes flickered to the man beside her. She recognized him immediately. She was sure it was the same man she almost ran into at the hospital yesterday. 

She dried her hands as she walked around the kitchen island. As they got closer, her head arched to see how close they were. Panic was running through her veins. Her gun was in her room upstairs, loaded. She just had to get upstairs; her feet were quick to try and run upstairs and stash it somewhere close before they could ring the doorbell. Just as the idea seemed plausible enough, the bell rang through the house. 

Heather let out a silent scream of panic as she smoothed out her shirt, fixed her hair, and caught a quick glance of her pretty face in the mirror near the front door before she swung it open with a pleasantly fake smile on her face. Her eyes quickly scanned both of their faces as she smiled. “Can I help you?”

“Yes, hi. My name is Jennifer Jareau. This is Spencer Reid. We’re with the FBI, and we were just wondering if we could ask you some questions.” JJ spoke clearly as she flashed her badge at Heather, a slight smile on her lips as she looked into Heather’s eyes. Spencer recognized her, finding it strange that he had almost run directly into the beautiful woman at the hospital just the day before. 

Heather laughed softly and nodded as she stepped aside, opening the door wider to let the two agents inside. “Of course,” Her hands were shaking, but she gripped the edge of the door tightly, half tempted to slam it directly in their faces and go upstairs to shoot Catherine and herself to freedom.  

They weren’t on to her yet; she was sure of that– especially given their lack of people– just two against one. She was quick to shut the door behind them before leading the two of them into her living room. “Can I get you two any water? I have some juice.” 

The two agents shook their heads in a polite ‘no, thank you’ way as they sat on the sofa across from Heather. Heather sat on a chair with a soft “Okay” as she eyed them carefully. “Am I in some kind of trouble here?” 

“No, We just wanted to ask you a few questions regarding an old college friend of yours, Y/N L/N.” 

“Well,” She smoothed out her long skirt slowly, remembering to breathe normally, “What about her?” 

“Had you been in contact with her at all? Did she mention anything about someone following her?” 

Heather let out a gentle laugh as she shook her head, “I haven’t really had the time to reach out to old friends lately,” 

Spencer’s interest peaked as he joined the conversation, “How come?” 

Heather’s gaze became a little pointed at the question. Of course, the man has to ask her, “I lost a baby recently, and my husband was deployed soon after, so forgive me for not becoming pen pals with someone I knew at eighteen.” The words were direct and vicious, but she couldn’t help herself. She blew out a soft sigh before she let out a gentle and timid, “I’m sorry,” 

Spencer licked his lips nervously as he leaned back against the sofa slightly, trying to resist the urge to disappear into it. Self-isolation wasn’t uncommon for women who had recently suffered from a miscarriage. That feeling more than likely increased as her support system was ripped away from her. 

JJ gently touched Spencer’s knee before she cut the tension. “I’m sorry to hear that, Mrs. Alexander. We’re just trying to piece some information together.” 

Heather ran a hand through her hair before she gave JJ a tight-lipped smile. “I understand that; I’m sorry. Would it be alright if I ran upstairs for some medicine? I feel a headache coming on.” She spoke fast with a tense voice, trying her hardest to pass it off as pain with a rub of her temple. When JJ nodded, she stood up and headed upstairs as calmly as she could manage. 

JJ looked over at Spencer, watching Heather walk away carefully. “She seems angrier with men than anything.” Her voice was slightly amused before Spencer frowned. 

“Doesn’t mean she’s in the clear; stalking is often a form of intense infatuation, but it's also used as a way to control something. She’s struggling with two things that could be our stressors: she’s craving control or dependency. She-” The soft ringing of his phone cut off his whispered rant. He answered it, happy that at least it was just Garcia calling, hoping for a better lead than his ongoing hunch. 

He stood and looked at JJ, who was mouthing for him to go outside, “Hey,” He answered as he slipped out of the front door. 

“Hey, nothing is coming up anywhere on Heather’s record for criminal activity—sorority sister, wife, nurse, clean as a whistle. However, considering we don’t have much right now, I decided to see if she had any warnings at work.” 

“Right,” Spencer looked over his shoulder at the front door as he walked away to stand in front of the garage. 

“Well, last month, she got a write-up for stealing some morphine; her supervisor forced her to go see a therapist after Heather said that she was using it for some leftover pain she was experiencing after her miscarriage. But Heather never showed,” 

Spencer was walking a little further down the driveway as he listened to Garcia talk on the phone, counting the number of windows in the house. His eyes narrowed slightly to try and block out the sun before he looked away. He licked his bottom lip gently before acting on his little hunch, “Could you check her credit report? See if there are any purchases that you can find that seem odd around March third?” 

“Could I check her credit report,” Garcia repeated with a laugh, “Hold on, boy genius.” 

Spencer could see the top of JJ’s head from the bay window, and he turned away slightly, finding ease in the fact that she was still there. Something felt off, and he couldn’t put his finger on it. “She went to the store, but nothing crazy. Bought,” He could hear typing, “Bleach and rubbing alcohol.” 

Spencer chewed on the inside of his cheek as he asked, “When was her husband deployed again? Did she buy anything from a florist around Valentine’s Day?” 

“Husband was deployed December first and,” she hummed gently before she sighed, “Bought some flowers on Valentine’s day, rose petals.” 

Spencer felt that feeling when something connected in his brain, a rush of adrenaline as he felt his hunch slowly turn into a plausible accusation. The roses were just that, roses. But the bleach and rubbing alcohol? That’s a recipe for chloroform right there. And finally, Heather’s husband was deployed at the beginning of December, stressor number two. It made him feel slightly hopeful about walking back into the house. “Thanks, Garcia.” He said as his feet reached the end of the driveway. He hung up the phone, walking back towards the house at a fast pace when the familiar and startling 'crack' of a gun reached his ears. 

His hands drew his gun out of the holster, running back towards the house. He pushed the front door open with his foot as he heard the thumping of footsteps running on the stairs. He rounded the corner to the living room before lowering his gun as he saw JJ bleeding from a bullet wound in her thigh. 

“JJ!” His voice panicked as he reached her groaning side, kneeling low to the ground next to her. “What happened?” 

JJ shook her head quickly, “I’m calling for backup. She ran upstairs. She didn’t even try to,” her eyes squeezed shut tightly as a sharp pain rattled through her inner thigh, “Just go!” She urged him as she reached down for the phone in her back pocket, her free hand pressing on her gushing wound to try and slow the bleeding. 

Spencer’s eyes were filled with uncertainty as he let out a soft, “No, I’ll stay here until everyone gets-” 

“Spencer, go!” 

Spencer felt his spine straighten at the second command. He gave her a grim nod as he stood up, readied his gun, and started for the stairs. His footsteps were soft and calculated as he ascended, pink light flooding the floor as he approached the top of the stairs. He could hear gentle begging in a voice too soft and thick to be Heather’s. 

“Please, Heather, please, my love. Don’t, please don’t.” Repetitive cries for mercy made his legs move faster until he approached an opened door. The regular-looking bedroom door gave way to a steel one just behind it before revealing the scene of what looked like a demented love nest. 

Spencer swallowed a lump in his throat as he took in the scene. Gun pointed carefully at Heather as he spoke, “Heather, put down the gun. You love her. You don’t want to hurt her. You know that.” 

Heather jumped a little at the sound, her pistol clicking softly as her sweaty palms tightened their grip. She was quick to turn her body around to face him with the gun aimed directly at him as she spoke. “Don’t pretend like you know me or her. You don’t know our relationship. She wants this just as much as I do.” 

“You know she doesn’t look at her. Look at what you’re doing to her.” 

Heather’s eyes drifted to you, chained to the bed, watching as you hyperventilate softly. Heather felt her bottom lip quiver before she looked back at Spencer. “She’s just scared. You’re making me do this. She knows you’re making me do this.” 

Spencer’s eyes drifted to your crying form on the bed, trying to keep your sobs quiet as you stared at him with wild eyes. He glanced over at the morphine drip next to your bed before his eyes settled back on Heather. His lips parted to say something more, but she cut him off quickly, “Put your gun down, and I won’t do it.” 

Heather’s body language gives her away as she motions for him to put his gun down, her eyes crazed and large, her hands shaking and rigid against her pistol. “I’m not going to-” 

“Put your fucking, gun down, or she dies,” Heather yells so loud that it elicits a soft sob from your lips, your arms coming up to protect your head, ready for the shot to be administered and for your brains to be blown out in front of Spencer in that very moment. 

Spencer holds up both of his hands at that; he swears he can hear the soft sounds of sirens in the distance as he lowers his gun to the floor slowly, his foot gently kicking the gun away with a soft ‘clack.’

“Now you,” his calm voice says as he raises his hands, inching closer. Tears stream down Heather’s face now as she shakes her head gently. 

“I have to,” Is her tear-soaked reply as she keeps the barrel pointed at Spencer’s head, her fingers twitching lightly as they move for the trigger. Your shaking voice cuts through the scene, and Spencer is pretty sure it’s the only thing that is stopping him from diving for his gun a few feet from him. 

“Heather, baby,” Your voice betrays you as you speak the pet name, coming off a little too forced, but you continue anyway. “He can help. You don’t have to hurt anyone else. We can be happy, and we can get away. He can help, right?” Your arms relax around your head slowly as you look over at Spencer, who nods silently. 

“I can, but you have got to put your gun down.” 

Heather chokes out a strangled sob as she looks over at you, watching as you smile at her. You know it’s forced, but Heather can only view it as the prettiest thing she’s ever seen—a great parting gift. 

She feels spit thick on her tongue as she evaluates her options: kill Spencer and go to jail. Kill you, and she might not have enough time to kill herself. Killing herself seems like the best plan out of the three, so she holds her gun steady at Spencer as she looks at your now bleeding smile. 

“For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.” Her voice is soft, almost so human that you feel your heart clench in pity before that clenching feeling turns into pure anxiety as you see the movement of her arm. Spencer’s feet aren't quick enough for him to tackle her to the ground as Heather raises the gun to her temple and pulls the trigger. 

Her body drops to the edge of the bed, sliding down it as you feel blood coat your legs. Your ears are ringing, and your mouth is wide open as you scream. At least you think you’re screaming. You can’t hear much but a pathetic muffle of the sound as the ringing in your ears increases.

Your hands are quick to try and wipe off chunks of what looks to be part of a skull off of your exposed stomach, and you can’t seem to stop staring at Heather’s limp body at the edge of the bed. The image of her mangled head oozing blood has you gagging softly, feeling yourself getting ready to be sick before you feel two hands cup your face. 

You’re screaming or sobbing; you can’t tell anymore as Spencer Reid’s face blocks the view. He keeps your face steady in his hands as you try to read his lips, your breathing heavy as he strokes your hair gently. His voice creeps in through the ringing until you eventually hear the soft repetition of, “I got you, look at me. Just keep looking at me; you’re safe.”

You feel your breathing slow, your arms reaching up to grab him before your eyes roll back as your body slumps against Spencer’s, and everything is engulfed in black.

Tag List: @dollykisses4reid @babyspiderling @cocobean16 @kodzukenie333 @mmmunson

[keelsforreals]

refrain: chapter 1, good

kageyama x f!reader

chapter 1 - refrain masterlist

♪ ༘⋆ good

a/n: i recommend listening to the song when it comes up!! it's not required for the story or anything but i think it adds to the reading experience :)

kageyama opened his laptop and leaned back on his headboard. the sun was setting and the air was thick, "perfect yn listening weather" in oikawa's words. he had no idea what that meant, but kenma silently agreed so he took his word for it.

the stream was apparently starting soon, so he opened the youtube tab he pinned the day prior. looking back at him through the screen was yn. yn... the name was somehow familiar to him, not just from kenma and oikawa talking about her, but he couldn't recall from where. shelving that thought for another time, he focused on the stream and listened.

"hiii! oh wow you guys are coming in quick". she pushed her hair back with both hands, and smiled as her eyes darted back and forth from the camera to where the chat was. yn spoke softly but clearly, kageyama wondered if her singing voice was similar.

"so..." kageyama blinked, pulled away from his thoughts, but determined to stay focused this time. "today's stream is going to be pretty chill. if you didn't know, i had a concert last night at onigiri miya. were any of you there?" her eyes move to the chat and she smiled. "yes tooru, i know you were there". unconsciously, kageyama looks to the chat and cringes as he skims oikawa's numerous messages. in all caps. with far too many emojis.

yn laughs and reads a few messages from other viewers before changing the subject. "okay, uh, i should probably stop talking now. it's singing time". she pulls an acoustic guitar from off screen and positions it in her lap as she starts talking. "now this first song, i'm sure you're all familiar with. especially one of you. and for that one person watching," something between annoyance and sadness shows on her expression for just a second, so fast that kageyama feels like he's the only one that noticed. "i've moved on. we both know that. so why can't you?"

kageyama wants to ask every question he could. he's always been nosey. but before he could act on any urge to type in chat, he feels embarrassed. 'this is a stranger. what am i doing?'

"anyways. this is mud"

...

a whole hour of songs and short talking breaks in between, but kageyama hasn't looked away once. her face is relaxed, her eyes either focused on the chat or on her hands while playing her guitar. he finds himself smiling at her looks at the camera and remarks, fulling feeling her music when she starts a new song.

the final song ends with a long strum of her guitar. she exhales and takes the guitar off of her lap as she starts to talk again. "alright guys, i think that's it for tonight". yn smiles and looks at the camera, kageyama feels like she's looking right at him.

"thank you for watching, i'm really glad i could-woah HEY!" her head whipped around to her bedroom door as it flew open. "YN!" kageyama squinted at the screen, realizing he knew the unfocused face and voice behind yn. nishinoya? why was he there? what was the big deal?

"woah, noya dude what's your problem? im live right now"

"turn off the stream! now like seriously!"

"good or bad?"

"good i promise just turn it o-" he reached over yn's shoulder and ended the stream. just like that. not knowing what just happened or what to think, he pulled out his phone.

p.s!

➳ first chapter is done lets go!

➳ i will probably make a playlist with some songs that go along with yn's streams and post it later

➳ sorry that this is like all writing i got really carried away (dw it will go back to mostly smau next chapter)

➳ nothing bad happened! the news is really good

➳ oikawa is a double texter (more like quadruple texter) and he feels no shame

➳ noya and yn check up on each other by saying "good or bad", it's easy for the both of them and it can lead to a conversation if needed or just stay the one word answer if they dont feel like talking about it

sypnosis: the infamous point to a crowd member at the end of all of yn’s concerts wasn’t something she ever thought that much of, after all, it was just a joke her friends and bandmates thought would be funny. however this simple move to an unaware and uninformed boy makes both of them question if it really was just a throw away joke this time, or something more. something neither of them expected to come out of this small, crowded gig.

taglist (open!): @lvtilzs @diorzs @nymphsdomain

[memberment]

GOOD MORNING EVERYONE

So the Trinitarians brain worm is back and Morning Glory is now longer and biting the dust as far as my focus goes.

But like, I genuinely want to talk to anyone who's invested in what's to come as far as part two goes. SO PLEASE. I IMPLORE THE FOUR OF YOU WHO PERPETUALLY TAKE NOTICE OF MY SCREAMS INTO THE VOID.

We're all aware that Trin is a time loop fic. That is confirmed.

BUT THE PROBLEM IS HOW I'M GOING ABOUT DOING THAT. AND I NEED INPUT FROM PEOPLE THAT ARE NOT ME AS FAR AS PLEASES AND SPARKLES GO, YES?

Because like sure I'm writing it and like fuck everything else, let me tell my story. But it's the how of it all like if I'm gonna throw another 200 give or take hours into this I would at least like one person to be having a wonderful time drinking and driving (I have since remembered this is not a common phrase, I do not mean this in a literal sense, it's an expression) with me right?

Part two is going to be 50 chapters, give or take. (Part one is about 37 for reference.)

So the plan for part 2 rn is (ROGUHLY):

(1-10) is the second timeline. There are a lot of importants and I cannot just glaze over it all more than that. But we're also working in a bit of a shorter time period than the original events of the story and introductions do not need to happen again, right?

(11-40)ish would be me running through the next timelines in a set up structure -> what changes -> the results of said changes and then inevitably what sends our looper backwards. It wouldn't be running through all the timelines but the more notable ones in kind of a four chapter structure, I am not fully sold on four, but rough estimate yk.

And then 41-50 would be the finale of part two. It's literally the last timeline in its glory and then the epilogue which kicks off part three.

COULD AT LEAST ONE OF Y'ALL SIT THROUGH THAT OR DO YOU GUYS HAVE ANY NOTES AT ALL BECAUSE LIKE

I personally kinda like it but if not a soul is reading this I am throwing myself on the curb with the rest of the garbage LMFAOOO.

I NEED THOUGHTS. OPINIONS. COMMENTS. CONCERNS. ANYTHING.

Anyways, I'm going to work. I have off tomorrow and I broke the ff investment seal for today so insanity and updates will be here tonight and homework will be tomorrow.

HOPE EVERYONE HAS A GOOD DAY <3

(9:30) I am literally falling asleep as I lazily write this angel based on Danse Macabre. Expect all of maybe one more update tonight if the tacos I am abt to receive don't wake me up LMFAO.

Also, I am almost saddened by not having something to post tm. Anyone want an early chapter of something that isn't Genesis/Desolation bc they're both on Monday?????? (I am feeling like a menace rn)

(10:19) tacos and the absolute yap session I just had did wake me up a bit. MAAAYBE might write some more. Idk I slept like three hours last night and went to work I'm kinda dead. But we're at 98.2k!!!!!!🥳

(11:06) okay we made it to 99.6k everything besides the flashback for 31 is done. I'm about to relax and watch something and figure out mechanics of some of this because god this series is A BEAST. Like, I still have six planned chapters left.

Pure insanity. I love it here. I hate it here.

Holy shit wait I just came to the realization that I started this fic exactly one month ago. I have belted out 99.6k for THIS FIC ALONE. (Moreso if we're including future shit that hasn't happened yet)

IN ONE MONTH.

THAT IS FUCKING CRAZY WHAT HTE FUCK LMFAOOOO

I may or may not be cooking we’ll find out in 6-26 business hours

(5:28) So I just had a very interesting past few business hours. I read a fic I've been waiting ever so patiently to finish. That's cool, right. I go for a walk at 4 in the morning because I'm insane. Fantastic. I get home at five and I'm like ohhhh well what do I do now it's not sleep time yet. Oh write I'm supposed to be drawing.

Nope I reread the epilogue of morning glory and realized Tweek's first address is for my morning glory and Craig's last sign off is your morning glory and now I'm ready to throw myself on the curb with the garbage as I sob. Someone call a trusted adult for me thanks.

[thnxforknowingme]

Christmas Eves (1/21)

Summary: Blaine makes a quick trip to Ohio to see his parents over Christmas. He certainly doesn't expect to run into his ex-boyfriend Kurt, or to reexamine every aspect of his life, but this Christmas Eve is full of surprises.

Rating: Let's say T? G or T.

Notes: I desperately wanted to participate in the December Klaine Fanworks Challenge this year, but have had no time for writing. This weekend I had a dedicated writing session with some friends and managed to complete chapters for 9 of the prompt words, so I think I have the momentum to actually write the whole story. Will it be done by December 21st, or even by Christmas? Almost certainly not. My quasi-reasonable goal is to get it all written and posted by the new year. Anyway, enough of my rambling - I hope you enjoy!

Chapter 1: Plead

Blaine slept in on Christmas Eve, groggy from travel and still accustomed to Pacific time. He woke up with the winter sun streaming through the window of his former bedroom, long turned into a generic guest room since he moved West for college. His mother had a passion for redecorating, and the room currently had a nautical theme - everything in shades of blue or white, boat motifs abundant, and a sign above the closet door proclaiming that You cannot control the wind, you can only adjust your sail.

He glanced at his phone, the calendar widget reminding him it was Christmas Eve, forecasting Christmas tomorrow and his scheduled flight back to LAX on the 26th. It was a short, perfunctory trip home for the holiday.

There was a knock on the door. “Blaine, honey!” His mother called. “Are you up yet? I need to run out for a few things, I’d love if you came along!”

Blaine dropped his phone onto the bedspread and squeezed his eyes shut, little starbursts appearing behind his eyelids.

“Just a minute!” he replied, and then rolled out of bed.

.

“Oh, this is nice,” Pam said, pausing by a display of velvety bathrobes in the department store they were exiting the mall through. “But I’ve already gotten you something cozy.”

Blaine resisted the urge to squeeze the cup of to-go coffee in his hand. His mother’s quick errands had turned into a trip to the mall, which was complete chaos as desperate shoppers searched for last-minute gifts and bedraggled parents lined up for hours to get their kids’ photos with Santa. Blaine was already nursing a headache and his mother’s words set off his internal alarm bells. “Please tell me you didn’t get me pajamas,” he said.

“It’s a tradition,” she replied simply, feeling the lapel on one of the robes and then continuing forward.

“Mom,” Blaine pleaded as they walked outside. “I told you this last year - I don’t need them. I don’t wear pajamas, and flannel is way too warm for Los Angeles anyway.”

His mother paused on the sidewalk curb, turning back to face him with an unconcerned smile. “Darling,” she said, reaching up to cup his cheek, “Let me have this, okay?”

Blaine took a deep breath. Arguing was apparently futile. “Fine,” he muttered, and set off towards the car.

.

Christmas Eve dinner was an elegant affair, but small. The next day they’d make the 40-minute drive to Blaine’s grandparents’ house, where other extended family would congregate, but tonight just he and his parents gathered around the dining table.

After saying grace and passing around dishes and complimenting the food, Blaine’s dad turned to his favorite topic of conversation - the importance of networking.

“Did I tell you my old classmate Andrew is going to be in LA next month?”

“Yes,” Blaine replied, “You copied me on an email to him.”

“Have you reached out to try and set something up? He owns a rental property somewhere out there so he might know someone useful in the industry. And he’d be a good connection for you to cultivate even if he doesn’t know anyone in film, if you were ever interested in changing directions.”

The only direction Blaine felt like going in now was far, far away from this conversation. He put on a polite smile and said, “I’ve been busy with the holidays, but I’ll make sure to reach out once I get back.”

“Good,” his father said. “Andrew was in my fraternity, we lived together my junior year. Have I told you the story about the Michigan game that year?”

Blaine had heard the story multiple times before, but he let his dad tell it again anyway, making sure to laugh and gasp in the right places. He had the wry thought that at least he was getting some acting practice, playing the role of an engaged, doting son.

.

At 10pm, Blaine grabbed his mother’s keys from the hook by the door and drove her car into town, parking outside the Watering Hole.

Blaine had never gone to bars much in Ohio - he’d moved away before he was 21, and had visited infrequently since. Sam had taken him to this place over a Thanksgiving break in college, and it seemed the kind of bar that would still be open on Christmas Eve. He just needed to be out of his childhood home, away from his parents and their expectations for an hour or two.

He went in and found it unexpectedly busy. Not crowded, but far from deserted. He ordered a beer and perched at an open table against one wall, where he could people-watch or stare at the TV behind the bar.

“Excuse me?”

Blaine turned towards the voice, and when he saw the man standing behind him, he felt like he’d taken a punch to the chest. It wasn’t pain so much as shock, the air temporarily knocked out of his lungs as he beheld the older - but definitely very recognizable - form of none other than Kurt Hummel.

[crazylittlejester]

DAILY BRAINROT

Disclaimer: If nothing I say makes sense, it's probably because I'm so stressed I almost set the microwave on fire.

I'm glad to see that the Warriors knits headcanon is alive and well. In fact, it is thriving. This brings me immense joy because I've been losing my mind over it for the past several months, and it looks like it's here to stay. :) The best part is when someone writes a scene where Legend is embroidering/sewing and Warriors is knitting, and they're BONDING OVER THEIR CRAFTS.

In other news, I am seriously considering making glowing Warriors' power and having it be kind of like those glow-in-the-dark stickers people put on the ceilings of their kids' bedrooms. Hear me out. He can be powered by the sun, like a solar panel, and store the extra energy to do Cool Superhero Stuff with. The unfortunate side effect being that he tends to burn off excess energy by glowing in the dark. This means he has been explicitly banned from working night shifts because his cover would be blown.

It also means that he's the perfect nightlight for kids with nightmares.

I'm really looking forward to writing up more of the first meeting stories now that I've gotten the one about Legend & Wild posted, but since I'm making myself wait until I get the next chapter of Hyrule's fic up I'm just going to ramble at you about it instead.

I haven't decided which one to do next, but I have thought about the one for the trio (I also need a better name to refer to them). Anyway, I'm thinking that Twilight and Warriors actually grew up knowing each other, but sort of lost touch for a little while. Twilight was busy with the Twili stuff and getting used to his new abilities, while Warriors was in the middle of the mess with Cia. Sometime after that, they get back in touch, and they've both decided that they want to move out. Twilight wants to leave Ordon because he feels uncomfortable there now, and Warriors wants to move to a different district in Castletown to avoid anything related to Cia. Right around the same time, Sky is looking for roommates because he doesn't want to go to college in Skyloft or something. Ghirahim probably has something to do with it because I kind of doubt that he'd be very chill about Sky killing his master... Regardless, they get introduced to each other and the rest is history.

Slightly related to that, Sky is going to be an interesting combination of ideas here and is quickly becoming a favorite of mine for this project. He's kind of similar to Time because he's an incredibly powerful individual that dropped off the radar. He showed up, kicked villain butt, and then vanished (curtesy of Sun). I'm poking him because I have a lot of ideas about that. Maybe he doesn't like thinking about it? Maybe he doesn't remember what he did? Maybe it wasn't actually him and he was just possessed or something? Could he maybe be the source material for the experiment that made Wild? Is he just like this or is it trauma or his power(s) or did someone else do this to him?

Gnawing on all these questions as if I don't have things due tonight.

IM SO SORRY DUDE. they call me the kitchen appliance killer, i think the only thing safe from me is the stove and the blender- but i’m also afraid of fire so like, i don’t go near the stove anyway lmao 🕺 but fr I really hope you feel less stressed :(

YES YES YES. I love the wars knits headcanon it’s everything to me, i’ve been tryin to find a good place to throw it in a fic. AND WARS AND LEGEND BONDING OVER CRAFTS IS JUST PEAK

DO IT. DO IT, TAKE MY FUCKING MONEY. /j SOLAR POWERED NIGHT LIGHT GLOWSTICK WARS IS EVERYTHING TO ME

ooooooh okay okay, i like it >:)

istg the ‘hero/vigilante’ type au turning sky into peoples favorites is a real thing, it happened to me writing FH9. He’s my FAVORITE character in that ENTIRE au 😭 im so excited to see what you do with him in this 👁️👁️

remember to take care of yourself 🫶 get some water and snacks if you need em

[littlejuicebox]

Ramble/Teaser

Guys, so... I'm writing the second chapter of Midnight Chimes and I had to take a break because it made me too sad. I wanted to have a second piece up for the series up tonight, but it will probably be up next weekend. It's almost done being written and edited... the words really just flew out of me for the chapter. I'm happy to have some of my creative flow back -- thanks to everyone who sent me prompts, encouragement, and all the kind comments on my established stuff! I do prefer to post at least two things per week, but I may have to scale back to once a week/average.

Anyway, here is a small teaser for the next part. I will try to get it up next weekend. Warning: It's sad/graphic depictions of abuse, so don't read if you aren't in the right headspace.

Additionally, I have gotten a few questions about my AstarionxWren series. Yes, I do plan to continue it! I have the next installment halfway written... it's taken me more time with those two for some reason. Have a good week, friends!

[dreamsclock]

THE ULTIMATE DREAMSCLOCK UPDATE!

hello. hi. as most of u are probably very unsurprised to hear, i have bit off WAY more than i can chew in terms of personal projects. this is now something i am beginning to belatedly realize is A Problem for many reasons. mainly a) i am chronically overwhelmed esp with the biggest exams of my LIFE next months and b) i can’t take on any more projects realistically that i want to begin.

poll + more info under readmore bc i have chronic can’t-shut-up syndrome (adhd)

SO. in order to actually produce content for you guys i am Cutting Back Which Fics I Work On. at least until july. this SHOULD allow me to finish at least some fics and hopefully move on in the summer to other ones, but since im indecisive i thought i’d let YOU guys decide which fics i continue to work on!!! so here’s a poll.

the top five will continue to be worked on, and i plan to finish checkmate + hold him close in the next week anyway. so vote for your next five faves, and from there i’ll figure out which ones i’m gonna continue

this SHOULD help me make a good dent in these fics while also working on stuff that makes people happy :]

IN ADDITION TO THIS. i am also only streaming three times a week. ‘only?’ you might be thinking. ‘sparrow dreamsclock, you don’t even stream ONCE a week!’ to which i say Be Quiet. kidding but i’ve been putting way too much pressure on myself to try and stream every night and then beating myself up when i’m too tired 😭 so hopefully limiting myself to three times a week helps!!

STREAM DAYS: Monday, Wednesday, Saturday

I could stream more than this!! But at the very least you’re promised three streams a week unless something goes horribly wrong.

AO3 UPDATES: Wednesday, Sunday

AGAIN this is to try and give you guys some kind of consistency 😭😭 i know im very erratic + unreliable when it comes to uploading so i wanted to try and provide a schedule. no idea WHAT updates these will be, but you know Something will be posted there which is awesome

YOUTUBE UPLOADS: Beginning May

‘but sparrow!’ you may be saying. ‘you just said the most important exams of your life happen in may!’ to which i say Be Quiet. Yes. I Know. I’m An Idiot. but i wanna start providing youtube content Too!!! whether this be dsmp analysis or stream highlights or original minecraft choose-your-own-ending games i’ve made, i’ll be uploading (hopefully consistently) beginning may!!!! more info to come. unless i forget of course.

ANYWAY. if you’ve sat through all of this then HELLO HI!!!!! sorry. this announcement sounds self important and dumb but honestly even writing this out has eased like a load of my anxieties. ever since the end of 2021 i’ve been so overwhelmed with the frankly dumb amount of projects ive given myself, and it’s most of the reason ive been burned out since then too :’) thank u for being understanding and thank u for being such a source of inspiration for me and thank u thank u THANK U for being the best people ever muah ily

this starts from TODAY Btw!!! will be uploading a chapter of checkmate tonight and also streaming which i’m looking forward to. we’re gonna Chill until summer and then i can go crazy with projects again. but this feels more manageable!!!!

tune in for my stream tonight at 9pm (fnaf time FUCK YEAH) and thank u again :]

[victorgrwrites]

Higher Than Death | Prologue: Little Dark Age

Prologue of my multichapter Gortash/Durge fic focusing on events pre-game. The prologue happens after the coronation, where Jack (Durge) sneaks into Gortash's office to learn more about Gortash, and maybe himself in the process

Chapter posted below if you do not prefer AO3, and a song for your listening pleasure.

Enver never really knows where he will sleep on any given night in recent months. Joyously gone were the days where he could fall asleep on any cold patch of stone he could find, though it means he insists on having a bed in several key areas.

Moonrise is the bottom of the barrel with the constant howling winds and frigid interior. He prefers the cot in his private workshop over that, even though he rarely makes it there from his workbench. At least it's warm there.

His grandiose room in the temple of Bane is the preferable choice, but tonight he will make do with the four poster in the fortress office. It's comfortable enough, and he doesn't want to miss the arrival of his returned...

Well.

Even he admits he eagerly called him 'favorite assassin'. 'Nearest and dearest'. 'Kings', 'Gods'. He had to wonder if he was too eager at today's coronation, played too much of his hand.

The Bhaalspawn is not the same man Enver knew. Where he would expect to find quiet confidence and a surgeon's dissecting stare pointed toward a stranger, the Archduke found him on flat footing, his eyes desperately flicking about to find the invisible pieces of his mind. Perhaps he was too gentle, but even the faintest glimmer of a possibility to have Jack at his side once more made his heart skip embarrassingly.

Enver's assassin.

His killer, his blade, his daredevil, his audience, his admirer, his candid observer, his confidant, his promised doom. Masochist, sadist, equal.

His equal...

Enver blinks away the jumbled mess of words from his head to find a pool of black ink spreading over half-legible words. With a frustrated huff he sets the quill back in its holder on the writing desk, lifts a small cup-like contraption to set over the ink blot, and clicks a button on the side to suck the errant ink from the parchment.

...Yes, the words too, his mindless confessions erased from the page to return it to pristine parchment.

Better to try to get sleep. With any hope Orin will be too busy bothering Jack to bother with his guards tonight. With a tired groan, he lifts himself out of his chair, dark eyes flicking to the Steel Watch, the only guards left in the room itself once the sun had dipped beyond the ocean's horizon. They were better than any mortal guards anyway.

His firm steps thud from wood steps to stone, moving down the length of the long table and behind the elegant chair sat at the head. Once he rounds the corner where his bed sat, he realizes...

Perhaps he should have kept the guards inside.

Jack sits with his legs out in front of him, one leg bent up, wedged into a corner that was difficult to see from the main room. He has a book, one of *his* memoir notes open to a page, warm eyes flicking quickly along the lines. Speed reading.

Tens of possibilities flew into Enver's mind, each with their own appropriate response. A slight glance down to his gauntlet and, no, it does not resonate. He did not have the last netherstone, though he clearly still had Ketheric's on him.

He should call his Steel Watch. How did they not see, how many books did he have stacked next to him, how long has he been here?

The mild shock on the Banite's face melts into a cool smile, one of his more dangerous expressions. "I thought I had been very clear," he begins, sliding into his usual calm cadence.

"You were," Jack responds simply, as if Enver's statement is a question, his eyes not leaving the book. The deadpan response itches under his skin while tugging at his throat; a tone he's heard many times before.

The Bhaalspawn's voice sounds a touch more gravelly, though the deep tenor remains otherwise intact. Jack had always looked shockingly... plain for being the son of Bhaal. He looked half elven, his black hair streaked with gun metal greys that have started to multiply in the time he has been away.

Jack clearly feels unconcerned when he should be very much so, because Enver is one word away from alerting his guard.

No. He should have patience, control.

"Then why," he turns his hand up, gesturing toward the assassin, "are you here?"

Perhaps more control than that.

Jack's eyes slowly look up from over the top of the book, the rest of his face tipping up a second slower to reveal more grey added to his goatee.

"When I... kill Orin," he rumbles these words softly, his expression shifting from placid to rage filled for only a split moment,"...I will need to make a decision. And I don't have enough information for it."

"And," Enver tips his head, still perturbed that Jack didn't seem to understand that he had threatened his life. "...I? Have this information you need?"

"You know me."

Jack states simply, leaning forward, letting the book fall closed and lowering it onto his thigh, all one easy and flowing movement, his expression becoming almost innocently earnest.

"Don't you?" Just like his movements, Jack's expressions shift strangely fluid on his face; the Banite had seen many different kinds on that face before. He could go from angelically placid to an intensely insectoid curiosity, gleefully bloodthirsty to feral rage, amused snark to heartbreaking melancholy. Jack's face lied as little as he did, and most would be downright disturbed by the sheer range of his truth.

Enver's own expression falls, discarding the mask of dangerous geniality for a more cold but uncertain one, arms crossing across his chest. "...I should kill you."

"You would be right to."

"Would I?"

"If you could catch me," Jack adds with a smirk, arrogance and playfulness on those lips.

The archduke let out a huff as he looks up at the ceiling, lips pursed as he genuinely considers the option.

Clearly Jack was looking for... Enver. Without looking for him. Through his memoir notes and ideological ramblings, the only connection he has to his past that wouldn't kill him immediately. To learn about himself.

His cold eyes come back from the ceiling to meet the Bhaalspawn's warm ones, letting the thoughts in his own mind refine into something verbal, buying himself time with a slow inhale.

"There was a... sort of game we used to play, you and I," he began, uncrossing his arms and stepping closer to the Bhaalspawn nearly at the same time Jack leans forward with earnest and intense curiosity, the cocky attitude all but fleeing.

"We would ask one another questions based purely on conjecture, with little to no context," he continues, his clawed hand gesturing between them.

"If the questions were spot on, then the other had to decide how to answer. What to say in order to find out how the other discovered their information. How much to feed into the other's ego. All while determining what more information to give."

Jack's eyes widened ever so slightly, head tipping an inch and with a slight snap to the movement, a glimmer of that insectoid curiosity. "And... you didn't lie?"

"Only as much as you did."

Jack stared, eyes flicking over Enver as if he were reading the muscles under his face and the pulse in his veins before smiling and smoothly leaning forward. "Alright. Let's play then."

The other man bows his head slightly, turning his hand in offer, "Beginners go first."

Something... too fast to read passes over Jack's eyes before an intense look of concentration took over. Once again he seemed to be looking under Enver's skin to the sinews underneath, though less with an intent to see more of him and more as the parchment to map Jack's own thoughts.

"...When we met, who did I kill?"

He chuckles softly at the question with a shake of his head. Not a good one by Jack's normal standard, but for this new person sitting in his bedroom... not bad. "No one except your butler."

Blinking once in surprise, Bhaal's scion sat back again, waiting for the other's question patiently.

It was a terrible question himself, but Enver had to quell his annoyance if this was going to continue.

"How did you get in," he asks with a touch more force than he intended.

Clearly Jack caught this annoyance and seems to find it amusing, but quickly relents the information. Reaching into his pocket he displays four empty vials held between the knuckles of his right hand. "Your steel watch need to scan for invisibility more often."

He knew the answer the moment the vials came out, rolling his eyes and straightening, "An issue with power output that I do not have the form factor efficiency to solve, yet." In simpler terms, he didn't have room for a larger engine or the means to make a smaller one equally powerful. Another annoyance, like a drop in the sea, but the quick and willing answer calmed the waves. He pauses, then lifts a clawed finger, "One moment."

The chosen of Bane walks back over to the larger, ornate chair just in sight of Jack's perch, wrapping a hand around the arm. A loud, screeching sound echoes around the chamber as Enver drags the chair to the bedroom area. Jack seems... hm. Amused? Exasperated? Delighted? At the action, or the result? He couldn't quite tell.

Either way, with the chair positioned facing Jack, he takes his seat, heel resting on the edge of the chair and one elbow propped on the arm. "Go on," he invites with a turn of his hand.

Jack's back straightens, his feet shifting to press the bottoms together and the sides of his knees flat on the floor in a butterfly like position. No loss of flexibility then.

Jack's question comes quicker this time. "What did my butler do that had annoyed me?"

That question gets a soft chuckle out of him.

[hxneyfarm]

WIP Wednesday Thursday Friday!

It’s WIP Wednesday Thursday Friday, time for a little accountability, sharing your work, and getting a kick in the pants.

I was tagged by the wonderful & stupendous @helixferrano (thank youuuu)

Here’s how it works:

In a reblog (or new post w/ rules attached), post up to five (5) filenames of your WIPs; not titles, file names.

Post a snippet from one of them. Snippet must be words you wrote in the last 7 days. We’re posting progress here. If you haven’t made any, go make some and come back to post!

After you’ve posted, people can send you an ask with one of your file names. You must then write 3 sentences in that file. If the filename is one you can’t share from (for example, an event fic), write 3 sentences on it anyway, and then 3 more on another to share.

That’s it! You can invite others to join in, or just post.

full disclosure, most of my file names are actual titles, and there's one that i can't publicly post snippets of (yes it's killing me)

WIPs:

greatest hits

bu!

steddie song series pt1

for the bit

glimpse of us

Snippet (from greatest hits, chapter dropping tomorrow):

And then there’s Steve, who’s somehow always the last to show up and the last to take his place at the table, but the first to traipse across the forefront of Eddie’s mind.

Eddie pinches him when he sits down beside him.

“Ow. Dickhead. That was my nipple.”

“Language,” chastises Hopper around a mouthful of meatball, and Eddie tells him to take the balls out of his mouth before he tries to father them, pleased when Jonathan chokes on his drink.

Eddie wads up a piece of napkin and flicks it across the table at El, who grins at him and uses her powers to push one of Eddie’s meatballs from one side of his plate to the other. To his right Steve is discussing plans with Will for the day Dustin comes home. Eddie mentions the one-shot he’s been working on for next Sunday, intentionally vague, and Will latches on to the conversation, tries to pry out of Eddie what he’s got planned. Eddie changes the subject, asks what Mike’s been up to. Will’s cheeks go a little pink. 

Halfway through the massive pot of spaghetti, Steve gets up to grab more napkins and Eddie can’t resist the urge to slap him on the ass and say, “Grab me a beer while you’re up, wouldja sweetheart?”

Steve tilts his head and looks at him a little funny, but does as he’s asked. Eddie tips his chair back to balance on the back legs as he watches Steve go.

“Who are you?” Steve asks when he sits back down, glancing around the table to see if anyone else caught it. 

Eddie shrugs and twirls a pile of spaghetti noodles around his fork before slurping them noisily into his mouth.

“Couldn’t resist, had to see if it was just as bouncy as those jeans make it look,” he says quietly, hoping this part of the conversation is just for Steve. Hopper’s looking at them a little suspiciously, though, so that’s never a good sign. “Bouncier, even.”

Steve lets his voice drop into a sultry whisper. “Couldn’t wait till later?”

“Mmm, tempting,” Eddie says, leaning over to whisper it right in Steve’s ear. He watches goosebumps rise across the back of Steve’s neck, “but uh. No. No fuckin’ funny business tonight, Harrington.”

He means it, the no funny business thing, but with Steve this close to him he’s not sure he’ll be able to stick to his guns later, once they're alone.

“Says the guy who just slapped my ass at the dinner table.” 

“We’ll talk about it later, big boy,” Eddie says, patting him on the back and nodding his head in Hopper’s direction, making sure to lock eyes with him across the table. “We’ve got an eavesdropper over here.”

“Well maybe you should share with the class, sweetheart,” Hopper says.

Tagging...... no one, but if you want to join, please feel free and say I tagged you

[perexcri]

Aaaa I can’t believe there’s only six more chapters!! I’m happy for you about the new job!!

Also 🥰🥰🥰 you continue to have first sentences on a Lock. “They pull closer, and spring washes away in thunderheads and afternoon showers to reveal a sweltering summer.”

Mike basically proposing how he does is So in Character of him tbh. I also like how he didn’t Push too hard about it. (Maybe if they do end up going to the east together, they could elope👀👀👀👀).

I’ve been trying to figure out what Will’s almost,,,wistful half-longing for leaving reminds me of, and I finally figure out. I could deffo be way off base, but it’s almost like the Elvish desire for the Undying Lands. (And tho Byler are most often compared to samfrodo, I think in this scenario they would be more like Legolas and Gimli, hopefully making sure his love dearest friend gets to go with him.) ofc, again I could be way off, but just what I was thinking.

“They grow and they learn. They speak and they smile and they laugh, and when one says something too out of line, the other lets him know with sharp glares and pointed comments. Will instinctively reaches for two sets of things now no matter what, and Mike always draws close to him, as if he’s not complete without the other by his side.” This whole paragraph !!! They!!!

Cuddles!!!!! Cuddling for safety from nightmares is !!!!!! They’re getting even closer !! I’m so dndjdic. I’m so normal about them, I swear.

I really do adore this story. It’s always a nice pick me up when the day hasn’t been the best, or turns an okay day great. I hope you know how much I appreciate u, as a writer and as a friend.

Anyway I hope you are doing well, and that the project and your upcoming job (!!!) are fun and wonderful.

i knowww!! it's almost over!! i will say all of these upcoming chapters run a little longer though, so there's at least that? i promise i'm doing my best to give them their happy ending :D

(and thanks for the well wishes on the job i am excited but so nervous but i am being so brave about it)

ajlsajlasdj i am once again making a surprised pikachu face and blushing at you pointing out something about my writing. i'm glad you liked that first sentence!! it's been so fun in this fic to describe the seasons passing and what-not. my more popular fics (like to hell and back again, cheer up baby, and what a match) all have really heavy time or place constraints, so this one has been nice to be able to let it flow more naturally and see where it takes me. it's become very near and dear to my heart, so i'm especially grateful for people like you for keeping up with it!!

yeah Mike basically proposing 👀 hrrrhmhmmmm 👀

Vee,,,i am about to reveal something about myself, and i hope you can forgive me: i honestly don't know a whole lot about lord of the rings (which is really weird considering i read the first book when i was in middle school, but i digress). i trust your judgment on this though, and i am doing some furious googling just so i can learn more about it!!

i'm glad you liked that paragraph about them growing together T_T that's been one of the parts that's been absolutely gnawing at me. like i've wanted to post it ever since i wrote it, so i'm very happy it gets to be out in the world now :D and yes, they are getting closer!! literally if i thought my brain could handle it i would proofread the next chapter and post it tonight, but i am so tired lol. it should be coming out tomorrow though!! i hope so at least, or else i might explode or something

i know i already gushed about this somewhere up there in this block of text^^^ but i truly am glad you enjoy this story so much!! i enjoy all the support i get on fics ofc, but people like you who have been regularly interacting with this one have made me feel extra special. this story means a lot to me, and i'm glad it can mean something to others now or that it can be a reason to make your day a little brighter, and in the end, that's all i can really ask for out of the stuff that i write, and it's something i've learned i really enjoy doing. i used to never share stuff i wrote with other people, but i'm slowly learning that you can never know how it might affect another person, and that sometimes it's better to share and see what happens than keep it close to your chest and never let somebody else partake in what you've made

aND YOU VEE!! i hope YOU know how much i appreciate you as a friend!! you are so sweet and kind, and i always look forward to what you have to say whenever i update anything because you're always so thoughtful and have such good insight. you're such a lovely person and a wonderful light in my life as well as others'. i hope this isn't being too Out There or whatever, but when i hit a point about a month ago where i really thought i was gonna have to put this fic aside because i was so stuck on it and just dealing with my own stuff, your messages about it really helped me keep going T_T it is not a stretch at all to say that i would not be nearing the end of this fic without you, so please know that you do so much even just by the presence you have on this webbed site and in this fandom!!

i would love to say this is the only time today i've typed up a super long reply to something when i maybe should've made it shorter, but nope!! i've been responding to ao3 comments that are just a few sentences with 2-3 paragraphs tonight. guess i'm just in a Mood huh

bUT if you are willing to put up with my drivel, i just want you to know you deserve all the best!! i am wishing you glowing flowers, as well as wonderful things for the new year and your endeavors, whether big or small!! :] 💜💜💜

[darkh3ro]

AfterSchool: A Love Story

Chapter Two

Eddie was on his lunch break, drinking a green tea that he loves cold and a small salad, he usually liked keeping his small figure and his wife didn't do much of the cooking anyway, her nights were normally filled with work, and even most weekends. 

Eddie gets a call from his wife in the middle of his small meal, he's quick to answer, mostly because he knows she never calls unless she needs something. Eddie picks up “Hey Love. How's it going?

Works okay and everything?” she responds with “Yes as always” she quickly says. Eddie could tell that she was fixing her mouth to say something. She was hesitant but not afraid to tell him.

She says “I will be gone for a week for work. They need me out in New York City. I'm not sure how often this will happen, but this week has already been set in stone. I'm getting paid triple and they're flying me out tonight.” 

Thoughts ran through Eddie's mind faster than ever, he immediately thought of inviting Yusef over and pouncing onto him like he knew they both wanted.

He thought of the time they could spend together just for the weekend. The immense amount of time they would have.’

“Hello,” Eddie's wife says, demanding an answer at this point. He had zoned out for at least 30 seconds.

He snaps back to reality and says “Okay honey, whatever you feel like you need to do, your job is important, I'll be here if you need me, love you.”

Eddie’s wife hangs up the phone and quickly puts away his lunch, getting ready for the last class of the day…….

The last class was unlike any other. He was so energetic for the last class. Knowing the plan that was soon to conspire was pushing him through the rest of the day.  

Often during the passing period, he would sway by Yusef’s office, finding him inside normally waiting on his next class or just writing notes or classes.

Eddie couldn't keep his eyes off him, and Yusef couldn't either, they were so obsessed with each other secretly that they had to resist each other for the sake of their marriage.

Since Yusef married his wife, Lory; it was always as if something was missing. He felt that the only reason he got married in the first place was because his family members wanted him. 

Through the years Yusef normally stayed distant from his wife, they were never fully infatuated with each other but they always kept the peace. Since Eddie and Yusef knew each other so well.

For years they had always wondered what it felt like to be in each other's arms. Never did Eddie think that he would end up being in a position to have a chance at pursuing him. 

He mustered up the thought of going to yusefs office and asking him over. He kept fidgeting in his seat just thinking about Yusef coming over to be with him.

Even if nothing sexual happened, being in the presence of him is enough for him. Eddie loved Yusef for what he was; a hidden lover.

A love with no constraints and no ill will. Yusef was masculine, caring, and extremely charming. There was nothing better for them than each other. 

Eddie knew what he had to do. So he thought to himself to eventually muster up the courage to ask Yusef over. Eddie knew that he would say yes anyway. He just didn't want to pounce on him too early….

In the middle of Eddie daydreaming of him and Yusef, the bell rings for the next class and his lunch is over…

I'm not sure when I will post chapter three! though I'm sure it'll be within the next week or two!

love yall.

[shadowsong26fic]

Coming Attractions!

Yes, I know it’s Wednesday, not Monday, but shhhhhh.

(In my defense, there’s been A Lot of IRL stuff the past couple days so. Anyway.)

As always, this is just a general overview of what I did last month and what I Hope to do next month; also an Open Question Night. Any asks about fandoms I’ve posted about here or on Ao3, or writing stuff in general is fair game. I do also accept prompts, but I make no promises on how quickly I fill them (there’s one currently sitting in my inbox that I’m hoping to get to later tonight, lol).

Anyway, here goes!

Star Wars:

I ended up dropping out of SWBB as a writer this year--just couldn’t get things to come together right--but I’m participating as an artist/podficcer! The story I’m recording is SWTOR-based, which is an area of fandom/canon that I have very little knowledge of, so it’s been a lot of fun working with my writer and getting to know a little more about that part (though it is apparently Very AU so.) I’m posting the podfic chapters as the writing chapters are posted, and you can find it here:

Writing: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47347087/ Podfic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/47517721/

I have also been keeping up with my OTP meme fills for Obianidala. The one I put out this month was fun; it was a chance to go back to the Heralds of Valdemar crossover/fusion which I haven’t played with in ages. I haven’t even looked at this months prompts yet, lol, I should probably do that...

(Precipice!verse is still also extant in my head but I have done no active work on it lately unfortunately and am not sure when I’ll get back to it but, as I’ve mentioned, it’s too big a part of my life in this fandom for me to abandon. Until and unless I entirely leave the SW fandom, Precipice will be there.)

BSG:

Again with the OTP meme stuff; this month’s fill came together sort of last minute. I wasn’t totally sure what I wanted to do? I thought about something related to them eventually having kids on Earth (one of the available prompts was ‘pet/child acquisition’; also thought about something super self-indulgent involving Atia, but I think what I ended up writing turned out really well, so I’m happy.

Of course the Big news is that Galactica Big Bang officially opens in less than a month! I need to finish actually, like, Making the sign-up forms, haha. But I’m really excited for the event. I’m not sure if I’m going to be a participant as well as running it (podficcing is less intimidating than I thought it would be, based on my current SWBB experience, and I think especially if it’s something I already come to with some investment it’ll be nice? Also I do have BB-scale storyline ideas, lol. Not just the Massive Epics like TOB or continuing in the Backup Plans AU...right now the sort of top choices, if I do write, are going back to the Selkie AU or doing a Zarek character study? But we’ll see.

Other Fandom Stuff:

As you may have noticed, based on some things I’ve posted in the last couple weeks, I’ve gone down a very specific Les Mis rabbit hole XD I have two longfic projects being worked on; one I’m actually hoping to start posting later this week (I want to get at least three chapters prewritten, plus I think I want a second pair of eyes on chapter 2 just to make sure it’s not too Infodumpy, so. If anyone’s interested, lol. (on the other hand would it really be a victor hugo pastiche without at least one random infodump? lol)

The other one I haven’t started actually writing yet, but I have something of an outline for it (it’s a Groundhog Day AU which includes a few different endings out of Spite and/or Loving Mockery of other adaptations; along with a few others I just want to do). This one will have some very heavy TWs that should absolutely be taken seriously (Javert is the one looping the last like 36 hours of his life, you do the math). Anyway, once I get started on writing that, I’m hoping it’ll go pretty quickly.

I am signing up for pod_together again! As always, signing up to get assigned a podficcer; I think signups close the end of this week so I think I should be matched by Monday? This will be my third time doing the event. I’ve actually done crossovers both of the prior times? But I’m pretty proud of both pieces I put out, and it was a lot of fun to work on. We’ll see how it goes!

I think I mentioned last month that some of my AtLA plots may have resurfaced? So far not enough for me to actively work on them, but we’ll see. I did list that (as well as my other usual suspects of SW and BSG; plus Les Mis because the current brainrot is Strong and a couple others) as a primary/first-choice fandom for matching for pod_together, so that might produce something. Again, we’ll see.

Original Stuff:

Mostly OTP meme again, though a couple other things for Rainbowfic challenges have come out as well. Not really much to report here, although I am producing a lot more than I have in recent years, which is good, I’m pleased with myself on that.

...I think that’s everything? So, yeah! Open Question Night, as I mentioned above, let me know what’s on your mind! Or what you guys are working on/excited for!

[aro-aizawa]

OH YEAH I WAS GONNA WRITE TODAY

[kiwixlime]

Between You and I - Part Seven

Recommended listening - Tear You Apart by She Wants Revenge.

This is my 100th post! I was saving it for an update, so here we go! It's a little longer, coming it at around 5k words, but I was trying to build up some story line, too, lol. Anyway! Enjoy this chapter because man the next one is gonna be a mess. As always, thank you so much for reading. I love and appreciate u all. PS - I literally don't remember what I write so if I repeat things, I am super sorry. But I just get an idea and spend a couple days writing with the flow. So I never go back and reread things. Sorry!

And about the song. It just came on one of my playlists and I was like, hm. This works. 18+ Minors DNI

You sit in the passenger seat of Joel’s truck, the visor down with the mirror angled at your face. He watches with interest as you apply a bold coat of red lipstick to your lips, sticking your finger between them and pulling it out with a pop. His face twitches at the action. He should not find that so attractive. 

But you look good tonight. You look good every night, but rather than wait and get dressed at the club, you took your time and got ready at Joel’s place. He’s had to watch you float around in your skimpy outfit for an hour with you telling him no touching. It’s part of why you had to do your makeup in his car. You couldn’t risk him messing it up with his aroused kisses. 

You saved the lipstick for last, swiping your eyelids with champagne glitter complimented by thick black liner and false lashes. The lashes were a surprise for Joel, who could not get over the fact that they were, in fact, fake. And yes, you put them on top of your own. A wild concept for the man, but it was endearing. 

“God damn,” Joel mutters, his eyes still fixated on you. You stop fucking with the ringlets in your hair and glance over at him. Suddenly, you feel very self-conscious. 

“What?” You frown, looking down at your outfit. Tonight’s getup consists of a black bustier corset and skirt accented by red ribbon and lace detail. It’s not your favorite costume, but it accentuates your curves and pushes your breasts up, showing them off. You look hot. At least, you thought you did until Joel spoke. “Do I look okay?” You question him with a soft voice. 

“In that ensemble?” Joel snorts, flicking his eyes over your frame, burning every part of you into his brain. Under the dim parking lot lights, you are seductive, almost mythical. He thinks if he reaches out to touch you, you might just disappear. “You look like every teenage boy’s wet dream,” he blurts. 

“You say the sweetest things to me, Joel Miller,” you tease, glimpsing back at yourself in the mirror. After adding some setting spray, you’re good to go. Even if there were issues with your makeup, you have no time to make changes. You’re already running late. “Come on, let’s go,” you groan as you open the door. 

Tonight, Joel has decided to join you at the club. You were complaining earlier about how much you didn’t want to go, and Joel being the perfect man he is, said he’d tag along. His reasoning was that if you saw him waiting for you in the audience, the night would pass by quickly, and you'd be with him the second your shift was done. You’re not sure about that, but you love the thought. 

Ever since you went on your date with him, he’s been more delicate with you. His touches are gentle and affectionate. The words he speaks are wrapped in compassion. And the way he fucks you, well, it’s tender. It’s loving. You don’t want to get ahead of yourself, but his newfound passion torches those embers within you. He’s clingy, in a good way. And his actions are much like yours. Filled with love. 

But no, you don’t want to get ahead of yourself. 

“I’ll sit you in the VIP section,” you tell him when you enter the familiar building. The sequined walls welcome you back, and the lights have already dimmed to a cool violet shade. You greet Eli at the ticket counter and get Joel checked in, slipping a shiny gold wristband past his watch. Your stomach churns, knowing that it was a gift from Sarah. Oh, if only she knew what you were up to now. You swallow the lump in your throat and put a smile on your face, taking Joel’s hand. “The VIP tables have the best view in the house. So, I expect excellent tips,” you jibe. 

“I have to tip you now?” He laughs, following your lead through the club. “Isn’t that prostitution?” You don’t turn around, but he can hear you huff at his joke, and his smile widens. He keeps up as you weave through smaller tables until you reach a bigger raised platform. Velvet ropes drape around the location, and you unhook one, ushering Joel up. 

“Enjoy the show tonight, Mr. Miller,” you flirt, leaning over the cords. You swear you can see him blush a little as he relaxes back onto the velour loveseat. You step away for a second before returning, biting your lip. “And yes, you have to tip me. But… I didn’t say how,” you whisper suggestively, shooting him a wink before jumping down from the platform and sauntering away. 

His eyes stay glued to you until you vanish behind the purple curtain. Once you are out of sight, Joel exhales through his nose as worry seeps through his bloodstream. The hold you have over him is concerning, and he knows it. Truth be told, you have him hypnotized. And it’s not just your looks, or your youth, or your enthusiasm to do whatever he wants. You are extraordinary. It’s as simple as that. He could live a thousand lifetimes and never meet another soul like you. 

He’s not a big believer in things like fate. But that day you bumped into him changed his course in life for sure. How can he not thank the planets for aligning at just the right moment to bring you to him? 

Sarah would say it's destiny. 

But he can’t think about Sarah. He’s so afraid of her finding out this secret. But the problem is, he wants to tell her. He wants to tell her everything because he’s so intensely connected to you, he doesn’t want to hide it. Sarah is the most important person in his world, and her feelings come first. He wants her to accept his relationship with you because if it comes down to it and he has to choose…

He’d have to say goodbye to you. 

Lost in thought, Joel doesn’t realize he’s not alone anymore. Your coworker, Daphne, is standing beside him with a knowing grin on her face as she stares the man down. It’s only when she clicks her tongue that he snaps out of his daze, embarrassed. 

“Hey, I don’t blame you,” she says, comforting him. “Our girl looks good tonight.” 

“Yeah,” Joel nods in agreement. “She sure does. Did you need something?” He asks awkwardly, wondering how long she had been standing there before knocking him out of his fog. 

“Just to take your drink order,” she says cheerily. “What can I get you?” 

“Oh,” he frowns, darting around the room for you like a lost puppy. 

Daphne must notice because she laughs and snaps her fingers in his face. “She’s behind the bar. I’ll send her back with your drink. Just tell me what you want.” 

“Sorry,” he apologizes shyly and orders a scotch, thanking Daphne as she walks away. His eyes fall on the bar, and sure enough, there you are, mixing a cocktail. He smiles out of instinct, and you return it, sending him a little wave as well. 

Daphne stops in front of the bar, and he watches the two of you talk. She must say something witty, probably making fun of him, because your head falls back as you let out a laugh with your friend joining in after. Great, he thinks. Made a killer first impression on the people in your life. 

“Okay, for starters, that man is gorgeous and I hate you,” Daphne declares, leaning over the bar top, giving you Joel's order. You can’t help but laugh at her comment, agreeing with her. She glances back at him and then smiles brightly at you. “And secondly, he is so in love with you, it makes me sick.” 

“Daphne!” You chirp, standing straight in alert and almost dropping a bottle of alcohol in the process. “Don’t say that,” you whisper. “He is not.” 

“Oh, please,” she scoffs and turns around, deliberately pointing to Joel who's sitting there staring at his hands. “I know I’m kind of challenged in the male emotions department,” she admits, making you chuckle. “But I know love when I see it. And cupcake, that man is in love with you.” 

You glare at her while you get together Joel’s drink, cheeks burning crimson all the way to the tips of your ears. She really said that. And now you can’t get the thought out of your head. 

But she doesn’t know what she’s talking about. She already admitted she’s bad at reading guys. She obviously has this one wrong. Obviously. Without saying another word, you grab your tray and make your way over to where Joel sits, leaving Daphne and her silly accusations behind. 

Joel fidgets while he waits for his booze. For whatever reason, he's feeling nervous tonight. This is your territory. This is your life. And you’re welcoming him in, letting him be a part of it. He's seen you dance before, once with Tommy, but this is so different. It’s intimate in a unique way, and he just wants to make you proud to be with him. 

“Your drink, sir,” your sweet voice says as you return to him, holding out a glass and a cocktail napkin. He mumbles his thank you, swiping the drink from your hands and downing it quickly. You stand by with wide eyes, shocked by his restlessness. Once he’s done, he gasps and sets the glass down thoughtfully. “You good, babe?” You ask him, practically feeling the panic that branches off him. 

“I’m anxious,” he admits, wiping his sweaty palms against his jeans. “I’m like, really fuckin’ anxious.” Okay, maybe Daphne is on the right track with this whole love thing. But…you can’t be sure. Don’t read into it. 

“Aw,” you coo, reaching forward for his hand. He lets you take it, lacing your fingers and giving him a reassuring squeeze. “Why?” 

“I have no idea, sweetheart,” he says. “This all feels really personal.” 

“Joel,” you say flatly, attempting to hide your mischievous smile. “You’ve seen me naked. Pretty sure that’s more personal than this.” 

“I know! How crazy is that!” He all but shouts, a wild look in his eyes. 

“Okay,” you giggle, dropping your hand from his. God, he's cute. “Can I get you a refill?” 

“I’m okay,” he assures you with a warm smile. “Go do your thing. I’ll be fine.” He nods as you stand there, sizing him up. You still have some questions, but he seems to be calmer now. So you leave him there, needing to attend to other customers. 

If only Joel knew how quickly things would change the second you left.  

You make your way to a table across from him, socializing with other patrons, taking their orders as you flip your hair over your shoulder, leaning down just close enough so some dick with a baseball cap gets an eyeful of your tits. It’s over the top flirtation, but the guys don’t care as long as you’re paying attention to them. They eat that shit up. 

Joel’s man enough to admit he feels jealous of the way these guys watch you. He doesn’t like when they flirt with you, and he certainly hates when you tease back. But it’s a part of the job. He understands this. If anything, it gives him a moment to take a step back and dial down the overly possessive thoughts swimming in his mind. He doesn’t own you. Yeah, you tease each other about it during sex. But you are your own person. He would never be that guy. Unless he's railing you. 

But he does have to fight down the urge to knock in their teeth when they check out your ass. Not that he can blame them. Anyone with a sense of sight would be floored by you. 

So he gets it. He does. And these men, they’re mostly respectful because even though you and every other performer in here are dressed like pinup girls, it’s a well-established joint with a good reputation. The audience comprehends that, so they keep their hands to themselves and their comments just above skeevy. 

Every once in a while, a rowdy client comes through. But that’s when security steps in and gives them the boot so as not to ruin the night for anyone else. You’ve told Joel that those nights are few and far between. And that it’s been a while since an incident occurred. 

So when you traipse past the VIP section to a table a few rows ahead of him, everything kind of moves in slow motion as a guy in a suit guides his hand to slap your ass. It takes a few seconds for Joel to wrap his head around the act before his protectiveness kicks into drive. He stands, rage ticking through him, ready to lunge at a notice. He’s halfway over the obstruction of velvet ropes when he hears your voice. 

“Excuse me, sir!” You scold, your tone reaching a decibel Joel’s never heard. It garners the attention of surrounding tables, all watching in anticipation. “Touch me again and I’ll have you thrown out,” you snap. 

“Like you have the power to do that,” douchebag in a suit slurs. You brush him off as a drunk idiot, not worth your time until he opens his mouth again and grabs your wrist. “Stupid slut.” 

Joel hears those vile words drip from that man’s mouth, and all he can see is red. His fists are ready for destruction. But before he can do anything to defend your honor, you’re yelling again. 

“Eduardo!” You call out, tearing yourself away from the man's aggressive hold. He has the nerve to smirk, totally unfazed by your temper. 

In seconds a tall, broad man approaches the chaos. He’s dressed in black from head to toe, hair slicked back, not a strand out of place, rigidity in his face. His muscles bulge as he crosses his arms, and his chunky army boots thunder against the floor as he makes his way to you, standing by your side. “Something wrong?” His deep voice asks, and the smirk on the pervert’s face falls.  

“This creep won’t stop touching me,” you huff, singling out the dickhead who grabbed you. 

Eduardo’s face hardens, and he captures the guy by the suit collar, yanking him from the chair he’d been occupying. The man wiggles in Eduardo’s hold, panic setting in that his drunk mind can’t understand. “No touching the performers,” Eduardo says harshly. 

“Performers?” The stranger chortles, spitting when he looks at you. “She’s basically a stripper.”

You roll your eyes and walk away from the altercation, as it's beneath you. Eduardo will override the guy’s last warning and have him kicked from the club any second. You’re done with that.

Footsteps come up behind you, and you know it’s Joel, coming to check on you. You have to admit, it would’ve been hot to see him in action. But if he dared to try, he’d be removed from the premises for beating that guy to a pulp. 

“Are you okay?” Joel asks, tugging on your hand affectionately. His spicy cologne fills your senses as he draws you close, examining your face for any type of distress. His warm hazel eyes look you over, and you swear, you’ve never felt so adored. 

“I’m fine,” you hum, leaning into his touch. The pad of his thumb skims over your jaw, down the side of your neck where you’re sporting faded bruises. His touch is mild as he outlines the mark he left and goosebumps raise over your arms. You tilt your head up and stand on your tiptoes to leave a faint kiss on his cheek. “Just settle in, relax. I’ll send Daphne over with another drink.” 

“Are you sure?” He asks, still concerned for your well-being. 

“I am,” you insist, motioning for him to return to his seating area. “I have to get back to work. Go, enjoy the show.” 

Joel (hesitantly) does as you say, going back to his area. He thinks about what just happened and how enraged he was, ready to annihilate that guy if needed. He’s always been the protective type, but this was startling. He saw you in danger, and it terrified him. He realizes now just how much he would do anything for you. Anything at all. 

Daphne comes around with another scotch, pulling him from his revelation. He thanks her, slowly sipping this one and enjoying the smooth taste as it travels down his throat. “You’re a good guy, Joel,” she states, catching him by surprise. “You’re the kind of guy she deserves.” 

A smile tugs on his lips, his insides twisting with a pleasant feeling. He likes that. A guy you deserve. It briefly makes him wonder about the guys you’ve had in your past. But that’s unnecessary suffering. 

The night goes on, and much to Joel’s dismay, a young group of men have decided that you are their favorite worker this evening. They toy with you and constantly call you back to their table. You put on a facade and flirt back, just for tips. But it makes Joel uncomfortable. He sees the way they look at you. The way they whisper amongst themselves when you walk away. 

He notices how easy it is for you to talk with them. And when it’s your turn to perform, they’re the loudest ones in the room. You smile, and Joel knows it’s your job to be friendly, but with those guys, it comes so effortlessly. He doesn’t like this jealous feeling festering inside of him. It’s rare and unpleasant. 

When the night is over, you hurry off the stage and head towards the back to change into the comfortable sundress you brought with you. Joel gets a text from you that says you’ll be out in a few minutes, so he waits by the door, chatting with Eli from earlier. He sees the rambunctious group of guys from before also waiting, probably for you. Fire burns through Joel’s veins when he hears them talking about you as if you’ll follow them home for some gangbang. No, that’s too much. He gives up and decides to wait outside instead. 

He waits for you in his truck, radio on in the background. He sings along to the song, tapping his fingers against the steering wheel in time with the melody. He’s carried away, lost in the music, he doesn’t hear you open the door. You slide into your seat with a big smile on your face. And he cringes at what could have you so bubbly. Was it those guys? Wow, okay. He’s acting pathetic. And a little bit like a psychopath. 

“Hey, why did you leave?” You question as you lean over for a kiss. His lips aren’t responsive, so you pull back, pouting. 

“Thought I’d give you some time,” he says coldly, and he knows that he sounds like an asshole, regretting his tone as soon as he opens his mouth. Get it together, old man. 

“Does this have anything to do with those boys?” You smirk, mocking him. Oh, so you saw them. “You have nothing to worry about,” you tell him, leaning over the center console again. You plant a sloppy kiss on his cheek, giggling as you pull back. 

“Hmph,” he grunts, pouting like a little kid. This is new. It’s kind of charming, if you’re being honest. 

“You know that this job comes with people who want to sleep with me,” you point out ruthlessly. “And maybe I’ll play along, let them wonder, but it’s all for show. You know you’re the only one who gets to fuck me.” Your voice drops an octave, your hand inching up his thigh. 

“You sure about that?” He asks, watching your delicate hand grip his jeans. 

“Of course,” you purr, dipping your fingers between his legs, scaling up his inner thigh until you reach the front of his jeans. You cup him in your hand, and he bites back a gasp. 

“That’s right,” he sighs and slants over, grabbing you by the hair and crushing his lips to yours. He’s dominant, holding you tightly in place, his lips molding with yours. His teeth scrape against your bottom lip, harshly tugging it into his mouth. His kiss is selfish, smothering you while his fingers wrap around the loose curls of your hair and pull. You can hardly breathe as he slips his tongue into your mouth, massaging it against your own. Your fingers curve on his chest, breathing through your nose until you feel like you’re going to pass out. He only lets up when you whimper against his bruising kiss. 

“Joel,” you wheeze, sliding your hand up his chest. 

“You good?” He asks, breathing heavily alongside you. Still catching your breath you nod, and he accepts that before kissing you again. His hand grasps the back of your neck, dragging you into him as his lips slot with yours, his tongue fiercely flicking inside your mouth. His other hand fucks with his seat, pulling the lever so it slides back. Your lips break apart from his, but he wastes no time tugging you on top of him. It’s a struggle to get into position, the wheel digging into your back and your head brushing against the roof, but you eventually do, settling your thighs over his. 

His greedy hands sweep up the length of your curves, starting at your thighs, up your sides, dropping back down to grab your ass. You wiggle against him, attaching your lips to his neck, piercing his skin with your teeth until you feel him groan against your mouth, low rumbles in his throat. His hands make their way back to your thighs, drifting upwards, under your dress. He bunches the fabric between his fingers, hiking the material up, exposing your panties. 

“You look so good in blue,” he murmurs, letting his fingers swipe up the front of your core, pressing against the soaked cotton. He rubs you through the soft material, watching your perfect body writhe on top of him. Your head falls back as he presses a knuckle to your clothed cunt, extracting a heavenly moan from your lips. 

“Oh, yes,” you say quietly, so low he almost misses it, but he catches the silky sound and pushes your panties to the side, sinking one finger past your slick entrance, then another. You quickly undo his jeans, eagerly pulling out his dick and taking it in your hands. His mouth claims yours again, sucking on your tongue while his fingers pump into your pussy faster. You try to match his pace, squeezing him harder, panting into each other’s mouths as he fucks you with his hand. But your grip on him falters when you feel him hit that delicious spot inside you. “Oh, god, Joel! Right there,” you beg, grinding against his fingers. 

“Touch me,” he demands in return, and you shiver at his tone. You comply, getting yourself together enough to jerk him off. You stroke his cock faster, paying special attention to his red, leaking tip, dipping into the slit with your thumb while your other hand works his base. In the dingy light, you can see his precum shining along his dick. And you crave to have him in your mouth. But Joel has other plans. 

He rips - literally rips - your panties off, revealing your needy pussy to him. You gasp in surprise, titillated when his rough finger drags through your folds. “Mr. Miller,” you whimper, pushing back on him. 

He chuckles darkly and taps your hips. You know what he wants, propping yourself up a bit so he can easily guide his cock into you. You sink down on him, groaning at his thickness as you feel every inch of his hardness brush against your walls. You start off fast, desperate even, rocking on top of him. This isn’t fun, playful sex; it's not even sweet, passionate lovemaking. It’s a quick, dirty fuck to show you who you belong to. 

“That’s it, baby,” he growls, “ride my cock.” He has a death grip on your hips, yanking you onto him, fucking you so deep you can practically feel him in your guts. “Look so good on top of me,” he whispers, keening his fingers into your creamy skin. He barely moves, staying almost still, making you do all the work. You bounce on him, gasping with each roll of your hips as he penetrates your sweet spot over and over. He reaches up to pull down the straps of your dress, letting your tits spill out in front of him. He grabs them in his hands, tweaking one nipple while he sucks on the other. You’re in bliss, that blinding gush of euphoria blanketing over you. 

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan loudly, grabbing at the back of his neck. You ride him faster, stabbing your nails into his skin, little crescents marking his neck. “Baby, I l-love…your cock.” You curse your tongue for almost letting your true words slip - I love you. I love you. I love you. 

“Of course you do,” he mumbles, finally moving and thrusting up into you, making your body rattle against him. “Who do you belong to?” He snarls, his hand shooting up to grasp your throat. His hold is tight, clutching at your trachea, stimulating all your senses until your mind becomes murky. He forces your head to stay up, looking into your lidded eyes. “Say it,” he orders. 

“Y-you, Mr. Miller,” you gasp, voice splintering. “I’m yours.” He gives your throat one final squeeze before moving his hands into your hair. Joel twirls your silky strands around his hand and tugs hard, shooting sharp sensations along your scalp. But he wants you where he wants you, head curling back with your pretty neck exposed so he can bite and suck wherever he pleases. You don’t know if it’s the possessive words he mutters in your ear or the rough way he handles your body, but it’s the hottest sex you’ve ever had. With anyone. 

“Good girl, such a good girl,” he moans, bucking into your cunt hard and fast, astonished at how you clench around his cock. You're so tight and warm, wet and perfect, he could fucking live between your legs. And you can barely get a word out, only pathetic whimpers with your mind consumed by desire. “This sweet little pussy belongs to me, doesn’t it?” He smirks.  

“God, yes,” you manage to choke out, your thighs quivering against his. He impales you hard, watching as you collapse on top of him and bury your face in his shoulder. His strong arms wrap around you, holding you in place as he jerks up into you. He's scalding against you, heating your entire body with delight. 

“Yeah, no one else can fuck you like I can,” he grunts, snapping his hips quick, making your worn out body jolt. He's not asking you questions anymore, he's telling you truths. “Those pathetic boys your age,” he scoffs as if the thought of them near you disgusts him. “They don't know how to please a girl like you.” His breath is searing in your ear, blowing against your cheek. "Girl like you deserves to be fucked right." 

He’s right, he’s so right. He’s right about all the things - about everything. Joel Miller is so deep inside you, fucking you to the brink that your brain becomes fried. Whatever he says, you agree with it. He is right. You can’t think about anything else except how wonderful he feels buried into your tight heat. You can't even remember what day it is. Christ, what’s your name again? 

“I’m gonna cum,” you breathe, shaking on top of him. Your hair is drenched with sweat, adhering to the sides of your face. And your breathing is rapid like you cannot take anymore.  

“Not until I say so,” Joel demands, and you cry out in both pleasure and frustration. “You’ll cum when I want you to. Got it?" He asks and you nod. "And I want to hear my name come from these beautiful lips. I want you to fucking scream it." 

“O-okay,” you agree, your pussy gripping his cock, welcoming him, taking everything he has to give you. Even if you feel like you're going to crumble. 

He uses what little energy he has left to fuck you into oblivion. You can feel his dick twitch inside you, and you brace weak hands on his shoulders, trying to roll your hips as he cums. He shoots deep into your overly sensitive pussy with his seed, fucking you through his climax, painting your walls with his cum. Just the thought of him inside of you brings you closer. And you can’t hold on much longer. 

“Mr. Miller, please,” you mewl, biting hard on your lip. “I n-need to cum.” 

“You think you deserve it?” He rasps, his hand coming up and grabbing your chin, forcing you to glance down at him. "Does my girl deserve to cum?" 

“Uh huh,” you sigh, releasing your lip from your teeth. Joel's fingers tip your chin, pulling you close so he can kiss you. It's sloppy, full of teeth and tongues, but it feels so good. 

“I think so, too,” he grins, showing his first sign of mischievousness since you started fucking. “Go ahead, baby. Cum, let me see you.” 

“Joel, fuck, Joel,” you moan his name like he asked, reaching up to grab at the roof of his truck, scratching your nails against the material for something, anything, to hold on to. Your orgasm hits you hard. Joel can feel your body trembling on top of him as you release, a sense of pride bubbling up inside. 

You're both panting, sticky, sweaty by the time you've come down from your rush. The windows have fogged, the scent of you and Joel lingers in the air, and you feel dirty. But in the best way. Your eyes meet his, and your heart thumps with affection. You love him so much. 

He can feel your heart pounding, knowing his is going just as strong. And all of the puzzle pieces come together to paint an obvious picture before him. Those feelings, the overwhelming emotions that took over him tonight. There's a reason for that. 

He loves you, too. 

Masterlist