#I got shit to do in the morning so I hope to wake up somebody else tomorrow

[beast-of-the-void]

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[solelifauna]

With Bared Teeth & Prayers (Yandere Batfam X Neglected Reader) (Dark!!! Werewolf AU) (PT. 2)

Hi guys, I’m alive. I’ve just been sick and then found out that my dog’s cancer spread and the surgery costs $3,000 which is insane. Anyways, I’ve been working irl so I completely forgot about this account. Sorry pookies🤕🙏.

If anyone wants to know I’m still taking commissions, and if my price doesn’t work for you I’m sure I can lower it!! Honestly, I’ll write for whatever price I’m lowkey desperate.😭🙏

The next morning, you wake up in panic, shit, you slept in. You rush out the manor forgoing breakfast, almost eating shit on the sidewalk in your rush. You hop onto your bike, pedaling as if death itself was chasing you, huffing and puffing. Thankfully you make it to school on time, if only just on time.

You fall into your seat just as the bell rings, letting the top half of your body crumple over the desk.

“Looks like somebody had a rough morning.” The familiar voice of one of your best friends.

“Fuck off Quinn.” You huff out tiredly.

“Fine, then I guess this extra black coffee I got at Gloria’s is going to waste then.” She said teasingly.

How is it that she always has impeccable intuition about these things?

You groaned sitting up, giving Quinn a tired look.

“Yikes, I was gonna make another smartass joke but you look like you’re about to keel over.” She said worriedly, handing over the extra coffee.

“Ha ha, yeah I feel like I'm about to keel over. Thanks for the coffee by the way.” You said dryly.

“Don’t sweat it girl, but–uh, what the hell happened.”

“Too much dude, too much. It's so much bullshit I don't even know where to start.”

“Im guessing its about–”

“Ding, ding, ding, you got it.”

“Shit…how bad? They’re not gonna… you know…” Quinn stutters off.

“Kill me? Eat me?” 

She nodded.

You massage your forehead, a headache forming between your eyebrows. “I'll be so for real right now, I don't even know.”

“Damn, I don't even know what to say to that.” Quinn grimaces.

“It’d be weird if you did.” You joked giving her a sardonic smile.“Well if they’re gonna kill me, I hope they do it before finals.”

“You’ve got issues (Y/n).”

“I’m aware.”

Just then the chatter in the class started to pipe down as your history teacher, Mr. Lechliter, made his way into the room. However, something wasn’t right; his usually neat hair was in disarray and you could smell that he was profusely sweating. He was nervous, which was completely out of character. Sure Mr. Lechliter was awkward at times but he was normally confident and loud around the class, something was going on. 

“Good morning, class,” Mr. Lechliter began, but his voice was shaky, not at all the usual booming tone he used to command the room. “I-uh, hope you’re all ready to jump into… um, well, history.” He swallowed hard, glancing around as if searching for something—or someone—outside the door.

You look at Quinn with a raised eyebrow. What the hell is happening right now?

“We, um, actually have two guests who’ll be auditing a couple of classes today so we all want you guys on your best behavior. For our sakes and yours.” He said fidgeting with his paperweight globe, however, it was what he whispered under his breath that had you worried. What the fuck did he mean by that?!

“These guest speakers are one of the school's top sponsors so I truly cannot express the need we have for you all to behave and be on task, understand?” Mr. Lechliter spoke gravely.

The class let out a scattered “Yes” whilst others nodded. Now it was the class's turn to start getting nervous, the energy in the room now becoming quite grim. Seeing the class’s cooperation, Mr. Lechliter let out a shaky smile and nodded back at the class in approval. You sipped your coffee nervously in tandem.

“Good. Now, without further adieu, please welcome the esteemed Bruce Wayne and his son, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, Timothy Jackson Drake-Wayne.”

And in walked your worst nightmare as you choked on your coffee. A hesitant applause began as a couple of heads turned your way, including the scrutinizing eyes of Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake.

“Jesus Christ (Y/n), are you good?” Quinn whispered, patting your back.

“Does it look like I'm good, Quinn?” You whisper-yell back.

“Sorry, dumb question.”

“I legitimately can't do this right now.” You groan out quietly.

Tim’s sharp, calculating gaze landed on you, and for a split second, his lips twitched upward in what looked disturbingly close to satisfaction. Bruce, however, kept his gaze steady, stoic, making his way to the front of the class like he owned every square inch of the room—and maybe, in a way, he did.

Bruce stepped forward, greeting Mr. Lechliter with a firm handshake before addressing the class. “Good morning,” he said, his voice carrying a smooth authority. “It’s always a pleasure to see the next generation of Gotham’s finest minds, and today, we’re here to discuss some unique opportunities with Wayne Enterprises—partnerships, scholarships, and mentorship programs that may be of interest to you in your future studies.”

Meanwhile, Tim’s gaze remained fixed on you, a silent warning lingering behind his polite smile. You swallowed hard, avoiding eye contact, hoping that blending in might somehow make you invisible. But Tim had no intention of letting you off the hook. He leaned slightly closer to Bruce, murmuring something that made Bruce’s eyes flicker in your direction, his expression unreadable.

Quinn leaned over, her voice barely a whisper. “(Y/n), what the hell is going on? They keep looking at you.”

“Trust me, I wish I knew,” you muttered back, managing to take a sip of coffee without choking this time. “They’re just here to make my life a living nightmare, apparently.”

As Bruce and Tim began their presentation, outlining all the “wonderful opportunities” that a connection to Wayne Enterprises could bring, you couldn’t help but feel trapped. Every line, every subtle glance, seemed like a reminder that escape from their influence was impossible. They were inescapable, even here, in the one place you thought you could breathe.

When they finally wrapped up their presentation, Bruce offered to answer questions, his gaze settling on you for the briefest moment, as if daring you to speak up. You just nervously looked away, its fine, they’ve said their piece and will be leaving soon.

But of course life doesn't ever go the way that you want.

The relief that had started to settle in evaporated as Bruce and Tim made no move to leave. Instead, they took seats at the back of the classroom, settling in with that same poised, assessing presence that dominated every room they entered. Bruce folded his hands in his lap, his gaze steady and inscrutable, while Tim casually crossed his arms, his eyes tracking every student’s reaction, but always coming back to you.

You swallowed hard, glancing at Quinn, who was now just as unsettled as you were. “Are they… staying?” she whispered, her brows knitting together in worry.

“Looks like it,” you muttered, barely moving your lips.

Mr. Lechliter, visibly tense under the weight of their scrutiny, resumed his lesson with all the grace of a man on the edge of a breakdown. Every time he stumbled over his words or glanced nervously at Bruce, the room felt as if it held its breath.

“This, um, particular era in history…” Mr. Lechliter began, stammering slightly as he struggled to keep his usual confident tone. “It’s a time when alliances shifted often, and there was…constant jockeying for power…”

Bruce and Tim watched, expressions neutral, but you knew better than to believe their act. They weren’t here for any genuine interest in educational standards; they were here as a reminder, a warning that the Wayne influence extended beyond the manor walls.

You focused on your notebook, pen tapping anxiously against the paper as you tried to tune them out and take frantic notes. But it was impossible to ignore the cold prickle at the back of your neck. Every glance felt like a needle, each second stretching longer than the last.

Mr. Lechliter’s lecture painstakingly continued on for another thirty minutes before class started coming to an end.

The bell finally rang as you shot up out of your seat and practically sprinted out the door. You head to your locker, feeling the many starters of students and teachers bore into you. Another thing was that everyone kinda knew that the Wayne’s didn't like you, it was very obvious. Which meant the media had a field day, letting the entirety of Gotham know how much the famous pack hated you. So now your business was also aired out to the entire world to know. Wonderful, am I right?

You shove your unneeded books into your (tbh, very cutely) decorated locker, while grabbing the science textbook you needed for your next class, AP Biology. This class was the absolute bane of your existence. Not only was the content hard, the teacher was also absolutely nuts. You walk over to your Bio class, clutching your books like a lifeline. “Please, dont be here too.” You pray to yourself. Thankfully, this class was normal, well, as normal as it could get. The other two classes you have before lunch ended the same way, Wayneless. 

As your fourth class comes to an end your stomach starts to growl. You’d be embarrassed, but everyone else in your class was in a similar starved state. When the lunch bell goes off, you’re excitedly grabbing your things and making your way down. Fucking finally it was lunchtime. You made your way to the quickly growing lunchline

Your friends were already sitting at your usual table as you made your way over and slammed your lunch tray on the table.

“Im gonna kill myself.”

“I can't even say anything about that.” One of your other friends Daniel says.

You groaned holding your head in your hands, your headache becoming more prevalent as you turn to look at him.

“Man all I did was ask to leave, and now this shit? I can't even right now.”

“You finally asked to leave, huh? I'm guessing it didn't go well.” Daniel asks.

“Nope, but when does anything ever go right in my life.”

Just as you finish talking, the noisy cafeteria falls abruptly silent. The usual clatter of trays and chatter of students fades, replaced by an almost eerie quiet. You and your friends exchange confused glances before turning to see what—or who—could possibly have silenced a room full of teenagers. But in the pit of your stomach, you already have an idea.

Sure enough, walking through the entrance are Bruce Wayne and Tim Drake-Wayne, looking completely out of place in their immaculate suits and composed expressions. Their powerful, calculating gazes sweep across the crowd, searching for someone, before both of their eyes zero in on you and your table. Instinctively, you tense up, your shoulders hunching as if to make yourself smaller, and you feel the flush of embarrassment heat your cheeks under their scrutiny.

Their focused stares make you flinch, and you quickly look away, facing your friends once more. “See what I mean?” you mutter under your breath, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s like the universe is out to get me.”

Daniel raises an eyebrow, glancing between you and the Waynes, a flicker of worry passing over his face. "What are they doing here? This isn’t normal, right?”

“No, it’s definitely not,” you reply, trying to keep your tone casual even as your heart races. “They’re here to make a point.”

You further slump into the table, arms cradling your head as the cafeteria slowly starts to go back to its normal noise level. Both Tim and Bruce take a seat at a table opposite to where you’re sitting, which gives them a perfect view of your table. Great.

“Guys talk to me. Anything–talk about anything please.” You beg quietly.

Quinn leans in, glancing nervously at the Waynes across the cafeteria. “Uh, did you hear about Chief Keef performing soon? Apparently, he’ll be in Gotham.”

Daniel nods, catching on to your plea for distraction. “Yeah, yeah, I heard he's gonna bring another artist on stage. Mauve Travis or something if we’re lucky?.”

You smile weakly, grateful for the distraction, even if your heart’s still pounding. You try to focus on what they’re saying, but you can feel Tim’s gaze on you like a laser, scrutinizing, watching every movement. You pretend not to notice, grabbing a fry from your tray and nodding along to whatever Daniel and Quinn are saying, forcing yourself to join in with a half-hearted laugh here and there.

Quinn suddenly brings up a story from her last weekend, trying her best to lighten the mood. “Okay, get this—I tried to impress this guy by pretending to know how to skate, but instead, I ended up flat on my face in front of, like, everyone. Mortifying, but he did buy me a smoothie as a consolation prize.”

You chuckle, letting the story pull you out of your anxious thoughts. “I mean, sounds like it kind of worked. You got a free smoothie, right?”

Quinn laughs, rolling her eyes. “Only because he felt bad, but hey, I’ll take pity smoothies.”

The laughter at your table grows, the lighthearted moment almost making you forget the ominous presence of Bruce and Tim nearby. But just as you’re starting to relax, you catch a glimpse of Tim’s amused smirk from the corner of your eye. His eyes don’t leave you, as if he knows exactly how unsettling his presence is and he’s reveling in it.

“I think he liked you,” Daniel teases Quinn, keeping the conversation going to help ease your nerves.

“Liked my bruised ego, maybe,” she snorts. “Anyway, what about you, (Y/n)? Got any secret admirers?”

You shake your head, grateful they’re keeping the focus off your current predicament. “Nope, unless you count the cadaver frog I accidentally dropped on my lab partner. He, uh-didn’t look at me the same after that.”

Your friends burst out laughing, and for a brief, blessed moment, you almost feel normal again. But when you glance back, Bruce’s eyes are still on you, cool and unyielding.

“Here’s to hoping they’re gone after lunch,” Daniel mutters, catching your uneasy glance.

“What good has hoping ever done me?” You sigh, picking at your food.

The tension in the cafeteria never fully fades. Despite the attempts from Quinn and Daniel to keep the conversation going, the presence of Bruce and Tim just continues to overwhelm you. Every so often, your eyes flit toward them, only to find them still seated, still watching, and their expressions betraying nothing of their true intent. It feels like they’re waiting for you to make a move, to react in some way that would justify their unsettling attention.

Lunch drags on in this uncomfortable limbo until, at last, the bell rings, signaling the end of the break. Your friends gather their things, offering small words of encouragement or supportive smiles, though they too look wary of the Waynes’ lingering presence.

“I’ll see you both in Chem. Hopefully Mr. Domzalski isn't still in a bad mood from what happened yesterday.” You say.

“You mean from when you and Daniel set fire to one of his textbooks?” Quinn questions sardonically.

You and Daniel offer her a sheepish, guilty smile. 

“Hey–it was an accident!” he exclaims, feigning offense.

“Yeah, what he said! We followed all the instructions to a T!” You defend as well.

“Sure, whatever you both say. I'm just surprised he didn't automatically fail you two.” Quinn says fondly.

“It’s ‘cause we’re somehow his favorites? Don't ask me how or why though.” You respond.

As you and Daniel chuckle, the lightheartedness helps lift some of the weight that had been hanging over your head. The relief is short-lived, though, as you feel a prickle on the back of your neck—a feeling that’s become all too familiar lately.

You glance back to see Bruce and Tim still watching, and for a moment, something in Bruce’s gaze changes. You can’t quite read it, but it feels sharper, like he’s calculating, considering something he hasn’t said. You swallow, gripping your bag tighter as your friends move to head toward class, unaware of the silent tension hanging around you like a cloud.

You head to your APA Algebra II class alone, without the usual buffer of Daniel or Quinn’s lighthearted banter to ease the tension. The classroom is quiet, a different atmosphere from the lively lunch period, and you’re able to slip into your seat undisturbed, hoping that the math problems ahead will give you a welcome distraction.

As the class moves on, you find yourself lost in equations, the numbers and formulas acting as a temporary refuge from everything else. You keep your head down, concentrating on the work, grateful for the momentary peace that academics bring.

When the bell rings, signaling the end of Math, you gather your things and head to APA Chemistry, where you’d finally reunite with Daniel and Quinn. When you arrive in APA Chemistry, the atmosphere is surprisingly relaxed. Mr. Domzalski hasn’t arrived yet, so everyone’s just hanging out, chatting about weekend plans, or joking around. You plop down next to Daniel, who’s already doodling on his notebook, and give Quinn a tired smile. It’s nice to have a few minutes to unwind before the usual controlled chaos of Mr. Domzalski’s class kicks in.

Then, the door swings open, and you freeze as Mr. Domzalski steps in with Tim Drake following close behind. Your stomach twists, and you have to swallow down a groan. Thankfully, Bruce is nowhere to be seen. Small blessings, you suppose; better not to question it too much. You look at your friends, trying to convey your annoyance with a single tired look as Mr. Domzalski beams with a sort of overdone excitement that sets you on edge.

“Everyone, I’d like you to welcome a special guest,” he says, practically brimming with enthusiasm. “Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises, is here to observe our class today.”

You sink lower in your chair, stifling a grumble. Great, just great. This whole thing was growing stale fast. You try to ignore the interested murmurs spreading through the class as everyone stares at Tim, who stands there with that same polite, professional smile he’s been flashing all day. You avoid eye contact, focusing instead on the edge of your desk as Mr. Domzalski continues.

“Now,” Mr. Domzalski goes on, shifting his focus to the lab materials, “before we dive into today’s lesson, let’s review what went wrong in yesterday’s lab.”

He shoots a pointed look in your direction, his smile still in place, but there’s a glint in his eyes that tells you he’s not exactly thrilled. “For those who might need a reminder,” he continues, not-so-subtly side-eyeing you and Daniel, “improper handling of materials led to one of my textbooks, which I cherish dearly, being set on fire.”

The class erupts into quiet snickers, and Daniel coughs into his hand, trying to disguise his laughter. You roll your eyes, but a smirk tugs at the corner of your mouth. Even Tim’s eyes change a bit, as if interested.

Mr. Domzalski clears his throat, regaining the class’s attention. “Let’s aim for a little more caution today, shall we?”

The lab for the day was going to be more complex than usual. Mr. Domzalski, with a edge of nervousness in his tone, began rattling off the new, more complicated instructions. His gaze flicked to you and Daniel more than once, lingering just long enough to make his message clear: Please don’t mess up.

You slouched slightly in your seat, already feeling the weight of the unspoken pressure. It wasn’t lost on you how much was riding on this lab going smoothly—not just for your grade, but for Mr. Domzalski himself. With Tim Drake-Wayne, CEO of Wayne Enterprises and a member of one of Gotham’s most powerful packs, observing, any mishap could very well put your teacher’s job on the line.

Next to you, Daniel caught your eye, his lips twitching into a wry smirk. He leaned in, whispering, “Feel like we’re walking on eggshells today, huh?”

“More like a minefield,” you muttered back, eyeing the lab equipment warily. The setup looked far more intricate than usual—beakers and flasks stacked alongside pipettes, Bunsen burners, and an array of unfamiliar chemicals. It was a recipe for disaster, and you had no intention of being the one to set it off.

Tim, seated at the back of the room, watched the proceedings with his usual cool detachment. His presence was like a weight pressing down on the room, amplifying every minor sound and movement. You could practically feel his gaze on you, even when you weren’t looking his way.

“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Domzalski said, clapping his hands to gather the class’s attention. “Remember to follow the instructions precisely as they’re written. This is a delicate experiment, and precision is key. Any deviation could—well, let’s just say we don’t want any surprises today.”

The pointed glance he sent your way at the word “surprises” made you cringe internally. You shot Daniel a look. He seemed to get the message, giving you a small nod before turning his focus to the materials in front of him.

With a deep breath, you adjusted your goggles and got to work, determined not to give anyone—especially Tim—a reason to criticize.

The lab was rough from the very start. No matter how tightly you adjusted your goggles, they kept fogging up, obscuring your vision at the worst possible moments. You constantly had to pause to wipe them off, and each time, you felt Tim's Gaze flicker towards you. Daniel, meanwhile, was no better. He almost tipped over a vial of some unpronounceable chemical twice, and each time, you barely managed to steady it before disaster struck.

“Bro you have to lock in.” you said under your breath.

“I'm trying–fuck. My hands are too shaky.” Daniel whispered back, nervous as he tried held out his hands for you to see. He carefully set the vial down, only for his elbow to nudge another piece of equipment. You caught it just in time, your heart leaping into your throat.

The instructions seemed to come at lightning speed, Mr. Domzalski rattling off steps faster than you could write them down. Each new instruction layered on top of the last until your head was spinning with measurements, temperatures, and reaction times. You were doing your best to keep up—you think you were doing it right—but the constant noise and movement around you made it feel like everything was closing in.

You glanced at the flask on your workstation, bubbling faintly as it was supposed to, and double-checked the temperature. It seemed fine. Probably fine. Hopefully fine. But the nagging thought that you might’ve missed a step wouldn’t go away.

Behind you, Tim’s silent observation was like a shadow, adding another layer of stress to the already chaotic atmosphere. Every time you caught sight of him out of the corner of your eye, you swore his expression was unreadable, yet somehow judgmental.

“I think this is right,” you muttered, glancing at the next step in the instructions and adjusting your setup.

“‘Think’ isn’t reassuring, (Y/n),” Daniel replied, he was nervous. “Don’t blow us up, okay?”

“Not funny,” you snapped, though your lips twitched in a half-smile despite the stress. “Just keep stirring before we mess up the timing.”

The rest of the lab dragged on in a haze of nervous energy and frantic adjustments. Your hands trembled slightly as you measured out the final chemical, careful not to let even a drop spill. When you finally completed the experiment, the mixture in the beaker turned the correct pale blue color, and you let out a shaky breath of relief.

“See?” Daniel said, flashing you a grin. “We nailed it.”

You gave him a tired look. “Barely.”

As Mr. Domzalski approached to check your work, you held your breath, praying there wasn’t some detail you’d overlooked. When he gave a curt nod of approval, you finally relaxed, though your nerves still felt frayed. Even then, you could feel Tim’s eyes on you, as if silently appraising every moment of your struggle.

The lab was over, but the stress lingered like a heavy weight on your shoulders. You packed up your materials with shaky hands, grateful to escape the pressure of both the experiment and the unrelenting scrutiny.

As the class wrapped up, Mr. Domzalski passed by your station, his sharp eyes flicking over the completed experiment. The pale blue liquid in the beaker must have been just right because, instead of his usual critical remarks, he gave a subtle nod and a quiet, “Good work.” The words weren’t overly enthusiastic, but coming from him—and especially with Tim Drake watching—it was as close to praise as you could get.

You felt a weight lift off your shoulders, and you let out a long sigh of relief. You and Daniel exchanged a look, his triumphant grin mirrored by the faintest smile you allowed yourself. You’d passed. Somehow, despite the foggy goggles, Daniel’s near-disasters, and the relentless pressure, you’d made it through the lab unscathed.

As you finished cleaning up, Mr. Domzalski gave you a brief, silent glance of thanks. It wasn’t much, but you knew what it meant: he was grateful you hadn’t turned today’s experiment into another headline-worthy incident. You nodded subtly back, grateful that the ordeal was over.

With the last of your equipment put away, you grabbed your bag and escaped the lab as quickly as possible, the weight of Tim’s lingering gaze finally lifting as you stepped into the hallway. Quinn was waiting by the door, chatting with Daniel, who was still buzzing with post-lab adrenaline.

“Well, looks like you didn’t burn down the school,” Quinn teased, grinning as she fell into step with you.

“Yeah, yeah,” you muttered, rolling your eyes but smiling despite yourself. “We’re still alive, so I guess that’s a win.”

“Hey give us more credit.” Daniel chimed in, earning a laugh from both you and Quinn.

As the three of you headed for the stairs, you said goodbye to Daniel, who was heading to a different class. “See you later, guys.” he said, waving as he turned down another hallway.

You and Quinn made your way toward the gym for your seventh period, the final class of the day. The familiar chatter and clang of lockers greeted you as you stepped into the changing area. Gym wasn’t exactly your favorite class, but after the stress of the lab, it was almost a relief to have something physical to focus on instead of the constant mental strain.

“Think they’ll leave you alone for the day?” Quinn asked as you pulled on your gym shoes.

“I hope so,” you replied, your voice weary. “I can’t handle any more of this. It’s like they can’t even wait to-to…you know.”

Quinn grimaces. “Yeah, I know.” But she smiles back at you, as if tying to make you perk up. “Well, at least we’re doing dodgeball today, you should blow off some steam.”

You huff, amused. “Mm, maybe nailing Farah in the head with a dodgeball would do me some good.”

“Straight on bitch, that girl needs to be humbled.” Quinn says.

You chuckled, shaking your head. “At this point, I’ll take any excuse to hit something.”

The two of you stepped into the gym, the sound of sneakers squeaking on polished floors and the buzz of students warming up filling the air. It wasn’t the easiest day, but at least the end was finally in sight.

The day finally winds down as you head to the locker rooms to change. The smell of sweat and disinfectant fills the air as you and the other students shuffle to your lockers, exchanging the occasional half-hearted quip about how much of a drill sergeant Coach Walker was today. You change quickly, eager to escape the lingering humidity of the gym, and sling your bag over your shoulder just as the dismissal bell rings.

Joining the tide of students heading toward the front exit, you fall into step with Quinn, chatting idly about homework and plans for the weekend. The sprawling line of cars in the pick-up area is already forming, parents eager to whisk their kids away from the chaos of the school day.

Daniel spots you both as he weaves through the crowd toward his mom’s car, parked conveniently near the front of the line. “Guess that’s my ride,” he calls, swatting your shoulder playfully. “Try not to miss me too much tomorrow, I've got a doc's appointment.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Yeah, yeah, you wish asshole.”

“Later!” he shouts, hopping into the passenger seat of his mom’s car as it pulls away. You and Quinn wave after him before continuing toward the pick-up zone.

“Alfred here today?” Quinn asks, glancing around at the cars idling nearby.

“Probably not,” you reply with a shrug. “Haven’t heard from him, so it’s probably just me and the bike today.”

Quinn nods, her attention already shifting to a car pulling up in the distance. “Looks like my dad’s almost here.”

You glance toward the pickup area and spot the familiar vehicle inching closer. “Cool. Guess I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

“Yep. Don’t get mugged on the way home,” she jokes, smirking as she adjusts her backpack.

“Gee, thanks for the vote of confidence,” you reply with a laugh. With a quick goodbye, you head toward the bike rack to unlock your trusty two-wheeler.

The quietness of the parking lot is a stark contrast to the noisy chaos of the day. You crouch down, fiddling with the combination lock on your bike, when a hulking shadow falls over you. The sudden shift in light is enough to make your instincts bristle, but you stay focused on the lock, rolling your eyes at the interruption.

“Bro, if you’re lookin’ to mug me,” you say without looking up, your tone flat and unamused, “you should know I’m skint broke. Try some other bitch.”

The air around you seems to thicken with tension, and you feel the unmistakable weight of someone’s gaze boring into you. It’s enough to make you pause mid-turn on the lock, your breath catching as a low, familiar voice responds.

“I sure hope you’re not talking to me?” Comes your father, Bruce’s, deep voice.

Your head snaps up, and your breath catches in your throat as you realize it’s not some wannabe punk standing over you.

You pale instantly, the color draining from your face as you meet his icy blue eyes. His expression is unreadable, but the weight of his gaze is suffocating. The sheer presence of him—imposing, cold, and unnervingly silent—makes your stomach churn with dread. Your heart pounds in your chest as you scramble for words, your brain tripping over itself in panic.

“Oh—uh, Mr. Wayne—I didn’t—I mean, I thought…” you stammer, trying to cobble together an explanation and an apology all at once. Your hands fumble with the lock on your bike, suddenly feeling clumsy under his scrutiny. “I—um—sorry! I thought—uh—someone else—”

He raises an eyebrow, the tiniest shift in his expression, but it’s enough to make you flinch. You straighten up, clutching your bike for dear life, feeling small and utterly exposed under his towering figure.

“I see,” he says finally, his voice calm but laced with that undercurrent of authority that makes it clear he’s not just seeing. He’s assessing.

“I didn’t realize it was you,” you blurt, trying to salvage what’s left of your dignity. “I thought it was, uh, someone else. Someone trying to—um—mug me?” The excuse sounds weak even to your own ears, and you wince inwardly at how ridiculous it must sound.

Bruce’s gaze doesn’t waver. “Do you make a habit of mouthing off to strangers you assume are threats?” he asks, his tone deceptively mild.

“N-no, sir,” you stammer, shaking your head quickly. “I just—I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s been a long day, and I wasn’t thinking—”

He holds up a hand, cutting off your rambling. “Enough,” he says, “I’m here to pick you up. Alfred’s occupied.”

Your mouth opens, then closes, as you try to process his words. You hadn’t even considered the possibility that Bruce might be the one picking you up today. Of course, the thought of him going out of his way to do so hadn’t even crossed your mind, it wasn’t like he ever went out of his way for you before.

“Oh,” you manage after an awkward pause. “Right. Thanks.”

You still have your conversation from the previous day in mind.

“Come on,” he says, turning without another word. “We’re leaving.”

You hastily shove your bike into the back of his sleek black car, your movements hurried and uncoordinated under the pressure of his presence. Sliding into the back seat, you notice Tim sitting in the front passenger seat, looking at you through the rear mirror. You avert your gaze, clasping your hands tightly in your lap, trying not to fidget as the engine purrs to life. The air inside the car is thick with silence, broken only by the occasional click of the turn signal as Bruce maneuvers through traffic.

You steal a glance at him, his expression as stoic and unreadable as ever. Despite the tension knotting your stomach, you force yourself to speak. “I—uh, thanks for picking me up,” you mumble, staring out the window.

Bruce doesn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the road. When he finally speaks, his tone is even but firm. “We’ll talk when we get home.”

Your throat tightens when you see Tim's glee filled smile, as if a cat had just caught a canary. You nod mutely, knowing there’s no point in arguing. Whatever he has to say, it’s not going to be pleasant.

[Hope you guys liked the chapter!! I'm sorry for the delay and the ghosting, more fics will be updated trust!! Also thank you to all the people who were checking on me, I really appreciate it!!]

[not-magdi]

"Us, Forever"

Summary: Pablo can't believe how lucky he got with you, he really can't believe it 

Word Count: 1.1k

A/N

I managed to get Corona! The one time I would have had time to write something I got Corona and a Fever that cooked my brain. But, now my test is negative again and my brain is producing ideas like crazy! 

Hope you like this one though,

Love you guys Magdi <3

You didn't know what to think when you saw his pain-filled expression on TV. You sat there, completely frozen, worry the only thing on your mind.   

When you heard his sobs over the phone as he told you how bad it was, your heart shattered into a million pieces. That day made you realise that from that moment on, you had to be the strong one in this relationship. 

It made you realise that he needed you to be the one he could lean on, the one Pablo could let his guard down, somebody that could be strong for him too. So he didn't have to be all the time. 

You made it to your mission to do everything in your power to help him in any way possible. You rebuilt your living room into a bedroom, so he didn't have to go up any stairs. You held him day and night when the pain got too strong, and the only thing he could do was cry. 

"Baby, I'm here ... I'm here for you. Let it all out I got you."

His grip on your hoddie was so hard that his knuckles turned white. You wrapped your arms around him like you wanted to protect him from everything terrible that this world threw at him. 

Pablo felt safe in your arms. Your sent calmed him down. The warmth of your body engulfed him in a comforting manner. 

He buried his face deeper into your neck as he felt his breath starting to slow down again. 

"T-Thank you, I-I'm sorry. I don't know what happened."

You grabbed his head to make him look at you. You assured him, "Hey, it's completely ok to feel like shit sometimes. What you are going through is nothing easy. Sometimes you just have to let it all out." 

Kissing his head, you stand up to grab something to eat for the two of you. Seeing that it was already 6 in the morning, you decided to start the day, knowing you two wouldn't fall asleep anymore. 

Pablo kept lying on the couch. The pain in his knee was now only a dull ache. He sat up a bit to be able to see you rummaging through his kitchen drawers, trying to find something to eat.

An unconscious smile makes its way onto his face. He can't get his head around how you are willing to do all of this for him. Like he really doesn't know what he would do without you. You'd do everything for him, he doesn't even have to ask for it. 

But it scared him that you wanted to help him so much. It frightened him that one day, you could wake up and realise how much work it was to be in a relationship with him. And that you would leave him because of that.

Realistically, something like that would never happen, but he was a chronicle overthinker, so let him be. 

When you came back from the kitchen with two plates in your hand, you sensed something was bothering him, but you wanted him to tell you on his own. 

You two ate your breakfast in silence, it was a weird kind of silence. You felt that Pablo wanted to tell you something the whole time, but nothing came. He just sat there and played around with his food. 

"You not hungry?" 

Looking like a child who got caught doing something stupid, he shakes his head and lowers his gaze again, not able to hold eye contact with you for so long. 

Thinking he wouldn't say anything at all. You were about to say something when you heard him say. "How do you do it?" 

Confused, you look at him. "What do you mean?" 

"I mean, like ... like how do you keep up with me?" 

Your confusion didn't get any better. You looked up from your plate and saw Pablo already staring at you, a curious yet slightly sad expression on his face. 

Pablo noticed your confused expression and continued to talk. 

" I mean, how can you keep up with literally having to be my server? You are cancelling your plans to stay home with me and do everything to keep me comfortable. You put my life before yours. Why do you do that? I-I don't understand. "

You loved him deeply and didn't see your efforts as a burden. It was natural for you to do what you could to help him. You couldn't enjoy yourself while he was suffering because it felt wrong to you.

Your silence made Pablo panic a bit, maybe he made you realise that you didn't want to live like that. What if you were actually sick of him needing care 24/7 now? 

Your voice interrupted his inner monologue, " I have no clue, to be honest. It's just - the second I heard you were injured, I felt like I had to take care of you, to help you somehow." 

You took a second to think of your following words. "When I heard you crying on the phone that day, I just felt the need to protect you, to take care of you. I know that you are a capable individual who can handle things on your own, but I want you to know that I love you with all my heart. When you care about someone deeply, it's natural to want to do everything in your power to ensure their well-being. So, even though I trust your abilities, I just want to remind you that I'm here for you if you ever need help or support. Your happiness and safety mean everything to me, and I'll always do my best to make sure you're feeling okay."

Hearing Pablo sniff made you stop your rambling and look at him. 

"Dios mio, these medications make me emotional." 

Pablo let out a wet chuckle as he wiped his tearing eyes with the sleeve of his hoodie. 

You smiled at the boy before you and leaned down to place a kiss on his red nose. "I don't care, I love you one tear more or less isn't gonna change that."

"I love you too, so so much." 

[cottondo]

vox x reader ; please?

Nobody really understood how it happened— it just did one day.

You ended up really hitting it off with the man of Voxtech himself; and wow lookathat, you’re dating him now.

It wasn’t unusual to be waking up in his bed, either. But what something Vox wasn’t used to, was a sunshine personality like yours. Of course you have your devilish charms still, as thats what drew him into you to begin with. But, the small appreciations you had for just about everything? It was weird, right? For a sinner in hell, it was marked as a rare occurrence to see someone like you.

( Other than the Princess of Hell, though she was much more over the top than you were. )

As your eyes opened, surroundings gaining a much clearer focus, you let out a tired little sigh.

There’s a soft buzzing beside you, where Vox was passed out in a deep sleep. It was such a nice state to see him in. Calm, not stressed out and dealing with everyone’s chaotic bullshit.

Honestly, it was nice being awake before everyone else. You could just take in the small beauties of silence before everything got obnoxious.

Your eyes flicker over to the windows, and see a bright neon sign with arrows pointing downward towards its front door.

A brand new building had just opened up, and it was a place you’ve been waiting to check out for a while now. Honestly, you couldn’t contain the excitement. It seemed like it took forever to finish, as most demons tried to overrun it while it was still in a vulnerable state.

With a little gasp, your hand falls to vox’s shoulder, and shake it lightly. “Oh my god, Vox, wake up!”

A static noise enters the air, as a small groan of annoyance leaves the tv screen. “What—”

You smirk, leaning over his shoulder to view his annoyance. “It’s finally open~ we gotta go!”

He heaves out a heavy sigh, turning to lay on his back with a dull, tired expression. “Y/N,”

“Please?” The little pout you made usually got him to do what you wanted, but this time it didn’t. He looked tired and visibly annoyed. Honestly, fair. You did kinda just wake him up in one of the worst ways possible.

“Can you at least let me wake up a little, first?” His lopsided smile made your heart flutter. Fuck, he was just so cute no matter what.

“Okay, fine. Just don’t fall back to sleep.” You fully sit up, crawling over his figure, and hoping to avoid stepping on any part of him in the process of getting off the bed. Standing to your feet on the floor, he **almost** chuckles. “What the hell even is the place you wanna go to, anyway?” His one eye widens out of curiosity over at you.

You roll your eyes, annoyed that he never usually remembered the little things. “The first like, ever, plant shop in hell. Somebody actually got things to grow down here,” you inform, taking a step in front of the mirror. “I think they used, like, human world magic or something.”

Vox sat up, stretching his neck and letting out a little groan. “Since when can anybody just get access to earth?”

You deadpan him briefly, “Does it even matter? I need one.”

He shakes his head, sitting up.

“I don’t know how you can be this happy so early in the morning.” He smiled at you. Holy shit, he actually smiled at how stupid your little obsession with this place was.

“Did— did you just smile~?” You decide to point it out, a smirk curling up to your features.

His eyes widened, body slightly startled at your reaction to him. “What?”

You inch closer to him, a brighter look of excitement as he stares at you in curiosity. “Oh my god you did! I saw you, so there’s no denying it.”

Vox takes on the tv effect to his tone as he looks up at you. “Alright, alright.” He then stands, and you notice how he slightly towers over your idling frame. “Only you can convince me to do shit I normally wouldn’t do.” His screen looks away with an almost embarrassment to it.

Your arms gently slip around his waist, causing him to tense up, arms raising.

“Thank you.” You smirk up at him. It didn’t take much to get him wrapped around your finger.

Vox sighs, lowering his arms, and slinking a hand around your waist. He gently guides you forward into his figure. His little smile comes back, and for a moment, you can actually feel him soften his outer shell with you. “Anything for you, my dear.”

______________________________________

I’m so sorry my writing hasn’t been up to par lately lmao 🥲 Not loving this one rn

[notmorbid]

dead like me, season 1.

dialogue prompts from season one of bryan fuller's dead like me.

i excel at not giving a shit.

a sunny disposition goes a long way in any line of work.

if it's my lunch hour, why is it only 35 minutes?

i know what might cheer you up.

everyone always says the same shit at funerals.

why do you have to be such an asshole?

they're not invisible. you just can't see them.

leave the plastic. cash is king.

isn't stealing from dead people kind of tacky?

i'm sorry, i tuned you out. were you whining?

as childhood traumas go, nothing beats the realization that everything dies. including you.

unhappy people do unhappy things.

you need to leave now. you're making me tired.

souls go bad in all kinds of ways.

all you can ever hope to do is make it easier. that may not seem like a lot, but it is.

i think for me, death was just a wakeup call.

you know what your problem is? you wake up every morning wondering what the world's gonna do for you.

i'm going to say this as politely as possible: i will fuck you up.

i am really trying to respect you. i am. but it's really hard sometimes.

carving my own path seems like way too much work.

just so you know, i'm very prone to anxiety attacks.

most of the time i'm talking out of my ass. i don't know shit.

just smell some fucking roses already.

you know, you can talk to me about stuff. if you want to.

monotony is the mind killer.

what you do now matters. what you don't do matters.

what is an average heart, anyway?

the password's 'rimjob', if you want to get on.

i wish people were more complicated, but they're not.

i don't want my picture taken.

it's very tempting to think the little jewels from our lives will bring it all back. but they won't.

i was dreaming about frogs.

i'm pretty sure they put mind control drugs in the water cooler.

you can't come up with a more original way to act out?

intuitive thinkers are the worst.

people lie all the time. it's not a bad thing.

if a lie is big enough, there's an instinctive need to protect it. it's almost maternal.

i need somebody to give me lessons on how to communicate with you, because i'm at a loss.

i need to be unconscious.

have you ever kept a scrapbook?

the lengths i go to for free food.

you've got a worldly quality. a certain je nai se quoi.

falling's easy, you just fall. jumping requires strength of will.

my face gets sore if i smile too much.

do you have to be such an asshole?

there's a finite number of personalities in the world, and i have met them all.

no wonder your children don't come and visit you.

jesus christ, fella, cut the cord.

you always seem to go a different way than everyone else.

open door's an invitation. gotta jump while the door's open.

why do i keep losing all the things and people that i care about?

when you can't make sense of someone leaving, you try to make sense of what they left behind.

i just don't get our culture's obsession with moving on. what are we afraid of, remembering? being sad?

you want to steal something, don't you?

you want to be a bowling pin your whole life, or would you rather be the ball?

i'm sorry, i'm trying to flirt with you. it's not really my thing.

why are you stalking me?

i could burn you a really great cd, if you want.

your perversions are coming into disturbing focus.

not in that life, not in this one, not ever.

you get close enough to see the pain, and it's no longer funny.

i really liked kissing you.

we all create, in our heads, who we are. who we want others to be.

what fresh hell is this?

just because you're dead doesn't mean you have to give up.

i'm not good at the pet thing.

i don't exactly know where home is, these days.

if you don't know the difference between flipping and flopping, we're knee-deep in water without a paddle.

i'm concerned you don't know what you're asking for.

i think some people wander because that's who they are.

you are a very internal little creature.

is it wrong to decide someone's a great person because they're so much like you?

you want to get coffee? i think that's what you're supposed to say when somebody's having a fucked-up day.

you do know the story, right?

you didn't do anything wrong. i'm just screwed up.

i didn't know that was all the time we'd have.

a girl's got needs, you know. even a dead girl.

i'm sure there's going to be some karmic reward for you down the line.

how's the whole 'dead' thing working out for you?

everybody grieves in a different way.

i could've, should've. didn't.

when you're mourning yourself, closure is a little tricky.

the one death you never get over is your own.

you can go fuck a duck.

i think i'm going to miss you the most.

do you want to do some acid?

i feel that my current reality is altered enough.

traveling alone has a certain magic.

what, did you all get together to vote me off the island?

the world is a very big place, and you are not the center of it.

let's just pretend everything is back to normal.

if you stand too close to a painting, all you see are patches of color. stand too far back, and you're missing all the detail.

haunting is all about envy.

i've always wanted to knock over a liquor store.

people mostly just want to hear themselves talk.

i work better alone.

i love the books that people leave here.

if a tree falls in the forest, who gives a fuck?

you can't smoke in here.

you have no respect for authority, you know that?

this job is really getting in the way of the business of living.

you only have one shot at life. this isn't a dress rehearsal.

i'm sorry i wasn't sweeter.

i'm sorry i didn't show you as much affection as i felt for you. i did love you.

i keep forgetting how young you were.

i love cemeteries. the quiet. the stories on headstones.

[sunshinevanfleet]

use somebody - j. kiszka

pairing: jake x reader

a/n: hi there everyone! this one is for u @goldlionsilversun for inspiring me to write this<3 it is loosely based on the song 'use somebody' by kings of leon, so give that a listen if you so desire. i hope everyone enjoys. pls let me know ur thoughts. ok love u bye

genre: smut (18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT), angst

word count: 3.7k

summary: jake vents his frustrations to the reader. some truths come out.

warnings: alcohol consumption, oral (m receiving), spanking, unprotected sex, angst, explicit sex scenes, etc.

“Rock ‘n roll’s not always sunshine and rainbows, you know.” A small, bratty smile played on Jake’s lips as he lifted the beer bottle to his lips. He looked at you out of the corner of his eye as he drank, his eyes taking in your expression.

“What makes you say that?” You lifted an eyebrow at him curiously. He kicked back in his chair, bare feet propped on the little ottoman in front of him. His figure looked strangely out of place in your hotel room, so relaxed in the foreign place. His shirt was completely unbuttoned, ripped apart in your heated struggle against one another only minutes before; it was strange how quickly the two of you went from fondling each other to an existential discussion.

He emptied his drink, tossing the bottle easily into the trash bin in the corner. He folded his arms behind his head. His glassy eyes bored into you intensely; you squirmed a bit in your own seat across from him. 

“So many things…” he sighed heavily. The heavy expression on his face made him look suddenly older; he looked as if he were carrying a heavy weight on his shoulders.

“It can’t be too bad,” you said, trying to lighten the mood. “Waking up in a new city every morning. Meeting new people. Having thousands of people screaming your name.” You smiled cheekily.

The corner of his lips turned up, but he shook his head. “Who gives a shit how many people are screaming your name, if you don’t have anyone just saying it?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean– picture this…” He splayed his hands out in front of him, as if lifting a poster into the air. “You’ve got all of these people who think they know you… They think they love you. They care about you in some parasocial way, of course, but…” he sighed again. “You’ve got no one there who actually knows you. Who actually cares about you.”

You frowned. “Jake, I’m sure there are plenty of people who actually care about you.”

He laughed. It was a humorless sound, almost bitter. 

“That’s not what I mean, Y/N.”

You weren’t sure exactly what he meant. 

“The sex is fine,” he said, continuing on in his explanation. 

“Just fine?”

“Just fine,” he said, voice almost bored. “Got about a dozen girls to keep my bed warm, sure, but what’s any of that good for?”

An amused smile graced your lips. You were too drunk to be having this discussion, and so was he. The whole thing was all over the place. You came up here just to be another one of those dozen girls, as you had time and time again. But sometimes you got your angsty Jake; every now and then, you were his escape. His person to vent to.

“Yet you keep coming back,” you said softly. He looked at you as if you had grown another head. He hated when you made sense, when you made him realize he had a part in all of his own problems. Whose fault was it that he kept fucking a different girl in every city?

“What?”

“You keep hooking up with random girls, instead of settling down. That’s what you’re getting at, right? You want someone who sees you… You want someone who’s yours.”

“Sure,” he said, still not following.

“But you don’t let yourself have it.”

“You’re saying this is my fault.”

“I’m saying you have a part in it, Jake,” you said reasonably. “You put all these walls up, all of these protections. The only time you’re vulnerable is when you’re drunk.”

“That’s not true,” he said. He almost sounded hurt.

“Well, that’s the only time you’re vulnerable with me. Of course, I wouldn’t know anything about your everyday life. You only call me when you want some ass.”

“That’s not true, either.”

He was looking hurt, now. His eyes softened, but you could see how hard he clenched his jaw. One of his hands picked at the frayed upholstery of the chair, his finger finding a string and twisting it roughly around his finger. 

“I dunno,” you said, with a little more empathy, “it sometimes feels that way to me, at least. I never see you outside of these shitty hotel rooms.”

It was true; your only in-person meetings were hookups in stuffy hotel rooms, his dressing room, and the tour bus occasionally. You knew he was closer to you than most of the other girls he was sleeping with. The two of you could almost be considered good friends. You texted often, if not every day, and facetimed once or twice a week. But you had never been together outside of fucking each other once or twice every blue moon, when you ended up in the same city at the same time. 

“I still talk to you outside of these places,” he said, voice weak. “It’s not like– like with the others. I can actually talk to you.”

“Okay,” you said, regretting your previous words. “That was harsh, I’ll admit it… But I’d still like to see you outside of these four walls.”

Jake nodded. “Yeah, me too.”

The two of you were quiet. He stared out of the sliding glass door, out onto the balcony. You stared at him. Seeing him looking so torn apart made your stomach do a turn. His glossy eyes watched a plane passing by, miles and miles away, lights flickering in the darkness. You couldn’t tell if his eyes were wet from the drinks or because he was upset. You fidgeted with one of your rings, worried. 

“I need a minute,” Jake breathed after a moment. He pushed out of the chair and ambled out onto the balcony, leaving the door cracked behind him. You pulled your bare feet up into your own chair, tucking them beneath you. Outside, Jake leaned over the balcony railing, breathing in the night. You recognized that he was probably feeling trapped by your presence, but still you wanted to go out there to him. Snake your arms around his waist and press your face into his back. You wanted to be skin-to-skin with him, breathing in the scent of his skin mixed with the cheap beer he had been drinking. 

Several long, dragging minutes passed. You wondered if you should just leave, even though it was your hotel room. Being by yourself began to feel like the only option; when Jake got into one of his moods, it was very hard to drag him out. You didn’t want to leave him, but he was the type to close-off and run if you pushed him too far. Even worse, there was the possibility that he would storm off and find another girl to blow off his steam with. That was almost too much to handle. 

He was able to breathe for almost ten minutes before you couldn’t take the aching silence anymore. You padded over to the glass door, and joined him outside. Without a word, you shuffled up behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. You rested your cheek against his back, smelling the leftover cologne and tangy scent of his sweat mingling on the fabric of his shirt. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled quietly. Your voice was barely audible over the sound of the busy streets below; it was early enough for people to still be out bar-hopping and being too loud in public. Even several stories up, Friday nights were always loud in the city after hours. “I didn’t mean to sound like an asshole back there.”

“‘S okay,” Jake said, though it didn’t sound like it was. “Just been having a hard time lately. I know it sounds cliche, but nobody understands.”

“No,” you agreed. “I guess I can’t understand what’s going through that pretty little head of yours.”

He chuckled lightly at your words.

“But I can listen, and I can be here for you. If you want me to, that is.”

With a deep breath, you felt him relax slightly under your touch. He wriggled in your arms, spinning around to face you. Leaning back against the railing, he was silhouetted by the shining red lights from the dive bar across the street. The air seemed to glow around him, enhancing his soft features and making him look even more upset. You reached for him, one of your hands pressing delicately against the side of his face. Tracing your thumb over his cheek, down to the corner of his lips, you pressed closer to him. He was beautiful, in a broken sort of way. 

“You just gonna stare at me all night?”

You smiled. “God, I’m trying to have a moment here with you, Jake.”

His lips turned up, though it didn’t completely meet his eyes. “I’d like to have more than a moment with you, my dear,” he wrapped an arm around your waist, pulling you closer. He leaned into you, his nose brushing yours as he hovered less than an inch away. His warm breath tickled your lips and cheeks as he eyed you.

“Guess it’s your turn to stare at me, then, huh?”

Your snarky reply was cut off by him pressing his mouth against yours. The kiss was slow, but there was an undertone of desperation to it. His lips were soft, like rose petals, pressing against yours firmly. He hooked one finger under your chin, lifting your face closer to his, opening you up for him. You clutched at the fabric of his shirt, bunching it in your hand as you tried your best to pull him even closer. The two of you stumbled drunkenly, pressing him back against the railing. Your skin was burning against his, you dressed in only your bra and his shirt halfway off. 

One of your hands slipped beneath the thin fabric of his shirt, pushing it off of his shoulders. He surrendered to you for a moment, taking his hands off of you for one second to shrug the fabric off before he was all over you again. One hand found the back of your neck and the other tangled roughly in your hair; you moaned against his lips–this was your Jake, fiery and burning against you. You clutched at his shoulder with one hand, while your other hand snaked between your bodies. Your fingers found the waistband of his jeans, undoing the button with practiced ease. Teasingly, you dragged your fingertips over the clothed form of his bulge, already straining against his pants.

He sighed against you, hips twitching imperceptibly. Your lips parted for half a second, both of you catching your breath before diving back in. At this, your hand pushed beyond the fabric of his jeans and underwear, finding his throbbing length. 

He hissed then, feeling your fingertips touching him, whispering against the skin. You touched him just enough for him to feel it, your thumb ghosting over him to spread out the moisture from his leaking tip. You swallowed his moan with a smile, pleased that you had this effect on him. A second later, you pushed him back, pulling your raw lips away from him. 

“What are you doing?” he asked impatiently, watching as you carefully peeled his pants down, exposing his cock to the cool night air.

“Seems like you need some special attention, Jakey.” You dropped to your knees without a second thought. You gazed up at him through your lashes as you tied your hair back from your face. The view of him from this angle was salacious, his hair slicked down on his forehead, eyes hooded as he watched you expectantly. A nasty little grin played on your lips as you finally leaned into him, gathering saliva in your mouth and licking a long, slow stripe up the underside of his cock. As you reached the tip, you gently parted your lips around him, swirling your tongue tenderly around the tip.

Jake groaned, a low, gravelly sound that sent a jolt down your spine and straight to your core. You couldn’t wait for him to lose his patience; you loved teasing him to the point of no return, loved getting him so worked up that he’d fuck you until the muscles in your legs seized up and you couldn’t walk. You drooled around his cock at the thought, ever so slowly bobbing your head and suckling softly. You couldn’t give him too much– you had to keep him just on the edge of toe-curling pleasure until he couldn’t take it anymore. 

“God, fuck, Y/N,” he groaned, throwing his head back.

You hollowed your cheeks around him, speeding up your movements for a second before slowing down again, and repeating your ministrations over and over. You used one of your hands to hold his hips back against the balcony railing, while the other joined your mouth on his cock. Your movements had increased from slow and sensual to almost aggressive, thrusting him quickly towards his climax. As you flicked your tongue against the vein at the base of his cock, you could feel his thighs trembling slightly. Little whimpered moans and breathy pants of your name poured from his lips; he was so pretty standing there above you, unable to look you in the eyes as you took care of him. You adored the way he gazed down at you, almost hypnotized, then looked away as he became bashful at the sounds he was letting out. 

Trying to ignore the needy throbbing between your own legs, you pushed yourself to the limit. Tears filled your eyes as you took him completely to the base, the head of his cock brushing the back of your throat as you moaned around him. He moaned sharply, one of his hands tangling into your hair once again.

“Ah, Y/N, enough,” he hissed, pulling against the strands of your hair. You groaned in protest around him, still swirling your tongue with determination. Another pointed moan left his lips, but he still was pulling you away. “I said enough,” he growled, voice tinged with frustration. He dragged you up to your feet, one hand in your hair and the other gripping your arm.

You stared at him, wide-eyed with an excited sort of fear. Licking your lips, you looked at him with those doe eyes and waited for his next move. 

“Feeling like a dirty girl tonight, huh?” The hand that was wrapped around your arm moved to circle around your throat. Your heart thrummed excitedly at the feeling of his calloused fingers pressing into the delicate, unmarked skin of your neck. He squeezed, perhaps harder than intended, and you winced as he pressed his lips to yours. A breathy sigh left your lips, the pain deliciously blooming beneath his fingers. You were dripping at the thought of what was coming next: Jake dragging you back into the room to drill you into the mattress.

But you were wrong.

“Think you need to be punished, my dirty girl,” he muttered as he pulled out of the kiss. “When I tell you to do something, you do it. You understand?”

“Hmm, yes, sir,” you responded. A mischievous glint flickered in your eyes; he knew you loved it when he treated you like a disobedient little brat. 

“That’s right, baby,” he said, tracing his touch over the finger-shaped bruises blooming on your neck. He pulled your hair sharply, exposing your throat to him fully. He trailed his mouth down your jawline, marking the skin with his teeth before finding your neck and sucking a few marks into the skin. You writhed in his grip, desperate for him to get his hands on the rest of you. At this rate, you were going to orgasm from the gravelly sound of his voice egging you on.

“Take these off,” he hooked one finger into the waistband of your pants and snapped the waistband against your skin. You bit your lip; it crossed your mind to disobey him again, to see just how worked up you could get him, but you caught the look in his eyes and knew he wasn’t in a joking mood tonight. He was going to ruin you. You removed the pants, goosebumps prickling your burning skin as the cool night air surrounded you. 

His eyes drank you in for a moment, dragging over the curves and valleys of your body hungrily. He bit his lip, taking a deep breath before he reached for you again. He directed you towards the balcony railing, pushing you against it. He placed one hand in the center of your back and pushed down, bending you over the cool metal. You hissed as it bit into your skin, but the pain was nothing in comparison to his burning touch. His other hand traced a path down your spine, over the curve of your ass, and found its way in between your legs. You were soaked clean through your panties, even your thighs were sticking together, slick with your arousal. Jake groaned throatily at the sight. 

“You’re a fucking mess for me, baby,” he said, a dark chuckle tumbling from his lips.

“Only for you,” you said, voice shaky. Your legs were weak already; he practically had you on your tip-toes, chest pushed over the side of the railing; his body pressing you against the metal was the only thing keeping you grounded. The thrill of it all was only making you more needy for him.

There was a smile in his tone as he spoke again, “Look at you, baby, being all sweet for me now.” His palm traced up your soaked slit and found your ass, rubbing lovingly against the skin. “Oh, it’s just too bad I’m gonna have to mark this pretty little ass up…”

You gasped at his words, the hand quickly following his sentence with a sharp slap against your ass. You bit your lip to keep from crying out, your brows pulled together at the delightful pain spreading over your skin. Your core was throbbing desperately at this point, clenching around nothing. You needed him so badly you thought you might scream.

“Jake, please,” you breathed, unable to even form a proper sentence. 

“Please, what?” he asked, voice curious.

“Just please, please do something,” you whined. 

He laughed again. “I am doing something sweetheart…”

You groaned. At that, there was another ringing slap and burning pain blooming over the same spot. You knew you were going to be sore tomorrow, his handprint stained into your skin like a red and purple mosaic underneath your clothes. The sweet torture of his hand landing blows against you came again, and again as you begged him for mercy. By the end of it all, you were trembling so badly and aching between your legs so much that you were practically on the edge. As soon as he touched you, you thought you were going to explode.

Your dear Jake wasted no time. 

“Ready for me, sweet baby? Ready for me to finish torturing your aching little pussy?” His words dripped with pure lust, hot and breathy in your ear. The spanking had done as much for him as it had for you, and that fact made things even worse. You squirmed wildly as he finally pressed against you, swollen tip finding your entrance with ease.

“Fuck me, please Jake,” you cried out. Your hands shook as you gripped the metal railing pressed into your stomach. There would be another mark for you to worry about in the morning, but you didn’t care. Jake bottomed out inside of you and an obscene noise tore from your lips, luckily still drowned out by the sound of the city below. 

Sweat poured down your face as you grew dizzy at the feeling of his hips slamming into you. You could barely see, your vision swimming as your orgasm approached at the speed of light. Your knees had collapsed minutes ago, but Jake and the railing held you in place as he drilled into you. The pair of you were soaked through with your arousal, filthy wet noises joining the chorus of both of your moans and whines as he fucked you ruthlessly. 

“Y/N, I need you to cum,” Jake breathed, pressing his forehead against your back. His lips found the skin of your shoulder, kissing you gently. The feeling drove you crazy, how gentle he was being despite his unwavering pace fucking into you. “I need you to cum, baby, I’m not gonna last much longer.” His breath fanned over your back.

He needn’t tell you twice. With a few more hard thrusts, his cock had you flying into your climax. You cried out his name, eyes squeezed shut so tightly that a thousand colors bloomed behind your eyelids. He rode you through your orgasm, hips growing shaky as he tried his hardest to hold his own off. You came down, still clenching around him, and he forced himself to pull out of you. His release painted the skin of your back, warm against your cooling skin. You breathed deeply as you pushed away from the balcony railing. The ache was finally beginning to settle into your body; you were sore all over.

Jake buttoned his pants back up, and retrieved his shirt from the floor so you could wear it. You hobbled clumsily back into the hotel room, letting him close the door behind the two of you. 

“I’ll get you a rag,” he said gently, as you flopped face-down onto the bed. He returned from the bathroom, unhooking your bra and using the rag to wipe all his cum off of your skin. As he stood, one of his hands gently rubbed over the raw skin of your bare ass. You winced. “Sorry, baby.”

“‘S okay,” you muttered, voice weak. You were exhausted. He returned again, patiently dressing you in his shirt and buttoning it halfway. You muttered a garbled thanks, dazed as he joined you in your bed, curled up beneath the covers.

“Would now be a bad time to say that I was talking about us earlier?”

“What?” you asked. A yawn played on your lips, and you breathed him in as he snaked his arms around you. You buried your face into his neck.

“I just– I don’t wanna be fuckbuddies anymore, Y/N. I’m pretty sure I’m in love with you.”

You smiled against his skin, pressing your lips gently to his throat. 

“‘Bout time you came out and said it.”

[jessource]

SPOTIFY WRAPPED (2024)　1/2

i hate to say, but, i told you so.

got what you wanted, so stop feeling sorry.

were you sent by someone?

you made me bite my tongue and now there's blood in my glass.

i was tame, i was gentle till the circus life made me mean.

i hope you know i don't think you're a bad guy.

baby, do you like this beat? i made it so you'd dance with me.

quick, quick, tell me something awful.

my friends all say it's crazy. you know what? maybe it is. who cares?

you're lucky i'm a private person, i've quietly carried your burden.

i want you to miss me.

i'm a real tough kid, i can handle my shit.

people say i'm jealous, but my kink is watching you ruin your life.

am i in the frame from your point of view?

i love you, it's ruining my life.

no one's touched me there in a damn hot minute.

well, i heard you're back together and if that's true… you'll just have to taste me when he's kissin' you.

i thought you knew i had some help.

i know that you're removed, i can feel it when we talk.

if that was casual, then i'm an idiot.

i'd bet all my money that i will lose to you and hand you my life.

trust me, i know it's always about me.

the more i gave, you'd want me less.

you've lost all your common sense.

this place made me feel worthless.

every corner of this house is haunted.

i bet it's even better than in my head.

i keep finding his things in drawers crucial evidence, i didn't imagine the whole thing.

you look ridiculous and you have no idea.

my love, i'll wait for you love.

you do somethin' suspect, this cute ass bye-bye.

you have no room in your dreams for regrets.

i am not the girl i set out to be.

you got a lotta nerve, don't you, baby?

for a fortnight there, we were forever.

so tell me everything is not about me, but what if it is?

if history's clear, someone always ends up in ruins.

we never talk about it.

i waste my twenties on random men, not one of them is cooler than my friends.

once i fix me, he's gonna miss me.

i'll tell you something about my good name it's mine alone to disgrace.

it's a craving, not a crush.

won't make my mama proud, it's gonna cause a scene.

i've heard so many rumors that i'm just a girl that you bang on your couch.

i didn't think you'd understand me, how could you even try?

you don't get to tell me you feel bad.

you know what they say, never waste a friday night on a first date.

don't say it was just an isolated incidence that happened once.

i wish i knew you back when we were both small.

you said i was the love your life.

i'm too scared to say half of the things i do when i picture you

you know i just might let you lock me down tonight.

nothing happened in the way that i wanted.

just cause you leave like one doesn't make you a man.

you're supposed to think about me every time you hold her.

i wake up in the middle of the night with the light on and i feel like i could die.

i burn for you, and you don't even know my name.

i can tell when somebody still wants me.

i'm seeing visions. am i bad, or mad, or wise?

you car drove itself from l.a to her thighs.

we should stick together, i know i said i'd never think i wasn't better alone.

nothing in the world belongs to me but my love, mine, all mine.

you'll learn to bounce back just like your trampoline.

i'd break off my rib to make another you.

you wouldn't last an hour in the asylum where they raised me.

who's afraid of little old me? well, you should be.

i'm having his baby ... no, i'm not, but you should see your faces.

your signals are mixed, you act like a bitch.

lucky for you, i'm just like my mother.

i apologize if it's a little too much, just a little too soon. but if the conversation ever were to come up i don't wanna assume this stuff, but ain't it love? i think i'm in love.

is it casual now?

let me make my grief a commodity.

did you sleep with a gun underneath our bed?

i dream of cracking locks, throwing my life to the wolves or the ocean rocks.

you said normal girls were boring, but you were gone by the morning.

[callsigncherub]

How about a kiss?

How about a kiss?

Summary: When your day goes from bad to worse, Rooster’s there to make it better <3

Warnings: None, just fluff!

Word Count: 932

The drive home in the gruelling San Diego heat was not what you needed after quite possibly the worst day you’ve ever had, let alone being caught in the standstill rush hour traffic.

From the get-go you could tell that today was not going to work out in your favour.

To start, after a busy week your exhaustion caught up on you the night before, the 6am alarm you usually set was long forgotten as you passed out after dinner. That deep in sleep that when Rooster’s alarm went off at around 5am you didn’t even hear it, dead to the world. Waking up late, no time for your morning coffee, leaving the house in a rush and dropping your keys trying to lock the door, the small inconveniences slowly building up your frustration, it’s safe to say you showed up to work in a foul mood. With a full day of meetings, you skipped lunch and just minutes before finishing shift your boss slammed a full stack of papers on your desk in preparation for next week’s schedule.

By the end of the day, all you wanted to do was just go home and relax. But instead, here you are, stuck in your car, with little hope of making it home at a reasonable time.

“Seriously? Today of all days?” You huffed, blowing a stray piece of hair out of your face. But of course, it wouldn’t budge, sticking to the thin layer of sweat starting to make its way across your forehead. The heat was uncomfortable, thighs sticking to the leather seats of your car and a prickly sensation radiating over your skin. Leaning your head against your window, the sun, way too bright penetrating the windscreen temporarily blinding you as you pulled down the visor which to no surprise made truly little difference at all. Searching for your sunglasses and eventually failing, your emotions wearing thin.

Eventually after what felt like forever the traffic started to clear and when you finally got home an overwhelming sense of relief made its way throughout your body to find your fiancé’s Bronco parked in the driveway. Rushing through the door you were met with the sounds of Rooster clattering around the kitchen singing his very own rendition of Queen’s ‘Somebody to Love.’

“Honey? Is that you?” Rooster called from the kitchen as you toed your shoes off and made your way over to where he was standing in front of the stove. “Hey pretty girl. How was your day?” he said, eyeing you up. The look on your face was enough to answer his question and immediately you felt your bottom lip begin to quiver – the day beginning to take its reckless toll on you.

“It was awful Roos, I woke up late, I’ve barely had time to eat today and now I have a shit ton of work to do before next week and then I was stuck in traffic on the way home and it’s so damn hot!” You rambled, gasping for air with each word. “Hey, slow down, slow down.” Rooster whispered, pulling you in for a hug that you very swiftly dodged. “No Roos its way to hot and I’m really not in the mood.”  You snapped.

Feeling guilty at your sudden outburst, the dam finally broke and the tears previously threatening to spill from your eyes were now furiously falling down your face, red hot and showing no sign of stopping any time soon.

So, being the laidback but ever so caring fiancé he is, Rooster held both of your shaking hands in his own and let you have your moment. He knew you didn’t get this worked up often and that by the end of the night you’d have forgotten about the terrible events of your day. But, for now he sat in silence and waited for you to calm down enough for him to make you feel better.

“How about I run you a cool bath?” He offered but you shook your head no and sighed, rubbing your eyes. “How about we order takeout and watch more of Gilmore girls?” but you didn’t say anything, and he knew exactly what to do. “How about a kiss?” he suggested, wiggling his eyebrows, and flashing you a wide grin. Giggling, you nodded, and he drew you into his chest kissing all over your face and neck, the scratch of his moustache tickling you before he planted one sweet kiss on your lips. “Feelin better now honey?” you beamed up at him and nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck. “I think I do want to take a bath and order takeout and watch Gilmore girls.” You said slowly, yelping when he picked you up and threw you over his shoulder, heading up to the bathroom, with you in a fit of giggles behind him. He placed you down on the bathroom counter and drew your bath. Once you were in, he joined you and you leaned back against his chest, letting the stress of the day slowly leave your body. “Thank you, Roos, I love you.” You said tilting your head back to look up at him. He looked down at you with an overwhelming feeling of love and adoration. “I love you too Mrs Bradshaw.”

At that you gasped dramatically and looked down at the beautiful ring that belonged to his late mother, perched on your finger. “Did I miss the wedding?” Bradley barked out laugh at your faked offense. “I’m sorry honey, how can I make it up to you?”

“Hm, how about a kiss?”

Taglist:

@roosterforme

@roosterscockpit

@minichrismd

@aistash

[tieronecrush]

꒰ა ONLY ANGEL ໒꒱

javier peña x f!reader

chapter six: an angel cries

series masterlist

rating: E (18+ only, MDNI)

summary: After his return to the US, Javier is trying to settle back into a normal life without the pressures of Colombia and the DEA, but he finds himself feeling isolated with no one to spend his nights with. Now a newly appointed criminology professor at Texas A&M, he is drawn to you, a post-grad student in one of his classes. You’re intelligent and witty, sweet and kind, and he can’t get you out of his mind. To cope with his growing loneliness and to rid himself of thoughts of you, he signs up for an “arrangement service” to connect him with somebody—a sugar baby—he can care for. After he is matched up with Angel, he finds himself developing feelings quicker than he ever expected, but what happens when he finds out Angel is really you?

series warnings: power imbalance (prof and student), sugar daddy/sugar baby relationship, discussion of money, criminal activity, judicial systems, graduate school, smut, daddy/papí kink, praise kink, degradation, self deprecation, discussion of self worth, multiple sexual or romantic partners, sex work, cursing, use of spanish, likely more warning so read at your own risk!

word count: 8.2k

a/n: no smut in this chapter but i promise (i hope) you'll all still love it!!!! so sorry this took so long but life got messy this last month and now hopefully has returned to somewhat normalcy (whatever normal is for me is still mostly chaotic but hey!) and i can get this series and some other new writing posted for y'all CONSISTENTLY. and thank you thank you thank you as ALWAYS @northernbluess for beta-ing. couldn't survive this hellscape of a website without you <3

In the first class after your argument, Javier doesn’t bat an eye when he marks you absent on the attendance log. He figured that you would skip, wanting to be able to avoid the lecture hall himself but being forced to do his job regardless. A small part of him hoped you wouldn’t break your perfect record, ever the attentive student, but that small part was naive to think that what he said — what he shamed you for — was easily forgotten in the name of a flawless attendance grade for the semester.

The venom laced in his voice that night felt so foreign coming out of him. The words spewed out of his mouth with only the aim to hurt you as badly as he had hurt when he saw you with the other man.

Callow, brutal, vile, spiteful, scared. No matter how many adjectives he used to attempt to brush away those words, that night, the broken look on your face, the tear streaks on your cheeks, he couldn’t get rid of the searing acid bubbling up from his stomach and blistering his throat. Every time he found himself surrounded by some quiet, found himself alone in his office or apartment or car, closed his eyes to fall asleep, all he could see was you, shattered in the streetlamp light, and all he could hear was your voice, coated in emotion and hurling pain back at him:

“I really thought you were different…”

“How can you say that shit when you tell me how much you care?”

“Fuck you, Javier. Fuck you.”

“Don’t fucking call me, don’t pull me after class. We’re done.”

As soon as he said the words, he couldn’t believe what had come out of his mouth. If it were about any woman, he would be shocked to hear them from himself.

But especially regarding you.

His angel. His Bebita. His fresh start. His girl.

The woman he had tripped into meeting and fallen for as quick as that first flash of your smile. He wasn’t going to let you go without trying.

Which is what led him into a routine of waking up each morning, giving your cell a call, and leaving a voicemail. He did the same before going to bed, and would call to leave you messages when something reminded him of you during the say.

“Morning, angel. Jus’ thought I’d try you again. And I know you said not to call, but I need to keep telling you how sorry I am. What I said was…vergonzoso. Disgraceful. Horrible. You never deserved to hear that…I’m so sorry, Bebita. You probably don’t care what I have to say, but hope you have a good day.”

“Hi, baby. Callin’ again. Missed you in class today, I haven’t gotten notice that you dropped from my course, so I do hope to see you Wednesday. Don’t worry about your grade…doin’ just fine, sabelotodo (smarty pants)...I, um, I’m wearing that navy suit of mine, and I reach into the pocket to try and find my faculty ID. Pulled out one of your lil’ doodles, and it’s of me — think ya nailed it. You captioned it too: ‘Relax your brow and smile, grumpy pants.’ Thanks for the reminder, Bebita. Sin embargo, eres la única razón por la que sonrío (You’re the only reason I smile, though.) I’m so sorry.”

“At this point, I know you’re not gonna answer, angel. But I can hope you listen to ‘em before deleting ‘em, so I’m saying goodnight…haven’t seen you in a couple a’weeks. Baby, I know I don’t have any right to ask but can you just let me know you’re alright? That you’re alive? You can call me and give me another ‘fuck you’ if you want…m’worried. Te extraño. I miss you. Parte de mi corazón falta sin ti. (Part of my heart is missing without you.) I’m so sorry.”

He knows it’s a bit pathetic to be calling still after two weeks of unanswered calls. 34 calls, to be exact. 34 voicemails left. About 134 times he wanted to time-travel backward and punch himself in the fucking face before he said shit.

And he’s gotten even more pathetic, even more desperate for any sign of life from you, that he’s taken up a daily email in the last week.

To: B (TheOnlyAngel)

Subject: I’m A Fucking Idiot and I’m So Fucking Sorry (#4)

Hi angel,

This might push you over the edge to receive yet another email and all of the voicemails I’ve been leaving, but I think if you know one thing about me, baby, I am un culo terco (translation: a stubborn ass). And you are probably going to block my number and my email at some point but until then, I’m going to keep apologizing.

Can we please talk, Bebita? I don’t deserve forgiveness but if you can give me some of your time, I want to apologize to you in person. It’s the least you deserve.

Any sign of life would be appreciated. I’m worried about you, baby. I’m so sorry.

J

To: B (TheOnlyAngel)

Subject: I’m A Fucking Idiot and I’m So Fucking Sorry (#7)

I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.

I hate being away from you. I hate the words I spoke to you. I hate how I belittled you. I hate how I made you cry. I hate how I didn’t care for you. That’s all I want to do, Bebita.

I hate myself.

And definitely not what you want to hear from me, but in case you are reading these and in case I am still in fact your professor, midterm assignments are due in my office mailbox by Friday noon. I know yours is going to be amazing, sabelotodo. Miss you. 

I’m going to stop emailing you and calling you. I should’ve respected the fact that you told me not to.

I’m so sorry.

J

The bell toll of a new email rings over the computer’s speakers on the desk you’re sitting at in the middle of the library. A few students around you snap their heads over their shoulders or around in their chairs to glare at you; huffing out a breath, you sink lower in your seat after turning the volume dial until it clicks off.

4:30PM. It’s the usual hour for his daily emails, something that has been stacking in your inbox for the last week. You should have expected it or could’ve if you had been paying any mind to the digital clock in the bottom corner of the screen. Instead, you’ve been staring at the blinking cursor, stuck in the middle of a sentence in one of your midterm essays.

Of course, it’s for Sociology of Deviance. Of course, he has to send you yet another reminder of him, of his regret — another apology — while you are forced to think about him anyway for this assignment.

The stunted sentence is the product of your mind trailing out, pulling you by a rope wrapped around your heart to that night again. It’s been two weeks, and you haven’t seen Javier at all, but you can’t shake the image of his face, twisted into an anger you had never seen from him but with a pain so deep in his eyes that you could fall into it and never know your way back up. And you can’t silence the echoes of his words to you, each repetition sounding even more cruel, even more virulent than the last.

“I’m a job to you, just work.”

“Don’t. Don’t pull that shit, you knew what you were doing.”

“You know, I thought when I was signing up, I would have someone just for me. Didn’t expect to get someone for everyone.”

“Was I really just some fucking job, a shift you scheduled every week?”

That night, standing in front of him at his car, you were so remorseful for what you had hidden from him, what you had lied about. Thinking it was all done for his sake to keep at a distance and not hurt him. It was done for your own protection. Not wanting to get hurt yourself. The amount of care that you hold for him — even still, as angry as it makes you — scares the shit out of you. It feels different from anything else, like your eyes have been opened fully, vision clear, and your heart is beating to a new rhythm.

Instead, now it thumps in slow, tired pulses. Aches in your chest at all hours of the day, every day. Even after trying your best, Javi had left a mark, a big one.

And the calls, the emails, they all kept pressing into that mark, thumbing that deep-tissue bruise to turn it to a muddy purple. You hate yourself for the amount of times that you have thought about forgetting what he said, calling him up, and saying you needed him. You knew it was pathetic. A bigger part of you hates yourself because you know it’s true. You need him. Not in the can’t-function-without-someone-to-be-dependent-on way but in the I-need-somewhere-to-put-all-this-love kind of way.

You love him. No point in denying it now. And your love is screaming at you every second of the day to pick up one of his phone calls, to interrupt him as he’s leaving yet another voicemail, to send a note in response to an email.

Those screams are still getting tamped down by your anger — that side of you that is still more powerful, tougher, and grittier than its opposite: the tender, pliant, delicate you.

Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you navigate out of the document and into your inbox. The subject is bolded along with his name, the mark of it being unread. Titled the same as the rest, you click it open expecting more of the same. And while it starts out in the usual manner — typed apologies and varied descriptions of how he feels about himself, what he said, how he hurt you.

But the second to last line makes your stomach flip, something out of the ordinary: 

I’m going to stop emailing you and calling you. I should’ve respected the fact that you told me not to.

Is he giving up?

Why the fuck is he giving up? Has he decided you’re really not worth the effort? He can’t be damned to actually see it through, to hold out hope that you would maybe respond?

Anger bubbles in your gut, sending the simmering heat across your body and kicking up your heart rate. Seriously, fuck that. You may have gotten annoyed with the constant contact, but at least he was trying. Clearly, he doesn’t care to try to apologize in person that much, or to hear any sign of life from you.

God, why does it have to hurt this much?

Redirecting your rage proves useful to start the essay again, words flowing from your fingertips and the clicks and clacks of the keyboard drowning out the voices in your head. By the end of the night, six hours later, you pull your hand away from the mouse; assignment proofread multiple times, a confidence in your capabilities blooming when you drag the cursor to press the ‘Print’ button.

When you gather your papers from the printer across the room, stapling them together ordered and aligned, the sinking feeling returns. After midterm break is over, you’ll have to go back to class. To see him twice a week, watch him lecture with his furrowed brow and a perpetual frown. To listen to his voice and wait to hear his usual affections that won’t come. To simply be around him and to try to not fall right back into his arms.

Muscle memory carries you from the library to the bus stop, getting on your usual route home with those thoughts continuing to consume your spare space in your mind. Simple reminders flash in your head between the thoughts, all conjured up in Javi’s gentle voice: Third floor up to your apartment, baby. Turn the key to the right to unlock. Remember to close the curtains, angel — locks in the minimal heat to make it last through the night and keeps you out of view from the street. Drop your backpack on the ground for tomorrow. Kick off your shoes, take off your coat, cariño. Brush your teeth and wash your face, you can shower in the morning. Change into your pajamas, and don’t forget to turn out the light next to your bed. Go to sleep, my good girl, get your rest. Goodnight, Bebita.

Clicking the end of a pen over and over, Javier watches the clock as the deadline for his grad-level midterm ticks closer. The curriculum notes sitting in front of him blur as his mind drifts from his work — back to you, of course.

He’s forgone his voicemails for the last two days, emails drafted and left there. If there was any chance for you to agree to meet him in person, he didn’t want his incessant, honestly a bit obsessive, contact to be resented. You asked him not to call, not to say anything. And he did the exact opposite of that, thinking it was right.

Without the outlet of speaking to you (even if you weren’t listening or reading), his thoughts have been able to spiral and morph, recognizing in himself exactly what he was afraid of at the moment he saw you with someone else.

It wasn’t about you, it never was about you. Those words he spoke were lashed out in anger, in fear for what was possibly waiting for him on the other side of this ‘arrangement’ with you. He was all in, he was in love and held out hope that you felt the same way. You care, that is obvious to him, but without openly communicating, he was left to pack away his feelings to keep the dynamic normal for you.

But when you were with someone else, laughing at whatever the hell he was saying, making you smile, touching his arm, he couldn’t tamp down the repeated thought — I want to be the only one for her.

And what did he expect? How could you want to be with someone like him anyway?

Damaged, jaded, flawed, worn-out, and starving for something he doesn’t deserve: happiness.

Did he do it all wrong? Come on too strong and you went somewhere else to find what you wanted, even if it was just a job? He didn’t even ask if you wanted a relationship. He was so head over heels that he fell into it, treating you as if you were his girlfriend without ever asking you.

Is that why you don’t feel the same? Because you can’t see anything but his past with him? Half of your relationship with him is born out of his professional failures — never being there when they caught Escobar, the Cali godfathers with a future that they might walk freely, resigning from the DEA.

Is he even capable of loving you the right way or being loved back? There has to be an answer, and he selfishly is aching to know. Did he give you enough love, or did he love you in the right way? The answer must be no, for you to keep up with other men, other clients.

The sound of quick-moving footsteps pulls him out of his derailing train of thought, the thumps of the feet on the carpeted hallway slowing right in front of his office. In the crack between the floor and the door, he sees the shadow of whoever is on the other side, and one quick look at the clock tells him it is a last-minute submission. The slip of paper against paper sounds, the stack dropping into his plastic mailbox that is next to the entrance to his office.

The shadows of the student linger, seconds clocking down until he goes to open the door and collect. Part of him wants to drag himself out of his seat and do it now, simply to see who this last submission was by in person, but he waits — at least that student got it in on time, they don’t deserve the professor intimidation.

Shifting around, the shadows of the shoes under the door fade as footsteps begin to slowly recede, giving him a cue to get up and collect the assignments. Opening the door, he sticks his head out and checks both directions down the hall, no sign of a student in sight. With a sigh, he turns to his mailbox, dreading reading some — actually most — of the essays in the group. Just because you get into grad school, doesn’t mean you need to be there. And he isn’t even that much of a stickler for grading, some people just…don’t have the academic talent for essay writing. And they shouldn’t be sharing their opinions.

With an eye roll to no one except himself, he takes the stack of papers and allows his eyes to fall on the first one to flick through. Reading the name on the top of the page, he freezes in place at the door to his office, straddling the line between the public space of the hallway and the privacy of his office.

Yours.

That means that it was you outside of his office only a few minutes ago; you lingered, and the pull of your force is nearly driving him to go in search of you in this building or across the whole campus if he could see a glimpse of you.

All he can picture is you standing at his office door, knowing he was probably on the other side. You stayed, even for a few seconds — were you debating on knocking? Were you thinking about him as much as he was thinking about you? Did he lose a chance to talk to you, to see you, because he sat around for a few seconds after you walked away?

Immediately, his eyes drift down to the material, starting to read and be brought into whatever thoughts you have had in the last two weeks. It may be only relevant to the subject of the course, but he could listen to you speak about anything for any amount of time, and reading your work is all the same. A slice of you, even if the focus is on something totally different from what he is desperate to know from you.

At that moment, the stack of assignments doesn’t seem as bleak, and he sets them all down on his desk, shrugging the suit jacket off his shoulders and discarding it across the sofa. Sitting down in his chair, he’s determined to get through the essays and submit the grades to the Dean, a plan formulating in his head about how to see you while he flips to the next page of your assignment.

Adrenaline pumps through his veins, making his limbs feel lighter and his steps echo heavier in his mind. In one hand, he holds the stapled packet curled in a C-shape, running the pad of his thumb across the edges. Perfectly timed, he approaches the entry to the building as a resident walks out, exchanging a nod in acknowledgment with the man as he slips inside. Craning his neck up, he looks at the staircases, relieved to hear silence. Climbing to the third floor, he halts at the last stair, taking in a deep inhale and letting it out slowly, his nerves prickling across his skin as he faces whatever is ahead of him.

Taking a handful of steps forward, he settles at the door that is his destination, holding his breath for a few seconds before reaching his hand up to knock on the door. It’s confident but not aggressive, and hopefully, intriguing enough for the knock to be answered.

With bated breath, he hears the faint sound of footsteps, the same familiar cadence as yesterday. The click of the deadbolt being undone and the scrape of the chain being released quickens his pulse, hands toying with the papers in his hands. With a breeze, the door swings open and his eyes immediately find your face.

The wind is knocked out of him, his brain short-circuiting at the sight of you. His vision tunnels, focus on dragging his gaze around to catch everything he’s missed. Supple lips still slicked with your glossy lip balm, soft skin of your cheeks that his fingers are itching to run across, the glittering of light in your eyes that sends a tingle down his spine. You’re clad in an oversized sweater and sweat-shorts, plush socks on your feet.

You look as beautiful as ever to him. But you look tired.

And he knows that it’s because of him.

“Hi, Bebita.” He barely manages a greeting before he hears your voice for the first time in two weeks.

“Jesus Christ, Javi,” you huff and shake your head, reaching up for the door and starting to close it. One quick step lodges his foot in the doorframe, catching it before it closes fully. One of his hands grabs the edge, an inch above yours.

“Javier, move your foot.”

“Wait, wait, hold on—”

“What do you want, Javier?”

“I came to return your midterm — I didn’t know if you would be in class, and you deserve to get your grade back when everyone else does. I guess this is technically before everyone else, but…I wanted to see you.” His big brown puppy dog eyes face you as you take him in, gripping the door harder. The buttery, relaxed leather jacket stretches across his shoulders, one of his usual button-downs on underneath. His legs taper in from his torso in his dark blue jeans, black boots pointed toward your door. You can see the desperation in his face, the anxiety present in his wide eyes, chin tilted down, and gaze looking at you through his long, dense lashes. His mouth hangs open slightly before he takes another breath and speaks, “Y’know, you really fucked the curve for the whole class by gettin’ a hundred percent, sabelotodo.”

Javier passes the paper to you, unfurling it and showing off the marks at the top of the page.

“Graded completely objectively. This was excellent work…” He stands in silence while you look at the red ink on the page, your stomach rolling with pride and sorrow. “I really think we need to talk, Bebita.”

“The nickname. Please, Javier,” your voice is thick when you look back up at him, tears threatening your waterline.

“M’sorry, sorry…do you—would you give me five minutes?” Swallowing hard, he wipes his free hands on his jeans, clamminess coating them from the nerves. You take a moment, weighing your options.

Getting to slam the door in his face would be satisfying. A dig back at him without having to say anything.

But the louder part of yourself is scolding that behavior, telling you to let him in to at least allow him to apologize. And that same part selfishly wants to know what he has to say and if it will relieve any of your thoughts and growing insecurities born out of this whole situation.

“Oh, fuck’s sake…” you mumble under your breath when you reach your decision, pulling the door back open with a sigh. Your eyes avoid Javier as you nod in the direction of your living area, “Come in…got five minutes.”

“S’all I need. Promise I will leave when you want me to.” He passes you, clasping his hands together as he gets a waft of your perfume and your shampoo melding together, squeezing with the urge to wrap you up in his arms and press his nose into the smell.

Pausing steps in through the doorway, he looks over at you and tilts his head down to his feet, glancing back up at you as he shyly remembers, “Shoes off, right?”

A flicker of something lighter crosses your eyes, a small nod in confirmation. Javier toes off his boots and leaves them by the door, clad in a pair of socks you pointed out in a store a few weeks ago and giggled about in the middle of the shop: light purple, patterned with black and white cows feeding on patches of grass.

Maybe he’s projecting, but he can feel his heartbeat skip as he watches the most minuscule lift at the corners of your mouth.

Glancing around the familiar space, he notices a few differences from how it’s normally kept. Blankets are strewn across the couch, clearly unraveled to free yourself to answer the door; dishes dot the surfaces around — mugs, bowls, plates, cutlery, wine glasses all dirtied and left there; your hobby crafts are abandoned on your small bistro dining table, all aside from a sketchbook that you quickly shuffle over to flip closed.

Disarray. At least, from what he’s been privy to. Never has he seen you in this state, either at his place when you made yourself at home or here at yours when he stayed over. You’re tidy, and you certainly were never bored with all that you did to occupy your time — it was either roping him into doing something, playing a game, posing for a doodle, or, well, other activities that he was definitely a willing participant in. But this — this wasn’t like you. You could be distracted, sure, but never to the point of a sedentary lifestyle.

He can feel his skin burning and chest cinching painfully as if almost completely caving in on himself. He’s itching to discard his jacket, to feel the cool air on his skin, but he doesn’t want to make himself too comfortable and, in reality, he doesn’t think that would help. Shame snakes into the spaces between his ribs, nestling deep within his chest cavity and coiling around his heart, the slow tightening squeeze of the pain he’s caused you trickling down his blood supply.

He didn’t know what to expect, but this was much more than he ever considered. Bile rises in his throat, simmering in his esophagus as a question replayed in his head — selfish and indulgent.

Did you feel that much for him to be this hurt?

“You can sit down on the couch if you want.” He can hear the trepidation in your voice, eggshells cracking under his feet as he treads lightly, both physically and with the words that he’s planned out to the syllable. As he was grading last night, he took breaks in between each assignment to work through what he wanted to say to you if given a chance. Almost to the point of writing it down, he packaged up his apologies to hand to you with a plea.

Carefully sitting down on the couch, his eyes track your movements as you stand, debating whether or not to take the seat opposite of him on the couch, or to take a seat at the dining table on the other side of the room, still close enough in your budget apartment to speak comfortably.

Javier can’t begin to describe the jolt of energy, soothed with cool relief when you choose to sit on the sofa. Curled up into the corner, pillow tucked into your lap to form a shield against the confrontation, but nevertheless, you’re the closest you’ve been to him in the last two weeks. The entire place smells of you and exudes your energy through the walls covered with your own art and other pieces that you’ve collected over the years, from thrift stores and flea markets or handed down from relatives. Soft furnishings in a gradient of colors melt him a few inches further into the cushions, a complete opposite to his place that is especially drab and boring without you there breathing the life into it — into him.

Toying with the tassels of the throw blanket laid underneath him and over the back, he clears his throat in the silence. He follows the flick of your gaze to the brass-framed clock hanging above your table, the click of the pencil-thin second's hand ticking loudly in the lack of conversation.

Five minutes. You said five minutes and here he is wasting time saying nothing.

The turn of his stomach revitalizes the anxiety thrumming in his veins, the pump of his pulse, and the rush of his blood in his ears sounding like the crashing of ocean waves despite being in the middle of a land-locked city. His fingers twitch with nerves, his whole body feeling as if it’s on high frequency, overwhelming energy shocking his limbs to stillness while his brain fights for dominance of his nerve endings.

He’s felt more confident in interrogations with deadly criminals or negotiating hostage situations.

Swallowing hard, he finally takes enough deep breaths to slow his heartbeat and gain control of his body, a long inhaling before he stutters out a pathetic beginning to his apologies, “Um. Fuck—sorry, I’m no good at this…”

The first words out of his mouth after two weeks of begging you to hear him out, and it’s ‘I’m no good at this.’ Are you wasting your time? Is this going to put you in a worse place?

All you want is for something to settle — the uncertainty of holding out on him or not knowing what he’s going to say to you exactly has eaten you alive after so many long days. Whatever the outcome is, you can deal with it, but this limbo — the purgatory before knowing if you have to survive your time in hell or can be brought into forgiveness, for him and for yourself — heightens your already present fears and festers your growing insecurities.

“I take it you’ve never had to apologize like this?” It comes out harsher than you meant it; some of it was meant to cut, but another part of you was genuinely curious. Has he never had a relationship like this? Has he never had to apologize to a woman he’s dating because he doesn’t date or because he leaves before an apology is necessary?

Are you about to be one of those women that he leaves before he apologizes?

“No — I mean, yes. Wait, no, fuck, I have had to apologize like this before. I mean, it’s me we’re talking about, I fuck up everything…” he chuckles at his own attempt at a joke to lighten the mood even a fraction, “I had this whole thing planned out from last night. Tried to rehearse it and everything, but seeing you, it’s completely wiped my mind. You don’t deserve some line-by-line bullshit apology.”

He shifts in his seat, inching closer and cheating his body to face you completely. One leg on the cushion, bent and hooked under the one that keeps him grounded. The change in his position makes you scoot, centimeters closer to the edge, plotting your escape to the bathroom or your bedroom when the inevitable tears start and when Javier walks away, possibly for good.

The tiniest voice in your head is yelling at you for feeling so sorry for yourself, for him probably coming over here to give you an apology and leave you behind because you’re used, you’re shameful. The voice is telling you that you should be angry with him, not crying over him any more than you already have the last fourteen days. When the sound of Javier’s timbre floats to your ears, that voice is silenced and the craving for him begins to unfurl itself from the tiny compartment you packed it away in.

“I am sorry, angel. So, so fucking sorry. What I said to you was completely out of hand and so disrespectful and absolutely not what I feel about our situation or about you. Not an excuse, just trying to explain to you what was going on in my head…I just — when I saw you with another guy, all I could think about was how I wanted to be the only one for you. It was naive of me to think that you wouldn’t have any other clients, I mean, I was the new addition and I thought I was the only one because you were the only one to me. And that is completely my choice, the whole damn reason I signed up for the service in the first place was to find someone that I could spend time with to avoid my loneliness, and well, it worked maybe too well for me. I was, and still am, completely enamored by you, cariño. The second I saw you, in that first class, I was done for. And then when it turned out to be you that I was talking to through our emails, it felt like it was a sign from the universe or God or fate, whatever you want to call it, but it was natural. I remember thinking to myself that night at the bar, ‘Of course, it was you’.”

“And all those feelings that I kept to myself, all the times when I wasn’t clear with what I thought we were, it all caught up to me that night at the event, and seeing you with another man, I was so afraid for what I was about to lose that I cut it off myself and lashed out at you. Anger is all I have known for so long, angel, and I never wanted you to be on the other end of that. I was nasty, and malicious, and I wanted to hurt you in that moment because I was hurt. That was completely unfair, unwarranted. You didn’t do anything wrong, you never explicitly lied to my face to say that I was the only one you were seeing…I know I fucked up. I regret everything I said to you that night, and I hate myself for hurting you. I know you probably don’t want to hear it but I need you to know how sorry I am. It was fucked up, what I said, and I understand if you still don’t want anything to do with me if you still want to end all of this. I wouldn’t blame you.”

It takes a few beats of silence after he’s given you everything to consider, the words taking their time to sink into your mind and truly register all that he is saying to you. It would be easy, comfortable, to completely brush everything away and accept his apology outright, but you know that if you want anything more out of this…relationship, then the two of you have to work on your communication, and you have to be honest.

Clearing your throat, you sit up from your sinking posture and raise a shaking hand to your face to skim over your skin, flicking away the hairs from your periphery. Tears sting in your eyes, a quiet sniffle filling the silence between the two of you. Thrumming with anxious energy, your body jitters and your voice wavers as you speak back to him, mustering the courage to sit in your discomfort of confrontation and say your piece.

“I told you that I thought you were different because you were different to me. I did have other clients when we were together in our own arrangement, but from the moment I met you in person as ‘Angel’, there was a shift. Something out of the ordinary from all the other times I’d met someone new…I cared, Javi. I still do. I care about you so fucking much, and that’s why it hurt so much that you said all that you said. If anyone else that I was ‘with’ told me that they thought all that about me, I would simply roll it off and terminate our arrangement and move on. But you — Javi, you are so much more than a job to me. You were never a job, even from that first night. I was always excited to see you, catching your eye in class and sneaking off into your office hours even just to steal a kiss. I forgot how we even met, technically.”

In the breath you take, Javier affirms what you said, “I forgot, too. I think I forgot what it all was the second I found out it was you that I was talking to. It didn’t matter how I got or kept your attention, just that you were giving me any.”

Nodding, your eyes fall to your hands fiddling with the pillow in your lap, lifting them from the plush square to rub your eyes, the tears you had been fighting slowly winning their battle.

“That was why it hurt so much, Javier. I couldn’t believe what you were saying because it was so unlike you, and to hear it from you, the person I care the most about, it was just…devastating. When there have been other people in my life that have found out what I do, and they’ve said the same type of things, it hurt, of course, it did, but you, Javi—” A choke of a sob interrupts you, tightness building in your chest as you swallow them down, you tears falling faster and emotion thickening your voice. “You made me feel so small. So insignificant, and—and dirty. I couldn’t live with myself thinking that you felt that way when you looked at me. That I was used, that I was merchandise bought and returned to many times and now I get to be tossed aside…I could compartmentalize when other people told me the same things because I justified it as my job. But you were never a job to me, so when you told me that you weren’t expecting ‘someone that was for everyone’, I just…I immediately felt like I was less because I wasn’t serving you how you assumed I would. That I wasn’t living up to your expectations…”

“I quit. I wasn’t in class this week ‘cause I’ve been having meetings with my academic counselor to figure out if I can manage classes with a different job…when I quit I told them to refund you everything that I could give back to them. What happened, completely changed it all for me and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to go right back into it and act like it was normal when I felt so horrible about what I was doing because you don’t like it…”

“Cariño, no, no, no. I hate that you think all of this because I was being fucking stupid. And you absolutely did not need to quit, I would hate my fuckery to be the reason you have to add more stress to your life by balancing a different job and school. I mean, even searching for a job is a lot—”

You interrupt his rambling, wanting to soothe his spiraling anxieties about your well-being, and not wanting to seem like any more of a burden that he has to care for or take on. That your insecurity around being dependent on men like him, on him on his own, is still present despite your resignation. You want him to see you as strong, independent, formidable. Someone he doesn’t have to worry about.

“It’s alright, Javier. I have a new job already. Don’t have to worry about anything for me…” The lie is blatant to you, but hiding your face down toward your lap aids in disguising your tells, and it skates easily out of Javier’s radar. He doesn’t need another reason to think less of you.

“Angel, m’always gonna worry about you…”

Your bravery streak continues when you lift your head, facing him across from you head-on. The sight you’re met with takes you back, Javier bent over with his elbows to his knees, his hands covering his mouth and his eyes red and glistening with tears of his own. The shine of damp tracks on his cheeks is shown in the low lighting of your apartment when he turns his head toward you, the absolute disappointment, guilt, and pain oozing from his big, brown eyes.

Peeling his hands away, they twitch with the need to reach out for you before settling in his lap; Javier shakes his head as he takes in your own visual emotions, tears flowing freely.

“I am so, so incredibly sorry that I ever made you feel any less than you are…” His own words are coated in emotion, a few stray tears falling down his cheeks. “I can’t apologize enough for hurting you, baby, and I will do anything I can to mend any of those wounds I created with my careless, angry, thoughtless words. There is nothing you have to live up to, angel. I miss you. So fucking much. And I’m the biggest fucking asshole on this planet to make you feel any less beautiful and incredible and caring and angelic and lovable than you are. You deserve so much better than what I gave to you, and I would give anything to try to make it up to you. Even if nothing more comes of it, I would love your permission to earn your forgiveness.”

Javier takes in an audible breath, a slow exhale as he moves closer to you, still enough distance in between that you can read that he doesn’t want to cross a line. Every part of him faces toward you, completely tunneled on you still folded into the corner.

“I’m all in for you, Bebita. I could give two shits about whatever arrangement you had, what you did in the past, nothing. All I want is you, all I need is you in my life and that is it. I will work every day to earn your forgiveness and earn back your trust. I want to show you how much I care about you, angel. I don’t want to go anywhere, just want to be wherever you are and do anything I can to take care of you and protect you and make sure you know how fucking special you are. You’re my one-of-a-kind girl, Bebita, there’s nobody else like you.”

His assurances, his pledges to spare you from any more hurt, from him or others, swell your heart. Drawn toward his again, it beats loudly in your ears, drowning out any doubt, and the deep, quick thumps flush out the confusion and the shame that was growing within your chest. Sincerity is evident in his words and in his tone; there isn’t room for anything but a genuine promise to make it up to you, to work to prove himself once again.

Forgiveness may be a long road, and a terrifying prospect to start out again, uncertainty of the future disguising any pain it might cause you. But the fear flashes in your mind as excitement for half a second, a shock to your system after the last couple of weeks. Looking at Javier at the end of that night two weeks ago is completely different to him now, vulnerability clear in his eyes and feelings voiced; the sight of him shaken up takes you back to that night, walking outside to find him leaning over the hood of his car, breathing erratic as he stood with his eyes closed, trying to calm down.

In that moment, all you wanted to do was curl up around him, and show him that you care despite his annoyance and anger with you when he went out to smoke on the patio. It’s the same now, your feelings, your love, desperately begging your body to move toward him, to break out of the locked box that you had attempted to keep it in since he broke your heart. You had told yourself to be strong, to fight what your heart was telling you, but it occurs to you that strength can be listening to what you want, what you need, not what you think you should be doing. Battling with your mind has exhausted you, and now you want to return to comfort — return home. To come back to him, even if it will take a long while to feel how it did before.

“Okay…” you start, voice softened and anxious energy channeled into your fingers fiddling with the trim of the throw pillow in your lap. “You have my permission to earn my forgiveness, Javier. But I can’t make any promises to you about when or what it’s all going to look like—”

“Bebita, as long as I have you in my life somehow, I don’t give a damn about anything else. I only want to be around you, for as much or as little as you want me.”

Another silence falls over the room, much more comfortable than the previous one. There’s a clearness, a breath to the air that was heavy and dense before; your shoulders feel looser, your heart the tiniest bit lighter. Blinking back the pooling tears at your waterline, a handful fell freely in the process, carving out the last of the streaky paths that littered your cheeks down to your chin. Javier’s hand taps the pads of his fingers against his dark blue denim, the same hand slowly reaching out for you, fully extending to rest on the pillow in your lap. His pinky stretches sideways next to your own hand, nudging your little finger before you hook them together without a word.

Sitting with a pinky promise made without a word, warmth passes between the two of you and you can feel his pulse through the minor contact; it slows the longer the two of you are still, breaths returning to normal, regulating the calmness you always felt around Javier in quiet moments like this.

The tiniest of voices breaks the silence streak, making the first sound at the next tick of the second hand from the clock on your wall; it’s Javier who speaks, gaze focused on you as he meekly, more tentative than you’ve ever heard him, “Can I hold you, Bebita?”

The name no longer feels like the burn of a branding, instead feels like sinking into your own bed after being away for days or weeks; plush, cozy, comforting. Just right. A small smile finds itself tugging at the corner of your mouth, nodding slowly with the tears dried on your face. Unraveling yourself from the curled-up position, you discard the pillow to the floor and crawl over to him, a short two feet. Before you make any movement to draw yourself any closer, Javier takes advantage of your willing proximity and wraps his arms around you, pulling you to settle in his lap. Strong, steady arms tighten around your frame and press you flush against him, his eyes combing over your face with devotion before he curls into you, face notching into the space between your neck and shoulder. The weight of his head drops onto you, drawing you to melt further into him.

Your own arms snake their way around his neck, wrapping him up in an easy hug.

“I don’t wanna leave you again…” he confesses in a whisper below your ear, rasp roughing up his words but raising goosebumps on your smooth skin.

His tension completely relaxes under your touch, heated breaths exhaling condensation against your skin before the molecules of his breath evaporate with your rising body heat. The scent of his hair flutters your eyes closed, the loss of your one sense heightening your ability to pick up the subtleties of his smokey whiskey, the spice of his burnt tobacco, the freshness of his vetiver and bergamot aftershave.

“You can stay if you want…haven’t really been able to sleep without you.” The admission pulls his face out of its spot, leaning back with the same tight hold around you keeping him close. Brown eyes search yours, softness and sadness rounding them as the slightest frown finds his lips.

“I’m sorry, Bebita. S’not gonna happen again, I won’t let it. M’gonna be here for you, always.” One of his arms loosens, pulled to the front of you, and reaches up to tuck your hair away from your face and delicately trail over your cheekbones, down your jaw to hold your chin between his thumb and index finger. “Always, Bebita.”

In deliberate and careful movements, Javier leans in, testing if you’ll turn away. When the denial doesn’t come, he inches closer, nudging his nose against yours before catching your lips in a tender, fragile kiss. It’s sweet and conservative for Javier, the man who is normally confident in every one of his actions. Aiding in settling his nerves, you return the kiss with a hair more heaviness, deepening it to breathe him in and taste him on your lips. A craving satiated, fulfilled before anything moves further.

Pulling away, he rests his forehead against yours, his hand holding your jaw and the other running his fingertips up your spine. His touch is expert at relaxing you, melding you two together again with his heat, pulling and shaping you to fit exactly where you belong — with him.

A whisper back to him, as meek as his initial request to draw you close, “You promise?”

“Lo prometo, Bebita. No quiero dejarte ir. (I promise, Bebita. I don’t want to let you go.) I mean always when I say always. Whatever you need from me, I’ll give to you, baby. Te adoro. (I adore you.)”

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my kofi

[archangeldyke-all]

HIIIIII

Love Sevika and lil Slayer so I was thinking about how reader would find a lost Slayer wondering around and takes her homes. Would love some frantic very worried Sev putting up lost puppy posters EVERYWHERE. But reader and slayer are bonding so well but she does the right thing and brings her back to Sev when reader realises how hot she is and starts CRUSHING.

GOD I LOVE SEVIKA!!!!!

THANK YOU ANGEL FOR ALL YOUR WORKSS <33333

CUTE I LOVE SLAYER i'm so glad u guys like that stinky little dog too <3

men and minors dni

you're walking home on a rainy day, when a little furball darts out in front of you, nearly tripping you.

you curse as you stumble over it, then pout in pity when you realize that the little creature isn't a rat, but is in fact, a little black chihuahua, soaking wet and shivering in the rain.

"poor thing." you say, reaching out to let the little dog sniff your hand. she seems to trust you, licking your fingers and pressing her head against your hand for pets. your heart melts. "where's your human?" you ask the little furball, pulling it into your arms and hurrying home.

when you get home, you strip out of your raincoat, before wrapping the little dog up into a fluffy towel, helping it warm up.

it's whimpering in your arms as you settle down against the couch, a pathetic little cry as she tries to warm up in your arms.

"let's see here." you mumble as you tug at her collar.

the front of her tag reads 'slayer.' you laugh at the name, pressing a kiss to the dog's head.

"you're not a slayer, are you? no, you're a sweetheart." you say. the dog licks it's nose.

the back of the tag has an address-- a few miles walk from your apartment. you pout. "oh baby, you're far from home, aren't you?" you ask the dog. she seems to understand you, whining again.

"i'll take you home tomorrow, okay?" you ask. "i'm too tired right now. let's go see what i got in the fridge for you, baby." you say as you carry little slayer to your kitchen.

once she's warm and fed (having wagged her tail so hard at the sight of your leftover chicken sandwich that you couldn't deny her) slayer walks herself into your bedroom, jumping up onto your mattress and making herself comfortable in the center of your bed.

you laugh.

"you must be spoiled at home, huh?" you ask the dog as she yawns. "somebody's probably missing you right now." you say.

you sleep better than you've slept in years with little slayer acting as a space heater under your covers.

when you wake up in the morning, you're almost sad to have to bring the dog home, but you do regardless.

the closer you get to the address, the more missing dog posters you see plastered up around the neighborhood. you look down at the dog in your arms, clearly recognizing her surroundings if her squirming was any indication, and laugh.

"someone really missed you, huh?" you ask the dog. she yaps in excitement, and you laugh.

when you knock on the door, you're expecting a little kid, or maybe an old lady to open the door.

what you aren't expecting is a six foot something, two hundred something pounds of pure muscle, goddess of a woman to answer the door.

she looks frazzled, eyes bloodshot from crying, eyebags dark from lack of sleep, hair a mess.

the second she sees slayer in your arms, she bursts into tears.

"slayer you little shit!" she exclaims, reaching forward to grab the dog and tug it toward her chest. slayer's wiggling in her graps, yapping and licking her face in excitement. you laugh.

"i found her a few miles away-- i hope you weren't looking for her for long." you say. the woman looks up at you, seemingly noticing you for the first time, and she quickly tries to wipe up her tears.

"thank you so fucking much." she says, darting forward to pull you into a hug.

you freeze in her arms. she freezes around you.

she pulls away stiffly, avoiding your gaze.

"s-sorry. my emotions got the best of me." she mumbles, still clutching slayer to her chest. you smile.

"i haven't been hugged in a while, it was nice. wasn't expecting it, is all." you say. the woman blinks at you.

"i'm sevika." she says, reaching forward to shake your hand. you smile and shake it back, introducing yourself. "do you-- i have some cash, if you want a reward." she says. you laugh.

"oh, god no, i'm just happy to make you two happy." you say.

sevika blinks at you, studying you. then, the exhaustion in her body language evaporates, a cool, calm demeanor taking over as she looks you up and down.

"well..." she says, turning around to put slayer down in her apartment. "at least let me take you to dinner as a thank you." she says.

you blink at the woman, a smile creeping up your lips.

"depends." you say. she raises an eyebrow at you and you shrug. "is it a 'thank you' dinner or is it a date?" you ask.

sevika stiffens, then smiles.

"whatever you'd prefer." she says.

you laugh, then pull your phone out of your back pocket, opening a new contact and handing it to sevika.

"give me your number." you say. "i'll text you, for our date." you say.

sevika grins, and snatches your phone out of your hands.

taglist!

@lesbeaniegreenie @fyeahnix @sapphicsgirl @half-of-a-gay @ellabslut @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner @shimtarofstupidity @love-sugarr @chuucanchuucan @222danielaa @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther @gr0ssz0mbi3 @ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @leomatsuzaki

[sinfully-yoursss]

how do I tell you?

a/n - based on the songs how do I tell you? and what are we? by lizzy mcalpine. it's angsty-ish? idk

It was a love that burned bright and fast. Everything felt right. At least for her it did. When he had answered the door, she could see this look in his eyes that told her it was the end. She knew that the traveling was hard on their new relationship. She just wished there was something she could do to prove to him that this was worth it. Prove to him that she was worth the heartache and pain that came with moving on too fast. 

“Given the circumstances, I guess I can’t ask you to stay?” Tears pooled in her eyes as she stared at who she was certain was the love of her life.

She solemnly looked over to Lando who was sat on the other end of the couch, his gaze only on the floor. 

“I would get it if you decided to walk away.” As she looked down, the tears began to fall. “All my life, I’ve been looking for this. It just seems fitting that as soon as things fall into place, it all goes to hell.” 

She wasn’t trying to hurt him, just make him understand. 

“I don’t think we’re wasting time, but if you do, I’m sorry.” She stood from the couch, kneeling down in front of Lando. “I can see a life with you, but if you can’t, I’m sorry. If four months mean nothing, and if none of it counts for something then I’m sorry. If spending every night in your bed has no meaning, then what are we? It’s all just a sorry excuse for love.”

She stood from him, making her way to the door. As she neared, she spared one last look at the man destroying her world.

“Lately, the world has felt like it’s ending, so I don’t ask for too much. I’ve found that I’m pretending to be okay with too much. All my life, I’ve been looking for this. It’s really funny that things go to hell, now that I’ve found it.”

Lando looked up at her, tears streaming down his face. 

“I don’t think we’re wasting time, but if you do, I’m sorry. I can see a life with you, but if you can’t, I’m sorry. If four months mean nothing, and if none of it counts for something then I’m sorry. If spending every night in your bed has no meaning, then what are we? It’s all just a sorry excuse for love.”

Just as she put her hand on the door knob, Lando finally spoke.

“I’m a little scared of being someone that you’re scared to love.” She turned suddenly, surprised at the words. “But, you don’t talk the way she did and you don’t say the things she said. I’m not who I was back then. I’ve been scared to speak ‘cause I can’t find the words to say. You don’t play the games she did, and you don’t make me feel like shit. My mom even likes you more than her, but still.”

She moved away from the door, walking back towards the couch. 

“How do I tell you that I've come to like the pain? How do I tell you that I don't know what it means to be happy with somebody. I don't know anything about that. How do I tell you that I got it from her?”

Lando stood, walking towards her. “I'm a little prone to feel a little overwhelmed with it all, because you are someone I want to know, and I hope that you don't let me fall. You make sure I get home safe, and you always know what to say, and I feel like I've found my place, but still.”

“You know I never want this to end. You are my person, my safe place.”

Lando leaned forward, kissing her with everything he had. Once he broke the kiss, he leaned his forehead against hers.

“I don’t think we’re wasting time because I can see a life with you. These last four months have meant everything to me. Waking up to you every morning is something I could do for the rest of my life. You count for everything because you are my everything. None of this has been a sorry excuse because I love you.” 

They stood in a gentle quietness for what felt like hours, holding each other, too afraid to let the other go. Every so often, one would place a kiss on the other showing a sign of love and understanding. 

Not wanting to break the silence, she whispered. “I’m sorry she left you feeling so broken.”

“I’m sorry you felt like the world was ending. I can’t promise it will be soon, but you are it for me. You are the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. The person I want to heal with.”

“I’d like that.” She tearfully smiled at him, knowing they would be okay.

[grigori77]

Critical Role, Campaign 3 Episode 109

Matt: "I-I am ... scared." Yup. Great start, guys.

Where we going with this, Sam? Oh! It's these guys again. Go off Liam and Tal! I love these skits. Even if Taliesin is practically just playing himself ... XD ... wow, Liam ... that's some GENUINELY crazy overacting you're doing there, mate ... a new companion? Wait ... yeah, that's right, Ashley and Laura ain't here ... oh yeah, that's the stuff. Perfect ... and GODS DAMN Ash, I like that look on you A LOT ... AND THAT LAUGH ... LOL ...

Yeah ... wow ... O.O

Matron dice with LITTLE GOLD THREADS in them? SWEET!!! O.O I want some ...

Zathuda's stretched fleshy face ... thanks for THAT reminder, Matthew ...

Okay, then ... morning ... have they been eaten by the dragon in the night? No ... he's just comfy, like a happy kitty ... awwwwwww ... :3

He's waking up ... okay ... is this gonna be interesting? Ooof ... well that's ... nice ... all right then, moment of truth? Awww ... oh, he likes her ... yeah, that's the stuff ... okay, then ... oh, a little keepsake? That's so cute ... :3 Does it have family? DOES it? Hmmmmm ... no, do not do the fake scaring it off thing ... that never ends well ...

"Go, spread your legs!" XD ... yeah, I had a feeling that was gonna come back tohaunt us, but not THAT soon ...

And he's OFF ... okay, then ...

Ashton (to Fearne): "Fuck, you're weird." (affectionate)

Nans Morri, creepy shit like always ...

Wow ... they really DID do the nasty ... Braius, you salty dawg ... and apparently they were VERY LOUD ... yeah, you've all got VERY DIRTY MINDS and you should all be ashemed ... XD

A tally of favours? Oh, why does that make me all kinds of nervous? O.O

Wait, Travis forgot to roll for Chetney's overnight survival? Is he about to die on the spot?

Oh yeah, the time dilation ...

Was that a Galaxy Quest Thermian joke, Marisha?

"A fickle bitch"? Wow, so Nana really ISN'T a fan of the Matron ... this should be interesting ...

Laudna likes rattails? Hmmm ... oh, Laudna REALLY likes rattails ... lovely ...

Birdy! Awww ... time for goodbye, then ... and Olly too ... really hope this isn't a BIG googbye ...

Yay! Hugs! Always good ...

The Sorrowlord's sword? Okay ... is this Orym's speed or maybe another Craven Edge style situation like the last one?

"Beer bongage"? Hmmmmm?

Oh, give it to Fearne? Yeah, that might work better ... or at least hold onto it in case somebody else might make use of it in the coming madness ...

Duskhunger ... wow ... and it LIGHTS UP WITH BLACK FLAMES?!!! Awesome ... O.O ... it's considered a "LEGENDARY FAE WEAPON"?!!! Oh yeah, no DEFINITELY hold onto THAT then, Fearne ...

Could Ashton wield it? Well THAT'S an interesting possibility ... well, we'll see ...

Ottohan's sword? Oh gods ... here we go, then ... definitely put THAT horrible shit on the "soul suck list" ...

I'm sorry .... HOW MANY times have you lost your wee halfling member, Orym? O.O

Chanting begins ... "EAT THE HARP!!! EAT THE HARP!!!" Dorian: "I yield to peer pressure IMMEDIATELY!!!"

So here we go, then ... Dorian is now going to ABSORB THE HARP ... this should be interesting ... goodbye Harp of Valour, then ... and this is a FIRST TIME interacting with the Harness for Dorian ... oh boy ... this is gonna be QUITE the crash course for the boy ...

A PERMANENT ADVANTAGE on Performance checks? Oh that is SWEET!!! The rest of it's very impressive too, but THAT is properly AWESOME for the Bard ...

Nana: "When all is said and done, I'd love to take a look at that." Braius: "At the Harness or Dorian?" Nana: "YESSSSS!!!"

Holy shit ... that is some FREAKY fucking power the Fatestitcher's got ... jump through, guys! Do it quick! Oh ... yeah, okay, wait for it to actually CLARIFY first, then ...

And Braius is up for maybe doing THAT again ... yeah ... O.O

Through the portal, then ... back to Vasselheim!

So ... things are TENSE in the city right now ... hmmmm ...

Off to the Duskmeadow, then ... okay ...

Marisha's overwhelmingly comprehensive notes ... I mean that could take A WHILE to find THAT particular piece of information ... Travis: "Your handwriting is UNREASONABLY legible." Marisha: "Really?" Travis: "Yeah. I can read it." Taliesin: "It's like a FONT."

Oooooh ... THIS lady looks pretty awesome ...

Well THIS is a seriously GOTHIC monolith of a temple, definitely ... sounds like JUST THE PLACE for their requirments ... The Raven's Crest ... cool ...

Dorian: "Seems a little on the nose ..."

Oh ... so they're already expected? That's ... maybe a little disconcerting ... O.O

What, so NOW you guys are trying to work out your plan? Isn't it a little LATE for that, now?

Wow ... you guys really don't know WHAT you're doing right now and IT REALLY SHOWS ...

Now THIS is more like it ... yeah, this is REALLY PRETTY ... I could get used to a place like THIS ...

Going UP then? Yeah, I agree with Imogen, that's a surprise.

Pate HAD TO make the place echo "DICK!!!" didn't he?

Laudna's nervous about how she looks ... that's actually ADORABLE ... XD

Marisha: "Saviour of the realm, can't knock on the door!" LOL

Yeah ... that is a BIG KNOCKER ...

A kaleidoscope? Oh, that is BEAUTIFUL ... O.O

Three figures? Oh, is it those old women again? Yup ... looks like it is ... and they REALLY ARE expected ...

Monocle of True Essence? Hmmmmm ... yeah, this place is SERIOUSLY powered up ... Arcana check? Hmmmm ... Dirty 20? Nice ... so this is all basically INTRINSICALLY integrated into the structure itself ...

Another big pool of blood? Whoa ... like back when Vex did his whole thing back in Campaign 1 ... that's ... great ... O.O

Laudna STRIPS OFF on the spot and just skips right over ... yeah, I mean what else did we expect?

Oh boy, this is gonna be interesting ... oh, it's COLD? Great ... So who's going in, then? Aside from Laudna?

Yeah, of course Imogen follows her ... Dorian casts Unending Breathe? Smart ... but maybe not really necessary ... Chetney's going in ... Hunter's Bane? Interesting ... this blood is CELESTIAL? Crazy shit ... and now he's BREATHING OUT as he goes down. As is Ashton ...

Okay, so looks like EVERYBODY'S going in, then ... although Orym is SERIOUSLY debating it ... awwww ... Braius is being supportive right now ... that's quite sweet ...

Orym CUTS HIS HAND and adds the blood to the pool? Blimey ... so they're going in too, then ...

Fearne's the last holdout? Hmmmm ... oh my gods she TASTES IT ... O.O ... Matt: "It's very bloody." NO SHIT!!!

So everybody's in, then ... now what?

Does this mean EVERYBODY has to drown in order to transition through this? To DIE a little? Wow ...

And then there's Dorian ... who doesn't NEED to breathe right now ... NOW what does he do? He lets go and breaks the spell ... oh fuck ... O.O

And now everybody's just DROWNING in this shit ... and NOW it warms up? Comforting? Familiar? Oh, that's unsettling ... and now finally they've touched down somewhere ... somewhere OUT of the blood now ... okay, then ...

A "spiderweb of gold"? Oh, yeah, we know what THAT is ...

It's feathers? Of course it is ...

Yup, here she is. The Matron of Ravens.

Time for a break? Yup ... that's about right ...

WHY are they here? Is this a test? Is she suspicious? What's up? Meanwhile Laudna seems unusually ... starstruck ...

Crap ... did she just drop the Arch Heart in the shit? O.O ... oh dear ... yeah, Laudna's just digging a hole for herself right now ... I have NO IDEA where this is gonna go, but I don't think ANY way is GOOD ...

The "natural arrogance of mortal life"? Hmmmm ... okay, so ... it sounds like she's NOT ACTUALLY INTERESTED in helping them ... is she panning on just LETTING THIS HAPPEN?

Hey now ... chill out, Ash ... and Fearne, too! Come on guys, don't antagonise the SUPREMELY SCARY GODDESS OF DEATH!!! O.O

Ashton: "Don't think I don't know how small I am." The Matron: "Very." Ashton: "You're not the first to remind me."

Invoking Liliana? Hmmmm ... now Opal? Oh man ... and she looks SO BAD ... O.O ... and this is THE FIRST TIME Fearne or Orym have seen her like this ... ouch ...

Vespin Chloras? Oof ...

Prove themselves worthy? HOW?!!! How could ANYONE truly prove something like that?

Imogen gives it a go anyway ... bigging everybody up ... once again, she proves that if ANYBODY could really be considered their leader it's HER ... more so because I really don't think she wants it AT ALL ...

The Matron: "And what of you?" Imogen: "Me? I have a storm inside of me, and I can't wait to let it out."

The vision of Opal ATTACKS Fearne as she approaches it? Fuck ... and it HURTS ... O.O

ROLL INITIATIVE?!!! WHAT?!!!

Matt LEAVES THE TABLE ... oh, a Battlemap ... great ... and it is FUCKING WEIRD and all kinds of abstract ... that is a TRIPPY setup ...

Braius is up first, then ... and he goes for Liliana ... taking a swing with Poison Pen ... yeah, she just floats away and his misses ... oh, that one hits, though ... with Divine Smite at Level 2? Oof ... and SHINING Smite? Wow ... that's new ... sounds like this is gonna be A LOT of dice ... IT IS!!! 39 points of damage, and attack rolls against her have advantage for an entire minute? Cool ...

Dorian is OFFENDED so he just goes straight for Opal ... attacks with his father's sword ... only 8 points of damage, but 11 on a second, then arms his Lute, with the little blade ... and POKES her ... another 5 points? Okay, then ... and she doesn't respond AT ALL ... that's unsettling ...

Laudna Banes ALL THREE OF THEM ... O.O ... wow ... then she heads toward the Thread of Fate ... interesting ...

Liliana floats up, giving Braius an attack of opportunity, only for her to Shield and foil him ... then she dumps a ton of purple lightning on EVERYBODY!!! Ouch ... and now they're all IN THE AIR!!! Not good ... O.O ... so only Orym and Chetney are still on the ground ... crap!

Opal's going for Chetney, then ... Hexblade's Curse? And she CRITS it ... 12 and then 16 points of Piercing damage ... ow!

Chetney WOLFS OUT and starts swiping at her with his claws ... two just miss, and the third is just DEFLECTED by her magical armour ... WOW!!! She just OWNED his arse there ...

Orym Hexes Opal before trying to disarm her ... oh nice, he is ON IT right now ... one knife gone, plus 22 points of damage ... second one gone too ... Goading attack now ... 22 points ... and NOW SHE'S A HORRIFIC SPIDER CREATURE ... gods, that's just LOVELY ...

Fearne bamfs Mister out, then casts Aura of Life on herself ...

Vespin Chloras casts Time Stop? HOLY FUCK!!! That's not good AT ALL!!! I saw what that shit did in Honour Among Thieves! And now there's THREE OF HIM?!!! Great ... Con saves across the board, then ... that's a FUCKTON of Necrotic damage, thank fuck for Fearne's quick thinking ...

Ashton Rages just to see what happens ... yeah, he's too high up for much of any effect ... but he COULD hit Liliana ... he holds his actin to coordinate with Imogen ...

... who casts Fly on herself, then turns herself INTO LIGHTNING before floating down towards her mother ... before blasting Vespin? Hmmmm ... interesting choice ... he fails his save, so that's 4 D8 of Lightning damange! 23 points! POW!!!

Meanwhile Ashton chucks his hammer through a portal to materialise just in front of Liliana ... AND IT HITS!!! She's still Shielded, though ... crap ... so it just passes through another portal and THIS TIME it hits her! Okay ... 22 points of damage! Which breaks her concentration and EVERYBODY DROPS!!!

Laudna casts Featherfall on everybody to prevent them from being PUMMELLED when they hit the ground ... phew! Meanwhile Dorian grabs hold of her as he drops, pulling her down but not all the way so now he's still 30 feet in the air ...

Braius charges Opal, pulls an Ensnaring Strike on her with his black balls ... plus a Divine Smite ... 21 points of damage, and now she is comprehensively RESTRAINED!!! He batters her again, with another Divine Smite, inflicting a further 45 points of damage! Holy shit!

Dorian give Imogen Bardic Inspiration, then casts Thunderwave on Liliana ... she's battered down towards the ground, while he flies as close to Imogen as he safely can in her present form ...

Laudna summons her Hound of Ill Omen and sends it towards Chloras ... then she chucks a blazing purple Fireball at his face ... BOOM!!! That's 36 points of damage! Ouch! Then she tells her dog to "Sic him!" and the phantom pooch starts to maul him for 13 more points of piercing damage!

Liliana Psychic Lances Dorian, and he fails his save ... but Imogen succeeds hers ... 36 pointsd of Psychic damage? OH MY GODS it's a miracle his head doesn't explode in mid air ... O.O ...

Opal rematerialises her blades? Are you kidding me? Now she tries to attack Chetney, but he's still entangling her, and she's slowed from the poison of Braius' barbs ... almost none of it hits until she finally CRITS at the last ... 8 points of piercing damage thanks to his wolf form soaking most of it up ... and now she seems to be snapping out of her trance? WHAT?!!!

Chetney Inflicts Wounds on her ... that's 19 points of Necrotic damage! Opal is SERIOUSLY MESSED UP right now ...

Orym flanks Opal and attacks, dealing another 14 points ... and that's it! HDYWTDT!!! Laura: "You punched the highlights out of her hair!" The corpse starts to sink before RED HANDS reach up to drag it down into the blood pool ... O.O ... that's just UNSETTLING ... then Orym Misty Steps up to Chloras and BARELY CATCHES HIMSELF before dropping into a TERRIFYING BOTTOMLESS DROP directly under him that nobody saw ... Goading Attack! 17 points of damage and he TANKS his wisdom save, which is SWEET!!! Next hit is another 12 points, and he is now looking REALLY FUCKED UP.

Fearne Flame Strikes Chloras at 4th Level, hitting him with 17 points ot Fire damage together with 16 points of Radiant, the latter of which is a good deal MORE effective ... then Mister chucks flaming shit at him, but misses ... nuts!

Chloras blasts a bolt of black Lightning at Chetney and Braius ... that's A LOT of dice ... O.O ... 51 points of Lightning damage, but thanks to Braius' proximity Chet only takes HALF ... then he flicks an ember at Laudna, inflicting 40 points of Radiant damage? OUCH!!!

Ashton goes to greytone as he continues to Rage and CHARGES Chloras ... barely catching himself to avoid dropping into the pit too ...

Imogen blasts her mother with a Lightning bolt ... only for her to make her save, meaning she only takes half of 22 damage ... meanwhile Imogen pulls some fancy flying to avoid getting into range of a response ... then she quickens a spell to blast a 7th Level bolt at Chloras ... oh boy ... he FAILS his save, so it's FULL FORCE ... that's A LOT of dice, Laura ... 43 points of Lightning damage, and he is now SERIOUSLY CRISPY ...

Braius rushes for Chloras, using Misty Step to get into melee, taking a swing with his balls ... Divine Smite means it's 34 points of damage on the first, the second is a duplicate, but that's DESTROYED ...

Dorian's just spinning vaguely in the air because his head is still FUCKED ... ow ... so he just drifts into one of the Threads of Fate ... and it SHOCKS HIM WITH MEMORY?!!! Intriguing ... oh my gods is that an Opal infodump? O.O Fascinating!

Laudna assumes her Form of Dread, this time mirroring the Matron as she looks up at her visage and addresses her directly ... casting Spirit of Death in the form of a mirror? Whoa ... what even IS THIS right now? Can this even DO ANYTHING?!!!

ALL THE THREADS shudder at once ... whoa ... O.O

That makes her drop her Bane, but she sends the Spirit to attack Chloras, slashing at him with a reapiing scythe ... ooooooooooh ... O.O ... 10 points of Necrotic damage! Finally the Hound mauls him again, but doesn't inflict any real damage ...

Liliana tries to reason with Imogen ... "Do you trust me?" Oh hell, Imogen ... DO NOT believe this is real ... Power Word Stun? SHIT!!! Yeah, now Imogen is OUT OF IT for the rest of the turn ...

Chetney slashes as Chloras, inflicting 20 points of slashing damage on him, and that's the HDYWTDT!!! Yeah, Chet just OPENS HIM, finishing him with a witty burn ...

Orym Hexes Liliana, runs up towards her and jumps up to try and close some range, using Seedling to whip at her with Windblade ... Goading attack! 25 points of damage! Second hit is fouled by a Shield, but he gets a Nat20 on the next, another Goading attack, with 34 points of damage this time. And THIS ONE finishes her? Wow ... that's it, then ... fight's done ...

Suddenly the Matron's there with them again ... okay ... maybe they've won her respect now?

Oh shit yeah, I'm right, that WAS a test ...

Holy shit, she really IS in league with the Arch Heart! O.O Does this make her a threat? An ally? WHAT DOES THIS MEAN?!!!

SHE'S TAKING HER MASK OFF?!!! O.O

The Matron: "Welcome to the conundrum."

Oh! Vax! Great Matt, just rip our hearts out why don't you ...

So ... does she REALLY just want to be put out of her own misery right now? Does she really just want to DIE?

There's a cetain sense in what she's saying but it still feels awful nihilistic ...

Okay ... it sounds like maybe she's seeking someone to take her place, to succeed her in the workso she can just obtain this "peace" she speaks of, which her predecessor achieved ...

Oh yeah, give us info, Matron ... spill on Predathos, anything you can tell us about that thing would be really helpful ...

Why am I starting to feel like she might be looking at Laudna as a possible heir? Maybe it's just me, but ... I mean, she WOULD be a perfect choice for this. The more she speaks about herself, the more it feels like they're somewhat alike ...

Ooooooooh ... yeah, a boon from the Matron, that would be helpful too ... wait ... is she offering up HER MASK?!!! O.O Wait, she's giving it to BRAIUS? That's interesting ...

"At the right time, someone will wear it and call ..." Hmmm ...

Good point! What DOES happen to Vax if she's destroyed? This is REALLY IMPORTANT to our sanity, Matthew!

Dorian: "When was the last time you were suprised?" Yeah, OF COURSE it's Vax again ...

Orym: "Do you ever miss your mortality?" The Matron: "Every moment." Oof ...

Destroying the Malleus Key would free Vax? Yeah, I figured something like that would do it ... a Luxon? There's a Luxon powering that thing? Of fucking course there is ...

Oh NOW she's addressing Laudna's ... unique condition? Interesting ... a SILVER thread? Oh, that's interesting ... the thread CONNECTS HER TO IMOGEN?!!! Shut up! And the rest of them too? Okay, then ...

Does this SERIOUSLY mean that Laudna could COME BACK TO LIFE if they actually succeed in this? The Matron: "Anything's possible." AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH!!! I swear, the internet is gonna EXPLODE after THIS ONE ...

And that's it, then ... just like that she's giving them the boot ... back through that unpleasantness ... and they're back in the temple again ...

Yeah, they're all just a load of gory messes right now ...

And THAT'S IT ... yeah, about right.

I swear, I used O.O A HELL OF A LOT this session ... that was VERY MUCH how I was feeling the whole time, I swear to the gods ... that was an EXHAUSTING episode ...

[artiststarme]

What If Steve Were To Leave Hawkins? Part 14

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Just a few more parts! Thank you to everyone for reading and sticking around. This is a soft part so I hope you guys enjoy it! Next, Steve and Eddie are going to be back in Hawkins.

~*~*~*~

Steve wakes up to Eddie’s arms clinging to his waist and his hair in his mouth. He takes a moment to appreciate the view. Eddie’s lying with the blanket pooling below his shirtless chest, hair askew, and mouth open, releasing soundless snores. The scars from the demobats are noticeable and prominent on his pale skin. But, scars and all, Eddie looked beautiful in the morning light sifting through the windows. 

Steve could stay in bed for the rest of life with this as his view. And he was the most comfortable he had ever felt. The sheets were cool against the warmth of the bed and with Eddie’s arms encircling him, Steve felt a warmth he had never before experienced. 

He must have spent an hour just laying in bed with Eddie, watching him sleep. He cataloged the way his eyelashes rested against his cheeks, the way his scars accentuated his wiry frame, and the way the blackness of his tattoos contrasted the paleness of his skin. But alas, his bladder protested and Steve moved to escape Eddie’s embrace. He made his way to the adjoining bathroom to relieve himself and brush his teeth. When he entered the room once more, Eddie was awake and pouting. 

“Where’d you go? I want cuddles,” he pouted and made grabby hands pathetically towards Steve. 

Steve chuckled as he returned to his position underneath the covers. Eddie immediately wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist like an octopus and drew him in closer. He hummed in contentment and nuzzled his nose against Steve’s shoulder, placing a gentle kiss upon the bare skin.

Steve kissed the top of his head in response. “Good morning, babe. What do you want to do today? I’m free until my shift starts at three.” 

He watched Eddie think for a minute. “Let’s just stay in. I just want to enjoy being with you.”

“Are you sure? Laying here with me isn’t going to be fun for you. We could go to the riverwalk or something we haven’t done yet,” Steve offered. 

“Stevie, baby. Look, you have been going out of your way to make sure I had fun since I got here. We don’t have to keep doing extravagant activities, I’m happy as long as I’m with you. So today, let’s just lay in bed talking and making out until your shift. Deal?” He asked imploringly, his brown eyes twinkling with honest affection.

Steve nodded and smiled a soft grin, “that sounds perfect, Eds.”

Eddie let a smile cover his own face, “good. So, you really want me to move in with you?”

Steve scoffed at the ridiculousness of the question, “of course I do. You think I wouldn’t want to wake up to my sexy boyfriend holding onto me every morning? You already agreed to move in, you can’t back out now.”

As usual, Eddie attempted to hide his blush by pulling his hair in front of his face and deflecting with humor. “Careful Stevie, you’re sounding a little gay there.”

He rolled his eyes, “Whatever man, bite me.”

In his defense, he often told the kids to bite him whenever they disagreed with something he said. He didn’t expect for Eddie to actually bite him like some sort of rabid squirrel. 

“Holy fucking shit, Eddie! What the hell was that?” He shrieked while rubbing his right pec where the bite mark was indented in his skin.

“It’s not my fault you look so damn biteable! How could I not?” Eddie defended himself. He bumped Steve’s hand out of the way and dropped a small kiss on the reddened skin. Then he moved on in the conversation, seemingly considering this issue resolved. “I think I’m going to go back to the record store today and fill out an application. The guy said they were looking for somebody.”

“That’s a great idea! You know a lot about music. Are you going to join his band too?” Steve asked. 

Eddie shrugged, “I don’t know. I’d have to meet with them to see if we mesh. I’d like to play again though, even if it’s not with Corroded Coffin.”

After the Spring Break from hell and the beatdown that the other band members received on Eddie’s behalf, they had unanimously decided to go their separate ways. Eddie felt guilty and the others wanted to appease their parents by putting some distance between themselves and the ‘Satan worshiper’ that caused the problem in the first place. 

“Hey, I’m sure it’ll go great. He seemed really impressed that you could play that song by the metal guys, right? You’ve already got a shoe in!” Steve reassured him, punctuating his words with a firm pat on the shoulder. 

“Master of Puppets by Metallica but yeah, you’re right. And they don’t know me as the guy who might’ve gone on a killing spree fueled by Satan so that’ll probably score me some points,” Eddie said sardonically, obviously still bothered by the abandonment of his past bandmates and ex-friends. 

“Exactly! They’re going to love you. You’re passionate and smart. And you play guitar really well! What’s not to love?” Steve told him, looking into his big eyes earnestly. 

Steve knew he said the right thing when Eddie engaged him in a deep kiss. Good thing they didn’t have to be anywhere any time soon. 

~*~*~*~

“Hey El, a few days ago when you compared Steve looking at Eddie to Hopper looking at Joyce, what did you mean?” Max asked her while the Party lounged around the Byers’ TV with The Goonies playing in the background. 

El thought for a moment, “Steve looks at Eddie like he loves him. Like there is nothing else he would rather be looking at. Just like how my dad looks at Joyce.”

Mike did not appreciate what she was implying, “you’re saying that they’re in love? Like they’re dating? There’s no way, El. They’re both dudes so they can’t love each other. You must be wrong.”

Max, always ready to argue with Mike, whipped her head around towards him. “They absolutely can! Why can’t two guys love each other? Love is love, Mike. Get with the times.”

Mike sputtered, “Loving another guy is wrong! There is no way that they’re gay. We would know.”

Max noticed how Will flinched and saw El move to hold his hand. “Loving someone is never wrong, dumbass. And we won’t know for sure until they tell us. Which they won’t if they know you’re a homophobic dickhead.”

Mike shrunk, ashamed that his opinion had upset the others. “I’m sorry. It’s just… Why Steve? Even if Eddie is gay, why does he have to like my sister’s ex?”

Dustin looked confused at the direction the conversation was taking but came to Steve’s defense regardless. “Hey! Steve is a catch, he’s dated half the girls in Hawkins. Okay, why wouldn’t Eddie date him?”

“Hey, I don’t care who they date as long as they’re happy,” Lucas added, ever the pacifist. 

“Look, I’m not surprised Eddie is interested in Steve. Have you seen him shirtless?” Max pointed out. “I have and it was a glorious experience.”

Will nodded in agreement before realizing his mistake and blushing. Thankfully, the other kids ignored him and continued their bickering. He was happy that the older boys had each other to love and support. He could only hope that one day, he could find someone to do the same for him.

Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20: Epilogue

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[feverishly-kpop]

Yeosang & Ateez - Under the Weather

Yeosang was miserable. Beyond miserable. And he was alone.

Logically he understood that coming down with something the day that they were set to begin filming their new variety show meant that he’d have to stay behind while the others went to work. But, given the state of fog his brain was in, Yeosang couldn’t help but feel a little bitter about being left by himself.

Yeosang had been in and out of consciousness all day after waking up that morning feeling like he had been hit by a bus. He vaguely remembered hearing Yunho on the phone with Seonghwa but he hadn’t been able to make out exactly what they were talking about. He picked up a few words here and there, like “exhausted,” “nauseous,” and “overworked.”

“Stop talking about me” Yeosang muttered under his breath to nobody but himself before pulling the edges of his blankets in closer, trying to will himself to stay awake until Yunho was off the phone. He wasn’t entirely successful.

After a few minutes Yeosang was roused by Yunho knocking on his door.

“I have to go,” Yunho said sadly, looking down at his feet. “Seonghwa-hyung wants you to stay in bed and he said he’ll come over and check on you once we are done with filming.”

Yeosang didn’t respond, only turning his back toward Yunho. Yunho sighed, feeling guilty about having to leave Yeosang alone in his condition.

“I’m sorry somebody can’t stay with you” Yunho added. “Is there anything I can get you before I leave?” Yeosang shook his head but, once again, said nothing.

*~*~*~*~*~

After a few hours of restless sleep Yeosang woke to the sound of keys rattling and the apartment door opening. Assuming that filming was finished and Yunho was home Yeosang closed his eyes again, hoping to get a few more minutes of sleep before Seonghwa stopped by to check up on him. He was surprised, however, when he heard his bedroom door open and the sound of soft footsteps approaching. Without a word he felt the side of his bed dip down behind him and a warm body getting comfortable under the covers with him.

Typically Yeosang wasn’t very fond of skinship or cuddling, but he had to admit that the extra warmth felt amazing. He had been bitterly cold all day, no matter how many blankets he piled on top of himself.

“What are you doing here, Wooyoung?” Yeosang asked, not even having to look over his shoulder to know who had joined him. “Is filming done?”

“No, they’re still filming. Probably for a few more hours. But I told Seonghwa-hyung that I was feeling sick and Hongjoong sent me home” Wooyoung responded in a matter of fact tone as he snuggled in closer to Yeosang.

“Shit, Woo, did I get you sick? Are you sick to your stomach? We can get you some medication…” Yeosang started before being interrupted.

“I’m not actually sick, Sang” Wooyoung interjected. “I just felt bad that you were here all alone. So I just…pretended. Maybe I should audition for a drama…”

Yeosang laughed for a second before his laugh turned into a cough.

“You’re shivering” Wooyoung said sadly after Yeosang’s cough had passed. He quickly disentangled himself from Yeosang and got out of bed before returning with another blanket.

“Did you just take that from Yunho’s bed?” Yeosang asked, already knowing the answer.

“It’s fine, he doesn’t need it right now” Wooyoung replied, draping the blanket over Yeosang and climbing back into bed, once again wrapping himself around Yeosang.

Yeosang instantly relaxed, the extra warmth and the presence of his friend providing enough comfort for him to fall asleep again.

“Hey Sangie” Wooyoung whispered Yeosang’s ear just before he was about to doze off. “If hyungs ask, I was really sick when I got back, okay? Burning up. Throwing up. All of it.”

Yeosang smiled and nodded. If he had to lie to have his friend there to take care of him when he was feeling sick, Yeosang had no problem with it.

[carelessflower]

angel for angel

The music blazed around them, people lost in the feel, in their heartbeats, in others. 

"So, spill it." Izzy took another sip of her cocktail. "What's made you suddenly change your mind, dear brother? And to this specific place." She eyed Alec and took in every changing detail on his face. It wasn't that Angel was a bad club, it was quite the opposite. The design took guests from one level of amazement to the other, classy yet sensual, the lights shone like galaxies.

She was very much surprised she hadn't heard of this club before, yet her what-a-party-can't-we-just-stay-home brother did. 

"I just feel like changing the air for a while." Alec tugged on his black shirt's sleeve, probably the tightest piece in his closet. He's made an effort in his appearance overall, the black leather pants that were buried deeper than their mom's wine collection were finally brought to use. Izzy would be impressed with her brother if she didn't catch how he constantly looked at some scene behind him.

"Are you gonna go talk to him or continue acting like a creep?" Of fucking course it was Magnus that got her brother possessed and illogical. Who else?

"I can't, Izzy. He didn't want to see me." Alec looked miserable. Izzy hated it. Hated all of this. She hated that it happened. She hated how she couldn't blame it entirely on Magnus for the breakup, or that he broke her brother's heart. 

Magnus was dancing with somebody, even from a distance, she could feel the energy radiating from him, that spark no one could resist. He was enjoying himself, at least. It had been half a year or so, there was more in life than one's broken heart, Izzy knew that from experience.

She sighed.

Alec needed a distraction, cornering him into a wall would only lead to him closing off again. At least, not today.

"Look at your face, Alec. Raziel, I thought they banned misery at the club. Tell you what, I'll call Jace here, we're gonna get shit-faced, wake up with a joint headache tomorrow and hear Mom complain for three hours. Deal?"

Alec smiled lightly. It wasn't big, but it was a hopeful start. "Deal."

—

Izzy came back to her brother missing. She was nearly at her breaking point.

"Jace, do you feel Alec is in danger?"

"No?" Jace scrunched his eyebrows. "He is warm...and fuzzy? Not quite drunk either, just really excited."

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. She turned it on and read the most recent notification.��I'm leaving. You and Jace have a fun night. Don't worry about me.

Well, that was most definitely the best way to make people stop worrying.

"Should we track him?" Jace was already ready with his stele.

"Let him be," Izzy said. Maybe Alec needed more time for himself. "We'll intervene if he gets caught in trouble."

The next morning came, and Alec still hadn't come back. Despite Jace's attempt at assuring her that Alec was absolutely better than fine and probably the happiest he had been in a while, Izzy felt the need to call him for confirmation.

One long pause. 

Two long pauses.

"Huh— hello? Izzy? Did something happen?"

"No, everything is fine." She paused for a moment. "Where are you Alec? You totally bailed on us last night."

"Oh shit, I'm so sorry. Something came up and hey—" Alec was ...laughing? What the fuck? "Magnus! Stop it! Control yourself, I'm talking—" On the other line, it sounded like the phone had fallen somewhere. Perhaps Magnus's bed. 

She needed some time to take all of this in first.

Alec picked up again, the joy was undeniable in his tone. "Ugh, so sorry for that. My company has no manners." Izzy could practically feel how they were looking at each other right now. 

She calmed herself down. "I don't care when you're coming back. I want a detailed report on whatever went down, or else Church might find new chew toys in your closet. Understood?"

"Fine."

"And tell Magnus I say hi."

"I will—" The line cut off.

"What happened?" Jace asked. "And why you're smiling?"

"Fate finds its way somehow." Izzy rolled her eyes but she knew how happy she was. Magnus left Angel with an angel in his arms. They were so ridiculous.

for @malectober day 1 prompt angel

[pesterloglog]

Jade Harley, Karkat Vantas, Dave Strider, Roxy Lalonde

Page 99-105

JADE: the prince’s power grows.

KARKAT: JESUS CHRIST!

JADE: i feel him resonate through the void.

KARKAT: FUCKING GREAT.

DAVE: dude can you chill for like even a single fucking second

DAVE: also are you ok

KARKAT: OH, PARDON THE FUCK OUT OF ME FOR OVERREACTING A LITTLE WHEN MY GOOD FRIEND "POSSESSED JADE" BUSTS INTO MY RESPITEBLOCK AT 5 AM!

KARKAT: NEXT TIME I’LL JUST PULL THE COVERS BACK AND LET HER CLIMB IN!

JADE: i am uninterested in that scenario.

KARKAT: GREAT! POSSESSED JADE ISN’T EVEN HORNY! HOW FUCKED UP IS THAT?

KARKAT: HOW DID YOU GET IN HERE?

DAVE: yeah i may be totally misunderstanding the intricacies of "next gen technology" designed by an idiot in microshorts

DAVE: but im pretty sure i locked that door

JADE: i unlocked it with my mind.

DAVE: fuck

KARKAT: FANTASTIC.

JADE: the prince’s powers are growing, but so are mine.

KARKAT: WOW? COOL? AND YOU HAD TO COME IN HERE AT THE ASSCRACK OF THE MORNING TO TELL US THIS?

KARKAT: LIKE YOU DON’T FLOAT AROUND LIKE A CREEPY PIECE OF SHIT ALL DAY AS IT IS?

JADE: ...

KARKAT: OH, IS THAT ALL? NOTHING ELSE TO SAY?

DAVE: karkat its fine

DAVE: who cares

KARKAT: YEAH. YOU’RE RIGHT.

KARKAT: IT’S NOT LIKE WE ACTUALLY HAVE ANYTHING TO WAKE UP FOR.

KARKAT: GO BACK TO BED.

DAVE: no dude im up fuck it

DAVE: i want coffee

KARKAT: FUCK! FINE! FUCK IT.

KARKAT: I NEED TO USE THE GAPER ANYWAY.

DAVE: oh me too

KARKAT: DON’T FOLLOW ME.

ROXY: oh what up

ROXY: its a whole ass pajama party up in here

ROXY: couldnt sleep??

KARKAT: JADE WOKE US UP BY BEING CREEPY.

ROXY: oh

ROXY: jade why did u do that

KARKAT: WHAT?

KARKAT: OH SHIT, THERE SHE IS! I DIDN’T EVEN HEAR HER FOLLOW US!

ROXY: sometimes a girls just got to get her drift on i guess

ROXY: it be like that

KARKAT: I PREFERRED WHEN ALL SHE DID WAS FLOAT AROUND AND POINT AT SHIT.

KARKAT: AT LEAST THAT WAS QUIET.

DAVE: yall want coffee

ROXY: sure

KARKAT: YEAH, THANKS.

DAVE: hate to give it up to venture capitalism but this coffee is EONS better than the garbage we had on the meteor

DAVE: this ship is maybe the dumbest thing ive ever looked at but its a give and take right

ROXY: maybe u just developed a taste for it

ROXY: i used to think coffee tasted like ass but drinkin it was another thing i felt like my mom woulda done

ROXY: turns out rose drinks tea and i stockholmed my own dumb butt into liking this addictive bean juice

ROXY: well i mean who knows what she drinks now

ROXY: dirk probs tossed the coffee machine out the space window right away

ROXY: dude doesnt "believe" in "substances"

KARKAT: WHY ARE YOU UP ANYWAY?

ROXY: well i wasnt but then somebody screamed like a rooster boned a teapot and had a noisy lovechild

DAVE: yeah thats basically accurate

KARKAT: FUCK YOU.

DAVE: maybe if youre lucky

KARKAT: THAT JOKE STOPS BEING FUNNY WHEN WE’VE ACTUALLY

KARKAT: UH

KARKAT: IS THERE MILK?

ROXY: lmao

ROXY: in the fridge

DAVE: wheres kanaya

ROXY: idk

ROXY: sleepin i hope

ROXY: last time i saw her she was on the second floor

ROXY: no

ROXY: the third floor observation deck

ROXY: this place is huge

KARKAT: PLEASE.

KARKAT: IT’S MAYBE A TENTH THE SIZE OF THE METEOR.

DAVE: yeah dude but that was basically a city

DAVE: this is more like a castle

DAVE: a castle of idk

DAVE: twenty something ennui

ROXY: anybody hungry

ROXY: i was thinkin about alchemizing some pancakes

ROXY: or maybe eggs

ROXY: they all basically taste the same at the end of the day i think alchemized food is like eighty percent imagination

ROXY: but both of you barely eat and its making me anxious

DAVE: damn thanks mom

DAVE: i mean

DAVE: shit

DAVE: dad

DAVE: roxy

DAVE: fuck sorry im tired

ROXY: haha its ok

ROXY: dont worry about it

DAVE: okay but just because our relatives turned evil doesnt mean we have to act like total animals

DAVE: we can still try to respect each others identities and shit

DAVE: anyway im gonna go check on kanaya

DAVE: possessed jade dont follow me

JADE: i am fine where i am.

DAVE: cool