#Nines: I think I'm broken or weird

[fuctacles]

one | two | three | four | five | six | seven | eight | nine | ten | eleven

extras: | 🐈 | 🐾 | 🐈 |

Eddie was lowkey disgusted by how his uncle would talk about one of his neighbors. No, he doesn't think it's bad for old people to fall in love or have crushes. But it's weird to know these things about his own uncle. 

And it's also sad to watch, because it's been months of Stephanie this, Stephanie that, and nothing came of it, so he felt safe to assume the infatuation was one-sided. So when he tells his uncle he can't go feed her cats that week, he figures it's for the best. And not only because of Wayne's twisted ankle. To his surprise though, he doesn't seem fazed; he just waves his hand and says:

"Yeah, yeah, I know. No climbing the stairs with this thing." He pokes the cast with his crutch. "I've already volunteered you anyway."

Eddie raises his eyebrows because he surely misheard that.

"You did what now?"

"Told Stephanie I'll send you to feed her cats," Wayne says, confirming his fears.

"Why?! She has so many other neighbors!" Eddie points out, gesturing vigorously around the room, implying but meaning the flats surrounding them. 

Wayne clicks his tongue at him.

"Would you let in just any of your neighbors into your home? She already trusts me, and I'm vouching for you."

Eddie gapes at him, hating that he's making a valid point. Damned be his old man and his reasonable thinking. He crosses his arms because while it makes sense, it doesn't mean Eddie can't be angry about it. 

"When?"

"She's visiting her friend this weekend so she asked for Saturday evening and Sunday morning. And stay with them for a while if possible, so they don't go crazy. Ah, and the plant in the kitchen needs watering."

"Great," Eddie grits through his teeth. He's so delighted at the prospect of spending time with some old lady's cats. The whole place probably stinks of cat piss and he'll definitely kill the plant as soon as he touches it. (It was his only superpower, which is not what he aimed for when his five-year-old had been praying, thanks for nothing, Jesus.) He just hopes he won't have to meet her. Hearing some old hag complain about his clothes, hair, and general adolescence was the last thing he wanted on his weekend off. But, alas...

"She asked you to come over tomorrow so she can show you where everything is."

Eddie groans. 

It's a Friday afternoon, he's at his uncle's taking a break from college and work. He should be sharing a beer with the old man, complaining about the coursework, the professors, and other students, not picking him up from the hospital, and running errands while his foot is in a cast. And certainly not meeting up with old stinky spinsters. 

To add insult to injury, Miss Stephanie, (which, by the way, is such a typical old hag name) lives two floors higher and the elevator is perpetually broken. Not too high, but high enough for Eddie's anemic lungs to start collapsing. 

He stops around the corner to steady his breath, because regardless of his overall attitude, he didn't want to worsen the first impression. He already refused to 'dress like a decent man' and didn't want to wheeze into the lady's face on top of it. 

Once his lungs are functioning properly again, he walks into the hallway, looking for number 54 as Wayne instructed. He knocks on the door, hoping he didn't mess it up and is at the right place. What if it was 45?

It must have been because he was told Stephanie Harrington lives alone. 

"Uh, sorry, I must have—"

"Are you Eddie?" The woman who opened the door takes him in. At her feet, a tabby cat peers curiously at the new human.

"Uh, yeah? I'm looking for Miss Stephanie?" he offers awkwardly. Maybe that's the friend? Or a sister?

But the woman extends her hand and smiles brightly.

"That would be me, but please call me Steph. I wish I could drill that into Wayne's thick skull." She rolls her eyes fondly.

Her big, gorgeous eyes, framed by thick lashes. She's not an old hag, she could be in her forties at best. She's tall and curvy and her hair looks straight out of a shampoo commercial. She's gorgeous. Eddie shakes her hand in a daze.

"Hi," he croaks as he's ushered inside. 

"Come in, come in! I've heard so much about you, it's great to finally see you in person. I must say," she turns around and gives him a quick once-over. "Wayne's stories didn't do you justice."

Did she just check him out?

Eddie clears his throat, suddenly dry like his elbows during winter.

"Uh, same to you."

"Yeah?" She puts her hands on her hips, raising an eyebrow. "What does he say about me?"

"Good things only," Eddie assures her. 

"So you're saying I'm a bitch." She squints at him.

"No!" His eyes widen. "What?!" 

"Well, if he's saying only good things about me, and you say they don't describe me right..." 

Eddie gets the point she's making and quickly shakes his head.

"No, he just made you sound like a crazy old cat lady, and you're..." He waves his hand uselessly. "Not that."

She sighs softly, shoulders sagging a little. It would be easy to miss but Eddie's senses are heightened after his fuck up.

"I kinda am, though," she says with a shrug. 

Eddie feels the need to reassure her somehow.

"Well, you're not eighty and your place doesn't smell like cat litter, I think you're fine."

She barks a laugh, it's low and surprised and Eddie's cheeks are red because he's just digging further into the hole he's in, isn't he?

"Good to know the bar is so low."

Eddie groans, tired of doing damage control that's not controlling anything.

"I'm gonna shut up now."

"Please don't." Steph smiles wide and teasingly. "You're a funny one. Just like your uncle told me."

Eddie scoffs. He's going to have a word or two with the old man once he's back.

"Great, this is exactly the impression I was hoping to make."

At his words, the woman eyes him up and down again, and he can feel his cheeks heating up.

"Yeah? Not as the local punk satanist?" she teases, making Eddie bristle.

"Metalhead," he corrects instinctively and immediately winces.

"Ah, my bad. I'm not good at the subcultures thing." She smiles apologetically but it doesn't read well with how clearly amused she is. "Anyway, here's the plant I want you to water tomorrow evening. Just like, half a glass."

Right. Plants. Cats. He came here on a mission.

"Come on, I'll show you my cats."

There's only three of them and they come rushing from all corners of the flat at the rustle of a catnip bag. Eddie never saw high cats so he's glad to have this opportunity now. Stephanie points to the tabby he saw earlier.

"This is Dart, she's not actually mine, but my friend couldn't keep her at the dorms. This is Garfield," she points to the orange cat, making Eddie huff a laugh. She grins. "Yeah, don't tell anyone, but he's my favorite," she whispers, to which Eddie mimics zipping his mouth shut. 

Lastly, she points to the black cat rolling on the carpet. 

"And this is Arwen."

Eddie frowns.

"Like, The Lord of the Rings Arwen?"

"Yeah," Steph sighs. "Dustin named her. He's the friend I've mentioned. Dart is short for D'Artagnan and I've fought teeth and nail for Garfield not to be called Pippin."

"Pippin is a great name, though," Eddie points out.

"Maybe," she huffs, crossing her arms. "But I wanted one for myself, okay? Not everything has to be about Dustin."

"Is Dustin like, your brother or something?" 

"Kinda?" She frowns. "We're not actually related but I babysat him, and then we became friends. He just stuck around, somehow." The words sound angry but her face betrays the fondness she has for her friends. 

"That's nice," he offers. "I'm an only child, never met any cousins, and only ever had friends my age."

"Well, good for you. Maybe if I had friends my age I wouldn't be living alone with a bunch of cats."

Eddie frowns. 

"Hey, now..."

She cuts him off with a dismissive wave of her hand. 

"I'll show you where the food is." 

Eddie's in a daze when he comes back downstairs, only realizing his visit ended when he's standing in his uncle's living room. He's been gone for only half an hour but it feels longer. 

"How did it go?" his uncle asks, pulling him out of his reverie. 

Edie turns to him and blinks, fighting the cotton around his brain.

"Fine?" he offers. "She's not as old as I expected," he admits bluntly. His uncle snorts.

"What, just because she lives alone with her cats you assumed she's on her deathbed?"

Eddie winces. It's exactly what he did.

"Well, the people in her life weren't kind to her, so now she relies on her pets. Nothing wrong with that." Wayne shrugs. 

"What do you mean?" Eddie frowns, curious. Concerned. He goes to the kitchen, not wanting to seem too eager to get an answer, and grabs a beer for himself and his uncle. He opens the junk drawer to find an opener and hears his uncle answer from the adjacent living room space. 

"She doesn't say much about it and I never asked, but she's always alone on the holidays. Her friends visit a few days before or after."

Eddie walks back in and hands his uncle the opened bottle. 

"Thanks, son."

He nods and settles heavily in an armchair. Focusing his gaze on the label peeling off of his beer, he hums thoughtfully.

"No family?"

"Seems so." Wayne nods solemnly. "I think it was a conflict of lifestyle choices, but I'll be honest, I'm basing it off of rumors and my own assumptions." He scratches his cheek, frowning at the wall. "It's not my place to pry, though I offered to hear her out if she ever felt like needing an ear." He sighs. "I'm just trying to be a good neighbor. Invited her for dinner over Thanksgiving, when you couldn't come. I was surprised she's into basketball," he muses. 

Eddie was seeking answers and now was even more confused.

"You invited Miss Stephanie. For a dinner?" He raised his eyebrows. 

"Yes. She was alone, I was alone, figured I could at least ask. I'm still surprised she agreed. She declined all my other offers."

"Wow." A teasing smile creeps on his lips against his will. "You've been inviting a lot of women since I moved out?"

"Listen," Wayne takes on his stern voice and it takes all of Eddie's willpower not to cackle. He can see his uncle's mustache twitch. "Stephanie is a lovely lady, but she's way too young for an old man like me. And this old man is too old for romance anyway. Besides—" he cuts himself off like he realized he was saying too much. Which, of course, piques Eddie's curiosity. 

"Besides?"

Wayne shrugs.

"I don't think I'd ever be ready for someone like her."

Eddie makes a confused face. 

"The fuck does that mean?" he asks, irritated. 

"Rumors and speculations, son."

[reiderwriter]

She's a Silver Lining

Chapter Nine of I Can't Help Myself

Summary: Spencer comes to terms with your abduction.

Warnings: ANGST, Suicidal ideation, kidnapping, mentions of fetal abduction and murder of pregnant women, descriptions of abuse, descriptions of prenatal care, typical case details. Spencer is depressed.

A/N: I'm sorry this chapter is a day late, I literally saw God this weekend (I saw Taemin perform live), and really, all that's been on my mind is how God is Good (Taemin is hot), and so I haven't been able to write anything as depressing as this chapter. I hope you enjoy (?) it anyway~♡

Masterlist || tags are currently broken, I'm sorry ♡

Eight days. It had been eight days since Spencer had last seen you. Eight days since he'd screwed up his one job so massively that he'd lost you. 

He'd lost people before. He'd lost people on cases. Victims, unsubs, bystanders, and family members who didn't stand a chance at recovering from their own loss. He'd lost Maeve, which was a little too similar to his current circumstances to think about too hard. He'd been losing his mother since he was born, and he'd really lost her again a few months ago. He'd lost Gideon. He'd lost Elle, too, before that. He'd lost Emily, and though she'd come back too, it wasn't the same. He'd lost Morgan, and then Hotch. He'd lost Alex Blake.

He'd lost nearly everyone in his life. Some of them had come back, most of them hadn't. 

He'd thought himself immune to the pain of losing someone at last. 

He'd certainly lost enough of himself in prison. 

It may have only been 84 days, but whatever was left in him of hope before was gone. He'd emerged completely empty. 

He supposed that's why he'd accepted the role at the university. There was nothing left for him to give to the BAU, but he couldn't be the one to leave. 

As it was, he'd already been unsettled enough by leaving you behind when he'd finished up his time there. 

It felt weird to him, saying goodbye. Not that he'd actually said goodbye. He'd kissed your forehead as he slipped out of your bed, sure, but you'd been neither conscious, nor fond of him in anyway. It was a parting gesture just for him  and he hadn't been quite sure why he'd done it. 

It was just a gesture and one he'd repeated multiple times after getting you back. You didn't know, of course. How could you? 

He'd either woken up before you and kissed your forehead, or climbed into bed beside you late at night and greeted you then. 

You'd lain side by side, drifting to sleep slowly, when he realized it had become a daily habit. 

He hadn't any idea of what he'd do when you left. 

And now you had. And it was his fault. 

In the eight days since you'd been kidnapped, Spencer had come to terms with a few facts.

He knew 64,956 women were currently declared missing in the United States. He knew that 77% of adults reported missing were found in 24 hours. You weren't. He knew 4% were found in 48 hours. You weren't. Only 3% were usually missing still after a week. 

You were somehow in that small minority, even though there was an entire team of FBI agents working around the clock to find you. 

He'd had faith in his coworkers before. Before, he'd begged for their help, and they'd succeeded in 24 hours, even if the outcome wasn't preferable. 

This time, he didn't beg. He had no faith. He just hoped to be present with a gun, loaded with two bullets, if this time went the way of the last. 

On the eighth day after your abduction, Spencer finally returned home.

The damage from your abduction was still apparent. 

Not that your captor had left many clues. In fact, they'd left none. Not even a fingerprint or a good angle on the CCTV. But he hadn't taken returning to an empty apartment well.

He slashed through the crime scene tape quickly, letting in hang in the doorway as he entered. The bookshelves he'd attacked were limping, leaning on each other for support after he'd ripped books off so violently he'd set them askew. 

He'd kicked and ripped and punched the wall so hard he'd needed stitches that he'd absolutely refused to get. 

He'd cried and sobbed into his bloodied and bruised hands until Emily had arrived, and then he'd cried some more, leaning on his friend, his sister, for her support. 

Returning now, there wasn't a single tear left.

In the hospital, they'd addressed his flesh wounds, but the emotional ones would never hear. 

You were gone. And now there was only a 3% chance he'd ever see you again. 

Emily hadn't allowed him to stick around to make their jobs harder. She's placed him on house arrest - funnily enough, her house, where you should've been if he wasn't such a selfish ass - and assigned a watch. 

She’d said it was for protection, but what she'd meant was it was to protect him from himself.

The rest of the team had avoided the topic entirely. They didn't know how to deal with whatever stage of grief he was going through. Many of them had comforted him the first time. They didn't know how to do it a second. They didn't know if they could. 

After eight days, Spencer had left Emily’s apartment. He'd dodged the Agent she'd stationed alongside him, got into a taxi, and gone home. 

Surveying the damage, he was surprised how deep the hurt had already cut to not feel much anymore. 

He looked at the books splayed on the floor. It was a title that you'd been reading that week. One he remembered you using at the office, one that had been on both of your courses reading lists. He picked each of them up and put them back on the shelf. He righted each shelf and organised them neatly, how he thought you'd like them. 

He picked pillows up and rearranged them. He vacuumed the debris from the floor, the thin layer of dust that had gathered since he'd left, the splinters pf bookcase that had crumbled off, the shards of wall that were speckled with his blood. 

He wept the entire time, though silent, until there were no tears left to cry. 

Then he'd come across a tiny package underneath his coffee table, a single corner of plastic peaking out, begging for attention. 

He'd picked it up and wept again as he found depths of sadness to reach further down than what he'd assumed to be rock bottom. 

Aa he lay in a pool of his own despair, a new, haunting fact crashed from his brain to his heart. Since 1987, there had been 21 foetal abductions in the USA. 19 of them had ended in homicide, with the mother dying. 

You made 22. 

In the two months since you'd been abducted, you'd learned three things. 

The first was that you absolutely loved Spencer Reid. You'd spent enough time sitting introspectively about everything in your life to realize you had to stop being so stubborn and admit just that. You'd been about there before all of this, but now you knew for sure. 

You should be cursing the man that inspired your horror show of a life, after all. But instead, you thought about him and held back tears. 

She gave you updates these days, testing your reactions to his name, waiting to see you crack, to see you cry, and sob and break down completely. 

Today, Spencer had been to see his mother, she said. He'd broken down in her arms and caused her to have an episode. She'd hit him so hard, his face had already been bruised by the time she saw him. 

The second thing you knew was that your baby was going to be born healthy. You had no plans of having a home birth, but now, at seven months pregnant, and large enough that you almost thought about doing your conception math again, you knew you were on track for giving birth in the room you'd been in for the last 58 days. 

You hadn't counted. 

She’d been good enough to tell you the date, the day, and her plans every morning when she visited you. She checked your vitals, your blood pressure, the position of the baby, your temperature, your heart rate, and recorded everything in her chart. She asked you how the pregnancy was going, almost as if she was the nurse she'd been training to be. 

Her bedside manner was so good some days. You forgot entirely that you were tied down to the bed, ankle clamped down. 

She let you walk for an hour a day, but recommended bedrest after that for health reasons. You didn't complain or talk back because she didn't like that. 

She let you read, and she was even curious about your reading, asking you questions and taking notes as if this were just part of her regular college schedule, an office hour that had taken over her life. 

You shuddered sometimes as she stared up at you with those big eyes, so wide, and young, and naive, and full of hatred, and evil, and you wanted to claw them out and scream for help, and stab her with the pencil she wrote notes with, and stab, and stab, and stab, and-

The third thing you knew was that you'd never hold your baby in your arms because you'd be dead moments after they breathed their first breath.

You knew, because she had told you as much everyday since you'd woken up. 

In two months, Spencer had become more manic and self-destructive than he'd ever been in his entire life. 

His world centred around you, and finding you, even as his 3% slipped to 1%, slipped to 0.1%, and he knew deep inside that he'd never see you again. 

He hadn't returned to the BAU but had instead turned his home into an investigation room, emptying the walls so he could pin up information, evidence, pictures of you, everything he could find. It wasn't that he'd regained hope, but he'd grown so desperate that he suddenly gripped hard onto the only slither of it that he had left and refused to drop it. He was a dog that didn't know the game of fetch only conti he'd if he dropped the ball. His life would not go on without you.

So he searched. He knew how far along you were. He knew how far along a woman had to be for a c section, professionally performed or not. 

He barricaded himself into his house and paced for days as his friends pounded down his door. He let none in. He didn't go out. He wasn't sure what he ate, or drank, or if he slept, but he knew he paced, and he thought, and he came up with theories. 

After two months, Emily was tired of knocking. 

“Spencer Reid, I am coming in,” she shouted from behind the door. 

He usually ignored her. She couldn't pass the bookshelves he'd moved in front of the door anyway, even if his superintendent had given her a key. 

This time though, he heard a banging, a creak and a crash as the bookshelves went down and Emily, who had left him and returned, made her way inside his apartment. 

“You barricaded the door?” she said, looking at him. 

He took a shaky breath and tried to answer as she surveyed his apartment, the mess of papers, books, string on the wall. He saw her stare down at the pile of sheets on the floor where he'd been sleeping, the bag of your things he had dragged to be closer to him. 

He saw her look at the baby shoes, and baby grows he'd laid out neatly on the floor, and he saw the pitying look she turned on him. 

“She's pregnant,” he finally said out loud, though you must've been 7 months along by then. “I'm going to be a father.”

“Spencer,” Emily said, grasping his hand, voice cracking from the strain of emotion that coated her tongue, making her voice thick. “You would've been an amazing father.” 

“No. No-” he said, breaking away and moving back to his wall. “No past tense, I won't let you… I won't let you give up on them.” 

“It's been two months.” 

“So she's only seven months pregnant. I have two more months to find her, Emily. Two more. At least allow me that.” 

The tears in his eyes streamed freely now as she nodded. 

“We will…. you know we'll help you. We'll do everything we can, so come to the office.” 

He didn't want to give up his space. His reminders of you, the baby grows, the information he'd gathered.

Equally, he didn't like Emily being in this space. She thought you were already dead, and he couldn't even look her in the eye. 

Reluctantly, he nodded, lifting himself up on legs weakened by insurmountable grief, and he followed her to Quantico. 

By the end of your third trimester, you wondered how you could ever have gotten so big. When you gave birth, the child inside of you would only be the size of a small pumpkin. You felt like you'd swallowed five regular size pumpkins whole, and you felt you were still expanding. 

The point worried her. She'd broken two glasses in tantrums this last week alone, measuring you every day. 

The closer you got to birth, the more agitated she grew. 

“This demon inside of you is going to kill you. I won't even have to do it myself,” she'd whispered to herself, or to you, as she took your vitals that morning. 

“Please don't say that.” 

“Why not? You're a whore, and you're going to give birth to a devil. You have seduced my soul mate, because you are a jezebel and the Lord is punishing you.” 

You'd needed all the strength you could get for these conversations. Even one tear, and she'd erupt and put a knife at your neck. With only a few weeks left, there was no saying whether she'd speed her plan along. 

“I did not seduce your soul mate,” you said as calmly as you could muster, taking deep breaths, hoping that she would mirror them and calm down. 

“Do we have to watch the fucking video again?” she spat at you, stomping around to the side of your bed and pulling out her phone. She queued up the video quickly and you averted your eyes. 

She turned them back quickly, holding your head in place as she forced you to watch your own office space. She showed you the videos of you and Spencer talking, teasing each other. She showed you the video of you insisting you were not attractive to him. She showed you the video of Spencer fucking you on the sofa, though she screamed and cut her fingernails into her skin the entire way through. 

She even showed you the video of her attempting to seduce Spencer during their office hour. It was the first video in her collection, the first time she'd set up the camera. She used your entrance as proof that you were breaking her apart from her soul mate. From Spencer. 

You were a whore who had thrown herself at him in anyway you could, and you had trapped him with a baby. 

She was going to free him from all responsibility so he could be with her. 

“My baby will be your devil,” she said as the video ended, and you forced your heart to settle. 

“It is not your baby.”

“Spencer won't know that. He doesn't know it's your baby either, and who are the authorities going to believe when I show up with his child. One paternity test later, and I'll have him, and we can be a happy family together, and we can live happily. I'll take in your devil  and raise it as my own, and we'll forget about the whore who almost ruined it all.”

The psychosis was so clearly written on her face, you were surprised no one had caught onto her state yet. She was devolving. She'd been calm, and contemplative the first week. She'd laid out her plans still, her insane plans, and seemed somewhat coherent. 

Then she'd began rambling about the devil and soul mates, and you'd pitied her, even in your fear. 

Now you were just glad she counted your office tryst as your conception date, and you'd never corrected her. 

She still believed there was a month left until your death. You knew it was days. 

You just prayed your baby could buy you some time.

“Professor?” she said as she carried away the tray of items she'd checked your vitals with

“Yes.” 

“You are not in love with Spencer Reid,” she said, as if trying to convince you. 

“No,” you said, trying to convince yourself  though it was hopeless. “I am not in love with Spencer Reid.”

The first lead in the case came on your due date. Patient confidentiality was, happily, overlooked by a few doctors when he pressed the issue, needing to know until when he was counting down. 

He'd done the rough math himself, but he needed a professional opinion. 

The lead came in the form of an email. The university was cleaning out your office to make way for a new professor, despite his insistence that you'd return, and they needed him to collect things. 

And though he knew you'd be giving birth that day, and he had run out of time, something compelled him to go and do this menial task on today of all days. 

Luke had joined him, and then so had JJ and Emily, and Penelope and Tara. Rossi had even arrived to watch you pile books into boxes that were supposed to have lived on these shelves for a long career. Everyone in the room was so busy watching him, waiting for him to crack, that it had to be him to find it. 

At first, he thought it was a hole in the couch. It was so dark and black, its curved corners giving the illusion of introversion. Then he'd touched it and felt the rough bump. 

“Penelope, here, now,” he breathed out, gasping for air as he finally pulled the tiny spy camera free and thrust it into his friends hands. 

He had a lead. He had you now. 

The first hour of labour was inconvenient only because you weren't alone. She'd been tending to you all morning, fussing over your food, trying to maintain the right amount of prenatal vitamins as she usually did, but she'd ran out of two bottles, and the pharmacy wasn't open. 

You sat still and uncomfortable, trying to not even flinch as your water broke, too afraid of death to be thinking about the life you were bringing into this world. 

The second hour ticked by much the same until she left. 

The third came, and you ceased your screams of pain, even as your hands bore holes into your sheets. She returned, and you knew there wasn't much longer until she knew. 

By hour four, she had your legs spread and was watching you deliver your baby, and you knew the same blade that would sever your umbilical cord would also end your life. 

By hour five, you were so delirious with pain that you thought you saw Spencer. You heard his voice cooing to you as you pushed. You felt his hands wipe away your sweat, smooth the hair from your eyes. You heard his voice announce your daughters birth, and you felt his lips against your skin as you finally gave up fighting and drifted into oblivion. 

[cece693]

hello^^ i have a slightly odd request

would you be willing to do something with Hannibal where like the reader is just off-putting constantly? like always has a blank expression and is just really morbid to the point of weirding out other people- (also whether or not reader is another killer and their relationship is up to you :]) ((and if possible could reader have an obsession with rats? if not its fine!^^))

thank you and no pressure!!! :3

Birds of a Feather (Platonic! Hannibal Lecter x GN! Reader)

Thanks for the request. Since you gave me creative liberty with what relationship the reader has with Hannibal, I'm expanding my creativity and trying to write platonic fanfics. Due to this, and my heart belonging to Hannigram, Will makes an appearance (not Abigail though, never got into her character.) Hope you enjoy it!

Hannibal Lecter had long believed himself immune to the bonds of familial connection. His life was one of solitude by choice, his relationships shallow performances for an unknowing audience. Yet with them—the peculiar, morbid teenager now under his guardianship—something had shifted. He hadn’t planned for this. He had taken them in because he saw a reflection of himself, unpolished and raw, with the potential to be something extraordinary. What he hadn’t anticipated was how deeply he would come to care for them, not as a mentor or an observer, but as a father.

They had first come to Hannibal at their parents’ insistence, dragged into his office under a banner of concern that barely masked their parents’ disdain. They hadn’t even tried to soften the language of their complaint: “They’re morbid. Obsessed with disgusting things like rats and death. They don’t have friends, they don’t smile. They’re weird. Can you fix them?”

Hannibal had known immediately what kind of parents they were—shallow, image-obsessed individuals for whom their child’s uniqueness was an inconvenience to be smoothed over, rather than a gift to be celebrated. He despised them almost as much as they seemed to despise their child. The teenager, however, had been fascinating. When Hannibal asked why they were there, they answered with a flat, emotionless voice.

"Because my parents don’t like me. They think I’m broken."

"And are you?" Hannibal asked, his tone warm, though his eyes studied them sharply.

They had tilted their head slightly, their gaze piercing and calm. "I don’t know. I don’t care if I am."

That first session had been an exercise in subtlety. Hannibal, as always, sought to probe beneath the surface, to see the layers of a person’s mind unfold before him. But with them, there were no layers—no artifice, no carefully constructed mask. They were disarmingly blunt, their morbid interests laid bare without shame.

"I like rats," they said when Hannibal asked what brought them joy. "I have nine of them. Bubonic’s my favorite."

"And why rats?" Hannibal inquired, his curiosity piqued.

"They’re smart. Loyal. They don’t care if you’re weird. They’ll eat a corpse if you leave it there, but it’s not personal. It’s just what they do. Survival instincts."

Their answers were a study in pragmatism, unvarnished and unfiltered. Over time, Hannibal learned more about their life—how their parents had ridiculed their passions, belittled their intellect, and dismissed their feelings as irrelevant. How they had found solace in the company of creatures most would find repugnant, and how they had begun to retreat into themselves, building walls not out of fear but out of indifference.

"My parents said they’d throw them out if I didn’t stop," they admitted one day, their voice betraying the faintest tremor. "The rats. They don’t like them. They don’t like me."

"And how does that make you feel?" Hannibal asked.

They paused, their blank expression unchanging. "I’d kill them if they touched my rats."

Hannibal had smiled faintly at that, sensing not a hollow threat but a declaration of what they believed was justice. Hannibal saw his relationship with the teen as one purely beneficial to him—some form of entertainment during the stagnant moment his life had fallen into. But when the teen arrived one day in session visibly shaken and on the verge of tears, Hannibal felt immense anger.

"Tell me what happened." he said, his voice calm but edged with steel.

The teen sat down at the chair and looked at their hands, fingers trembling. "My dad killed Bubonic," they said quietly. "He was going on again about how weird it was for a person my age to be such a recluse, how disappointed he was in me for not being the child he envisioned. I didn't care, I screamed at him to leave me alone. That all I needed was my rats, he didn't listen," They sputtered, tears finally escaping their eyes.

Hannibal's hands rested lightly on the arm of his chair, though his grip tightened imperceptibly as the teen’s words sank in. Their voice, typically steady and detached, was cracking under the weight of their grief, and Hannibal found himself unprepared for the surge of emotion it evoked in him.

"What did he do?" Hannibal asked, his voice gentle, though his mind already painted the scene in vivid detail.

The teen sniffed, struggling to steady their voice. "He grabbed Bubonic. Said if I loved those 'vermin' so much, then I’d learn what happens when I waste my life on them. He threw him. Against the wall." Their hands trembled in their lap, and then clenched into fists. "I couldn’t stop him. I tried, but I couldn’t—"

Hannibal interrupted softly, his voice firm yet soothing. "It is not your fault. Bubonic’s death lies entirely with your father. You mustn’t take the blame for his cruelty."

They nodded, though their tears continued to fall. For a moment, the room was silent, save for their quiet sobs. Hannibal remained perfectly still, his expression a mask of calm, though inside, a storm brewed. He had long mastered the art of restraint, of hiding the depths of his emotions behind a practiced façade. But now, the threads of that mask were straining.

His anger was not the fiery, impulsive kind that consumed lesser men. It was cold, methodical, the kind that calculated every step of its revenge with precision. He had no doubt about what he needed to do. Bubonic’s death was an affront to the teen’s spirit, an insult to their resilience and individuality, and Hannibal would not allow such an act to go unpunished.

He rose from his chair, moving to kneel in front of them, a gesture of rare intimacy. Gently, he placed a hand on their shoulder, grounding them. His touch was firm yet comforting, like the anchor they so desperately needed.

"You loved him," Hannibal said quietly. "And that love was real. It is not diminished by what your father did. Bubonic mattered, and his memory will not be forgotten."

They looked at him, their tear-filled eyes meeting his calm, steady gaze. For the first time, Hannibal saw a flicker of something beyond their usual detachment—trust, fragile and hesitant, but there. He gave them a faint, reassuring smile, careful to keep the rage simmering inside him hidden from view.

That evening, as Hannibal sat alone in his study, the weight of his decision settled over him like a second skin. He had already made up his mind; there was no room for doubt. The teen’s father was an unworthy man, cruel and petty, whose actions had irreparably harmed his child. The wife was not better, for who would allow such affronts to happen to your child? Hannibal would ensure neither had the opportunity to inflict such pain again.

The deaths were orchestrated with Hannibal’s usual elegance. The scene was staged as a tragic home invasion, violent enough to mislead even the sharpest investigators. The teen’s parents were swept away as easily as pawns on a chessboard, leaving Hannibal free to step into the role of guardian.

It was an arrangement he presented to the authorities as a matter of practicality—after all, he was their trusted psychiatrist, a respected member of the community. And with no other family member willing to take in the 'troubled' youth, Hannibal was seen fit as a caregiver. But in truth, it was far more than that. It was an act of reclamation, a way to give the teen a life they needed and deserved.

Under Hannibal’s guidance, they began to flourish. What had once been a life of isolation and condemnation was replaced with warmth, curiosity, and purpose. Hannibal nurtured their sharp intellect, encouraging them to explore philosophy, art, and science. He fed their fascination with decay and life cycles, finding ways to weave their morbid interests into lessons that expanded their understanding of the world.

Their rats, once crammed into a small cage hidden away from disapproving eyes, now thrived in a custom-built enclosure—a miniature ecosystem of tunnels and habitats that Hannibal had crafted himself. The teenager spent hours tending to them, speaking softly to each one as though they were old friends. Slowly but surely, they grew more confident, their once-detached demeanor softened by the security of knowing they were finally, unquestionably accepted.

So, when Will Graham entered their lives, Hannibal saw an opportunity to complete the family he hadn't realized he was building. At first, Will’s presence unsettled the teen. He was different from Hannibal—more empathetic, less polished. But there was something grounding about Will’s quiet intensity, his ability to understand without needing words.

Their relationship began cautiously, with the teen watching Will from the corner of their eye during his visits, studying him as though he were one of the rats they loved so much. But Will, ever patient, allowed them to come to him on their terms. Over time, the cracks of their tentative bond filled with shared silences and soft-spoken observations.

"You remind me of my rats," the teen said one day, tilting their head at Will as they sat together in the study.

Will blinked, unsure if it was meant as an insult. "How so?"

"You’re always watching. Thinking one step ahead compared to everyone else."

Will glanced at the teenager, amused. "I don’t know if I should be flattered or mildly offended."

They shrugged, their gaze steady and calm. "It’s a compliment. Rats are survivors. They’re smart, and they don’t waste energy pretending to be something they’re not. You’re like that."

Will leaned back in his chair, folding his arms thoughtfully. "Smart and a survivor, huh? Could be worse."

"Definitely worse," they replied, their tone so matter-of-fact that it made Will laugh softly. "You’d be terrible at being fake, anyway."

SMALL TIME SKIP

Hannibal leaned back in his armchair, his fingers lightly drumming against the armrest as he observed the scene before him. It was a tableau of quiet intimacy—his beloved Will Graham, seated cross-legged on the floor, and the teenager sprawled out beside him, their rats darting around like tiny, mischievous shadows.

Will had one hand resting lightly on the floor to keep himself steady while the other hovered hesitantly near one of the rats. "So, uh," he began, his tone unsure but willing, "what happens if I try to touch it? Am I going to lose a finger?"

The teen smirked faintly, their usual neutral demeanor softening just enough to give away their amusement. "Maybe. Cholera’s got a temper, but the others are fine. You just have to be calm."

Will huffed a quiet laugh, his tension easing slightly. "Calm, huh? Should be easy enough."

"You’re always tense," the teen said bluntly, tilting their head as they watched him. "The rats can tell. You should probably breathe or something."

Hannibal’s lips curved into an indulgent smile at their candor. He adored how effortlessly they spoke their mind—so different from the guarded subtleties most people employed. And Will, bless his complex mind, seemed entirely charmed by it.

"I am breathing," Will retorted, his tone carrying a note of mock indignation. "Maybe I’m just…different from rats."

"That’s debatable," the teen quipped, though their smirk grew into something warmer as one of the bolder rats sniffed at Will’s hand before scampering up his arm.

Will froze, his eyes wide, and Hannibal chuckled softly. "It seems you’ve been accepted," he remarked, his tone rich with amusement. "An honor not given lightly, I assure you."

The teen nodded solemnly, as though Hannibal’s words were gospel. "Yeah. If Cholera likes you, you’re okay."

Will glanced between them, his lips twitching into a bemused smile. "Well, that’s a relief. I’d hate to be rejected by…Cholera."

The rat in question perched on Will’s shoulder, chittering softly, and the teen gave a rare, genuine laugh—a sound that caught both Will and Hannibal off guard. Hannibal’s chest swelled with warmth at the sight of the two bonding, the sharp edges of their respective personalities softening as they found common ground.

For Hannibal, this was more than he could have hoped for. Watching Will, the man who had captured his heart with his brilliance and empathy, and his ward, the child who had become the unexpected center of his world, grow closer felt like the culmination of something profound. He had orchestrated many things in his life, but this—this was pure serendipity.

Will, still adapting to the chaos of rats scurrying across him, glanced up at Hannibal. "You’re awfully quiet over there," he said, his voice light but curious. "Enjoying the show?"

Hannibal’s smile deepened, his eyes warm as they met Will’s. "Immensely," he replied. "It is rare to witness such harmony. You’ve both surprised me."

The teen, still laughing softly, looked between them and said, "You’re both weird, but I think that’s why this works."

Will raised an eyebrow, glancing at Hannibal. "Weird, huh? I guess I’ll take that."

"As will I," Hannibal added smoothly, his tone affectionate. "Weirdness, after all, is simply a deviation from the ordinary. And I would have no other way for our family."

The word hung in the air—family—and for a moment, all three of them sat in a comfortable silence. The fire crackled, the rats chittered, and the connection between them felt solid, unshakable. Hannibal, watching the two people he cared for most in the world bond so effortlessly, allowed himself a rare moment of unguarded happiness. This was it. This was home.

[avatar-anna]

I feel like we haven’t seen much of youngmom reader super pregnant with her 7 babies??? Maybe I just don’t remember but I’d love to see y/n throughout her pregnancies! If not it’s okay I love ALL YOUR WORK!! ❤️

Baby Fever

Young Dad! Harry Styles x Young Mom! Reader Masterlist

i was too tired to include charlie. sorry!

Simone

Y/n sighed as she looked over her figure in the mirror, her shoulders slumping at the sight of her unbuttoned jeans and swollen belly. Looking down, she glared pointedly at the bump, saying, "Damn you, Harry."

She tried to button up her jeans one last time to no avail, then fell back on the bed behind her. It was Harry's, Y/n didn't feel comfortable enough to call it hers too, even though he insisted his home was hers now. The mattress was plush enough for her to sink into, and the sheets were softer than soft, she just felt like she was a guest staying in someone else's home.

It didn't help that she was alone most days. If Y/n had thought Harry had a busy schedule before all of this, she sorely underestimated the hectic schedule he had on a daily basis. The first half of her pregnancy, Harry was gone on tour promoting One Direction's latest album. When he came back to London, he was gone almost all day for interviews and late night talk shows and performances at radio stations. Work seemed neverending, and when Harry did eventually trudge through his front door, he was pretty much dead on his feet.

It was a weird situation that they were in, but nothing about their relationship had ever been typical.

Not really caring what kind of important meeting or interview he was having, Y/n pulled out her phone, scrolling through her contacts until she landed on the right person.

"Y/n! It's good to hear from you! How've you been?"

"Put him on the phone, Louis. I need to talk to him. Please," she said, adding please after realizing how harsh she sounded.

Louis was quick to do as she asked, though. Y/n could hear him rustling and calling out until he eventually found her boyfriend.

There was a time when Y/n didn't think she could call Harry that. She'd always liked him. Since the day they met, they were both absolutely smitten with each other, anyone could see that. But when she found out she was pregnant, things shifted. Y/n and Harry's relationship catapulted into chaos, and before they could even have the boyfriend-girlfriend conversation, they were suddenly nine months away from being parents.

Over time, they got to that place they'd been in before Y/n got pregnant. They had the boyfriend-girlfriend conversation, and now they were happy.

Well, for the most part.

"Hey, love, what's up? Everything okay?"

The sound of Harry's voice soothed and frustrated her all at once. Tears, which had been an unwelcome side effect of her pregnancy, began to well in her eyes.

"My jeans don't fit anymore."

There was silence between them, Y/n's words floating between them until it was eventually broken by Harry's laughter.

"It's not funny!" she insisted, even though she began to giggle alongside him.

"Baby," Harry said once his laughter subsided. "Why are you trying to put jeans on anyway? Are you going somewhere?"

"No, I've just gained so much weight. I feel like a blob, and you're partly to blame."

Y/n knew the baby bump was coming, she knew there would come a time when jeans and tops wouldn't fit and she'd have to buy clothes that were more accommodating to the baby growing in her belly. She just didn't expect to be this emotional about it. It was probably just the hormones.

"I'm sorry, baby," Harry said, a note of seriousness in his voice that Y/n appreciated even though she knew she was being slightly unreasonable. "I still think you're the prettiest girl I've ever laid eyes on."

Groans of protest and disgust erupted from Harry's side of the phone, followed by teasing at Harry's sappy words. "I came in here for privacy! Don't complain when you hear shit you didn't want to hear!" he told his bandmates. He mumbled something about never getting a moment alone anymore and nosy pricks, which made Y/n giggle as he presumably found a new place to talk to her privately.

In a hushed voice, he said, "I don't like it when you cry, baby."

"I wasn't planning on it," she sniffled. "I know I should've anticipated this, but now my belly sticks out and nothing fits me and I look horrible."

"No you don't," Harry said, not missing a beat. He didn't have to see her to know she looked just as gorgeous as she always did. Baby bump or no baby bump. "Put your sweats back on, love. I'll bring home dinner and we'll watch a movie."

"Really?" Y/n asked, and Harry could all but imagine her watery smile. "Because the baby's craving hot wings, and I know you don't like them."

Shaking his head, he promised, "Don't worry. Text me what you want. I'll be home soon."

"I—Thank you. B—Bye."

Harry's breath hitched, his phone still pressed to his ear even after she'd hung up. He knew what Y/n had been about to say, at least he was ninety percent sure he knew. He could only hope she was going to say, "I love you." Neither of them had said it to each other before, not wanting to get lost or caught up in the emotions of having to baby together. But Harry knew. He'd known for some time now. He just didn't want to scare her by just how deep his feelings went.

Slipping his phone into his pocket, Harry went back into the green room where the rest of the boys were. He took the ribbing they gave him for being "smitten" and "whipped." But he didn't care. Y/n was waiting for him to bring her dinner, and that was really all he could think about as the minutes ticked by until he could go home.

*.*

Collette

Y/n couldn't help the slacking of her jaw as she watched her husband.

Sure, she'd seen him a number of different ways—working out, doing handiwork around the house, performing onstage, dressed for a red carpet—but here, as he wore a tiara and held a tiny teacup with pretend tea in it and sat across from his daughter, Y/n had never been more turned on in her life.

Well, that wasn't entirely true. Yesterday it was the way her husband had offered to go to the grocery store for her, and just an hour ago it was how he hummed to himself while he made breakfast for her and Simone. Shirtless. By now, Y/n was fairly used to her attraction to Harry, but it was as if every little thing he did turned her on.

She'd read about this in a couple articles online and pregnancy books, that some pregnant people sometimes became extremely horny due to the hormonal changes happening in their bodies. When Y/n was pregnant with Simone, she never really...felt that way. Perhaps it was because she was so nervous and overwhelmed by the situation at hand, but now she was feeling it tenfold.

Needing to distract herself, Y/n went upstairs to the nursery to fold laundry. To nest, as Harry liked to tease. They'd been working on the nursery together for weeks in preparation for their second baby, and now it was nearly finished. Y/n and Harry let Simone pick out some of the decorations, like the fuzzy lion rug and Winnie the Pooh themed pillows and pick out toys she thought the baby might like. And now it was pretty much done, all that was needed was for the baby to be born.

Y/n had gone upstairs to distract herself, to keep Harry out of her line of sight so she wouldn't openly drool in front of Simone, but now she was alone with her imagination which was starting to run a little wild. She folded the baby clothes carefully as her mind stubbornly wandered. Harry's hands, his arms, his broad shoulders and sharp jaw. He was all she could think about, and the more she thought about him, the more she wanted him.

Would he want me?

They'd never really hooked up when Y/n was pregnant. Things were different then, more complicated, but Y/n didn't think Harry would be into her when she was significantly more round than usual. She didn't feel sexy or attractive, and she could only imagine Harry felt the same. They kissed and cuddled in bed, but since they found out she was pregnant, they didn't do much more than that. Y/n could only guess it was because she was showing now.

Later that afternoon, Y/n was in bed resting, the baby in her belly moving around a little too much to be comfortable. Simone was napping, and Harry was taking care of some things downstairs. Overall, it was a pretty relaxing day.

Minus the horniness, but Y/n tried to push that down.

She'd been doing a pretty good job of it until Harry burst into the room, sweaty and grimy and without a shirt, the article of clothing in question in his hands and covered in dirt and oil stains.

A flare of heat went straight to Y/n's cheeks as she subtly crossed one leg over the other, her stare zeroing in on her husband's chest. Before she could be caught, she blinked, meeting his gaze.

"What...What happened to you?"

"Your car needed an oil change," Harry said, as if that explained everything. "Might have run into some hiccups along the way, but it should be good to go."

It was enough to shake her from her lust-filled haze. "Why couldn't we just take it into the shop?"

Harry shrugged again as he headed for the bathroom, ditching his clothes as he went. Was he trying to kill me? you thought helplessly, your crossed legs doing nothing to soothe the ache between them.

"I did it. It's fine." Then the sound of the shower filled the bedroom, and steam slowly began to roll past the bathroom door. "The baby still kicking?"

His voice was echoey and faint, and Y/n didn't need much encouragement to imagine her husband all soapy and wet as he rinsed off. He didn't even invite her to join him. If this was what pregnancy did to her sex life, she was never getting pregnant again.

"Y—Yeah. A little."

"I'm sorry, Mama. You know, I read something about babies kicking at this stage. It..."

Y/n wanted to listen, but she just couldn't. She wanted him so bad she could barely think straight. And it frustrated her to no end that Harry probably didn't feel the same. He just breezed right past her when he came into their bedroom, barely even looked up as he shuffled into the bathroom for his shower. Every inch of her body was lined with need for him, and he...he just kept ignoring her.

Harry was still talking as he shuffled out of the bathroom, a towel slung low on his hips. The man standing before her was one big walking, talking tease—rivulets of water running over ridiculously prominent muscles, tattoos that she just wanted to touch, or kiss, or maybe lick, skin slightly pink from the shower, and that towel that seemed to be hanging onto him by a thread. If only she could just—

"Mama? Everything okay?"

Blushing, Y/n tried to pretend it wasn't taking everything in her to not jump him. "Yep. Perfect."

"Are you sure?" he asked skeptically. "You look a little flushed. Should I get you a cold towel—"

Y/n couldn't take it anymore. Unhindered by her baby bump, she sat up and surged forward, planting her hands firmly on Harry's shoulders and kissing him. To her surprise, he didn't recoil and instead rested one hand on her waist and one in her hair, pulling her closer to him.

His skin, still warm and a little damp from his shower, had never felt so delicious against hers. She wanted him to rip her clothes off, she wanted him to use a little force and push her back onto the bed, she wanted him to be rough with her. Tightening her grip, Y/n sunk her teeth into Harry's lip, hoping to get some kind of reaction from him.

"Mama, maybe we should—"

"Fuck, nevermind," she huffed, pushing Harry away from her. Falling back onto the bed, Y/n tried to make herself comfortable. She would've put her back to him and rested on her side, but her belly wouldn't have made that very possible.

"Y/n?"

"Go away."

"Baby, what—what's wrong? I just—"

Y/n, who had been pointedly not looking at Harry, glared harshly at him. "I get it. You find me repulsive now that I'm pregnant, which, can I just say is despicable—"

"What are you talking about?" Harry asked, confusion furrowing his brow.

Suddenly feeling uncomfortable, Y/n wrapped her arms around herself. "You won't—I mean you haven't—Okay, I'm just gonna say it. I'm horny all the fucking time, and you're—you barely even touch me!"

"That's not—" Harry sighed, running a hand over his face. "That's not even remotely true, Mama."

"Don't Mama me," Y/n said, not believing him entirely.

"Let's get one thing clear, Y/n. I don't find you repulsive," Harry said, inching closer to Y/n on the bed. "I—I don't even think that's possible."

"Then why won't you have sex with me?" Y/n asked, and when he began to laugh, she swatted at his arm. "Don't laugh at me! You don't get it!"

Before she could even think to protest, Harry hauled Y/n on his lap. She tried to stubbornly push him off, but he held her steady, on hand tilting her chin to look at him. "I've been worried about the baby."

"Huh?"

"The baby, darling. I didn't want to, like, hurt you or her or anything by, you know...going too hard." Harry's cheeks flushed, but he pressed on. "You really thought it was because I didn't want to be with you."

Y/n's nod was shame-filled at the hurt in his voice. "I can barely get you to wrap your arms around me, and these hormones are driving me absolutely insane, H."

Gently, Harry kissed the top of his wife's cheekbone. Smoothing back some of her hair, he said, "You honestly think I could resist you, Mama? It's been torture."

"Yeah?"

"Baby," he said, leaning Y/n back toward the bed. "You really think you're not an absolute dream right now? You think I don't want my mouth all over these gorgeous tits? You think I don't want my hands all over you? You think I'm not aching for you all the time?"

"I didn't think—"

"If you think for one second that I don't find you irresistible, then I'm a terrible husband." Harry made sure Y/n was comfortable against the pillows before kissing her once, then pushed the t-shirt she wore past her chest. "I'm sorry, Mama. I've just been looking out for the baby, I swear. Let me make it up to you?"

"H—How?"

"We'll be gentle. For now," he added at Y/n's squawk of protest. "I really don't want to do anything wrong, so let me just love on you, okay? Let me show you how fucking breathtaking you are."

Harry kissed a line down Y/n's entire body, and she struggled to keep it together when he made it to her thighs. Her breaths suddenly became unsteady, Harry's chuckle making her squirm when he finally moved her underwear aside.

Before he went any further, though, Y/n called his name, making him pause. "You really think I'm beautiful. Even with the belly?"

Eyes softening, Harry shimmied back up the bed to kiss Y/n on the lips. His mouth was soft against hers, but firm, a promise in them that she accepted happily. Harry's tongue was both familiar and reassuring against hers, warming her up from within.

"Believe me when I say that I've never seen anyone more beautiful than you, Y/n," he murmured. "I'm sorry I made you feel otherwise."

Blushing, Y/n beamed before kissing Harry repeatedly all over his face. "I love you, I love you, I love you," she said. "Now I really need you to fuck me."

Chuckling, Harry pushed his hair out of his face. "Let's start with make love, okay?"

Y/n wanted to pout, but she knew that was perhaps the safest option. It was sensible of Harry to look out for the baby, but now he had some making up to do. So she nodded and settled further into the pillows, kissing her husband once more before letting him worship her.

*.*

Maeve and Julian

"Just like that, Mama. That's perfect!"

Raising an eyebrow at her husband, she asked, "Are you even taking pictures of my face?"

Harry peeked his head from behind the camera. "Well...not right now, but this shot is perfect, I promise. Just a couple more seconds."

Y/n humored Harry just as he asked. He'd been really set on doing an at-home pregnancy photoshoot. Nothing extravagant, just her in a pair of jeans and a bouquet of flowers. Y/n of course said yes, but perhaps she was a tiny bit incentivized by a bubble bath and a back rub from her husband.

She tried to remain still, but then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw movement. "Simone! Easy!"

Harry looked over to his daughter. Simone played on the lawn where Harry decided the photoshoot would take place, spinning around and around in circles until she fell down in a heap of giggles. The second time she'd done it made Y/n nervous Simone would make herself sick, but Harry put a hand up to keep her where he wanted her.

"Come here, peanut! Let's take a picture with mummy," he called out, beckoning Simone over.

Simone rushed over, face flushed and eyes bright. She looked so much like Harry in that moment—big, squinty eyes, cheeky smile, crinkled nose—that Y/n nearly did a double take.

Setting down the bouquet of flowers, Y/n quickly shrugged on the loose robe she'd worn before Harry insisted on her taking it off. It was light and airy, perfect for the hot flashes she got on occasion, and perfect for what she imagined Harry had in mind until he told her his idea.

"Just trust the vision, Mama, he'd said before offering to untie the strings himself.

Once it was on, she reached for Simone and hoisted her up. Y/n ignored her husband's warning, opting to kiss her daughter's cheek instead. It was so important to Y/n that Simone didn't feel left out or upset about a new sibling when Y/n and Harry found out they were pregnant with Collette.

So far Simone had been positive about having another baby sister in the house, but Y/n was still cautious, still conscious of her oldest daughter's feelings now that she was pregnant again. And baby bump seemed to be growing bigger by the day, and she wanted to hold and cuddle and play with her daughter as much as she could before she couldn't do much more than waddle around.

"I'm sitting on the babies!" Simone giggled, making Y/n laugh too. Harry had stopped his protests, which told Y/n that he was back to snapping his pictures.

"What do you think, little melon? Should we get baby Collette in the picture too?" Y/n asked after Harry had snapped photos from a few different angles.

"Will you at least sit down?" Harry asked, exasperated by Y/n trying to overexert herself.

"You worry too much," she told him, but did as he asked anyway after taking Simone from her bouncer.

Collette nestled against Y/n immediately, her little cheek squished and lips puffed out as she rested on her mother's chest. Simone stood over Y/n and Collette, peering down at her sister's face curiously.

"She's sleepy, Mommy," she said, reaching down to gently hold Collette's hand.

"Yeah, it's almost nap time," Y/n told Simone. Then, to Harry, "How are we doing, Daddy? Collette's going down and I have to pump."

"Go ahead and put her down. Simone and I will play for a little bit, won't we, peanut? Maybe take a couple more pictures?"

"Yeah!"

Simone was always game for anything Harry suggested, as if each word that came from her father's mouth was pure gold. Y/n admired how much she loved her dad, but sometimes they could be a troublesome duo, Simone asking for something and Harry giving in without a thought.

After Harry trotted over to help Y/n to her feet, she shuffled inside, heading up to the nursery to lay Collette down for a nap. She planned to set Collette down in her crib, but something made her head for the rocking chair in the opposite corner of the room instead. Settling herself down with the baby, Y/n began to rock back and forth, humming idly as she waited for Collette's eyes to close.

It didn't take long, but Y/n kept on holding her daughter anyway, content to rock back and forth and rest her legs after the trek up the stairs. She'd never admit it to Harry, but being pregnant with two babies instead of one this time around was taking a toll on her much sooner than her other pregnancies. Her husband was already a mother hen when Y/n was pregnant, she didn't need to add fuel to that well-kept fire.

"Isn't that a sight."

Looking up, Y/n found Harry at the foot of the nursery, looking at where Collette slept soundly against her bare chest. Y/n had undone her robe once more for skin-to-skin contact with the baby, something she liked to do when she was alone. It made her feel more connected to Collette somehow, and she found that Collette fell asleep easier that way. It was a lazy afternoon, there wasn't much Y/n needed to worry about—it honestly felt pretty perfect.

"She sleeps better this way," Y/n said by way of explanation.

"I believe it," Harry replied, a mischievous twinkle in his eye that Y/n pointedly ignored.

"Where's Simone?" Y/n asked, still rocking.

Harry gestured behind him with his camera. "Downstairs watching a show. We agreed on two episodes before bathtime."

Y/n raised an amused brow at their daughter's negotiation tactics, but decided not to comment on it. "I'll come down in a bit. I still need to put her down and pump."

Grinning, Harry said, "You couldn't get out of that chair, could you?"

"It's a comfortable chair," Y/n said with a shrug, not wanting to let her husband know he was spot on.

"Oh, I know," he said. "I've fallen asleep in that thing more times than I care to admit."

Coming into the room, Harry carefully took Collette from Y/n, kissing her head before laying her down in the crib. Once she was settled and Y/n's clothes were righted once more, Harry reached a hand down to her. She let him help her up, even let him tie up her robe again, resigned to his fussing.

"You need to take it easy. The doctor said early labor is common with twins."

"I know, I am," Y/n reassured. "How can I do anything but take it easy when I have my own personal nurse?"

Harry looked at his wife flatly. "Ha. Ha. Now get your cute butt to our room so you can pump and then help me with bathtime."

"Simone's really quite reasonable—"

"She insists that I do it wrong," Harry said, genuinely confused by his daughter's antics.

Kissing his cheek, Y/n checked on the baby monitor once before leaving the nursery. "I'll be as quick as I can, then I'll show you how it's done."

Harry followed her out, heading for the stairs while Y/n went to their room. "Mum of the year!" he said before jogging down to Simone.

Too right, Y/n thought, a smile spreading across her face.

*.*

Geneva

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, babydoll?"

"How does baby sister get in your belly?"

Y/n's eyes widened as she looked down at where Maeve was pressed against her side. They were relaxing by the pool, watching from the shade as Harry tossed the other kids and splashed around in the shallow end. Maeve had joined in on the fun before, but she'd waded out of the pool a few minutes ago for a break from the sun. Her little cheeks were red, long brown hair stringy from the chlorine. Y/n brushed Maeve's hair away from her face as she tried to come up with an answer. Coming up short, she rested her hand on her protruding belly.

"Why are you asking Maevie?"

"Daddy said baby sister is in your belly," Maeve said, poking Y/n's baby bump with a sun-warmed finger. "But how did it get there?"

"You know...that's a great question," Y/n said, raising her hand to shade her eyes as she looked over to where Harry was waist-deep in the pool. His dark hair was plastered to his neck and shoulders in a curly tangle, water droplets glistening on his tan skin.

To this day, Harry was still the most beautiful man she'd ever laid eyes on. Now that they were stuck at home, he took his brief moments of alone time in the form of working out, but only after baking had gained him a few pounds. Y/n never minded, she loved his body any which way it looked.

Eyes dipping down to his waist and below, she definitely couldn't hide how much she appreciated his body now.

"Mommy!"

Shaking herself out of her stupor, she looked down at Maeve, who was clearly determined to get to the bottom of the baby in her mom's belly.

"Right. Sorry babydoll." Y/n hoisted Maeve onto her lap. "Mommy and Daddy...love each other so much. So...when mommies and daddies love each other, they...make a wish on a shooting star...for a baby."

"Really?"

Y/n tried not to laugh at her own ridiculous response as she nodded. "Of course. And then our wish came true, and in a few months, we'll have baby sister."

"Oh." Maeve seemed to think about it for a moment, a small finger on Y/n's belly. "And you wished for me and JuJu too?"

Y/n nodded, holding Maeve's cheeks in her hands. "Absolutely. We wished so hard we got twins!"

Maeve scampered back to the pool a few minutes later, calling out to Harry to help her put on her water wings so she could jump in the pool. Content to watch all the fun from her lounge chair, Y/n stayed back, smiling faintly at all the giggles and squeals of joy as Harry repeatedly tossed one child after another into the pool.

Now alone, she thought about Maeve's question a little more in-depth. As far as she and Harry were concerned, they were done having kids after the twins. Four kids was just the right amount of chaos, and things were finally getting back to normal—or as normal as they could be amid a global lockdown—after the separation.

Not that anyone else in their family seemed to be, but Y/n and Harry were surprised to find out she was pregnant again. At the time. Of course, in hindsight, there was a night when Harry and Y/n couldn't keep off each other. It had been after the first night they'd really spent together as a couple again, and after that, it was as if a dam had broken and Y/n and Harry were reliving their honeymoon phase.

But surprised as they were, they took it in stride. Both of them were nervous about Y/n having a baby in such serious circumstances, but they would take the proper precautions to ensure her and the baby's safety. They were ready for this, ready to do it all again.

"You know Maeve asked me where babies come from today?" Y/n asked later in the evening.

Everyone except for her and Harry were fast asleep, tuckered out from a long day of playing in the sun. Harry had just come back from tucking the twins in and singing them a song like he always did, and now he and Y/n were side by side in their shared bathroom as they got ready for bed.

"Did she? Wait—Can you help me?" Harry asked, gesturing to his red shoulders and back.

Y/n picked up the aloe lotion she kept around just for this reason and squeezed some into her hand and began spreading it over her husband's back. "Not in those words, but she asked how her baby sister ended up in my belly."

"We've never gotten that question, have we?" he mused. "What did you say?"

"That we wished on a shooting star," Y/n shrugged, then explained her short conversation with their daughter about how babies ended up in bellies.

Harry became quiet for a moment. He'd been listening as she rubbed lotion onto his shoulders, but this was different. No one else would've been able to notice his subtle change in demeanor, but Y/n did. She'd known him long enough to read every shift of his posture and line of his body.

"What is it?" she asked, turning him around to face her.

"I just...I just barely stopped short of wishing on stars to have all this again."

Things didn't immediately go back to normal when Harry moved back in. Y/n put on a good front for the sake of the kids, but it was awkward. Neither of them knew how to act around each other, and it took a few weeks for Y/n to trust that Harry was back for good. Even when they had to quarantine, she worried he'd check out, turn to his music for peace of mind. Harry knew all of his wife's reservations, of course, and he didn't blame her for having them. He'd left, that was a choice he made. At the time, he'd done what he thought was best for his family, but he knew now that he only put more distance between himself and his kids, his wife, and he'd regret every minute they spent apart for a long time.

"I love you, H," Y/n said, cupping his cheek in her hand. It was scratchy under her palm, as Harry had taken to being more lax about shaving during lockdown. "I—We would not be...here if I didn't want this, all of this, with you. You know that, don't you?"

He nodded, eyes closing for just a moment. Harry knew he would've been spending his days in a guest bedroom if Y/n wanted that from him. But they worked past their issues, were still working on them, in some ways.

"I know," he promised. "It just hits me sometimes how lucky I am to have you. Not just as a wife and mother, but you, Y/n. I can't—I couldn't handle a single moment without you."

Looking away, Y/n fanned her face, blushing furiously at the tears that welled in her eyes. "You know I get emotional at the drop of a hat, you ass."

Harry merely smiled, letting the somber moment pass. Taking her hands in his, he led her out of the bathroom. "Doesn't make what I said any less true."

Rolling her eyes, Y/n said, "Whatever. Let's go back to talking about how you played mermaids for two whole hours with Simone and Collette."

"I still don't really get it," Harry said, pulling back the fluffy comforter of their bed back. "The girls changed the color of their tails every two minutes. And why does a mermaid need to control fire? Talking to animals I get, but what good is fire underwater?"

Harry looked genuinely perplexed, but Y/n could only laugh. Her husband indulged in almost every one of his daughters' whims, and games where he had to pretend to be a mythical creature was no different. She wouldn't be surprised if packages filled with mermaid paraphernalia arrived in the mail within the next few days so that everyone could really get into character.

She didn't think it often, but right then, Y/n wondered what people would make of the Harry Styles pondering the continuity of his daughters' favorite pool game.

*.*

Natalia

Harry: At the grocery store. Need anything?

Y/n: Your dick, please.

Harry: So...is that in the same aisle as the condoms or...?

Y/n: Don't be mean. I need you.

Harry: That's why I'm going to the store, baby. You asked me to pick up snacks for you this morning for your cravings.

Y/n: I changed my mind. The kids are napping and/or playing in their rooms and/or watching tv.

Y/n: Come fuck me.

Y/n: Please???

Harry: As soon as I get home I'm all yours, baby. I promise.

Y/n sent an image

Y/n: You're really saying no?

Harry: Mama...

Harry: That's from the pregnancy shoot we did.

Y/n: Ass. I'm putting my clothes back on.

Harry: Don't you dare.

Harry: You really want me to abandon the cart? I was just grabbing the pizza bagels you liked.

Y/n is typing...

Y/n: Get the pizza bagels. THEN come home and fuck me.

Harry: Got it. Get ready for me, Mama.

Y/n: !!!

[g1rld1ary]

I feel like you’d eat up this idea so much but Camp Counselor James Potter!!

Where its semi frenemies to lovers after James unexpectedly becomes head camp counselor alongside reader, thus forcing them closer as they have to work together. I’d imagine James as a sports/swim instructor who the campers adore and reader as an arts and crafts teacher who James has liked for years since they met at camp (even before they became counselors.)

summer friends - camp counselor!james potter x camp counselor!reader

wc: 2816

cw: swearing, implied fem!r but i don't think any pronouns, alcohol, throwing up (once)

part TWO

first of all thank u so much for the compliment anon i hope i am doing it justice!! i actually love this idea and so there's gonna be more parts because i have so many fun lil camp ideas already HOWEVER we don't rlly have summer camps where I'm from so if u wanna see anything specific (activity/trope etc) please request!!! love u xoxo

It was stinking hot already. The clock in your car was broken so you weren't sure exactly what time it was, but you were sure it was too early to have sweat dripping from your brow. Nine, maybe. Still, nothing could bring down your present mood, not the sweat, not the early morning on a weekend, not even that your Fleetwood Mac CD kept skipping during The Chain. No, you were in the best mood you'd been in in a while and nothing could ruin it.

You were headed back to camp. Your camp. It was your first year as head counselor at the camp you'd grown up in and you were filled to the brim with excitement and drive to make this summer as magical as the ones you had growing up. Pulling into the dirt parking space you sighed contently, glad to be back where you belonged.

It was weird to see the camp almost empty. You'd been a general counselor before so you'd seen the camp without kids, but being one of the first there in the morning was peaceful. You waved cheerfully at one of the cooks who'd been working since you were a kid, laughing as he tried to return the gesture over the boxes he was hustling into the kitchen.

You broke into a jog to catch up with the camp director who you needed to meet with, smiling widely when he greeted you. You made small talk as he led you around the camp, giving directions to some of the staff setting up in between his extended spiel explaining your duties. You really were trying to listen but you couldn't help your eyes darting to each movement in the corner of your vision. The other head counselor should have been here already, and it wasn't like him to be late. Michael was one of the many kids you'd grown up with through summers, and he was just as devoted to camp as you were, so it wasn't surprising he also made head counselor, but it was surprising that he was now late.

"Where's Michael?" You asked when the director took a breath. He turned to look at you, one eyebrow raised slightly.

"Didn't we tell you? Michael had a health scare, he can't work this summer." You could feel your mouth hanging open. The two of you had been talking about this for years, dreaming of becoming the head counselors.

"So who's—"

"Nothing like the fresh air, is there?" Your shoulders tensed just by the timbre of it, you could recognise that voice anywhere.

"Potter," You turned to greet him, ponytail swinging behind you.

"No need for last names, love, I saw your braces phase," James retorts and you huff, rolling your eyes dramatically.

"Yeah, yeah, and I've got pictures of your acne. So you're really my partner this summer?" James didn't bother replying, his cocky grin saying it all. You felt the director's eyes on both of you and refrained from another snip in fear of it undermining your leadership, but still shot James a dead-eyed smile to let him know you weren't done.

You were dismissed to settle in until the other counselors arrived for briefing after a few other business matters (for which both you and James stayed civil and responsible) and all but ran to your car, eager to get the moving in part over with as quick as possible.

After so many years of making camp your home away from home, you'd pretty much nailed the routine of packing and unpacking, and your part of the four-girl cabin was taking shape very nicely if you did say so yourself. You even had time to stick up the photos you'd printed out, which usually took at least a week to happen. You were just wiping the sweat off your face with the hem of your t-shirt when someone cleared their throat. You didn't need to guess who it was.

James was leaning against the doorframe, looking unfairly unperturbed by the heat.

"Sorry your dream boy couldn't be here," He said and you couldn't quite tell if he was joking.

"Michael and I—"

"Relax, I was talking about your real boyfriend, remember?" You paused at his statement, studying your painted fingers intently.

"We broke up," You said quietly, not daring to look at James in fear of him teasing you about it. You consequently missed the flash of curiosity (and maybe relief) that passed across his features.

"Sorry," He said awkwardly, still under the doorframe.

"It's fine. He's a dickhead."

"I could have told you that last summer!" He laughed, then slapped a hand over his mouth as he realised it might have been too far. You managed a small laugh yourself, if only to make him feel better about his misstep.

"Yeah, yeah. Last summer you also thought swallowing gum would fuse your insides together."

"And I stand by that! You should just learn to listen to me," He crowed, eyes sparkling with mischief. You rolled your eyes again, pushing yourself off the bed to reapply your deodorant.

"If I ever start listening to you, take it as a sign I'm losing my marbles," You said, ducking under the arm James had stretched across the doorframe, "Now come on, everyone'll be arriving." You don't stop to see if he's following, marching out of your cabin and toward the dining hall where the counselors would convene. James watched you go for a moment with a soft grin before jogging to catch up and bother you some more.

The dining hall was already buzzing with energy and noise and the campers hadn’t even arrived yet. You smiled as you watched the counselors meet and mingle, some of them being kids you’d grown up with almost your whole life.

“Everything the light touches is our kingdom,” James’ whisper appeared from behind you.

“You are so lame.” You don’t bother looking at him, convinced you knew exactly what face he’d be pulling. “Now make yourself useful and greet everyone.” You might have been a little rude, but it was clear to you that this job wasn’t nearly as important to James as it was to you. Head counselor was something you’d been working towards since you’d started at camp, and you would like to keep the gig through college if James didn’t ruin it for you.

A booming noise silenced the room, and you were surprised to know it came from James. He started off the address for you outlining all the boring housekeeping notices you could recite in your sleep. They were almost exactly the same every year, except for James’ insistence on being the funniest in the room and making jokes after every other statement.

“As you know if you find any contraband in the camper’s belongings report it to the camp director, especially if it’s an illicit substance, as there may be serious discipline. However, if it’s alcohol, slip into into my cabin ‘coz god knows I’ll need a drink after dealing with the kids and this one.” He gestured over to you, receiving a ripple of laughter throughout the room. You grit your teeth, trying not to react and be the bad cop of camp.

“Just so we’re all clear,” You faked a laugh, “None of the campers or counselors will be ingesting or posessing alcohol while at camp. Right guys?” You locked eyes with the camp director, trying to bring him down from the conniption he was on the verge of. It worked, mostly, and you took over from James, shooting him a warning glare as you rushed to finish listing off the timetable for the coming evening and next day as campers arrived.

In his defence though, James wasn’t exactly wrong. Although the camp director could never ever find out for the sake of all your jobs, there was definitely a stash of alcohol that all the counselors contributed to and had access to, though strictly when there was no risk of campers or higher ups finding out. Like tonight. Every year before the campers arrived the counselors held a campfire right out in the forest; far enough away that there was almost no risk of the adult-adults finding them, but close enough that drunk walks back to the cabin weren’t quite impossible.

That brought you to the campfire. You’d been stuck in meetings and doing last minute admin all night and you really needed the break. You could only look at schedules and spreadsheets for so long anyway, add James to the mix and you were going absolutely crazy.

You’d snagged a spot next to Lily, hugging her tight as you reunited.

“I can’t believe you’re stuck with Potter,” She said, taking a sip from some ungodly drink one of the counselors had mixed. You laughed as you pulled away and greeted Remus quickly, taking the can of cider he offered.

“I’m just thanking my lucky stars it wasn’t him three years ago.” You shook your head resolutely, “At least now I’m sure he’s human. I just hate that he’s gonna make me bad cop all summer.” Remus cocked his head in confusion and Lily asked for clarification so you continued.

“You know, James is always the funny one, James is always the chill one. I’m the one who’s gonna have to spoil the fun and enforce the rules.”

“That’s not true though, you might be the one sticking to the rules but you’ve been here just as long. Everyone knows and loves you, and you’ll have just as much fun even if you aren’t quite as go-with-the-flow,” Lily said, a comforting hand resting on your arm.

“Prongs might surprise you,” Remus said, clearly taking a different approach, “I think when it matters he’ll step up to the plate.” You looked at him for a moment, considering his philosophy. You chanced a glance over at James to see him halfway through a game of beer pong — losing badly in fact, and sighed. If he, the head sport and swim counselor, was losing at a game consisting of throwing then he must’ve already been smashed.

He caught your eye at just the wrong (or right) moment and waved you over with such excitement that you excused yourself from the conversation to see what he wanted.

“Sirius needs a teammate,” He said simply, gesturing for you to go over and play. You shook you head furiously.

“So you’re asking the arts and crafts leader? I have zero coordination.”

“Yeah, and? You’re competitive and that’s all that matters. Consider it our head counselor bonding time.” You looked at James for a moment, weighing out the pros and cons in your head. You figured it couldn’t be that bad even if you embarrassed yourself, and you really didn’t want the other counselors to think you had a stick up your arse after getting the position. So, you reciprocated the high five Sirius had offered and got in position.

The game went shit, as could have been assumed. You really didn’t have an ounce of coordination, your throws missing most of the cups. Sirius was better, making your team at least not totally hopeless, but the two of you were no match for the machines that were James and Marlene — though both significantly worsened by their inebriated states. You were providing the trash talk though, which seemed to keep everyone entertained

“Ok new game!” James clapped after you’d downed the last drink, “Sirius, switch with me.”

“What! But I like my partner!” You high-fived Sirius again at his declaration, now sufficiently buzzed from the shitty beer you’d been using.

“Yeah, we’re doing just fine, Potter. Worry about yourself.” It came out a bit louder and more aggressive than you intended, but James didn’t seem to mind — none of you were sober enough to be picking up on the intricacies of human communication. James mimed a stab to his heart dramatically.

“You kill me,” He groaned, leaning on the folding table in despair. You laughed loudly, holding up your hand in the shape of an L to rub it in. After rubbing it in for a moment you conceded, stomping your way to his side of the table, patting Marlene on the shoulder as you swapped places.

“Alright, Potter, let’s get this round over with so I can kick your arse again.” James’ grin was practically blinding as he brightened up, getting ready to play another match. You might’ve been getting a little too competitive, but it was camp and you were drunk, so everyone around the table was matching your energy tenfold.

“Are you actually capable of getting a ball in a cup? You’re genuinely so terrible at this,” James laughed as he said it but you took it personally, shoving him aside.

“Piss off, dickhead. Just because you’re a big shot athlete or whatever.” You must have finally struck a nerve in James as he was quiet for the rest of the game, still much more skilled than you but his energy significantly dampened. Even when you won, he only offered you a weak smile and a pathetic high five. You felt bad for a moment and opened your mouth to apologise, but your inebriated brain was distracted by music playing, running over to Lily to ask her to dance.

You were at the stage of being drunk where everything was perfect. The day’s heat had mellowed out into a dreamy summer night, a soft breeze rustling the leaves above you all as you danced and drank, reuniting after a long year apart.

You might’ve overdone it slightly though, which found you a little ways away from the rest of the party, emptying your stomach into a bush where hopefully none of the campers would stumble across it. Looking past your unfortunate accident you caught a glimpse of a dark shape on the bank of the river. Narrowing your eyes you tried to make out who it was, but settled on getting closer instead. You hesitated when you made it out to be James.

“Hey, Potter. You alright?” You called awkwardly, a little unwilling to get too close.

“Hm?” He looked back at you, voice uncharacteristically quiet. “Yeah, fine.” You sighed. He was clearly upset about something and you couldn’t just end the conversation there, no matter how much you didn’t want to have a DnM with James Potter on night one of camp.

Reluctantly you got closer, taking a seat next to him. You watched the lake for a few minutes, black except for the silver from the moon. It was peaceful when there weren’t so many people around, it was one of your favourite things about camp, just being outside and disconnected from the rest of your life.

James broke the silence first.

“Do you… Are you mad that I’m co-head counselor?” You chanced a glance at him, surprised at the vulnerability in his voice. James wasn’t usually one to get sappy or personal like that, especially not with you.

“No?” You replied, “It wasn’t what I imagined, obviously, but it’s not like I hate you. You’re just mildly infuriating like 80% of the time.” James snorted, and you got the feeling he’d intended to wallow a bit longer. But James was James and he couldn’t stay moody for too long, it wasn’t in his nature.

“I can work with that.” He smiled his blinding grin, and you could have sworn you could see it reflecting off the water.

“We have to be a team though,” You affirmed; now was as good a time as any for you to address it. “I know that your whole bright and lively class clown thing is effortless for you, but I don’t wanna be the bad cop all the time, okay?” James was deep in thought for a second, then a cheeky grin crept onto his features.

“You think I’m bright and lively?”

“Shut up.” You rolled your eyes, but you weren’t sure you weren’t returning his smile. “Come on, let’s get to bed. Neither of us can afford to be hungover when the kids get here.”

You and James wandered back towards the cabins, both hazy and giggly from the lasting drunkenness and the (at least temporary) smoothing over of your tenuous relationship.

PART TWO

[oddheadd]

Frostbite °• : ⁠｡ - Chapter III

Skinwalker/Wendigo x reader

CW: Gross things like rotting :P

SMUT!! Rough sex, voyerism, non-consentual at the end(?)

I couldn't sleep last night. The screaming kept me awake.

Screaming? It sounded animalistic, the broken voice desperately wheezing and calling for attention. I laid there helplessly, clutching my pillow and worrying about wether I locked my doors or not. I was too scared to check them, so I just kept staring at the curtains, my heart almost popping out of its place as I tried to look away from them.

I couldn't, and at about 5-6 am, when the screaming had stopped, I dozed off. I later woke up at 4 pm, and weirdly enough, I was inspired to write some more. I put my nightly terror into descriptive paragraphs and created a monster.

One with long, grey, skinny limbs and hair thin enough to see it's pure white eyes... Rotten teeth caging the slithering maggots in its hollow mouth.

I take a deep breath and close my laptop. I grab my phone and see that Nathan had texted me last night.

"Do you drink?"

I can't help but smile and instantly start typing.

"after whatever the hell happened last night, I do."

I put my phone away and make myself a quick meal. My phone buzzes.

"And what happned?"

I chuckle at his misspelling.

"I heard someone or something screaming. I couldn't sleep all night :("

He answers quickly;

"Jackals?"

And I answer just as fast.

"Kind of... It had an artificial echo to it? Don't know how to explain."

I purse my lips and put my phone down. Taking a bite out of the poor excuse of a meal.

"You could demonstrate, when I take you to a bar in the town."

Smile grows on my face as I reread his messages. I should go, what's the worst that can happen? So, we text each other the details and it's a date!

I leave the cabin and decide to look around the village this time. Ain't no way I'm going into the forest after last night.

I try my best to remember the way home as I walk past the other cabins. I admire the architecture - simple, but charming nonetheless. Then I spot a girl, no older than nine looking at me through the window. I smile and give her a wave.

She stays still and keeps staring at me. My hand falls back to my side, and so does my smile. I avoid her gaze and keep walking. I take a few pictures and maybe make a few angels in the snow, before I see an old woman, just barely walking. I approach her. - "Hello, want me to walk you home?"

I get a better look at her face. It's wrinkled, as if her skin is melting off her face. Her eyes are marble like, despite being as dark as coals. I can barely make out her lips that stretch into an uncanny line. Her hair as thin as the monster's that I made up.

She looks at me before her face scrunches up, even more, into a scowl. - "...What are you doing here?" - My mood falters.

"...I used to come here as a child... My mother passed and I decided to visit for a while." - I explain myself. She raises an eyebrow and grabs my arm for support.

"(Your mother)'s kid. You've... Changed, quite a bit."

I tilt my head. - "Do I know you?"

"You'd always steal from my brother's cherry trees. You used to be an annoying, little rascal."

I chuckle awkwardly. - "I get that a lot. So you live down the road?"

"You've become... A very appetizing person." - She says, avoiding my question. I try not to think about her weird wording.

"...Thank you?" - I say after a long pause.

"I used to be like you. Maybe my skin was healthier." - She scoffs, bits of her saliva falling out of her mouth. - "...Not fair... At all." - she sighs.

I stay quiet as she rambles, a little more comfortable now that we've approached her cabin.

"But whatever it wants, it gets." - She says. She tightens her grip. - "Count yourself lucky, being able to serve it like that."

After that I head straight to my cabin. I can't wait to drink with Nathan tonight.

Now as I stand in the snow, my ass literally freezing off, I start to feel disappointed. He promised he'd pick me up, but now I'm getting worried he got lost and mauled.

Tiny snowflakes start falling, adding onto the already layered snow that's coating the ground. I sigh and check my phone again. My frown intensifies, when I see there's no new messages.

I almost fall off the bench on the porch when I see a figure in the corner of my eye.

"Jesus, Nathan. Do you always have to scare me like that?" - I rest my palm on my chest, dramatically so.

He flashes me the Cheshire grin - "Sorry."

I get off the porch and shove my hands into my pocket, a wave of disappointment washing over me when the pockets are just as cold.

"I thought the huge deer got to you." - I tease.

He narrows his eyes. - "I'm at the top of the food chain, you don't have to worry about stuff like that." - He brags and gives me his hand. I take it with a snort, his hands as cold as mine. - "I don't think we can make it to the Bar, it's too far away. And, it's getting dark."

I pout. He chuckles. - "But I know how to make it up to you~" - He says and takes out a flask from his coat.

I raise an eyebrow. - "Charming."

I then walk back to the front door of the cabin and unlock it, going inside. - "Come on in, I'm freezing." - I complain and look at him.

He follows after me with a smile and looks around. - "It's pretty cozy in here."

I chuckle and sit him down onto the couch. - "I think we have some old wine in the attic. Try not to miss me too much."

"Don't worry, I'm patient." - he smiles softly.

I turn on the flashlight on my phone after a hard struggle against the attic door, coughing my lungs out when the dust flies around in the air. I climb up and start looking around the boxes for the wine.

I smile when I finally find it. There's two blood red bottles with no distinct label on them, so I pick them up. My smile falls as I see a... Doll? It's made out of straws, clearly resembling a human body. I pick it up and inspect further. Is this a hex? I put it back down and get up, chills running down my spine when I notice a big red symbol on the wall. I stare at it for a while before turning around and leaving with the bottles in my hands.

I have a guest right now, I'll deal with it later.

On my way, I grab go into the kitchen to get glasses.

"I only have mugs and teacups, no fancy glasses." - I say before grabbing the cups and sitting next to him. He throws his arm around my shoulder.

"I don't look like the fancy type though, do I?" - He chuckles and I shrug.

I pour us some wine and sip from my cup. - "So, why did you move here again?"

"Nature always called out to me." - He shrugs. - "And you, Y/N? What's your job and why did you come here?"

I purce my lips. - "Well, I'm a writer. I've written some stuff but nothing special, really. I wanted to write a horror book and came here to set the mood, ya know?"

"And how's that working out?" - He tilts his head.

I sigh. - "I'm having the worst writer's block I've ever had. Barely wrote a few pages."

"Let's see then." - He says, and I hesitantly agree. I grab my laptop and open the file, handing it to him.

I stand up and approach the fireplace, tending to it as he reads for a while.

"It's great." - He smiles and I look back at him.

"Is it?"

"A little complaint... You're trying too hard to explain all the details. Reading is all about letting people warp characters and places into whatever their mind makes up."

"...That makes a lot of sense, actually." - I sit back next to him. - "Can you help me?"

He eyes me and nods.

I don't know how much time passes, but we're now sitting on the floor and already have finished the second bottle of wine, now taking turns on taking a swing out of Nathan's flask. I've been taking notes, typing away furiously.

As I let out a deep breath, I look up from my laptop screen and the whole room starts spinning. I grunt and put the gadget away, placing my head in Nathan's lap. He chuckles and strokes my hair. - "Are you alright?"

"...A little tired. And dizzy." - I pout. Nathan just keeps smiling and sits me up again, making me look at him by taking my chin in-between his fingers.

I keep looking into his eyes and his smile never falters, only getting closer to my own lips. I instinctively close my eyes and part my lips a little, almost melting into Nathan's arms when they connect with his.

My heated cheeks heat up even more when he lays me down onto the soft, warm carpet and lets out a deep groan.

Then I can't even comprehend what happened, when I look to my side and see both mine and his clothes on the floor. Then I feel his erected cock, rubbing against me and realize I'm not wearing any underwear neither. I look back at him and pull him into a kiss again, moaning in delight. He then pushes it inside of me, spreading the walls to make more room for himself and and starts gently grinding it deeper out of me.

I lose track of time and what's happening again, and this time feel him mercilessly thrusting his hips against my ass, almost steaming air of heat spreading into the whole room while his rough fingers caress all the right spots. I let out moans and whimpers in-between my breaths, while he muffles his in my collarbone.

"Don't stop... Fuck, Nathan..." - I moan out his name and he looks up at me.

He then runs his fingers through my hair pulls my head back, giving me a view of the rest of the room, before he buries his face into my neck and leaves a trail of sloppy kisses.

I get closer to cumming, feeling myself spasm and squeeze around him, before I notice something in the windows. There are people outside my cabin... They're chanting something while drawing a symbol on the windows...

It's the same symbol as the one in my attic. I huff and try to stop Nathan but he can't even see my expression with his head buried into my neck. I shut my eyes and try my best not to cry... And soon enough, pass out.

[saerins]

─── 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐌𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

+ itoshi sae x f!reader | wc 4k | content: angst, best friends to lovers to strangers type beat, i did not proof this besties

notes: lmao me , thinking i could get away from this man . guess who’s back with more sae ??? <3

summary: you’re the one sae can’t get over. he’s beginning to think he never will.

the freshly cooked bread is on the floor. it litters the nice marble tiles. the chit of paper with the order writes mr. rin hatoki.

“i'm tired of this, sae.”

sae doesn't say a word. he's listless, sitting on the kitchen table, staring at his own reflection on the glass, wondering where it all went wrong.

“why don't you love me anymore?”

it's weird. he can hear the sorrow. he can feel the pain. yet he feels nothing.

“what does she have that i don’t?”

maybe you're right. maybe he's an asshole. maybe this is his punishment.

the first time sae laid eyes on you, you were five and he was six.

he saw you playing with rin on the slides, and he remembers the way you smiled at him when rin told you sae was his older brother.

and even back then, even if it was a tiny crush based on superficial reasons like how sae liked your smile or your eyes or the way your hands felt on his when you locked hands and forced him to play with you and rin, he remembers you mocking rin and calling sae nii-chan.

sae remembers how he cringed inside because no. no no, he didn’t want you calling him that because that wasn’t what he wanted you to know him for. he didn’t know what he wanted exactly, but definitely not an older brother.

"itoshi-kun!"

“sae,” he corrected you, watching as you ran up to him on the field.

he loved the soft smile you wore on when you heard him. he especially loved the first time you said his name.

“sae.”

the first time he saw you cry, it was when you scraped your knee after some boys accidentally pushed you over.

you were nine.

sae scared them away afterwards.

you weren’t exactly sobbing—he found out you were funny like that, like you wanted to cry but didn’t want to let anyone see. but it was frustrating because sae wasn’t just anyone. or so he liked to think.

“get on,” sae told you, getting down on one knee with his back turned to you.

“what?” you sniffled, vision still blurry from your would-be tears.

sae craned his neck to look back at you, a faint smile on his face. “come on, i’ll carry you home.”

“i’m not weak, you know,” you argued, and sae would’ve told you to just accept his offer when he realised you already did, obediently climbing onto his back and wrapping your arms around his neck.

it was a relatively silent walk back. sae could hear the rapid beating of your heart though.

maybe it was a tiny crush too. the kind that stuck with you for three years and four months and threatened to stick with you for the rest of your life.

“hey, sae?”

“hm?”

a pregnant pause. you held him tighter before ultimately loosening your grip.

“mm, nothing.”

sae really wanted to hear you. but he let it go.

it was torture, really—you were fifteen when you got your first boyfriend. some guy called oliver aiku. who looked way too old for you, by the way, but fine, if you said he was only a year older than sae, who was he to question you?

sae hated it, really. watching you at the swings, laughing along with him, watching oli feed you ice cream. and you said oliver was a good striker too? sae bet he was better.

what did he have that sae didn’t?

and sae thought he’d love to witness the day when the two of you broke up. but he never counted on the fact that you’d be a mess when your heart was broken.

you ignored sae and rin for a couple of weeks, choosing to stay isolated, refusing to see anyone. you weren’t even replying sae’s texts.

[17:34] hey y/n, pick up the phone, idiot.

[17:34] rin misses you.

okay so that last part was a lie, but it was fine, rin didn’t have to find out.

[17:35] hey sae. :)

[17:35] hmm… so you don’t miss me?

sae had to do a double take at your text. since when did you become this cheeky? he didn’t even know why he was suppressing a smile.

it took him less than a minute before he got up.

[17:36] maybe.

[17:37] be at your place in 10, let’s get ice cream.

funny how he wanted to replace all of oliver’s memories. sae wanted you to lick the ice cream that he was holding. sae wanted you to play on the swings with him. everything him, no other stupid boys who would make you cry, who didn’t deserve you.

that was exactly what sae did—asked you what you did with oliver. you’d answer him, and he’d do the exact same with you, and he’d rewrite all the memories you thought would be so hard to forget, the very same memories you thought would be impossible to replace. yet sae did it, replaced the bad with the good.

sae wasn’t a mind reader, he couldn’t tell what you were thinking as he got you ice cream and fed it to you, couldn’t tell if you liked how he walked with his arm around your shoulder. couldn’t tell if you knew what he was doing.

he wished that you knew how he felt—then that’d make one of you. because sae had no clue.

“hey, sae?”

“hm?”

he got deja vu there.

and this time, you continued.

“do you do this for other girls too?”

sae nearly choked on that question because no, he didn’t do nearly as much for other people in general. you were the only one he’d ever put this much effort to.

“no.”

he can still remember your little smile to this day. it was pretty, even prettier since it was because of him. it was like a silent knowledge you both shared—you didn’t want him to do that for other girls, and he didn’t want to share you with other boys.

simple, but complicated. complicated because you were both shit at feelings and shit at admitting but it was still beautiful, if only because neither of you ever strayed.

back then.

“what about a house?”

“i’ll buy you the nicest, cosiest one there is.”

“anywhere in the world?”

sae nodded. “anywhere you want.”

“i want to open a bakery one day. you gonna help me with that?”

“i’ll help you with anything you want.”

you giggled. “yeah? you and what money, sae?”

he rolled his eyes, resting his head against his palm, elbow propped up on your study table. “when i become the best soccer player in the world, genius.”

sae flicked your forehead gently, as he remembers he liked to, smiling softly when you winced in faux pain.

it’s funny how comfortable he felt talking about shit like that with you, only half-joking. it was an innocent conversation on how sae said he would be able to take care of you when you were both older. even if it wasn’t his place, even if he wasn’t even your boyfriend yet then.

“oh? so i’ll get the world’s best soccer player itoshi sae all to myself?”

it all sounded dreamy and attainable when you were both eighteen and sitting on cloud nine. when the both of you were dreamers with rose tinted glasses and honeyed tongues to match.

“is that a confession, y/n l/n?”

he remembers he caught you off guard. he knew because the way you behaved when you were flustered was already ingrained in his mind. the way you fumbled over your words, the way you couldn’t hold eye contact, the way you made him melt with how you seemed so vulnerable for a split second.

“what if it was?”

that was the first time you ever managed to render him speechless. only because of how honest you were being. only because sae wanted you to want him and you did and then he was reduced to some infatuated idiot.

“good, me too.”

and maybe that was his first mistake. when he didn’t make sure you knew he wanted you for more than just that moment, that he had wanted you for a long time coming.

maybe that was the first in line for the domino effect.

life hit hard and fast by the time sae made a name for himself as one of the best midfielders in the world. he opened his eyes and saw that japan was not for him—he wanted more for himself, for his career.

sae wanted to move. and at the time, he wanted to bring you with him.

“how’s spain?”

it was the usual call the two of you had—a routine set in place because sae found he’d miss you too much if he didn’t hear from you for a while. it sucked that he couldn’t bring you with him now, not when he wasn’t best yet and not when you had a degree to finish.

“great, i play in the official match tomorrow, starting eleven.”

mundane updates about each other’s lives. he’d tell you about his soccer trainings and you’d fill him in on school. but for sae, it wasn’t enough. so he took a leap of faith this time, he was sure what he wanted.

“hey, what if we moved out here next time?” sae asked, cutting you off.

you stuttered, flustered and overwhelmed. in hindsight, maybe asking you that sort of thing when the both of you weren’t even officially together was kind of a stretch.

but sae had been sure at that point of time.

“there’s a lot to consider, sae.”

it was that tricky line where you were both more than friends but less than lovers and sae knew that over the phone wasn’t the ideal place to do it but he didn’t want to drag it on any longer.

“i mean, we’re not even together and we’re both just still kids, and—”

“then be mine.”

“i- what?”

for the first time, he was thinking about the future. and it had to be with you. he couldn’t imagine it another way. and when you agreed to be his that day, when you agreed you’d consider it for the future, sae was happier than he let on.

for the first time, the future was a little clearer. become the best midfielder, find a good forward worthy of his passes, and when all that was done and dusted, he’d always come back to you at the end of the day.

sae had thought hard about it.

but evidently not hard enough.

reality hit like a truck.

because fast forward five years into the future and you had moved out to spain to be with sae, your future husband, the diamond ring nestled comfortably on your finger.

moving in with sae was fun, exciting. it was a new place, new continent, new start. sae was with you every step of the way, choosing the house, choosing the furniture. turned out, being one of the most in-demand soccer players paid way too well.

what sae never considered was the gravity of what he asked you to do—uproot your entire life to be with him. you were both still young and full of life and loved seeking thrills and you both failed to grasp what the consequences would be.

it was harder than you bargained; adjusting to the new country, learning a new language, making new friends and learning the culture. sae was a pivotal part of your support system, but sometimes he didn’t have a choice; he couldn’t be there for you a hundred percent. he had soccer, contracts to fulfil, people to please. you needed him more than you realised.

and when you moved in together, both of you saw sides to one another you never really saw before. like how you get frustrated when sae messes the entire bedroom up after you spent the entire day cleaning the mansion. or how sae shut down whenever he was having doubts about his team, his plays.

it was difficult. but it still worked.

for a while.

but arguments were getting more frequent. and sae forgot why he did this in the first place. maybe you should’ve spoken up more too, whenever something bothered you, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt this resentful.

you blamed sae for asking you to move out here. but it was what you wanted too.

it got to a point where there was an animosity between the both of you that you couldn’t handle. the type that made you sad because somehow sae turned into someone you didn’t even recognise.

“where’d you go last night?”

sae sighed, like you were a bother, but really you weren’t. he was just being a dick. it was never okay to just abandon your fiancé at home all because of a dumb fight which he couldn’t even remember by now.

“stayed over at the captain’s,” was all he told you. didn’t even bother explaining.

he wishes he did, then maybe you’d stop getting the idea that this relationship had hit a dead end.

“is that what we’re going to do now? just leave the other one alone, not talk when we fight?” you were soft, because you were tired. you’d been tired for a while.

you were tired. sae lost track of himself. everything was a mess and neither of you had the capability to handle it. sae was thinking maybe he made a mistake, and you were thinking it wasn’t too late to turn back. he couldn’t be bothered to remember how you got here in the first place, and he missed all the signs you gave him.

how you had stayed up late just to wait up for him whenever he had practice. how you agreed to be with him through everything and kept a smile on your face even when things were hard on you personally. how you cooked for two even when sae said he wouldn’t have time for dinners at home, just in case.

he’s sorry; you thought of him way too much, and he didn’t give you enough.

“sae, say something, please?” you were on the verge of tears, and he was on the verge of giving up.

sae knows what you wanted to hear now. but back then, he didn’t. he was too pressed on his own feelings that he just couldn’t find it in himself to think for you.

“what do you want me to say?”

you sat next to him on the couch, and he could hear you sniffling. he didn’t turn to look at you, didn’t ask about you, didn’t try to console you. for his own good. because he thought he knew where it was going, and it was better if he didn’t.

“sae… do you still want this?”

that was the first time he was unsure. because what he knew was that there was no one else for him. there was only you. he wanted only you, but everything turned out like this and he felt conflicted, tired.

he just wasn’t sure.

“i don’t know.”

but that was as good of an answer to you as any.

you’d watched him over the years. you’d tolerated all of his misgivings, you’d watched him train even when he was injured, even when you begged him to rest. you’d supported him throughout everything. you were everything to him, but at that moment, sae failed to tell you, and you couldn’t hold on to something that seemed so futile, something that was hanging on by a single thread.

something that might’ve snapped at any moment.

the next day, all sae woke up to was the engagement ring on his bedpost and your absence from his life.

it’s been another five years since then.

sae’s back in japan. for some reason.

no, not some. just one. just you.

to think that up until now, sae still thinks of you. you’re always there somehow, in his memories. when he scores a goal, he still instinctively looks for your face in the crowd. when people interview him and ask him about possible partners, his first thought is your name. when he goes on his socials, he looks for you first. it’s habit.

sae’s jealous, still. even after four years apart. he still loves you. he’s still stupid. he’s still too late.

you’re happy now, if your posts are any indication. you live with him too. sae sometimes wishes he was him. then maybe he’d get to feel you again, be around you, hover over you and annoy you to no end. maybe he’d get to hear you call his name again.

but that’s a long shot.

you’re about to be mrs mikage soon. reo’s a lucky guy, whoever the fuck he is. sae hates him, but it’s biased. he’s probably good to you. he helped you build that bakery you always wanted, after all.

the bakery sae always orders from under a fake name because he doesn’t know whether you hate him and he’d rather not risk it. it’s the only way he knows how to hold on to you, to still feel close to you.

so he’s mr. rin hatoki.

“tell me!”

his girlfriend’s voice is shrill, it brings him back to the present, to his current predicament. to the fact that he’s been trying to put you in the past, but he’s not able to. and she knows it, too. she’s not dumb.

she probably stalked you ever since she first started dating him. she probably knew all along that the breakfasts sae buys for her is his pathetic excuse to just support your business. she probably knew that from the start, she stood no chance against you.

“i beg you, sae,” she’s crying now, and sae feels bad for regressing to this state, to hurting other people but most of all, he feels bad for flat out wishing she was you. “just break my heart already if you’re going to do it.”

two years with her down the drain. because he can’t forget about you.

sae doesn’t even look up at her because he’s filled with the vision of you smiling in his head. that’s all he’s staring at.

she asked what you had that she didn’t. and sae only knows the one answer is his heart.

“you’ll never be her.”

sae stares at you from the driver’s seat. he’s parked on the opposite side of the road, it should be safely tucked away enough that you won’t notice.

you’re closing up. you look like an angel. you’re dawdling, slowly mopping up the floors, your hair so messy and you’re still so perfect.

he wants to go there, wants to run to you and hug you, wants to grip onto you and take back what he lost. but he of all people knows that’s impossible. so he stays in his driver’s seat, stays in his fantasies, stays away from you.

maybe he should just drive away. maybe he should stop pining for you. this is stupid.

especially stupid when he sees your future husband pull up and run up the sidewalk, runs into your arms, carries you and spins you around and presses a kiss onto your perfect nose.

sae can only vaguely make out what he’s saying.

“have a surprise for you at home, baby.”

and sae can’t tell what you said, but he can tell you love him by the slow, affectionate kiss you give him, the way you wrap your arms around his neck and laugh against each other’s lips.

“wait here for a bit, yeah?” reo tells you, and you nod, obedient.

it’s like a drug, now that he’s here, sae wants to stay and watch the show play out to the end. he watches as you store away your broom and mops and as reo walks back to his car—wait, no, fuck, he’s walking to sae’s car.

fuck fuck fuck.

reo makes sure you’re back in your bakery and out of view before he smiles at sae. “i’m very honoured that a world-class soccer player is stalking us,” reo beams at him the moment sae winds down his windows. “wanna go over there and talk to her?”

he definitely knows of your history with sae. it doesn’t bother him though, apparently. not if he’s offering sae the chance to talk to you, and alone, by the looks of it.

sae’s not really sure what he’s doing, taking reo up on his offer. he walks through the doors to your bakery and the shopkeeper’s bell rings, inciting you to spin around, expecting reo, but your eyes widen when you see sae there instead, sheepishly standing there, staring dumbly at you.

“sae,” you call his name, breathlessly. “w-what’re you doing here?”

“i… don’t know.”

he doesn’t. zero clue. fuck.

you’re not smiling, you’re apprehensive, you’re still in shock as to why itoshi sae didn’t contact you ever since you left him and why he chose now of all times to show up. there’s tears in the corners of your eyes and he knows you’re trying not to let them fall. the corners of your mouth try not to but they form a small frown.

“i just wanted to tell you…” sae trails off because he starts to remember everything.

he remembers five years old and you on the slides. he remembers your nii-chan and how he hated it. he remembers your smile and him being lovestruck and pathetic. he remembers making you happy and then making you sad, going from everything you loved to everything you grieved. he remembers all the signs he thought you didn’t give. he remembers your newly opened bakery and the heart on his first order chit. he remembers his now ex-girlfriend hating his guts and throwing your bread on the floor.

most of all, he remembers how happy you look with reo.

so sae swallows all the words he wanted to say and gives you a knowing smile. “just wanted to come by and wish you a happy marriage.”

i miss you. i still love you. i want you back. i want to be yours again. i promise i’ll love you properly this time.

he bites back all his words.

your expression turns soft and you smile at him for the first time in five years. “thanks, sae,” you tell him, holding your hand out.

sae shakes it, resisting his urge to pull you close.

“how are—”

“i have to go,” sae interjects, because he doesn’t think he can act any more normal than this. he wants to see more of you, but he forces himself to leave, and you understand anyway, you and your weak knees because as much as you’re over itoshi sae, your lover, you still miss itoshi sae, your best friend.

reo walks past him on the steps, noticing his rush. “hey, leaving already?”

sae doesn’t stop. “yeah.”

“look, y/n’s clueless but,” reo continues, raising his voice slightly as sae gets farther away. “thanks for all the support!”

sae stops short of his car, turning around to look at reo, who’s looking at you, cleaning up the last of your cash.

“what are you talking about?”

reo turns back to sae, hands in his pockets. “i wanted to thank mr rin hatoki personally so—” sae’s eyes grow wide at the mention of the name— “thank you.”

how does he even know?

“you know, she was so nervous when it first opened, thinking that nobody would buy anything,” reo tells him, and sae listens, swallowing the lump in his throat. “i wanted to be the first customer but apparently a mr rin hitoki beat me to it.”

reo sighs, noticing how sae’s eyes are now glued onto you.

“y/n’s the kindest person i’ve ever met,” reo continues, turning his back on sae. “if you want forgiveness, it’s always there for you.”

reo’s revelation and offer sticks with sae, but he shelves it in the corner of his mind. when he sees you, crescent eyes and all smiles, sae drives off.

it’s fine. knowing you’re happy is enough.

that’s a lie. it will never be enough for him, but he’ll just keep trying to convince himself. sae loves you, and he might just love you enough to let you go.

[dinsbeskar]

The Number of the Beast (Sauron/F!Reader)

After his frankly embarrassing defeat at Tol-in-Gaurhoth, Sauron seeks you out;

You discover his werewolf form and press him for the whole truth and nothing but

Sequel to Wicked Game // AO3 Link

Songs to listen to: Animals by Maroon 5, Closer by Nine Inch Nails (obviously Sauron's jam), Teeth by Lady Gaga

Special Mention to Home by Snow Ghosts, as recommended by @sansaorgana, immaculate vibes for this fic!!

Warnings: 18+! Werewolf!Sauron, smut (smh we cannot keep it clean for 5 minutes!!) werewolf sex (I'm sorry!! It's not a lot!! Idk!!!), P in V sex, oral sex (female receiving), dubcon (he is not in control of himself and even though you are up for it, you're still terrified of him and his uhhh size), size kink/size difference, hurt/comfort, manipulation (it's Sauron, he sucks guys idk), angst towards the end

A/N: y'know what, I warned you all this was going to happen. Sauron is a werewolf, and things get interesting weird. Idk I don't feel like it's overwhelmingly filthy, maybe y'all won't mind 😂🙈 there is actual plot to this one, and it will be fairly pertinent to the rest of the story, but you can skip the smut if it's not your cup of tea, I get it!! (Skip the section marked by ***)

Word Count: 4.9k!

Writing playlist here if so inclined 😅

Translation note: Amarië means 'goodness', Uthaessel means "tempting girl' as far as I can tell!

A nameless terror has been stalking your kin in these woods for years, and you are eager for your husband's embrace as you delve further into the woods, heart racing at every tiny rustle in the trees. He would never let anything happen to you, but he was not here, at least not as far as you could tell.

Usually when he drew close, you could feel a warmth deep in your soul, like embers stoked in a neglected fire, made to dance and blaze again with renewed vigour whenever he returned to you. But for the moment all you feel is an icy cold fear in the pit of your stomach; you should not be out here alone.

You think to turn back, to run back to the safety of your fledgling city, but you press on. He promised he would be here, and you cannot disappoint him, not after the long months he has spent in the north craving your touch.

The forest is so quiet as you make your way to the glade that has become so sacred to you and your husband. You keep as silent as you can, footsteps making no rustle in the leaves underfoot; the air is too still, the silence deafening where there should be sounds of birds and insects conducting their nightly business.

You are not far from your meeting place now as even the wind falls still. You breathe a sigh of relief as you catch sight of the rushing water that will lead you to safety. He will be there to assuage all your silly fears, the thought giving you the strength to keep moving.

A sharp howl, long and guttural, pierces the air, and you freeze. It sounded far off, or maybe closer than you think; your head is in a spin as you try to judge what could have possibly made such an unearthly sound. It didn't sound like any wolf you've ever heard; it had an almost sorrowful lilt that drew you to it. Shaking it off, you creep into the glade, expecting to see him there.

Disappointment washes through you; you are alone, and now you hear another howl, closer than before.

He will understand, you think, let's go home.

You start to take the winding path back to the thick treeline, but hear cracking branches, heavy footfall, ragged breath, from the dark undergrowth.

You back up, starting to shake and sweat. You are not made for this, never have you had to protect yourself from such a beast. You look around for anything with which to defend yourself, landing on a large broken branch that looks like it might be lethal in the right hands. Shame then, that your hands have never seen combat.

Dragging your makeshift weapon, you look for somewhere to hide, terrified that the beast might have already caught your scent.

~

He doesn't know why he's here, why he would put you through the horror of seeing him in his bestial glory; all he knows is that defeat has pushed him into your radiant embrace, to soothe the heavy losses he had suffered and prepare the fortitude of his mind to face his master's wrath.

His defeat at the hands of some Elf-Maia and her dog had shamed him; he could not go back to Angband now, not now Tol-in-Gaurhoth was lost, and all he craved was your touch, for you to wash away all his ills.

He pads through the forest, trailing a silent darkness in his wake, all birds and beasts fleeing before him. His black blood drips and pools in the undergrowth, scorching the earth.

His mind is clouded with pain and shame, something with which he is not familiar, and would not suffer again given the option, how it turns his stomach, and makes him crave nothing but your sweet embrace. Where are you? He can think of nothing else, having travelled so far in search of salvation.

The breeze betrays you, carrying the sweet scent of the berries you love to eat, the oils you use on your skin, and he groans, a deep visceral sound that would usually shake the foundations of Middle Earth, if only he were not so deeply tired.

He follows your scent, instinctively, unthinking as to how you might receive him. As he gets closer, his soul sings for you, his heart swells, and he can think of nothing else.

Exhausted, he reaches out to you, tendrils of his mind softly caressing yours. He hears your soft sigh and follows the sweet sound to your doom.

~

The forest around you turns deathly silent, the very air robbed of its oxygen in a split second. You hear only the crack of fallen branches and the heavy movement of something massive in the dark.

You should be terrified, why do you not run?

Quaking in your hiding spot, you find yourself rooted to the spot, crouching and unable to move, doomed to listen to the beast in the dark.

You feel it then; a darkness in your mind, touching your thoughts, and the terror grows. The scent of sweat dripping down your back only helps him find you sooner, and as you hear him approach, the tremor in your fingers grows.

If you can only stay quiet, perhaps it will ignore you, perhaps you will be blessed tonight. You screw your eyes shut and pray.

Alas, a hot huff of breath sweeps the side of your face, and you scream, you can't help but keep screaming, even after you've picked up your weapon and blindly struck the great beast, before you roll out from under it and run as fast as your legs can carry you.

He shakes his head, blind rage now overtaking him, even as he sees you, scents you, wants nothing more than to cover and embrace you.

The pair of you race through the forest; you know it as well as any of your people, all the shortcuts and secret places. But your quick light tread is vastly outmatched by his sheer ferocity, and in your panic, you take a wrong turn, meeting a sharp cliff face where you were sure there was a waterfall you might have lost the beast in. You curse your folly and spin around, awaiting your fate.

Two great paws come to rest either side of you, as its wolven face bears its teeth and snarls, black blood dripping from the gash you inflicted on its temple.

You can do nothing but shut your eyes, shaking in terror as the beast takes you in, sniffing at you and panting. Any moment now, this will all be over...

Amarië... love... need you...

The unspoken voice you hear is somehow familiar, deeper and more guttural, and yet...

You reach out your hand, offering your soothing touch freely. Baleful golden eyes watch you carefully as he closes the gap and leans in to your trembling touch. You should run.

"Mairon..." The beast's eyes soften as you look up at him, and you realise a terrible sorcery is at play here.

You feel his mind caress yours and you relax, easing into the unfamiliar feeling of fur beneath your fingers. You trace the sinewy muscle of his neck a while, assuring him in hushed tones that you've got him, that everything will be alright, that you're here, his horrors are over.

"Oh, my love..." You run your fingers over him, suddenly mindful of the wound you'd inflicted yourself only moments ago.

In your inspection, you find many more, deep gouges and bitemarks that have festered, and your heart aches for him. How could this have happened? Who did this to him?

"Come, love, I have you now," you grasp his fur on his neck and lead him back to the river, careful not to touch the open sores in his sides yet.

He staggers into the rushing current, clear water turning black as he submerges, washing off his defeat and returning little by little to you.

You wade in after him, ripping a strip off your hem; how times had changed since last you did this for him, having now ruined two dresses to tend his wounds.

You soak the fabric and begin to dab away the grime and viscera, so that you can start to heal him with every spell your people know for such injuries.

It doesn't take long before his whines of pain become pleasurable, enjoying your touch and the cool water on his skin. His mind is less fraught now, more present, and before long he begins to panic. His sweet wife, his innocent wife, had seen him for what he truly is, a Lord of Beasts, monstrous and terrifying to behold, and here she was, running her gentle fingers over him as if he was the most beautiful creature she'd ever seen.

You notice his panic and immediately go to soothe him, rubbing circles over his muzzle, trying not to overthink just how strange the situation had become.

"It's okay, love, I'm here, you're okay," you whisper softly, "who did this to you, love?"

Trying to soothe him was proving difficult as anger begins to bubble in the pit of your stomach; who was responsible for this sorcery? You would rip them limb from limb, your gentle nature be damned.

That blasted Elf-Maia hybrid and her brute of a dog, he thinks bitterly, reliving his utter defeat once more.

"My darling, you can tell me, who did this to you? Transformed you this way?" Surely it was a curse that could be broken, that you could face together.

Oh. Oh, no. His blood runs cold. Yes, of course, that's what you mean; how were you to know he could transform himself at will, that this was a form he liked to take in battle. Used to like. It might be a while before he chose a wolfish form again, given everything that had happened with Lúthien.

He goes to stand, to leave the river and avoid your questioning, but his legs give out from under him. Your heart wrenches at the sight of your beloved suffering so, how it pained you.

"I have you, don't move yet," you say softly with an encouraging smile. "I've got you."

More murmuring in Quenya, pressing your hands to his wounds, feeling your energy flow into him, all of your efforts were enough to finally restore him, and you both emerge from the river into the cool night air, sodden and freezing.

He collapses on the river bank, with you quick to follow; your healing had taken a lot out of you. Shivering, you lean into him for his furnace-like warmth, blessedly finding him already nearly dry.

You're so tired, your questions can wait until after you've rested, and so you do.

~

It is still hours before dawn when you wake to the unfamiliar sensation of warm silky fur on your cheek, lining your body, encompassing you in a blissful heat.

Fear jolts any sleepiness from your mind, and you try to stand. But his great limbs keep you from moving, and he rumbles his disapproval deep in his chest.

Suddenly you remember.

"Mairon?" You whisper, "darling, how do you feel?"

I was fine. His words are still unspoken, heard directly in your mind.

"Was? Can I help, love?" You worry that your work is not done, that perhaps there are ills that you have not yet healed.

Go back to sleep, your presence is soothing, my sweet.

"I can soothe you while awake!" Your tone is indignant and his chest quakes with what sounds like laughter, if you're not mistaken.

I didn't say you could not, but now you're awake, there are other urges I'd rather have you satisfy, Uthaessel.

Other urges... you blush as you realise what he means. He only calls you by that epithet when he craves you so particularly, that nothing else might sate him but hours between your thighs. 'Temptation', indeed.

"Well, you've recovered quickly." You laugh, brushing his side and finding his gaping wounds already healed over.

"And while you're like this, my darling, I'm not quite sure how that would work." You do have an idea, but it might be... uncomfortable.

He groans, deep in his chest, making your whole body vibrate with it; maybe a little discomfort wouldn't be so bad?

I have many ideas, precious one, all you need to do is lie there and relax for me...

He rolls you over, encircling you wholly with his powerful frame. He is so massive that he dwarfs you twice, thrice over. You look down and your eyes widen, blood rushing to your cheeks; how is that going to fit?

In an effort to slow him down, you ask him again, "how did this happen, love? You couldn't tell me before, would you tell me now?"

He sighs, a massive huff of breath that seems to scold you for disrupting his conquest of you.

It is no curse, that much you do not have to fear.

"If it is no curse, then what happened? Love, this is hardly natural, unless I am missing something important?" You laugh a little, nervously, wishing for him to assuage your anxiety.

He simply stares down at you with those bottomless golden eyes, concocting some explanation that will appease you.

How would you react, he wonders, if he told you he told you he is in fact Lord of Beasts and Werewolves, able to take on any form he wishes? Or would you prefer a simple lie, or the wiping of it from your mind altogether?

You are his wife, you are bound together in a way no force can sunder, you could not reject him if you tried. But he fears your disgust, would do anything to avoid it.

But the truth would set him free. No more lies, no more deception, he could truly be himself with you. The freedom that would afford, the burdens he would no longer have to carry alone.

So for once, he settles on the truth, mostly.

This is simply one of the forms I can take. You know I am no Elf, I can do things your kind could only dream of.

He nuzzles your neck, licking a long stripe up the sensitive flesh between your ear and your collarbone.

"I know that," you whimper, his rough tongue laving your throat, making your toes curl into the dirt. "But this is new, this is-" a whine escapes your lips as he nips at your neck- "unnatural."

You feel his song in the depths of your soul, how sweetly he pines for you. Your soul cannot help but answer, harmonising with his every touch, until you are squirming under his iron embrace, pupils blown, arousal overtaking you quicker than it ever has before.

*******

His massive limbs cage you in, and panic begins to set in again; surely your husband would never hurt you, but in this state you weren't sure he had the control to keep his nature at bay.

"I need to know-" You brace against him, trying with all your might to release yourself from his roaming tongue, rasping over your skin; sharp teeth snared in your dress pull in one fluid motion and you're left bare under his gaze.

Need to know what, my pet? His tone is adoring as ever, but impatient; he knows what plagues your thoughts and he still isn't sure he wants you to know.

"Need to know... need to know who you are." You force out the words as he seeks out where to lick, where to bite, trying to swallow your pleas; he cocks his head, as if your question is a mystery.

You know who I am, love. His length begins to prod at you insistently, and you clench your thighs together, nervous at the thought of him claiming you like this, stalling for time even as the melody of his fëa seduces you.

"No... no, I don't think I do," You pant, fingers clutching at his neck, drawing him in and pulling him away, your body betraying your mind as you become more and more unsure of what you want from him.

"How? How can you change your face like that? Your entire being? I don't understand..." You trail off with a whine as he begins to worship your body with his tongue, covering your breasts with a swipe, dragging slowly lower until he finds your mound, gods you smell divine.

The bestial part of his mind begins to take over, ignoring your questioning, wrapped in the scent of you, the soft flesh under his tongue that he could so easily ruin with a drag of his teeth if he desired, your panting lips forming words that fall on deaf ears; the only sounds he now listens for are your moans and pleas.

"Mairon... I need to know..." You realise far too late that this is no longer your husband, and that the beast before you is going to rut you into the earth without pity.

Terror grips you, hand in hand with arousal, and the fresh wetness between your legs spurs him on, groaning at the scent of you, all he can think of as you writhe beneath him. You try to get a better look at the flesh that is about to ravage you, but it is hidden in his fur. Perhaps that is for the best, you muse, far-off in your thoughts now, waiting for him to ruin you.

He sniffs at the dampness between your thighs, a groan rumbling through him as he bears his sharp canines, dangerous and gleaming even in the dark of the night; perhaps especially so. Even with the forest at your fingertips, all you can smell is him, musk and smoke and iron, he smells like himself but stronger, every inch of him reeking of the man you love but more pungent, inescapable; a heady mix that does nothing to dispel the coil in your abdomen that he will delight to spring.

"My love, darling, please, Mairon..." you try every which way to get his attention, to bring him back to you.

You shiver as he laps at you, tasting you every which way, your nipples peaking as he runs his tongue over them before letting them chill in the night's cool breeze. He lowers himself slightly to wrap himself around you more completely, your soft skin now pressed against his thick fur, the perfect companion to stave off the chill.

You feel him pant against your neck, his thick length weeping against your legs, firmly pressed shut as you rock slightly to relieve the terrible pressure he has built in your clit.

You bury your face in the green foliage under your head, still pressing your thighs together as if he will yet be denied. He noses at your jaw, demanding your attention; pressing his long teeth against your throat, demanding your obedience.

The inhuman face gazing down on you does nothing to dispel the visceral fear that grips you. This is your husband, the man you love, whose soul you share; but none of this seems to matter now, as empty golden eyes stare you down, awaiting the inevitable.

Tears of fear begin to fall unbidden as your heart hammers in your chest, as you realise that despite every instinct in you telling you to run, you still want him, and he knows it.

The second you loosen your thigh muscles, he is there with his tongue, licking and sucking and making your toes curl. He is too rough, too fast, and before long a tiny nip at your clit sends stars behind your eyes, warmth exploding and cascading through you.

With you distracted at your peak, he takes his opportunity.

Hot breath on your face, soft fur under your fingers, giving you purchase, grounding you, a white hot pain at your mound-

Your scream echoes through the forest as he buries himself within you, no gentleness, just brutal force.

He allows you a moment to accommodate him, but it would take many more to truly adjust to his monstrous size. He pulls back, your tiny sigh of relief cut short as he thrusts back in, deeper, longer, stroking every inch of you.

You feel a tendril of his mind caress yours, and you reach for it, cling to it, make his power your own as you channel every intelligible thought into not being spilt apart.

As his power and your healing magic do their work, the blazing pain lessens, relieved to a dull ache, that only invites him to do his worst.

He would tear you apart, put you back together, over and over if he could. As he reaches the height of his pleasure, he is merciless, rutting you like a mindless animal, emptying and filling you quicker than you can draw breath, gasping around the sheer inhuman size of him.

And you enjoy it.

As the pain recedes, all you can think is of his cock filling you over and over, tongue rasping everywhere he can reach, guttural groans punctuating every thrust, as you drag your nails down his forearms, desperate to ground yourself in any sensation not emanating from your heated core.

With an unearthly growl, his thick hot seed paints your insides, filling you to bursting, and the coil in your abdomen does indeed spring again; as he comes down from his own high, his mind returns to him piece by piece, and he realises what he has put you through. You quake around him, whimpering and clinging to him, nails deep in his heavily muscled back.

He licks the tears from your face gently, still engulfed in your wet heat, unwilling to be parted just yet. He rears up to get a look at how well you take him, to see how you stretch and mould for him.

That is all he wants after all, for you to be moulded by him, for him.

He nuzzles your neck as you lie exhausted underneath him.

Love... precious girl... my Uthaessel... did so well for me...

You give him a sleepy smile, idly running your fingers through the fur on his chest, suddenly overcome with the urge to sleep for a week.

When he can, he slips out of you, curling you into his side, as his seed drips between your thighs. He'll clean you up later, he thinks, but perhaps for now he'll just watch you sleep.

*******

When you wake, he has already transformed himself, smooth skin and golden hair that you love so much, but your sticky thighs remind you uncomfortably of what happened last night.

You crane your neck to look at him, to assure yourself it is really him. He gives you that same gentle adoring smile he always does; your heart melts as you can't help but return it, but your questions still plague you. He had never told you he could take the guise of a beast, and you worry that something wicked lies under that glorious visage.

"Mairon..." You try to keep your tone neutral, but he knows your heart too well.

"I know, love," he gathers you to him, resting his chin on your head. "Can we not? At least for now."

You do wonder whether to indulge him, but the suspicions gnawing at your gut will not cease.

"I want to know... I need to know what happened."

You expect him to fight you on it tooth and nail, but he vowed to himself last night, the truth would out. Mostly.

And so he tells you. His humiliation at the hands of Lúthien and Huan, his command over beasts and vampires, even where he really comes from. Your eyes widen and your breath shallows with each detail, reaching a crescendo as he tells you of Morgoth, his voice low as if his master could hear him even here.

"A servant of Morgoth?" You can't catch your breath, you've long stood up, pacing and wringing your hands more urgently the longer you let him speak.

"Why are you telling me this?" You stop still and ask sharply, making him wince at the tone you've never used on him before.

"You asked, my love," he looks confused, as if the truth weren't more horrifying than your husband simply liking to spend time in wolf's clothing.

"But why are you telling me now? You could have continued your vile deception? Kept me in the dark?" Your stomach drops as you wonder aloud his intentions.

"You've had everything you wanted from me, that must be it. And now you tell me you are a servant of the Enemy-" your thoughts are interrupted as he now stands and moves to take your hands in his.

A churning fear overtakes your anger as you realise he is the one your people only speak of in hushed whispers, his very name accursed to the tongue: Sauron.

"You... you are the terror my people fear in these woods. You have plagued them, stolen them, and then you come to me and ply me with your sweetness and lies?"

"You misjudge me, my love. I will never stop wanting you," he implores, as he takes your face in his hand, willing you to be silent and listen.

"My appetite for you will never be sated, such is my devotion. I could never cast you aside, could never let you leave me." He sounds so damn sincere, your heart pleads with you to listen while your head tells you to run.

"You wanted the truth, so I gave it to you. If I did not think you could handle it, I would not have troubled you with such evils." His eyes search yours for any sign you understand his plight. "I told you my name, I never lied to you. But I could not tell you about Melkor in the beginning, how could I, when you would have scorned me?"

"You don't know that," you mutter, still shell-shocked, world in pieces, but offended by the accusation all the same.

"If this is your reaction, then I am sure you would."

"Are you blaming me? Lies by omission are still lies!" Your indignation stirs you a little, your mind screaming at you to fight back.

He does you the courtesy to look mollified slightly, before grasping your hands once more, tracing circles in your palm with his thumb.

"Amarië, my sweet, even your name is too good for me, how could I have won you if you had known the company I am forced to keep?"

It's that imploring look, the gentle tone, and-

"Forced? What do you mean, forced?" Even in your shell-shocked anger, the notion of your husband forced to do anything hurts you deeply.

"I hardly serve Him willingly, my love, no one does. His will is..." he searches for the right word, the word that will convince you, "insurmountable."

You take a deep breath through your nose, finding nothing in your mind but the sweet scent of smoke and musk and iron, the scent of your husband that softens your heart once more.

Your deep exhale releases much of the tension within you; of course, he is but an unwilling participant in Morgoth's designs, of course.

"This is your one chance, Mairon, you have one chance to tell me everything, no lies, no deceit." You raise your eyebrows at him, daring him to argue, but he simply sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.

"I have done, love, you know everything."

"No. Details, and lots of them, now."

It takes from sunrise to sunset, but he tells you everything. How Morgoth seduced him to his will; how He alone has the power to change Middle Earth in the way your lover has planned; how Sauron realised far too late that His destruction was not the balance he craved.

"And you cannot leave Him?" Your voice is hoarse after so much time spent listening, but you have to ask.

Sauron grimaces, an expression that twists his pretty face, makes it almost unrecognisable.

"One does not simply leave Melkor's service." His tongue picks over the words carefully, watching for your reaction.

"Morgoth." You interject, "his name is Morgoth." After all the heartbreak and destruction He has wrought on your kind, you cannot stand to hear his divine name spoken once more.

"Forgive me, love, it is... difficult to break the habit when He himself would flay me for even thinking the name your people have given him." He cannot help but smirk a moment when your face drops, and you reach for him as if to comfort him.

He takes you in his golden embrace, holding you tightly as if you'd leave him the moment you were free.

"I was so afeared that you would reject my affections, I could not possibly tell you, and as time passed, I could not bear to ruin what we share." He nuzzles your neck affectionately, as if he has already won you over.

You are so torn, your heart and head fighting a losing battle. If he truly is an unwilling accomplice, then he needs you now more than ever to face the darkness. But the darkness was a terror you never planned on witnessing in all its treachery.

It is a long time before you can forgive his lies, but the truth will indeed set you both free.

[sirhamburrger]

chihiro (k. yukimiya x f!photographer!reader) when i come back around will i know what to say? // not today, maybe tomorrow

in which kenyu just can't seem to muster up the courage for a proper goodbye. wc: 743 || cw: light angst, yukimiya is afraid of rejection, lowkey you are too, there will be a part two to this because like cmon there has to be || header from bllk light novel || dividers from @saradika-graphics

kenyu doesn't know how he's going to break the news to you.

after all, how does one masterfully announce to one's best friend that they're leaving for a live-in football training program lasting approximately nine months, starting tomorrow? and then tell said best friend that he's been in love with her since the first day of middle school?

it's simply not done.

so he keeps his mona lisa smile on, muscles aching, as you're guided to snap photos of him from every angle. you always tell him seeing people take close-ups of your best friend is a little weird, but you seem to be having a lot of fun doing it yourself. too much fun, in fact. he fights the urge to break into a grin despite himself.

“okay, that's a wrap for today!” the shoot director calls out after what seems like an eternity. “see you all next time.”

kenyu stretches his sore limbs, letting out a quiet sigh of relief as all the staff members go around saying their ‘good work today’s. but he doesn't feel the usual post-shoot euphoria. this is his final shoot with you, and possibly the last time you will ever see each other.

“hey, ken?”

he jogs over to where you're sitting before your computer, tongue poking out cutely. smiling softly, you gesture for him to take a seat beside you, then turn back to the screen. “look at these pics of you! they're the best ones yet.” 

and they are. the lighting is perfect, as are the focus and contrast, bringing out the subtle charm his fans love so much.

“you really know just how to make me look good, huh." he chuckles, crossing his arms. "i'm glad they let you take the wheel on this one.”

“you'd think that they'd never let a photog intern actually do any of the fun stuff, right?” you say almost breathlessly, strangely, as you begin to upload the photos to a hard drive. “but i told them this was my last shoot with you, so maybe that's why-”

wait. what?

how do you already know about his leaving for blue lock?

“look, i… i'm sorry i didn't tell you earlier.” you look back up at him, and he thinks he sees tears glistening in your eyes. 

what the heck is going on?

“i didn't want it to affect whatever you have going on right now. you're so successful and happy. but it's a really good opportunity for me. y'know, for my portfolio and all. job experience, too.”

his mouth goes dry.

“how long is this... thing going to be for?”

“nine months or so. i'm only coming back to school for uni entrance exams. other than that, all my school stuff is going to be remote.” you let out a shaky breath, clenching your fists on the table. “which means - i won't be able to see you for a really long time. i leave tomorrow.”

kenyu feels a lot of things in this moment. happy for you. broken-hearted that you're leaving. but most of all?

he feels like a total coward for not telling you first, so you wouldn't have to feel so bad about it.

“we'll keep in touch, though, right?” he takes your hand in his, holding back tears of his own. “this isn't going to affect us. i won't let it.”

“yeah.” you give him a sad, watery smile. “i suppose so.”

your phone rings, and you tear your gaze from his face.

“i should go.”

“okay.”

he watches you silently as you pack up and walk towards the exit, watches you wipe the tears from your cheeks - and he knows now is his last chance.

“wait!”

you turn around, red-rimmed eyes wide -

“i love you.”

a beat passes between you. then another. and yet another. then you're running towards him, and for a moment he thinks you're going to wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips to his and oh gosh he's not ready for this but he's more ready than he's ever been in his life -

but you don't.

you squeeze the life out of him, but you don't kiss him.

his heart sinks.

"love you too, ken."

and even if those words are kind of what he's always wanted to hear from you, they really aren't. because you just don't mean them in the way he so desperately wants you to.

oh, he really feels like a coward now.

bllk masterlist || general masterlist

© sirhamburrger 2024

[sceletaflores]

phone sex with first son patrick after you leave for yale...i'm creaming just imagining all the nasty things he'd say LMAO

RAAHHH AND YOU KNOW HE WOULD :((((((

calling you when you're studying for your advanced civil rights advocacy exam because he's "really missing you, professor."

you're smiling despite the scoff you let out into the phone, "i'm busy patrick, we can't all ride the president's coattails."

patrick snorts, you can hear the sound of footsteps on his end followed by a door closing. "yeah i'm a huge disappointment and you're off being superwoman blah blah blah i know, what are you wearing?"

you roll your eyes, looking down at your yale blue sweatshirt and matching bottoms you got from the spirit shop, "sweats."

patrick whistles, low and long. you hear even more shuffling, the sound of a zipper being dragged down. "that's hot so baby, keep going."

he sounds weird, like he's somewhere super echoy. your brows furrow, sitting up straighter in your desk chair as you strain your ears. "where are you?"

"lincoln bedroom," he says easily, his voice gone breathy around the edges.

your brows shoot up in surprise. "patrick, are you seriously—"

"yes, ma'am," he cuts in, voice dropping to a low whisper, "take the sweats off."

you can’t help the laughter that bubbles up, a mix of disbelief and amusement. "you’re supposed to be working, not—"

"trust me, i’m working on something very important," he murmurs, and you can practically see the smirk on his face. “i was in this boring ass meeting with my dad, started thinking about the last time you were here. fuck, you remember? i do, god i remember. never gonna forget how that pussy cried over my fucking dick…”

he trails off into a moan, shaky and broken through your phones speaker.

your cheeks heat up, ears burning with it. you do remember.

you bite your lip, it's tempting, so tempting— but you like giving patrick a hard time, making him work for it a little. "pat i'm not failing this test cause i stopped studying to listen to you jerk off in the lincoln bedroom."

"you're not gonna fail, you should take a break anyway. come on, humor me for a second. please professor?"

you can feel the familiar warmth starting to simmer just beneath your skin, swirling in the pit of your stomach, and you try so hard to ignore it. patrick always gets what he wants, you refuse to give in so easily.

but it's so hard. he makes it so hard.

especially when moves the phone close to where he's fucking his fist over the length of his dick. voice low and breathy as he rambles on, "can you hear that shit? got so fuckin' wet thinking about you, so hard i had to leave the goddamn meeting..."

you close your eyes with the shuddery inhale, you can practically see the way his thick cock leaks messily all over his hand. the way his heavy balls bounce with every tug.

the image of him, sprawled out on some historical piece of 1800th century furniture with his dick pulled out of his nine-hundred dollar suit pants just because he thought of you, is enough to have you slide your hand down the waistband of your sweats. you let out a tiny gasp when your fingers brush against your clit, biting your tongue when your start rubbing small circles over yourself to the wet sound of patrick's dick.

"you're awfully quiet," patrick teases, voice closer to the phone again. "wanna share with the class?"

"fuck you, patrick,"

there's a pause, and you picture him biting his lip, his eyes screwed shut in pleasure. "god, just thinking about you, the way you looked the last time...how tight you were around me...it's fucking torture."

you swallow hard, trying to maintain control, but fuck you miss him too. you miss seeing him in tight suits, you miss his hand on the small of your back when your parent's aren't looking, you miss him dragging you out of galas and fundraisers so he can fuck you in the bathroom, you miss the thick stretch of his dick bullying into your pussy over and over and over.

you can feel the tension building, the tight coil in your belly winding tighter with every filthy word.

"pat..." you begin, but your voice falters when he lets out a low, drawn-out groan that has your knees weakening, even from a distance. your hand falters, slipping lower to push two fingers into your aching hole, eager to chase the release that's sneaking up on you.

"i know you’re touching yourself," he murmurs, voice dropping an octave. "fuck i wish i could see you, baby. see how good you look with your fingers buried in that tight fuckin' pussy."

a high whimper escapes your lips before you can stop it, and patrick’s laugh is dark and knowing. "yeah, that’s what I thought," he purrs. "don’t stop now. want you to come for me, professor. right here, right now, while i’m fucking my hand thinking about you."

you close your eyes, giving in to the warmth flooding through your veins. each thrust of your fingers becomes more frantic, more desperate as his words push you closer to the edge.

"that’s it," patrick breathes out, his voice growing ragged. "you’re so close, i can hear it. shit, i wish i was there to feel you come around me. you’re so fucking tight when you come—"

you’re trembling now, the tension in your body wound so tightly you feel like you could snap any second. his moans are erratic, matching the pace of your fingers as you chase the high he's pulling you towards.

“say my name,” he demands, a groan slipping past his lips as he nears his own climax. “say it when you come, i want to hear it.”

"patrick," you whisper, your voice shaky, barely able to get the words out as your breathing quickens, "i'm so close—"

"yeah? me too, baby," he pants, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts. "come for me, i want to hear you."

that’s all it takes. with one last stroke, the tension unravels, and you’re tumbling over the edge, your body shuddering with the force of your release. his name spills from your lips, a breathless chant as waves of pleasure crash over you.

patrick follows right after, his moan deep and guttural, the sound vibrating through the phone and settling low in your belly. there’s a beat of silence, just the two of you breathing heavily, coming down from the high.

finally, you manage to catch your breath, a lazy smile tugging at your lips. "you’re going to get us both in trouble one of these days," you murmur, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm.

patrick laughs softly, the sound content and sated. "it'll be worth it," he replies, his voice filled with satisfaction. "totally worth it."

[thedevilsoftruth]

Had a weird dream last night that Marc Spector was in my room, and I was writing smut about him and Big Man With A Gun by Nine Inch Nails was playing on my cd player. Now I just can't stop thinking of the lyrics, " shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, shoot, I'm gonna come all over you. " So, here I present to you, some of my horniest Marc Spector head canons.

He really likes to grab your thighs. He likes to grab them when you're sitting next to him, you know... just for the fuck of it. Whenever you're in the car with him, he'll reach over for your thigh and just kind of grab it. He won't say anything and just kind of let it happen, slowly making his way for your inner thigh until you make a comment on it. When you do, he'll act like he's confused as a way to mess with you.

Marc loves to praise you alright, but sometimes he can't just hold back his feelings for you. It's like everything just becomes too much for him and he just can't be nice to you.

" Gonna fucking rip you apart. " he'll snarl, grasping your neck and shaking you a bit. You would be grabbing his wrist, your poor little face scrunching up while he penetrates you like you're a little toy. His little toy.

He can't contain himself when you're sitting on his lap. Mmm, how pretty that little dress of yours looks on you... he bets it'd look better off of you. His lips will latch on your neck, and he'll breathe into your warm skin.

" Mm baby, I think we might need a room." His strong hands will rub your thighs, and he'll continue giving you tiny love bites on your soft skin until you agree.

He likes to start off a bit slow. maybe play with your nipples through your top and watch them become hard. Or maybe he'll start with a little foreplay? He'll rip off your clothes one by one and have you sit on his lap, move you around a bit and then sink his greedy fingers into your entrance. He wants to make sure you can also feel him become hard underneath you, and also wants to make sure you're begging for that hardness.

" Marc, please.. I can't handle it anymore. " you'll moan quietly while he's curling those two thick fingers into the perfect spot.

" Keep begging like that, baby. Tell me how much you need it, baby. " he'll respond, his face nuzzling in the crook of your neck.

Marc is also a bit of a rigger. I'll leave it at that.

God, he just needs to see you underneath him, eyes rolling into the back of your head, lips wet and plump from biting them too much and slipping out broken moans and cries for him to never stop.

He'll say things to try and get you on, dirty things he'd never picture himself saying. " my little slut, in shambles underneath me like this.. " and, " Aw, does my precious baby need more? Mm, I'll give her more. I'll give her all of it. " He just wants to make a pure mess out of you, craves to see you all fucked up becuase of him. Just for him.

And when he's done with you, he'll either finish in you or on you.

" God, so perfect. My perfect little girl. " he'll purr, combing your hair back with his hands and giving your forehead a kiss. But even after everything, theres just something about the look of you all fucked out of your mind with his seed all over ( or in ) you. He's unable to wait for next time he can see you like that.

[pink-amethyst-tarot]

Have you given up on love? This is for you - Pick A Pile

take a deep breath and choose which pile you think is the best for you

I know I channeled these songs but I'm pro-boycott

If you would like to help out those in need in Palestine, you can click here.

P I L E 1 ~ P I L E 2 ~ P I L E 3

P I L E 1 - Go Through Something To Get Somewhere

Three of Wands, Page of Cups, Four of Wands, The Lovers

Signs this reading is for you: 111, 11:11, classic books, jewelry (especially rings), money/coins, coffee, tea

You about to be mad at me.... Thing is, this big love you're looking for can't come in right now. It's being blocked because you still need to work on yourself. I feel like some of y'all already knew I was gon say that anyway! Fall in love with yourself and not for the sake of getting closer to falling in love because then your effort is meaningless. Do it for you and if you don't want to do it for you, figure out why. Do the shadow work. You need you more than you know. Figuring out what is so lovable about you will show you what you really deserve in a relationship, not what you have always thought that you deserve.

Once you do, it's going to happen when you least expect it and when it does you will be swept away in this amazing love. The kind of love that changes you for the better. The kind of love that you grow old with. The kind of love that you have always wanted but never believed that you were good enough to have. This person is your soulmate and they want to be with you just as much you want to be with them. Don't let something good pass you by and then you have to wait another entire lifetime to get it again. The first step starts with you.

Also, you cannot be afraid of change if you want this to work. You can't expect thing to change while everything stays the same. Accept that change can be uncomfortable, challenging, and sometimes, downright hellish. You have to go through something to get somewhere.

Channeled Song: End Game by Taylor Swift ft. Future and Ed Sheeran

I wanna be your end game // I wanna be your first string

Thank you for participating in this reading; if you would like a more personal one, you can click here.

If you would like to help out those in need in Palestine, you can click here.

P I L E 2 - It's Gotta Get Bad Before It Gets Good

Wheel of Fortune, Six of Pentacles, The Emperor, King of Cups, Eight of Swords

Signs this reading is for you: Heart Chakra, 222, frogs, owls, hearts, butterflies

You're heart is still broken from your last relationship and you're convinced that there isn't anyone who will give you the love that you want or deserve. There is someone for you who want to take care of you and be your rock. This love that wants to come in is very mature and long-lasting but it can't come in if you don't try to move on. I know it's easier said than done but at some point you have to choose yourself; at some point you have to choose your happiness.

You could also be someone that is trying to ignore how you feel about the end of a relationship so that you can get to the good part. I hate to be the one to tell you this, but, it doesn't work like that. You have to go through to get through it.

All in all, you may feel stuck or trapped by your emotions but the way out is more obvious than you think. Maybe not easy but definitely obvious. Once you get through the bad part, there is good ahead for you.

Channeled Song - Better In Time by Leona Lewis

thought I couldn't live without you // it's gonna hurt when it heals, too // it'll all get better in time // and even though I really love you // I'm gonna smile 'cause I deserve to // It'll all get better in time

P I L E 3 - You're not looking for love but love is looking for you

Ten of Wands, Three of Pentacles, Knight of Wands, Nine of Cups

Signs this reading may be for you: pink, boy bands, joking and laughter, pickles, oranges, Vaseline weird dreams

So, off the bat, this reading feels different from the other two because it feels like it doesn't matter what your reason for giving up on love is because love is coming your way, whether you like it or not! You have probably been through a lot in love and in life but you never gave up. You have always keep going despite what you have been through but that may have led you to feel that some things just can't have your attention right now because shit needs to get done. Great news! The shit is done! You're ready! This person is coming in quickly and is someone that supports you and wants to be the person that you come to when life is hard. This person is a dream come true. You may have not be actively focusing on what you want in a person, but sometimes our hearts speak louder to the universe than we do. I can see your guides kind of seeing you get this and you being surprised but your guides are looking all smug like "hah! bet you didn't see that comin did ya!?" Even though you're reading this, you may still be surprised when it happens because you may not 100% believe this reading. But it's true and it's yours! Love is on the way, baybee!

Channeled Song - Case 143 by Stray Kids

why do I keep getting attracted? // 자석 같이 끌려가 // I cannot explain this reaction // 이것밖에 one-four-three // Why do I keep getting attracted? // 네 모습만 떠올라 // I cannot explain this emotion // one-four-three I love you! //

translated lyrics:

why do I keep getting attracted? // I'm drawn to you like a magnet // Why do I keep getting attracted? // you're the only one on my mind // I cannot explain this emotion // one-four-three, I love you! //

Thank you for participating in this reading; if you would like a more personal one, you can click here.

If you would like to help out those in need in Palestine, you can click here

LEGAL DISCLAIMER: FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. THESE READINGS ARE FOR ENTERTAINMENT PURPOSES ONLY. no guarantees are implied. These readings are not a substitute or replacement for any professional help or services. My readings are not a substitute for any form of professional legal, medical/psychiatric, relationship, religious/spiritual or financial/ business advice nor consultations. You should always see a professional legal/trained adviser for help in any matter. I am not responsible for any decisions/ actions you take.

[intoanotherworld23]

The Neighbor II

Pairing: Reader x Chris Evans

Warnings: NSFW 18+ ONLY DNI, no sex in this but there is loads of fingering, sexual tension, mentions of sex, swear words, drinking

Summary: Your incredibly handsome new neighbor Chris Evans moves in across the street, and he’s holding a secret that he doesn’t know if you’ll be able to handle

Part 1

Check out my other works on my Hall Of Hunks

"Bitch you really need to calm down." Pacing the room as you took a big swig of your drink. "It's not even nine yet."

"I don't know why I'm freaking out." Exclaiming feeling like an idiot for getting this worked up.

"He's an incredibly attractive guy and you were wishful thinking there would be a connection." She told you which wasn't far from the truth.

"It's just he could have said he couldn't make it instead of making me think he's going to come." At this point you were just ranting at his lack of appearance.

"Well you need to at least look like your enjoying yourself people are starting to notice." Taking a quick glance to see people side eyeing you with a weird look.

Telling yourself over and over again that he wasn't going to come, and you just wasted good makeup. Constantly glancing at your phone every five seconds, and looking over the fence to see if you could see him walking over. For some reason you were nervous, and felt like your heart was racing so fast.

For making up a pool party at last minute she was able to scrounge up a lot of people. You'd never even seen half of these people, and yet here they were. Watching as some couples danced provocatively, and some others were making out in the pool.

"This bikini keeps riding up the ass." You tried to whisper in her ear and she just laughed at you. "My ass is practically hanging out."

"That's kind of the point." Shaking her head at you as she watched you struggle to adjust the flimsy material.

"He probably doesn't even like women who dress like this." The feeling of insecurity washing over you thinking about his reaction to what you were wearing.

"Please he's a guy he'll be drooling over you once he sees you." Cocking her head at you in bewilderment. "He'll wanna rip that thing off you with his teeth."

"There's so much prettier girls here than me." Looking around taking notes of all types of skin being shown, and bodies being shown off.

"Now you and I both know that's not even true." Looking straight into your eyes with a serious look. She hated when you talked down on yourself like this.

"And slow down on the tequila you know what it does to you." She warned as she watched you pouring yourself some more liquid courage. Completely loosing track of how many cups you've had.

"I'm partying aren't I?" You sarcastically sneered at her taking another big gulp. You couldn't even feel the burning down your throat as much.

"That's now what I meant Jose Quervo." She joked as she grabbed your arm and pulled you inside.

"I don't think he's coming." You drunkenly confessed to her feeling sad now. Hating when you drank and let your emotions take control.

"He'll be here he probably just got busy and lost track of time." She was trying to make you feel better, and it really wasn't making a difference. "Or he's probably nervous just like you."

"Nobody could get more nervous than me." You scoffed as you started munching on chips and dip. "I'm pathetic."

"Bitch now is not the time to be moping over someone you just met." Sitting down next to you as she placed a hand on your knee. "If he doesn't show then oh well you were too good for him anyway."

"Now he probably won't ever talk to me again." From now on you'd probably have to watch him from out of your window. Looking like some kind of heart broken, scorned ex.

"I swear to god if you don't stop whining I'm gonna have Josh and Steven throw you in the pool." She wasn't kidding either her tone was somewhat threatening.

Turning your head to look out the glass doors you noticed a very familiar face. Straightening yourself up as your eyes went wide with excitement feeling so giddy to see the one person you were literally just about to bawl your eyes out over. Your friend noticing your change in body language and looked out the doors as well.

"Ah see Bitch I knew he was going to show." She lightly shoved your shoulder. God he looked really good too.

"What should I do? Should I go out there and talk to him?" Firing question and question as you stood up and looked into a mirror to make sure you didn't look too much of a mess.

"Actually why don't you hang in here and make him look for you." She smirked to herself at her genius idea.

"Oh you're right that's a good idea make him come to me." Nodding your head as you grinned to yourself. "Can you stay with me?"

"This isn't middle school you don't need a chaperone." Her words making you sigh loudly knowing she was right. "I'll just be right outside."

"Fine." Groaning as you stood by the kitchen counter fiddling with your fingers.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do." She winked as she walked out the door back to all the party goers.

Trying to avoid looking outside and giving Chris the impression you're basically stalking him. You wanted him to think you could really care less about his attention. Repeating in your head to make him come to you, and fight for your attention.

Placing the cup on your lips getting a whiff of the strong liquor then putting it down. The last thing you wanted was to get too drunk, and throw up all over him or something. You at least wanted to be alert when you were talking with him. Blinking your eyes rapidly hoping it wouldn't make you look as drunk.

Your back facing the door now as you heard it slide open. Closing your eyes for a brief moment as you let out a big exhale. The room was silent as you stood there, and you heard footsteps quickly approaching you. Even though you couldn't see you knew exactly who it was.

"There she is." Chris spoke hearing the amusement in his voice. Turning around to face him taking note he was shirtless.

"Here I am you caught me." Waving your hand by you making him chuckle.

"Sorry I'm a little late I got caught up in something." He apologized which made your heart warm up. "I wasn't going to miss this."

"I'm glad that you could come I was getting nervous you wouldn't show." You admitted to him mentally smacking yourself for saying that out loud.

"Don't be nervous sweetheart." Feeling yourself melting at pet name. "I said I would try to make an appearance and I'm a man of my word."

"This party was starting to get a little boring anyway." It was kind of a true statement you were just glad to see him.

"It doesn't look that boring to me." He chuckled referencing to the couples making out and grinding all over each other.

"Did you want something to eat or drink?" Breaking the silence of you two just staring at each other.

"Oh no I'm good." He waved off your offer as he stepped closer to you. "Your bikini though."

"Does it look bad?" Looking down at yourself wanting to cover yourself up with your hands now.

"Absolutely not you look incredibly ravishing and sexy." You could feel your ears burning at his choice words. "Thank god to whoever made that bikini."

"It's not mine anyway it's my friends." You really needed to stop opening your mouth and saying the first thing on your mind.

"Well I'll have to thank her for being a good friend." Chris smirked as his eyes slowly roamed your body taking every inch of you trying to take mental pictures.

"Oh yeah she's something." You joked making him laugh. He could note the sarcasm in the tone of your voice.

"So a beautiful woman like you has to have a boyfriend." It came out more as a statement than a question. Blinking at him as you thought about what he said.

"Nope no boyfriend." Shaking your head back and forth watching as he was stepping closer to you. "No guys want me."

"Bullshit I bet you've got a line of guys just waiting to get with you." He scoffed playfully not believing what he was hearing. "I know if you were mine I'd be fighting guys everyday."

If you didn't know any better you would say this man was flirting with you. The way he was looking at you had you feeling a little flustered and overwhelmed. He was holding himself back as best he could not wanting to scare you off or something. It was getting hard for him though not to bend you over the counter.

The room was starting to become thick with tension that it was getting harder to breathe. The way Chris was hovering over you now felt like a lion having caught his prey, and was waiting to devour it. You could feel sweat forming on your back, and you needed to freshen yourself up a little bit.

"I'll be right back." Lifting up your finger to him as you turned around and headed to your room. Feeling his eyes watching you swaying your hips a little bit just to entice him.

Practically sprinting to the bathroom once you knew you were out of view. Splashing some cold water on your neck to help cool yourself down. Inhaling and exhaling to calm your nerves a little bit. Staring up at yourself as you prayed you weren't about to do anything stupid. The last thing you wanted was to embarrass yourself in front of him.

Grabbing your favorite body lotion lathering your arms and legs in it. Wanting your skin to be smooth if someone's hands were to touch it. Fixing your makeup a little so it didn't look as smudged. Applying your favorite glass to your lips to give them a little shimmer. Who knows maybe you two might end up kissing, and you at least want your lips to look and taste good.

"Come on you can do this." Whispering to yourself as you paced back and forth in your room. "He's clearly interested in you."

"What if he's just being nice though?" You thought immediately your worst kind of fear coming to light. "Or he's just looking for a hook up."

Not that there would be anything wrong with sleeping with the man. It's just you didn't want to be another woman in his books. You wanted there to be something between you two. Wanting to get to know each other and form a relationship together. You weren't really into flings or one night stands.

This was the kind of man that could get any girl that he wanted to. He probably had no trouble in the bedroom or finding someone to entertain him for the night. He was oozing with confidence and sex. Lord knows he's probably had more experience than you've had.

"Just go out there and have a good time." Ending your little self pep talk as you opened your bedroom door only to be blocked by a massive body.

"Thought I lost you for a minute." Chris spoke as you stared at him wide eyed. Hoping he didn't hear you talking to yourself.

"Nope not lost." Was all you could say as he moved towards you and you automatically moved backwards. He was pushing you in the room without even touching you.

"Was starting to get nervous you had abandoned me." Repeating your words from earlier with a knowing smirk.

"I wouldn't do that to you." Responding back your voice a little louder not wanting him to get the impression you weren't interested. Which you so very clearly obviously were interested.

"Do I make you nervous?" He asked as you gulped standing there frozen now.

"No." Shaking your head slightly your voice just barely above a whisper.

"Really?" His chest almost touching yours as he bowed his head down so his lips were directly in front of yours. "Cause I think I do."

Glancing briefly down at his lips then back up at his eyes. He caught your look his lip twitching up in a smile. His eyes doing the same thing as both of you waited for the other to make a move first. You could smell the mint on his breath, and you just hoped your breath didn't reek of tequila.

His lips softly pressing against yours putting more pressure once he noted you weren't backing away. Your hands reaching up to wrap around his neck as his hands gripped your hips. Pulling you flush against his body as his kisses became more hungry.

This is not at all how you pictured your night to go. You figured you and Chris would flirt a little bit, and that would be it. Now here you were making out with the sexiest man you have ever met in your bedroom while there was a party going on outside.

Your lips moving along with his loving how well meshed your mouths were together. Feeling his hands moving around to your backside gripping your cheeks giving them a quick squeeze. Squealing into his mouth as his sudden action taking that opportunity to push his tongue inside your mouth.

You've never been told if you were a good kisser before, and judging by his groans he was enjoying this so much more than you thought. Feeling your skin under his fingertips was driving him crazy, and he needed more. He wanted to feel more, but didn't want to push you into something you didn't want.

Moving you backwards until the back of your legs bumped into the bed. Leaning a hand back as you slowly sat down so neither you or Chris had to remove your lips from each other. It was like you two were glued together, and you couldn't find it in yourself to remove him from you.

"I've been wanting to do that all day." He confessed as you smiled against his lips. Pressing your chest forward so your breasts were sticking out.

You knew this was going to become more than just making out. The way that your bodies responded to each other, and how your skin tingled with every touch. If it wasn't for the tequila you'd been drinking you wouldn't be acting like this.

"I need to feel you so badly." Mumbling against your lips as he felt his erection painfully pressing against his trunks. "Can I?"

Staring up at him as he looked all over your face for consent. He could tell you were nervous, and didn't know what to say. Hoping you would say yes since he's been driving himself mad since he spotted you in your bikini. There was something about you that had him wanting to peel back your layers.

"I don't know." Leaning back on your palms wondering if he was trying to have sex with you.

"How about I just use my fingers?" Leaning his body back as his hands were soothingly running across your thighs.

"Okay." Soon as you gave him the green light he practically growled leaning forward pushing your body fully back attaching his lips to yours again.

His body was pressed up against yours gently rocking himself back and forth. Just enough to where you could feel him over your bikini bottom. A wet spot forming on the inside of the material that he was soon to discover. It amazed you how quickly you became horny for this man you just met.

His hands moving up your body to the edge of your bikini. Pressing his fingers under the material as he slid them inside. The tips of his fingers applying pressure to your core making you moan. Cupping you with his hand as his lips moved down your cheek and to your neck.

Chris taking his middle and ring finger and slowly pushing them inside of you. Hands reaching out to grab onto his arm gripping it as he thick fingers stayed still inside of you. Opening your mouth wide as you tried to steady your breathing.

"Got a tight little pussy for me huh?" He mocked you as his fingers pulled back only to push back in. "And so fucking wet."

All you could do was just whimper and moan unable to find the words to say anything. His fingers were starting to pick up pace and rhythm. Leaning your head back as his mouth was devouring your neck and collarbone. Lifting your hips up so he could get a better angle. Chris smirking against your skin when he knew what you were doing.

"That's it pretty girl." He whispered praise in your ear as you started to grind your hips up and down with the motion of his fingers. "Such a good girl for me."

The feeling of Chris's scruff brushing against your skin had a shiver running up your spine. You were having sensory overload, and you didn't want it to stop. This man knew exactly what he was going, and knew which buttons to press. It's like he knew your body better than you do.

"Oh god." Crying out when you felt him curl his fingers up deep inside of you moving them back and forth.

"Just wait till you feel my cock." Rolling your eyes in the back of your head hearing him speak.

Lifting his head up so he could watch your facial expressions. His mouth parted slightly when he saw the absolute bliss and pleasure you were feeling. Looking down to your chest lifting your top up completely exposing your breasts to his hungry eyes.

His mouth attaching to a nipple sucking on the bud till it was erect and hard. Moving his tongue in circles as you felt his teeth bite down making you squeal. His eyes glancing up at you sensing you were getting close.

"Fuck you've got me so hard right now watching you." The palm of his hand rubbing against your incredibly sensitive clit causing your back to arch.

His free hand gripping your leg to keep them pushed apart when he felt them squeezing around him. Your mouth wide open as little whimpers and moans left your lips. It was like music to his ears and he wanted to hear more. Thrusting his fingers harder your body rocking back and forth.

"Shit right there." Screaming when he starting poking your sweet spot.

"That's it sweetheart just feel my fingers." He encouraged when he felt you squeezing your core around his fingers. "Clench that little pussy around my fingers."

Chris was straining himself so hard to not pull his trunks down and rip your bottoms off and push his cock inside you. He could tell you were a shy type of woman, and didn't want to pressure you. Judging by how you were reacting to his fingers he knew no man has ever put your pleasure first.

"You look so god damn sexy right now." Your hair and makeup probably a mess as you laid underneath him covered in sweat, but to him you couldn't look more tantalizing.

Your entire body was on fire as you felt that familiar feeling boiling in the pit of your stomach.  Leaning your head back as Chris didn't let up his thrusting keeping his eyes on you. It was the hottest thing he's watched in a long time, and he felt he might cum just from watching you.

"Shit cum for me baby." Leaning forward attaching his lips to yours as your orgasm rocked your entire body.

His lips silencing the scream that left your mouth as you released all over his fingers as they slowly pushed in and out of you coaxing you through your orgasm. Comforting you as your body shook and your legs trembled. You couldn't believe that you just let Chris finger you in your bed while tons of people were just outside.

That was the best you've ever felt, and you didn't even notice how much you needed that. The man only used his fingers and he had you panting like a dog in heat. Not only was this man painstakingly attractive but he knew his way with a woman's body.

"Shhh sweetheart just relax." His tone gentle and soft as he talked you through your euphoric state. "There you go baby."

"Holy shit that was amazing." You spoke your mouth completely dry Chris just laughed at your response.

"Like I said just wait till you have my cock inside you." Opening your eyes at him as he winked your cheeks burning up.

Pulling your bikini top down now feeling the sting from his bites. Sitting up straight as he sat next to you waiting until you got comfortable and were able to wrap your head around everything that just took place.

"Nobody's ever done that to me." You confessed looking down at your hands in your lap. You've been fingered before but not good enough to have you cumming in minutes.

"Not until now." He said proudly as you shook your head a smile on your face.

"You sound very sure of yourself." You teased back as you nudged his shoulder.

"Sweetheart it was written all across your face." He argued back playfully damn well knowing he was right.

"I guess your right." You tsked at him trying to be nonchalant but he would see right through you. Right now you needed to change the subject before more things ensued. "I wanted to ask what do you do?"

"Oh ummm." His response was weird and awkward almost like he didn't want to answer it, and he had this uncomfortable expression on his face. "I'm an inspiring actor."

"No way that's so cool." You exclaimed wondering why he seemed almost ashamed. "Ever been in anything I've ever seen?"

"Nah I haven't had any luck landing anything yet." He looked away from you and down at the ground.

"Well I'm sure you'll be in something soon." Giving him a warm and comforting smile as he returned yours with a weak smile.

"Yeah." He chuckled awkwardly as he scratched the back of his neck looking down at the floor.

There was something off about him now. Almost kind of like he was upset and or worried. Maybe you were just reading too much into it, but he definitely didn't like telling you what he did. Maybe it was a sensitive subject that he didn't like to talk about.

"I should probably head out." He stood up you following suit now wondering if you said something wrong. "Thanks for inviting me."

"Your welcome." Following him out of your room as he headed towards the front door. Awkwardly standing behind him like a lost puppy dog. "I'll talk to you later."

"Could I have your number so we could hang out some more?" His request had you beaming with hope and optimism.

"Yeah of course." Chris handing you his phone as you typed it in them handing it back to him.

"Perfect I'll call you." He smiled as he waved goodbye and shut the door behind him. Watching as he walked across the street back to his house.

Well this night turned out way better and different than you expected. Now you were kind of glad your friend invited Chris to your last minute pool party. Otherwise you wouldn't have gotten to be fingered by him, and then end it with giving him your number. Smiling to yourself at the thought of where your relationship with each other would go.

"What in the hell happened with you two?" Your friends screeching voice startling you as you turned to face her. Here we go.

[miraculouslbcnreactions]

TA claimed that miraculous are not indestructible and that the line in Queen Wasp was an error. However, it's hard to believe it when every occasions where miraculous is destroyed/broken, it was using Cataclysm (The bee in Queen Wasp, the rabbit in Timetagger though only mentioned, and the turtle in Optigami)

While the first two can be seen as situational, as Chat was there to fight the bee and the rabbit was an accident, the turtle raised that doubt, since why would LB go all the way to Chat to Cataclysm it if she can just destroy it herself?

I believe the official story behind the peacock getting broken is that it happened in the below scene, so the show does support the idea that things other than a cataclysm can destroy a miraculous:

[Image description: a scene from Fu's memories taken from the episode Feast. In this memory, we see Fu jumping over a chasm full of lava. Feast is seen falling into that chasm along with the guardian's Grimoire. The episode implies that the butterfly and the peacock also fell into the chasm and we do see the miracle box open with several miraculous flying through the air.]

We're going to ignore the fact that the Grimoire should have burned up in the lava and focus on the miraculous-based lore implication instead.

I don't hate the idea that something like lava can destroy a miraculous since that's not exactly an abundant and easily-accessible resource, but I still wouldn't go that route with the lore because it raises questions like: why did the butterfly survive undamaged? And why was the peacock only minorly damaged and not destroyed? And what kind of things can destroy a miraculous? Is it just lava or are their other things that can do the trick? Or can normal things only damage a miraculous, but only a cataclysm can destroy them? If normal, worldly things can hurt the miraculous, then do they get damaged by the passage of time?

I could keep going, but I think I've made my point. It's just so much better for the lore to be that miraculous are generally indestructible with Plagg's power being the only exception. I genuinely think that was the original lore. My money is that Feast was a retcon as they probably hadn't fully figured out the peacock's backstory prior to season three and it would be far better for the lore to be what it was stated to be in Queen Wasp:

Cat Noir: I bet the Akuma's in her Miraculous. Ladybug: That makes sense, but Miraculous are indestructible. We will need your Cataclysm to release the Akuma.

Quick reminder: Queen Wasp came a full season before Feast, that's why my money is on retcon. I'm not even sure if they'd decided that the peacock was damaged before season two since it's not show to be damaged when we first see it back in Volpina and that is a horribly missed opportunity for quality, subtle foreshadowing (ignoring the whole issue of Plagg somehow not being able to sense that the peacock miraculous is RIGHT THERE and - as far as we know - not tied to a holder):

[Image description: the contents of the secret safe behind Emilie's picture. We see a brochure for Tibet, a picture of Emilie, the fully intact peacock miraculous, and the guardian's Grimoire. Plagg is also in the image as this comes from the scene where he helps Adrien break into the safe.]

Meanwhile the Evolution flashback - and every other peacock moment I could think to check - shows it to clearly be damaged as you would expect:

[Image description: the peacock miraculous sitting in Gabriel's hand, clearly broken]

Admittedly Evolution shows us the back while Volpina shows us the front and it's possible that the damage was somehow only on the back in spite of the whole falling into lava thing. There's also the issue that the miraculous design changes from nine feathers to five, implying that the thing in the safe may not even be the peacock? Idk, it's weird. Everything about the peacock story line feels slapdash up to and including how it got damaged in the first place. I think they did have some general ideas that never changed, but I don't think they'd properly worked them out to the level they should have to avoid inconsistencies.

To be fair, if this was the most inconsistent the lore got, I wouldn't have much to talk about because it's not terrible. The pre-Adrien part of the peacock story is decent enough for TV (which is part of the reason I don't watch much TV, lol).

TV shows have pretty limited writing schedules, so it's not uncommon for more minor errors like this to pop up, especially when the writers have no idea how many seasons they're going to have to write, which makes it hard to tell a story well. The writers often don't have the knowledge or even time needed to polish things to a mirror shine. Remember, almost nothing else in the production line can start until the writing is done, so writing is generally a really small early part of total production time. Just the nature of the beast.

[morskisir]

Answer to this ask I had to post seperately because I reached the character limit or something.

OHHHH Anon you are not ready. I think about this bastard so much and too deeply.

Before I get into it:

I love how you worded this question- gives a nice atmosphere.

Just to be clear this is all about RED Sniper. I apologise to any BLU Sniper enjoyers for I don't have thoughts about that guy.

I'm not the biggest fan of the comics for many reasons so don't mind me retconning a lot of that.

In the end these are all MY opinions and views of him- if you don't like them that's no problem. It's free real estate.

And FINALLY; my thoughts, under read more:

OKAY, let's start with what even got me to interpret him the way that I do; hell yeah baby, it's Meet the Sniper time.

I've seen MANY people often assume that Sniper is one of the most normal/chill people of the 2fort nine- but the impression I got is that he wants you to think he's normal so desperately despite everything else pointing to how fucking weird he actually is. Simply noticing the stuff he's saying makes it a lot more clear. The very beginning where he goes "Boom, headshot," making light of taking another person's life so swiftly. "Cause at the end of the day; as long as there's two people left on the planet- someone is gonna want someone dead," really positive light you see the world in, Sniper.

Of course you can take this as him being "realistic", and I do agree he's more of a realist than a pessimist or optimist, but "...have a plan to kill everyone you meet," is SO fucked up. Why is his first thought when meeting someone to know how to kill them? This to me is him not being able to properly connect to other people/understand them or actually SEE them as people. Not to mention his smile after delivering that shot in the timelapse of him sniping (AND after stabbing Spy). This cunt enjoys killing. He's not the type to slowly kill someone or torture them- but he is the type to feel satisfaction after planting a bullet in someone; give himself a pat on the back for it- or perhaps find humour in the kill.

The conclusion this brought me to is that he is an unreliable narrator in "Meet the Sniper". (Also the "..be polite," line. Yeah, sure, dude. Your voice lines are very polite.)

CAN WE TALK ABOUT HIS FUCKING TEETH? The way his teeth look and how much they're shown to the viewer by exaggerating his mouth movements feels like a "this guy is NOT normal" sign. No one in the game has teeth similar to him and his canines are HUGE. Like holy shit, he's an apex predator.

A comment @cheebuss (I know you wanna get tagged) saw once has been a running joke between us- it was basically "He indicates so he's normal," which is fucking hilarious, but I can genuinely refute that point. First of all we see him fucking speeding in the beginning of the video- to be fair we don't know what the speed limit on this road is, BUT:

Cunt drives around with a broken side mirror. That's really unsafe, obviously. A good chunk of that mirror has gone to shit and he does not care to replace it (which feeds into my headcanon of him being stingy/not wanting to spend money because he lived on a farm and they did everything themselves). Speaking of his van; it gave me the impression he likes having everything he needs near him- he doesn't need a grand, expensive space to feel comfortable. (I headcanon that he's actually scared/unnerved by vast, empty spaces/buildings) ALSO I think he's messy and prefers the claustrophobia of his van. I like to believe his childhood room was much the same (to the detriment of his mother)- that's his safe space damn it!!!

And here I can transition into talking about his parents!!! : D Of course, not much was shown to us of Mr. & Mrs. Mundy, but we can still glean some stuff from the video- and partially- the comics.

His father very obviously disapproves of his job, calling him "a crazed gunman", and showing his morals do not align with Sniper's. Sniper calls for his mum during the phone call shown at the very end of the video- looking annoyed and somewhat distressed. It's clear to me that they've had this argument many times and Mrs. Mundy is the mediator in them. I think she disapproves of the job as much as her husband does, but is sick of hearing them argue to that extent. Regardless of this conflict, Sniper loves and cares for his parents- they are his world. He doesn't care for anyone else, most of the shit he does is for their sake and continuing to provide support so they can live a stable life at their farm as they get older. It's one of the nicest things about Sniper.

Although, I do think he struggled to get them to understand him properly. He is a quiet man who doesn't express a lot of his emotions. That will complicate things, especially if he doesn't talk about it- and he doesn't!!! : D

Despite this, I think they were the people he was closest to. Sniper, to me, is a guy who's never had friends and has been lonely as well as isolated his entire life. "Too weird to live, much too rare to die." And this is a VERY long time we're talking about; DECADES. Decades of minimum to no human connection. (Just to note; he is almost 50 to me. The comic writers fucked the timeline up and made him a 20 something year old. The Sin. Do not speak of it to me. It makes him less interesting/compelling I'm not kidding.) He is anxious in social settings, barely speaks up, and prefers to simply back away when he doesn't know how to deal with something. (SUPER DUPER AUTISM + SOCIAL ANXIETY!!!) Does he try to interact with his co-workers? Veeeeery little. He yearns for connection he convinces himself he doesn't need. He trusts no one. He's a mystery to them.

But hey!!! Less distractions from his job!!! (Bad transition) This man is genuinely incredible at what he does- I keep replaying the part where he reloads his rifle. He was not kidding about being efficient (he also kills the entire BLU team in that video??). The lad's got incredible patience, aim, control, and overall understanding of what he's doing. There's something fucked up about him observing the people he's targetting like prey, but let's leave that for when I mention his previous job as a tracker (if I do). I imagine the only thing he excelled at in school (he did go there!! He can write!!!) is maths, as that is very much needed when you're a sniper.

BTW I think he barely passed school; he hated being there, had no interest in school work and his teachers kept pestering him about his social life. Leave him alone, he doesn't need that (he does).

Most of his focus went to his parents' farm where I think he mostly took care of the animals....or went out to hunt them; which is how he learned to shoot out of a rifle in the first place. (His dad taught him.) He's not exactly an animal guy but he's also not not an animal guy.

It's complicated.

ANYWAYS, I've talked enough about one single video. Let's mention his in game voice lines a bit!

There's a LOT of material there but here's the stuff I want to mention:

He talks to himself a lot. He isn't out there with the others- his job is to be perched up somewhere high and shoot from a distance so he doesn't get spotted. He makes so many jokes that only HE's going to find funny, except "You've got a forehead on ya like a coffee table," which is genuinely the funniest thing he's ever said. Boy voices his thoughts and tries to entertain himself when he's alone- I don't judge him for that. He has to sit there for hours in complete focus (he helps himself via a lot of coffee). I DO judge the things he says, however.

He's violent. (WHAT!?) There's plenty of examples but I would like to mention one adressed to his teammates. One of the "Jeers" commands is "Should've saved a bullet for some of you blokes!" which, hey, what the fuck? That's scary. He got so frustrated he threatened his own team with murder. (It's kinda funny) To me this shows he's bad at controlling his outbursts or that he never learned how to deal with them. (Autism moment!!!)

He literally growls.

There's this line addressed to Spy: "What goes around comes around, you snotty little nance." If you're not aware- "nance" is derogatory Australian slang for a prissy, effeminate gay man. I headcanon Sniper as a homosexual man so it tickles me that he's so insecure about this fact. It's sad, absolutely, but I find humour in this horrible man being a homophobic homosexual. Project your insecurities onto a guy who can read people extremely well, why don't you. He won't do anything about it, I promise :) (Lie)

I was doing my best to not mention SniperSpy but CAN WE TALK ABOUT HIS LINES AIMED AT SPY AND HOW THEY'RE DIRECT RESPONSES TO THINGS SPY SAYS? (plus the highest number of revenge lines he has directed at someone is Spy)

-> = response to:

"Aww, did I get blood on your suit!?" -> "You got blood on my suit."

"I was never on your side either! Wanker!" -> "I never really was on your side."

"Ah, my God, you've been shot. Did you get a look at the handsome rogue who did it?" -> "I'll see you in hell, you handsome rogue."

BY THE WAY, THAT LAST LINE? SPY ONLY SAYS THAT TO HIS COUNTERPART. WHAT, WERE YOU LOOKING AT HIM? WERE YOU WATCHING HIM ALL DAY? WHY DO YOU REMEMBER SO MANY THINGS HE'S SAID? WHY ARE YOU SO FOCUSED ON HIM? ARE YOU OBSESSED WITH HIM? ARE YOU OBSESSED? WHY ARE YOU OBSESSED WITH A LITTLE NANCY BOY? HM?

There is so much more I could mention. I think whatever thing he has going on with Spy is super important to him, but I will hold back for your sake as I can talk about this for hours. You have no clue how many parallels there are, etc.

Anyways, he's in Expiration Date! A little bit! He doesn't say anything. <3 I'm proud of him!!! <3

He literally just stands around ominously in the shadows (and finds RED Spy being made fun of very amusing).

"Hehe."

(I just noticed he took his watch off and put it on his vest. This is an autism moment because I, too, hate having something on me that I don't usually have so I need to balance it out by removing something else; if I have it on me. Either way it's sensory suffering.) (Him being super attached to his hat and glasses is also an autism moment. He is no one without them.)

And then he has that one part in The Bread Fight(tm) where he gets confused by Pauling and Scout pushing the bomb.

"Tails gets trolled" looking ass.

I like watching him fall over.

After he falls here, he takes his kukri out which was... attached? situated? It was behind the strap of his arrow carrier. I think that's cool. I also think he wouldn't be doing that during matches because Spy is very much capable of stealing it/putting it away without Sniper noticing, even if it was literally on his back.

Also, I am a firm believer in "Sniper can only do one thing extremely well and has little to no interest in creative stuff," so I disagree with the idea of him being able to play a saxophone. You could say he was made to do that in school, but this guy is a smoker. I do not believe he can do that. You cannot convince me.

I think that's enough! This doesn't even go past the hypothetical tip of the iceberg, but it's a lot of words. This is the very basic stuff you have to know about how I see this cunt.

Thank you for letting me share some of my insanity.

[wannabepapa]

I see you’ve been reboggling a lot of old asks from me which has also gotten my brain juice flowin like

Lately I’ve been thinking about roommates who bond over a pregnancy. A one night stand or a surrogacy, doesn’t really matter, all we care about are the roomies who are now stuck in this fun situation of finding a new groove. Bonus points if the pregnant one gets big and uncomfy quick, leading to far far more late night rendezvouses.

The way I picture it, it starts with your typical incredibly awkward “I gotta come clean about something” scenario, with roomie B expecting a broken appliance or a forgetting power bill, but certainly not a pregnancy! Then as roomie A grows, they get needy, which sends roomie B into overdrive. Late night pizza runs become a regular occurrence, waking up way too early to hold their roommates hair, sitting up at night cause roomie A thinks they felt a kick and wants witnesses.

Then break happens, they go home, and when roomie A comes back they’re HUGE, which changes everything. Suddenly they need so much more to be comfy, and roomie B begins to realize just how much they like being there for their pal. They spend all afternoon at school just to come home and both collapse into the same twin bed, using the other bedroom as storage because who needs it? Sharing is caring after all. Roomie B is there to hold roomie A when they’re sobbing at a ghibli film or some advertisement about sad animals, they’re there to help with anything academic or physical, they’re driving their expectant buddy to and from appointments now that they’ve outgrown the drivers seat.

Bajshxjhshxhs it is 5 am and this ask is ridiculously long winded but I am tired and sappy and obsessed with this idea and thought you’d like it okie bye

uh hello???????? you have left this beauty of an ask in my inbox?????? Marin i am kissing your forehead right now.

roommate B has had nothing but terrible experiences with past roommates so when A comes to confess something they brace themselves for a problem. it's expected, especially when A looks anxious and worried before spilling the secret. the last thing that B would have ever expected was to be living with someone who was going to have a baby. they don't hate babies but they never hung out with people who had children of their own. it was going to be a learning curve to say the least.

the roommates were never close in the beginning, keeping to themselves as they had only recently roomed together but now they find themselves in each other's space. A has asked for help in the morning because the nausea makes it tough to function early in the morning so B is on kitchen duty. B tends to do a lot of the clean up now to give their roomie a break in the first trimester. it's only fair that someone does the bulk of the housework when A is creating a whole person over the course of nine months!

B is also in this weird "I'm not the parent of this child but I feel responsible for A and this child" state of mind that is confusing to them. they don't know why their brain has latched onto being the caretaker for a pregnant person but whatever A asks for, they get. A is feeling cold and wants to borrow a blanket? it's put in the dryer so it's extra warm. it's two am and they have an intense craving for pizza, but only the pizza at this shop that is an hour away? yeah just let B get dressed and get coffee in them before they take the drive. they don't want to be sitting alone at their doctor's appointment and want moral support? of course B will be driving them to and from every appointment now so they don't have to be alone. A meekly knocks on the bedroom door and says the baby needs a cuddle? get in under the covers and pick a movie! it's this perfectly platonic relationship that both just don't acknowledge but now all of their family and friends wonder if they're dating.

when they have to go home for their respective holidays there are definitely tears shed by A. it's seventy-five percent hormones and twenty-five percent not wanting to be away from B for weeks on end. they're ending their second trimester right now and terribly needy. the roomies have forgone sticking to each other's rooms to alternating every few days—it's become their routine. A also worries that something catastrophic will happen and B will force them to move out which B shuts down immediately. they're stuck with each other now whether they liked it or not. this comfortable thing the roomies have with each other is too precious to B for it to ever cross their mind to end it. A has become more than a friend, they've become a companion that has made their days more exciting ever since they got close. it isn't long after A is dropped off at the airport (with more tears shed) and B not even out of the parking structure that a text is sent that reads "we already miss you :c"

they talk every day of the break. A leaves no details of the crazy antics sprinkle (the baby has a thing for funfetti cake and B said they were probably a sprinkle now so it stuck) has been up to and complaining how cold it was where their family lives. they've sent many a selfie where they were hidden under piles of blankets or bundled up in multiple layers of warm clothes with a pouty lip and silly quip about how nobody does the dryer trick here like B does. it's too cute for B to handle. the weeks drag on for eternity to their dismay, their mind straying to how their gravid friend was doing.

to make matters worse A was stuck for an extra week due to a surprise blizzard that grounded all planes going in and out of the state. that was nearly a month apart and it drove B mad. too much time has been spent away from A and there was going to be hell to pay if this new flight would be canceled. if they were stuck any longer with their parents A wouldn't be cleared to fly, leaving them with no other choice but driving hours back down. B would have gone up there themselves to bring A back if it was necessary but to their happiness there were no cancelations and A was in route back home. B couldn't pick them up—work had switched schedules without asking—so they sent a friend to go to the airport for pick up. luckily A would already be home by the time B was off work so they wouldn't be alone in the house for long.

B never considered how fast someone grew in their final months of pregnancy. A's clothes still hide the bump before they left. now, walking into the apartment, B could do nothing except stare at their roommate. A hadn't grown, but popped in the last month since they were apart! there was an undeniable swell that tented A's shirt, their stance wider as they waddled to the door to greet B with a watery grin. the bump is pressed between them which makes it impossible to really hug while making it hard for B to not plaster their hands on the belly. the baby takes the opportune moment to shift between them as they were clearly unhappy about being squished. A chuckles at the movement but B is completely losing it.

after that they don't really stay apart for long. they're very, very close to one another at every second of the day just to revel in the fact that the baby will be born soon. A likes to complain about the pains from the movements of the nugget but they will actually miss it. B, however, has made it loud and clear how they'll miss being able to cuddle up with the belly and feel the nugget move. though both are equally excited to meet the little kicker that they've been waiting nearly ten months to hold.