#Slat Grille

[tybarious-ii]

President Franklin D. Roosevelt Seated in Jeep with Hat over his Heart, Reviewing Troops with General George Patton, Casablanca.

Date: January 18, 1943

NARA: 6728535

[ama-mori]

Miami Beach Style Deck Mid-sized beach style deck photo with a pergola

[screenpastel]

Miami Beach Style Deck Mid-sized beach style deck photo with a pergola

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

who's that girl?

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as possible cheating, low self-esteem, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: you neighbour is too helpful, and too nosy, for your liking, but he's not your only problem.

Characters: Tommy Miller, Joel Miller

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

“You fixed it,” you say bluntly as you approach the fence. 

Tommy looks up from his knees, yanking out the deep roots of a weeds as his hair falls forward over his shining forehead. He quorks his head and narrows his eyes with a grin. He does that a lot. Smile. Especially when there’s no reason for it. 

“Fixed what? The hole in your life?” He winks. 

You don’t know what that means. You frown. 

“The birdhouse. My birdhouse,” you say. 

“Oh, uh, yeah. Saw that squirrel messing around the other day,” he shrugs and tosses the weed into the open compost bag. “What’s a nail or two and some paint?” 

“How much?” You ask. 

“What?” Now he looks confused. 

“For the work. Twenty? Fifty?” You offer. 

“Nothing. I’m being neighbourly,” he insists. 

You stare at him. Neighbourly. That’s what he calls all the unnecessary things he does. Like when he mows your lawn before you can or greased the rust hinge on your gate. Can’t he ask like a normal person? 

“I didn’t ask for it.” 

“I know,” he blows out between his lips, “it’s just a nice thing to do.” 

“But why?” You press. 

“Because I’m nice? I don’t know,” he’s further perplexed as he swoops back his hair. “You’re welcome, by the way.” 

“Thanks,” you take the prompt, “but I still never asked you to do that.” 

“Uh huh,” he nods as he raises one brow. “Well, if it’s better, I can go back and break it again.” 

You consider the offer, “no, that’s fine. The birds need to eat.” 

“Right,” his eyes search you and he smiles again. “Next time I promise, I’ll be sure to ask.” 

You back away and go back to your porch. You don’t get him. The worst thing about having your own place is the people. Why do they have to be so concerned with you? Why can’t they just let you be? Is the fence not a good enough signal? 

You go back through the house and onto the back deck. You sit on the top step to watch the red and grey cardinal couple peck at the suet and seed. That’s your favourite thing to do. You find the feathers pretty and their songs soothing. Birds are much better than people. 

As the evening wiles away, growing cooler and softer, and you mourn the waning time. Back to work tomorrow. Not that it’s very far. Just in your home office. Still, you’ll be pent up inside in front of a screen. It’s hardly stimulating. 

You yawn and make yourself get up. You’ll barbeque the chicken skewers and some veggies. You go inside to get all the fixings you need. You come out and light the grill, breathing in the pollen and hint of moisture in the air. 

You hear voices as the barbeque heats up. You lay the skewers and roasting pan on the grill and close the lid. The smell is comforting to you. It reminds you of your late father. 

“Huh, Tommy, see you’re still crashing into things,” a gristly voice comes from the other side of the fence as the loose slat is wiggled. You grimace. Looks like your neighbour has company. “Couldn’t put a nail gun to this thing?” 

“Oh yeah, the nail gun I lent to you,” Tommy chirps back. “Joel, leave it alone.” 

You wiggle the long tongues in your grip. You always thought of fixing it yourself but always forget. You’re surprised your handy neighbour hasn’t already, considering he could come right through and touch your birdhouse. Now you think of it, how did he even get to it? 

You glare at the loose slat. Ah. That could be the possible reason for his procrastination. The slat moves and a face appears in the space as it’s twisted on the loose nails. A man you vaguely recognises peers through. He comes to Tommy’s often. 

“Smells good over there,” he comments as he peers into your lawn. 

You don’t say anything. Why is he doing that? You should tell him to mind his business but that isn’t polite. Even if your father would have laughed. 

He hesitates before he drops the slat straight and retreats into his brother’s yard. You hear a whistle and low grumble. You can’t make out his words. 

“She don’t want you peepin’ on her,” Tommy chortles, “what? My steak isn’t good enough for ya?” 

“You overcook it. No one wants your grey slabs,” the other man, Joel, rebuffs. 

“Oh, is that why you drink all my beer?” 

“Gotta moisten it up.” 

“Whatever,” Tommy mutters. 

You hear his footsteps as he climbs his deck steps. That’s another problem. After last year’s cacophonous renovation, his deck is high enough that he can see you over the top of the fence. A privacy fence! 

“Hello, neighbour,” he calls over the sound of his barbecue lighting, “what’s for dinner tonight?” 

You glance over at him and back to the grill. You lift the lid and turn the skewers, stirring around the veggies on the pan. You close it and hang the tongues as you look out at the bird feeder. They’ve scared them all away. 

“Ha, looks like I’m not the only one she wants nothing to do with,” Joel remarks as the tab of a can cracks, “you ever get anything good? These craft beers taste like scum.” 

“You didn’t complain last week,” Tommy grumbles and shakes his head, approaching the rail of his deck, “smells like chicken.” 

You roll your eyes. You really don’t want to be rude. You just want to enjoy your time alone. 

“Yep, chicken,” you confirm as you sit on the chair against the house siding and put your sunglasses on. You can feel him watching you. 

“Delicious, you know, I make this Mexican chicken--” 

“Ah, Tommy, lay it on thicker,” Joel snorts, “look at her. She’s tryna block you out. The sun’s gone.” 

Is it that obvious? You turn your face away, embarrassed. Tommy sniffs and clacks his own pair of tongues, “uh, anyway, have a good night, neighbour.” 

“We’ll try to keep it down,” Joel adds dryly as he pulls Tommy back by his arm. 

You chew your lip and stare through the dark lenses. You wonder if you could get a bigger awning to block him out or something. You’ve dealt with mice and ants and wasps, but you still can’t get rid of that one pest. Just like the others, he only seems to multiply. 

[sandsorghum]

IT'S FINALLY HERE

Thrilled to be putting up this behemoth of a fic I've been working on for two entire months at last! as part of @tsukimefuku's Spookinky event. Yes, I'm aware Halloween was also 2 months ago (sorry Fuku, and thanks so much again for helping beta read it!) Anyway, do check out the other works, they're incredible.

+18, DARK CONTENT AHEAD. You've been warned. See end of story for further author's notes.

abstract. It was a fairy tale, wasn’t it? Or a cautionary one, as most of them turned out to be. wc. 9.4k (strap in with a beverage folks)

tags. Yandere!Nanami Kento x F!Reader | established relationship | smut | dubcon | psychological drama | manipulation |

Jim knew that he was awake and asleep at the same time, dreaming of the war and yet dreamed of by the war…

Your eyelids droop, heavier and heavier with every pass you make at the sentences. You’re fighting against the font even, dripping off the page into the pitch black pit of your mind, those once thick and bold serifs ooze into obfuscation, molten as the afternoon congealing into dusk. Your focus has been wavering for hours in this stifling summer air, the dense miasma of words shimmering into a mirage of meaning. 

You sigh, scrubbing a hand over your face as you let Empire of the Sun flop into your lap. You should have known; J.G. Bellard didn’t exactly stake his reputation on breezy prose. You have a suspicion the book’s about a week or two overdue, though Nanami hadn’t said anything. Well, it was his library card getting charged. You hadn’t renewed yours in years.

You rifle through your current slog; 300 pages give or take. Perhaps you should have been less ambitious, started with the short stories. Long ago, you’d read The Garden of Time. You had enjoyed it, you think. Your eyes slip shut, trying to remember how that story ended, but the details are fuzzy.

It was a fairy tale, wasn’t it? Or a cautionary one, as most of them turned out to be. 

These days, you were living with your own Count Axel too.

You open your eyes, gaze instinctively flitting towards the clock whirring with its tick-tock mick-mockery, matching the taunting your ears had already gotten accustomed to. The second hand quivers a sliver past the hour, as exacting as an anorexic’s indulgence of a fractional slice of cake; and promising as much sustenance.

Where was Nanami? When would he come back?

Your stomach growls. The shadows have grown, black slats cast by the window grilles lengthening and slithering stark against the bleached gold of the walls. You hate this time of day the most, this inevitable boredom numbing your mind into mulch, too sluggish to tolerate even the most insipid of dating reality show reruns, which was all that was on TV. As for your once carefully curated stash of true crime podcasts, the thought of listening to them now was unbearable. 

Something burbles in your belly, a strange gastric shriek acidifying into a yowl. You shut it out, closing your eyes.

Your present circumstances might make for a pretty good biopic, a thriller perhaps. Or a psychodrama. Grim amusement filters through your mind as you imagine actors you’d cast in the lead roles…who was that Danish fellow, who had played a Bond villain? He’d had a similar sort of malevolent charisma as the titular protagonist in that show about eating people…

A little too fixated on trying to recall the actor’s name, you don’t hear the key turn in the first lock. But the second schlick sends a jolt straight to your spine, muscle memory triggering you to leap to your feet. By the time the third and fourth bolts have slotted out of the way, you’ve sprinted to the front step, your exuberant chirrup eclipsing the hinges’ creak. 

“Welcome home, Kento!” 

He grabs you mid-lunge, as usual, chuckling as you fling your arms around his neck. He’s a little off balance today, with the bags dangling off his thick forearms but they still manage to curl, boa constrictor snug around your waist, the weight of their contents pressing you further against him.

“Hello darling,” he murmurs. 

You let him bury his nose against your nape, feeling the burdens of the world slough off him as he inhales your scent, ever familiar, ever constant. Never changing. 

Staring past the summit of his shoulders, you see dust motes drifting unencumbered in the scorched-tangerine shaft of the setting sun, the pavement glowing white, the bright brilliance of its incandescence and resistance petering into the imminence of night; all this, a few tantalising inches beyond the door. 

You blink, the dark spots perform their pirouette, and the temptation passes. You put on a smile as you feel Nanami’s question rumble low along your throat, peeling you away from his chest as he carefully shuts the door behind him, zipping chains one through four back into place.  

“I said, how was your day?” 

“Oh, good. Pretty good. You’ll be proud of me.”

“Yes?”

“I got through a whole 4 pages in your absence,” you grin at Nanami, waggling the book at him. 

“Am I proving such a distraction?” His tone is bone-dry, but you catch the glimmer in his eye, polished as fragments beneath flesh desiccated by a desert.

“You mean providing?” you hum, smoothing a palm across his pectorals as Nanami shrugs out of his coat.

Nanami tuts, catching your fingers and greeting them with a kiss,“You ought to know by now, your flattery has its consequences.”

“Seems like an acceptable risk.” 

Nanami tuts and you feel his lips twitch over your knuckles at the belligerence lilting your tone.

“Well, I’m sorry sweetheart but I was picking up a few extra things for dinner.” 

Nanami finally relinquishes your hand to set the bags down on the dining table. You gape as he proceeds to carefully uncover the biggest bundle of blue hydrangeas and pale yellow daffodils you’ve ever laid eyes upon, all exquisitely wrapped with an embroidered silk ribbon. Nanami holds the flowers out to you, savouring your little gasp as the full size of his generosity blossoms into view.

“It was a bit of an impulse buy,” he confesses, to fill your stunned silence. 

“You expect me to believe this was a snap decision?”

“Well, no, I was intending to get a bouquet from the start but they’d run out of roses. The florist suggested these instead, plus they seemed particularly fresh.”

“They’re gorgeous, Ken. Thank you, and I think I like their scent much better.” You press your nose to the delicate petals for a moment before you go to fetch a vase, submerging the stems in a few inches of water.

“These make me wish I’d paid more attention to my ikebana classes in elementary school,” you comment, caressing one of the butter bright coronas. “Or maybe I could enrol in one of those community courses now.”

“Leave it to the shops’ experts, they know the optimal aesthetic arrangement.”

“Oh, of course. It’s just, it’d be fun to learn something trivial and new.”

Nanami’s smile at you is soft and relaxed. “I’ll buy you more flowers, you can learn through trial and error, Miss Independent.”

“That seems a little lavish. What if I just consult our neighbours across the road, I’ve seen them growing-“

“You can figure it out on your own I’m sure,” Nanami interjects, patting your cheek and you have to remind yourself not to flinch, letting your face go taut with a perfected smile instead. “Or with a book. It could even be a nice hobby for us both, right?”

“Sure, Kento. Sounds fun.” You sigh, separating out some of the stalks. “So this is why you were delayed by half an hour today?”

“Yes, I’m sorry dear.”

“It’s not a big deal.”

It’s quiet for a few moments as Nanami observes you carefully thumbing through the floral clusters.

“I was...just a little worried. I wish you could tell me in advance. Maybe a text?”

Nanami lifts a brow, barely perceptibly.  “And you’d receive it with what phone?”

Swiftly, you recalibrate, your tone shifting into a playful inflection. “Or we can resort to pagers. Like it’s the 1980s.”

It was one of the ironies of this living situation; a tradeoff, Nanami would have termed it. Although you dwelled under the same roof, you communicated less than ever before with him. 

Nanami shakes his head ruefully, plaintively remarking, “I didn’t think you missed doomscrolling more than me.”

“Oh, don’t be so melodramatic,” you huff, setting aside the vase to place a peck on Nanami’s nose. Apparently random acts of affection usually worked to disrupt his morose musings.

You start to bustle with the groceries. “Don’t get me wrong, Bruckner’s 7th symphony on vinyl is exquisite,” you continue, “And I’ll be eternally grateful to you for making a cultured woman out of me…”

Nanami practically pouts at your exaggeration, indignation pulling the corners of his mouth down. You give a lopsided smile, pushing your luck.

“But…I’m just a little bit curious about the Top 40 stuff. Like what’s Ed Sheeran been up to?”

“That’s what the radio is for, dear. I’m not depriving you of pop hits.” 

No, just music videos. And remixes. Plus you’ll never set foot inside another club or karaoke bar. Or attend a live gig. Hell, you’d pay dearly to hear an off-key sidewalk busker. Even a drunkard caterwauling in a subway. 

Sounds from a lifetime ago. Better not to dwell on them. 

You pull out carrots, a few stalks of celery, some onions. “You’re right. I doubt Square Roots or whatever mathematical function his latest album is titled after is a seminal turning point in his discography. I’m not missing anything.” 

You survey the ingredients, feeling Nanami’s mild concern descend upon you as you ramble through your unexpectedly eloquent tirade.

You glance back up at him. “Anyway, dinner tonight involves a mirepoix?”

Nanami nods. You pass a hand hesitantly over the vegetables.

“It’s a lot of prepwork for a…a weekday, right?” 

“It’s a Thursday,” Nanami offers to your unarticulated question. “And trust me, it’s worth it.” 

This time the kiss he presses to your temple is a shade too tender. 

“You’re always worth it.”

Your eyes flutter shut for a moment, letting Nanami’s words lodge deep between your ribs. Then, you carve a smile against his cheek. 

“Who’s the one hoping for consequences now, mister?”

Nanami gives a light squeeze around your hips. “The meal will be ready in about 40 minutes.”

“Can I help?”

Nanami considers you for a moment, looking at your open face.

You skate your thumb across his knuckles, your voice becoming demure, saccharine in its wheedling. “I’ll just wash the vegetables? You’re welcome to do all the dicing and slicing.” 

Nanami chuckles and you feel the tension ebb from his hands at your suggestion. He fishes out his phone and taps on Spotify. “What are you in the mood to listen to, darling?”

Walking on a dream How can I explain? Talking to myself Will I see again?

The upbeat 80s inspired synths pulse through the kitchen, a backdrop to Nanami’s knife working its hypnotic rhythm against the chopping board. You run the cucumbers under the tap while he slides the last of the cubed carrots into a bowl alongside the onions and celery, also cut into similar sized pieces. 

“What are you thinking for the salad?” 

“Yuzu-wafu for the dressing?” Nanami checks his blade, noting its dulled edge. 

“Maybe some kind of vinaigrette? Would pair well since this variety is a little more tart.”

Nanami hums thoughtfully, setting down the knife. He strolls over to a drawer where the cleaver, scissors and matches are stored and after making discrete adjustments to its built-in number padlock, retrieves a whetstone.

“Good call, there’s some EVOO we need to finish up-” Nanami turns around and goes rigid, seeing the knife clasped in both your hands, poised just under your chin.

Thought I'd never see The love you found in me Now it's changing all the time Living in a rhythm where the minute's working overtime

You’re swaying back and forth to the melody, a distant look in your eyes.

“Dear?” 

His voice is gentle, even gentler than usual. Which is plenty gentle already.

Your gaze slides towards Nanami, how he’s tracking the most minute shifts of the gleaming point hovering inches away from your skin. He’s perfectly still, not a tendon twitching, not a nostril flared; the air doesn’t leave his body, you see how it’s gripped between his lungs, as if the oxygen has become cement pooling in his valves. Nanami locks eyes with you, ochre irises shimmering tourmaline, exuding perfect calm. Waiting on you for his next heartbeat.

We are always running for the thrill of it, thrill of it Always pushing up the hill, searching for the thrill of it On and on and on we are calling out, out again Never looking down, I'm just in awe of what's in front of me

You grin at Nanami on the other side of the kitchen island, your captive audience as you belt out the chorus.

Is it real now? Two people become one I can feel it Two people become one

Nanami purses his lips, taking a step towards you. “Dear…why don’t you get the olive oil?”

Your grip tightens on the knife’s handle. You shut your eyes.

Is it real now? Two people become one I can feel it Two people become-

You don’t immediately feel his iron grip manacled around your pulse; instead what first alerts you to his presence back by your side are his lips brushing against your temple. And that’s worse somehow, than his touch molding over your whitened knuckles, and the sinews of your wrist gilded with their jagged deltas of silver.

“I love you,” Nanami states, one hand heavily dwarfing your fists. You release the knife into his grip without another word. He swipes a brisk kiss across your jugular and you feel the maniacal desperation bleed from you, receding into the whirlpool of your subconscious. What had come over you?

“You’re kinda pitchy, but I love you anyway.” 

With that cavalier comment, Nanami starts on the cucumbers.

A joke. He's making a joke. Had he seen right through you?

Hasn’t he always? Another voice, almost perfectly resembling your own, whispers within your mind. And he always will. You’re a glass wall to him, utterly transparent, easily shattered.

And Nanami’s the only one who’s been patient enough to put you back together, the only one who can make you whole.

He knows all your fractures, enough to refract and reframe the truth. This was your choice to live as a one-way mirror, to reflect his desires; to orient to the prism without realising it was a prison.

You watch Nanami quickly and quietly julienne the verdant oblongs, the knife’s swift staccato the only sound for a while. You pinch a slender, perfect matchstick from the mound of green, holding it between your fingers. 

“Is there a point to such precision?” 

“It’s so everything cooks evenly. It’s the standard for mise en place cooking.”

“Miso what?”

“It’s another French technique.” Nanami puts down the knife on the far side of the chopping board before plucking the sliver of cucumber from you and returning it to the pile. 

“Literally translated, it means ‘putting in place’.”

“I see, I didn’t know that before.”

You fold your empty palms in your lap, eyes downcast. 

One hand still on the blade, Nanami settles the other over your fingers, his heated grip squeezing just tightly enough for you to feel your metacarpals briefly grate against each other.

“Now you do.”

As Nanami turns back to prepping the ingredients, he tells you, “Go set the table, dear. And open up the bottle, so the wine breathes.” At least one thing in this house can, you think, walking away from him.

“Taste familiar?”

The burgundy swirls in your glass, glinting like fluid rubies as you dip your nose over the rim. 

“You know I don't have your refined palette, Ken. Just tell me already.”

Nanami shakes his head, nudging the ceramic dish towards you.

“Pair it with the cassoulet, then try again.”

You follow your spoonful of the hearty stew with a sip of the red, and this time notes of Pinot noir and brambleberries are more pronounced, as the tannins press their lingering tingle on your tongue, coaxing forth a vaguely familiar association from the recesses of your mind.

“I’ve had this before?”

“It was a fusion restaurant, Japanese-French. We had our first date there,” Nanami prompts.

“Oh! Jonquilla’s?” 

Nanami smiles as his clues finally click together for you. 

“I visited them before their evening service started, on one of my days off. Had a chat with their chef to recreate the recipe for the cassoulet, though I don’t know if the proportion of spice blends is identical-“

“Never mind accuracy, it was absolutely delicious, Ken. You’ve really outdone yourself.” You hum in satisfaction and satiation around the last mouthful of his culinary achievement.

“But what’s the occasion?”

Nanami’s brow arches, almost imperceptibly. “Today’s March 7th.”

You blink owlishly at him for an extended second, then abruptly recoil, stiffening with your realisation.

“Oh crap- I mean, sorry! I-I didn’t know.”

Nanami gestures placatingly, sliding his hand over yours. You stare sheepishly as he laces his fingers through yours. “It’s all right, love. I should have left a note in the morning.”

Timidly, you glance up at him. The mortification only churns with more turbulence seeing Nanami’s gaze brimming with affection and mild amusement.

“Umm...well, happy fourth anniversary Kento.”

For the first time this evening his smile falters.

“Fifth,” he corrects you, with the slightest suggestion of a sigh ghosting over the single syllable. 

Your gaze plummets back to your hand underneath his. “Right, fifth. Five years.”

Five entire years...everything had changed; now none of your days did. All of them spent waiting, then waiting for him. The past three years had been an eternity, dwelling with a man you’d once been keen to spend forever with. The prospect had been a privilege, a certainty back then. When you’d been free to choose it.

Now, like death, it was nothing more than an inevitability.

The redundancy of your statement lurches heavily into the air; you and Nanami sit in silence for several epochs, its weight creeping into the room like a mastodon carcass emerging from permafrost. He splinters it first.

“You didn’t check the calendar?”

What would have been the point, etching out eternity by the day as if that would stall the lobotomy of this monotony? Every flick of a page would have been another papercut embedded in your epidermis, your spine chipped away ever quicker, just one more reminder of your sinews and synapses and wits atrophying, triggering an avalanche of spiraling, depressive thoughts and an even swifter, simultaneous erosion of your sense of self, your will to survive.

You can no more resist the scalpel than the cudgel, it’s an insidious chiselling of your core, to be remade in someone else’s image. Beatific as Helen of Troy, argumentative as an effigy. 

“I forgot today and well, you know the saying, time flies.” 

You pull your hand away from Nanami’s to examine the wine bottle, brushing a thumb over the label. 

“It really is the exact same isn’t it?” you murmur, looking up at him with a wider smile. The Ice Age passes, and both Nanami’s tone and gaze thaws.

“I figured I’d speak to their sommelier at the same time, since I was there. Not many places import this so it took some convincing for them to part with one from their cellar.”

You raise a brow. “Please don’t tell me you spent more than-“

“It was complimentary in fact. Turns out the sommelier was a rather romantic fellow.”

“Sounds like he was giving someone a run for their money.” You lean forward, topping off Nanami’s glass.

With an appreciative chuckle, he responds, “He said it was the least he could do, bringing Provence to you if you couldn’t go.”

Provence, hah. If he only knew, the furthest place you’d been dreaming of was the konbini that had been a five minutes stroll from your old apartment. It was cramped, and the rent had been exorbitant despite being in a dodgy part of town - sort of a shithole if you were honest, but it’d been your shithole.

What colour had you painted the walls? Turquoise? Cerulean? No, aquamarine maybe,to match the canal you could just about glimpse from your balcony in summer-

“They really do a good job, highlighting the seasonal and regional specialties.”

You snap your attention back to the conversation, before the man opposite you can notice anything amiss. Perfunctory participation and trite observations were necessary to shield your most private thoughts from Nanami.

“Yeah, incredible menu. I loved the ambience of the place too.”

“The ambience?”

“Well, everything. The art, the lighting, that live violinist. It all adds to the dining experience, you know.” You let your gaze drift into the scarlet liquid swishing around in your glass, the garnet sparkles enticing in their reminiscence of sweeter, simpler times, when you and Nanami were just getting to know each other.

“Perhaps. I’ve never really noticed those things. That’s just decor.”

Now of course you know him all too well. 

“Oh obviously the food should be the focus. And it definitely stood out. Your tarte tatin really took me back there.” 

“Hmm, you know I suspect they used caster not muscovado after all,” Nanami remarks, scrutinizing the remnant fleck of pastry balanced delicately on a single tine.

“Sweetheart, tonight was a success,” you coo, patting his hand. “Trust me.”

Nanami relents, putting the fork down. “Even in the absence of a live violinist?”

You roll your eyes. “Yes, even without that.”

Nanami raises the stem of his glass, trying to hide how pleased he is. You copy him, gaze catching his as the both of you drain your drinking vessels. It is good wine, after all.

You hum, idly letting your fingers skate up Nanami’s forearms.

“Still, there’s lots of French fusion places around Tokyo. Why’d you pick that particular one?”

Nanami shrugs. “I went there with a client once, back when I was a salary man, so I knew it was good. I’d checked the more recent reviews too. Based off those I was convinced the 4.8 average rating it retained was warranted.” 

You incline your head to the side, expectant. There were sure to be other factors, with this pinnacle of logic. Nanami pushes his spectacles up the strong bridge of his nose and sighs.

“And it was, well...equidistant from both our houses.”

You let out a mock gasp, voice fruity with an affectation of being scandalised. “Mr Nanami, I did not take you for such a schemer.”

Perhaps it’s the burgundy, but you can’t help but think the pink tinting Nanami’s cheeks is rather endearing. 

He clears his throat, sitting up straight. “That’s not what I meant. Quite the opposite in fact. We both had assignments early the next day. I wasn’t...making any assumptions.”

You purse your lips together, withholding a smirk as Nanami stumbles through more of his rationalisations.

“I mean, it could have gone poorly too, you could have wanted to cut the date short. So I considered your cab fare wouldn’t amount to more than-“

“Well, our first date didn’t end early, did it, Kento?” you interject. You don’t know why, but it delights you to see a rush of poppies blossom downwards, beneath his collar.

“I suppose not.”

You relax back into your chair with a chuckle, feeling Nanami’s significantly warmer gaze on you.

“Actually, I do have a gift for you.”

Nanami reaches into his satchel and for a moment you’re worried a velvet box will materialise from it. To your relief, he instead withdraws a simple paper envelope, too slim and understated for any expensive jewellery.

“Here you go,” he says, sliding the envelope over to you. 

“Takashimaya vouchers? Oh Kento, how romantic-“  You stop short of delivering the jibe when you see what his gift actually is - a library card. 

Your library card, to be exact.

It’s your turn to be baffled now.

“You were racking up too many fines on mine,” Nanami’s expression is strait-laced, but his gaze is affectionate .“So I renewed yours.”

“Is there, um, some kind of new demerit system?”

“No, the length of the penalty period is the same as the overdue one. Basically I was barred from loaning out more books till you were done, Miss four pages per day.”

“It’s not my fault if the plot drags on,” you protest.

“Pick a more compelling read then,” Nanami smirks, “Or know when to give up.”

You examine the laminated rectangle, and the photo of yourself from five years ago stares back at you, her expression bright and clear-eyed, the set of her jaw resolute. Virtually unrecognisable.

“I can...pick up my own books?” you mumble, eyes still locked on your picture. 

Nanami’s sigh is heavy and you hear him remove his lenses, setting them down on the table. You look up when he addresses you, and his gaze is tinged with the same slight weariness wrung from your name.

“Your residence needed to be updated, that’s all.” Nanami speaks patiently - no, patronisingly. “You can continue to give me the list of titles you want to check out.”

So, you wouldn’t be able to borrow the books in person, let alone browse the shelves in a public space, without him.

“I should...probably pay my late fees myself though, right?”

Nanami shrugs, “They don’t add up to that much. I usually take care of it with the petty cash.”

Money he wouldn’t miss. Transactions without a bank statement. Untraceable.

You’d never have to pay for anything ever again. And it had only cost you your freedom.

You slip the card carefully back into the envelope, face down. 

Some unthinking machine would scan its barcode, would log your details, your preferences in novels and fiction, the imaginations you escaped into. On some arbitrary database, you’d exist.

Somewhere outside these four walls, you’d live.

“Thank you, Ken. It’s a lovely...gesture.”

You don’t think Nanami registers the pause, neutrally watching you empty the wine bottle equally into his glass and yours. 

“Shame that’s the last of it,” you sigh, setting the bottle down. Nanami hums contemplatively as you drink up.

“It was... a nice restaurant. Would you want to visit it again?”

You stare at Nanami, not quite believing your ears at the sentimentality that has seeped into his tone, let alone his offer.

“Visit it?”

That would involve going back into the world. Strangers would see you. Might even interact with you. That would be too much, surely?

Nanami takes a long sip of wine before continuing.

“I could get candles and cushions and white linen tablecloths, or put a Poulenc record on...but I know it’s not the same.The environment does make a difference.” 

You nod slowly, twisting the stem of your glass between your fingers. He reaches for your hand and you let him hold it.

“You could do your hair, nails, get dolled up and all, just like old times. There’s this dress in a corner boutique I go past every day, that I think you’ll like-“

“That I’ll like or you’ll like?” 

He chuckles, “My dear, if you want to wear a burlap sack there you’re welcome to. I’ll insist to the maître d’ I have the most beautiful woman in the world on my arm, regardless.”

A blush unfurls across your face, looking into Nanami’s eyes and seeing the absolute sincerity and conviction there. 

“I just want you to feel as special as you are to me, when we go.”

Nanami brings your hand to his mouth, eyes closed, taking his time to plant a kiss on each of your knuckles. Something constricts in your chest, watching the reverence and regret of his lips each time they have to lift a tiny fraction away from your rapidly warming skin.

“It’s where we started to make so many memories.” Nanami says softly, opening his eyes to stare deeply into yours. You sink into the rich russet warmth of those irises, mesmerised by the familiar tawny flecks shining bronze with pure adoration for you. 

“If we were going to celebrate, it would be worth commemorating it there, yes?”

He almost whispers the question, with both his hands now clasping yours. Nanami brushes a thumb across your hand and you barely notice how it strokes slow, tender circles on your fourth finger.

Barely.

You know what he is truly asking. What he’s really after.

Would it be a celebration or a sentencing?

Even after all this time, it isn’t clear if there’s just the one answer.

You shut your eyes, taking a breath. You lean forward in the darkness, finding and anchoring your lips to Nanami’s, parting them to reel his soft exhalation into your mouth, feeling the tidal surge of his ache in his tongue tracing the very edges of your mouth, desperation lapping at your own control.

You haven’t permitted him this little in so long. You haven’t permitted yourself this much for even longer.

You break away just as his canines start to graze your trembling lower lip, whispering the truth through your teeth. “I’ve been utterly smitten by you, Nanami Kento. Too often, you know me better than I do myself. But I know you too.”

“And?” 

You let the panted word hang in the air, savouring the way his anticipation swells through his button-up shirt, his chest rising and falling with each second that passes, that you hold out on.

You imbibe a heavy gulp of composure, some of the burgundy spilling past your lips.

Your glass chimes against the table with a definitive clink as you reply, “And I know how much of a hassle you find washing cast iron skillets to be. Restaurants would take care of that, right?”

Nanami’s face crumples into confusion, his consternation finding physical manifestations in the crease of his brows and down turned lips.

Maybe you’d gone too far, even if it wasn’t an outright rejection. He might interpret it as a stalling tactic.

“That was a joke, Kento. Of course I’d love to revisit Jonquilla’s with you. Or even a Mcdonalds drive-thru.” 

“My dear, you deserve so much better than that sodium saturated crap.”

Your laugh quivers, rippling with the pronounced vehemence with which Nanami had spat the expletive. He pins you with a stern glare, but you will mischief to glaze over your face, like a visor.

“Y’know, I’ve kinda been craving their fries.”

Nanami wrinkles his nose, and you breathe a little easier. “How your standards haven’t improved, after years of living together with home cooked meals, is beyond me.”

“You’re such a snob sometimes,” you dismiss his disdain with a giggle, “You gotta realise there are just some things you can’t exert influence over.”

Nanami’s eyes narrow. “I’m not going to give up.”

“Suit yourself,” you lick the last traces of a sauce off the back of a spoon with deliberation, feeling his gaze track your movements. “I see no downsides for me, if that means more yummy replications.”

Nanami’s exhale through his nose is short and sharp; what passes for a laugh these days. He regards you silently for a minute, exasperation mingling and melting into fondness, ever so gradually.

It seems you’re out of the woods. Still, it doesn't hurt to keep him in a good mood.

You reach out to caress Nanami’s cheek lightly, and his eyes drift close against your touch. “You can take me anywhere you want.” 

Everywhere and nowhere. 

“How about we start with the shower?”

Nanami stands a few feet away from you as vines of steam coil around his granite cheekbones, wilting his collar, leaching translucence into the whites of his Oxford top. You see the fibres strain with every rise and fall of his chest, the vapours of his mouth melding with the swelling humidity of the bath, amidst fluctuations of hunger and hesitation.

“Are you sure about this?” Nanami murmurs, he braces his arms behind him, pressing his back against the tiles, breath expanding underneath his shirt. You gaze upon Nanami, a centurion sculpted by Rodin, a cornered animal. 

You take a step towards him, feeling his heart hammer as you enclose your palm over it.

“It’s nothing we haven’t done before,” you whisper, reaching for his first button.

It wasn’t quite the same of course, as on the other nights. Usually your positions were reversed; Nanami, fully clothed, would strip you and usher you into the shower, only a sponge between you and him as he cleansed every inch of your skin. His own bath would be brisk, but he’d thank you for your patience every evening as you shuddered in the corner, eyes tightly shut. He didn’t seem to care if you stared at him with revulsion or resignation, the way a leopard would disregard a sparrow.

That was all your bodies had been to each other for the longest time, mere objects co-existing in space, empty vessels requiring maintenance.

It’s hard to remember that now, as a more carnal need pumps through your veins, as the fabric peels away from his skin, sleeves rippling slow in their remorse of being parted from his swollen biceps. You replace them with your palms, gliding over arms corded with sinews like steel cables. All this strength he’s never used on you, keeping you in his grasp by some other power.

No, it was exactly this restraint that restrained you; shackled to the myth that it couldn’t get worse, torture earning your tolerance, tolerance reaping your torture.

You thread your fingers through Nanami’s locks, barley sheaves darkening into rye beneath the spray and the circular motion of your hands, massaging shampoo into his silken roots. The cascade of water catches his lashes just right, fronds fluttering like the gold-gilded ruffled edges of ginkgo leaves at the terminus of autumn; yet, as you sink your fingers into the joints where Nanami’s nape connects to the base of his cranium, you doubt it’s the scattered droplets which are responsible for his eyes closing, or the guttural groan dragged from his throat, the octaves dripping much lower than you’ve heard in months, sending simultaneous sensations of heat dribbling down your spine and a lush insistence of warmth tugging through your gut.

Suds slip their foamy trail over the corded tendons in his neck, iridescence slathering over his chest and arms. Your fingers follow them, naturally. Nanami holds himself very still as you scratch your nails lightly over his pectorals and abdominals, tracing a path of your own design and desires, forgotten yet familiar. The terrain prickles beneath your wandering palms, goosebumps sprouting at your touch. But then, you reach a swathe of blue mottling into violet, and your hand hovers over it, a sickle sized smudge wrapped around his upper ribs. You can’t control the flood that suddenly surges to your waterline, blurring your vision.

All the violence, and all the silence. The endless chaos. This was the truth out there, and here was the evidence he kept from you. 

The bruise spreads beneath your fingers, wider than your hand.

And what was the truth in here? Where was the danger? Long ago you’d confronted that same savagery, the senseless cruelty, those injustices he used to justify keeping you safe now.

You sink your thumb against the wound, dragging your anguish through it. You feel the breath juddering through Nanami, as he winces. But he doesn’t stop you.

You can hurt him too.

“It’s all right,” he whispers, leaning into your touch.

Monsters creating monsters, curses birthing more curses. Perhaps misery didn’t love company, as much as it feared and loathed enduring its own misanthropy alone.

There were worse things to lose than freedom.

You lift your hand away, to cup Nanami’s face instead.

“I’m sorry,” you murmur, pressing the apology over his closed eyes. You feel them flickering beneath your lips.

“I’m sorry for all of this.” His gaze, when it returns to you, wavers wearily between guilt and grief. It’s dimmed and misty, there are no calculations, no charting these choppy waters; he sways towards you, a man (as before, as ever) seeking safe harbour, adrift in your arms.

You coax his calloused hands around your hips, and you’re uncertain for a few moments if the trembling from his fingertips has summoned the same across your skin, or if it’s your own nerves rippling outwards to his touch, all too tentative.

“Do you…not want to-”

You feel the answer in his immediate indentations upon your waist, squeezing your doubts into silence. But his gaze remains obscured behind his fringe, plastered to his forehead. You brace against the silence by sliding your arms over his, thumb circling the taut knot at the crease of his elbow. Gently you lay your cheek against his chest, savouring the solidness that has been so absent, and its underlying thump-thump-thump, far less steady. 

You feel the breath rising through his lungs as he tilts your chin up towards him, voice rasping with frayed restraint.

“I want to. Of course I want you.”

Nanami drags his thumb from the corner of your lips to its plush centre, feeling it furl and yield without very much pressure.

“What if I want too much?”

For him to ask this now is a kindness you can’t afford. You don’t owe him this, he has reassured you of that much, tonight and many other nights. Perhaps it’s time that has taken its toll instead, so that with your last shred of autonomy, you choose to give, or at least give in.

“Just let me be selfish, this once.”

You angle your face towards him, lips parted and watch the light in his eyes shrink to pinpricks; firelight flickering out as bipedal silhouettes slink and morph back into the shadows of beasts - 

coherence, logic, caution all consumed by more primal instincts.

And so, you anticipate his devouring, his half-snarl, his clash of teeth when he claims your mouth again for the first time in ages but it’s worse, so much worse. And divine. 

His kiss is slow but no less forceful, the pressure gradually mounting, lapping at your lips then teasingly receding so you have to push up into him, deepening the kiss so quickly without you realising, only vaguely aware of your shortness of breath, of the most mild discomfort; the same dissonance of someone witnessing a revealed shore and wading further and further onto it, clueless that the waves are pulling back because of the tsunami surging towards them.

It’s too late by then, caught in Nanami’s undertow when your head rolls to the side, hardly far enough before it’s cradled by one of his large hands. The warmth from his palms pools across your nape, dripping down down down your spinal column, an erosion of stalactites as your weight melts against Nanami when he pulls your waist flush to his. He drinks in your whimpered surprise as you feel a smear, thick and wet, between your legs and prodding at your gusset. 

Nanami finally lets you part for air but you cling to him, limpet-limbed. Your gaze and hand drifts down to where he’s stiff, scarlet and sobbing from his slit, globs of fat white pearls that remind you of the dryness in your mouth.

“So much…you’ve been holding back this much?”

Nanami had never responded this way when conducting your evening rituals of hygiene, had swept his eyes over your breasts and buttocks as efficiently as he’d inspected your scalp, elbows, knees. His touch had been mechanical, clinical to the point of brusque. You came to the conclusion then, over the years, that he was inoculated against arousal, that the sight of your bare flesh no longer titillated him, that on some level even, he was completely apathetic to your nudity. It’s impossible to argue such a stance now with the copious amount of evidence painting your thighs, the head bobbing heavily as it brushes against your skin.

“Sometimes at work…” Nanami croaks and you finally tear your stare away from his glistening length, to be sucked into the brine-dark whirlpools of lust churning in his eyes. “I’d…I’d take the edge off.”

“How?” you whisper. The crimson rush crests high on his cheeks and you reach out to caress his face, residual heat sweeping from your fingers down your wrist. 

“J-just in a cubicle,” he confesses, averting his eyes. “Not often.”

During lunch breaks. In between meetings. Just before commuting. You hadn’t been able to keep your hands off each other, in those early days. So many late nights, and later mornings. Beds were irrelevant. Desks, couches, corridors, stairwells - the two of you didn’t need much to improvise intimacy, the sparse surroundings testimony to the inspiration you found endlessly in each other. 

It must have been difficult, to forget and forego all that. It was, for you.

“Made it worse…I tried to stop.”

Nanami Kento, with his crisp collars, perfectly ironed jackets, shiny brogues - in a sterile bathroom hunched over fisting his cock with frantic, feverish tugs, struggling to sputter to a paltry climax, the spit in his palms a poor substitute for what he refused himself every evening, 

so close, so easily within reach that he couldn’t take it.

Temporarily vanquishing his visceral ache for you, while heightening his hankering, compounding his cravings, haunted by his half-measures for months and months. 

Diminishing returns, returning with a vengeance. 

“Why not here, at home?” 

You see the anguish flash across his face, feel the tremor in his hands as he clutches at your waist. 

“I…didn’t want you to ever - ever - remotely consider that risk, with m-”

You crush your mouth to Nanami’s, pillow-soft lips pummeling his doubts into nothing more than the air that escapes with his choked grunt of surprise, tongue spearing deep past his lips to wrestle with his, an excavation of the remnants of his uncertainty.

“Kento…” And he hears his name panted, twisted through with such longing he has no choice but to look at you. 

“You don’t have to stop yourself anymore.”

Coals glow in Nanami’s irises, you witness in an instant the incineration of his final vestiges of control. But even if you hadn’t caught the change, you feel it as your body is engulfed in flames for the remainder of the night. 

Nanami grabs you, pins you to the wall as he nips kisses all across your nape, sucks bruises down the column of your throat, carnality swelling carnelian across your clavicle, as you claw ruby rivulets down his spine. He buries his pleasured growls between your breasts, stuffing his mouth with your mounds and moans and the stiffened peaks of your nubs, while his hands waste no time, grasping at every inch of you, your curves, the plush of your thighs, the fat of your bum, years of denial striking the flint of desperation, skin singeing against each other, ragged sighs breathing life into him, coaxing the inferno higher and higher.

And then his knuckles graze the lake of slick between your legs and when did he get on his knees and Nanami hisses your name, whiskey-smoked gaze drilling into yours, demanding not your permission, but your focus when he finally sinks his tongue into you, and the sob rips from your throat at his impatience, his insistence, lapping ravenously at your folds, retracing every crease and crevasse of you, tip curving into spots you forgot you had to chase and catch every drop drooling from your niche, greed driving him deeper to get closer to the mouth of the river, your lust already streaming down his face. He grinds your weight further on his face, disregarding your garbled protests, you cry out as the high bridge of his nose brushes your clit and almost immediately you regret it as he switches his attentions and abuse there, to that tiny bundle of nerves, tongue now stroking ruthlessly fast, alternating between flicking and wrapping tight circles around it. 

A particularly vicious suck has your climax shattering over you, your wails of his name bouncing off the tiles and to your fascinated horror, falling on deaf ears. It takes you a few moments, with every synapse scorched beyond function, to realise that your jerking and spasms aren’t from your first orgasm, but an impending second. Because Nanami hasn’t slowed down for a fraction of a moment, your cunt still sealed around the cavern of his mouth, the beast within writhing its way back into its reclaimed burrow; you squeal and whine and squirm, but it’s no use, Nanami slaps a hand against your thigh, angling it to hook high over his broad shoulders to keep you splayed, the iridescence you’re spraying across his cheeks no match for the gleam in his eyes as he feasts and slurps and sucks. 

His moans reverberating through your pussy seem to crawl their way up through your own throat, writhing into your garbled pleas for amnesty, for release. You’re convinced your pleasure is mere collateral, not the priority, to Nanami now, that he’s punishing you in some sadistic, delightful way - until you feel the swipes of his tongue soften and his smirk stretching you, in time with the tips of his fingers spreading across your swollen lips.

“One more darling,” he promises, pressing a tender kiss to your inner thigh. You brace against the wall, whimpers tapering into relieved little mewls of his name as Nanami’s index glides inside you, pussy readily receiving every ridge and joint, liquid-smooth, as your resistance dribbles down his wrist.

“Gotta prep you, it’s been a while mmh?” he mumbles against your sodden core, starting to pump his digits in and out of you steadily, before he latches back onto your clit like an addict, picking up his pace and pressing into the soft spongy spots that have you erupting into your next climax.

But Nanami’s far from finished. 

He withdraws his fingers, luminescent with your essence and sucks them…clean hardly seemed an appropriate word, but it had to suffice in your severely diminished mental state, as the aftershocks scoured every nerve ending south of your tummy, satiation severing any attempt by your neurons to connect.

Brain mushy and muscles gelatinous, you slump forward into Nanami’s solid embrace, his baritone rumbling sweet nothings to reinforce the trembling in your knees. In a single fluid motion, he sweeps you into his arms, bundling you up bridal style out of the bathroom, not bothering with a towel.

“Ken! I’ll get the bed soaked,” you complain, clutching at his biceps.

“That’s the plan, dearest,” he rasps, the menace in his voice somehow simultaneously melodious. Nanami tosses you down on the mattress, lips chasing the blush rushing down your bosom, mouth puckering around the pertness of your buds, alternating between his tongue’s gentle flicks and how he rolls them roughly between his fingers. 

But Nanami’s only got one hand occupied by your tits. With the other you distantly hear him rummaging through the nightstand, sounding increasingly agitated. He cusses against your cleavage, and you hear a hollow cardboard box clatter off in the corner as he hurls it across the room.

Of course, neither of you had considered replenishing contraceptives in a long time. 

Nanami sits back on his haunches, hands clenched on his knees. His erection juts tantalisingly between them, in a proud upwards sweep of roseate to vermillion, milky droplets already beading again from the heavy head. 

Later, you’ll blame the flowers, the wine. Even that damned library card, for the next words that spill from your mouth.

But something possesses you, and you whisper in a voice you barely recognise as your own, “I don’t care, Nanami.” You feel his gaze snap from the offending emptiness of the bedside drawer to your hooded eyes, which are decidedly not directed at his face.

Your statement sinks into the silence taut between your bodies, and you feel the bed dip, as Nanami cautiously (but eagerly) shuffles forward on one knee, the hard silhouette of his length brushing against his belly. Errant pearls drip wastefully into the sheets, and you have to hold back a sob.

“Repeat it.”

“I…I don’t care, I j-just want…” your voice falters as Nanami looms over you, caging you in beneath his arms. His broad mushroom head glides along your slit, rivulets of your slick running from his tip down the rest of his cock. In all your years together, you’ve never felt him this way, with such intimacy, such bristling urgency.

“What do you want, love?”

“You, all of you.” The conviction crackles from your lungs at last and something snaps when Nanami suddenly sinks partially inside you, hips stuttering at your confession, gasps eclipsing each other’s at the sudden surge and squelch of wet and heat and clinging.

It’s too much and not enough all at once and it has your hips jerking up involuntarily, your body remembering there was more, that it was made for much more - but Nanami clamps down on them, shushing your indignant whines even as you try to draw more of him in.

“There’ll be time for you to regret your greed later, my girl,” Nanami chuckles his hoarse assurance, and there’s something about the specific blend of his tone; the sardonicism, the delirium, the absolute warmth under it all that is completely familiar to you. You slip into surrender, relaxing entirely into the kiss you drag him down for. 

Nanami is slow to sleeve himself fully within you, savouring how your expressions flicker between frustration and pleasure, a reticence resonant with the way your pussy flutters around his girth, beguiling in its struggle as Nanami feeds you his meat, inch by throbbing inch. You feel him wrestle with the dilemma too in the aberrant twitches of his cockhead, leaking pre-cum, as if your passage weren’t satin-slick enough already and arduous with your ardour. 

It’s a surreptitious, viscous cycle; you get more sodden and sensitive with every incremental shimmy Nanami presses into you, the teasingly measured secretion of his slimy trail inside you mingles with your own wet wantonness, the excesses of this elixir dribbling down the remainder of his length and coating your already considerably saturated walls, making it harder and harder for him to resist slamming the rest of his way inside you.

He knows you could take it, that you crave such treatment even, but he wants even more to commit this eternity to memory, not simply the glorious, torturous novel sensation of fucking you raw but the way your face shifts from arousal to adoration, back and forth, again and again, as he seeds a new addiction inside you, gradually stretching you past your former limits; physical, emotional, moral.

Nanami presses a stilted groan into your nape when he bottoms out inside you at last, laving his tongue over the film of perspiration clinging to your collarbones, as if there were some secret adhesive he could absorb to keep himself together, to prevent himself from falling apart with every rippling contraction of your cunt, as your being is molded once more around his pulsing length. 

“Ke~nnnhg…” you moan, and he twitches hard inside your gluey, velvet-vice to hear his name so stretched out, like gum, like rubber, like the dearth thereof, of any barrier between your bodies when you squeeze around him, deliberately this time. There’s an abundance of obviousness that it’s your action, not a reaction, by how your voice tremors with the effort.

“Already told ya,” you huff, “You don’t have to stop yourself anymore.”

And perhaps it’s your petulance, how you’re pouting this reminder of your mutual needs to be devastated, that sets Nanami off, that has his hips snapping forward, callous and careless at last, his thrusts initially sharp and shallow building quickly into an erratic rhythm that you can barely keep up with, letting yourself be jostled and pounded and shaken like a ragdoll, like Nanami’s exclusive fucktoy for him to drain his desires into. 

“Fuck, angel, so fucking perfect. Gonna fill you up, make you so swollen with me, mmh?” 

Your keen peels from your ribs, pitching high into the air, as Nanami continues to whisper filth and praise and promises you can’t quite comprehend, the only sounds, barely intelligible, is his slurring of your name, the syllables stringing stickily together like the messy ropes of cum swaying with every plunge of his cock back into your cunt, relentlessly bruising those spots that make meteors flash across your screwed shut eyes.

“Ken, K-Kento! Ah, ah- missed this so much, m-missed you!”

It’s your last attempt at coherence before your climax crashes over you and you clench around Nanami’s spurting cock, his broken bellows echoing through your bones and veins as he cums shortly after, flooding you, tethering you. You arch into him, receiving each pump, pulses blending with tongues tangling, till there is no distinction between tributaries and alluvium, between river and ravine, only the abundance of silt from his slit, nestled snugly against your cervix.

Nanami shifts to settle you in his arms, some of his spend seeping from the apex of your thighs.Will there be a price to pay? The potential of a gynecologist’s scrutiny, doula appointments, consultations and consolations,  complications and consequences, another presence at last in this house…you push these questions far from your mind.

Because the night doesn’t end there of course, you don’t recall if it ends at all. It’s a haze of hormonal hedonism, hours lost in the fog of damp breaths and senses swamped by desire. It is as if you dreamed it all, drifting off with Nanami inside you, waking to find his hunger unabated. Any concerns the morning might bring are cloudy, what is crystalline instead - what you choose to curate - are the sparse intermissions of his syrupy kisses over the words you exchange, that he demands to hear with your will languishing, effervescent as the vow he pulls from you, but will hold you to, lingering in the long shadows of your subconscious: I’m yours and you are mine, I need nothing else.

Seraphim, succubus, sorceress...all these accusations and adorations Kento lays at your feet, worshipping at the altar of your thighs, whether you were astride or under him. Calling you his cornerstone, a becoming like cinder blocks around your ankles.

Drunk off of him, kisses spilling kerosene and casks of Amontillado, your kindness your kindling, immolated by indulgence. You’d yearned for this too, his hunger feeding yours, an Ouroborous of obsession wrapping around your arms, chest, eyes so you couldn’t see how symbiosis ceded to the parasitic, the pleasure paralytic, ambrosia abused into anaesthetic until it cemented your ruin. Your comfort and his catharsis was a drug, yet you do not stop to wonder if this love had never been medicinal, if it had been narcotics lavished against necrosis.

It was too late for either of you to realise he’d never healed, amidst the eternity of nights spent with your lips sealed to Nanami’s like an oath. He never cared or dared to question destiny, yet never been so sure he’s meant to share his with anyone except you. But Fate has always been cruel to the best people he’s known and known too late just how much he needed in his life. 

And he couldn’t possibly be crueler than Fate, could he, if it meant protecting you?

Sworn and bound to this, but it unleashed an ancient anguish that had festered for far too long in his heart, aches that should have stayed buried, instincts that should have gone extinct; His salvation now only in the mutation of satiation into starvation. Every love bite and bruise stacking upon each other’s skin like bricks in a citadel for two. You were his fortress, his hearth. 

You didn’t know he was building you a pedestal, a pyre, a pyramid.

All to serve a goddess in name, in invention not intervention. Does it matter? Nanami strips you of your mortality, your humanity. You are a being of infinite benevolence and eternal beauty, a deity who deigned to age alongside him. He would grow old with you. Even if it meant dooming you to dwell within a sarcophagus.

Nanami looks upon you, you are enshrined, entombed. He engulfs you in amber; Your life preserved, your love petrified.

thanks for reading!

a/n:also wanted to say I owe a debt of inspiration to @saintshigaraki's fic which has one of the most realistic, seductive portrayals of a Yandere Nanami I've read. Mise En Place would not exist without it.

@houseofsolisoccasum

[gosmigenergy]

KINKTOBER 2023 / Day Fifteen

( Francisco ‘Catfish’ Morales x F!Reader )

BOOT WORSHIP / SPANKING / LACTATION/BREASTFEEDING

Summary: After wanting to spank you for months, Frankie finally shares his desire.

Day Fifteen of @absurdthirst's Kinktober list.

Rating: Mature 18+

Warnings: Language, spanking, hair pulling, Dom!Frankie turns Soft!Frankie, P in V, unprotected sex (use protection irl please), no use of Y/N

Word Count: 2k

If he’s ever given the opportunity, Frankie’s hand will meet your ass and you give him too many opportunities to count. He thought you would have realised by now that he was an ass man but apparently not.

He pats you on the butt while you wait for your coffee, holding onto the counter top, bleary eyed. When the boys are over and you climb over their splayed legs to take a seat, he has a playful swat. He grabs handfuls upon handfuls of you when things heat up between the pair of you.

And it’s not that you haven’t notice, you just haven’t said anything, the notion has always felt somewhat loving.

There was one time however where he wasn’t so gentle.

You were on your hands and knees, searching for something under your bed. He clocked you, ass up in those ridiculously short pyjama bottoms and the temptation was too strong. You weren’t even aware he was in the room until the heavy handed smack. The force sent you forward, the shock causing you to hit your head on the slats.

“Francisco!”

That’s when he learned you only called him by his full name when you were pissed. He’d already bolted from the room when you managed to worm your way from under the bed. You rubbed your butt.

Sure it hurt but fuck, did it turn you on.

There was always an anticipation in you when his hand came to your ass, yet a slap like that never happened again.

“You missed a good fight,” he let you go in the house first.

“You all keep telling me that but I can’t watch him get beat up like that.”

The scrapping, the kicks and the punches were fine at first but the more time you spent with Benny, the more it hurt to watch him in the cage. Instead you waited outside or in the locker room for everything to be over.

Frankie plucks off his cap, throwing it aside with his jacket.

“He’s a big boy,” he cups your cheeks, “he can handle it.”

“I know. I just don’t like seeing him get hurt.”

He let you wrap your arms around him where you press your ear against his chest and listen to his heart beat. He kisses the crown of your head.

You yawn.

“Tired, querida?”

“No, just in need of a pick me up,” you stretch, walking away from him. “I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Want a late night snack?”

“I’m ok, thanks babe.”

You’d started to get into the habit of calling them all babe, he still wasn’t used to it.

After your shower, you gravitate towards his wardrobe, flicking through his shirts to choose which one to wear. You always went for the softest, the one that had clung onto his sandalwood scent even though he’d washed it hundreds of times before.

He’d just thrown the last piece of a grilled cheese sandwich into his mouth and was sucking the grease from his thick fingers when you join him. He looks you up and down, taking his finger out with a pop as he puts the empty plate on the table.

“So you’re the one who keeps stealing my favourite shirt.”

It was obviously you.

You pout, “Don’t you think it looks better on me?”

He watched as you smoothed the fabric over your figure, purposefully showing glimpses of the bare skin hidden underneath. You turn around just so you can lift the hemline enough for him to see the curve of your ass, no knickers in sight.

He leans back, arms blocking his chest.

“Of course it does.”

His eyes focus back on the television.

Playing with the cuffs in your fingers, you tentatively join him on the couch, knees to your chest.

“Are you mad with me?”

He looks at your doe eyes.

“A little…”

Sighing, he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“All I want to do is throw you over my leg and spank you but you don’t want that.”

Your heart skips a beat, the thought of it pooling in your belly and spreading between your thighs.

“When did I say that?”

“You didn’t,” he took his hand away from his face. “When I smacked you on the ass a couple of months back, you weren’t pleased.”

You take his other hand, “Frankie, that was just bad timing.”

“It was? You seemed angry.”

“It was the shock and the head bump. If I’m honest, I’ve kinda been waiting for you to do it again.”

His mouth was hanging open, brows knotted, “Really?”

You hum, nodding, teeth grazing your bottom lip.

“Huh.”

He stops talking, his mind working to formulate his next move.

The expectancy was tortuous, the passing seconds making you squirm then suddenly, everything went fast.

Frankie grabbed you firmly around the waist and hauled your body off the cushions. Intuitively, you went limp and allowed him to position you on his legs, your stomach pressing into bone. The shirt had already ridden up, the chill wafting onto your warm pussy and once you’ve caught your breath, you lift your head to look at him.

He stares at you hungrily.

His broad palm rubs gently, getting you used to the feel of his hand on your ass though you were pretty used to it being there. He waited for you to settle before he slaps you a few times but you barely flinch.

“You can go harder.”

He starts rubbing again.

“This is just the prep,” he gives some more slaps before groping, sinking his nails into the meat of your ass. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

You scoff, “I thought that was the point?”

“Put it this way, I want you to be able to sit tomorrow.”

That you could agree with.

There’s a couple of final swats before he soothes you one last time. You swallow as you hear him take a deep breath, his hand no longer on the flaring skin of your ass. Closing your eyes, the impact comes fast and you yelp in response.

“You alright?”

His hand relaxed.

You nod enthusiastically, rearranging your position a little to get your ass up higher. He smirked at your eagerness, his other hand running up your spine and he watches the shiver take your whole body.

Then he gives another, then another over and over.

You happily take every welt, the heaviness rippling through your ass and your juices begin to flow. Each slap is met with a honeyed moan, your toes beginning to curl as your desire rushes through you.

Frankie is relishing in it.

How dutiful you are, taking it as hard as he’s giving.

As he continues, your nails claw into his jeans as you try to steady against the brunt, your head lulling as your head fills with nothing but him. The air as it’s puffed from his nostrils, his eyes observing every minuscule response and making the hair at the back of you neck stand on end, his cock growing and hardening into the side of your chest.

His next smack hits different.

It stings, the prickle spreading across your ass cheeks.

“Fuck,” you say through gritted teeth.

He does it again and you gasp, your chest shuddering as you breath.

“You good?”

You nod but he doesn’t see it.

Instead, his free hand trails towards your neck, fingers locking into a fistful of your hair. He pulls your head back and you feel the strain in your neck, you mewl.

“Querida?”

“Yeah,” you say breathily. “I’m good.”

You look to him out of the corner of your eye, heavy lids. He has to smile at how you appear, cheeks flushed, bottom lip swollen from your own teeth, drunk off his dominance.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.”

You hum.

He slaps your ass and watches your facial features go slack.

Carrying on his thrashing, he can see how your legs splay, how your pussy glistens, twitching as the ache travels. He knows you’re enjoying this yet your ass is beginning to disagree. It’s scorching under his touch, handprints blending into the same raised mark that spreads the width of your ass cheeks.

Your scalp was tingling as his fingers still pulled, the sensation flooding your back. It dispersed, vibrating through your limbs until you were vibrating.

The next spank hurt, your senses overwhelmed and then the next.

“Stop.”

He raises his hand but doesn’t swing.

“Stop,” you tap his leg, “stop, please.”

His hand loosens on your head and you turn to jelly, legs buckling as you fall onto your knees, forehead pressed to the outside of his leg. He lets you catch your breath, stroking your hair delicately.

You took your time, your presence coming back to the room, to him.

When you look up at him, he’s already gazing down out you, straight lipped but soft behind his brown eyes.

“Thank you.”

He chuckles, “You might not be thanking me later.”

You smile, knowing that that wasn’t going to happen.

Helping you up off the floor, he lays you out across the couch and tucks himself in behind you. He props up on an elbow, his other hand, running up and down your side in a soothing manner. You could go to sleep, if it wasn’t for a raging boner.

“What are you going to do about that?”

“Ignore it,” he grumbles.

“It’s pretty hard to ignore.”

“That sounds like a bad pun.”

“It wasn’t meant to.”

You work a hand behind your back, cupping his bulge through his jeans. 

He groans, eyelids fluttering shut as he felt your fingers pull at the zipper. You coil a hand through the opening and knead his length, a spot already present on his underwear.

“Fuck me, Frankie.”

It’s what he needed to hear.

Opening his eyes, his hand fights to undo his belt and unfasten his button. He frees his cock from his briefs before hooking your leg over his, spreading you wide. Shuffling, he lines himself up, taking his cock in his fingers and pushing through your folds. He slowly rolls his hips and fills you to the hilt.

You sigh.

He slides back with ease, your juices helping him glide through your walls. He takes his time, thrusting you at a languished pace. Two of his fingers dance across your navel before pressing on your clit, your head falling back and he delivers kisses underneath your jaw.

Your hands come to the back of his head and you kiss him squarely in the lips, nudging your chin for entry. His tongue slips into yours before you get chance, stealing the moan that escaped you. Your tongues twist and curl together, chasing the taste of each other.

He circles your clit in rhythm to his thrusts, the bundle of nerves pulsating to your inner walls that clench around his length.

You chase his lips when he takes them away but your easily distracted when he snaps his hips a fraction harder. You cry and he only smiles, eyes dark with heavy lids. He drops his hand from his head and works it under your neck, hand slipping underneath his shirt to your breast. Your head falls back as he squeezes your breast and clit in unison.

You cry, eye screwing shut and you feel his breath hot by your ear.

He shushes you, holds you while your body convulses in orgasm, his t-shirt bundling in your hand.

Your cunt contracts around his cock.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he says gruffly, working against your walls.

With your tightness, he was far from finding release himself. A couple more deep thrusts and he felt his balls recede as he pumped into you, filling you with every last drop of his seed.

Sinking into the couch, his body loosens.

You scramble to unbutton the shirt and throw it open to feel the cooler air hit your skin, your stomach rising and falling as you catch your breath. The pair of you lay there, lost for words, unable to move in the afterglow.

After a while, he nudges his nose into the crook of your neck.

“Love you, querida.”

“Love you too.”

Frankie kissed your shoulder, his hand skimming your body before coming to rest on your ass.

[beansprean]

Art for the Exchangeapalooza gift I got from dear @yougoadedme!!! Ranch N' Rider Weekly: Special Edition - please go read it it's so good

(ID in alt and under cut)

ID: 1. Full body of Marwa dressed in cowboy boots, jeans, and a pink flannel shirt rolled up to the elbows. She has one boot up on the bottom slat of a wooden fence and one hand braced on the top slat, the other in her hip as she grins into the distance. The background behind her is a rolling green field and rows of pine trees in watercolor. She is wearing a gold wedding band and diamond engagement ring.

2. Waist up of the Djinn, human, on a vague purple background, dressed in a flannel version of his salmon shirt tucked into his usual brown trousers. He is smiling indulgently, looking up over his glasses and holding up a bottle of margarita mix in one hand and tequila in the other. The margarita mix reads "EZ Margs - Delicious Margaritas at the snap of your fingers." The Djinn says, "I live to serve...liquor." He is also wearing a gold wedding band.

3. Guillermo sitting at a coffee table on a vague real background. There are a few black playing cards with white writing sitting on the table and Guillermo is on the side closest to the viewer, topless, and turned around to face the viewer with a sour expression. His face is flushed red and sweating, eyes darting away from the image before him. The image before him is this: human Nandor, having leaped fully onto the table in a crouched position in nothing but a white jock strap with pink hearts, flexing both of his arms with a triumphant grin and crowing, "I win!!"

4. Close up of human Colin Robinson, aged about 7 or 8, wearing a green flannel open over a red tee shirt. He is grinning excitedly, eyes shining, as he places a cowboy hat with a beaded turquoise band over his head. No less than five speech bubbles full of unintelligible babbling surround him.

5a. Nandor and Guillermo stand in a paddock, the former wearing a red flannel with the sleeves rolled up tucked into jeans with a silver horse belt buckle and the latter wearing a blue embroidered western shirt with the sleeves rolled up and a light brown cowboy hat. Nandor has his back to Guillermo's front and a leather bridle looped around his neck and shoulders. He holds the bit in his hands, but the ear strap is pressing directly into his throat. Behind him, Guillermo is holding the reins in both fists and is pulling them taut so Nandor is forced to lean back into him. Nandor's face is flushed, expression dazed and struggling to be stern but clearly not altogether displeased with the situation. He mumbles, "Guillermo, what...are you doing?" Guillermo's eyes are wide and wild, as if he isn't fully in control of his actions, face red and sweating profusely. 5b. Behind them, Colin, wearing a red cowboy hat with a strap and a long sleeved yellow shirt under an orange tee shirt that says 'Lego my Eggo' with a picture of a Lego waffle, stares at his uncles from atop a horse. The horse, Glitterfoot, is gray with a lighter mane and darker nose and ears, a white blaze down his face. He is properly tacked up western style, the reins in Colin's loose hands. Glitterfoot is also staring at the other two men, tongue sticking out the side of his mouth as he and Colin await instructions.

6. Guillermo and Derek sit across from each other at a table in a bar. A neon sign on the wall says "Sassy Cat Bar & Grill & Tack & Feed & Haberdashery. Mon-Sat 9am-12pm 2pm-2am" Guillermo, wearing an untucked red-violet flannel and jeans, is sitting with his back to the viewer. The back of his wooden chair has a burnt-on design of a rearing horse with a cat on its back, wearing spurred boots and waving a cowboy hat in the air. The Guide, human, leans one hip on their table and stares at Guillermo with a flirtatious grin, pen and notepad poised and awaiting their order. She is wearing a sparkly black beret, hoop earrings, a black and purple flannel shirt mostly unbuttoned tucked into a high waisted jean skirt, a gold horse belt buckle, and sparkly black thigh high cowboy boots. Her hair is curled and teased out big and poofy. Human Derek, sitting across from Guillermo in a brick red Henley and jeans, leans his crossed arms on the table and grins expectantly at Guillermo, waiting for him to react. Guillermo's shoulders are hunched up defensively and he has his face half turned away from the Guide toward the viewer, flushed and sweating nervously. /End ID

[stevethehairington]

i love you prompts: 98 w/ romantic steddie? 😌

lou!! thank you for sending this in!! ooh this is a good one!!

98. "Take a deep breath"

It’s late when the credits finally start to roll onscreen.

Steve guesses it’s sometime close to midnight, or maybe a little after, but he’d taken his watch off earlier before he’d gotten elbow deep in dirty dish water, cleaning up after the mess they somehow managed to make whipping up a simple dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup. It sits on the kitchen counter, all the way across the room, and the nearest clock in the Munson trailer hangs beside the phone, too far away for Steve to see from his spot on the couch.

He can’t exactly twist in his place to try and catch a better glimpse of it, or get up to fetch his watch either. Not while Eddie leans up against his side, arms crossed over his chest and neck bent awkwardly so his head can rest against Steve’s shoulder, fast asleep.

When they first put the movie on, the two of them had started off on opposite ends of the already pretty small couch, but as it progressed, they’d gradually shifted closer and closer — in the name of sharing popcorn easier, to whisper their movie commentary directly into each other’s ears rather than speak over the film, and, eventually, so it seems, so that Eddie could use Steve as a pillow. 

Not that Steve minded or anything. He liked it, in fact — likes it. Likes having Eddie so close, likes feeling the warmth of his body pressing up against his own, likes the fact that Eddie is comfortable enough with him to let his guard down like this.

Eddie hasn’t been sleeping all that well as of late, so when his head tipped onto Steve’s shoulder a little over half an hour ago, Steve just slouched a little lower to ease the angle of his neck and reached for the remote to turn down the volume. It had been a little hard for him to hear it after that, but he hadn’t really paid it much attention after that point anyways.

Now, though, the movie is over, and it’s late enough that Steve’s verging on overstaying his welcome. He knows he should probably wake Eddie so he can let him know that he’s going and say his goodbyes and head out.

But Eddie just looks way too peaceful. Steve doesn’t want to wake him.

Instead, he decides that he can just leave a note. In case Eddie does wake up to find him gone. He’ll know nothing bad happened to Steve, just that he went home for the night and that they’ll see each other tomorrow — because chances are they will. They hardly went a day without spinning into each other’s orbits now.

Except, Steve doesn’t want to just leave Eddie on the couch either. He knows from personal experience that the Munson’s sofa is not exactly the most comfortable thing ever. Every time he falls asleep on it, he wakes up with a crick in his neck and an ache in his back. He doesn’t want that for Eddie.

His bedroom isn’t far, just down the hall, and Steve will feel a lot better if he gets Eddie to his bed before he leaves. So, he does his best to maneuver out from beneath Eddie, cradling his head as he removes it from his shoulder and lowers it to the cushion instead.

Steve takes a second to roll out his shoulders, then he slips one arm under Eddie’s back and the other behind his knees, which are curled to his side. As carefully as he can, he lifts Eddie from the couch.

Eddie stirs, but he doesn’t wake, thank god. He just smacks his mouth a little and buries his nose into the collar of Steve’s sweater, and Steve lets out the breath he didn’t even realize he was holding.

Eddie’s lighter than he looks, but still pretty heavy, and Steve doesn’t want to drop him, so he takes it slow as he follows the path towards Eddie’s door at the end of the hall. It’s, thankfully, already open, so all he has to do is kick out a foot to push it wide enough to fit through.

The blinds in Eddie’s room are still fucked up — broken enough that the slats droop down in a way that gives the morning sun the perfect opening to shine right in and wake him up before it’s time. Eddie complains about it constantly, but he hasn’t made any sort of attempt to fix them yet, and right now, Steveis grateful for that. The glow of the moon is bright enough to seep in through the gap, providing just enough gentle light that Steve can see where he’s going.

He makes it to the side of Eddie’s bed without issue, and delicately deposits Eddie onto his mattress. Again, Eddie shifts, rolling slightly onto his side, but he still doesn’t rouse.

The blankets are shoved to the end of Eddie’s bed, and Steve stifles a snort at that as he reaches for them and starts to pull them up and over Eddie’s body. He knows Eddie runs cold, so he takes a moment to tuck the corners in and add an extra blanket to the top so that he’s nice and cozy.

Then, unable to help himself, Steve brushes Eddie’s bangs to the side and leans down to leave a soft ghost of a kiss to his forehead.

He’s just starting to straighten up and pull his hand back when quick fingers dart out to curl around his wrist, trapping him there.

Steve freezes, eyes snapping back open to find Eddie, awake, blinking hazily back up at him.

“Steve?” Eddie asks, groggy, still somewhere halfway in between awake and asleep.

“Hey, yeah, it’s me,” Steve whispers. “You fell asleep, I just brought you to your room so you’d be comfortable,” he tells him.

Eddie smiles then, this sleepy, goopy sort of thing that makes something warm settle in Steve’s chest, and he tugs on Steve’s wrist. “C’mere,” he mumbles, and Steve thinks maybe he has something he wants to tell him.

So he leans in closer.

And closer.

And closer.

Eddie tips his chin up, and Steve thinks he’s going for his ear, so he can whisper his sleepsoft secret. Only, his mouth doesn’t go anywhere near Steve’s ear. Instead, it lands against his own in a—

In a kiss.

It’s chaste, tender, just the sweet press of lips against lips. It catches Steve off guard at first, but the surprise settles, and Steve is about to let himself melt into it.

Then the moment shatters.

Eddie jerks back, bolting upright as he scrambles far enough back in his bed that he hits the headboard. His eyes are wide open now, fully alert and not a single trace of sleepiness anywhere on his face as he stares at Steve. His hand, the one he’d had around Steve’s wrist just seconds ago, hovers over his own mouth, like he can’t quite believe what it has just done.

“Oh, oh, fuck,” Eddie chokes out. “Shit, shit, shit, I’m so— I didn’t mean to— fuck, you have to— please don’t—”

“Woah, hey, it’s… it’s alright, Eddie,” Steve says, holding his hands out in what he hopes is a placating gesture. He doesn’t come closer, doesn’t want to frighten Eddie further, but he wants Eddie to know that there’s no reason for him to be so scared. He’s not… he’s not mad. Or upset. Or anything that Eddie probably thinks he is right now. Not even close.

Eddie’s words start to fail him as his breathing begins to hitch, and Steve can see the rapidfire rise and fall of his chest. His eyes are on Steve, but he’s not looking at him. He’s looking through him, like he’s somewhere else right now. Like he’s spiraling into every single bad place his mind can take him right now.

Steve recognizes it for what it is — a panic attack.

“Eddie,” Steve tries, forgetting politeness as he moves to the edge of Eddie’s bed and kneels against the mattress. He reaches out to rest his hand on Eddie’s shoulder — to give him a point of contact, something to focus on. Something to ground him. It’s what usually helps Steve whenever he’s having a panic attack, finding an anchor, to bring him back down.

Eddie’s hand flies out to grasp at Steve’s wrist, and Steve lets him pull it from his shoulder so that he can curl his fingers around Steve’s palm instead. His grip is tight, nails biting into Steve’s skin, but Steve doesn’t care.

“You’re safe,” Steve reassures. “You’re safe and I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Eddie nods, but Steve isn’t so sure his words have reached him. Not when he still looks so panicked, and his breathing is still coming out too fast.

“Hey,” Steve says softly, rubbing his thumb over the back of Eddie’s hand. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs.

Eddie’s eyes settle onto Steve’s face, still hazy but doing better at focusing. Steve smiles at him, nods encouragingly. “Come on, do it with me, deep breath in.”

Steve makes a show of inhaling again, holding up his fingers to count to three before he starts to let it all back out in an exhale. He goes through it twice before Eddie catches on and starts to mirror him.

They follow the pattern until finally Eddie’s breathing returns to normal and the panic seems to subside.

“Are you okay?” Steve asks, once Eddie’s shoulders slump and his head drops forward, his hair hanging like a curtain around his face. Steve hasn’t let go of Eddie’s hand yet, and he doesn’t plan to.

Eddie lets out a humorless laugh, but he doesn’t look up. “Depends,” he starts. “Are you going to… to fucking… hit me or shout at me or something?”

Steve’s face screws up, mouth tugging down into a hard frown. “What?” He asks. “Why would I do that? Because you had a panic attack?”

Eddie snorts. “No,” he replies, like he can’t believe that’s what Steve thinks this is about. He stays quiet for a second, two, three. Like he can’t quite bring himself to say it. “Because I— because I kissed you,” he finally breathes.

“Oh,” Steve says softly. He watches Eddie for a moment, doesn’t like that he can’t see his face. He wants to see his face. So, with careful fingers, he reaches out to brush Eddie’s hair back, to tuck it behind his ear.

Eddie’s breath catches as he does, and his gaze flickers up to Steve’s, briefly, before fixing firmly on his lap again.

“Eddie,” Steve starts, “I’m not mad that you kissed me.”

It takes a second for his words to sink in.

When they do, Eddie’s head snaps up. His eyes land on Steve’s, wide and surprised and searching. “You’re not?”

Steve shakes his head. Lets a little smile grace his lips. “Nope,” he confirms. “Not one single bit.”

And, well, in for a penny, in for a pound, right? He shuffles a little closer on his knees, presses further into Eddie’s space. “In fact…” he trails off. Does a little searching of his own. “I wouldn’t mind if you did it again,” Steve finishes after he’s sure that Eddie isn’t going to push him away.

Eddie’s eyebrows lift this time, the pull together. Steve wants to smooth out the little wrinkle that forms between them. 

“Are you… you’re serious?” Eddie asks.

“Serious as a heart attack,” Steve replies.

The corner of Eddie’s mouth twitches, then a smile breaks out across his face. “Holy shit, you’re serious,” he says, followed by a breathless little laugh.

Steve can’t help but laugh too, and he nods and starts to tug at Eddie’s hand to pull him in this time. “Yeah,” he says. “Now that that’s been established, you think I could get another one?”

Eddie looks at him like he’s won the lottery. “Jesus christ, yes, yes please,” he says, and the hand not caught in Steve’s comes up to bunch into the front of his sweater as he meets him halfway.

It’s a little offcentered, a little overeager on both of their parts, but it’s perfect.

When they break apart, Eddie presses his forehead against Steve’s. “Were you leaving?” He asks.

“I was,” Steve answers. “I don’t want to now,” he admits.

Eddie chuckles and lets go of Steve only just long enough to peel back the covers Steve had so lovingly tucked around him not too long ago.

“So stay,” Eddie says.

With his welcome so graciously extended like that, who is Steve to say no?

So he stays.

100 ways to say i love you prompts

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

Anatomy of a Dalek

A Dalek is primarily made from Dalekanium and polycarbide and is technically a cyborg. To understand how a Dalek is created, see How Do Daleks Become Daleks?

Some Daleks will have variations on the below, but these aspects of a Dalek's anatomy are broadly applicable to most.

The Dome (aka dome section, head section, head dome) is attached to the neck via a docking clamp.

Eyestalk (aka eyepiece, eye antenna, tele-eye, eye-stick, optical stalk, sensory antenna, eyeball unit). The eyestalk is attached to the dome via a lens attachment, sitting on a pivot in a cowl. The eye itself is known as an eyelens. The eyestalk is covered in multiple insulator discs to protect it from radiation.

Luminosity dischargers (aka headlamp, radiation valve, dome light, vocaliser light, sound disc). It's not quite known how or why the luminosity dischargers sync up with Dalek speech, but they could be energy compensators, translation units, safety valves to release excess energy, or just lights to indicate when a Dalek's speaking.

Neck (aka grating section, upper grating section). Attached to the weapons platform via another docking clamp, or 'catch'.

Neck rings support the neck grille.

Neck grille (aka audio receptor grill, sensor grille, sensor mesh, sensor grid louvres) cover the mutant Dalek within.

Weapons Platform (aka shoulder platform, shoulder section).

Slats (aka solar power collection slats, solar slats, solar cells, shoulder slats, armour slats, sensor plates) are effectively solar panels that absorb energy to power the Dalek.

Gunstick (aka radiation gun, gun-rod, ray-gun, exterminator, blast-gun, energy gun, Dalek neutraliser, neutraliser, beam distributor, Dalek beam gun, Dalek gun, ruby ray blaster). Sits on a balljoint, controlled by armament circuits. Can be set to non-lethal, causing temporary paralysis, but maximum settings can split atoms apart. Some Daleks deliberately reduce the power of their gunstick so that the beam burns away the central nervous system outside inwards, so victims die within 2-3 seconds in complete agony.

Manipulator arm (aka tactile arm, arm-stick). Usually sits on a balljoint. Attachments can be swapped out for various tools depending on the needs of the Dalek. Some attachments include the plunger, flamethrower, seismic detector, electrode unit, sieve, syringe, blow torch, cutting tool, another gunstick, or a claw, or basically anything they need.

Base Unit (aka travel unit). Contains the motive unit, the elevation unit, and thrusters.

Sense spheres (aka sensor globes, sensor arrays, bumps) can do pretty much whatever you want them to, including detecting emissions, monitoring the surrounding environment, and acting as self-destruct mechanisms. They can also function as sockets for cables and wires, and some say the sensor globes are capable of free flight, allowing them to provide remote battlefield intelligence.

Bumper (aka fender). Possibly containing proximal alert systems to detect other Daleks, but more likely just softening collisions.

Gallifreyan Dalek Biology for Tuesday by GIL

More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[naavispider]

YOUR FIC ABOUT SPIDER RUNNING OFF WAS AMAZING AND SO DAMN SCARY 😭😭😭

I got a little ask for you, if it’s too gorey I totally understand:

What if, while trying to escape the soldiers through the vents, Spider escapes into laboratories? They’re empty, but on one of the operating tables the kid sees something so horrid that his body, breathing, even heartbeat goes still.

There, on the table, lies a dead, half-dissected Na’vi.

If that’s too much, then perhaps Spider sees that Na’vi yet unharmed, but the tools around them imply that the poor child of a Eywa was going to be dissected like some sort of animal or plant. The sight shakes him to his core and the world turns into a blur as he is apprehended, and suddenly Quaritch is in his face but he doesn’t react, still deeply in shock as his eyes water at the unfairness, at the cruelty of it all. Miles notices the body and realises what the boy had witnessed.

My question is — how would he behave in that situation? Would he still go through with physical punishment? Would he believe that the horror Spider saw was enough to deter him from going on another escapade? Would he perhaps feel bad?

CW: body gore, description of corpse, swearing

As he crouched in the too-small tunnel, it was the smell that first alerted Spider that something was wrong. A hazy, blue light was shining up eerily through the slats in the vent, and Spider's heartbeat thumped loudly as he crawled slowly towards the grill. The smell was a mixture of sterile cleaning supplies and something much, much worse. It was like a decaying animal, which Spider was no stranger to after living for years amongst the forest, but this was somehow fouler. It was obvious the stench had been tried to be masked by the cleaning supplies.

Peering down through the slats, Spider could make out a large room with a shiny floor, and tables with tanks set upon them, with occasional tubing connecting different set ups. He couldn't see much more from this angle in the ceiling. He stared for a moment longer, knowing that he should just move on - but the room was too curious. It looked like some kind of lab, and there was no one in sight. It was completely quiet, apart from the sounds of bubbles from some tank or another.

He took a deep breath before using the keycard to skilfully unscrew the grate at the corners, a technique he had perfected on this little adventure through the air vents. The lack of a reaction to the noise he was making when he slid the grate to the side confirmed the lack of anybody down below. He poked his head down fully to double check anyway, hands almost slipping on the smooth metal of the chute with nervous sweat. The room was bigger than he'd first assumed, and that strange blue light was coming from several upright tanks filled with a thick fluid that looked something like the stuff Grace Augustine's avatar was kept in. Bubbles were floating to the surface like little orbs drawn to the top by Pandora's flux.

Not a soul was in sight, so he nervously gripped the sides of the chute and lowered his body down. He landed silently, padding over to the nearest desk for cover. He couldn't discount the idea that someone could walk in at any moment.

The floor was cool under his bare feet, and he cast his eyes over the papers on the desk, trying to ward off the shiver it caused him. He'd never been amazing at reading, but he wasn't stupid. There were stacks of different coloured paper files, some in neat piles and some spread out open. His eye caught one labelled, 'Specimen 21 and Oxidation due to Fibonacci neurotoxin'. He frowned, repeating the words until he extracted some sense from them. The Fibonacci was a plant that the Na'vi used to dip their arrows in before battle with the Sky People, or if the occasion called for it, with other clans. Why were the RDA studying its effects? He opened the file.

He was not prepared for the wall of text that painted the paper, immediately deciding that was too much hassle. "I'm happy for you, or sorry that happened," he muttered to himself, flicking past the text to the other pages, looking for images. The file opened on a double page spread detailing a diagram of...

Spider swallowed. That was a Na'vi, and around the drawing were smaller anatomical diagrams, of what he assumed were body parts, though they looked anything but. There were lungs breaking apart, a heart with sections shaded in black, and captions detailing what must be the effects of the neurotoxin on a Na'vi body. Necrosis begins immediately. Membranes disintegrate upon contact. Flesh swells.

Spider gasped, taking a step back from the desk. The RDA were evil, but being faced with the brutality of their war games brought it into stark clarity.

Wait, if the file was called Specimen 21, and it was about a Na'vi...

The smell.

Goosebumps sprung up over Spider's entire body, and he suddenly became very aware of the area behind the tanks, almost like someone was suddenly watching him.

Heart hammering, Spider turned slowly. Between the blue, fluid filled tanks, he could make out what looked like a table behind. He didn't want to move, but his feet carried him forwards anyway. He watched as if he was a passenger in his own body as he edged closer to the area, putting a hand on the outer-most tank as he rounded the corner to see what lay behind.

A cry escaped his lips at the sight.

He wanted to run, he wanted to scream. He wanted to sink to the floor. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wanted to say the ceremonial prayer for creatures that had returned to Eywa.

Instead he froze. Though he wanted to, he couldn't tear his eyes off the dissected corpse of the Tipani clan member, lying so still and open on the cold metal table. The man's face looked eerily peaceful for the state his body was in, and Spider understood that no wonder the smell was so pungent. Blackened flesh and congealed fluid filled the man's open chest and stomach. It looked like acid had been poured inside the cavity, corroding everything it touched and making his torso seem unrecognisable from the smooth blue stripes that should be there in its place.

He blinked an angry tear out of his eye, as at that moment a door suddenly burst open, followed by loud shouts and angry voices, all swarming into the room where Spider stood. He recognised his name, but he was frozen in place; he couldn't move. Seconds later, what seemed like a whole unit of soldiers had surrounded them, and a large blue hand was on his shoulder. Spider still hadn't looked away from the Na'vi, and jumped as he realised that someone just like the Tipani man was grabbing him by the shoulder.

"Spider!" Quaritch called, pulling Spider around to face away from the man on the table, bending down to be at eye level.

Spider found Quaritch's eyes but was still too lost for words to say anything.

Quaritch had known about his. There was no other explanation for the recom's hardened frown, the set way that his eyes were pinned on Spider... the complete lack of surprise at finding a dead Na'vi mutilated on the table a few feet away.

Shock gave way to anger as Spider stared at Quaritch.

"What do you think you're doing boy?" Quaritch's eyes were angry too, and roughly shook Spider's shoulder as if to bring him back to reality. "Huh? You think you can just steal a keycard and go off parading around Bridgehead? You think this is a holiday camp?" The man growled and let go of Spider's shoulder, stepping back and appraising him as he balled his fists, clearing trying to control his frustration. "Fucking hell!" He let out, and Spider blinked, finally realising that he'd been caught - that the game was over.

When had it turned into a nightmare?

"You knew about this?" Spider choked out.

Quaritch glanced at him, then closed his eyes in an irritated frown, addressing the other soldiers. "It's fine, I got the kid from here. Thanks."

The rest of the men cleared out, leaving the two of them alone in the lab. The blue light flickered over both of their faces as they waited for the door to finally inch shut. Then, Quaritch grabbed Spider's arm and hauled him out from around the tanks, back into the open space where the Na'vi was no longer in sight.

"Yes, Spider, I knew about this. Why the Hell were you here?"

Spider stood his ground, narrowing his eyes. "You..." He didn't know what he was trying to say. "Why is there a Tipani warrior on the table?"

Quaritch's tail lashed. "I understand this was a shock for you to find, Spider, but what did you expect? The Na'vi use chemical warfare themselves, of course the RDA is going to learn from that and use it back against them!"

Spider shook his head. "You... you experimented on him..."

Quaritch sighed heavily. "Listen kid. We're at war." His tone rose angrily again. "I don't see you complaining every time a damn savage dips their arrows in the stuff. Or is it okay for them to murder innocent men and women?"

Spider hissed - something he hadn't done in a long time. He couldn't help it.

To Spider's surprise, Quaritch let out a laugh. One that sent a shiver down Spider's spine.

The man looked at him again before speaking. "Kid, they've really done a good job on you."

Spider bristled at the insinuation. How dare he. "Screw you! You think I'm brainwashed or something?"

"You're doing a damn good job of acting like it!"

At this, Spider didn't know what to say. Quaritch took advantage of his momentary silence.

"It's okay for them to use the toxin, but not us?"

"No, the difference is they don't display their dead to be used and experimented on! Everyone deserves dignity, especially in death!" A lump was forming in Spider's throat. Hold it in. "That warrior should have been returned to Eywa."

Quaritch was nodding, but his whole demeanour was sarcastic. "Uh huh? Brainwashed, just like I told you!" He gesticulated as if it was obvious for anyone to see.

"Fuck you!" Spider cast around for the closest object to him, picking up a stapler from the nearest desk and hurling it at Quaritch. The man ducked, for a moment unsure how to react, but he didn't have time to say or do anything before Spider reached for the holopad lying on the desk and threw that as well. Quaritch dodged it and it smashed with a clatter on the hard floor.

"Put it down!" Quaritch shouted as Spider went for the stool next, lobbing it at the recom with as much force as he could muster.

Quaritch hit it away without too much difficulty, lunging towards Spider just as the boy turned to the tanks.

Spider could tell that Quaritch had clocked his intentions and before he could muster the strength to tip the tank over, strong arms grabbed him from behind.

"You gonna be cool?" Quaritch yelled as he wrestled Spider over his shoulder. "Or are you gonna carry on acting like a five year old?"

Spider wanted to scream. How could Quaritch just be treating him like some bratty kid? He threw his arms against the man's back and kicked as best as he could against the recom's firm grip on his legs. "Put me down!"

"Cut it out!" Quaritch yelled, walking them over to the door. "Jesus Christ, you're embarrassing!"

Spider roared in frustration, finally going limp against the man's hold, only because he couldn't be bothered to fight any more. His blood still pounded in his veins and his breathing was still deep and uneven. He searched for Quaritch's kuru to pull, knowing it was a low blow, but the man had tactfully pulled it in front of his shoulder.

His face burned when they stepped out into the corridor and he was faced with being carried through the hallway like a toddler. "Bastards!" he shouted. "Put me down! I can fucking walk!"

Quaritch stopped, unceremoniously rolling Spider off him and pushing him to walk in front. Soldiers muttered as they passed for the entire walk through the base. Spider ignored them, only occasionally throwing out the odd insult of his own, until noise from behind alerted him to a scuffle. He stopped in confusion and turned to see Quaritch with an RDA soldier pinned up against the wall by the scuff of his uniform, looking shocked to find himself there.

"Problem, soldier?" Quaritch growled.

The rest of the corridor was silent.

"N- no Sir!" yelped the man, who had turned bright red.

Quaritch let him down roughly, and shoved Spider on without an explanation. Spider had no idea what had just transpired, but he quickly gathered that although Quaritch was allowed to be mean to him, it seemed nobody else was.

[itcars]

First Look: The Ford Mustang GT California Special

Standing out on the road has been a hallmark of the Mustang for 59 years. And now, as Mustang prepares to celebrate its 60th anniversary, Ford is putting a modernspin on the California Special.

The California Special package features Rave Blue details. The signature color appears on the nostril intakes, which flank a new horizontal-slat grille complete with low gloss black strakes. The headlights are surrounded by black bezels while Mustang GT California Special-specific graphics in Medium Light Rave Blue and High- and Low-Gloss Black appear on the lower body sides.

The California Special package is available with two 19.0-inch wheel options. The standard Carbonized Gray wheels have a GT/CS pad-printed logo in Rave Blue, while the optional Performance Pack wheel combines a machined face with Rave Blue pockets. The 5.0-liter engine badge on the front fenders and the GT badge at the back add Rave Blue outlines to black centers – like the GT Performance Package, there is a Performance Pack-specific badge. The GT/CS badge in the grille is also finished in Rave Blue.

Blue accents are prominent throughout the California Special package’s interior, where perforated Navy Pier upholstery and Ebony Black leather covers the seats. Further elevating its style is dual-color contrast stitching with Raptor Blue and Metal Gray threads that extend to the dash and doors. The same stitching is also available for the steering wheel and center console. A California Special IP badge and GT/CS floor mats round out the interior changes.

The California Special package adds $1,995 to the price of a Mustang GT Premium and is available in Coupe and Convertible body styles with either the six-speed manual gearbox or the optional 10-speed automatic transmission.

The 2024 Mustang GT California Special makes its public debut on November 16 at the 2023 Los Angeles Auto Show.

[tybarious-ii]

"WWII Home Front", circa June 1942

"Rows of finished jeeps churned out in mass production for war effort as WWII allies plan for inevitable invasion of Nazi-occupied Europe."

Photographed by Dmitri Kessel for LIFE Magazine.

LIFE Magazine Archives: 189952

[xiaoluclair]

2 lestappen please

2. neck kisses // lestappen // rating: T // I DUNNO WHAT THIS IS

There's a lunchable next to Pierre's bowl of shrimp and feta salad. He makes a face, glances up to see if Lando's hovering close by. Instead, what he gets is Charles one picnic table over, perched next to Max Verstappen.

Charles, who should've been in his place next to Pierre, guarding his dinner. Not doing— that. The 'that' in question: tapping heads with Max Verstappen. And they do — there's barely an inch of air between their hair. Pierre goes to nudge the lunchable over to Charles's grilled salmon aioli with his unused spoon — karma — only. There's just table. Slats of varnished wood.

Charles shifts slightly. There's a hint of pink and green in front of him. Righteously indignant, Pierre traipses over. As he is doing so, Charles leans over to say something into Max's ear, hands come up to cup either side of his mouth. He miss-aims, gets the place just below Max's ear. Pierre told him not to drink too much. Idiot.

"Hey," he says. A vat of space appears between the two in the span of his next blink. "What happened to watching my food while I pissed?"

Charles's salmon looks barely changed since Pierre last saw it. Evidently Max isn't a very good eating-partner. Pierre does not stick out his tongue.

"Your food is fine," waves off Charles. He must be properly drunk — on the bench, his hand half-overlaps Max's. He has not even noticed. Neither has Max, so he's hammered too. Pierre's not dealing with him though so that doesn't concern him.

Pierre frowns. "There was a lunchable next to it."

Max's brow furrows. "A lunchable? At dinner?" Glances to Charles. "Is that blasphemy or something?"

"No," says Pierre. "Well, yes. But no, they're — why was there a lunchable next to my food, Charles?"

Charles shrugs. He still hasn’t moved his hand. “Ask Lando.”

“Because he put that lunchable next to my dinner,” says Pierre. He knew it.

But Charles shakes his head. “No, because he is putting one in your dinner.”

Pierre glances over his shoulder. Sure enough— “Lando!” Lando drops the cracker and bolts. Esteban’s elbow tips his carrot and cashew soup over. Hilarious. But, “This is not over,” Pierre turns and vows, makes sure to drive the point home with a very point–driving finger. Charles nods. Max nods.

Pierre runs after Lando.

The sun is trying to boil off his skin. That’s through his fireproofs too. George tugs his helmet off — at least it’s some relief — pulls off his balaclava and stuffs it inside.

Black suits are great and all, really, but Miami heat is not very considerate of BLM movements. George thinks it could at least try.

He heads for the scales, where Charles already has his feet on the balance, stands behind Max. Charles’s head is tipped down for the brief few seconds, nods, turns with his body when he steps off.

Max reaches out and they share a handshake that quickly develops into a perfunctory pat on the back.

What George thinks it going to be a perfunctory pat on the back. Apparently either his Oxford Dictionary is wrong or Max has PVA smothered over his chest.

Something Lewis said last week — went on forever, man, I swear — and George hurriedly steps around the two. Yeah, no. He is not waiting around for that to be over. Weighs himself instead, has everything checked off, steps back. Glances over.

Max is already pulling away from Charles's shoulder — that wasn't too long, thinks George. He lifts a thumb, wipes his mouth. It's probably sweating too what with the absolute lazer beam that is the general outdoors, but George doesn't stick around for longer than that. Max can do all the mouth wiping he wants without him there.

On his way out, Charles gives him a nod, a smile, hand cupped to his neck. George returns it, then gets back into the goddamn sun. Fuck you, he thinks vehemently at the sky.

He swears it gets hotter.

Daniel downs the shot. It's spicy, slices its way right down the back of his throat. He can imagine it fucking up his stomach, knife to the walls, makes him cough a little. Scotty shoves another one, bright yellow this time, in front of his face. "Twenty one more to go," he tells Daniel brightly.

Sober prick.

“That looks like piss,” says Daniel. He picks it up, downs it in one go. It’s so bitter it makes him shudder.

Scotty laughs, delighted. It grows when Daniel’s hand slips and the shot glass wobbles onto the table with a small slink. He picks it up, places it upright. Nudges Daniel off the bar stool. “Okay, dance break, Dan. Before you’re too zooted to breathe.”

Daniel thinks that sounds like a good idea. He trips barely eight times on the way into the throes, Scotty’s hand on his back. A few minutes in, Daniel reaches back and tugs him in. He points across the floor — as far as he can before some girl nearly takes his fingers out with her ponytail. “Is that Max?”

He can imagine Scotty squinting. After a billion years, he says “Is that Charles?”

Daniel face–palms. “No,” he says, “is that Max?” Then the music gets a little loud and he can’t hear Scotty’s reply.

He considers asking Max to join, if he wants company. Puts forth the idea. Scotty speaks right into his ear. “I think he already has company.”

And — oh yeah. Max’s tilts a little to the side and Daniel can see his hands, pale and lit in strobe colors, wrapped around something. Some–one. And then he moves further and Daniel can see the lump on his shoulder. A head–shaped lump on his shoulder. It’s moving a little. Like a sea urchin or something.

“Oh my God,” says Daniel. Grins. “Get it Max!”

Max, across like a million people, lifts his head up. Freak. He glances in Daniel’s direction. The head that was previously next to his does too.

Daniel can feel his grin widen, like it’ll slide off his face probably. “Charles!”

Charles gives him a wave. “Scotty,” says Daniel, “Scotty, are you waving?”

When he looks at him, Scotty’s got his fingers pressed to his skull. He looks like he’s fighting off a migraine. Which is not waving. “You’re so rude,” Daniel tells him. Scotty gives him a look Daniel is simply too drunk or too old or all of the above to interpret.

"More shots?" he asks.

Scotty nods almost desperately.

Interviews finished for the day, Christian heads back to the hospitality. The team's spread out on the front tables, dripping off rails and chair, chatting. There's a noticeable absence.

He finds Gemma, legs slung over the arm of a deck chair. "Where's Max?"

She gestures inside. "Went in a couple minutes ago."

Christian nods, heads through the doors. He checks the engineer's room, wardrobe stash, canteen, driver's room. He's on his way back out again, can feel the frown on his face, when he hears a noise from the cleaning closet. Curious, he opens the door.

Things he half-expects to see: Max, walls, and a bottle of Limescale Shine.

Things he does not expect at all to see: Charles Leclerc sucking out Max's blood against the wall.

Christian opens his mouth, is about to say something. He doesn't know what, can hardly comprehend. I've got garlic and I'm not afraid to use it—

"No marks," bites out Max. Hisses, really, not very lion-like, "no fucking marks." Tilts his head back all the way until it's rolling, legs hiked up and around Charles. If Charles says something, it's very effectively caught in the skin of Max's throat. Skin that is between his fucking teeth.

Right.

"Max," says Christian. There's a bang. A squeak as Charles's shoes slip across the floor, another bang. Not because Max's elbow hits the frame this time, but because the Limescale Shine has gone toppling into a mop bucket.

Christian nods vaguely over his shoulder. "Team photos."

Max makes a sound. It isn't very coherent.

"Charles." Christian glances at him. His face that could put his fireproofs to shame. The thought drags a corner of his mouth up. "Good drive today."

Charles blinks. "Thank you?"

Christian nods. "We're not currently accepting cleaner's applications, I'm afraid. And seeing as you saw yourself in, I trust you can see yourself out too?" He gets a small, mute head-jerk in reply that could construe as a nod under a looser definition.

Satisfied, Christian, leaves, shuts the door behind him.

Gemma gives him a questioning look when he steps outside again. Christian tells her, "He'll be out in a second."

Maybe more than literally.

[genuine-wrestleboy]

the attraction (4/5)

((here on ao3))

this chapter starts with a read more trust me

"You know," drawls Springtrap, teasing your clit in idle circles. He doesn't finish the thought, and you shudder and writhe beneath him, the attention bordering on overstimulation. You've already come once on his fingers, grasping between moans for coherent thought as he grilled you on everything you'd learned from Mike. You can't remember any specifics of what you'd told him, only that you'd answered every question without hesitation.

Now, every touch is a bellows to the embers in your belly, fanning a steadily rebuilding heat. Your limbs feel languid and loose, heavy with syrupy pleasure.

"What do I know?" Your cheek is chafed from the seat and tacky with your own drool, and you grin into it like an idiot.

“Do you know, I think you must be the only person to have gone through that tasteless little place with no idea of what a springlock is?”

“Really?” Your friends had known, but they were into this sort of thing. To be honest, right now you’re a little more interested in why his hand has stopped moving. You roll your hips, seeking friction, but he doesn’t react, even when he bends over you, even when you feel the thick, blunt shape of him at your entrance.

“Do you want to know?” asks Springtrap. Something about his tone sends an unexpected prickle of fear along your nerves. “I could show you. I’d bet you none of them have ever seen one.”

“I don’t know,” you tell him honestly, the cold cobweb of fear on your palms. Your heart gutters under your ribs.

"Oh but you've been so good for me. It's the least I could do."

The praise catches on the rising tide of unease in your chest, blunting the sharpest edges and flooding you with warmth. You whimper pitifully into the upholstery of your backseat, your pussy clenching on empty air. 

Springrap laughs. He ruts forward, and you feel the hot curving length of him slide against you, thick as four of your fingers and slick with shared arousal. A moan stutters up from your stomach and tumbles through your lips as you press back into his touch. 

Then, without warning, a hand slams down next to you, filling your line of sight. You startle, flinching away, but there's nowhere for you to go. Springtrap cages you in, heavy and huge and reeking—a sharp, burnt chemical smell; damp, moldering rot. The hand by your face twitches, sinks its fingers into the seat, and you stare in open horror.

Sad, scorched remnants of greenish fur, the sleeve of the suit hanging in ruined tatters. Exposed, a mangle of flesh and steel, raw red muscle trellising a frame of blackened metal and yellow bone. Wires knit through the carnage like veins, frayed beyond function.

Part of the suit, you remember with a thrill. Your heart is pounding so fast and hard you can no longer tell where fear ends and excitement begins.

That line has always been thin for you, anyway.

"Do you see?" Springtrap twists his arm, and the light catches several slats of steel that bite sideways through the bone like broad flat teeth.

"Yes—oh, oh, yes."

All the breath in your body leaves you all at once, a gasping, begging syllable of sound. Springtrap’s cock breaches your hole, sudden and sweet, and you feel your body immediately fight to pull him in deeper. A deep, snarling sound rolls through him, control clung to by the sharp points of his fingers. 

He thrusts once, shallow and slow. Your skin feels like it's on fire.

"Please," you beg, "please, god, please," and even as he ruts another shallow thrust into you he gives no indication of having heard.

"This is no ordinary mascot costume, you understand. Its design is almost perfectly unique, both suit and animatronic as the occasion requires."

As he speaks, he presses forward, fucking you open with agonizing, unhurried deliberation. You whimper helplessly, overwhelmed by the stretch, the fullness. He feels huge inside you, carving himself indelibly into your body like something you'll never really recover from.

"An impressive trick, I think you'll agree. When the animatronic is in use, it uses a sophisticated endoskeleton for support. Naturally, while the endoskeleton is in place, there's no way for it to function as a suit."

 Springtrap's hips bite into you as he bottoms out, the pinch of metal joints, tiny pricks of pain fading into harmony with the pleasure.

"Fuck," you gasp, forgetting yourself.

A tsk of disapproval. Without missing a beat,  Springtrap rears back to swat a sharp blow on your ass. Without the skin on skin contact, it lacks the sting of a spank, but the intention comes across clearly enough.

"One of these days," he tells you, sweet as rotten fruit, "I'm going to have to teach you a lesson about that mouth of yours."

He pets your neck in little circles with his thumb, coarse fur catching your skin. You press back into the touch like it doesn’t choke you. Leaning forward, Springtrap picks up speed, finding a heady, relentless rhythm, grinding against your ass with every thrust. Slick wet heat paints your thighs and pulses through your core, wave after wave, wringing a string of high, thin keens from your throat. Thank god for the middle of nowhere, because if you ever had a head for how loud you’re being, it’s long gone now.

 "Now, where was I?” wonders Springtrap aloud. “Ah, yes. When the costume is ready to be worn, the endoskeleton isn't taken out—no, you see, it's wound aside and locked in place at the sides of the suit by a complex series of springs specially designed to hold its component parts in place. I imagine you can tell where this is headed, now, can't you? Can't you?" he adds when you fail to respond, the grip on your neck tightening. 

"Yes, sir," you insist emphatically, though you could not for the life of you guess where this is headed. 

Springtrap hums, pleased.

"It's not a foolproof process," he admits, "though heaven knows fools have attempted it. The springlocks can be…fickle, for those without the proper hand to use them."

He leans further forward, enough weight on your neck to send your vision swimming at the edges. Growling low and gravel-addled in his throat, he pulls back, then slams himself home, hitting something inside you that sends a shock of pleasure up your spine. You feel your pussy throb around him, and he lets out a harsh, scraping breath, hips stuttering.

"Good," he praises breathlessly. “You're taking me so well. How does my cock feel in that tight little hole?"

"God,” you gasp, “so good, it feels—ha!—please, you feel so good."

"That's right, darling," he soothes. "You understand, don't you?"

You choke out a moan and grope, thick-fingered, through your thoughts, but any sense of promised understanding eludes you. All you find is static—hazy, airless pleasure, the merciless pace of Springtrap’s thrusts shaking your mind to useless grey slurry. You can barely think past the drive of his hips, the sweet spreading ache of his cock filling you until there’s no room anywhere inside you for anything else. It's him, and him, and him like thick rising smoke, coiling through your body as you burn.

"I am so much more than I was, and not yet even all I could be. Look."

The pressure on your neck eases, and you pull in a breath that feels like glass in your lungs. Bruise for bruise, Springtrap fists his hand in your hair instead, and you gasp at the sudden pull of pain, the shiver of pleasure that comes with it.

“Look,” he repeats fiercely.

Your eyes flutter open to gristle and steel, that vivid, bloodless gore, as impossible as it is inescapable. The stringy muscle remnants flex and relax as Springtrap fucks you roughly into the seat, his breath fraying quickly at the edges. His cock feels like it’s pulling you apart, unspooling you with the ease of something dissolving out into a warm bath.

"That is total springlock failure, the compressive power of a hundred kilos of steel versus the infinitely fallible human form. It is a death sentence.”

He snarls it directly into your ear, a hungry, panting pride that throbs in the warm clutch of your core. His teeth scrape your shoulder, the harsh hiss of his breath drawing gooseflesh down your neck.

“And I have survived it twice."

He bottoms out, and your thighs clamp, trembling, shut as your orgasm rockets through you white-hot and screaming. Springtrap groans, low and loose, his pace unslowing but erratic, dragging you through the dregs of shuddering aftermath until you’re sobbing from pleasure.

"Still my sweet little slut," he hisses affectionately. "You just want to be filled, don't you?”

“Yes." Fuck, you have never wanted anything so badly. "Yes, sir, please, yes, I need it, please."

Weak, desperate tension coils in your belly, snapping suddenly free as you feel him start to come inside you. Springtrap pumps himself once, twice, hands snapping to your hips with fierce, unrelenting strength as he pulls you flush against him and holds you there. With a ragged moan, he empties himself into your needy hole, thick spurts of pooling heat. You whimper breathlessly at the sensation, too overcome to do more than lay there and take it.

Maybe you'll never have to move again. Maybe the rest of your life can be this single, blissed-out moment, facedown in the backseat of your car, sated and spent.

"What do we say?" prompts Springtrap, his voice still returning to itself.

"Thank you, sir," you manage in return, and he hums and runs an appreciative hand up your thigh.

"Good."

It hurts most when he pulls out, the bruisey tenderness between your legs causing your breath to hitch. Springtrap runs a knuckle through your folds, over your sensitive clit and up again. Discomfort blooms; you feel him press his spend back inside you with two thick fingers, twitching with the simultaneous urges to rock back and jerk away.

“What a remarkable thing you are,” he says quietly, almost to himself.

The space around your heart lights up, and you laugh, a little fuckdrunk. “You don’t have to butter me up, I’m a sure thing.”

“I’ve noticed.” Springtrap sounds thoughtful. He’s silent for a moment, and then the car lurches and shifts as he lifts himself out. Without the weight of him, without his hands on you, you feel shapeless and small, a crushed insect bleeding out on the sidewalk. Gingerly, you roll onto your side, catching your breath properly for the first time in what feels like hours.

When you trust your body to support its own weight again, you haul yourself into a seated position and reach for the nearest tshirt to clean yourself up a little. A beat passes, and then another, but Springtrap doesn’t come back.

Alone with the vacuum of his absence, your spinning thoughts spit out the possibility that maybe you’ve done something you shouldn’t have.

Then you hear the susurrus of heavy returning footfall through the leaves, and a palpable relief leans with him through the open door.

“Come here,” says Springtrap, holding out a hand. You rest your chin obediently in the crook of his palm, and he lifts your face up and to the side, examining the bruises on your neck with an air of delight. A lick of fear rises and dies in your stomach, and you realize you’re half waiting for the prick of fangs. 

Things would be so much simpler, you think, if he was only after your blood.

“What do you want from me?” Your voice is soft with fear and sandpaper-sore, and out of the corner of your eye, you see Springtrap’s head tilt to one side.

"Everything," he replies, as though it should be obvious. He turns your face, forcing the two of you eye-to-eye, and you squirm self-consciously under the silver spotlight of his stare. "You're mine. Would you offer me less?"

"No," you assure him, and mean it, "no, of course not, I just—"

Springtrap nods, all sympathy. "You're still afraid of me—no, I like it. You should be."

You don't know how to respond to that. You are afraid of him, but you sense it might not be entirely in the way that you should be. It’s a keen-cut gem of a feeling, something bright and gleaming you could turn and turn in your hands and never really see the true shape of, shadows thrown from every flickering facet. Something that could cut you straight to bone with one wrong move. You look at Springtrap and imagine blood in your palms, your mouth. There’s a question on your tongue that has its iron taste, and you don’t know how else to get it off but to ask it.

"What happened to your daughter?"

Springtrap freezes. Tension tightens the hand on your face.

"My daughter." His displeasure is a palpable thing, creeping and cold, and you rush to fill the silence as if you could ward it back with the right words.

“Mike said—”

Springtrap scoffs. “I’m sure he did.”

You can feel the narrow-eyed scrutiny he levels at you. He starts to pull his hand away, and you clutch at his wrist with both of your own to stop him. The open joint catches painfully on the web between your thumb and forefinger, but you don't let go. 

The scrutiny shifts, sharpens into a long look of appraisal that simmers under your skin. Then, slowly, Springtrap pulls his hulking frame along the seat until he’s crowding you against the opposite door. His shadow swallows you whole, the pad of his thumb pressing gently against the seam of your lips.

"Listen to me. It was a terrible tragedy, what happened to Elizabeth. Not a day goes by that I don't regret it. But when I realized what she had become—how could I have stood aside and let her death go to waste?”

“What she had become?” you ask thinly.

“Hmm,” he says, almost disappointed. “I take it Michael didn’t tell you about that?”

"He said you were keeping her prisoner,” you reply, and Springtrap bites out a sharp, frustrated sound. 

"I was keeping her safe. Children so rarely appreciate the difference. Did Michael tell you that I killed her?”

“He, um, sort of implied it,” you confirm.

"Predictable,” he sneers. “He's always had such a talent for martyrdom.” 

Springtrap pauses, head to one side, then adds, “Did he tell you what he did to his brother?”

"His—?” Something cold stirs at the back of your chest.

A tsk. "Neglected that particular detail, did he? Shame, it's quite a story.”

You'd honestly feel less scrambled if he put you in a bottle and shook you at this point.  You’re still trying to process the last three minutes of this conversation, flinging your brain in a dozen different directions just to keep it all up in the air. This new information feels like suddenly having a knife tossed into your already precarious juggling act.

“Will you tell me?” you ask hopefully.

His eyes find yours, sharp and bright. “No, I rather think you should ask him yourself. You’ve been here a while, he must be worrying.”

“He thinks you want to hurt me,” you say, guilt rankling in your gut.

"I don't suppose you've done anything to disabuse him of that notion, hm?"

Embarrassed heat floods your face. "I—no," you admit. “I haven’t.”

Springtrap strokes your cheek with his thumb, the metal warmed by its long proximity to your skin. “I wonder, does Michael think that I wouldn’t go through him to get to you? Or is he relying on the opposite?”

"I don't—you think he's using me as bait?"

“Does that surprise you?” asks Springtrap. “Why? You can hardly know him well enough.”

“I—right.” The idea sits sideways in you, but it does, horribly, make you feel a little better about lying to Mike. If neither of you were completely honest, then you’re sort of even. You force a laugh, a harsh huff of air. “Some bait I turned out to be.”

“Nothing is over yet,” says Springtrap. You can hear the grin in his voice.

Nerves prickle along your skin. “What do you mean?”

The muzzle of the mask follows the path of his hands, butting up along your jaw, grazing your cheek. Tension fizzles out of your muscles everywhere he touches, leaving behind a pleasant, pliant warmth. When he nuzzles into the crook of your shoulder, you melt against him, scritching a hand up to rest between his ears. Springtrap touches you gently under the chin, turns your face to his.

“You didn’t lure me to Michael,” he says, “but you can still lure Michael to me.”

His fur leaves a black residue on your hands, ash and grit and grease.

“You want me to bring him back here?” Damn it. Maybe you’re a soft touch, but you like Mike. Decency pours off the guy in waves; it can’t all be put on. “You aren’t going to hurt him, are you?”

Springtrap turns to ice in your arms. “He tried to burn me alive.”

You have no idea what to say to that. Part of you still wants to defend Mike, but part of you also wants to flick yourself in the back of the head.

Springtrap sits back, holding your face with both huge hands and studying it with knifelike precision, as if his eyes could peel back the layers of skin and watch the muscles that make your expressions.

“Perhaps it's too much to ask." He shakes his head. "This is a family matter. Michael should never have involved you.”

But it’s too late for that, isn't it? You're as involved as it gets. You reach out, touching the hinge of Springtrap’s jaw with hesitant fingertips. The suit is burnt here, too, fresh dark gashes where fur has curled away from the metal beneath—and beneath that, a glimpse of bone, punctured by steel and half-obscured by papery purpled skin. Fascination holds you with a fist, scarcely letting you breathe.

“I’ll do it,” you hear yourself say, and you watch with rapt attention through a tangle of loose wires as the corner of his lipless mouth curves up over his teeth. 

“My sweet thing. I knew I could rely on you.” He makes a sort of aborted nodding gesture, muzzle scraping your skin, then jerks away with a bitten-off snarl.

“Meet me at Fazbear’s. Try not to keep me waiting.”

The car creaks and sags again under his shifting weight, and it isn’t until he’s gone, slouching away through the rapidly darkening trees, that you realize he’d just tried to kiss you.

You stand barefoot in the dirt by your car for a long time, your heart doing cartwheels while your stomach sinks into your heels.

The drive to Mike’s takes twice as long as it should, partially because you can barely concentrate on the road, but mostly because your phone has vanished into the bowels of your car, and making your way back by memory is a feat that doesn’t exactly play to your strengths. By the time you pull into the lot, you're shaking with exhaustion and half-nauseous with the anxiety churning in your stomach. You can feel your heartbeat in your teeth.

God, what are you even doing here? How did it come to this? Caught between the wolves and the cliff, an unwitting participant in the plans of two immortal men trying to kill each other. Mike was apparently willing to risk your safety to keep his parts moving smoothly, but you don't want him to die for it, do you? You don’t know—there’s so much you don’t know. What happened here? Death and Remnant and secrets and accidents and you with your hands full of questions with no answers. It’s like trying to put together a puzzle in the dark, feeling your way along the edges in the mad hope that things will eventually start to fit together.

Only, you know what you want that picture to look like, don't you? The moment flashes again through your mind, piercing silver eyes and mitted palms cradling your face, metal hips pinning you down and your heart in your throat. Considering…everything, it's ridiculous to be this hung up on something so small, a kiss that didn't even happen, but here you are, grinning into your hand hard enough to make your cheeks ache.

A knock on the window startles you out of your reverie, and your elbow jabs the car horn as you jolt away. On the other side of the glass, Mike raises a hand, wincing apologetically. A twinge of guilt tests its cold teeth on your insides.

"Hey!" you say shakily. "Hold on, I'll—"

You fumble, suddenly clumsy, and all but fall out of your seat, biting down on whatever you can muster of a smile. Mike's forehead creases in concern, which you pretend not to notice.

"You weren't answering your phone," he says, slightly out of breath.

"Oh," you say, "sorry, I sort of lost it. Did something happen?"

He straightens, tugging at the brim of his hat. "Nothing important. How was the hospital?"

"Fine," you lie. "My friends were already gone, but that nurse from last time found me. We talked for a while, I must’ve lost track of time.”

“Nurse Gruesome,” confirms Mike. “I remember."

"Yeah, she really hates your guts," you tell him, and he laughs.

"I did get that impression. I’m sorry you missed your friends.”

You shrug. “I’ll see them eventually.”

The moment hangs awkwardly in the air between you, a strange sort of tension that reminds you, abruptly, that you and Mike are still technically strangers. You can tell that he’s looking at you, his eyes unreadable in the dim streetlights that buzz overhead, his shoulders set stiff and both hands shoved down into his pockets.

“I’m just gonna—” you begin, gesturing towards your bags in the backseat.

Mike lets out a breath. “You’re sure you’re alright?”

That catches you off-guard. “I—yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

He studies you for another wordless moment, the hair prickling on the back of your neck, your heartbeat in your ears and a brief, seeping certainty that he knows. He knows and—what? What do you think he’d do? Should you be afraid? Maybe it’s to your own detriment, but you can’t imagine being afraid of Mike. You can barely imagine him angry.

“Do I not seem alright?” you press, your voice pulled taut as catgut.

“You seem tired,” says Mike finally, and there’s no lie at all in your response.

“I guess I am. Today was, uh. It took a lot more out of me than I was expecting it to.”

He nods, scratching idly at the side of his bandaged neck. “Would you like a hand bringing anything in?”

An unexpected surge of tears roars up the back of your throat, your whole face suddenly tight and hot. You turn back towards your car to hide it, blinking rapidly and scrubbing a casual hand across your face.

“That would be great, thank you,” you reply thickly.

Mike takes the bag you pass him without comment, slinging it over his shoulder and glancing away politely. Your backpack got itself wedged under the seat during…previous activities, and as you yank it free, something falls from one of the flaps and clatters to the pavement with a horribly familiar cracking sound.

“Oh hell,” you mutter.

“Was that your phone?”

"Sure was." Hopefully it still is; you stoop to assess the damage, but aside from a new crack in the corner of the screen, it seems otherwise unharmed. The lock screen informs you that you have a couple missed calls and unopened texts, both from Mike, and from the looks of it also a dozen accidental pictures of the inside of your pocket. At least, they're probably just of the inside of your pocket, but you refrain from checking any of them in front of Mike, just in case.

"She's alive," you announce cheerfully, waving the phone in celebration. 

Mike offers a smattering of congenial applause, his bandaged hands muffling the sound, and you take a little bow. Something in your chest starts to loosen, comfort settling back in through the cracks of unease.

"Ready?" asks Mike.

"Lead the way." You hitch up your backpack and follow him inside. “So what have you been up to while I was gone? Anything fun?”

Mike gives you a sort of bemused look. “I don’t know if I would call it fun. I’ve been checking local news sites for the most part. A few of them have reported on the fire, but nobody seems to have noticed anything strange about it. Which is good for arson purposes,” he muses, “but it doesn’t exactly do much for me otherwise.”

You chew the inside of your cheek and make interested noises and think it would be so easy. He wants to find Springtrap, all you would have to do is point him in the right direction. 

The opportunity comes, and it passes, and you don't say anything. In the end, it doesn't matter either way. You get inside, and Mike flicks on the lights, and the double-take he does when he catches a proper look at you would almost be funny under different circumstances.

“Shit—shit, what happened?” He extends a hand like he’s about to touch you, fingers curling in on themselves. “I thought you said you were alright?”

"I look that bad?" You'd given yourself a cursory once-over in your car window, but your reflection had been mostly obscured by the coming dark. Still, you can feel the scrapes and bruises he’s seeing now, even if the worst of them are hidden by your clothes. The sting of déjà vu makes it hard to meet his eyes.

Maybe Mike feels it too; maybe it’s something else that gives you away. He sways on his feet, the bright pinpricks of his pupils slicing you neatly down to the bone. The déjà vu of that is another thing entirely.

“He found you.”

“He didn’t hurt me,” you say, maybe too quickly. “I know how it looks, I—it’s complicated.”

“It always is, with him.” Even with the mask, you can see Mike’s expression slam shut, his knuckles whitening on the strap of your bag. He says your name, and it isn't angry, it isn't even disappointed, it's just sad. “Have you been helping him?”

“No—I don’t know.” Does fucking him qualify as helping? He’s really only asked you for one thing, and you’re struggling to do even that.

“You can’t trust him,” Mike tells you softly. “He’d say anything if he thought it would get him what he wanted. If you believe nothing else I’ve told you, please, believe that.”

“I don’t want to,” you admit. Anger flares, ugly and sharp, but it goes as quickly as it comes. You’re too tired to maintain it.If Mike is asking you to pick sides, he’s not going to like your answer, but you can’t really harbor any ill will towards him.

He pulls in a quick, tight breath and glances away, his eyes glassy and dark. “Right. I think we should talk about this, but I sense I may be alone in that.” He pauses, like he’s giving you the chance to contradict him. You don’t.

“He’s at Fazbear’s Fright,” you hear yourself say.  It’s like you’re looking at your emotions through a thin sheet of ice, a cold, distant distortion that numbs your fingers when you try to touch it.

Mike’s eyes snap back to you. You stare down at your hands. 

“I’m sorry, I need a moment to think.” His voice is a thousand miles away. “Would you–?”

“Yeah,” you say, “sure, I need to clean up anyway.”

“Thank you.”

You slink off towards the bathroom with your tail between your legs. As soon as the door is shut behind you, you fling your backpack at the wall as hard as you can, leaving a scuff on the beige paint. Two grey, threadbare towels hang by the shower, and you all but stuff one into your mouth and scream. Your poor abused throat gives up quickly, abandoning you to hoarse hyperventilating and a taste like cheap soap on your tongue. You try to imagine the smell of rust, of smoke, sucking them down into your lungs like water until you’re in over your head, cradled in comfort, swimming and still.

You emerge some time later with your face washed and your clothes changed, every new injury scrubbed and stinging. Your bag is on the couch, but Mike isn’t. From where you stand, you can see enough to tell that he’s not in the kitchen either. The only other room in the tiny apartment is the bedroom, and you don’t want to go barging in on him if he still wants to be alone, but the door is hanging open far enough that it feels like an invitation.

“Mike?” Your knuckles meet the flimsy plywood hesitantly, barely a knock. “Mike, I can talk now, if you still want to?”

There’s no response. You open the door by degrees, ready for him to stop you at any second, but no word of protest comes. Peeking around the door, you’re met by a very small, very dark, very empty room. Mike is gone.

Tires screech out in the parking lot, and understanding yanks you by the scruff into motion.

[maybeimamuppet]

picking teams- chapter 14: cady

hello everyone!! boo surprise sunday post!! because!! TODAY IS MY THIRD WRITING BIRTHDAY WOOOOOO!

today three years ago i posted my first ever oneshot (i think technically it was on the 4 bc it was late at night but the intention was to be today so i’m sticking with the 3). i can honestly say i was expecting NOBODY to read anything of mine and that this would be something i did for maybe a few months and then dropped like all my other hobbies.

and here we are three years later! so i’d just like to say a huge thank you to everyone who’s supported me through this little journey over the last three years. i feel like i really have a community and a little family here. i appreciate every single pair of eyeballs that has ever laid eyes on a fic of mine, whether you comment and i get to know who you are or you’re just a lurker. whether you’re new or you’ve been here the whole time. thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here for and with me <3

anyhoo! mushy stuff over for now lol please enjoy this chapter :)

tw for

broken bones

and as always if i missed something please let me know so i can add it in!

——————

Cady goes back to school that Wednesday.

Her parents let her have one more day off to recover and finish the homework she had been putting off. Cady's still not feeling 100% after her episode, as Janis put it, but she can't afford to miss any more school. Or cheer practice. She's gotten more than a few threatening texts from Regina.

She runs into Janis briefly going into homeroom, since it's in the same classroom as Janis' first period. She smiles, mostly at the ground, and Janis surreptitiously brushes her hand against Cady's and gently links their fingers together before walking off like nothing happened.

Cady blushes furiously and heads to her seat. She hunches in on herself to scribble something on a piece of notebook paper she rips off and folds up. She's so focused on making sure nobody sees what she's writing that she almost misses Ms. Norbury trying to take attendance.

"Cady. Caaaady. Heron. Hello."

"Wh- oh, uh, here," she stutters. Ms. Norbury arches an eyebrow and ticks her off on her computer. Cady trills her lips and tucks the paper into her pocket.

"Glad to have you back, Cady," she says once the bell rings.

"Thanks! Uh, see you this afternoon!" Cady says, rushing out the door. They already don't have much time to get from class to class, and she has a stop to make this time.

She tries to act like she's just leaning casually against the wall and she doesn't have to be across the building in two minutes. Once she looks around to double check nobody is watching, she carefully slips the note between the slats in Janis' locker and rushes off to her class.

Hopefully she gets it.

—-

Cady looks up from her phone in fright when she hears a murmured, "Hey, sweet thing."

Janis is peeking around the corner of the bleachers, lunch in hand and a confused look on her face. Cady spotted this during a rainy-day indoor practice last week. The bleachers are completely solid, so nobody can see in. "Did anyone follow you? See you?"

"Nobody important," Janis shrugs as she puts her food down. "Whatcha doing?"

Cady sighs in relief upon hearing confirmation that nobody will see them together. She leans in for a kiss and gets a sweet little peck. "I want to have lunch with you! It's like our own little place!"

"That it is," Janis agrees with a chuckle. "How's your day been?"

"Good! I got a hundred on my math test," Cady says happily.

"Of course you did," Janis laughs. "What'd you tell Regina?"

"About what?"

"Where you are," Janis says as she takes a bite of her... probably turkey sandwich. Cady's eyes widen. Shit.

"I... didn't tell her anything," she says quietly.

Janis quirks an eyebrow. "Better come up with something quick."

"Why?"

"She's gonna grill you like a war interrogator," Janis snorts.

Shit. She's right. "Uh... um..."

"Just tell her you skipped lunch," Janis shrugs.

"Skipped it?" Cady asks.

Janis shrugs again. "I dunno. That'd probably work."

"I'll think of something," Cady hums, pursing her lips and taking an exasperated bite out of her celery stick. Janis smiles at her like she's some cute little animal.

"So... any particular reason you're slipping notes into my locker and sneaking around with me behind the bleachers?" Janis says with a smirk as she scoots a little closer to Cady.

Cady groans as she's suddenly reminded why she had done this. "I have to go to Regina's after school. We're having a costume fitting for the holiday parade."

Janis looks at her oddly. "You're in the parade?"

Cady nods eagerly. "Mmhmm! I get to be an acro elf!"

"A what?" Janis giggles.

"I get to dress as an elf and do tumbling and acrobatic stuff next to Santa's float!"

"Oh," Janis says. "Stevie loves that one. I didn't know it was us."

"They choose the best cheer team in the region to do it. Apparently this is the first time in, like, ten years that it's been North Shore," Cady explains.

Janis snorts. "That makes more sense."

"I'm really excited. But I have to spend a lot of time with the Plastics, I won't have as much time free after school," Cady says apologetically.

Janis shrugs. "It's just a parade. Once it's done your schedule will calm down a bit and we can spend more time together again. Not like we're breaking up."

Cady giggles. "I still have my knight in shining armor to come save me from the Plastics if I beckon her."

"Damn right you do," Janis smirks, leaning in for a kiss.

Cady happily leans in too, smiling to herself as their lips touch. She's suddenly very glad she totally ate it at their last practice and spied this hideout behind the bleachers from the ground.

"Might need to save you already," Janis hums as they pull apart, looking Cady up and down with a small grimace.

Cady sheepishly looks down at her bright pink crop top she'd decided to wear today. She tugs at her collar, suddenly self-conscious. "You don't like it?"

"No, no, you look cute," Janis says. Something in her tone tells Cady it's a half-truth at best. Oh well.

“Thanks," she says. Janis takes another bite of her sandwich and sprawls on the hard floor of the gym with her head on Cady's lap.

"Oh, get this- my math class this morning," she says. Cady tunes out almost immediately, stroking some stray hairs away from Janis' forehead and just watching her mouth move. It's probably nothing important. God, she's gorgeous.

What is she going to tell Regina?

I got sick- ew, no.

I had to talk to a teacher- too easy to mess up if she comes from the wrong direction. They'd get suspicious too easily.

I- oh, fuck it, I'll think of something.

She continues munching on her lunch and half-listening to Janis speak. Janis doesn't seem to notice or care one way or the other. Cady smiles and pulls out her phone to check her messages. She thinks of something then.

"And then-"

"Have you... told anyone about us?"

Janis pauses mid-sentence. "No."

"Not even Damian?" Cady asks shyly.

Janis shakes her head. "I kinda still don't believe it myself. I wanted to keep it to myself for a while."

"You don't wanna tell people?" Cady asks with a frown.

"No! No, I do. Some people," Janis says. "I just wanted it to stay between us for a little bit. And I figured I should check with you before I told anyone. But I'd be fine telling a few people now."

"Oh," Cady says.

"Do you want to?" Janis asks, sitting up and brushing her hair out of her face. Cady thinks for a moment before she nods.

"We should probably tell Damian, at least. He'll find out sooner or later anyway."

Janis sighs. "True."

"You don't want to?"

"No, I'm just preparing myself," Janis says, looking at Cady out of the corner of her eye with a small grin. "Might as well get it over with, I guess. C'mere."

Cady frowns in confusion and scoots closer. Janis pulls out her phone, opens the camera, and leans in. Cady catches on and gently rests a hand on Janis' cheek, smiling into a sweet kiss. She can feel Janis smiling too as she hears the camera shutter snap and they break apart. Janis sneaks a quick peck to Cady's nose, making her blink in shock and giggle quietly.

Janis opens her text conversation with Damian and types out a message. Cady hugs her arm and leans in over her shoulder to read it.

snarkisian: hey babe

cupboard: whaaaaaat do you want

snarkisian: Sent a photo: things have developed

Janis' phone starts ringing almost immediately. Janis frowns at it as Damian's contact photo fills the screen and it buzzes in her hand, but she hits the green button and the speaker so they can both hear.

As soon as she does, a piercing shriek rings out from the speakers. It's loud enough that Cady practically feels her brain dislodge and start rattling around in her head. She thinks she might've heard him all the way from the cafeteria, too.

As soon as that happens, he hangs up. Janis and Cady both blink at the screen for a moment before bursting into hysterical laughter.

"I don't know what I was expecting," Janis sighs affectionately as she slips her phone back into her pocket. Cady feels her own buzz against her leg and pulls it out to see several incoming texts from Damian that mainly consist of ABSKEOWIWHWJWJABDHWOWOA.

She clocks the time, then, and jumps. "Oh, shit!"

Janis startles. "What?"

"I have to go, lunch is almost over," Cady says, frantically packing up her things. "Bye babe. See you later."

Janis blinks in surprise, but returns the quick kiss Cady gives her before Cady goes rushing off. She has to find Regina before the bell rings. Not that Regina has ever felt much urge to listen to the bell.

She tries to think of an excuse as she hurries through the halls towards the cafeteria. Nothing really comes to her. She skids to a halt next to some sort of booth when she sees Regina and Aaron standing close to it.

"Hey!" she greets brightly after smoothing down her hair and adjusting her shirt. They both look at her. Aaron quirks his head when he sees what she's wearing, but he gets a faint smile.

Regina checks her nails and says, "Hey. Where have you been?"

"Oh, um..." Cady says. Shit. She wracks her brain trying to think of something. What did Janis say? "I skipped lunch."

Regina cocks an eyebrow. "Why?"

Cady smiles as she puts the pieces together. "I'm... trying to lose weight. So I look more like you guys. I just had one of these diet bars."

"Diet bars?" Regina questions. "Let me see."

Cady happily hands over the whole box of Kälteens. Regina holds it between her hands to try to read. Aaron peeks over her shoulder to try to see too.

"It's all in Norwegian or something," Regina says, looking at Cady in confusion.

"Swedish," Cady corrects before she can stop herself. "There's... um... this ingredient in them that you can't get here yet. My mom used to use them to lose weight in Kenya."

"Hm," Regina nods. "Can I keep these?"

"Sure!" Cady says brightly. She has a feeling Regina would've kept them even if she said no. Works for me.

"Now, are you getting me my candy cane?" Regina hums. Cady frowns in confusion before she realizes she's talking to Aaron.

"What happened to losing weight, those things are pure sugar," Aaron chuckles. Regina brushes his hair off his forehead and runs her fingers through it so it stays out of his face.

"But it's such a nice thing to do for your girlfriend," she pouts. "And stop pulling your hair down, you look so hot with it pushed back. Don't you think so, Cady?"

"Huh? Oh, uh, yeah, way hotter," Cady says. Two months ago that would've made Cady want to go for the jugular. Now? She couldn't care less.

Aaron sighs and begrudgingly leaves his hair the way Regina sort of styled it. "Alright, move over, since you so desperately need this candy cane."

He leans over the booth selling them to fill out one of the paper slips that'll eventually get tied to a candy cane and passed out in class. Cady giggles into her hand when she realizes Damian is the one in the budget Santa Claus costume behind the booth.

"Cady, remember, student parking lot after school," Regina says as she laces her pink-taloned fingers through Aaron's and leads him off to... wherever they're going. Most definitely not class.

"Got it! Bye," she says. She can feel her face relax as soon as they're turned around and can't see her anymore. Cady goes to the booth and leans across it. "Hi Dame."

"Ho ho ho, happy holidays! Would you like a candy cane?" 'Santa' replies. Cady laughs again.

"Hey, does Regina ever send any of these things?" she asks.

"Nah, she only gets them," Damian replies in his normal voice. "You want any?"

"One please," Cady replies, taking a pen with a smirk on her face.

—————

Cady sighs a little to herself as she follows Regina and the others into her house. Gretchen and Karen chat with Regina's mom. Regina huffs and rolls her eyes, straight off to her bedroom. Cady says a quick and polite hello and takes a handful of the offered snacks. She nibbles on the sunflower seeds while she mulls over what to do next.

Regina took the bars. As long as nobody recognizes them, she should be in the clear there. How can she make them work faster? Kälteens do work quickly, but Cady wants results as soon as possible. For Janis.

What makes you gain weight quickly? Cholesterol, but Cady doesn't want to do anything permanent. This is just to teach Regina a lesson, then she can lose the weight again. Sugar? Yeah. Carbs.

Cady smiles to herself as she puts a plan in place.

"Alright, you girls go find Regina. You'll do great," Mrs. George says after however long. Cady jumps when she remembers where she is.

"Thank you, Mrs. George," she calls as she goes running after Gretchen and Karen up to Regina's room.

"You're welcome!" the woman calls after them.

Regina tosses a hanger at her as soon as Cady walks into the room. "Here. I know, the costumes are fugly."

"I think they're kinda cute," Cady says, holding the outfit out so she can see it all.

"The hat has fucking jingle bells on the top, Cady," Regina huffs, handing Cady hers. She shakes it a little bit, and sure enough, there's a quiet jingling. "Go make sure it fits, but we really just need to work on making sure the hat doesn't hit the ground or fall off while you tumble."

"Okay," Cady says. Gretchen and Karen just changed in front of each other, but Cady sneaks off to the en-suite and locks the door behind her. She looks at herself in the mirror and takes a deep breath.

Janis was right, I do look Plastic, she thinks. Cute, though. Her loss.

She carefully takes off her clothes and tugs on the red-and-white striped tights. She has to jump to get the super stretchy material all the way up, but she manages with only one faceplant. Then comes the green dress, with gold buttons down the bodice, short sleeves with puffed shoulders, a belt at her waist, and red and gold trim around the hem with a collar to match.

It's not a great fit. Hesitantly, she unlocks the door and steps back into Regina's room with an, "Um."

Regina looks at her and laughs. "I kinda thought that would happen, these costumes are all huge. I swear they think we're all fat cows or something. My mom will tailor it for you."

Cady looks down at the very strangely fitting dress. There's a lot of space in between her belly and the dress, and not a lot in between it and her boobs. The skirt hits about mid-thigh, which is entirely too long, if Gretchen and Karen's are anything to go by. The sleeves are both uncomfortably tight in her armpits and loose everywhere else.

Other than that, it's great. At least the tights fit.

"Go change again, she'll get your measurements before you leave."

Cady nods and slips gratefully back into the restroom. She snaps a quick picture before she changes and sends it to Janis.

She's stuck with the dress over her head when she hears her phone go off, presumably with Janis' answer. She wriggles more in a ditch attempt to free herself, which gets her nowhere even faster.

Eventually, she escapes, heaving for breath and her hair all frizzy. She peels off the tights and puts on her non-elf clothes. Regina takes the hanger as she passes her on her way into her bathroom while Cady is occupied checking her phone.

jayjay: cutie

cadygirl: You like it?

jayjay: ofc i do

jayjay: my dorky little elf

cadygirl: Hey!

jayjay: do u get ears and shit

cadygirl: Yeah

cadygirl: Regina's really mad about it

jayjay: holy shit that's amazing

jayjay: reginald in elf ears

cadygirl: I don't get it I think they're cute

jayjay: i think ur cute

"Who are you texting?" Karen asks. Cady leaps a solid foot in the air as she materializes over her shoulder. "Not enough emojis."

"Um..." Cady stutters. Her immediate instinct was to blush and press her phone to her chest so they can't see. Now Gretchen and Karen are both looking at her suspiciously. "Uh... my... g- boyfriend."

"Boyfriend?!" Gretchen squeals sharply. "You can't get a boyfriend without telling us!"

"I can't?"

"Not without your best friends' approval! You wouldn't buy a skirt without asking your friends if it looks good on you," Gretchen hums.

"I wouldn't?" Cady replies in confusion.

"Exactly!"

Cady just blinks.

"So who is it?" Karen asks eagerly.

"Oh, you don't know him," Cady says immediately. Because it's not a him. It's not technically a lie. Right?

"He's not, like, thirty, right?" Gretchen asks in concern, the furrow in her brow deepening the longer Cady goes without answering.

"No! No, ew," Cady replies with a grimace. "Uh... he... goes to another school."

"Which one?"

"Um... do you remember that school we played right before Thanksgiving break? The away game when we stayed at the hotel?"

"Roosevelt?" Gretchen asks. Sure.

"Yeah. He goes there," Cady replies. "His name is... Jasin. With... an I."

"Ooh, unique!" Gretchen coos. "Is he cute? You have to introduce us soon!"

"Well, I don't think he's... everyone's type, but I think he's cute," Cady replies sheepishly.

"Aww, you're blushing!" Karen says. Cady blushes harder.

"Shut up," she scoffs. Karen's face falls. "No, wait, I didn't mean it like that-"

"It's okay," Karen says quietly.

"I'm really sorry, Kare," Cady says. Karen gives her a look Cady can't read. Not that Karen is ever easy to read.

"Don't worry about it."

Cady gently squeezes her arm. Karen smiles faintly at her.

"Do you have pictures of him?" Gretchen asks eagerly.

"No," Cady says immediately. "Uh... he's really shy, we don't, like, send pictures of ourselves much. We just like to see each other in person and text and stuff."

"Aww," they both coo. Gretchen continues, "Well, get one soon! We gotta make sure he's hot enough for you."

"I'll try," Cady giggles. "Oh, could we like... not tell Regina right away? It's all new, still, I don't want her to freak out about our image if we break up or whatever. We've only been together for, like, two weeks."

"Our lips are sealed," Gretchen replies immediately.

"But I'm not using SuperGlue as Chapstick again," Karen adds.

"No, that's okay, K, don't do that," Cady says immediately. "Thanks guys."

"Alright sluts, put on these... eugh. I can't even call them hats," Regina says as she parades back into the room. She chucks one at each of them rather aggressively. Cady's ends up hitting her full force in the face when she's too slow to react.

Regina watches as the three of them carefully push all her very expensive furniture out of the way so they have enough room to flip without fear of crashing into anything. Cady asks why they're not just practicing outside, and Regina goes on a solid ten minute rant about being seen in those costumes more than they have to. Cady doesn't speak for the rest of the evening.

—————

"Did Regina's boobs get bigger?" Cady hears the boy behind her in chemistry class ask about two weeks later, apparently as a conversation opener with his equally-jock-douchebag lab partner.

"Dude, totally," jock-douchebag replies. "Aaron's a lucky guy."

"Isn't she still dogging Shane?" bro number one asks. Cady tries to hide a shudder at the mention of his name.

Bro the second shrugs. "Probably."

Dammit, we made her hotter, Cady huffs to herself as she slides her goggles down over her eyes and turns on the bunsen burner. She looks over and sees Janis with a similarly disgruntled look on her face.

She gestures subtly for Cady to focus. Cady snaps back into the real world, this time before she can set herself on fire. She risks one glance back and sees Janis chuckle to herself, biting her lips to stop before anyone can see and ask what she's laughing about. Cady smiles to herself and buckles down to set some Doritos on fire. Not myself, thank you very much.

—————

Cady is laser focused in calculus another two weeks later. Not on calculus, but... she's there, it's fine.

She jumps and bangs her knee against her desk when Santa Claus slams the door open with a bellowed, "HHHHHOOOOO!"

"Jesus Christ," Ms. Norbury sighs, picking up her shattered chalk bits after she dropped it in shock. "Make it quick."

"One candy cane gram for Shane Oman," Damian says, adjusting his very poor quality fake beard as he hands Shane his candy cane.

He holds it between his first and index fingers like a pair of dirty underpants and leaves Shane to snatch it. Damian wipes his hand on his red velvet Santa coat like Shane has some sort of hetero cooties he might catch.

"Four for Glenn Coco!" Damian continues. "Hohoho, you go, Glenn Coco. Two for Caddy Heron!"

Cady frowns in confusion. Two? She only bought one. She takes them with a smile as Damian wiggles his way between the rows to deliver them. "Thanks, D."

Damian winks at her and moves on to deliver the next few candy canes to the lucky recipients.

Cady checks the tags on hers. There's the fake one, the one she wrote herself. She smiles to herself as she reads the little red slip of paper on the second one.

Merry Christmas my little elf

<3, J

ps ur short lolololol

She rolls her eyes as she reads the very loving message from her girlfriend and unwraps the end of the candy cane. She sucks on it as she continues pretending to pay attention when Damian leaves and Ms. Norbury can resume her lesson.

——

"Sorry I'm late!" she pretend-puffs as she stumbles her way into the gym. Regina just glares at her from across the room, but Gretchen comes scrambling over to join her as she plops her still-open bag on the ground. "God, I was in the middle of a problem when the bell rang, I didn't even have time to get packed up-"

"You got a candy cane?" Gretchen asks softly. She picks it up and unfolds the tag to read.

"Oh, yeah, Regina sent me one! Isn't she just the best friend?"

"R-Regina?" Gretchen squeaks. "Thanks for being such a great best friend. ...Cute."

"She didn't give you one?" Cady asks with faux-sympathy. She's heard it from the mouth of the lioness herself. There's no way Gretchen got any.

Gretchen shakes her head frantically. "She never sends them."

"Oh. Weird," Cady replies. "Well, you can have that one if you want. I had another one."

"I have to go," Gretchen chokes around floods of tears. Shit. Maybe Gretchen is a little more fragile than she thought.

"Gretchen," she says pleadingly, running after her friend to the bathroom.

"Well, i-if you and Regina are best friends now... then you can be in charge of keeping all her secrets," Gretchen says as soon as the door closes behind Cady.

Cady just nods. She can tell Gretchen is about to ramble, she doesn't dare interrupt her.

"Like, for example, she bought you those shoes just to make fun of you! Be-because she knew you wouldn't be able to walk in them. And she's not really blonde!"

Cady's eyes widen. She's not? Her eyes flick to the door as she hears a shocked gasp come from the other side. Was that... Damian?

"Her natural color is dark blonde. Also she totally cheats on Aaron!"

Cady almost chokes.

"Every Thursday she says she has a cheer intensive but she totally just stays behind to hook up with Shane Oman in the lion costume!"

"She makes him wear the costume?" Cady asks in disgusted horror.

"No! They're both in the costume!" Gretchen bellows, snapping the candy cane in half and dropping the pieces to the floor. Cady's jaw drops.

"Oh my god."

"And I never told anyone because I am such a good friend! I-I'm gonna go fill up my water bottle. Cover for me?" Gretchen sniffles. Cady nods.

Gretchen ducks out of the room. Damian enters before the door even closes, and Janis slams her way out of the stall. Damian hysterically whimpers, "I wear that costume!"

"Cads, that was amazing! What did you do?!" Janis says with an adorably delighted smile on her face. She rushes up and grabs Cady by the arms, spinning her around before she leans in for a kiss.

"Just a little Christmas magic," Cady responds with a grin of her own as soon as they break apart. "I sent myself a candy cane but I signed it as being from Regina."

"Clever girl," Janis coos in a horrible accent. Cady giggles.

"Okay, I gotta go! Love you guys." Janis gets another kiss and Damian gets a quick hug before Cady runs back to the gym to start their last parade practice.

————-

Cady grumbles as she wakes up the next morning. It's barely morning, the sun hasn't even risen yet. She has to be in the city, an hour away, two hours before the parade starts at 8:00. And she has to be there with her hair and makeup already done.

She does consider herself a morning person, but four in the morning is a bit much for anyone.

She grumbles as she hauls herself out of bed and stumbles to the restroom. She turns on the light and resists the urge to wince and close her eyes. How am I meant to be a jolly elf on five hours of sleep?

Cady opens her eyes extra wide, looking a little past unhinged when she sees herself in the mirror, to let the light in and hopefully wake her up.

By the time she's done brushing her teeth, she doesn't squint in the light anymore. She still grumbles sleepily as she washes her face, though.

She brings up the photo Regina sent (accompanied by many profanities) of what her makeup should look like so she can copy it. It's honestly not very different from her usual cheer makeup. Foundation, lots of gold eyeshadow, black mascara, red lipstick. Pretty much the only difference is the bright pink blush that she leaves in neat little circles on the apples of her cheeks instead of blending it up her cheekbones to look more natural. It's a little more rag doll than elf, but maybe it'll work better with the costume on.

She does her hair in two french braids, parted as close to even as she can get down the middle of her head and twisted intricately so they won't fall out after a morning of being mostly upside-down. She gives up on each braid a bit before the end, and ties the bands around halfway down instead of at the ends. Kind of a cute look, she thinks, as she fluffs out her curls at the end of each braid.

"You ready, binti? Have a Kälteen bar," her mother says when she trudges her way downstairs. Cady grabs the bar and takes a disgruntled bite out of it. She nods.

"You're sure this Regina friend can bring you home? We have to leave right from-"

"Right from the parade, I know, Dad," Cady says. "I quadruple checked, I'll make it home fine. Have fun at the vet conference."

"Oh, we will," her mother promises. "There's a keynote speaker on upgrades in euthanasia technology."

"...Cool," Cady replies.

"Right?! Alright, go get in the car. You sure you have everything?"

"Yeah. Regina has my outfit, I'll get changed there," Cady says. She looks down and brushes some wrinkles out of her Christmas jammies that Janis bought her. She smiles at the memory. My little dork.

"Time to hit the road, then!" her dad says. Cady shrieks as he hoists her off the ground and marches out towards the car.

"Dad!"

Her dad just starts bellowing the chorus to I Love a Parade, probably really irritating their poor neighbors. Cady gets affectionately tossed in the backseat, and her dad continues singing as her parents get into their spots up front and start the drive to Chicago.

————-

"Binti, we're here," her mother says. Cady jumps and snorts, bashing her head against the window she had fallen asleep against. "Ooh, be careful."

"Shit," Cady hisses under her breath, rubbing her new sore spot.

"Language," her dad chides, only half-serious.

"Sorry daddy. Have fun in Peoria. I love you," Cady says, bending at a weird angle to hug her parents goodbye. They can only stay long enough to see the beginning of the parade, so she has to get her goodbyes in now.

"We will. Be safe, have fun. No boys," her mother says, gently patting her back.

"I know, I know. You don't have to worry about that," Cady chuckles. Really. You have no idea.

"Atta girl. Go get em, tiger," her dad says, opening the door for her and sending her out. "Love you!"

"Yeah, love you too," Cady says, briefly walking backwards to talk to them. She gives them a final wave before she turns around and starts running to her team's meeting spot. "Yeesh. I'm sixteen."

Regina, once again, chucks her costume at her as soon as she's within sight. Cady manages to catch it this time, and looks around for somewhere private to change. The only place is behind some trees, so she heads that way.

Regina's mom is a talented seamstress and tailored Cady's costume to fit her perfectly. Almost too perfectly. It's so tight against her chest and her belly that she can barely breathe, and the skirt juuuuust barely passes her bum. The candy cane-esque tights are all she has left to protect her modesty.

The shoes with pointy toes and jingle bells are a recent addition, and she jangles her way back over to her friends. "Hey."

"Hey!" Karen greets, too brightly for six in the morning.

"Are your costumes, like, really tight?" Regina huffs, shifting her arms around to try to stretch the fabric a little. "They were huge, my mom can't have fucked up the tailoring this bad."

"Mine's okay," Cady shrugs. Her hat jingles for emphasis.

"Ugh, I'm gonna go see if she has any safety pins," Regina grumbles. Cady's phone pings as she stomps off through the frost-covered grass.

jayjay: good mornin buttercup

cadygirl: >:|

jayjay: what ?

jayjay: not a good morning??

cadygirl: Sent a picture: It's 6 in the morning and I look like this

cadygirl: And I'm cold >:|

jayjay: aww

jayjay: someone's grumpy

cadygirl: Yeah >:||||

jayjay: steve and i will be there to see you

cadygirl: Yaaaaay 🥰🥰

jayjay: that easy to cheer you up huh

cadygirl: It'd be even easier if you bring me food

jayjay: little conwoman

cadygirl: Whaaaat nooooo

jayjay: i'll take you to breakfast after

jayjay: hobbit

cadygirl: Hey!!

jayjay: not because you're short

jayjay: this time

jayjay: bc they're hungry all the time

cadygirl: Oh

cadygirl: Still v rude of you

jayjay: if i take you to get a happy meal will that make up for it

cadygirl: Yes <333

jayjay: done

jayjay: see you soon peanut

cadygirl: See you soon gorgeous 😘

Cady suddenly feels much warmer as she puts her phone back into her bag. She and Gretchen glue each other's ears on and the whole team does a warmup and stretch routine together. Cady rolls out her wrists and finally smiles as she gets into her spot.

——

The parade is more fun than she was expecting. It's less intense than what she has to do at games, more walkovers and limbers than tucks and punches. She gets a little dizzy, and it's hard not to get run over by the float on the rare occasions she fumbles a landing, but it's still fun. For once, the smile on her face is genuine the whole time.

She waves dorkily when she passes her parents. They both have their phones held up to film and proud smiles beaming across their faces. They wave back just as dorkily before they duck out and are off to their seminar.

Cady doesn't get to do much in the way of the more limber skills anymore. It's fun. She kind of misses doing skills just for fun, for herself. As long as she stays in her spot she can do whatever she wants to. She does all sorts of front walkovers, back walkovers, aerials, the occasional handspring. It's refreshing.

Whenever they come to a stop is when things get interesting. Nobody wants to see a parade stuck in place, so they practiced lots of choreography for that. One of the floats ahead of them gets stuck on a corner, and Cady does a vaulted flip off of Regina's crouched form like a really, really elaborate game of leapfrog. Regina acts like she's dancing with her and whirls her back around so they're in their right spots before they get going again.

Towards the end of the parade, Cady hears a, "Hi Cady!"

She's not supposed to, but she looks over. Stevie is waving eagerly to her, her arm linked with one of her friends. Janis is behind her with a cute grin on her face as she sees Cady in all her elvish glory. Cady wiggles her fingers back in greeting, and kisses the tips of her fingers twice before blowing the kisses in their direction. Janis smiles wider and sneakily blows one back. Stevie just squeals and dances around with her friend. Cady adds a little more flair to her skills than she needs to just for them.

Things stop and start a lot more as the first floats get to the end of the parade route and have to navigate pulling off to the sides of the road or getting where they need to be. Cady and Regina do their series of tricks at least six times. They start adding little bits of flourish to it when it begins to feel boring and repetitive.

Apparently a little too much flourish. Regina does a dramatic turn before she crouches to be Cady's vault.

Cady's already running.

She has no time to stop as Regina's safety pin breaks.

And her costume comes off.

Regina screams and bends down to try to grab it. Cady slips on the fabric and goes head over heels the wrong way. Cameras are already out, pictures and videos being recorded. Apparently more people from North Shore make the trip out to see the parade than they thought.

But Cady can't hear the shutters clicking or the agitated murmuring over the pop her ankle makes as she lands, and the roaring of blood in her ears as a horrific pain radiates up her leg. No, no, no no no nononono.

One of the coaches was walking alongside the float in between them and the crowd to make sure it all went smoothly. She rushes up and helps Regina get herself situated. "You alright, Heron?"

Cady can only sob. My ankle is broken. My ankle is broken and it really hurts. My ankle is broken and I may never be able to tumble again. My ankle-

"Whoa, kid, hey," her coach says. "Can ya walk? Right flank, fall in! You're down a man!"

Cady hops and hobbles her way to the end of the route and sits down on the curb, cradling her ankle and sobbing.

"Are your folks around?"

Cady shakes her head. "Re-Regina's take-taking me home."

Her coach hums and nods. "She ran off. Hope she's okay, too. Dang, kid, that looks gnarly."

That only makes Cady cry harder. What if I just did my last flip?

"I'll uh... go keep an eye out for George," her coach says. She does have the decency to bring Cady her bag. Cady debates texting her parents to let them know, but they're probably already halfway to Peoria. And they were so excited about the keynote, she can't drag them away from that. She'll just have to suck it up.

The pain is... almost bearable. It's not, but she doesn't exactly have much choice. Her sobs slow, and before too long she's just sniffling on the side of the road and holding her sore leg.

She about jumps out of her skin when she hears a, "Caddy!"

"Jesus Christ, Janis! There's people around here!" Cady hisses. Janis' face falls a little.

"Sorry."

"What are you doing here?" Cady asks more gently.

"There's already like, seventy different people sharing videos of you and Regina falling, what the hell happened?"

"I think the Kälteen bars backfired," Cady sniffs, shutting one eye as a wave of pain radiates from her ankle.

Janis frowns. "What do you mean?"

"She's gained so much weight her costume didn't fit," Cady explains through half-grit teeth.

Janis snorts. Cady glares at her. "Sorry."

"She safety pinned it on and it broke and I slipped on the costume," Cady continues. "And I fucked up my landing and I think my ankle is broken."

"Yikes," Janis says in concern.

"She was supposed to take me home," Cady says, trying to stretch out her leg and wincing in pain. Janis winces too.

"Damian and I will take you to the hospital, don't worry about it," Janis says immediately.

"Don't- ow- don't you have Stevie with you?" Cady asks in concern.

"Nah, she wanted to go to her friend's house, I'm free of the child until tonight," Janis replies. "Can I see?"

Cady looks at her hesitantly. Janis looks back. She doesn't push. There are a lot of people around. But Cady needs the comfort of her girlfriend right now. She nods.

Janis carefully eases her stupid jingly boot off her foot, pausing whenever Cady makes a pained noise. By the end Cady has her bottom lip so firmly between her teeth she can taste blood and her eyes screwed shut. It's still not enough to stop a few pained tears slipping out and down her face.

It becomes quickly apparent that Janis has absolutely no idea what she's doing. She gives Cady's foot a gentle, inquisitive poke and pulls back like she's been burned when Cady squeaks in pain. "Sorry."

"It's okay," Cady says, looking at her through squinted eyes and trying to remember how to breathe.

"It's pretty swollen," Janis says in concern. "And bruising already."

Cady sniffs again, looking down at her stupid candy-cane patterned lap. Janis gently tips her chin up.

"It'll be okay, Cads," she murmurs.

"But what if it's not?" Cady hiccups. "What if I never walk on it again? What if I can never do another flip?"

"And what if it's totally fine? What if it turns out to just be a bad sprain and you're back on your feet in a week?" Janis retaliates.

Cady feels her lip tremble. Janis might be right.

But they both know she's not.

"They're coming, hide," Cady says when she hears the cheers coming down the road. Thank god Damian's almost here.

Janis looks at her oddly, sadly, but she obediently ducks behind the tree line to wait for the crowd of people they actually know to clear out.

"Cads! Hey, coach told me you fell, what the hell, babe?!" Damian says as soon as he sees her, sprinting full tilt over to her. "Oh, yikes."

"Is it bad?" Cady asks, feeling tears brimming behind her eyes yet again.

"It's not... great," Damian replies hesitantly. "Can you move it?"

Cady sniffles. "I don't know, I haven't tried."

"Can I?"

Cady nods. Damian carefully braces her ankle with his large, warm hand and gives her foot a gentle wiggle. Several people look in their direction at the noise Cady makes in response.

"Alright, well," Damian says in a voice a solid three octaves higher than normal.

"I'm sorry," Cady sobs.

"Babe, shh," Damian soothes. "I will donate you one of my feet if I have to. We'll go get you patched up and all that, don't worry about it."

"But how will you be a big Broadway star someday if you only have one foot?" Cady giggles wetly.

"I'll manage. Is that Janis peeping at me through the bushes over there?"

"Probably," Cady replies with another giggle. She turns around and sees a familiar pair of blue eyes poked out from behind a gnarled old tree trunk. Janis ducks back behind it when she sees she's been spotted, and Cady smiles. "Yeah. Dork."

Damian smiles too. "She really loves you. Let me text her so she doesn't get picked up for stalking or some shit."

"She does?" Cady sniffles.

"Girl, are you kidding? We haven't had a conversation where you haven't come up at least once since September," Damian says absently as he taps out a message to Janis.

Janis is close enough that they hear her phone ping and her muffled, "Shit!" Cady can't help but laugh.

"Alright, she'll meet us at the car and we'll take you to the hospital."

"Thanks, papa elf," Cady grins. Damian laughs and tosses Cady onto his back to carry her the half-mile back to the parking lot. "These bells are infuriating."

"I think they're fun," Damian replies, a hand over his heart. He wiggles his head to make his hat jingle for emphasis. Cady giggles.

"Thanks for taking me home. I dunno what happened to Regina," Cady says quietly.

"Nobody does, she disappeared after the... incident," Damian replies. Cady frowns.

"Weird."

"I took over on your side so it was still balanced, but apparently she just ran off naked through the woods. Guess you can cross that off your list," Damian says. Cady laughs.

"You make a great elf," she replies. "Your ear keeps poking me, though."

"Sorry," Damian chuckles. "Alright, madam, we have arrived at your chariot."

"'Sup nerds," Janis greets, pushing herself off Damian's mom's car with a small salute.

"Caddy gets front seat privileges, she's broken."

"Ugh!" Janis groans sarcastically. Cady giggles.

"Um, actually... can I sit in the back with you?" she mumbles shyly.

Janis smirks. "We gonna make out?"

Cady rolls her eyes. "Corndog."

"What?!" Damian giggles.

"Is that not right?" Cady replies shyly.

"Did you just call me a corndog?!" Janis cackles.

"Someone tell me what I meant to say!" Cady insists.

Damian barely manages to put her down safely before he almost collapses to the ground in laughter. "Did-did you mean horndog?"

"Yes!" Cady says. "Stop laughing, it's not funny!"

"Yes it is!" Janis chokes through her laughter.

"People are staring, shut up!" Cady hisses. "Stop laughing!"

"Okay, okay," Damian says, wiping tears from his eyes. "Get in, sluts and slurs."

As soon as the doors close, Janis and Damian burst into laughter again. Damian can barely turn the key to start the car, he's laughing so hard. "I didn't mean to say corndog, stop laughing."

"You're so cute," Janis hums, still giggling to herself. "How's the ankle doing?"

"Hurts," Cady sighs.

Janis pouts and pulls Cady into a cuddle. Cady leans into her shoulder with a wince as another burst of pain radiates up her leg. "Poor baby."

—-

After an interesting drive to the nearest urgent care, Janis scoops Cady out and carries her baby-style into the waiting room. The pain is starting to get to Cady again, and she winces and cries quietly as Janis cradles her in her lap.

Luckily, people are so focused on their own injuries or other ailments that two Christmas elves and their art freak barely catch their eye. There's a mother there with a clearly sick little boy snuffling into her shoulder, a duo of frat bros who are clearly drunk and each cradling one arm close to their chest, and an old man in the corner filling out a crossword puzzle from 2011.

"How did your hat survive that whole thing?" Janis asks as Damian plops into the seat next to them with Cady's paperwork.

"I glued it to my head," Cady sniffs. Damian drops his pen in shock.

"You what?!"

"Only in the front, I used clips in the back," Cady replies. Damian sighs and rests his hand on his chest.

"Do not scare me like that," he replies. "Cads, when's your birthday?"

"July thirtieth," Cady says softly.

"Hey, my birthday's in July too!" Damian says. "Twinsies."

Cady can't help but giggle at his desperate attempt to cheer her up. "When's yours?"

"The thirteenth," Damian says.

"Man, I'm still the baby!" Cady huffs. "Miss January over here."

"Not my fault my parents know how to celebrate Easter," Janis shrugs. Cady gasps.

"Janis Sarkisian, we are in public!"

"Whatcha gonna do about it, tiny?" Janis retaliates. "Since we are in public."

"Hmph," Cady grumbles. She cuddles closer into her girlfriend's warm neck.

"You okay?" Janis whispers against her forehead.

"Hurts," Cady whispers back. "Are they gonna see us soon?"

"Probably not," Janis sighs.

Damian goes to hand in her paperwork at the front desk. Beyond that, all they can do is wait.

-

And wait they do. But, eventually, a nurse calls Cady's name and Janis stands to carry her back. Damian follows quickly, running after them through the winding halls.

"Alright, what seems to be the problem?" the nurse says. She does a double take when she sees the elf with one shoe on sitting on the exam table. She snorts a quick laugh but bites her lip to stop herself.

"I think I broke my ankle," Cady says softly. The doctor looks down at her one exposed foot and winces.

"It looks like that might be the case, hon. What happened?" the nurse asks, taking Cady's vitals. "Cross your arm over your chest."

Cady does when she fastens a blood pressure cuff around her wrist. "Um, I was in the parade this morning and I slipped on... something. I fumbled a flip and landed on it weird."

"Did you hear a pop when you landed or was it just a feeling?"

"I heard something pop, and I can't put any weight on it," Cady says anxiously. "And it's a little numb, and kinda... tingly, I guess."

"Mm," the nurse hums. "I'm gonna try and move it a bit, you let me know if anything hurts, alright?" Cady nods and braces as the mere brush of her fingertips against her ankle sends more waves of pain flooding up her whole leg and out her toes. "That hurt?"

"Mmhmm," Cady squeaks.

"Hm," the nurse hums again. "I'm gonna get the doctor to get you an x-ray, alright?

"Thank you," Cady says. She looks down at her lap with a quiet sniffle. She shakes her other foot and humphs at the jingle she gets in response.

"You okay, Peanut?" Janis asks quietly.

"What if it is actually broken?" Cady asks desperately. "I'm the head flyer, broken bones take so long to heal! It'll be weeks before I'm back in, what are they gonna-"

"We have protocols for this kinda thing, Cads, it'll be okay," Damian says. "We get injured all the time. I broke my wrist cheering in middle school and everything was fine. You just gotta take your time to heal."

"But-"

"If it is broken and you try to do anything you could hurt yourself permanently," Janis says. "Repetitive fractures? You have to rest. And we don't know for sure that it's broken yet, it might just be a bad sprain."

Cady sighs and nods. "Thanks for coming with me."

"Anytime, babe," Damian says, gently wrapping an arm around her shoulders and resting his head against hers. Cady blinks as his elf ear almost pokes her in the eye. Janis joins in too, and gets a jingle bell up the nose.

Her little crew gets left behind as Cady hops after the doctor towards the x-ray room. She holds as still as she can on the uncomfortable table and listens to the deafening clunks of the machine as it whirls around her foot. It's so loud she's a little worried it'll explode, but the doctor eventually returns from behind the lead partition and leads her back to her room to wait for the results.

It's a very quick wait.

"Your ankle is broken," the doctor says as soon as she walks into the room.

Cady feels her face crumple, and Janis wraps her in a tight hug as Cady lets out a quiet sob. "It's okay, Peanut, shh."

"It'll heal fine, no surgery needed. We call it a nondisplaced fracture, so none of your bones have actually moved out of where they're meant to be. You just need a cast for a little bit and you should be back to normal."

"So-so I'll still-still be able to-to cheer?"

"Not for six to eight weeks, but yes," the doctor replies with a smile. Janis squeezes her tighter as Cady releases a sob of relief.

"I told you," she murmurs, kissing Cady's cheek. Cady sniffles and leans into her shoulder. She needs Janis right now.

"Technically you broke your leg, the bottom part of your fibula here, and there's a hairline fracture in part of your tibia. But they're not displaced enough for you to need surgery, just a cast and no weight bearing for a good while."

"O-okay," Cady sniffs.

"You might wanna... de-elf yourself before we get the cast on, though. Unless you want to keep those tights for a few weeks."

Cady takes the wheel of possible cast colors and the pajamas Damian hands her from her bag. "These are cute! Where'd they come from?"

"Janis got them for me," Cady says with a sniffle as the doctor leaves and Janis and Damian both turn around to give her some privacy to change.

"Oh, did she now? How very soft of her," Damian hums. Janis shoves him. Damian sticks his tongue out in her general direction, unable to tell quite where she is with his hands firmly over his eyes.

"Shut up," Janis responds.

"Stop fighting, you can turn around now," Cady says once she's back in her comfy pajamas. "Which color cast should I get?"

"What's your favorite color?" Damian asks.

"Yellow," Cady replies.

"The purple is cool too," Janis says, tapping the little swatch of it. Cady nods.

Damian leans in close to see all the options. "I like the green."

"I like green," Cady acknowledges. "The Plastics will kill me if I get anything except pink, though."

"Pfft, who cares about them? Regina did this to you," Janis scoffs.

"Because we made her gain weight," Cady retaliates. "This light pink is cute."

"Do whatever you want, Cupcake."

"Cupcake?" Damian responds immediately, accompanied with a gag.

"Look at this little faaaaace," Janis coos, leaning harder into it and squishing Cady's cheeks rather than trying to fend off her friend. Cady goes along with it too, batting her eyelashes coquettishly at him. "Isn't she just the cutest widdle thing?"

"You two are gonna ruin my life together, aren't you?"

“Mm-hmm!" Cady hums happily, her cheeks still smushed in her girlfriend's hand. Damian rolls his eyes. Janis gives Cady's squished-out lips a kiss before she lets her go and smirks at her friend.

"You're the one who was literally speechless for four hours after we told you we were dating," she responds.

"I was in shock, shut up."

"Because your matchmaking never works?"

Damian huffs. "Whatever, it does."

"Name one time."

"This!" Damian insists, gesturing frantically between the two of them. Janis rolls her eyes.

"Whatever you say, Princess," she replies. Damian smiles.

"Thank you."

The doctor returns towards the tail end of that argument and shoots Cady a confused look. Cady just shrugs a little. She hands back all the cast swatches and goes with the light pink she had liked. She does really like it, and the Plastics won't crucify her for it. Well, they might anyway for what happened at the parade, and for needing a clunky, bulky cast in the first place. But at least this'll show she has decent taste and the ability to match.

Janis and Damian each take and squeeze one of her hands as her bones are painfully squished back where they need to be and wrapped in layers upon layers of fabric. The pink shell finishes the job, and Janis asks the doctor for a Sharpie so she and Damian can be the first to sign it.

"Do it small," Cady insists. Damian shoots her a strange look, but they both sign their names in the smallest letters they can right by her toes. Janis adds a little heart by hers for good measure. "Thanks, guys."

Cady gets fit for a set of crutches. It takes a while and she ends up with kids size ones, but eventually she's clicking slowly across the parking lot and finally on her way home.

"Jan, you wanna come over?" Damian asks. Cady pouts a little. She knows he and Janis are best friends, and that they definitely hang out without her sometimes, but it's not like Damian to ask with Cady right there.

"Nah, I gotta go get Stevie," Janis replies. Damian nods. Cady is confused when they pull into Janis' driveway. She should've been dropped off first. Her house is much further out of the way. "Bye Peanut."

Cady returns the kiss she gives. "Bye, baby."

Damian gags in the front seat. "Bye, dumbass."

"Bye, slut," Janis replies, blowing him a kiss as she climbs out of the car in the most complicated way she can and runs into her house.

Damian puts the car back in gear and keeps driving. Cady is more confused when they pull into his driveway. He turns the car off and gets out, leaving Cady alone in the backseat.

"You coming?" he asks, knocking on her window upon noticing she hasn't moved. Cady jumps.

“You're not taking me home?"

"I am not leaving you alone to navigate that house with one foot. But I'll take you home if you'd rather be there," Damian responds.

Cady shakes her head. "No. No, uh... thanks."

"Of course," Damian replies. "Now come on, cripple, my mom'll make us milkshakes."

"Your mom?" Cady asks with a smile.

"Oh, shit, you haven't met her yet! Uh, be ready for like, a lot of hugs. And she might cry. She's a big empath."

"Okay," Cady giggles. "She sounds great."

"She is," Damian says with a small smile. He unlocks the door and drops their stuff in the small area for shoes and coats and bags. "Ma, I'm home! And I brought Cady!"

Stanley comes running down the hall as soon as she hears the door. Damian protectively stands in front of Cady so the excited pup doesn't knock her over, but Cady smiles and rests her crutches against the wall so she can give the sweet little thing some scritches. "Hi, Stanley! How are you, baby girl?! Oh, yes, hi! I missed you too!"

"Stanley, gentle, Caddy's broken," Damian says. Stanley actually does calm a little bit, sniffing curiously at Cady and wagging her entire rear end instead of jumping on her like she did last time.

"Hey, baby girl!" Damian's mother greets, coming down the hallway in such a blaze of glory that it's immediately apparent where Damian gets his showmanship from. Cady looks up and smiles as she wraps him in a hug.

"Hi Ma," Damian responds, hugging his mom back and handing Cady her crutches again.

"How was the parade?" his mom asks, leading the two of them down the hall. She clocks Cady hobbling after them, then. "Ah."

"Yeah, she broke her ankle," Damian responds.

"At the parade?! Oh, honey!" his mom says immediately, wrapping Cady in such a tight hug she thinks she hears a few of her ribs pop. "You poor thing! Oh, come in, come in, sit down. Damian, help her to the living room, come on now."

"Can we go to my room instead?" Damian asks. His mom rolls her eyes.

"Yes, go ahead. It's on this floor, Cady, don't worry baby."

"Thanks, Ms. Hubbard," Cady replies with a smile. She gets another tight hug and actually has to cough a little when she's released to get her breathing back in a normal rhythm.

"Of course, baby! What kind of milkshakes do y'all want?"

"Oreo?" Damian suggests. Ms. Hubbard looks to Cady, and she nods eagerly. "Please."

"Coming right up."

"Thank you," Cady says as she's off back to the kitchen.

"Don't mention it, baby!" she calls back.

"Your mom is great," Cady says. Damian nods. Cady squeaks in surprise as he hauls her onto his back and starts carrying her down the hall towards his bedroom next to the garage.

"She is."

"She's very comforting," Cady continues. Damian nods again. "I see where you get it from."

"D'aww, thanks," Damian coos. He's actually blushing a little bit, and Cady smiles as he rests her down on his cushy bed. He fusses over her like a worried mother, helping her take her makeup and ears off as Cady looks around his bedroom for the first time. She's been here before for movie nights, but only ever in the basement.

None of the actual drywall is visible; completely plastered over with posters of drag queens and black-and-white photos of old Broadway stars. Cady can barely breathe for Judy Garland and Cher and RuPaul. There's fairy lights of all colors hanging from the crown molding, illuminating and twinkling over a full wall of Playbills in protective clear plastic sleeves. The furniture is a bit plain by comparison, but it all just feels like Damian's spirit has exploded into the room. It's amazing.

"Your room is so cool," Cady says.

"Thanks!"

"You have a lot of Playbills," Cady continues. "Have you actually seen that many shows?"

"God, no," Damian chuckles. "The top row there are the only ones I've seen in person, the rest are from eBay."

"Cool," Cady replies.

"Has Janis taught you about musicals yet?"

Cady shakes her head with a smile. "She said she wouldn't be able to do it justice."

Damian snorts. "Yeah, right. She just doesn't want to sit through them."

"She doesn't like them?"

"She only watches them once a year on my birthday and if I sing a lyric that could even approach being from a musical she'll punch me in the jugular."

"Really?"

Damian nods, fiddling with the mouse to wake up the computer and typing in his pin. "You've brought a lot of her walls down. So... thanks for that."

"I'm glad," Cady replies softly. "She deserves it."

"She does," Damian agrees. He shrugs suddenly. "Anyway, what do you want to watch?"

"You pick. I don't know anything," Cady giggles. Damian nods and opens a folder full of bootlegs. He murmurs the titles under his breath until he lands on a good first musical for her.

"Ooh! Okay, here, you'll love this one. The movie is good too, but the stage production is amazing."

Cady cuddles into his arm and peeks at the file name. She squeals, "Lions?!"

"Lions is an understatement for The Lion King," Damian says. Cady wiggles excitedly as he opens it and makes it full screen. "Can you see?"

"Mmhmm. Thanks, D."

"Anytime, Little Slice."

His mom pops in with their milkshakes a few minutes in and seems completely unphased seeing her son cuddled up with a girl she's known for fifteen minutes. Apparently this is normal for him. "Thank you, Ms. Hubbard."

"You're welcome, sweet girl. Y'all just holler if you need anything, alright? Ooh, Lion King. That's a good one," she replies as she leaves again.

"Cady's from Kenya," Damian explains.

"No shit?" his mom replies, making Cady choke on her milkshake in shock.

"Um, yeah, I just moved here this summer," she says.

"Ain't that something. Alright, have fun, you two."

"Thanks, Ma," Damian says as she shuts the door behind her.

They sip at their tasty milkshakes while they watch. Cady might be in love. She's immediately bopping along to all the musical numbers and oohing and aahing over the special effects.

Damian looks at her expectantly when the curtain call is over.

"That was so cool!" she squeals. "Can we watch it again?"

Damian laughs. "I'm glad you liked it. You like musicals now?"

Cady nods eagerly. "Yeah."

"Good," Damian says with a victorious smirk. He takes a picture of them cuddled up together and sends it to Janis with a caption reading, I win Caddy likes musicals. He gets an eye roll emoji in response and clicks off his phone with a smug grin. "Let's try something else, but we'll come back if you want to after."

"Okaaaaay," Cady huffs jokingly.

They watch about four more, occasionally shifting positions to keep comfy on Damian's plush bed. The milkshakes are long gone, but neither of them care.

"Thanks for taking care of me," Cady murmurs after the last one. Damian gently bumps into her.

"Anytime. Sorry Janis was busy, I know she wanted to be the one to kidnap you."

"No, it's okay," Cady says immediately. "I love her, but she'd be so worried she'd barely let me move. Not that that's bad, she's just... a lot, sometimes."

"You love her, eh?" Damian teases. Cady blushes. "Oh, shit, do you?"

"I mean... we've only been dating for a month," Cady begins hesitantly. "But... I might... already love her, like, a lot."

"D'aaawww, my little gaybies," Damian squeals.

"Shut up," Cady scoffs.

"She loves you too," Damian says matter-of-factly.

Cady looks at him. "She does?"

"I told you earlier. This bitch will not shut up about you. I've never seen her like this. It's kind of freaky," Damian chuckles. "Always, have you seen Caddy's eyes up close? They're such a pretty green. And she's sooooo tiiiiny, she just fits in my arms like a puzzle."

"She did not say that."

"On RuPaul she did."

Cady blinks. "Did I break her?"

"Honestly? Maybe. But I like it. She's annoying sometimes, but this Janis seems... healthier."

"Good," Cady replies.

"You, on the other hand," Damian replies, looking pointedly at her left foot. Cady giggles.

"It's fixed, I'll be okay," she replies.

"You got lucky there, kid. I really thought you were gonna need surgery," Damian says.

"I did too, honestly," Cady admits.

"...And now I think about it, Regina is a little chubbier."

"Right? It totally worked!" Cady squeals. Damian laughs. "Now we just have to get people to stop treating her like the queen bee and get Aaron out of her clutches."

"Godspeed, soldier. Doing the lord's work," Damian says with a salute. Cady giggles. "Do you, like, wanna go home?"

Cady sighs. "I should."

"Bitch, is that what I asked? Do you want to or not?" Damian insists.

"I mean... it's always weird there without my parents," Cady mumbles, fidgeting with her fingers. "But I don't wanna impose."

"Hold on," Damian says. Cady jumps when he turns his head to the side and hollers, "Ma!"

"What?!" his mother yells back.

"Can Cady sleep over?!"

"Her folks okay with it?!"

"Your folks okay with it?" Damian asks Cady in a much, much softer tone. Cady nods in confusion. Damian yells back, "Yeah!"

"Then she's always welcome! Dinner's in half an hour!" his mom replies.

"Thank you!" Cady yells.

"You're welcome, baby!"

"See? Problem solved," Damian says. Cady giggles.

"You're the best, D."

"And don't you forget it."

————-

thank you for reading!!

i have a oneshot coming for y'all on wednesday that i'm very (cautiously) excited about and am working myself to the bone trying to get the next chapter of this and another oneshot done per my usual "schedule" if you can call it that lol.

i apologize for not being more prepared but i spent most of february auditioning for the tour!! so that took a lot of my focus but it's done now and i am back in as full of a swing as i can get lol.

so fingers crossed! and if i don't get it done in time you'll just get three of each with my next round of fics :)

thank you all so much again for being here. i love every little one of you muppets so dearly.

lots of love,

ezzy

[thesims4blogger]

The Sims 4: New Game Patch (July 18th, 2023)

There is a new game update for The Sims 4, preparing the game for the Horse Ranch Expansion Pack release this Thursday (July 20th).

This patch brings several bug fixes as well as new features, like paintable ceilings and “free camera mode” on Build/Buy Mode.

Your game should now read: PC: 1.99.264.1030/ Mac: 1.99.264.1230 / Console: Version 1.75.

Hello Simmers!

Those horses will be comin’ round the mountain in just a few days. To get ready for their arrival in The Sims 4 Horse Ranch Expansion Pack, we have rounded up a number of exciting Base Game updates and bug fixes to share with you. Let’s get into it.

-SimGuruGeorge

What’s New?

First off, let me introduce SimGuruAsh.

Heya, Simmers! Today’s update has an array of new hairs and Create a Sim presets.

Braids and long, flowing hair is important to the cultural identity of Indigenous People in America. To reflect this in-game, we are enthused to add three hairstyles in the form of a Double Braid, Single Braid, and Lengthened Hair that extends down to your Sims mid-back.

For our East Asian Sims, we have a large selection of new Eye Presets and Brows in tapered, straight, and wavy shapes.

You’ll also see three new under-eye bags in the Eye Details category.

To bring something delicious to the table, the Three Sisters Chili is now available to cook on the grill. In Native American tradition, “the three sisters” are corn, beans, and squash. They grow best together in the same plot. The eldest sister, corn, provides a strong foundation for the beans to climb. The beans enrich the soil with nitrogen. The youngest sister, squash, covers the ground, protecting all of their roots.

We can’t wait to see what kinds of Sims and stories you create with this update!

SimGuruGeorge back now. Traits have had a bit of a reorganization. You will now find traits more evenly distributed under the Emotional, Hobby, Lifestyle, and Social categories

I’m so excited to tell you about Ceilings! The ability to apply colors and patterns to the ceilings is now yours. When you open up Build Mode you will find the update where you would previously apply Floor Patterns (now renamed Floor and Ceiling Patterns). Simply select Ceilings by Tile or Ceilings by Room. Then select your pattern and apply it to the ceiling of your choice. This does not apply to the underside of roofs.

You can now enter Free Camera in Build Mode to get the best look at those Ceilings. Simply enable it as you would in Live Mode. There are a number of Wall, Floor, Fence and Door patterns which have been updated with additional colors. The full list is below so you can find these updates in your game.

New color variants have been added for the following wall patterns

Essence of Pastel

Desert Skies

Above Deck

New color variants have been added for the following wood floor patterns

Heartwood Plank Flooring

ForestFine Wood Flooring

Elegant Parquet Flooring

Herringbone Hardwood Flooring

Rustic Subfloor Slats

Bowl of Cherrywood Floors

Chestnut Flooring

Kwality Wide Plank Flooring

Old World Wide Plank Flooring

Walk the Short Plank Hardwood Floors

Eco-Craft Hardwood Flooring

Handscraped Wood Flooring

Limber Lumber Fashion Hardwoods

Chipper Tanbark

New color variants have been added for the following stone or brick floor patterns

Perfect Pebble Paver

Throwback Cobblestone & Brick Pavers

A Clean Slate Tile

Great Gravel

High-Style Concrete

No Moss Stone Pavers

Antique Stone Tile

Rockstone Pavers

Rustic Sandstone

Concrete Pavers with Gravel Accent

Quaint Flagstone

Brick and Blush

Dulcet Duet, Brick & Plaster, and Plaster Makes Perfect wall patterns have been updated with matching color variants.

New color variants added for Ladder-Style Horizontal Fencing.

New color variants have been added for the Simple Single-Panel Door as its own door, the Simple Single-Panel Door – Ranch.

Bug Fixes

Consoles

Fixed an issue where the cursor would become unresponsive after selecting an aspiration.

When reviewing the “My Packs” tab in the Main Menu, Players will now see Growing Together first when selecting that pack.

The Sims 4 Live Mode

Sims now more consistently wash hands in the sink closest to the toilet.

The Items Removed error message will no longer appear if you own everything on the lot.

The Have a Baby Neighborhood Story will no longer cause pregnancies for Sims that are listed as unable to become pregnant in their Gender Settings.

Knafeh now remains visible even from a distance. If you have not tried this delicious dessert in real life, we highly recommend it!

The R&B station now includes ”BMO” by Ari Lennox, ”breathe again” by Joy Oladokun, and ”Blessed” by Becca Hatch & Tentendo.

Flowers no longer sometimes break when loading a saved game..

Sims now receive satisfaction points from confronting their Fears.

Reaching the top of the Military Career will now reward the player with the appropriate celebration screen.

The ‘Help with Needs’ animation on Infants now is smoother when a Sim picks them up.

Cleaned up animations for Teenage Sims while they are angry, seated, and focusing on a Sim adjacent to them.

Build Mode

Stacking intersecting curved walls on top of each other no longer creates gaps in the ceiling of the lower room.

Doors can now be placed on the wall under circular roofs.

Interior corner walls with stilt foundations can now be deleted.

Curved walls no longer cause seam lines to appear on terrain

Raising terrain and then undoing that height adjustment or placing a platform no longer prevents objects from being placed in that area.

Fixed a rare issue where placing stairs at the edge of a platform would cause floating planks to appear above the stairs.

Raising and lowering a platform with stairs attached no longer sometimes cuts out a segment of the wall.

The Sinks category icon in Build Mode now lines up perfectly.

Double and single gates no longer sometimes pop up one floor level when being placed on exterior fence walls.

Players will now be able to click and drag the sledgehammer across curved walls to delete them.

Stair railings have been added to multiple pre-built homes. Safety prevails!

Create a Sim

When using a mirror, applied skin details are now saved after exiting Create a Sim.

When using a mirror, birthmark skin details are now saved after reentering Create a Sim.

The tops ymTop_SDX016Rolled_HeatherDustyPink and ymTop_SDX016TouristShirt_TropicalRed no longer give female Sims rough shapes.

Fixed an issue where the jersey (yfTop_EF26HHCJerseyMrCartoon_ButterflyBlue) caused incorrect fingernail colors to display.

The tank top yfTop_TankShort_SolidBlueNavy now tucks underneath pants, skirts, shorts, etc.

Create a Sim UI has been updated so that the Select Traits title won’t overlap with other visual elements.

Misc

Entering the wrong Twitter credentials or completing the email verification requirement no longer causes the game to crash.

The game now gracefully handles disconnecting Bluetooth devices.

Get to Work

The Robot on the Invention Constructor will now respond to requests to chat.

Invention Constructors have been repaired. They now properly display their holographic displays in the construction area and not on top of the Sim operating the device.

Sims in the Doctor Career can now calibrate X-ray Machines. This info has been added to their medical training.

Alien fertility increased. Male Sims that are abducted by Aliens can now get pregnant.

Cats & Dogs

Townie Sims no longer occasionally unleash their Dogs before walking out of a neighborhood. There will be no more flashbacks to Seymour waiting in front of a pizza shop.

Paint Mode for Dogs had a white swatch that now properly is brown..

Seasons

Hang This Support Beam spandrel no longer turns white when it snows outside.

Interactions for lighting a Menorah or Kinara now have unique icons.

The interaction to build a Snowpal will no longer fail while visiting Mt. Komorebi.

The outfits ymBody_EP05SkateOutfit_swanGray and ymBody_EP05SuitVelvet_SolidBlack no longer distort Sims legs.

Get Famous

Hairstyles unlocked by the Acting Career now show all newly added hair swatches.

Island Living

Mermaids previously would not die due to starvation or aging up. That has been fixed. Remember to feed your Mermaids!

[MAC] Fixed a small shader issue on the Lagoon Look lot in Sulani.

Discover University

Listen To interaction has been added to the Party-Bot.

Thick window frames will no longer stick out when the camera pans behind them.

The amount of Robotic Scrap gained when performing an Experiment on a Chemistry Lab has been tuned down.

Sims will now get a 200 simoleon higher bonus for starting the Chef Career track after getting a university degree. It practically pays for itself.

Eco Lifestyle

Fixed an issue where the Wood Ear Plugs (yfAcc_EarringsEP09EarPlugsWood) appeared discolored when paired with specific hairstyles.

Fixed a rare issue where the Eco Inspector would still issue fines to Households that had upgraded their appliances.

Fixed an issue where Neighboring Sims could not be sent home. Neighborly manners have been repaired.

Removed a duplicate Place in World interaction that appeared on Trash Fruit in the Sim’s inventory.

Snowy Escape

Ski Boots no longer appear in the ‘Change Outfit’ picker. Sims will also remove Ski Boots when bathing. A ‘Take Off Snow Boots’ interaction has been added.

Hang This Support Beam from the Seasons Expansion Pack no longer appears blank when placed on the Yukimatsu lot.

Fixed an issue where Snowy Escape Doors would cause a small shift in the wallpaper on the wall they were placed on.

Cottage Living

Animals no longer age up and die when the ‘Animal Aging’ option is turned off in Game Settings.

Fixed an issue where Earbuds would occasionally play multiple songs at the same time when listening to Cottage Core music.

Cows and Llamas come out of their sheds autonomously and no longer are unhappy when their shed is clean and full with feed.

Fixed a few cases where Sims would not autonomously choose to Knit & Cross Stitch.

Sims are now able to socialize with Rabbits.

Fixed an issue where Chickens would not eat treats.

Residents of Henford-on-Bagley will less often mention how local residents are in need of help.

Animal friends now appear in the Relationship Panel filter for ‘Friends’.

Various translation fixes have been applied to the Wild Rabbit Home.

The Start Gardening Help for All Rabbit Residents interaction is no longer missing from the Wild Rabbit Home.

Rooster images now show more of the Rooster.

Matzah Ball Soup and Challah now are available for the Simple Living Lot Challenge.

Sims now immediately join cooking during the Cook together with interaction.

High School Years

Sims will no longer return from work or school early on the day they change the color of their Phone Case.

Townie Sims are no longer all pansexual.

Ship to Buyer no longer breaks when the Sim replaces the Mailbox on their home lot. Trendi sales can now be completed.

The Want to Listen to Music has been tuned to occur less frequently.

Fixed High School Years hairstyles that were applying hair color to Sim’s ears.

Fixed an issue where Teen Sims would stay at Career Day too long which prevented them from serving detention. This would then get them expelled.

Fixed an issue where Sims who left graduation early were occasionally stuck in their graduation outfits.

Infants and Toddlers no longer use the same animation as adults when using the EZ Access Window object.

Fixed rare situations where the Angry About Crush sentiment was triggering incorrectly.

The Ask about Graduation interaction is no longer available on Sims that haven’t been greeted.

Growing Together

Karmine Luna no longer appears with a random personality trait in each new save.

Broken objects on Activity Tables no longer are observed when placed in Treehouses.

Fixed a rare issue where food made by Eleanor Sullivan could not be cleaned up.

Fixed unusual cases of Adult Sims refusing to pick up and interact with Toddlers that had returned from daycare until those Toddlers had changed outfits.

During the New Born’s Age Up interaction, the Baby’s First Rug object is now placed in more appropriate locations.

Fixed an issue in specific languages where the Title on the Self-Discovery Personality Trait pop up would overlap with other text on the screen.

Sims sitting on couches can now perform social Crib interactions.

Dine Out

Fixed a rare issue when running a restaurant where Hosts and Chefs were not able to be hired from the Manage Employees menu.

Fixed an issue where sometimes opening the Sim Profile of a Chef would instead open the Sim Profile of the last Sim the player had looked at.

Vampires

Vampire Sims can now do group dances on the dance floor.

Realm of Magic

Sims now hold Valerian Root properly when eating it from Inventory.

Star Wars: Journey to Batuu

The Batuu Radio Stations are now available for Likes and Dislikes in the Music Genre category in Create a Sim.

Dream Home Decorator

Sim Preferences now support custom pronouns in English.

My Wedding Stories

Fixed pricing for a few pack items.

Dance floors now have the ‘Dancing skill’ tag in Build Mode

Decorative objects now have an ‘Environment’ value.

Werewolves

Players are now able to add, change, or modify body scars during the game.

Moon textures are no longer the same in all worlds.

Added new Clean Up Books interaction on most genre books (not including homework or skill books) that are in the open street and not owned by the Player’s Sim . This will allow books to be cleaned up.

Movie Hangout

Sims can now watch TV without needing player direction.

Knifty Knitting

Added new text to show that Sim’s are able to knit onesies for Infants and Babies as well

Moschino

Moschino item prices have been adjusted to fit the style.

Bust the Dust

Vacuum Cleaner game performance now is even more… sucky…. In a good way, of course.

Courtyard Oasis

The ‘Functional Off-The-Grid’ stat has been added to the Sunset Glow Lantern object and the incorrect ‘Power Consumption Rating’ on the object has been fixed.

Items from Courtyard Oasis Kit, Industrial Loft Kit, Decor to the Max Kit, and Little Campers Kit have been tuned to have more sensible pricing and environment values.

Carnaval Streetwear

The Carnaval Radio Station is now available for Likes and Dislikes in the Music Genre category in Create a Sim.