#Unless he vomited more i guess?

[gingersp1ce547]

WAIT FUCK. I THINK I FUCKING CRACKED THIS SHIT

WHAT IF Q!ROIER TRIED TO GO BACK TO EGG ISLAND TO FIND Q!CELLBIT AND EITHER GOT LOST ALONG THE WAY THERE OF ON THE ISAND ITSELF AND GOT RADIATION POISONING BC OF BEING CLOSE TO THE BLAST ZONE

Or fuck, i just re-checked the messages from yesterday and maybe he tried/succeeded to get to egg island but was drugged and kidnapped by the eye/ the eye’s workers?

Hey gang, since q!bad just said that the green on him is radiation poisoning, do we maybe wanna talking about how on his new skins q!roier is seemingly puking green shit?

[dailyhtfboards]

Day 85

Today’s board is:

Heh, dust!! (From TV episode 6C Gems the Breaks)

[suuuupernovaaa]

surprise

summary: despite your mid-level efforts at preventing, you find yourself pregnant with Joel’s child - and you really don’t want to be.

tags: pregnancy, jackson joel, fluff, comfort, established relationship

Based on this request.

MASTERLIST

Shit. Fuck. Shit. Fuck!

The words repeat over and over in your mind, day in and day out. How could you have been so careless? How could you have let this fucking happen?

You’re not an idiot. Not some dumb teenager. You know exactly how babies are made. You know what you and Joel have been doing, damn near constantly, leads to this - and you haven’t been as careful as you could have been.

The two pink little lines haunt you. It’s been four days since you saw them in the bathroom, since they stared at you with their taunting little pink eyes until you vomited, and you’ve avoided Joel since.

Which has been super fucking hard. You don’t live together, even though you’ve discussed making that happen in the near future, but you and Joel have a routine.

He brings you coffee, every morning, to enjoy together on your porch. That is, unless you’ve spent the night together before, and then he doesn’t have to make the long journey Nextdoor to deliver it.

You part ways for your daily duties, whatever they may be, and always meet up again in the late afternoon. You take walks, make dinner together, maybe have a drink at the saloon or watch a movie. Sometimes Joel has more work to do at night. Often you sleep at his house, but you sometimes end up back at your own home, and then it starts again the next day.

You’ve left a note every morning the last four days that you had to head out early, and you’ll see him later.

It’s harder in the evenings to come up with excuses. A headache, sour stomach, spending time with a friend… Joel is too smart to let it go on too long.

But you can’t face him. You feel like a failure. You never really wanted kids, maybe not even before the world ended. Even in the safe town of Jackson Hole, motherhood doesn’t appeal to you. Safety isn’t guaranteed, and it doesn’t feel right to bring a child into a world like this.

But you’ve missed two periods now. You don’t feel right; you’re extra tired, so hungry, and soon, you know you’ll start to show.

You can’t hide it forever.

That evening, day four of avoiding Joel, he pounds on your door at dusk.

Shit. Fuck. Shit.

You take your time going to the door, and try to muster a smile when you pull it open.

“Hey there,” you say, and Joel scowls down at you.

“Don’t ’hey there’ me,” he replies in that gruff twang of his, and practically shoves you aside to enter your home.

You know there won’t be any avoiding it now. You can’t lie to Joel.

“You gonna tell me what the hell is going on with you? I don’t like you avoiding me.” He faces you, his hands on his hips like you’re a child he’s scolding. “I don’t buy it that you’re sick. Fess up.”

You rub your forehead with your fingertips and take in a deep breath that comes back out all shaky.

“I’m pregnant.”

Joel’s hands fall from his hips. Clearly, that’s not what he was expecting.

“Pregnant?”

You wince. “Yeah. I guess maybe, two months along or so.”

Joel walks to your worn leather couch and sits down, rubbing his jaw.

“Pregnant.”

You stay where you are, near the door, in case you need to bolt.

“I… am scared. And sick. I’ve been freaking out.”

“All alone?” he asks, his voice sad, and you feel your heart soften - just a little.

You take one step towards him. “I never wanted to be a mom. I don’t think I’ll be good at it. And I didn’t figure you’d want to, uh, do it all over again.”

He stares at you for a long moment and finally, pats the couch next to him.

You hesitate.

“Come on, girl,” he says, like you’re a skittish horse, but it works. You sink into the couch next to him, and he wraps his arms around you.

“I probably wouldn’t have chosen to have a baby, anymore than you would have. And we do have… options.”

You shake your head. “I know, but I don’t want that. I think I want it. But if you don’t…”

“I do,” he says, so quickly and so firmly, it makes your stomach flutter.

“You do?”

Joel nods, meeting your eyes. “I think you know that you’re the love of my life. If we’d met before, when I was younger, before all this, I’d have married you and had as many kids as we could’ve.” His expression is soft, nearly dreamy. “I’d have worked hard and bought a big house, with a big yard and some dogs. Maybe a farm or something. We’d have been happy.”

You sink into him, picturing it together. It doesn’t sound so bad. “But we met here, honey, and we’ve made the best of it. You’re the best thing that’s happened to me. I want you to move into my house, I want to take care of both of you. Parenting ain’t easy, but we can do it together. Plus, Tommy and Maria will be around. And Ellie. We aren’t alone.”

Your throat feels thick and tears are pricking at the corners of your eyes.

“Are you sure I can do it?” you ask.

Joel holds you close, his chin resting on top of your head. “Never been more sure of anything in my life.”

[generalsmemories]

Homecoming

✧ jing yuan x gn!reader

✧ synopsis: the general of luofu awaits your return home into his arms

✧ contents: established relationship, fluff, jing yuan's inner monologue about his dear lover

✧ a/n: kicks down door, GUESS WHOSE BACK! I HOPE. this was word vomit so if there's anything wrong or amiss, no there isn't. I wanted to write a lil fluff before going back to my self indulgent fic (and writing for phainon too) im sorry wife i left you alone for MONTHS!! anyway i hope you all just like this fluffy piece where an overthinking jing yuan eagerly awaits your return home <3 this is just mostly jing yuan monologue cause the reader doesn't appear before the end but <3 i hope you enjoy it nonetheless! thank you all for your patience !! hopefully i'll update a bit more from now!

If you were to tap a Xianzhou citizen on the shoulder and ask for their opinion on the dozing general of the Luofu, they would describe him as a wise and benevolent general, a bit too easy-going for his position, a cat lover and an advocate that everyone should have 3 hot meals each day.

They would never describe the general of the Luofu as someone who would openly show his emotions.

And yet, on a seemingly normal sunny afternoon on the Luofu, tucked into a corner of Cloudford in what should be a normal port for any ship carrying cargo from other worlds to dock for the day - stands the general of the Xianzhou Luofu, alone.

It’s a weird sight, the general has nothing to do with cargo transportation - let alone overseeing any new ships coming to dock upon the Luofu for the day unless it was a fellow general or the marshal themselves.

Yet here he was, often times leaning a bit too close to the edge of the dock to scavenge any new ships coming to land in this specific area that’s unoccupied, his free hand that’s not propping his whole body on the railing is busy fiddling around with his phone - he occasionally unlocks it to re-read the message that’s been left open ever since this morning, scrounging for anything new - to see if you’ve edited the message to another location.

But it’s still the same, even after the 7th time he’s read the message.

“There’s a bit more cargo than we expected from the marshal, so instead of landing at the usual dock at Starskiff Haven, we’re going to dock at the northernmost dock in Cloudford. We should arrive before the delegations from Zhuming and Yaoqing, but remember to greet them if they come here before me!”

Jing Yuan let out a long sigh, stuffing his phone back into his pocket before looking around the dock. It’s hardly an appropiate place to greet you back, surrounded by boxes upon boxes of either different furniture or weapons for the Cloud Knights - maybe even some souvenirs from the various traders that have settled in Luofu.

You should be greeted by the vast open sky that you’ve loved to see in Luofu each morning when you wake up by his side, watch the various starskiffs soar in the sky while the wind graces you with the various leaves adorned throughout the Luofu - all while glancing back at him with the same gentle smile you’ve greeted him for the past hundred years.

The ever so aloof general lets out a sigh, bringing a hand up to run through his more than usual messy bangs to keep his mind away from the thoughts of you, “You would’ve nagged me for letting my hair become even more unruly if you saw me now…”

It did not work at all.

Maybe he can convince Qingzu to arrange a specific port in Cloudford just for you, but that would only make both you and her regard him with disappointment at where he puts the resources of Luofu at - although he can see the glint of affection that crosses your eyes whenever he jokingly suggests building your entire private port so that you’re not mobbed by the citizens each time you come back from your own delegations.

Jing Yuan takes one more glance towards the phone he had just pocketed, how can that it’s only been 2 mere minutes after he last checked? He swears it must’ve been a system hour at least since he’s arrived at the dock.

Maybe something had happened, you’re usually on time after all. Is the traffic to enter Luofu bigger than the usual? Granted the Wardance was just announced and a lot of people from all over have come to finally step foot into Luofu again after the stellaron incident. But you usually predicted this and would arrive even earlier to be on time. Maybe he should contact Yukong and see if there’s any-

His racing mind comes to a screeching halt when he hears the familiar roar of the starskiff engine turn to a mere hum near him - the sound much closer than the starskiffs flying above him.

For some reason, he did not dare look up - Of course the northernmost dock wasn’t just meant for your ship to land, numerous others had already landed here before. Aeons above, he had greeted another cargo ship who were pleasantly surprised to see his appearance when he had first entered the area after all.

Jing Yuan could feel his palms sweat the tiniest bit, and suddenly he was actuely aware that he kept bouncing back and forth on his heels - something he even thought to himself was unknown behaviour from him. He had after all, never been this giddy or nervous to meet someone at all.

But then again, ever since you’ve arrived in his life - he’s shown sides of himself he didn’t know was there at all.

Oh dear, I’ve sure been spoiled by them.

Before he can derail even more into his thoughts, his downcast gaze is suddenly locked with your own curious ones, a raised eyebrow and lips jutting out a tiny bit in concern.

And suddenly, Jing Yuan feels his entire body relax, his tense shoulders finally slack and he exals deeply - which in turn makes you even more confused. “Jing Yuan? What are you even doing out- woah!”

You’re not able to even finish your question before your lover lifts you up with seemingly no effort, a gleeful smile paints his lips and his eyes crinkle the tiniest bit at the corners. The sudden upwards movement makes you yelp a tiny bit, immediately putting your hands on his shoulders in reflex while a light dust of red covers your cheek at the display of affection, “Jing-!”

But you can already tell he’s not listening to you at all, gently setting you down on the ground again before his arms wrap around your lower waist, fingers pressing against your lower back to press your body further into his own - completey ignoring the snickering Cloud Knights behind the two of you who have become used to the general display of affection towards you.

“… How was your trip, dear?” he finally asks, resting his forehead against yours for a brief second to let you breathe. You let out a sigh in return, raising your arm to place a hand on his cheek - Jing Yuan immediately leaning against it before turning his head to peck your palm, “You already know how it’s been, no? I’ve sent you updates each morning and night after all.”

Jing Yuan merely hums, gliding his lips down towards your wrists before he leans his body closer to your own to nuzzle his face into your neck, inhaling softly, “Dear, you know I appreciate hearing about your day rather than reading a bunch of text.”

The little laugh you let out makes Jing Yuan let out a little giggle himself, but you feel his hold tighten around you when you try to squirm away from him, “Now, now - I haven’t seen you for months now, beloved. Don’t try to run away now.”

“Jing Yuan if you haven’t noticed we are still in public-” you try to reason, but your lover doesn’t listen, reduced to a mere overgrown cat in your presence as he tries to get even closer to your own body - there’s barely any room between your for air to even pass between the two of you.

You raise an eyebrow in confusion, gripping the arms around your waist to at least make him lessen the grip he has on you, "Jing Yuan, at least let me-"

“I missed you,” he finally whispers silently, and all your previous squirming comes to a halt when you feel the slight tremble in his voice. And it’s only when you register that tremble do you realize that his hands that are splayed by your neck to keep you in place are shaking ever so slightly, “… More than I thought I would.” he confesses, to your ears only.

You let out a light huff, finally wrapping your arms around his shoulders and threading your hand into his hair so you can tuck his face further into your neck, leaning your cheek against his hair, “I’m home, Jing Yuan.” you confirm, turning your head to peck the top of his head once.

Like he understood your request immediately, Jing Yuan leans back to face you once again, a slight guilty look on his features for subjecting you to a situation he knows you deem a bit uncomfortable. But the smile you give him relieves him of his troubling thoughts. You shake your head silently, a quiet answer to his equally silent apology before you cradle both his cheeks in your hands to keep him in place before slotting your lips over his own. He lets out a small sigh into your mouth, pressing his lips firmly against your own before parting slightly, the gentle, easy-going smile you're used to seeing back on his lips. “Welcome home, my dear.”

[colorlessjay]

Oh my Jack, I’m obsessed with your BTTF AU.

I know it might not quite fit into your AU but I’ve been giggling to myself about the potential hilarious misunderstandings. My fav being s6 Dean attempts to put together all the little clues Cas has dropped about his husband but like comically wrong (plugged-all-the-numbers-into-the-right-formula-and-somehow-got-the-wrong-answer wrong)

Dean in the guest bedroom with sticky notes and red string: ok so he wears flannels and he has an Impala that looks suspiciously like baby and cas mentioned he had hair longer than mine and that he was a hunter and Sam and I knew him and they were friends for a while before anything romantic happened, and I’m clearly not hanging out with cas as much …

Dean (having a panic attack): son of a bitch I know who cas is married to!

Dean (mopey and despondent and slightly horrified the next day and definitely not with puffy eyes): Cas, I, I have to know, your husband, it’s not *gulp*

Cas (visibly worried he’s given too much away and s6 dean is still so repressed that the bi realization is throwing him into despair)

Dean whispering (trying not to vomit): Sam?

Cas (too stunned to hold back his reaction): *hysterical laughter* oh, no, dean! I’m not married to sam.

Dean (nearly passing out from relief): thank god!

Cas (under his breath): this is why my dean asked me to love him anyways when his past self asked an incredibly stupid question

Honestly I fucking love that so much, I think I have a way to shoe horn that into the AU

kinda like this:

It's been two days

It's been two days stuck in the future, and Dean feels frustration bubbling up in him as his brain tries to puzzle piece everything together

It doesn't help that Cas won't tell him shit

Best friend my ass!

Okay, maybe he's being a bit of an asshole saying that. Cas- This Cas has been nothing but a great host. He always has food in the fridge, he has extra clothes he lets Dean borrow, he doesn't get all up in Dean's personal space like his Castiel does

But at the same time, Cas keeps giving him these looks, like he knows something Dean doesn't

which sure, yeah, he knows a whole hell of a lotta things. It's the future. But Cas us smug about it. At least it feels like he's smug about it. It doesn't help that Cas is out of his holy tax accountant get up and dresses like a regular John. Least his taste in band shirts has improved thanks to his husband

Husband

yeah, that still causes a record scratch in Dean's brain every time he thinks about it

And he's got no problems with it! Love is love and all that. Who Cas wants to take home and put a ring on is his own business. It's not like Cas is a guy, he's an angel. A beam of holy light or whatever. So technically, he's not gay (Not that Dean would have a problem with that!). But it does make his husband some kind of monsterfucker

which is also totally fine. Cas is a catch. Good for both of them

So why doesn't Cas say who his husband is?

Is he scared Dean would judge him? Well fuck him for that! Dean's not a homophobe! And Cas is his best friend! He'd be supportive of him and his monsterfucker husband! Rainbow streamers with Cthulhu and all!

Unless Cas is more worried about Dean's reaction to who he's married to...

which is dumb. From what little Cas told him about Mr. Mystery (Cas refuses to tell him his last name), he wears a shit ton of plaid flannels, he cooks a lot with Cas, likes to read (a guess he got from the 'shared library' Cas showed him), is pretty handy around the house, has long stupid hair and loves his dog Miracle...

Holy shit

Dean was on his feet before he even knew what he was doing. He practically kicks down the guest room door and runs around the house looking for that damn Angel/half angel/not angel

He finds Cas in the backyard with Miracle, playing fetch on the wide stretch of land he owns

Cas looks all too comfortable in his loose, light washed jeans and Metallica shirt, his hair wind swept, probably from running around with Miracle while Dean took a nap.

Cas spots Dean approaching and waves at him with a smile, only to drop both as he sees Dean's determined march

Dean can't blame him. He has no idea what he looks like right not but he knows what he feels

like he's gonna explode

"Dean-" Cas starts but never gets to finish as Dean grabs the future version of his best friend by his shoulders and holds him still, grounding himself as he speaks

"Did you marry Sam?"

The question hung in the nice summer air for around two, three beats. Miracle even pausing where she sat with a stick in her mouth, her little head tilted to the side

Cas' usual stoic face breaks into surprise and Dean holds his breath

Only for Cas, Angel of the Lord, to burst out into an explosive laughter that rocks Dean's entire being

Suddenly Dean has no idea how to react, because Cas is... he's got the biggest, gummiest, most hysterical laugh he's ever seen. It completely transforms his face that Dean is questioning if he's still taking nap, and this was all just some weird dream where he thinks Cas is almost...

cute

Get it together, Winchester!

By the time Dean shakes away his shock, Cas is already on the ground, on his back, clutching his sides as he laughs into the sky like Dean just told the joke of the century

"Hey!" Dean snaps, his face feeling warm for reasons he doesn't have time to think about. "Answer the damn question!"

"No! Hahaha!" Cas says in between laughs, Miracle coming to his side to paw and bark at her owner

"Why the fuck not???"

"No I mean-" Cas takes a deep breath and wheezes, coughing into his fist as he tries to get himself together

Dean grumbles impatiently, popping a squat just to poke at Cas' arm to get him to answer

Eventually Cas' laughter does die down and Dean finds himself staring at just the biggest, smuggest grin he's ever seen on Cas

"I mean no, I did not marry Sam. And I believe he his reaction to you saying that would be much funnier than you asking me" Cas, for the love of God, giggles.

And it shouldn't be cute. Cas is an old man and he's giggling and Dean shouldn't feel... whatever the fuck it is he's feeling right now that's not frustration

But oddly enough he's not frustrated at all

he's relived

Is it because Sam's not gay or because Cas didn't go barking up his brother?

Why does that matter? It shouldn't. Stop thinking about it

"Dean" Cas starts, his laughing having died off and his smile softer as he stares up at Dean "Why do you ask?"

There's... there's a tone to Cas' question that Dean doesn't like. So, he does the one thing he's good at

He pushes himself up and shakes back into himself

"Well you weren't telling me jack, so I thought I'd throw in wild guesses and hope I predict something" A cool lie slip out but even he can tell Cas doesn't buy it

Damn it. Those eyes always seemed to see through him

Cas doesn't call him on his bullshit, but he knows. Dean knows he knows and it bothers him further

"Yes well. Perhaps if you keep guessing, the truth will come out eventually"

"yeah... eventually"

------------

Anyways. Drabble done. Doot doot

[eclipseberrycake]

Poly! MoonBerryCake x Reader

I took some inspiration from @huneybeen who wrote this first so please please dont hate me but I've been thinking about them for the past 3 days and I needed to word vomit.

...K thanks bye.

Divider Credit: @sister-lucifer

☁ The dynamic of this alone is something I'd like to touch on especially because it's so fun to me.

☁ I imagine if anything the reader would be a common toon, so that changed things. You have two mains, Astro and Sprout, and two commons, yourself and Cosmo.

☁ You and Cosmo probably meet first because of that. You get close because of similar interests and stay close during runs.

☁ To add an extra layer to this, imagine Distactor! Reader too? Licking my fingers at this.

☁ Cosmo thought he had just gotten a new friend! He loves giving them treats and using them as a taste tester and even taking naps together wherever possible! It's great!

☁ Until...it's not? Why are you taking off? Why do the trinkets hooked onto your belt look suspiciously like the ones Goob and Tisha are known to use? Why are you actively getting the Twisteds attention?! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

☁ The first time he sees you distract is a little stressful for poor Cosmo. The second you're back in the elevator and it clinks shut, he is whirling on you and demanding an explanation.

☁ He's so exasperated that he's left speechless when you simply smile up at him, still high off adrenaline, while talking a mile a minute about how much fun that was.

☁....Are you insane?

☁ That being said, after the fact, Cosmo is literally your personal healer. He is constantly fighting Toodles the other toons for heals, not for himself, not really, but so he's never left with nothing to give you.

☁ That's probably when he realizes he has an initial crush on you. He's mid-way through using a med-kit on you, on a floor high enough he can see the running starting to effect you. You're sluggish and fatigued and can't chug pop fast enough. It makes his chest ache at the sight before he's swallowing his nerves and wrapping his arms around you.

☁ "You're doing great. Thank you for the work you do."

☁ Feeling you melt against him made every grueling floor worth it in that moment. The draining yank of his own health leaving him to go to you through every new treat was far beyond repaid. He would do it a million times over for you if only for a smidge chance at this moment again.

☁ The run was finished soon after that, and you were quick to express your thanks towards him after that. Safe to say, if you thought he was clingy before, that was nothing. It's like he literally took an invisible chain and connected it between you two and you just haven't found it yet.

☁ He's always there with a smile and a treat and a snuggle if time and twisteds permit.

☁ Now, some world building for ya. I imagine that the OG Twisteds of the mains you see, are the real mains until that research is completed. Then Dandy lets you purchase an...un-twist antidote or something and that's when they come back. It's fun to me >:(.

☁ Following this, most people are gonna assume Sprout comes first.

☁ WRONG. I got Astro first so guess whose coming back. Astro.

☁ When Astro comes back, he's evidently shaken by the whole ordeal. The mains probably didn't know the commons overly well unless they were explicitly paired together. Like Sprout and Cosmo in that one animation, or Glisten and Vee, etc. Astro isn't seen with any commons, as far as I know, so he's probably a little lost and feels like an outsider.

☁ While he's recovering he's banned from any runs. Point blank period. However, that means he's alone while the commons are all out scavenging for research.

☁ Guess who comes in? Guess :)

☁ It's you!

☁ Unlike Cosmo, there are other distracting toons. Tisha and Goob both are more than happy to take some shifts while you stay back to recover yourself. Unfortunately, there's only one Cosmo, so he's left going on the runs as a healer and leaving you behind. You always see him off though, giving him pecks on the cheek before he's stepping into the elevator.

☁ You take the time to wander through Gardenview, eyeing each room as you pass before blinking at the infirmary. The new toon was in there.

☁ Astro half expected you to just continue on, regardless of if he was there or not. He was fine on his own, even if it wasn't his favorite. It reminded him too much of when he was... Of before.

☁ But you poked the top of your head in the doorway, your eyes being the only part of you visible. He blinked at the action, making eye contact. Your head tilted at the action and his own mirrored it. It made you giggle as you disappeared back around the door.

☁ Despite it, Astro found himself smiling at the action. what an odd toon you were.

☁ He never heard your footsteps disappear however, stunning himself when you popped your eyes back in, gleaming with mischief. The rest of you stepped in right after, pressing a finger to your lips with a humorous little wink. "Wanna sneak into the kitchen and steal some cookies?"

☁ Needless to say, he found himself in the kitchen, sitting beside you with a cookie jar shaped like a suspicious, rainbow petal'd plant sat between you munching on cookies that looked a little too familiar for comfort.

☁ You filled the silence whenever something popped into your brain, talking about things you felt he should know for whatever reason. He now knew all about Rodger and Glisten and Teagan's tension, which he wouldn't have guessed, and all about Gigi's...problem with misplaced objects. He even knew about your own rumors that laid hushed in the walls, spoken like they were about someone else.

☁ "Yeah! People keep saying Cosmo and I are a thing but he's never asked so until then, that's a no."

☁ He hummed at the time, even if some part of him felt a bit relieved at the information.

☁ By the time he was cleared to go on runs, you were bouncing up and down by his side excitedly, trinkets clinking from where you had hooked them onto your waist, with Cosmo excitedly grinning behind you.

☁ He liked seeing you two like that.

☁ Now. Sprout. Mr. Seedly.

☁ He's last to join. Astro helps with this tremendously. When you're downed from a surprise Shrimpo attack, clutching your arm as Ichor pooled over, Cosmo is quick to try and jump in to help, only for a twisted clone of himself to turn and lock in onto him.

☁ As much as I love to proclaim "Distractor! Cosmo!" he's not actually a distractor. So, he has to run to lose the twisteds quickly before getting bit himself. This is where Astro comes in. Not only does he quickly re-energize both you and Cosmo, he is able to give you a momentary heal, letting you run off, air horn blazing, while hiding in the back to turn his attention to Cosmo.

☁ Whatever pieces you or Cosmo may lose, Astro picks up. Yet, not all of them seem to click into place just yet.

☁ When the elevator stills and you all hear the telltale steps, Astro is quick to grab your shoulders and spit all sorts of warnings. "Watch the tentacles. You'll know where they're going to appear. Don't try to test them. It's not worth it." "He's slow but don't take that for advantage. He will find a way to keep up." "Ignore every other twisted. We can handle them."

☁ Blinking, he watched you slowly nod before blinking and giving a much more firm acknowledgement. "Understood."

☁ When the elevators opened, Astro watched as you quickly got Sprout's attention, darting around a budding pile of ichor before sharply turning the other way. The reason why quickly became apparent when a twisted Teagan turned the corner, which Goob quickly took away.

☁ Nodding to himself, Astro found himself turning to face Cosmo, who looked terrified at the what just happened. Did he look that way when Astro was...That way with him? He hoped not.

☁ Frowning, he gripped his blanket tighter before letting out a breath, extending one of his hands through the opening towards Cosmo. The other looked at it with wide eyes before his eyes upturned to look at Astro's. "I'll stay with you the entire time."

☁ They had to follow you after all.

☁ They stayed a good distance away from where you and Goob were distracting (which was rather entertaining to watch actually), grabbing capsules wherever possible and tossing healing treats to you both as you passed.

☁ It was a rather seamless process actually up until the elevator timer began, sending the other toons of the squad running. Cosmo, who had been waiting for Astro to finish the last machine, seemed to halt before Astro was urging him forward, steeling himself to stay behind. "They'll run out of stamina before getting to the elevator. We'll be fine!"

☁ Albeit hesitantly, Cosmo did turn and run, finding safety next to Rodger while Astro stayed a ways away outside. Goob was quick to return, free of twisteds, but looking no less stressed. "They were far! Sprout cut off their exit!" Goob quickly explained, twiddling his fingers in front of him.

☁ Astro nodded before instructing him to stand in the elevator as well just in case.

☁ As the seconds ticked down, Astro was seconds away from stepping just far enough to remain out of Goob's range just in case when you came skidding around a corner. He could tell you were running on low as you kept looking back, narrowly avoiding Sprout's clawed grasp. Waiting until you were close enough, he let his power thrum along the ground, watching as you immediately perked up.

☁ Goob took this as a signal, or maybe you gave him one, as you quickly moved to push Astro forward, right into the awaiting arms as you continued towards the elevator. Just as the elevator began to close, you dove, making it just under the steel metal as it slammed shut behind you.

☁ You were panting as you laid on the ground, the entire elevator silent save for your heavy breaths and the sound of Dandy preparing for his arrival.

☁ Cosmo was quick to jump onto you, hurling threats of no more heals if you ever tried anything like that ever again. You took it with grace, gently resting a hand on his head as he cried into your shoulder. Your eyes angled back, catching his and extending your free hand. "You can't fool me. I know that scared you too."

☁ If Astro moved forward to take your hand, sitting close enough to you his knees brushed your shoulders.

☁ You had gotten what you needed though, evident with the glower Dandy shot at you, hidden behind a plastic smile.

☁ Getting Sprout back was harder than getting Astro back, admittedly. You had explained that when getting a main back, you kept most of the toons behind simply for everyone's sake. Distractors, Cosmo and fast extractors was where you drew the line.

☁ Which Astro understood. But didn't like. However, that being said, his power made him a valuable asset, which he used to argue his point. When you acquiesced, he nearly cheered, triumphantly trekking into the elevator with Cosmo by his side.

☁ To say this was like the previous runs, but on some sort of crack would be an understatement. It was fast. It was grueling. It was a thing of constant motion with machines constantly being done and the elevator a repeating pattern of opening and closing.

☁ There were no jokes like usual. There was no chatting. There was a new tension among the people in the elevator, simply waiting for the countdown before starting it all over again.

☁ Cosmo ensured he stuck beside Astro the entire time, remaining a rock the entire time while you were busy. They kept close enough they could rush to you should the need arise, and have a few times, but stayed within hands reach of each other.

☁ By the time they reached floor 24, with all of you tired and injured to some extent, the sound of his steps were both a welcome reprieve and a dreaded expectation.

☁ You were the one trusted with the serum, clutching it tightly as you glared at the elevator before you were turning to look at Cosmo and Astro over your shoulder. "Stay safe, please. Don't wait for me."

☁ It was a harrowing ask, but not one they could linger on as the elevator opened and you took off.

☁ But then the lights went out.

☁ And then they heard Sprout let out a shrill roar signaling he spotted you.

☁ Then they heard the snarling of Pebble signaling he too also spotted you.

☁ That was all they needed before the group of them dispersed, eager to complete the machines as quick as possible before you paid the price for their lack of action.

☁ One by one each ticked off before the elevator was reopening and they all rushed back to the elevator. Goob, Cosmo and Astro stood right up at the lip of the elevator, eyes darting for you. You appeared much quicker, both Pebble and Sprout on your heels as you did.

☁ You dropped a quick smoke bomb, loosing both of their attentions as you quickly rounded around a counter. Pebble let out a snarl as he ran off in the other direction. He didn't get far before hearing you move and it was like a movie.

☁ You moved, launching at Sprout with the Serum poised and ready while Pebble snarled, rushing to catch you. You managed to catch Sprout, digging the spout of the needle into his neck before being chucked off, making you scramble as you quickly darted back around the counter. Astro let his power thrum as Goob snapped his arms out, Cosmo catching you as you ran into the elevator while Goob's arms snapped back. The elevator snapped shut as Glisten moved to end the run and send the elevator back up, both you and Cosmo moving to where Goob cradled an ichor riddle body.

☁ You quickly let Cosmo do what he needed too, diverging to wrap your arms around Astro, who's eyes were locked onto Sprout.

☁ He spent the night with you and Cosmo, both of which he dragged out of your rooms to sleep in his that night.

☁ Sprout's recovery is quicker than Astro's, as he's a toon made for healing. He's up and bitching before any of you can stop him.

☁ Cosmo is his first stop, duh, they're canonically very close, with Astro a close second as he would know the other main. But you? Sprout's got no idea who you are.

☁ So he's a little stand-offish. He sees you interacting with Cosmo and sees you with Astro, and both seem to thoroughly enjoy your company, but he also saw you when he was a twisted.

☁ You were a dumbass if he had anything to say about it.

☁ You'd see someone way down a hallway and risk running into a wall to avoid them getting maybe even possibly spotted. He'd seen you eat enough chocolate bars to make him sake just to stay just in front of Pebble. He'd seen you slip on a stray jumper cable only to get right back up and do the same thing when you rounded around.

☁ He wasn't sure he wanted that rubbing off on him.

☁ But you stuck around. When Cosmo wanted to bake, you were the first to get a bit of the final product. When Astro wanted a nap, you were right there with a blanket, acting as a pillow while you napped with him.

☁ Even on runs, you were quick to come to his aid, taking back the twisteds once he'd gotten his aggro-tapes. All with a stupid smile.

☁ He kind of hated that smile.

☁ Man this is getting LONGGG

☁ Anyway, how would you and Sprout bond? Uh, the common denominators silly!

☁ You were injured on a previous run, bad enough to warrant bed rest decrees from both Cosmo AND Astro. Lucky you!

☁ Sprout had only been cleared for basic runs and this was another possible retrieval run, which you heavily protested against with not only you injured but your second healer still on probation.

☁ Still, they went on with it. You and Sprout were left in the infirmary, awkward silence settling between you. Neither of you knew what to say from there. Your buffers were gone.

☁ With a huff, you sat up, running a hand down your face before turning to face Sprout. Who was watching you.

☁ He watched you like a hawk, watching as you swung your feet off the bed and slowly stood like a shaky new born fawn. "Cosmo's not gonna like that."

☁ You snorted at him, falling back onto the bed only to try again. Sprout's eyes narrowed as he scoffed. "Astro's not gonna like it either."

☁ You snorted again, finally finding your standing before turning to look at him, narrowing your eyes at him. "Are you coming with me to get cookies or not?"

☁ ...well, he can't say he didn't warn you. He did follow you to go get treats, acting as a crutch along the way simply for the reason he didn't want to wait for you to hobble along.

☁ That was the only reason.

☁ By the time you both got to the kitchen, munching on treats, you had picked up a fun back and forth with each other, trading quips as you dug into the cookie jar once more. You pulled out the last cookie, offering it to him.

☁ He looked at it before shaking his head, only for you to roll your eyes and split it in two. He took it with a grumble, scoffing. "I made them I can make more."

☁ "Gonna make them with Astro's face again?" You shot back with a grin, nibbling onto your own half.

☁ He gave an affronted gasp before the ding of the elevator was making you both look over, Sprout giving you a hand to welcome back the group. They hadn't been gone very long, so it either went very well or not well at all.

☁ It turned out be neither. The run had been called as they were unable to fall into a rhythm and Scraps and Brightney had gotten into quite the altercation.

☁ Both you and Sprout find yourselves looked for Cosmo and Astro, only to find them chatting near the entrance, completely fine. There's a moment between you and hi m, where you both side eye each other before you're reaching out and shoving him. Without trinkets you two are practically the same speed, only he has you outmatched with stamina.

☁ Which was his only hope as he stumbled, not expecting the dirty play, watching you take off towards them. He quickly caught up trying to shove you only for you to dodge him with a laugh.

☁ He knew he should've distracted more. He had gotten complacent with Pebble and was now paying the price for it. He should've known you were a dirty filthy cheater. He should've guessed.

☁ In a last ditch effort he launched himself at you, making you squawk as you both rolled forward, giving both Cosmo and Astro little time before the two of you collided into them sending the four of you into a heap of undignified limbs and cackles.

☁ I spent that entire time just developing that omfg and its already long. sobbing.

☁ Anyway how y'all get together is gonna be TBD bc my head is hurty and my tummy is empty. ~<3

[livingsurreal]

More thoughts and theories about our favorite Necromancer

My darlings, I have too many thoughts and my obsession is running wild. (How I missed you, hyperfocus). If you have read my last meta post about our Emmrich, here it is: First Meta Post

That is not a required read however. I am still wondering why anyone is reading my word vomit U_U

Anyway, I love reading other peoples theories, so please, send me yours. <3 And a lot of thanks and love for all you darlings who make this fandom such a beautiful and nice place. Especially to @jaal-ama-daravv - who makes the most beautiful videos, and writes such wonderful character studies.

Warning, from here on there will be spoilers as well as mentions of sex. If you don't want to read about any of that, do not read the rest.

Also pictures and way too many words. This is a ten page word document, save yourself while you can. I tend to go off on a tangent once I start writing. I am also well aware that not everyone will agree. This is just my personal read on Emmrich.

Now, after my first essay I have some more thoughts on Emmrich and Rook and specifically their intimate relationship.

Emmrich is such an interesting and baffling contradiction. On the one hand he is confident, self-assured, all manners and poise. He is smart, and he knows it. He has special gifts, and he knows it.  He is confident without being proud. He likes to teach others without being arrogant. He still likes to learn about new things and is, as far as I’ve seen, never judgmental about different beliefs and ways of life. (Unless someone treats him with disdain or bully him)

He is a man who is confident speaking of his thoughts and feelings and fears. How he just casually drops his thanatophobia is just astonishing. He is honest and open-minded in the best ways.

And then there is the other side of him. The wet kitten side of him. As open and honest as he is about his emotions, when we get to the meat of it, to the scary bit, the real feely bit, he locks up completely. As long as it is surface level (or he can pretend its surface level), everything is up for discussion. But once we reach deeper and touch *love* he gets so scared and refuses to admit and commit to his feelings. And as much *death* scares him, love scares him more.

So how does that influence his intimate relationship with Rook?

According to the banter with Lace “everyone knows about it”. He was rather surprised by that.

That tells us two things:

They were trying to be sneaky or at least keep their private business private.

They failed, massively.

Add to that Laces comment about them moving rather fast (when, where? I would have loved to have seen that. Comments like that just give me the feeling that we should have had some more cutscenes after the dinner date, to show us those two besotted fools).

But back to them moving rather fast. I would guess that they both did a lot of gazing lovingly at each other, blushing, spacing out while watching their darling, stollen kisses in the hallway when they thought no one was watching, stuff like that. Just being to besotted fools.

But moving fast usually includes sex. Lots of needy, sweaty sex. The inability to keep their hands of each other.

That moves us to the question of the day – did they have sex before their coffin time?

Let’s look at what we know about Emmrich. Emmrich is no virgin. That man has experience. He had past lovers. But what he tells us at that sweet diner date – “nothing serious for years.” We know not much else besides his crush on a boy in his youth and his fling with the Orlesian Art Lady. He is not someone to kiss and tell and that is appreciated. That man has class, and we love him for it.

So - nothing SERIOUS for years. If he hadn’t had ANY relationships in the past years, he would have said so. But what he says is that he did, in fact, have UNSERIOUS relationships in the last few years.

I would read that to be somewhere along the “fwb, lovers, affairs, paramours, companions, a fling, a little romance” line. Something not purely, but mainly physically driven. Someone you like and respect, you can go out and have a good time with, have lots of amazing sex with (b/c he is a living being and has his needs). Spending time with people he liked, was sexually attracted too, but nothing as serious as love. A physical relationship. A little thrill, some fluttering, but never that deep.

Not to say that those situationships would not have been romantic. He is (buried under all that resignation) a deeply romantic man. I am pretty sure he went on nice romantic dates with his previous paramours too. That this is something he just enjoys too much. Treating a companion with some quality time, not just in, but also out of the bedroom.

But after he’d given up on his dreams, he did not have any notion of those flings being more than a “enjoy the moment”. There was never the expectation of deeper feelings, beyond friendship, attraction and/or respect. All those romantic gestures were nothing more than a little bit of “play pretend”. To give himself the illusion of true romance, just for a little time.

Take the fact that you can go a “everything you do is creepy but I still flirt with you and I want you to throw me over that tombstone” and his comment on “the attraction of the forbidden”? This is not a relationship born of mutual respect and deeper feelings but out of purely physical attraction. And he is OK with that.

I want to repeat – Emmrich is very much okay with a casual, sexual affair. He does not require love to have a relationship with someone.

And then think about that Johanna calls Rook specifically his “paramour”. Which is a lover, especially an illicit one. This word was very specifically chosen by Johanna. For various reasons, I would think.

For one, I do believe that it is a dig at his dreams of the eternal flame. It’s a dig at him, that Rook is not his love, but his paramour. A lover for a time. To be parted from soon enough. B/c that silly dream of his, as if it ever would become reality.

Second, I think it is a comment on the way his relationships often went, especially in the past years. Those unserious flings of his. Never to amount to anything substantial.

Did he try to have something serious in the past? Oh yes, for sure. But it never worked out. Then he gave up his dream and just let himself have a good time with people he found to be nice and attractive.

To pick up my point of self-sabotage from my last meta post – I’ve come to a point where I believe Emmrich is a kind of chaser. I know someone like that and it’s so fucking tragic.

Emmrich feels deeply and strongly. When he falls in love with someone it’s a lot of emotion. But at that point it’s all dream, want, wish. As soon as someone returns these feelings - those dreams, wants and wishes become reality. And reality is scary. In this wishful dream about the eternal flame, there is no fear. No fights. No loss. But that is not reality. As soon as it becomes reality, he gets scared. Before, his feelings were no threat, because you can’t lose what you don’t have. Once those feelings are returned, there is a clear possibility of losing, of being lost, of being left behind.

Emmrich is not a chaser because he enjoys the hunt. He is a chaser because being loved by someone is scary. So damn scary. So, he starts to pick fights and is looking for excuses. From being the chaser, he becomes the chased. He is hunted by his fears, and his fight or flight instincts go all flight.

After years of this cycle he gives up. Resigns himself to flings and little romances without even thinking of more. Or so he thinks. Dreams like that don’t die, they just get buried.

And I’d think that there was not many, even of those short term flings, lately. His life revolves around work and Manfred.

Now remember he comments on Rook “showing unexpected interest in a new companion”.

First of all – unexpected.

They are a daring adventurer. He thinks of himself clearly as the more boring one, compared to Rook. He never expected any of those flirts. But he is clearly flattered.

Second – companion.

That was such a weird way of saying “hey do you like me?”. This whole “companion” thing does not scream “I have FEELZ for you/you have FEELZ for me” but rather, “I think you might want to spend some quality time with me”.

The possible answers - dashing good looks, kindness, his way of words.

He feels he is fortunate if Rook thinks him good looking. Hallo, Mr. Professor, sir… Have you looked in the mirror lately? Consider that he is meticulously grooming himself, takes his exercises daily in the morning. That man does not like himself aging. I think it is a reminder of how his pending death is a step closer every day. But it shows, to him, that his efforts of taking care of himself are not in vain. Or maybe it shows him that his age does not matter. Rook finds him attractive despite (or because) of his physical age.

Rooks comment on his very charming way of putting things makes him hope his years behind the lectern have proved useful. Hey *years* behind the lectern. Again, this is a way of saying his age is NOT a problem but a benefit.

If Rook remarks his kindness, he answers “you humble me”. It’s the one answer that does not touch his age/experience/looks. It’s a remark on an innate character trait he possesses. Kindness. His whole demeanor in this option shows he is actually touched. And maybe a bit baffled. He did not expect this, at all. Its like he sees his kindness not as an attractive trait. Which he should. He is nice without TM and its sexy as hell.

The next part is his statement “If your attentions go beyond charming flattery… that would interest me, indeed”. This reads to me not necessarily as “do you have feelings for me” but as “do you just enjoy the flirting, or do you want to do more than flirting?”

And oh boy, does he want to do more than flirting. I want to repeat my earlier statement – this man has given up on love. But some little fling with an exiting young adventure who was constantly, awkwardly flirting with him? Hell, yeah.

(I want to remind you that we were able to have mutually enjoyed flirts with Dorian as fem!Inky. You can flirt with someone and still never want to fuck them. And you are also perfectly able to want more than flirting without having deeper feelings. Like sweet, dump Shepaloo said it so eloquently “Lets bang, okay?”)

Again, I want to pick up a point of my last post, that this is all surface level thoughts. I do believe that their emotional attraction and depth of feelings go deeper, from the start. But how often does it take quite a bit of time to realize one’s own feelings. Especially this wonderful, silly man whose modus operandi is running away.

Now, an interested Rook can answer in an open “lets see where this goes” way. Mirroring his rather open idea of a little romance, a fling, some quality time. Something that does not have to end in an eternal flame, but a simple enjoyment and exploration of the moment.

Rook can also reply with a “I think they do.” – What Rook actually says is “I think they already…”

And conveniently Rooks answer here is cut short by our sweet boy Manfred. They get cut short, no matter what answer you choose, but in this specific case, I am convinced this was very much on purpose. What would the whole sentence have been?

“I think they already go way beyond flattery.” (?!?) Something along those lines. But that goes into danger zone. WAY into danger zone.

If Rook had finished that sentence, at that point in their budding romance? It would have been over before is all started. Too much, too soon. Too much for him, period.

Now we have the hard lock – their sweet romantic moment in the Memorial Gardens. And he is smitten. He fell hook, line, and sinker for his own play pretend. Just a little romance, but that man is falling, fast. (Not that he would admit that to himself).

A beautiful date, all arranged by Emmrich, to spend time with Rook. Because a couple should have a quite moment to get to know each other. I mean there were menu cards with gilded edges, ffs. And, oh yes, they were “lets dig into the feelings”, he said couple. He is falling, falling, falling fast. But it still hasn’t hit him, how deep he has fallen for his darling Rook. Poor Emmrich.

Then a fight, where we really see the wet kitten side of him for the first time. A little wet, feral kitten, hissing at the hand that’s trying to feed it.

Emmrich is lashing out for no good reason (or no good reason for anyone but himself). There is no real confidence there but a desperate act of pretending. An iron (slipping) grip, trying to control himself and the narrative. Shoulders squared, back straight, an arrogant stance, raised chin, turned half-away from Rook, and a condescending way of talking to Rook.

Like I said in my last post – he is working his way up to breaking up with them. And he tells himself it’s like ripping off a bandaid. Be strong and confident and say what you have to say, and they will see the wisdom of that.

It’s only that, they don’t. Because there IS NO wisdom in what he is doing right now. They don’t take his bullshit but throw it back at him. They don’t accept his mock excuses.

Look at him here, how he looks down ON them. I can’t recall any other time he looks down on Rook, despite him being a tall king.

Especially the route where Rook throws it in his face that he DOES in fact love them. Speak what he can’t even think.

“I can’t… At my…”

“I can’t love you. At my age…” Why not? Does he not deserve love, just because he is a bit older? It’s just heartbreaking how he views himself.

And again, he lashes out.

“I am perfectly serious.” So is Rook.

“One of us has to pay attention to these things.” As if Rook is not paying attention. They got to the meat and bones of his problem in just a few seconds.

No matter what route you go here, the gist is the same. He is scared shitless, treats Rook like a child, and goes on how the is the only one thinking the important thoughts.

When Rook in reality way ahead of him. They thought about it and came to the conclusion that being with Emmrich is a really good idea.

Rook knew they were falling for someone older than them. (Even if that age difference is just a decade, with a mid-40s Rook.) They knew it, and still went with it. They are not a child who is too inexperienced and stupid to make decisions about their (love) life.

But now, here, at this moment? Emmrich treats them with disdain. Like a silly little person, who does not think things through. He holds himself above them. Physically and mentally. They are too young, he knows better.

And not once has he done that before. He always treated them as an equal. He follows them into the most dangerous situations ffs. He trusts them with his life in a fight against would-be gods.

All that fear and anger at himself that reaches a new high get redirected at Rook.

The next day they are off to Tearstone Island. That night must have been hell. For both of them. But its going to get much much worse.

In any case, Emmrich seems to have come to some conclusion or realization, because on that island? He apologizes.

They both did react very emotionally, but he came at Rook with superiority and, to a certain degree, dishonesty. All fueled by his fear. So that he is the one to take the first step and apologize to Rook instead of doubling down? An important step. As I said in my last post – he NEEDED to be called out. A sweet and nice counterargument would not have had the impact Rooks raw an honest emotion hat on him.

Emmrich “Rook? Darling? I wanted to say-“

Rook “Yeah, about that argument…”

Emmrich “(Sighs) It’s no time to apologize, is it?”

And here we have the most heartbreaking line, in hindsight. “We’ll talk back home, Emmrich. I promise.”

(Narrator: but they would, in fact, not talk about it back home. Because someone would not go home.)

One fight and weeks of horror later, they find themselves in a private crypt and finally they do more than share a kiss.

Now - to the point I originally wanted to explore with this post – is this in fact their first time? (I am sorry, but my brain is a circle and nothing makes sense)

Let’s look at what evidence we have from the cut-scene.

Rook did not know he is an early riser.

That leaves two possibilities:

They never had sex up until that point.

They did have sex, but never spent the night together.

Now what does that mean?

This depends a lot on your personal Rook and how they feel about sex in general. If Rook wants to wait, or is not ready, he will absolutely accept and respect that.

But for the sake of this analysis lets go with the idea that Rook is not opposed to sex at an earlier date.

They never slept with each other

Why? He clearly was not opposed to casual relationships in the past. What would hold him back now? Especially if you recall Laces comment about them moving fast. Why not jump into the bedroom?

Now my first crack theory is that they get interrupted, like every time. (Rook interrupted The Dread Wolf, and now he cursed them to always be interrupted when they want to have some private time)

But now, in all seriousness, maybe it’s just that part of him DOES realize that this goes beyond a very unserious relationship. That they both have deeper feelings, that spark of something greater, something beautiful.

So, he holds back. He does not give his all. He is charming, he is flirty, he takes Rook on dates. But it’s all very technical. Very performative. Yes, he is a very romantic man, yes he enjoys those moments. But there is always a feeling of control.

Those moments when you see him let go a bit (that kiss beneath the eternal lovers, “I think, sometimes you indulge me”), are so beautiful and you glimpse a bit of the man behind those walls.

He has a tell, you see. (I am telling you about it further down)

But generally, he feels very much in control of himself. And to lie with Rook? To go all the way? Too dangerous. Who knows what happens in that sweet moment after la petit mort? What secrets would his lips spill?

2. They slept together, but did not spent the night together.

They do have sex, but sleep alone in their own beds. Casual sex is fine, but to fall asleep in each other’s arms? Too much. Too real. Sex okay, but sleepy post coitus cuddly? Woah, slow down your horses.

So, they have sex, preferably in Rooks bed. First, does he even have a bed? Second, it’s way easier to leave Rooks bed after the act, than throwing them out afterwards.

Oh, and how many reasons he has. Rook needs their uninterrupted sleep; they are stressed and must have proper rest. He wants to get some reading done before he retires. He needs to look after Manfred.

Oh, he is a bad liar, for sure. He is lying more to himself than to Rook. I would think that (if this is the build up to their fight) Rook realizes that he is giving poor excuses.

And the sex itself? A technical 10/10. He knows his anatomy, after all. But his heart is not really in it. He can’t allow himself to. He holds back, keeps a tight lid on his emotions. They both are well spent afterwards, but like so much else, it’s performative. Technically very well executed, but rarely do you see HIM, the real him, behind all that performance. Whenever something slips through, he reels back and closes up.

And then we are in that crypt. Rook was gone for weeks. The last thing they said that night before were words of anger. Rook called him out on his feelings and from that point on there was no possible way of lying to himself anymore. Those feelings were there. They were real. Rooks feelings were real. And those weeks spent in desperation, trying to  get them back? Those walls came crashing down.

His true face, when all the walls are gone? You see that face when Rook leads him to the coffin. There is no pretense anymore. No performance. Just him, and all his love for Rook. The amount of emotion the animation team packed into those short moments in the cutscene? Mindblowing. Who ever crafted that expression on his face? They are the GOAT. I watch this part of that scene on repeat, and it never gets old.

So, I told you about how he has a tell, yes? Okay, two actually, but we all know surprised pikachu Emmrich. In that last scene it is resolved in the most beautiful way.

He looks down, when something touches him deeply, when he goes into his feels.

A few (way to many) examples:

And the worst wet kitten look? After the fight, when Rook leaves.

Its a look of shame. Of hurt. This man is hurting so badly.

Now here at the end we have that moment when Rook leads him to the coffin. His face turns down, like before. But here he looks up at Rook. He does not turn his eyes away but looks directly at them. Ahhh my heart.

Now, think about the fact that ROOK is leading in that moment?

In those moments where Rook leads or startles him (or is simply annoying enough so that the truth slips out), you see the most emotion from him.

Rooks flirting startles him, and he has a pikachu face reaction every time.

Their first kiss? Rook leans against the monument, and leans up, telling him without words that NOW is the time for a kiss. How can he not go for a second kiss?

That moment when Rook calls Manfred “our son”? He very conveniently ignores the word “OUR” and goes in defense mode over the word “son”. But called out on his feelings for Manfred? How can he deny them? He has tears in his voice when he says how he would not exchange this moment for anything? A real, deep emotion.

In their fight Emmrich is again all technical, all performance, so logical (or what he sells himself as logic). But Rook wrestles that moment from him and takes lead, calls him out on his bullshit.

In the crypt Rook pulls him up into a kiss and then leads him to the coffin, guiding him, taking him with them.

Most of the other times he takes the lead, very much in control. But the most emotions you get from him, are those times Rooks leads, when he lets go of this tight control over himself, or he is startled in to a reaction. For all the age difference that is played up in their relationship, in the important moments Rook is the one who guides. And he follows where they lead.

Those little moans he makes? If they did have sex before, I bet he did not make those sounds then. Where they did have some incredible sex, now they are making love. Open, vulnerable. He gives in.

And then they fall asleep together. Skin to skin, arms and legs intertwined. Their hands caressing, no sound but that of their heartbeats and soft breaths. Pure and utter contentment. In that moment nothing exists but them. Can you imagine that moment he woke up? The amount of emotions he must have felt then? This need to speak those little words? Those huge little words. He does not say them, not yet. But he is almost ready.  

Finally, they stand there, on the battlefield of Elgar’nans madness. And he tells Rook. The last wall falls. Gives the most precious thing he can give to anyone.

“I love you.”

[willowed-wisp]

ghost as a dad ( part three ) [ simon riley ]

part one | part two |

- You were surprised when Simon said he wanted to try for another baby when he was hesitant to be a dad before your eldest was born. That was eight year ago…

- he just wants one more, he adores how cute your babies are. And how attracted he gets seeing you pregnant.

- It wasn’t much of a surprise to you when you didn’t feel too great. Exhausted, a bit nauseous but not vomiting and so turned on. Not that Simon was complaining… but he was away, and would be longer than his usual one or two months.

- It would be your little surprise to him- ultrasounds in hand for when he came home.

- Turns out you were about eight weeks gone at the first ultrasound and when the technician started taking a closer look, you started to get unnerved. “Is everything okay with the baby?”

- “The babies are growing nicely…”

- “Did you just say… babies?” Then she faced the screen to you. Two shadows in your belly… “Twins?”

- Too early to tell the genders, but they would be when your Lieutenant returned back.

- You didn’t want to tell anybody before Simon, so you wore baggy clothes- hoping nobody would notice the unusually large belly as you entered your second trimester.

- No birth defects were spotted on your 12 week scan. And you were told a loose guess on what the gender was. But they couldn’t be sure until your 19th week.

- Simon returns back home to his favourite meal. “Where are the kids?” He seemed concerned. You were sat down, no kids in sight and a brown envelope in front of you.

- “They’re over at Tommy and Beth’s, they thought we could do with a night alone,” His face relaxed, though disappointed. He needed his tattoo coloured in again. “I got you something…”

- You took advantage of him opening the envelope to rear your way around the table. In the envelope, was a picture of the ultrasound and the test.

- Let’s just say, he spent a good 20 minutes on his knees hugging your stomach.

- He didn’t care what gender they were just that they were healthy.

- He made sure he was there for the birth. “Mr and Mrs Riley, a boy and a girl…”

- Like what’s been said before… he’s so girl dad coded.

- He had the boys from 141 help decorate the nursery.

- Johnny suggested pink and blue camo wallpaper and Simon nearly hung him from the baby mobile.

- Simon didn’t wish for any of his kids to join the military.

- The amount of medication he takes to get by in the day, he can’t sleep unless he’s at home…

- Simon is perfect for twin duty- holding both on his wings. In his grey fitted T-shirt, a bottle in each hand. Feeding the twins, in that light his eyes were russet undercoated with mauve circles. From the bed, you could feel that heat. The smouldering hearth of fatherly love.

- Simon was born to be a father, he just hadn’t known it.

- Can’t tell them apart and constantly mixes them around when they are younger. Practically identical- peering up to him with his own eyes.

- Simon marvels when the pair just stare at each other. “Are they sizing each other up, or what?” Makes you burst out laughing

- “When I stare at you I’m not planning how to murder you?”

- “Sure about that, love?”

- Simon taught your son to protect his sisters, “you’ve gotta watch our for everyone when I’m here and when I’m not,” and your son definitely listened, because whenever Simon was away- your son would make sure you ate, had put everyone else to bed and would comfort his younger siblings and even your eldest daughter when she started getting bullied and you just knew Simon put him up to it.

- Simon took care of the rest when he was back.

- When your eldest was being bullied and you had to have a parental meeting… Christ on Earth, your husband nearly had the bully’s dad in tears, “Your son ever picks on my li’l girl again… put ‘im in check or I will…”

- You’d never been so attracted to him before. And he gave your daughter a fist bump leaving school grounds, “Get ‘im by the ear next time and drag the bastard to a teacher…”

- Not surprised that the school phoned you the next day.

- You gave Simon an earful, but he wound you down with sweet neck kisses from neck to chest… and ended up riding him on the backseat on the Land Rover waiting for your daughter to finish school.

- That’s how he gets out of most disputes- you’re lucky you aren’t knocked up straight after births

- Your son’s caring and strong attitude stretched into his teenhood- until your son himself started dwelling on joining the SAS. The twins didn’t understand what the SAS were- being 8 at the time your son asked and enquired with his father.

- Simon has never wished for one of your kids to join his career because good men die. He knew that more than anyone.

- But he would train your son to be the best survivor and best trainee he could be

- He turned into a Simon junior, only having a sprinkle of your genetics. Only an inch shorter than his dad but Simon would give him a run for his money

- Simon definitely adapts to different ages very well, he goes all cutesy when they’re kiddos but when they start growing up- he’s more protective and nurtures them.

- He teaches them to look out for each other- like he had with his brother and mum.

- Tells them that if he didn’t come home, to take care of their mumma… but luckily he always comes back.

- He had to, he wanted to see the twins look miles apart from each other growing up.

- Tomboy girl and computer nerd boy.

- Simon loved his family, even when being used as a makeup mannequin and a nail polish model from your youngest daughter when playing dress up with the eldest

- It was different to the war paint he used around his eyes.

- He’d even let her put a bow in his hair.

- BRIGHT PINK BOWs, you’ve never laughed so hard and your military-bound son shakes his head.

- Every birthday that goes around he always whispers to you, “This is what I come home for…”

————

masterlist

taglist:

@thychuvaluswife @foxygirl-4287 @1-800-g00ber

[madman479r]

A change of Schneenery

Weiss:... *staring blankly at book*

Ruby: Hey, Weiss. You okay?

Weiss: Huh, what? I mean, yes. Why wouldn't I be?

Yang: Because you've been staring at the same page for 20 minutes, so unless you're a slow reader, something is bothering you.

Weiss: Since when are you observant?

Yang: Nice redirection, now spill.

Weiss:... *sighs* Well, as you know, Winter has been able to visit since Atlas has lent some of its forces to Vale and Beacon.

Blake: The sister you strive to impress and feel that nothing you do is good enough so you push harder? Yes, we know.

Weiss: Thank you for that unnecessary commentary, Blake. But yes. During our tea time, I asked if she would like to spar this evening after classes, but she said she was... otherwise engaged.

Yang: So, what? You're bummed because she's busy with work?

Weiss: It's not that. I understand she is quite busy, having responsibilities as a high ranking Atlas Specialist, I've come to terms with that and cherished the short times we get to spend together, but she said that this engagement was not work related, but rather... a... date.

Ruby: *Gasp* Oh! Your sister has a boyfriend?! That's great, good for her!

Weiss: She doesn't have a boyfriend, dunce! It is apparently her first evening with this person, so he's hardly a "boyfriend", and I wouldn't use such an immature title for Winter.

Yang: Whoa! Calm down, Ice Queen. Jeez, you seem pretty wound up by this guy.

Blake: Maybe it's because she's jealous.

Weiss: Jealous?! Of what, exactly? Why would I be jealous of Winter?

Blake: Not Winter. But of the guy she's going on a date with.

Yang:.. Weiss, please tell me you don't think incest is wincest.

Weiss: W-WHAT?! GET SUCH FILTHY, DEGENERATE THOUGHTS OUT OF YOUR MIND, XIAO LONG!

Blake: Not like that, either of you. I meant as in you're jealous of this mystery guy because you're afraid of him cutting into your 'Winter' time, and she'll have less time for you.

Ruby: Oooooh! Well that's ridiculous too, Weiss. Winter is your sister, your big sister. And she'll always have time for you, the best big sisters do. Even if they can be a little overboard.

Yang: Are you referring to me?

Ruby: I don't know. Do you know anyone else who stood outside my friend's home and watched the house all night while I was having a sleep over?

Yang: It was your first time, I was just making sure they weren't the bitchy type.

Ruby: Anyway, just remember, Winter will always love you and have time for you.

Weiss:... Thanks, Ruby. I guess I just needed to hear that.

Yang: So, who is the guy that managed to capture your sister's heart. If she's got an even bigger stick up her ass than you do, he must have been a catch.

Weiss: Har har. But to answer your question, I'm not sure. She never gave me a name or even a description.

**KNOCK KNOCK**

Weiss: I'll get it. **Opens door to see...**

Weiss: Winter? What are you doing here? And why are you dressed like that?

Winter: Weiss? Oh, I think I may have the wrong room.

Weiss: What?

**Sound of a door behind Winter opening**

???: Winter?

**Winter and Weiss look to see**

Weiss: Urgh, Arc. What do you-

Winter: Ah, Jaune, I hope I'm not too late for our date.

Weiss: YOUR WHAT?!

Jaune: Oh, no. Just on time if anything. And can I say you look stunning.

Winter: *///* Oh, flatterer. You clean up quite nice yourself. Very handsome.

Jaune: *Rubs back of head with a blush* Yeah, I didn't think my hoodie would be a good attire. Oh! Uh? **Offers arm for her to hold** Shall we?

Winter: *locks her arm around Jaune's and waves to Weiss** I shall see you soon, sister. Sorry to disturb you. *walks off with Jaune.*

Weiss:... *twitching eye* (mind .exe has stopped working)

Yang: Dang. Didn't think I'd say this, but vomit boy looked kinda hot dressed like that. He should try that more often.

Blake: I didn't think we'd see the day he actually managed to get a date.

Ruby: Blake! That's mean.

Blake: Sorry but you can't deny what I said.

Yang: Yeah, sorry sis. But Jaune isn't exactly beating the women away with a stick, not with his dorky attitude. But still, I guess Jaune just hit the right buttons for Ice Queen senior.

Weiss: This... this has to be a mistake. A cruel joke! How could my sister, the epitome of perfection and sophistication, even entertain the idea of spending time with that buffoon?!

Yang: Hey, like I said, maybe she just saw something in him we didn't. Besides, it's just a date. It's not like she's gonna marry him.

Weiss: Do not put such disturbing imagery in my head, Yang.

Blake: Uh, guys? What's that on the floor?

Weiss: Hmm? Is... is that...

Yang: Holy shit, that's a condom! Vomit boy is kinda moving fast.

Ruby: Girls...

Weiss: That pervert!

Ruby: Weiss.

Weiss: He thinks he can so easily bed my sister and sully her name?!

Ruby: Weiss!

Weiss: I'm going to take this condom, find Winter and expose Arc for his degeneracy!

Ruby: WEISS!

Weiss: WHAT?!

Ruby: That condom doesn't belong to Jaune. It fell where Winter was standing

Weiss:...

Blake: **Slowly goes back to reading.**

Yang:... Damn.

[spencereidluver]

M is for Merry Christmas

december 22, 2008

summary: It is the annual Christmas party hosted by Penelope at the BAU, you get a little too drunk- and in turn- a little too handsy with your shy boyfriend. He decides it's time to take you home, where he takes care of you as you sober up and deal with your hangover.

word count: 3.3k

warnings: drunk!reader, mentions of vomit and a somewhat descriptive scene of reader doing so, somewhat caregiver!spencer but not really (reader is hungover and he is just very sweet and caring) there is also sort of a brief one sided angst where reader thinks spencer is upset with them

“Watch where you’re flinging them arms sweetheart, I’ve got papers on my desk,” Derek laughs as you very ungracefully kneel to the floor next to his desk chair. Spencer was sat in Derek’s chair, calmly taking in the atmosphere. 

“Well maybe if you did your paperwork faster you wouldn’t have to worry,” you teased, earning a laugh from your team which filled the bullpen of the BAU. 

It was the annual Christmas Party at the BAU headquarters, a tradition that started when Penelope joined the team. The team didn’t often take cases over Christmas, unless they were urgent, and this year was one of those when you had the holiday off. Penelope stocked the party with plenty of goodies, and you’ll be the first to admit, maybe you got a little too carried away with the alcohol that she had provided. But in your defense, you rarely drank. This job didn’t allow for it often. And now that you had the chance, why not take it? 

You were playing with the hem of Spencer’s charcoal gray slacks, the slacks that came up just a little too high on his lanky figure. It wasn’t too obvious when he was standing, but now that he was lounged in a chair, it was blatantly obvious his pants were a good three or four inches too short. 

Emily approaches you, handing you a glass. “Another drink, Y/N?” She asks. You take the drink. 

“Are you purposely trying to get her drunk?” Spencer questions. He reaches down to entangle his fingers in your hair. 

“Babe, ‘m not drunk!” You protest. You’re lying. 

Your words linger around Spencer’s head. Babe. You’d called him pet names before, but never so casual-like, and never had you in front of your coworkers. 

You hide your giggle into Spencer’s leg. Nothing funny happened, but you felt like laughing. You knew you were drunk. But you were having fun. You took a sip from the glass Emily had just given you.

“Y/N, you’re laughing at nothing! You can’t tell me you’re not drunk,” Spencer chuckles at you. He finds humor in your attempts to convince him and a group of profilers you weren’t wasted.

“Hey hey hey, Pretty Boy, she’s having fun, don’t rain on her parade,” Derek says.

“Yeah, Prett’boy, don’t rain on my p’rade,” you say, mocking Derek and Spencer simultaneously. You take another sip from your cup before reaching your arm up and offering it to Spencer. “Drink?”

“No, thanks,” he says, shaking his head. You shrug before chugging the rest of the cup. 

Penelope Emergers from her office, carrying a tray down the stairs. “Guess Whatttt?” She says in a sing-song voice. She rounds the corner and extends the tray out for the team to have access. “I brought shottts!”

You practically jump from your position on the floor, leaving Spencer in Derek’s chair and rushing to Penelope, well, more like the tray of drinks she was holding. 

You, Emily, and Derek surround the shot tray while Hotch and Rossi were sat observing and eating crackers from two other desks in the bullpen. With three taps of his glass on the tray, you Emily and Derek have a mouthful of vodka. There are three remaining glasses of clear liquid remaining. 

Derek takes a step away to open the view of the tray up. “Hey, do any of you guys want these?” He shouts. He was on the verge of being drunk, starting to lose control of the volume of his voice. 

“No, I’m not a big vodka drinker,” Spencer says, swiveling gently left and right in Derek’s chair. He’s not drunk, but he may be having the most fun of anyone while he’s playing in the rolly chair. 

Hotch and Rossi share a glance at each other, before Hotch speaks up. “No, you three go ahead, you seem to be enjoying yourself.”

Derek closes in the gap he’d opened, grabbing another shot glass. You and Emily follow his lead, waiting for his three taps. Your mouth burns as the liquor fills it, you’re quick to swallow before taking a sip of water as a chaser. You smack your lips, giving a three-way high-five to Emily and Derek. 

“Those are my girls,” Derek says as he pulls you and Emily into a group ‘bro hug.’

You leave the tupperware party that had formed around Penelope, walking toward Spencer, who was still spinning in the chair. 

“Hey,” you say as you approach him. You grab onto his tie, leaning forward and resting your free hand on his thigh to be face-level with him.

“H-hi, Y/n,” he chokes out, the position you’re in having made him a bit flustered. You lean in to kiss him, but your drunkenness causes you to stumble and miss his lips, leaving a big sloppy kiss on his chin. You let yourself fall into Spencer’s lap, situating yourself on his upper thigh and letting your legs fall over his lap. He wraps one arm around your waist, the other drapes over your shins and his hand holds your calf. He shoots you a worried look. “How much have you drank?”

You giggle, letting one of your hands reach around his back to fluff his hair. “Not that much,” you lie to him. 

“Y/n.” His voice is slightly stern. You begin to fiddle with the buttons on his shirt with your free hand.

“‘m fine, baby, I promise,” you say, leaning into his shoulder. He jumps slightly as the word ‘baby’ falls past your lips. He can’t help but let the smile he’s forming peek through a tiny bit. Still playing with the buttons, you manage to pop the top two open with just your fingers. You let your fingers slip beneath the fabric of his shirt and begin to trace little shapes on his bare chest. He shivers into your touch, but tries his best to hide it. 

His grip tightens a bit on your waist, fingers digging into your ribs slightly, causing you to squirm against his lap. 

“I’ve got one more round of shots for three of my favorite agents!” Penelope says as she returns from her cave once again. You look to Spencer, almost as if asking permission, before standing up and stumbling to Penelope. She was only a few feet away, but your footing was sloppy. 

You, Derek, and Emily grab the shot glasses, doing a “cheers” before pouring the liquid down your throats. Emily brings hers down with a “wooo!” sound. You and Emily sip down your chasers afterwards, but Derek has drank all his. His cup was empty.

“Hey sweetheart,” Derek says, raising his eyebrows at you, “Go grab that waterbottle off my desk, would’ya?” 

You nod at him as you once again stumble over to his desk. This time, you make your way behind the chair Spencer’s sat in, grabbing the plastic waterbottle from the corner of the desk. “Catch,” you say, throwing the bottle directly into Derek’s hand.

“Damn, girl, the NFL should’ve drafted you, not the FBI,” Emily jokes.

You turn around, leaning over the back of Derek’s chair to rest your hands on the shoulders of Spencer. You’re starting to really feel the alcohol now, your head was swirling. Spencer reaches his hand up and grabs yours, running his thumb over the back of it. You let your other hand fall downwards, grazing over his few inches of bare chest that was still exposed from the open buttons. He gently squeezed your hand. You lean down, burying your face in the crook of his neck, planting soft kisses, and letting your hands chase further down his clothed torso.

Spencer clears his throat. “Alright,” he says, standing up and sliding the chair out of the way. “It’s time I get this one home.” He grabs the small of your waist, hoisting you up and throwing you over his shoulder without so much as a grunt. Gasps were heard around the room.

“Reid, you’ve been holding out on us. If I’d have known you could lift people like that so easily I’d be sending you on tacticals instead of Morgan.” Hotch said, half joking, but still with the serious undertone he always has with his jokes. 

“Damn,” Derek gasps. “Look at those muscles.”

“Oh be serious, it’s just Y/n. She’s statistically much smaller than the average unsub.” Spencer states as he adjusts you on his shoulder. You’re face down to the ground, the blood rushing to your head. 

“Yeah, be honest guys, Spencer would get his ass kicked by a majority of those guys,” you jokingly say. 

“Not if I have my gun,” Spencer defends himself, beginning to carry you toward the door.

“Bye, Y/N!” Emily shouts, giving you a big wave that you can’t see. “I love you!”

“Don’t be too tough on her now, big guy,” Derek laughs, poking fun at him. 

“Oh shut up!” Spencer says.

“Don’t let him take me!” You beg as you watch Spencer get closer to the door step by step. “He’s ruining all the fun!”

“Bring her back!” Penelope shouts from the top of the stairs. 

“She’s had her fun, it’s way past our bedtime,” Reid says, turning around to face the team. He lifts one hand to wave goodbye, the other still holding you on his shoulder. “She’ll regret this when she’s throwing up all day tomorrow. Have a Merry Christmas, guys.” He turns and exits the building all while the team bids their farewells.

Spencer carries you the entire way from the BAU office to your car in the parking lot. You’re still slung over his shoulder as he opens the passenger door. He leans into the car and gently lets you fall into the seat. He tucks the loose strands of hair falling in your face behind your ear, then places a delicate kiss on your forehead. He buckles your seatbelt as he ducks out of the car, stopping in his tracks when he locks eyes with you. 

Your eyes have glossed over, having had the time for the alcohol in your system to have begun filtering through, a terrible hangover was building. 

“Are you alright?” He asks, leaning back into the car. You nod in response, resting against the headrest of the passenger seat. “Are you sure? You had a lot of alcohol, Y/N.”

“‘m okay,” you say, reaching a hand out to grab ahold of his forearm that was stabilizing him above the car seat. “Just got a headache.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. Let’s get you home and into bed, m’kay?” He’s gentle with you. Soft. Caring. He runs his thumb over your cheek once before closing the passenger door, making sure not to slam it as he’s sure a headache has begun to form. He was right. 

Spencer jogs quickly around the front of the car, climbing in the driver's seat and turning the key. He turns the volume on the radio down, another thing that could trigger your headache. “I’m gonna take you to my apartment, okay?” He says, placing his hand on the back of the passenger seat and looking over it to reverse out of the BAU parking lot. 

‘Does he know how attractive that is?’ You ask yourself.  

After reversing, he drops his hand down to your mid thigh and gives it a slight squeeze. You begin to doze off, the effects of the alcohol taking its toll much faster than expected.

...

You wake up in Spencer’s bed. He’s asleep beside you, arm wrapped around your waist holding you close. You’re unsure of the time. Come to think of it, you don’t even remember getting into Spencer’s bed. He must’ve carried you. 

Spencer’s apartment is hot, which is strange because he always kept the thermostat at 68, and you could hear the air conditioner running. You gently lift Spencer’s arm from you and place it down next to him, the need to escape from the heat of the blankets outweighing the comfort of his embrace. Saliva begins to coat your throat, the kind that swallowing won’t help. Oh. Oh.

You are going to puke. 

You hurriedly sit up on the bed, not giving yourself enough time for your body to stretch before jumping down and rushing into Spencer’s bathroom. You kneel in front of the toilet just in time before the contents of your stomach have become the contents of the toilet bowl. Tears well in your eyes as you struggle to catch your breath between bouts of vomiting. You’re trying not to gag, trying to be quiet, just wishing it would be over. The sound of your sickness echoes through the wall shared by the bathroom and Spencer’s bedroom, waking him from his sleep-addled mind. Spencer jumps to his feet as if his life depended on it, hurrying to the closed door to the bathroom.

“Y/n?” He called softly while pushing the door open. You’re sat on your knees in front of the toilet, pale and trembling. Once he sees you, there’s no hesitation before Spencer is knelt beside you, gathering your hair in one hand and gently scratching comforting patterns on your back with the other. Another wave of vomit hits you, leaving tears streaming down your face as you recover. 

Spencer shushes you softly, still scratching your back. “It’s okay baby, I’m right here,” he whispers at you as he wipes tears from your eyes. “You’re going to be okay, baby. Do you want me to get you some water?”

You can barely muster a nod in response, feeling a bit neglected when he gets up to go retrieve it for you. Yes, you did want water, but you also wanted Spencer. 

As soon as he leaves the bathroom, you’re hit by another round of vomiting, this time left to deal with on your own. Spencer hears you from the kitchen, causing him to rush. “I’ll be right there, Y/n,” you hear him yell from across the apartment as the bile spills past your mouth, some trickling down onto your shirt. Damn it, this was kind of a nice work shirt, and now it has hangover puke all down the front of it.

Spencer returns to the bathroom, glass of water in hand. He sees you frantically trying to pat away the vomit on your shirt with a few squares of toilet paper. He sits the glass on the edge of the counter, rushing to your aid. “Hey, let's just take this off,” he says, helping you to pull your shirt over your head. Only being left in your bra, the air is cool as it hits your bare back. It feels good. 

Spencer grabs the glass of water off the counter, handing it to you. “Here,” he says, “rinse your mouth out real quick.” You do as he says, swishing the room temperature water around in your mouth and spitting it into the toilet. Spencer fills the bathroom sink about half way full with water, then places your soiled shirt in the basin to soak. After, he returns to you, taking the glass of water from your hand and situating himself back on the floor behind you. 

You lean back against him, your back to his bare chest. You sigh, grateful beyond words for his presence, for the warmth of his touch amidst the cold grip of illness. His steady mind anchored you in the midst of discomfort. You remain there together on the floor of the small apartment bathroom for what felt like an eternity. Spencer offered you quiet words of reassurance and helped you to drink water while you struggled to regain composure. Eventually, the violent spasms of sickness subsided, leaving you exhausted and shaky in Spencer’s arms.

“Can we go back to bed?” You whisper, your voice hoarse and raw from vomiting. 

“Of course, baby, let's brush your teeth though. Vomiting exposes your teeth to the stomach’s highly erosive acids which eat away at the enamel at lightning speeds.” Spencer rambles. You groan in response, not having the energy to hold your arm up for that long. “I can help you, Sweetheart, you just got to stand up for me, ‘mkay?” You nod, struggling to your feet. Spencer picks you up bridal style, carrying you the few steps to the sink and sitting you on the counter facing him. He removes your soaked shirt from the sink and hangs it over the edge of the bathtub to drip dry. 

Spencer situates himself between your legs, takes your toothbrush from the cup and wets it, applying a swipe of toothpaste to the bristles. You part your lips as Spencer brings the toothbrush to your mouth. 

His brushing was gentle and slow, yet thorough. You rest your head against his shoulder as he does so, too weak to hold your own head up for long periods of time. He uses his left hand to cup your cheek so as to keep your head still as the toothbrush makes friction against your teeth. 

“You’re doing great, Y/n,” he says as he moves the toothbrush away from your mouth. “Need to spit?” He directs your head over the sink by your cheek, allowing you to spit the toothpaste into it. He rinses your toothbrush off and returns it to the cup, then hands you the glass of water. You drink the rest of it. 

Spencer plants a heavy kiss on your lips, your cool minty breath causing him to shiver. “Ready to go back to bed?” He asks, locking his arms around your waist and pulling you up to his chest. You nod into his shoulder and wrap your legs around his hips and arms around his neck as he carries you back into his bedroom.

He carefully lies you on the mattress, pulling the covers snug around your cold, bare torso. He joins you on the other side of the bed, climbing under the covers himself and snuggling up against you. 

“I’m sorry,” you murmur weakly as your hands explore his unclothed back. 

“Don’t be,” he replied, brushing a stray strand of hair from your forehead. “I’m glad I could be here for you. It’s my job to take care of you.”

“I shouldn’t have drank that much in the first place,” you say. “I’m sorry you had to see me like that.”

“No. You had fun, and you were in a safe environment. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying a night drinking every now and again. And each time you do, I’ll be here to take care of you afterwards.” 

“Thank you, Spence. And I’m sorry if I embarrassed you.” You’re thinking back to him in Derek’s chair, and how you were being a little too comfortable with him. You knew Spencer was shy about showing off your relationship, not because he wanted to hide you, he was proud of you. He was just new at this, he was still learning how to love you publicly. 

“No, Y/n. Don’t be sorry. It kind of made me realize I want to be able to show love for you in public too. Y/n, I love you so much. I could never be embarrassed to be loved by you.”

“I love you, Spencer. I love you so much.”

“I love you. Now, get some rest, honey. Hopefully you feel better in the morning.”

You smile into his chest, your heart swelling with love and gratitude for this man who held your hair back when you were at your worst. You could spend eternity here. In this raw, vulnerable state that made you feel at home between Spencer Reid’s arms.

_____

next chapter: N is for New Years

other parts: Spencer Reid A-Z Masterlist

view the masterlist in a calendar version! 

_____

a/n: i wrote this fic way faster than i thought i was going to (three days) however i am pretty confident in it. i'm really enjoying being back! i'm really hoping i am able to stay on this writing kick for a while, i'm always the happiest when i'm writing. i'm hoping to get the next part out within the next week, so stay tuned for that!

_____

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_____

taglist: @justlivinginadaydream @dij-ology @navs-bhat @sammy-4103 @ada--44 @moongirl27

@hopelessheaven @shycreationdreamland @cultish-corner @violetvsworld @ivyflowers13 @taygrls

@hookergutss @random-3455 @nmw-am @bookworm124 @hizzielover @jem08

@princessbowbaby @theofficialfunk @skylions-den @smalltownbeautyqueen @spencereidapologist @lunajay33

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[kousanosgf]

men, minors dni

sevika x prostitute!reader

sometimes life gets worse, before it becomes better. luckily sevika ready to help you with it.

a\n: i hate how half of this fandom makes "sexy sevika in a brothel" jokes. this was written with the strong despisement for anyone who supports swork and thinks that it's freeing in any shape or form. it's NOT a light one, i'd say, so please be careful with the content you're consuming. also inform me if i should change something about the tags or tws

tw: mention of suicide, not explicit describtion of SA, drug abuse

tags: angst, hurt\comfort (kinda?), no smut (idk if i can call it sfw, sex is mentioned but not with sevika), happy ending

whispers run through the main hall, they won't stop repeating for half an hour at least, every worker and guest is too excited or nervous to be in the haunting dog of zaun's presence. "she's here". "sevika came". it won't be surprising if someone suggests placing a bet who she'll choose next, now that her favorite girl is dead.

well, that's the thing really, you couldn't care less for anyone in here and especially sevika. your best friend is dead and you can't even mourn her properly, because there's always "clients demand our full attention, girls, don't forget that" and "no alcohol or drugs, unless our guests want it, girls". there's numbing pain tugging at you heart, making you want to vomit every time you have to think of your loss and there's no way to drink yourself to oblivion to not feel all this.

so far, the night was calm. the only man for the night left you alone an hour ago after mindlessly fucking you face down into the mattress for couple of minutes and disappearing as soon as he finished. you could only hope for it go as smoothly but luck wasn't on your side for some time now. a shadow looms over before you notice who it belongs to.

you raise your eyes. sevika. "of course," you think, "cause the day needs to get worse".

"are you free?" she asks bluntly. no greetings, no small talk. that's normal really, manageable. it's usually way worse when the client wants to spill all their heartache or frustration before what they actually came for.

"not even gonna buy girl a drink?" you try to put on your prettiest face, smiling coyly and frowning in a fake pout, hoping she'll let you get at least a bit drunk.

"no, come on". she just turns around and heads towards the second floor to the private rooms.

a scream dies somewhere on a tip of your tongue, leaving sour taste.

you have to hurry after her, people as powerful as sevika hate nothing more than to wait and there's no reason to get on her bad side. it's nerve wracking, scary even, to guess what kind of client she will be. there're not much women who come here and not one of them has ever chosen you. a risk of sevika getting frustrated and dissatisfied with your inexperience is high and definitely not what you want since if the customer is angry then madame is angry and you'll be punished in some way.

you take a look at sevika again, following her step by step. she holds herself with great confidence, understandable for someone with such a status, broad shoulders, perfect posture, full heavy steps that make people move out of her path.

you reach the room finally, dreadfully. sevika sits down in the chair waiting for you to lock the door. as you do so, you turn back to her, sliding the straps off your minidress down.

"wait, no." sevika stops you. "i'm not here for this. just sit down." she gestures to the bed and you follow her orders, confused but not daring to ask.

the silence follows. you sit in your place trying not to breathe too hard, a blank expression on your face, while sevika thinks something through.

"you knew yana?" you basically jump in place, hearing your friend's name. "i mean... she was your friend?"

"she is my friend." you snap unexpectedly even for yourself but don't correct the words or make an attempt at apologizing no matter how dangerous that move is.

the corner of sevika's lip rises a little in a smirk but it's gone as fast as it appeared.

"she's dead." "doesn't change the fact that she's my friend." gods, why can't you shut up.

there's a pure rage boiling inside of you. it's painful when no one in this fucking place took time to acknowledged her death. another whore killing herself, what's the news really? but this... it's worse, the way sevika seems more amused with the fact than, you don't know, at least sad that one of her favorites is no longer here.

silence again. sevika studies you like she's trying to find something. the gaze is different from what you usually get from customers, burning, suffocating glances of men who look you over, imagine what you would look like naked under them before making there choice and passing several bills to madame.

"you have a lot of friends here?" what the fuck is she on about?

"i don't run my mouth if that's what you need."

"that's not what i asked." the smirk again. "but whatever."

she lights a cigarette and makes a few puffs. as the smell reaches you, you can't help but scrunch your nose, never appreciative of the smell. as she sees your dissatisfaction, she clicks her tongue and reaches for the ashtray, putting the cigarette down.

"here's what we gonna do. i'll sleep here till morning and you just... i don't know, do your thing? sleep too?" she waves her hand in the air.

you have to take a moment before her words actually lock in. "what?" sevika doesn't strike you as the type to use some euphemisms when she talks about sex, "sleep" here actually seems like she means it.

"you heard me. i already paid for the whole night if you're worried about it." she gives no further explanation and just leans back, dropping her head on the chair and closing her eyes. it's better not to disturb her. there's not much to say or do for you so you just sit there for a while, listening to the steady breathing and fall asleep yourself, not ready to give up a prospect of a calm night. when you wake up in the morning, sevika isn't there.

she comes and goes. for the last two weeks sevika visited you almost every day. the nights go basically the same. nothing much happens, though she becomes more and more chatty with every meeting.

you know her favorite food, know how her day went, know what she thinks about every chem-baron. in return sevika knows what're your favorite flowers, knows what your childhood was like, knows how you got into the brothel.

she's always so nonchalant about her questions, trying not to make a big deal out of it, like she's simply asking to fill the space. but working in a place like this teaches you read people easily and it becomes clear very quickly that sevika is actually searching for something. you're not sure if it's safe to give her the information she wants to hear but it's been too long since you had a person to talk to. it becomes easy to pretend like she actually interested in your stories and opinions.

she also now sleeps in a bed with you, leaving her place in the chair on the third night when you offer it yourself. she's one of those people who can fall asleep on a whim anywhere and anytime, you guess. or she's just very good at pretending.

and when she does fall asleep you lie awake, looking at her, replaying everything she said earlier in your head, trying to make sense of it, of her.

you get caught eventually. one night she just opens her eyes as she wakes up (if she's slept at all) and looks straight at you. both of you lie on your sides, facing each other. nothing is said for good five minutes, she's studying your features as well as you do hers in a dim glow of the lamp post outside the window.

"wanna know a secret?" sevika finally breaks the comfortable silence, a light smirk on her lips. you nod your head slowly, not breaking the eye contact.

"i'm getting you out of here."

the sentence doesn't register, so you have to ask her to repeat it.

"i'm getting. you. out." she says again, slowly, dividing the words.

you rise up swiftly, leaning yourself on the elbow. "you're not funny." of course it's some twisted joke, what else could it be. anger ready to overtake you easily.

the smirk grows wider on her face. "im serious, sweetheart."

that's when she tells you. probably the craziest thing you've ever heard. her visits to the brothel were never for any sexual pleasures, mostly getting intel for her and, by extant, silco's plans. till couple of months ago when she took on a mission of getting such a business out of zaun.

yana was suppose to be one of the first women who sevika and her team would save. they were late in the end.

"why didn't you tell her?" you ask partially frustrated at the coincidence of circumstances and sevika. if only yana knew that the help was on the way, she would still be alive, probably free from her prison. instead she just couldn't handle the life she thought she's bound to till her dying day or when she'll become old enough for madame to throw her out on the streets cause she wouldn't bring enough money.

"i was afraid to risk it, she was too unstable to be trusted such an information for a long term." sevika sighs heavily, dragging a hand through her face. "that was a wrong move on my end."

"and yet you're telling me this two weeks later? there were no guarantee for you that i wouldn't do the same."

"i... had to take a gamble. i knew basically nothing about you before. yana did share some stories but that wasn't enough to ease my anxieties."

you talk and talk and talk. about yana, about your life here. you throw question after question to her and she doesn't seem to get tired of answering you.

"why me? or why... not everyone at once?"

"it's impossible to do this in one go without much practice. look at this as us dipping toes in the water."

"so i'm a guinea pig?" sevika opens her mouth to argue but closes it immediately, realizing that you're only teasing her.

"no, you're something i can fix. give me a week more, okay?" she says it with such confidence in her voice that you got nothing else to do but to believe her.

sevika comes every night now, trying to take as much as she can of your working time so others won't get to you. there's a slight tug of guilt somewhere in your heart, because there's probably girls in the brothel who need this more, who can handle less than you, who just got here and weren't that much ruined with the way people treat them like some meat to jerk off to.

"your arm."

you look over yourself. it is an old bruise that got her concerned, one of the clients getting too harsh. you don't remember much, he let you have a blunt, you didn't ask of what, before everything occurred. it's yellow already, few days more and it'll disappear.

"fuck. probably smudged my makeup somewhere."

sevika's look is heavy, fixed on the spot.

"it's nothing, don't worry."

"it's not nothing." she's now looking straight into your eyes, there's a dangerous fire gleaming and it's impossible to hold her gaze so you just look to the side, noticing her fingers digging into an armrest. it is not nothing, you both know that. but all you can think of is that you would love to feel sevika's palm on you, covering the damned bruise, letting you dream it was never there.

no, you deserve to run as much as the next person. and it's not like you're gonna be the only one. like sevika told you, it's only the beginning.

"good news", sevika says and there's a smile on her face. you're not sure if you ever saw her smile. not a grin or a smirk that she gives everyone here but a genuine, warm smile. she looks lovely with it and you can't help but smile too back at her, not even knowing the reason.

"like what?"

the morning air is cool, autumn starts to take the reigns of nature. there's only a set of underwear and a nightgown on you so you shiver and hug yourself. you couldn't take any of your belongings, she said yesterday night, when she finally announced that it's time to set the plans in motion. some kind of big cloth, a poncho, you regester not as fast as you'd like to, lends on your shoulders, warm from the body heat of it's owner.

"sorry, that's all i got for now. need to get to the safe house, have actually some clothes for you."

you nod dumbfounded and just follow her. everything feels like a dream really, that about to be ripped away and you'll simply wake up back in the room that smells of head numbing incenses, ready to greet another customer.

you look over the clothes she gave you, simple pair of brown jeans, a black turtleneck and a jacket. the jeans are a size too big for you but nothing a belt can't fix.

"the plans to get you out changed so quick, i completely forgot to buy something your size."

"was it for her?" you don't need the answer, you know it already.

"yeah."

there're tears falling down that you can't control. you cry silently, turned away from sevika. you're not sure if she actually doesn't notice or just wants to give you space when she finally says "alright, gonna step out for you to change, meet me in the kitchen when you're ready."

as she takes a step to the door you lounge yourself at her, grabbing calloused hand and tugging it to your waist, looking for contact. now only you can do is cry, your sobs becoming louder and louder, your throat hurts like hell, you won't be able to speak later for sure.

there's a stream of "thankyouthankyouthankyou" coming from your mouth, your body basically presses inside sevika's. she doesn't answer. her other hand gently covers the crown of your head, guiding your tearful face to her chest and she lets you rest it there.

[maldaptivedreamer]

Lonely Souls - Arcane

One lonely soul comforts another for a night.

content: Vi x reader, errors/mistakes, pit fighter Vi, alcoholism to cope, drunk Vi, vulnerable Vi, injured Vi, name calling, no sex but intimacy, reader bathes Vi, brief aggression from man at beginning, angst/comfort i think

wc: ~3.5k

a/n: Sooo, this is my first Arcane fic, but insanely excited. Don't know if this good but I have more I'm workin on. Can't believe arcane's over and idk wth I'm sposed to do now.

MINORS DNI NSFW 18+

Main Masterlist

A heavy sigh escapes your lips as you massage your temple with two fingers, trying to ease the building headache.

“You frigid whore! Think you’re too good for me!?! For my money!?!” The man struggles helplessly in the unmoving arms of Wik. Wik grunts, his expression unreadable as he gazes at you.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you dismiss Wik with a wave of your hand. He silently turns and disappears, the beaded curtains rattling together behind him. The man’s hysterical screaming rings in your ears.

Sinking back into the plush cushions of the couch, you sigh and shut your eyes.

Click. Click. Click.

The sound of heels clicking on the floor interrupts your attempt to ease the strain in your eyes.

You frown and slowly raise your head to face her. With a raised eyebrow, you wait.

Babbette's large, crimson eyes are narrowed in concern. She takes a step toward you, lifting a slim hand. Rolling your eyes, you reluctantly lift your arm into her grip. Her long nails dig into your skin as she inspects the deep scratches marring its surface.

Her eyes darken briefly before she releases your arm, allowing you to pull it back. With a dry tone, you speak. “I’m fine… Guess, I should stick to my regulars, huh?”

Babbette doesn't entertain your joke. She takes a long drag from her cigarette, studying you carefully for a long moment before finally speaking up. “Any chance you wanna tell me why you’re here? You don’t have any clients today…” You ignore the knowing tone of her voice.

Maintaining steady eye contact, you shrug stoically. “No.”

Babbette gives you a meaingful look but nods in understanding, silently waving her cigarette at you as she turns to leave. "Go home. Don't come back unless you have a client," she warns you before disappearing between the beaded curtains.

You watch her leave, the clicking of her heels fading. The silence that follows is deafening, the sounds of the brothel beyond your room feeling far and distant.

Sighing deeply, you rub a harsh hand over your face. The adrenaline from the earlier altercation is wearing off, leaving you feeling drained and hollow.

You know why you're here. But admitting it, even to yourself, feels like a step you're not ready to take. It's easier to lose yourself in the brothel, in the false intimacy and fleeting connections. Anything to avoid facing the emptiness that awaits you at home.

Slowly, you rise from the cushions, your body protesting with every movement. The scratches on your arm burn as you reach for your coat.

Gritting your teeth, you step out into the grimy street. The smell of vomit and stale beer invades your nostrils and you wrinkle your nose in disgust. The pounding behind your eyes intensifies, throbbing in sync with the pulsing of neon lights.

With a huff, you wrap your coat tighter around your body. 

As you continue walking, the crowd thins and the darkness grows deeper. You feel a sense of relief at the quiet, your headache slowly easing.

Your home. Small. Dingy. But it's yours. 

You can feel the tension in your body simultaneously ease and worsen with each step you take. Swallowing hard, you try to push down the growing sense of loneliness in your stomach and the conflicting need to be alone.

The feeling of another person is overwhelming. It burns your skin. Makes you want to peel it back and run… But it can be freeing. Touching someone else, caring for someone else and tending to their needs brings you a deep sense of contentment. You crave, yearn for it, that connection with someone. A connection that you’ll never have.

That sense of loss is overwhelming and you feel a gasp bubbling in your throat. Stumbling into a wall as you choke on your breath, you allow the cool brick to ground you. Closing your eyes, you run a hand over the rough texture of brick. 

A sudden crash and slurred cursing from a nearby alley startles you. The tightness in your chest eases, replaced by a rush of adrenaline as your instincts kick in. As you cautiously approach the noise, your hand slips into the pocket of your skirt.

But as you round the corner, your posture relaxes and your hand falls limp at your side. You recognize the figure- drunk, off balance and stumbling, but familiar. 

Vi. Your heart clenches at the sight of her, drunk and alone.

She’s become one of your regulars. A client, the only client, that makes your job not feel like one. You’ve developed a certain… fondness for her. One you shouldn’t have. One that could get you into trouble… like today.

It's impossible to deny the growing affection you have for her. After all, the loneliness in her eyes is one you know intimately- in every lingering touch, every desperate grip on your skin, every breath consumed.

"Vi?" you call softly, stepping into the alley.

She twists, nearly losing her balance as she faces you. Her clouded blue eyes struggle to find you in the dim light and she squints as she tries to place you. Recognition dawns slowly.

“Princess, watchu doin’ here?” Her slurred words muddle together and you sigh, taking in her disheveled appearance. You can make out a fresh bruise on her cheekbone.

"I could ask you the same thing." Your reply is soft and you take careful steps closer, your heels echoing in the narrow alley. "You okay?"

Vi snorts. "’M doin’ jus’ peachy, princess." Her shoe catches on a pile of garbage and she stumbles.

You quickly step forward, your hands instinctively reaching out to steady her before she falls. As soon as your hands meet her skin, she collapses into you, her head burying itself in the crook of your neck. You grunt as she leans into you, your knees almost buckling beneath you. You can smell the cheap liquor on her breath, mixed with the scent of sweat and blood on her skin.

The smell of alcohol intensifies as she mumbles against your skin, her words barely decipherable. "'M tired, princess… So fuckin' tired."

Furrowing your brow with concern, you hold her close to you, supporting her weight as she leans on you. "Let's get you home." Your voice is tender. "Where are you staying, gorgeous?" You hate seeing her like this. You’ve only ever seen her hurting. You desperately wish you could take away all of her pain, all of her hurt.

She doesn't answer and you gently nudge her, coaxing her eyes to meet yours. Seeing that you have her attention, you repeat your question. “Vi, where’s your home?”

She shrugs and tightens her arm around you. With a vague wave of her hand, she responds, nearly losing her balance. "Dunno. Don't matter."

Your heart clenches at the lost look in her eyes. You know you shouldn't, but… "My place isn't far."

Vi's unfocused gaze finds yours, a flicker of surprise crossing her powder blue eyes before they darken in defense. Her voice is gruff and the clearest it’s been. “You don’t have to.”

You shake your head, a small smile tugging at your lips despite the heaviness in your chest. "I know I don't have to. I want to."

Vi stares at you for a long moment, her brows downturned in a frown.

With a nonchalant shrug of your shoulder, you attempt to give her an unconcerned glance. “You’ve got two options, gorgeous. A mediocre, semi-warm, semi-soft bed. Or a shitty alley.”

After a moment of contemplation, she nods and leans more of her weight against you. "Lead the way, princess."

The walk to your apartment is slow and unsteady. Vi stumbles more than once, and you have to pause frequently to readjust your grip on her. By the time you reach your door, you're both breathing heavily.

You fumble with your keys, struggling to keep Vi upright with one arm while unlocking the door with the other. Finally, you manage to get inside, kicking the door shut behind you.

Darkness greets you as you stagger into your apartment, wincing when your toe painfully collides with a sharp corner.

Vi chuckles at your soft curse, her breath hot against your neck. "Smooth, princess."

With groping hands, you search for the light switch amidst the darkness and roll your eyes. "Yeah and you’re just the epitome of smooth right now, gorgeous."

With gentle yet confident steps, you guide her further into your apartment. You can't help but feel a little self-conscious about the mess of your home, but you try to push those thoughts aside as you focus on helping Vi.

Entering your bedroom, she suddenly tenses up, her muscles tightening beneath your hands. "Wait," she slurs, trying to pull away. "I can't... I don't have any money on me."

A lump forms in your throat at her words. "Hey, no," you say softly yet firmly, facing her with empathy in your eyes. "This isn't about money, Vi. I'm just trying to help you."

She blinks at you, confusion clear in her bleary eyes. "But… why?"

Swallowing back your own emotions, you choose to ignore her question.

Vi grunts as you guide her to your small bed, her weight nearly pulling you both down. You manage to lower her onto the mattress, where she immediately flops onto her back with a groan.

"Shit, princess," she slurs, throwing an arm over her eyes. "Your place is nicer than mine."

You snort softly, moving to remove her boots. "Doubt that. It's a shithole, but it's home."

Vi props herself up on her elbows, watching you with glossy eyes and she repeats her question. "Why're you doin' this?" she asks, her voice small and uncertain.

You pause, looking up at her. Your throat tightens as you find yourself unable to look away at the raw vulnerability in her stare. "I… maybe I see a little bit of myself in you… and I- I care about you, Vi." You admit hoarsely, the words heavy with truth and emotion. You swallow hard, knowing that you are treading dangerous waters with your confession. Your voice comes out in a low whisper, almost apologetically. "Maybe more than I should."

She stares at you, her brow creasing in confusion and uncertainty. But before she can respond, you quickly rise to your feet, needing to create distance between you both. “The water is lukewarm at best, but there’s a shower through the door.” You offer awkwardly, gesturing towards the bathroom with a trembling hand. You try to compose yourself by smoothing down the wrinkles in your dress.

Turning to leave, you wince at the sound of your own footsteps echoing in the quiet room. Hesitating at the door, you spin back to face her with a soft look, hoping she can see the sincerity in your eyes. “Do- do you think that you’ll need help?” Your words hang heavy in the air.

The brothel was a world of its own, where the air was thick with desire and the walls were lined with secrets. While there was a slight sense of yearning with each lingering caress, every gentle brush of the other’s lips, this is different. This is far more vulnerable and intimate than lust. This would mean more.

You both know that this will change everything.

Vi's eyes soften, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. She swallows hard, her throat bobbing. "I... yeah. I think so." She admits, her voice rough.

You silently nod as you try to process the weight of the trust she's placing in you.

With careful tenderness, you help Vi to her feet and guide her towards the small bathroom. Her eyes remain downcast, refusing to meet yours.

Placing her on the toilet seat, you turn to the bathtub. The sound of rushing water fills the cramped space, bouncing off the tiled walls. Guiding Vi out of her jacket, her muscles tense under your touch but she doesn't pull away. You can see the pain etched on her face as she struggles to hide it.

Taking a deep breath, you fight to keep your expression neutral. Her delicate skin is marred with bruises - some still angry and inflamed, others fading into sickly greens and yellows. Small cuts line her arms, their edges crusted over with dried blood.

Setting aside her jacket, you carefully begin to unroll the bandages on her arms. Each strip reveals more damaged skin underneath. Your heart aches as you run your hands over the tender areas, trying to soothe away some of the hurt. Vi's eyes flutter closed, her tense body slowly relaxing under your gentle touch.

Moving on to the next arm, you continue to remove the bandages with careful precision.

As you step away from her, Vi's hand darts out to grab yours in a desperate hold. Meeting her gaze with a reassuring look, you press your lips to her bruised knuckles before gently laying her hand on her lap. Patting it softly, you slowly move towards the tub and turn off the water.

Licking your dry lips, you lower to your knees. Inhaling, your fingers hover over the bandages on her chest. Despite Vi's nod of approval, your fingers still hesitate as they reach for the bandages. She nods again and raises her arms with a wince.You peel away the gauze slowly.. Each layer falls away, exposing more of her skin. You keep your movements clinical, professional.

Not glancing at her chest, you watch her blue eyes. Searching for any sign of uncomfortability or hesitation.

Giving her a soft smile, you shove the bandages in a small pile and raise your hands to her pants. Your soft voice pierces the peaceful atmosphere. “Think you can help me out?”

Nodding, she grunts with effort as she rises from the toilet. Rising, you help her undo her pants and she steadies herself on your shoulders.

Stepping out her pants, she watches you glance at her from beneath your lashes. Vi feels a discomforting warmth at your care, your softness. Licking her dry lips, her voice comes out raspy in vulnerability that she tries to hide. “If I was sober, princess, I'd be taking you apart right now."

You send her a kind but perceptive look."I know, gorgeous." You murmur, helping her step into the tub. "Let's focus on taking care of you first."

Vi hisses as she sinks into the warm water, her muscles tensing before slowly relaxing. You grab a washcloth and begin to gently clean her wounds, careful not to aggravate the wounds that litter her skin. The washcloth quickly dirties and you grab another.

You bring the fresh cloth to her face and begin to wipe her face free of black grease. Vi watches you with heavy-lidded eyes. "I’m sorry." she slurs, her voice thick with exhaustion and lingering alcohol.

You pause, the washcloth hovering over the VI on her cheek, and meet her guilty eyes. "You have nothing to be sorry for Vi. Not to me."

She shakes her head, as she pulls away from your touch. Drawing her knees to her chest, she wraps her arms around them and turns to face the wall. "I-” Vi chokes out, but stops as sobs wrack through her body.

You can feel tears cloud your eyes and you envelop her in your arms. She quickly shoves her face into your neck and pulls you to her desperately. 

You ignore the material of your shirt sticking to your skin, the smell of sweat and alcohol that still lingers on her skin. Ignore the rim of the tub as it digs into your hips. Ignore the way her nails claw into your skin in anguish.

You hold Vi as she cries, her body shaking with each sob. Your fingers thread through her damp black hair, gently massaging her scalp in an attempt to soothe her. The water sloshes around her as she trembles, but you pay it no mind, focused solely on comforting the broken woman in your arms.

"Shh, I've got you, Vi. You're safe." You murmur softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head. "I’m here."

Her sobs gradually subside, replaced by shaky breaths and occasional hiccups. She doesn't move from your embrace, her face still buried in the crook of your neck. You can feel her eyelashes flutter against your skin as she blinks away the last of her tears.

"I'm a mess." Vi’s voice is hoarse and muffled against your skin.

You release an understanding breath and speak dryly. “I don’t know anyone who isn’t, gorgeous.”

You part from her and cup her face gently, your thumb tracing the tattoo on her cheek. “Think you can stand, gorgeous.” You nudge your head at the darkened water. “Your skin’s gettin’ wrinkly and I think you need to rinse off again.”

Vi nods weakly, her eyes still red-rimmed and puffy. You help her to her feet, steadying her as she sways slightly. 

The water drains away, grime and blood swirling down. You turn on the shower, adjusting the temperature before guiding Vi under the spray.

You step into the shower and let her lean on you as you run your lathered hands across her skin. Vi stands still, allowing you to care for her.

You can feel how exhausted she is as she presses into you. Her hands loosely wrapped around your hips.

Humming, you tap her back and tenderly remove her face from your neck. Her long lashes brush her cheeks as she closes her eyes. Your soft fingers rub any remnants of grime and makeup from her face.

Vi leans into your touch, a soft sigh escaping her lips as you scrub the soap through her hair. She releases a hushed breath as your fingers comb over her head, savoring the feeling of your hands massaging gentle circles on her scalp. The warm water cascades over both of you, steam rising around your bodies. 

"Feels nice." She murmurs, her voice barely audible over the sound of running water.

Your lips twitch into a small smile as you continue your ministrations. "Good. You deserve to feel nice, Vi."

Her eyes flutter open at that, meeting yours with a mixture of vulnerability and uncertainty. You hold her gaze, your fingers still working through her hair.

"Do I?" she asks, her voice small and hesitant.

Your heart clenches at the doubt in her voice. "You do.” Smoothing your hands across her face, you push her head back and rinse her hair. “Wash yourself and then we’ll be all done, gorgeous.”

Vi nods slowly, her movements still unsteady as she begins to wash her intimate areas. You keep a supportive hand on her waist, ready to catch her if she stumbles. As she finishes, you turn off the water and reach for a towel.

Wrapping the towel around her, you help Vi step out of the shower. Exhaustion is evident in every line of her body and you dry her to the best of your ability. Your clothes and hair leave a trail of water as you guide her back to the bedroom, sitting her on the edge of the bed.

"Wait here," you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. "I'll get you something to wear."

You rummage through your drawers, pulling out an oversized t-shirt and a pair of soft shorts. When you turn back, Vi is slumped forward, her eyes closed and her breathing shallow.

Touching her shoulder, you gather the shirt in your arms and stretch the collar over her head. Vi lazily helps you put her arms through the shirt and you bend to drag the shorts up her legs.

Vi's eyelids flutter, her gaze unfocused as you finish dressing her. She mumbles something incoherent, her head lolling forward. You catch her gently, easing her back onto the bed.

"Easy there, gorgeous," you murmur, brushing damp strands of hair from her forehead.

You maneuver her under the covers, tucking them around her body. Vi burrows into the pillow, her eyes already closed. You stand there for a moment, watching the rise and fall of her chest, feeling a wave of protectiveness wash over you.

Sighing softly, you turn to leave, but a hand shoots out from under the covers, grasping weakly at your wrist.

"Stay," Vi mumbles, her eyes cracking open just enough to meet yours. "Please."

Your heart stutters in your chest. You know you shouldn't. But the vulnerability in her gaze, the need in her voice, makes your resolve crumble.

"Okay." You whisper back. "Just let me change and I’ll be right-”

Her blue eyes shoot open and her grip grows tighter. “Please don’t leave.”

You waver and lick your lips in resignation, nodding. Gently untangling her grip on your hand, she watches you go to your dresser and pull out another pair of clothes.

She calms as you quickly change and climb into bed behind her.

Vi immediately turns and burrows into your chest, her arms wrapping tightly around your waist. You can feel her breath hot against your collarbone, her body trembling slightly.

"I've got you. I’m here," you murmur, running your fingers through her damp hair.

She nods against your chest. You can feel the tension slowly leaving her body as you continue to stroke her hair, humming softly under your breath.

The room falls silent save for the sound of your quiet humming and Vi's steadying breaths.

[its-time-to-write]

don’t be fooled, I’m not actually alive

make me breathe easy

It’s a simple enough call, if you’re being honest. 

And you are- being honest, that is. 

Honesty is why you’re ringing Jamie up right now with your cycle tracker pulled up on your computer screen. It’s a bit nerve-wracking, sure, but that’s just because he’s the first and only person you’re going to tell. 

Well, maybe not the only person. You’re going to have to tell Noah because there’s no way you’re doing this next part alone, and she always knows what to do when you don’t. 

But Jamie deserves to know first. So you press the call button and wait for him to pick up. 

You’re in your bedroom right now. Jamie’s probably in his and he should be asleep but instead he’s awake and waiting for you.

He picks up at the first ring.

“What’s wrong?” he asks right away, and the knot in your chest begins to loosen.

“Nothing,” you reply automatically. “I mean- not nothing. It’s not wrong, I just- how are you?”

You hear him laugh through the phone. “I’m good, babe. You’re not though, so what’s up?”

You look at the cycle tracker again. Two and a half months- no. Closer to three. 

You take a breath. “Remember Christmas?”

Jamie swallows another laugh. Of course he does. 

“Right. Stupid question,” you say. “I think- you’re the only person I’m telling, but- I might be pregnant.”

The words vomit from your mouth and you immediately want to take them back. You want to take them back even more when your phone lights up with Jamie’s request to FaceTime.

You press accept before you have a chance to chicken out and Jamie’s face fills your screen.

“You okay?” he asks first thing, and the knot in your chest unravels most of the way.

A year ago he would have been angry straight away. Probably would’ve yelled and told you it couldn’t be his, it was someone else’s, he can’t have a kid right now, he’s in the prime of his career.

But that was a year ago, and this is today.

And today, he just needs you to know it’s okay.

“You want me to come over?” he asks and you smile despite yourself. You want me to come over? he asks, as if it’s a quick drive instead of a flight to another continent.

You shake your head, unable to speak.

Jamie scratches the side of his face. This wasn’t the plan at all. Not really. It’s speeding things up by about a decade, that’s for sure, and hell he has no idea what to say but that’s never stopped him before so he opens his mouth and just starts talking.

“Right, yeah, fuck, okay. Right. I’m assuming you’ve got a plan all worked out, yeah?”

You nod and he grins a bit. Of course you do. You’ve got a plan for everything and he just likes to watch and follow along.

“Right,” he says for probably the billionth time. “Right. Let me guess: Slow down work to just be online and pass off all the twats to fuckin’ Samantha. Keep the ones you like for as long as fucking possible, then take holiday for at least a year. Knowing you, you’ll want to go back at some point so you’ll’ve been looking for help for a while. I can be there as early as…” he blows out a breath, “fucking… June? Finish post-season then make the switch to a club near you, there’s two, yeah? Mum and Simon won’t make the move I don’t think, but they’ll want to be here for a while so I can get them a house. She’ll be great, swear down, won’t fucking hover unless you want her to. And babe, don’t fucking tell Keeley. I know you love her to bits but she’s shit at keeping things private, like.”

You wish he weren’t so far away because you desperately want to kiss him.

“Jamie, you can’t move here,” you say. 

“The fuck I can,” he replies.

“You don’t want kids,” you remind him. “I’m telling you because it’s like, common fucking courtesy. And you’d be a big fish in a small pond here. You can’t- they can’t accommodate you. Your career would just kind of- well, you know.”

Jamie squints and looks away. You’re right, to a point. His whole life is in England, in Europe. 

“You can’t stop me,” he says finally and you roll your eyes.

“I can. And I will. I’ve stopped you from other things before.”

“Name one,” he challenges.

“House,” you say ticking it off on your fingers. “Car, extended vacation in Spain, Bottega Veneta, multiple concert tickets, fucking wire transfers, shall I go on?”

“No,” he says, and you’re both smiling. Strange. You’d thought this conversation would have been a lot colder. A lot angrier.

“I’ll visit soon,” he promises.

You wrinkle your nose. “Let’s get this confirmed first, okay? Don’t book any flights just yet.”

“I’ll visit anyway.”

You chuckle. He says it all the time, but never does. He can’t, really. Neither of you have the time for it- not till the summer. It isn’t unusual either. Half of his team are in long-term long-distance relationships. It’s just how it goes, apparently. 

But it’s nice to pretend, at least. And you’re grateful everyone thinks Jamie’s dating someone else, a model from Germany who he’s always spotted with, and who you may (or may not) have known for years and is always willing to make a public scene to allow you your privacy.

So the conversation devolves from there, into arguments about visits and who’s going to win the Prem and the Champion’s League. He stays on the phone until Isaac’s automated nightly threat comes through, and Jamie panics about the fact that he’s awake long past his prescribed bed time. You make a crack at that, he laughs, and you whisper, “I love you.” Jamie could pretend he didn’t hear it but he doesn’t, he holds the phone two millimeters from his face and whispers it back before you hang up on him.

And everything’s okay.

You don’t end up telling Noah. So she’s none the wiser to the four tests discarded in your bathroom trash, each negative. You vaguely chalk the missed periods up to stress which is far more than a likely explanation. And Jamie’s relieved but when you call to tell him there’s a faint flicker of disappointment lacing his words.

Still.

It’s not the right time, but you wonder if maybe someday there will be a right time. 

Maybe.

[midnight-mourning]

Breath of Fresh Air

🐟🐟Midnight's DCA MerMay Day 4🐟🐟

more evil fucked up writing bc it's my mermay writing and i get to be evil with it, enjoy :D

DCFPU prompt used: Saltwater

Word Count: 2238

Content Warning: drowning, death, blood & mentions of gore, vomiting (saltwater) heavy themes/imagery, communication barriers that cause MAJOR issues, reader discretion is heavily advised

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"No, no please. Please you have to reconsider!" You beg as you're dragged across the deck. 

The weight of the cinder blocks attached by chains to your ankle is a dreadful reminder of the fate that awaits you unless you can change their minds. You'd done nothing wrong, all it had been was suspicion, no proof, no chance to show your innocence. 

They were just going to kill you without hesitation. 

He was going to kill you without hesitation. 

Your—now ex—boyfriend, Tom, leans against the railing of the boat, smoking a cigarette and checking the time on his watch. Bored, uninterested. As if he's not about to end your life. All of this from a stupid fight you couldn't even remember the cause of. 

Guess that's what you get for dating someone in the mob. 

He doesn't even spare you a glance, just waves his hands to toss you overboard. You thrash and curse and eventually scream as you're met with the sudden chill of the water all around you. You sink fast into the pitch black, panicking and fighting with all your might to make something happen. 

You want to yell out at the unfairness of it all. But the more rational part of you knows better than to even think of opening your mouth, especially when pressure begins to build in your ears and on your chest. You start to have a desperate desire to breathe in, having foolishly expelled energy while on your way down. 

You can't even really tell that you've stopped sinking, hardly noticing how the water no longer rushes around you. Your eyes sting from the harsh burn of the saltwater. You swallow instinctively and it's like being punched in the chest from the pressure of it. Your ears feel like they might explode. 

Your chest starts to shake as you realize you can't hold your breath any longer. You don't know what happens when you drown. Are you able to think at all as you succumb to the crushing weight? Is it instant or will it be dragged out endlessly? How much will you be able to feel—

Your cheeks puff out as then empty as the air rushes from your lungs. Near instantly your mouth and throat fill with seawater, the pain indescribable. You feel yourself start to black out, this really is the end.

Until it's not.

The air of the night hits you in the face, shocking you into alertness. You gasp and choke and cough up water. You think you lost consciousness for a moment, feeling as if you just woke up. You blink, desperately desiring to rub your eyes to remove water and tears but unable to do much with your hands bound. 

Actually, how are you even at the surface, much less staying afloat? Your mind feels fuzzy as you try to comprehend what's going on around you in that moment. Your legs kick a little and while they feel much lighter, there's still heavy chains attached to them. Christ, the mob really goes overkill with it don't they. 

Still, with that and how exhausted you are, you should still very much be sinking--and dead--even if you managed to get free of the cinder blocks which had dragged you into the depths. Another gasping breath, and you feel something slide against your stomach. You flinch, struggling and scared that it's some sort of sea creature coming to kill you. 

As it would turn out, you are half correct. 

You're shaken, blood rushing through your head and sending you into a bout of dizziness. There's a chirping noise you faintly make out. 

Blinking, blurry, your heavy head lifts up to find yourself face to face with a... person? A fish? Some sort of mixture of the two. Faintly human-like with a face similar to one, but it's yellow, rays of orange and yellow around his head. Fins, your dulled mind realizes. 

He tilts his head at you, shaking you again and you groan, eyes squeezing shut momentarily. 

Before anything else can occur a sudden shouting from nearby erupts through the air. This causes the curious look to morph into a snarl, whipping to look at the source of the noise. The shouting morphs from angry to scared, confused. You find yourself being let go, and you dip below the waves before the instinct to swim and live kicks in. 

It's a fight for your life, but you manage to shift to floating on your back. Though muffled, you can make out screaming and yelling, along with gunshots. You feel a rush of water as the boat suddenly speeds off, the sound of its engine fading into the distance. 

You're practically stuck in your current position--far too tired to try to do anything else--when you're all of a sudden grabbed again. Based on the chirp you hear as you're lifted, you understand it's the thing from before. If you didn't know any better you'd say it was a mermaid, or mer of some kind. 

Your chin is grabbed by clawed fingers, lifted as your face is examined briefly. There's a splatter of something dark across his mouth now, and a fear runs through you for a moment once it hits you that it's blood. Again though, you're not given the chance to react as you're clutched close and then thrown back under the water, then above, then under. Over and over as you realize he's taking you with him somewhere. And you have absolutely no idea as to where. 

You once again succumb to a coughing fit when the back and forth abruptly stops, faintly aware of being set upon a bed of rock and sand. Blinking, you stare up and find a ceiling of dark grey rock above you. A cave. 

With what little strength you have, you shuffle to sit up, pressing back against the jagged wall behind you. You gasp and cough and heave up saltwater, feeling utterly exhausted and wanting nothing more than to go to sleep and wake up from this nightmare you're in. Maybe it’ll be easier than you think.

You jump when that hand from before clutches your face again, stare ever curious as he examines your disheveled state. His thumb swipes over the line of drool which had been on the edge of your mouth, prompting you to say thank you without thinking. 

At this his eyes widen. Then, a large, sharp grin splits across his face. You try to ignore the blood-stains on the edge of his teeth. A part of you almost hopes Tom is one of the ones he attacked. Bastard more than deserves it. 

His grip tightens, and with how expectant his gaze is, you understand he wants you to say more. 

"Agh, easy, easy please." You wince but try to speak despite how much your throat burns. "I don't know why you, um, decided to save me, but I'm grateful for it."

Several noises of delight, completely unintelligible to you. You have no idea if he's speaking a language or just making sounds. 

However based on how the chirps shift to almost cooing—again seeming to be pushing you to speak more—you assume it must be the former.

"I'm guessing you broke the chains for the cinder blocks, which means you're... incredibly strong. Frighteningly so." You won't admit how scared you really are by that, unsure of how much he can actually decipher of your words. But given his reaction is to simply squish your cheeks, followed by more cooing, you'd argue you could call him scum and he'd like it. 

This goes on for some time, long enough your clothes go from wet to damp. He just seems utterly infatuated with you. He toys with your hair, your clothes, your still—very much—bound hands and feet. All the while thrilled at anything you say, watching your lips and mouth with a fascinated delight. 

At one point, he leaves you, diving back into the water with a particular series of clicks. He returns a few minutes later with a live fish, which flaps and thrashes in his hands as he holds it out to you. 

Having no idea what he wants you just shake your head, alarmed and confused. 

He frowns at this, then suddenly bites down on the fish's head, blood dripping down his face and neck. He releases it, now very much dead, then holds it out to you again. 

You still don't know what he wants. Not until he opens his mouth and bites at it. Ah. Food. How... quaint. 

Eating’s the last thing on your mind in the moment, even if it’s been over twelve hours since you last ate. Your stomach quietly rumbles at the thought, but looking down at the dead-eyed stare on the fish, blood still dripping from it… that about sours any hunger you may have.

He seems to pick up on your reluctance, pout upon his features. Knowing that you'll be better off for it, you give in. Though you worry about how raw fish is going to sit on your stomach. 

You nod, holding your hands out to him. "Okay, okay. I get it. I'll uh, give it a try."

It's hard to get a good grip on the fish, all slimy and scaly, but by manipulating it into your hold using how your hands are bound, you manage. You mentally hype yourself up for this, and close your eyes and force yourself to bite down, then straight through the fish. 

It's an awful texture of scales and flesh and honestly you don't even know how big of a bite you actually get but you swallow it down all the same. You open your eyes to see the mer is watching you with a keen gaze. It quickly becomes apparent he wants you to keep going. 

Ignoring how your stomach churns, you do. You manage to take another couple of bites without fully gagging. And as you do so, the mer lights up with joy. A chorus of clicks and whirls and chirps as you eat, seeming to encourage you to keep going. 

You’re certain of that when—while focused on the task of trying not to vomit—you feel a hand on the top of your head, patting it. 

That same hand rubs through your hair, half-lidded eyes and a smile present on the mer's face. 

He's petting you. 

Once he's satisfied with what you've eaten, which is half the fish at best, he takes it from you. Unhinging his jaw, it disappears down his throat in a matter of seconds. 

When he looks back at you, that same smile is on his face. After somewhat relaxing after all these hours, you feel a bit on edge again. 

"So um, could you maybe get me out of these?" You raise your wrists still bound in rope. "They're starting to feel a bit raw and I'd really like to be able to stretch out a bit—"

He picks you up then, by your arms, holding you up above him for a moment with one hand. That same head tilt from when you first laid eyes on him. 

"What are you, um, what are you doing there, bud?" You ask, heartbeat in your throat. 

You feel water tickling at your feet and ankles, chains dragging across the rock before slipping into the pool below with a small splash. 

You gulp, eyeing the mer as he makes a few quieter clicks, stare now feeling scrutinizing. And you soon find out why. 

His grip suddenly releases you, and with a shocked yelp you plunge straight down into the water below. 

You sink, though not very far, but far enough your head is well below the surface. Panic overtakes you again. And stupidly you open your mouth in a silent scream, not thinking straight in the slightest. 

You're lifted back up just as suddenly as you were dropped. Hacking and gasping and soaked as you're held up in front of the mer again. 

Up until now, there had been some discernible expression on his face. Happiness, glee, delight, disappointment, and so on. Something familiar, something inherently human. 

There's nothing but a blank stare that he displays in that moment. 

You're dropped again, this time choosing wisely to hold your breath. You can feel his hold on your wrists, the very thing that had saved you earlier was now keeping you trapped underneath the water. You're lifted back up again. 

You have an easier time catching your breath, and you see confusion cross the mer's face. Down again. 

You're held under for longer this third time. With the adrenaline running through you it's hard to hold your breath. Your eyes are squeezed shut in concentration, with the intense desire to survive, but something in you forces them open as your lungs give out and you give up. 

Blurry as ever, but you can make out the mer's face under the water with you. 

A few seconds of saltwater pouring into you until you're hoisted up once more. You're trembling by now, scared and exhausted and having no idea as to what's happening. 

Until you hear a delighted string of chirps come from the mer. You look up to see he's positively beaming at you now. And it clicks to you what's going on. What's been going on this entire time. 

And you think that you should've just let yourself drown the first time.

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I thought about this one a lot while writing it. And afterwards a lot as well. TO CLARIFY, just in case it wasn't clear. Sun is incredibly animalistic/creature-like in this, he saved you bc he was curious, and continued to more afterward bc of that same morbid curiosity, it really do be like that sometimes 😔 Thanks for reading!

Masterlist post is here

Tag list (if you would like added, simply say so!):

@machopeach @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzy-bee @hazelthebat @nightriverart @mr-munchies

[ginnsbaker]

fic: if i bleed (you'll be the last to know) (1/?)

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat. Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation.

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.” Or the one where you fall in love with the widow of an ex-lover you never knew was married.

Pairing: Leigh Shaw x Fem!Reader | Word count for this part: 6k+ | Warnings: None for now | A/N: I wrote about 30k words of the Succession Wanda but hit a wall in terms of plot progression. So that's on hold. Allow me to apologize with this two-shot. P.S. I've always wanted to write for Leigh, and this idea came out of nowhere. Loosely based on canon.

Masterlist | Next Part

-

Leigh wakes up in a bed that’s not hers for the first time in months, and the unfamiliar scent of freshly cut grass and cedarwood almost immediately overwhelms her senses, suffocating her with its cloying sweetness.

“Jules?” she croaks out, her mind clawing its way through the fog. When it lifts a few seconds later, Leigh realizes where she is and what she’s done.

And how she’s very, very naked underneath the sheets. 

The person lying next to her in the bed starts to move. Right away, she knows it's not her sister, unless she's somehow caught up in a prank she doesn't find amusing at all. And so, she braces herself for her dead husband’s brother's voice to shatter the silence.

But it never comes. Instead, an arm drapes itself across her stomach, pulling her towards warmth. Leigh gets the sudden urge to vomit, except she skipped dinner and there isn’t anything to bring up. Last night, in a desperate attempt to fill the void left by Matt's absence, she had reached out to someone she shouldn't have. Someone Leigh didn’t even like to begin with. A knot tightens further in her stomach as she considers what her husband’s ghost would think. 

Would he approve? Would he feel betrayed or disgusted as she does?

Careful not to disturb Danny, who still sleeps soundly beside her, Leigh slips out of bed with the grace of a cat. She gathers her clothes from the floor and dresses herself with heavy limbs, each garment reminding her of how Danny had taken them off her body. 

As messed up as it sounds, Leigh can't help but draw parallels between him and Matt. They share the same blood, but there's not a single trait in Danny that triggers memories of Matt. With Danny, it's all about his own desires, his movements reflecting his wants. But with Matt, it's like he's always bending to Leigh’s will, submitting to her.

It tears Leigh’s heart anew. 

As she finishes dressing, Leigh glances around searching for her watch. She second-guesses whether she even wore it last night, the disarray of her thoughts mirrored in the disarray of the room. Her eyes scan the bedside table, the floor, and the dresser, but there's no sign of the timepiece.

A sudden sound from Danny startles her, and she freezes in place. She doesn't believe she can prevent herself from literally bolting out of the house if he so much as breathes her name. She’s rooted in her spot however, waiting for his breathing to steady, her heart pounding in her ears. Only when she's certain he's in a deep slumber does she release a pent-up breath, a sigh of relief escaping her lips. In that moment, she mentally curses herself once more, acutely aware of the mess she's created, before tiptoeing towards the bedroom door and abandoning the search for her watch altogether.

As she considers her options, she entertains the idea of escaping town altogether. Maybe if she leaves, she can avoid Danny for the coming days, possibly forever. Leigh wonders if she ever made Matt feel this trapped, inadvertently pushing him to leave in the only way he knew she could never follow.

-

Several days after ignoring Danny’s calls and attempts to talk to her, he retaliates by telling her the most absurd thing about his brother.

He tells Leigh she wasn’t the only one. There had been two others in the last year. 

And the last one, he fell for hard. Or at least that’s what Danny believes.

“I don’t believe you,” she says, her eyes beginning to sting a little. “If you think making me hate Matt would change my mind about us, then—”

“I’m not trying to manipulate you, Leigh,” Danny interrupts calmly, shaking his head. “I just believe you deserve to know the truth. Maybe it'll help you stop blaming yourself and move on.”

“It just seems a little too convenient that this 'truth' works in your favor to tarnish Matt's reputation, doesn't it?” Leigh points out with a humorless smile. She’s always thought the worst of Danny, but she never imagined he’d go as far as fabricating a story just to get her on his side.

“I understand your skepticism, I do. I couldn’t believe it at first either,” he says, his gaze dropping to the ground as if the transgression he’s confessing were his own, not Matt’s. “But think about it. Have you ever walked in on Matt just as he's ending a call? Noticed how he's suddenly started spending more time at work, consistently twice a week? And what about his sudden interest in going to the gym and being conscious about what he eats? These are all signs, Leigh.”

His words push her to think about it, even though she doesn't want to. Leigh starts to reflect on how Matt had stopped leaving his phone unattended during showers, how he had suddenly logged off his social media accounts from her laptop, or the noticeable enhancement of his physique—all juxtaposed against a lingering decrease in his appetite for intimacy with his wife.

“I…” Leigh hesitates, searching for a rebuttal but finding none. Then Danny gives her a look—one of pity and longing that makes her want to crawl out of her skin—and suddenly she finds herself vehemently denying all of it.

“I still don’t believe you,” she says, desperately clinging to the last shreds of the illusion she had crafted around her marriage.

Danny's expression remains unreadable and it drives her further up the wall. “Fine. Believe what you want, Leigh. I'm just trying to look out for you.”

Leigh's jaw tightens. “Regardless of what you say—whether it’s real or not—I know what I want, and it's not to be with you.”

He keeps up the stony facade, opting instead to pull a card out of his wallet and hand it to her. Leigh accepts the card, her fingers quivering, as a solitary tear finally breaks free and trails down her cheek.

Danny begins to reach out, intending to brush away her tear, but hesitates at the last moment, withdrawing his hand. 

“See for yourself. Goodbye, Leigh.”

-

Just two days later, Leigh finds herself in front of the small animal clinic you own, situated a short walk away from Beautiful Beast—the fitness studio her mom owns and where she works. 

Though the sun hangs low in the sky, she's been awake long before it began to rise. She waits for the receptionist to flip the sign from “Sorry, we’re closed” to “Come in, we’re open,” ignoring the curious glance directed her way when the receptionist notices she isn’t accompanied by a furry companion. With a determined smile on her lips, Leigh pushes open the door and steps into the clinic knowing she'll leave it with answers—whatever they might be.

The receptionist looks up from her computer, her expression shifting from curiosity to concern when she sees the look on Leigh's face. “Can I help you?” 

Leigh clears her throat, trying to steady her voice. She tells her she’s looking for you, her words coming out in a rush.

The receptionist furrows her brow. “Do you have an appointment?”

Leigh shakes her head, blinking rapidly as she comes up with an excuse. “No, it's... it's urgent,” she stammers. “I need to speak to her right away.”

The receptionist appears mildly annoyed, but it doesn’t faze Leigh in the slightest. “I'll check if she's available. Please take a seat,” she says.

Leigh nods mutely and sinks into one of the chairs. She clasps her hands together tightly in her lap, trying to quell the rising tide of panic threatening to consume her. She imagines Matt’s ghost watching her this very second, frowning at her doubts about their relationship by coming here in the first place. 

And what if she’s wrong? What if Matt wasn’t cheating on her after all? But Leigh had to come here to put the issue to rest. Matt would understand why she needs to do this. He always did. 

A few moments later, the door behind the reception desk opens and the receptionist emerges from it, motioning for Leigh to enter. 

Leigh finds you standing behind your desk, your back to her, arranging a stack of medical records on the shelf.

“Dr. Y/N?” Leigh calls out softly.

You turn around at the sound of her voice, and when she sees you for the first time, Leigh immediately knows.

Danny was telling the truth. It takes everything in her not to break down in front of a stranger her husband fell in love with.

You, however, don’t recognize the woman standing before you, thinking perhaps she's simply one of your past clients. You offer Leigh a contrite smile. “You wanted to see me? Miss…?”

“Leigh Shaw.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell either, but you keep a friendly smile on your face. 

Leigh hesitates for a moment before continuing, her voice sounding fragile. “I need to talk to you about my husband,” she says, studying your clueless face. You're stunning and accomplished—a doctor and a businesswoman. You have a smile that could brighten even the darkest room.

Matt never stood a chance, did he?

“I'm sorry, I'm not sure I understand,” you say, hands retreating into the pockets of your white coat.

Leigh takes a deep breath, steeling herself for what she knows will be a difficult conversation. 

“I recently found out that my husband was cheating on me,” she says, her green eyes boring into yours. “With you.”

-

After leaving your clinic, Leigh heads straight to Matt’s grave, stomping angrily on the sparse sheet of grass that has begun to sprout from his resting place.

“You're such a fucking liar!” she spits out at the unsusceptible headstone, the heat of fury spreading through her veins and to every molecule in her body. The cold wind lashes through her hair as Leigh drops to her knees, feeling like the entire world is bearing down on her. She reaches out to touch the cold marble of the headstone, still seeking solace from the one who caused her so much hurt.

“Why, Matt?”

She knows there will be no answers—only the cold silence of death.

Leigh feels a surge of anger rise within her once more as she recalls the way you looked at her—the pain in your eyes when she revealed to you that Matt had died. What you two had was real, as real as what she had with him. She had been hoping it was at least just a fling, but alas, she couldn’t be further from her assumptions.

“I can't believe I ever loved you,” Leigh mutters bitterly. She wants to scream, to rage against the injustice of it all. But all she can do is clutch at the grass beneath her, her nails digging into the earth as if trying to anchor herself against the torrent of pain crippling her chest. Tears stream down her face as she finally collapses to the ground, assuming a fetal position, whispering, “I can't believe I still do.”

-

You continue to stare at the space that Leigh previously occupied for a good ten minutes, not moving an inch from where you stood—shocked, hurt, confused. Matt, the man you had been seeing, was dead. And not just dead, but married. Married to someone else, someone named Leigh Shaw, a name so important but he managed to hide from you for weeks. 

Matt had never mentioned a wife, never wore a ring, never hinted at the existence of someone waiting for him at home. If he had, you would never have let him get as close to you like he did. You've always respected boundaries and families—and now you've discovered that unwittingly, you've destroyed one.

Leigh's departure was swift, just as soon as you confessed to having feelings for her husband and how Matt reciprocated those same feelings. Leigh, ruthless in her questioning, demanded to know if you had slept with Matt. You swore you never did, detailing how Matt abruptly ghosted you after your first kiss, leaving you with nothing but unanswered texts and missed calls. 

You wanted so badly for Leigh to believe you, and you think she did. However, none of it mattered in the end. He cheated all the same. He hurt the woman he made a promise to love and stay faithful to. 

Because of you.

You feel sickened by your own naivety; by the way you have allowed yourself to be fooled by his lies. And yet, amidst the anger and self-recrimination, there is a profound sense of loss. Despite the circumstances of your relationship, you had cared for Matt deeply. Maybe even loved him.

But how much of it was real? How much of it was not about him running from his problems with his wife and using you as a distraction? The ease with which he slipped out of your life suddenly fits into place.

While his passing deeply rattled you, it's now largely overshadowed by thoughts of his widow.

Leigh Shaw.

Earlier, even though you said sorry over and over, it felt like it wasn't enough, and you wanted to do more to make her feel better. What stopped you was the realization that you're likely the last person she would want comfort from. A sense of helplessness washes over you as you come to the conclusion that there's nothing you can do to undo the damage that's been done. Matt is gone, and Leigh's world has been shattered in ways you can't even begin to imagine. 

Moving on from Matt is something you know you could do. He wasn’t the first person to break your heart, be it through deceit or demise. But the situation with Leigh is unfamiliar territory.

How do you fix this for her? 

Will she even let you?

-

When Leigh tells Jules about Matt’s infidelity, her sister fixates on the detail that she slept with Danny. It’s not the response Leigh expected. She anticipated shock, and maybe even a bit of outrage on her behalf. But instead, Jules latches onto the one detail that seems to pale in comparison to the enormity of Matt's betrayal.

“But how could you?” Jules asks, her voice incredulous as she chews on a dumpling. “How could you sleep with Danny?”

Faced with her sister's disapproval, Leigh finds herself clamming up. “Are you kidding? I just told you that Matt was cheating on me, and your response is to judge me for hooking up with a single guy while I'm single?” Leigh retorts, hastily wiping her lips with a napkin.

Jules just shakes her head, putting down her chopsticks. “Leigh, I get it. Matt’s betrayal is awful, and you have every right to be angry. But the ‘single guy’ you hooked up with isn't just any guy, and you know it. You don't think it's weird? What would people think? That all this time, sleeping with your husband’s brother has always been an option?”

Leigh's eyes widen in shock, and for a moment, she's speechless. She hadn't—didn't want to entertain the idea of what sleeping with Danny would imply. She was chasing a feeling; any feeling that wasn’t emptiness. And with Danny, she did feel something, even if it was regret and shame. At least it proved she was still capable of feeling at all.

“It… just happened,” Leigh murmurs, rubbing her temples. Hollowness and migraines, she's almost forgotten.

“And? Is it going to be a ‘thing’?” Jules probes, eyebrows raised.

Leigh lifts her gaze, biting back a defensive retort. Instead she simply says, “Absolutely not.”

Jules seems satisfied with that, knocking back the rest of her beer. “Good.”

But as Jules moves on, Leigh’s left stewing in her own thoughts. Telling Jules felt like yelling into a void—exhausting and utterly pointless. Now she’s dreading the thought of breaking the news to Drew. If Jules’ reaction was any indication, she’s in for another round of disappointment. 

Being a young widow already sets her apart, but nothing makes her feel more alone than her family's inability to truly grasp her grief. She guesses she's been feeling alone for years, long before Matt came into her life and subsequently left it.

Jules, catching the tail end of Leigh's distant look, leans in and asks, “So, what's the plan now? You still going to that grief counseling group? Danny's been showing up there, right?”

Leigh's gaze sharpens, a bit taken aback by the sudden shift back to practicalities. “Are you asking about my plans with Danny? Because I already told you, that's over. I'm never seeing him again.”

Jules raises her hands in a placating gesture, mindful that one wrong move could tip Leigh over the edge for good. “Not really, no. I'm asking if you're still keen on processing your grief. Now that it turns out Matt was... well, a snake.”

Jules calling Matt a snake doesn't sit well with Leigh even with his cheating coming to light. But she supposes it's Jules' way of being on her side every once in a while. It's a clumsy attempt, but an attempt nonetheless.

“Yeah, I'm still going,” Leigh finally says, her gaze dropping to her lap before meeting Jules' eyes again. “Not for Danny, not for anyone else, but for me. Turns out, finding out your rotting husband was living a double life does a number on you. Who knew, right?”

Jules cracks a small, rueful smile at that and says, “Who knew indeed.”

Leigh thinks back to the time when she believed she knew Matt inside and out, a belief so deeply ingrained it felt like a cornerstone of her identity as his wife. She prided herself on their connection, convinced that they shared everything—every thought, every fear, every dream. It was a pride rooted in the belief that she knew him better than anyone else could, and he, her, in the same intimate manner.

It was the kind of recognition that’s not only about knowing his favorite color or the way he took his coffee. It’s deeper and more layered. She knew the exact tone of voice he'd use when he was about to apologize, the look in his eyes when he was holding back tears, the subtle shift in his posture when he was trying to be braver than he felt. And she thought he knew her just as intricately—the silent language of her sighs, the meaning behind her quietest smiles, the small, everyday details that they believed only they could understand about each other.

“It's hard, you know? Feeling like you're mourning someone who never really existed,” Leigh mumbles after a long pause.

“Yeah, I can't even imagine,” Jules responds, reaching across the table to give Leigh's hand a brief squeeze. “But I'm here, okay? Even if I don't always get it right.”

Jules, Drew, Danny, her mom—all of them—rarely get it right. It has always been Matt. 

He has always been all she has and needed. 

Even if Leigh wasn't aware that she was probably just getting his scraps.

-

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps thinking over the next several days. Maybe I pushed him to it.

It doesn’t help that there’s a new member who has also been widowed, and she’s sharing about her late husband who had quite a number of mistresses throughout their eighteen years of marriage.

Leigh listens, her fingers twisted together in her lap, as the woman talks about the signs she missed, the lies she believed.

“I just keep thinking,” the woman's voice breaks, “if I'd been more attentive, more... I don't know, less demanding, maybe things would've been different.”

Maybe it was me, Leigh keeps screaming inside. Maybe I pushed him to it.

-

It took Leigh a long time to return to the apartment she shared with Matt after his passing. 

Mostly, it's because Leigh found it difficult to confront the scattered remnants of him that would remain untouched in his absence. No longer would he be picking up his favorite shirt or completing another page of his crossword puzzle book. Yet, these belongings would remain his, just as Leigh felt she still belonged to him.

So it’s ironic that now, surrounded by the same belongings in her bedroom at her mother’s home, she's being overwhelmed by the impulse to turn them all into ashes. In a sudden frenzy, Leigh grabs a box and begins to throw everything inside. The sound of her ragged breathing fills the room, only matched by the soft thuds of objects landing in the cardboard. 

“Stupid fucking toys!” she shouts, tossing a figurine with more force than necessary.

“And this shirt—what were you thinking?” She grabs a garishly patterned fabric, shaking it at the empty air as if expecting an answer.

Her voice cracks, “You're not even here, and you're driving me crazy!”

As Leigh's wrath burns through the remnants of Matt’s life, her thoughts take a dark turn. The things he owned, the pieces of his life flying from her hand—it all leads her back to the one person who had a piece of him, a piece that was never hers.

The thought of your face, the one that belonged to him too at one point, flashes in her mind, and she's on the edge of losing all control. 

If only Leigh could throw you into the box too.

Finally, she finds the book he gave her for her last birthday, the one she never read, and for a moment, her movements pause. Then, with a cry of anguish, she tosses it in as well. When the box is full, she kicks it. Once, twice, thrice—each kick releasing a burst of pent-up fury until she's gasping for breath.

A knock at the door startles her. It's soft but persistent, making it obvious that whoever is outside has heard the commotion in her room. “Leigh, honey, are you done in there?” Amy's voice seeps through the wood.

Leigh wipes at her eyes. “Almost. I, uh… just give me a minute,” she calls back. She’s not done—not really. But she’ll probably set the house on fire if she doesn’t stop here.

Pushing herself up, Leigh opens the door. She knows the sight she presents isn't pretty—eyes swollen red, nose a mess, and those dark circles. But her mom has seen this look more times than either would care to count.

“You okay?” her mom asks, though the answer's written all over Leigh's face.

Leigh shakes her head, no energy to pretend.

“Want some breakfast?”

Again, “No,” slips out.

Then, “Need a ride to the studio?” her mom tries again.

“Yes,” Leigh finds herself saying, clinging to the offer like a lifeline, a small acknowledgment that life, somehow, must go on.

-

The following day, Leigh looks at the box, then at everything around her. She mutters, “Screw this,” and starts pulling everything out of the box, putting it all back where it came from.

-

Leigh's back at running, not because she loves it, but because the sun insists on poking her awake before the rest of the world stirs. It's an old hobby, dusted off to fill the gaping mornings before her first yoga class. 

It’s easy to do because she realizes she’s good at it. Leigh’s only been at it for just a couple of weeks and already she's feeling fitter, faster. She likes the pain too, not being aware before that there are different kinds of pain, and some of them do feel good—addicting even. 

Mid-thought, her routine jog takes a wild left turn: stranded in the middle of the bustling traffic is a French Bulldog, looking decidedly out of place. Ignoring the honks and the near misses, Leigh bolts across the street. It's a bit of a mad dash, dodging cars that are swerving and braking hard. She scoops him up in her arms and doesn’t stop to think about the close calls. 

It hits her then—she's surprised at her own gutsiness, not even pausing to think that she could've been clipped by a car not paying attention. Maybe all this time spent wrestling with thoughts of death has brought her to a strange peace with it and is no longer scared of it. It's like she's danced with death so much, it's just another shadow she passes by—not something that paralyzes her in place anymore.

Leigh’s not sure if being this fearless is actually a good thing though.

After cooling her heels on the sidewalk for half an hour, with no owner in sight, she shrugs and decides he’s coming home with her.

Jules gives her a scrutinizing look the moment she walks in. “What, you went out for a run and decided to get a dog?”

“Rescue mission,” Leigh shoots back, setting the dog down. “Found him in the middle of Second Street. Seems he’s lost.”

Jules doesn't miss a beat, heading straight for the newcomer. She kneels, her hands gently petting the dog, her eyes softening in a way that Leigh rarely sees. The dog, clearly pleased with the attention, wags its tail vigorously. Her eyes are practically giving her away, so it sounds almost funny when she looks up at Leigh and says, “Just don't get too attached, okay?”

“I won’t, which is why I named him Visitor. It’s temporary,” Leigh says with a smile, looking very proud of the name she came up with.

Jules chuckles, standing up and brushing off her knees. “Nerd. Matt would've gotten a kick out of that.”

The room just freezes at the mention of his name. Talking about Matt is like walking into a glass door you didn't see.

Jules tries to backpedal, “Hey, sorry, I—” But Leigh's quick to brush it off with a shrug. 

“Don't worry about it. Let's just figure out where Visitor here belongs, okay?”

As they refocus on Visitor, Jules can't help but notice the way the dog favors one leg as he trots over to sit snugly between Leigh's legs, looking up at her with those big, trusting eyes. “Looks like he's got a bit of a limp,” Jules points out.

Leigh frowns and leans down to get a closer look, her fingers gently probing around Visitor's leg until she finds a tender spot. The moment she applies a little pressure, Visitor yelps, pulling away sharply and retreating a few steps.

Jules winces at the reaction. “Yeah, that's not good. Maybe we should take him to a vet?”

Leigh can barely hold back a grimace as her brain immediately links you to the situation.

“What's wrong?” Jules notices the sudden shift in Leigh’s mood. “There's St. Mary's Animal Clinic nearby. I heard they're great.”

That's your clinic. Leigh's throat tightens at the thought, the memories of her visit flooding back. “Are there others around here?”

Jules looks puzzled at the question. “I mean, I can look it up, but what's wrong with St. Mary's?”

Leigh considers whether she should tell Jules about meeting you. Part of her really knows it’s unfair to dislike you, especially if you genuinely didn't know Matt was married. But she knows Jules too well—tell her, and it'll turn into a whole thing. Leigh's not sure she's up for that drama.

Despite her reservations, Leigh decides to bite the bullet, her curiosity getting the better of her. Besides, if she can’t be brave enough to talk about this in her counseling group, she should probably at least tell Jules.

“Actually, Jules,” Leigh begins, “St. Mary's Animal Clinic is where... where she works.”

Jules's eyes widen in shock, her hand flying to her mouth. “Wait, you mean... you mean her, as in…?” she stammers, disbelief written all over her face.

“Yup,” Leigh confirms, smacking her lips forcefully. 

“Oh my god—that bitch,” Jules spits out, her voice dripping with disdain before Leigh can even brace for impact.

“She didn’t know Matt’s married,” Leigh clarifies quickly.

“And you bought that?”

“I had a feeling she was telling the truth. Besides, I can’t imagine Matt being that brazen to pursue someone while married. He can be a little self-righteous sometimes,” Leigh says, only half-sure of her statement. Recently, she has to remind herself that maybe she never really knew him at all.

Then, an idea sparks in Jules's mind. “You know what?” she says, a mischievous glint in her eye. “Maybe this is a good opportunity. After all, she owes you one, right? Maybe she'll treat Visitor for free, to make up for being... well, you know.”

Leigh rubs her nose, skeptical of the idea. “I don't know, Jules. I don't want to impose…”

Jules leans in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “I mean, if she's the reason you're hurting, maybe she should make it right?”

She isn't hurting because of you, not directly. That's why Jules’ suggestion hangs in the air, unappealing. Leigh remembers the pity in your eyes from that morning, and she doesn't want it. She doesn't want anything from you at all. Her resolve instantly hardens like ice. 

“No,” Leigh finally says. “I don't want her charity. I'll pay for Visitor's bills myself. And I'll keep the receipts for when his real owners show up.” It's a decision that feels surprisingly empowering, a small reclaiming of control in a world that's felt off-kilter for too long.

Jules merely sighs; she knows better than to push Leigh when her mind’s made up. 

“Have it your way.”

-

Leigh brings Visitor to St. Mary’s the very next day.

There's a certain set to her jaw, a readiness for something less than pleasant. She doesn’t need to go through reception this time because she spots you right away, escorting a client to the door, cradling their puppy in your arms. Seeing you with a pet makes Leigh realize why you’ve chosen this profession. You fit right in among the animals, she muses bitterly.

It's with a sense of satisfaction that she watches your smile dissipate as soon as your eyes land on hers. 

She strides confidently towards you, dog in arms, forcing you to quickly hand off the puppy back to its owner. Yet, you recover with a swiftness that's begrudgingly admirable as you give her a look that’s equal parts professional and friendly—like you were actually looking forward to seeing her again.

“Good morning, Leigh. How can I help you?”

Without a word, Leigh extends the dog she’s carrying towards you, a silent transfer of trust, or perhaps, necessity. You gesture towards the consultation room, an invitation she accepts with a terse nod, following you into the space where you effortlessly shift into doctor mode.

As you begin to charm her dog, she can't help but narrow her eyes. It irks her, watching Visitor take to you instantly, as if you were old friends. “What's his name?” you ask, looking up at Leigh.

“Visitor.”

Your eyebrows shoot up in surprise at the name, just in time for your irises to capture the light seeping through the office blinds. They glow a hazel-brown, disarmingly so. Leigh forces herself to focus back on the purpose of her visit. 

Leigh continues, “He’s limping on his left hind leg. I’d appreciate it if you can prescribe him something. I'll try not to take up too much of your time.”

Ignoring the undercurrent of Leigh's insinuation, your attention remains undividedly on Visitor. The well-being of the dog before you eclipses any personal sentiments, as it always does. 

“I'm sorry, but before we can consider any medication, I need to examine him thoroughly. It's possible he might require some lab tests to rule out anything serious,” you tell her. Despite sounding apologetic, Leigh interprets it as your polite way of telling her to fuck off and let you do your job.

As you palpate the dog's leg carefully, you begin your routine questions. “Can you tell me his birthday? Any vaccination history?”

They’re basic, but they seem to catch Leigh off guard anyway. “He’s not mine. I found him on the street yesterday,” she reveals with a reluctant sigh.

The news prompts a more detailed response from you. 

“I see. In that case, we should definitely line up some tests for Visitor. We need to ensure he doesn't have distemper or any other airborne virus that could be affecting his mobility,” you suggest, already mentally cataloging the necessary procedures.

You start detailing the tests you intend to perform, explaining their purposes and associated costs. Leigh is clearly deluged by it all and you decide to take pity on the poor woman by adding that it’s still up to her which tests to proceed with, if any at all.

“Your call, Leigh,” you tell her.

Leigh can't shake off the vibe that you're throwing a gauntlet down in front of her. It's like her inner competitor wakes up, refusing to back down. “Do all of them,” she declares, tipping her chin up towards you. “Whatever you think is best.”

“That’s a good decision. We’ll take care of it right away,” you say, already picking up the phone to call the reception for assistance. 

Leigh's still trying to get a read on you. Was her arm twisted into this choice, or did you genuinely have Visitor's best interest at heart? She's not about to hand out trust like free samples, especially when she could end up misjudging you. It’s a tricky spot, especially because she’s clearly been wrong before.

-

The tests take their time, roughly an hour, after which Leigh finds herself pacing the lobby. An additional quarter-hour trickles by before the receptionist finally calls her back into the consultation room.

“Good news,” you start, making sure to catch her eye. She meets your look briefly before her attention shifts to Visitor. “It's only a sprain. The X-ray revealed no breaks or other issues. But,” you pause, checking to see if she's still fully engaged, “his blood tests indicated a low platelet count and evidence of an infection.”

Leigh listens intently, nodding along.

You explain what this means in a clear, concise manner, avoiding medical jargon as much as possible. “It's something we can manage with medication. I'll prescribe some antibiotics for the infection and pain medication to help with his discomfort. It's important that he completes the course of antibiotics to clear the infection completely.”

You watch Leigh closely, gauging her reaction and ready to answer any questions she might have. “We'll need to keep an eye on his platelet count, so I'd like to schedule a follow-up visit next week. This will also give us a chance to check how his leg is healing.”

“Will he be okay?” she asks without looking up from Visitor, busy scratching behind his ears.

“He'll be just fine,” you reassure her, adding, “Any questions about what we discussed?”

Leigh stays silent and you take it as your cue that she doesn’t have any thoughts on the matter. As she wraps up without saying much more, you realize it's time to wrap things up too. But there's something niggling at you, something that's been on your mind since the last time she was here. You're about to let her go, but then, out of nowhere, you feel this urge to clear the air about that whole mess with Matt. 

“So, uhm, about the other week when you…” you trail off, suddenly feeling like you're balancing on a tightrope without a net. You’re not so easily spooked by confrontations, but Leigh makes you nervous in a way you can’t explain. “I guess I just wanted to say sorry… for your loss, and for—”

“Does he really need to take pain medication for seven days?” Leigh cuts you off suddenly. It’s sharp enough for you to shut your mouth and abandon your attempt to get personal.

“Yes, the full course is important to ensure he's comfortable and that the inflammation goes down properly. It's just as crucial as the antibiotics for his recovery…”

Leigh nods, carefully scooping Visitor into her arms, preparing to leave.

You try one last time. “Leigh, I really am sorry–”

“I’ll see you next week, Dr. Y/L/N,” she says dismissively and then she’s gone.

[angelwings-crossbowstrings]

Chapter 16

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Typical TWD violence and gore; pregnancy; symptoms of pregnancy; pregnancy complications; vomit; mention of urination; attempted SA; injuries

A/N: I am still not convinced that I like this one or the direction it takes the story, but I agonized over it for too long. So here we are. 💙

It was one of those days, weak from hunger and dehydration, that you struggled. You couldn’t ride on the bike with Daryl and were confined to the bench seat in the back of a beat up van that the group had grabbed when the old truck had run out of fuel. 

You were freezing, even with the two blankets wrapped tightly around you. You refused to complain, though. It seemed like you always needed something. Daryl was barely eating, ensuring that you had most of his portions as well, meager as they already were. He always placed you closest to the fire when it wasn’t too dangerous to have one. You were to receive any anti-nausea medications that were happened upon, leaving Lori to suffer through her own morning sickness. It didn’t matter to you that hers was just run of the mill nausea and would fade. 

At 24 weeks, you felt the baby fluttering more often but only inside. It made you wonder if they weren’t growing as they should. You could see the same grim notion in Hershel’s eyes when he would check on you; the way the others avoided your gaze all together. 

But not Daryl. 

He’d just sit with you, letting you curl into him for warmth, while he displayed the tiniest of smirks. 

“S’a Dixon. They’ll be fine.”

The reassurance always made you smile. Sometimes, he’d even press his lips to the top of your head as he pulled a blanket snug around you. He had found this god awful poncho, colorful and not him in every way, which meant that it suited him perfectly. Always keeping you on your toes. He relied on that for his own source of warmth but never objected when you would pull him beneath the blanket as well. 

“Gotta keep my human furnace functional.”

The van rolled to a stop, prompting you to sit up. 

“Why’re we stopped?” You asked from behind Carol’s seat. Rick looked at you through the rear view mirror. 

“Getting late and we’re all exhausted.” He gestured to his right so you’d look out the window. A large, tattered house with a fence. “Haven’t seen too many walkers so we’ll clear that and maybe stay a few days.”

There hadn’t been many stops for the past several hours. There were probably buildings nearby to scavenge, but it was getting too dark to attempt. You gave the slightest nod and sat back to wait for the building to be cleared. Carol opened the door to help. She was learning and helping more and more with the walkers, becoming self-sufficient. You had the gun Daryl had given you but were under strict orders from the archer that you were to stay away from any altercations unless absolutely necessary. 

Just as Carol disappeared, the bowman peered inside. 

“Ya doin’ okay?”

You tried to offer a reassuring smile but it just wasn’t there. “Yeah.” 

He was doubtful, had every right to be, but morale just wasn’t anyone's strong suit anymore. Expression drawn, he reached back to squeeze your knee. His hand was warm through your sweatpants. You almost asked him to stay with you instead. He was needed out there though, part of the muscle that made things safer for everyone. 

“How are you feeling?” Lori asked from the passenger seat once the door had been closed. She was reclined slightly, eyes shut. She had already begun to show, even being several weeks behind you. 

You shrugged needlessly. She wasn’t looking at you. “Okay, I guess. The meds helped.” Cursing yourself the moment the words left your mouth, you tried to backpedal. “I have a few if you want one.”

“I’ve been through this before. Mine’ll pass.” You could hear the smile in her voice, though you didn’t understand why. She and Rick acted like strangers in recent weeks. Everyone had their theories but no one dared speak them. 

“Well, if you change your mind—” you trailed off, sitting back to deal with your own bout of nausea. You were feeling better. The episodes came less as your pregnancy progressed, but when it hit, it hit hard. IV fluids had long ago run out, no luck in finding more. It was up to you to keep yourself going now. 

The door slid open, startling you from a light doze. Daryl moved the seat in front of you and offered his hand. 

“S’clear. Let’s getcha inside. S’got a fireplace. Getcha all warm an’ make somethin’ horrible to eat.”

You rolled your eyes and took his hand, dragging your cocoon of blankets out with you. “I don’t know if I can eat but I’ll try.” You knew it bothered him when you didn’t at least take a couple of bites, make the attempt even if you weren’t feeling hungry. Because you should be hungry. You were pregnant in the middle of an apocalypse never knowing where your next meal might come from. So, you tried, if for no other reason than to see a few of the lines on his face smooth out. 

“S’all ya can do really.”

You couldn’t feel his hand on the small of your back but you knew it was there. That’s how he had taken to walking with you. It felt both possessive and protective, neither of which you minded. It had been weeks since you had realized you loved him. Weeks of never knowing where you stood. No one dared make an assumption other than Carol. She was convinced your feelings were reciprocated. You just didn’t know. 

“Sit down over there. I’ll get the fire goin’.”

“I can do it.” You attempted, knowing full well he was going to shoot down the idea. 

“Nah. Sit down.” He waved dismissively, not even turning around. You sat back with a pout, feeling utterly useless. You couldn’t fight. You couldn’t hunt. You couldn’t even start a bloody fire. 

Rolling up your sweater a little, you poked at your round belly. The air was cold, goosebumps rising as soon as it hit. “Guess I’m good at growing you, huh, Thumper?” When you thought about what you had said, you let your palm fall flat across the taut skin, tears stinging your eyes. “Fuck. Not even good at that, am I?” You sniffled, glancing up to make sure Daryl was preoccupied. The last thing he needed was to deal without another bout of your emotional whiplash. 

You watched the man work at the fire. Rick was bringing pieces of wood that weren’t soaked, too preoccupied with his task to pay you any mind. You could hear Glenn, T-Dog, and Carl chopping up furniture. Lori, Maggie, Carol, and Hershel were either snooping around or bringing in supplies. So, you could stare without risk of being caught. 

Like everyone else, Daryl had lost weight, his face more angular, clothes fitting looser. Not only did he barely eat, he was by far the most active. He’d scavenge, clear homes, lead the caravan on his bike, and still leave for a day of hunting that was usually unsuccessful. The only thing he did less of than eating was sleeping. You woke up at least twice in the few hours you had, usually to go pee. You never had to wake him to accompany you. He was always sitting up beside you. 

It was all starting to show. The dark circles under his eyes. The way he’d lose his balance sporadically. You were worried. You just wanted him to care for himself. 

Unconsciously tapping your middle finger on your stomach, you flinched when you felt a ripple beneath your hand. No way. You had frozen as if the baby would get spooked and run if you so much as breathed. When it happened again, you laughed out loud, startling Daryl. Upon seeing your shirt up, the archer was up and striding toward you. 

“S’wrong?” He asked with notable worry, crouching beside your knees. You shook your head, slinging your tears. 

“Nothing’s wrong. Gimme your hand.” You wiggled your fingers in front of him, elated and impatient. His hand barely made it up before you snatched it and pressed his palm to your belly, feeling bad for the way the sudden movement made him flinch. It was just out of surprise, you knew that, but it didn’t stop you from muttering an apology. You were just too damn excited. 

But then nothing happened. 

“I, uh—the fire.” Daryl began to pull away but you weren’t ready to give up. 

“They were moving.” You pressed a little firmer against his hand. 

“Doc said ya’d feel ‘em ‘fore—”

You watched his face the moment the little ripple bumped against his palm. His eyes, wide as saucers, were shining with tears he didn’t seem able to blink away. Because he wasn’t blinking. You were about to question if he was even breathing when he drew in a gulp of air as if he’d forgotten. 

“Was that—”

You nodded. “Thumper’s thumping.” A tear trickled down your own cheek but you refused to move in order to wipe it away. Good moments were few and far in between and that was a great moment. Another movement within you had you laughing, Daryl glancing up and back down. “Feels funky but it’s the best thing I’ve ever felt.”

Your baby was moving. Alive and moving. It wasn’t a guarantee that nothing was wrong but it was something and you’d take that. 

The archer was still staring, cautious and curious, at his hand. He swiped his thumb back and forth over the skin, more than likely hoping for another movement. You were about to tell him it may not happen when he was rewarded with a small but firm bump to his palm. 

You laughed again, too engrossed in what was happening to notice Daryl leaning in. You lifted your head just in time for his lips to press against yours, both of your eyes shooting wide before he pulled away, hand and all. His reaction made it clear he’d been aiming for your cheek. 

“I should, uh—” 

The way he stood, nervously adjusting the crossbow’s strap as he backed away, made you anxious. The excitement was gone from his eyes, replaced with something you couldn’t even begin to decipher. 

“Daryl, it’s okay.” Shirt pulled down, you leaned forward, resisting the urge to reach for him.

“Nah, I—” he turned, making large strides out of the room. Foregoing your blankets, you were quick to follow. Daryl was standing a few feet from Rick, shifting from foot to foot like the panic was about to burst from within him if he stopped moving. 

“I’ll get the fire goin’ but man, it’s dark out. You can hunt tomorrow.” The former deputy shifted the wooden burden in his arms. He seemed to see something on the archer’s face that you couldn’t because he quickly relented. “Just be safe out there. What do you want me to tell Y/N?”

“Tell ‘er whatever ya want. She ain’t my problem, m’just here for my kid.” 

Your wet eyes stayed glued to where he had stood only seconds ago. At some point, Rick had noticed you, stopping beside you in the doorway. He would have squeezed your shoulder if not for the firewood he carried. 

“He didn’t mean it, Y/N.”

You couldn’t hide the hurt when you looked toward him, gaze seeming to look through him. “You sure about that?”

He wasn’t. 

Morning came and went, Daryl still hadn’t returned. Had he not left during the night, it wouldn’t be unusual. He spent many days out looking for anything that could be a potential dinner. But he always came back before dark. 

“You need to eat, sweetheart.” Carol gently stroked your hair while you looked out the window. You were cross-legged, wishing you could draw your knees to your chest and shrink into yourself but baby Dixon made that impossible. 

“Do you think he’s okay?” You asked quietly. 

“It’s Daryl. I’m sure he’s fine.”

Something about that answer didn’t sit right, no matter the good intention behind it. Daryl was only human. Anything but weak but no less human. You helped drag him from a ravine when he was barely hanging on to consciousness. If you hadn’t shown up when you did, the walker would have certainly killed him.

“I should go after him.” Even if he doesn’t care about me. 

“No you absolutely should not.” Carol’s hand stilled on the back of your head. “You’re pregnant, Y/N. It’s dangerous.”

“I can handle myself.” The quiver in your voice betrayed your attempted confidence. What if you couldn’t protect yourself anymore. Everyone had been treating you like a doll, fragile and useless. 

“You can’t go out there. Think of your baby.”

As if they could hear the concern echoing in the other woman’s voice, the baby moved, a whispered flutter just beneath your skin. Your hand moved of its own accord, gently massaging, reassuring the little life inside you that you were thinking of them. 

“I’ll wait.” You conceded, your shoulders slumping in defeat. Your baby needed to be your first priority. They certainly were Daryl’s. You supposed that was a good thing. At least he would be a present father. 

“I think he’s dealing with some serious emotions right now.” Carol had begun to pet your hair again, her voice soft and sure. As the first snow of the season began to fall, you leaned into her and allowed yourself some comfort. 

Still, your eyes never left the window. 

You had fallen asleep as Carol held you. You didn’t remember moving to the bed roll but when you forced your eyes open, the fire was burning brightly and you were bundled up. You stretched stiff muscles, pushing the blankets away. What had become a tradition, your bladder screamed for relief. You wouldn’t complain since it meant that you weren’t severely dehydrated. 

But it was cold and everyone was asleep. 

Biting your lip, you decided to venture out on your own. It wasn’t far to the tree line. Your holster was in the van, unable to wrap around your thickened waist. You decided to simply carry the gun and strapped your knife to your thigh. Your swollen belly altered your center of gravity, making it difficult to step over the lumps in blankets and sleeping bags. 

Glenn was nowhere to be seen, most likely patrolling the outside of the house. Hopefully you didn’t startle him. The snow had stuck, nearly two inches at least, and Daryl was still absent. It was beyond difficult to push down your worry, fight the urge to keep walking past the trees in the direction he had left. 

Just inside the treeline, you nearly moaned in relief that quickly passed into annoyance. With toilet paper and napkins being saved for the messier trips, you had to bear the cold biting your most intimate areas while you drip dried.

“God, the apocalypse sucks.” You complained under your breath. After an adequate—and brutal—amount of time, you were sure there was a layer of ice on your nethers. Panties, leggings, and sweatpants pulled up, you picked up your gun and stretched again. 

“Aw, the show’s over, boys.”

Your gun was aimed before the sentence was finished. Four shadows were spread out around you, one shoved toward you harshly. Glenn fell close to your feet, and you instinctively offered a hand and let him pull himself up. 

“Assholes jumped me.” Your friend staggered, choosing to hold onto the tree instead of putting his weight on you. 

“How many more of you are there?” One of the men asked, stepping forward so you could make out some of his features. 

“More than there are of you.” You silently clicked the safety off your gun.

“Getting knocked up when the world’s all fucked is pretty stupid.” The shadow to the left sneered. “Must be some good pussy if the daddy didn’t pull out.”

“You’ll never know.” You hissed, your freed hand clutching the sweater over your belly. “We scream, and our group will take you down before you can even reach us.”

“Y/N, there’s one missing.” Glenn was dazed, shaking his head as if he just couldn’t focus. 

“What?”

“There were four.”

Before his words could fully sink in, there was a knife pressed into the side of your belly, a bulky arm wrapping around to hold tightly to your left breast. 

“Drop it, or I’ll carve the little one out.” The tip of the blade pushed into your skin, enough for a small, damp patch of red to spread across your sweater. 

“Okay! Alright, I’m putting it down.” Flicking on the safety so the gun didn’t accidentally discharge, you let it fall to the ground with a dull thump. 

“Good girl.”

You visibly cringed, glancing over to find Glenn as his hands were restrained. He was having a hard time staying awake. Head injury. 

“Tie her hands and get her pants off.” Your breath hitched as the knife was pulled away, your holster ripped from your thigh. 

“Please don’t.” You begged, your body being jerked unnecessarily roughly to zip tie your wrists. A dirty hand ran across your stomach and down to your hip, squeezing uncomfortably. 

“She knows how to beg when she don’t got that gun.” He laughed huskily, leaning in too close. You reared back, turning your head to avoid his lips. “Don’t be like that, baby. We about to get to know each other real good.”

“Leave her alone!” Glenn tried to struggle upright, a boot to his stomach securing him to the ground. 

“Don’t worry, boy. You’re next.” The stranger standing over him chortled. 

What if these men were the reason Daryl hadn’t returned? What they had—

You flinched when the waistband of your pants was grabbed and pulled at, the hold too strong to struggle against. That sure as hell didn’t stop you from trying. If they were going to rape you, you wouldn’t make it easy. 

“Get off me!” You shrieked, not caring if you drew every walker in the vicinity. Maybe they’d hear you in the house. When your mouth opened to scream again, a dirty handkerchief was stuffed inside. The only thing worse than the taste was the smell, instantly triggering your nausea. 

The man grabbed behind your knees and pulled, sending you crashing to your back, your head smacking the unforgiving ground. The snow began to melt and seep through your sweater but your lower half was nearly exposed. Two men worked to undress you—maybe there was just one? They looked identical and moved in sync. After a moment, the two melted together. Now you had a head injury. 

It was futile to battle against the bile creeping up your throat. You had to tilt onto your shoulder to vomit, the viscous liquid seeping out around the fabric blocking its exit. With what little coherence you could summon you swallowed down what remained in your mouth. It would happen again but at least you wouldn’t choke on it this time. 

“Hoo, boys. Look at that pretty cunt!” 

Your face burned with shame, your gut churning, and your heart breaking. Daryl. It was the only logical explanation. They’d killed him and now they would kill you. One of them knelt between your legs, loudly working open his belt. Over the laughter and the clink of metal, you heard a sharp whistle. 

“What was that?”

“Where’d it come from?”

Another whistle, but this one was different. It was the sound of a projectile traveling to its target. Something warm ran down your right thigh. When you managed to raise your head, ignoring the throbbing, the man that was about to fuck you began toppling toward you, a familiar bolt through his eye. 

Daryl. You’re okay. 

You managed to move just far enough to avoid the dead weight before letting your head fall back into the snow, the cold soothing the ache. There were voices all around you, some distant part of you yearning to get up and help in the fight. 

“Stay awake, honey.” You opened your eyes to find Carol’s worried blue gaze looking you over while she ripped the disgusting cloth from your mouth. 

“Snuck up on us.” You breathed. 

“I know but they’re dead now. Or they will be.” 

You hummed, tuning her out when she began to admonish you for going outside alone. You were too tired to admit you fucked up. You could do that later. After a nice nap. 

“Nuh uh, girl. Open them eyes.” 

Something warm was wrapped around you, and you were gently lifted. The smell of leather and smoke wafted into your nostrils, and you knew you were safe. 

“Daryl—”

“This her blood? What th’fuck happened? Why wasn’t someone with her?!” 

When had he laid you on the bedroll? You squirmed against the cold hands on your skin, your clothes being completely removed. Had you dreamed it? Were you still out there?

“Be still, woman!” 

You exhaled. It wasn’t a dream after all. You were safe, the baby was safe. You could rest. Ignoring the pleas for you to stay awake, you followed the darkness into a blissful state of nothingness. 

“I’m fine!” You whined, swatting at Carol’s hands when she tried to roll up your shirt for the millionth time to check your stitches. “It wasn’t that deep and the baby’s been wiggling like a nightcrawler.” When the woman deflated, you leaned forward with a wince to grab her shoulders. “I’m fine.”

Daryl was perched on a chair in the corner of the bedroom they had moved you into, forever fiddling with his crossbow. He had long ago cleaned and prepped the two rabbits he’d brought back. Lori was handling those while Carol insisted on being your mother hen. The archer hadn’t left the room much, but he hadn’t spoken to you either. 

It wasn’t like you did anything damnable. You went to pee, thinking Glenn was safe and on watch. Why the hell was Daryl mad at you? He was the one that skulked off for over twenty four hours and scared the hell out of you! You should be giving him the silent treatment. 

You already kinda were. 

“Any headache?” Hershel asked, strolling into the room with some Tylenol. 

“Just a little.” You shrank back, suddenly feeling like a kid under the scrutiny of the older man. He held out the tablets and you took them without question. You stayed forward so he could probe the back of your head, hissing when he pressed against the sensitive lump left behind. 

“Swelling’s gone down but we still need to keep an eye on you. You took quite the tumble last night.”

“Wasn’t as much of a tumble as it was a thrown onto the back of my noggin.” From the corner of your eye, you could see Daryl go still, his fist clenching. “Doesn’t matter though. I’m good. Baby’s good. Glenn’s good. And we have meat for dinner! I’d say that’s a win.”

“Jesus fuck.” Daryl hissed from the corner. You turned your head so fast that your vision blurred and Hershel moved as if you’d slapped him. 

“What?” You clapped back, growing warm with anger. Carol and Hershel all but dashed out of the room. 

“Ya just gonna act like s’all good? No big deal? Ya almost got yourself killed, Y/N!” The crossbow was still on his lap, trembling from how hard he was gripping the stock. “Fuckin’ stupid.” 

“I was going to piss, Daryl! I usually have someone to go with me but you weren’t here!” You wanted to find the stricken expression on his face satisfying but somehow, it just felt bad. 

“Couldn’a got someone else?” His voice was calmer now, tired and raspy. 

“Why does it matter now anyway? Your baby’s safe.” You sank back against the headboard, grimacing when even the dusty but soft pillows made the back of your head sing with pain. 

“Yeah but you got hurt.” 

You heard his crossbow being placed against the wall but didn’t bother to look over. Your head was actually starting to hurt and dealing with Daryl wasn’t doing it any favors. “Your kid is your priority, Dixon. You don’t need to hover. They’re good.” Massaging your temples, you sighed. “I’m sure Hershel will tell you if anything changes.”

The mattress dipped beside you, your eyes opening and fingers ceasing their movements. Daryl wasn’t looking at you. He was actually looking at his knees, where one hand was clenched so tightly, his knuckles were white. His other hand was planted on the mattress, the trembling shaking the surface beneath you. 

“Ya heard that?”

You swallowed, your heart feeling heavy and suffocating beneath your ribcage. “I did.” You wanted to push him off the bed, yell at him until he felt as bad as he made you feel. 

“Didn’t mean it.”

You scoffed. “Then why’d you say it?” The archer looked pained, confused. “You know, it’s fine if you don’t want to be anything with me. Doesn’t mean we can’t raise our kid together.”

“That ain’t it.”

“Then what is it because this hot and cold with you is getting really old.” You laughed wryly. 

“I didn’t mean to do that.” He cleared his throat and sat back a little, hand hovering over your belly before he placed it on his thigh next to the other. “Kiss ya. Not, uh—not like that.”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. His cheeks were tinted pink, the tips of his ears matching the shade. 

“That’s okay. I turned my head. It was—”

“I wanted to.” He clarified quickly, shutting you right the hell up. “Just didn’t mean to.” God, that man was confusing as fuck. Just like you had said: hot and cold. “Ain’t good with words. Never have been.”

You shrugged flippantly. “Always good with them when we’re fucking.”

“Y/N.” He deadpanned. 

“Sorry.” Licking your lips, you wiped away your smile. “So, you want to kiss me?”

“Yeah.”

“But it was an accident?”

“Yeah.”

“Right.” This was beyond hot and cold. This was eternal hellfire and hypothermia. “Daryl, can you just—say what you want?” 

“Told ya, ain’t good with words.” You opened your mouth but then he was leaning forward pressing his lips to yours, gentle and chaste, leaving you yearning for just a little more. His eyes were dancing back and forth between yours, fear and uncertainty blooming in the cerulean pools. 

“Do you want to know what I want?” Your fingertip brushed over the scar on this temple, moving his hair a little. It was growing and he wasn’t stopping it. You kinda liked it. Your focus returned to his gaze, and he nodded. “You. Me. Thumper. I never thought I’d have a family and then I thought I’d be a mom and you’d be a dad and we’d coparent as friends.”

“That whatcha want?”

“Shut up and let me finish.” You struggled not to laugh when his mouth shut with a click of teeth. “I want you and me to raise little Thumper. Together. Not as friends. It’s okay if you don’t wan—”

This kiss was a bit more. More tongues, more teeth, more vigor. When he moved away, it was only to start pulling at your clothing, coaxing a hearty laugh from your throat as he wrestled your sweatpants off with a bit of a struggle. 

“Wait!” You called out, holding out a hand to have him freeze. Your chin trembled with the absolutely agonizing attempt to hold back more laughter. “Does this mean you like me?” 

Your sweatpants landed on your face. 

“Shuddup.”