#and I do t even remember why she wanted me to get it so badly

[herawell]

.

[azsazz]

Dead by Dawn (Part 17)

Azriel x Cassian x Reader

Summary: Zombie!AU: It’s been a while since the end of the world.

Warnings: Blood, gore, injury, graphic depictions of violence, poly!relationship, slow burn, undead, death,

Word Count: 3058

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7) (Part 8) (Part 9) (Part 10) (Part 11) (Part 12) (Part 13) (Part 14) (Part 15) (Part 16)

Notes: heyyyy what do you know, i found it in me to get this part out. im proud.

_________________________________________

Day 195 Part 3

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

You never been one to throw caution to the wind, but with what sits before you, the urge is strong.

Animals were one of the first things to go when disease swept across the world, which is why it’s so difficult not to pick up the juicy chicken breast that’s steaming on the plate in front of you, and completely ravage it.

Your mouth waters at the sight. There are greens, too. A blend of spinach and vegetables cooked to perfection in animal fat. It’s the first real meal you’ve seen in…fuck you don’t even know how long it’s been since you’ve seen real meat like this, nor food that wasn’t expired and from a can.

The only thing keeping your restraint in place is your companions' determination. The sprinkle of common sense that hasn’t fizzled into a ravenous beast at the scent of your meal is easy to overlook, but Azriel’s menacing presence beside you isn’t. His back is ramrod straight in his own seat, and the food doesn’t seem to be affecting him in the slightest. He’s undeterred by their taunts. Instead, his woody eyes drink in your surroundings for the umpteenth time, as if there might be a hint as to what’s really going on here. 

On your other side, you’re flanked by Cassian, who does look like he’s struggling to keep himself from sinking his teeth into the juicy thigh on his plate, however little it might be. It’s more than he’s had to eat in days, months, and he wants it so fucking badly.

In fact, no one’s touching their food, which is a red flag of itself, but your head is swimming at the smells, your stomach a mess of knots that loosen at the idea of food, and tighten at the thought of where your best friend could be.

You’re also a little afraid, if you’re being honest, of getting sick should you eat something this…real after having gone so long without.

Nesta watches you from across the table with a piercing stare. There’s a malice you’ve become accustomed to being fed in the little time you’ve known her. You understand that she’s worried for her sister, out there with little protection, but you’re worried too. You feel as if Feyre is your sister as well. You’ve been winning your own little war against the undead for too long to remember.

At her side is who you can only decern to be her lover, Eris. You ponder their relationship, what you saw in the woods. Perhaps they’re nothing more than companions, but with the way the auburn-haired man keeps stealing glances at her, worry etched in his brow, you know there must be more.

The chair beside Eris is filled with a near clone of him. They have twin eyes and looks of caution on their fox-shaped faces. The unnamed man wears his hair long down his back, a single braid hangs down the side of his face. It’s not a nice one, practiced, but messy, like whoever put it there was distracted more often than not during styling. The only differentiator is the color of their skin, because even the shape of their eyes and their stature is eerily similar. It’s clear that they are nothing like their scumbag of a father, and the thought of Beron alone makes you shiver in your seat.

There’s an empty seat beside him, and you can’t help the stab of guilt you feel at the sight of it. You don’t know if they’ve lost someone important to their little unit they have going on here, or if there’s a reason for the unoccupied seat.

Cassian’s stomach growls loudly, breaking the terse silence. 

“Everything is safe to eat, I can assure you,” Eris mentions after clearing his throat. Nesta shoots him a look that could make even a zombie cower, but he must be used to it because he takes the betraying look with grace, gently settling a palm onto her lap.

Nesta doesn’t shove it away like you expect her to. Instead, her lips go razor thin. The pair stare at each other so intensely that you feel like you’re intruding on something monumental.

Eventually, Nesta breaks. With a sharp inhalation, she turns her gaze to you. She doesn’t look happy, but at least she doesn’t look like she wants to reach across the table and maul you for losing her sister.

“Eat,” she all but demands. She cringes, grits her teeth, and adds like the words are truly poison in her mouth, “Please.”

“You’ll excuse us if we don’t trust you,” Azriel replies curtly. Your eyes soften as they land on him, even if his gaze is trained on your hosts. Weeks ago, he’d been wary of you, and now he’s here protecting you from the outsiders that are holding you captive.

You’ve never been so thankful for him, and you remind yourself to thank him for it later.

“Don’t eat, then.” Nesta shrugs as if his words don’t bother her in the slightest. Your whereabouts of Feyre seem to have caught her off guard because right now she is the perfect poise of excellence. Her nature could give any queen a run for their crown.

She’s the first one to dig into her meal. She uses the cutlery as if they’re weapons, tearing into the meat with a force that has you praying to any higher being that Feyre and Rhys are on their way to you, because you do not want to be on the other end of Nesta’s knife.

Your eyes flicker back down to your plate, to the shiny silverware placed on either side of your plate. Hell, you’re not even sure you remember how to use them anymore, with how long you’ve had to make do on the road.

“Please, eat,” Eris counters with a stern look that doesn’t affect Nesta in the slightest. Eris motions to his brother and they both pick up their forks, as if trying to show you everything is okay.

“I don’t trust the animals, either,” Azriel responds.

“How about the vegetables, then?” Eris offers, and you think you catch a glint of pleading in his amber eyes. You think he’s trying to keep things civil and calm for Nesta’s sake. You’re sure she’s worried to pieces about her littlest sister out there when the sun is so close to hiding away for another night of hell. “The animals are perfectly healthy, though I assure you the food will not go to waste if you don’t eat it.”

“How are they safe?” Cassian questions, grimacing down at the meat. You know that he out of everyone in your little group needs it the most. You’ve seen his protruding ribs only yesterday, and with him being the biggest in your group, he needs the nutrients more than anyone.

A sudden urge of protectiveness washes over you. You want him safe and healthy, want both him and Azriel safe and happy, and you wish more than anything that you could give it to them.

Only time will tell.

Eris gives a very diplomatic response. “My family has owned this land for generations,” he starts, and you don’t like to think of how he is Beron’s son. It makes all of the desperation to eat, subside. “We have been raising and breeding our own meat and dairy for just as long. They have never showed signs of disease, but perhaps it’s because they live a life unknowing of what goes on in this world.” You’re not following, but Eris continues before your confusion causes you to blurt out questions.

“My brother—Lucien,” he nods toward his brother beside him. “Takes care of them. When our father first heard the mumblings of a pandemic so devastating, the world as we knew it would never be the same, he built a bunker of sorts, where we continue to monitor and raise our animals to this day.”

“That was about the only smart thing he ever did,” Lucien mumbles, looking green at the mention of his father.

You get the feeling.

Azriel says, “Yeah, we’ve had the unfortunate displeasure of meeting the bastard.”

Lucien’s utensils fall to the table with a clang that startles you in your seat. He looks sick to his stomach, his ying-yang eyes drawn down to his plate in shame. His shoulders are stiff and he’s gone so still you think he might be comatose, turning into a zombie right in front of your very eyes.

“You’ve met him?” Lucien asks, and he sounds like a little boy, reliving a trauma so ghastly that it’s altered his brain chemistry.

“Met him, killed him,” Azriel shrugs as if it was no big feat. Your stomach roils at the memory and you must look paler than normal because Cassian’s placing a. warm hand over yours in comfort. Azriel’s brashness isn’t new to you, but the reminder is too fresh. You try to focus on your hand in Cassian’s, offering him a weak smile.

The tension in the air seems to disperse with Azriel’s words. You’re pretty sure you see Lucien’s shoulders physically drop in relief, like he feels the same way you do about his father. Eris sits in his seat, stunned, but he doesn’t look upset about the news, he looks more disappointed, like he missed out on being the one to kill the crazy cannibal.

“Well, I think this calls for the good wine,” Nesta says, and you swear you see the corners of her mouth threaten to tug into a satisfied smirk.

She glances at you from across the table, and you pick up your fork.

You hope that this is the first of many things that you will agree with her on.

There is little conversation while you eat. Azriel’s brows are drawn in tight, and his mouth is set in a hard line. He keeps glancing over at you with a scolding heat in his eyes, but there’s a sliver of worry that makes you ache, like he thinks you might keel over from the chicken.

If you do, you’re not even sure you’ll be mad. It’s good fucking chicken.

You try to savor it, to eat slowly so that your body doesn’t reject the first real meal you’ve had in forever, but you can hardly control yourself. You feel like a rabid animal, hungry enough to gnaw your own arm off. You wonder if this is what the zombies outside feel like, an insatiable hunger, or if they’re so mindless they don’t feel anything at all.

You reckon you have only minutes before the food makes its reappearance, but you can’t find it in yourself to care when you slide your silverware onto your empty plate, trying to deter yourself from leaning forward and licking it clean.

Cassian has no such reservations.

“How long has it been since you’ve tried to contact my sister?” Nesta asks when the three of you have finished. Even Azriel couldn’t help but clear his plate, though he did take the longest of the three of you, more than mindful of your captors.

It makes your heart swell that he has kept an eye out for you and Cassian.

Azriel and Cassian share a look over your head, debating how much to indulge. But this is Feyre’s sister, and they want to find her and Rhys just as much, so they relent.

“We tried getting through to them this afternoon, before we ran into you,” Cassian explains. “They were too far out of range.”

“Call them again,” she demands, and Eris opens his mouth to protest but Nesta is clearly done with niceties. “No,” she snaps at the man beside her. “We have given them a place to stay and a warm meal. It’s time for them to do something in return.”

You don’t mention how you didn’t have a choice but to be here, and that they wouldn’t have had to give up their food if you were still wandering out in the woods, but your stomach is too full to argue that point.

Cassian tugs the walkie-talkie from his pocket and switches it on. The static is loud, and you all wait in anticipation until the signal calms a bit before he clicks the button on the side and makes the call. “Rhys? Feyre? Are you out there?”

It’s like waiting for a cure as the six of you listen to the channel. Nothing comes through, and Cassian calls again, to no avail.

“We’ll keep trying,” he says, a determined look in his eye. You’re pretty sure that’s the only thing keeping Nesta in her seat, because she looks like she will reach across the table and stab you with her knife.

Movement in the corner of your eye makes you flinch. Cassian’s arm reaches out to block you and Azriel’s already halfway out of his seat, ready to tear you away from the threat that stumbles into the doorway.

The threat comes in the form of what must be Feyre’s other sister, Elain. She looks ghastly, skin as white as sheet, and as well-fed as Eris’ claims them to be, she’s all skin and bones. Her brown eyes are dull and sunken, purple-rimmed as if she hasn’t had a peaceful night of sleep in years. Her blonde-brown hair sits limp on her head, knotted at the back, as if she’s been drained of all of the health in her life.

She looks like a zombie.

Nesta jumps from her chair at the same time Lucien does, the both of them rushing for Elain. Lucien gets to her first, catching her just as her knees give out and scooping her into his arms. Her head lolls against his chest as if the effort to keep it upright is a burden too much, but her dazed gaze sharpens when it lands on you.

You’re frozen in your seat. You have no words for what you’re seeing, the sickly girl who looks closer to death than a zombie. Your heart pounds a thousand miles a minute in your chest, and your fingers are white-knuckled with confusion and fear where they’re wrapped around Cassian’s forearm.

Elain’s brown eyes widen in a way that looks unnatural for her once beautiful face. Her cracked lips form husky words that are so ominous it has the hair on your body standing on end.

“Twin ravens are coming, one white and one black. One has an injured wing.”

Lucien hushes her softly, murmuring to her as he removes her from the room. “Shh, Elain. Let’s get you back to bed, petal. You shouldn’t be expending so much energy until you’re feeling better.”

Guilt stabs you a thousand times over as he takes her away. It doesn’t take long for you to connect the dots with what you’ve seen. How sickly she looks, the faraway look and ramblings that don’t make sense.

“When did it happen?” You blurt, eyes darting from a stoney-faced Nesta to a grimacing Eris to the door Lucien and Elain disappeared through. You don’t like the feeling that overcomes you, the one that wants you to get the fuck out of here as quickly as possible.

Something isn’t right here.

“It’s late,” Nesta states, looking between the three of you like she’s deciding how she’s going to kill each of you. You suppose she might, if she feels any sort of threat to her sister. For now, she needs you alive, if only to help find her other sister. She won’t dump any of you out yet, unless you can’t prove your worth.

Not unless Feyre is dead.

Azriel tucks you carefully behind him, more than aware of the threat before you. You can tell that he’s just as confused as you are. There’s a tightness to his shoulders that you don’t like, an edge to the strain of his body that screams danger.

His mouth opens to speak, but he’s cut off by the sudden voice that comes over the walkie-talkie.

“Cassian? Azriel? Do you copy?” Rhys’ panicked voice sounds through the machine. More than one emotion threatens to consume you, relief and worry. The full meal in your belly swarms like crashing waves, and you might just throw up after all.

Cassian, Azriel, and Nesta all lunge for the radio. Eris gets his hand around Nesta’s bicep and pulls her away, much to her reluctance. She claws against him but he’s only keeping her away from the three of you, still very much a threat.

Not that you’d be of any assistance should either party try to attack. You’ve collapsed in the closest chair.

“Rhys?” Cassian calls back, just as frantic. His terrified hazel eyes are locked with Azriel’s, and it’s all the black-haired boy can do to console Cassian with a reassuring hand to his shoulder. “Can you hear me? Where the fuck are you?”

It wouldn’t mean much to Nesta, who’s given up her struggling to listen into what’s happening, but to Cassian, you know the touch means everything.

Anticipation skyrockets throughout the room, bringing the temperature up to boiling as you await his response. Each second feels like an eternity, and you’re sure the vein throbbing on Nesta’s forehead is about to explode when Rhysand finally responds.

It sounds like he’s running. You pray that’s not a groan of the undead you hear in the background. “Fuck,” he curses in such a hopeless way that makes your heart drop to the floor. Whatever he’s about to say, it’s not going to be good. “I need you to come find us. I don’t know where the fuck we are, but we need help.”

Azriel rips the walkie-talkie from Cassian’s hand, ready to take the lead. He pockets one of the knives at the table and you can’t even muster the energy to joke about how a butterknife won’t be the best weapon against a horde of zombies because you’re more than ready to follow him into the fray, sans weapons, if all to save your friends.

“Where are you, Rhys? I need landmarks.”

 “Az,” Rhys breathes, but he doesn’t sound relieved. In fact, he sounds spent, and there’s no sign of Feyre on the other line. “We need help. Badly. Feyre’s been bitten.”

And hey, your dinner does make its reappearance after all.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

DBD Taglist: @writingsbychlo @kemillyfreitas @5moremin @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @waggel36  @bionic-donut @queserasera @applepie02  @azrielsbabyg  @arcadianmoonlight  @pradaxstyles  @illyrian-dreamerdreamer @reiincarnatiion  @fuckthatfeeling  @shadowsingersmate24 @poppyalice2001  @fallmyriad  @sstrohma  @tcris2020 @jeannineee  @21stcenturytaegi @ochiolism @secretly-here @harrystylesfan2686 @i-am-infinite @lees-chaotic-brain @eternallyelvish @lilah-asteria @randombibitch @st4r-girl-official @nanisearchinginnerpeace (i hope you see this idk if this tag worked 😭)

IDK if any of these tags are going to work but someone plz lmk 💙

[mountainsandmayhem]

Shhh...Just A Little Bit More

Part Three (Soft Version)

DBF!Joel x Female!Reader - 18+

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 (Spicy Version)

Summary: Joel Miller caught you working where you shouldn't be after you promised to quit. Now he's taking matters into his own hands. Word Count 4.7k

CW: DBF!, Dom!, SoftDom!, use of nicknames (baby, sweet pea, baby girl etc.), Sub/Dom, DD/LG, use of a collar, use of toys. no use of y/n. no description of reader except for piercings. Praise, degradation. After care.

AN: THANK YOU for all your love on parts 1 and 2. I was in my feels when I wrote this, so this is the sweeter version of the two. I'd love to hear which version you preferred!

“Hey, buddy. It’s Joel.”

“Joel?” You can hear your dad’s muffled and panicked voice through the receiver. “Where’s my daughter? Why do you have her phone? It’s 5 am!” 

“Remember that time Sarah ran away to your house and you told me that one day I might be doing the same for you?” 

Your dad is silent for a while, a distorted higher pitched voice filters through before you hear your dad again, “It’s alright honey. She’s with Joel.” He lets out a deep sigh before adding, “I thought we skipped the rebellious phase with her.”

“She’s a good girl. I think she just needs some time to cool off.” Joel says, his voice is friendly and light.

You squeeze your thighs together and nuzzle deeper into Joel’s throat. You know what you need, and it isn’t to cool off. He and your dad have been friends since the day he moved in down the street. You were seven and Sarah was eleven, you thought she was the coolest person on the planet. Wonder what she’d think of you now, cuddled up against her dad after he just edged the fuck out of you after spanking you in an alleyway. You’re lost in your thoughts as Joel talks with your parents for a while.

A sane person would stop being so turned on right now. Fuck, I need Joel. So badly. Maybe I should rile him up some more. 

“I’ll come by this afternoon,” Joel hugs you tighter, bringing you back to the conversation. “Ya, if she wants to, I’ll bring her. She’s ok, just never seen her more - frustrated.” 

You squeeze his side, knowing he’s smirking about how frustrated and needy you truly are right now. He hangs up the phone and brings his lips to yours, kissing you harder this time. You moan into his mouth, hands roaming up his body to tangle in his hair. 

Holy shit, Joel Miller is kissing me. 

As you run your nails along his scalp he lets out a pleasurable sounding gasp. Oh, he likes that, he likes that very much. 

Got ya, you think to yourself. 

He pulls away to see you smiling at him. “This is why I usually tie naughty girls down,” his voice is completely different from how it was just moments ago. Deeper, more commanding, and it reverberates through you, right to your pussy. “Because they think they’ve found spots that will get them what they want. Let’s go home now, darlin’.” 

Joel’s front door has barely closed before he’s pushing you up against the wall, caged in by his arms and strong chest. 

Every bump on the drive home had you twitching, you tried your hardest not to gasp and moan but the combination of the gravel road, your insane state of heightened arousal, and the lack of underwear in your stiff denim shorts were all working against you. 

“Did you come on the drive home?” He says coldly, lips pressing against your neck, hitting that sweet soft spot just below your ear. 

“No, Joel,” you whine. 

His teeth graze your throat and you cry out, “It’s Mr Miller, don’t make me remind you again.” 

Your hands scramble for purchase as your knees start to give out, wrapping around the open flannel shirt he’s wearing over a fitted black t-shirt. 

“I’m sorry, Mr Miller. I don’t…” you trail off, you aren’t sure if you should say you’ve never been a sub before, at least not to someone this experienced. You don’t want him to stop, you love what happened tonight and you want him to show you and teach you what this all means. But even more so, you trust him to teach you. 

Joel stops kissing you, hands coming to your waist and lifting you so your eye level. When you wrap your legs around his trim waist you gasp out in a mix of pleasure and pain. Your poor cunt is begging for relief but you can’t barely stand your clit to be touched. His eyes look at you with concern. 

I deserve to go to hell if she tells me she’s a virgin. Fuck, you were so stupid when it comes to her. 

“I need you to finish that sentence, babygirl. You don’t what?” 

Your cheeks turn an adorable shade of pink, so shy compared to that bratty girl who told him to kiss his ass. Joel has the gut sinking feeling that you might have him wrapped around your little finger already.

Dangerous.

Very very dangerous.

Not to mention stupid. 

“I’ve just..” you start, he brings his hands to cup your face, moving a few strands of stray hairs that are stuck to your lips. “I haven’t had a Dom before. I don’t know what to do or what to call you.” 

Cute, Joel thinks to himself, she’s so fucking cute right now. 

“Well babygirl, when we are playing like this you do what I tell you, and if you don’t like what I tell you, you use the safe word. Do you remember it?”

You nod, biting your lip as you whisper, “Cowboy.” 

His face lights up with pride and in that moment you realize you’ll do anything to have him look at you like that again. And when he throws in a gravelly, ‘good girl’, any inhibitions you had go out the window. You are a good girl, you want to be his good girl…forever. 

He continues, “And when we are playing you call me Mr Miller. Otherwise, you can call me whatever you’d like.” He places a light kiss on the tip of your nose and you melt a little more into him and the wall behind you. “Do you have any other questions, baby?” 

Do you know what it does to me when you call me baby? 

Or kiss my nose or forehead like you have? 

Can you spank me again? 

Can you make me come? 

Can I suck your dick? 

How do you feel about anal? 

“Umm,” you press your lips together, eyes taking in every little bit of his face, trying to memorize this moment. “How will I know when we are playing and when we aren’t?” 

Fuck, if this girl lets me put a collar on her I’m going to come in my pants and then propose. 

“There’s my smart girl,” he praises, his coffee and caramel coloured eyes washing over you. “We can have a symbol, something I give you when we play. And when you’re wearing it you’re mine.” His voice sounds full of passion all of a sudden, each work almost sears itself onto your heart. 

Your heart is pounding at what he’s implied and you’re almost sure he can hear it. “What kind of symbol?” 

He puts you down and then gets on one knee to untie your shoes and help you slip them off. His warm fingertips trail up your legs as he stands before taking your hand in his. With his large palm encasing yours, suddenly you feel safe and loved, your pussy flutters at the promise of him taking care of you in a way that only he can. You know you’re going to be ruined for all other men. 

He leads you to his bedroom and it’s nothing like you remember when you’d play hide and seek while Sarah babysat you. Gone is the old wooden furniture and mismatched bedding. Replaced with a black metal bed frame, along with matching bedside tables and dresser, and the fluffiest white sheets you’ve ever seen. You so badly want to just sink in and get naked with Joel. It looks like it would be like getting fucked on a cloud or cotton candy and those thoughts are only solidified when he tells you to sit before he heads to the closet doors. 

He slides the barn door of his large walk-in closet open. The room seems to wrap you up in Joel’s scent, warm and spicy with a hint of vanilla. As he walks into the closet he toes off his boots and then slides his flannel off, placing it on a hanger. It might be your very neglected pussy talking, but you swear you can see every muscle in his body underneath that shirt and you unconsciously spread your legs a little bit. He reaches up above the clothing and pulls out a black box with a lock on it and then looks at you mischievously as he pads back over to you. 

“Sometimes,” he says gently, “A dom will give their sub a collar. When it’s on, we’re playing. You belongs to me. When it’s off, we can just act how we normally would.” 

A collar, definitely not sure how you feel about that. You don’t want to be like a dog with a black leather collar around your neck. He slides the numbers to enter the combination and then flicks the clasp open. 

To your surprise, he pulls out a dainty golden chain. It almost looks like a bunch of yellow paper clips strung together, and there’s a tiny lock pendant on the end. He runs the thin links through his fingers before looking over at you. 

“You don’t have to do this, I can just take you home and we can go back to how things were. Ultimately, you always have the choice.” If a stranger could see the way he was looking at you right now, they’d never be able to tell he was capable of the spanking he gave you earlier. 

“You’ll stop if I say ‘cowboy’?” You say, voice cracking, nervous and excited energy fighting for first place. 

“Always, babygirl. I’m here to dominate you, but I’m also here to take care of you. A good dom will always take of their sub.” 

“Then I want to. Please, Mr Miller. Make me yours.” 

He almost growls as he pulls you to your feet. You squeal as he hoists you over his shoulder, his hands strong on the back of your thighs as he carries you to the floor-length mirror at the end of his closet. He stands behind you as he works the clasp, placing the thin gold collar around your neck and then doing it up. He’s so close that you can feel his cock harden at the sight of you as he officially makes you as his for the first time. Joel's thick fingers trace along the rings, he thumbs the little lock pendant before he grips your throat just below your jawline. He applies pressure to your pulse point as his now black eyes come to meet yours in the reflection and brings his lips to your ear. 

With a growling, rough whisper he says, “You have five seconds to get naked and lay in my bed with your legs spread as wide as you can.” 

The instant his hand releases, you sprint to his bed, stripping your clothes as you go. He counts to five with authority and after what happened his truck, and now this, you’re sure you’re never going to be able to count without getting turned on ever again. 

“Such an eager little thing, aren’t you?” 

Desperate to hear him praise you, you lay on your back, planting your feet on the bed before letting your knees fall open. 

“Straighten your legs and put your hands above your head.” You position your body how he says, even though you’re completely exposed to him his eyes stay locked on yours. “This is how I want you when we start playing. Exactly how you are now.” 

He grabs another box from his closet and places it on the foot of the bed, eyes travelling up your toned legs, “I’m going to show you what you’ll be going to work with inside of you tomorrow if you decide to stay there. I haven’t forgotten that you were a brat tonight.” 

He opens the box and pulls out a black U-shaped piece of silicone and lays it on your belly. “Do you know what this….” 

He stops mid-sentence, eyes lighting up as they rake over your tits. They dance from each nipple, taking in the tiny barbell and the thin hearts that encompass each one. “You are a naughty little thing, aren’t you?” 

“I like pain,” you whisper, throat going dry at the admission. 

“My little masochist,” he hums. “As I was saying, do you know that is?” He nods his head towards the little toy. 

You shake your head, “No, Mr Miller.” 

“That goes inside your gorgeous pussy. One part pushes on your g spot, the other on your clit. I have the remote.” He holds up a small plastic remote with a few shiny buttons.

“Oh,” you moan, your lips forming in the shape of the word, nipples getting harder at the thought.

“I will keep it turned on low enough that you will not come. In fact, it might be more like torture than pleasure.” His eyes are sparkling at the thought of you squirming for hours.

“But I don’t want to quit,” you whine. You’re a glutton for punishment and you know Joel will dish it out. 

“How long is your shift?” He says, picking up the toy, the graze of his fingers along your belly sends an electric current through your body. 

“Four hours,” your voice is husky with need. 

“I’m going to get some lube and then put this toy inside of you now, babygirl. We’ll see how long you can last. Is that okay?” 

“Of course, Mr Miller.” You try to sound confident but in the bright lights of his room, you can see how dark and serious he looks. 

He lubes up the toy and then swipes some lube through your folds. Your back arches off the bed and you let out a loud high pitched moan when he hits your clit. 

Fuck. I’m gonna come with the tiniest vibration and it’s probably going to hurt. 

“So wet. So swollen. My poor girl,” he says mockingly, he’s loving that you’ve been suffering and on edge since the minute you saw him in that alleyway. 

The toy slides in and the pressure just from the silicone alone sends the air whooshing out of your lungs. You’re gasping for breath, your clit feels like it’s being zapped with electricity and you immediately slam your thighs together and start to whimper. 

A small, almost evil sounding chuckle comes from Joel as he holds up the remote. “Ready?” 

“No,” you gasp, rolling onto your belly. “I can’t. Please don’t.” 

“Are you going to quit?” 

You cry out in frustration into one of his fluffy pillows and then whisper a sad, “no.” 

The vibrator comes to life and the most intense mix of pain and pleasure floods your body. He’s right, the sensation isn’t enough to make you come, just enough so that you know it’s there. You bury your face deeper in the pillows, curling yourself into the fetal position, back towards Joel, as you try to breathe normally. 

Joel strips down to his boxers before shutting off the lights. He slips into the sheets, covering you up along the way. “Good night, baby girl.” 

“What?” You gasp. “Mr Miller. I….oh god…I c-can’t. It’s on.” 

“You may as well get used to it. You’re going to work with it in tomorrow. No more talking. Go to sleep.” 

Joel lays on his back, one arm behind his head, the other palm spread out on his chest. You flip around to face him, the early morning sun lighting his profile. There’s no way you’re going to be able to sleep, you shift your legs around. 

Maybe if they’re spread I won’t feel the vibration as much. 

That doesn’t seem to work so instead you squeeze them together. More pressure might make you come and then you can finally get some rest. Joel looks over at you as you jerk around silently. 

“Come here,” he says, patting his chest. You cuddle into him, one leg draping over his warm body. The arm behind his head wraps around your naked body. He feels so soft but hard against you. You can’t help but hump against his hip bone. You’re right on the edge. So close to tipping over it and coming. So very close. 

“Baby, it hasn’t even been four minutes, how are you going to last four hours?” He’s taunting you, trying to get you to beg. “You’re pathetic.” 

You can feel sweat breaking out across your body. This is torture, was right. You hate that he was right, but you hate even more how much he’s loving it. 

“Please,” you whisper. 

He pulls back to be able to look into your eyes. “What are you going to do for me if I make you come?” 

“Anything. Just. Please, Mr Miller.” You grind yourself into him harder, you’re so close that it’s almost unbearable. 

“Quit your job, baby girl.” He demands again. “I’ll tell your parents you’re going to work for me.” 

You start to pant as the pressure in your lower belly increases, you can feel wetness pooling inside of you, begging to be released. “I can’t take your money. Oh god - please - I ca-can’t. Hnnnnng. P-please.” 

A tear runs down your cheek and you’re not even sure why you’re crying, probably out of frustration.  

“You can. I’ll pay you to help around the house,” he holds up a hand, almost like he knows exactly what you’re doing today. “Not for the sex you’re guaranteed to get if you quit and come here.” He wipes the tear away and hikes his leg up to increase the pressure that’s already on the verge of making you pass out. 

Stars start to blur your vision as you whisper, “ok. I’ll quit.” 

Joel has you flipped onto your back, trapped under his weight before you can even register what’s happening. He’s kissing you deeply, tongue taking what it wants as your legs kick and shake under him. 

“Please!” You cry between kisses. 

His thick fingers slide between your puffy folds and the toy, you scream out as he pulls the toy from you. 

“Shhh…just a little bit more. I’m going to make it better,” he says gently, kissing down your neck, swirling his tongue around each nipple piercing. 

“Please. Please. Please, Mr Miller. Please. It hurts. I need, please.” You’re a mumbling mess and the words leaving your lips are practically incomprehensible. 

“I know. Relax baby. Breathe.” He says between kisses down your sternum, his tongue tracing your curves. When he finally settles in between your thighs he swallows hard, he wants to dive right in, make you drench his face as you come. “Look at me, darlin’.” 

His warm breath hits your pussy and you fight your hips from bucking up to his face as prop yourself up on an elbow and try to focus your eyesight on him. You didn’t know it was possible to be so turned on that you practically had tequila vision. 

His voice is serious yet calm as he says, “I’m going to make you come using my fingers and my tongue. Is that ok?” 

You nod your head and a faint ‘yes’, leaves your lips. 

“Can I lick and touch both the outside and inside of this beautiful, weeping, pussy?” 

His words from earlier echo through you. Ultimately, you always have the choice. 

Joel Miller would never do something you didn’t want and that sets your soul on fire. He cares. About you. Only you. Wants to do things for you. You are not a burden here. You are not a burden to him. 

“Yes, Mr Miller. Please. Touch me.” The room suddenly feels twenty degrees hotter, you can feel sweat beading on your skin. 

“What’s your safe word?” 

“Cowboy,” you hum, never taking your eyes away from his blown out obsidian gaze. 

“That’s my girl,” he says, sliding his ring and middle finger around your desperate entrance. You cry out, dropping your body to the bed. Pleasure. Overwhelming pleasure. “No no baby girl, eyes on me.” 

You somehow muster the strength to raise yourself onto shaky arms. His two strong fingers slide deep into your heat with minimal resistance and you immediately start gasping. Pleasure. Life altering, heart stopping pleasure. 

“Fuuuuck. Baby. So tight. Have you ever squirted before?” His cheeks are flushed with need. He might be the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen. 

Your breasts rise and fall with your ragged breaths. You shake your head and moan out a ‘no’. 

He smiles down at your dripping cunt, “I can feel it. Gotta relax for me. Just breathe and let it happen.” 

Nerves flutter in your stomach and then he curls his fingers forward, putting so much pressure on a soft spongy spot that you didn’t know existed. On instinct, your knees try to close but his wide frame keeps you open. You yell his name to the ceiling, he knows he should punish you for not calling him Mr Miller but you look so goddamn beautiful as you start to fall apart. 

“Breathe baby,” he says as he curls his fingers once, twice, three more times. You can hear how wet you are and the pressure becomes unbearable. Stars blur your vision again, the walls of your pussy squeeze tightly around his fingers and then it’s just a blur. A blur of all consuming pleasure. 

“That’s it. That’s my girl. Come for me. Soak me. Good girl,” Joel’s free hand pressed down on your mound as a wet heat leaks all over you. “Good fuckin’ girl. Let go for me.” 

You’re not sure if you’re screaming or not, all you hear and feel is Joel. Everything is Joel. Strong hands, deep gravel voice, warm vanilla smell. He’s everywhere and you never want it to stop. 

“Keep going. That’s it. You look so beautiful,” he says, licking a long stripe up your fluttering pussy, drinking up your juices. “Oooh yeah - gooood giiirrll”

Almost immediately after your orgasm crests it becomes too much. You’re so overstimulated that it hurts and your moans of pleasure become cries of pain. You forget your name, where you are, you even forget your safe word. But Joel knows, he always knows. 

He stops pumping his fingers and says your name, “look at me sweet pea.”

You blink slowly, you’re wrecked, barely able to keep your eyelids open, almost convinced they’ve been replaced with steel. You’re sucking in air, did you not breathe that entire time? 

“Breathe baby, you’re ok.” He says, stilling his fingers until you’re ready. 

“I’m sorry, Mr Miller. I know I called you Joel. I won’t do it again.” 

There she goes again, being so fucking cute. “It’s ok, darlin’ girl. I want you to let loose when you come.” He places a few light kisses along your thighs. The sheets and his t-shirt a soaked, he’ll need to change things before you both get some sleep. “I’m gonna pull my fingers out.” 

You fall back to the bed and fist the sheets to ground yourself as he slides his fingers out. “You did such a good job. Made a huge mess. I’m so proud of you, babygirl.”

Every bone and muscle in your body seems to have dissolved and all you can muster is a weak smile and a little whimper of thanks. “I need to get you cleaned up. Stay here.” 

Stay here? I have no bones. Where else will go? 

The sound of running water coaxes your eyes to close. The mattress shifts under Joel’s weight as he sits beside you, lightly trailing his finger down the bridge of your nose. “I’m going to carry you to the shower. Ok?” 

You let out an agreeable hum as he scoops you into his arms. His warm naked chest pressed against you. He walks into the shower with you, the steam warming your skin. He places you on your feet and guides you under the water with him. Water is hitting you from all angles. You open your eyes to see 3 showerheads in his large, modern glass shower. A large rainfall one above the two of you, then two down the wall. The bundle of fresh eucalyptus hanging from one head fills the shower with a fresh scent. 

His fingers fumble with the clasp of your collar behind you, “how are you feeling after what happened tonight?” 

You smile at the white and black tiled wall as the collar slides off your neck and into Joel’s hands. “Mmm - like I’m not gonna quit my job so we can do it again.” 

“Don’t think I won’t put this on again right now and make you regret that.” 

You giggle and press your body back into Joel’s. He’s completely naked behind you and you have the sudden urge to taste him. As you spin around and get to your knees he stops you, “don’t interrupt my aftercare, please.” 

“Your what?” 

He grabs the soap and a fresh wash cloth and starts to work it to lather. “I told you, it’s my job to take care of you.” It’s too early to admit it to you, but aftercare is Joel’s favourite part. He’s grumpy and rough on the outside, but he loves the tender moments after playing with his subs. Especially you, and that’s something he won’t even admit to himself yet. 

He runs the soft cloth over your arms and chest, using extra caution not to catch on your nipple piercings. I like these,” he says, eyes memorizing every inch of the skin he’s washing. 

“Thanks, you’re actually the first person to see them.” 

“That right?” He moves the cloth down your stomach before kneeling in front of you and washing your legs. “You know what I think you should pierce next?” 

“I have an appointment next week for something,” you tease. It’s not a lie, you have an appointment to get a second hole in each earlobe, but may as well play with him a little. 

“Oh? Don’t tease an old man like that, baby girl. What new surprise am I gonna find?” He brings the cloth up and down your other leg. 

“What do you want to find?” 

His hands grip your hips and he spins you around. You have a small bruise forming on your one ass cheek and his cock jumps at the sight. “Belly button,” he says. 

“Oh?” You say with surprise as he stands behind you and scrubs your back. You turn to look at him over your shoulder and add, “I was thinking of doing my clit.” 

Joel’s hands come to his heart as he moans. “Fuck me, baby girl. I’d have to leave the god damn continent until it healed.” 

You laugh as he brings his lips to yours. You’re suddenly very aware of the fact that you aren’t wearing a collar. But he’s kissing you and washing your body. Does this mean that Joel Miller, your dad’s best friend, might have the same sort of feelings that you have? Or is this just what he does with his subs after dehydrating them with his fingers and tongue. 

“Stay in the warm water while I change the sheets. I’ll be back,” you look over your shoulder to finally take in his naked body. His back is lined with corded muscle, water droplets filling the dips and grooves of his sculpted body. It looks like you could bounce your whole fucking bank account off his round ass. 

Am I salivating. I feel like I’m salivating. 

He wraps a white bath sheet around his waist before you get to see his front - as much as you loved being taken care of earlier you should have looked down. You run some shampoo and conditioner through your hair, rinsing it out just as Joel comes back, now in a pair of fitted boxer briefs. He holds up a towel for you, and after turning off the water you pad over to him for him to wrap you up and gently dry you off. 

“Thank you, Mr Miller,” you say instinctively. 

He smiles softly at you as he dries every inch of your skin. “Go lay down, babygirl. I’ll get some lotion and then you need to get some sleep.” 

When you walk out to his bed there’s a t-shirt and a bottle of water on the pillow for you. 

Fuck. I’m in love. 

Taglist:

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[amberlynnmurdock]

Here

Matt Murdock x Reader

Summary: Matt saves his wife from being held hostage by Fisk's men and helps her with the PTSD that comes from it.

From this request from an anon named melted butter!

I hope you like it, anon friend!

Warnings: brief mentions of violence, hostage situation, PTSD symptoms, heavy angst in the beginning

Words: 2.7k

Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007: 1. Prelude

There would never come a day when she wouldn’t associate that song with blood, torture, and darkness. 

There would never come a day when she wouldn’t remember the cloth wrapped around her eyes that felt like sandpaper on her skin and the way her head pounded from the tightness of the blindfold. She could still feel it sometimes—unprompted moments of weakness when she would put on a hat or earmuffs in the winter and the feeling of something being wrapped around her head transported her to that awful night. She’d rather leave the beanie and earmuffs at home and risk her head getting cold than be reminded of that torture. 

It was the way she hesitated to put on gloves because if her wrists felt too constricted she would be reminded of the way the rope burned her skin so badly it left scars. She’d leave those at home too, and risk dry and cold hands. 

“Sweetheart,” Matt said earnestly, wrapping his hands around her cold ones. “Your hands are so cold. Why didn’t you put on gloves?”

She didn’t reply—she just let Matt continue to warm her hands with his. She preferred it that way. She preferred him to feel the scars around her wrists than her to look at them. 

Ever since that night, she took the coldest showers. Every shower was an ice-cold one. The place they had her held hostage in was stuffy—hot. She remembers her own sweat dripping down her face and the salt burning her eyes even under the blindfold. She can’t feel too hot anymore or else she will again be transported back to that traumatizing night. 

And the song—that fucking song. 

She wasn’t sure if it was a torture tactic or if the Kingpin had requested it be played. The only thing that mattered was that they kept it on repeat, at a loud volume—so loud she could hardly hear her voice when they would ask her a question about Daredevil. 

“I don’t know,” she cried behind her blindfold. “I don’t know, I don’t know, I—“

SLAP!

The violins started to feel like her head was being woven in torturous ways. The sound filled her senses similarly to how cough syrup fills one's senses—bitterness from the smell to the taste on the tip of her tongue. It was nauseating to listen to the song over, and over, and over, and over again. Nauseating to be in a situation like she had just two months ago: alone, in pain, and scared. So very scared that she may not make it. 

Until he found her. He told her he would always find her. 

She didn’t know he was there until the music finally stopped playing, and the lights in the warehouse went out. She was blindfolded but the way the men started yelling about the lights told her everything she needed to know. She was shaking against the wall, sweating, trying to find that relief she should feel that Daredevil had come to her rescue—but even that couldn’t shake off her fear. 

“If you ever get taken from me,” Matt had whispered to her one night in bed as he fiddled with the diamond ring on her finger, “know I will find you. And when you know I’m there, I want you to whisper to me like I am now. Because I’ll hear you and I’ll come to you.”

She whispered to him as soon as she heard the music stop and Fisk’s men were shouting at each other. 

“Matthew,” she hushed even lower than a whisper, “Matthew. Matt…”

Matt has dealt with a lot of dark situations as Daredevil, even before he donned the name and had a red suit. Years ago, he saved a little boy from a Russian gang. He saved a group of young girls from trafficking. He has dealt with the worst criminals in this city and it never got easier. All he could do was save people. He just never bet on the fact that one day he would have to save her.

It was something they talked about before deciding to get married. After months of convincing himself he could never have a life like that, she told him that God didn’t put him on this earth to only bear other people’s burdens. God meant for him to have a life like everyone else—a life that included love and marriage. He agreed on one condition: that it be an intimate small wedding at Clinton Church. And by intimate, only Foggy, Karen, and Marci were invited. 

He never wanted to prepare for a situation like this. He never wanted this day to come. He never pondered on what protocols to teach her if someone were to take her—but after months of avoiding the subject, he thought that was still important in case the situation ever did come. And unfortunately, it finally did come. 

He remembers how still the apartment was when he came home—how silent and cold it was. She hadn’t been home since the morning, he could tell. Icicles started to form on the back of his neck when he realized he hadn’t received a call from her since she left work—which was over an hour ago. Matt felt weak in the knees suddenly. He had to support himself on the kitchen counter as he focused his senses on noises outside of the apartment. 

“Dear God,” Matt whispered, “please keep her safe until I find her. Please help me find her.”

The whispers didn’t last long, nor the prayers—soon, Matt was throwing a rage in the apartment. Shattered glass was on the floor. Broken plates. Matt’s agonizing scream when reality finally settled in him that she was taken from him—by who? There was only one possibility. 

In no time he changed into his Daredevil gear and was prowling the streets, rooftop to rooftop, to find where they had been keeping her hostage.

A warehouse by the pier. He could hear the classical music playing at an incredible volume, enough to hurt her ears and get in her head. As soon as Matt found the source of the music, he shut it off, along with the power. 

And then he let the devil out. 

He thought with his fists before using logic to fight these cronies—throwing punches and brutally throwing men over his shoulders, hitting them relentlessly with whatever weapon he found near him. His billy club wires wrapped around someone's neck so tight it made them pass out, using the metal billy club to throw right in another man’s face. Matt moved recklessly in the dark. He wanted to yell at the top of his lungs so loudly it would feel like his chest was ripping apart but he didn’t because he knew she had experienced enough yelling on this night. 

And then, he heard her. 

“Matthew,” she whispered so quietly, it almost missed Matt’s senses. “Matthew… Matt…”

As soon as he made sure all of the men were out, he rushed to her side. Adrenaline pumped in his veins, he was shaking from it. He knelt before her and took off his gloves. 

“Hey,” he cooed, “it’s okay. I’m here. I found you,” and Matt’s voice was wobbly in his throat, tears threatening his eyes but no—he needed to be strong for her. He didn’t know what she endured—quite frankly, didn’t want to know—but he knew it had been a lot on her mentally. She was sobbing. He’d never heard her like this. The blindfold was wrapped so tightly around her eyes. Matt gently untied it and slid it off. He then smelt something metallic in the air—salty. It was blood. Her blood was around her wrists. Matt choked a sob in his chest as he untied her wrists. He could sense the tight friction of a bruise forming on her cheek. 

“I found you,” Matt’s voice cracked—he couldn’t help it. He was a wreck inside to find her like this. In pain, scared, alone. No—not alone anymore, he was here. “It’s okay now.” He gathered her delicate frame in his arms, holding her against his body tightly but not crushing her, and ran his hands through her hair, hushing her cries. “It’s okay. You’re safe. I have you now. They can’t hurt you anymore. I’m here.” 

Matt wasn’t sure what was more traumatizing for him—finding her in that situation or hearing her cries after, and the months that would follow. 

It made him question if marrying her was the right decision.

Despite these small things bringing her back to that dreadful night, there was one positive thing that she would never forget either: the feeling when she saw Daredevil—Matt—kneeling before her and gently pulling her blindfold off. The warm wash of relief that spread in her chest was so unexplainable, she could only feel it again if she really put her mind to it. It was like a warm, safe embrace when she knew Matt had found her like he said he would. She could describe the sensation as putting on a weighted blanket. 

The image of his red Daredevil helmet is ingrained in her mind: it was him against that dark warehouse. It was the glow of the red mask that brought so much comfort to her. She was safe. He had finally come—finally found her. God knows how hard it was to locate her. She was so relieved, that all she could do was sob into his embrace. 

It didn’t get easier when they finally made it home, it only got harder. 

She lay in his bed with tear-stained cheeks. It hurt to move. It hurt to speak. She could only whisper. Matt was still in his Daredevil suit, helmet off. He paced the room anxiously, wondering how this could’ve happened, how he could have let this happen. He was thinking of every possibility and what he was going to do next—

“Matthew,” she wheezed as she watched him pace the room. “Matthew.”

He stopped instantly, bringing his attention to her. She was in so much pain, he could sense it from where he stood. It brought a strange heaviness on his shoulders. He knelt again beside the bed and took her hands in his, kissing each knuckle.

“I’m so sorry,” Matt whispered, tears falling down his cheeks—tears of sadness, tears of rage. “I’m so sorry—“

“Shh,” she hushed him. She wasn’t crying anymore. She didn’t think she had any left. “Just be here with me. I need to feel you here with me.” 

Matt took off his Daredevil suit and silently crawled into bed next to her. He carefully brought her close to him so she was snug against his chest. Safe in his arms, nothing could hurt her now.

Months have passed. It’s a bright cold day. 

She and Matt are on their way to their favorite coffee spot uptown. They hardly ever leave Hell’s Kitchen, but she was in the mood for a specific hazelnut latte that only Rosie’s could make. And if it would make her happy to travel almost twenty minutes uptown for a cup of coffee, well, Matt wasn’t going to argue. 

He never brought up that night unless she did. So when she opted to wear a beanie and put on gloves, Matt couldn’t help but feel lighter in his step from the happiness he felt: she was on her way to healing from that experience. He felt like he could forgive himself now. 

“Ready?” She asked at the door, clearly too excited to get this cup. Matt laughed and kissed her before answering. He was so incredibly happy that she seemed to be happy again. 

“Ready.”

The coffee shop had wooden floors and matching wooden tables. In the back was a small bookstore, and on the side the place had a coffee counter. Soft jazz music was playing. Some people were already settled in: a man had his headphones on and was typing aggressively on his laptop, and a young college girl was studying her books. Matt sensed his surroundings everywhere they went to make sure there were no threats.

“Why don’t you go look at the books while I order our coffee,” Matt suggested lightly, untying the gray scarf around his neck. 

“Okay,” she smiled, squeezing his hand before letting go and exploring the back of the cafe. 

Matt waited in line at the coffee counter and sighed contently. 

She immediately was drawn to the fantasy books section. She took off her gloves and placed them in the pocket of her coat. Scanning each title, she picked one out that piqued her interest and frowned when the summary wasn’t what she expected. Another title made her laugh, but she didn’t bother to read the back. She found herself in a different section—romance. She smiled as she glazed over each book spine with her fingers. Romance books always reminded her of Matt. She often imagined what their story would look like in a romance novel. 

And then she heard it. 

Suite No. 1 in G Major, BWV 1007: 1. Prelude

The violins sounded like nails on a chalkboard, bloody fingertips leaving a trail. It sounded like a screech against the pavement. 

It suddenly felt like she no longer was standing in the middle of an aisle of books. Instead, her body was being pulled and sucked into a black hole behind her. Everything around her felt overwhelmingly large and she was small, like she was Alice. Fear crept over her heart like a spider weaving its web. She felt hot in her jacket. Her heart was beating heavily in her chest like a punching bag. 

The song got louder. And louder. And louder. 

“No,” she whispered to herself, shutting her eyes tightly. But closing her eyes and seeing darkness only made it worse. “No…” she opened her eyes and felt like she had tunnel vision. 

Matt was standing in line when he heard something pounding loudly in his ears. It only took him a second to hear the song that was playing, and he was immediately looking around for her. The pounding was coming from her—from her heart. 

In no time Matt was by her side, wrapping his arms around her and quickly walking her outside the cafe—away from the lingering glances, away from that horrible song. Removing her from the triggering situation, knowing she was spiraling. 

She was breathing fast now from panic. Matt brought her into a quiet alley and wrapped her in a bear hug, holding her tightly against him. Her hair covered his face as he turned to breathe in her scent. He took a deep breath, and at the same time, motioned for her to breathe with him. 

“I’m here,” he said into her ear softly, “I have you. Breathe with me, okay?”

“Okay,” she managed to say between breaths, feeling like her own air was choking her. She breathed with Matt and closed her eyes, his touch and warm hug bringing her back to reality. 

“Listen to my voice,” Matt guided, “I’m here. I have you. I’m not going anywhere.”

Matt’s voice was always soothing to her, but especially at a moment like this. His voice sounded like how velvet felt. 

Eventually, just standing in his arms holding her tightly, her breathing returned to normal and that song was out of her head, as were her memories of that night. A few silent moments passed. Matt kissed her head softly and held her longer. He’d hold her for as long as she needed. When she was finally okay, she pulled back and reached her lips to kiss Matt’s. He kissed her in return and placed his hands on her face. 

“I’ll always be here for you,” Matt whispered. 

Matt went inside to get their coffee while she waited for him outside. Soon enough, they were back at the apartment, finishing the last of their drinks and sitting on the couch. She rested her head in his lap and Matt drew circles in her hair, counting the breaths it took for her to fall asleep. He’d of course be there when she woke up. 

[amor-ad-nauseam]

Somethin’ Stupid (pt. 2)

Pairing(s): Sam Winchester x reader

Summary :You two are pathetic for each other, so much so that Dean can’t help but take notice. Maybe, just maybe his “playing wingman” will work out alright…

Word count : 3.5k

Tags: Reader and Sam have a crush on each other, fluff, no use of y/n, reader uses she/her pronouns, carheartt!sam, heavy make out, kissing, fade to black, almost smut.

Notes; While this does read as a fade to black i may or may not have gotten a little carried away with myself and wrote part of the smut scene… it’s not included here but if y’all want that lmk!! I am so sorry about how late this is coming out! i’ve been very busy with back to school preparations. Notes and reposts are greatly appreciated

part 1 part 3

“Rise n’ shine, Sammy!” Dean announced, clapping Sam on the shoulder.

Sam flinches awake and like a row of dominos, the guitar that was in his lap is sent tumbling to the floor - creating a harsh cacophony of strings and wood.

The sound causes you to jolt from your slumber. You shoot up in bed in a flurry of confusion. “I’m up! I’m up! Where’s the Rugaru!?” You shout, whipping your head around the room.

“Woah, Good Morning to you too,” Dean chuckles, punctuating the sentence with an obnoxious bite of beef jerky. Sam makes a face. “Want some?” He points the jerky at Sam.

“Hey, Dean.” Sam sighed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He runs his hands down his face. "I’m good, thanks.”

You visibly relax as the real world comes into focus. “Morning, Boys.” You say as the adrenaline wears off. Sam was still across from you, now flashing an apologetic smile and Dean was well- Dean, but in a cowboy hat. That wasn’t too unusual for him. Dean nodded a hello.

“Eh, more for me,” Dean shrugs with another bite. “Anywho,” He bends down and retrieves the guitar from the floor, now with a newly popped high E string. He hoped the motel wouldn’t charge him extra for that. “When’d you become Springsteen?” He smirks.

Sam was in no mood.

Then, his eyes lit up.

“Hey, Dean, what’s that, uh, mark on your neck?” Sam said, a grin only capable of being mustered by the most annoying of little brothers appearing on his lips.

“What mar- “Dean slid his hand down the length of his neck, stopping about halfway in sudden realization. “Oh- “He clears his throat. Mumbling something about getting banged up pretty badly, he dismisses himself to the med kit in Sam’s bag.

“Oh, and that explains why you’re just now getting back at, uh,” Sam glances to the alarm clock. “7am? from a simple salt-n-burn?”

“Uh, yeah.” Dean scoffs defensively. “Cause you see, Sammy, I was actually doing my job.”

The early morning sun filtered in through the blinds and for the first time you realized that the wood paneling on the divider and both doors were made to look like a saloon door. Damn. They went all out with this whole cowboy theme. On the bright side, the sun gave everything a warm almost fiery glow. Despite the rather cozy atmosphere of the room, Sam and Dean were still going.

Only two things in life are certain: taxes and the Winchester’s arguments.

“The job that requires you to receive hickeys from girls in bars?” Sam laughed. He was now stood by the foot of your bed, stretching the tension from his shoulders. Man, even through a t-shirt his back muscles were attractive- carved like a Greek statue.

“Okay, when you say it like that it makes me sound like a hooker.”

“Maybe you are, Mr. hard worker.”

“Don’t objectify me.” Dean rolls his eyes, feigning offense . Dean was leaned over the dresser, looking in the mirror as he tried to cover a small purple mark on his neck with a square gauze patch.

He definitely wasn’t winning this one.

As if suddenly remembering something, his head perked up and he set his sights on you.

“How’s the leg?” He asked, looking at you in the mirror. He did genuinely care about your wellbeing, but it didn’t hurt that you were also a good out.

“Hm?” You were a little distracted; you’d almost forgotten about your leg entirely.

“Oh right. It’s fine really,” you swing your legs over the edge of the bed.

When you look down you find the bandage that was once around your thigh, half undone, twisted about and just an overall mess.

“Right, fine.” Dean chuckles.

“Woah, you okay?” Sam questions.

Before you know it, Sam’s closing the distance between the two of you and the roll of gauze is sailing through the air from Dean’s palm to Sam’s.

“Damn, I thought you were better at the whole first-aid thing, Sammy.” Dean remarks, happy to flip the situation back on his brother.

“I am,” Sam takes a seat next to you. He’s warm. And close. Too close. “But someone.” Damn he smells good too. Like a brand-new book. “Wouldn’t let me.” He said with a teasing expression.

“Hey, I didn’t do too bad.” Your cheeks flush.

“Riiight.” He gently tugs at an end of the bandage, and it unravels like a loose thread in a pair of jeans. “Not too bad at all.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever.” You reply, your face contorting to an attempt at annoyance.

“Hey, cheer up.” Sam smiled.

You couldn’t help but smile in return.

He gently slid his hand to the underside of your knee and placed your leg over his lap just as he did the night prior.

While you were busy tossing the wrinkled bandage into a small barrel-shaped trashcan near the sofa-chair, Sam took the opportunity to let his gaze linger. He drank in every detail of your appearance, hoping to seer it to memory.

For some reason, 3 things in particular stuck out to him: You never bothered to put your hair up last night, the way squinted as the sun reflected directly into your eyes, and the fact that you were still in his Carhartt. That last one especially made his heart beat a little harder.

Your lovely chaotic hair and the sun shining on your face inspired countless fantasies. Some as simple as kissing the tiredness from your expression, others, he felt bad for even thinking.

The minute you turn around his eyes are once again glued to your leg and you’re none the wiser.

“How’m I lookin, doc?”

Dean with his shirt tucked beneath his chin was rubbing ointment on what he wasn’t quite sure if it was another hickey on his abdomen or an actual bruise. Upon hearing your question he perks up, ready to make a dumb Looney Toons reference when Sam of all people beats him to the punch.

“Ah, just peachy, Bugs.” He replied in a nasally imitation of Daffy Duck.

“Huh.” Dean mumbles with some small shock. He watches the two of you from the mirror's reflection. He knew Sam had a thing for you, but this, this was something else.

The way the two of you giggled and just almost leaned into each other with every joke- pulling away in shy stupidity each time you got too close. The lingering eye contact, how Sam’s hand looked almost reluctant to leave you, the way one of you would stare when the other wasn’t looking. The whole thing left his stomach feeling like a pot of warm honey.

Damn. You’ve both got it bad.

An idea.

“Hey guys,” He chimed in.

“Hm?” You and Sam said in unison.

“Oh, sorry no you go- “you said.

“No, it’s okay you- “

“Well, you did fix me up it’s only fair- “just then you realized that your leg was still in his lap. You quickly pull away and smile apologetically. Sam does the same.

Dean just about face palms. You two are hopeless.

“Guys.” Dean clears his throat, capturing both of your attentions once more.

“I'm gonna go out and uh, do something.” Dean said with heavy emphasis on “do something.”

“Oh, okay..?” you said with confusion

“Oh, uh, need help with that?” Sam added, eaqually as confused.

“No! no, sorry…heh… I just mean that you both should stay here while I go make a move.”

“You… feelin’ alright, Dean?” You question.

“He’s still hungover I think.” Sam leans in and mutters.

“Y’know,” Dean turns his attention straight to Sam. “Making a move is always the right thing.”

“…So, you do want my help?”

“No, damnit,” Dean sighs in defeat. “M’goin’ on a coffee run.”

“Oh… okay…” Sam replied. “In that case, make two of ‘em decaf.”

“Aw you remembered?” You say with an expression reminiscent of a teen girl with a crush.

“Yeah, I know how it makes you jittery.” Sam replied, sounding embarrassed.

Dean watches as the two of you sit there smiling like idiots.

Yeah.

Extra hopeless.

- -

The latter half of the day is spent with Dean acting strangely and you and Sam struggling to figure out why.

A couple of theories arose.

“Maybe he is hungover.” You quietly conceded after Dean stretched his legs across the diner’s booth seat when Sam tried to sit down- forcing him next to you.

“Nah, he’s mean when hungover.” Sam replied.

- -

“Maybe we did something?” You suggested when Dean pulled the same diner stunt later at the library.

“Like what?” Sam replied as he studied Deans relaxed demeanor.

“Dunno. Maybe it’s 'cause we bailed last night?”

“C’mon we didn’t “bail”, you got stabbed and we all know if one of us didn’t stay with you, you’d come crawling back to finish the fight.”

“Fair enough.” You shrugged. “Well, I’m fresh out of ideas.”

“Me too. Just can’t figure out what would make him not tell us details on a case, it’s not like him.”

- -

You also happened to notice that Sam grew increasingly grumpy as the day dragged on.

Whether that was due to Dean, or his uncomfortable sleeping situation last night was lost on you.

- -

“Maybe he got roofied?” Sam mumbled when it seemed as though Dean couldn’t walk in a straight line- continually bumping into you - shoving you straight into Sam.

“Can’t be, after that whole witch thing he’s really careful with his drinks.”

“Hm…”

- -

“Mid life crisis?” Sam proposes in a hushed voice from the huddled corner of a motel lobby.

Dean had bought two rooms instead of the usual one accompanied by “we’re livin’ offa credit card scams and prayers. Besides, we’ve all pretty much seen eachother’s junk anyway.”

“He’s 30” you replied while watching Dean flirt with the woman behind the counter.

“With this job and his liver, it’s midlife.”

- -

Finally, the night had rolled around.

“Been dazed and confused for so long it can’t be true~”

The radio humming as the Impala raced down the road.

Normally, nights like this would be relaxing. Windows rolled down, the sounds of the cold and buzzing night mixed with the same five albums Dean rotated. Empty back roads and the three of you endearingly out of tune as you sang along.

But this night was simply and plainly, dead.

The air in the car had a tension not even Page and Plant could cut through. You all silently sat in your unassigned-assigned seats: Dean driving, Sam shot gun and you in the back watching the night woosh by.

It all came to a head earlier when Dean notified you and Sam that you two were on stake-out duty. You watched as Sam’s expression visibly changed into one of suppressed nausea. Sure, stakeouts usually sucked ass but did the thought of being alone with you really drive him to the point of sickness?

You breathed a sigh, sinking further into your seat at the memory.

Sam steals a glance at you in the rear view- you looked sad. Guess you weren’t too excited at the thought of a stakeout either.

The car stops about 50 yards in the underbrush in front of a dilapidated old building in the middle of butt-fuck nowhere.

The light previously provided to you by the stars was dimmer now due to the thick miles of pine trees stretching high above- looking as though they could touch the sky themselves.

“Aaand we’re here,” Dean said, switching off the ignition

“Mind telling us where “here” is exactly?” Sam quipped.

“Like I said, it’s a nest.”

“Yeah. That’s the problem. That’s about the only thing you’ve said.”

“Okay, fine- look, We’ve had a lot of duds lately and I didn’t wanna get anyone’s hopes up if it wasn’t the real deal.” Dean shrugs.

Dean was an incredibly good liar. Or as he liked to call it, thinking on his feet.

“Wow you are s- “

“Such a great older brother, I know. I’m gonna go walk the perimeter, shouldn’t take too lo-“

“Great I’ll come with!”

You watch as Sam quickly follows after Dean- not even letting his brother get the words out before he’s on his feet and out of the car like he’ll catch the plague if he’s alone with you.

Yeah. Stakeouts really sucked.

From inside the car all you could hear were Sam and Deans muffled voices, but even still, you could tell they were arguing…

“I’m not an idiot, Dean. I know what you’re doing.”

“Well I’d hope so,” Dean chuckled, holding his newly sharpened machete upward to inspect it. “Dad’d kill us if we ever even thought about going in dull and halfcocked.”

“Y’know you’re not the most subtle guy in the world.”

Sufficiently satisfied, Dean re-sheathes the blade and hooks it onto his waistband. “Dunno wacha talkin’ ‘bout, Sammy.”

“You forced me to sit next to her.”

“Leg got bruised las night, had to keep ‘er elevated.”

“Got two rooms?” Sam quirked a brow.

“So? What if i wanted to bring someone back?”

“Dude, you practically threw her into me.”

“Again, the leg. Can’t walk straight.” He shrugs, grabbing a vial of dead-man’s blood and putting it into his pocket.

“Alright, cut the bullshit. I know what you’re trying to do and it won’t work. She’s not into me and i’m-“

“A dumbass.” Dean says sharply.

“E-excuse me?” Sam says, caught off guard.

“The girl is head-over-fuckin-heels for you. you must be a dumbass not to see it.” Dean points an accusing finger at him.

“I-“

“I see the way you look at her, hell, you busted out the guitar for her! ah- don’t give me that look, it was obvious. “

“Okay, fine, you got me Dean.” Sam throws his arms up in an exasperated manner. “I have feelings for her.” He pauses. This is the first time he’s said it aloud. His eyes go to his shoes. “Doesn’t mean she feels the same way.”

“Christ.” Dean slams the trunk, shoves his hands in his pockets and walks around the side of the car. Sam gives a puzzled expression. Dean jerks his head. “Watch this,” Dean says.

With the back of his hooked middle and index finger, Dean knocks on the back window of the Impala.

“Hm?” You lift your head from the book in your lap.

It’s a quick set of movements, but obvious, unthought action: your eyes first land on the source of the sound, Dean. He waves. You smile.

Then, all in the fraction of a second you look at Sam. Your smile falters. A short, flustered breath escapes your nose.

Your eyes go back to Dean, your lips curving into a poor attempt at a casual smile.

“See?” Dean says once you turn your attention back to your book.

“See what?” Sam replies, his voice growing annoyed and incredulous- having not picked up on anything out of the ordinary.

“You really make me wanna punch you sometimes.”

“Wha-, you know what, Dean, is this case even real? Cause if it’s not let’s just go back to the motel and-“

“Okay, Okay.” Dean pushes his arms in a ‘calm down’ motion. “It’s real, Columbo. Here,” He reaches behind his back, past the sides of his coat and pulls the local newspaper from the waistband of his jeans. “Happy now?”

Sam’s eyes skim the headline: Reports of “Cult like behavior” spotted near the old McCrowe house.

Below is a photograph of the dilapidated home they were parked in front of.

“Yes, but, h-“

“How do you know it’s real? Ya don’t. But i know you couldn’t take the risk; Even if you tried.”

Sam frowns, combing a hand through his hair. Dean smiles. “Go get ‘em, tiger” Dean says, patting his brother on the shoulder.

"You're an asshole."

Dean walks away with an extra bounce in his step. Sam frowns, again.

After taking a long moment, partially to regain his bearings, partially waiting till his brother disappeared around the bend, Sam pulls open the door.

“…Hey.”

“Hey yourself.”

That wasn’t awkward at all.

Leaves crunch beneath your feet, and the book carried at your side rhythmically beats against your hip as you walk.

“So… figure out what’s up with Dean?”

“Oh, uhm,” He tosses the newspaper onto the dash as he slides into the front seat to cover his hesitation. “Nope. Not a clue.”

“Eh, I just hope he sorts himself out. If he keeps walking like that i think i’ll be bruised soon.” You chuckle at your own joke. “Guy’s got hips like Shakira, they do not lie.”

Crickets. Literal crickets fill the beat of silence after that joke.

You knew it was bad but damn.

“Ookay… tough crowd,” You mumble.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” Sam said as if he were snapping out of a trance. “yeah heh, Shakira.”

You simply resign yourself to the book in your lap, every once in a while, taking a glance at the house ahead.

Meanwhile, Sam’s gaze never leaves the house for a moment. He had an expression you couldn’t quite place and an almost glazed over look in his eyes.

“Hey, i’m gonna go catch up with Dean, you’ll be fine right?” He says suddenly.

“No,” You slam your book shut and turn straight to Sam. “Sit your ass back down. we need to talk.”

“I’m sorry?”

The words come barreling from your mouth like a falling knife, sharp and unpredictable. “You have been super weird all day- I swear it’s hereditary- Dean acting strange, that i can deal with, but you? i-i don’t know what to do with that.”

A sinking sort of realization sets in. “I- god i’m so sorry.”

“I mean, did i do something? ‘Cause if i did i’m terribly sorry-“

“No, no, you didn’t do anything i swear.”

“Then what is it? i thought things were good and then- Look, if there’s something wrong just say the word and i’m there.”

“i know that but-“

“I’ll listen if you need it, i’m your friend and i wanna help.”

“That’s the problem.”

A beat of silence.

“That you’re my friend, just, my friend. That’s what’s wrong."

You feel your mouth going dry.

The words come tumbling out of Sam’s mouth much faster than he can think. “I-I knew from the moment i met you that you were this super cool and sweet and pretty but also badass at the same time kinda person and then it sorta spiraled into a crush, -which was innocent enough- so i thought it’d go away but then it didn’t and then-“

Every word, every thought, every action, everything within Sam is cut short and fades off when your lips collide with his. Your hands cup the sides of his face. His eyes widen before slowly dropping shut.

A moment later the kiss breaks and you’re sat there, staring dumbly into those gorgeous hazel eyes. From this new vantage point (the middle of the front seat) the gaps between the pines overhead is greater, allowing for starlight to filter in. The parts of his face not obscured by the shadows of his hair were illuminated in perfect detail. The soft edges of his face look almost sharp given the looming shadows, that detail though, is contrasted by the rosy blush spreading on his cheeks.

“…I wanted to shut you up,” You blink. “But I should’ve asked, i’m sor-“

The last of your attempt to apologize is muffled as Sam’s lips crash into yours.

His hand rests on the far side of your neck, his thumb moving across your cheek. The kiss grows in intensity, his tongue licking at the seam of your lips, your breath short and hot on his face. You drop your hands from his jaw and begin to slide them down his torso, eliciting a low growl-like sound from him. You both grow in fervor, the kiss bordering the fine line between sweet and desperate.

His tongue pushes past your lips and begins exploring you with warm desire. A soft sound escapes your throat at the feeling, his body growing warm, breaths shaky, and his tongue needly licking at the inside of your mouth.

Sam pulls away but only for a moment. He takes a quick survey of your face: lips red, breathing coming out in short pants, hair messy and all of you elucidated by the stars outside. You were no longer a reverie- some fantasy far out of reach. You were right there, lovely and more attention capturing than any star. So he says the thought that’s been on repeat in his mind since the moment he met you. What he’s thought on a thousand breathless afternoons when the sun shines just right on your face: “I love you”

“I love you too.” You reply without missing a single beat. you don’t have to think about it, not even for a second. You love him.

Taglist: @xx-spooky-little-vampire-xx @lillies444lola @wowzabowza69 comment to be added/ removed

[volturissideslut]

Hi! Just read your Marcus x reader fic where they get compared to Didyme.

I was thinking maybe a Poly! Volturi comparing Reader to their ex/late partners and Reader shuts down. They don't mention it, but it really hurts cause they've always been a replacement, so they leave Volterra. The Volturi don't realise for a while.

Feel free to ignore this if it's too repetitive or you've done one like it before.

𝖁𝖔𝖑𝖙𝖚𝖗𝖎 𝖐𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 (𝖕𝖔𝖑𝖞)

Angst, no comfort. Pure angst, literally no fluff at ALL. Bad relationship, couple of swear words in there, let me know if you want a part two of making it up <3

Part 2

It's not like you were the second choice

They had been adament that they wanted you, that you were their true mate

So why were they acting like this now?

After almost a year of being together, they were starting to fall out of the 'honeymoon phase'

Had it always just been a phase? Was this doomed from the get-go?

It started with little snippy comments about acting proper. You were human, not raised in the fine luxury and manners they were, and apparently that showed in your actions. And apparently the way you dress too.

It's like they were moulding you into their exes, it it was making you miserable

And it's not like you didn't try to tell them, you did. Only to be shut down. "Cara mia, I'm working. This is not an appropriate place to discuss this" Aro told you, despite being within the privacy of his study

Caius was no better, in no mood to 'entertain you' and your 'whims' as he put it, brushing you off with a sigh

Marcus, too, was no use, disregarding the emotion and making it perhaps worse by saying that didyme would have taken of the constructive criticism

So there you stood, looking at yourself in the mirror. The big dress, the light makeup, the haircut, even the fucking posture just want you.

And so you left.

Silently, seeing as communicating clearly wasn't an option

How long had it been when they realised you were gone? Three days at least

Honestly, Aro had assumed you were annoyed with them and wanted space, telling his brothers suck. It had never crossed his mind that you had left

I mean, the clothes you wore every day were still there, all the gowns and dresses still in place and -

Where were the clothes you brought with you?

The ones they insisted you wouldn't wear?

Caius walkers into your personal room with a huff, intending to talk some sense into this tantrum you've been throwing, and instead intruding on Aro's realisation

The grounds are searched and Marcus is informed

It is pure and utter panic

Chaos as they look for you

Demetri was called back from his mission early to search for you and you were in another country

Marcus was practically having heart palpitations, he can't lose another mate. "Why would she do this, Didyme would never scare me like this"

And he pauses

So does Aro

And so does Caius

And for the first time, they truly hear themselves

Caius is the first one to remember you bringing it up. "Did she talk to you about it too..." the proud kings' voice is for once delicate and quiet

"... I made her leave" Aro practically folds in half, having to grip over where his hear would be in his chest and lean over because of the burning sensation. It aches, it physically aches him to know he messed up this badly - he didn't give you the time of day

"... I told her I don't have time for this" Caius' fist is buried in his hair, gripping in stress and nearly ripping the strands out of his head. His hands are jittery, shaking, and his hair is tussled - a perfect relection of his inner turmoil

"... In the very moment she asked me not to compare her to Didyme anymore, I told her Didyme would take the criticism" is it possible for vampires to be sick? Because I think Marcus is about to be. His eyes sting and he makes a gagged choking noise like he's dry heaving. Like his fight or flight has chosen freeze and the rising anxiety makes his stomach churn

A knock on the door is what pulls them away

Instead of coming to the turbulent kings and taking them with him, it seems Demetri picked you up on his way back instead and brought you right to them.

There are bags under your eyes, and your skin is sickly. Your cheeks are stained with dried up tears and your eyes are bloodshot like you cried so hard you broke a vessel

They rush toward you and Demetri takes that as his cue to leave

Marcus ever so gently holds your face, eyes scanning you for any physical harm, and when he finds none he feels so much temporary relief he almost collapses into himself. "Thank goodness you're okay, I couldn't bare to lose you-"

"what, like you did Didyme?" you spit back with more venom in your voice than their combined fangs have ever produced in their millennias of life

"No, no" Caius' voice has never been so gentle, he takes your hand in his and places a kiss to the inside of your wrist

"Oh, so I'm gone for three days and suddenly it's about me and not your exes?" there is spite in your voice, but it still wavers with how upset you are

Exclaiming "three days?!" was a big mistake on Aro's part, but in that moment he was so full of concern he hadn't realised it would only worsen the situation

"... You didn't know?" and the look on your face is absolutely heart shattering

And they have no words, nothing to say. Because there is no words, and there are no excuses.

"I was gone for three days, and you didn't care enough to notice?!?" your angry now. And you have every right to be. But they have no idea how to fix what they've done

[wileys-russo]

looks can be deceiving II a.russo x reader

you all asked, here's the answer. secretly soft biker gf (au) lessi looks can be decieving II a.russo x reader

"so where's your guard dog today then?" you playfully shoved your best friend with a roll of your eyes at the question as the two of you walked across campus toward the parking lot.

"at work i think, she was gone by the time i woke up." you shrugged, not having spoken very much to your girlfriend given she was far from the worlds best texter and you'd been in exams all day.

"and you're fine with just assuming that? you don't feel the need to like check in?" your best friend asked in disbelief. "well yeah? she told me she was working today, i believe her. it's called trust, maybe you've heard of it!" you teased, smacking her arm.

"i guess she doesn't really have any friends she could be hanging round with anyway." you pinched her for the comment as the girl whined and pushed you away. "don't be rude!" you warned seriously, not accepting anyone speaking badly of your girlfriend, even your best friend.

"i still can't believe you're with her." the girl beside you shook her head as you sent her a look. "and what's that supposed to mean?" you challenged, stopping in front of her with your arms crossed. "she's so...rough?" your best friend analysed with a grimace, unable to really find the words to describe the girl you were so head over heels for.

"you're judging her without knowing her, again." you sighed, the two of you resuming your walking, having just finished your final exam for the day. "because you won't let me meet her properly! you've been seeing her for like four months and i think i've heard her say about ten words?" your best friend chastised.

"she's just independent. and every time i invite you to hang out with us you get all weird about it and make her uncomfortable!" you warned, having admittedly been trying to get the two women to spend some time together with you but so far you'd had no success at all.

"i make her uncomfortable?? she makes me uncomfortable she looks at me like she wants to stab me!" your best friend huffed. "no she doesn't, she's really sweet. plus she treats me well and makes me very happy, isn't that enough for you as my best and most loyal friend?" you gave the girl beside you puppy dog eyes who groaned and pushed your head away.

"didn't she eat the head off a bat once for a dare?" the brunette beside you asked with a grimace, you scoffed at the question. though before you could answer a new voice rang out behind you.

"yeah, was a bit crunchy though. you want me to get you one to try?" you spun around at the familiar accent, your whole face lighting up at the sight of your girlfriend. "lessi!" you beamed, jumping on her as the taller girl easily caught you in her arms.

"alessia." your best friend deadpanned, crossing her arms over her chest as the soft smile which made its way to your girlfriends lips at the sight of you quickly melted away and she placed you back down on your feet.

"layla." the girl replied in the same curt tone, wrapping her arms around you possessively from behind. "well this has been rivoting. get home safe with your personal grease monkey babe, call me later." your best friend smiled at you as alessia sent her a glare over the top of your head.

"i thought you had work baby?" you turned around in her hold, wrapping your arms around her neck and leaning up on your tippy toes to peck her lips. "mm i left early, perks of being the bosses daughter." alessia grinned, pecking your lips back a few times before attacking your face with kisses making you laugh.

"why? i thought you were doing that vintage chief you can't seem to stop talking about." you asked curiously, your girlfriend beaming with pride that you remembered.

"gio was getting on my last fucking nerve with it today. i had to start over twice because he kept sticking his fingers in thinking he knows better than i do, and then something falls off or apart and i'm back to square one." your girlfriend puffed air out of her nose with an annoyed grunt.

"m'sorry baby. but your dad knows you're the best though, why do you think he trusts you with all of the older engines that are more fragile? nobody can love them, care for them and bring them back to life like you can lessi baby." you reminded her softly, smiling as she pressed her face into your shoulder, likely to hide the blush you knew would be creeping down her neck at the praise.

"i hope you didn't bring your bike though. i am not getting on that death trap i already told you." you warned making the older girl roll her eyes and mock you under her breath.

"you're getting on it one day even if i have to tie you to the damn seat. but no, i have the car." alessia sighed dramatically, pulling away to take your hand as the two of you continued across the parking lot.

"god you look good in your uniform." you commented with a grin, eyes shamelessly roaming the grease stained coveralls clinging to her body, the girl working most days in her dads auto body garage working on what was her second love next to you, her beloved vintage motorcyles.

"little perv." alessia rolled her eyes and shoved your head playfully but your grin widened seeing the slight blush which coated her cheeks, as they did anytime you gave her even the slightest hint of a compliment. "after you." she was quick to open the passenger door for you, stealing a kiss as you slid in.

"such a gentlewoman." "only the very best for you baby girl."

~

"those are for you." your girlfriend nodded to a bunch of flowers sitting on her desk as she let the two of you into her apartment, closing the door and sitting down to take off her boots. "oh lessi." you melted, lips curling into an adoring smile.

"they're beautiful." you sent her a grateful look over your shoulder, moving to find something to put them in given you planned to spend the weekend here, and probably most of next week.

you had your own place, a sharehouse with two roommates, but if you were honest you stayed nights here much more than there, and that was just as alessia wanted it anyway.

her apartment was quintessentially just so her. the dark toned wood furniture, the worn in brown leather sofa draped in throw cushions and blankets that you knew she only bought once the two of you started dating to make it seem a little more 'homey'.

the olive green accents in her minimal decor choices which popped against the numerous amounts of house plants scattered around, the girl shockingly had a fantastic green thumb. then there was the countless amounts of books lining her walls, almost all classics like emily dickinson, bronte and sylvia plath.

then of course there was her baby.

the restored 1941 harley davidson which sat right in the middle of the apartment in place of a dining table, an odd sight to most but it was just so incredibly alessia for her to have it there you'd never minded.

her apartment was her safe space and her haven, littered with trinkets and engine parts and tools, but then there was the typewriter on her desk which sat right by the enormous floor to wall window which let in the most glorious sunlight in the early mornings and late evenings, the vintage cameras and the polaroids of you stuck to her fridge.

it was hers, and you felt privileged that she let you in to become a part of it.

"you're beautiful." suddenly you were turned around as you rummaged through her cupboards trying to find something to use as a makeshift vase, your body pinned to the counter as the taller girl loomed over you with a soft smile.

your hands reached up to tug her hair out which was half up in a bun, a dirty mix of black, brunette and blonde waves falling to frame her face as you tangled your fingers in the soft locks.

"you've done so well with your exams gorgeous. i'm really really proud of you, my smart intelligent wonderful girl." alessia praised with a soft smile, tenderly pulling you into a kiss as her mouth slotted perfectly with yours, her hands gently caressing your sides.

your head swam at the feeling of her kissing you. sometimes she could be rough and posessive and needy with the way she attacked your lips, but most times, like right now, she was soft and slow and tender, taking her time with you to show you how much each kiss really meant to her.

this was the alessia you fell head over heels for. the soft spoken, severely misunderstood sweetheart who wrote you poems and bought you flowers just because, who laid with her legs tangled with yours in the sunshine pouring in from her windows and read to you for hours with a voice like honey.

the girl who touched you so carefully and so lovingly as if you were made of glass and might break if she wasn't gentle enough. who taught you how to make homemade pasta and loved nothing more than to lay down with her head in your lap while you played with her hair, allowing her to let down the walls that she had built up and fortified around anyone else that wasn't you.

not the big tough tattooed biker girl with a smart mouth and a bad attitude who dropped out of school to fix engines, ride her harley and flit from party to party, never caught without a cigarette behind her ear, cocky smirk and a leather jacket on her shoulders.

granted though she was the biggest teddy bear most of the time, she did have her moments where she might live up a little more to her reputation.

if she'd had a bad day at work, maybe argued with one of her brothers over a part that was supposed to be ordered which never came which pushed back the whole job and she'd gotten the blame, then she had no issues treating you a little rougher, using you as a stress reliever in the most sinful ways for hours on end.

but then right after the walls would come crashing down again and she was back to kissing you like you could crumble at a moments notice, crawling into your arms seeking comfort and constant praise about how good she did, how much you loved her, how much you needed her and appreciated her.

"i'm gonna go take a shower." the girl hummed against your lips, pulling away and softly kissing your forehead, pushing her body off of yours. "yeah good, you smell." you teased, kicking her bum as she turned around, pulling yourself up onto the counter.

"you're lucky you're cute." alessia warned, smile tugging at her lips. "get your study in for awhile baby, i'm gonna wash my hair. and when i get back i get your full attention." the taller girl frowned with a slight pout which made you melt.

"someone's needy." you pouted back mockingly as she returned between your legs. "yeah and so what? i've missed you, been on my mind all day pretty girl." alessia confessed pressing her forehead against yours, pout deepening. "you're adorable." you grinned and booped her nose which scrunched up at the simple touch.

"tell anyone and i'll have to kill you." alessia warned, forming a gun with her fingers and pressing it to the side of your head, making a shooting noise with her mouth as she pulled the trigger, her forehead still pressed to yours.

the playful side she let out around you made you swoon, she wasn't like this even around her family and it brought you a sense of pride that you created a space where she was comfortable to be whoever she wanted.

"go study, book worm." with that she pulled away, blowing out and holstering her finger gun with a wink and retreating away.

"i'll say it again, god you look good in those dirty coveralls." you wolf whistled after her, throwing your head back with a laugh as she shook her bum at you with another wink before kicking her bathroom door closed with her foot.

~

"baaaby!" you heard your girlfriend yell out from her bedroom, glancing up from your textbook at the sudden noise. "yeah love?" you called back, scribbling down your notes as your glasses slid down your nose a little.

"can you come dry my hair for me, please?" you heard the hopeful tone in her voice and chuckled, flipping closed your textbook and standing up from her desk, padding over to her bedroom.

"thank you, i like it better when you do it." alessia admitted, stood in front of you with damp hair hanging down her back, her taller form clad only in a huge harley davidson shirt which hung down to her knees, heavily tattooed limbs on full display.

you perched yourself on the end of her bed as alessia settled down on the floor between your legs, arms resting on your knees as she handed you a brush, her hair dryer already plugged in and waiting beside her.

"have you got anymore booked in?" you asked, gently tracing the small butterfly behind her ear, the most recent in her ever growing collection of body art. "mm not yet, might finish off my moth first." she tapped to the half completed insect on her left knee.

"i wish you'd never bought that stupid gun." you mumbled disapprovingly as you brushed out the knots and tangles in her damp hair. "hey i'm getting really good now! you even said so the other day." her head craned back to look up at you, puckering her lips expectantly as you bent down to kiss her.

"that was before i looked up how common blood infections are with home done tattoos." you tutted as she faced forward again and you resumed your brushing. "i told you to stop googling anything that pops up in your mind babe, you're already a hypochondriac." the older girl chuckled, whining softly as you yanked on her hair for the comment.

"so no chance you'll let me give you one? so much clean skin to work with." alessia sighed longingly, tattooed hands squeezing your bare legs making you roll your eyes. "you've a better chance of getting me on that death trap of a bike." you teased, tapping her shoulders and holding out your hand as she passed you the dryer.

"no! its my time." alessia huffed as you tried to return to her desk once the two of you exited her bedroom, her now dry hair hanging down her back in waves. "baby i just have one more chapter to-" she cut you off with a kiss, closing your textbook and grabbing your hips, and before you knew it you were over her shoulder.

"alessia!" you laughed, reaching down to smack her bum as her shirt rode up. "oo this is new!" you whistled, pulling her shirt up further to reveal the black thong she had on underneath.

"hey you keep those hands to yourself!" the girl retaliating by smacking your own bum with her free hand before she dropped you down on the lounge. "oh wait here." she perked up, rushing off to her bedroom.

"put this on please." she held out a different shirt toward you. "why? i already changed baby." you frowned gesturing to the clothes you'd put on while she was showering. "that's mine, this is yours." your girlfriend replied, shaking the shirt impatiently in your face.

"so?" you pushed, knowing why she wanted you to change but wanting her to say it. "you know why, put it on and don't be a brat about it." alessia huffed with a roll of her eyes. "no, say it. you big ole softy!" you teased, kicking her as alessia dropped the shirt on your head.

"because its my favourite to sleep in and it doesn't smell like you anymore. happy?" the older girl mumbled as you tugged the material off your head with a satisfied grin. "very much so." you quickly changed, your girlfriend tossing the other shirt over her shoulder without a care making you roll your eyes.

"assume the position!" she shooed at you impatiently as you grabbed the tv remote, shuffling down to the end of the sofa with a smile, your girlfriend laying down with her head in your lap, her heavily tattooed legs occupying the rest of the sofa as her feet hung off the edge, which of course were clad in a pair of fuzzy black socks.

"what do you want to watch baby?" you asked pressing a kiss to her warm forehead, clicking into her netflix as your girlfriend shrugged. "anything you want gorgeous."

you browsed for a moment, alessia sighing loudly a few times to show she was becoming annoyed at the lack of attention you were showing her. pecking her lips a few times to hold her off you clicked into the proposal and placed the remote back down on the coffee table.

your girlfriend impatiently grabbed your hands and threaded them through her freshly washed hair making you chuckle. "are you going to sleep?" you laughed as you started to scratch at her scalp, watching her bright blue eyes close almost immediately. "no i'm just resting my eyes." the girl mumbled making you shake your head and press another tender kiss to her forehead.

within five minutes her breathing evened out and you glanced down with a soft smile, her ring covered fingers intertwined and resting on her stomach which slowly rose up and down as she slept.

your big scary guard dog girlfriend, the absolute sap she really was.

[hellsbeenbettersincehesplit]

au where the clown pageant that Fizz quits during is about a month after the end of Season 1, and Charlie and Vaggie were in the audience. They saw Fizz quitting, and Charlie definitely took notice of Ozzie protecting Fizz.

(“Why the fuck are you two dressed like clowns?” Angel asks when they got back.

“Everyone else had merch, so I picked the nicest shirt,” responded Vaggie in her Glitz and Glam t-shirt.

“He was so nice to this one kid, and then he had that song!” Charlie responded while wearing a Fizzarolli hat.

“Wait,” Angel said in disbelief. “You two went to a circus for your date?”

“It was Charlie’s turn to pick the place,” was Vaggie’s only defense.

“It was actually a clown pageant!” Charlie clarified. “Vaggie’s missed so much of hell because I thought she was stuck here in Pride. It’s been three years, and she hasn’t even been to the harvest moon festival in Wrath!”)

And. Well. Charlie sees it, and she immediately thinks of Angel Dust. And if Ozzie could get Fizz out of his deal, maybe he could get Angel out of his. She was… pretty sure Lucifer was on good terms with the other deadly sins? Maybe? And she remembers how badly interfering with Angel’s work life without him wanting her too went last time, but she doesn’t want to get Angel’s hopes up for nothing, so she jumps to calling Ozzie anyway.

(“Let me get this straight,” the king of lust said. “You want me to get involved in overlord politics? No. No way. I stay out of pride for a reason.”

“I can pay?” She really couldn’t, honestly.

“Look, I know I’m the sin of lust, but I have a boyfriend.” And wow, Ozzie looked really happy to be saying that last part.

“And I have a girlfriend. I meant money.”

Ozzie sighed. “Look. I don’t know shit about sinner contracts, ok? If he sold his soul, nobody can just overpower their way out of that. If anyone could, it would’ve been Lucifer, and you’d have gone to him if he could, wouldn’t you?”

Charlie nodded, trying fruitlessly not to let her disappointment show.

“That being said, if you can get a copy of the contract, I… know a guy who may be able to find a loophole.”)

And then, somehow, Stolas ends up agreeing to go to the hotel and reads over the contract. You guys remember when Fizz got captured and he thoroughly read all that legal stuff? It’s that scene again, but at the hotel.

He also brings Blitzø for security. Blitzø meets Cherri Bomb at the bar while she’s waiting for Angel to be done with all the contract stuff. This is the start of a ride-or-die and terrifying friendship.

Anyway, I’m not sure if Stolas would find a loophole or not yet, but I do kind of think he would bc this is Val we’re talking about.

[foundtherightwords]

Fallen Empires - Chapter 3

Pairing: Geta x OFC

Summary: Having done the unthinkable to secure his throne, Emperor Geta rules with ruthlessness and paranoia. Now, after escaping an assassination attempt, a badly injured Geta is saved by Daphne, a young widow, who takes him back to her remote village without knowing his true identity. As Daphne nurses the former emperor back to health, attraction blooms between them, and Geta discovers a soft side he didn't know he possessed. But can their love survive his thirst for revenge and his desire to reclaim power?

Chapter warnings: stillbirth, mentions of surgery and blood

Chapter word count: 4.6k

Prologue + Chapter 1 - Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Geta's convalescence was a long one. Though the fever had broken, he was still frail, and even the slightest exertion left him breathless, his chest cramping painfully. He had never been ill in his life. While on campaigns, even when the army had been struck down with plagues, he had remained in good health. He had never even been injured, save for the one time in the Circus Maximus when he'd broken his leg for a foolish dare. He always saw it as a sign of the gods' favor, and this unaccustomed weakness infuriated him. For days, he lay tossing and turning in bed, cursing the traitorous Martialis for wounding him, cursing his body for its slowness to heal, cursing the army and the Senate for their inactivity and stupidity. Useless lot! They were probably running around like chickens with their heads cut off while he lay here rotting, while his enemies might be creeping closer, and he was helpless to defend himself.

It didn't help that the healer, Daphne, was always reminding him of his helplessness. Anything he wanted to do, she would say he was not well enough. He was tired of the constant thin gruel and broth that she was feeding him? He was not well enough for solid food. He wanted a bath? He was not well enough for a bath. He wanted some privacy to relieve himself? He was not well enough to get out of bed on his own.

It was this last thing that made him lose his temper.

"This is intolerable!" he shouted, though in truth it was more like a gasp. "Can a man even take a piss on his own?" He kicked at the chamber pot, which toppled over. Luckily, it was empty, and his leg had no strength, so the pot didn't even break. He remembered all too well that it was pissing on his own that had landed him here. This only incensed him further.

"There is no need for that kind of behavior," Daphne said, calmly picking up the chamber pot and setting it upright. "Now are you going to let me help, or are you going to stay there until you piss yourself?"

There was nothing he could say to that. Grimacing, he allowed her to put her shoulder under his arm. For all her thinness, she was strong and had no trouble lifting him to his feet.  

"If you don't stop working yourself up like this, you'll never recover," Daphne said, once he was done.

"I can take care of myself!" he snapped. He managed to get back into bed, where he lay panting and wheezing.

Daphne shook her head, clearly exasperated with his stubbornness but not wanting to agitate him further. "I'll bring you some valerian to help you sleep," she said, covering up the chamber pot.

"No! No more of your witch's brews!" Those made him feel like his head had been stuffed with wool and brought his ghosts back with such vividness that he feared they would step out of the shadows and into the waking world. "I don't want to sleep," he continued. "I want to see something that is not these cursed walls. Open that window," he ordered, though the window was so high up that he knew he couldn't see anything but the sky through it.

"It is open."

"Then why is it so stuffy in here? I can't breathe!" He clawed at the neckline of his tunic.

"It's not the room. It's your lung. The wound must be deeper than I thought." Still, she obliged him by throwing open the door and keeping it open to let in some air and light. "Let me see if I can find some mullein for that," she said, bustling out.

She was always bustling. In and out of the room, bringing him medicine and food. In and out of the hut, fetching water and firewood, drying herbs, mixing her concoctions. She hardly seemed to sleep. Even on the rare occasions she sat down by his bed, she was constantly moving, checking his forehead for signs of the fever returning, checking his pulses, changing the dressing of his wounds, or waving a fan over him to chase away the flies.

Always talking as well, though often not at him. He had been quite alarmed one day when he heard her shout, "Amalthea! Get out of the garden!" until he realized she was talking to her goat. The goat bleated in protest, and she responded, "And none of your lip, thank you very much. You know you're not allowed in there." It embarrassed Geta to realize she was talking to the goat much in the same way she talked to him. Her chattering, mixed with the bleating of the goats, the braying of the donkeys, and the buzzing of some insects, grated on his ears, making it impossible for him to focus on more important matters at hand—namely, how to return to his army, discover who was behind his assassination attempt, and exact his revenge.

But even at night, when it was all quiet, he couldn't think of anything to do other than to find his way back to Edessa as soon as possible and hope that the army was still there. Strategizing had never been one of his strengths on the battlefield; he'd often relied on brute force to catch his enemies by surprise. But how can one fight an unknown enemy? He tried to come up with a list of people who might want him dead, but it soon became too long to keep straight in his head. And so he continued to agonize in futility over his own helplessness, without making any progress at all.

Another thing that annoyed him was Daphne's calmness. No matter how much he raged at her, she remained unflappable, the slightly dour expression on her face never changing, like a weary mother used to dealing with her child's tantrums. But she wasn't a mother. As far as Geta knew, she had no family and lived alone, save for her animals—the donkey and a couple of goats.

For a healer, she received remarkably few visitors. Rather than wait for people to come to her like most healers, she would, every few days or so, pack two saddlebags full of herbs and potions, put them on the donkey, make her rounds in the village, and not come back until late in the afternoon. Geta supposed he should count himself lucky, for the remoteness and loneliness of the hut meant fewer chances of his enemies discovering him. However, since Daphne always took care of closing the door to his room and warning him not to make a noise whenever she went out, it only made him feel like a prisoner.

When Daphne returned from the village, he always asked if there was news, and she always shook her head. "But we're only a little hamlet," she added apologetically. "News takes a long time to reach us." It did nothing to reassure Geta. And, because he couldn't think of anyone from his circle to pin his suspicion on, he turned his suspicion to Daphne herself. True, she might have saved him out of the goodness of her heart, but who knew what she could have heard during her travels? She might have learned his true identity already. She might be in contact with his enemies and was waiting to hand him over to them.   

These suspicions took over his mind until he could no longer rest. He started to refuse his food and medicine until she tried them first, which she obliged grudgingly. He questioned her incessantly every time she went out, hoping to catch her in a lie, but she never slipped up. Eventually, he decided he needed to look through her possessions to make sure she wasn't hiding anything from him.

One day, after Daphne had packed her saddlebags and the clip-clop of the donkey's hoofs had faded down the hill, Geta carefully sat up in bed and put his feet down on the floor. Even this simple act made his head swim, so he had to sit on the bed for a while. Once the dizziness passed, he pulled himself up. Then, holding on to the walls for support and dragging one foot after the other, he made his way into the front room, which, during all his time in the hut, he had only seen in brief glimpses and glances.

It was not much larger than the bedroom and was as crowded as the bedroom was sparse. True, there wasn't much furniture—only a rough wooden table and a few stools by a window opposite the hearth, and a little cot in the corner—but the rest of the room was taken up by shelves upon shelves of amphorae, jars, bottles, vials of all shapes and sizes. A large stone mortar and pestle sat on the table, and bundles of herbs dangled from the low ceiling, giving off their bitter aroma. In the tiny hut with its dusty walls and floor, baked by the sun, the smell was suffocating.

Any of those containers could be hiding the evidence of her treachery. Geta picked up a jar closest to him, opened it, and recoiled as the pungent smell of vinegar hit his nostrils. It would be impossible to search them all.

As he stood looking about in confusion, not knowing where to begin, his attention was drawn to a shuffling sound outside the door. One of the goats? No, it was footsteps. Somebody was coming.

With a speed he scarcely thought possible, Geta turned and ran—or rather, staggered—back to the bedroom. He shut the door behind him just as the front door of the hut creaked open.

Clamping a hand over his mouth to stop his wheezing breath from echoing through the small hut, he put an eye to a crack in the door. An enormous woman, with a torso like a barrel and arms like tree trunks, was pushing her way into the hut. She had to bump the door open with her wide hip because her arms were laden with loaves of freshly baked bread. Their warm scent wafted toward the bedroom door, making Geta's mouth water.

"Daphne!" the woman shouted, making the hut positively tremble. "You here?" Then, although it was clear there was no one in the hut to hear her, she continued, "Just taking some stomachic, all right?"

The woman dumped the loaves into a basket by the hearth, where they would be kept warm, and took down a jar from the shelf with a practiced air. She decanted a concoction from the jar into a smaller vial, put the vial in a pouch on her belt, and went out again, leaving the jar on the table.

Geta knew he should go back out and resume his search, but the incident had left him exhausted. He sat down on the bed again. I'll rest for a bit, just until I get my breath back, he thought and fell promptly asleep.

A clatter woke him. The little patch of sky outside his window was tinged with purple and Daphne was bringing him his dinner on a tray as usual. Geta was enraged, mostly at himself. A whole day, wasted. He would have to wait for the next time she left.

"I heard a woman come in today, while you were out," he mentioned to Daphne, trying to sound casual.

"Oh, that would be Tatia, the baker. She brought the bread."

"She took something as well."

"Yes, I know. She left the jar on the table."

"So you just leave your hut open for people to come in whenever they want and take whatever medicine they please?" he asked, baffled.

Daphne shrugged. "That's how we do things around here."

"But—what if they take something they shouldn't? What if they take without leaving the container out? How would you know? What if they use your herbs to harm others?"

She fixed those inscrutable eyes on him. "Are you always this suspicious?" she said.

"Are you always this naïve?" he countered.

"I'm not naïve," she said calmly. "These are my neighbors. I know them and trust them. That's different than being naïve."

It was on the tip of his tongue to point out to her that the people one knows and trusts are mostly likely to betray that trust, but he stopped himself in time. If her conviction had served her well thus far, it wouldn't be his responsibility to open her eyes.

"But how do they pay you?" he asked.

"With their own products," she said, gesturing to the bread. It was true that he had seen her return from her rounds with amphorae of oil and wine, jars of olives, and even a length of linen. "We have little use for coins around here," she added.

Geta could well believe her. He had a coin pouch on his belt, containing a handful of copper asses, a few brass sesterces, and a silver denarius, as he always did whenever he went out. One never knows when the occasion may arise to play the part of a magnanimous Emperor by tossing a few coins to the plebs. But Daphne hadn't touched it. All the better. If she had, she would have recognized her patient's face stamped on the coins.

Daphne may have little use for his coins, but still, it didn't mean she was trustworthy. And so Geta bid his time and waited until she next left for the village, so he could have a thorough search of her things, not only make sure she was not in secret correspondence with his enemies, but also to determine what kind of person she was.

Before he could carry out the search, however, something occurred to answer the question of Daphne for him.

That night, he was woken by the faint but frantic ringing of a bell, which he'd never heard before. He bolted upright, and for a moment, thought he was back in Rome—although it had been four years since he was last in Rome—and the bell was the fire alarm sounded by the Vigiles. Then the door burst open, and Daphne came in, silhouetted against the light from a lamp in the room behind her.

"There's an emergency," she said, throwing a mantle over her tunic. "I may have to go into the village, or the person needing care will be brought here. Either way, I need you to stay in this room and stay quiet." Without waiting for an answer from him, she went back out, shutting the door behind her.

She hadn't been gone for long when he heard voices, low but urgent, coming in from the outside. One was Daphne's. "Put her here," she was saying.

"I didn't know what to do," a male voice said, sounding close to tears. "She's bleeding so much—I shouldn't have moved her—but I was afeard that if I went and got you, it'd be too late—"

"Shh," Daphne said, her voice reassuring. "You did right to bring her here, Habib. Now light all the lamps and put on some water to boil for me." 

Geta crept out of bed and looked through the crack in the door. In the fitful light of the lamp, he saw Daphne bending over a figure on the cot, which had been pulled to the middle of the room. It was a woman, Geta could see that by her long dark hair and the swell of her belly, which Daphne was feeling with a practiced hand. A young man, his chubby face barely covered with dark fuzz, was lighting more lamps with trembling hands. His features were Syriac, though he was speaking Greek with the same strange accent as Daphne's. There was a large red stain on the front of his tunic.

The figure on the cot moaned.

"You said she fell?" Daphne asked the young man, who was busy stoking the fire.

"It was my fault," Habib said sorrowfully. "I should've helped her bring the sheep in... but she insisted on doing it..."

"Don't blame yourself," Daphne said. "It was an accident." She gestured toward an amphora on the table. "You've done what you can for her. Take some wine and go outside for a breath of fresh air." Habib hesitated, his eyes lingering on the figure on the cot, but Daphne gave him a little shove with her foot. "Go on," she said. "I will do everything I can."

After one last look at his wife, Habib reluctantly took the amphora and left the hut.

Daphne turned back to the cot. Her face was somber as she measured a few drops of milky liquid from a vial into a cup and held it to the woman's lips, and her voice was firm but gentle as she said, "Drink, Lenia. It'll help with your pain." Geta recognized her tone. She'd spoken to him the same way during his fever.

To his surprise, Daphne went to the bedroom and opened the door. "I need your help," she whispered.

"I don't—"

She pressed the vial into his hand. "Here. Just watch her; if she stirs, put a drop or two on her tongue. That's all. Quickly."

Geta followed her into the front room, where the patient, Lenia, now lay motionless. A spoon had been wedged between her teeth to keep her mouth slightly open. Daphne set about cleaning her scalpel and making the first incision on Lenia's belly. Geta watched, fascinated. He was no stranger to blood. On the battlefields, he had seen surgeons remove arrowheads, amputate damaged limbs, and sew up cuts and gashes, but those had always been brutal, filthy scenes, full of not only blood and other bodily fluids but mud as well, accompanied by much shouting and cursing, with the surgeon acting as a butcher as much as a healer. Never had he witnessed such a silent operation, where the surgeon was so tender and meticulous. Once or twice, Daphne gestured for him to drip the poppy juice onto Lenia's tongue, or to hand her this or that tool. There was no sound except for their breathing—Daphne calm and almost inaudible, Lenia shallow but steady, and his own wheezing one—and the soft clattering of the tools Daphne put down on the tray next to the cot.

As she worked, Daphne's face grew darker and darker, while Lenia's grew paler and paler. Geta didn't know that a woman could bleed so much and still live.

For some reason, his thoughts wandered to his father's first wife, Paccia Marciana, who had died in childbirth. Some even said she was his true mother, and that she had died giving birth to him and his brother. Geta never had any reason to believe it was the truth, but now, in this small room, in the fitful light of the lamps, surrounded by blood and grim-faced women, he was struck by a sense of superstition. What if he had killed his own mother? That would be another victim waiting for him in fiery Phlegethon.

A movement from Daphne drew his attention again, cutting off his dark thoughts. She was leaning over the pregnant woman, whispering, "Lenia? Can you hear me?" Lenia made no sound, gave no indication that she was even conscious.

"Daphne?" Habib's diffident voice came through the door. "How's it going in there? Do you need any help?"

Daphne's mouth trembled as she looked from Lenia's white, sweat-drenched face to her still-swollen belly.

"What is it?" Geta asked under his breath.

Daphne shook her head at him and bent over Lenia again. "I can't save you both," she continued, her voice breaking. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. What do I do? What do I do?"

There was no answer from the patient. No one heard Daphne's anxious question, save for Geta.

Finally, Daphne seemed to have made up her mind. Pressing her lips together, she took a deep breath. "No, Habib," she said more loudly, her voice steady. "It's all right. Just... stay out there." She took up her scalpel once more.

Geta looked away, the vial of poppy juice forgotten. Was it simply because it was a woman and thus her predicament felt worse to him, or had his own brush with death made him soft?

When he looked back, Daphne was finishing stitching Lenia up. Something small and gray and red lay on a blanket on the floor. "What have you done?" he mouthed, horrified.

Without answering, she ushered him into the bedroom. He tried to look over her shoulder at the blanket, but she blocked it from view. Once the door closed behind her, Geta put his eye to the crack. Daphne's shoulders were shaking with silent sobs as she rolled up the blanket. "I'm sorry," she whispered, though it was to the woman on the cot or the bundle on the floor, Geta could not tell.

Then she sniffed, composed herself, and opened the front door. Habib burst in. It was clear he had been waiting right outside the whole time.

There was no need to say anything—one look at his wife, now sleeping quietly on the cot, and the bundle on the floor, and the young man understood.

"Boy or girl?" he asked Daphne, his voice trembling.

"Girl." The young man's chubby face crumpled. "Lenia is resting now," Daphne continued. "You can come back for her in the morning. Bring a cart."

Habib nodded and rubbed his eyes like a child. Daphne gave his shoulder an awkward pat. "She's young and strong, so there shouldn't be any—issue in the future," she said. "I'll stop by in the next few days to see how she is."

"Thank you," said Habib. He touched his wife's cheek briefly, picked up the bundle as if it were the most precious thing in the world, nodded at Daphne, and left.

Daphne returned to the cot. She wiped Lenia's face, changed the sheet on the cot, cleaned her instruments, mopped the floor, and put everything away, before bedding down herself in a corner, wrapped in her mantle. Soon, both women were sound asleep, leaving Geta the only one awake in his dark room. Realizing he was still clutching the vial of poppy juice, he put it down on the table. His hands were shaking, though it had less to do with his weakness and more with the confusion of thoughts and unaccustomed emotions swirling through him.

He must have fallen asleep as well, for when he woke, bright sunlight was streaming through the window. He dragged himself out of bed. A hollow-eyed Daphne was sitting at the table over some bread and a jug of milk she wasn't touching. The cot was empty, Lenia apparently having been picked up by her husband.

Seeing Geta hovering at the doorway, Daphne turned to him with a tired smile. "Good morning," she said and got up, her movements slow, like those of an old woman. "Stay there, I'll bring you some water to wash."

Geta was now well enough to no longer need her help with his morning routine, though he still had to rest several times between washing and getting dressed. Daphne brought in a tray with bread and milk and a bowl of goat cheese. "Sorry, there's no porridge," she said. "I forgot to put the oats in to soak."

"This is fine," he said, more gently than usual. Somehow, he felt it would be rude to demand that she wait on him hand and foot after the night she'd just had.

Daphne sat down next to him. "Thank you for your help last night."

"Why didn't you ask the husband?" Geta asked, voicing the question that had been bothering him since the previous night.

Daphne mistook his meaning. "And let him see his wife like that? He would've been no help at all."

"No, I mean... when it came down to either saving the mother or the child, why didn't you ask the husband?"

She looked at him once, then turned away. "It wasn't his decision."

Her offhand tone astounded Geta. "It's his wife!" he said, unable to stop the accusatory note in his voice. "His child. Whose decision was it if not his?"

"Habib is a good man," she said. "A good husband."

He looked at her in confusion. "What does that have to do with anything?"

Daphne turned to face him fully. "So you believe I should force that nice, kind boy to decide which one to kill, his wife or his child?" she asked. "And force him to live the rest of his life knowing that he's condemned one of his loved ones to death?"

Her words hit Geta like a whip. He didn't know how to answer. He had never thought of it like that. In Rome, a father would think nothing of leaving his newborn child to the feral dogs if he didn't want to raise it for whatever reason, but clearly, they were more sentimental here in the East. Or perhaps it was only Daphne. When he remained silent, a look of contempt came over Daphne's face. "You're a soldier," she said, in a tone that implied it was the worst of insults. "All you do is follow orders and kill. What do you know about the choices we have to make every day, just to live?"

Geta wanted to shout at her, to tell her that he, too, had had to make difficult choices of who to kill and who to spare, and that those choices still haunted him to this day. But he couldn't do so without exposing his true identity, so he bit his tongue and swallowed the bitter taste at the back of his throat, shamefaced.

Daphne was still staring at him, her eyes hard. She picked up a piece of bread to taste it.

Perhaps a woman who saved the life of a stranger, a woman who talked to her animals like they were children, a woman who wished to spare a grieving husband a difficult choice, would not be the kind of woman who could betray or poison someone.

"It's all right," Geta said, putting out a hand to stop her. "You don't have to taste it. I trust you." And to prove it, he took the bread from her and ate it himself.

A look of surprise passed across Daphne's face, softening it. She stared at him for a moment longer, and then, without another word, she went out.

After Geta had finished eating, Daphne didn't come back for the tray or bring him a drink of water as she usually did. Wanting to test his strength, Geta picked up the tray with one hand, and, holding to the wall with the other, went to the front room himself. He found Daphne asleep sitting up, with her head on the table, pillowed on her folded arms. Now would be the perfect time to search the hut. Daphne was sleeping so soundly that she probably wouldn't wake even if he dropped a clay amphora in front of her. But he made no move to start the search. His attention was on Daphne.

With her usual dour expression now wiped clean by sleep and exhaustion, and those sharp eyes veiled by bruised lids and dark lashes, her face looked younger, more vulnerable, like that of a girl, except for a deep line between her eyes. Reaching out, he ran a finger lightly over that line, smoothing it away. Daphne stirred in her sleep but didn't wake. Geta stood looking at his finger for a moment as if expecting it to sprout wings and fly away. What on Earth had compelled him to do such a thing? He couldn't think of an answer. After a while, he, too, went back to bed, and for the first time in weeks, he slept the peaceful sleep of the exhausted, without nightmares of Tartarus and lemures to disturb him.

Chapter 4

Septimius Severus' first wife, Paccia Marciana, who died of natural causes, was rumored to be Caracalla's real mother. This seems to explain some of the animosity between Caracalla and Geta, but there is no proof of it (Marciana died in 186, Septimius Severus married Julia Domna in 187, and Caracalla was born in 188, so clearly he was Julia Domna's kid.)

Ancient Roman physicians did perform Caesarean section, though only in extreme situations.

In Ancient Rome and Greece, unwanted babies were often left exposed to the elements. Some lucky ones may get picked up to be adopted or raised as slaves (not much better, but at least that way they'd live!)

Taglist: @sheneedsrocknroll92, @justnobodynothingmore, @barcelonaloverf1life, @myotakureprieve (if you want to be tagged, let me know!)

[inawickedlittletown]

Who Could Ask You Be Unbroken Or Be Brave Again - BuckTommy (one-shot)

Summary: When Buck figures out that he's pregnant just a few weeks after the break-up, he has to tell Tommy. They talk. Words: 3.1k Notes: Sooooo I actually started writing this last week and I pictured a different fic entirely and yet I like to go where the journey takes me so here we are. Mpreg is a feature, but not like the most important part of this fic, though I know the fandom has taken it and run with it. The title comes from Hozier's To Noise Making Read on Ao3

-

If it weren’t for Maddie, Buck probably wouldn’t have figured it out. Well, he would have eventually. Probably. 

When he was on the cusp of teenagehood, the nurse at school had come in to have a talk with his class. The boys and the girls were separated and Buck remembered watching a badly shot movie. She had passed out a paper to take home at the end, information for their parents. Buck didn’t remember if his parents had even bothered to read it, much less take the advice. As a consequence, when all the rest of the boys in his class got tested, Buck didn’t. Later on, it just didn’t matter because Buck wasn’t having sex with guys so what difference did it make if he was a carrier? Then, when he got together with Tommy, it hadn’t even crossed his mind. 

So, he never knew that he could get pregnant. 

Not until he was pregnant. 

Not until he was leaning over his toilet, knees on the hard floor, stomach empty. Not until he remembered Maddie and the brie he’d baked for her and how when he’d cut a piece of the banana bread earlier the smell of the bananas had made him feel sick. 

Not until he managed to make it out of the apartment and to the nearest pharmacy where he stared at the pregnancy tests until finally just grabbing four at random. He was glad the girl at the checkout didn’t say anything. 

They all came back positive. 

There was no denying it.

In the bathroom, he took off his t-shirt and looked down at his abdomen. There was nothing different about his body, but eventually it would change. He would round out, growing a life in the womb that Buck hadn’t even known he had. Tentatively, he touched his stomach. In that moment he realized that he hadn’t even thought about it before already knowing that he was doing it. He would have the baby. He was going to be a dad. 

Tommy had left him — had left them. 

He was the other dad. 

Buck had to throw up.

Pregnant. He was pregnant. He was housing life, a life created out of him and Tommy…Tommy was gone. He had walked out of Buck’s life without a look back and Buck was once again the one that was left behind except that this time it wasn’t only him. His hand drifted to his abdomen. There was a baby in there. 

That was when the tears began anew. 

What the hell was he going to do?

Buck had cried for the better part of an hour after Tommy left. Then, he cried on Eddie’s couch and couldn’t even get the words out for why. 

“He dumped me,” he’d said eventually. “Tommy dumped me.” 

Then, the tears had started again. 

He cried when he got home the next morning and immediately he had to talk himself out of calling Tommy. 

Eddie had told him to stay busy and keep his mind off of it. To not reach out to Tommy. 

So, he focused on making himself dinner that night and after the lasagna was in the oven, he decided he may as well go out and eat all his feelings. Not to mention that he really wanted brownies. 

So, he found an outlet. Baking was better than crying. It was better than having to hide his phone from himself so that by the time he found it he’d be over the urge to call or text. 

Buck had almost convinced himself that he could keep going and that he wouldn’t cry over Tommy again, but he was crying again. Over Tommy. Over the break up. Over the tiny life that should have brought so much joy to both of them. Not that Buck wasn’t happy…not that the idea of being a dad didn’t excite him. It was just the timing and the circumstances. Tommy wasn’t there with him and Buck…

He needed to tell him. 

Tommy needed to know. 

Or maybe…maybe Buck could do it on his own. He could love this baby more than enough. Tommy had already made his choice on Buck, why would he come back just because Buck was pregnant. Buck wasn’t enough for him, the future that Buck wanted and that Buck had dangled in front of himself had been shot down without his say and this was not going to change anything, not if Tommy had thought their six months together was some fun and nothing further than that. 

A baby was…it was a big commitment. Eighteen years at least and it wasn’t about Buck, but the idea that Tommy might not react well to the news…

But, no, that was unfair. Tommy would at least feel the obligation to his child even if it was detached, even if it was just monetary. He would do right by the baby even if they weren’t together anymore. That…that hurt. It was like a stab right to the chest. This was not the way it was supposed to be. 

He sobbed, wiped at his eyes but the tears kept coming. Maybe he didn’t tell him. Maybe he didn’t find out how Tommy would react and…

But no. 

If it was the other way around and Tommy found out he was pregnant and didn’t tell Buck, Buck would never forgive him. He had to tell him. 

Wiping at the last of his tears, Buck went to the kitchen to grab water. 

Four positive tests. He needed to get a doctor’s appointment to confirm and then prenatal vitamins? What else? Was his apartment even an okay place in which to raise a baby? With the stairs and the balcony and how his bedroom wasn’t even really a room. And then there was his job. How long could he keep working before it was too dangerous? Was it already dangerous? 

Buck thought about calling Maddie. She was pregnant herself and she could help but the thought of telling her and not Tommy. Of telling anyone but Tommy…

He had to tell him. Buck reached for his phone. 

He couldn’t tell him over the phone and the thought of Tommy not picking up his call or leaving him on read or…what if he’d blocked Buck’s number? But no…Tommy wouldn’t do that. 

It was a Tuesday and Tommy didn’t usually work on Tuesdays. Unless he’d changed things…unless he’d been called into a fire. It didn’t mean he’d be at home, but it couldn’t hurt to try. 

So, he got shoes on, stuffed his phone and wallet in his pocket and grabbed his keys. Grabbed a few loaves out of his fridge for good measure. The remaining brownie pan too. 

Buck almost talked himself out of it on the drive over, but then he was pulling into Tommy’s driveway behind his truck. He waited a few more minutes before he got out of the car and started walking to the door. He raised his hand and knocked. 

Tommy had given him a key. It was still sitting next to the keys to his apartment. If this went badly, he supposed that he could give the key back. It would really be over, not that it hadn’t before. It was just that a part of Buck had hoped that if given enough time they might find each other again. It was silly and maybe it spoke to how many romcoms he and Tommy had watched together. Now…now he was pregnant and it changed everything. 

He knocked again. 

Heard movement from inside and then the door opened. 

Tommy looked like he hadn’t slept in days. 

“Buck,” he said. 

Buck decided to ignore that. “We need to talk,” he said. 

“I — yeah, sure.” 

Tommy stepped aside and Buck followed him in. 

“Do you…do you want a drink?” Tommy asked. 

The awkward energy between them killed him. It had never been like this between them before…okay, maybe after Buck messed up their first date, but even then it hadn’t been this. Buck shook his head. 

“What is all that?” 

“Oh. I, uh, I started baking and…anyway, these are for you.” 

Tommy took them and walked them into the kitchen. Buck followed. Nothing had changed since he’d been there last and the thought it might have and that Tommy could have moved on or something. Three weeks…it had really only been three weeks long as that felt. 

“What did you want to talk about?” Tommy asked, not even looking at Buck. 

How did he say it? Did he just blurt it out? On the drive over nothing had come to mind and Buck had never not known how to just say things except this time it was…it was so much harder. 

“Ev—Buck?” 

“I — I’m…I have some news.” 

“News?” 

The words got caught in his throat.

“Buck, is everything alright?” 

“I’m going to…pregnant. Maddie’s pregnant.” 

“Oh.” Tommy said with a confused chuckle. “You’re becoming an uncle again.” 

And a dad. 

Buck gulped. “Yeah. I am.” 

Tommy still looked confused. 

“I found out by accident. They don’t want anyone to know, but I had to tell someone. Don’t say anything.”

“Is that all?” Tommy asked, cautiously. 

Buck wanted to shake his head and to tell him it wasn’t only Maddie. It was Buck too. 

“We never talked about kids,” he found himself saying instead. “Among other things, but I never asked if you wanted kids. Do you?” 

It felt pointed. It felt like Buck was giving himself away. Tommy seemed a little confused. 

“Uh…I don’t know,” he settled on. “Never thought I would have any, but it’s not like I don’t like children. I guess I never really thought it was a real option or a deal breaker. Why are we talking about kids?”

“I’m…I don’t know. Just a thought,” Buck said. “I’ve always wanted to be a dad.”

“You want family,” Tommy said. “You'll get another niece or nephew soon.”

“Yeah,” Buck breathed and it took everything in him not to touch his stomach. Not just a niece or nephew, a son or daughter. Tommy’s too. 

“Did you…was there anything else?” Tommy asked. 

“I — that is—”

“Evan?” Tommy said. “You’re…are you alright?” 

He took a breath. “It doesn’t have to change anything,” he said. “I know you don’t want it to. You made that pretty clear. This isn’t like me trapping you or anything. I’m not. I just know that if it were the other way around I’d want to know and I’d want you to tell me. And no one else knows because you should be the first to know even though you kinda broke my heart there and that’s not going away. You know my fridge is full of loaves. I needed an outlet and so I started baking and I can’t seem to stop. I’m—”

“Evan, take a breath,” Tommy said. 

Buck did. He took several and when he looked at Tommy again, he found concern in his gaze. 

“What’s going on?” 

“I’m…well, as it turns out, I’m—” he couldn’t get the words out. 

“Are you sick? What’s happening? Evan, are you alright?” 

Tommy’s hand reached out to him, but fell short and drew back. 

“I’m not sick,” Buck said. “That’s not…I mean, that’s not what I would call this. I’m…Tommy, I’m pregnant.” 

Once the words were out, he felt lighter. His hand had drifted back down over his abdomen. Still flat, but for how long? When would he start showing? Hell, Buck didn’t even know how far along he was or anything else. 

Tommy was staring at his hand and then his eyes flickered back to Buck’s face. 

“Pregnant,” Tommy said. 

Buck nodded. 

“You’re a carrier. You never said.” 

“Yeah…I didn’t know until…until now.”

Tommy inhaled a breath and Buck could see that his mind was spinning, that he maybe didn’t even know what to say or think and Buck…Buck needed to leave. He’d told him, it was what he’d come to do and that was it. 

“I just wanted you to know. No obligation. No expectations. Just…that’s what’s happening. I’m pregnant and I’m going to keep it.” 

Tommy didn’t say anything. 

“I guess now you know. I’ll…I’ll go. See you around, Tommy.” 

Buck made it to the door. He was turning the doorknob and trying to pretend that his eyes weren’t filling up with tears when he heard a gentle:

“Wait.” 

And then Tommy’s hand was on his wrist and Buck turned. 

Tommy’s hand left his wrist but then he was cradling Buck’s face, thumbs wiping away his tears. 

“I was scared,” Tommy said. 

“Scared? You? But that’s, what is there for you to be scared of? I’m the pregnant one.”  

Tommy’s hands dropped from his face. “That,” he said. “You think I can’t be scared in this?” He motioned between them. “That it didn’t freak me out the moment you asked me to move in with you in the same sentence that you said you liked me for my confidence without even—”

Buck watched him. Watched the way that his shoulders were hunched and how he gulped. 

“You don’t see me, Evan, and if you don’t see me…the real me and not whoever you’ve made me out to be then this was never going to work. The moment I realized it wasn’t…that it wasn’t. I did this for you and for me. And now—” Tommy’s gaze met Buck’s dead on, “now you’re pregnant.” 

“I don’t see you?” Buck asked. 

He stepped away from the door. He laughed and turned away from Tommy before he looked back at him. 

“I see what you’ve let me see,” Buck said. “I see who you presented yourself to be and if you’re telling me now that you were lying about who you are then…then that’s—”

“It’s not what I’m saying,” Tommy broke in. “I’m saying you put me on some…on some pedestal that I don’t belong on. I’ve hurt people. Abby. Hen. Chim. Hid my sexuality to my own detriment and the detriment of others. I lied and lied and lied and…and it’s—”

Buck reached for him, grabbed his hand and made Tommy look at him. “You did it because you were protecting yourself from a world that wasn’t going to accept you. What I admire is how far you’ve come. What I admire is that you lived through it got to this side of it and can choose to be happy. Except that you don’t think you deserve it. I see you, Tommy.”

“Evan,” Tommy said. 

Buck grasped Tommy’s other hand. 

“Did you know I hate the way you leave your clothes in piles instead of putting them in your hamper, the way that you always forget to put the cap back on the toothpaste. You never close a cabinet. Some of your jokes are not funny and it shouldn’t have taken six months for you to tell me about Abby. I guess I’m to blame for that too because I didn’t tell you about her either. I hate how you never talked about Gerrard with me, not really. I hate the way you always take Eddie’s side and that the two of you always make fun of me. The first sign of trouble and you run. You’re not perfect, Thomas. But you know what, I love you anyway.”

The silence that fell between them lasted a few beats. They couldn’t look away from each other and there were tears slipping out of the corners of his eyes. 

“You scare me,” Tommy said, voice rough. “And I’ve been kicking myself since that night but I didn’t know…I couldn’t call or text because I walked away and I thought it was for the best. I’m broken, Evan, and if you ever saw that and didn’t — didn’t—” Tommy’s voice broke. 

“I love you,” Buck said. “And you’re not broken, because if you are then I am too.” 

Tommy actually let out a sob and his face crumpled. Buck had never seen him like that. He’d seen him worried and smiling and confused. He’d seen the way that his lips turned down that night when they broke up, but he’d never seen this. The way that the wrinkles around his eyes were deepened and his mouth was so turned down and how red it made his skin. 

Buck reached for him, pulled Tommy’s face down to his neck. He rubbed at his back and then ran a hand through his hair and Tommy sobbed and wet his shoulder with his tears and Buck held him and cried his own tears. It felt amazing to actually have Tommy in his arms, though the rest of it…the tears and the sobs was new. 

There was no knowing how long they stood there, until Tommy pulled back, wiping at his face with one hand. He didn’t go far, though Buck could tell that maybe he wanted to. When he finally looked at Buck, he looked a little more put together. 

“You’re pregnant,” he said. 

Tommy’s hand fell to Buck’s abdomen. There was nothing to feel there yet. They both knew that, but Buck put his hand over Tommy’s. 

“I am,” Buck said. “It doesn’t have to change anything.” 

Tommy let out a strangled laugh. “It’s going to change some things. Evan, you’re going to be the best dad.” 

“So are you,” Buck said and inhaled. “Right? I mean, you don’t have to be if you don’t—”

“I want to be,” Tommy said. “I don’t know how good I’ll be at it, it’s not like I had a great example. What I do know is that I am so in love with you and there is no way I’m letting you do this on your own. No way that I am walking away from you or this baby.”

Buck kissed him and Tommy responded at once, hungrily and like he was hoping to impart upon Buck every bit of his love through that kiss. 

They probably had a lot more to talk about. So much to figure out about them and about the baby. Buck could see more tears and more arguments, but if there was one thing that he could count on, it was that they would make it through it. They’d made it through this break up already any other hurdles or hardships could be dealt with. 

[screaminglygay]

Burning match

pairings: kate bishop x fem!reader

summary: shutting off your feeling is not the best idea, but talking about them hurts too much.

warnings: swearing, character gets badly hurt, mentions of injuries, men, reader being stubborn, some angst with happy ending:)

word count: 5.5k

an: this one is little longer, but i didnt feel like cutting it in halfway, hehe, hope you´ll like it!:)

part one | part two

!MDNI!

"Come on, try again." Natasha says as she hold the lap for you to hit it.

The past few weeks, you´ve been trying to keep yourself busy. Small missions. Paper work. Training with Natasha. Spending time with MJ and Peter in Queens. Everything to keep Kate away. Everyone realized that something is wrong, that´s the main reason, why Fury didn´t give you a long or a hard missions. He couldn´t risk you being reckless, but he also didn´t want to keep you out of the game.

"I´m trying!" You yell as you hit the boxing paw, but you didn´t cover your face, so Natasha hits you back.

"Your mind is somewhere else. I need you to be here with me." The redhead put her hand back up, for you to try again. "If we would be on the field, you´d be dead by now." She states, hoping it will motivate you, but it did the exact opossite.

"That would be great, actually." You try to hit her paw, but she put her hands down.

"(Y/N)…" Natasha looks at you and takes off the paws.

"What are you doing?" You are supposed to train for another fifty minutes.

"We´re having a break. Sit down." You sit down, taking off your gloves. "Are you gonna talk to me, or just pretend like everything is great?" Natasha sits down as well.

You shrug. "It's complicated, Nat. I don't even know where to start."

"Start at the beginning. I'm here to listen." She looks at you.

"It's about feelings. Complicated feelings," you admit, fidgeting with the edge of your gloves.

"Remember when I used to have a crush on Wanda? Well, it turns out those feelings are just exchanged with a different feelings.. with different someone…"

Natasha nods, her expression encouraging you to continue.

"It´s Kate," you continue, the weight of the unspoken emotions settling between you. "I never expected to feel this way again, but it's there. And I can't face her. I can't face anyone, really."

Natasha's eyes reflect empathy as she absorbs your words. "Feelings are messy, (Y/N), but running from them won't make them disappear. You've got to confront them, understand them, and then decide what to do next."

You look down at your hands, the moment feeling like a barrier between you and the vulnerability of your emotions. "I already decided, I don´t want to confront them at all. It´s just… overwhelming."

Natasha reaches over, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. "You don't have to figure it all out at once. Take it one step at a time. Talk to Kate. See where it goes. And remember, I'm here for you, no matter what. And like with Wanda it either will go away or you will figure it out."

You sigh. "It was different with Wanda. In many ways. I don´t think it will be the same. They are both totally different people." You say as you think about that time of your life.

"What was different? Having a bro code with Pietro?" Natasha asks, without missing a beat and that makes you smile and roll your eyes.

The door swings open, your gaze lifts, only to meet the eyes of the archer you've been succesfully avoiding. Instantly, your posture tenses, a reflexive response to the presence.

Kate walks in, but stops as she notices you´re with Natasha, "can I have a minute with (Y/N)?"

Natasha looks at you and you just nod. Which makes Natasha stand up and leave the room.

"So…" Kate starst, but she is actually not really sure how to start at all.

"So…" You look at her and she sits down next to you."You had a sparing session with Natasha?" Kate asks, looking at the gloves on the ground.

"Um- yeah, yeah, I had." You nod as well as Kate.

The room holds an unspoken tension. Kate breaks the silence with a question that cuts through the charged atmosphere.

"Am I too annoying?" Kate's gaze is probing, searching for confirmation in your eyes.

Your response is quick, "What? No! Of course not!"

Kate interrupts, her tone cutting, "You've been off. So what's your problem?"

"I don´t have a problem." You shrug.

"You don´t? Well even Mike thinks you´re kinda off…" Kate states.

A scoff escapes your lips involuntarily, and you mutter mockingly, "oh Mike thinks that.."

The archer looks at you and raise her eyebrow, "what´s that supposed to mean?"

"Forget it, nothing." You look away, already feeling like you gonna explode.

"Say it." You can feel that the atmosphere didn´t clear out at all.

"No, it´s nothing important." You look back at her.

"(Y/N), say it!" Kate is on the verge of exploding too, you can feel it and even see it.

"Okay, fine! Your boyfriend, he´s a dick." Okay, that slipped out. Shit, that shouldn´t have slipped out.

Oh god.

You succesfully shocked the archer, she is completly stunned. "What's your problem with Mike?" Kate's voice rises, defensive and confrontational.

"It's this something about him." you take a deep breath, the tension escalating. "You deserve better." There it is, you finally said it. Maybe a little differently then you wanted, but you did.

The declaration becomes a spark igniting an unexpected blaze. Kate's eyes narrow, a mixture of frustration and anger surfacing. "You don't know him like I do. You don't get to judge my choices. Who do you think you are to say these things?!"

The argument escalates, a collision of conflicting emotions, and before you know it, the room becomes a battleground once again. Before you could find your words, trying to save it, she speaks once again.

"I don't need this. I thought we could talk, but clearly, I was wrong."

And with that, Kate storms out, leaving you alone in the sparring room, the echoes of the confrontation lingering in the air like a haunting melody.

Fuck.

...

After the heated confrontation with Kate, the sparring room feels like a vacuum, the lingering echoes of the argument still resonating in the air. Hours pass, marked by the ticking clock and the persistent sound of rain against the windows. Eventually, you decide to venture back to the living room, a sense of emptiness accompanying each step.

As you enter the living room, you open the fridge in hopes that you will find a fresh icy cold water bottle. Finally you have a little luck in your life and there it is. As you take few sips from it you speak out. "Hey, F.R.I.D.A.Y., have you seen Kate around?" you inquire, your voice betraying a hint of sadness.

F.R.I.D.A.Y. responds with a measured tone, "Miss Bishop is currently on a mission with Mr. Rogers and Miss Belova. They left a forty minutes ago."

A pang of regret tightens your chest. The opportunity to apologize and mend things with Kate slips through your fingers, replaced by a sense of longing and missed chances.

"Alright, thanks, F.R.I.D.A.Y.," you mutter, retreating to a corner of the living room. The rain outside matches the melancholy mood within, creating a backdrop for the emotional storm you find yourself caught in.

...

You find solace in the embrace of your bed, its comfort offering a temporary refuge from the emotional turmoil that swirls within. The room, dimly lit by the glow of the bedside lamp, becomes a sanctuary where you can confront the tangled web of feelings.

Wrapped in the warmth of blankets, you replay the events in your mind, analyzing each word and gesture. Regret sticks with you, and the longing to bridge the gap between you and Kate grows with each passing moment. The desire to apologize, to untangle the knots of misunderstanding, becomes a persistent ache that refuses to dissipate.

But was it a misunderstanding? Or just something you held in yourself for a really long time?

As the rain continues its rhythmic dance against the window, time seems to stretch, each moment weighed down by the emotional heaviness. The glow of the bedside clock ticks away, a constant reminder of the day slipping through your fingers.

Messages from MJ and Peter light up your phone, concerned inquiries that you choose to ignore for now. You will answer them later. Maybe.

The dim glow of the bedside clock casts a faint light in the room as your phone incessantly lights up with notifications. Ignoring it initially, you think it´s MJ or Peter again. However, the persistent buzzing becomes too insistent to ignore, pulling you back to the harsh reality beyond the cocoon of your thoughts.

A new notification pops up, catching your attention. It's from Yelena, and the message sends a shiver down your spine. "Kate got into an accident. We're at the hospital."

The words hang in the air, a chilling realization that transcends the emotional turmoil you've been grappling with. The cocoon of solitude suddenly feels fragile, the threads unraveling in the face of an unforeseen crisis.

Before you can fully process the gravity of the situation, your phone vibrates with an incoming call from Natasha. With a sense of foreboding, you answer, your voice catching in your throat.

"(Y/N), it's about Kate. There's been an accident," Natasha's voice is steady but laced with an underlying tension. "They're at the St.Nicholas. Steve said it's serious. You need to come, but please drive carefuly." Natasha´s voice cracks and that makes your stomach drops even lower.

Without a second thought, you spring into action, a surge of adrenaline propelling you out of the room and into the stormy night. The rain outside mirrors the tempest within as you navigate the path to the hospital, the glow of your phone lighting the way with messages that now hold a newfound urgency.

The rain-drenched streets blur as you rush towards the hospital, heart pounding in your chest. The vivid lights of the emergency room entrance greet you as you finally arrive, breathless and soaked. Your gaze scans the room, finding Natasha, Steve, and Yelena huddled together, their faces etched with worry.

Ignoring the pull of exhaustion, you hurry towards them, relief and anxiety warring within you. Natasha, noticing your arrival, steps forward, her eyes reflecting a mix of concern and understanding.

"(Y/N), she's stable now," Natasha says softly, her hand resting reassuringly on yours as she stops you from coming into the room. "But they won't let us visit her just yet."

A mix of emotions floods over you – relief that Kate is stable, yet a lingering unease at the unknown extent of her injuries. The hospital's sterile ambiance amplifies the tension in the air as Steve steps forward, his usually stoic expression betraying a deep concern.

"There was a room filled with explosive material, and it detonated while she was near it," Steve explains, the weight of the situation evident in his voice. "She's lucky to be alive."

As Steve explains, you feel a knot tighten in your stomach. The image of Kate, caught in the blast, flashes in your mind. The once trivial disagreements now seem insignificant, overshadowed by the reality of Kate's perilous situation.

Yelena remains silent, her eyes revealing the worry she can't put into words. The waiting room becomes a space suspended in time, a limbo between the fear of the unknown and the hope for Kate's recovery.

For now, the only option is to wait – to wait for news, for permission to visit Kate, and, above all, for a sign that she will pull through.

...

Time seems to stretch as the group anxiously awaits news about Kate. The sterile waiting room is filled with hushed conversations and the rhythmic beeping of medical equipment. The air is thick with anticipation until finally, a doctor emerges, breaking the tense silence.

"Miss Bishop is stable. She's going to be okay," the doctor announces, a collective sigh of relief escaping from those gathered. "However, she needs time to recover. The explosion caused many injuries, and she's currently sleeping."

Steve, Yelena, and Natasha exchange grateful glances, and a sense of gratitude washes over them. The doctor continues, "You can visit her. We'll keep you updated on her progress."

As the trio heads toward Kate's room, you hesitate. The relief is palpable, but an overwhelming desire to be close to Kate prevails. Determined, you follow them into the room.

Kate lies peacefully on the hospital bed, surrounded by the sterile white walls. Machines softly hum, monitoring her vital signs. You can hear Yelena talk in russian, which you don´t understand at all.

Natasha places a gentle hand on Yelena´s shoulder, exchanging a few quiet words with her and Steve before leading them out, leaving you alone with your friend.

The room is dimly lit, the soft glow of monitors casting a gentle light on Kate's sleeping form. The exhaustion from the events of the day catches up with you, but an unwavering need to be there for Kate keeps you by her side.

You pull a chair close to the bed, taking Kate's hand in yours. The rhythmic beeping of the machines becomes a soothing backdrop as you sit there, unmoving, lost in the quiet vigil.

"I´m really sorry, Katie." You whisper, so much regret in those words. Hours pass, marked by the steady rise and fall of Kate's chest. Your mind is a tempest of emotions – relief, worry, gratitude. The ordeal has left you physically and emotionally drained. The chair feels uncomfortable, but you can't bring yourself to leave Kate's side.

As the night wears on, fatigue sets in. The hospital room becomes your bedroom now, interrupted only by the soft sounds of medical equipment. Unable to resist the heaviness of your eyelids, you lean against the chair and finally fall asleep too.

...

Morning light filters through the hospital room's window, casting a soft glow on the still figure of Kate. The rhythmic sounds of medical equipment persist, a constant reminder of the fragile balance between recovery and the unknown. You wake up, the stiffness in your muscles a testament to the night spent in the uncomfortable chair.

The door creaks open, and Natasha enters, holding a small tray with a cup of water and a plate of food. Her eyes, though tired, hold a reassuring warmth.

"Hey," Natasha says softly, offering a small smile. "I thought you might need this."

Tears well up in your eyes as you take in the caring gesture. "Thanks, Nat."

Natasha places the tray on the table and pulls a chair closer. "How are you holding up?"

You shrug and glance at Kate, her peaceful slumber giving you a momentary respite. "The last time we talked, we had a fight," you confess, your voice choked with emotion.

Natasha leans forward, a comforting presence. "(Y/N), these things happen, especially in our line of work. What's important now is that she's going to be okay."

"I was too blind to let her be happy," you admit, the weight of regret settling in. "I should have never said anything."

Natasha reaches out, squeezing your hand gently. "You care about her, and that's what matters. The rest can be worked out later." She encourages you to eat and drink, a gentle reminder of the need to take care of yourself. The food feels tasteless, but with Natasha's support, each bite becomes a small triumph.

"Kate is strong, and she's going to pull through. You being here for her matters more than you realize," Natasha reassures, offering a comforting presence in the quiet hospital room.

Her words are stuck in your head. You are here. You are. Where is Mike?

"He's still not here, hasn't even bothered to check in," you mutter to Natasha, a sense of frustration coloring your tone.

Natasha furrows her brow, sensing the underlying tension. "Mike? Maybe he's just dealing with things in his own way."

"So if you had the love of your life in a hospital you wouldn´t care to find them?" You are once again getting angry, even though you are strongly agaisnt the man, maybe you are overreacting. Or maybe you are right the whole time. Thoughts are running in and out of your head. Too much things at the moment.

"(Y/N), people react differently in situations like these. Give him some time."

But the silence from Mike speaks louder than any explanation Natasha could offer. The realization stirs a mix of emotions — frustration, disappointment, and a strange sense of feeling you couldn´t name yet.

Natasha leaves the hospital room, offering a reassuring smile as she heads to the cafeteria to check up on Steve and Yelena. The door closes behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts and sleeping Kate.

After some time, Natasha returns with Yelena, her expression serious. "Steve's heading back to the compound to take care of some calls and paperwork. He'll be back soon," she informs you.

The hospital room feels both empty and crowded, a paradoxical mix of solitude and shared concern. Yelena, seated by the window, looks up as Natasha speaks. "We´ll stay here with you for a while," Nat offers.

Grateful for the company, you nod, and Natasha takes a seat in the corner, while Yelena sits by Kate's bedside. The atmosphere in the room becomes more subdued, the weight of the events settling in.

After a little bit you step out to get some fresh air, a knot of tension lingers. The hallway outside is quiet, and you take a moment to collect your thoughts. As you turn to the bathrooms, you notice someone standing a little way down the corridor — Mike, Kate's boyfriend.

His presence catches you off guard, and a mixture of emotions surges within. The frustration from the previous thoughts intensifies, and a sense of unease accompanies the realization that he's here, yet the silence persists.

Mike looks up from his phone, noticing you. His expression is a mix of surprise and discomfort. The air between you is thick with unspoken words and unresolved tensions. It's a moment frozen in time, the hospital hallway becoming a silent arena for a confrontation that has been brewing beneath the surface.

Yelena and Natasha remain inside the room, unaware of the encounter in the hallway. The decision of whether to address the situation or let it linger hangs in the air, and as you lock eyes with Mike. You know Kate would not want you to go up to him and start a fight, but you can´t help it.

The air in the hospital hallway thickens as you approach Mike, who seems taken aback by your presence. A mix of frustration and anger simmers beneath the surface, waiting to erupt.

"It took you a while to finally arrive," you say, the words laced with a mixture of scoff and irritation.

Mike doesn't respond with an apology or explanation. Instead, he meets your challenging gaze and, with a dismissive tone, retorts, "Why do you care?"

The confrontation escalates, each word becoming a verbal jab as the tension between you intensifies. Mike, rather than showing concern for Kate or acknowledging the gravity of the situation, responds with rudeness and indifference.

"Why do I care?!" There it is, the sharp exchange of words. "If she was my girlfriend, I would call, text—I would run into every hospital, until I would find her!" you shout, your frustration boiling over. But Mike remains unmoved, his calm demeanor only fueling the fire.

"But she's not," he speaks with an unsettling calmness.

The words hang in the air, a harsh reality that slaps you in the face. "What?" you stammer, caught off guard by the bluntness of his statement.

"You've said it yourself, if. She is not your girlfriend," Mike replies, his words cutting through the emotional turmoil like a knife.

The realization hits hard, the vulnerability beneath your anger exposed. The hurt, disappointment, and frustration converge into a surge of raw emotion.

Natasha, hearing the escalating confrontation, steps in, grabbing your hand to stop you from saying or doing anything impulsive. "You won't help her by this, (Y/N)," she says calmly, her grip a grounding force amid the tempest of emotions.

The hospital hallway becomes a silent witness to the tangled threads of relationships, the fractures laid bare in the harsh light of truth. As Natasha intervenes, you take a deep breath, grappling with the storm of emotions within. The focus shifts from the confrontation to the shared concern for Kate's well-being, a reminder that in the face of adversity, unity is more crucial than discord.

Natasha makes you take a few deep breaths, trying to diffuse the tension. Frustration still simmers within you, and you can't shake off the urge to do something impulsive. Your words to Natasha echo your volatile emotions.

"He's being an arrogant idiot," you mutter to Natasha, your anger palpable. "I swear, if I didn't care about Kate, I'd punch him."

Mike, unfazed, wears an arrogant smile as if reveling in the chaos he has incited. The atmosphere in the hospital corridor remains charged, the unspoken conflict simmering beneath the surface. With a frustrated scoff you finally manage to go to the bathroom, to freshen up a little bit, or at least calm the anger burning inside you.

In the midst of the tension, a weak voice cuts through the air. Kate stirs in her hospital bed, her gaze flickering around the room as she tries to make sense of her surroundings. Her eyes land on Yelena, who is engrossed in a magazine.

"What the hell was that?" Kate asks, her voice a mix of confusion and concern.

"Kate! You´re awake! Oh and that? (Y/N)." Yelena puts the magazine down.

"Is she okay?" Kate asks without a beat.

Yelena hesitates for a moment, choosing her words carefully. "She's… okay."

The ambiguity in Yelena's response doesn't escape Kate's notice. "Whats that supposed to mean?" Kate´s voice still very raspy from just waking up.

"Well curently she´s cursing at your boy for being a dick." The blonde chuckles, as she´s rooting for your win.

"She is?" Kate's eyes widen with a mix of surprise and concern.

"Yeah… I heard Natasha step in, too sad I wanted to see (Y/N) throw some fists, she could take him.." Yelena looks at Kate, "what? I´m just stating the facts."

Kate tries to sit up and leave the bed, but Yelena immedietly notices and tries to keep her in bed. "No, Kate, stay." But that doesn´t stop the injured archer.

Ignoring Yelena's attempts to keep her in bed, Kate go out the room, trying to piece together the events that led her here until her gaze finally lands on Natasha, a silent guardian in the midst of the unfolding drama. Mike´s back is facing Kate as she somehow walked out of her hospital room.

"You all are crazy, who do you think you guys are? Mighty heroes?" He laughs "At least Kate will realize how useless her bow and arrow is…"

"Mike…" Natasha tries as she meets Kate´s blue eyes. Her posture softens a little bit with relief as she notices that Kate is awake.

"If her dad was around maybe she would get some sences knocked into her, this is ridicilous. Pretending to be a hero." Kate barerly stands there, she hopes this is just a big hallucination from the pills they gave her. "And who is your inspiration, hm? A- a- hooker mixed with Lara Croft?"

Natasha steps forward with a slight smile on her face, "If I was you, I would choose your words more wisely."

"What did you just said?" Kate jumps in with a question, her voice cracking up a little bit.

Mike turns around, completly shifting his body language, "oh babe! You are awake!" He rushes to her side but Yelena is quick to walk out of the room and push him away.

"Возьми ее за руки, и я сломаю тебе все кости в твоем чертовом теле." Yelena is really ready to strike.

(translation: Get your fucking hands on her and I´ll break all of your bones in your god damn body.)

"Leave me alone, she is my girlfriend!" The guy states. "Mine, understand?!" He tries to fight off the Widow, but if anything it was more of a sad try on his side.

The dismissive tone and lack of accountability in Mike's words infuriate Kate. Her face contorts with anger as she delivers a stern message. "You need to leave, Mike. I don't want to see you."

"Babe-" Mike's another attempt at a protest is met with a stern gaze from Kate, cutting him off. "Go home, Mike. I need some space."

"It´s because of your freak friend, right? That poor (Y/N)…" He somehow gets Yelena´s hands off of him and adjust his jacket.

Kate's eyes narrow at the mention of your name, and a wave of frustration washes over her. "Go."

Before Mike can respond Natasha is leading him out of the sight, while Yelena helps Kate back to her bed.

Kate nods, a mix of gratitude and relief in her eyes. "Thanks, guys. Now, can someone fill me in on everything that happened?"

As Yelena explains everything from the mission to this moment, Natasha, with her keen sense of observation, follows the emotional trail to find you in the bathroom. The tension and frustration from the earlier confrontation still linger, and she approaches you with a steady but understanding gaze.

"Kate is awake," Natasha announces, her words breaking through the quiet reflection in the bathroom.

The news propels you into action. Without a second thought, you practically sprint back to the hospital room where Kate is, your heart racing with a mix of anxienty and relief.

With Yelena and Natasha giving you some privacy, the atmosphere in the hospital room becomes more intimate. Kate looks at you with a mixture of gratitude and curiosity, and you can sense the unspoken questions lingering in the air.

"You really went to fight for me out there," Kate says, breaking the silence. Her voice is soft, filled with appreciation.

You give her a small smile. "Of course, Kate. He´s such an- anytime."

Kate chuckles at your words, "I appreciate it. More than you know." You find yourself sit next to her side once again. "I just couldn't stand by and let him hurt you. You mean a lot to me."

Kate's expression softens, and she reaches out to take your hand. "You mean a lot to me too. I didn't expect anyone to stand up for me like that."

"Well, get used to it," you say with a playful grin. "I've got your back. And now more than ever, miss walking into a room with explossives." You playfully tease her.

Kate just laughs, even though it hurts her a little bit.

"So, what did you do in the hallway, before Nat stepped in?"

You can't help but chuckle, the tension dissipating. "Oh nothing, just me telling off to your not-so-charming boyfriend."

Kate raises an eyebrow wanting to say something totally different then the thing she left out. "Hm, alright then."

"You should get some rest," you smile as you put the blanket over her. "I´m fine, actually I don´t feel much pain." Kate says as she visible fights off the sleepiness.

"That´s because you´re high, Bishop." You chuckle.

"Hm… interesting, I didn´t though about it." She opens her eyes. "You´re so high."

"Yup. Probably, I mean… this stuff is good. It got the kick." She smiles as she shifts a little bit in her bed and she finally drift off.

...

As the days pass, you continue to be by Kate's side, offering support and companionship during her recovery in the hospital. Your presence becomes a source of comfort, and together, you navigate the challenges of rehabilitation. Feeling like you two are even closer than before, feeling so good around her as she does. You feel complete again.

Not a signle thought about Mike in yours or Kate´s head.

Finally, the day arrives when Kate is well enough to leave the hospital. You assist her in the wheelchair, wheeling her out of the hospital room and through the corridors. As you approach the compound, the familiar faces of the Avengers greet both of you with smiles and cheers. They've organized a "Welcome Back" party for Kate, a celebration of her recovery and return.

With the wheelchair parked in the midst of the festive atmosphere, Kate insists, "I can handle the wheelchair on my own, you know." You respond with a playful grin, "I like to push you around."

The words carry a lighthearted warmth, an acknowledgment of the bond that has grown stronger during these trying times. Kate chuckles, appreciating the sentiment behind your words.

Throughout the party, you continue to take care of Kate, ensuring she's comfortable and included in the festivities. The Avengers express their relief and happiness at seeing Kate back on her feet, and the atmosphere is one of shared joy and camaraderie.

As the night progresses, the two of you find a quiet corner to sit and talk. The glow of the party surrounds you, but in that moment, it's the connection between you and Kate that shines the brightest.

"You've been a real friend through all of this," Kate says, sincerity in her eyes.

"I just wanted to be here for you," you reply, a soft smile on your face. After a little you look back at her. "I had this crazy idea. Do you trust me, Bishop?" you ask, a playful smile on your face.

Kate looks at you with a mix of curiosity and a hint of nervous anticipation. "Do I have a choice?" she replies, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

"Not really," you admit, your eyes dancing with excitement. "Fine, fine. I trust you." Kate nods.

"Okay, then get ready, because we´re going for a ride!" You say as you help her get back on the wheelchair. "It took me a little bit to figure it out, but I watched some youtube tutorials and I think it should work." You ramble to Kate, who still have zero idea what you´re talking about.

"Close your eyes, please,"you instruct, and Kate, now used to your playful antics, complies with a smirk.

As she close her eyes shut, you push the wheelchair, outside. Little cold breeze hitting the both of you. You push her infront of the homemade ramp, you made couple nights ago, thanks to some random guy on YouTube.

"Alright, open your eyes," you announce, stepping back to reveal your creation.

Kate opens her eyes, and her gaze shifts from you to the makeshift ramp. A mixture of surprise and excitement lights up her face. "What's all this? You won´t push me off, right?" she asks, with a giggle.

"I thought we could use a change of scenery," you say with a grin.

"And since our favorite place is the rooftop, I figured, why not bring it to you?" You smile, being really pround of what you´ve build. Deep down still hoping it won´t break as soon as Kate´s wheelchair will go on it.

"You built this?" Kate's eyes widen with appreciation as she takes in the effort you've put into creating a way for her to join you on the rooftop. You just nod at her question.

"This is amazing," Kate says, her voice filled with gratitude. "To the roof and beyond!" If this wouldn´t be Kate, you would find this quote use very cheesy, but since it´s Kate, you had to let out a chuckle.

With careful precision, you guide Kate up the improvised ramp, ensuring her safety as she rides to the rooftop. Once you both reach the top, a breathtaking view of the city awaits, and the sounds of the party below are replaced by the serene hum of the night.

Seated together on the rooftop, surrounded by the city lights, you and Kate share a moment of quiet companionship. The homemade ramp, a symbol of your dedication and the uniqueness of your connection, becomes a testament to the lengths you're willing to go to make each other happy.

As you sit side by side, overlooking the cityscape, Kate breaks the silence with a sincere look in her eyes. "I'm sorry about not listening to you."

You meet her gaze, the connection between you deepening. "I'm sorry about being right about your boy," you say with a playful laugh. Kate chuckles. "Well, I think it's good to burst out the bubble. He's not my boy anymore."

"What?" The shock in your voice is palpable.

"Yeah. I broke up with him, and he replied with a thumbs up and a 'You weren't even worth it.' So…"

"Oh my god, Kate, I'm so sorry-" You instinctively reach for her hand.

"No, you're not," she interrupts with a reassuring smile.

"Not about him, but… you don't deserve that. Who does he think he is? Oh my god, I'll tell him-" Now it's Kate's turn to take your hand. "Okay, Rambo, calm down," Kate teases. "I'm fine, really. And he´s the one not worth it."

"So he wasn´t the chosen one?" You tease.

"Oh that´t a low blow, (Y/L/N)" She roll her eyes, but laugh along with you.

As the night unfolds, the atmosphere between you two is not just warm; it's a comforting embrace that you don´t want ever lose again, even if it means being just friends with the archer.

Thank you for reading!!!

[carmyberzattosjournal]

Entry 15: You Good, Chef?

GIF credit: @carmen-berzattos

Bearblr Promptober Day 15: Free Space aka Carmy Has Girlfriend Brainworms

Summary: Carmy can't stop thinking about his girlfriend (who he calls Darling) being cute in the morning when he left for work, and it's causing so many problems.

Warnings: Swearing, mentioned panic attack (no active panic attack in this one), mention of The Devil (aka Chef David), sleepy bean fem reader who is a trauma surgeon, snuggling Carmy's shirt for comfort, she/her pronouns, fluff, feat. Nat, Syd, Richie.

Notes: All journal entries will be titled as such and tagged with #cb journal.

This is a two-parter. The second part is here.

Thank you for reading. Thank you to @carmenberzattosgf for putting together this prompt list.

Also, if random letters or words are white instead of the colors they should be, that's Tumblr being dumb, I've been fighting it for days.

15 Oct 2024

I just had the hardest fucking day at the restaurant and it’s not even because we were doing badly; it’s because I couldn’t stop fucking thinking of Darling.

She was still sleeping when I left. Curled up into a cute little ball under the comforter, just her hair poking out. I grabbed the blanket in the living room and draped it over her as well to stave off the chill that’d creep in since I wouldn’t be around to be her personal heater, and it, unfortunately, woke her up just enough to start feeling around the bed for me.

“Hi, baby girl,” I whispered. She blinked and squinted at me through the darkness. “I’m heading to work. You can go back to sleep.”

She made a discontented noise and mumbled something.

I leaned in. “Hm?”

“Shirt?”

Something in my chest fluttered. “You want my shirt?”

She nodded, groaned sleepily as she reached for my pillow and dragged it under the blanket. I grabbed my t-shirt off the edge of the hamper and gave it to her. She clumsily draped it over the pillow, wrapped her arms around it, and buried her face in it, letting out a soft, satisfied sigh once she’d settled.

The sight of her nuzzled into my shirt, only dozing off when she could be enveloped by my scent? I didn’t think I was the kind of person who could be fucking feral over something, but I am fucking. Feral. Over it. I don’t know what’s come over me. It’s driving me insane. I can’t stop fucking thinking about it. It’s somehow like an earworm I can’t shake or like an image frozen in time that I can’t stop seeing when I blink, but it’s worse because I can’t fucking listen to a song or look at a stupid photo in a cookbook to get it out of my head! It won’t leave me alone! I was in the middle of vegetable prep—this was super early, Syd had just come in and was putting her apron on—and I swear to God, I froze in place because the thought of Darling nuzzling into my t-shirt took over every fucking particle of my brain. I got that deep, sinking heat of arousal in the pit of my stomach while at work, this is insane, what is going on with me?

“You good, Chef?” Syd asks.

I can’t even remember what I said to her, but it must’ve been good or bad enough that she got straight to her prep. I didn’t even make it through dicing another onion before I had to step out in the back alley to get some cold air on my face. I was shaking. I was fucking shaking. Part of me wanted to call Darling. It was like this itch deep in my brain, somewhere I couldn’t reach, and I wanted to hear her voice. I wanted to hear her call me sweetheart again. I wanted her hands in my hair, on my skin, wanted to taste her mouth, hear her whisper “I love you” in my ear as she unraveled. I wanted her to pull my hair, why did I want her to pull my hair? But she slept in on her days off, and I couldn’t even try to rouse her from the sleep she so desperately needed to keep functioning. It felt selfish. A spark of pain on the back of my neck brought my attention back to the present, and I realized, with mild horror, that I’d dragged my nails across my skin much like she did to my back or chest when she had a particularly good orgasm.

Shit. Fuck. That’s going to be bright red in a few seconds.

I heaved a breath and headed back inside.

“You sure you’re good, Chef?” Syd asked the moment I came back in.

“What’s wrong? Why is he not good?” Nat?

“The fuck are you doing here?” I asked.

She appeared from the office. “Good morning to you too.” Held up a manilla file. “Quarterly tax shit. I need some signatures. Why are you not good?”

“I’m fine. Give.” I held a hand out for the file.

Sug took entirely too long to hand it to me. “She told me ab—”

“I know, she asked me first. Not talking about it.” I flipped through the papers for all the yellow flags marking where I needed to sign or initial.

“You really should talk—”

“I’m scheduled for a psychological evaluation at University Hospital, and they’ll probably make a referral to trauma therapy.”

“Should I be hearing this?” Syd asked.

Sug. “I don’t know?”

Me. “Yeah, it’s fine.”

Sug drew in a breath to say something.

“I’ve already been approved for the financial assistance to reduce the cost of healthcare.” I passed the file back to her. Got back to the onions.

She blinked at me. Did she forget I was her brother?

“That-that was quick.”

I nodded. “She’s almost as quick as you.”

Syd. “She convinced you to go to therapy?”

“I didn’t need much convincing.”

She chuckled. “In what universe…?”

“The one where I had such a bad panic attack that both of us were convinced that I was dying. No, I’m not gonna field questions about it, get back to work.”

Syd’s smile slid off her face. “I wasn’t going to ask!”

“I mean Sug.”

Sugar scoffed. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You were about to.”

Sug crossed her arms. “You’re in asshole mode today, I see.”

“When am I not?”

“When you’re with your girlfriend,” Syd spat. She didn’t need to say it with an attitude. Or maybe she did, honestly; Syd’s right more often than she’s wrong. And she still had the right to be bitter about shit I refused to apologize for. This is easy to say now, at the eleventh hour while I write this down, but it was impossible to say when standing in that kitchen on that day, 2 hours into having Darling brainworms eating holes in my gray matter. Maybe it was because I felt so off, but I fired back with something I definitely shouldn’t’ve said.

Or maybe I should’ve. It got me to say the thing I should’ve said to her months ago.

Oh, look, God being a sadist again. Who would’ve thought?

“The girlfriend you got annoyed with and made feel unwelcomed, remember?”

Sydney’s face contorted into a grimace. “Excuse me, you were shirking your responsibilities here and leaving me to do it all myself after telling me you had my back.”

Sugar had a much more reasonable, “Where the fuck did that come from?”

“Sydney, I couldn’t fucking breathe,” I groaned.

Her face went sober again. It always scares me when that happens.

Words I needed to explain away that blank face refused to leave my throat.

I thought, at that time, that what I needed to do was get deeper into the work, just like I did in New York. Just like I did when Mikey pushed me out of The Beef. That the agony closing in from all directions could be staved off by putting my head down and doing the thing I wanted to do at all—opening my own restaurant—and submerging myself in the production of critical acclaim after critical acclaim because as the awards and accolades stacked up, I could use them as ammunition against The Devil’s voice in my head. Against my own voice. Against the voices of a thousand nameless, faceless people who, in one way or another—often in dozens of ways—crushed any sense of my self-worth under their boot-heels because their best defense against their own cruel internal critics happened to be a really good offense. I fashioned myself into a mosaic of shattered glass to go back to Mikey, to throw reams of approval at him (and at ma and at Sugar—because they were also caught in the backdraft, such is the curse of being a fucking Berzatto), but there was one last boot heel for me to be crushed under, and it happened to be at the end of a gun barrel on State Street Bridge.

Because God’s a sadist, remember?

“I need you to explain that, Carmy,” Syd said.

But you can submerge yourself too deep. And you can start to drown. And when you start to drown, you cling to whatever you can see. Fuck a plan, I didn’t even know what to do to stop being waterboarded by the hell of my own making, and I didn’t know there was a way out of the water, so yes, Syd, yes, I fucking bailed on you and I fucking left you to do it all yourself and I fucked up at every opportunity and I forgot to fucking call the fridge guy but Syd, you have to understand.

Then Sugar, in her small voice. “Yes, please explain, Bear.”

I couldn’t. Fucking. Breathe.

“I don’t have the words to,” I mumbled.

Nat put her hands on my shoulders, leaned down into my view. Half-whispered, “Are you okay?”

I told her to ask me tomorrow.

Mercifully, neither of them pestered me about it and let me get back to prep without disturbing me.

…..

Early in the afternoon, Richie came in and noticed the scratches. What with him being a lanky fuck and all.

“Good morning, everyone—Yo, did your girl get you last night?” He chuckled. Tugged at the back of my apron.

“Nope, my anxiety did this morning, thank you for that.”

He didn’t say another word either.

As we got closer to service, it got worse. Her smile, the scent of her shampoo, her fingernails, painted in oxblood, dragging down my forearm, the soft, wet heat between her thighs, her giggle, her hand ghosting up my abdomen to then press ice to my chest—it kept invading every sense. I could hear, feel, smell, touch, and taste her, I could fucking taste her, and I kept fucking up my counts, I lost track of time twice and Syd had to call out time to service. I grabbed a quart of ice and stepped out again, trying to recompress. Grabbed a fistful of ice cubes and squeezed them.

“Chef, you’re not okay.” Syd again. She followed me.

I drew in a sharp breath to retort that I was fine, but the words got caught in my throat. I could hear Darling talking to me. Breathe, sweetheart. Breathe, baby... That’s it. There you go… Let’s try to recover. I huffed. Shrugged.

“No. No, Syd, I’m not.”

“Do you need to step out?”

No, I don’t, fuck you. “I-I should probably step out, shouldn’t I?”

“That is the agreement we made, yeah. I’m not doing a dinner service with you wired to the gills.”

I nodded. My hand was going numb from the ice.

I told you, God’s a fucking sadist.

(To Be Continued)

[myownwholewildworld]

wherever you go (a joel miller’s ff) - chapter 7

chapter 6 | series masterlist | main masterlist | chapter 8

pairing: outbreak!2003!joel x f!reader. (it's actually 2004 now)

summary: as idyllic as chicago may seem, the world around you is still in shambles. your duties to the community take you on a rescue mission, one you think will be easy. but will it?

a/n: hiya! we are soooo close to the vision i had for this series, i'm literally shitting myself with nerves but also excitement, ugh 😫 i really hope you like this one! i do appreciate any comments, reblogs and/or likes you may want to leave! even asks/requests if you want to! take care lovelies <3 x

warnings: 18+, mdni. a smidge of angst and fluff. filthy smut (don't you know me by now?). unprotected piv. masturbation (f receiving). oral (m receiving). spanking and one account of pussy slapping. joel's a boobs' guy in this one. soft!dom!joel. pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, baby). then clickers, clickers everywhere. death & violence. swear words. i'm sure i'm forgetting something lol. reader is female, no other description given. reader is mid-late 20s, joel is 37. no use of y/n.  joel’s and reader’s pov.

w/c: ~4.7k.

tags aka the drama wagon (let me know if you want to be added/removed from the list pls!):

@yesjazzywazzylove-blog @pedrospurplerain @missladym1981

@fancyyoouu @smolbeanzzz @guelyury @bishtrouille

“Joel Miller”.

Was that a suicide mission? Probably, but you hoped not.

It wasn’t like you had a choice anyway. The moment you heard Joel’s name being called for this rescue mission, you knew you were going to volunteer to go with the party. Yes, he was going to get angry and try to talk you out of it, but it would be in vain. You would follow him to the end of the world if necessary.

You stood there by his side, the canteen rammed with people ― all of you looking towards the platform in the north corner. One of the leaders, Troy, kept on shouting names to the void. You glanced up at Joel, who was completely still, his eyes fixed on the podium. You couldn’t tell if he was upset or not, but he would soon be for sure.

Once Troy finished talking, an uncomfortable silence ensued, only broken by the quiet sobs of a young fellow whose named had been picked. Eric, you remembered. He must have just turned eighteen, because he looked so damn young. His mother was by his side, hugging him with tears on her eyes.

That scene broke your heart a little.

“Any volunteers?”, said the leader after a minute.

You looked around. No one was talking, everyone pretending they didn’t hear the question.

You felt Joel’s hand firmly grip your left wrist, silently asking you to remain quiet. He knew what you were about to do, but he couldn’t stop you.

You raised your right hand, eyes to the front, avoiding visual contact with him.

“I’ll take Eric’s place”, you said with a steady voice.

Joel grunted audibly, his fingers tighter around your wrist.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?”, you heard him mumble under his breath.

You ignored him.

“Great, thank you. Y’all are dismissed, except for those elected. Come forward”.

Before Joel had the chance to even talk, Eric and his mother approached you. She hugged you, still sobbing, and you palmed her back in a calming manner. The young bloke stared at you, silently crying and mouthed a “thank you”.

“I’m eternally grateful. Eric is the only person I have left by my side. My husband, my daughter… everyone is gone”, whispered the woman in your ear.

You held the tears by gulping down the knot in your throat. Although you didn’t necessarily volunteer for his son originally, her emotion was so sincere it tugged at your heart.

The woman broke off the hug, touched your forearm in gratitude, and then walked off with her son.

You turned around to face Joel. His jaw was so clenched you worried he was going to chip a molar.

Joel wanted to shake some sense into you so badly, he had to tightly close his fists. He couldn’t comprehend why you would do that. He wanted to keep you safe, and you were not making it an easy task. What if he lost you? What would he do then? That simple thought made him feel sick. You were the glue holding him together, the only reason he woke up every day and didn’t give up.

The mere thought of losing you consumed his brain, whether he liked it or not. He… he loved you, all of you, but was too afraid to speak his mind, to jinx it. Because he was cursed. Saying it out loud would put you in the universe’s bullseye, he was sure of it.

When the woman and his son left along with almost everyone else, Joel pulled you from your elbow, slamming you against his chest. He really was trying not to lose his shit in public, but fear was gripping him by his neck, the grim reaper’s noose strangling him.

“You ain’t coming. I don’t fucking care if that kid dies, you’re staying right here. Tell Troy you have changed your mind now”, he muttered, teeth gritting, his fingers sinking around your flesh.

“You’re hurting me, Joel”, you whispered, and he relaxed his hand’s grip, although he didn’t let go. “Look, I know it’s scary, but if you’re going, I’m coming with you. You won’t get rid of me so easily”, you taunted him.

The joke wasn’t welcomed, which you expected.

“If you get hurt, even a tiny scratch ― I’m gonna fucking kill you myself”, his head was bowed towards yours, his mouth too close, your palms on his chest.

So close you couldn’t refrain yourself from placing a gentle kiss on his lips. That soothed him, but just a bit. You glanced at him, containing your amusement.

“Well, that’s a paradox, don’t you think?”, you spoke softly before taking a step back, holding his hand. “C’mon, they are waiting”.

“We’re not done talking about this”, he grunted.

You dragged Joel to the circle where the other six lucky people were standing around Troy, in time to listen to whatever he had to say about this mission.

“As I was explaining at the beginning of this meeting, our most experienced medic, Sasha, and her team, have not returned from their scavenging run. They went out a couple of days ago looking for medical supplies and we have not heard back from them in the last twenty-four hours. We must bring them back. That is, if they are still alive”, Troy explained while he flattened a map of the city on the table in front of him. “Their last contact was from Illinois Medical District, somewhere around Ogden Avenue. We assume they went in John H. Stroger, Jr. Hospital of Cook County”. Troy laid out the plan to follow, before finishing with a, “You’re leaving in three hours, good luck”.

“Have you lost your fucking mind?”, Joel growled as soon as the door closed behind him.

Even if he wanted to, he couldn’t stop himself from worrying. The memory of almost losing you still haunted him. The overthinking, the fear, the irrevocable doom ― it all made him feel uneasy. He just wanted to keep you away from all harm. That fateful night Joel swore to himself he would never let anything happen to you ― not while he was still breathing.

He had lost too much, but also gained so much ― he could not, would not, lose you too. Even if it was the last thing he did in this world. Over the last year, he had grown attached to you. You taught him there was light on the shore ― that life didn’t have to end the moment he lost Sarah, as much as he wanted it to. You showed him he could still care, laugh, protect, cry, worry, relax, feel. Feel so much, so vividly.

Joel could have said all that to you instead of his scolding question, but he didn’t know any better. His feelings were an entangled mess, one he didn’t have the experience to unravel.

His anger shimmered when you rolled your eyes at him.

“Honestly, I don’t know what you worry about, Joel. It will be fine. We’ve been through worse than this puny, little rescue mission. We’ll be okay”, you downplayed with a sweet smile, your hand stroking his forearm.

“What if we aren’t? What if you get hurt?”, he muttered, his jaw muscles rigid.

Your features softened; your sweet lips pursed.

“I can’t, you’ll kill me yourself, don’t you remember?”, he deciphered your joking tone, but to him this was no laughing matter. “Your paradox?”, you added cocking an eyebrow, mistaking his silence for forgetfulness.

“I know what I said. And I meant it. You can’t get hurt, got it? I forbid you”, his voice was serious. He knew you couldn’t make such a promise, but he insisted anyway, “Promise me”.

Something in you shifted because Joel saw your expression change from amusement to understanding. You got closer, sliding your arms around his waist. Joel draped his around your shoulders, his heart beating loudly in his ribcage. He held you tight, your nose poking his chest, your palms resting on the small of his back.

He shut his eyes, counting his blessings.

“I promise”, you conceded in a hushed tone.

His reply was simple ― he pressed his lips against your forehead as his body relaxed into yours.

At midnight, both you and Joel walked towards the 1999 Jeep Cherokee you had parked on South Damen Avenue. You had just done a reconnaissance mission around the hospital’s west wing. You had been in there for two full hours and didn’t find a living soul, just clickers. You were sweaty because of the physical effort, your gun still hot. You cleaned the blade of your knife on your jeans before sheathing it in your belt. You trotted to the passenger’s side while Joel headed towards the driver’s, both of you jumping in the car.

Two members of the team, Jordan and Margaret, had just taken over you after you reported back to them what you encountered inside. You saw them walking towards Winchester Avenue to sweep the north wing of the building. Daisy and Adam just returned too and headed towards the second car in West Polk Street ― they had explored the south wing at the same time as you had been inside. Luke and Taylor had just taken over them to inspect the east wing of the hospital.

“That was… interesting”, you said while closing the passenger’s door. “If they really went in there, there was absolutely no trace of them. It’s like they have vanished”.

“Yeah, it’s weird. Not even one clicker was dead before we entered. If they had encountered any issues, surely they would have killed some of them. We should have seen bodies or something, I dunno”, Joel thought out loud, leaving his firearm on top of the dash at the same time you did.

“Let’s see if Jordan and Margaret, or Luke and Taylor get back with news, otherwise this is going to be boring as fuck”, you commented as Joel leaned towards you to open the glove box. “What are you doing?”, you asked him out of curiosity.

“Looking for entertainment”, he then pulled a pack of cigarettes with a smile on his face. “You smoke?”, he asked while breaking the plastic seal around it.

You shook your head. It wasn’t a habit you wanted to pick up now, although you didn’t mind others smoking. Joel rolled down his window while pressing the car’s cigarette lighter against the tip of the fag. He then put the lighter back in its slot and laid his right hand on your left thigh ― his fingertips stroking your inner thigh. So possessive, your temperature started to rise, a slick warmth pooling in your lower belly.

You glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, but he didn’t notice ― Joel was looking through the driver’s window, his elbow poking out and resting on the door frame while he took a puff. You hovered your fingers over his on your thigh, your palm against the back of his hand, your digits intertwined in a fist as you slid them closer to your crotch.

“I could entertain you, if you wanted me to”, you whispered when his knuckles nudged your cunt.

Joel turned to look at you so fast you thought he might snap his neck. His eyes drifted down and darkened. He poked your pussy with his knuckles again, this time of his own volition.

“We shouldn’t”, a muscle twitched in his jawline.

You smiled.

“I’m sure Adam and Daisy can keep watch on their own for a while”, you bit your bottom lip as you flattened his hand against your belly and guided him down, underneath your jeans and panties. His palm flushed against your mound. “Please?”, you added, flashing your eyelashes at him.

Joel dunked his middle finger in your wet slit and stroked your clit. You pressed your lips, gazing at him like a needy puppy. He didn’t break visual contact as his index joined the middle finger, both digits tracing your damp furrow. You sobbed quietly as Joel took another drag, submerging his long finger until it disappeared in your weeping hole. He moved it in a circular motion, and you gasped.

“Is this what you need, sweetheart?”, he murmured. You nodded frantically. “Always so needy for some cock, aren’t you?”.

“Not just any cock, yours”, you emphasized with a stuttering voice, your insides melting for him.

His eyes flickered with lust, a sinful grin taking over his lips.

You whimpered, tilting your head backwards to rest against the headrest, as his index joined the middle one in your warm pit. You started panting when he caressed your g-spot non-stop while he finished his cigarette nonchalantly. Joel stubbed it out when he was done with it and then pushed his fingers in your cunt as far as he could take them, bottoming out, to the point where the force he was using made you lift your hips off the car seat.

You were so close to coming ― your sleek pussy beating for him, clasping around him. You were so soaked, his digits were drowning inside of you, making squelching noises as Joel fingered you relentlessly. You held on to his torturing wrist, feeling the rhythm he was imposing on you. Your drenched pussy palpitated, your clit on fire ― and so you came with a loud, prolonged moan, your knees shaking.

Joel rubbed your clit one more time before removing his hand from your underwear.

“C’mon, be a good girl now and do your job”, he ordered, cupping his swollen groin.

“Yes, sir”, you murmured, your cunt still gushing, deluging your panties.

He took your right hand and placed it on his bulge, rubbing your palm against the zipper of his jeans. You grasped the metal rod of his headrest while you leaned forward and ghosted his mouth, your playful hand kneading his erection. Your lips crashed and the kiss got sloppy ― his tongue wrestled with yours, while you unbuckled his belt and undid the zipper.

The palm of your hand slid off his length over his briefs. Then you pushed down the elastic of his underwear and his cock popped out. You ignored his shaft to massage his ballocks. You squeezed them gently and Joel let out a horny moan in the middle of the messy kiss. The most perfect melody you ever heard.

You broke off the smooch to catch a breath, your hand still holding his balls, your thumb rubbing the ridge in between his nuts. You pecked his Adam’s apple as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft, moving your hand up and down slowly. Joel sat up a bit to remove his shirt and then rested his back against the car seat again. You kissed the centre of his collarbone, your lips drifting southwards on his skin.

You bit around his belly button when you heard him lit another cigarette, the smoke filling up the cabin. You finally went down on him and showered his cock with wet licks. Joel sighed audibly, relaxing on his seat, which made you smile. Your tongue twirled around the tip of his dick once before you backed off and spit on his erection. You slathered your saliva on his steely column, then bente forward with your mouth open to imprison his glans with your plush lips.

A controlled groan escaped Joel’s mouth ― squirming in place, trying to make himself comfortable when you took his dick in your mouth. He looked down, your head bobbing up and down on his lap, your lips pressed around his cock, creating a seal. He felt himself trapped in your throat, his tip touching the back of your wet cavity. His left hand put the cigarette on his lips and took a long puff as he placed his right hand on your neck. You were wearing a ponytail ― in a moment of weakness he grabbed it resolutely, forcing you down on him.

Your eyes watered, your gag reflex being tested, your chin caressing his testicles. You retched a bit, your throat adapting to his massive girth and length. He had gotten rough for a second, which meant you were pushing him to his limits. When Joel realised that you were struggling a bit, he quickly let go of your ponytail.

“Shit, sorry, darlin’”, he growled.

You freed his cock to breathe and giggled, your mouth full of sticky precum. You started pumping him, kissing the velvety skin on his balls, while his right hand travelled down your back until he seized the back of your underwear and yanked it. The rims of your panties slid over your skin and got stuck in your slit and butt crack, as if you were wearing a g-string. The clothing caught on your clit and you gasped as he pulled upwards, the garment scrunching in your fold, causing a delightful friction against the centre of your pleasure.

Joel stirred his hips, which told you he was close to coming. You sat back up, your teary eyes meeting his lustful ones. He wiped away a tear off your cheek.

“Come sit on my lap, baby, let me fuck that pussy of mine”, he offered, tapping his left thigh, and putting out the cigarette butt on the car’s ashtray.

Before you happily obliged, you pushed down your jeans and panties to your ankles and kicked your feet until they came off. Your t-shirt quickly followed, no bra. Then you hastily straddled him as commanded. Joel set down his hands on your ass and abruptly spanked one of your buttocks. You jerked your hips up at the surprise ― your cunt above his belly button.

Holding you there, he lapped your right nipple with the tip of his tongue. The tight button shrunk in excitement as you whimpered. Then his lips closed around the puckered teat and sucked it in in his mouth. This time you whined, the sound reverberating in your throat as you slammed your eyes shut. Your wanton pussy was dripping on to his belly while he alternated between your boobs to eat them like a glutton ― the discharge of your passion running down from your leaking hole on to his belly button, then pooling on the tip of his manhood, sliding off his happy trail and length to finally gather on his balls.

His tongue gave you no truce ― licking, sucking, taunting, smothering your nipples. You dug your fingers in his hair, pressing his gorgeous face against your breasts. Joel palmed your shivering pussy from behind, his fingertips caressing your clit, which he started tapping sweetly. Your head leaned forward in awe, eyes closed, to kiss his crown. His fingers became more intrusive, his mouth more demanding, until you couldn’t deal with it anymore. You wailed his name as you came, your knees quivering. Then he slapped you hard on your pussy ― one of your hands flew to your lips to stifle your own scream. Joel immediately massaged your puffed-up flaps, his cold skin a calming balm on yours.

“Good girl, sweetheart. Now fuck yourself with my dick”, he instructed you before trapping your nipple in between in his teeth and pulling.

You saw stars behind your eyes.

You let go of his hair, curved your back and cradled his face with both hands, tilting it up towards you so you could kiss him fondly as you dropped your hips. His cock found your pulsating opening ― it was like his body knew its way to yours blindly. Your palms flat against his cheeks, your breath and his collided like a tornado when you both moaned in each other’s mouths. You plummeted on his lap, burying him completely inside of you. Your hips rolled of their own accord. Slowly you rode him, up and down, back and forth, your lips attached to his at all times. The tip of his cock kept stroking the right spot over and over again ― every single time it would drag along your anterior wall, driving you crazy.

You felt like riding a rollercoaster ― your orgasm building up as you approached the top and then you tipped over with no warning. Your lips parted as wave after wave washed over you in bursts. Your cunt narrowed down, choking his dick, palpitating, involuntarily pleading for him to come with you.

“Fuck, fuck ― FUCK”, he groaned painfully, lifting your ass off his cock rashly.

Just in the nick of time, he came ― his cock twitching against your belly button, you wielding him, gently pumping his shaft as the last shots of cum spurted out the slit on his glans. You squeezed his erection one last time, kissing him lovingly on the chin.

Labouredly breathing, both of your hearts slowed down together as you recovered. His gaze darkened ― you could see the longing, the yearning in his eyes. The care, the affection, but also the fear. Your heart swelled at the realisation ― he hadn’t said it yet, but you knew, even though you thought he hadn’t realised it himself. You just needed to be patient with him. You had time.

With a doting smile, your thumb hovered over his lips before you pressed them with yours.

An hour had gone by, and there was no news from Jordan nor Margaret. You had radioed the second car ― they hadn’t heard back from Luke and Taylor either. The pack of cigarettes was only half full now, Joel chain smoking, both of you watching the building attentively. You tried to contact Jordan over the radio, but there was no reply.

You clicked your tongue, handing Joel the radio and grabbing the gun off the dash.

Joel’s eyes darted to you.

“Where do you think you are going?”, his brows furrowed.

“I’m just gonna have a quick look around the corner, that’s all”, you said, opening the passenger’s door.

“Then I’m coming with you”, he grunted.

Joel grabbed his firearm and left the radio on the dash. Both doors shut silently, the night was so eerily calm you could hear a pin drop.

The chilling early December air greeted you as you stepped out. You started walking towards Winchester Avenue, where Jordan and Margaret had disappeared from sight. Joel was a few metres behind you, covering your back.

Then you heard it before you saw it. You signalled for Joel to stop in his tracks. A quiet sob, a thud. With your back against the wall, you sticked out your head to sweep the entrance to the emergency room. Sasha was on the floor, all bloody, Margaret crouching over her. You couldn’t hear their whispers. As Margaret helped Sasha to her feet, the medic whimpered and hobbled, her knees touching the pavement again.

“Shit”, you cursed, running towards them, Joel on your heels. “What’s happened?”, you questioned, putting your gun away, grabbing Sasha’s left arm to drape it over your shoulders.

Sasha just wept, shaking uncontrollably, so you looked at Margaret for answers.

“Where’s Jordan?”, you asked before she shook her head with pouty lips and mournful eyes.

Fuck, you thought, the weight of a massive stone grounding your stomach.

As Sasha stood with you, Joel clutched his fingers around your left elbow, yanking you away from both women. You lost your grip on Sasha as you stumbled with your own feet, Joel’s hand steadying you to prevent you from falling.

You wanted to shout at him, but you refrained. He had drawn his gun and was pointing it to Sasha’s forehead.

“You’ve been bit”, he sentenced, unruffled, his hand still.

You looked down and then you saw teeth’s marks on Sasha’s forearm. Your eyes jumped to hers, a mixture of fear and sympathy.

Margaret sobbed, her hand flew to Joel’s wrist, trying to push down the gun.

“Joel, please, she’s my best friend, we can’t just―”, before she was able to finish, a commotion caught your attention.

Both you and Joel looked up at the same time, a clicker dragging its feet towards you. In its past life, it had been a teen girl, brunette, curly hair. Had it not been for the fungus growing around her mouth, her decomposed expression and awkward walking, you knew she would have been beautiful.

Then it lunged forward towards you, but Joel was quick enough to shoot it right between its eyes. You gasped, clutching onto him. You had a glimpse at his face ― he seemed to have seen a ghost, but the moment was fleeting, his demeanour composed again.

He turned his gun to Sasha once more. You really thought he was going to execute her there and then.

More clicking sounds, dragged by the wind. You could see movement through the glass doors.

“Are you coming or not? She’s staying though”, Joel repeated, his tone soulless.

There was no time to respond, as a small group of clickers tumbled through the emergency doors, throwing them open and running fast towards all of you, as if they had awakened from their lethargy.

Joel reacted before you did ― he snatched you and pushed you in front of him, urging you to run.

“Run! Run!”, he screamed at you, your legs taking you away as fast as they could, Joel racing behind you towards the car.

You heard the loud shrieks as both women were torn apart. You blinked to keep the tears at bay, and you didn’t look back.

Joel skidded through the mud, his hand grasping the handle on the driver’s side as you jumped inside. He swiftly put the keys in the ignition at the same time the radio went off.

“Abort! Drive! GO! THEY ARE HE―”, you both looked towards West Polk Street, the headlights of the other car blinded you as they turned the corner towards South Damen Avenue.

Three clickers were on the roof of the car, two on the hood. The driver steered the wheel to the left abruptly to get rid of the infected, but lost control of the car quickly ― and then hit a tree. Both Daisy and Adam jumped out of the car, horror folding their faces.

You opened the passenger’s door, standing on the edge of the car. The whole scene was hectic, your heart pounding so hard you feared it was going to explode inside your chest. You waved at them.

“RUN! OVER HERE!”, your screams drowned by the characteristic sounds of the clickers. And then the infected caught up with them, knocking them to the ground. “NO!”, you squealed as their deathly screams filled the air.

You froze in place, in shock. You couldn’t look away ― Daisy’s hand emerged from the mass of bodies she was buried under, her fingernails digging the ground to get away. You caught a glimpse of her imploring eyes, a silent plea asking you to save her.

Bile travelled up your throat, but you swallowed hard.

Joel grabbed the back of your t-shirt to pull you back inside the car and pointed to the crushed car, now on fire, the motor of yours roaring awake. Then you saw them. Dozens of infected coming towards you. Your eyes widened, but you managed to slam the door shut as Joel drove away towards Interstate 290.

His driving was manic, as if the devil himself was following you. He turned the wheel so harshly, so many times as he dodged anything and everything in his path, that you had to hold on to the grab handle.

You took a deep breath, trying to calm your nerves. You surveyed the outside world ― your forehead almost touching the window as you saw herds of clickers in motion. Hundreds of them pouring out of the buildings. You scanned the landscape in terror ― there were so many.

Now you understood why this was no man’s land.

Joel laid his hand on your left thigh, a soundless beg to look at him instead of out the glass. So you did. You gaped as if you were about to say something.

“It’s okay, we’re okay, baby”, he whispered, his eyes never leaving the highway.

You both were okay. But at what cost?

Sasha and her team. Adam and Daisy. Margaret and Jordan. And Luke and Taylor, most probably dead too.

So was the world you lived in. So fucking dead.

But you kept your promise, the paradox forgotten. You were okay.

[thevirgodoll]

Doll Diaries: 10 Ways to Begin Living the Doll Life.

To introduce my brand and my mission, I have created the first guide on how to Live the Doll Life.

This is the first of many posts to build around what a Doll means.

This is a compilation of all of my advice from past posts, my values and things I recommend aspiring to. It's an initiation of some sorts, and will be a sneak peek to what my website and Patreon will entail. This covers who you want to be (your ideal self), who you are right now (your current self), your measure of confidence and value (your worth), and your reality of who you are (your traits and individuality).

Welcome to the Dollhouse!!!

A huge part of what made me choose "Doll" as a brand is the movie, Life Size (2000).

In Life Size, Eve stood up for what was right, was ambitious, and learned how to honor her feelings as a real person. I highly recommend giving it a watch (I haven't seen the second movie, only referencing the first) to really get a feel of the energy I want to cultivate and embody. Now, let's get into it!

1. Embrace everything you already are.

Just because you are in a pursuit of becoming someone new does not mean you have to discard the things that make you who you are. Embracing who you already are and who you were is key to building self confidence. Who you are now is worthy of love and gratitude.

Ask yourself:

What can I forgive myself for?

What are my current strengths and weaknesses?

How can I show myself gratitude today?

2. Love people and speak life into them.

A true Doll does not engage in taking other women down. The biggest issue in today's world is that negativity has become a hot commodity. It is so insidious once it gets started, and it has been normalized to tear other people down in shady, subtle comments. These things bear no fruit. Understand now that talking badly about people and hating them only increases their sun.

What makes the difference between a Doll and another person is that everything she says has a purpose. Before speaking ask yourself:

Is this necessary? Is this true?

What do I gain from saying this?

Would I want to hear this?

These questions will make you distinguish between feelings and facts. You may not even know why you don't like someone at first, but asking yourself critical questions will teach you to see things from a different perspective. Most of the time, this has taught me to keep certain things to myself! If you don't know what you feel yet, the best thing to do is be quiet. It really is true that if you don't have anything nice to say, don't say it at all. ***There are obviously exceptions to the rule, such as emotional abuse, bullying, etc. Defend yourself. Just don't be the one to be a catalyst to someone's downfall.

3. Be a student of life.

In this Dollhouse, we are eager to learn!!! If you want to lead others, you have to be willing to admit that you can be wrong. Even though Dolls are well adored and well educated, we aren't always right. Well, a lot of the time I am, but that's not the point!

Ask yourself:

What is this trying to teach me? What can I take away from this?

When was the last time I opened my mind to something new?

What could I have done differently? If I am resistant to feedback or change in this present moment, why?

4. Take pride in your appearance.

We aren't perfect...but we might as well be the closest thing to it. Make the decision now that you want to look your best every day. This doesn't mean wearing a full face of makeup 24/7, but this does mean being put together. A Doll should never leave the house without looking presentable, and if this is difficult, it's time for a change! Remember in The Princess Diaries when Mia got a makeover to become a princess? She looked like a completely different person and all it took was a new routine in beauty maintenance.

Obviously, you don't have to go to the extremes like she did. There's nothing wrong with glasses, thick curly hair, or thick eyebrows. It's all about making those things cohesive, which is the point of the makeover. I suggest you go on Pinterest or other platforms to find inspiration for what you want to look like. Create a routine around looking your best for YOU...only you know what flatters you the most.

Ask yourself:

What do I feel when I look in the mirror?

What influences me? What does a Doll look like to me?

What would a physical change do for me right now? And why am I doing it?

5. Have people in your life that align with you.

Friends can inspire us, or derail us. It is extremely hard as you get older to sustain friendships because once you leave grade school, there aren't any commonalities keeping you around people you know. Sometimes, we hang onto people longer than we need to.

A verse from the Bible that I often keep in mind regarding friends is Proverbs 12:26:

The righteous choose their friends carefully, but the way of the wicked leads them astray.

Ask yourself:

Would I take advice from this person? Why or why not?

What are the pros and cons of having this person around? How do I feel after hanging out with them?

What do they do for me? Is this reciprocal or transactional?

Is this person bringing me closer to or further away from my dreams, goals, and aspirations? Do they value what I value?

During conflict, how has this friend treated me? Do I trust them? Can I go to them when I need them?

As far as relationships, that is different for everyone but the questions are relatively the same. Some people stop their entire journey towards becoming the woman of their dreams because of love. Guard your heart!!!

Ask yourself:

Does this person align with my beliefs and values? Have I vetted them to see what type of person they are?

How does this person take care of themselves spiritually, mentally, and physically?

What is their story? Is this person aware of that story (whether it's with family, exes, friends, etc.)?

What can they offer me that I cannot give to myself?

Why do I want to be with this person?

6. Truly begin to believe you ARE 1 of 1.

Everyone is different, especially you. Your energy is highly sought after, all you have to do is acknowledge that. In order to live this lifestyle, you gotta appreciate differences in people around you so you can avoid guilting yourself into assimilation/conformity.

Individuality is everything... don't trade that for the approval of others. Social media has revealed how much originality women lack... so be a breath of fresh air. Think of this as Miley Stewart becoming her alter ego, Hannah Montana. The best way to see the new you is a alter ego. Celebrities have used alter egos to embody a side of them that is full of tenacity and candor...basically what they wish they could be. Real life examples are: Sasha Fierce (Beyoncé), Roman (Nicki Minaj).

The arc of an alter ego comes full circle. At some point in the Hannah Montana franchise, Miley came to terms that she lacked nothing in being who she really was because the star power was already in her. Therefore, she let her go and embodied those qualities in herself as "Miley". After hard work it will be the same for you, and you will appreciate who you are even more and not have to separate the two.

Ask yourself:

Who am I? What makes me special?

What do I love most about myself?

What is my signature and aesthetic?

What are the qualities of my alter ego/archetype?

7. Be a woman of substance.

It's useless to work towards being an it girl if you have nothing to talk about. So many women have star quality on the outside, but they are surface level and it prevents them from being seen positively and it takes away their chance of being an it girl.

Learn about current events. Learn about past events. Learn about events that are yet to come, and form an opinion.

You have Google at your disposal, so there's really no excuse to be lazy. Find your passion...most people are empty because they don't do anything they love. Be well versed in multiple topics. I know we say beauty and brains, but it really is hard to come by these days. Most people do not read anymore, nor do they take the time out to learn things themselves.

When it comes to school, that counts as substance as well if you're actually taking classes you're getting something out of (which is a whole other post). I would be remiss if I did not mention that education isn't for everyone. But for those of you that are going to college or are in college like me, this is one of the most important stages of your life. You're on the cusp of greatness. Life happens, but no matter what, we gotta get that degree no matter how long it takes.

Ask yourself:

What's going on in the world right now?

When is the last time I read a book or did something educational?

What are my hobbies? What are my habits? How do these things speak to my intelligence and who I am?

What are the things I want out of my education and what are my goals for this upcoming semester?

8. Dedicate time to your healing.

Just because everything looks perfect, doesn’t mean it will always be that way. This journey towards being that girl will not get rid of your need to heal.

Healing is a rugged path that one must travel their entire life...your journey in becoming the person of your dreams never ends. Give yourself grace on things that you didn't know before.

As always, I recommend journaling to understand your thought process. Sometimes, I look back at my entries in my diary and realize that things weren't as bad as they seemed. Sometimes, though, they were...and for my healing process it became crucial to (when I have the capacity) revisit the moments that shaped my perspective.

I know everyone says this, but there no shame in getting help. No amount of Doll Diaries I give you or confidence lessons/advice from others will matter if you are ignoring what fills your heart with dread at night. Like Megan thee Stallion says, bad b*tches have bad days too.

I am in therapy and I take medications for my mental illnesses, and that made all the difference. Tips are in my mental health tag.

I recommend a spiritual routine that works for you. This may include meditating, praying, going to church, taking quiet time...it's all up to you, but it gives me purpose and structure when feeling existential.

Dedicate life to something bigger than yourself. Remain on the path by upkeeping discipline. Outside influences can lead you astray, but you are the difference between stumbling and getting up, and stumbling and remaining flat on your face. This will involve giving up certain things, such as music or shows or even people that push you further away from what you believe in.

Lastly, have a list of coping mechanisms that you review in crisis. Often, things get overwhelming and we won’t get the chance to sit down and journal or go read something. With that, it’s helpful to make a list of things that you know will help you cope and survive no matter what (while acknowledging the absence of these means you’re getting bad again.)

Here is a very small portion of my list:

cleaning my space

spending time with my dog

playing video games

writing, drawing, music

Ask yourself:

When's the last time I had a break without feeling guilty or lazy?

What positive practices do I have in place to keep me stable? What negative practices do I have in place that prevent me from being stable?

How am I currently working towards improving my mental state? What do I know about myself mentally and spiritually, and how can I use that to transcend?

9. Learn the art of detachment.

People talk about being unbothered, but I don't think everyone truly understands what that means. In this Dollhouse, unbothered does not mean being nonchalant and void of all emotions. Feelings are natural, and I am not sure where someone mixed that up. What creates "unbothered" energy and "detachment" is by realizing you cannot control everything and that majority of the time, it isn't personal. This is one of the hardest lessons out there.

Ask yourself:

Is this really in my control?

How can I focus on the present moment?

And ultimately, remember you cannot fix or please anyone. Keep your composure even in the face of negativity. Your reactions and perceptions to everything you deal with is the most important thing, and will be the common denominator when it comes down to your experiences. Two books I read that changed my perspective and helped me maintain this lifestyle on this was The Four Agreements by Don Miguel Ruiz and Think Like a Monk by Jay Shetty.

10. Above all, live in YOUR world!!!

Make your world exclusive. Keep certain things for yourself so it retains sacredness. Be your own best friend before anyone else. Learn to embrace your own company. Don't always be accessible. Cultivate richness in your life...be willing to take risks and have a variety of experiences.

The main and most important question to ask yourself is: What does my dream world look like?

This is where the Doll Life comes into play. Barbie was marketed as being an all around sweetheart and "girl boss" with the dream life. Bratz were marketed as having individuality and a dream world experience driven by passion.

Both have core values in making sure young girls dreamed big and remained authentic. Honorable mention: Disney, as they did a great job at emphasizing dreams can come true with Disney princesses.

What I want my version of a Doll Life to be marketed as is a world where we indulge in endless possibilities and be multiple versions of ourselves at once. Where we feel like something wonderful could happen, even in the midst of trials.

We can be gentle, yet demanding. We can be feminine with masculine energy, and vice versa. We don't have to choose between one aesthetic or the other. We don't have to conform to the world, because we are in it and not of it. Dolls are seen as "perfect", and that's just the thing, I don't want my brand to be a cookie cutter definition! That's why I say I am the Doll that no one can play with. To be a Doll means to be uniquely you and standing out amongst the rest. It's a mindset, it's a lifestyle.

Don't box yourself in... remember growing up the dream life of Bratz and Barbie refused to box themselves in and remained true to themselves. Live without limits!!! Dreams really can come true. And this Dollhouse is a safe space to DREAM!!!

Even if you don't believe it now, day by day, if you start dedicating yourself to this and remain congruent with your philosophy, you will be more than you could ever imagine. It took so much time for me to do this, but my life is forever changed. So indulge in your wishes, and create your own "life of luxury" or "dream world". Simply live by YOUR rules, and use mine as a outline to get started. I can't wait to see what all of you come up with. I hope this helps Dolls!!! *gives you the keys to your suite in the dollhouse* Proud of you!!!

xoxo,

thevirgodoll ♡

see also:

confidence tag

other doll diaries

advice

[fimbry]

This is going to be a long post, a mix of what happened and then what Charlie meant to me. TW pet death

Charlie has passed away after eating 2 bad rats from Big Cheese Rodent Factory. She regurgitated 3 days after feeding and died two days later. I have been purchasing f/t rats from Big Cheese for years, and if my friend hadn't been having these same problems with the same batch of jumbo rats I would have thought this could be a freak incident or a mistake on my part. However, my friend's snakes are also regurgitating and one has died after eating these jumbo rats, and we bought them during the same Mother's Day sale. Same batch. I'll be getting a necropsy on Charlie to see if that has any answers as to what was off with the rats.

Now I get it that sometimes food safety measures don't get carried out every time and most suppliers have some kind of scandal like this, but the company's callous response and refusal to even entertain that it could be their rats at fault is pretty fucked up and has me a bit heated. It's just a "coincidence" my friend's and my snakes are getting sick/dying after eating rats from the same batch. Eye roll. The money doesn't even matter to me at this point so I may not message them further about this, I'm just so upset over the cold response and the loss of Charlie.

The email response from them:

With that out of the way, I do want to share what Charlie meant to me. She was a very special animal, I thought of her as the "matriarch" of my collection as I have a good number of her kids and grandchildren still with me. Four of each actually if I'm counting, and I love them so very much.

When I got Charlie I was still pretty green in the hobby. Yes I'd had snakes for years, my cornsnake and then a couple ball pythons, and even a Sumatran short-tail, my beloved Svid, but these were all very "easy" snakes... I learned with them, but I was not challenged the way that Charlie challenged me. I got Charlie as a full adult, she was my first blood python and I had not even planned to get into bloods until I saw her. I was planning to focus on Sumatran short tails, but Charlie changed things.

Charlie came out of the shipping bag striking and bit me on the finger immediately. Now I'm not sure if anyone remembers this but that video of the two little brothers "Charlie bit my finger" is how Charlie got her name lol.

The first 4 months were... challenging. I could not even touch her directly. I was so afraid I'd made a mistake. Charlie was a 17lb adult blood python, far bigger than my other snakes, and she was TERRIFIED of me. She wanted me to go to hell, and would send me there herself if only she could. We spent a lot of time together, just me sitting near her open enclosure and her glaring at me. Over the months we went from no contact, to minimal contact, until finally I was able to at least clean her without too much trouble. She liked routine, liked to know what was going to happen next. Any deviation from the routine and the trust would be broken, she'd be full of fear again. It was a few years of doing things purely by her strict rules.

Around 2014, something clicked. She began to actually trust that I wasn't going to hurt her and didn't have bad intentions. We seemed to have an actual understanding where if something happened out of the norm, she wouldn't react badly. I could even take her out for pictures and she behaved! Soon I was able to pet her, touch her tail (which I was doing a lot about now since I was trying to figure out why my "male" was not breeding, ha), even pet her head. I was still a bit wary of her, but we were in a good place. As the years went on, our trust grew deeper and I knew she wouldn't bite me, and she knew I was a safe person.

She also showed me how intelligent these snakes could be. She could tell people apart which became obvious if she saw anyone besides me. While I had earned her trust, others had not, so I refrained from taking her out if others were around. While she was a big beautiful animal, I couldn't take her out to show guests. I respected her all the more for it, if I'm honest. She knew what she was about, and I didn't push that.

Over the years she ended up giving me three clutches of beautiful babies, she did such a good job. After her last clutch in 2021, she started showing her age. She was nearing 20 years old, if not over, and had begun getting wrinkled scales and grew a cataract in one eye. I decided to retire her from breeding and let her enjoy her golden years in peace. Pythons can live a very long time, so I expected to have another ~10 years with her.

I'm devastated that her retirement was cut short like this, devastated that I was robbed of more time together. We had both grown and changed a lot over the last 12 years together, and she really was a picture of "to be loved is to be changed." My sweet old lady who knew me, and I knew her. ♥

[spacebaby1]

Hola, espero que tengas un buen día. No hablo inglés y estoy usando traductor, así que lo siento si no se entiende algo. 😭😭😭

I love how you write rindou! can I request a one-shot where rindou yells at you angrily after work and leaves the house and then comes to his senses. I love drama with angst and happy ending 😭🙏🏻

hola amor! ¡Está absolutamente bien, me gusta mucho esta idea! Enjoy!!🫂♥️

It's impossible to ever get Rindou to fear anything until it's his loved ones getting hurt in front of him; you and Ran, the only important people in his life.

The mission was so intense that Ran got hurt badly, and Rindou had to drag him out just in time before everything went bad. The even mare Rindou a bit shaken up than his usual calm demeanour. He completely spaced out in the meeting afterwards, cloth drenched in his brothers blood; luckily they both survived. So when he walked inside the house you gasped at his sight.

Immediately rushing towards him with concern all over your face as you spoke, "R-Rin? Are you hurt? What happened? Why is there blood all over your clothes?" You cupped his face, checking him for injuries before letting go and holding his hand, shaking him you spoke, "Rin, please talk to me. Rin are you-"

He shut his eyes, pulling his hand away. You flinched away when he yelled at you, "WOULD YOU SHUT UP FOR A SECOND? STOP TALKING, J-JUST STOP IT. I CAN'T THINK RIGHT NOW, I'M FUCKING FINE, FUCK! YOU ARE SO INSUFFERABLE. GET OUT OF MY SIGHT." He turned his back and left immediately, you were terrified of the way he acted. Rindou never yelled at you, ever. You wanted to follow him but you just couldn't get yourself to move from where you stood, tears falling down your cheek as you blinked them away, you didn't know what did you do to make him snap.

Rindou walked until he couldn't anymore, so he just leaned on the nearest wall. His breathing calmed down as he played the event of the day in his mind. He remembered feeling terrified because Ran was hurt, but he was also thinking of you the moment they got out, and he couldn't stop thinking, what if you got hurt? His eyes widened at the realisation of what he just did. In a moment of anger, he did exactly what he feared; he hurt you.

Almost tripping on his feet as he sprinted home and to the front door, breathing heavily, his head pounding in guilt. He called out for you, but there was no answer. He sighed before trying to walk towards the bedroom only for his leg giving in. He yelped as he fell on the ground. He forgot that he had hurt his leg, he called out for you but it came in a low whispere.

At first, you avoided him calling your name until you heard a thud and a yelp. Immediately whipping your tears, you rushed downstairs to find Rindou on the ground, on his knees barely hold up. "Baby!" You rushed towards him and sat next to him trying to help him sit properly gently rubbing his shaking hand, "w-what's wrong?" You cried, he gathered all his strength to turn to you and wrap his arms around you tightly as if you will disappear if he let go, you gasped at the sudden embrace but held him close. He passed out in your arms.

Rindou woke up a few hours later in bed, changed it his pyjamas, and his wounds wrapped. He looked to find kakucho standing near the window, "I'm I hallucinating or it's you, kaku?" His question made kakucho let out a sigh of relief. "You gave Y/n a scare, you know that? Are you feeling better, man?"

Rindou nodded. "Where's my girl? Is she okay?"

Kakucho sighed, "she said that you don't want her in your sight. Why would you say that?" Rindou sat up immediately, eyes wide, "WHAT! NO, NO, T-THATS NOT WHAT I MEANT! where is she? Did she lea-ouch!" Rindou moaned in pain when he tried to get up only to feel the agonising pain in his leg. Kakucho held him back, "she's here. She's downstairs. Calm down, I'll call her in, just relax. You are hurt." Before Kakucho could even reach the stairs, he heard Rindou calling out your name. You immediately rushed towards the stairs, "is he okay? I-i heard his voice." Kakucho placed a comforting hand on your head and smiled, "he's better now, just needs to see you. Can you hear him? He's gonna drop himself off that bed if he doesn't see you right now." You nodded and rushed past Kakucho towards your room but slowed down as you reached the door, slowly peeking from the doorframe, but Rindou saw you and gasped forwarding his both hands for you. "Baby! I'm so sorry, please come here, I wanna hold you." You slowly made your way towards him with tears in your eyes, "Oh no, no, come here, let me wipe those tears away." You fell in his arms, hugging him carefully and trying not to hurt him further than he already was. "I'm so so so sorry for snapping at you, I'm an idiot. I was just scared and confused, I'm sorry I will never ever ever yell at you ever again. You were probably scared of me, I hurt you. I'm sorry, angel, my sweet, sweet baby. Please forgive me." He rubbed your back and you sniffled in his chest, "I'm glad you're okay, I was so scared and worried. I'm sor-"

"No, no! Don't apologise, baby, it's all my fault, just "You can hold my hand, if it makes you feel safer. I'm sorry for scaring you." He pulled away, and you smiled at his as he whipped your tears, "I could never be scared of you, Rinny. I love you." He intertwined your fingers with his, and he smiled, kissing your forehead, "my sweet, sweet girl."