#and then it sounds all crunchy when i carefully press it back into place

[t4tstarvingdog]

i'm gonna hang up this phone, i'm gonna piss on it

[millersdjarin]

Some Invisible String

Chapter IV: When You're Young, You Just Run

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader (afab)

Rating: E (eventually)

Summary: Ten years after Reader left Joel for reasons he still doesn't know, they find themselves together again in a town called Jackson. Joel has questions he's too afraid to ask; and Reader dreads having to give the answers.

Chapter length: 4.2k

Warnings/Tags: injury recovery, light angst

Chapter III

Series Masterlist

notes: second to last chapter ahhh! thank u for reading and enjoying this fic with me, you're all just great humans!

Joel takes me up a nearby hill outside of the town’s walls, through old trails, over fallen trees and across the crunchy snow. I wrap my arms around him, pressing the side of my face into the back of his jacket, and I tell myself that it’s to shelter my face from the oncoming icy wind. 

The view up here is incredible, stretching across the entire town and all the way to the hydro-plant beyond. Mountains surround us, covered in white, with light grey clouds hanging low over them and blue skies higher up. I can see birds of prey soaring up above us; could probably hear them if I listened closely enough. Despite the wind and the gentle crunch of Felix’s hooves on the snow, it’s so silent out here. 

These days, silence isn’t necessarily the same thing as safe, but Joel tells me that this is one of his regular patrol routes, and he knows it well. If anything’s hiding somewhere, he knows where they’ll be. 

So I just enjoy it. 

Eventually we find our way to a building that looks half-snowed under. It’s not entirely covered, though; it’s a lookout post, probably used for fire watch way back when. A decent size, but only a square, the windows are mostly boarded up, except for one on each wall. Joel unlocks the door and the five padlocks that hold it shut. Before leading Felix inside, he helps me down, holding my weight until I’m stable. 

Once we’re all in, and Felix is munching happily on the net of hay that’s already strung up in here, I take a moment to look around. There’s a hunting rifle propped up in the corner, along with some ammunition, and a bow sitting next to it with a few arrows strewn across the floor. A wicker bench, like something from a garden furniture set, is in front of one of the windows, complete with a pillow and a blanket. In the other corner there’s a fold-up chair beside a locked case, presumably full of more supplies.

“We keep it stocked for an emergency,” Joel explains, leading me over to the bench. I can manage without my crutches now, but the cold makes it harder, so he supports me around my waist until I’m sitting down. “People’ve got stuck here in blizzards before.” 

“Thought you said this place was safe?” I joke. 

He chuckles and grabs the blanket, wrapping it carefully around my shoulders. “It is. I promise. Here, put your leg up.” He gestures for me to turn in my place, taking a gentle hold of my ankle. Following his guidance, I lift up my leg and grimace at the discomfort. It feels better for having it up, though. 

“Warm enough?” Joel asks. 

“For now,” I say. “Depends how long you keep me here.” 

“You make it sound like I’m holding you prisoner,” he pulls across the fold-out chair, takes off his backpack before sitting down opposite me. 

“I mean, I can’t exactly leave on my own right now,” I smirk, gesturing to my leg. 

He reaches into his backpack and pulls out his canteen. “How’s it feeling?” 

“Better. A lot better.” 

“Amazing what a little rest can do, huh?” 

“Yeah. You’d know.”

He looks up at me and raises an eyebrow. “Really, with the sarcasm?” 

“We all know you don’t know how to just stop and rest,” I say. “Don’t think I’ve seen you chill out since…well, ever.” 

He holds up his flask like it’s proving a point, and gestures to the room around him. “What does it look like I’m doin’ now?” 

The light from the windows surrounds us, casting shadows over his face. His cheeks are flushed pink from the cold, his lips just a little blue. It takes me a moment to gather my thoughts enough to respond, but before I can, he reaches into his pack and pulls out two…whisky glasses? 

When he opens his flask and pours it, I expect to see water. But, nope. A golden amber liquid flows out into the glasses, and the smell hits me in an instant. 

Yup, that’s whisky alright. 

“Joel,” I gasp teasingly, “are you usually such a rebel on patrol?” 

Grinning lopsidedly, he hands me one of the glasses. “This ain’t a patrol,” he says. I take it from him, and our fingers brush together for a second. “And it’s good for warmth.” 

“Ah. And here I thought you were finally going to chill out.” 

“Alright, alright,” he shakes his head and uses his own glass to gesture to mine. “Drink.” 

“What are we drinking to?” 

He doesn’t answer. He looks up and takes a good sip, smacking his lips after he’s swallowed. I watch the movement in his throat; his Adam’s apple bobbing down then up again. His eyes follow the glass as he lowers it again. 

I wait for him to speak. Nervous, I lift my own glass to my lips and take a sip. It’s good. The best I’ve had in years, actually. The warmth goes all the way down my throat and to my insides, spreading through me in an instant. It makes me shiver in the best way. “Damn,” I say into the quiet. “That’s good shit. Strong, though.” 

Joel nods in agreement. “Best in my collection.” 

“Collection, huh? You’re living it up here in Jackson.”

“Sure am,” he smiles, wry. Tips his glass at me, then takes another sip. A small moment of quiet passes. “What brought you to Wyoming?” He asks then, surprising me. “Were you comin’ to Jackson?” 

“No,” I almost laugh. “How would I have known about it? And besides, if I’d known there were so many people here I’d have stayed well away.” 

“People find us in all sorts of ways. You’d be surprised how fast news travels.” 

I shrug a shoulder and take another drink. 

“So where’d you go?” He asks. Then, as if he wanted to word it differently, “I mean—where’ve you been? Since you…since we parted ways?”

“Here and there. I wanted to go South for the winter, but my plans went South instead, I guess.” 

“You were alone when we found you,” he says, glancing up at me. “Have there been…any other groups since the old days? Friends…partners?” 

I shake my head. For a moment, my thoughts are too bleak to say anything. I think of what it was like to be a hunter. It was hell. Carnage every day and night. Tommy and I used to talk of leaving; Joel was always reluctant, saying that we were safer staying put. He was probably right—that is, if my feelings hadn’t gotten in the way. 

After that, it seemed better to be alone. 

“No,” I answer eventually, staring solemnly down at my nearly-empty drink. It’s giving my head a nice buzz. A little burn in the back of my throat. If I really let myself, I could believe that we're in a cabin in the mountains during normal life, on vacation, sitting and enjoying a drink on the stoop before heading to bed. 

“You…you’ve been alone this whole time?” 

“Yeah,” I sigh. 

He’s surprised into silence, it seems. 

I glance up at him and catch him staring. He looks away straight away, but I see something on his face. Something sad. A slight crease in his brow, his mouth open a little like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing; like what he’s hearing devastates him. 

“Jesus Christ,” he curses eventually, just a breath. Staring at nothing, he shakes his head. “You survived on your own all this time.…”

“Yeah. I mean, I wouldn’t have survived this,” I motion to my leg, “if I’d been alone last week. But other than that…yeah. Just me. Sometimes it’s easier like that. Easier to slip past people unnoticed.” 

He still looks upset. He opens his mouth like he wants to say something, then closes it again. I want him to look at me so badly that it hurts. I want him to turn to me and let the morning sunlight shine on his face and make all the coldness around me fade away. 

I never thought I’d see him again. I thought I was dying, I thought I was hearing things when his voice came to me. 

“Joel…” I start, finding a lump in my throat I hadn’t noticed before.

“You didn’t have to leave,” he says before I can say any more. Finally, he looks at me, and there is so much sadness and regret in his eyes that it actually hurts. “You hear me?” He asks. “You never had to leave. Back then. You could’ve stayed.” 

“Joel…I already told you, I couldn’t let myself…” 

He sighs. Looks away again, down at his glass, shaking his head over and over so much that he must be getting dizzy. 

“Joel,” I say again. It feels like the only thing I can say that makes sense. “You don’t…we don’t have to talk about this…” 

“Yes, we do.” 

“…Okay. Yeah. You’re right.”

“I need you to hear me,” he says. Then his eyes meet mine, and it’s different. More intense, purposeful. I couldn’t look away even if I tried—even if I wanted to. “You didn’t have to leave. You told me why you left, and I’m telling you, it wasn’t…you didn’t need to.” 

I shake my head. “I did,” my voice comes out as nothing but a whisper. “I did, Joel. I couldn’t—I couldn’t keep how I felt to myself, I couldn’t keep it in check…” 

“Goddamit, you’re not—you didn’t have to keep it in check!” He raises his voice just slightly. “I’m trying to tell you that I…I had those feelings, too. Okay? It—it wasn’t just you.” 

Oh. 

I freeze. 

Oh. 

“…Oh,” because suddenly the racing chaos of my mind is silenced to just that one syllable. 

He holds my eyes for another long, piercing moment, then looks away. Briefly he seems to consider something, his jaw working away as he thinks, and then he puts his glass on the floor and runs a hand over his hair. Jesus. The silver flecks in it are shining in the sunlight.

“I get why you thought you had to leave,” he says, quiet again. “I do. And honestly, I’m not sure I could say I wouldn’t’ve done the same thing if I were you. But I…if you’d just told me back then, if I’d known…” 

Somehow, I manage to swallow the emotion in my throat enough to say, “Would it have made a difference?” 

“It would have made every difference.” He says, with a tone that says Are you kidding me? 

“Oh,” again. Dumbly. “But…it’s not like we could’ve…we could never have been…” I know what I’m trying to say, but it won’t come out. How do I express that I just never saw a way for a relationship to work? That I never saw how we could possibly fall in love and be together and act like everything was normal, like there wasn’t enough blood on our hands to fill a bathtub? 

I close my mouth and regroup for a second. Or, try to. 

“I just,” I say, my voice coming out smaller than I’d expected, “I thought I was protecting you.” 

Resting his elbow on his knee, he runs his hand over his mouth, rubs it across his beard. He does it a few times as he stares ahead at nothing again, deep in thought. 

I watch him, silent. Waiting. 

Then, he takes a breath. “Do you still feel that way now?” He drags his eyes to me, and holds them. 

I swallow heavily. Wide-eyed, I stare at him. “I…” yes. Of fucking course I do, Joel. I loved you then, and I love you now. I will always fucking love you. “Yeah,” I admit. I can’t lie to him, and really, there’s no point now, anyway. “I do. I never stopped.” 

For so long, he just stares at me. Nervous, I fiddle with the fabric of my gloves, pulling at loose threads, unsure how much damage I’m causing to them because I can’t fucking tear my eyes away from Joel’s, despite the fact his gaze is making me lose my mind. I decide to take the gloves off, suddenly feeling closed-in by them.

I keep trying to speak, to fill the silence somehow, to try and mend a wound that I’m not sure is even still open anymore. It feels like it’s closed: the chasm of questions and pain between us is different now. Lighter. Like how Joel looks lighter these days, without the weight of the world on his shoulders, that’s how it feels in the air between us. 

When he speaks again, I’m not expecting it, despite the fact I’ve been waiting with bated breath. “I missed you,” he says. 

Oh, God.

“I missed you so goddam much, you know that?” His eyes flick to the space on the bench beside me. Without thinking I shift my leg, moving it off so there’s space for him if he wants. 

“I missed you,” I say, my voice cracking a little from the truth of it. The gut wrenching, undeniable truth in just those three words. “Joel, I…” As I’m shaking my head, lost for words that better convey what I’m trying to say, Joel gets up and comes to sit beside me. I turn to face him, finding the backs of my eyes stinging with tears. 

(I swallow them down so hard that it hurts. I’ve cried enough. I’ve cried enough over him.) 

“Hey…” he says, dipping his head to catch my eyes that have somehow fallen from his. He puts his finger under my chin, holding it up and propping his thumb on the point. He took his gloves off when he came inside, so his bare skin is against mine, his fingertips cold and calloused but fuck, so perfect. Catching my gaze again, he looks so deeply into my eyes that it’s like he’s searching my fucking soul. “Don’t look away,” he says. 

I shake my head. My hands are trembling in my lap. Heat is blooming from my stomach to my chest, threatening to burst out of me at any moment because fucking fuck, I never thought Joel would touch me like this. Holding me tenderly, not because he’s patching a wound or inspecting one, not to get me to look in his eyes to stop me from passing out from pain; no, holding me because he wants to, because he wants to be close to me, wants to feel me like I want to feel him. 

At least, I hope that’s what he wants.

The way his eyes flick down to my lips gives me a little more confidence. 

“Joel…” I whisper into the inches of empty space between us. I can feel his hot breath brushing against my face. “Joel, you don’t have to…you don’t have to forgive me, you know that, right?” 

Surprising me, he laughs. Shakes his head a little, smiling at me with crow’s feet around his eyes, the sunlight glinting into the flecks of grey in his beard. Could I reach out and do what I’ve always wanted to? Touch him there, run my hands through the coarse hairs, maybe even feel them on my face? 

“I know I don’t have to,” he says, still chuckling. “But I do. Even though I wish you’d have made a different call, or at least told me you were leavin’…” 

“Joel…” 

“—I’d say we got pretty lucky, findin’ ourselves here again.” 

He’s so close to me now that I have to look between each of his eyes in turn. I could do it forever. He’s so close. I’ve wanted this for so long. 

I never thought I’d see him again. 

Let alone have this. 

“Yeah,” I manage to whisper. “Yeah, I’d say so.��� 

“Now, if you don’t mind,” he shifts his hand from under my chin to my cheek, pressing his palm against my jaw and smoothing his thumb over my skin, “I’d like to do what I’ve wanted to do for a damn long time.” 

I nod before he even clarifies. I’d let him do anything. Fucking anything. 

He sighs before closing the distance between us, like he’s relieved. Like he’s saying, Finally. 

My agreement doesn’t make it out of my lips because he’s pressing his to mine, capturing my top one between both of his, and—

Holy shit. 

It’s the softest kiss I’ve ever had. 

So tender. Like he’s just testing the waters. Asking me a question. He barely even lingers for a few seconds. 

But, Jesus Christ. 

I find myself letting out an embarrassing whine when he pulls away and tries to meet my eyes, his eyebrows raising, checking it’s okay; but I can’t wait, I can’t fucking wait or hold back any longer—

I pull him in by the lapels of his coat and push my lips back into his, barely even having time to open my mouth. He groans against me and I feel the vibrations of his voice in my fucking mouth. 

It’s crazed at first, finding a rhythm; messy and uncoordinated but all I can hear is his lips sucking at mine and him trying to find his breath amongst the mess of our mouths. It doesn’t take long for it to flow, to work, to understand the push and pull of each other and I lean into it with everything I have. He’s breathing into my mouth, his breath hot and sweet, and his lips have gone from cold to hot in the blink of an eye. 

He’s got two hands on me now, grasping at the back of my neck with his fingers pushing up into my hair from the roots. My hat slips from my head. He uses the extra space in an instant, gasping happily against my mouth when he can get his fingers up the entirety of the back of my head, threading them into my hair. Goosebumps spread across my skin, and not from the cold.

At last, my hands are where they’ve always dreamed of being. On either side of his face, fingers running through his beard. I can hear it; the hairs brushing across my skin and under my nails. Lightly, I curl my fingers so my nails scratch his jaw. He likes it; moaning softly as he tilts his head to the other side, barely pulling off of me before our mouths are together again. 

Alas, though, as much as my hands have found their home, there is so much more of him to discover. One of them slides back into his hair and I swear to God he fucking whispers my name against my tongue as I take a handful and tug. 

Soon I’m shrugging him out of his jacket after pulling on the zip, and he’s doing the same, undoing each of the buttons on my coat while I suck kisses to his cheek, his beard, wherever I can get to him. 

As soon as our coats are on the floor, he unwinds my scarf and throws it on the floor, and makes the most of having new access to my neck. Hungry, he dives in, his mouth already open as he mouths at the expanse of my neck in long—but not long enough—kisses. 

“Joel, oh, my God,” I gasp when he sucks particularly hard on the spot where my neck meets my shoulder. My hands are in his hair again, anchoring him to me. A bolt of pleasure comes from my neck to my brain, goes straight between my legs. 

It’s as he kisses me again and I start to fumble with the buttons on his flannel that he makes a different noise in the back of his throat. A soft protest, I think. 

“Hey,” he pants, breaking off from my lips and taking a gentle hold of my wrists, stopping them in their work. 

I’m completely out of breath. I’ve not been this out of breath from something good in fuck knows how long. My lips are swollen, I’m sure they’re bright red, and I can feel wet patches on my neck. “You okay?” I ask with my hands settling on his chest. 

He laughs, breathy, “Never better. I just…want to make sure that we…” he has to swallow and catch his breath for a moment. As he does so, he lowers his head and kisses up my forearm, all the way to my elbow. His hands caress the underside of my arm like it’s something he treasures. “God, I want this to go further, but I said we’d be back in an hour and I know Ellie’ll come lookin’ if we’re not…” 

Still panting, I laugh a little. All I can do is press my forehead against his. 

He lifts up my hand and puts it over his heart. Even through the flannel of his shirt I can feel it pounding. A gasp pulls into my throat at the feeling. 

“Besides, it’s cold as hell, and I’d really like you to be warm and comfortable before we…” 

He’s right. Goddamit, he’s right. 

Resigned, I nod. We sit like that for a minute, just coming down, catching our breath. His lips are pinker than I think I’ve ever seen them. I think I was sucking at them even more than I thought I was; the pink colour fades gradually into his skin like smudged lipstick. I wish now that I’d had chance to suck at his neck, to mark him like I’m sure he’s marked me already. 

Then, it hits me. 

That I never even thought I’d get to touch his fucking beard. 

Let alone suck his neck.

“God,” I whisper, mostly to myself. My voice cracks a little, and I’m not sure it’s just from the blinding desire still throbbing between my legs.

“You okay?” 

“I just…yeah. Yeah, I’m…I’m really fucking good.” 

He laughs. Keeping one hand over mine where it stays on his chest, he brings the other up to cup the side of my face. Our foreheads are still resting on each other and his palm is so warm against my cheek. 

I’ve wanted this for so long. 

I have to tell him. He knows, but I have to tell him. “I’ve wanted this for…forever,” I confess, probably only finding my confidence because we’re too close for him to look at me. With my spare hand I hold the side of his neck, the tips of my fingers brushing into his beard. 

“Since the moment I saw you,” Joel’s voice is gravelly as he nuzzles his nose into my wrist, “I wanted this.” 

I can’t help it. 

I lean in and kiss him again. Close-mouthed and quick, but just because I can. 

He takes a deep breath. Holds it a minute, then lets it out, his sweet breath brushing against me once more. I want to taste it again. Feel it going into my lungs. Feel it on my neck, on every inch of me. 

“We should head back,” he says, reluctance coming from his very core. “You’re gettin’ cold.” He squeezes my cold hand. 

“You’re the one who took off all my winter gear,” I retort with a happy smirk. 

“Yeah, alright. You started it, though.” 

“Um, you pushed my hat off as soon as we got started…” 

“The hat thing was a mistake.” 

I remember how it felt to have his hands spread out over every inch of my head, and shudder. “Oh, no, it was no mistake, Joel.” 

He laughs. “Come on. Let’s wrap back up. I’d love to say we can pick up where we left off as soon as we get back, but I’ve got patrols today, and Ellie wanted me to take her riding…” 

I hold the back of his neck. As much as I absolutely would let him take me right here on this freezing wooden floor, I don’t mind waiting. For the first time in decades, I feel like we might just have time for it. Like everything doesn’t have to be a rush. “It’s alright,” I say, meaning it. 

“I promise, I’ll make it up to you.”

“Mm. I’ll hold you to that.” 

“Good.” 

After another—very restrained—kiss, we start wrapping up again and pack up to head back. In the back of my mind as we potter around each other, I feel the horrible tendrils of doubt try to creep in around me. Wondering: what if this is all too good to be true? What if there’s no way we can make this work? I was never even going to stay here, but does he want me to now? Is that where this is going?

But then Joel takes me in his arms before we step back outside, and holds me like it’s the first time. 

And it is, really. He’s only ever done this before when I’ve been hurt or sick. 

And for that moment as his hands press into my back, my mind is quiet.

{chapter 4/5}

notes: thank u for all the support and love on this fic, it means the world to me, i'm so glad you're enjoying it! there's more where this came from and i'm just so grateful to y'all for reading this <3 ps: the next chapter will have smut (YAY)! also, if you're reading this the weekend i post it (21st jan 2023) then please send me smut requests for joel miller or din djarin <3 love u xo

taglist: @rosymythologies @lover1307 @rh1nestonecowg1rl @pinkrose1422 @lavenderhhze @abbyhaslongshorts @trippoverrt @emilianamason

[the-modernmary]

you’ll always know me || aaron hotchner x reader

Summary: "I would have stayed... If you asked me to.

After your high school graduation, you left without saying goodbye to Aaron Hotchner, your best friend, and nobody had heard from you since. Years later, you're back in DC, and catching up with Aaron brings more than you could have possibly hoped for.

Warnings: mentions of weed

A/N: I really wanted some soft Hotch content in my life after all the angst in my best habit, and this is about as soft as I can get. Inspired by Taylor Swift's "dorothea". Honestly, I was listening to evermore, blacked out for about three hours, and this is what came from that. There is no other explanation for this. It's written differently than my usual style, but I hope y'all like it still!

read on ao3 || masterlist

~~~~~~~

“What’s got you in such a rush?”

  Rossi eyes Aaron carefully as the latter circles around his office, double and triple-checking that he didn’t forget anything. The last thing he wants is to have to come back to the office and cut his day short.

  Aaron shoves a few case files in his briefcase. “An old friend from high school is in town and I’m meeting up with her.”

  Rossi perks up at the word ‘her’ and he leans against the door frame. Aaron notices this, too, because he shakes his head quickly. “It’s not like that. We both got sent to boarding school for being problem children and we became quick friends. I haven’t talked to her since graduation. She just packed up her stuff and left the very next day.”

“You sound bitter,” Rossi points out.

  “Not at all,” he lies, trying to forget the hurt of running to your dorm for your weekly breakfast together, only to be met with an empty room and a singular polaroid. “I knew she hated it there and her goal was to travel and see as many places as she could. Honestly, I’m surprised she’s back stateside at all. Last I heard, she was doing some art apprenticeship in Italy, but that was years ago.”

  “You sound like you have a long evening ahead of you, so I’ll get out of your hair. And have some fun tonight, Aaron. You deserve it,” Rossi adds on as an afterthought. 

  The corners of Aaron's mouth lift slightly. “I will. Try not to let the building burn down while I’m gone. Reid is back on his physics magic kick, and I think I heard something about a lighter.”

  Rossi gives Aaron a two-finger, half-hearted salute in acknowledgment, which is all it takes for Aaron to shut his office door and head towards the elevator. Knowing that you’re just outside, he has to make a conscious effort to slow his pace from an excited jog to just an anxious speed walk. The elevator ride is slow, seemingly stopping at every single floor on the way down, which gives his mind ample time to wander and think back to graduation day.

  “There you are!” Aaron shouts from across the football field as he runs up to you, shoving through bustling groups of families trying to take pictures. He has so many stoles and cords and leis around his neck that you can barely see the suit he’s wearing underneath his gown. It’s a stark contrast to you, with only a singular chord for academic achievement, although a 3.2 wasn’t much of an achievement in the eyes of most people at boarding school.

  “Here I am!” you laugh, throwing your arms around him in a hug and breathing in the smell of his cologne.

  “Where’re your parents? Didn’t they come?”

  “Of course they didn’t. They’re not ones for celebrating something as trivial as high school graduation, not when it’s just expected of me.” You roll your eyes. “What about you? I thought you and Haley were going to do the whole ‘meet the family’ thing today?”

  Aaron is oblivious to the bitterness in your voice, although that’s nothing new. “We are, but I just wanted to give these to you.” It’s then that you notice the bouquet of flowers in his hand, although it’s now being pressed into your arms. “As a congrats. And a thank you for being there for me this whole time. You’re my best friend.”

  You try to ignore the ache in your chest at his words. “Thank you, Aaron. I… I didn’t get you anything, I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” he waves it off. “If you want to get me something, breakfast is your treat tomorrow.”

  “Okay, deal,” you agree, the smile coming back to your face. Selfishly, you don’t want him to go back to Haley or his family just yet. You want him to stay there with you so you don’t feel so lonely in the crowd of happy graduates. “God, I can’t believe you’re staying in D.C. for college. We always talked about getting out, seeing the world and never coming back.”

  Aaron shrugs, and you watch as he brushes away a piece of his hair that falls into his face. “I’m hoping that going to GW for undergrad will make it easier to get into law school there.”

  “And Haley Brooks is still here for another year,” you point out, half accusatory.

  “Yeah, that, too.” Aaron chuckles uncomfortably before quickly switching the conversation. “What about you? Have you decided what you’re going to do?”

  “There’s an art school in Glasgow I’m thinking of going to. But, you know… George Washington also has an art program. It’s pretty nice, too. I’m still deciding.” You trail off, looking straight into Aaron’s eyes, giving him every chance in the world to make the decision for you.

  Aaron hesitates, fighting an internal battle. “Go to Glasgow!” he says, fake enthusiasm in his voice, but your disappointment blocks out anything but his actual words. “Then I’ll have an excuse to visit Scotland.”

  “Yeah, that’s what I was leaning towards, too,” you lie. “Aaron, I—”

  You’re cut off by a voice calling his name. You both turn around to see Haley Brooks waving him over, her other hand holding 7-year-old Sean’s hand. She looks like spring personified, her blonde hair in bouncy curls and her pink sundress swishing around her long, slender legs. Her smile is so big that it could have parted storm clouds, and you want nothing more than to hate her with every single fiber of your being.

  But then you see Aaron, returning her megawatt smile with his own, one you rarely ever saw, and how can you hate somebody who makes him so happy?

  “I have to go, I’m sorry,” he says, although there’s not even a hint of regret in his voice. “But I’ll see you for one last Sunday breakfast tomorrow?”

  “I’ll see you then,” you lied.

  How Aaron could have missed the signs of your unhappiness, he’ll never know. At that time, all he knew was that you left without ever saying goodbye, leaving behind only a polaroid of the two of you from your weekend trip to Virginia Beach, both of you drunk and laughing with your arms wrapped around each other. He still has it, buried in his nightstand somewhere, but he hasn’t had the courage to look at it for a few years now.

  As Aaron steps out of the FBI building, he recognizes you instantly, even though it’s only the back of your head, and it causes his breath to catch in his throat. He calls your name and watches as you turn around, your hair whipping around you, and the fact that you still have that same mischievous glint in your eyes is enough to make him feel like he’s sixteen again and nervously skipping class with you holding his hand and pulling him towards the school gates.

  “Aaron!” You jog up to him and throw your arms around him in a hug, which he happily reciprocates. You press a quick kiss to his cheek before pulling away, and Aaron’s entire face burns.

  You keep your hands on his biceps, holding him at arm’s length, as you study him. He looks almost exactly the same as he did all those years ago, with soft hair and the slightest bit of stubble, but he looks less carefree. He seems more mature, like life had aged him 100 years. Still, as cute as high school Aaron was, it had nothing on how good he looks now. “Look at you, Mr. FBI, all suit and corporate-looking! I never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Yeah, I guess I’ve changed quite a bit,” he admits, and the sight of his dimples makes you want to melt right there into the sidewalk. “It’s really good to see you again. I’ve missed you.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you barely thought about me,” you joke, but hurt flashes through your eyes.

  Aaron wants to argue, to tell you that he thinks about you all the time, but decides against it. He doesn’t want to spend the precious few hours he has with you bringing up old issues. “Are you hungry? Because there’s this diner a few blocks down with giant milkshakes.”

  “Why are we still standing here, then? All you had to say was milkshakes, they’re my favorite.”

  “I know. I remember,” he says, and that all-too-familiar pang in your heart comes back like it had never left. “Come on, we can walk and cut through a park.”

  The two of you start your walk in comfortable silence, listening to the bustling city around you. Every once in a while, your hands would bump into his, and you were doing everything you could to ignore it.

  “So did you ever go to that art school?” he asks suddenly, looking over at you.

  You nod, a soft smile forming on your face. “I did. You were right, I loved Scotland.”

  “Where did you go after that? Nobody heard from you.”

  Your eyes sparkle as memories of your life the past few years flash through your mind. “Everywhere. Literally. I took a bunch of odd jobs and spent my time traveling,” you admitted. “I taught English in Vietnam for a year, worked on a cruise ship that went around South America, was an au pair for a French ambassador, went on research expeditions… Even dated a pilot for all of six months. Anything I could do that would let me see the world.” You laugh to yourself, shaking your head fondly. “I really put that private boarding school tuition to good use, huh? My parents were pissed.”

  “It sounds like you were living the life you dreamed of,” Aaron says softly, looking down at you.

  “It was,” you agree, your voice a little sad.

  “So then why are you back here in DC?”

  You shrug, your hands clasped behind your back, and you step down on a particularly crunchy leaf. “I’m just passing through. I’ve been going around the US and looking for a place to settle down. Finally. Figured I might as well put that art degree to good use. Maybe I’ll open a gallery or something.”

  Aaron nods slowly as the chill of autumn runs through his bones. It’s nice, though, in a weird way. He’s always preferred the fall over spring. “Where have you looked so far?”

  “Lots of places. San Francisco, Portland, Seattle, Atlanta, San Antonio, Miami… I’m heading up to New York next. Nothing’s felt right so far. But enough about me, how are you? I heard you married Haley Brooks.”

  That same bitterness you felt in high school when you talked about Haley comes back with a vengeance. It’s unfair, and you know that. How was Aaron supposed to know that you were practically in love with him in high school if you never told him? Even now, you’re sure that he hasn’t put together the pieces.

  You watch as his gaze falls slightly. “I did. She died a few years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” you whisper, and you reach out to give his hand a small squeeze.

  “We got divorced a little while before it happened,” he explains, unsure why it’s so important to him that you know that. “I blamed myself for it for a long time. But I’ve, uh… I’ve made peace with it now.”

  You give him a comforting smile, fully aware of the fact that you’re still holding his hand. “Aaron Hotchner, making peace with something in his life? I never thought I’d see the day.”

  Aaron chuckles and bumps his shoulder to yours. “I’ve been known to do it a few times. But only a few. Haley and I have a son, though. His name is Jack. He’s 8 now.”

  You shake your head in disbelief, and your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. “And you’re a father? Wow, you really have changed.”

  “Is that a bad thing?” he asks, and you shake your head wordlessly.

  “I like every version of Aaron Hotchner,” you promise. “Besides, change is a good thing. Especially since this city hasn’t changed a bit.”

  Aaron looks around, eyebrows furrowed, like he’s seeing DC for the very first time. “It’s actually changed quite a bit. But it’s subtle. Only people who have been here as long as I have would even notice it, probably.”

  The words cut through you both as a painful reminder of your abrupt departure from DC, and the silence settles over the two of you like a thick fog. This conversation was going to have to happen no matter what, you knew that going into this meeting with Aaron, but you didn’t expect it to happen so soon.

  “I would have stayed,” you whisper, your voice barely audible. “If you asked me to.”

  Aaron shakes his head as his Adam’s apple bobs. “I thought about it. But I couldn’t do that to you. I knew you wanted to see the world, and you said it yourself. This city had nothing left to offer you.”

  You pause, rubbing your thumb over your fingertips with your freehand. “It had you,” you reply, and Aaron feels like he was just stabbed in the heart. “That would have been enough.” Seeing Aaron’s dejected face, you quickly keep talking. “But I get it, don’t worry. You were head over heels for Haley Brooks. Everybody knew you two were meant to be together.””

  “What does that have to do with you leaving?” he asks, more accusatory than he intended.

  “Everything.”

  Aaron breathes out your name, unsure of what to say until he settles on: “I’m sorry.”

  You wave him off, forcing a laugh. “Don’t be. I was 17 years old with a crush. We do stupid things, like want to stay at home for a boy. I’m glad I left. Besides, Haley Brooks was clearly the love of your life, and far be it from me to try and break up the golden couple.”

  The two of you stop in front of the diner and you drop Aaron’s hand, much to his disappointment, although you’re still close enough to him to see your reflection in his brown eyes. “I didn’t know you felt like that about me,” he says.

  “Which is surprising, because everybody else definitely knew. But you’ve always been a little clueless when it comes to stuff like that,” you tease, flashing him a toothy smile. “But it’s in the past. So come on, I want to hear about this FBI stuff and drink a milkshake so big it makes my stomach hurt.”

  Twenty minutes later, you and Aaron find yourselves smushed together in a corner booth covered in cheap vinyl, splitting a chocolate milkshake and laughing as you stroll down memory lane. 

  “You know, I ran into Stephen yesterday! A little coffee shop not too far from here,” you tell Aaron.

  Aaron almost drops the fry he was about to eat. “Do you mean Stoner Stephen? What is he doing back here?”

  You take a sip of the milkshake, and Aaron’s gaze is intense as you wrap your lips around the straw. When you pull back, he’s still staring at the soft pink your lipstick leaves behind. “Apparently, he’s lived here for years. Also, did you know he’s crazy smart? Like… graduated 4th in our class, went to Brown undergrad and Columbia graduate, smart.”

  Aaron’s eyes go wide in disbelief. “And this is the same guy who, completely sober, tried putting his mattress in the pool so that he didn’t have to sleep in his own dorm?”

  “The very same one. He’s like a lobbyist now or something for some activist group.”

  “Wow, I did not expect that. Do you remember when he got so high that he thought his joint was going to catch the dorms on fire?” Aaron asks, the words barely discernible through his laughter. “So he warned campus police that the whole school was going to burn down.”

  “Yes!” you giggle, your head thrown back in laughter. “They thought it was an arson threat and they had to evacuate the whole school. I was taking an English final during that.”

  Aaron’s shoulder pressing against yours makes a shiver run down your spine. You idly wonder how much closer he can get to you if he really tried.

  As if reading your mind, Aaron turns towards you a little more so that your knees are touching and you can feel his breath on the side of your neck. “We went to the beach that weekend,” he says quietly, unwilling to break eye contact with you. “Drank cheap beer. You got stung by a jellyfish. I had to carry you back to the car.”

  No, no. You were not about to fall for Aaron Hotchner’s charm again that easily. Not again. It took you too long to get over him the first time. Still, you were leaning closer to Aaron, and Aaron was leaning in towards you, and your noses brushed as you tilt your head to the side ever so slightly and—

  And his phone rings. Aaron’s eyes flickered to your lips one last time before pulling away, giving you an apologetic look.

  “Hotchner,” he answers, and you pull your coat tighter around yourself as realization sinks into you. You feel like you’re 17 again, desperately waiting for Aaron to ask you to prom, only to hide in your dorm for days on end when he asked Haley Brooks.

  When Aaron hangs up, he immediately reaches into his pocket to pull out his wallet, setting enough cash on the table to cover the tab and tip. “That was work. We have to fly out to Arizona. I’m sorry.”

  You nod understandingly. “Gotta catch the bad guys. When do you leave?”

  It’s silent for a few torturous moments before he finally answers. “An hour, at most. We brief at the office and then get on the plane.”

  “Wow,” you breathe. “You weren’t kidding when you said that you live out of your suitcase. Can I walk back with you, at least?”

  Aaron smiles, a small smile that makes you wonder how often he actually smiles now. It used to be a lot, but from what he’s told you, it seems like he’s had a rough go of it the last couple of years, and has a lot less to smile about. It makes you sad because when you were traveling the world, his smile was the one thing you missed the most.

  “I’d really like that.”

  The two of you make small talk on the way back, swapping stories about Jack and your various adventures around the globe. The autumn air is crisp with leaves falling all around you. At one point, there was a big gust of wind, and leaves and pine needles got blown onto the two of you, and you took your sweet time running your fingers through his hair, bushing it all off him. 

  When you get to the entrance of the FBI building, neither one of you says anything. You just stand there, both unwilling to say goodbye. You turn to face each other, just as close as you were in the diner booth.

  “Oh, you have a…” Aaron delicately reaches his hand to your hair. His fingers in your hair make your stomach do flips, and you’re almost positive he can hear your racing heartbeat. His eyes stay trained on yours the entire time, never blinking. “Pine needle,” he whispers, holding the offending object between his fingers.

  “Thanks,” you breathe, and you’re not sure if it’s the autumn chill or his hand reaching to cup your cheek that sends goosebumps throughout your body.

  As if he were magnetic, you rise onto your toes, bringing yourself closer to him, and you press your lips against his. Aaron deepens the kiss and runs his thumb across your cheekbone. His other hand wraps itself around your waist. The kiss is slow and sensual and better than anything you could have dreamed of — and you dream of Aaron kissing you more often than you’d like to admit.

  All too soon, the two of you pull away from each other, both wearing matching smiles.

  “I should probably… get in there… before my team sends out a search party,” Aaron says reluctantly, pointing towards the entrance. 

  You give his hand a soft squeeze. “Go save lives. I’ll probably be around for a few more days before heading up to New York. If you’re back by then.”

  Aaron purses his lips, deep in thought. “You’re definitely settling down somewhere? Done with seeing the world?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “Have you… Do you think…” Aaron takes a grounding breath, trying to gather the words he was too afraid to ask back at graduation. “Have you ever considered settling down here? There’s a pretty big art community here.”

  You shrug, ignoring excitement building in your chest. “I think my work is a little too experimental for the people of the capitol.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he chuckles.

  You bring your lower lip between your teeth, chewing nervously at it. “I don’t know… I left for a reason. I just don’t know what DC has to offer me anymore.”

  Aaron spreads his arms out at his side, palms facing you in an uncharacteristic display of vulnerability. “There’s me,” he offers, and, when your eyes go wide, he adds, “And Stoner Stephen, if I’m not enough.”

  A laugh bursts out of you uncontrollably, which seems to put both you and Aaron at ease. “That makes it a very tempting offer,” you tease.

  “And I have a coworker who flips houses. He’ll be able to tell you where to get the best deal on an apartment,” Aaron presses as if you need any more convincing. As if your mind isn’t already made up.

  “First, I need to know that there’s more than one good place to get milkshakes,” you point out, shoving your hands in your coat pockets. “You’ll have to show me around when you get back.”

  Aaron’s lips quirk up in a hopeful smile. “It’s a date.”

  He makes his way towards the entrance of the Hoover Building, but you call out his name, stopping him once more. “We’ll also need a new Sunday breakfast place. Since our old one is closed down.”

  Now, his smile is one of pure joy, and his eyes are sparkling in a way you haven’t seen in years. “I know just the place. As long as you don’t up and leave without telling me again.”

  “Never again,” you promise, and for once, the idea of staying doesn’t terrify you.

  “Then we’ll get breakfast together as soon as I get back.”

  You smile at him, already missing the feeling of his lips on yours. “I’ll see you then.”

[pitaparka]

a steadfast heart will conquer

summary: you show up at frankie’s doorstep in the middle of the night after your boyfriend gets violent. he invites you in and lets you stay with him.

pairings: frankie morales x fem!reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: mentions of domestic abuse, mentions of bruises

At midnight, you speak in fragments.

“I’m at your front door.”

He’s more asleep than awake. He doesn’t have the brain to question you.

“It’s raining.”

He can tell. He can hear it through the phone and from his bedroom window.

“Can you come let me in? Please?” You ask, and before he can say anything, you hang up. He stares at his phone, but figures there’s a girl at his front door, waiting to be let in.

He takes a second to unlock the door, in his groggy state, and sure enough, there you are, in all your midnight glory, on his front doorstep. It’s more romantic in movies, he thinks.

There’s nobody outside except for you. The streets are desolate, and the lamplight is obscured by the pouring rain. It thuds off of your car that’s parked in his driveway, and he knows it’ll bleed in through the crack in the door that doesn’t quite meet the frame.

He’ll help you fix it tomorrow.

But right now, you lean into him, slowly, and wrap your arms around his neck. You're wet, he notes. Wet and cold. He’s sure you're soaked down to your socks. Hair, jacket, shoes, all dripping onto his hardwood floor. You're still on the steps, so he pulls you in, but you refuse to untangle yourself from him. The wind sounds even harder now with the two of you inside.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” he mutters, wrapping his arms around your shoulders. He pulls back to look at your face, but you're buried deep in his chest. He wishes it was under different circumstances.

The pouring rain punctuates every silence. He can feel you shaking.

You don’t answer.

He lets you not answer.

There’s a storm brewing in his chest. He has a sickening premonition as to why you’re here. He tries to ignore it, but his gut instinct is always right.

He shuffles awkwardly to close the door, and it muffles the rain. He can hear you sniffling now.

“What happened?”

There is only moonlight streaming in from the window over the couch. You keep your face buried in his chest when he flicks the light on. It’s harsh and bright and he grabs you by the shoulders, pulling you back to look at him but you don't remove your face from his warm, dry chest.

So he waits.

“What’s wrong?” he asks again, softer, in your ear. You rub your forehead on his worn t-shirt, and his arms find their way around your shoulders.

You find the strength to look at him from somewhere deep inside you, eyes red and swollen, eyelashes dark with tears. You squint almost imperceptibly, adjusting to the light. You’ve never felt more safe than in his embrace. Your noses almost touch.

The last and only thing he wants to do is kiss you.

He notices the red mark right away.

On your temple. His eyes soften. You watch him look at you, almost like it’s the first time.

“He hit me,” you say, congested from the tears.

Like he doesn’t notice. Like he doesn’t feel anger shoot up into his chest, heat and warmth and fire in his fingertips, down the back of his calves and aching his face. His sickening premonition coming true. He can’t come up with a single reason as to why he would do this to you. It makes fury throb in his bones. He can see your boyfriend throwing the punch and it makes him want to vomit how enraged he is.

“What do you want me to do?” he asks sincerely.

“Want me to hurt him? I’ll hurt him, you know I will. I’ll hurt him so bad,” he trails off, jaw hard and teeth grinding. Nostrils flared and lip twitching.

“No.”

He watches you rest your head on his chest, the side that your good-for-nothing dick stick didn’t punch, and he’s so careful with you, soft hands and rigid muscles.

“I just...” you start, and he’s listening. He’s listening to every word.

“I didn’t want him to hurt me. And I didn’t want to hurt him. So I... left. I went and sat in the CVS parking lot,” you admit. He figures you needed someone to talk to. He wanted someone to listen to. He’s wide awake now. He still has fight in his blood, so he repurposes it. He holds you, securely. Strong and firm.

“I was gonna fight back... but I didn’t want anyone to get hurt, I really didn’t.” you say. He closes his eyes. He steadies his breathing. How could someone so sweet, so powerful, so kind, end up with the exact antithesis of all of those things?

“I know,” he reassures, “I know you didn’t.”

You sigh shakily into his chest. He’s there for you. He’s steadfast and unwavering. You could collapse into him and you trust he would catch you, help you up, dust you off, or in your case, dry you off. But you don’t. You stand strong with him, and you let herself be supported by him. You yourself whole still. Shaky, and faltering, but whole, all by yourself. With him there, you feel a little steadier, resolute in your decisions. He supports you, and you love him for it.

“Can I stay here?” you ask.

“Of course,” he replies.

His clothes don’t fit you, but you don’t mind and neither does he.

Your hair smells like roses and rain.

You take his bed; he takes the couch.

It’s hard for him to fall asleep there, but he doesn’t mind that, either.

It’s four AM when you wake him up for the second time this morning. The grogginess is stronger than before, it seems. You’re on your knees in front of the couch, face level with him, and he jerks back in surprise.

“I’m sorry,” you say, placing a hand on his chest. His bare chest. His shirt is somewhere, he doesn’t care where. It got hot, he recalls.

“Y’scared me,” he mumbles. Would this girl let him get any sleep?

“Come sleep with me. I feel bad,” you say.

“Woke me up ‘cause y’feel bad?” he asks, and you can tell he’s irritated, but tired more than anything. Sleep carries heavily through his voice.

“No,” you clarify, “I woke you up ‘cause I had a nightmare.”

Now he’s the one that feels bad.

He lets you lead him to his own bed, but he makes a pit stop on the way to use the bathroom. He finds you curled up under his covers, staring at the doorway, waiting for him.

He smiles and joins you. He sleeps on his back. You sleep on your stomach.

He has one pillow. you have one too.

You both listen to each other breathe.

You throw an arm over his stomach. He rubs his thumb over your hand.

It’s not storming anymore, but you can both feel the electricity in the sky.

The old, squeaky mattress creaks as you move, swapping your pillow for his shoulder. It’s not as bony as you thought it would be.

You only wake up when his alarm goes off on the nightstand beside you.

You groan, and realize you’re curled up with someone in a bed that’s not your own. Your face aches as you relive the events of last night.

He wakes up when you shift to turn off the alarm, taking his time to notice you.

“Hey,” you say, in his shirt.

“Morning,” he yawns, not in his shirt.

“Thank you,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No no no, don’t do that, don’t make it...” he trails, sitting up in bed. He rubs the sleep from his eyes again. All things considered, he got some decent sleep. He thinks it might have something to do with the warm body that was pressed up against him all night.

“No, really,” you say. You sit criss-cross on your side of the bed, and he has to remind himself that it’s his own bed (singular), not your bed (plural), and the whole bed is his bed. But for now, he can say it’s your side of the bed. At least to himself.

“Thank you for being there for me.” you say finally. He smiles at you.

“Of course.” He whines as he yawns, and things are okay for now. The storm is over.

“You want breakfast?” He asks, getting up and stopping at his dresser to put on shorts. His boxers were fine last night, but now that the sun is shining through the window, it’s kind of weird. He pulls on a shirt too.

“I have taquitos,” he says walking into his kitchen, and you squint at him, hot on his tail.

“Taquitos for breakfast?” you ask skeptically, and he makes his way over to the freezer.

“Taquito time is all the time.” He clarifies, taking the cardboard box from underneath a tub of ice cream and a bag of frozen peas. He freezes, before he turns around to look at you.

“Do you, uh, want some ice for that?” He says, and it takes you a second to realize what he means.

You touch the bruise softly, applying light pressure and wincing when it hurts.

He notices and puts the box down on the counter, wrapping the peas thoroughly in paper towels before handing them to you.

You nod a thank you, and hop up on his counter, holding them to your face.

He notices his shirt on you again, and his shorts on you, and how domestic this would be if that mistake hadn’t laid his hands on you. Though he does admit, you probably wouldn’t have been here in the first place without that run in.

He thinks he’d rather never see you again rather than have you come to him hurt like that.

He moves over to you, and carefully moves your head away from the cabinets holding the dish ware so he can open it. There’s tension in the air. He plates the taquitos and you listen to the buzz of the microwave as they warm up.

Neither of you touch your respective phones while you eat your taquitos. There are decisions to be made that will have consequences. You glance at your phone, but look away each time. Your eyes never meet. You both focus on the plate of miniature crunchy tortillas made with fake corn, filled with beef that was probably artificial. Neither of you mind.

After breakfast, or what could be sufficed as breakfast, he watches you finally check your phone.

“seventeen missed calls,” you read, “and thirty something texts.”

“Wow.”

“Not as crazy as I expected,” you note.

“Wanna see if he left any batshit voicemails?” you ask, grinning. He’s less than excited. Your smile falters as you read the texts.

“What? What’d he say?” he asks, getting up from the table to read over your shoulder. You make no move to hide the texts from him and something like relief floods his veins for a split second.

“Nothing,” you clarify, “just that... he’s so sorry… how he’s such a terrible person, that he’ll never do it again.”

He stares at you.

You ignore the messages and lock your phone.

You look up at Frankie.

“So?” he asks.

“So?” you ask back. He clears his throat.

“What are you gonna tell him?”

“I don’t know,” you sigh, grabbing the empty plate and sliding past him. You turn on the faucet in the sink and wait for it to get hot.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says, but you don’t respond.

You add soap to a sponge and start washing the minimal dishes there: a bowl, a few spoons, your plate, a whisky glass.

He stands by you, grabbing a hand towel from the countertop and wiping the dishes down before putting them away.

“Why don’t you have a drying rack?” you ask, as he puts away the last of the glasses.

“I dunno,” he says, “I don’t have that many plates and forks and stuff, so I just dry it and put it away as I go.”

“Hmm,” you remark, and turn off the faucet. He hands you the dish towel and you wipe your hands dry before folding it and placing it on the counter. You look at him and sigh. The elephant in the room is demanding your attention.

“What do you think I should tell him?”

He stares at your bruise, and he feels the anger from last night bubble up in his throat again.

“That you’re gonna send me to beat him the fuck up.” He says, and you roll your eyes, staring at him endearingly.

“I’m not getting back together with him.” you say, and he feels his heart do some weird stuff in his chest.

“It’s over for us. I’m breaking up with him the next time I see him.” you say, a finality in your words that make him confident you would do as you said.

“Good.” He crosses his arms and shifts his weight to one side.

“Should I go see him today?” you ask.

“Do you want to?” he questions. You sigh and shake your head.

“You’re no help.”

“Hey! I’m so much help,” he defends, and you smile at him.

“Sure.”

“I can go with you if you want,” he says seriously. You stare at him.

“If you want,” you offer, and he nods his head.

“Okay.” you say.

He watches you grab your phone and your now dry clothes and make your way into his bathroom. He listens as you close the door and waits until he hears the water start running, accompanied by soft music.

He squeezes the bridge of his nose and takes a second to examine the thawing bag of peas on his kitchen table.

He smiles to himself as he makes out the lyrics of your song.

As he puts the bag back in his freezer, he runs a nervous hand through his hair and stares at your car in his driveway.

He wants nothing more than to bruise you up himself, his mouth on your skin, his hands on your hips.

But that thought is fleeting. He gets closer to the bathroom and can hear you singing clearly, and he takes a second to listen before he speaks.

“Hey, I’m gonna go take a quick look at your car, okay?”

The water turns off.

“What?”

“I’m—I’m gonna go look at your car!” he says loudly, “the leaky door!”

There’s quiet for a moment before you’re unlocking the door, in only a towel. His towel.

“Thank you!” you beam, and with one hand clutching the towel to your chest, you hand him your car keys.

“They were in my pocket. It’d be kinda hard to get in without them,” you joke.

“Yeah, ‘course.” He grins lopsidedly, keeping his eyes a respectable distance from your naked torso.

With a smile, you close the door in his face.

The music resumes, as does the water, and Frankie breathes.

It would be a miracle if he made it through the day without sending someone to the hospital.

[sweetdanibear]

~How the Haikyuu boys would react to you accidentally hurting them during sexy time~ fem reader

Warnings: Smut: Daddy kink, choking, edging, over stimulation, squirting,dacryphilia(crying), breeding, praising, degrading, hierophilia(fetish of being sexually attracted to  religious and sacred objects or figure)  God Complex. Usage of the words “Pastor(name” In a sexual manner, and “You’re my god (name)” also “Father(name)”

Word count: 2458

Request: Open!

Side note: If you want me to make a longer version involving any of the kinks used with the characters don’t be afraid to ask!

Side side note: For hierophilia(fetish of being sexually attracted religious and sacred objects) I used it with Tsukishima. The reader got him into the religious kink. What gave me this idea, was a fan fiction. Where Tsukishima dressed as a clergyman, and forced his sub to recite bible versus, as he destroyed their cunt. I do not know Tsukishima’s religion, but I did base it around Catholicism

Side side side note: The Oikawa one is a bit crunchy I’m so sorry

I absolutely loved that idea, and wanted to try it out. Please don’t hate too much lol! I’m not trying to mock anyone's religion at all!

I also lack the knowledge of religion, so I tried my best with research!

Also I’m so sorry, I don’t know how to do the “keep reading thing, I’m so sorry😭”

Ushijima Wakatoshi

He’s just drilling your pussy.

He hasn’t even really talked to much, his dick does all the talking anyways

He had been edging you for about two hours now, and you were currently begging to cum.

Finally he allows you.

Your legs are on his shoulder, and his back is straight, he’s gripping your hips with his large left hand, and rubbing your swollen clit with his right, to help push you over the edge.

Things are going good.

Your back arches, you cry out in pleasure, and finally cum all over his throbbing cock, and squirt on his hand. 

But he didn’t stop, he just kept rubbing your clit

You tried to beg him to stop because your body couldn’t take much more, but poor boy didn’t listen

Wakatoshi had a slight smirk plastered on his face. He has been edging you for over two hours, every time you were about to cum, he denied you the satisfaction of releasing all over his throbbing cock.

“That’s it princess..Take it. Take this cock..” Wakatoshi gently bit his lip, and sent another thrust into your aching cunt. He looked down at your beat red face. Tears staining your cheeks, some hair attached to your cheeks, and forehead due to all the sweat.

“Please! Please Daddy! Please! Let me cum! I’m begging you! Oh god please Daddy!” You tried your hardest to cry out loudly but your voice was so strained from the beginning, and moaning you’ve been doing for the past two hours.

Wakatoshi looked down at you, and finally gave in. “Since you’ve been such a good, good, girl. Cum. Cum for your daddy.” Wakatoshi moved his right hand to your clit pressing down on the sensitive bud, he rubbed his fingers in a circular motion then sped up his pace. “Don’t be shy now princess.” Wakatoshi whispered in a rugged voice right next to your ear before fixing his posture again so he could look down on you.

The pleasure shot through your body. Your spongy walls tightening around his thick warm cock trying to keep him from moving out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head letting out a loud cry of pleasure. “Daddy!!~” You slur the name for your boyfriend, and start to pant heavily. Seconds after you cum around his cock, you start to squirt all over his hand.

Wakatoshi quickly moves his hand away from your clit, watching your juices coat his pelvis, his cock, and even the lower part of his abs.

Watching you get so messy, he goes feral and rubs your clit again. He doesn’t even understand how much he’s abused your pretty little cunt.

“Daddy! Daddy stop! Gah!~” You let out a strained moan at the end, and  your body naturally tries to get away from the over stimulation. Your leg unintentionally jerks, and that’s when it happens.

Your leg jerks, smacking your heel under his jaw.

You could feel your heart absolutely stop. “Toshi!” You quickly sit up, and notice he hasn’t even moved. “T-Toshi...? Baby?” Your heart still feels like it hasn’t even started beating again.

Wakatoshi slowly pulls out from your aching cunt, and just stares off. Finally he reacts. He rubs under his chin, then presses a finger to his tongue. He pulled the finger from his mouth, and it had a bit of blood. In seconds his tongue swells up. “D-da, weally hurt-” Wakatoshi quickly stopped talking after hearing how ridiculous he sounded.

Wakatoshi narrowed his eyes, shooting daggers at you seeing you try to hold back a laugh.

You quickly cover your mouth after hearing him speak. “Awe baby! Don’t worry I’ll take care of you!” You slowly stand up, and wince slightly at the pain but you simply ignore it, and grab your robe.

You wrap your robe on, then help Wakatoshi lay down. “Let me go get you some ice..I’m assuming you’re done for tonight?” You ask while walking out of the room.

You grab a zip lock bag filling it with crushed ice then sealing it up. You wrap a thin towel over the bag, then grab four bottles of water. You walk back into the bedroom seeing Wakatoshi still glaring.

“Baby~~ I said I was sorry!“ You let out a soft huff then hand him the ice. You place down the water, then get between his legs.

“Calm down baby~ I’ll take care of you..” You give your boyfriend a devious smirk, and bring your head down to his still erected member taking it into your mouth, and sucking on the head of his member, giving him some special treatment, considering you did just kick him in the face.

Tsukishima Kei

Your face was being smothered in the navy blue silk pillow. Your ass was high in the air, and Kei was absolutely railing you.

Kei was wearing a black button up, with a clerical collar on. All the buttons on his shirt were undone except for the top one that was holding together the clerical collar.

Kei grabbed a fist full of your hair, and grabbed the gold chalice from the night stand. He finally stopped his brutal thrusting bringing the gold chalice to your plump swollen lips. “I think you deserve your reward now.” Inside the gold chalice was Kei’s thick warm cum.

“Th-Thank you Father Tsukishima...” You gently take the rim of the chalice between your lips, as he forces your head back. You take all of the cum into your mouth, drinking it all like a good saint.

Kei, pleased with you, decides to finally give you what you’ve been praying for all night.

Kei places the chalice back, and goes back to railing you but this time he’s rubbing your clit.

Kei rubs your clit at an uncomfortably fast pace, while resting his chin on your shoulder. “That’s it~ cum. Cum like a good little saint.”

Finally you cum all over his cock, squirting right after, all over the sheets, and his hand. You’re begging for him to stop but just like Wakatoshi he doesn’t. He just keeps it going.

Out of reaction, your leg kicks back. You smash your foot against his thigh, knocking him on top of you. His weight crushing you causes you to just collapse.

Kei had a nice tight grip on your shoulder with his left hand, while his right was smothering your face into the silk navy blue pillow. “That’s it! God you little sinner! Taking your pastor’s cock like such a slut.” Kei rutted deep inside you. His tip kissing your cervix, not long enough to touch it completely.

Kei ran his hand up the back of your head, then grabbed a fist full of your soft hair. Carefully pulling your head back. He snatched the gold chalice from the nightstand, and looked down at your exposed neck. “I think you deserve your reward now.”

“Th-Thank you Father Tsukishima..” You talk in a soft voice, trained to be a gentle talker, when in bed. Exception being your groans, and moans.

Kei brought the gold chalice to your lips, tipping the chalice. He watched as you quickly gulped up his warm thick cum, not wasting a single drop.

Pleased with you he decides to let you cum. “Good little saint. Now..You can cum.” Kei placed the chalice back, and grabbed a hold of your hips.

Kei pulled his cock from your aching cunt, watching it carefully. He did miss the warmth but that wasn’t going to stop him from teasing you. “Look at you..You’re so greedy, your little cunt, is pulsing around nothing. Desperate for something to fill it up. Oh well. I guess I should give in. You little sinner.”

Kei gripped your hips harder slamming his cock deep inside you, receiving a loud moan from you. Kei reached his hand down rubbing your clit at an uncomfortably fast pace.

“That’s it~ cum. Cum like a good little saint.” Kei rubs a bit faster then moving his fingers in a circular motion. Kei’s cock throbbed inside of you getting closer to cumming. He refused to cum first though.

You let out a loud cry of pleasure, throwing your head back, as your legs instinctively spread to get more of him. The veins on his cock rubbing against your walls perfectly. His tip pressing gentle kisses to your cervix despite the rough thrust. “Oh god!~ Pastor Tsukishima! Please! Please cum in me! Please I’ve been such a good saint!” You grip the silk pillow, releasing your cum all over his cock causing Kei to follow right behind.

Kei slowed down his fingers, letting out a long groan of pleasure. “F-Fuck! God I’ll fill you to the fucking brim bitch!” Kei tilted his head back feeling your cum drip down his member to his balls. Much to his surprise he then felt you squirt all over his fingers. He relaxed, as he came deep inside of you, filling you up with his thick hot cum. No doubt the sheets underneath you two were absolutely ruined.

Kei kept moving his fingers though, ignoring your pleas for him to stop. Kei was getting pretty cocky until your body twitches.

You just couldn’t control yourself, you needed to get away from the over stimulation. Your body naturally spasms, causing your leg to kick out as you cry out in pleasure.

Kei bit his lip pushing his glasses up with his left hand. The sudden kick threw him off causing him to fall forward, and on top of you.

You felt crushed underneath your boyfriend's weight. “O-Ow! Baby get off!” you let out a distressed sound.

Kei groaned in pain, at the way his body laid on you, and how his dick was situated in you. “Stop squirming! God damn it..” Kei carefully pulled his cock from your cunt, and watched as your mixed cum attached his cock to your aching cunt.

Kei took off his clerical collar then took off his shirt. “Are you alright baby?” Kei asked nervously, and watched as you nodded. “Good.” Kei flipped you over carefully then slid off his glasses putting them on the nightstand.

It didn’t even seem like that little disaster, even nicked his pride. “Now~ Where were we?” Kei let out a soft chuckle leaning down leaving open mouthed sloppy kisses on your neck. Listening to your cute little giggles, and your fingers running through his hair, that was a bit dirty from the sweat.

Oikawa Tōru

He was taking it slow. He was being all soft, telling you how precious you are. How beautiful, and perfect you are.

He was slowly fucking your warm, wet cunt.

It was heavenly, he was making you feel so special!

Until.

You fucked it all up by clawing at his pale back, and moaning out.

“A-Ah~ oh Tōru you’re a god~”

Instantly you regretted it.

Tōru had a mischievous shit eating grin right as those words left your mouth.

“A god huh? Well let your god show you how one would really fuck.”

That’s how it all started. He practically pressed your knees to your shoulders, and was using you like some cock sleeve.

You were being edged for a solid thirty minutes, until after begging, and begging, he allowed you to cum.

His pelvis was grinding against your swollen clit adding the friction you needed.

You didn’t even get a chance to cum, the way he grinded against your clit caused you to squirt all over his toned stomach, and over yourself, getting your juices on his cock as well.

He took that as your way of begging for more! So that’s just what he did.

Finally you couldn’t take it anymore.

Your eyes were squeezed tight, and you reached for his back but you were way off, and knocked him right in the nose, your nail cutting his cheek on accident. 

Your head threw back, as you let out a loud cry of pleasure. “ Tōru!~ Ah!~ Slow down! Please! Please!“ Your pleading wasn’t being tolerated though by Tōru.

“Shush now my beautiful flower, just relax, and let your god take care of you.” Tōru pinned your arms down to the bed, and leaned down. He forced his thumb into your mouth, prying it open. Once getting your mouth open, he spit in your mouth having you swallow it. “That’s it baby..~ you dirty little whore.”  Tōru gives you a mischievous smirk, and goes back to thrusting deeply inside you. Tōru made a grinding motion, his pelvis rubbing against your aching clit.

Your legs started to shake a little, and waves of pleasure were crashing over you. “You’re my God!” You cry out just to boost his ego.

You love how cocky Tōru can be, he’s happy and that’s all that matters but right now your little cunt was aching. “ Tōru~ slow down~ Please~” You find a way to finally quiet down a little. But the pleasure is so overwhelming.

Tōru looked down at you with a mischievous smirk. “Quit your bellyaching.” Tōru rolled his eyes then moved your legs so they were wrapped around his waist. Tōru rolled his hips rubbing against your slick walls, your heat was so inviting it had his eyes rolling into the back of his head. “F-Fuck y/n~ god your pussy feels so good!”

Tōru pulled his upper body back a bit, and continued to roll his hips deep inside your wet cunt. “Do you like that baby girl?” Tōru ask, rolling his hips faster again, watching your back arch.

“Y-Yes! Oh god yes!” Your back lifted from the cotton sheets, and you quickly reached for hair, while your eyes were squeezed tight.

That’s when it happened....

SMACK! Right in the nose. Next thing you knew Tōru was wailing in pain. Your eyes snapped open seeing Tōru holding his nose.

Tōru covered his nose then hesitantly uncovered it. “I-Is it bad?” He asked you curiously, blood pouring from his nose.

“Oh god Tōru! Quick pinch your nose!” You held back a moan as Tōru  pulled from your cunt. He pinched his nose, and tilted his head back. “Oh god I’m so sorry! Hold on! Hold on!” You quickly stood from the bed, and scrambled to get tissues for your boyfriend.

After an hour of trying to get his nose to stop bleeding you finally did. You were apologizing a numerous number of times hoping he’ll forgive you for nearly breaking his nose.

“Baby, baby! It’s fine! I promise, it hurts, but it‘s fine!” Tōru let out a soft chuckle, and slid on his light blue briefs.

He pulled you close to him holding you in his arms. You both just held on tight to each other, lazily kissing each other's lips.

[littleoldrachel]

"well, it's the thought that counts"

for the wonderful @rachfielden-xo who literally sent this in a month ago (sorrrrry and thank you!!) and asked for well, it's the thought that counts with scott and alan from this prompt list.

this legit turned into scott teaching alan to make pancakes and i'm not even mad about it. the recipe the boys are using is [here].

[if you wanna prompt me, hmu!]

*~*~*~*~*

There are lots of things Alan doesn’t understand.

Black holes. Why his momma isn’t coming back ever again. The reason a Mars sunset streaks blue. Why Virgil has become some soulless cavity and John won’t say a word. How, despite year after year of technological advances, there’s still no evidence of alien lifeforms out there.

Why Scott never has time for him anymore.

It’s been days since Scott even said more than a few words to Alan, weeks since he last crushed Scott at videogames - he hasn’t even taken him to the park since -

Well.

And it’s not that he doesn’t love spending time with his other brothers; Gordon annoys the heck out of him on a daily basis but makes him laugh till it hurts far more. John is the one who gets him, who refuses to dumb down scientific explanations, who shares his passion for all things space. And Virgil - Virgil Before, that is - is the only person who knows how to hug him just right, who listens no matter how banal Alan’s worries are.

He loves them so much his heart might explode apart like a zombie’s head meeting his videogame character’s bazooka - except Alan’s not ever leaving them, not ever, not now he knows what that does to them all.

It’s just that Scott is fast turning into Dad, notable only by his absence.

And Alan doesn’t need another one of those.

More than that though, he can see the way his brother is running himself ragged trying to be mother and father and everything in between, and despite Virgil’s interventions and John’s best efforts, it’s not getting any better.

Which is where Alan comes in.

Alan is going to save his brother because he’s no baby, despite what everyone thinks.

What he lands on is simple but effective: he’s going to make Scott his favourite breakfast and draw him a card to say thank you, because he wants Scott to know Alan sees everything he’s doing to keep them afloat.

The card is straightforward enough - he’s no Virgil, but he’s pretty sure it’s clearly a rocket that he’s drawn. His tongue pokes out as he colours in as carefully as he can, only going over the lines a few times. He draws himself and Scott in the window of the rocket, grinning wildly (perhaps a little manically if he’s being honest) and adds Mars to the background.

Inside, in wobbly, looping script he prints:

Deer Scotty

Thanks for bing the best. I love you.

Love

Alan

Mission: Amazing Card - completed.

Now he just needs to make the pancakes.

Right then. First step is the ingredients.

In theory, this should be straightforward enough. Alan has seen Scott do this numerous times, had half-listened when Virgil taught John, and has eaten more of these pancakes than he can begin to count (but never enough!).

Alan pushes a chair against the counter, uses it to hoist himself onto the surface, and scrambles to the cupboard.

He knows that there’s a mountain of flour involved, because the little puffs of white powder always fluff through the sieve and make him sneeze. What he didn’t anticipate was that there would be different types of flour, in neat colour coded packages. He picks red, because it’s his favourite colour, and dumps as much of it as he can through the sieve, poking at it with his fingers to push it through.

It doesn’t look as neat as when Scott does it, and the entire surface is already dusted with flour, but most of it is in the bowl, so he’s doing okay.

He goes for brute strength with the eggs, smashing them into the side of the bowl. Little pieces of shell slide into the mixture with the yolk, but it’s so slippery he can’t get them out. Fingers coated in sloppy flour, he retreats. Maybe Scott won’t mind the crunchiness.

The milk carton is far heavier than Alan anticipated, and he loses his grip on the condensation-slick handle, watching in slo-mo horror as a glug of milk hits the side of the bowl, ricochets off it -

And splat!

It lands straight on top of Alan’s card, and Alan -

He’s not going to cry, he’s not -

His mom always said he shouldn’t cry over spilt milk, except this time it’s ruined everything.

Milk drips off the counter and Alan clenches his fists, willing the baby inside him to shut up. Eventually, the upset reassembles itself into a grumpiness that has him whisking furiously. The mixture slops all over the place, decorating the floor, countertop and his too-big apron with splatters of batter. It’s a lot runnier than Scott’s usually is, but by now Alan Does Not Care, he just wants to get this done and hug Scotty.

He’s just standing in front of the oven, wondering which dial is for which of the flame things, when the kitchen door opens.

Sixteen-year-old Scott, whose eyes have circles far deeper and greyer than they have any right to be, is standing there, and Alan becomes Very Aware all of a sudden of what the kitchen must look like through Scott’s eyes:

Flour absolutely everywhere (he can feel on his eyelashes and tickling his nose), little pools of batter all over the floor, Alan with his hand on the stove to work out how to make the fire come out -

“What the hell.”

Scott takes a deep breath, presses the heel of his hand to his eyes and says, “what are you doing, Alan?”

Alan forces himself to stand up tall like Dad always says. “Making you breakfast.”

There’s a pause, and Scott surveys the disaster zone once more. “I can see that,” he says finally, voice a little faint.

Alan swallows because this isn’t at all like he wanted it to go, but he brandishes the bowl of batter and does his best to peel the card from the surface. “For you!”

Scott stares, but takes the bowl. “Is this.... pancake mix?”

Alan nods eagerly, “your favourite! And here.”

The cursed milk smudged his amazing drawing, but it’s still sort of a rocket. Scott carefully prises open the card, and his whole body softens as he reads the message inside. “Allie,” he manages, “Allie, this is so -”

He presses a fist to his mouth and Alan watches in horror as his Neptune eyes shine overly-bright. This was supposed to be a nice thing, but he got it all wrong -

“I’m sorry,” Alan cries, flinging himself at Scott in a hug. “Don’t cry, I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to make such a mess -”

“Allie, no -” Scott’s voice is firmer now, but Alan can’t bear to look at him falling apart like Virgil and John and Dad, because Scott is Scott and he can’t fall apart. It will obliterate Alan’s heart like a grenade in a zombie hideout if he has to see Scott cry.

Scott crouches though, and Alan’s forced to make eye contact. He’s relieved to see that Scott’s face has lost its sadness.

“Thank you so much for all of this, Allie,” Scott says, so sincere and so strongly, it washes something warm and safe over Alan’s shoulders.

“But it’s t-t-terrible! The pancakes are all wrong and I don’t know how to cook them and the card got milked and - and -” Alan can hear the wail in his voice and he resents it; it knocks hard into the defiant figure inside him that insists I’m not a baby!

“It’s not terrible, Allie. It’s - it’s lovely.”

“You’re saying that to make me feel better.” He can’t help but pout.

“No, I mean it. I love it - all of it.”

“Even the mess?”

“Even the mess.”

“Why?”

“Because… Well, it’s the thought that counts, Allie.”

Alan wrinkles his nose and Scott grins, using his sleeve to wipe off some of the stray flour. “I mean it. The fact that you wanted to do something nice for me makes me really happy.”

Alan hmphs, but tucks himself into Scott’s side and Scott obliges, squeezing him tight in one of those cuddles Alan has missed so much.

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, Allie, but I love you and I’m gonna do better, ‘kay?”

Alan stiffens and pulls away. “Wait no! That’s what this was for, Scotty.” He wants to stamp his foot in frustration so bad, but knows that’s Baby Behaviour and so he settles for a scowl. “I don’t want you trying to do more when you already do everything! I just miss you, I don’t need you to do anything better. I just need Scotty.”

Scott is blinking too fast for the second time in ten minutes. “Did Virg put you up to this?” he says a little hoarsely.

Alan frowns. “No. But if he thinks the same thing, shouldn’t you be listening?”

Scott’s eyes widen, and he ducks his head, covers his eyes again.

Alan goes back in for a hug, presses his cheek into Scott’s chest and listens to the steady thump-thump of his heart. He feels Scott take a deep breath and put his armour back up, and Alan’s heart makes a sad little clench.

“What do you say we make some pancakes together? Ones that are actually edible?” Scott clambers to his feet with a grin.

“Hey! They would be!” Alan protests, but then he looks back at the mixture, which is congealing in watery lumps and he fights a smile.

“But first,” Scott flattens the card and clips it to the fridge with a magnet, and Alan -

Alan’s heart skips.

It’s been a long time since any of them - even Virgil - have had anything hung on the fridge. But his little card - his silly, ruined card - is up there in pride of place and that means more to him than he knows what to do with.

Scott ruffles his hair, dislodging the flour that’s gathered itself there, and for once Alan doesn’t have the words to protest. Scott half-turns, catches Alan’s lost expression, and shoots him the gentlest of smiles.

“Ready to make the best pancakes in the world?”

As if he even needs to ask.

Scott easily sorts through the cupboard, drawing out the blue flour, a pot of baking powder, and some sugar. It’s all white.

“Why do they have to make all the important stuff the same colour?” Alan complains, and Scott laughs, loudly and easily. It’s a wonderful sound.

“Here’s something that’s a different colour,” Scott says, tossing eggs between his palms with an assured ease. “It’s egg time.”

He passes one to Alan, and Alan goes to smash it against the bowl, when -

“Wait!”

Alan pauses, mid-swing, and Scott plucks the egg from him.

“Gently, Allie. Like this.”

Scott repositions his hands so that his grip on the egg is looser, then gently moves his wrist to give one sharp tap against the side of the bowl. The egg breaks, golden yolk dripping out, but miraculously, no shell escapes.

“Reckon you can do the next one on your own?” Scott asks, and Alan nods at once. He looks to Scott to check he’s doing it right, and every time Scott is there to meet his gaze.

(As he always is, always will be).

Scott helps him to lift the milk carton, and between them, they pour it into a little well that Scott instructs him to dig in the mixture. Scott hands Alan a whisk with a solemnity that Alan recognises from Gordon’s pranks, and sure enough, no sooner than he’s taken it, Scott is brandishing a spatula and yelling “en garde!” and then it’s all out war.

“Loser has to whisk the mixture!” Scott says between parries, and Alan knows he’s being deliberately slow and clumsy but if that’s how he wants to play, then so be it. Alan blocks a few of Scott’s easy strikes, and feigns left, before darting right to jab him in the ribs.

“Victory!” he yells.

Scott crashes to his knees in mock agony. “You got me!”

Alan pushes the bowl towards him smugly. “Your punishment.”

“So merciful.”

“No talking! Only whisking!”

With Scott’s expert hands, the batter turns into a smooth, creamy mixture, and he guides Alan as the chocolate chips are poured in. “And now we fold.”

“Fold? Like paper?”

Scott grins, and Alan scowls. “Don’t laugh at me.”

“Sorry kiddo. Like this.” Scott shows Alan a gentle scraping motion that turns the mixture towards the centre of the bowl.

“Are we there yet?” The chocolate chips are making Alan’s mouth water, and as messy and inaccurate as his recipe might have been, it was at least quicker.

“Nearly. Let me just heat the pan.”

Scott dashes the pan with a blob of butter, and smiles softly as it begins to sizzle and melt, before he turns sharply to Alan.

“Hey, Allie?”

“Mm?”

“Please don’t use the stove without me or Virg there, okay?”

A ladle of pancake batter goes into the pan, and Alan stares at it in anticipation.

“But it was an emergency.”

“And you could have asked Virg, even if you wanted to surprise me.”

Alan frowns, crosses his arms. “He wouldn’t have helped, he’s always in bed these days.” Scott swallows, the crease of concern back between his eyebrows and Alan’s heart sinks. “I didn’t mean that. He would help, really.”

“He’s just really sad, Allie. Give him some time.”

“We’re all really sad,” Alan says, in a smaller voice than he intends.

There’s a pause, and Scott says, equally small, “I know.”

Scott removes the pan, passes it to Alan, and gently adjusts his grip, until -

“One, two, three, flip!”

The pancake does a perfect somersault, landing uncooked side down in the pan, and Scott beams, even though his eyes look so sad.

Silence falls once more, and Alan finally looks up at Scott, surprised when he’s already watching him.

“I love you, Allie. So much.”

Alan blinks, but the words come easily - he’s not yet at Gordon’s age where such declarations are Deeply Embarrassing. “Love you, Scotty.”

“I know the last few months have been really rough,” Scott says slowly, as though he’s measuring each word out like ingredients. “But never forget that I love you and all of us love you. It’s okay to be sad, but you don’t need to deal with it on your own, okay?”

Alan nods, tucks himself into Scott’s side once more, because the contact feels more important than words right now. Heck, he doesn’t even know what he could say to that. It’s everything he knows technically, but hearing it said out loud? It hits different in a way that knocks all the words right out of his head.

On cue, the pancake has turned into a golden-brown puffed up beauty, and Scott grins widely.

“Bets on who’ll be the first to smell this and make their way down to join in?”

Alan laughs. “Definitely Gordon.”

“Nah, Virg has a weird sixth sense about pancakes.”

*~*~*~*~*

They’re both wrong as it turns out.

John slinks into the kitchen, followed shortly after by a bright-eyed Gordon (“that doesn’t count, Allie!” “Does too!” “Does not!”) and a dull-eyed Virgil.

Whilst Scott and Alan stack up the pancakes, Scott corrals the others into beginning the clean-up process. There’s some good-natured ribbing about the Disaster pancake mixture, which has started solidifying alarmingly quickly, and Virgil spots the card on the fridge, turning to Alan with the first genuine smile he’s seen from him in so long.

Everyone is ravenous by the time there are a sufficient amount of pancakes for them all, and then it’s every man for himself as they wrestle for sauces and squabble over the last pancakes.

It’s the first time they’ve all eaten a meal together in so long, and it’s the best gift he could have ever given Scott, even though he couldn’t have planned the highs and lows of this particular adventure. Virgil is actually laughing about something with Gordon, and John is inserting the occasional comment with a smile, and Scott -

Scott meets Alan’s eyes with a proud smile.

Alan’s heart feels like it’s actually glowing, a soft, golden light in his chest, because he did that - he and Scott.

They make a good team.

And they always will.

[lue-arlert]

Lue!! Congrats on 100 followers!! <3 I would pretty please like to meet up with Armin, NSFW pls bc I'm a whore. I also wouldn't mind being a sugar baby.

Sandie my love thank you so so much 🥺🥺🖤

I hope you enjoy your date with Armin 🥰🥰

WC: 1.7k

18+ minors and ageless blogs do not interact

The strangest date a sugar daddy has ever wanted to take you on was mini golfing.

You couldn’t say you weren’t excited, you were gonna get burgers and ice cream beforehand, and the simplicity of the date was a nice change of pace from others trying to constantly feed you calamari and wine—you could only handle so much of it.

Though, you were still confused about why he had you dress up in such an expensive dress, glimmering and soft in the sunlight, just for a $10 game of mini golf—but he did a great job planning ahead and buying you a comfortable pair of flats instead of stilettos to go with your dress.

He wanted to meet you at the ice cream parlor, saying he was running late from work and didn’t want you stuck at home looking so pretty when you could be out showing off your new outfit—even if you were just sitting in the parking lot.

Soon, while you were biting your nails against your car, a nice shiny black car rolled up beside you, and Armin Arlert stepped out in all his blond, dorky looking glory.

He wasn’t like any sugar daddy you’d ever had. He was younger than others, his hair fluffed and hanging in his eyes with a nice buzzed undercut, a button nose sitting between his baby fat cheeks, and his suits never appeared to be extremely expensive. In fact, he hardly ever wore a full suit. It was mostly just a nice pair of slacks and a wrinkled button up shirt tucked into them with simple loafers on his feet.

He smiled at you, taking your hand and kissing the back of it. “I hope you weren’t waiting too long, I’m sorry again for being late.”

“It’s okay.” You grinned up at him and slipped your arm into his, letting him walk you inside.

Your lunch was delicious—a cheeseburger with all the fixings, crispy fries and a cold soft drink, then your favorite ice cream in a crunchy cone.

Getting to know him was a lot of fun. He surprisingly had similar interests with you, so it was easier to bond with him and make jokes and tell stories about your life.

You kept getting stares from people who were dressed in just tee shirts and lawn-mowed tennis shoes, and it was getting Armin riled up. He loved when people could ogle at what was his, that he could show off his money, even in a humble environment such a burger joint ice cream parlor.

When other men would look at you, he just knew that they were trying to undress you with their eyes, the way they gazed over your shoulders and legs.

Armin couldn’t wait to be the one undressing you.

He paid for the golf balls and putters, holding your hand between rounds, touching your back to help you get the right posture for a hole-in-one, kissing the side of your head when you got excited about a hole-in-two.

It was when you bent down to rest your ball on the tee at a particular round, he suddenly lost it.

Glancing around, he made sure there weren’t any other patrons nearby, and he scooped you up by your waist, pulling a startled yelp from you, and carried you over to a large tunnel shaped like a barn that one would walk through to get to the next course.

There was a small bench in it, which he carefully placed you on and sat himself between your knees, pushing you back against the wall and kissing you ferociously.

You were still in a state of shock, having to take a moment to process what was happening, but you finally kissed him back with your arms around his neck, sighing happily through your nose.

His lips were warm and soft against yours, his nose bumping yours as he tilted his head, sliding his tongue into your mouth while his hands traveled up your sides.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him against you, and you could feel the bulge in his pants pressing into your core.

You couldn’t help the moan you let out at this contact, and it only fueled the fire that was burning inside of him.

Armin pulled away from your lips and latched onto your neck, his hands finding their place over your tits and massaging and squeezing, growling at the plump mounds in his palms.

Your body felt so good against his, the way your curves were flush against him, the way your hips absently rocked against his, your arms draped over his shoulders and hands in his blond locks.

He couldn’t wait any longer and pulled the front of your dress down, exposing your breasts as he leaned down to suck on one, then pushing your dress skirt up to your hips and pulling your thighs apart.

You moaned at his touches and kisses, and when his hand slipped between the two of you and his fingers found your clit, you all but melted against him, your body relaxing at the feeling of the little swirls over the bud.

And when he slipped a finger into your panties and pushed them aside, dipping into the hole of your cunt, you let out a shaky whimper as his knuckles dragged along your insides, leaving you twitching and rolling your hips.

“A-Armin—”

“‘Daddy’,” he corrected you against your throat.

“Daddy—! Someone, someone will see us.”

“Let them, pretty.” He finished the second hickey on your neck and kissed up to your ear, curling his fingers inside of you. “Let someone see how beautiful you are, how sweet you sound moaning for me.”

He pulled back and looked into your eyes as he continued to finger you, biting his smiling lip when he watched your jaw drop. “Does that feel good, baby?”

“So good, daddy,” you whimpered, your head falling back against the wall.

“Do you wanna cum on my fingers or on my cock?” He nipped at your lips and you whined, grabbing his shoulders.

“Your cock, daddy.” You slid your hands up to his face and pulled him into another kiss, to which he groaned and nodded against you.

Armin’s fingers slid out of you and he quickly made work on his belt and pants, pulling his thick length from his briefs.

“Gonna fuck you real good, baby. You want that? Want me to fuck you on my cock?”

“Please, daddy, want you to fuck me.” You nodded and slid your fingers into his hair, gasping when he rubbed his tip through your wet folds.

“Hope someone catches us,” he chuckled, wrapping an arm around your waist while his other hand positioned himself at your hole. “Want them to see how beautiful you look getting fucked by me.”

Before you could comment on this, he sheathed himself inside of you, making your jaw drop into a silent O, and Armin took great pleasure in seeing you in the hazy state.

“Everything okay, baby?” He asked in a condescending tone, grabbing your face as he began to thrust in and out of you at a steady pace.

You let out a shaky moan and nodded, your knees pulling closer to your exposed chest.

Armin chuckled again and brushed his thumbs on the corners of your lips, staring at how your mouth hung open, before he slid a thumb over your tongue, making you gasp.

“Suck,” he commanded, grunting with another thrust.

You immediately followed his word and wrapped your lips around the digit, hollowing your cheeks to pull him deeper into your mouth, running your wet tongue over his skin and nail.

He let out a breathy moan and continued to rock into you, his balls slapping against your ass as he quickened his pace.

You wrapped a hand around his wrist, holding his hand against your face as you continued to suck on his thumb, your teary eyes looking into his cloudy blue ones.

The tightness of your lips over his finger had Armin growling, mimicking the tightness of your pussy around his cock.

He removed his thumb and kissed you quickly, roughly, before pulling back again and resting his forehead on yours. “I’ll buy you something nice if you let me cum in you baby,” he whispered.

“Daddy,” you whimpered, holding onto him tightly. “Don’t need—don’t need nice—unng—please just cum in me.”

He laughed in your face, gripping your hips and holding you steady as he fucked you harder and faster, feeling you close to your own release and drawing your orgasm from you in an instant, bringing his mouth to yours so he could drink in your moans and cries, grunting as you squeezed and clenched around his cock.

“Gonna cum, baby,” he warned, brushing some of your hair away from your sweaty face and neck. “Gonna fill you.”

“F-fill me, daddy.” You nodded, eyes screwing shut as you began to grow overstimulated.

Armin held your jaw and kissed you again as he shot his load into you, spurt after spurt of his seed painting your insides and spilling out the sides of your hole down his length.

“Fuck, you did so good for me baby.” He shoved his tongue into your mouth and pulled out of you, quickly looking down to watch his essence drip out of you onto the bench and asphalt beneath you.

A sound drew both of your attention to the end of the tunnel, a couple standing in shock at the sight of him between your legs.

When Armin caught a glimpse of the tent in the man’s pants, he smirked and lifted your leg by your ankle to show off your trembling, dripping pussy while you squeaked nervously.

“Isn’t she beautiful? She did so well for me.” He kissed your calf and lowered your leg again, helping fix you back up and pulling you to your feet, dusting off the back of your dress.

He guided you out of the tunnel, passing a wink to the couple as he wedged past them, while you buried your face into his arm, embarrassed (and weirdly excited) about having been caught.

Maybe you could try this again sometime—fuck in public, and hope that Armin can show you off again.

Lue Arlert’s 100 Follower First Date Event - CLOSED

[remmushound]

Chapter 9 - Dinner Drama!

Summary: The Splintersons have a look around the home and then try to enjoy their dinner with their hosts.

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry

After a swift perimeter check to ease their nerves, the visitors finally started to settle into the lair. It was still so new, so enclosed, that Leo couldn’t see himself being comfortable any time soon. Not until he could confidently locate all the exits, and all the entrances, and where weapons were stored. Not until everything was as secure and as open as his lair was. It wasn’t his right to change the place, but it was his right to not feel comfortable when there were so many places enemies could be hiding unseen. So many dark corners, concealed cubbies that could be hiding threats. So much potential for danger.

When Leo got an opportunity alone with Leonardo, he immediately knew what he wanted to ask. “Hey Leonardo, is your Raph still… you know, calling the shots?”

Leonardo had been anticipating that question all day. He gave a pointedly loud sigh and rolled his eyes as he slumped around to be facing his counterpart, “You ask that every time we see each other. You know that?”

Leo felt his cheek grow hot and his head shrank slightly. Trying to save face, he was quick to defend himself. “Well— a lot can change in six months!”

“Six months…” Leonardo sighed again, and this time it was more genuine and heavy. The revelation of just how long it had been washed over him like an icy bucket of water. Yes, it had been six months, hadn’t it? The time seemed to slip away from him. “Yeah… and a lot has changed. But that hasn’t.”

“I just figured… your whole situation would have changed by now. Especially with you boys growing up.” Leo made an effort to explain, awkward now that he knew he was wrong in his assumption. And he had been so certain too! Since he and his brothers had arrived, Leonardo was acting so confident, so much like a leader! Had Leo just imagined all that?

“Well you figured wrong.” Leonardo said, and now his voice had a defensive edge, “Raphael is just as capable as ever. He is and will always be our leader. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, no, not at all!” Leo put his hands up in an offering of peace, “i was just wondering.”

“Yeah.” Leonardo made sure to side-check Leo as he passed, “Sure you were.”

~~~

“Hey little Mike, you got a minute?” Raph waved at the smaller version of his brother.

Michelangelo looked back, and then skipped over to Raph while humming a happy, upbeat tune. “You’re really risking it all by calling me little again~! What do you need?”

“Er…” It took Raph a second to brush past the threat laced into the happy voice, “Just… y’know… I saw a pool during the tour and was wonderin’ if it was recreational or jus’ for training?”

“Well we usually swim laps in it for warmups, but I don’t see why you couldn’t swim whenever. We got floaties if you need ‘em! Mine have sharks on them!”

Raph grinned. “Do they now?”

Michelangelo nodded eagerly. “Yeah! I’m not allowed to go in the pool without them cause I can’t swim so good.”

“Aw.” Raph nodded along, “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah! I‘m too heavy— I sink like a rock! Can you swim?”

“Eh, more or less.” Raph gave a so-so motion. “If my life depended on it, sure. Never really had much access to water that wasn’t a cesspool or Amazon river.” He shivered at the memory of being dropped in the water, the current pulling him and his brothers along like they were little more than skipping stones.

“Oo! Sounds fun!” Michelangelo chirped, “But do be mindful of Piebald; she likes to swim in there sometimes!”

“Piebald?”

“Oh, she’s a mutant goldfish. She was dad’s pet, but then we flushed her and she mutated and then pretended to hunt us with a hook, but it was really all just an elaborate prank from her and dad to punish us for lying.”

Raph stared. “Oh.”

“Yeah, but she’s totally nice now and not at all sadistic and revenge-driven! No worries.”

“Wasn’t worried at all.” Raph lied.

~~~

After their quick assessment, Leonardo and Donnie had come to the decision that Mikey needed the simplest medicine of all: rest. Raphael had been more than happy to stay with Mikey until the turtles could adjust to the new environment, but exactly when that would happen was anyone's guess. Mikey was sat in Raphael’s bed, wrapped in the snappers heaviest comfort blanket and hugging Cheech as he listened to the snapper chatter with all the joy of a child. Klunk had settled in and was sleeping on Mikey’s lap in a tight orange ball, purring to his hearts content.

“Oh oh oh!” Mikey chirped quickly, “Tell me more about the capybara tell me more about the capybaraaa!”

“His name’s Todd.” Raphael indulged, “He owns a puppy farm in the woods near here.”

“Puppies..” Mikey sniffled softly and hugged Cheech tighter, “This day just keeps getting better and better. Are he and the mantis friends?”

“Todd’s friends with everyone.” Raphael answered.

“Oh my gaaaawwdd…” Mikey fell back down on his carapace, laughing weakly as he stared up at the ceiling. “That’s awesome…”

Raph moved to carefully reposition Cheech in a way that Mikey could still hug him while laying down, fixing the blanket and pillows to make sure the shinobi was as comfortable as possible. Mikey’s eyes were closed now, the stuffed bear drawn to his chest as he laid peacefully. Raphael stood slowly and made his way to the door.

The moment Raphael’s hand touched the handle, Mikey sat up straight. “Where are you going?”

“Oh— sorry. I thought you were asleep.” Raphael said, and he returned to Mikey’s side.

Mikey settled back into the bed, cuddling deeper into the blankets and giving a series of high pitched chirps that eventually faded to nothing. Raphael gave it a few more minutes before slowly getting up and going to leave again.

Like Dracula out of his coffin, Mikey sat up again and spoke so suddenly that Raphael couldn’t help but flinch. “What about the other mutants?”

Raphael took a deep breath as he spun around on his heels to face the turtle who still wasn’t asleep. “What do you wanna about them?”

Mikey grinned. “Everything!”

***


Donnie didn't think anything could top him meeting Shelldon that night— and then he saw Donatello’s lab for the first time. The beautifully artistic designs mixed with a generally futuristic style made for a gorgeous display of technological genius . Just like Donnie’s own lab, Donatello had several screens activated at once, scanners and alarms and traps all set to be activated at the simple trip of a sensor. The entire room was lit up in a peculiar violet hue, almost as if it was under one big black light. If that was the case, then Donatello certainly kept his room spotless.

“Oh my kami…” Donnie gulped, his eyes emeralds in the darkness. “Can I live here? I wanna live here…”

“You gotta pay rent.” Donatello said.

“I’d give anything to have my lab like this!”

“Would you give your right cornea?” Donatello leaned against the wall.

“Eh, my eyes are useless. I would give up a kidney or a gallbladder though.” 

“I’ll grab the bone saw.”

“I’ll sign the consent form…”

***

“Dinner is served!” Michelangelo presented a simple dish of pizza gyoza to the table; one could say it was just homemade pizza rolls, but that ruined the magic! Besides, they were more doughy like a dumpling than anything crunchy. 

The two families were gathered around and eager to eat, seated around two tables that had been pressed together to make enough room for ten diners; each set of brothers were on opposite sides of the table, while the heads of the table were reserved for the Splinter’s. The absence of one of the two fathers didn't go unnoticed.

“Itadakimasu.” Splinter said to the proud Michelangelo, “The food looks delicious. Won’t your father be joining us?”

Another chill came to the room. Another exchange of unsettled looked.

“Dad asked not to be disturbed.” Leonardo said simply.

The Hamato family turned their eyes to their food, working with the same mind to scarf down the gyoja as fast as possible, filling their mouths so they wouldn’t have to speak. The Splinterson family took the same opportunity to look around at each other, all but Mikey having the same, constricted looks on their faces; Mikey was already lost in his own mind, his eyes blank as he smiled and shoveled the offered dinner into his mouth.

“Surely your father would prefer to eat his supper while it is still hot?” Splinter insisted.

Raphael stood abruptly. His plastron bumped into the table and made the dishes clink and glasses splash with the force of his motion, but chair screaming as it was pushed back.

“You know what? You’re right.” Raphael hurried to gather another plate and pile it with gyoji, his eyes avoiding Splinter’s as he piled the dinner on a tray with freshly brewed tea. “I’ll bring this to him right away.”

When Raphael left, he took the conversation with him. He returned minutes later but the air of the room remained quiet and tense. Eager to break the silence, Leo finished off the last of his gyoji.

“Gochi sou sama deshita.” He said, and bowed to Michelangelo, “And while I am thankful for your hospitality— we all are— this isn’t a social visit. We really need to get back to our world. Can your gift do that, Donatello?”

“Should be able to.” Donatello said with a nod, “It was designed for two trips, here and back.”

“Great, then what are we waiting for?” Leo looked around for an answer but no one offered one, “Those creatures are still in our world, could be targeting our people, our city!”

“We need a plan first Leo.” Donnie tried to reason, “We can’t just run in blind.”

“Then we should be planning instead of just hanging out!”

“Can’t plan on an empty stomach.” Michelangelo said, pointing his chopsticks at Leo. “We’re eating!”

A sharp hiss came from Leo’s throat. “Don’t. Point. It’s rude.”

Michelangelo put his chopsticks back down and shrank away from the violent hiss, the retreat as instinctual to him as going into his shell.

“Leonardo…” Splinter tried to reason, “Please settle down and allow us to have a nice supper before discussing.”

“But we need to discuss this now!”

Leo’s disobedience of his father made his brothers gasp, Raph pulling back slightly while Mikey even broke out of his minds wandering to tune back in. Leo flinched at his backtalk and fell into a quick, clumsy bow.

“Shitsurei shimashita, sensei.” Leo said in a low voice before regaining his composure, “I just feel like these guys aren’t taking this situation seriously.”

“And I feel like you expect us to pull a solution out of our asses.” Leonardo hissed back.

“Now now, there’s no need for vulgarity…” Splinter tried.

“I’m not suggesting that you have the answers, I suggesting we need to find them instead of doing house tours!” Leo snarled back.

“If you don’t like it, you can get out.” Leonardo didn't back down.

“Leo, it’s fine, cool it.” Donnie tried to mediate, grabbing a hold of his brother’s arm; he was almost convinced Leo might lunge over the table at his smaller counterpart if this went on for much longer.

“I am cool!” Leo pulled his arm free, knocking Donnie back in the process. That got Raph involved, the box turtle standing up ready to confront his brother. Before he got so much as a word out, however…

“Everybody COOL IT!” Raphael slammed his fists down on the table.

The table splintered under Raphael’s slamming weight, chips of wood flying out like dangerous projectiles. The words, with all the force of a hurricane knocking trees out from their roots, brought a silent stalemate. Raphael looked pissed. His eyes were white, entire body like a taut wire that would snap at the slightest breaths. His nostrils flares, and when he had screamed, white, foaming spittle flew across the table. Now, it dripped down his lopsided jaw and chin.

“Not another word.” Raphael said, this time calmer as he left the table once more. All eyes followed him to the doorway to find a small, gray rat standing there watching them.

Yoshi’s mouth was pulled down in a tight frown, eyes glossy. His paws, shaky as they were, held his tray of dirty dishes that he had been intent on cleaning; for now, he just… stared. His fur seemed several shades paler, his hair tangled and unkept, and though it was hard to tell through the clothes. he looked skinny. The mutant looked around at the table, at the turtles and the rat he had paid many visits to, but when his eyes passed over them they held no recollection. No memory. Just dark confusion, empty and cold.

“Dad…” Leonardo said softly, but at Raphael’s threatening chuff, Leonardo said nothing more.

“Hey pops— here, let me get that for you…” Raphael took the tray from his father and hurried over to throw them haphazardly into the sink. He came back after, his massive hand completely engulfing Yoshi’s back to guide the old rat away away. Yoshi followed the snapper at a slow gait, though his feet dragged as if they were made of the heaviest lead and it took a while for him to get anywhere. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed okay?”

Everyone watched as the father and son disappeared out of the dining room, none of them daring to breathe, nonetheless utter a word.

[lonelyboxpet]

little wolf

chapter six: Friends

cw: non-human whumpee, monster whumpee, slight noncon touching? (hugging Pet even though its scared), self-depreciation / negative self talk, brief mention of past punishments, implied being forced to fight in the past, some cuddling n fluff bc Pet deserves it

tagging: @whumpthisway @carolinethedragon @thehurtsandthecomfurts @oracle-of-maybe

A week passed by and Pet started to get used to its new life, or at least it looked like it. Pet was still skinny and visibly starved, but it was starting to look slightly better, and it flinched less when he touched it.

He took it on a few walks in the local park, knowingly choosing the least busy route to make sure not to frighten Pet by the attention it would be getting if they walked through a more frequented part. He wondered if it's able to use its wings, but they haven't tried it yet.

Javier decided that it was about time to show his new companion to his friends. Pet seemed anxious about it, but he reassured it it will be alright.

,,They´re gonna love you,” he said and ruffled Pet´s grey fur, ,,don´t worry. They can act like a bunch of crackheads, but they´re friendly. You´re gonna get along, little one.”

Pet pressed its head into Master´s palm and desperately hoped that he´s right.

It watched him prepare cookie dough and clean the apartment from its cage, a little nervous that it can´t help him. Master noticed that.

,,Hey, little one, do you think you can, eh, hold this pillow for a bit? I need to vacuum the couch cause there are crumbles everywhere and, i don´t wanna leave it on the floor.”

Pet perked up and hurried to help him, happy that it could finally do something. Master chuckled and handed it a pillow.

,,Here. Hold it.”

Pet slowly opened its mouth and took the pillow gently, careful not to accidentally lick it. Master would be surely mad if the pillow got all soaked up with its saliva.

,,Great, buddy, you´re helping me so much,” Javier praised it with a big grin as he got out all the crumbles from the depths of his couch. ,,Perfect. Thank you, little one.”

He took the pillow from Pet´s mouth and Pet quickly stepped aside so it wouldn't get in the way.

They cleaned the rest this way - Javier always asked Pet to hold something, while he did the rest, and the creature seemed a bit less anxious when he put it into use. They were done pretty quickly and Javier then took out the cookies from the oven, letting them cool on the rack. He glanced on the watch on his wrist and then looked at Pet.

,,They should arrive soon, little one,” he smiled.

Pet softly chirped, its feathers a little ruffled. It was nervous.

Master crouched next to it and Pet quickly lowered, keeping its eyes down. Master softly lifted its chin and scratched it gently.

,,There´s nothing to be afraid of,” he reassured. ,,If it's too much for you, you can simply go and hide in my bedroom, okay? I won't be mad.”

Pet nodded. Hiding in Master's bedroom sounded so tempting, but it knew that Master wanted to show it off and it didn't want to disappoint him. It quietly whined. Master smiled and scratched its ears.

,,Good pet.”

Pet felt a warm swirling feeling in its stomach when he praised it. A purr escaped its throat. It half-closed its eyes and enjoyed Master´s touch.

The doorbell rang and Pet flinched, instantly becoming scared again. Its fur bristled and it curled up, looking at the door anxiously.

,,Don´t worry, pal. It'll be okay, alright?” Master repeated and got up, leaving to open the door. Pet clinged to the side of the couch and started shivering, waiting for Master and his friends to arrive.

,,Javi! Hey, bro, we haven't seen you for so long!”

,,Where's the pet? Oh my god, I need to see it, now!”

,,Dude, I missed you so much…”

The voices filled the apartment, loud and warm, and Pet shuffled a little, anxious to meet Master´s friends. It waited while they were taking their clothes and shoes off in the hall, and then, then they finally came in and saw Pet.

One of them, a girl with long, straight brown hair and a few bleached strands, and big dangly golden earrings, instantly squeaked and launched herself forward on the Pet. The creature whined in fear and flinched, quickly pulling away and trying to retrieve, but the girl threw herself around Pet´s neck and hugged it too tightly.

,,Awwww, Javi! It´s so huge and fluffy! Oh my god!!”

Pet squirmed and whimpered when the brunette basically shouted into its ear in a high-pitched tone, but she didn´t let go. Pet knew it shouldnt pull away or resist any touch, but, this was so scary and the girl wouldnt let it go and her strong perfume was making it hard to breathe and-

,,Sidi, leave it, its scared as fuck.”

Master´s warm hands saved Pet from the girls - Sidi - clutch. Sidi frowned at Javier, but she left Pet alone. The creature tried to muffle its whines, clinging to Masters legs like its life depended on it.

,´m sorry, little one,” he softly ruffled its fur and Pet pressed its head into his palm, ,,I should´ve known Sidi would be excited.”

Pet just whimpered, unable to move.

Master crouched next to it, his big warm hand resting on Pets back. He looked at the other two people.

,,So, this is Tee,” he said softly, ,,They brought you something, as a gift.”

Tee grinned a little. They had short, messy red hair, and wore a red crop top with a fishnet and black jeans, as well as a dark red leather jacket.

,,Tara brought the gifts,” they corrected Javier and slowly approached the Pet, giving it time and space, in stark contrast with Sidi's previous behavior, ,,I forgot.”

,,Okay, so Tara brought you something,” chuckled Javier.

Tara was taller then Tee, and she had dark brown, almost black hair in a ponytail. She was wearing a hoodie and her lip and eyebrow were pierced. Now she smiled and slowly extended a hand towards Pet, waiting for it to sniff it before she ran her fingers through its thick fur.

,,I brought you some treats,” she said. Pet blinked a few times, confused. Treats? Weren´t treats meant for… Normal, good pets? Pets who were actually cute and pretty and not… monsters?

Tara reached in her pocket and pulled out a plastic packet. Pet flicked its ears as she opened it, reached inside and offered it a small piece of something that smelled very, very good.

Pet anxiously glanced at Master.

,,Go for it, buddy,” he assured it. ,,You can take it.”

Pet slowly, carefully brought its nose to Tara´s palm, waiting to be slapped. Tara smiled at it. ,,It´s all yours,” she said softly.

Pet nervously opened its mouth a bit, reaching for the treat, trying its best not to get its saliva all over Tara´s palm. It took the treat and chewed it softly, surprised by how crunchy and tasty it is. It chirped a little and Tara giggled. ,,So cute.”

Pet´s ears flicked. Was it?

,,Have you named it yet?” asked Tee and scratched behind Pet´s ear. Pet gratefully leaned to their touch, desperate to prove that Tara was right.

,,No,” admitted Javier. ,,Haven´t thought about it yet.”

,,Can I name it?” Sidi perked up. ,,It looks like a… Bella. I would call it Bella.”

Tee rolled their eyes. ,,C´mon, Sidi, look at how cool it is. You can´t just call a giant winged wolf Bella.”

Sidi scoffed and stuffed a cookie in her mouth.

,,Do you know anything about its previous owner?” Tara asked as she wrapped her arm around Tee´s shoulders and sat on the couch.

,,I just know that it was a huge dick,” shrugged Javier and headed over to the kitchen corner to make them coffee. ,,Pet ended up kinda traumatized.”

Sidi scoffed again. ,,Traumatised? Dude, its a fucking scary, probably dangerous creature. Of course he had to be strict with it.”

,,How could it be dangerous?” argued Javier and Pet shivered when it sensed the slight tone of anger in his voice. ,,I mean, look at it, Sidi. It almost had a heart attack when you jumped at it. It could´ve bite you or scratch you and it did nothing. I'm pretty sure that it wouldn't hurt a fly.”

Pet for once wished it could speak. It wanted to tell them the things Old Master did to make sure it would never, never hurt him, or even think about hurting him. He made it hurt others, though. It hated that. It didn´t want to cause harm, it just- it just wanted to be good. But that girl, Sidi, was right. Old Master had to be strict. It deserved that. It was still just a beast, a potentional threat, and Old Master made sure it would never try to hurt its owner or his friends.

It curled up next to its cage, far enough from the couch to not annoy Master´s friends. Tara turned on the TV and they started watching a movie. Javier waited till the coffee was done and brought it over to the couch, sitting next to Sidi, who instantly clinged to him. Javier sighed, Pet could sense he was uncomfortable, but he didn´t push the girl away. He turned to Pet and it lowered.

,,Come here, little one,” he suggested. ,,You can watch it with us.”

Pet wasn´t sure. It didn´t want to bother them, but Master ordered it to come, so it did without a second thought. Master ruffled its fur and then patted a place next to him.

,,C´mon, up, little one.”

Pet obeyed and curled up next to his side, purring softly when he put his arm around it.

Sidi chuckled. ,,Little one?” she repeated. ,,That thing is all kinds of stuff, but definitely not little.”

Javier shook his head. ,,It likes that nickname. And I like it too.”

Pet flinched when it heard the stern warning in his voice. It clinged to his side, pressed its head into his hand and hoped it would never do anything that would make Master use this tone on it.

[desk-of-the-magicat]

✨✨✨

Draim, Jak, Mini!!!

Send ✨ to see one of my muse's memories.

Be sure to specify the muse for multimuse blogs

(Oh boy this ended up being rather long aaaaaaaaa Thank you for sending! @dragonwithgoggles )

Draim

Pen scratched lightly over paper, leaving a trail of ink behind it’s path. Draim watched only for a moment before making the next mark, he didn’t need to check back over this part. He had finished the work he was here to do some time ago, and was now catching up on some of his own. The final corrected ledger sat under a plate of half eaten freshly made cookies and Draim sat up straight in his chair at the kitchen table to stretch out his back. He didn’t mind this sort of work.

A sound pulled his attention away from the papers. Thunder rolling through the passing storm around them had caused one of the little ones to stir, and Draim looked over at the pile on the chair.

Cozy against the cold temperatures brought with the storm, was the Seacat family. Well, the corner of the Seacat family that Draim knew anyways. They were all piled together even though they had other places they could have laid around the living room. The kiddos, Celeste and Tello, were wrapped safely in their parents arms. Kel, their mother, gently squeezed Tello’s hand in her sleep to calm him from the rumble of the storms. It seemed he was sound asleep again. Meanwhile, Jak, their father, bore the weight of all the others piled on top of him while holding Celeste over his heart. How comfortable this arrangement truly was, was beyond the magicat’s knowledge, but they did look happy.

Draim carefully picked up another cookie from the plate, and held it by the edge with his teeth while he pulled the ledger back over to double check his work. Kel had suspected Jak was getting charged too much for the enchantments on his fleet, and during this rare time while a passing storm prevented them from leaving port as scheduled, Draim had visited to check for them. Her suspicions were correct, and Draim provided the correct estimates as well as contacts for each to resolve the discrepancies.

His corrections dotted the logs here and there, and once satisfied again after the quick look over, he placed the book back in it’s spot and finally enjoyed his cookie.

No, Draim didn’t mind this sort of work at all… and some day, he would miss it more than he ever thought possible.

Jak

The fading light and the increasing pressure on his lungs made Jak’s search more difficult as he descended down into the depths with the still sinking ship. He had gone diving with his mother since a young age, as was a Seacat tradition to do to adjust to their blessing of the sea, but this was much different. Ships born of the Seacat shipyards were gifted with a soul mark of their very own. They were alive in their own ways and this ship knew her fate. Her captain had abandoned her to conditions that could have been salvaged. This was only her third trip across the waves. Jak could feel this sorrow pressing on his chest, heavier than the water now around him. She was to be lost to the dark depths below, in exchange for the coin of twisted men on shore. It was unbearable.

It was with this feeling that Jak had leapt from the fleeing lifeboat with the heaviest of supply packs he could hold before the ship’s crew could grab him. Jak knew it was tradition to strike or salvage the mark, and this had not been done. It must be done!!

From the darkness below and with the fleeting light of the world above, Jak spotted a loose line from the top mast in the growing darkness. From the moment his hand caught the line, Jak could feel the cries from the heart of the ship. Catching a piece of her hull floating past and tucking it under his arm, Jak continued to search in the darkness. He passed below the deck, and further still until he saw it. Glowing as if a burning ember, the delicate lines of the ship’s soul mark. It almost looked like a flower.

With the piece of hull still under his arm, Jak reached down with both hands to reclaim the mark in hopes of transferring it. Somewhere in his mind he knew the level of skills needed for such a task were far beyond his own, but he knew in his heart he had to try. The soul mark flashed in response to his efforts, and the whole sea became as if made of fire.

The broiling water sent a torrent of bubbles rushing out around Jak’s hands and up past his face. A yell escaped him, along with the precious air he had been holding onto during his dive. The burning spread up his hands, to his arms, and a fear not wholly his own started to overtake him. Just as he was about to black out, a sudden wave of cold passed through both the body of the ship and his own frame.

Everything froze and became still. Peaceful in its state. A pair of hands gently pulled Jak away from the ship. The soul mark, which shone as a calm sun set in his fading vision, rested upon the board still tucked under his arm. Eventually, the darkness took him...

Jak woke up at his desk with a bit of a jolt. The pen leapt from his hand, skipped across the ledger and came to a rest beside the stack of logbooks in front of him. As if still stuck in the memory of his childhood, he looked down at his hands. Fingerless gloves still covered most of the markings left behind by the healers, and he opened and closed his hands to reassure himself once more that no lasting damage was done. It was just a distant memory. The Lily’s hull made a quiet murmur as the schooner gently glided over the waves, rolling the pen back across the desk towards him as she went. Jak let out a small chuckle to himself, what an odd time for such a memory, and caught the pen before it rolled away once more.

Behind his chair, above the windows looking out to the sea, sat a familiar ink drawing of the Lily's soul mark. In the lantern light the ink shimmered like that of a flower made of embers, burning bright once again.

Mini

An endless flight while being lost over the perpetual twilight of the wild mists was suddenly cut away by a sudden brightness and the sounds of rustling papers. Mini woke to the dawn’s light that managed to pierce the mists, the freshly made gaps in the trees, and the hole in the roof above her.

Mini blinked, and sort of remembered that she had plummeted from the sky. Something crunchy had broken her fall… so it was a roof? Way out here? Looking to the side, it became apparent she was resting on a faded red couch in some sort of a living space. If one could call this a living space by the amount of books, bottles and papers strewn across the place. Mini sat up, and noticed her arms were covered in bandages stained blue and sparkling in the light. The fall had reopened her wounds from the last job she was returning from… Who would bandage such a being as herself?

“Ah hah, finally you awake!” Said an overly chipper voice, as if an answer to her internal question. “Admiring your work, eh?”

Looking over to the source of the geeting, Mini focused on the figure that had seemingly emerged from a door hidden behind one of the piles of books. Had her trip exhausted her so much that she didn’t even notice this person approaching?

“Hello there~” Waved the tall Muln of grey fur with black stripes. They grinned with a child like glee, which seemed mismatched to their matured fashion of a vest and lab coat. In their hands was a tray of food. “Welcome to my labs! I am Graham Roo. You fell through my roof!”

“Oh.” Mini’s face flushed slightly, as she moved to get up. “My apologies, I-”

Graham stopped Mini’s movements by placing the tray of food on her lap as soon as she was sitting up. “No worries, no worries! My apologies for the bandages, I wasn’t sure what would stop your wounds.”

“Ah…” Mini looked from the hearty meal to her bandaged arms. She hadn’t seen such gestures in such a long time, yet she knew she would recover without both in time. It was slightly overwhelming to suddenly have both again. “Thank you, but these aren’t really necessary for me to-”

“Do they ever heal? Your wounds?” Graham asked, cutting Mini off again. Their voice remained calm, curious, and delighted to have a guest to be curious about. “I am guessing from surviving that fall, you're some sort of immortal, yeh? But you're covered in such marks! Does your family know how hurt you are?”

Mini was silent, did her fall undo some of her form? Was her true self showing through somehow? How the salt were they learning such things about her! Graham seemed amused by the face Mini made in reply, one that she could only guess was of alarmed confusion when looking back.

“Well, never mind! I won’t tell them. Do eat up, little immortal!” Graham smiled warmly and patted Mini on the head. “Even if you do not need food to live, it is great for the soul! We’ll figure out your wounds when you are done.”

With that, Graham Roo spun on their heel and vanished back through the book hidden door they had came in from. Mini sat there in mild shock for a moment. D-Did they just pat her head?! Mini shook herself to dismiss the mixed feelings of all of this. She would most likely be leaving as soon as she was able, back to answering those who called for help. But for right now… Mini picked up the soup from the tray.

What an odd individual to encounter, so deep within the wild mists.

[dreamingabouttaron]

History Repeating - Part 6

Warning - Teenage Pregnancy 

One evening, you were home alone whilst your parents had gone out for dinner for date night. For you, being pregnant meant you were constantly tired and lazy all of the time. Much to your parents dismay. There were several nights where you’d fall asleep early on the couch with the TV still on, resulting in one or both of your parents tiptoeing around trying to avoid waking you up. 

So, when your parents arrived home late from date night, they had certainly expected to find you fast asleep. Instead, they were surprised to find you wide awake on the couch with a blanket pulled over your body as you watched the TV. 

You weren’t really paying that much attention to the show, it was just on in the background as you scrolled through your phone absentmindedly. When you heard the sound of a car pulling up outside; you threw your phone down onto your lap and looked out towards the front door as it started to open.

“Hey, how was it?” you called out from your spot on the couch.

Your mum’s eyebrows raised in surprise as she saw you, “Hey. We didn’t expect to see you. We thought you’d be asleep by now.”

A sigh fell from your lips as you shook your head in response, “No, I feel kind of uneasy and weird. I can’t sleep.”

Instantly, you saw lines of worry etch themselves into Taron’s face. “What’s wrong? Is everything okay? Why didn’t you call us?” There was a slight wobble of worry in his voice as he approached you.

You gave a small smile at your parents concern and shook your head, your hand rubbing over your tummy slowly. “No, no, I’m okay. I just keep getting this weird, almost fluttery feeling in my stomach. It just makes me feel uneasy, nauseous maybe. It only happens every so often, I’m sure it’s nothing. It just feels weird, and I can’t sleep.”

“Gracie,” Lily started, an excited glimmer in her eyes, “that’s probably the baby moving.”

Your eyes widened at the realisation and you gasped, pressing your hand to the bump gently, “Wait, really?” Your parents both looked at each other and giggled. “Yes!”

You threw your head back to lean on the back of the couch and placed your hands over your face dramatically. “God! I thought it’d be more obvious than this!”

Taron laughed as he took a seat next to you on the couch, “I’m guessing I won’t be able to feel it yet? I can’t even remember how far along your mum was when I first felt you moving.”

You bit your lip and shook your head slowly. “I can barely feel it myself. I don’t know though. You would know better than me, you’ve done this once before.”

He gave you a half smile, “Yes, but that was a while ago now! It won’t be long now.”

******

Your parents were right. With each day, the movement from the baby was getting more and more obvious. It was as if your baby was constantly practicing a gymnastics routine inside of you. You were slowly getting used to the fluttery feeling, and the feeling of small movements. It filled you with happiness every time you felt it; it was a reminder of the end result.

A few weeks later, only days before your dad was to leave for filming, the two of you found yourself lying on the couch together, a film playing on the TV. Per usual, your eyes were heavy as you tried to fight off the sleep. Taron was tired too, from getting everything ready before he had to leave. He had a lot to do, and he felt like he had to do even more because he was leaving you for a while. He knew his wife would care for you as much as he would but he wanted to be there every step of the way.

Suddenly, there was a stronger, more pronounced movement from your baby, causing you to gasp and press your hand to your stomach where you’d felt it. Taron’s eyes flew open at your gasp and looked at you in concern, “Are you okay?” Without saying anything, you reached for his hand, setting his warm palm against your tummy where you’d felt the kick. You let your eyes close and you breathed out slowly, waiting for it to happen again.

After a few minutes of nothing happening, you let out an annoyed groan, “Oh come on! Please just kick again! Just once! Just for me!”

Taron’s heart skipped a beat as he listened to you speak to your baby, and a warm smile spread across his face. His fingertips travelled over your bump slowly before resting it in the spot you’d originally set it in. “Please, little one,” his voice was soft and his eyes were focused on his hand.

As your dad spoke, you could feel the fluttery movement again, followed by another more obvious kick to the place where his hand was. Taron’s eyes widened when he felt it, and his smile beamed as his gaze met yours. You couldn’t help but copy his expression, your smile matching his.

“Oh, wow,” he breathed out, “I forgot what that felt like! That’s my grandchild!”

You nodded and were about to speak when there was another kick to the same place. You gave Taron a grin, setting your hand near his, “Seems like we have another in the family that loves the sound of your voice, and no, that isn’t an excuse to keep singing around the house.”

*****

The next morning, you trudged down the stairs and walked quickly into the kitchen going directly to the fridge.

“Dad, are you sure you got it?” You asked as your clawed through the fridge examining its contents. You had been up most of the night, unable to sleep, as you mind spun with random thoughts. More specifically, food.

“Yes, look on the third shelf.” He replied as he looked up from a script he was memorising. He chuckled under his breath as he watched you fight your way to the back of the fridge to get what you were craving.

Fresh crunchy watermelon. You had been thinking about it for the last couple of days, you couldn’t get enough. The way it just melted in your mouth as soon as you bit into it. Ugh, heaven. You quickly ripped open the packet of pre-sliced watermelon and devoured the first slice. Exactly what you needed.

Your dad watched from afar, shaking his head slightly at the sight. “I also got you this…” His words didn’t stop you from stuffing your mouth full of food. Taron picked up a tiny white baby grow that had been folded next to him on the table. As the material unravelled it took you a moment to realise what it was. Your eyes grew wide. It was tiny. That was for your baby, your baby! You swallowed what you were eating and slowly walked over to your father.

“Do you like it?” He questioned. You stopped arms reach away from your father. It hadn’t really daunted on you yet that you would have a life so small in your arms. So so small. You wiped your wet hands on your top before reached your hands out and gently taking the baby grow out of your fathers hands. “wow” you muttered under your breath.

Taron watched as you examined the item. “Do you like it?” He asked quietly, “I can take it back if you don’t. I just saw it and…” He stopped what he was saying when he noticed the tears running down your face. “Hey, what’s wrong?” He got up from his seat and pulled you into a loving fatherly hug.

You melted into his arms, feeling his heart beating fast against your chest. “I don’t know. I guess everything just feels so real now. The kicking, the clothes. This is really happening isn’t it?” You muttered suddenly feeling overwhelmed.

Your father pulled back and placed a kiss on your forehead. “Yes. It really is, but it’s exciting. You’re going to blink and you’ll have a baby in your arms. I promise you, this is going to be one of the most exciting moments of your life, so just try to relax and take it all in.” You stayed quiet and listened to the way he tried to calm you.

You pulled the white baby grow in-between you both and looked at it properly. “I love it dad. Thank you. I suppose we should probably start getting everything prepared, shouldn’t we? Times’ just going to fly by.”  You rub your hand over your small bump and smile.

Taron walks back over to where he was sitting and sipped at his coffee. “Can you promise to wait until I come back before you start the nursery. You know how bad your mum is at DIY.” This comment made you both chuckle at the thought.

Initially it had been tough. Lily and Taron had struglled to find a small cheap one bed flat that they could make a home whilst Taron continued to train at RADA. When they finally did, the move had caused a couple of issues but overall it was smooth and simple. The flat was small. Very small. But they made it homely and welcoming.

A few weeks after moving in, whilst Taron had been in class, Lily had decided to get a few bits and bobs for the baby. One of the most expensive items she had ordered was a delicate white cot. She had planned to surprise her boyfriend by setting it up before he came home from class later that evening.

When it finally arrived, she was extremely excited and couldn’t wait to get busy. She immediately emptied the box onto the floor, leaving all the pieces in a massive pile on the floor. Lily scrambled through the planks of wood to find the instruction leaflet, which of course, was laying underneath everything. Lily carefully read through the instructions before getting started.

Lily didn’t know how long she had been piecing everything together for, but before she knew it, she heard the keys being placed in the door and her boyfriends voice greeting her.

“NO! Don’t come through yet!” She yelled as she stood up and looked at the mess in front of her.

“Why? What’s happened?” Taron asked tentatively as he stood frozen to the spot at the door.

“I wanted to surprise you!” She said approaching Taron with tears in her eyes. Taron placed a kiss on his girlfriends lips and smiled.

“You can still surprise me. I’ll just close my eyes.” He announced before squeezing his eyes shut.

Lily groaned and led Taron through the room where she had been building the cot. “You can open them now.” She said sadly. Taron opened his eyes, and to his dismay, he saw what seemed to be pieces of wood forced together with pieces sticking out at all angles. He frowned and walked over to the mess. “What is it?” He asked.

Lily put her head in her hands and laughed sadly, “It was supposed to be a cot, but I couldn’t work it out. I followed the instructions but look! It’s a mess!” This caused Taron to laugh as he reexamined the masterpiece in front of him. He picked up the instructions and then back down at the mess.

“How on earth did you get that?” He laughed and hugged her warmly. “Come on, let’s fix this mess.” He sat down on the ground and pulled Lily down with him.

They spent the rest of the evening pulling everything apart and then carefully rebuilding it to create a beautiful bed for their baby. Lily was so relieved once it was done and she vowed to never attempt anything flat pack ever again!

Tag list - @writingformany @sarahegerton96

Let me know if anyone would like to join the tag list! Thank you for reading! Please like and comment! It means a lot! 

I also apologise for the long wait! 

[lynnsaundersfanfic]

Grounded, Chapter 10: Dreams

A Coffee House Fic inspired by a prompt from awesomegreentie.

We started off with a T rating, but who are we kidding here? It’s me. So, the rating has been moved up to M at Chapter 5.

Chapters in Order:  Introductions - Invitation - Stroll - Alchemy - Dayspring - Distraction - Lost - Firelight - Monday - Dreams

Or, read it on fanfiction.net here.

Grounded  |  Chapter Ten: Dreams  |  by Lynn Saunders

The Tuesday before Christmas dawns cold and grey, and John watches the sunrise as he sits before the shop’s hearth with his morning tea, struggling a bit to meet the day. William looks surprised to find him there quite so early after closing so late the evening before, but he doesn’t comment on the matter. They really must hire someone else on, and soon.

Anna’s over a week gone, and John has scarcely slept since she’s been away. He trudges home late in the evenings, tie askew, and sinks onto the couch in his sparsely furnished flat to doze for a few hours before rising early to do it all over again. His split with Vera did not leave him with much in the way of quality furnishings, and what little he did take with him has mostly been used to lend a personal touch to the tasteful rusticity of the coffee house. The little shop is the first thing he’s truly been able to make all his own. But his apartment feels cold, the freshly painted walls stark and bare, and it’s not yet truly a home for him. It’s pale and blank, a new slate that he hasn't yet gotten around to writing on - not like Anna’s flat, which is warm and cheerful and utterly her.

He’s a bit surprised to find that it’s difficult to sleep without Anna snugged in safely against him. He craves her scent and the warm press of her body in the dark. He tosses and turns in the night, restless and brooding. But when sleep does finally find him, he dreams of a faerie with golden hair, her eyes blue as the sea. She awaits him eagerly in a small hothouse in mid-winter, dressed all in white. In the dream, their meetings are secret, and her love for him is certain. This morning, the taste of the dream maiden’s lips had lingered on his even after he awoke feverish and shaky, lost between worlds for a moment and struggling to remember which was real.

The church bell down the street chimes out the hour, and John rises and stretches. He retrieves his mobile from the mantle and sends Anna a photo of the blazing fire, then tucks the phone into his pocket with a small smile. He doesn’t expect her home for a few days yet, but it’s safe to say she hasn’t forgotten him. Two evenings ago, their goodnight phone call had ended with her breathlessly sighing his name.

I was thinking of the other night, he’d said. Of having you against the door.

He’s never been brave enough to give voice to such delicious thoughts before, never had someone so eager to listen. Her response to his secret whispers in the dark was the definition of unforgettable.

He finishes his tea with a smirk, then readies for the day, tying on an apron and washing his hands. He surveys the stock of pastries and resolves to make more fresh cinnamon buns, but it will have to wait until the morning rush dies down. For the next two hours, the bells on the front door jangle consistently.

Business is good. More than good. He feels utterly blessed to have this place, but beyond that he feels a sense of deep pride in his work. Is this what it’s like to love what you do? He realizes with a start that this is the first path he’s truly chosen for himself, rather than one he pursued out of habit, pressure, or obligation. In his old life, he might be tempted to focus on all the work that still looms ahead, or to wait for the other shoe to drop. He would’ve been too hesitant to venture into business ownership, too pessimistic. But more than anything else, being wounded showed him just how fleeting life is. That’s what made him put down the bottle and start living life again. And Anna? He certainly would’ve never imagined that he deserved the company of someone this lovely or, for that matter, someone this kind. Finally, he’s starting to believe.

Anna dreams of John in a different time. They sit at a long table in a bustling room she doesn’t quite recognize, yet she somehow knows it all the same. The room smells of coffee and warm, brown bread. Breakfast china rattles over bits of conversation. Beside her, John is clean-shaven and polished and proper. This image of him stands in stark contrast to what she knows he is capable of in the dark. He gives her a furtive glance, and she attempts to hide her flush behind her teacup. Her delicate wedding band is hidden safely away beneath her frock, nestled against her breastbone on a simple gold chain. Her cup clinks into its saucer, and she brings a hand up to absently trace the outline of the ring through the fabric of her dress. No one can know, not yet. John’s leg presses against hers beneath the table, out of view of the others.

The others?

But the room is gone now, replaced with the glow of a fire and the slip of fine linens against her bare skin. John’s thick fingers glide along her back as she rests, snugged against his chest. She’s long been sated, and now sleep calls. As her eyes drift shut, her mind flashes on the rustling of willow fronds and the taste of fresh cider, of mistletoe on the arch of an old oak door, of the earthy smell of a conservatory in midwinter and the sound of pottery shattering in the dark.

The company car rocks gently as it pulls onto Anna’s street, and her eyes blink open. Her mind fumbles for the thread of that intriguing dream, but the more she reaches for those memories, the further they slip away. John in an old-fashioned waistcoat and sleeves, she thinks with a grin. Something about a greenhouse… and then a feeling - one of bittersweet, quiet, and steadfast love. It is safe and warm, and… familiar? Anna shakes her head with a confused sigh.

The homes on Anna’s street are cheerful, dotted with wreaths and holiday lights. In the west, the sky is painted purple and crimson in the waning daylight. The car pulls to a stop at her door, and she draws the edges of her coat closed before stepping out into the nipping winter air. She’s so looking forward to being in her own flat and her own bed, to seeing her grumpy old three-legged cat… and her hot barista.

She checks her mobile - still no service. Ah, well. When she’d spoken briefly with John last evening, her plans called for staying in London at least another day or two. However, this morning’s presentation had gone surprisingly well, and when Mary spoke of sending Anna home ahead of schedule, she’d jumped at the chance.

The driver hurries around to help her with her bags, and she tips him generously before climbing the short flight of stairs to her apartment. Even with both bags in hand, Anna unlocks the door to her flat with practiced ease. Castle comes running and leaps onto the kitchen counter with a delighted chirp. She scritches him and shakes some crunchies into his bowl.

Tacked to the fridge is a note from Gwen.

I continue to be Castle’s favorite person to torment. The beggar knocked the treat bag off of the counter and ate half. He then vomited in the hall and stared haughtily as I cleaned it up.

XO, G

Castle blinks innocently from the kitchen counter, and Anna gives him a disapproving look. She makes a mental note to take her friend for drinks ASAP to make up for it.

Gwen has left the week’s mail on the countertop, and Anna sorts the contents quickly while she waits for the shower to run hot. She happily sheds her travel clothes and steps under the spray with a relieved sigh, washing the muck of the day away. Oh, but there’s so much to do. She needs to go for groceries and work on the laundry, to put the finishing touches on a project before the firm closes for the holidays. But as she lingers in the steam of the shower, allowing the heat to sink into the delicate muscles of her neck and shoulders, she finds it impossible to care about those mundane tasks. Her mind drifts instead.

She thinks of last week, of John’s long fingers moving between her thighs, patiently coaxing her pleasure. She had melted into his embrace, her slick back pressed to his front, her head lolled against his chest. He had turned her then, lifting her solidly against the chilly shower tile and marking her neck with his lips as he pushed into her. His strong arms held her fast while she sighed his name and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His teeth had trailed behind her ear just so. She reaches lazily up to press her fingertips to the spot, daydreaming until the water begins to cool.

Yes, all the trappings of everyday life can wait. She has a very particular craving that only one thing can satisfy.

John rushes to open the shop’s door ahead of William, who is carefully balancing three full pastry boxes, their largest order of the day. He steps out to meet the chill of the December evening, and William follows, passing gingerly through the doorway. They work together to arrange the pastry boxes safely in the floorboards of the waiting car.

The customer is Beatrice, one of John’s mother’s friends from church, and she reaches up to pat his arm affectionately. “Thank you, Dear.”

He smiles down at her. “I hope you enjoy them.”

“Oh, the kids will love them!”

She waves to William as he ducks back through the shop’s front door. The neon ‘open’ sign blinks out shortly afterward, and they watch for a moment as William goes about closing duties without having to be asked.

“He’s a hard worker,” John says. “Thank you for sending him my way.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve known his family for ages, and of course with his mother’s passing he needed something closer to home for a while. He’s all his dad has left now.” She shakes her head sadly. “But, I’m so happy you two get on so well. I hear there was a less pleasant fellow working here who has recently moved on.”

John laughs. “Yes, but that’s fine by me. Better the two of us work harder than have a third who rocks the boat. But if you know of anyone else who needs steady work, please send them my way.”

She thinks for a moment. “I may have just the young lady in mind. She’s young and a bit new to church, but she seems reliable. She was such a help with the bake sale.”

He draws a card from the breast pocket of his button-front shirt. “Please have her come by. William and I are managing, but barely. As it is, he needs a large bonus… and a holiday.”

She chuckles, then takes a conspiratorial step closer. “Now, let me hear all about this Anna. Margaret tells me you two are quite the item.”

John gives a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. His mother definitely cannot be prevailed upon to keep any secrets. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“You suppose?” She tsks with mock disapproval. “Well don’t you be shy. Bring her ‘round to see us for tea soon.”

He gives a vague promise, and John waves as Beatrice pulls away from the curb. As the taillights fade in the distance, he takes a moment to stand still, to close his eyes and simply breathe in the icy air. There’s been no new snow today, but there’s still a satisfying icy crunch underfoot, and he remembers his first stroll home with Anna, the first brush of her lips against his cheek. That was only two weeks ago, yet somehow this thing between them feels both ancient and new.

It’s a bit odd that he hasn’t heard from her today, and it dawns on him that he’s not been the least bit concerned about what that uncharacteristic lack of contact means for their burgeoning relationship. In the past, he’s had what Vera would have called a jealous streak. But underneath that superficial explanation was truly only worry, a deep-seated fear that he won’t measure up, that he’s undeserving. But he feels none of that with Anna. Everything between them has come so naturally.

He takes one more moment to enjoy the quiet solitude of the winter evening, then turns to help William close up for the night. But he doesn’t quite reach the door. His breath is caught in his throat, and for a moment he stops and stares, blinking in delighted disbelief. Anna. The streetlamps catch her golden hair even through the frozen haze of the December evening. She’s supposed to be miles away, yet here she is on his street instead, making her way toward him with a very particular look in her eye. He sees warmth reflected there, mischief, and an intoxicating, velvety undercurrent of desire. He catches her up in an embrace, and she giggles as he lifts her off of her feet. God, he wants so badly to be the one who inspires that sound from now on. He breathes her in, feels the thrill of it deep in his chest, then remembers himself and returns her gently to the ground.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” he asks with a grin.

“I didn’t know until today.” Her eyes dance as she reaches up to straighten his tie. “That, and my mobile has been out of service all afternoon. But… I’ve brought you something that may make up for it.”

At his quizzical look, she reaches into her coat pocket and brings out a sprig of mistletoe, twirling it in her fingers for a moment, raising an eyebrow. He tugs her close in response, kissing her gently in the arch of the shop doorway until she begins to shiver in his arms. Later, as he sifts his fingers through her hair in her bedroom in the dark, she’ll tell him she wasn’t cold, not exactly. It’s the intensity of his touch that’s making her tremble. But he doesn’t know that now, and he ushers her quickly into the cheerful warmth of the coffee house. Muted sounds from the kitchen radio filter down the hall, and he can hear the clinking of silverware as William washes the dishes. He presses another soft kiss to her lips before locking the door and pulling the shades in turn.

“I need to-” he begins, but she places a gentle hand on his chest with a nod.

“Finish your work.” She smiles up at him. “I’ll still be here.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips for a moment, then turns to join William in the kitchen. Together, the men make quick work of the evening chores. Soon the dishes are dried and the countertops gleam once more. William finishes the mopping while John reviews the checklist for tomorrow, smiling at the sheer volume of holiday orders.

As he pulls on his coat to leave, William glances down the hall toward Anna, then gives John a nod of decided approval. “It’s good to see you happy, Mr. Bates.”

John clears his throat a bit self-consciously, but he’s touched. “I think I am, truly… for the first time in a long while.” He pauses just a moment before adding, “now, run on home. We’ve another early day tomorrow.”

“You two don’t stay up too late,” William says with a wink as he pulls his cap down snug over his brow and disappears through the shop’s rear door.

John only laughs and shakes his head in response.

When he returns to the front room with a cup of cocoa to share, Anna is warming herself by the waning coals of the banked fire. The shop lights are low, and the sight of her silhouetted in the amber glow of the stone fireplace tugs at a quiet, yearning place deep within him. Anna just feels so… familiar, his mind echoes. It’s as if they’ve spent countless evenings sharing a hearth and a bed, perhaps across times and places he will never know or understand, but always - always - with the same indescribable current arcing between them.

She smiles up at him as he passes her the mug, and he eases onto the sofa, drawing her near. She takes a sip and gives a satisfied hum that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They watch the embers pop and spark for a moment as the kitchen radio plays on in the distance.

“How was London?” He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Good, actually.” She takes another sip of cocoa and passes him the mug. “Well, more than good, I think. It might mean a promotion.”

“Well done!” He squeezes her hand with genuine affection and pride, then adds cheekily, “Will you have a corner office, then?”

“No…” She grins up at him. “And nothing’s decided yet, but… on that topic, there is a favor I need to ask you.”

“Oh yes?”

“You see, there’s this company holiday party. Fancy dress and all that, and I’ll be needing a date…”

“Dancing and cocktails and a suit?”

“Well, probably not dancing… but the rest of it, yes.”

“No dancing? Pity, that.”

“I expect you’ll be relieved.” She taps his chest playfully with the back of her hand, and he realizes she thinks he’s joking.

He imagines Anna in a low-cut gown, his fingers gliding along the curve of her back as they savor the anonymity of a darkened dance floor. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

John smiles conspiratorially and moves their shared mug to the safety of the little coffee table. He rises carefully, then pulls Anna gently to her feet. She smiles shyly at him as he takes her hand and leads her down the shop’s hallway in the dark. The familiar rooms are bathed in shadows, and she clings to his hand like a lifeline. In the kitchen, he pauses to adjust the volume on the little radio, filling the room with the mellow, rolling notes of a jazz piano.

“Come here,” he says, his voice rough and low.

She giggles as he pulls her easily into his embrace, and they sway together in the dark, his right hand perfectly fitted to the small of her back. Thank goodness for heels, she thinks dreamily. Moving together this way, she’s just tall enough to rest her forehead against his broad chest. He tucks her hair behind her ear and tips her chin up to meet him, stooping to graze her lips with his. His large hands slide beneath the hem of her sweater, blazing a path up the curve of her spine. She hums happily, and she feels his answering smile against her temple.

She finds the quiet confidence in his touch intoxicating. She’s enamored with the pleasing stoutness of his body, the thickness of his chest and shoulders, the way he gazes at her so intently as they move together. She’s never been this easily turned on, this revved up. She’s fallen hard and fast, no question, but this thought doesn’t alarm her. Instead, she feels emboldened by her desire. When she rises on tiptoe to kiss him, he tastes not just of cinnamon and chocolate, but of something deeper and richer, a comforting memory she cannot place. And as the song begins to fade, they hold fast to one another, lighting a fire between them as they dance together in the dark.

Author’s notes:

I’ve not written in a long while. I worry it shows. Thank you for being patient while I knock the rust off.

Anna and Bates dance to Turn Me On by Nora Jones.

Thanks to @awesomegreentie and @gelana78 for quick-beta!

[rat-father]

Part 2!

After this things will go down a weird route, and Mynci will become more ✨sassy✨

Tagging; @jordanstrophe

-- tw;; captivity/slave whump, intimate whumper, blood mention, accidental self harm, threathening --

Pora looked at the thin pole in fear. They couldn’t even balance normally, how were they supposed to balance on that with one foot? Mynci made it look so easy, but he had years and years of experience with balancing on all sorts of things. He jumped back down from the pole, grinning at the slave.

“Go on, you do it now.”

Their heart started beating even faster as they slowly approached the pole, it was higher then they thought. They pulled themselves up and stood on the top with one foot. It didn’t last long as they quickly lost balance and fell to the floor. Pain shot through their arm and they bit back a scream.

Mynci sighed in disapproval. Such a basic thing and they couldn’t even do it.

“That was hardly 5 seconds!,” He shook his head. “Next is trampoline jumping, you better not mess it up again.”

They groaned as they got back up. Trampoline jumping didn’t sound too bad, but of course he was going to make it hard for them. They hurried to catch up with him as he lead them to the trampoline. He went up first to show Pora how to do it, he did a series of acrobatic stunts, they had never even seen half of them before. They weren’t athletic at all, nor did they know how to copy what he did, but the punishment would be worse if they didn’t try.

So hesitantly they went up, silently praying they’d be able to do at least of the tricks. They actually managed a backflip, which was a win in their book, but their mind was already blank on the other things he had shown them. Surely he couldn’t see that they weren’t actually doing them with that blindfold on right? He always relied on hearing after all. They jumped around for another couple seconds before getting off.

“You failed yet again.” Mynci said.

“What? But I did it!”

He sighed and pulled the slave closer by their collar. “I’m not fucking stupid. I can tell you didn’t actually do it.” He let go of them. “I’ll punish you for lying later.”

Pora let out a shaky breath and silently followed him to the small stage. Behind the curtains there was a box with various balls, knives, torches, hats, cards and some other stuff he regularly used while performing for kids. He took out four of the small knives and casually strolled over to the middle. Then he started juggling them, and the slave could feel their heart drop to the ground.

“Ever learned to juggle, dear?” He smiled at the slave, showing too many teeth.

“No, sir.”

He stopped juggling and caught the knives in his hands. “Well in that case,” he handed them to Pora. “I hope you’re a fast learner. Try not to drop them, each knife you drop is another hour I’ll make you perform in front of an actual crowd.”

They were supposed to juggle knives? They shouldn’t have been surprised. That Mynci was sadistic was clear, but they never expected him to do something like this. They took a deep breath and tried to copy what he did, throw the knives in the air one by one and catch them, simple enough. One of the blades fell directly on one of their palms making them cry out in pain, the other knives clattered to the floor as well.

Pora was holding onto their wrist, desperately looking up at Mynci, hoping he’d help. He reached out and pulled the knife out of their hand, and they cried out again. Blood was pouring out, dripping to the floor.

“You dropped all of them, couldn’t even juggle 1, I’m very disappointed.” He sighed heavily and started to make his way out of the tent. “Go to your room. You have a long day ahead.”

The slave sobbed and stumbled off the stage, heading to the back room. They were pressing on the wound as hard as they could, trying to stop the bleeding at least a bit. Were they even going to survive? If they did, Mynci could probably just bring them back using his magic. They sat down in their corner and closed their eyes. They didn’t try to hold back tears, it was useless.

The sound of something being placed in front of them made them jump and look up. Val was staring at their hand with her big eyes, she had a first aid kit with her. She took some supplies out the kit and gently took their hand in hers. Taking a moment to inspect the wound, she poured disinfectant over it, then bandaged it up carefully. They made eye contact for a moment before she left just as fast as she came.

Pora looked at their hand trying to figure out what exactly just happened. Did Mynci send her? Maybe she heard the screams and just came to check. Either way, it felt nice to have human contact, contact that wasn’t intended to hurt them. They knew tomorrow was going to be filled with pain, they should rest and hope that the audience would be gently on them for once.

They woke up with a not so great start. First of all, they were inside a cage, one small enough to keep them on their knees. And secondly, they were inside a different tent by the looks of things. They’d seen the yellow and purple walls before, but never been inside. There was hay covering the floor outside the cage, some big buckets of water tucked in the corner and smaller buckets with food in the other. They assumed that this is where the horses stayed, at least during the night. But why were they here? What was going on?

Faint circus music was playing somewhere nearby, probably in the tent just next to it. They assumed they were doing a morning show with the horses. That didn’t explain much about why they were in there. The sound of crunchy footsteps made them look up.

“Hey sleeping beauty, took a nice nap? You can be quite the heavy sleeper, you know. Almost thought you were dead!” Kins laughed at himself, his voice echoed in the room.

They didn’t know how to respond and remained silent. He didn’t seem to bothered by it. The jester leaned against the wall and sighed.

”Things were nicer before you came here, honestly. Whenever Mynci got bored he’d come to me and ask me to tell him jokes, when he was frustrated he’d ask me to play my music..now he just goes to you instead,” he made eye contact with the slave, then turned around and started walking in circles. “Not to blame you, but I’m kind of blaming you. Anyway, Mynci said you’re gonna be part of the performance tonight, as punishment or something. Not sure how doing something so cool would be considered a punishment but whatever. You get to walk the tight ropes! It’s really fun, I’ve been practicing myself. Honestly you’re lucky you get to do the fun stuff and I don’t.”

He fell silent staring at the door for a couple seconds.

“Just be ready, that’s all I’m saying.” He muttered as he left at a fast pace.

[gerbiloftriumph]

The Silence Between Snowflakes

(also on ao3) ~ 2/8 - Footprints

~*~*~

Alexander had met the villagers and royal knights, but Graham wanted more than ballroom politeness and hastily muttered, “yes, I’m fine, lovely to meet you”s. He wanted them to be comfortable with each other. His son and his citizens. He was eager to show Alexander all that Daventry had to offer. Almost as soon as Alexander was able, Graham started hovering and gently steering him toward walking the paths with him, to explore what was theirs together. To actually get to know each other.

Even in winter, Daventry glittered. Perhaps even more so in winter, what with the ice in the tree branches and the crunchy snow glimmering in the sunlight. The little waterfalls that cascaded over the rocks in the spring froze into twisted natural sculptures, shards sharp as goblin spears. The air was crisp and clear enough that you could hear a twig snap halfway through the forest.

Alexander dutifully pulled his scarf up higher around his ears and trooped behind his father, silent but observant. Graham chattered to fill the empty air between them, pointing out this place or that.

“Starberries grow here in the late autumn—it's like constellations in the trees. And you won’t believe how loud the frogs in that pond in spring are. You'll hear them from the castle on clear nights. Most of the birds have migrated, but wait until they come back. The sounds they make in the early summer mornings before that golden sun properly comes up over the hills…. Oh, and this path, this one leads to a gorgeous lookout. It’s icy now, but maybe in a couple days we might be able to try it, and you can see the whole valley. It’ll look like it’s been dipped in sugar now, and in the summer the lavender fields make the whole valley purple.”

He desperately tried to paint his kingdom in all its colors for his son. Like he could wrap up the whole thing up as a gift. His son listened and nodded and made occasional noises to let Graham know he was listening, and that was about it.

The first couple walks were the same. Graham babbled endlessly, pressing down his unease that he was being annoying and overbearing. At night, he confessed his apprehension to Valanice, and they talked long into the night together. She insisted that what he was doing was helpful. “He comes back with such a rosy blush in his cheeks.”

“It’s windchill,” Graham fretted, crumpling his cloak in his hands.

“He’s happy,” she said. “Well. Happier. I think. Don’t stop. It’s important for him to see and to hear. But don’t forget to give him space. I know how much you can talk about Daventry when you get started. I know how much you love it. But...give him room.”

The walks continued, and Graham kept himself quiet as much as he talked. Alexander, when he noticed the lengthy pauses, seemed all the more nervous, as though he was expected to fill the silences. And that made him jumpy. But Graham didn’t expect things, just cautiously helped move the conversation forward. It was a bit like trying to help one of the nervous courtiers speak, he decided. He might not know how to talk to a son, but he knew how to talk to his citizens, and while that might not be a long-term solution, at least at first, at least for now, it might help.

And it did.

Alexander, gently coaxed by Graham, started to talk. Not about the past, not yet. But about their present. Started to ask about where they were going. Wanted to risk the icy overlook to see the valley spread below them like a frosted painting. Wanted to know where people lived, what they did. As he talked, Graham realized how starved the boy was for information. He had spent his life locked in Manannan’s grasp, watching the world go by from a distance, and while he was clever and sharp, he simply didn’t know. So Graham showed him everything.

~*~*~*

“What do you think that is?” Alexander pointed down the path.

Graham leaned around a bend in the trail to see what Alexander had found. “Looks like a scarf.”

Alexander fidgeted with his own scarf. “I bet whoever dropped it is cold.”

Graham knelt to pick it up. It was well crafted, a bright green that positively glittered against the slushy path. It had snowed earlier (it seemed to be snowing more often this winter, each day bringing another flurry of flakes), and there were all sorts of tangled footprints crisscrossing each other. Graham hadn’t been paying them much mind before—it was a road, there were footprints in the snow. Not exactly something to write a fantasy novel about.

But now he looked a little more carefully, looked at the size of the tracks. Most were blurred, but he had an uneasy prickling at the back of his neck. They almost looked like children’s footprints, but he remembered dark caves, ropes, salamanders, and a gut-punch sense of fear rippled down his spine for an instant. His head snapped up, searching the trees for any additional signs of the goblins he knew were out there.

In the distance, now that he was paying attention, he could hear something hammering, very faintly. The twenty-something, newly crowned king in the back of his head immediately decided the goblins were building cages to take the villagers again. The fifty-something established king told himself to stop exaggerating and assuming the worst. The twenty-something king muttered that inattentiveness was how they’d been captured in the first place. The fifty-something king didn’t actually have an answer to that.

Graham glanced at his son—but if there were goblins out there, and if they did mean harm, it wouldn’t be safe to send the prince back to the castle on his own. And Graham couldn’t leave the sound uninvestigated.

“Come with me, but quietly,” Graham said, motioning Alexander down the path, following the goblin tracks.

The hammering got louder. As they walked, though, Graham realized what it was. Not goblins, at least not in this exact instance. Someone was hammering signs into trees. Brightly colored sheets of paper lined the path. Wanted signs, for stolen socks. They rounded the corner and found the source of the hammering and the sheets.

“Aaah, Acorn,” Graham said, relief sparking through his tense shoulders. “Having trouble?”

“Someone raided my stock,” the knight growled, thumping his hammer against the nail in the tree, lodging the sign firmly. The tree had a ring of impact in it from the weight of the hammer. He had blue and green paint streaking his armor from painting the signs in an angry hurry. “Not so much as a single glove left behind.”

“I think I know who.”

“I knew it! That rival craft shop across the river, right? Knitwits or whatever they’re called? Buncha nitwits. I knew it. Mafia creeps. I’m gonna lodge a formal complaint with the royal guards. Trying to button in on my service area, how dare they?”

“No, not them,” Graham said, and offered the scarf. Acorn gently took it, brushing the dirt off it, looking all the more upset about its condition. “Goblins, I think,” Graham continued. “There’s a whole bunch of their tracks just up the lane.”

Acorn seemed taken aback. “No. Really? They haven’t caused trouble for decades. They’ve kept to themselves. Why would they be stirring up trouble again?”

“Good question,” Graham said. “I intend to find out. Something must have happened.”

Instinctively, both men turned and looked at Alexander. Alexander’s eyes widened and he shrank back, stepping into the shade of a tree and tripping over an upraised root hidden in the snow.

“Possibly,” Graham said, mostly to himself. “I wonder if an audience with the goblin king would be useful.” He realized what his mouth had gone off saying and froze, imagining himself down in the goblin tunnels again, those bleak roads he had once trekked as a prisoner, to keep that appointment. He shook his head, scaring the image away. “I’ll deal with that later. For now, we’ll notify the royal guards and let the rest of the villagers know. I’ll head back to town now.”

“Would you take this back to Amaya if you’re going that way?” Acorn asked, holding the hammer out. “I ran out of signs, but I’m gonna go look around, and I promised I’d get that back to her quick.”

Graham was about to protest, about to suggest it wasn’t safe, and then remembered who he was talking to. The strongest knight Daventry had to offer, and surprisingly deadly with a pair of knitting needles. “You be careful,” he said, grinning. “Don’t scare them too badly or anything if you find them. I’d hate to look bad in front of the goblin king.”

Acorn laughed, and then wandered further down the path into the forest, leaving Graham holding a surprisingly heavy hammer and Alexander shivering with wary uncertainty.

“Would you like to go into town with me?” Graham asked. “If you want to go back to the castle, we can do that too, and then I’ll go on to the town myself.”

“Do you...do you think I’m really...the cause of something?” Alexander asked, his voice hardly audible.

Graham was going to flippantly answer, but the look on his son’s face drew him up short. He put the hammer down—stars it was heavy, what did Amaya want it for—and stood beside Alexander. The cold wind had picked up again, and the threat of a storm was blowing in from the west (always from the west these days, so odd, when winter storms normally blew from the north over the mountains). They drew closer together as a screen from the chill.

“Truly, I don’t think it’s anything you did,” Graham said, after a pause. “I’m sorry, we didn’t mean to make you feel uncomfortable or unwanted. Daventry has a long and unsettling history with the goblin kingdom, and we were thinking of that more than anything else.”

“Unsettling history?” Alexander asked. He still looked nervy, a deer startled and ready to run, but that eternal curiosity about everything, so delightful in the Cracker family, was roused.

“It’s...you might not want to hear it,” Graham said, uneasy as he looked ahead to where this conversation might go. “It’s a story about goblins...kidnapping all the villagers. And me. They took me. I don’t...it might...” It might trigger your own memories, were the unspoken words. It might ruin everything, to hear this story.

But Alexander perked his head up, looked toward his father with surprise. And maybe some respect. “What happened? Did you...escape? By yourself?”

“Not completely by myself,” Graham said. “I had help from the villagers. But, yes, we rescued ourselves.”

“I had to rescue myself, alone,” Alexander whispered, so softly Graham wondered if he had been meant to hear it or not. It was the first time Alexander had voluntarily offered any detail regarding what had happened to him. “I...” his voice faded to nothing, and then, in almost a normal volume, like he was trying to force himself to speak, “Would you tell me what happened? If...if you’re okay with that.”

With a kind smile, Graham said, “Yes, I can tell you what happened. Would you like to walk back to town with me while I do? We’ll keep a bit warmer if we move. It was a summer evening, then, but the rain was endless. You’ll get a sense for how monsoon season is in July.” And he unraveled the story about what had happened to him just a few short months after he’d been crowned. How he’d been ambushed by goblins, hauled underground, locked away, and what had happened next.

They hadn’t gotten far into the story by the time they reached the town. Graham had told this tale many times, and it always seemed to get a bit longer with each telling. Real life details fuzzed into something with more defined story structure, tugging wrinkles into out into a proper narrative’s smoothness, with highs and lows that seemed effortless to tell. Privately, though, he knew the raw edge of fear occasionally jangled and caught him off guard at unexpected moments, especially on certain lightning-struck nights when he was feeling tired and edgy. Sort of like catching his arm on a jagged nail in the dark.

But now, in the weak sunlight and the sparkling snow and the crisp air, it was light and easy to tell. He was just explaining about the cure-all potion he would need to restore Bramble’s fading health when they walked through the town gates and found Bramble herself shoveling snow off her front step.

“Ahh, Majesties,” she chirped, sweeping low into a bow, shovel held at attention and dripping slush back onto her stoop. “Lovely day for the moment, though I think you should go inside if that storm keeps heading our way.” She thumbed meaningfully at the clouds racing toward them, chasing the last scraps of sunlight away. “Always a joy to see you in town. Anything in particular you’re up to?”

“Bramble, you haven’t noticed anything strange lately, have you?” Graham asked, ignoring pleasantries.

She hesitated, a little put off by his haste. She wrapped her gloved fingers in her snow-crusted apron strings, considering. “Noticed anything? Acorn went off in a huff this morning, but I’m afraid he’s often in a huff in the mornings. Rather a knight owl. But...no, I can’t say that I’ve noticed anything strange, no more particularly than usual. Is there something I ought to be watching for?”

Graham glanced at the roof—goblins had crowded it once, pounced him flat. It was empty now, except for the snow. It was building up pretty high. He wondered if he should order the royal guards down to help clear the rooftops. It wouldn’t do anyone any good for the shingles to crack under the strain, especially when winter was only getting started. With more snow on the way some of these older structures might warrant a little extra care this year.

He couldn’t dance around the issue. “Bramble, I’m afraid there might be an upsurge in goblin activity.”

She clapped her hand over her mouth, abandoned shovel falling into a snow-covered shrubbery. Of all the villagers, she had been most affected by what had happened, had been very pregnant and very sick for most of her captivity. “You can’t be serious, Majesty.”

“I’m not entirely sure yet, but I have some pretty solid suspicions. I don’t think they’ll do anything. The treaties are still being upheld as far as I know, and Manny is...apparently indisposed.” He glanced at Alexander, who gave an almost imperceptible nod, although he was playing with his scarf uneasily, too. “I don’t want to cause alarm. I only want everyone to be a little careful. Maybe don’t walk through the forests alone right now, not until we straighten this out.”

“Of course. Did you tell everyone else?”

“Acorn knows, but I haven’t seen anyone else yet. I’m being proactive. They hurt the town first, last time.�� He looked at the worry cracking her normally sunny features and smiled warmly, reaching out and taking her hands. “It isn’t something to worry too much about, yet. They like causing mayhem, remember? Stealing scarves seems like just the sort of trouble they would love. I would recommend caution, of course, but don’t panic. We’ll take care of it before it gets dangerous.”

Relief softened her face. “Come inside, then, lad, let’s get you warmed up. King Graham, something hot to drink?”

“You know you don’t have to call me king,” he said, gently, for the thousandth time.

“I know, Majesty. Still. Cocoa?”

“Let me get this to Amaya first,” he said, hoisting the hammer in his hand to show it off, almost losing his balance as he misjudged its weight. “I’ll stop by after.”

Alexander made to follow Graham, but Graham gently shooed him toward the bakery with Bramble. Overhead, the garlands the villagers had used to decorate the town for the season swayed in the increasing wind.

Amaya’s shop always smelled of hot metal and oil, a tangy greasy feeling in the air that felt like sparks were going to crackle off his arms. Graham rapped his knuckles against the counter’s scraped and battered wood until Amaya shouted from her workroom, “In a minute, hold on to your crown!”

Bemused, he leaned back on his elbows, examining the array of weapons nailed to the walls. She eventually came out a side door, wiping her hands on a rag tucked into her skirt. “How’d you know it was me?” he asked.

“No one else knocks that pattern. Sounds like a song, the way you do it. Ridiculous, dreamy. Like a dopey lullaby. What’s up?”

“Got your hammer.” He dropped it onto the counter with a thump. He winced, having added yet another dent to the rest, but Amaya scooped it up as though it weighed nothing. “Acorn said you needed it back quick. What are you working on?”

“Something for Rosella,” Amaya said.

“Um. Something I should know about?” He still remembered the flaming poisoning raging sword of doom fiasco.

“New game board. Faster version of the home game Battle of Wits—the arrows hurt if they hit the players, ha! Adds some extra tension to rounds. Gotta hammer the board together, and the weight on this hammer in particular is perfect. Wanted to get it to her today if I could. I think she plans on teaching her brother how to play. Speaking of, he here?” She had pulled out said game while talking, hammering the top pieces with wild, ear-ringing abandon.

Graham flinched back from the clanging blows. “He’s with the Feys.”

“That hot chocolate’s gonna fatten him up. Good. Kid needs it.”

“There was something else, Amaya,” Graham said, trying to get a word in edgewise as she delivered a series of ringing whacks to the pieces.

“Has to do with Acorn, I bet. He was in a temper this morning. I mean, he’s always in a temper in the mornings. But he’s usually good at calming down. That bull training or whatever. Not this morning.” Amaya put down the hammer and looked expectant.

“I’m worried the goblins are stirring up trouble again,” he said.

“Ah.” She crossed her arms. “And what does that mean, exactly?”

“I have reason to believe they were in town,” he said, glancing at the shop windows—crusted with snow, hard to see through. Unless you were pressed right against it you wouldn’t see anyone outside. “They stole Acorn’s winter stock. All his scarves and gloves and socks.”

“That might explain why my order of icepicks and chisels has inexplicably gone walking.”

“They’re not arming themselves, do you think?” Graham asked. He could remember spearheads jabbed against his shoulders, could remember the wooden handles slamming against the back of his knees to bring him to their level before they yanked the ropes around his wrists.

“With a chisel? Unless they’re carving some lovely ice swans and bringing them to life with some black magic to attack us, I doubt it. The picks, maybe, but they’ve still got their spears as far as I know, so they don’t need my stuff. This might just be petty thievery. They like that. I never did get my bed back.”

“You didn’t want it back. I did offer to ask.”

“Not worth the effort.” Or the memories. “Still. I’ll keep an eye out. We started barring the gates again this year—this winter is colder, have you noticed? It's driving the wedzels into town, looking for warmer hearths to sleep against. If I catch one by my forge there will be hell to pay. But we’ll be more diligent. I’m not sure if the gates were closed last night or not. I assume I can expect a visit from Number One about patrol schedules?”

“As always. Number One likes to keep you involved.”

“Whisper thinks he’s flirting with me.”

“Whisper thinks everyone’s flirting with you.”

Amaya scowled. “Ridiculous. Still. We’ll be watchful. We’ve dealt with this before, and we’ll take care of it now. Don’t worry, Graham.”

“I’m supposed to be telling you not to worry, not the other way around,” Graham said.

Amaya laughed, handed Graham the completed board game (which weighed considerably more than the hammer had) and pushed him out the door. The light had a distinct gray quality to it, now, the clouds pushing into place. After the forge-warmed shop, the incoming storm’s biting chill nipped Graham’s cheeks, and he shrugged deeper into his cowl, shifting it up around his ears while trying not to lose his grip on Rosella’s order. It would be best to head back to the castle now, to get the royal guards involved, before the storm hit. The villagers would warn each other about the possible threat, and Number One and the other guards would soon have the place safely under patrol.

Wente and Bramble were crammed around a table with Alexander when Graham pushed through the door. A couple of early snowflakes also entered with him, though they melted the moment they hit the hot air. Everything tasted like cinnamon and sugar dust, and Wente had lit a large number of candles to keep the darkness at bay.

“It’s not at all like it was under Edward,” Wente was saying cheerfully, dunking a cookie in hot chocolate and getting crumbs all over the tabletop. “Your father is really doing some delightful expansion work. Used to be we’d lose half the lavender crop to rain. The irrigation system he implemented? That alone has done wonders for Daventry.”

“Oh, King Graham, let me get you a cup of something,” Bramble said, pushing to her feet. “Cider? Cocoa? Something a bit stronger? Your nose is five shades redder than usual.”

“The storm is on its way,” Graham said, shifting the board game but looking longingly at the sweet cider tap.

“Yes, but Daventry Castle is no more than ten minutes up the road. Come on, sit. We’ll get you warmed up before you head out. No goblins will want to move in weather like this, so don’t worry about raising alarm yet.”

“They’re armed with winter caps now, though,” Graham said, trying to spin it into a joke. “I’ve seen them in grass skirts—I'll bet they look ridiculous in scarves.”

“Wrapped around their helmets!” Wente accidentally dropped the last of his cookie in his cup and his mustache drooped as he looked forlornly at the soggy remnants.

“Mistletoe on their spears,” Bramble said.

“Wearing bright green gloves,” Alexander offered, quiet, with what might have been the trace of a smile.

They didn’t stay long—the storm truly was impending, and it made Graham anxious to get back home, but they stayed long enough to drain their mugs, to tell some awful jokes about snowmen, and to speculate about what the goblins might actually be up to. Nothing at all was decided, other than perhaps they’d sensed the oncoming worse winter and had decided to prepare in the only way they knew how: thievery.

By the end of their brief ten-minute chat, Bramble didn’t seem nearly as frightened as she had before, and Wente remembered he had a cupcake he wanted to send up with Graham for Royal Guard Number Two’s birthday (it smelled a little bit like syrup). Alexander had to carry the little paper box, as Graham was still struggling with the board game. He wouldn’t tell Alexander what it was, sure Rosella meant it to be a surprise, and mumbled something about it being for dull castle business.

Acorn stomped in right before the royalty left, shaking snowflakes from his cloak and demanding a frosted bear claw—Alexander looked horrified and confused before Wente handed over a specific type of pastry. He told Graham that the royal guards knew about the goblins now. Acorn had run into Numbers One and Two making a loose patrol loop through the forest, and No1 wanted to see him as soon as possible to confirm their strategy.

“Absolutely, on the way,” Graham said, and waved farewell to his friends and his citizens. Bramble and Wente both gave Alexander warm goodbyes, Wente offering a huge goodbye hug and Alexander gently refusing (although he openly smiled when he refused, definitely the first true smile Graham had seen). Acorn sprayed crumbs everywhere but still managed to cough out a dry “see ya,” and then the king and the prince walked back toward the castle, glowing with the contentment of companionship.

[missfay49]

Just Speak

Summary: Janus and Remus being domestic.  Well, as domestic as they can be.

Warnings: body horror, space, aliens, suggestive content, food, poison mention, venom mention, talk of medical procedures

Word Count: ~2060

AO3

Down Time

“Say it.  Say it, pleeeaze?  Please, please, please, please-”

Remus is crouching in front of the kitchen table, only the top of his head and his fingertips visible from where he’s gripping the edge.  His eyes are wide and teeth bared.

Janus is sitting across from him, elbows on the table, face in his hands, staring at Remus through his fingers.  He looks tired and more than a little disturbed.  

“Remus, honestly?  I don’t know if I can take another one.  Do I enjoy a good philosophical debate now and then?  Yes.  That’s not this.  You’re trying to destroy me!”  He squints and sits up, lowering his arms.  “It’s rude.”

“Hee!  Last one, I prom-ise.”  Remus rolls the ‘r’ and jumps from his crouch onto the table.  By the time he lands, he’s an eight-legged Boston Terrier, bouncing and giving Janus authentic puppy eyes - several of them.

Janus releases a shuddering sigh of defeat.  

“Fine,” he mutters through gritted teeth, a thousand-yard stare overtaking him.

“Pinky,” he asks.  “Are you pondering... what I’m pondering?”

Terrier-Remus erupts into a full-grown side again, standing on top of the table.  Janus leans back, looking up at him and grimacing.

“YES!”  He cackles in triumph, then pauses, confused.  “I mean, no!”  He smirks again.

“Unless, of course, you are also pondering the expansion of the universe and its correlation to black holes, because if matter disappears into the black holes of our universe, yet we continue to grow, then that implies not only that pocket universes are forming on the other side of those black holes, but that our own universe is also a pocket dimension formed on the other side of a black hole we cannot see - in a universe above our own - supplying our universe with matter at such a rate that we cannot lose it fast enough?!  And are you further pondering whether life first formed in our universe or the one above ours, and if it formed there first, does that mean that they put us here on purpose?  Are they watching us?  Are we just an experiment to them, CURSED,” he screeched. “-to struggle for the sick curiosity of an ancestral yet alien race that may decide to terminate us at any moment?!”

Remus stands over him, hands clutching the air, panting at the end of his monologue.  Janus stares up at him, mouth agape.  Logan laughs.

Logan?

Janus turns slowly, reluctant to take his eyes off the spectacle before him.  Logan is sitting cross-legged on the couch behind them, apparently having watched the whole thing.  

“Hilarious.”  He puts a hand to his chin.  “The odds of Janus pondering that exact same thing at the same time are preposterous.  Excellent joke, Remus.”

“Spaghetti!”

“That was not a joke - it was an existential crisis!”  Janus yells at the both of them.  

“I am not sure why it should cause any distress.”  Logan says evenly.  “While it is technically possible for that scenario to be true, it is not more true now than it was before you were aware of it.  And there is literally nothing we can do about it, given our species’ current technological progress.”

While Logan speaks, Remus climbs down, sits at the table, and conjures a plateful of piano wire covered in marinara.  He’s spinning a fork into the mess, nodding sagely all the while.  Janus watches him take a crunchy bite.

“This is why Virgil left, you know.”  Janus simpers, summoning a glass of… soup.  

“Oh, boo, Janny.”  Remus speaks out of a second mouth he’s just added to his shoulder.  It’s grin belies something sinister.  “He left for much worse reasons than that!”

Janus sighs into his wine.  Logan walks over to join them at the table, summoning a notepad and pencil.

“Remus, could you describe what is happening to your teeth right now?  I’m curious.”

“Absolutely!”

On a Mission

“Remus?  Darling, where are you?”  Janus calls from the kitchen.  A shape appears to the side, just catching the corner of his eye.  Remus is inexplicably soaking wet.

“Ah, there you are.”  Janus claps his hands together.  “Remus, dear, did you place this giant terrarium here just off the kitchen?”  Remus peers into a thick jungle sprouting out where the oven used to be.

“Sounds like me, but I don’t remember.  Are there dangerous creatures in it?”

“If the shrieks are any indication, undoubtedly.”

“Then, yes!”  Remus shimmies, shaking off the water.  Janus admires the spray, smiling.

“That’s exactly what I wanted, thank you.  Come along, now, we’ve got specimens to collect.”  With a flourish, Janus twirls around and strides into the foliage.  Remus snaps his fingers, donning a stained and battered explorer’s outfit, equally as wet as before, and leaps in after him shouting something about ‘smashing!’.

Working Late

Remus tiptoes down the hallway, leaving a trail of flour-based footprints behind him.  He’s dusted halfway up his shins with the stuff.  He slows and stops when he sees the light still on under his target’s doorway.  Janus is usually asleep by now.  He twists the knob, willing the hinges to squeal with their utmost spooky capacity.  

The bed is empty and neatly made.  Janus is at his desk instead, cape and hat hanging off the back of the chair.  His gloves are nowhere to be seen.  There’s a pen still upright in his hand, but his head rests on his arm and he’s fast asleep.  Even the noise doesn’t stir him. 

Looming over his shoulder, Remus examines what was keeping him up so late.  Small stoppered vials full of pale liquids are lined up in a specially-made wooden crate.  Latex gloves, wash cloths, and a mask are discarded atop a metal tray.  A pair of safety goggles are resting on Janus’ head.  

Half the vials are affixed with permanent labels in a clean handwritten script.  The rest just have sticky notes and scribbled words.  

Taxine alkaloids, Taxus brevifolia

Abrus precatorius

“Oo hoo hoooo!”  Remus claps excitedly as black tentacles tear through his clothing.  They wrap around Janus and lift him from the chair with surprising grace.  Janus only startles for a moment, settling back down when he recognizes the feel of the limbs surrounding him.  

“I’m nearly finished,” he murmurs.  Remus just presses him down into the bed, tendrils pulling down the blankets.  As the tentacles pull away, Janus shivers; nothing but his boxer briefs remain on him, the rest having vanished somewhere between the bed and the desk.  He pulls the blankets up tight as Remus perches on the footboard.  The tentacles are slowly slurping back into his body.

“Prenez une petite mort.  Your nightmares are more interesting when you get more sleep.”  Remus grins wide, revealing rows of shiny, dagger-like teeth.  A tentacle passes by the desklamp and hits the switch.  In the darkness, he sounds ravenous.

“Don’t worry.  I’ll stay right by your side…”

“Fine.  Goodnight, Remus.”

Janus sleeps soundly knowing nothing will get past his bodyguard tonight.

Almost Ready

“What scent should I use?”  Remus has brought three different perfume bottles for Janus to choose from.  “Ozone, battery acid, or meat?”

“Oo, tough call...”  Janus deadpans, focusing on tying a bow onto the crate just so.  “Sure you don’t have bloody mouse-y with a dash of hot sauce?”  He slaps a hand over his own mouth when he realizes what he’s said.

“A classic!  You got it, Santa-snakey.”  Remus snaps his fingers.  The first three bottles vanish, and a fourth appears.  It’s filled with a thick, bright red paste.  

“For the love of Liza Minnelli, do not spray that in here.”

The Gift

Logan sits unsuspecting in the living room having a cup of tea and reading an article about Maria Skłodowska-Curie on his phone.  The dark duo appear out of thin air on either side of him, the rustle and movement of the couch his only clues, except…  Logan puts his tea down.  

“Remus, what is that smell?”  

“Best not to think about it too hard,” Janus interjects.  “Here.”

Janus holds a hand out before Logan, a mysterious shape underneath a black cloth.  He flings the cloth away dramatically to reveal a present wrapped in gold-foil paper and a black silk ribbon.  Logan blinks at the surprise.

“This wrapping is quite aesthetically pleas- oof!”

Remus drops a ten-pound box in Logan’s lap, knocking his phone to the ground.  Janus deftly moves his gift out of the way.  The box is wrapped in yesterday’s paper and tied in a series of reef knots.  The top facing article features the latest alligator attack suffered by yet another “Florida Man”.

“Thanks!”  Logan squeaks out.  “I will just open this first, if you don’t mind, Janus?”  The other side nods.  

Logan carefully unties the knots and opens the box - the cake box.  Because inside is a pale blue frosted cake with rock candy cutting through the side.

“It is beautiful.  Is it meant to resemble blue agate?”  Logan carefully lifts the cake out of the box and places it on the table.

“It’s meant to resemble a vagina!  It’s a vageode cake!  I made it last night.”  

“Is this another reference I need to learn?”  Logan asks them both, but Janus just shrugs while Remus pokes holes in the cake and laughs.

“Mine next,” Janus reminds him.

“Ah, yes.”  Logan accepts the gold package Janus hands him and undoes the bow with one pull.  Underneath the foil is a smooth wooden crate holding eight vials.

“Oh!  ‘Nerium oleander’.  ‘Atropa belladonna’.”  Logan starts reading off the labels.  “Poisons?”

“And venoms-s-s.”  Janus says low.  “So you can help Thomas’ competitors- I mean, his fellow actors, take a well deserved break.  Or, you know, develop life-saving antivenoms, or whatever.  Your choice.”

“Thank you?  I am not going to poison Thomas’ colleagues.”

“You can test them on me!”  Remus winks at him.  

“Surely that won’t be necessary.  Although, testing does provide a lot of data.”  Logan looks thoughtful for a moment.  “Say, do you think- wait, no, that’s unethical.”

“Who cares about ethics, you’re not a doctor!  Tell me tell me!”  Remus bounces on the cushion, making a horrible sucking sound with each rebound.

“Well, I would need to do some research first.  Is it still considered an autopsy if the patient is alive?”  Logan picks his phone off the ground and starts opening tabs.

“Wait!”  He stops himself.  “I’ve got your gifts upstairs.  I didn’t know when you would be popping in.  I’ll be right back.”

Logan leaves the two sitting on the couch.  Janus preens.  

“Another highly successful encounter.  Do you think he’s caught on to our devious plan, yet?”  He smirks at Remus.

“Definitely not.  What was the plan again?”  

Janus tsks.  

“Our very evil plan to befriend the nerd under the guise of traditional holiday celebrations, reconcile all the sides with his help, and thereby help Thomas achieve self-actualization?  You know, the ultimate plan?”  He squints at Remus.  “Did we not go over the plan?”  

“Doesn’t ring a bell.”

“Then why did you make that cake?”

“Cause we harvested all those poisons and I wanted to try my hand at creating a vagina!”  Remus tears a chunk of cake off and starts to eat it.  Blueberry filling starts to pour out.

“You know they’re not blue, right?”  

“Maybe not the ones you’ve seen.”  Crumbs are falling everywhere.  Janus withholds any more questions to prevent a bigger mess and texts a warning to Logan not to eat the poisoned cake.  

At that moment, the front door swings open.  The pair on the couch freeze.  Roman and Virgil start loudly carrying in armfuls of groceries, complaining about the lack of snow.  

“Patton, we’re back!”  

Footsteps upstairs are rapidly approaching.  Janus nods to Remus.

“That’s our cue.”  They stand up as one.

“Hey!”  Virgil shouts.  “What are you two doing here?!”

“Villains!  We’re being invaded by villains!”  Roman cries out, rushing into the living room.

“Now, Remus!”  Janus drops out of sight with a swirl of his cape just in time to avoid the explosion of glitter as Remus’ form erupts like a balloon.

When Patton comes downstairs, Roman is standing in the middle of the room spitting out neon green glitter with his sword drawn, and Virgil is ranting about perimeter security and motion detectors, floor sensors and alarms.  

Logan comes down a moment later carrying two gift bags.  

“Hm.”  His phone buzzes.

The cake is a lie.

Come visit anytime.

@sanderssidesgiftxchange​ @on-and-on-we-go-forever​

[meetthetank]

Cruciamen Chapter 10: Order of the Devoted

Rating: Mature Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: F/M, Other Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game) Relationships: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata), A2/A4 (NieR: Automata) Characters: 2B (NieR: Automata), 9S (NieR: Automata), A2 (NieR: Automata), A4 (NieR: Automata), Emil (NieR: Automata), Kainé (NieR) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, genre typical violence, On the Run, Monster of the Week, 9S is a half demon, 2B and A2 are shapeshifter Dragons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Smut in the future, inaccurate depictions of medical procedures, Fantasy Biology, A2 is Nonbinary

The first thing A2 notices is how soft the surface they’re sleeping on is. It reminds them of times as a hatchling when they would nuzzle into their mother’s downy feathers, safe and sound while they slept. Something is draped over their body too, just as gentle. For the first time in a long, long time, they are content and unafraid for their safety.

The next thing they realize is that this is not where they lost consciousness, and all of the warmth in their body rushes away, replaced by icy gripping fear.

Their eyes fly open and they sit upright, ready to fight their captors to the death and escape their prison. They expect to see a pit of rotting mud and meat, or a dank cellar of stone. Instead, they find themself in a small cozy room, complete with a mirror and dresser opposite of their bed. A quick scan around the place reveals nothing out of the aggressively ordinary beyond a plate of fruits and other, strange foods that A2 has never seen before.

They don’t lower their guard yet. If their time in the Bog has taught them anything it’s that horrible things can be waiting in every shadow. The soft bed and heavy blankets might be comfortable, the room itself might be bathed in warm sunlight, the foods beside them might smell inviting, and they might not feel like they’re on death’s door anymore… but it could be a trap or an illusion or a horrible dream. Any second their surroundings could shift back to the prison pit, or they could be hallucinating, on the brink of death while some Bog animals gnaw at their limbs.

… They stare around the room for a few minutes. Nothing happens.

Somehow, waking up in a safe and comfortable room is the most unbelievable thing that’s happened to them, in their mind.

A2’s stomach roars, and suddenly they remember that they haven’t eaten in… gods, they don’t know how long. They look over at the plate of… things, on the small table. There’s a bunch of small purple fruits hanging from little vines in a pile, a block of pale yellow stuff, something that looks in between the color of flesh and the writing paper humans use to record things, a cup of warm water, and a couple of bottles of odd colored liquids. The pale colored food has the shape of an oblong rock, but sags when they press their finger to it. Its outer shell crackles enticingly, but they turn their attention to the plants instead. At least they know that the purple orbs are fruits. They pluck one off the vines and roll it between their fingers for a moment. It’s somewhat firm with a thin skin around it, broken where it was connected with what reveals a soft flesh inside that drips with juice. They cautiously sink their teeth into a small portion of one end which explodes in their mouth.

A2 decides they like these purple fruits, and gulps down the rest of them in seconds, followed by the soft yellow block and crunchy but also soft paper colored food. All of it tastes strange, but pleasant. It isn’t as good as fresh kill, but it quells the hunger that gnaws at their gut. The darker portion of their mind chastises them for eating things that could very well be poisoned, but A2 doesn’t care. They’re fed for the first time since going into the Bog.

The sink back into the bed, full of strange new foods and ready to fall back asleep. However just as they begin to get comfortable, their body begins to itch. They groan and drag their nails against the focal points, mainly their thighs and shoulders, to find them wrapped in tight bandages. They hold their arm up to inspect, finding only clean white wrappings and the stink of some sort of chemical. It smells a bit like fermented berries but less sweet. Carefully they pick at the bandages on their elbow, unwinding them bit by bit once they find the end stuck between two layers. As the final layers start to unravel, their arm begins to sting and feel like their skin itself is peeling off. Sure enough, they pull back the last layer to find raw, red skin. Skin, not scales. Portions of their scales stick to the bandages, flake off when the bandage is removed, or cling to their skin by the smallest thread of mucus.

A2 puts the bandages back on as tight as they can.

Suddenly the wooden door to the outside world flies open and in steps a woman with black robes with a mess of curly black hair tied back. She’s much shorter than them, most likely coming up to where their chest would be, and either well fed or muscular under her robes. Probably both, if they had to guess. A2 freezes in place as they watch her cross the room with a ceramic pitcher in her hands. The woman’s green eyes widen when they meet A2’s

“Oh good!” she says, her voice warm and kind. A2 recognizes it as the same voice they heard just before passing out in the Bog. “I didn’t expect you to be awake already.”

They don’t respond. The woman keeps watching them as if waiting for them to say something. A moment later she clears her throat and approaches A2’s bed. They can feel their hair--now much lighter than before--bristle even though this woman doesn’t appear to be a threat.

“... My name is A4. I’m a nun in the Order of Devoted. I’ll be taking care of you while you recover.”

Still A2 remains silent, their eyes never leaving A4.

“You must have some questions. I know it can be scary waking up in an unfamiliar place, but I assure you this is the safest place you can be in this region.”

The only form of movement A2 gives in response is blinking when necessary.

“... You’ve been unconscious for about two and a half days,” the nun begins as she pours the water into a smaller cup. “You were in a very poor state when we found you, but our holy magic has been sufficient in helping you regain your strength.”

She sets the cup on their bedside table. “Unfortunately you seem to have contracted an illness from spending so long in The Great Bog, and it’s not one spells can fix. Bog Rot is something that requires the old medicines. Regular herbal baths, cleaning of infection sites, various salves, and-”

“I don’t need your help,” A2 snaps, brows knit tightly together. They try to look as intimidating as they can, despite how pathetic they feel wrapped up in blankets and bandages.

A4 smirks. “Ah, so you can speak. For a moment I thought you couldn’t or didn’t understand my language. But I’m sorry, you need treatment-”

“I’m not a charity case,” they growl.

The nun’s eyebrows shoot up in shock, but then she puts her hands on her hips and scowls, though her emerald eyes still hold kindness. “I don’t think you understand how serious this disease is. You-”

“I. Don’t. Need. Help.” A2 leans forward and snarls, baring their pointed teeth at A4.

For a split second there’s fear on the nun’s face, a brief flash of pallor across her face. “Yes, you do. This is only the beginning stages of the Rot. Your skin will start to become necrotic. You won’t be able to walk, stand, or even clean yourself. One by one your organs will rot away and shut down. Within a month you will be clinging to life while your body rots from the inside out.”

They scowl, but A4’s little sermon does strike a cord in them. They cross their arms over their chest and stare holes in the floor. Somehow wasting away in a sickbed is a worse fate than starving to death in a mud pit. Unlike in the desert with Emil and Kaine they’re in no condition to assist with anything, so repayment is out of the question for now.

Gods, they hate being stuck like this.

“Look,” A4 says, her stern expression falling into one of genuine concern. “I can tell you’re strong. Most people would have succumbed to the Rot and the pain. I’ve seen many warriors fall into torpor after a mere week, yet you remain conscious and alert. You’d be free to leave once you regain your strength, if you wish.”

A2 chews at their bottom lip as they think, still scowling at the floorboards.

“... Fine,” they huff. “But I’m not letting you wash me. And I can take the medicine myself.”

A4 lights up with a radiant smile that makes A2’s chest tighten. “Great! I’ll leave fresh bandages and salves for you on your table every day. You have to change them each morning or if they get too dirty. The salves will sting a bit but they will prevent further infections. Oh, and exercise is important to the recovery process as well. Helps combat muscle wasting. So I’ll be helping you walk around the Convent grounds every mornin-”

“Like hell you are,” they snap, “I’m not a dog-”

“The walks aren’t negotiable.” A4 doesn’t even look at them as she gathers up old sheets and clothes. “End of story.”

A2 sits back in their bed and scowls, once again, at nothing. Just before A4 leaves their room, they realize something of theirs is missing.

“Where did you take my sword?” It’s a question in technicality, but A2 says it like a command.

“Your sword?”

“Big, black iron blade. Has a…” A lump catches in their throat. “... A black feather on the grip.”

“Oh! Yes, we did recover that from the village.”

“Give it back to me.”

She sighs. “Weapons are not allowed in the medical wards, but…” A4 looks towards the door like a child sneaking treats from under their parents noses. “I can take you to it while we’re on a walk.”

A2 feels a growl rumble in their throat.

“It’s safe, I promise. I won’t let anything happen to it.”

There’s an air of sincerity around the nun that lends credence to her words. That, and A2 simply doesn’t have the energy to press the issue further.

“Mm…” Is all they respond with.

A4 nods, then shuts the door behind her, leaving A2 alone with their thoughts. They sigh and stare up at the ceiling, wondering why the world won’t let them die.