#characters can get lost in a storm or they can have a nice day out making snowmen and snow angels or they have a massive snowball fight

[blametheeditor]

Boo! The snow is thawing, but it’s still here. How despicable would it be if a lil tiny Fritz had to walk home through thick snow after his shift?

Take as long as you need, it’s cold outside! Everyone’s bones are sluggish. Headcanons on each character’s reaction or a short check-in is chill. Honestly just wanna make sure you’re surviving <3

Also, watch out for snowballs! I heard there’s a new FazSnowball flying around…

AH!

That would be despicable! It'd be a shame, even...if such a scenario wasn't written

Thank you for the check in!! I am currently surviving, fighting with characters, the usual. I hope you've been doing good and surviving as well <3

It's always a pleasure seeing you mcfries! Especially when you give me something I can sink my teeth it was too good not to make an almost 10,000 fic out of it

Snowfall And Dread

Content Warnings: Cursing. Dehumanization. Treating others as lesser than. Addressing someone as 'thing' and 'pest'. Mentions of death. Mentions of getting lost in a snow storms. Mentions of hypothermia. Mentions of caring for someone who's unconscious.

Follow up fic, nothing but wholesome snowman building and innocent burying of tinies in snow

______________________________

“Fritz,” has said teenager pausing from clocking out for the day. Part of him knew he would be caught at the door, and part of him dreaded the possibility of being asked to stay longer. Even though his shift technically ended two hours ago. 

But he would get in trouble if he tried to claim he was already off the clock. So instead of pressing the button, he turns away from the register to properly address his manager, tilting his head back to properly see the giant standing just outside the hallway for employees only. “Yes, Mr. Harrison?” 

The towering business man doesn’t look away from whatever he’s typing on his phone. “Did you double check that the tills were correct?”

“Yes, sir!” 

David Harrison raises an eyebrow, still not so much as glancing away from the screen. “And did you make a list of things I need to order?” 

“I did!” Fritz points above him at the giant register a few feet away. “It’s on the counter!” 

The business man finally looks away from his phone to spot the list in question. The giant then takes a few catastrophic footsteps to grab it, making the teenager take a few steps back out of respect. And maybe from a slight worry about the shoes capable of crushing him like a bug getting too close. 

It’s almost funny how David doesn’t question how the restaurant’s only human employee manages to count money from a register where he could be mistaken as a coin, or how someone so small could write using a pen twice his size. And yet the giant constantly grumbles about Fritz almost always managing to end up underfoot, as well as the fact he’s essentially useless since he can’t complete tasks like cleaning tables or serving food. 

At least the worst thing David can say is just how useless having a human working at a giant only restaurant is. Fritz has yet to be anything but useful, even if it is annoying for everyone to watch where they step. 

Not that David always watches. Fritz honestly can’t tell if the giant actually knows where he’s currently standing as the list being held is asked a question. “We’re already out of party hats?” 

“We’ve got half a box left,” Fritz explains, nervously twisting the strap of his backpack in his hands. “That’s why I put a note saying to order it Friday, so we have enough for next week after the all the parties scheduled for this weekend.” 

At least, he’s pretty sure Lefty wrote that part down for him. Not that he wasn’t part of the process! He doesn’t just ask the animatronics to do his job for him. Ask for help walking to the storage room that would have taken him a whole hour just to get to, yes, but Fritz wouldn’t order someone to check the supplies and make a list. There’s just a possibility Fritz was distracted, either because the pen was used to chase him across the paper, or because one of the other animatronics demanded for his attention. And if he’s distracted, then Lefty takes advantage and ‘accidentally’ forgets about what he’s doing. 

Honestly, Fritz should stop trusting the animatronic bear so much. Not when the last time Lefty forgot they were supposed to go to David’s office and ended up at the prize counter where Fritz was labeled as only being worth 400 tickets. The worst part is even Orville agreed! 

Thankfully Lefty did write the part about ordering the party hats Friday. If he hadn’t, David wouldn’t be typing on his phone instead of lecturing Fritz about wasting precious time, that if he said to do something then it better be done correctly, or else- 

The phone in David’s hand suddenly ringing admittedly makes Fritz jump. He then tenses as his shoulders hitch up in a poor attempt to cover his ears, prepared for the yelling guaranteed to come during the call. One of the many habits the giant refuses to change despite having a human employee who’s eardrums could burst and where a misplaced step could be fatal. 

There’s no stopping a sigh of relief when David immediately turns to walk back toward his office as the phone is answered. Which means his hearing survives another day! And he can clock out without getting in trouble! 

“Mr. Smith?” stops Fritz a second time, his finger hovering over the button to end his shift. 

The teenager pulls his hand away, turning to see Mr. Hippo standing by one of the tables, the animatronic hippopotamus holding a box of crayons. Which means Fritz completely forgot about his promise to help pick out what pictures to have for the coloring station. “Oh, I’m sorry! Did you need help setting up your station?” 

“Oh no, I have it covered,” Mr. Hippo smiles. “I just wanted to ask if you were aware that it’s currently snowing.” 

“Snowing?” comes the immediate chorus of the other three animatronics repeating it together, with Happy’s excited cheer much louder than Orville’s bewildered murmur. 

“Snowing?” Fritz finds himself repeating as well, needing a moment to process what was being said. It doesn’t truly click until he turns to the door to the outside, staring out at the streetlight working hard to keep the darkness away. 

A wide smile spreads across his face at the sight of snowflakes falling past the light. Realizes what snowing means. That his walk home is going to be cold but anything except boring. Maybe he’ll even be lucky and it’ll snow enough to make a snowman! Or he can convince Mike to-! 

Oh, wait, Mike won’t be walking him home. Because there’s no Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica at this location. The giant night guard doesn’t come here for his shift, meaning he won’t be coming in early to help Fritz navigate through the snow. 

Which is fine, Fritz’ll be fine! He’s walked through the snow without a giant to help flatten the path before. It just means less worrying about slipping and more work to trudge through knee high snow. Even though it looks like it won’t stop snowing anytime soon, it shouldn’t get too deep by the time he gets home. 

He just wishes he had a proper snow jacket, but he’ll be fine! “Think Mr. Harrison will let me have the day off tomorrow?” 

Lefty snorts. “And here I thought you finally learned never to give him such credit.” 

“Wish me luck getting here on time!” Fritz waves as he finally clocks out for the day. “See you guys tomorrow!” 

“Mr. Smith!” Happy calls, giving Fritz a good excuse to shut the door after the wind sent a freezing shiver down his spine. “Didn’t Mr. Harrison promise to walk you home if it snowed?” 

Oh, had the business man made a promise like that? No offense, but it doesn’t sound like something David would say. If he had, then it would’ve been something Scott had to forcibly gotten an agreement for. 

Wait, he remembers now! Specifically David’s annoyance and Scott’s anger when the man came to restaurant last month to demand that Fritz wouldn’t walk through the snow alone. Because this is a giant only restaurant, meaning this location is a lot closer to the giant side of town then all the other ones, which means the weather is a bit different. 

Fritz shivers at the memory of having to face the rain shortly after he transferred to this location. Distinctly remembers how much it hurt when a droplet the size of his arm slammed into his back. It only got worse when it made him fall face first onto the sidewalk, ending with him having a decent sized scrape on his cheek. That was one of the few times he agreed to the animatronic’s insistence he didn’t go home, even though he was right about David lecturing him about this being a restaurant not a hotel the next day. 

As for Scott, he was much more upset about the scab that covered half of Fritz’s face. Truthfully, the teenager’s pretty sure James was hired part to make sure Mike doesn’t bleed out, and part to ease Scott’s mind concerning certain teenagers. 

Suddenly, the snow seems a lot more daunting than before. And as Fritz watches it falling, he realizes each flake is at least the size of his hand if not bigger. He can also hear the howling wind as it races past the windows. 

To be honest, he would genuinely be grateful if a giant walked with him, just to make sure he didn’t get buried by snow. Even if they only went as far as needed to get to where the snowflakes are small enough to sit on his finger instead of as big as his head. 

David had promised to walk Fritz home if it was snowing. The business man wouldn’t be too upset if he was asked to follow through on it, would he? 

Except...he would. Fritz can perfectly picture the glare of someone dare interrupting him during an important call. Interrupting him period even if it’s not necessarily ‘important’. Would wave his hand if he listened to Fritz’s request and tell the teenager to figure it out himself. There’s better things for the giant to do then escorting some lowly human home. 

It’s times like these when he regrets agreeing to transfer locations. 

Fritz glances back at the hallway where he can hear David’s yelling despite the office door being closed. Looks outside at the ground slowly being covered by snow. “I-I don’t want to bother him. Besides, it doesn’t look that bad!” 

Happy and Mr. Hippo share a look of concern as Lefty shrugs. “It was certainly a pleasure knowing you.” 

"Lefty!” 

“Orville, even you can agree he won’t last five minutes by himself.” Fritz wilts as the bear turns away, walking back to the stage. “But it is his decision to make. Unless you would like to forcibly keep him here.” 

“As unwise as it would be you walk home alone,” Orville begins. “We wouldn’t keep you here against your will, Mr. Smith.” 

“But we are going to highly suggest you ask Mr. Harrison to walk you home,” Happy adds. 

Fritz does appreciate how considerate the animatronics are to not grab him without permission or to force him to do something he doesn’t want. They’ll take advantage of the fact he’s no bigger than a speck to them to tease him, like taking a very long detour to get to David’s office. But they don’t just pin him down or snatch him off the counter like all of his coworkers do. Or completely avoid picking him up because it feels too weird having someone sitting in your hands. 

He wouldn’t be upset if they did force him to stay, though. Might even prefer it since it’d give him a good excuse why he didn’t go home. Maybe...maybe he can go ask David to walk him at least until the snow is human sized. 

And get berated the entire time. Or get completely ignored and either get left behind or nearly stepped on several times. Get told this is yet another reason why he despises humans, how hard can it be to walk home in the snow? 

…he’ll be fine going home alone. How bad can it really be! Sure the snowflakes are giant, but they’re also really light. Rain is just pure water falling to the ground as fast as it can, but snow gently drifts down unless the wind blows it away. It also doesn’t look like it’s been snowing for long, plus it takes more than thirty minutes for the streets to collect a full inch of snow. He’ll be safely away from giant snowflakes by the time it gets that bad. 

He’ll be fine! 

“I’ll be okay, I promise!” Fritz calls up to the three remaining animatronics, giving as confident of a smile he can manage. “I’ll see you all tomorrow!” 

He’s quick to walk through the door before anyone can say anything else, maybe even get David themselves. Unfortunately, a snowflake lands on his arm not even a second later, immediately soaking through his jacket. It makes his teeth chatter as he’s chilled to the bone, making him want to do nothing more than to walk right back into the restaurant. 

But he can’t. Not unless he wants to get yelled at for wasting David’s time. He’ll take the cold walk home alone in the dark over that any day. 

Fritz wraps his arms around himself tightly as he begins to make his way home. Yelps when snowflake touches the back of his neck, the teenager scrambling to pull the hood of his jacket he completely forgot about over his head. Unfortunately, he only manages to make things worse as the action puts the snow on top of his head, a shiver wracking his body as it melts and leaves him trembling like a leak as the wind only makes him colder. 

He’s only five steps away from the restaurant, not even one step from a giant’s perspective, and he’s already miserable. 

Shaking his head, Fritz continues walking, hunkering down into his jacket to keep himself as warm as possible. Even though he’s freezing, his ears and nose are protected. And hey, the wind might be cold, but it’s blowing from behind to give him a boost forward! 

There absolutely won’t be any stops during this walk, though. Not when there’s no giant around to help him warm up after building a snowman. Normally he doesn’t have to worry about when the snow inevitably soak through his gloves, not when Mike always swept him up once his fingers went numb. It’s completely unfair how the night guard never needs gloves himself, even while holding a deemed ‘Irish Jig popsicle’. 

It’s also unfair how a single step for a giant is twenty steps for a human. If Fritz was a giant, he most likely would already be away from the snowflakes slowly but surely weighing him down. They won’t hurt when he manage to land on his head or back, but they’re a lot heavier than expected. And despite the fact he has barely any body heat compared to giants, each one melts too quickly for him to brush them off in time. 

He’s actually a little concerned with just how soaked his jacket is. The ice cold water had long since melted through the long sleeve underneath, but he doesn’t see an end to the storm anytime soon. No, if anything, it seems to be getting worse. 

Fritz pauses for a moment to look behind him. Stares past the streetlight towering over his head at the faint glow of the restaurant, the glowing letters of Fazbear Entertainment Center too far away to properly read. To be honest, he hasn’t gotten that far down the sidewalk, but he’s gotten far enough away it wouldn’t be worth going back. 

The teenager ducks to keep a snowflake from smacking him the face. The wind is definitely getting a bit stronger, but it’s still blowing against his back if he keeps walking home. Which means he should continue going. Especially now that the sidewalk is slowly but surely getting covered in a thin layer of snow. 

He turns away from the restaurant. Forces himself to put one foot in front of the other, even though he can’t feel his toes. Or his fingers. Or his face. 

It’s fine, he’ll be fine! It takes about, thirty minutes for snow to be an inch deep? He’ll be out of giant weather long before that. And he can even stop by Mike’s location for a bit! Fazbear’s Pizzeria is on the way home, and the night guard is guaranteed to come in early. He would also never say no to Fritz coming inside to warm up before continuing on his journey. 

Actually, maybe he can ask Mike to walk with him. Or just carry him the whole way home. The giant wouldn’t mind, right? He’s never minded before, and maybe he misses the tradition just as much as Fritz does, and- 

His thoughts are cut off as the wind nearly sends him face first into the snow. Fritz quickly pinwheels his arms to stay upright, gasping in pain as the biting cold attacks his fingers. Even though he sees he’s wearing gloves from the streetlight's orange glow, he can’t help but think there’s nothing on his hands to keep them warm. He protectively pulls his arms in close, quickly moving to take another step forward, only to find his foot is stuck. 

Looking down, Fritz trembles at the sight of snow piling up around him. Feels like yet another snowflake landed on his shoulders as a shiver races down his back at the realization he made a severe miscalculation. 

Oh no.

No, it’s fine, he’ll be fine! He’s been walking for a while, so he has to at least be close to where the snowflakes are smaller than the tip of his finger. He’ll get somewhere warm before the snow gets too deep. There’s no need to panic, he’ll be fine, it’ll be fine. 

Even as every single inch of him trembles from the cold, unable to see his breath in the air anymore, a single step forward almost impossible to take. 

He doesn’t notice when he trips before falling into the snow. 

“-and I thought I explicitly told you to-!” 

David cuts himself off mid-sentence as his phone rings once again for the fifth time in a row. Briefly moving the phone away from his ear, he sighs at Scott calling him yet again despite the fact he’s sent every previous call straight to voicemail. Apparently the man can’t take a hint. 

“Please excuse me for one moment,” is all David offers before pausing the rather trivial conversation in order to answer the incessant ringing. “And what is so important you had to call me five times?” 

“Did Fritz get home safely?” comes the most idiotic response he will ever hear. 

It’s times like these where he genuinely regrets making such a fuss over having Fritz transferred to the location he owns. Even he can admit the kid had lived up to the unanimously positive accounts of just how much of an asset he is to have on the team. No one cared to tell him just how annoyingly protective Scott is over the runt. Nor did someone think it would be important to make the words ‘human’ a little bigger to not make David look like an absolute dumbass requesting such a tiny thing to work at a giant only restaurant 

What’s done is done, though, and what’s done is his apparent ‘superior’ abusing the fact David can’t hang up on the man less he gets written up. 

The business man pinches the bridge of his nose. “And this is my problem why?” 

“He’s not answering my calls-“ 

“I wonder why,” David huffs with an eyeroll. 

“-and since it’s snowing I wanted to be absolutely certain he made it home safe,” Scott continues, not even pausing to acknowledge the very not so subtle dig. “So can you please confirm he did?” 

It’s the word ‘snowing’ that pulls David up short, a memory trying to pull at him for attention. He almost ignores it, waves away this entire conversation to say he isn’t Fritz’s mother, where the kid is and what happens to him isn’t his responsibility. 

Except it is. As annoying as it needing to be careful watching where he steps in his own restaurant is, he made that decision. Fought long and hard with Scott to have Fritz work here instead of some rundown building with idiotic managers who have no idea how to use such an employee. 

Snowing, why does that sound so familiar? And why does Scott almost sound like he’s panicked? 

“Give me a moment.” 

Surprisingly, Scott doesn’t make a fuss about not getting an immediate answer, the man eerily quiet as David stands up from his desk to walk to the main room, glancing down to make sure no miniscule figures end up underfoot. 

He sees no sign of Fritz, and a look out the window sends an unexplainable twist to his stomach at the sight of steady snowfall. 

He turns the phone away from his face as he catches Orville’s attention. “Where’s Fritz?” 

Instead of the elephant immediately tattling on Lefty for keeping the kid past clock out time, the animatronic manages to force its permanent smile into a look of worry. “He left thirty minutes ago.” 

“Fuck!” comes a genuinely panicked curse from Scott before David can full process what that means. “I can’t believe you, David!” 

The business man sputters. “What did I do?” 

“You let a human teenager go out into the snow alone!” Scott yells, and David is never admitting he had to hold the phone away from his head or else risk his eardrum bursting. “After you promised you would walk him home!” 

He remembers now. Of Scott standing on the ground next to David’s desk, lecturing the uninterested business man who was contemplating how much trouble he could get into if he put Scott in a jar to shut him up about the difference between weather made for giants vs humans. Distinctly remembers the moment Scott realized he wasn’t being listened to. 

”David, I swear to God. If Fritz ever dies on your watch-”

”Aren’t you being a bit dramatic, Scott?”

”I don’t think you understand just how dangerous it is for him. It’s almost like you want him dead.”

”Okay now you’re being dramatic. I don’t want him dead, I just don’t think something like snow is as dangerous as you’re making it out to be.”

Now that David’s actually looking at the snow, he realizes the snowflakes are easily half of Fritz’s size. Starts to understand why Scott assumes he wants the kid dead. 

“God damn it, David! I trusted you! Now the poor kid’s either frozen or about to be all because you couldn’t be bothered!” 

“In my defense,” David murmurs as he quickly grabs his coat, tucking his phone against his shoulder to pull his gloves on. “He didn’t come to the office to tell me it was snowing.” 

“I texted you,” Scott growls lowly, his voice quivering. “Twice about there being a storm tonight.” 

David remembers the text. Remembers making sure he brought a scarf and gloves with him. He also remembers rolling his eyes when he spotted Fritz’s jacket that was made for anything but the snow. 

“I’m sure he’s fine,” David lies as he quickly walks to the front of the restaurant, pointedly ignoring Lefty’s stare promising his death as he unlocks the door. “I’ll text you once I find him.” 

“And call James,” is all Scott says before hanging up the phone. 

David doesn’t bother to give an explanation to the person still waiting on the other line, ending the call as he steps outside. Looks down at the pitiful amount of snow currently covering the sidewalk. Takes a moment to briefly lift his shoe to see the imprint left behind. 

It’s not enough snow to even warrant snow shoes. But considering the fact Fritz doesn’t even stand as tall as his ankle makes it enough to be quite a chore for a human to walk through. He chalks the reason his heart is beating rapidly against his chest to the cold air making it hard to breathe. 

“Fritz!” 

David hesitates to choose a direction to walk. He’s never bothered to ask the kid about his commute to and from work, not when there’s never really been a reason to care. It might’ve come up in a rant the business man didn’t pay attention to, again not having a reason to care unless something infuriating was said, such as Mike’s or Eggs’ name. 

Though there was that one time Fritz mentioned stopping by the location Mike work at, something about it being on the way home. 

It’s not perfect, but it’s the best he’s got, meaning David makes a right as he quickly walks down the sidewalk, watching every step he takes. 

“Fritz!” 

That absolute dumbass. David knows that Fritz got the exact same lecture about the weather from Scott. He remembers the kid getting two lectures, one concerning the rain and how he could literally get swept into a drain if he’s not careful. Fritz will stay the night at the restaurant if it rains, but he won’t stay when it snows, or at least ask the giant tasked with keeping him safe to walk him home? 

Contrary to belief, David doesn’t want the kid dead. Scott’s a different story, but despite it being annoying needing to check under his feet before so much as standing up, the giant still checks. Comments about how he wishes someone steps on Scott or a kid turns the man into an action figure to take home and keep forever, but it won’t be his shoe or his hand putting the tiny thing in the lost and found bin. 

“Fritz!” 

Once he finds Fritz, he’s not letting the kid out of his sight for a week. Seriously, what kind of idiot walks into a snowstorm where the snow is bigger than them? Not to give Eggs any credit but even that thing would be smart enough not to walk through it alone. Honestly how has Fritz even survived this long? 

A shiver runs down David’s spine as his search continues to come up empty. He’s seen firsthand just how fast humans walk despite only being two inches tall, but Fritz couldn’t have gotten too far even with a thirty minute head start. There should at least be some sign he’s going the right way, like microscopic footsteps in the snow or a lopsided snowman sitting under a streetlamp. Unless doesn’t take the sidewalk and uses some offroad trail through the trees. But even Fritz would know that’s a stupid idea. 

“Fritz!” 

He’s beginning to grow a little worried. Despite there being snow on the ground, it’s not enough to make a loud crunch whenever he steps, meaning he should at least be able to hear a soft yell to acknowledge the kid’s name being called. That’s if Fritz can yell, though, and if David picked the right direction to walk. 

There’s also the possibility David did go the right way but he passed the kid. He hasn’t looked up from the ground once, but with the snow blowing all around him and it being pitch dark between the streetlamps, it’s possible he might’ve accidentally missed a misshapen lump in the snow. The wind might’ve covered a quiet yell as David walked right past the buried form. 

Fuck. “Fri-!” 

His yell is silenced at the sight of something red sitting in the snow under the next streetlamp. Keeping himself from running toward it, David carefully checks where he’s stepping, making sure he’s not ignoring anything else that might be buried. Finally, he reaches the circle of light, kneeling down to get a better look. 

“Fritz,” David breathes, staring at the sight of the kid curled up in a tight ball, half buried in snow and not even twitching at the sound of his name. 

That’s far from a good sign. But first things first, Fritz needs to be taken away from the snow. Which would have been infinitely easier if the human was standing and walking on his own, but he’s not, meaning David has to pick him up. 

Pick up an unconscious figure smaller than his finger when he can’t remember the last time he held a human. 

It’s not that David’s afraid of holding them. It’s more so the principle he has absolutely no idea where they’ve been, and he certainly doesn’t want someone walking over his hand when they just trampled through the mud, or through soda that was split on the floor. 

To be honest, Fritz is most likely covered in twenty different species of germs considering the kid works in a children’s restaurant and walks across counters that have God knows what covering them, but that’s not what has him hesitating. It’s the fact Fritz looks so small, like he’ll break at any moment if he’s so much as breathed on. 

David takes a deep breath. Leans down as he reaches a hand out to carefully try and brush the snow off the kid’s back. Sighs in relief when there’s no scream of pain from a rib being broken. 

Honestly, how hard can it be to pick up a human? Mike does it all the time, and if that can handle not snapping Fritz in two, then so can David. 

Steeling himself, the business man slowly scoops his fingers into the snow. It’s almost pathetic just how small the pile is, yet it was enough to completely cover the kid if the wind was blowing just a little harder, meaning it’s also enough for David to slide his hand underneath Fritz before lifting his hand. 

Great, he picked the kid up without crushing him. Now what does he do? 

Well, it’d be a good idea to see if Fritz is even alive. 

David freezes at the realization he can’t say for certain the kid is breathing. Even as he holds the absolutely miniscule thing, he can’t see or feel a single shiver, and his gloves make it impossible to tell if there’s a heartbeat. 

Ignoring his own pounding heart, he’s quick to take a glove off before delicately placing a finger over Fritz’s chest. David nearly jumps as the kid almost immediately latches onto him, curling around the thumb longer than he is tall like his life depends on it. Though in Fritz’s defense, it does. 

David’s relief is covered by anger at getting jump scared. “You dumbass, why didn’t you tell me you were awake!” 

There’s no response, not even a twitch saying his words were heard. His thumb is simply hugged tighter, a pitiful heartbeat beating against his fingerprint to prove the kid is alive. He’s also freezing, a shiver running up David’s arm as it becomes clear a living ice cube has claimed his finger. 

But at least the kid’s alive. 

With both hands occupied, it takes David a moment to try and brush as much snow off of Fritz as possible. And despite the fact the kid is so cold it hurts to touch, the business man doesn’t have the heart to pull his finger away, which means he carefully moves the literal icicle into his ungloved hand, hissing in pain once the transaction is complete. 

Hoping to keep his fingers from going numb, David unbuttons his coat so he can tuck his occupied hand against his chest, surrounding the kid and his hand in warmth. 

David isn’t confident this is what he should be doing after finding someone nearly frozen in the snow. But what matters is he found Fritz, the kid is alive, and he’s no longer in the cold, slowly warming up. It might not be perfect, but it’s enough for now. 

Carefully standing up, David shoves his extra glove into his coat pocket before grabbing his phone as he starts walking. It takes him a solid five minutes just to send a single text to Scott saying Fritz is fine with only one hand free, and the other making him paranoid Fritz’s heart skipped a beat and focusing on the kid instead. At least it only takes a few seconds to pull up James’ number to call. 

“You found him?” 

“I take it Scott already told you,” David growls. 

“He did,” and at least the doctor respects him enough not to give an ‘I’m not angry, just disappointed’ act. “Is Fritz okay?” 

“The runt’s fine, his heart’s still beating.” The business man glances down at the figure still hugging his finger as they pass under a streetlamp. “I’ve got him in my hand inside my coat so he’s out of the wind.” 

“Good. You will need to keep holding him until his temperature’s back to normal.” 

David gives a flat look to the darkness. “And how long is that going to take?” 

“As long as it needs to,” James replies evenly. “He’ll get warmer faster if he’s wearing dry clothes and drinking something warm and sweet.” 

David bristles. “And how am I supposed to make him hot chocolate with one hand?” 

“I’m sure you’ll figure something out.” 

"Don’t patronize me.” 

“Not patronizing you,” James smiles he can hear the smug smile. “I’ve seen you make coffee and text at the same time. But as long as Fritz is awake, you can set him down for a moment, just not for too long.” 

“Fine.” 

“You did a good job finding him, David,” brings the business man up short from the sincerity. “If you need any help just give me a call, but I know he’s in good hands.” 

David hangs up before James can decide now would be the best time to chew him out for letting this happen and calling about what do if the kid stops breathing necessary. Scott’s content to just text that they’ll be talking about it later, but for now he’s being left alone with the assumption he’ll be busy making sure Fritz doesn’t die or end up with a cold. 

He doesn’t know how long it took him to get to his house. The only thing he does know is his ears and nose have gone completely numb, Fritz is still alive, and he wants nothing more than a cup of coffee. 

Unfortunately it’s a chore to simply get through the front door. Reaching around to his opposite coat pocket to find his keys, fumbling to circle through the ring with one hand until he can jam the right key into the lock. And then there’s taking his coat off, something that’s meant to be a simple task turned into a multistep process of taking his arm out of one sleeve, removing his other glove, moving Fritz blissfully unaware of the problems he’s causing to the other hand only after bribing the sleeping figure with another thumb to latch onto, until finally the coat can be put on the rack. 

David can’t help but pause a moment to glare down at something so small and yet it causes him so much trouble. 

He wouldn’t be surprised if Scott put in an emergency request to transfer Fritz to another location, one where he won’t freeze death while walking home. The man will also hold this over David’s head for as long as they work together, constantly bringing up the fact the so called ‘superiority’ giants have over humans means letting someone almost die under their watch. 

Again, in David’s defense, Fritz should’ve come to him before walking home alone. The business man will take some responsibility, but it wouldn’t have happened if some dumbass of a teenager didn’t think they could survive snow where an inch deep is over a foot to them. 

He’ll berate Fritz once the kid’s awake. For now he needs coffee and to check if he has ingredients for hot chocolate. 

David finds himself flexing his hand as he walks to his kitchen, trying to warm it up after holding a sentient ice cube for so long, glad his finger could get a break before it got too numb. Of course that means his other hand is currently in agony, but there’s nothing he can do about it now. 

After setting his coffee machine up and pressing the button to give him the largest cup possible, David stands by the counter, watching the steam rise up from the hot drink. Finds himself looking down at his occupied hand as Fritz seems to twitch in his sleep. 

Under his bright kitchen lights without having to worry about the wind and the snow, David’s hit once again with just how small Fritz looks. Curled up in a ball, hugging a finger that could easily smother him, lying in a palm like it’s the most comfortable bed imaginable. The best part is the thumb being curled around is almost twice Fritz’s size. 

All of his fingers are taller than the kid. His hand just seems to swallow Fritz whole. He won’t say it’s adorable, but he’ll definitely say it’s entertaining. 

It’s also entertaining just watching something that small exist. It’s weird being able to feel the soft heartbeat against his thumb and watch as the tiny chest lifts up and down for every breath. He can’t feel Fritz shaking in his hand, but he can definitely see a distinct shiver. 

...hold on. 

David brings his hand closer to his face, staring at what is definitely a shiver. Which can’t be a good thing, not when they’re inside a house where the heater is currently running while being held by a giant. 

D- Is shivering bad?

J- Was he shivering before?

David blinks at James’ text. Looks back at Fritz who he swears have shivers that are getting stronger. 

D- I don’t think so.

J- Then it’s a good thing. It’s better for him to shiver then to not be if he’s still cold

Well the kid is definitely still cold. David’s been holding him for at least half an hour, and yet it doesn’t seem like he’s any warmer than before. But if James says it’s a good thing then they won’t go to the hospital just yet. And if James is wrong, then David can tell Scott he trusted the doctor to know what he’s talking about. 

Tucking his phone away, the coffee machine beeps to remind him there’s a cup waiting. Snagging the mug, David moves to walk to his office, intent on finishing what he was working on at the restaurant. Fritz might think that eight o’clock is a little late for leaving when the building closes at six and everyone else is home by seven, but the business man has rarely left for home before ten. 

The business man hesitates at the hallway. Looks down at the human he’s holding at the reminder he can’t exactly put Fritz down, at least not until the kid’s awake, meaning he would have to place orders and update spreadsheets with one hand. 

Just another thing to add to the list of grievances. The things he does for the ungrateful pest. 

Sighing, David turns to the living room, carefully sitting down on his couch as to not jostle Fritz too much. Can’t help a glare as he turns on the TV, finding a random movie that’s already halfway over. It didn’t matter what he watched, the only thing he wanted to do was work, not listen to amateur actors reading a script that never should’ve made it past a rough draft. 

He could call James and demand the doctor take care of Fritz himself. It’s David’s mess, but it’s a bit careless to leave someone who most likely has hypothermia in the care of anyone who isn’t a certified health professional. Isn’t it more important that Fritz wakes up then teaching David a lesson? 

Despite the clear right answer, he doesn’t pick up his phone, only glares at the TV and occasionally rolls his eyes at the tenth cheesy one liner in a row. Keeps an eye on Fritz as the kid starts to shiver enough for David to notice. Enough that his hand starts to ache from holding an ice cube that never melts and never dethaws. 

Placing his mug down, David begins to tedious process of somehow getting Fritz to latch onto his other hand. Instead of needing to all but pry the kid away, he’s surprised when the offered thumb is immediately grabbed, almost as if drawn to it and going so far as trying to climb into the hand himself. 

David raises an eyebrow as he nudges the shivering figure. “Are you just pretending to sleep?” 

There’s no response, not even a guilty wince for getting caught. Nothing but the kid desperately trying to absorb all the precious heat David only just managed to get for himself. 

Wait. 

Glancing at his coffee mug, David carefully transfers Fritz to the hand that’s been subconsciously claimed for himself. Once it’s done, he wraps his numb fingers around the warm mug, able to actually feel the cold melting away. After a moment, he then sets it next to Fritz, the kid flopping over without hesitation to snag the thumb he only just got feeling back in. 

It’s not adorable, but this is certainly much more entertaining then whatever is on the TV. 

David doesn’t try to hide the smirk on his face as he continues to play the game of chasing warmth with Fritz. It is thoroughly amusing to watch the tiny limbs that could easily be pinned down or pulled away move on their own volition simply because one hand is warmer than the other. It’s almost like having a living magnet. 

D- Is it bad if he moves around too much?

J- Define ‘too much’

D- Aren’t you the doctor?

J- If he’s moving around on his own volition, it’s a good sign 

J- If you are the cause of him moving ‘too much’, I suggest limiting such movement

David looks down at the human in his care. Decides James knows absolutely nothing about what he’s talking about. He does length the time between each switch, however, only because he doesn’t know how much longer his hands can take holding an icicle doing a terrible job of getting warmer despite all his efforts. 

Actually, should he be worried? It has been ten full minutes since they’ve been at his house, and Fritz seems to be just as cold as before. He can’t exactly give the kid something warm to drink if he’s not awake, but being inside a heated house while being held by a giant should at least be helping. 

David takes a moment to hold Fritz closer to his face, eyes narrowing as he looks the kid over. Hesitates when he realized the kid’s jacket is completely drenched, and apparently he’s been wearing a backpack this entire time. 

No one’s allowed to blame him for missing that. The kid’s tiny, and again he’s not an expert of taking care of someone with hypothermia. It’s also not his fault for completely forgetting what exactly James told him on the phone. 

David stares for a moment at the microscopic backpack straps around Fritz’s shoulders. Scowls at the jacket zipper he can’t even see. 

Wrapping his hand around his mug, the business man coaxes the tiny thing to let go of his thumb before delicately pinning down the arms smaller than toothpicks. 

...never mind, he’s cutting the straps and jacket off. 

When Fritz wakes up, it's to the smell of coffee and warmth. 

At first he’s confused, not able to remember falling asleep. The last thing he does remember is trying to clock out on time, only for David to ask him to check inventory. And then Lefty helping him, and someone saying it was snowing, and- 

Oh! That’s right! He was walking home in the snow, and then he got really, really cold. 

Opening his eyes, Fritz finds himself lying in a dark cave. A very familiar one where the ground moves up and down, and a fingerprint bigger than his head sits close by. 

He sighs in relief at the realization he must’ve made it to Fazbear’s Pizzeria. Or he was at least close enough for Mike to find him on the way to work. Hopefully he was at least awake when the night guard first found him and didn’t make the giant panic too badly. Well, it’s impossible to make Mike panic, worry might be a better word. 

Despite being surrounded by warmth, there’s no stopping a very sudden and almost violent shiver from wracking his body, making Fritz curl up tightly to try and keep what little body heat he has. He no longer feels like he’s frozen, but he feels sore, and tired. Wants to do nothing more then go back to sleep. Wishes he wasn’t wearing wet clothes that are cold to the touch. 

Suddenly, the hand above him lifts away, making Fritz yelp as he tries to shield his eyes from the bright light. 

“Are you finally awake?” 

Fritz goes so still he stops breathing. Because the voice booming around him isn’t Mike’s. 

Trembling, the teenager slowly lifts his head, blinking rapidly against the light to try and see his surroundings. Feels his heart begin to pound when he doesn’t see the uniform for Fazbear night guard's, and instead spots a handkerchief big enough to act as a blanket sitting in an all too familiar suit pocket only a few feet away. 

Mike wasn’t the one who found him in the snow, David did. 

All Fritz can do is stare up at the giant in terror as the rumbling voice shakes the air. “It’s about time, I was starting to think you weren’t ever going to wake up. But now that you are, we need to make you something warm to drink. Do you have extra clothes in your backpack?” 

“Y-Yes, sir,” Fritz quickly responds, turning to grab the mentioned backpack only to realize it’s nowhere to be seen. 

“I had to cut the straps to get it off your back,” sends a shiver down the teenager’s spine. Before he can ask how or why, a hand cups around him right before David sits up. 

Fritz can’t tell what’s shivers from being cold or shivers from fear as he tumbles into the waiting palm. He doesn’t try to say or do anything except curl into a protective ball as the giant then stands up, leaving his stomach far behind. And then he’s being jostled by heavy footsteps as he’s carried somewhere. 

Please don’t drop me, please don’t crush me.

Suddenly the giant stops, and Fritz barely holds back a shriek of fear as something nudges him. “Will you freeze to death if I leave you alone for five minutes while you change?” 

The shiver wracking his body is one from the cold at the thought of being anywhere except near a giant’s body heat. But Fritz doesn’t dare do anything except shake his head, trembling as he meets David’s unimpressed stare. “No, s-s-s-sir.” 

The moment the hand is set down, Fritz scrambles off the warm palm, almost immediately regretting it as his entire body starts to shake from the cold. He doesn’t say anything, though, just wordlessly watches as his backpack is dropped in front of him. 

“I’ll be back in five minutes,” the giant says, walking away before receiving a response. 

Fritz doesn’t hesitate to start digging through his backpack, though it takes a moment for his numb fingers to cooperate in grabbing the zipper. By the time he unzips it, his teeth are chattering and he’s already exhausted. There’s no stopping a relieved sigh when he grabs the clothes he wore to school though, ones that managed to stay dry despite his entire bag being soaked through. 

Once his Fazbear uniform is stuffed into his backpack, Fritz immediately curls into a ball as he hugs his knees, already feeling so much better than before. His hands and feet are still numb, and there’s no keeping his shivers at bay, but it’ll be better once David comes back. 

The thought of the business man has the teenager tensing at the reminder just who found him in the snow. Not that he isn’t ungrateful! There won’t be a single day where Fritz won’t thank David for saving him. 

But he knows what’s coming. He’s surprised David’s held back this long before lecturing Fritz about how stupid it was to walk home alone. About the trouble he’s caused, that it’s his fault the business man has to listen to Scott’s yelling, that the teenager’s fired and good luck getting hired at any of the other locations because who’s going to want to be responsible for some useless human who can’t even walk through the snow- 

“You didn’t freeze on me again, did you?” 

Fritz jolts at David’s words, scrambling to his feet as he shakes his head. “No, sir.” 

A hand isn’t offered, the business man simply watching him with an unimpressed look. “That’s what you wear to school?” 

The genuine terror Fritz felt at the thought he won’t be held anymore is replaced by uncertainty as he looks down at his clothes. They’re definitely not a full piece suit or a button up with slacks, but he didn’t think wearing baggy pants with a colorful t-shirt over a black long sleeve wasn’t the worse thing possible. “Um, sometimes?” 

“And I thought Scott’s wardrobe was bad,” David murmurs. 

A hand is finally offered, and Fritz runs to the warmth radiating off the giant. Can’t help himself from curling in the center of the palm his numb limbs slowly start to dethaw. Even though David must be furious, he appreciates the giant willing to push aside his anger enough to help Fritz stay warm. At least until he’s no longer at risk of hypothermia. 

As the giant begins walking, Fritz takes a peak at his surroundings. Feels the blood drain from his face at the sight of an elegant house surrounding him. Can’t seem to swallow the lump in his throat at the realization he’s inside David’s home. 

Getting buried in the snow would be better than whatever the giant has planned for him. 

“You’re supposed to drink something warm and sweet,” David rumbles, making Fritz flinch from the borderline annoyance in the business man’s tone. “However, I don’t have any human sized dishes or utensils.” 

The teenager’s heartbeat skyrockets as he’s then stared at with of impatience, one that is all too familiar and means that this is Fritz’s problem. And if his problem, then he needs to fix it. 

“Do you, uh, m-m-may I borrow a piece of aluminum foil?” Fritz asks as quietly as possible while still being loud enough for the giant to hear. Despite having made the request after being told something was made specifically for him, he’s still surprised when David immediately opens a drawer before passing over a piece as big as his arm. 

“You better not waste it.” 

The teenager quickly nods his head in agreement, his hands trembling as he begins to bend the foil into the vague shape of a cup. At least he tries to. He’s never actually done something like this before and he hadn’t realized just how hard it is to bend when made for a giant. 

In the end, Fritz beams as he somehow manages to make a seemingly functional mug. There’s even a small handle! A misshapen one, but it works! 

Even David seems impressed as the foil mug is presented. “I take it you've done this before.” 

“I actually just read about it in a book,” Fritz admits. “It’s about humans living in a world made just for giants, but apparently they use aluminum foil for almost everything, and I’ve always wanted to try it-!” 

He cuts himself off when David simply stares at him with a silent question of ‘are you done yet’. He shuts his mouth with an audible click, offering his mug for the giant to take. Silently stares down at his hands until an impatient throat clearing has him look up to see the mug being offered back, this time filled with something that smells distinctly like chocolate. 

Fritz quickly accepts it, protectively pulling the warm drink closer. “Th-Thank you.” 

“You were an absolute dumbass tonight,” David growls overhead. “What the hell were you thinking? I know for a fact Scott had discussed that under no circumstances were you to go home alone if it’s actively raining or snowing.” 

Scott had. Even reassured Fritz that if David was to refuse to walk him, he was to call the older man who would in turn make sure the giant keeps his promise. Except that would only make things worse. A reluctant David is better than a furious David that Fritz dared to tattle on him to Scott. 

Fritz only nods his head in agreement to show he’s listening, that he also agrees. He would’ve taken getting berated the entire walk over landing himself in David’s literal hands to be punished however the giant sees fit. 

“From now on until the end of winter, I will be walking you home every night.” 

...wait, what? 

David rolls his eyes at Fritz’s shock. “I can’t have my only competent employee getting buried in the snow. And Scott has another thing coming if he thinks he’ll be transferring you back to that shithole of a so called restaurant.” 

He’s, he’s not being fired? Scott isn’t banning him from working at any Fazbear location? 

“Scott and I will find a punishment we fell is fit for pulling such a reckless stunt,” has him flinching as the giant walks out of the kitchen and into the most lavish living room Fritz will ever see in his entire life. “But that’s something we will discuss at a later date. Until then, we’re going to make sure you don’t freeze to death.” 

A shiver shakes his entire body as if to prove that despite how warm he feels, there’s still barely any feeling in his limbs, and he’s pretty sure that if he checked the mirror his lips would look blue. But even as David sits down on the couch, turning until he’s lying with his chest at an angle, the hand he’s sitting on doesn’t try to deposit him somewhere he can’t bother the giant. Isn’t left downstairs in a pile of blankets while the business man goes upstairs to sleep in a bed that’s just as ornate as the rest of the furniture. 

Fritz is gently set down next to David’s pocket, the hand that carried him settling down close by. 

“You aren’t going to put me in a jar?” 

He nearly slaps a hand over his mouth. But even as David’s mouth twists into a cruel smirk, the business man makes no motion to stand back up. “I’ll suggest it to Scott.” 

That does nothing to calm Fritz’s terror over what’s going to happen to him regarding a punishment. If anything it makes him absolutely terrified thinking about what David might do in the future if the business man randomly decides that even if Scott didn’t agree to put him in a jar this time, then what’s stopping him from doing it at some point. 

But Fritz doesn’t hesitate to move closer to the hand that automatically cups over his head, careful not to spill any of his drink as he lies down, taking a deep, long breath before sighing in relief as he’s completely surrounded by warmth. 

Because even though David constantly calls him a pest, the business man went looking for him in the snow. Took him home and kept him warm. Cared about him enough to go through all that trouble just to make sure he was safe. He trusts the giant won’t do anything to hurt him, not tonight or any other night. 

Fritz is almost asleep when he sneezes. 

“You better not have a cold.” 

[dilf-docs]

Saturday But in Your Sunday Best

bfd!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel has a co-worker's wedding in las vegas. everything that can go wrong, does.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, smut, p. in v., creampie, oral (f. and m. receiving), breast play, fingering, dacryphilia, degradation kink, ANGST (as in i've suffered so will my characters. this wasn't at all what i had envisioned at first for this part), hurt/comfort, a bit of fluff (that's new), pls be nice this writer's block shot me in the foot

word count: 11,121 words

side note: sorry this took so long. between movie watching for the oscars, my other works, midterms, pedro pascal horny hours, my wattpad fic, the max fic you citizens let flop (ĉüřşę ÿoụ āĺļ), the brat taming fic that made numbers among my oomfs on twitter, a very shitty date (the situational irony of letting a man ruin my women's day) a ptwt fic gc in twitter (love u frens), and uni again, i let the ttdik series collect dust, my bad. as compensation, take this girthy chapter altho it makes me kinda insecure IDK. this is why i don't do series okay!! i'm my worst enemy and i fear procrastination is a chronical disease of mine atp

part: prev | masterlist | next

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas

His foot taps anxiously against the marble floor, sound drowned by the bustling crowd.

People come and go. Some hug, others cry. And Joel? Well, he's just waiting for you to come.

He checks his watch, the one Sarah gifted him, and sighs. Should've known better.

It's been two months since the pregnancy scare, and ever since then, you have put a bit of a distance between yourselves.

It was slow, gradual: first the excuses then nights were you wouldn't stay or ask him to. And, even if your affair was that, just an affair, he missed sleeping in the warmth of your embrace. He also missed the way your nose would crinkle when you laughed. You didn't laugh that often anymore, and if you did, it sounded like you were holding in: as if you were afraid to let loose and let him see through you. And to be honest, it was killing him.

So when he reached out to you for this, he should've expected for you to say no. That you wouldn't show up after that I'll see if I'm free text: no, Joel Miller simply shouldn't have harbored that much hope for his daughter's bestfriend he happened to be banging.

If he hadn't confirmed his invitation, he'd probably gone home and layed down. Watch some garbage TV with Sarah and some beer in hand, but here he was, like a lonely loser, luggage in hand.

(Sarah helped him pack. He didn't even know what to wear to a wedding, and then she showed up with his old suit-- that still fit, somehow, albeit a bit more tight, from the dry cleaning. Joel would be lost without her)

The speaker announces his flight is about to leave. Joel gets up, trying not to be dissappointed about the whole thing. He's got no right to, after all.

"Joel?"

He'd end up breaking his neck by how fast he turned.

There you are, and it's like the weight he wasn't aware of, settling on his chest, had been removed.

"You made it" is the first thing that makes it out of his lips.

You softly laugh, "Hello, Joel"

He gets closer to you, slowly, like if he where to do it faster, he'd scare you off. Or you'd be gone, as if a dream.

(It'd be a nightmare, though, because you wouldn't be here)

"Sorry. I-" he cuts off, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly. There's some tension lingering in the air, the same when you left his house a week ago. Joel had been too much of a coward to invite you then, rather hiding behind a screen.

But now you were here.

"I didn't think you'd come" he says after a beat of silence.

You tilt your head to the side, eyebrow up as if you hadn't been acting weird at all.

"Why wouldn't I?"

(Because it seems like being in the same room as me tires you. That your eyes don't shine anymore, and the starry sky looks like a storm when you dare search my gaze as we fuck. Every time you breath, its like breathing the same air as me burns)

He rather not press, so instead, he says:

"I'm jus' glad ya' came. 'S all"

You nod, not adding anything at all. Then, both you walk to your gate, side by side in silence, the same that had seemed to seep inside your romance for the past weeks.

Well, romance was definitely a stretch. An affair seemed more like it.

Of course, you're aware the change it's on you. It would've been dumb of you to think Joel wouldn't notice your withdrawal, or how more often than not you'd be stuck in your head. But still, he didn't comment on it, and like you, danced around the subject, afraid for different reasons as yours. Or the same. Yet, you'll never know. No, you're aware you both are too stubborn, and that whatever it started on that day, had settled in between like a burning flame.

(Had you been engulfed by the fire yet?)

You try not to think about it. After all, you had the option not to come. But a weekend away in Las Vegas after midterms? Too tempting to let go.

(And it's not like images of a stood up Joel in the airport, looking miserable, had made you restless the last couple of days after his text)

"Ya' can take the window" he says, even if it's his seat.

He knows you're nervous about flying, a little detail that came up during a post-sex small talk.

(What're you're dreams? Joel asked. You had answered that you'd love to travel the world after graduating, but that you had a fear for flying, despite having only done it once. It may have been because the first time you did, it was to fly for your grandma's funeral. Perhaps it was by association then, that the bad feelings about boarding a plane could be related to that)

"Thanks" you mumble, sitting down. You're avoiding his gaze, but know he's looking at you.

"What?" a little harsher than intended.

He looks taken back, looking at his lap as he let's out a soft whisper, sheepishly:

"Nothin'. Jus' thinkin' you look pretty today"

A light blush creeps up your cheeks as you huff out a Whatever.

Joel let's a breath of relief out his tight chest and allows himself to smile.

(At least, he's still got an effect on you)

The wedding Joel was supposed to attend is in the Ángel De La Guarda cathedral. You'd be staying nearby, at a hotel room Joel's coworker had paid for, the same where the reception would take place.

Being in the same room as Joel one night should be the least of your worries, but then the space is even smaller than it was supposed to (given by Joel's cursing as he paced around, anxiously), and the strain of your relationship settles in the air, physically so, tight around your throat.

Then, it's the bed issue: there's only one. It's not like you haven't slept in the same bed before, obviously, but there's a certain dread deep in your stomach about sharing the enclosed space when you're at your most vulnerable. He moves around a lot during night, and something tells you you'd wake up to his strong arms and hot breath fanning over your neck, hairs rising at the proximity, making it harded to calm your heart.

"You okay?" he's asking, dropping the bags in a corner.

"At what time is the wedding?" you ask.

He checks his watch. "In about seven hours"

The glass bounces a ray right into your face, and you have to close your eyes at yet nother reminder of why this is all so wrong.

Sarah.

"We should rest..." he says, plopping on the bed. His plaid t-shirt rises up at the same time the color of your cheeks does, when the glimpse of soft tanned skin reveals itself. He looks up to your stiff standing figure, bulk arms behind his neck as he rests his head on his biceps. "Don't 'cha think?"

Lay with me. Not outloud.

"No" you say, hastily so, not missing the way a flicker of dull akin to the pain of rejection finds its way to his brown eyes. "I..." your voice softens. "I'd rather take a tour of the place, you know? It's not like I'll come every weekend here"

He's about to raise up. I'm coming with you, again not out loud, in case you'd reject his offering again.

Which you do.

"I'm fine" you say, grabbing your purse. "Just... I need a moment"

Away from you.

"Suit yourself" but there's a sharp edge on his apparent kindness.

Closing the door behind you, it takes all of you to not turn around and see his face one last time.

You wander off through the bright lights and noisy hallways, walking until the sun of the outdoors filters a ray over the carpet through the glass doors. Strides take you to the pool area, kids giggling, parents sunbathing and youngsters chilling.

You sigh, dipping your feet in the pool, chlorine up your nose and water baterly grazing your sundress.

But you're drowning.

Drowning on his presence, every room he's in now smaller. Walls of the room collapsing, as the ones of your lungs, every breath tight if your nose catches a whiff of his scent lingering in the air. You'd wash the sheets almost immediately, crying when your head hit the pillow and it smelled like lavender and not Joel.

It was the only right choice: to erase him out of your life, because with every new kiss and thrust, he'd take another part of you with him, and you don't know how much more you can give of yourself without dying. A part of you dies every time he walks out the door, anxious heart pondering when will he walk out for good. When he'll realize the thrill is gone, that your escapades were all but a product of his crisis, and what started as a mutual use of bodies, ends in the waste of your heart.

Joel has become a drug for you: knowing it's destructive, but the high so addictive, you don't mind the crash. It's unevitable, and a small treacherous voice in the back of your head says you're just postponing a foretold death.

Yet Joel Miller makes you feel alive. Alive as a spring, grassbed full of blooming flowers. As sun carressing your skin: if you stay too long, the warm becoming burning.

A kid walks up to your sad lonely pensive corner, splashing water onto you.

"Hey!" but he's gone, and it's Vegas, so his parents are three mojitos down from the open bar, asleep under the sun. You curse, getting up and back to your room to change.

When you get to your room, is eerily quiet. And dark, the curtains closed.

You rumage through your suitcase, pulling out a change. The dress slips off, falling to the carpet with a pathetic drowned sound. You're about to change into the t-shirt when the lights flicker.

"You back?"

You scream, trying to cover yourself.

"Woah!" Joel covers his eyes, both your reactions ironically funny. Your cheeks burn as you finish dressing yourself up, and if he takes a small peak between his fingers, well, you'll never know. "Jesus, doll. If ya' wanted it so bad, could've asked"

Something akin to anger and deception morph into a burning flame in the pit of your stomach. Even after all this months, after this imminent fight, Joel can't bring himself to ask, dancing around the fragile line that barely holds on with the clap of skin against skin and sweat, as to replace the tears that will never see the light of the day.

"Right, because that's all I want"

He raises an eyebrow at your tone. "S' a joke"

"Jokes are supposed to make people laugh"

He shoots you a look, before standing from the bed.

"What's gotten into ya'?"

He walks closer, yet you give him your back, tossing the sundress with too much force in your bag.

"Don't know what you're talking about" as nonchalant as you can muster.

"Look at me" you keep the harsh packing going on. Joel grows impatient at your confusing demeanor, not just from today, but days ago. He's had enough. He spins you around, losing his cool as he shouts. "Damn it, y/n, stop actin' like a brat!"

"Don't touch me!" you yell back, pulling away.

"So that's how's it now?" Joel lets out a scoff. "Y' get on ma' bed but the moment I put a finger in ya', y'act all coy and angry?"

"Right, 'cause I'm a slut. That's what sluts do: we get on lonely men's bed and fuck them"

He grabs the bridge of his nose, breathing heavily. His voice is laced with frustration, and you know it's your fault.

"Never said that"

Why not talk it like adults? No. Too much of a coward to do that.

"Jus' tell me, doll. What's goin' on?"

I think I love you, and I'm fucking scared.

His voice is soft, pleading. In your lifetime, you never thought you'd see Joel Miller beg. You did once, but it wasn't like this. Please, he'd say. Now, here he is, standing before you like the smallest man who ever lived and not the unstoppable force you made him out to be.

It should be easy. But words never come easy. Not to you. Neither love, so foreign it makes you shiver with fear. So natural, one day you opened your eyes to him laying next to you, Sarah staying in another city for a soccer tournament, and decided that was what you wanted. All his mornings. His bed voice, thick from sleep. His droopy eyes and tired smile, facil hair tickling your face as he says Good mornin', Southern drawl never more prominent, kisses in between. Let's get sum coffee after, because he always had to drink the bitter liquid out of his owl mug or wouldn't be able to make it through the day.

You want him to be the first thing you see when you open your eyes.

You want Joel Miller. Want. Want. Want.

"I hate you"

You have ruined me.

He probably expected anything but that, given his crestfallen face. Joel wishes for time to go back, at the beach. He'd say no, push you away. Fought a little harder. Never gotten into your bed.

The worst part is, he's a fucking liar: he'd probably still choose the same, even if the end is near.

"You ain't mean that" not knowing if he's trying to convince you or himself. "Jus' wanna hurt me"

You don't humor him with an answer.

"I shouldn't have come" is what you say instead, the bitter taste of defeat and hurt etched in your voice.

Would've been easier to stop when we should've.

His words run through the tense air like a bullet.

"I agree"

Weddings had always made you cry.

You weren't even a romantic, but the whole thing-- the promise of forever, it seemed to move your heart a bit.

So, if your eyes shimmer when the bride makes her entrance and the groom, Joel's co-worker, tears up, you feel your chest tight and stomach drop. It clenches with something akin to dread and want, as if suddenly, all that mattered to you was love. A year ago, if you told yourself-- the one who got on her knees to suck Joel's dick at the beach that night, that you'd be here?

You would've laughed.

Falling for the grumpy old man who also happens to be your bestfriend's dad?

Right. Imagine that.

Except there is nothing to imagine. All of it is real.

From his quiet laughter, the sound foreign and not frequent by the way it rasps against his throat. But now the wrinkles around his eyes are more prominent, forbidden laughs marking his blushing face. as he looks away, embarrassed. You can laugh, you had said, I won't tell anyone, yet he made you swore like the sight of Joel Miller laughing was the worst thing in the world. So had become the grey strands on his hair, more sprouting each time, as his damp curls twisted in your fingers.

It is also in the way his sweat that drops over your body as he tries hard to last longer, to his grunts that fill the room as he fills you to the brim with his warm cum. How his rough seems to meet every inch of your soft skin, like pieces of a puzzle.

Something clicks when you're with Joel, and you can't help but feel it's your fault this rift has been created, aggressively peeling the white off your nails as some form of anxious torture. But, he too, aside from his initial Just glad you came, hadn't said a word about it again. Even if he had noticed it all, before Vegas too. Nothing. And then Joel told you it was best if you didn't come. Fucking great.

You feel him tense next to you, body stiff when your arm accidentally brushes his when you stand up from the bench, making you roll your eyes.

The fallout had been awkward. The elevator ride took forever, and then the space on the cab felt too small. He took you to the back, on the benches near the exit, like he didn't want to be seen with you. It got you fuming: why bother to invite you at all?

In all truth, you could've picked up your bags and left after the fight, yet you stayed. You wonder who's more of a coward. In this weird dancing around you've got going on, walking in circles over the words Stay and Leave, like both are too delicate to say out loud. Even as the couple speak their vows, amid the claps and tears, your mind keeps drifting back to one question: Which would hurt less?

It's not until it ricochets on your arm that you realize the tears are also your own. You brush it fast, but by the corner of your eye, you know Joel notices. Still, he doesn't say anything, which contributes to your spite.

The ceremony is over, and just as you can feel the anticipation of the reception's drinks to buzz your nerves down, someone blocks you the exit. A couple, more like it.

Before fully registering their faces, Joel's hand flies to your back, pressed in a firm manner that oozes protectiveness. It makes your heart flutter, no matter how much you try to suffocate the treacherous butterflies in your stomach. You try not to think too much about it as you take them in: a man, looking in his middle forties, probably around the same age as Joel, so as the woman next to him, who smiles warmly. Not like the man, who seems unwelcoming.

"Joel" he pronounces his name, manners coming out cold. "It's nice to see you made it"

His grip on your back becomes more firm.

"Mark" he uses the same tone. "Well, when ya' confirm, y'gotta come"

"And who may this be?" Mark's wife asks, not thinking there's harm in her words. You swear you can hear him snicker next to her.

"She's-"

Joel stops midtrack. How is he supposed to even call you?

"I'm his girlfriend"

You don't know why you did that but you did. You also don't know why it causes you such satisfaction to see their wide eyes and Mark's disdain.

"Oh, I didn't know you had a girlfriend. How lovely!"

His cheeks go pink. "Thanks, Laura"

"Yes, Joel. Didn't think you'd move on" but his tone isn't like his wife's. "I just assumed that being with someone wasn't on your list anymore, you know, at your age. Especially one so... young"

Laura shots him a look.

Maybe it wasn't your place to get angry, not after how you've subjected Joel to your silent treatment this past months. Not after the fight you've just had hours ago. But he is also the same man who held your hand after you thought you were pregnant. He was the one who stayed. It is too how his shoulders slump, like he believes it to be true. You can't bear to see him sad, as contradictory as that may sound.

"Mark, right?"

The man nods, still sickly smiling.

"To me it sounds like you're jealous. Which is awful, because you've got a lovely wife" she looks away embarrassed while Mark fumes. "Also, when I turn around, try not to stare at my ass. I saw you when we arrived"

There's nothing left to say, so you walk past them.

"I think that was funny. Don't you?"

He avoids looking at you.

"I called a cab. Should take us back to the hotel"

No thanks. Nothing.

"Alright" your tone is dry. "Do as you please"

He opens the door for you, but his movements seem stiff and unnatural. Like he's second guessing every breath and step.

The car begins to move. You lean against the window, seeing the hues of neon through the glass. Joel's eyes burn holes on your head, a glimpse of brown in the reflection.

"I liked the wedding"

Joel looks at you properly for the first time since the fight. Your hair falls gracefully in cascades, hinting at an effort that tries to pass as a nonexistent one. Your makeup is soft, but your lips are in a shade he can't quite name, yet manage to make them even more fuller than usual. God, he thinks of it smeared on his clothes and mouth, feeling dumb all of the sudden. Then there's the dress. He doesn't have a favorite color, but as of now, it may be red: specially if its the red that hugs your curves, pushes your tits up and gives a little peak of your leg with its open cut, dangerously close to the start of your inner thigh. Not appropriate to wear at a church, maybe not a wedding either, but fuck didn't he care. He'd even rip it off, if it was such a problem.

"It was beautiful" he agrees, softly. "Never been to one. Maybe's why I think so"

You remove yourself from the window, now holding his gaze.

"What?" your mouth drops in surprise. "What about yours? Weren't you married?"

He smiles, but it appears to be sad. "Never got time for a wedding thought"

Joel has told you things. Things he'd never say outloud to anyone else. So whenever he opens up, letting you in, you let him, feeling that familiar pleasing ache in your chest at the thought of being enough: enough to be trusted with a piece of him. Of Joel Miller's heart.

The rest of the ride is silent, your mind still on Joel's hand on your back, on his words, and how the sting never goes.

In every thought of yours, he is.

"What'appened to your nails?"

The question catches you off guard. You're surprised he even noticed at all. But your hand lays in the space between his and your dish, stiff, as if waiting for him to hold it.

"Oh" you remove it from the table, placing it in your lap. "I chipped the polish off"

"Why?"

You turn to look at him, brown eyes examining you curiously, as if he didn't know you. Like he hadn't almost whisper those three words you had been tettering around as well.

"Why what Joel?" tone brash.

He scoffs at the change again, shoulders slumping a bit. Probably in annoyance, perhaps in defeat.

"Dunno" he goes back to his dish, cutting the steak with a bit too much force. I thought we were okay again. "S'rry I asked"

Your chest tightens, as it had been doing lately.

Was this the only thing you knew how to do now? Hurting Joel?

"No, I'm sorry"

It's his turn to get back at you. "Sorry for what?"

You swallow the lump that's formed in your throat, avoiding his gaze.

"I-"

Your eyes nervously dart across the room, trying to ignore the churn of your stomach and knot on your throat. You then catch the perfect distraction.

"I think Mark is staring at us again"

"What?" Joel asks in disbelief at your change of topic.

"Mark is staring" you sigh, getting up and dusting your dress off. "Wanna put on a show?"

"I didn't come to a wedding and wore this dress to be seated all night" you extend your hand. A quiet truce settles in between. "Let's dance"

At some point he gets up and takes your hand. It feels good. For a moment, be it childish or foolish, your mind thinks this is how it is: with no one around to know you, you're his and he's yours. It's just the two of you, dancing and laughing under the lights. He'd know the song that's playing, and when you'd ask, unfamiliar, Joel would joke: how could ya' know it, if you ain't even born yet?

For just a moment, it feels like it could be.

The music is soft. It's some sort of rendition of Lady, Lady, Lady by the band Jim hired to play at his wedding.

Joel's clammy hands slip against your cold palms as you walk to the dance floor.

"Nervous?" you ask, biting back a smile.

He squints his eyes at you. "I'm just outta practice, 's all"

You laugh. "I would've never guessed"

He shakes his head, but the ghost of a smirk hides in his lips.

"Cheeky baby. Now you actin' funny?"

Joel's hand finds its place in your waist, holding firmly as the first verses go by.

Dancing behind masks, just sort of pantomime.

But images reveal whatever lonely hearts can hide.

"Maybe I'm just tired" you reply, placing your head against his chest. His heart starts drumming faster, and you hear him gulp.

"It ain't even midnight yet"

You close your eyes, feeling every breath of his chest against your cheek.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

I know it's in your heart to stay

"Y/n-"

Lady, lady, lady, lady

"I'm sorry" this time clearer.

His body rocks yours slowly to the tempo of the music, and for a brief moment, amongst the sea of guests and the voice of the singer, time stops, and it's just him and you.

"Don't"

He can't bear it. Not tonight.

When will I ever hear you say

I love you

Not when your body feels so well against his, your head resting on his chest like all those nights ago, where Joel held you close, the silent promise of never letting you go on his warm strong embrace. Not when just the thought of losing you is too unbearable to even think of. Not when today, he can let his mind drift away and heart beat, dreaming of things that'll make him the butt of the joke. For a moment, you're not wearing this red dress that's making him insane. You're all in white and there's a ring in your hand, just as there's one in his. You'd dance and say I'm yours, forever. A giggle. You can't get rid of me. And he'd smile and reply a Good, wasn't plannin' to.

But now he feels like he's going to lose you forever.

"I missed you" it's your way of trying, again.

His head is a whirlwind of emotions.

"Yeah?"

You lean closer, until his cologne burns in your nostrils.

"Yeah"

Time like silent stares, with no apology

"Joel"

Move towards the stars, and be my only one

This time, he finds it impossible to shut you up. Not when you've raised your head until your eyes meet his, and the constellations he very much loves are ever present in your stare.

Reach into the light, and feel love's gravity

"Yeah?"

You pull in closer, and he can feel the whiff of champagne coming out of your mouth. Your lips are parted, and a shaky whisper is all it takes for his head to spin, drunk in love.

"Please"

That pulls you to my side, where you should always be

Your lips are so inviting. All he has to do is cut the centimeters separating your mouths.

But it's a wall. One filled with doubts, fear and the quiet rage of rejection.

His voice wavers when he starts speaking.

"I think-"

He hasn't even finished his sentence, but your heart is already broken.

No wonder why you've always treated it like a burden: nothing is worst than a heavy heart.

Maybe he'd come to realize just how absurd this all was. Him, much older than you and Sarah's dad. How could he let his daughter's bestfriend go this far. That he was a forty something guy, dancing with a twenty two year old girl. That love comes in all shapes and sizes, but there's no name for this you have going on since last summer. Perhaps, there'll never be.

"Please" you hear yourself repeat.

It started as a plea for a kiss. You don't know what you're begging for anymore.

"No, baby-"

And Joel is the first to step back.

Lady, lady, lady, lady, I know it's in your heart to stay

The cold water of rejection hits you in the face, far from his warm embrace, the contour of his face, centimeters away, now meters.

"We can't"

An ocean away.

"Joel-" your throat tightens, panic bubbling in your chest.

"I think we should stop"

The whole world around you does as soon as those words leave his mouth.

Sorrow is quick to turn into anger, and all those months of guilt, rush, thrill, labored breaths, broken rules and promises you held to your heart as an oath, sweet whispered cons in your pillow that smelled like him. It all comes crashing down with force.

A dry laugh escapes past your lips. Joel winces at the sound.

"A bit too late for that, isn't it?"

"Baby-"

"Don't call me baby" you hiss, feeling your vision blurry. "Don't call me like you meant it"

"I do" the music has reduced to a buzz in the back of your head. His firm voice borders between desperate and pathetic. "Which is why am making 'tis"

"Fucking coward" you spit, feeling your skin on fire.

Don't give up. Please.

Fight for me. Fight for this.

For us.

"Coward?" it's Joel's turn to laugh. His dark chuckle sends shivers through your skin. "Y' shouldn't be talkin' 'bout that"

"Don't put all of this on me" you raise your shaky finger, accusing. "Don't you fucking dare"

"Thought Mark was watchin'. Or 's that 'nother one of y'r lies?" Joel seethes. "Or maybe ya' don't give a shit 'bout it. Jus' like you ain't give a shit 'bout us!"

"You think this is easy?" your voice raises. "You think I wanted this?"

You think I don't care? That I'm doing well? That I wanted to pull away from you? That I knew things would got as bad as they are?

You think I wanted to fall for you?

His eyes darken. "You started this"

Your heart stops beating. People laugh, the band is still playing and chatter bubbles like the champagne flutes waiters carry by.

But all you can hear is the moment your palm meets his face.

"I wish I never met you, Joel Miller"

And then you rush out the door, your heels burning as much as your eyes and chest. Far from the party, far from the world.

Far from him.

"We ain't done yet!"

You hear him bark behind you, yet your legs don't stop, despite the buzz in your ears and the slight stumble in your walk.

Your voice sounds like it doesn't belong to you when you hear yourself speak, without turning around.

"I think we are"

But Joel doesn't give up, making you feel trapped between wanting to hit him again and let yourself be held.

"Y/n!" he calls out just like he used to when you were a kid. Like you knew no better. Reckless. Berating. But now the taste of bitter mingles with his punishing demeanor.

You spin your heel, walking menacingly towards him.

"Don't call me that" you seethe, jabbing a finger to his chest.

"That's your fucken name!" he shouts.

Tears spring in the corner of your eyes. "You know what I mean"

"Enlighten me, doll" the nickname feels like a slap to your face, and for a moment, you wish he called you by your name again, instead of tainting the always sweet calling with his vitriol, as if the four letters meant something sacred he had profaned. "S'a matter of fact, why don't y'enlight me 'bout everythin' that's goin' on. 'Cause guess what? I'ont know what the fuck is happenin'!"

And it terrifies me.

His shout probably ran across the empty hallway. The music coming from inside sounds like a muffled heartbeat, mirroring your own.

To lose you. I might as well have.

"I don't know why you seem'a hate me now" quiet this time, like every word coming from his mouth take his voice little by little. "Why ya' get all sweet on me after weeks of leavin' me, pushin' me to the side... I'm old, doll. I ain't capable of takin' this anymore"

I'm not capable of surviving a broken heart.

The possibility of losing Joel, foever, had never crossed your mind, not even as you closed off, ignoring the way his brown sad eyes would search yours to try and find answers, maybe scraps of the... whatever it was you shared.

Now, it was real, and it shook you to the bone.

"Was fun while it lasted" closing off, trying to shut the doors he let you in, clawing back to that Joel Miller who couldn't be bent. The one Sarah deemed unbreakable. But it's the same that didn't know when to back down, now praying the price of his foolishness.

I don't regret it, but Joel doesn't have it in him to give you more of his heart for you to take. If he cuts it now, from the root, he'll spare his brain from saving more seconds of the image of you he'd have to get rid off: you, taking your coffee with two bags of sugar because you hated uneven numbers, and three seemed too much for your latte. You, standing on his room like you belonged there. You, on his car, the leather having absorbed some of the floral scent you seemed to carry with you. In your clothes, your skin, your hair. He'd have to go to bed knowing he'd never get to feel your strands in his fingers, tickling the remmanents of desolation he'd been carrying like a second skin ever since Sarah's mother walked away.

Your blood runs cold.

"Fun?" the words spill in a bitter incredulous tone, all the while you're trying to hold to him without raising your hand for him to take it, like just the thought of it would be enough to choose you. Words seem to fail you, and grasping at him feels like holding sand: it keeps falling from your fingers, a cruel reminder of your borrowed time. "Joel"

"Fun" he repeats the word, feeling sick. "As in, you'd marry someone who's worth for ya'. Probably choose Texas, maybe you'll stay away. 'Cause you're smart, and know what's good. But if ya' came back, livin' at the same neighbour, in the house across mine, you'd glance up and see my porch, thinkin' 'bout us, and this will become a joke with y'r husband, 'bout your rebel days. To your kids, summ cautionary tale. To you? An'scape of summ sorts of y'r other wise boring life"

Your shaking at this point, not knowing if it's anger, humilliation or sorrow.

I'm sorry. Please, don't give up on me. Stay.

"I'd be an experience. But to me? Doll" Joel chuckles, humorlessly. "You were everythin'"

A choked up sob bubbles from your chest.

"So that's what you think of me?" you laugh, a sound so hollow it makes his skin shiver. "That this is for the thrill? For the fucking anecdote?!"

"Trust me. I've lived long 'nough, kid. You'll understand later"

It's like all those months next to him meant nothing. Like pulling away from your lips was the easiest thing to do.

"Don't you fucking dare call me a kid!" you push him. "I'm not a kid"

"I know you ain't!" he roars back. "But you don't know shit!"

"Neither do you!" your quick to counter. "You think you've got me all figured out, huh? Bet you think that I'm some helpless naive idiot who doesn't know what I want. I don't know what I'm doing, that you're right. But I do know what I signed up for, the price I would pay" losing you or Sarah. Both. "I wanted it, and newsflash: so did you" you breath, running your hands through your hair, trying to comb some sense of normalcy to ground yourself while you try to recover your composture. His arms lay weakly by his sides, restraining himself from running to you and craddle you on his arms. "You chose this. You chose me, Joel Miller" each word pronounced with contempt. "I'm not a victim. Neither are you"

A dry chuckle escapes past his chapped lips. "What are we, then?"

(Two lonely souls who seek warmth. People who fell into the same bed. Shared time they shouldn't have. Selfish. Living on borrowed time. Always tettering around the edge, so easy to fall. History repeating itself. The dancing around. Dirty, like the Texan roads: and they all lead back to his bed)

"So do it" you shove him again, as if by doing so, you could push him away forever. From your mind, from your heart. From your life. "Say it"

He shakes his head, as if you'd insulted him.

"Sweetheart-"

"Say. It" you bark, tasting the venom on your tongue. "Say it!"

"I can't" looking so small, your resolve almost crumbles. Almost.

"Coward" you spit, repeatedly punching him feebly on the chest as tears stream down your cheeks. He tries to grab your hands, to stop you. "Don't touch me! Let me go"

"I can't" this time louder.

Tears sprout with more intensity at the desperate weight on his tone.

A single drop runs down when you say, defeated: "Quit me"

"I can't!" he shouts in your face, voice breaking slightly.

"Why?!"

"'Cause I fucking can't!" Joel breaks. He crumbles in your arms, body shaking as he buries himself in your reluctant embrace. He speaks again, this time softer, "I can't lose 'cha, baby. If that makes me sum goddamn coward, then so be it"

Something in you stirs. Like a lost boat, finding a lighthouse during a storm. Arriving to shore with gentle waves. Home, where it belongs.

"Joel-"

"I'm sorry for bein' selfish" between agitated and terrified, afraid of the silence and what you may say. "For noticin' your quiet and still carryin' on"

"Joel"

"Believe me, doll. I tried to stop. To leave ya'" he swallows, "but then I got invited and my mind went to ya'. Fast. You were the first person in my mind. Always are. I think that's when I knew. S'okay if you don't-"

"Joel!" you shout this time.

He raises his view from his little spot on your chest.

"It isn't just you" in a whisper that could easily pass as the wind that sweeps inside from the main door. Voice so fragile it hurts like glass. "I feel this too"

Just like that, he's both gone and back. His heart beats on his throat, voice raw when he searches for your eyes and asks:

"You do?"

The big unbreakable Joel Miller, looking at you not like a force to be reckoned with, but as a man, worn down by years of solitude and the weight of a secret.

You smile through the tears. "I've been many things, but a liar never"

He chuckles, softly. "Always was a bad one"

"See?" softly teasing, "you can attest to that"

"Twenty one years seem 'nough"

"Soon to be twenty two" pause. "And I would love it if you were there to see it"

A breath hitches somewhere in the middle of the new aphonia that's settled.

"You don't mean all'at. Think 'bout it-"

"I do" you interrupt him, firmly. You hold his gaze while cupping his face, the fright on his face mirroring your own. "You asked before, remember? There's your answer"

Joel is at loss for words. Was never good with them, less when it came to you: like your presence unsettled him in the same way tornadoes made him quiver when he was a child, rattling him to the bone. But there was a morbid fascination to them, in their destructive nature. Like beauty could be horror too, and he had learnt it thanks to your unforgiving winds that had swept him away from his feet.

He was flying. Fucking flying. Never quite landing. Afraid of the fall.

"I'm scared"

Joel leans in, forehead touching yours. His skin is warm, something about it soothing your nerves down.

"Me too"

You bite back a smile. "Big broody Miller, scared?"

"Y' know how'da disarm a man. I'll give ya' that"

You laugh, eyes crinkling while you swat his chest playfully. It's the same sound he missed so dearly. Joel can feel himself breath with relief.

"Now that's the story I'll tell my kids" could be our own. "The one where I won over Joel Miller"

A deep, rich rumble erupts from his chest as he pulls you even closer, this time, your head the one on his chest.

"I'll do you one better" he slowly moves his leg closer to the inner part of your thighs. "Wanna hear how it ends?"

"Jesus, Joel" laugh tense. Your heart pulses like his cock. Hard. "You sure are a mood killer"

He presses further. "But ya' want it, don't 'cha?"

You whimper, weakly. Truth is, you've been wet since you saw him dress on his rather tight suit. Now, after what you just confessed, you're not sure you can hold back any longer.

"Use y'r words, baby"

"Our room" the possesive adjective making his stomach rumble with need. "Now"

Stumbling feet. Whispered breaths oozing with drunk desire. Giggles. Buttons of an elevator pressed forcefully. A crammed space that felt even smaller. More giggles in a hallway full of doors that looked the same. Some mumbling, trying to remember the room. Grabbing the card from his pocket. You somehow make it to your room. Fumbling fingers. One swipe. Two. Try slower, but his voice is as urgent as strained. The door gives in. Finally, couldn't wait any longer. And he's chastising you, for being so impatient. Yet his eyes are all dark and sweet when looking it at you.

"We're here" and then the door closes with a loud thud. And Joel is yours again, just like he was that night, and forever was since.

You wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him back fervently. You open your mouth and let his tongue get inside as you moan his name.

"Please" you whine.

"Please what?" Joel chuckles, enamoured at your hanging mouth and heaving chest. Fucking tease. "Use y'r words, doll"

"Please, Joel" and hearing your name fall out of your lips like it's the most sacred prayer brings him weak to his knees. "I need you"

(I need you, as in I need you here. With me. Now. To never let go and hold my hand, not only when we fuck, but also when we walk, side by side, hands brushing like a touch it's too much to bear. Because if we held hands, I'd never be able to pull back. I need you to look at me as you undress me, because I'm bearing all of me for you, scars, body and secrets, trembling like a scared child, because no one's ever had me. Not like you. Not like you)

"'S right, sweet thing" he drawls out in a husky whisper, like his slick tongue was coated in honey. He pulls your head back, nipping and sucking on your skin. "Say ma' name like 's the only thing you know"

And in a way, it is. Because you'd always call Joel, fingers itching at a number you've memorized until it's burned in your eyelids, like when you close your eyes, you can see him standing in front of you, Texan accent and heavy boots in your doorstep, later to be discarded and hidden beneath your bed.

He pulls back, making you involuntary whine at the loss of his lips and tongue on you.

"Tell me you want this" he's saying, and for a moment, past the fire and the need, you see Joel as not the man who can bring you to come two times in a row, but your bestfriend's dad, who's slept in a bed alone for the past two decades, who can't meet you in the eyes when he undresses himself, looking like the one who's got the more to lose when his lips press aginst yours in a soft manner, not out of tenderness but out of fear.

"I do" without hesitation, as if you would tattoo your promise and wear it like your heart on your sleeve. "I want you, Joel"

You want all of him: from his boring Sundays sprawled on the couch watching a rerun of some old sitcom to his greying hair, aching joints and creaking bones, that despite so, would still kneel and eat your pussy like a man starved, tongue sliding through your folds with a learned ache, pouring the same yearn, longing and hunger that he wears on his eyes when they land on you, no matter if his brown are miles away, because they'd always find your own, like a boat lost in translation and a sea of sorrow coming back home, as if you're the only important thing in the world. His anchor. The lighthouse of his vast ocean of forlorness.

"That's my girl" but no smirk adorns his face, rather a small smile that warms your chest, right as he pulls you back in. There's a shift in the aire as he kisses you know, as if not only his tongue is in your insides but his soul, without holding back this time, like all limits have blurred and melted into a pool of desire and affection.

Joel pushes you down onto the wide bed, climbing on top of you as he kisses your jawline, leaving wet kisses along your warm skin. You moan as every contact of his mouth sends shudders to your body, him taking his time as he works over your jaw, down to your chest.

"Such'a pretty doll. And's mine" his calloused fingers fiddle with your bra, unclasping the lingerie until it falls messily discarded next to the bed. "Got summ nice tits on you, baby" and Joel's eyes sparkle with excitement, lighting up like the neon lights of the Vegas sign, "don't 'cha think?"

Your back arches with his touches, mouth ghosting over your nipple, already pebbled at just Joel's breath.

"Fuck, Joel" you mewl his name, dragged with difficulty as he laps his tongue over your breasts greedily. You can feel Joel's cock pulse and throbb in your thigh as his body hovers over yours, lips still wrapped around your nipple as he suckles and nibbles at the tender flesh.

"'S sorry, doll" he's apologizing in a mocking manner as you whimper at the contact of him against you, suckling hard, tongue swirling and flicking over the sensitive bud as he drew it deeper into the wet heat of his mouth. "Ain't know you'd be so fucken responsive with just a lil' lick at y'r pretty tits"

As your body trembles and quakes, he speaks again.

"Open y'r mouth" you do so, because honestly, you'd never deny him a thing. "Want 'cha to suck on 'tis fingers, like the slut ya're. Get them wet so they feel good against 'tis greedy pussy"

You take the fingers as you'd take his cock, sucking on the skin that tastes like salt and gasoline, a slight bitter taste but you take them as deep as you can, until your lips brush his rough knuckles.

"Good greedy whore" he praises. "Now let me help ya' with that"

Joel gestures your damp panties, taking them off and putting them up his nose, inhaling like he did the first time you ever fucked, back at the beach house that summer that feels a life ago, seawaves crashing onto the shore as they drowned out your moans.

"Sweet" as if your arousal was his favorite dessert, gripping the sticky lingerine until his knuckles turn white. "Fucken wet and drippin', and s'all for me"

He feels your greedy hands fumble with his pants and belt, pulling him closer as the feeling of unfairness at his clothed figure dawns upon you.

"I like how you look in a suit, but right now-"

He laughs, a deep rich sound bubbling up from his chest.

"Ma' baby wants it that bad, huh?" you nod your head feverishly, a beg threatening past your lips.

"Please, Joel. I want to suck your cock" the dirty words come out as quick as a breath. "I missed it so so bad" not caring at all about how desperate you come across or the pitiful begging that's a plea away from drooling out of your mouth with an aching hunger.

"'S that what you want? Draggin' me out'a reception 'cause y'r greedy dirty mouth couldn't keep still? Bet you'd crawl on da' floor just to get a taste of this dick" every word makes you mewl. "Might have to see ya' beggin' for it"

"I'll do it" you beg, voice a wanton plea. "I'll do whatever, I just need to-"

"I see ya' really do"

He removes your hands from his body, chuckling as you pout and whine like a baby.

"Love hearin' ya' so eager fo'me" Joel says, tugging the pants finally down. Through the cloth of his underwear, it's impossible not to see the silhoutte of his hard throbbing dick.

The sight of him, hair disheveled, pupils blown wide, white button shirt now wrinkled and sticky with sweat, tie loose and that faint smell of champagne that clung to his mouth and scent like a second layer of his skin.

"Get on the floor. Now" he commands, and you're quick to obey. "Gonna fuck that dirty mouth of yours until my cum dribbles outta your cheek. S' now? Be obedient if ya' want a taste, slut"

You let out a small whimper as Joel frees his cock from his underwear.

"That's right, baby. Like what ya' see?" his cock is straddling your face in your current kneeling form. "Need that mouth to open wider"

You obey in an instant.

"Good girl"

Joel shoves his cock inside your mouth, giving you a few seconds to adjust before pushing a little further. You bob your head forward but the task proved to be hard when he was thrusting at the same time. His big hard dick hits the back of your throat, a gag dying past your busy lips. 

"'S it bad if I tell ya' I like watchin' you squirm and struggle with my cock? 'S fuckin' hot"

You narrow your eyes, struggling to keep your throat relaxed as he thrusts forward, fucking your mouth and throat. Your thighs clasp together, the slick pooling down your legs in the absence of underwear.

Joel's groans become raspier as his body begins to tense.

"'M gonna fuck y'r throat raw, doll. And then, I'm gonna cum. Down y'r greedy throat. 'S my girl okay with that" he can see the plea in your eyes as you choke on his cock once more. "S'alright then. Ya' know I love to spoil ma' girl"

As his body starts to edge closer, his tongue runs loose.

"Love watching you suck ma' dick" he looks down on you, eyes glossy, probably because he was drunk in alcohol and you. "Love how it feels. Love how you feel. Love- I love you"

(There's an involuntary gag somewhere)

Joel's body tenses and it doesn't take that much for you to feel the warmth of his cum go down your throat.

You choke again and he brings his dick out of your throat and let you swallow the rest. 

There's a beat of silence, as dense as his fluids down your throat. You avoid his gaze, heart drumming on your chest.

"Doll..." he whispers, the last bits of climax sweating off his skin; all that's left is shame. "C'mere"

(Say it back, he should plead. I know your eyes don't lie, but if I heard those three silly words out of your mouth, I could die happy tonight. A bigger man would beg, but he's never been good, even if he tried)

He helps you get up, wobbly legs not being of help when it comes to the shock of his confession.

I love you.

As much as a tender touch as a knife slitting your chest open in a clean cut.

(You're bleeding love)

Love.

Such a foreign word, one you've never felt before. Yet, what's scary is recognizing that latent warmth on every stolen glance; brush of a hand. The tingles provoked by getting the largest serving, even if his daughter sat at the same table. The flutter of your chest when he tried to be there for you when you thought you were pregnant, even if he was as scared as you. In every little thing he had done since you first started playing with fire, how you wore his heartbeat as an echo and his skin like a second layer to your own.

His lips are swollen when they take yours.

"'S fine" some kind of tiredness seeping through the cracks of his gruff exterior and composed rejected posture. "Ya' don't have to-"

"I love you" you croack out.

His voice comes out impossibly small as he whispers. "What...?"

A fireworks show explodes out somewhere in the background.

"I love you" you repeat, words dripping with an adoration only known to captain's going down with their sinking ships.

You're drowning, but the water doesn't burn your lungs anymore.

"Lemme help with that sore throat of yours" he's tugging down your bottom lip, fingers playing with your mouth to open it. He gazes at you with a look that tugs at your heartstrings. "Open, baby"

Your dry throat and warm mouth welcomes the spit he lands inside.

"There ya' go" and you swallow it, making him curse. "Fuck. 'S so hot seein' you do that, my lil' sweet slut"

"Joel" you whine, hands curled up in white fists as you grab him by the collar of his button shirt.

"Whoa, baby. What's goin' on?" he chuckles softly. "Use y'r words"

"Y-You made a mess-" you blabber, the wet slick between your thigh sticky. "I-It hurts, Joel"

"Hurt?" he cocks an eyebrow. "Care to show me where?"

You sit in the bed, parting your legs, finger pointing out the moist zone.

"Here"

His adam's apple bobs, and the gulp reverberates against the walls of the room.

"Fuck... I see" each word strained. "Don't worry, doll. I can help ya' with'at"

It's his turn to kneel, knees burying on the carpet.

He places one of his big hands on your knee, his calloused fingers tracing absent patterns over the skin. His other hand drums slighty against your trembling leg, so close yet so far. You're so impossibly eager, and a part of him, that fragile ego, is boosted to the roof at your (actual and very real) want for him.

All that glistening pussy was his work. Joel really disarmed you like that.

"If I do this, maybe it won't hurt anymore" his mustache and recently trimmed beard tickle against your sensitive folds as he presses a kiss to your core. You writhe, throwing your head back as your hands fly to his hair, gripping the greying loose curls tightly at the contact. "Will ya' let me eat out this pretty pussy, doll?"

"Please" you let out, breathlessly.

"Love hearin' ya' beg" and he dives in, strong hands holding your thighs on place as he sucks your clit lightly. Your hips buck, his face burying into your cunt to the point his nose touches the warm folds. You moan at the feeling, his tongue now circling against your center.

"J-Joel"

"Feels s'good, right? As good as I feel feastin' on this tight little cunt" and his deep voice sends jolts when it echoes against your walls. You squirm at the sensation, stomach tight with his sucking and licking, misntrations sending you to the edge.

"Joel?"

Barely above a whisper, voice tight.

He looks up to you, pupils blown wide. "Yes?"

"C-Can you finger me, please?"

"Fuck, baby" he whistles. "You really know how'da bring a man to his knees"

And you chuckle at his lame attempt of a joke, not laughing at him but with him.

Joel slides one of his thick, calloused fingers through your soaked folds, feeling the velvet softness of your inner walls clench down on the invading digit, a demonstration of how impatient they were to take his cock. He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, rubbing the sensitive bundle of nerves in tight, slow circles.

"Wanna hear you, y/n" just your name alone on his mouth makes you writhe, and Joel's encouragement as his finger dips lower to tease at your entrance. He slides a second finger into your cunt, pumping in and out of your tight walls in a steady, driving rhythm. You roll against his hand as he curls his fingers. "Fuck yourself on my fingers, baby. Wanna see you ride 'em 'til you come undone. Wanna taste your cum on my tongue as you scream ma' name"

He can feel your body start to tremble, pussy clenching down on his fingers as he fucks you with a relentless pace.

"Shit" he groans, tongue lapping firmly at your clit, "s' fucking tight"

"I-I can't help it" you feel the burning sensation in the corner of your eyes, "I-I feel every inch of you in me"

(Up to your body, head and heart)

"And you ain't even had my cock yet" he's quick to tease. "But I know you'll feel s'good, baby. Takin' my cock like da' good girl y'are"

Tears begin to stream down your face freely, the salty drops hot against your warm skin.

You sniffle, and Joel's movements stop for a bit.

"You cryin'?" but you know damn well he's aroused, by the way he licks his lips absentmindedly as his brown orbs stare back at you, dilatated. You still remember the last time you cried during sex, and how his reaction was practically the same, except this time, it's received with a grateful welcome home. "Fuck, baby- I love when you cry like a lil' cocksleeve over ma' dick"

Despite the lewd words, he's wiping your tears away with his thumb in a soft gentle touch.

"S'okay, baby" he coos, kissing up your throat and onto your chin. Then, you feel a wet sensation on your cheek: but it isn't the tears, yet his tongue, licking the hot stream. "I'll give ya' ma' cock if you want it so much. Now quit your cryin', yeah?"

But you keep sniffling, impossible to close the dam once it's broken.

"My sweet crybaby" Joel mumbles, "I love ya', doll"

"I love you too" each time you said it, a new flower blooming in your heart. It could be. "I do, Joel"

He smiles, the kind of smile that is painful to watch. The kind that says: Is this real? Do I deserve this?

"Y'know I'm bad with words, so lemme show you instead"

He's climbing on top of you as you push yourself into the middle of the bed, lips tangled into a demanding kiss, his tongue dominating your mouth like he wants to tame it. He drops his underwear again, but he's still wearing the goddamn shirt. You whine, and for a second, while over you, he stops.

"What is it, baby?" Joel pants.

"T-take it off" you huff, worked up. You let the tie loose first, starting to unbutton his shirt after. "I want to see you, Joel"

His hand is quick to fly and stop you from taking it off. Even in the dim lit room, you can see the faintest of a blush covering his cheeks.

"Sweetheart..." he mumbles, "I dunno-"

"Please" trying to remove his hand.

"You really wanna?" but behind his teasing smile there's both a hopeful and vulnerable glint to his voice.

You extend your hand, cupping his cheek. He leans into the touch, and for a moment, the world outside ceases to exist, and it's just you, your ragged breaths and the light tickle of his growing beard on your palm.

It could be.

"Because I love you" holding his gaze firmly. "All of you"

"Fuck, baby" Joel starts to get off the shirt, "ya' really made those fuckers downstairs drop their damn mouths when ya' walked in with me. Couldn't believe it, such'a pretty girl could be mine" he snarls, grabbing your face by the chin. "Hell, I'ont believe it either. That you could wanna be with me"

But then you're touching his now naked form before you, fingers slowly tracing through his face to his tense jawline. Then across his broad shoulders to his tummy, feeling the soft swell against your stomach as he leans over your eager form. It's the way you look at him, as if he's the most beautiful man in the world, that makes his breath catch on his throat, staggering.

Your sweet broken voice rings in his head.

It isn't just you. I feel this too.

(Scared. Confused. Happy. Grieving. Loving)

It should be his ego boosted and cock stroked, but when his eyes find yours, it's his heart that feels the fullest.

Fuck, he was too old for this shit.

"Look at 'cha, making lame ol' me a sappy motherfucker" he laughs, the same blush from earlier now more prominent. He leans down to kiss you, his moustache brushing your lips. "If ya' don't stop, I'll take ya' right now and we're gettin' married tonight by summ random Elvis guy"

"What If I wanted that?" you challenge as your mouth presses fluttering kisses to his caging arm, lips stopping on each spot and mole peppered through his thick bicep.

"Then get dressed" you feel him squirm under your insistent lips, "'cause I ain't gettin' married again while naked"

"Where you married, Joel?" you can feel the salt air up your nose of the first night again, asking the same questions. The fact that he's opening to you warms your chest in a pleasant way.

He looks at you absentmindedly, humming as to confirm.

"We were too damn young. Had to, for the baby on the way" he tells. You remember Sarah's aversion to the topic, and given his next words, it makes sense. "Then she left"

I would never leave.

"I'm sorry" you offer instead.

"Don't" the atmosphere is quick to change again as thise words leave his mouth. "Now, where were we?"

You're quick to spread your legs to him, gilstening cunt on full view.

"Good girl" he smirks, lining himself with your warm entrance. "If ya' keep behavin', I might give ya' my cum"

His tip against your clit for a few seconds before pushing down against your hole. Joel groans as his length sinks in your gummy walls, feeling the tightness from before.

"You feel s'good" grunting as he slowly pushes in, letting you adjust to his girth. "Always do" 

He presses a gentle kiss to your sweaty hairline. 

"Tell me how it feels"

"Good" you mewl. "Big"

"Ain't that right" he chuckles.

"Need it all. Please" and you grip his neck tightly, arms around it. His nose brushes against yours as he grunts out a You little minx. "Want it, Joel. I can take it"

He bottoms out. "Then do"

"Fuck" you curse, cunt stretched to adapt to his girth. You breath in painfully, and Joel's eyes lace with concern. "I-It's fine"

"Sure? I can wait"

"I’m okay" you assure him, moved by his care for you. You buck your hips. "You can move"

He starts by setting a slow pace, taking all the space insade your clutching heat. Joel groans at the sensation, your walls gripping him like a vice as he continues to move in a slow motion, pounding into you with deep, powerful strokes. Yet, as his arms cage you by your sides and you look at him with certainty, he picks up a brutal pace, just as you like it, slamming into you over and over again, the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin filling the small bathroom.

"K-keep going" you grip his left arm. Joel lets out a hiss as your nails dig on his skin. "Feels so good"

"Good'nough for you to cum on m'dick?" he groans huskily in your ear, breath ghosting on your skin like a hot kiss. "Gonna fill you up, doll. I'll mark you as mine, now and for da' rest of y'r life"

The way his voice drips with dominance as he commands you, filled with a rough rich baritone tinted with a possesive hunger, his hips moving faster as he drives into you with force, pistoning harder is enough to set you on edge.

He leans forward, capturing your lips in a kiss. 

"Cum f'me, baby. Let me hear ya' cryin' over my cock"

Tears. Stars. Grunts. Moans. Cum.

Your cry for his name against his lips is how you announce your orgasm, washing over you. Your walls flutter as Joel lets you ride slowly through your climax.

"There ya' go, baby. Go on, ride it" then, he pauses. His face strains. "Hold on tight. I'm gonna- I'm gonna cum. Right there, baby. Stay"

Somewhere along the moans and the writhes of your soft skin against his hard planes and soft belly, Joel asks where you want it. Inside, you hear yourself say, eager to feel all of him again, filling your insides, invading every inch of your body until a part of himself leaks into your heart. He's then blabbering as your walls and heart flutter, about kids and other things you both want but can't have. Tonight, though, as he Joel buries himself deep inside you, his cock throbbing and pulsing as he starts to come, grinding against you, making sure you feel every last spurt, every last bit of his release, you allow yourself to believe.

He pumps some shallows thrusts inside of your slick dripping cunt, emptying himself, before pulling out and looking down at you with a tired smile.

"I love you" he says again in fervent whisper, as if by repeating it, he could materialize it. "I love you so fucking much, y/n. And if ya' can't accept that, can't believe in that, then... then I'ont know what the fuck I'm gonna do. 'Cause I can't lose ya', baby. I can't"

"You won't" you don't know why it comes so easy, or why the promise slips as natural as a breath. "I'm here, Joel Miller. You won't lose me"

credits: divider @kodaswrld / gif @loregifs

[breakindishesinaelevator]

FOUND YOU

Invincible & Blue Diamond!Reader

^^pov you nuzzling mark

(yes these will be put in parts)

these bbls killin yall 🥀🥀

i never really watched steven universe so ive been doing super duper research and hope i got the idea of her character right

and this might just be platonic rather than romantic idk

if theres any romance in this it might be cecil and/or nolan

1.5k words tho i might be a beast (/j 🥀)

fic under the cut :P

“Mark, there’s some kind of giant that’s causing tsunamis, hurricanes, and some real fucked up storms up on the west coast. It’s also abducting people at random! I need you to go and settle this immediately! Before more lives are lost and more people go missing!”

Cecil’s voice cuts out from the comm in Mark’s ear. Mark sighed, he was enjoying his time chatting and having a nice barbecue with his friends. Rolling his shoulders and stretching out his limbs, Mark stands, preparing himself for what could be a possible fight.

“Well! See you guys later, I guess.”

Mark makes a move to walk away from the group before Eve speaks up.

“Another mission from Cecil? God, he can’t give you a break, can he? I mean, you just got back from those two bank robbers who do the same shit every week. What is it now?”

Putting her hand on her hip, Eve is very unhappy with how Cecil is overworking Mark. She stepped away from the team to do her things to help the world and stop being badgered around by the old fart. Why couldn’t Mark do the same? Sure, he needs to get his mind off of things after what happened with his dad, but he needs to know his limits…

“Some… giant on the west coast… Nothing big! Nothing I can’t handle. It’ll be quick! I’ll- I’ll be back for some more wings though!”

Mark’s expression goes from confident to a bit nervous. Yeah, he’s been in this hero business for about a year and a half, but giants were still a bit troublesome to him. Preparing to take off soaring into the sky, he stops after Rex speaks up.

“Hey, man! Why don’t we come and help!”

“Oh- no that’s not- you don’t have to…”

Rex gets up, a big stupid grin on his face. Placing his hands on his civilian clothes, he explodes them into his hero suit.

“If the giant is nothing big then we could come with and wrap things up quickly and have a long time needed beach vacation! We could beat that giant and tan in the sand afterward! And if Cecil needs the Guardians, then fuck him! He can have Samson and Immortal help him out!”

Monster Girl giggles, getting up along with Rudy. Rae smiles, standing up as well, and placing her hands on her hips.

“That’s not a bad idea. I’m so down for a beach day!”

“Then it’s settled! Robot! Fire up your little doohickey and let’s go take down a giant!”

The others exclaim in agreement and preparing for the trip over to California, Mark smiles warmly. He is so happy to have some hero friends like them. Even if they’ve had their arguments and scuffles from time to time (mostly from Rex), he’s still grateful to have allies and friends with them.

————————————————————————

Sighing, you look down at the tiny humans running rampant. Scanning everyone as much as you could, one caught your eye. Is that who you’re looking for? Reaching your hand out, you grab the human’s arm, dragging him up towards you.

The human screams out in pain as his shoulder dislocates from your handling. Dangling him in front of your hooded face, he looked close to who you were looking for. Mustache and seemingly young. It has to be him. It has to be Nolan. He’s probably the closest one you’ve found so far, along with the other 34 humans you’ve caught.

Humming, you move to put him in the bubble you have trailing behind you. A bubble that contains the aforementioned other 34 humans you’ve taken. The bubble wasn’t super uncomfortable for them— it contained little rock formations you found, along with fruits and fountains that could prove useful to them ever if they needed it.

Before you could place him in the bubble, you hear a whizzing sound, then boom! The human is gone!

“Wh-what?”

Flipping around, you search for him, before locking eyes on some pink figure floating a couple of yards in front of you. The same pink figure is holding your human.

You reach out to take him back from the random figure before the pink figure begins to fly towards the shore. Panicking a bit, you move through the ocean and follow her.

“Give him back!”

Now being closer to shore, you’re also closer to the flying pink thing. Reaching out once more, you flinch back as some sort of projectile hits your hand, blowing up on impact.

Whipping over to see what that was, you see a bunch of humans on, what looks to be a flying rubbish contraption, another projectile is thrown at you. The human throwing them laughing maniacally, obviously getting a kick out of hitting you with the explosives.

Grunting and getting annoyed very quickly, you watch the contraption fly around you. A robot on the contraption begins shooting beams at you, not like it was doing anything to you, just irritating you more. And as if those things weren’t annoying enough, some green ogre thing jumped off and gave you a mean left hook to the face before landing back on the contraption.

“Grrngh- enough!”

Swatting the contraption out of the air, the humans (and robot) rush off of it in order not to get injured. You reach out to grab them but then, the pink thing comes back, wrapping some kind of pink rope around you. Struggling to move, you get ready to break out of it before another flying being, this time a male, comes at you with a right hook. The force of it knocks you down completely. You gasp, knowing only one being who had that kind of strength.

Now down on the ground, bound by the pink bonds from the pink figure, you look up at what brought you down.

“Nolan?”

Gasping heavily, a blue aura comes from your body in waves, causing the ocean to stir and also causing the heroes in front of you to weep profusely. Tears coming down your face as well.

With Eve now feeling immense sadness, her powers begin to weaken. She looks to the others as they’re now groveling in the sand sobbing. Even Rex! She looks out to the coastline and sees the waves crashing into each other and coming to the shore in big waves. Gasping and looking back to Mark, she sees him staggering in the air, feeling the effects of the giant woman’s power as well. Not as much as them though, due to his Viltrumite genes.

Before the waves could sweep up her and the team and possibly drown them, she used the last of her strength to gather the team and fly them out of the giant’s range so they could recuperate.

“Mark! W-we’ll come back-! Urgh-!”

Mark nods to her in acknowledgment and understanding and Eve takes off with the team. Seeing that they’re gone, Mark flings himself at you, hoping that another few punches would make you stop inflicting this feeling on him and any possible person within a 30-mile radius.

Getting closer and closer to you, he reels his hand back mustering whatever strength he could into his fist. He is stopped though, your hands immediately clasping around him, bringing him closer to your face. Your hood coming down, Mark could see your face in full clarity and the giant tears that were treading from your eyes. You were… ethereal…

“Nolan! I finally have you back!”

Through your tears, you smile greatly, your aura intensifying and your waves getting bigger. Mark looks at you in confusion, his head tilting.

“What?”

Bringing him closer to your face, you nuzzle your cheek against him. Your ginormous tears almost drowning him, he sputters trying to find air. You pull him away from your face a little, fully taking in his appearance before gasping.

“You look worse than ever! In what universe could that possibly be fine?!”

Now bellowing loudly, you crunch over on your knees, sobbing.

“I’ve waited thousands of years for you to come back… Now look at you… Weak… Frail… How can you come back to Homeworld looking like this?”

Oh… The giant woman thinks Mark is his father. …Awkward. Mark squirms uncomfortably. You’re a bit calmer now though. Your saddening aura lessening substantially. The tears on Mark’s face slow down but yours still go. Mark’s vision beginning to clear up, and he finally got a good enough look at you. Long hair, long lashes, blue skin, curvy. Damn. He quickly tried to speak about the moment on hand. The unnatural disasters and the abducted people. But, the only thing on his mind right now is how you know his father and what your relations are with him.

“Uh- The- Where’s-? I’m not- Well- I don’t-“

You place a giant finger on his lips, shushing him.

“No, no. Don’t speak. You must save your voice and energy for the trial.”

“Trial? What trial?”

“Why, yours, of course.”

What. What’d his father do this time?!

[contentloadingandstuff]

Smut Headcanons - Furina & Navia

A/N: While I have the Furina stuff I promised (smut + relationship + parenting headcanons) ready, I decided to split them up in three posts to go with another character. This way, the reader can enjoy exactly what they want. Anyway, enjoy! CW: Nothing, just vanilla ice cream here.

Furina de Fontaine? Yes, of course she is nothing if not the best at this whole “sex” thing! There are hardly any things she struggles with less than marital fornication, she'll have you know! 

Please go easy on her. She has no idea whatsoever. 

While it's true that throughout her long life she had read through many explicit books and brochures, mostly without pictures, her lack of personal interaction with the male body leads to her being quite clueless the first few times around. She doesn't really know how to please you, more - she barely even knows what she likes herself.

It's natural for gods to be less sexual than humans, which is all the more unfortunate for Furina. She kept the lifespan, but was left with a human set of emotions and needs that was doomed to wither over the centuries. But not all is lost - now that her days of godhood are over and she could finally become human - with a human lifespan and the ability to fully express her emotions. It will take time, but, with enough practice, she'll catch up. 

Communication is key. Don't hesitate to “order” her around. Tell her what feels good, what doesn't, what you'd like her to do and more. Furina will follow your example and share what she can - although the storm of moans and whimpers should serve as more than enough of a pointer. 

Furina is surprisingly confident in the bedroom. When she finds something she likes, she'll definitely let you know. She will, between shivering and gripping the sheets, encourage you or give you some pointers, as much as her state will allow. She's not scared to initiate and when she does, she always goes in with a plan. Knocking her off balance with some teasing of your own is sure to leave her in tatters though…

Furina is quite the fan of plays and works talking about romance, so her view of the subject is much closer to “making love” than to any other way to describe sex. As such, she enjoys plenty of prep before the main event - a romantic dinner, some proper foreplay, some teasing beforehand… She enjoys working yourselves up to the main thing. Getting in the right mood is a must for her, and when she's there, there's no keeping her hands off you.

Don't let her outspoken and loud way of carrying herself fool you - the closer you get to her, the more shy Furina becomes - especially if no clothes are involved. She'll have you believe that it's completely natural for a small girl like her to be intimidated by a taller and far stronger man, unwilling to openly state that she happily lays back and lets you do whatever you want to her most days. 

On the occasion that she has something specific in mind, it usually involves a bit of dressing up - she's quite fond of theater, after all. She can afford costumes and dresses galore, both for you and herself. It does take quite a bit of time, getting herself perfectly dolled up for the occasion, but it's no problem - seeing herself so disheveled, undressed and messy after you're done with her is totally worth the effort. 

A nice session of light play-acting is Furina’s favourite way to spice things up. She can be whoever you want - a damsel in distress, longing for the body of her noble knight, an actress getting some more hands-on rehearsals, or perhaps her favourite - the shy, freshly taken bride. Furina never parted with her wedding dress and takes it out for a spin, from time to time. It fits her perfectly, and thanks to Chiori’s expertise in material selection, is also easy to clean from… certain substances. 

But sometimes all Furina wants to do is let loose, be herself and just get some lovely, passionate pounding. Doggy no doubt has its bonuses in that regard, but she’d much rather see your face twist in pleasure as her slick hole pleasures you to completion. She enjoys missionary the most, with her hands clasping around yours for support or desperately clinging onto the sheets below. Furina is all about kissing, so expect your mouth to be occupied, and remember - nothing is hotter for her than you looking her straight in the eye as you nut inside. She won’t complain if you boast about how much you’ve filled her up - after all, you’re quite the lover, and it’s only right for you to be proud of what you can do to her. 

Don’t be alarmed if you find Furina shedding a few tears while her guts are being rearranged - that’s just how she responds to overstimulation. She doesn’t want you to stop any time soon, of course… But a kiss and a squeeze of her hand would surely motivate her to take you further in! 

She spends a lot of time grooming herself to perfection, with most of the time going towards shaving herself. She enjoys nice, smooth skin everywhere below the neck. Furina does mind hair, and you would make her very happy if you kept yourself like that as well. Why would she want to have all this nasty hair obscuring the goods? 

Furina is aware of how unlucky she is, to be created with not much of a cleavage. She tends to be hyper aware of her deficiency - or at least that’s how she views it. Your girl tends to skip out on nipple or boob play for that exact reason. She’s yours, and so is her body - if her body can’t offer you all it should, she’s not a good wife, is she? She would love you to be able to slide your cock between them and fuck them to completion, but they are, unfortunately, very flat. Over time, however, your love and encouragement helped her dismiss these harmful beliefs of inadequacy. So much so that she's grown to cherish her form.

She's proud of what she has, and loves to show herself off with expensive sets of lingerie. Unlike, say, the extendable cutlery she bought, these come in use regularly. She always picks those one size smaller to accentuate the nice fluff around her thighs and belly - a woman must have some plush on herself, after all! Couple that with long gloves and thigh highs, one darker and one brighter to match her eyes of course, and you've got yourself an outfit Furina feels beautiful in. 

And desired, too. They are nice, yes, but not as much as the feeling of you stripping them off her. She likes passion, and very much enjoys seeing you lose control of your desire for her. Don't hold your moans, say whatever comes to mind - even if it is her name over and over and over again, she will listen intently and whine your name in concert. 

The bed’s your stage, while you and her play the main roles. 

For her, you are the main attraction of the show. You and your glorious, male body. Navia? She's a big fan of that. 

The straight posture, the beautifully flat, strong chest, these powerful arms, the big hands, the meaty calves… You're incredibly handsome, so why wouldn't she spend her nights worshiping and touching you? 

When it comes to herself, she doesn't mind most things. Sure, she likes being the center of your attention, but being the receiver excites her much less than giving. While she'll take a long while to cum with your tongue, just sucking you off is enough to make her squirt on her fingers. Sex is all good, but she'll be more passionate if you just lay back and let her do the work. 

Let her take the lead - here, you're the star, and she's more than eager to see you enjoy yourself. Navia loves servicing you and bringing out those delicious, deep moans and sighs. She gets absolutely soaking at the thought that it's all the doing of her skillful hands and abundant body. 

Navia Rich cleavage, fat butt and a spacious pussy - Navia has it all, and you're more than welcome to help yourself. She'll be thrilled if you make good and frequent use of her, as - surprise surprise - women have needs too. It's unfair - why can you be absolutely horny for her, but it's improper for her to drool over you? Well, that's how it is in public, but behind closed doors, you're game. 

Navia is the unchallenged queen of handling your manhood. Learning about you, memorising the shape of your cock, adjusting her insides to fit you like a glove, learning where to touch to make you shiver… It was great fun, and Navia enjoys having the chance to explore you further with various kinks. She's not going to say no to anything when it comes to your hefty package, that's for sure. 

While not having much for herself, Navia owns a host of toys to use on you in the sheets. Would you like her to tie you up? Maybe edge you with a pocket pussy? How about tying the base of your cock for some extended sessions? Whatever you want, whatever you need, she likely has it in her collection - and if she doesn't, it won't be for long. All she needs is your word.

Navia is known for her positive and energetic approach to her role, but every girl needs a pick-me-up once in a while, doesn't she? Navia won't mind if you come over and sneak with her into a closet or let her get under the desk for some naughty time~

Nothing turns her on more than your pleasure. Seeing your hand tighten around the armrest as she edges you, feeling your hand push her head up and down as you use her throat as a toy or hearing you struggle to get all the cum out when she milks you for all your worth is something she greatly looks forward to. So much so that, if you give her this privilege, she'll whip out a Kamera to keep that moment for years to come. 

Of course, it will be focused on you. She wants to capture what she loves the most - your pleasure. She'll let the Kamera roll as you rail her into the bed, capturing all these lovely moans and expressions of bliss, as well as your grunts as you selfishly chase your own pleasure, uncaring if she will handle the pounding. One of her favourites is recording your balls as they slam against her cunt in doggy or missionary, capturing your voice and the obscene noises her pussy makes as your fuck her to completion. She'll return to them when she’s away, rubbing and fingering herself to the image of you in careless, primal bliss. 

That's another thing she loves to see - primal lust. The sight of you senselessly and violently fucking a toy is her favourite thing to get off to, especially that she knows she's going to be the toy next. Be rough with her - she can take it. Just don't you dare go silent on her, now! You have a voice, so use it - moan, whine, sigh and growl for her. Navia wants to know just how much you enjoy using her body. 

But sometimes she's in a more needy mood, especially when you've been quiet the last few times around. Navia knows that there's nothing worse for a guy than denial, so she'll strap you down and play with your dick, edging you without pause until you cry and beg for release. Or, alternatively, she'll work your head and prostate, forcing you to give up everything in your balls to her. The longer it goes on, the more you struggle, and the more frantic your pleas become. Music to her ears. 

Navia finds it so hot when you act needy, even when it's as simple as asking for some attention. Want a handy? She'll give you a helping hand, no questions asked. Need your balls emptied with some mouth work? Navia is on the case. You're in need of a quickie? Feel free to bend her over and yank those panties down - she's on the pill, so cum away. Be ready to zip down your fly for her too - sometimes, a quick suck can really lift her spirits. When she has a day off, expect lots of messing in the sheets. 

Morning sex? Yes please! She'll gladly have you wake up to lewd sounds of slurping and her lips wrapped around your cock, if you'll let her. And once you fully wake up, you'll get to feel her ride you in the rays of the morning light. 

She's the type of girl that loves cum. Expect lots of positive encouragement to blow your load, no matter if it comes quickly - it's a compliment for her doing a great job, right? When you finally give in to her talented ministrations, she'll make sure to put on a show for you. Each part of her (except the hair, cum is quite annoying to get out of there without taking a shower) is fair game when it comes to coming. If you feel like giving her a mouthful, she'll swallow it up and show you a clean mouth as proof. Her favourite spot, though, is the face - it might mess with her make-up, but its warmth and smell feels so naughtily good on her face, and she'll make sure you're watching her gather it up and lick it off her fingers with a proud, smug smirk.

Navia isn't a fan of condoms, not at all. She’d much rather take a pill or slap on a patch than wrap you in rubber. Besides, Navia always wanted to have plenty of kids, so when the time comes, she'll passionately encourage you to knock her up. Having her stomach swollen with a baby - that you put into her, which she will make sure to praise you for - makes her feel beautiful, even if she has to buy bigger clothes. Luckily for her, she can still suck your cock with a big belly, so it's not much of a problem in that department. 

With Navia, it's cowgirl all the way. Not only do you get to see her tits swing and her beautiful face, but you also get a taste of her excellent riding skills. She likes this position as it allows her to see your face contorted in pleasure. She will adjust the pace and depth to better milk you, or keep you on the edge of orgasm and enjoy seeing you lose your mind to pleasure. 

Thanks for reading!

[ironladders]

"I circled half the globe searching for him, but he was gone."

Starscream ;_;

RIGHT?? IT'S SO SAD .

and i have sooo many thoughts about this whole situation with skyfire/starscream that's been presented to me, if you dont mind anon im gonna use your ask to ramble a little

(disclaimer im sure nothing i have to say here is particularly new & has been said by those who've been deep into TF longer than myself but i need to get this out my system anyways. and also im still watching through g1 so if im horribly mistaken about anything #oops)

unless i missed something, i don't think it's specified in "fire in the sky" how long starscream looked for skyfire?? but just thinking about that line.... he obviously didn't immediately go back to cybertron, he didn't just give up on skyfire. starscream cared about skyfire enough to look for him, only leaving after (i assume) he realized he didn't have the resources to conduct a proper search for his companion. and i mean can you imagine being starscream in that situation???? your partner just disappears into a storm, and no matter how far and long you look you're unable to find them????????

i get starscream, man. i'd also become awful if that happened to me.

and here's the thing: i stumbled upon this post which posits that the decepticons happening to stumble across skyfire in the ice was no incident, but starscream's own doing, and i LOVE this theory/headcanon so much. when i first watched the episode yesterday i was thinking that it was funny they just happen to be mining right where skyfire was frozen so it's nice to see my suspicions affirmed LMAO

i honestly love that episode so much because as i learn more about starscream and transformers as a whole i think little tidbits like that offer a deeper look into who he is (or was, idk) beyond just megatron's second-in-command. he was a scientist, an explorer, a friend. "was" isn't even the proper word here, because he still is all of those things, he just...... applies them differently, i suppose. which is the real tragedy in who he is as a character.

beyond starscream and his search for skyfire, you wanna know what i've REALLY been thinking about a lot with these two? when skyfire becomes a decepticon (for like a day lol but still), starscream immediately declares that when he overthrows megatron, skyfire will become his second-in-command. not any of the other seekers, not either of the waves, not literally anyone else who's been a decepticon for more than an hour, but skyfire. his long-lost science partner. on starscream's end, virtually nothing about his relationship with skyfire has changed. he still trusts him as much as he did millions of years ago, to the point he'd be willing to have him at his side as leader of the decepticons.

but on skyfire's end... the starscream in front of him is different from the one he knew. war and being a decepticon changed starscream for the worst, something that unveils itself very quickly to skyfire. one of the first things he asks starscream after becoming a decepticon is if starscream is genuinely happy about being a decepticon warrior over the scientist he used to be. skyfire can't believe that the person standing in front of him could be the starscream he once knew before being frozen. still, it's starscream, so skyfire ends up going along with things up until he can't ignore his morals and deny that he's on the wrong side anymore.

that is where the second tragedy happens for starscream: betrayl, by the man he'd waited to get back for so long. he finally got skyfire back, only to lose him all over again.

if skyfire had never crashed that day -- if they'd never gone closer to explore the earth in the first place -- would starscream had gone down such a dark path? would he have taken countless lives, and become the ruthless decepticon he is now? does it eat at skyfire, knowing that in his absence starscream lost who he once was? or perhaps he'd still be the same starscream, but skyfire would be at his side serving the decepticon cause. maybe they both would've been so drastically changed by the years of cybertron's war together.

skyfire is a living, formerly frozen relic of the past before everything went wrong. starscream has aged far beyond that, to the point of no return. as much as they surely both want it, and regardless of what happens to them, their bond can never go back to what it once was.

god i just. i need more!!! i need to watch more transformers and read more of the comics and see more of these two!! i watched tfp + some of the live action movies as a kid but this is my first time learning about skyfire and this thing he's got going on with starscream and it's fascinating to me i can't believe i didn't know about this before!!!!! but it's also so fucked up oh my god!!!!!

ok yeah ive gotten the brainworms out my system. idk how to end this here's screenshots i took that i found funny

[sportswriters]

tsunami - w. eklund

pairing: william eklund x reader | fluff, slight angst, a bit suggestive at the end | friends to lovers | wc: 3k+ | warnings: one of the main characters got cheated on in the past | namu's notes: i was WILLING to write a smut for this one but i'm struggling to do it, so i'll post it before ella reads the open ending (she might actually k*ll me). yeah, byeee!!

i'm going under storm, lightning, thunder i'm drowning in the deepest of truths fuck, i think i'm falling for you — tsunami, by niki zefanya

it happened during a gathering with your friends. well, they weren’t around at the time, some of them lost the game you played to decide who would run to the grocery store before the second period started. you and william were left alone in the living room, your legs over his lap on the couch, which he was mindless tracing his fingers on your skin. the commercial playing on tv was something about taking your lover to one of the most beautiful places on earth — valentine’s day was close by. the invitation got lost on the tip of your tongue, that’s when you realized.

"oh gosh."

"what?" he looked at you.

"i like you!"

"you what?"

"i think i'm falling in love with you!"

you were terrifyingly excited over something so sensitive, that’s why william kept his eyes on you, waiting for the laugh telling him it was a joke. but what he got was a shy giggle as you jumped off the couch, covering your face.

he knew you were aware of his issues with romantic feelings, he knew you were aware of his past relationship. what just happened?

"y/n..."

“goodness, this is so fun! i know you're emotionally unavailable, don't worry,” you pointed.

"it’s not that— listen, you just confessed out of nowhere and it looks like i just proposed to you!"

"yes! i finally know how it feels! isn't it great?!"

william frowned, utterly confused by your reaction. he couldn’t get why you were so happy when you knew he didn’t feel the same. his first girlfriend was his first love back in sweden, but things got messy when he got drafted to the nhl. that was when her behavior started to make sense; how she kept on shaming him for being romantic, that he didn’t have to be so performative about his love — even in private. “that’s not the aura of a professional athlete, okay? you’re so charming, try being more cooler towards me, that’ll keep me interested,” she used to say. he was so blinded by his feelings for her that he didn’t realize how alarming that was. he molded his behavior to please her, just to be cheated on with a guy that was cooler than him, the ideal man to just have fun and enjoy popularity. william didn’t know he was molding himself to become a ladder. then when other women looking for fun started showing up in his life, he came to terms with the environment he would live in from that moment on.

“y/n, i’m not ready for this. we talked about it before."

"listen," you paused to look at the door, lowering your voice so you wouldn’t get caught by your friends. "it’s like an experiment."

"what the hell? what's that supposed to mean? you're scaring me." william put a hand over his chest.

you sat by his side once again, as ready as you would be for a business presentation.

"i want to experience this. i want to give you my feelings and enjoy this while i can. since you won't feel the same, i can easily get over you later."

"that's not how it works, dear."

"i will make it work."

william covered his face and groaned. damn, she’s adorable, he thought.

"please, please, please!" you begged. "this is such a big moment for me, you know i’ve never been in love before."

"and why would you like me?" he stared, making you gulp.

"i have a lot of nice things to tell you, but only if you agree. i'd never do something to make you uncomfortable."

the longest william pondered, the longest you scanned his face — and the need to kiss him all over was strong. he noticed when you got lost in your own thoughts and squinted, holding a smile to himself.

“alright, let’s do this.”

the touch of his hand on your cheek brought you back, making a radiant grin flash on your lips. you went to hug him, but stopped mid action, silently asking for permission. when he crossed his arms around your waist, everything made sense. the scent of his cologne was usually the one that got stuck on your clothes because not only you were always together, but william used to be the last one to hug you goodbye after taking you home. the warmth of his body was also responsible for everything you were feeling in that moment, which kind of hurt to think that you wouldn’t be able to be this close anymore without making it weird for him.

later, you got home and did your night routine, excited about your team’s win and for the realization about your feelings. william wasn’t allowed to take you home that night, “i might not be able to hold myself from kissing you, so let me get my uber in peace.” you didn’t realize how he had to turn around so you wouldn’t see him blush.

you: permission to be corny eky: sighs- permission granted you: i hope you show up in my dreams tonight, hopefully it won’t be weird i won’t tell you if it is eky: and if it’s sexy? you: do not flirt with a woman in love if you’re not willing to give her what she wants eky: my lips are sealed. you: i like them, btw eky: my lips? you: yeah, love when you smirk trying to pretend i’m not the funniest person you know and i love when you laugh out loud, even when i can hear from a distance i love how it makes your nose wrinkle, it’s adorable eky: i’m not adorable, but thank you you: you are to me i’m so excited to be cheeky when i notice all the things that made me feel like this eky: glad you’re having a good time you: sorry you don’t feel good about romance anymore, thank you for not being weird about me eky: it’s okay, you deserve to know how it feels i’ll try to be a great first love for you you: oh my heartbeat is speeding up right now, gotta blast eky: cute sweet dreams you: goodnight, eky

you took a long time to sleep, your racing thoughts didn’t give you a break. your mind kept replaying the events and planning everything for the next day. one of them was telling one of your closest friends, so she would prevent you from going crazy when necessary. the following days, you worked with a silly smile on your face, dismissing your colleagues that teased you about it. you spent some of your breaks writing love letters, giggling like a high school girl because of how exciting everything was. the butterflies on your stomach, the scenarios playing in your brain, the chills every time you thought about william’s touch. you allowed yourself to be delusional, to enjoy every sensation of pure joy that love delivered.

“how will he talk about other girls if he knows you like him? it’s not like he can keep acting normal,” lena said after you spilled what was going on.

“he already didn’t before, so.” you shrugged. “have you seen him with someone lately?”

“no, but that’s not the point. you want to enjoy the feeling of being in love, but you need to be realistic that it will hurt because it’s unrequited.”

“yeah, he’ll keep on living his life…”

“i love it for you, it’s such a beautiful feeling.” she held your hand. “i need you to be careful, don’t want you to be disappointed.”

“i get it, thank you for helping me back down a little,” you said, a tight smile on your lips. “i’ll be seeing him tonight, i’ll give him the love letters i wrote.”

“love letters?” she gasped and started laughing. “girl, you’re down bad!”

“i am!” you admitted, covering your face. “i’m wondering if this is considered some kind of love bombing because i’ll have to get into a lockdown at work for the next week.”

“well, depending on his reaction to your actions, he might show up at your door just to spend time with you,” she suggested. “you know eky is a romantic, he’s just been through a lot.”

“yeah, don’t want to scare him off,” you worried. “well, once last month i wasn’t responding enough so he showed up with groceries and nagged at me until i took a break.”

your friend squinted her eyes, suspicious.

“have you ever considered how comfortable eky is with you in comparison with the rest of us?”

“i didn’t, it’s just that i’m more of a touchy person, but he has other love languages with everybody.”

“i agree, i love my quality time with him, but i sense it’s so different from what i see between you two.”

“okay, don’t do this. i’m already struggling not to jump on him, i don’t want to think of the possibility of any truth in his flirting.”

“he flirts with you?!”

“yeah, well, he has these witty responses to my confessions. you know how cocky he can be.”

“y/n, my love, i need you to be so serious right now.”

“it’s enough that he’s letting me enjoy this first love thing, i won’t go further than that. period.”

“okay, okay. once again, be careful, but pay a little more attention. i might not be overreacting here.”

you arrived at william’s place with your heart in your sleeve. that could be a metaphor or simply all the words you wrote in those journal pages, mixed with cute doodles and printed pictures of you two. you were focusing on not being embarrassed when he opened the door. william looked like the cuddliest human being on earth, his soft cologne taking up your senses when he immediately hugged you.

“hey, dear. craving sushi tonight? it might be here at any moment.”

“sushi is nice,” you agreed, throwing yourself on his couch.

“how was work today?”

“pretty calm right now, to be honest. but we’ll be locking down for the next week to step up in the research of this new found element.”

“oh, are we talking about nasa classified shit?”

“no!” you burst out laughing. “it’s just that we need to have a lot ready for the seminar at the end of the month, so i’ll be working even at home.”

“got it. so i won’t be seeing you for a whole week?”

your eyes softened instantly.

“i think so. i don’t know how i can make it work, lena already said she’ll be texting every three hours to check if i’m taking care of myself.”

“well, i can do that in person. did that before, no?”

“yes, indeed. but what about the games?”

“i can’t accept that you won’t watch them, so i gotta show up and talk about each of them. i’ll be resting as well, so don’t worry about me.”

“okay, you know where the key is.” you smiled. “now tell me how you’re expecting the next matches.”

couple hours later, after you and william devoured the japanese food, he put on the highlights of a game you missed recently. he ended up as one of the top stars, skating around and scoring like he owned the opponent’s ice. at some point, though, your focus changed from the tv to his face, expressions immersed in every aspect of his story.

“y/n.”

“i can’t stop looking at you, what the hell,” you muttered, regretting as soon as it came out.

“kinda creepy,” he teased.

“i know!” you admitted, averting your gaze. “i just like seeing you happy, that’s all.”

his eyebrows raised, william couldn’t hold back the grin hearing you be so forward with your words. he liked watching you be in love, although he still didn’t know how to deal with the fact that he was the one you were in love with.

the silence didn’t go unnoticed by you, which suddenly made you self conscious.

“too far?”

“hm?” william was brought back. “no, don’t worry.”

“now i’m thinking back on giving you the love letters i wrote.”

william gulped, turning his whole body towards you.

“you wrote me love letters?”

“you don’t have to read them, to be honest. it was good for me to reflect on what made me like you romantically when i already loved you as a friend.” unable to hold his gaze, you looked back to the tv now paused in a random player. “and it’s been kind of hard not to touch you like usual or feeling all the time that i’m making you uncomfortable or how you can’t talk to me about other women because you don’t want to hurt me.”

william held your hand, stopping your ramble.

“dear, look at me.” he touched your cheek. “i love you, alright? nothing’s changing that. i feel honored to be your first love, i don’t feel uncomfortable at all. and there’s no other women to talk about.”

you tilted your head and chuckled, making his hand drop from holding your cheek.

“thank you for reassuring me, eky.”

“well, there’s actually a woman that’s been writing me love letters and i still haven't had the chance to read them. i’ll update you when i do, though.”

you laughed, biting your lower lip to hold a gasp when you noticed he was closer than before, his other hand still holding yours. his warm touch was making you dizzy.

“i saw you sighing and licking your lips, dear. you’re not subtle at all,” he said, finding hilarious how he could watch you be a mess in front of him. he was loving every second of it.

“i wasn’t trying to be. i’m more focused on thinking of something else.”

“yeah? like what?”

“like how i’ll hide my spare key so you won’t actually see me for a week,” you whispered. “i need time away from your touch, ‘cause right now it feels like we both want the same thing.”

you noticed when his eyes quickly dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes.

“and what do you want right now?” he whispered back, a haze starting to grow in his eyes.

“i want to go home and hopefully not dream of you tonight,” you said, standing up mid sentence. it confused you to see william seemingly disappointed with your reaction. “this week will be good for us, i mean, i can’t wait to go back to normal.”

william hummed quietly, his body defeated against the couch’s backrest. he was exactly the opposite of you, his eyes wouldn’t leave you for a second.

“i’ll be counting the days ‘till i see you.”

“william!”

his eyes went wide when your tone raised.

“the past week has been fun, but i’m starting to feel sorry for myself.” you bit the inside of your cheek. “i’m in love with you, that’s nice, now it’s time to start getting over it so i can be you dear friend again.”

william frowned, but no words came out of his mouth.

“i think i exposed myself enough, so i won’t give you the letters. i’ll take them as memories of a good time,” you decided, a smile tinged with sadness. “in the future, when it happens again, i’ll recognize it easily enough to do something about it sooner.”

“dear, i’m really sorry.”

“no, it’s my fault. i know what you went through, i know your reasons, that’s why it needs to stop now.” you nodded. “i don’t feel bad about liking you, though, it’s not that. i’m glad my heart made the right choice, it was just not the right timing.”

you got your purse and headed for the door. you heard a frustrated sound coming from him, but you didn’t look back.

“förbaskat, this is not fair,” he muttered, standing up to catch you before you opened the door. “y/n, wait.”

“yeah?”

“i can’t stop myself from living a real love story just because someone else hurt me. i don’t know why my mind got so blurred when i know i’m happy with you, it’s freaking dumb to let you go when i feel the same.”

you didn’t dare to interrupt his train of thought — too shocked to do that, honestly.

“i want to read all your letters, to hear all your confessions, i want to write you my own as well, to tell you beautiful words even though they won’t be as poetic as yours. being loved by you is amazing, loving you is amazing. i don’t know how different it can be from what i already feel. i want you emotionally and physically, i want to be the one you're still in love in the future. so please don’t give up on me yet, let me try to be the boyfriend you deserve.”

william waited, almost out of breath. you just stared back at him, thoughts going crazy around your head.

“eky,” you whispered.

“yes, dear.”

“i have this need right now to kiss the hell out of you. all the touches i held the past week are tingling my skin for having you so close.”

“i can take you, baby. just say the word.”

your purse dropped to the floor, you took a step closer to him.

shake my earth, suck the air out, burn me down it's like you've known me through all my past lives what an evil thought wreck my plans, stop me dead, kiss me now

“your love, give it to me. don’t hold back.”

his hands were all over you in a second. it seemed like william was doing his best to be delicate with the first kiss, but your enthusiasm matched his, which turned everything too intense. your hands went down his sweatshirt, the warmness of his skin against your hands gripped a moan out of the both of you. he reached the back of your thighs and picked you up without warning, ripping a small scream from you, which made you both laugh.

“that was freaking sexy, but don’t scare me like that.”

“sorry,” he pampered you with kisses all over your face. “promise to be more vocal from now on.”

“oh, i expect you to.”

“you’re a freak, dear. hope you’re ready for me.”

[melluvsuu]

“ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 . ”

character : dazai osamu

context : you’re an agent going undercover, you encounter port mafia executive dazai. he finds you interesting. yeah..

authors note : you should listen to the diner by Billie ellish to get the vibe to it.

warning : stalker briefly mentioned, stalker!dazai, can be interpreted romantically or whatever, shout out to my bbg @riiwrites 😼☝🏽, murder and blood mentioned too, gender not mentioned, literally we rock with they/them 💋‼️.. uhm I think that’s all gays yeah..

,, 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐔𝐓. 𝜚

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐊𝐘 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐓𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐎𝐅 𝐅𝐀𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐏𝐔𝐑𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐒, the last remnants of daylight clinging stubbornly to the horizon. It was a view [name] had come to appreciate, standing on the balcony of the modest clinic where [name] built their cover. As a doctor specialising in human behaviour, their role was simple enough—listen, observe, and blend in. Standing there in viewing the people going about their days, [name] ran their fingers along the balcony’s iron railing, feeling the coolness of the metal beneath their skin. In this quiet neighbourhood, [name] was simply known as Dr. [name]—a doctor who listened to the woes of the weary, a person who could help people understand the storms in their minds. In some ways, [name] had taken to the role more naturally than they expected. It wasn’t far from what I had trained for, after all. But beneath that calm exterior, my real purpose was far more pressing.

The wind picked up slightly, rustling the papers on my desk inside the small office. I stepped back inside, closing the door behind me as I glanced at the scattered reports and profiles I’d been reviewing. Every interaction I had here was a potential lead—every patient, every conversation was a thread that might lead me to the missing documents. I was hunting for the whispers in the crowd, the signs that something was about to crack.

I sat down and opened one of the files again. A name stared back at me—Takeda Masaru, a local journalist with a reputation for being nosey. He had been in to see me twice, under the guise of seeking help for stress and insomnia. But I knew better. Knocking me out of my train of thought, my smartwatch started vibrating. It was morse code.

‘GOOD EVENING AGENT [NAME], IT'S NICE TO YOU ALIVE AND WELL.WE HAVE NEW INTEL. THERE'S BEEN SIGHTING AT THE LOADING. THE DOCUMENTS SHOULD BE THERE. IT SHOULD BE A DARK RED CARGO BOX WITH THE NAME ‘MELLUVS ART AND WRITING SUPPLIES’ . QUICKLY GET THERE BEFORE ANYBODY INTERVENES. BEST OF LUCK TO YOU.’

I quickly changed my clothing still keeping my pants and shoes and swapping my glasses with sunglasses, my shirt with a business shirt. Taking my coat off the rack I jumped off of the railing onto the pavement. The cold air hitting my face, I felt that familiar rush of adrenaline. The peaceful exterior I’d adopted as a doctor was peeling away, revealing the true purpose behind the mask.

I arrived at the loading dock slipping past guards. While remaining on my toes, looking around, finding the maroon cargo box, picking the lock, catching it before it could fall can make noise. Opening the door and sorting through papers. I found the papers of the document, putting the papers in my doctors folder, I turned to step out just to be greeted with…

"Are you lost?" a voice rang out behind them.

“I’m sorry?” You turned towards the stranger with a simple smile.

“I said, are you lost? Dr. [name].” He repeated.

Standing in the shadow of a weathered chimney was a young man, barely older than them, with an unsettlingly casual grin. His black hair fell messily over his eyes, his posture loose and unthreatening, but I knew better than to trust appearances. There was something sharp beneath that smile.

“Ah. No I’m not..”

"Dazai Osamu," the man introduced himself, stepping closer without a care in the world. "What a coincidence, meeting you here."

"Coincidence?" [name]’s voice was flat, unamused. "I don’t believe in coincidences."

Dazai’s grin widened. "Smart. I don’t either."

This wasn’t good. My mission had suddenly become complicated—this was Dazai, a notorious figure in the Port Mafia, rumoured to be both brilliant and dangerous. Getting caught up with him was exactly what their agency warned them about. But retreating now would be even worse. They couldn't afford to show any weakness.

"You’re in my way," I stated plainly, their eyes locked onto him. Dazai’s expression flickered briefly with interest.

"Am I?" he mused, not moving an inch. Instead, his eyes gleamed with curiosity. "I wonder what someone like you is doing up here. You don’t seem like the usual riffraff the mafia deals with. You're different."

I said nothing. They were trained to maintain a poker face, but they could feel Dazai’s gaze piercing through them, searching for cracks.

After a tense silence, I decided it was better to end this encounter quickly. "I have no business with you. Walk away."

Dazai’s grin softened into something almost playful. "I could say the same. But I don’t feel like walking away just yet. You intrigue me."

Before you could respond, a shout echoed from the alley below—footsteps, too many of them. The mission wasn’t over yet. With a sharp glance at Dazai, [name] moved quickly, shoving him out the way with the documents I hand, disappearing into the shadows of the cargo port.

𓎢𓎟𓎟𓎟 . ♡ . 𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎢

The mission was complete, the documents recovered, and the city’s fragile calm preserved. Days passed, and YN pushed the encounter with Dazai to the back of their mind. They believed they had left him behind in that port, a fleeting figure from a fleeting night.

But they were wrong.

It began with small sightings—first at a diner near one of their agency’s hideouts, a quaint place where [name] often went to clear their mind. They walked in for a quiet moment, only to find Dazai, seated by the window, sipping his coffee as if it was the most natural thing in the world. His eyes met theirs, and that familiar grin spread across his face.

The next time, it was at their ‘job’. [name] worked as a hired security operative for a private military company, and the sight of Dazai loitering near the building was more than unsettling. He didn’t approach them, but his presence was a constant reminder that he was watching.

The evening air felt heavy as [name] returned home from a long shift, exhaustion pulling at their every step. They hadn’t noticed the lingering presence outside, the demon in the shadows, waiting. The lock clicked into place behind them as they shut the door, and for a moment, they stood still, listening. No footsteps followed. The silence was almost comforting.

They kicked off their shoes, fingers absently unbuttoning their dress shirt, craving nothing more than the solace of the couch. As they sank into it, something caught their eye—an envelope, placed conspicuously on the coffee table. A surge of unease rippled through their tired mind, heart beginning to race as they reached for the envelope, fingers brushing the edge of the paper with caution. Slowly, they opened it, their eyes scanning the contents.

‘THIS IS A REALLY NICE PLACE YOU’VE GOT HERE! MIND IF I MOVE IN? I HOPE YOU’RE READING THIS SILLY NOTE! I MIGHT’VE STOLEN SOME DOCUMENTS AND IMPORTANT FILES FROM YOUR OFFICE, SORRY, AGENT [NAME]~!’

A low groan of frustration escaped their lips as they crumpled the note and tossed it into the garbage. [name] rubbed their temples, too drained to deal with the antics of a certain mafioso tonight. Just as they tried to let the tension slip away, they caught sight of something—someone—standing on the balcony.

Their heart skipped a beat, and instinctively, they reached for their gun, gripping it tightly as they cautiously approached the window. They slid it open with precision, never taking their eyes off the figure leaning against the railing. "You’re persistent," [name] said, gun ready but posture steady.

The man on the balcony didn’t seem fazed by the weapon. Dazai Osamu smiled as if this were all part of a game. "And you’re elusive," he countered, voice light and carefree. But there was something beneath that tone, something deeper, lurking behind the casual amusement in his gaze. "I like people who don’t give themselves away so easily."

[name] sighed, lowering the gun but keeping it in hand. Arms crossed, they met his eyes with thinly veiled exasperation. "What do you want, Dazai?"

He tilted his head slightly, as though considering the question, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I’ve been trying to figure that out. You’re… interesting. And I’m rarely interested in anyone."

"Flattering," [name] muttered, voice laced with sarcasm as their patience wore thin. "But I’ve got work to do."

Dazai’s expression shifted, his grin softening, but his presence growing more intense as he stepped closer. "I know," he said quietly. "That’s what makes this so fun. You, with your little secrets and dangerous missions… I can’t help but want to unravel it all."

"You can’t follow me forever," [name] warned, voice quieter now, each word a warning laced with resolve.

Dazai’s smile softened further, almost genuine. "Maybe not," he agreed, his voice low, "but I can follow you for a little while longer.”

“Get the hell out of my apartment,” [name] snapped, their voice sharp as they levelled the gun at Dazai. The cold metal clicked audibly as they cocked it, a clear threat in the air. They pointed toward the door, eyes hard and unyielding. “Do it now, or I'll shoot you.”

Dazai’s grin didn’t falter. If anything, it widened, his eyes gleaming with that same unsettling amusement, as if the threat didn’t faze him in the slightest. He raised his hands in mock surrender, but his body remained relaxed, nonchalant, as though he were in complete control of the situation.

“Shoot me?” he mused, voice light but laced with something darker. “Now, now, Agent [name] that seems a bit extreme, doesn’t it?”

“You think I’m joking?” [name] growled, finger hovering dangerously over the trigger.

Dazai took a step closer, completely unbothered by the barrel pointed at him. His voice dropped to a near whisper, his eyes locking with theirs. “No, I don’t. That’s what makes this so exciting.”

There was a tension in the room now, thick and palpable. [name] held their ground, but Dazai’s calmness, his lack of fear—it was disarming. He was playing a game they weren’t sure they could win.

“Get out.” [name] demanded, not lowering the gun but sensing this encounter was only going to spiral deeper.

Dazai’s smile softened just a touch, his tone almost genuine. “Nope~!”

“You’re testing my patience,” [name] warned, heart pounding but steady, still aiming squarely at his chest.

“Good,” Dazai murmured, stepping back toward the balcony door. “I like it when people have limits. It gives me something to push.”

With a final glance, he gave them a playful wink. “Until next time, Agent.” Then, as quickly and casually as he had appeared, Dazai slipped out, leaving the tension in the room behind him like a lingering shadow.

[name] stood still, their gun still raised, breaths coming in heavy. The sense of danger hadn’t left—it was only a matter of time before he returned.

additional author notes : ending kinda sucked ass again smh..

word count: 1k

reposts are welcome but do not steal my work!

[katerinaaqu]

Hello!!

Since I've seen that you've listened to both Epic and Paris the musical, I was curious to know what are your toughts on them! Did you like how the myths and characters where handled? What do you like best and worst? (If you'd like to share, what's your favourite song/moment in each?)

Thanks :]

My my you really wanna get me have an even bigger target on my back than the one I put already! Hahaha! Ok so be it! Hahaha If this gets waaaaaay too long or too runty forgive me! ^_^

You have noticed from many of my comments and my notifications, memes or jokes. I am not a fan of EPIC. Not at all. I believe I am one of the most disliked people on Tumblr on mythology matters because I so openly speak my dislike against EPIC and being annoying about it! Hahaha! XD The thing I absolutely love about it is of course the guy's passion with the project, the way the music works and all (undoubtedly the guy is a very talented composer and can combine the scene with music and emotions and the tricks he uses with music are great) but the way the plot of Odyssey was twisted beyond recognition and to the point that to me you can literally change the names of the characters to anything else and still have the story he presents with the Musical. Maybe that was his goal but in my head that is not what a retelling or an adaptation is about. A retelling to me is not something that seeks to change literally as much as possible from the plot to fit the modern standards or the fanbase. A retelling is something as the word says that "retells the story" aka adapts the story as loyally as possible and adapts it to the audinece by taking creative liberties that are still generic to the story as it was originally told so that it will fit more to the modern standards or ear.

I believe we have so much twisted the word "retelling" that nowadays "retelling" seems to be equivalent to "let's change the hell out of the story because the original plot is not even THAT important to be salvaged and no modern person would watch it anyways" which in my opinion is not the case at all. Unless of course one writes satire. Then it doesn't matter, as I mentioned to another ask of mine.

I lost interest and was massively disappointed from the end of second saga and the song "Storm". The first two sagas were a masterpiece. The creative liberties were amazing to make sense with the plot and give the characters motivation (for example "I'm just a man" was FANTASTIC! The way the myth from Iliou Persis that gave us only one phrase "Odysseus kills Astyanax by throwing him off the wall" is now transformed into a marvelous emotional dilemma and a painful decision). In this case the creative liberty work WITH the plot and not against it. I didn't mind it as much that they made Polites a fluffy guy for no reason to fit that stereotypical "innocence of the team" plot because Polites is a clean slate character in Odyssey. However after Storm I started seeing your typical "Hollywood film 'adaptation' logic with changing stuff at the plot". I was intrigued at how they decided to give Polyphemus an excuse to kill like the guys enter a cave that is obviously habitable and kill an animal that is obviously domesticated and they do not know someone lives there? In the original it was clear someone lived there which made Odysseus curious to interract with them. I was willing to ignore that because ok creative liberties but then Athena was there!? And she gave Odysseus every opportunity to kill him while Odysseus was just "TOO NICE?!" like since when? Odysseus was all about killing him but he had no guarantee he would plus he needed him to open the cave. And the way he revealed his name in the musical was so rush and almost "out of spite" for Athena not a result of a secclusion in a cave for days and days and then his pride speaking up when Polyphemus called him a coward (which I tried to capture to my fic, not sure if I succeeded but still). So anyways at that point I was sure we wouldn't see the last of it with the changes. Poseidon destroys the ships instead of the Laestrygonians (no surprise there, rarely ever see anyone even mention the Laestrygonians yet alone show their contribution to the Odyssey) but then Circe happened and I just knew that we would have to derail from the original more and more

Circe's role was incredibly diminished for the sakes of making her actions more mellow and pass the message of loyalty and kindness. Circe in the original gives Odysseus valid information for his trip provisions and much more. In Epic not only we do not see the importance of Odysseus selling himself to Circe and we have Circe for some reason seducing him to kill him (removing her humanity from when she got scared that her magic won't work on him, potentially thinking he is some kind of god, begging for her safety to then suggesting her bed as Hermes predicts) I mean she had lions and wolves to her disposal she doesn't need to seduce him to kill him. Then of course Jorge realized that a big chunk of plot is missing and so he made Odysseus find out about Skylla by the sirens?! Like...okay... Even Tiresias gives him almost nothing (in the original he also tells him how to break the curse) Which seems interesting how Odysseus breaks down with "Monster" in Tiresias when he has received an act of kindess before. Wouldn't it be more amazing if he had that breakdown AFTER he paid the price with Circe with his own body? That even kindess has a terrible price? Of course the most iconic scene of the Odyssey after the murder of the suitors and Cyclops, the Sirens were twisted to whatever we had there; Odysseus listening to their song was of massive importance to his natural curiocity and we didn't get that (not to mention how would the sirens spell work on him and have Penelope there if he didn't hear their song in the first place?) and of course the fact that he kills them?! Like...how that even works I have no idea and like in the original people were running for their lives. Didn't even look back. Apparently they had all the time in the world to capture them, they knew apparently exactly how many they were and then they kill them?! Like I won't even say that they used the medieval mermaid instead of the sirens and then they "leave them drown" (how you drown fish people is beyond me! Maybe they are sharks that need to keep moving lol) and of course again that scene seemed to me that it was there only to show that "Odysseus is a monster" which makes no sense Odyssey-wise for many reasons. and then of course again Skylla; Odysseus doesn't gear up to protect his men, he is the one who chooses the sacrifice out of spite etc etc

Many others got sped up like the Helios cattle but ok I guess that is expected up to one point even if it could be handled differently but of course then we have also Zeus being a jerk and again making Odysseus choose? The storm that took the lives of his men was a natural consequence, not some twisted thing to prove how "monstrous" Odysseus is. In fact Odysseus tried till the last moment to sail away and save the lives he could (see my other analysis here) and of course again as many people said on God Games and all how Zeus was twisted yet another time although in Odyssey he had zero reasons to object apart from the natural hubris nemesis sequence. He never called Odysseus "shameful" either. In fact he says he agrees with Athena that calls him the most pious.

I think the massive change that I believe is abused by modern retellings is the whole "monster to man" trope. Odysseus losing his moral compass and "becoming the monster" and the plot around revolving to it. That was never the pont of Odyssey in my opinion. Odysseus never really lost his moral compass it is just his morality was not all pure and lovey in the first place. Was he changed by his experiences to be more ruthless in general? Absolutely but he was never changed to a monster according to Homeric version (because post-homeric versions already treat him as a villain from the get-go)

As for the things I liked about it, I had made a post you can see here:

I do love the harmonies and the music in it and I love the passion and the talents of the people in it. It is just that the whole plot for me is just not it. Also maybe I am also mostly annoyed with how the "fandom logic" has taken over it. Like internet getting swarmed by it. Epic quotes or facts getting literally mixed up or associated with the original or the fact we can no longer speak on the original unless someone brings up Epic the Musical... This annoys me to no ends. Of course I recognize the passion of the fans of the musical. Is just a personal thing to me. I felt the same when people were using Percy Jackson or Miller's books to talk on mythology before. Is the same here.

Of course I need to say this all the above is my PERSONAL OPINION. I have literally NOTHING against people who love the musical and the original equally. I am just NOT one of them. Also i have nothing against the artist either. I just do not agree with his outtake. Still appreciate his hard work. However when I saw the firsttwo sagas I knew this guy KNEW his mythology which is why I feel so disappointed that his later sagas felt like "Hmm...let me use that knowledge I definitely have on Odyssey just to change the hell out of it!" And that had me very sad and lowkey annoyed because I think this guy had some real stuff to create an actual Odyssey adaptation and yet again we had your average hollywood film plot where you barely see any of the plot he ellegedly adapts

Now on Paris the Musical I had answered another ask you can see here

I will not take more space on this already huge and runty post that probably made me more annoying and irritating around Tumblr! XD Generally again has little to nothing to do with Iliad but I loved the music (it was arguably one of the most original choices for music for a musical) and the songs I mention to the ask. Apart from that I am ot ecstatic by it either (arguably stage musicals do not seem to work for me when it comes to the ancient classics to a large degree because of how much the plots need to be overly simplified to fit the time frame) but I am more happy that it din't get blasted out of proportions like Epic was so the plot of it doesn't even need to be pointed out that it is not accurate and all. It is self-evident. The fact that the creator of Epic needed to "warn the fans" on how inaccurate his work is, speaks volumes to me.

I will close this runt now because is already too long. I think both Epic and Paris musicals have little to nothing to do with the things they adapt but Ironically Paris the Musical changed less stuff than Epic in comparison to magnitude. Both are passionate projects with great potential and very good music but plot wise I am not anymore surprised that they do not follow the actual plots or character developments. I am surprised that Epic was more accurate to the character development of Eurylochus than the main protagonist Odysseus! Made me focus more on Eurylochus than Odysseus! Hahaha!

I am glad that the musicals make more people willing to read the originals though. For that I am grateful.

And if I have to pick one song from each musical I would say "Just a Man" and "Business" respectably but of course I like others as well especially from Epic such as "Horse and the Infant", "Will of the gods" and "Storm".

I hope this answers your questions! I will elaborate further on some of the points I make here if you want! ^_^

[rikiflowers]

the moon is beautiful, isn't it? chapter 2

words: 4.2 k

chapter 1

we can't go without a portion of angst, right? Marc makes an appearance <3

Your alarm clock tears you out of a deep sleep. You startle up, and stare at the time, ticking endlessly on your display. One moment you thought you had overslept until you remembered that today is Sunday. You're free. Sighing, you throw yourself back into your pillow, rubbing your eyes. You turn your head, waiting for your work colleague on the side next to you, but contrary to your expectations, the side next to you is empty and cold. Immediately, your heart drops one floor below and presses uncomfortably against your chest. You didn't expect him to leave without saying a word. How should you take that? Is it justified that you feel weird after having such a nice evening and night with him? Maybe he just had to leave quickly and didn't want to wake you up because of that? But that’s out of character for Steven, you think. you grumble. You hate such thoughts. You hate that your head always has to paint the worst scenarios. Your hand reaches for your smartphone again, and opens your messenger. You touch your own head. Your eyes look for his name in your messages until you suddenly remember that you don't have his number at all.

"Fuck...", you exclaim annoyed. How are you supposed to spend the rest of your day off when your thoughts are spiraling back and forth? Coffee. You need coffee. Fancy coffee and not from your ancient coffee machine, which should actually be released from its suffering. Slowly you heave yourself out of bed, stretch extensively before dragging yourself to the bathroom. Your tired face looks at you in the mirror. Your fingers run over the red spots on your neck. A proof that Steven has really been here and is not just a web of your head.

Sighing, you get ready, jumping into the hot shower to calm your nerves. Your pussy tingles as images race through your head when he brought his face between your thighs. God. How are you supposed to face him again on Monday?  Your body longs for his touch, and you don't know how much you can suppress that feeling.

After you've finally left the shower, freshly washed and not awake at all, you're ready to get your fancy coffee that will give you meaning in life (you hope).

The sun is shining tirelessly and you have to put your hand in front of your face. Otherwise you would have enjoyed this wonderful weather, but it doesn't fit your mood, which is like an incoming storm. Maybe you start think differently after your first coffee. You make your way through the busy streets. The music in your headphones is booming in your ears, drowning every noise from people around you.  

After a while, you finally arrive at your favorite café. You greet the baristas who have seen you in all situations, that held you awake in the night sometimes. "The usual?" grins Diego, one of the employees, at you. You nod, a grin plastered on your lips. "Please also add a warm bagel," you tell him and see his thumb, which tells you that he has understood. So far, the café is still little visited, but that can change quickly. That's why you enjoy it as long as you can.

You sit down at the beautiful window seat, which is finally free for your benefit. There's still the book you're trying to read in your bag. Your little time at the moment doesn't allow you to do anything other than think about work and try to claim yourself time back. You start reading before you notice how the coffee is handed to you. Diego's smile is really contagious.

"You didn't have to bring it to me. I could’ve used my own feet.”  

"You were so lost in your book, I didn't want to disturb you," the handsome man explains. You return his wink with a smile before you gratefully accept the coffee and you sigh pleasantly at the smell before you take the first sip and of course, burning your tongue in the process. Diego sees you grimacing painfully and laughs to himself as your cheeks heat up. You keep your eyes on the book in your hands, but while you try to read the lines, your brain doesn't seem to read the letters. Each time you have to start all over again until the night with Steven haunts your head again. So much for a distraction...

You hear the door to the café open, but you still have your eyes focused on the blurred letters and the coffee. Diego calls your name. Your bagel is ready.

"Coffee. Black. Please"

You're just about to grab your warm plate when you hear the far too familiar and yet strange voice. Your eyes first recognize the black hair you had between your fingers that night, then his distinctive nose, before you finally get the ability to pronounce words.

"Steven?"

His eyes are on you. Confusion is clearly visible on his face before his brown eyes widen. But the view is different. You can't describe what it is. His face twists into deep tormented furrows. His hair is combed out of his face, which completely hides his beautiful soft curls. Your chest area cramps unpleasantly.

"Oh, hey..."

The enthusiasm of your favorite colleague has completely disappeared. He seems pressed. Like seeing you here is making him uncomfortable. "Is everything okay?" You stutter slightly over your question.

"Yes... Yes, and with you?" Do you say something like that after you've spent the night together and you thought there was more? Why does he suddenly play a different accent? Is he kidding you? He's really not happy to see you…

You see Diego looking at the scene out of the corner of his eye, but you don't care about that right now. You feel fooled. "Are you serious right now?"

He scratches his neck and pretends not to know what he did wrong. He now looks at you in agony, as if he wants to say something, but something stops him. It only makes you more frantic. You feel your pulse getting faster and faster, but instead of venting your anger, you turn to Diego, who has been watching the whole thing with a curious look. "Diego, could you pack me the bagel?"

"Of course, immediately...", replies the barista, turning to Steven. “Your coffee will come immediately!". You don't turn around again, you walk a little too hastily to your seat just to quickly reach for your things. For a second you look at your half-drunk coffee, and reach for it as well before you run back to the counter and put it down there. Steven is still standing there as if he’s rooted to the ground and everything is contracting inside you. Diego hands you the bag with a look that you don't want to interpret right now. "Thank you!" you smile forcefully at him before you leave your favorite café under the gaze of soft brown eyes, that doesn’t look like Steven’s at all.  

…

The downward spiral of your thoughts is in full swing. Of course, you didn't find a quiet minute for the rest of the day. You constantly think about the night with Steven and the encounter in the café. Something inside you tells you that it was Steven, but not really him. Does that make sense? You have no idea. Now you're in the process of covering up the dark circles under the eyes that are stubbornly clinging. Even the best correction pen is powerless. You admit defeat. You'd be too late if you didn't get ready quickly. The thought of work and the person you meet there clouds your mood immensely. You wouldn't give him the satisfaction of not showing up at work just so he wouldn't feel uncomfortable about your presence. You wouldn't leave the triumph to him (even if it tears you apart right now).

The commute to work is sluggishly slow as if the world is slowing down extra today to keep torturing you. Your heart jumps in your pants as the local museum piles up in front of you. With quick steps, you climb the stairs and feel how you want to take a step back every time. God. You're not a teenager anymore. You will be able to deal with rejection, won't you? You're going to go in there now and politely say good morning to everyone (including him) and do your work as usual. It's not that difficult.

And how you were wrong about it. As if he had been waiting for you, he stood right in front of the store and looked directly at you. His gaze is soft, desperate, pleading. All the things you didn't see in the café. His curls hang powerlessly in his face, the deep furrows even deeper. He makes a kicked impression and immediately everything in you contracts. With the greatest effort, you try to veil your quivering lips as you try to take the path around the shop. Steven comes towards you. You don't stand still.

"Darling..."

The pet name hurts, burns itself into your chest area. Your steps slow down, and your body keeps you from running. "Please... could you," he stumbles over his words himself. "Could you just stop for a moment?"

Against your mind, which screams within you to chase him to the devil, you stop. His eyebrows raise in surprise. Apparently, he didn't expect you to really stop. You see him waiting, persistently ignoring the hypocritical fluttering of your heart as you continue to look at him. "Is there anything else coming now?"

"Y-Yes, of course... Please excuse me, I don't want to stop you..." God. That's the Steven you've been missing. You notice how your facial features soften for a long time. "I want to explain to you what this situation was at the café... I wasn't Bonkers... there's a reason I should have told you much earlier. I'm sorry I made you feel this way..."

He looks at you hopefully. You're just too weak. How are you supposed to resist such doggy eyes? All redflags are once again ignored and your own boundaries are thrown out of the window. For these eyes, it seems like only a small sacrifice. 

"When?"

The corners of his mouth move slightly upwards. The joy that you really want to listen to him is clearly visible in his warm features. "So... if you feel like it and have the time, I would like to invite you to your lunch break, but only if you want," he mumbles in quick succession.

"Alright," you answer Steven much too quickly. Your pulse is beating up to your throat. "okay," he literally exclaims, as if he had been holding his breath the whole time. "Thank you... I'll wait for you then"

You nod, hardly able to hold back your excitement yourself. How are you supposed to work until your lunch break? "See you later," you say to him before you turn around and walk to your office.

…

Sighing inwardly, you step out of the draining meeting. Finally lunch break. Lunch with Steven. You don't know what to expect from it. What will he tell you? How will he explain his behavior? You don't want to think about it too much, but you can't stop your mind from wandering back and forth. All that seems forgotten when you see Steven nervously standing near the entrance. Your feet carry you to him faster.

As if he recognizes through all the visitors, he turns in your direction. Eyes bore into you. You don't avert your gaze, you literally devour its gentleness. "Hey"

"Hey," he mirrors. "hunger?"

You smile, feel your stomach rumble slightly. "The vegan café around the corner is excellent if you feel like it"

"Gladly...", you say briefly, would like to share his euphoria, if it weren't for the gaping hole of uncertainty between you that the dark-haired man has to fill first. Steven fills the silence between you as you listen to him. You missed that (you just didn't see him for a day).

Your stomach rumbles louder and louder as you follow Steven and the aforementioned little café appears on the street corner. Due to the wonderful weather, which is not usual for London, you decide to eat outside. Steven, very much the gentleman, pushes the chair back for you so you can sit down (you're still mad at him). Your cheeks heat up at this gesture as you mumble out a thank you. Individual rays of sunlight make their way between the parasols, so you can feel the warmth on your hands where the sun touches you.

Barely minutes later, a waiter reaches your table, greets you, and hands you the cards. Thank God the selection is manageable, so a decision is a little easier for you. If you have to choose something under time pressure, it usually goes wrong.

Your eyes scan the coffee first. Your body needs the caffeine kick right now. There are so many good options. After a few minutes with full concentration you found your pick. Satisfied with your selection, you look at the lunch specials. "There are really good things here... I hope they taste good too," you say as you have to choose between two light dishes.

"I've tried most of it here, believe me... simply delicious," the curly head replies and you try to trust his words. You've chosen one. "Do you already know what you're taking?" Steven nods. "Always the usual"

The waiter comes back to your table and take your orders. You lean back and look at Steven. "You wanted to talk to me. That's actually what we're here for"

As if you had brought him back to the present, you see Steven's Adam's apple swallowing hard. "I know... you also deserve an explanation"

Nervously, you play with your fingers while you wait for him to say something. "When you approached me in the café... That wasn't really me."

Your eyes shoot up in confusion. "Who then? Santa Claus?" Your mouth moves faster than your head can handle. You think he's trying to fool you again. Steven laughs uncertainly, plays nervously with his hands. You expect something like a laughing 'joke!' and not his penetrating gaze.

"I know that this is not normal. The one you faced in the café is Marc. Marc Spector."

You let out a laugh. It's not funny, but that's the first reaction your body has let go. His gaze is tormented. Immediately the laughter gets stuck in your throat. You don’t laugh, because you think it's funny, but one that is your body's first reaction. "Excuse me... I didn't want to laugh"

"It's okay, it sounds insane, doesn't it?"

You don't answer that, instead you just look at him. The waiter's clearing of his throat tears you out of the scene. Somewhat embarrassed, he hands you the drinks before he tells you that the food will come immediately. "A good place to discuss something serious like this," Steven exclaims, puts his warm tea to his lips, and starts blowing. You have to giggle.

"Oversharing in public is the standard" You should have done the same as Steven and blow, but you're too fast again. Your face grimaces painfully as you burn your tongue.

The dark-haired man smiles gently at you. "We have a dissociative identity disorder. I should have told you this earlier... It's not fair that I withheld this from you."

"I can honestly understand that...", you assure him. There are people who can't handle something like that... And you didn't know how I would react."

"Listen... Is Marc here right now?" You are very careful with your question, have absolutely no idea and don't want to hurt him. He shakes his head. "I'm fronting right now and Marc has withdrawn"

You nod. After a few minutes, the food is handed to you and your mouth waters. "How... How does he feel about us?" You still have a lot on your lips that you want to ask, but that's just a start.

You can see in his features that the question hits him unexpectedly. "very direct…"

"I had your cock in my mouth. I have to be direct here," you reply dryly, which makes him swallow in his air. He looks at you with his beautiful brown eyes, overwhelmed. "Yes... I agree. You're right, of course."

"He doesn't mind", Steven adds.

"Okay..."

Steven plays nervously with his fingers. "So does that mean... You and I...?"

You want to answer, but your mouth is full. The bagel you chose tastes divine. With your hand in front of your mouth, you signal that he has to wait a moment. "I want to continue dating you, Steven Grant. If that's what you're trying to ask?"

The handsome man sighs with relief, being a little flustered. "Sweetheart... How did I deserve this?"

"You're lucky to be so cute," you reply grinning before sipping your coffee from the straw and looking cheeky at it. The handsome brown-haired man runs his fingers through his soft curls. "You're driving me crazy."

Your fingers lie on his thigh, running circles there. You feel the muscles tense under your touch. "M-May I kiss you?"

You nod with a gentle smile and lean further towards him. His fingers go to your cheek, and your skin tingles under his fingertips. Your eyes brush before you see his lips gently rest on yours and you automatically close your eyes, sighing into the kiss. He pulls away from you far too quickly and you look at him desperately. "I hate that we have to go back to work right away..."

"Oh sweetheart... if you like, we can do something tonight?"

"There is nothing I would rather do"

His beautiful smile makes your heart fly around like a swarm of butterflies. "Then I'll pick you up tonight"

"Give me your cell phone," you ask him and he raises his eyebrows questioningly. "I want to save my number"

"Oh yes. That's right!" he exclaims, rummages in his pocket for the piece in question and hands it to you. You type in your number, save it, and call each other. Better safe than sorry.

Your gaze touches the time on his utopian old smartphone. "Fuck, we have to hurry up or we'll be late"

You have come too late.

Your colleagues looked at you knowingly and you just smiled softly at Steven from the side. His look when he meets yours said it all.

…

"Donna really challenged you again today"

"Is this something new? She's my personal nemesis," grumbles the handsome man next to you, sipping his cocktail while massaging his forehead. "I think she has a little thing for you," you tease him, scratching his neck. The sweet cocktail caresses your taste buds just right without tasting too much alcohol. A dangerous mixture that is only further enhanced by Steven's soft lips.

"But then I have to tell her that I'm already endlessly addicted to a woman," he mumbles, enjoying his fingers on the back of his neck. "Oh yes? Do I know her?"

"Very good, in fact. Her smile lights up the room and her eyes are a storm in which I voluntarily plunge"

You get unspeakably warm. His brown eyes look at you knowingly, shiny lips, moist from the cocktail, literally invite you. "This woman must have done it hard for you"

Your fingers go to his cheek, stroking the light stubble of his shaved beard. Steven grabs that hand and brings it to his lips. "I am hopelessly addicted to her"

The sweet taste of his lips that you taste with your lips makes you addicted. The interplay of the soft jazz music in the background and his shining eyes captivate you. The light alcohol makes your tongue looser.

"Steven, how does it feel to share your body?" you whisper to him.

The question comes impulsively from your lips and you immediately think to yourself that it was abusive. "Wait, you don't have to tell me... I should have thought more carefully about my question"

Steven just shakes his head. "The question is perfectly fine, darling."  He sighs, taking another sip of his drink. "I know it's difficult to understand and most of the time I don't understand it myself"

"I only realized two years ago that something was wrong with me. I woke up in different places, was constantly tired and lived through several days without having a memory of it." You see his hand tense into a fist.

You listen to him attentively, reaching for his hand to run your fingertips over his knuckles. His hand relaxes noticeably. "At some point, Marc finally came out and it all made sense and of course, it's difficult sometimes. But Marc and I belong together. Everything else he has to tell you at some point"

"Does Marc even want that?"

He shrugs his shoulders. "He doesn't talk to me much at the moment..." His shoulders sink slightly while he averts his gaze thoughtfully. You squeeze his hand. "Because of me?"

"No... Not because of you. Please don't worry about that," he tries to assure you, but you know that this is not entirely true.

"I'm sorry that I dragged the mood down"

"Darling, you're the first one I'm telling this. It's uncomfortable to talk about my life when I've never been able to do it properly, but it's important... to talk about it"

You nod in understanding, leaning your head against his shoulder and feeling the warmth pass over to you. You have enough time to get to know all sides of Steven Grant and that puts a smile on your face. He pulls you closer to him while you listen to the live band, losing yourself in the music together.

…

Marc Spector has tried to exclude himself. He really has. But now in the silence of the night, while Steven has fallen asleep with you in his arms, he wakes up and feels your warmth and softness under his fingers. He should withdraw again, should give up his egoism of feeling you next to him. But he can't ignore his own feelings. Ever since you've been Steven's work colleague, he's been watching you. Every smile, every unconscious touch that was directed at Steven has not left him unscathed. But these things do not belong to him. They belong to Steven. You belong to Steven; Not to him. This is something he has to accept but still does not want to understand in the deep areas of his head. Steven talks to Marc about you. Marc knows you want to talk to him, but he doesn't dare. What if you're disappointed in him? Steven seems to be literally perfect, while Marc is riddled with mistakes and self-loathing.

His mind wanders around as he presumes to carefully run his fingers over the bare skin of your arm. He has disappeared so deep in his self-hatred that he does not notice that a pair of eyes is scrutinizing him.

"Marc?"

Tormented, he directs his gaze to you, and recognizes your face in the darkness. "How?"

"Your facial features are harder, more drawn. The furrow between your eyebrows...", you whisper, carefully running your fingertips over this track. Marc's skin tingles when you touch him. "Please don't go...", you breathe. Marc is stuck. What should he say about it now? He didn't want you to talk to him now, to get to know his presence, only to be disappointed beyond measure.

"I was hoping to meet you..."

Marc's heart flutters irregularly and to an unhealthy degree. "Why?"

His hands run over your cheek, trace your contours. "Because I don't want to stop you from your happiness with Steven"

He observes how your face contorts slightly. "You’re a piece of that happiness…"

His face contorts painfully. How can he accept such loving words?

"Don't you like me?"

He almost laughed out loud at this question. How could he not like you?

"This question is superfluous. It's not about whether I like you, but whether I'm good for you"

"Marc... How do you know that?"

"I'll wake Steven," he interrupts you because he can't handle the chaos of his emotions right now. He doesn't want to deal with them at this moment either.

"Marc please!" you plead desperately, but already the expression on his face changes to Stevens. The surprise and worry is written all over his face. "Darling... What happened?"

Tears come to your eyes. Immediately you claw at Steven, burying your face into his T-shirt. "What did Marc say?"

You only rub your face deeper in his shirt, wetting it with your tears. You can't answer, just let him hold you. His fingers run over your back, trying to calm you down. He whispers sweet things in your ear, while your tears dry up and you eventually fall asleep with Steven in your arms. 

[theyanderespecialist]

SHE'S NOT FAT, SHE'S PREGNANT 1 (Scenarios) 049, 073, 076, Clef X Pregnant S/O (Yandere) (SCP Foundation) (SCP 049, SCP 073/Cain, SCP 076-2/Abel, Dr. Alto Clef)

[Hello, My Sexy Muffins! In this chapter, it is one from Tumblr, which is 049, 073, 076, and Alto Clef being yandere with a pregnant Significant Other. Then some D Class calling them fat and this is how they would react to it in their scenario! I hope that you all enjoy this!]

(Disclaimer: SCPS 049, 073/Cain, 076/Abel, and Dr. Alto Clef are Not yandere in canon, this is just for fun and not to be taken seriously at all. Simping for fictional characters and yanderes is fine. Just do not be gross or illegal about it. Also, remember to separate fiction from reality and headcanon from canon. Yanderes are not ideal partners to have in real life!)

(A Doctor's Touch) (SCP 049)

(SCP 049's POV)

I am sitting with my partner giving her an exam. She is pregnant, about three months. I was able to get her pregnant in a breach. The Foundation had been less than pleased with me. I almost lost my mind when they would not let me see her. I finally agreed to work with them if they let her stay with me. I hear the door open and a guard and D Class come in.

"Who is the fat bitch?" The D Class says and I set down the cloth. "I will be right back my dear."

I kiss her belly and then kiss her and walk over to the man. The guard thinks I am doing nothing. Oh, what a fool he is.

"Excuse me, kind sir I did not hear what you said about my partner," I say.

"I said she is fa-" I did not let him finish as I touched him and he dropped. The Guard instantly put his gun up. "Do not worry, I have no issue with you. Go call another D Class to clean this up, preferably one who is less rude."

The Guard walks out quickly and I walk back to my partner she is staring at the body. I stand in front of her view.

"It is okay, my dear (Name). I took care of it." I tell her and kiss her.

No one insulted the mother of my children.

(Deadly Politeness) (SCP 073/Cain)

(SCP 073/Cain's POV)

I am holding my girlfriend on my lap. She is so soft and full of our love. About five months into her pregnancy. I could not help but hold her close as much as I can. The O5 cancel had not been happy when I got her pregnant. I had more or less tricked her into it. But that does not matter anymore. She is now my girlfriend and we are going to start our family soon. I could not wait.

We are in the canteen and I hear someone call her fat. She looks down I know she has been worried about her figure. I pull away from her. Telling her I will be right back. I find the D Class that said those vile words.

I tap his shoulder with a polite smile. "I heard what you said about my girlfriend."

"The fat on-" I did not waste a second and punched him right in the face with my metal arm.

His skull cracks and he is dead before he hits the ground. "Have a nice day!" I say and before the guards can react I am back with my girlfriend, snuggling her once more.

(Rage Trance Activated) (SCP 076-2/Abel)

(SCP 076-2/Abel's POV)

I am training with the mother of my child watching me. I agreed to work for the foundation once more. As long as (Name) stayed with me. We ended up having a child. I could not wait to train our children to be warriors. I see the Daily D Class come in. I see him say something to (Name). Her face falters and I am by her in a second. Turning to the D Class.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY TO HER!" I Snarl.

"I-"

I grab him by the throat. "(Name) What did he say to you?!" I demand.

She hesitates and I look at her telling her to tell me.

"He just called me fat, it is no big deal."

My eyes narrow on him. "No big deal? Tell you, pathetic human, this woman is carrying my child, a future warrior. She is going through a glorious transformation! AND YOU DARE CALL HER FAT!" I snarl and rip his head off.

The Guards storm over and I grab a blade. THEY WILL ALL PAY! NO ONE INSULTS THE ONLY WORTHY WOMAN!

(Bang Bang) (Dr. Alto Clef)

(Dr. Alto Clef's POV)

I smirked at my wife, she blushes as I kiss down her neck. Whispering in her ear how sexy she is. She blushes and grips my shirt. We are in the cafeteria. I pull away to play my ukelele, walking around the room. Drawing the song out. My wife begins to eat. She needed to put on more weight as she is not at a healthy weight for twins. I watch her carefully and hear a D class speak as I pass by.

"God, look at her eat, what a fat bitch. Shame to cause she is pr-" I grabbed my ukelele and smash it into his skull. He screams and falls to the ground. I stomp my boot into his skull.

"The Fuck you say about MY WIFE!" I snap pulling out my gun.

She is the first woman I was able to fully love and is giving me a second chance at a family. I WILL NOT LET ANYONE TALK ABOUT HER LIKE THAT. I shoot my gun into his stomach twice. Suddenly painfully tumors start to sprout on his body and burst. He screams in agony while he dies. I then go over to my wife, pick up her and throw her over my shoulder. Then grab her food, and we will eat in my office.

[YASSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS another chapter is done! I really am happy with this one! I hope that you all enjoyed this, and stay sexy, all of my sexy muffins!]

[krirebr]

I Know I Should Know Better 4

Pairing: Curtis Everett x Female Reader, references to past Colin Shea x Female Reader & past Johnny Storm x Female Reader

Word Count: ~3.5k

Summary: Curtis has been working as your body guard for almost two years now. Standing by and watching you work and party your life away is becoming more and more difficult, but is there anything he can do about it?

Warnings: Angst, adult themes, complicated power dynamics, minor age difference (not explicit in this part, but reader is mid-twenties and Curtis is early thirties), drinking & implied drug use, explicit language, bad boyfriend (Colin continues to be awful, even though we haven't actually seen him since part 2), self-destructive behavior, anxiety, negative self-talk. She's still having a bad time, you guys. All of my work is 18+ - Minors DNI

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Series Masterlist

Masterlist

A/N: Well, here it is! As I currently have it planned, this will be seven parts, so we're officially past the halfway point now. This part's a little shorter, but I'm hoping you'll think it's worth it.

Big thanks to @drabblewithfrannybarnes for helping me nail down the new character here! (If you don't remember doing that Carly, it's because it was ages ago 🤣)

Any comment, reblog, or ask to let me know what you think will be greatly appreciated. Even if it's just screaming at me. 😄 As always, thank you so much for reading! 💜

The drive to the restaurant was uncomfortable. Or maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it was just you. Sitting in the backseat alone, while Curtis and Jensen quietly conversed in the front, you felt ridiculous. You should learn how to drive. You were a grown woman who couldn’t even get herself anywhere—just another way you didn’t know how to be responsible for yourself.

You stared at Curtis in the front seat. It’d been a few weeks since your boundaries conversation. You hadn’t spoken to him much since. He was right. It was better. Cleaner. But you missed being able to talk to him.

Something had changed about the way he watched you though. You would swear that it was more intense now, the way his eyes followed you around the room. And it always seemed like he had something to say, he’d just never say it. He didn’t make any sense.

You took a breath. You were nervous about this lunch. You weren’t entirely sure what the purpose of it was, aside from the fact that Marnie Reynolds had wanted to meet. You hadn’t seen her in years and then she just texted you out of the blue two days ago, asking if you wanted to have lunch. You assumed she was going to pitch you something. Why else would she want to talk? You hoped it’d be something easy to agree to. It would make Wilford and Tanya feel better if someone actively wanted to work with you, at the very least. 

The restaurant wasn’t the kind of place you normally went to. It was nice, but tucked away, not designed for those who wanted to see and be seen. Marnie had chosen it. She was waiting for you at a small table in the back, even more private. She stood as you approached and enveloped you in a warm hug. She was just as glamorous as you remembered, suddenly hit by memories of sitting in her trailer while she let you try on her jewelry. She’d always been so nice to you. “Oh, honey, it’s so good to see you,” she said as you both sat down. 

You smiled and nodded. “It’s good to see you, too. How are you?” 

“Oh, good, good,” she said with a big smile. “Just got back from a shoot in Greece. Happy to be home.” Her eyes lost a little of their luster as she asked, “How are you, darling?”

“Oh, I’m fine,” you said. You could tell she wanted you to say more, but you just nodded and shrugged.

“Well,” she looked at you carefully, “I can’t get over how grown up you are. I know it’s silly, but I think I’ll always see you as the sixteen-year-old I met at the table read ten years ago.”

 “You and all of America,” you said dryly before you could think better of it.

Instead of chastising you, she just nodded. “I’m very grateful I didn’t have to grow up so publicly and then have to make that transition to being an adult. I can’t imagine how hard that is.”

You shrugged again. You didn’t really know what to say to her.

“Which, speaking of, I owe you an apology.”

Panic rose in your chest. Oh, god. Had she sold a story about you? Said something private in an interview? Blocked you from a new role? You weren’t sure you could handle one more thing right now. “Oh?” you asked shakily.

She nodded, seriously. “I should have done a better job of keeping in touch with you after we’d finished the movie. I owed you that much. I’m sorry.”

You furrowed your brow, confused.  “That’s fine. You’ve been so busy. I didn’t really expect you to remember me. I mean, you won an Oscar. I know how much work that takes.”

“Mmm,” she said, “and you sent me flowers.”

You shrugged. You just kept shrugging. “Well, you were always kind to me, and I was so happy for you. It seemed like the least I should do.”

 “You were always so sweet. I’m so happy to see that hasn’t changed.”

At the sincerity on her face, you looked down at your menu. You didn’t know what to say to that. 

“How’s your mom?” she asked, her tone strangely cautious. “Is she still your manager?”

“Oh, no. Wilford helped me get a new one when I turned 18. He thought I needed someone more experienced.”

She let out a breath, almost like she was relieved. “I have to admit, I’m happy to hear that.” You gave her a confused look and she continued softly, “She was always so hard on you. It was part of why I always invited you to my trailer. It seemed like you could really use a break from her.” She gave you another impossibly warm smile. “Plus, you were such great company. I loved making that movie with you.”

You couldn’t hide your relief when the server chose that moment to take your orders. You didn’t know what to do with the fondness in Marnie’s eyes. 

Once you were both done ordering, you decided you were ready to talk business. “So, what’s the project?” you asked.

She looked confused. “Project?”

“Uh, yeah. Whatever you wanted to pitch me? The reason you asked me here.”

“Oh, honey, no, I’m sorry. There’s no project. I just wanted to see you.”

That didn’t make sense. That she didn’t want to work with you again made sense. No one did, so of course she didn’t either. But then why else were you here? “I don’t understand,” you said quietly.

She let out a sad little sigh. “I’ve seen some of what’s been going on with you, online, and it just seems like you need a friend. I want to be that for you. I think about you more than you know.”

“Oh,” was all you managed to say.

She grabbed your hand over the table. “There’s so much going on for you right now. I can’t imagine how hard it must be, and then to have to deal with it in public too.”

You didn’t say anything, just looked at your joined hands on the table. Then, finally, still looking down, “Uh, yeah. I’m having a pretty hard time.”

She squeezed your hand. “I’m so sorry. I’m here to listen if you ever want to talk about it.” 

You finally looked up and nodded, but didn’t say anything else. You weren’t sure you could.

She looked at you carefully. “Have you thought about taking a break at all?”

You were reminded of Curtis, sitting on your couch, looking at you so earnestly, talking about taking a year off. You shook the image out of your head. “No,” you said. “It isn’t a good time. My reputation isn’t great right now, so I need to get back out there and show people that I can do the work. I need to fix it.”

“Mmm,” she hummed, “that sounds like agent speak.”

“Well,” you shrugged, “he’s right.”

“Remember, though,” she said, slowly, “that you’re a person, too. Not just a career.”

You just looked at her, blankly. Your career had been the most important thing about you since you were nine years old. You didn’t know how to separate the two. Luckily, that was when the server returned with your food, and Marnie graciously took it as a sign to take over the conversation for the rest of your meal. She talked about the movie she’d just finished, how her kids were doing, and the large garden she was planting at home. It was nice. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d had a meal out with a friend like this.

Still, you left the restaurant feeling raw and restless. You weren’t sure what to do with that conversation, the hard parts of it. The way she looked at you like she actually saw you. There was an itch in you now that just made you want to run.

Instead, as soon as you got home, you poured yourself a glass of sangria from the pitcher your housekeeper kept in your fridge and took the latest script Wilford had sent you onto your deck. You could feel Curtis watching you as you moved through the glass doors. That was his job, you told yourself. It was just his job.

The script fucking sucked. It was awful. The opposite of what you wanted to do. But you knew what Wilford would say. Beggars can’t be choosers. This was your fault. You were the one who’d destroyed your reputation. You had to be the one to fix it. And if making shit like this would fix it, then that’s what you had to do. Too many people relied on you for you not to do whatever you could, take whatever paychecks you could get. You hated it. You hated it so much. But you would do it.

You picked up your phone. You hadn’t realized how much time had passed. It was well into the evening now. There was a text from Michelle an hour ago, letting you know she’d left. And a few minutes ago, one from Nikki, a girl you partied with sometimes, that just said ‘Fuck them both!’

What the hell did that mean? Panic began to crawl up your throat and your hands started to shake as you typed your name into Google and clicked on News. Your stomach dropped.  Johnny Storm, that snowboarder you’d barely dated over a year ago, apparently had a podcast now. And the latest episode, posted that day, featured Colin Shea as its guest. Shit. Fuck. You couldn’t even look at what they’d said. There was no point. It was all just the same old bullshit.

You felt tears start to prick at your eyes. Why couldn’t everyone just leave you the fuck alone? You weren’t even that interesting. How could they possibly have anything to talk about?

Fuck that, you thought, as you stormed back into your house. You distantly registered Curtis calling after you, but you didn’t pay any attention. You were too focused. You headed straight up to your bedroom. They wanted something to talk about? You’d fucking give it to them! You charged into your closet and grabbed the sluttiest, shiniest dress you had. Fuck yeah. You could do this. You would be exactly who they wanted you to be. If they wanted a show so fucking badly, you’d give them one.

You ran back downstairs, looking for a particular pair of earrings that a costar had given you as a wrap gift a couple of years ago – huge dangly ones that said Fuck on one ear and You on the other. There was nothing subtle about what you were going for tonight. 

You’d have to think of someone to call, too. Someone suitable for the kind of scene you wanted to make, the kind of big mistake you wanted to fall into. You were so fucking tired of holding it all together. You were done. Your mind immediately landed on Lucas Lee, your costar in that dumb action movie last year. He was awful but so hot. Nothing but trouble and always up for whatever. Perfect.

As you entered your living room, your eyes landed on one of your jewelry boxes on the coffee table. There they were! As you picked up the box, you realized Curtis was sitting by himself on the couch. You saw him take in your short, sparkly dress and grimace. You weren’t in the mood to analyze it. “I’m going out,” you announced. “Have Jensen get the car ready.” 

You were already moving through, headed back upstairs when you heard Curtis rasp, “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

You turned on a dime. “Excuse me?”

“I think,” he said slowly, so calmly you wanted to break something, “that going out right now, in the sort of mood you’re clearly in, would be a very bad idea.”

What the actual fuck? “Since when,” you asked, your voice quiet with seething anger, “is it your job to tell me what to do?”

He shook his head and you didn’t know how to react to how sad he looked. “I’m not telling you to do anything. I’m asking you to stay home tonight. For your own safety, which very much is my job.”

You just stared at him, dumbfounded. You didn’t understand him. He told you you weren’t friends. He was the one who said he was just your bodyguard. So what the hell was he doing now? 

In the moment you stood frozen, just staring at him, he took a cautious step forward. “Did something happen?” he asked barely above a whisper.

You shook your head furiously. You felt like you could barely form words. You were so angry and lost, and scared, and sad, and confused. You were feeling more than you thought your body could contain. And you knew, you knew, the only way to get these feelings out would be to go out and get as wild as you could. And here Curtis was, not letting you. You were afraid you were going to explode. “That’s fine,” you finally got out, ignoring his question. “You don’t have to come with me. Jake neither. I’ll get a fucking Uber.” You took a step towards the opening of the room. “Go home Jake!” you shouted through the house. “I won’t need you tonight!”

Curtis sighed your name. “I’m not going to let you go out by yourself,” he said firmly.

You threw your hands in the air. “Then make up your goddamn mind!” 

Jake appeared in the doorway, looking confused and Curtis turned to him. You took the opportunity to get back to the safety of your room, leaving your security detail to figure their shit out. Once back in your room, you dug through the jewelry box until you found the earrings you were looking for. You heard your back door open and close. Good. Jake, at least, was gone. You knew Curtis would be harder, but you were fucking determined. 

Just as you were opening Uber on your phone, Curtis appeared in your doorway. “What,” you growled.

“Would you just listen to me for a minute?!” He said, not quite a yell, but not not that either, as he barged into your room. All of his practiced calm from downstairs was completely gone. “Something bad is going to happen if you go out tonight! It is, I know it is. And I know you can feel it too!”

“Why do you care?!” You shouted at him. “No one else does! Why do you care so much?!”

“You know why!” he shouted back, and took another step toward you, but then suddenly stopped. Much, much quieter, much softer, and with eyes so pleading, he said “You must know.”

You didn’t. You really don’t think you knew until that moment, when the realization slammed into you. Every look, every sigh, all of the moments of him that hadn’t made sense. You took a step back. “What?” you breathed, barely realizing that you were shaking.

He took a step forward to follow you, then stopped. He opened his mouth to say something, but you shook your head at him. “No,” you said. “You can’t.”

“I can’t?!” he asked, incredulous and upset again.

“No!” you shouted, but it was so much weaker now. “I just– Why would– I’m such a fucking mess!” You were starting to cry, the adrenaline of the last half-hour finally leaking out of you, replaced by that same bone-deep exhaustion that you’d had for too long. “I barely have a high school education. I don’t know how to do anything for myself. No one wants to work with me. I am barely keeping it together and everyone knows it. I’m a trainwreck! Why would you–” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the words that you knew he meant. “Why would you have feelings for someone like that?”

 The sadness was back in his face. You looked away, unable to bear it. In your periphery, you saw him take a cautious step forward, then pause. When you made no move to run, he eliminated the distance between you, standing directly in front of you. He slowly, gently, carefully brought one hand up to touch your face, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “I know,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “I know all that and I still love you. Because I also know that somehow, despite everything, you are one of the most genuine people I’ve ever met. You are so kind. And thoughtful. You let everyone see your soft spots, even when all they do is hurt you. You have every reason to be awful or bitter or mean or any of a thousand things. But you aren’t. It’s all of it, it’s all of those things and the ones you said too. All of it together, that’s why I love you. I love you because you’re you.”

You wanted to sob. No one had ever said anything remotely like that to you before. Not anyone in your family, or a single one of your exes. No one had ever cared enough to say any of that. Except for Curtis. He’d always cared, hadn’t he? Since that first day he’d showed up, when you’d been so scared about the possibility of a stalker, he’d taken such care with you. He was the most caring, thoughtful, beautiful person you knew. You took a deep breath and looked into his eyes.  You could see his worry, but also the deep conviction with which he’d just said all that to you. You couldn’t help yourself anymore. You surged forward and you kissed him. 

He made a noise of surprise—you didn’t know how he could possibly be surprised after all that—but after just a moment he was kissing you back, bringing both hands up to cradle your head. You were getting your tears all over him, but he didn’t seem to care. He was soft and gentle and passionate. You needed more. You needed all of him.

You took a step back, breaking the kiss. You did what you could to brush the tears off your face. You grabbed the bottom of your dress and pulled it over your head, then tossed it on the floor. You stood in front of him in the lingerie you’d picked out to fuck Lucas Lee of all people and couldn’t understand how you’d ever been able to think about anyone but Curtis. But you did know how when you stopped to think about it. You’d never been able to fathom that you might deserve this man. That he might actually want you.

He stared at you. “Fuck,” he whispered. “You’re–” you braced yourself for what might come next. So hot or fucking sexy. You’d even gotten beautiful once or twice. He only took a second before he finished his sentence “–incredible,” with such awe on his face that you actually felt your knees go weak. You had to look away. He was too much.

He took your face in his hands again and placed a soft, short kiss on your lips. “But would it be ok if we slowed down?” he asked.

You couldn’t keep the disappointment out of your voice. “Why?” 

“This is real for me,” he said. “And if we do this, I want it to be real for you too. I want you to be sure. And for now,” he stroked one thumb over your cheekbone, “right now I just want to hold you. Is that alright? If I just hold you tonight?”  

You didn’t know how to respond to that. Sex had always been the best, most important part of any of your relationships. It’d been the biggest thing that any of your previous partners had wanted from you. You weren’t sure you knew how to do it any other way. But he was holding you so gently, looking at you so softly, all you could do was nod. 

He kissed you once more. Then stepped back and started to take off his clothes. You made your way to your bed and got in, watching him as he shed his clothes. He really was the most beautiful man you’d ever seen. Nothing on any movie set you’d ever been on, any party you’d ever been to could compare to him. 

Once he was down to just his boxers, he crawled in next to you and pulled you close. Your lips touched his shoulder as you asked, barely audible, “You really love me?”

He kissed your forehead. “Yes,” he whispered. “I really love you.”

Taglist is open

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[fanfics4all]

Torn Between Loyalties

Request: Yes / No Hiiii! Can u do a Sweet Pea x Fem!Reader where she’s Malachis younger sister but she a Serpent and one night he and Malachi get into a argument after he finds out she’s a serpent and she packs her stuff and leaves she goes to Sweet Peas house and stays there but the next day there at the Wyrm and Malachi shows up the two argue again and he slaps her causing Sweet Pea to get involved? 🖤 @yrfavel

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Sweet Pea x Fem!Reader

Malachai x Sister!Reader 

Word count: 1193

Warnings: Being slapped

Y/N: Your Name 

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

The streets of the Southside were dark and quiet as I stormed away from my house, my duffel bag slung over my shoulder. My heart was pounding in my chest from the lingering rage of the argument I just had. Malachai’s voice still rang in my ears, full of anger and disappointment. 

“You’re a Ghoulie, Y/N! Not a damn Serpent!” 

His words stung, but not because I agreed with them. Because I knew deep down, I had never really belonged in his world. I gritted my teeth, pulling my jacket tighter around myself as I walked through the streets, heading toward the only place I knew I’d be welcomed, Sweet Pea’s trailer. 

He had warned me this might happen. That Malachai would lose it if he ever found out I had been running with the Serpents. But I had been careful. At least, I thought I had been. Clearly, I had underestimated my brother’s watchful eyes. 

When I finally reached Sweet Pea’s trailer, I hesitated for only a second before knocking. It was late, but I knew he’d be awake. He was always a night owl. A moment later, the door swung open, revealing my boyfriend in a hoodie and sweatpants, his dark eyes widening slightly when he saw me standing there, bag in hand. 

“Y/N?” His voice was laced with concern. “What are you doing here?” 

I swallowed hard, suddenly feeling the weight of everything that had just happened crash down on me. 

“I-” My voice cracked, and I sucked in a breath. 

“Malachai found out.” 

Pea’s expression darkened. “Shit…” 

“Yeah…” I let out a humorless laugh. “And he lost it. Said I was betraying him, betraying my blood. So I left.” 

Sweets exhaled sharply, running a hand through his dark hair. 

“Babe…” He stepped aside, silently inviting me in. 

I stepped into the warmth of his trailer, letting the door shut behind me. The moment it did, my resolve cracked. The adrenaline of the fight had kept me together, but now, standing here with Sweet Pea, someone who actually understood me, I felt tears burning behind my eyes. 

“I don’t know what to do…” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. 

“I love my brother, but I’m not like him. I never have been. The Serpents feel like home, and he-he hates me for it…” 

Sweet Pea didn’t hesitate. He crossed the space between us and pulled me into his arms, holding me tightly against his chest. 

“You don’t have to figure it out tonight.” He murmured against my hair. 

“You can stay here as long as you need.” 

I nodded against him, gripping the fabric of his hoodie. I didn’t know what was going to happen next. I didn’t know if Malachai would ever forgive me or if I even wanted him to. But for now, I was safe. For now, I wasn’t alone. 

The next day, the air in the Southside was tense, but I tried my best to push last night’s fight with my brother out of my mind. Sweets had convinced me to come with him to the White Wyrm, saying it would take my mind off things. I knew he was just trying to distract me, but I appreciated it. 

The bar was filled with Serpents, music playing low in the background as Pea kept a protective arm draped around my waist. I leaned into his warmth, still feeling a little raw from last night, but at least here, I felt safe. 

That feeling didn’t last long. 

The second the door swung open with a loud bang, the room fell silent. My stomach dropped as I turned to see Malachai standing in the doorway, fury written all over his face. 

“Seriously?” He barked, his eyes locking on me. 

“You leave our house, disappear for the night, and I find out you’ve been shacking up with him?” He jabbed a finger at Sweet Pea, his voice dripping with disgust. I straightened, pushing away from Sweets slightly. 

“I told you, Malachai. I don’t belong with the Ghoulies. I never did.” My voice was firm, but I could feel my hands shaking. 

“The Serpents are my family now.” 

His eyes darkened as he took a step forward. “No, I’m your family.” 

I swallowed hard, my fists clenching. “Family doesn’t try to control me! Family doesn’t make me feel like I’m betraying them because I want something different.” 

“You’re betraying your blood.” Malachai growled. “Running with these losers? You think they’re gonna protect you when shit hits the fan?” 

Sweet Pea stepped in front of me slightly, his body tense. “Watch it, Malachai.” 

“Or what?” He sneered, stepping closer. “You think I’m scared of you, Serpent boy?” 

“Stop it!” I snapped, shoving myself between them before things could get worse. 

“You don’t have to like my choices, Mal, but you don’t get to make them for me.” 

His jaw clenched. “You’re making a mistake.” 

“No.” I shook my head. “The only mistake I ever made was thinking you’d understand.” 

His face twisted with anger, and before I could react, his hand sung. Smack! A sharp sting spread across my cheek as my head whipped to the side. The room seemed to freeze. I stared at the floor, my vision blurring for a moment. My whole body felt numb with shock. Malachai had never-never- laid a hand on me before. I barely had time to register it before Sweet Pea lunged. 

“You son of a bitch!” Sweets roared, grabbing Malachai by the collar and slamming him against the nearest wall. 

The entire Wyrm erupted in chaos as Serpents moved to intervene, but no one got too close. Sweet Pea’s rage was something dangerous. Malachai didn’t fight back at first. His eyes were wide, his chest rising and falling quickly, like he couldn’t believe what he just did. 

“I-I didn’t mean to.” He muttered, almost to himself. 

Sweet Pea wasn’t having it. “I don’t give a shit if you meant to or not.” He snarled, tightening his grip. “ You put your hands on my girl. You hurt her.” 

“Sweet Pea, don’t.” I finally found my voice, stepping forward despite the lingering sting on my face. I was still in shock, but I didn’t want this to turn into something worse. Pea’s fists clenched around Malachai’s vest, his breathing heavy as he glared at him like he wanted to rip him apart. Malachai’s gaze flickered to me. Regret was clear in his expression, but it didn’t erase what had just happened. 

“She’s not yours to control.” Sweets said through gritted teeth. “And if you ever touch her again, I swear to God, I’ll kill you.” 

With that, he shoved Malachai back roughly before turning to me. His expression softened immediately. 

“Come on, babe.” He said, gently grabbing my hand. “Let’s get out of here.” 

I hesitated for only a second before nodding, sparing Malachai one last glance. He looked torn between guilt and anger, but I didn’t have the energy to care right now. I let Sweet Pea lead me out of the Wyrm, knowing no matter what happened next, I had made my choice. And I wasn’t looking back. 

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1 @emo-godess-loves-you @hiya-imthatgirl @mindsetjupiter @averysinclaire @mittelerde1999 @sweetest-peas @rousewriter @camiconfessions-blog @thecaptainsgingersnap @cenyddtheunicorn @jacksxsouthsideserpents @lover2448 @mamacobie13 @staygoldsquatchling02 @wanderlust-and-poetry @hiighdeex3 @ayeitsjaz @skeletalwolfcat @scarrasco1325 @reblogserpent @darkestbeforethedawn16 @fandom-princess-forevermore @will-noble-owns-my-ass @t-a-i-l-o-r-m-a-d-e @madebyleftovermuses @liz-owl

[pedroshotwifey]

Hungry Like The...

Pairing: Werewolf!Frankie Morales x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 3.6k

Tags/Warnings: Smut, PIV sex, oral sex (f receiving), fluff, established relationship, no use of y/n, Frankie has a monster cock, im missing stuff but I want to go to bed so...

Summary: You and Frankie decide to attend an 80s themed Halloween party. Through all of the excitement, you must have forgotten what day the full moon falls on.

A/N: I'm gonna go ahead and say that I rushed the absolute fuck out of this one, but I think it turned out pretty good. I really kind of jumped outside of my comfort zone with this, so I'm kinda proud that I did that. That being said, please feel free to call me out on anything that might not make sense or anything that I should change at all because I'm half clueless with this kind of stuff. Please consider reposting and/or liking. Thank you for reading and HAPPY HALLOWEEN!! <3

***

You have no idea where Frankie snuck off too. 

He claimed he was going to get the two of you more drinks, but that was about ten minutes ago. You’re well aware that it should have taken less than half of that for him to find his way to the refreshment table, pick up some drinks, and bring them back to you. 

Right now, though, you’re too blissed out to care—not that you have much to worry about with your loving boyfriend anyway. The lights are almost blinding as you spin around beneath them, but they transform into a nice glow thanks to the buzz you’re sporting. “Mony Mony,” is blaring through the speakers and you're in your zone as you swing your hips to the beat. 

You’re glad that Frankie had suggested that you two attend this party specifically. The only requirements were that you had to dress up as an 80’s character in order to fit the era the party revolves around. 80’s costumes, 80’s music, 80’s decor. Luckily for you, the 80’s is one of your absolute favorite decades, and you’re pretty sure Frankie knew that when he signed the two of you up. 

The dance floor is packed with people to the point where you can’t stretch out all the way without bumping into someone. Usually, that would irk you, but you can’t find it in you to mind tonight. It’s not like anybody else does. 

As you snap your hips to the beat, you look around at all the different costumes in the crowd. You see a handful of Star Wars characters, a couple of Freddy Kruegers, some Ghost Busters, and—of course—a shit ton of Madonnas. The rest, for the most part, are pretty original. 

You’re pretty proud of your own costume, to be honest. You had spent a couple of weeks configuring a custom-made Storm costume. You’ve been an X-Men fan for as long as you can remember, and it made you so happy to try on your costume for the first time a few days ago. It’s pretty damn spot-on. 

Frankie, on the other hand, had insisted on being a werewolf. Like turning into one once a month wasn’t enough already. You had simply rolled your eyes and asked him what he had in mind so you could make his costume. It was worth it to see the way he lit up, even though he’s cutting it close with the party’s theme. 

After the year he had, he deserves to be happy—even if it means you have to endure his stupid jokes every now and again. When he gets tipsy, his goofy humor always makes an appearance. It’s one of your favorite parts about nights out with your boyfriend. He never fails to make you laugh. 

Just as you begin to worry that he might have gotten lost in the crowd, you feel a hand spin you around. You’re getting ready to tell someone off until you come face to face with those irresistible brown eyes. 

“Hey there, Hermosa,” he says as he cuddles up to you, swaying you to the song. “Having fun, sweetheart?” 

You giggle as he bends down and nuzzles his face into your neck. Glancing down, you almost aren’t surprised to see that he doesn’t have any drinks. 

“Frankie?” You ask casually as you throw your arms around him. 

“Hmm?” 

“Did you find the drinks?” 

Suddenly, he stops moving and stands up straight again, a playful smile plastered across his face. 

“Guess not,” he says. “Found something to eat, though,” he winks and you playfully roll your eyes as he throws himself back onto you. As the song changes to “When Doves Cry”, he begins to dance with you. Frankie has never been the best dancer, but it's better this way. Neither of you take anything seriously as you push and pull your bodies together, giving eachother flirty kisses every now and again. 

You laugh as you bump into someone and flash them an apologetic look. Frankie really loves to bring out your careless side. You honestly didn’t know you were capable of being so care-free until you had met him. Sometimes he makes you feel as if nothing else matters but you and him. It’s times like these that you really realize just how lucky you are to have him. 

“Alright, baby,” Frankie says after a moment, bringing you out of your thoughts. “I’m going to go get us those drinks now.” 

Instead of answering him, you get up on your tip-toes and kiss him. He begins to wrap his arms around you again, but you gently push him off, giving him a faux stern look. 

“Alright, alright, I get it, baby, I’m going!” he says over the music before turning around to scamper away.

You have to suppress a giggle when he jolts as you deliver a light slap to his ass. He turns just enough to flash you a dirty look, and you give him one of feigned innocence in return, well aware he’ll get you back for that eventually if you continue to tease. 

“Hurry up, wolfboy!” you shout after him. 

***

Alright, you’re actually about to be pissed this time. 

There’s absolutely no way he lost you—or rather, you lost him—twice. He has to be playing with you, right? Whatever, if that’s the case, two can play at that game. 

You’ll just pretend like you don’t even notice something is missing. Maybe once he sees you where he left you, completely unaffected by his absence, he’ll stop being such an ass. 

Perfect. Perfect plan. 

You shake your head and dance as the song ends. You can have fun by yourself if your boyfriend wants to be immature. 

Well, it would have been a perfect plan. 

As if he could somehow read your mind—which you almost wouldn’t doubt at this point—you spot Frankie in your vision once again. However, this time, he’s not coming over to you. 

He has a familiar dark look in his eyes that immediately soaks you, despite yourself. You stop dancing because as quick as you see him, he’s gone again. You spin in a panicked circle as the song changes to one by Duran Duran. You almost laugh at the irony as “Hungry Like the Wolf” blares through the speakers. 

Your phone buzzes in the small pocket of your bodysuit, and you pause your quick search to look at it. Your brow furrows as you see that it’s a text from Frankie. What the fuck is he playing at? Quickly, you unlock your phone and open your messages. 

“Better start running, baby,” the text reads. You look up, your eyes frantically scanning the crowd around you. Maybe the song choice isn’t so ironic after all. 

“Don’t let me catch you… feeling hungry like the wolf tonight…”

You don’t stop to think before you make a mad dash toward the exit, your heart dropping to your stomach as you go. You get some pissed looks as you shove through people, your heart hammering in your chest and your eyes darting every which way. 

You have no idea where he could be at this point. Maybe he’s somewhere inside, having missed your exit. He could be trailing right behind you, ready to grab you at any moment.

Soon enough, it is revealed that he is, once again, always one step ahead of you. As soon as you step out of the doors, a large body is engulfing yours and carrying you to a secluded spot on the patio, though there’s nobody outside anyway. 

You would scream if not for the large hand that covers your lips when he grabs you. You know it’s Frankie, of course, but the exhilaration that comes from the scare really adds to the game the two of you just started. 

You ignore the heat simmering between your legs as he sets you down on your own feet and removes his hand from your mouth. Neither of you move, you don’t look up, he doesn’t crouch down. You just stand there, breathing heavily as Frankie embraces your figure. 

You can’t help but lean back into him, letting your guard down probably isn’t the best idea right now, but you can’t find it in you to care about that fact at the moment. 

The fresh air feels nice on your heated cheeks, but Frankie's front against your back feels even better. The music continues to play faintly behind you as you sway side to side, Frankie’s arms wrapped tightly around you, his head resting on your shoulder. 

You swear you could stay here forever. Actually, you could stay anywhere, as long as you had Frankie. But right now, you can’t imagine anything more perfect than this. As long as you have your boyfriend’s arms around you, you would do anything or go anywhere he wants to. 

Your body may be his, but you decided a long time ago that your soul belongs to him as well. He can pick it up and do whatever he wishes with it, and you know he could never do anything that would cause your trust or love for him to dull.

“Look up, sweetheart,” Frankie’s soft voice brings you out of your thoughts, making you open your eyes. You hadn’t realized they had slid shut in the first place. 

The sight of the full moon high up in the night sky confirms your suspicions. Frankie’s going to turn tonight. 

Fuck, you’re screwed, your subconscious automatically screams at you. 

You can't miss the way your panties dampen as the thought crosses your mind. Your body stiffens as you fight the urge to run, the adrenaline getting the best of you.

Frankie must feel the way you tense up because his arms immediately tighten around you. 

“It’s alright, hermosa,” he whispers into your ear. “Just means we’ll have a bit more fun than usual.”

You try but fail to stifle your grin at his menacing tone. Just because you know you’re screwed doesn’t mean you don't enjoy it. 

“Probably got less than ten minutes now,” Frankie says far too casually. “Let’s pick up on our little chase, yeah?” 

He lets you out of his grasp this time, and you turn around to give him a peck on his cheek, allowing your hand to brush past his erection as you pull away. The touch is just enough for Frankie to grit his teeth as he hisses out. The warning glance he gives you makes arousal burn deep into your core, only serving to make you more excited. 

“I’ll give you a head start, sweetheart,” he says, his tone giving you a warning, “I’d take it if I were you.”

With his word, you spin on your heel, ready to plummet into the forest, but you only get about a foot before he has a large hand wrapped around your wrist. Your heart beats louder in your chest as you turn to look at him, his eyes dark with lust. 

“Don’t let me catch you this time,” he says, pulling you close enough for his lips to flutter across your ear as he speaks. “I won’t go easy on you.”

You ignore the shiver in your spine as you pull back as much as you can. 

“Maybe I don't want you to go easy on me,” you whisper back, earning a slight growl from Frankie. He lets his hand linger on you for only a moment more before letting go, this time allowing you to back away. 

“Don’t push yourself too hard then, because I’m going to fucking exaust you when I catch up.” 

You smile before turning once again, pushing yourself into the trees without looking back. 

***

The sound of your heartbeat is deafening as you run through the otherwise silent forest. The steady pitter-patter of the organ combined with your ragged breathing and your frantic footsteps make a horrifying symphony. Even those sounds seem muffled, though, with the amount of pure adrenaline that courses through your veins and drowns out your senses. 

Frankie can’t be too far behind you now. You guess you’ve been running for about fifteen minutes. There’s no doubt that he has turned at this point; he proved it with the howl you heard bellowing through the woods a couple minutes ago. 

Since then, you haven't stopped to take a breath. There is pure fear in the fact that you have a beast on your trail, but also excitement in knowing what will likely happen once he catches up. 

For now though, fear is the dominant emotion. It’s prominent enough to keep you going even as your hair gets tugged by branches and your skin gets scratched and torn by twigs and thorns. None of it seems to matter right now just as long as you can keep your distance from the monster hunting you down. 

Suddenly, you hear a snap from somewhere behind you. The noise is sharp, a twig snapping beneath heavy weight. It reverberates all around you, sending a shiver down your spine. Soon after, You pick up on the steady thumping of what sounds to be an animal hot on your tail. 

The sound gets closer and closer even as you push yourself to run faster. Your entire body is shaking and you can feel tears welling up in your eyes. You can practically feel Frankie’s breath on your neck, the sensation almost more powerful than the ache overtaking your legs and abdomen. 

“Please, leave me alone!” You cry out the plea over your shoulder, your voice bordering a sob. Your gut is curling with a mixture of panic and arousal. The responding growl makes the tears you have been holding spill over and your knees buckle. 

For a second, you’re worried that you might fall, but you’re pushed into the ground before you have the chance to do it yourself. The weight of Frankie pouncing on top of you knocks the wind out of you, a sharp cry leaving your lips as your breath is taken. 

In the time that it takes you to get your breath back, Frankie has your bodysuit torn enough to pry off of your shaking body, and your lacy panties shoved–or ripped–down your legs. Luckily, the bodysuit was the cheapest and easiest to find component of your costume. You can feel a whisper of his claws against your skin as he drags scraps away from where he needs you most.

Your arms flail wildly, your fingers trying to grasp a handful of fur from the beast atop you. Frankie sees what you’re trying to do, and with a growl, he ducks down and slides toward your feet, away from your hands. 

Before you can question what he’s doing, you feel something thick, wet, and warm against your bare, soaked cunt. 

A high pitched moan tumbles from your lips as Frankie drags his tongue across your pussy before dipping it into your core.

The hot muscle digs deep into your cunt, curling once it's in all the way. You can feel his nose bobbing up and down against your ass as he starts to work his tongue in and out of your cunt.

“F-Frankie, fuck!” You scream, feeling your orgasm building embarrassingly quickly.

The way his tongue swirls and scrapes against your walls is absolutely delicious, and that combined with the tip of the muscle prodding against your g-spot? You’re fucking done for. 

You’re writhing as Frankie brings his tongue out to swallow down the slick he’s collected, and you can feel the way a combination of your arousal and his saliva leaks out of your pulsing cunt, coming down to collect at your clit and make you shudder. You’re so close to coming, a warm feeling that can only be described as pure euphoria making a home deep in your lower abdomen. 

Almost as soon as he was gone, Frankie shoves his tongue back inside of you, meticulously prodding all the right places. You’re gasping and moaning so loud you have half the mind to feel bad for whatever critters might reside in these woods. 

That thought passes quickly, though, once you feel yourself returning to the edge. Frankie flicks his tongue one more time and you’re suddenly convulsing around him. The high seems to go on forever, your toes curling and your fingers grasping at the leafy ground in front of you. 

The beast doesn’t pull away as you come, instead, he allows you to rock your hips back and forth in order to prolong your pleasure for as long as possible. You don’t even notice that you moved your arm until you feel one hand entangled in soft fur, your subconscious mind telling you to hold him to you. 

You hear Frankie whine from behind you and you have to suppress the urge to giggle. He’s always liked it when you tug at his hair, and apparently, being in this form leaves no room for exceptions. 

Your body goes limp as Frankie backs away from you, making it easy for him to nudge you to prop you up where he wants you. Hands and knees, of course. He wastes no time in getting into position behind you, crowding you in with his massive form. 

The tip of his cock feels massive against your swollen cunt, but it only takes a few swipes of the beast’s hips before he is notched into your entrance. With one more thrust, he’s pushing in all the way, making you scream as your pussy stretches to accommodate his girth. 

Frankie lets out a series of whimpers as he starts a brutal pace, not giving you a second to adjust. Your hands come up to grasp above his paws, which are positioned on either side of your head, and then up a little. 

“F-Frankie!” Your moan comes out more like a screech, the pain quickly turning into a sick pleasure as he rips you open on his cock. Each time he thrusts, it’s accompanied by a puff of breath which fans out across your cheek. 

The sound of his whines and ragged breathing mix with the squelching noises coming from your cunt and the panting coming from your lips, everything combined making the filthiest symphony you’ve ever heard. 

Your second orgasm starts to build rapidly, your cunt beginning to flutter around Frankie’s unforgiving length. With each punch, the tip of his cock touches something heavenly within you, making your eyes roll to the back of your head. 

You’re pretty sure you’re drooling, but you find that every limb has turned to jelly, preventing you from bringing your hand up to check. If not for the monster above you impaling you on his length, you would likely be flat on the forest floor right now. 

Every thought that had previously occupied your mind is forced out of you as Frankie effortlessly pries another orgasm from you. He doesn’t slow or pause as you squeeze around his cock like a vice. If anything, it only spurs him on and gets him going faster, if that's even possible. 

With each slam of his hips, you feel your body being sent forward, only stabilized by your palms, which are somehow still firmly planted on the ground. 

‘Oh god, Frankie,” your voice sounds hazy to your own ears. “F-feels so fucking good, Francisco.”

You hear him grunt at the sound of his full name, something you usually only call him in bed—or in this case, in the middle of nowhere. 

It does feel good, his cock feels absolutely massive. You know that it is definitely bigger than when he’s in his human form—the size of which should be considered supernatural in it’s own way. Right now, though, he feels bigger than ever, thicker, longer. The only thought occupying your mind at the moment is how badly you want to suck his cock. 

How the fuck does this man fuck you so good to the point where you fantasize about giving him a blowjob while he’s already inside of you? Next time, you’ll have to get his dick in your mouth before he shoves it into your cunt. 

Your eyes droop as your second orgasm morphs into a third, your body growing weaker with each movement from Frankie. You ignore the shaking to spread your legs wider to allow him better access, which results in him getting to a deeper spot with the new angle. 

Your mouth drops open as you begin to come again, a silent scream getting stuck in your throat. This time, as you constrict around his monstrous cock, you can feel his hips stutter. He’s getting close, which is probably a good thing considering you’re about to pass out from both pleasure and exhaustion. 

“C-come on, Frankie, f-fill me up,” you command through moans. It very obviously eggs him on because before you know it, he’s stilling inside of you, howling into the trees, and blowing his massive load deep into your core. 

The feeling of his cum painting your walls is fucking heavenly. Spurt after spurt of his warm seed fills you to the brim until it eventually starts to seep out around the base of his cock. If you thought you had felt full before, that was nothing compared to now. 

Frankie gives you a few minutes to calm down before he starts to lower himself to the ground, laying on his side and tugging you with him. Your body and mind are equally compliant with his request. 

As your eyes shut once again, you can feel Frankie starting to shift behind you, probably making his transformation back to his human form. Try as you might, you know you won’t have enough energy to wait for him to be done, so you make the most of it and snuggle into his soft fur. You know that you’ll wake up safe and sound in your bed, tangled with your kind, attentive, and very much human boyfriend.

[the-bear-and-his-sunbird]

happy thedasweekend!! i can't decide which lucanis ship to pick so! lucanis and your character of choice with “Who knew love would be like this?“ from the lord huron lyrics prompt list :D

You say that to the person who cannot choose?? Jail for you, Jail for a thousand years! (And by jail I mean, Lucanis getting loved) I left out the ships, I have no idea for but pls know that they are also very sweet and I could see why they are getting shipped!!

@thedasweekend

Pairing: Lucanis x everyone Neve; Lucanis x Rook; Lucanis x Neve x Rook; Lucanis x Emmrich; Lucanis x Bellara; Hinted: Lucanis x Davrin; Lucanis x Harding; Lucanis x Taash; Lucanis x Spite (if you squint)

Words: 730

Warnings: Spoilers, mention of death and grief, mention of past trauma

Again, I swear this is actually very sweet.

Lucanis is loved in every universe.

In some, Neve loves him romantically.

Sharp wit and her unending well of compassion engulf him, wrap him tight and he feels his resolve melt away.

When they kiss, Spite is quiet.

He wants to know how he caught her attention, when she feels so far above him in every way.

A part of him thinks about leaving the crows when he is with her, leaving to repair Minrathous.

Breaking the law never tasted this sweet. Thankful hands instead of shuddering gasps.

In some worlds, she helps him rebuild Treviso, warm hand on his shoulder.

Crows and dragons, both flying so high above ground.

Who knew love could be like this?

In some, Rook loves him romantically.

Hot chocolates and lavender-honey kisses.

Wine and hot aired love confessions.

A comforting voice is holding him, when he cannot accept skin.

Then skin as he lets them in.

He feels lifted off his feet, carried away by some wild storm.

A fine crow he is, being swept away by thunder.

Rook helps him find home, find sleep, find peace.

Spite loves them and is content for once.

Who knew love could be like this?

In some, both love him romantically.

Crows and Storms and Snowflakes.

They are the storm and they are the gentle quiet.

When they are not around, he feels more lonely than ever.

They find a nice flat that fits them all and they never have to worry about being unloved.

Who knew love could be like this?

In some, it is Emmrich who loves him romantically.

Death is a crows business, yet the Necromancer brings new meaning to it.

Death is not only a business, not only a contract to be fulfilled.

Death is what awaits them all, a certainty, sometimes a comfort, sometimes a terror.

Death is what he fears when he looks at his lovers rising chest.

Love is what lets them hold tight.

Love is the gentle hands that hold him at night, that show him a different path.

Love is kisses and whispered adoration, gifts for each other and outings with shared friends.

Love is knowing looks and curling lips, early mornings and late nights.

Love is raising an undead son, curiosity and determination running free.

He does not fear death, as long as Emmrichs love is around. A crow perches on his beloved shoulder.

Who knew love could be like this?

In some, its Bellara who loves him romantically.

Shy and fluttery, the hummingbird has cast a spell on him.

He croaks for a day basking in her warmth.

Inexperienced lips finding out together.

Reading out loud to keep the other relaxed, smiling and laughing.

Sunshine shoos away the clouds.

Some nights he feels like the wrongs he did can nearly fly away.

He watches purple engulf and sleeps.

Protection and adoration.

Who knew love could be like this?

In other universes, other people love him romantically. A gentle warden, the flower archer, the roaring dragon. All beautiful. All perfect loves. Unique and shining.

Who knew love could be like this?

In all of them they love him like a friend.

Coffee ready, watching over him. Protecting his body, soothing his mind.

They help and make time.

Accept the gifts his talons can offer, the warmth of his wings.

They make him feel warm, when he thinks he has lost the memory of the sun, when the cool vast ocean haunts his dreams. Magic lights keeping his fears away.

They protect him from Zara, from Illario, from his own spite.

Loving him so fiercely, even he believes it.

Who knew love could feel like this?

Most unexpected he is also loved by Spite

Not being able to escape from each other, fighting talon and tail, tooth and nail

Understanding comes slowly and is hard earned.

He finds comfort in shared pain, a contract to be fulfilled by each other. Determination and spite mingling on his tongue.

Not working against each other anymore, they can see their mutual grief, memory no one else can ever truly get. But they can.

Shared goals and helping hands.

At the end of it, after a quite long while they finally love each other.

Who knew love could feel like this?

And maybe in some universe, or maybe in all, Lucanis learns to love himself.

Who knew love could feel like this?

[its-all-stardust]

Head Above Water

Matt Murcock/GN!Reader

3.9k

Summary: A month after Thanos turns half of all life to dust with the snap of his fingers, you find a man sitting on a bench in the rain, alone.

Notes: This is my first fic here, and to be honest, I'm testing the waters a little bit with it lol. I hope to write more fics for Matt and other characters in the future! My ask box is open and feedback is appreciated ❤️

Thunder claps in the distance, and you know the rain is only going to get heavier. Part of you doesn’t mind, despite the already-soaked legs of your jeans. Your small umbrella barely covers your shoulders, the occasional drip hitting you when you let it tilt the wrong way in your daze. You meant to get a new one ages ago, especially when the fabric started lifting away from the metal. But you never got around to it.

And now, you don’t care.

It’s been a month since the world ended. A month since you lost your sister.

A month since half the world—or half the universe, if what the news report you barely listened to is true—turned to dust.

And fuck, do you hope Lizzie turned to dust. Hope that she didn’t go down with the plane as it crashed in the middle of some town, engulfing everything in a fiery blaze.

You hope she turned to dust. You think about her last moments often.

Would she have been terrified if she noticed her limbs fading away before she ceased to exist? Or would she have been confused? Was she awake when it happened, or was she asleep?

Did she cry when the plane started to plummet?

Dust or fire, either way, she’s gone.

The rain feels nice, in a way. A chilling reminder that the world stopped and still stops. The streets are practically empty with so many people gone and the natural dislike of being caught out in a storm.

But it never feels like enough.

The world stopped, but it didn’t end.

Someone walks by on the other side of the street.

A month.

It’s only been a month, and you and everyone else are expected to live as if the worst tragedy in history hadn’t just happened.

You can’t go back to work. You were supposed to. But your days are consumed by grief after losing the only person you loved. How can you go back, pretend that it never happened, that you’re fine?

You’re not fine.

You don’t think you’ll ever be fine.

You don’t have a job anymore.

Your foot catches on something, sending you stumbling and pulling you out of your dark reverie. Rain spills down your back as your umbrella tilts forward. You don’t know what you tripped over, nor do you care very much. You adjust your umbrella and try to take another step forward, but stop when you send a cane clattering down the sidewalk.

The sight of it makes you pause, confused. Your state of mind slows any thoughts that aren’t of Lizzie. It takes a moment to realize you’ve stopped next to a bench. 

A bench with a man sitting on it.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly say. The cane must belong to him. 

You’re still not used to how empty the streets of New York City feel and have grown used to the lack of people running about, no longer needing to carefully avoid hitting others or having someone slam into you with abandon. You haven’t needed to avoid being in someone’s way for what feels like an eternity.

It’s been a month.

Shaking away the cloud of thought, you reach down, pick up the cane, and turn to the man, who hasn’t said a word since you ripped it away from him.

Holding it out, you wait for the man to take it, but he doesn’t move. Then you notice his dark glasses and what type of cane you’re holding.

The man is blind.

“Uh…” you start, stumbling over what to say. “Here’s your cane. Sorry.”

Like a statue coming to life, the man finally moves. Reaching for his cane, you set it in his hand.

“Thank you,” he says quietly, settling back into the bench. 

You should leave. You’ve done your due diligence and given the man back his cane, but your feet don’t want to move.

The man is soaking wet, dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants. He had no jacket or umbrella of his own. His hair is plastered to his head, and raindrops collect on the lenses of his glasses briefly before falling. He looks like a mess. You’re not one to judge because you looked much the same over the past month. 

Looking past him, you see the church.

“You uh…need help getting inside? It’s a little wet out here,” you finish awkwardly. You have no idea if he even believes in God enough to want to go inside, if he just came from it, or if this is just the first bench he found. Whichever it is, you don’t like the idea of him sitting out in the rain with not even a jacket to keep the rain off, especially not with a storm coming.

More thunder nearly drowns out the man’s answer: a short, simple “No.”

But still, you stand there in front of him, watching water drip down through his dark hair and land on his cheek.

“Here,” you say suddenly, mind made up. “Take this.”

The man looks confused, the first expression you’ve seen on his face. But he doesn’t say anything, just holds out his free hand, where you place the handle of your umbrella.

“What’s this?” he finally asks.

“An umbrella,” you say and start to turn away.

“Don’t you need it?” the man calls after you.

You pause and turn back. “Not anymore.”

Despite his frown, the man goes quiet and settles the umbrella against his shoulder, the rain now no longer able to reach his face. Water still drips down his hair as you turn to leave, walking a little faster to get back to your apartment before you end up like the man outside the church.

It’s still raining the next day, but it does nothing to stop you from going on your daily depression walk.

You couldn’t stay curled up on the floor of your apartment any longer, so you’ve taken to spending the day wandering the city streets, lost in thought, trying to wear yourself out so you can sleep at night.

You’re berating yourself today, one of the iterations of thoughts you cycle through these days.

How can you walk miles throughout the city for days on end but can’t make yourself go to work? You lost your job, and the landlord—the new landlord, after the old one turned to dust, is bound to catch on that your rent payment is late. You don’t think you can get evicted during a state of emergency, but you wouldn’t bet on it.

The world ended. Your world ended. You shouldn’t be expected to have picked up the pieces and moved on like everyone else.

The world never stopped turning, though. Part of you knows you can’t keep doing this forever—avoiding life and praying everything goes back to normal. It won’t, not with Lizzie dead. But if you don’t, you’re sure you’ll find some way to join your sister in whatever afterlife she ended up in.

Your foot knocks against something, and you stop. You wandered too close to a bench where someone sits, making you walk right into a cane extended into your path.

Not thinking much of it, you’re about to step around it when you recognize the man on the bench. You’re at the church again, and the same man as yesterday sits outside. Without the umbrella you gave him.

You’re afraid he’s been here since yesterday without moving, but you see that the t-shirt and sweats he’s wearing today are black as opposed to the gray he had on when you first saw him.

You can’t help but be a little annoyed that the man appears to have lost your umbrella. But as you stare at him, at the blank expression on his face, and the defeated slump of his shoulders, it reminds you of yourself. If you didn’t despise wearing soaking wet clothes, you’d likely be without an umbrella, too.

You want to help, but you’re not particularly inclined to give him another umbrella for him to lose, not since you just bought this one on the way home yesterday.

So you sigh and, unsure if the man even knows you’re there, sit next to him on his right side, immediately soaking the seat of your pants on the wet bench. Shifting your umbrella to cover both you and the man, you sit back and wait.

Silence surrounds you for long enough to congratulate yourself on buying a larger umbrella. Your right side, and presumably the man’s left, is being hit by the rain, but it’s doing a decent job of covering two people not pressed close together.

“What…are you doing?” the man finally asks, either just noticing your presence or deciding to acknowledge it. His voice cracks, making you wonder when he last spoke and how long he’s been in the rain.

“Waiting for the rain to stop,” you tell him as if it were obvious. You adjust your grip on the handle to rest it against your arm. You could be here for a while and want to be as comfortable as possible.

“...why?”

“You lost my umbrella,” you say, looking at him. “At least, I assume you did since you don’t have it, and I don’t want you to get wet. Well, any wetter than you already are.” You finish awkwardly.

A look of realization comes over the man’s face. He recognizes you now.

“I…forgot it,” he says simply, and you wonder if that’s true. Maybe he wandered out into the city without it on purpose, hoping the rain would either cleanse him or punish him.

You know the feeling well.

Silence descends again. So far, the rain hasn’t shown any signs of stopping, nor has the man seemed uncomfortable with your presence.

Then he shivers. Maybe you’ll bring him a jacket tomorrow if he’s still here. If you find one his size, which you can only guess at.

Next, the man’s hands start fidgeting with his cane, the most movement you’ve seen from him during your brief interactions.

“Are you okay?” you ask softly.

The man scoffs, a bitter smile on his face. “No.”

His voice shakes, and you watch as he swallows and clenches his jaw. You’re familiar with the reaction. You’ve done it a lot over the past month when you want to avoid crying in front of others.

You look away from his face and down to his hands. He’s clutching his cane in a white-knuckle grip with both hands, and it’s a wonder he doesn’t snap the thing in two.

Something comes over you then, and you don’t know if you should do it or if it’s even a good idea. But you give in to temptation, sitting up to reach over with your right hand and place it on the man’s clenched fists.

“Neither am I,” you say softly, pressure starting to build in the back of your throat.

The man freezes, and you’re afraid you’ve overstepped, crossed a line with this stranger that you had no business crossing.

You’re about to pull away when he shifts, one of his hands turning to grasp yours, clutching it like a lifeline.

Neither of you speaks, both trying to breathe through the wave of emotion welling up inside you.

Connecting like this with someone is…nice. Practically everyone around you lost someone because of the attack, but this is the first time you don’t feel alone in your grief.

You don’t know how long you sit like that, but you’re disappointed when you notice the rain finally stopped. Letting go of the man’s hand, you move your umbrella off to the side and close it.

You’re unsure where to go from here, what the next step is now that you’ve held hands with and found comfort in a stranger.

Glancing over at the man, you see his hand is still open as if waiting for you to take it again. You hesitate briefly before giving him your name.

It’s almost as if he comes alive then, taking a deep breath like it’s his first taste of air. He shifts, turning to face you.

“I’m Matt,” he says.

“Matt,” you repeat, a small smile on your lips. “It’s nice to meet you.”

Matt kept sitting on the bench outside Clinton Church. He’d been doing it since the day everyone died. First Karen and Foggy turned to dust in front of him. Then, when his head cleared enough, he went to the orphanage to look for Maggie.

She was gone, too.

And so he sits outside the church, going back to his apartment when he needs to. But he always returns. Matt doesn’t go inside, doesn’t pray. He’s just numb and doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

Then, one day, you appeared and gave him an umbrella.

And you kept coming back.

A week in, though the two of you barely spoke, Matt asked why you did. You tensed and hesitated long enough that Matt was about to try to take the question back when you quietly admitted, “I like sitting with you.”

He froze, not knowing how to react. He didn’t know what he was expecting, but the thought that you enjoyed his silent company never occurred to him. It was an odd thing for Matt to hear.

The fallout with his friends was only just recovering after his disappearing act. He had just learned to truly let the people who cared about him in. And with everyone suddenly gone, the idea that a stranger wanted to be around Matt was shocking.

Uncomfortable with the feeling welling up in his chest, Matt changed the topic.

“Do you always walk this way?” He’s mostly out of it while losing himself outside the church, but even so, he didn’t remember someone walking by every day at the same time like clockwork.

“I only just started this way,” you explained with a shrug. “Needed to change up my route.”

You went silent, and Matt could feel the melancholy pouring out of you.

He didn’t ask why. He could guess well enough why you’d be sad about changing a familiar walking route or why you never seemed to be going anywhere in particular. Instead, he stayed silent, thinking about how he liked sitting with you, too, and how warmth still radiated on his skin from when you held his hand.

As the days went on, you and Matt slowly started talking more, carefully avoiding mentions of friends or family. You started sitting with him for longer, and Matt began to expect you at 2:14 every day and looked forward to your warmth at his side.

But it’s 2:22, and you’re not here. Matt listens for your heartbeat, the sound of your footsteps on the concrete, but there’s no trace of you. He fidgets with his phone, having it repeat the time as if it’ll go back or make you appear. Ever since that first day, you were never late, and something in his chest—which he refuses to believe is his heart—constricts at the thought that something happened to you.

He wants to believe that you simply changed your route again. That maybe you were tired of him, didn’t want to be around him, and just didn’t know how to tell him. But Matt remembers how quiet you were yesterday. How your silence reminded him not of the unfamiliarity of a stranger but of a sadness barely held in check. Your breath hitched, and you let out a small gasp before cutting your visit short and leaving with a strained smile pulling at the corners of your mouth and a promise to see him tomorrow.

But you’re not here.

Matt’s conflicted. Should he try to find you? Does he have any right to? What would you think of him if he did? Should he stay and wait, see if you show up late? Wait until tomorrow before truly worrying?

Something is wrong.

The thought won’t leave him. What started as a scratch has turned into claws digging into his gut, trying to pull him forward toward—

Where would he even look for you?

Matt stops a few feet away from the bench. He hadn’t realized he had even started moving.

Where would he look for you? He doesn’t know where you live or the route you take. Finding you would be nearly impossible.

Except he hears the faintest trace of your voice. He’s familiar with the cadence, matching perfectly with the one in his memory.

Matt follows without a thought, crossing into the street and forcing someone to slam on their breaks to avoid hitting him with their car. He tries not to run, instead staying at a fast-paced walk. You don’t sound like you’re hurt. In fact, you’re…humming?

Matt forces himself to stop. The tune sounds familiar, but in his panic, he can’t quite place it before you stop.

Maybe…maybe you are fine, and you just… didn’t want to see him anymore, unable to find the same comfort in him that he found in you. His stomach sours at the thought, his face twisted at the small pain in his chest.

And then he hears something else.

“I miss you.”

Your voice is so quiet, and Matt is so far away he almost misses it. The pain in his chest eases, but now he’s less sure about what to do.

You’re clearly unharmed, but Matt remembers what you said to each other that second day.

Neither of you are okay.

And you wouldn’t have kept coming back for days if you hadn’t found some sort of stability, some familiarity in him.

Matt keeps walking. You’ve stopped talking, but he has a decent idea where you are. He doesn’t think you moved, either. If you do, Matt’s sure he’ll be able to follow you easily, especially now that he’s caught your heartbeat.

Within minutes, he finds you sitting on some other bench, hunched forward, holding something in your hands. There’s saline in the air around you. You’ve been crying. There aren’t any tears on your cheeks now, but he can tell your eyelids are swollen from earlier.

Matt stands there, taking you in, unsure if he should approach or walk by and hope you’ll say something. He licks his lips and starts forward, decided. When he gets close enough to the bench, Matt taps the end with his cane before sliding it along the ground to hit your foot.

Startled, you jerk your feet back as he says, “Sorry, is this seat taken?”

“Matt?” you ask, confused when you see him standing next to you. “You…left your bench.”

“I…did.” He was in such a rush to find you that he hadn’t considered that you would find it strange for him to be somewhere else.

“Why?”

Matt flounders for a moment, unable to tell you the truth, before repeating something you said to him. “I needed to change my bench.”

You nod in understanding, believing he could no longer sit somewhere that held so many memories—the reason you had to change your route.

You slide down the bench. “Sit.”

The usual silence falls between you as Matt takes the spot next to you, but he isn’t comfortable in it this time. You’re staring at the thing in your hands and chewing your lip. Matt shifts in his seat, unable to maintain his usual stillness. He doesn’t know where to go from here. He didn’t come up with a plan.

“Do you like this place?” you ask suddenly.

“The…city?” Now it’s Matt’s turn to be confused.

You laugh lightly. “The bakery.” You tilt your head back to gesture. “Behind us,” you say when you remember he can’t see.

Matt has been so focused on you that he blocked everything else out. Now, as he takes in the space around him, the scent of all sorts of baked goods wafting over him from the building only feet away. He doesn’t even need his heightened sense for it. It’s a bit of a wonder, he thinks, that it’s still open.

“I’ve never actually been here,” he admits. “Have you?” As soon as he says it, he realizes that the thing in your hands is a cupcake and that you’ve just come from the bakery yourself.

“Yeah,” you say softly, focusing intently on the desert. “It’s my sister’s favorite place. Was her favorite.”

With those words, you start crying. For the first time, you cross the unspoken line between you to not talk about whoever you lost. You both avoided the topic not to create a barrier or to keep from knowing too much about each other but because it was too hard. Your tears are evidence. But even still, you told him.

Matt is shocked but won’t stop you if you are ready to take that step.

“What’s her name?” he asks gently, careful not to pry too deeply. When your breath hitches, he reaches out, fingers brushing your forearm.

“Elizabeth. Lizzie. She was my best friend.” Raising a hand, you wipe your face. “It’s her birthday.”

Matt lets out a breath, practically feeling your pain. No wonder you’re so upset, why you left yesterday.

“Here,” you say suddenly before Matt can speak. “It’s a cupcake.”

“Isn’t it for her? Shouldn’t you eat it?” he asks, yet reaches for it anyway. You wince as you set the cupcake in his hand.

“I actually hate red velvet. It was always her favorite flavor. Uh…I heard it’s good, though,” you awkwardly assure, making Matt let out a soft chuckle.

“We’ll find out.” Matt starts peeling the wrapper off but doesn’t take a bite. Instead, he sits there, wondering if he should share with you what he lost. If he even can.

But he wants to try.

“When I was a kid,” he starts slowly, finding the words and prying them out from that place in his heart where he locked them away.

“I lost my dad and grew up in the orphanage just behind the church we sit at.”

You stay silent, letting Matt speak, giving him your rapt attention. It seems you’re just as shocked that he’s sharing with you.

“I didn’t really have anyone growing up. And then I met Foggy while I was in college. And Karen a couple of years ago. And then, a few months ago, I…found my mother in that very church. Maggie.” A fond smile finds its way onto Matt’s face. He hasn’t said any of their names in so long. It feels good.

But it quickly falls.

“They’re gone now,” he finishes. He doesn’t need to explain how.

You reach out, taking Matt’s free hand in your own and intertwining your fingers. He feels the warmth radiating from you, driving away the permanent chill in his bones.

“I don’t think I’ll ever stop missing her,” you say.

“I know I won’t stop wishing they were still here.” Matt feels tears starting to well up in his eyes. But his hands are full, and he can’t wipe away the tear that slips down his cheek.

“Do you want to be friends, Matt?” you ask, a spark of hope filling you, making a small smile appear on your face.

The two of you weren’t yet friends, despite how much time you spent together on the bench. You never shared enough, never talked enough for it to happen.

Matt nods and squeezes your hand.

“I’d like that.”

And unbeknownst to the other, you both think that now that you’ve met, you’ll be able to get through the rest of this life together and, perhaps, be happy.

[thecraftywriter]

Our Corner of the Universe - Part 1

And the winner of the Drake x reader Valentine's Day poll was "post-canon hospital confession. You help each other recover. Feelings ensue." Man, you all really like him sad and a little roughed up, huh?

This got out of hand quickly, and I wanted to do the character justice, so this will be a Part 1 of at least 3. I'll cross-post to ao3 when it's completed.

The one positive thing you could say about the GS General Hospital was that it had a nice view.

The large-windowed room, high on the fourth floor, with places for patients to sit and relax, offered a beautiful view of the stars. You didn’t know their names, but the fact that it was the same stars every night comforted you. They were the one constant thing in your days, which had quickly become a maze of medical jargon, arguing doctors, and tests.

And what was the point of it all? You would never be fit for active duty again. That was a fact. Why split hairs over the details? What no one seemed to be talking about was what would happen to you now. Where did you fit now that the life you’d led for nearly two decades was over? Sometimes, you wondered if it would have been better for the field medics to have been a little slower, a little less competent.

So, you sat, evening after evening in the room the nurses called the observatory, and stared into the night sky. You let your thoughts loose and, when they got lost in dark places, you used the gleam of the stars to pull you back. 

One day, nearly a week after you’d started your nightly ritual, the sky split open and pounded GS with the worst storm you’d seen in years. By nightfall, the rain had abated, but the clouds hid your stars. You sat in the observatory anyway, waiting for a glimmer to drive away some of the gloom that had settled over your thoughts. Not even the smallest light appeared.

As you mourned your lost stars and contemplated a pity party in your own bed, the door clicked open.

You almost always had this place to yourself. You turned.

A tall man was ducking under the doorframe. He had an officer’s jacket wrapped around him. You couldn’t make out the rank insignia, but it had to be higher than yours.

You didn’t have the heart to salute. He could kick you out of here for insubordination if he wanted, but you couldn’t muster any strong feelings about it. You glanced down at your hands. The skin was dry and cracking. You had meant to ask the nurse for lotion, but it kept slipping your mind.

The man sat in the chair two away from yours and stared intently into the cloud-covered sky. His gaze traveled from one corner to the other, as if he could see something you couldn’t. The sight was one more stupid and useless thing on top of a day filled with stupid and useless things.

“There’s nothing to see,” you snapped. Oh, you were definitely getting kicked out for this.

The man turned to you, frowned, and blinked, as if noticing you for the first time.

“I know,” he said. With his face turned to you, even in the dim light, you could make out some of his features. He had a solid face, the square jaw still set in a frown. A bandage was wrapped around his forehead. Above and around it, his air stuck up and out at gravity-defying angles.

“So, why look at all?”

“Because I know where the stars are supposed to be.” He shrugged and went back to staring.

You were left alone with your thoughts and a still-dark sky. The weight of it all was pressing in on you, and your mind started to spiral into bleaker and bleaker possibilities.

“H-hey,” your voice hitched. Damnit, you were not going to cry in front of some stranger. You swallowed and said again, throat tight. “Can you tell me…where they’re supposed to be?”

After a moment, the man slipped one bandaged arm out from under his jacket. He pointed to the top centermost square in the grid of panes that made up the observatory’s window.

“Starting from twelve o’clock, that’s the tail of the Great Sea King. There’s a trail of stars that form his body with the head at two o’clock. Just below that are the points of the Twin Crowns…”

You nodded. His voice was calm, even. In your mind, the stars lit up again at his words. You were still on the verge of tears, but you no longer felt unmoored or adrift in your own thoughts.

Midway through the sky, the man paused and cleared his throat.

“That’s probably enough. You don’t really want to hear about all of them…”

“No, I do,” you choked out. Even if the low light hid your face, there was no hiding the emotion in your voice. You stared intently into your lap. “Please, keep going.”

For a moment, it was so quiet in the observatory that you were certain he had left, but you didn’t dare look. You rubbed at the dry skin on your hands, at the cracks that were forming, and waited.

In the silence, you heard another throat clear, and then -

“Counter-clockwise from the Sea King’s tail, there’s the tip of the Giant’s spear. Follow the spear down to the Giant’s feet, and you’ll see the bow of the Longship…”

You let him continue, and when his narration wrapped back around to the tip of the Sea King’s tail and the mental map of the sky was completed, you let out a low whistle.

“That was impressive.”

“I’m sure it sounded a little dry…,” he said, frowning again.

“Not at all! It was - honestly, it was the best thing I could have heard in that moment. How long did it take you to memorize them all?”

“Just a few months, but I was a teenager and…needed something to occupy my mind.”

“Man, all I did as a teenager was sneak out late and bum around with friends.”

“Sounds nice,” the man said. You were about to rib him for the sarcasm, when the tone of his voice and his still grim face finally registered. There were no jokes, no sarcasm; he was perfectly earnest.

There were a few moments in your life where the knowledge that other people had an existence as layered and complex as your own, with thoughts just as deep and winding, hit you and made you feel small. This was one of those moments.

You didn’t know this man. You’d probably never meet again after tonight, but however he’d come to be here and wherever he was going next, you sincerely wished him well.

Before you could formulate any words of thanks or best wishes, the observatory door opened.

It was the night nurse, with a friendly but stern reminder that, at 2200, all patients were expected to be back in their beds.

The man stood up, nodded at you, and left without a word. You hung around a moment more, throwing one last glance at the overcast sky. The clouds over your own thoughts had started to lighten. If talking to a real person for half an hour could do so much, maybe the doctors should start prescribing it.