#growing sideways is his song and sometimes I just gotta cry about it

[terrywho-cartoons]

But I ignore things, and I move sideways

Until I forget what I felt like in the first place.

At the end of the day I know there are worst ways to stay alive.

[junicai]

ridin’ n rollin’.

| order no. | 8/21

| summary | When the world is already off kilter, should you not free fall down to meet it? 

| word count | 2.4k

| warnings | injuries

| era | circa. April 2020

Aria stumbled into the changing rooms, fist shoved into her mouth to stop the broken cry from jumping out on the wave of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes. Her free hand was pulling at the mic pack, desperately trying to unwind it from where it was tucked in on the waistband of her trousers. 

A pair of hands joined her, unravelling the wires quickly and efficiently. Once the mic pack was removed, it was handed off to someone else - Aria wasn’t sure who - and she was being spun around to face a concerned Renjun.

“What happened?” He demanded, already searching the rest of her body for injuries. 

Aria didn’t know. 

The day had started off on the wrong foot; like god himself had woken up on the wrong side of the bed. 

Donghyuck had stumbled into the bathroom at six in the morning, and his retching woke up Jisung who was sleeping next door. The maknae had sleepily shuffled into the bathroom to see what was wrong, but when he was greeted with a shivering Donghyuck clutching to the toilet bowl like a lifeline, the tall boy snapped awake. 

Aria had been woken up, and then Jeno, and Renjun and Jaemin woke up soon afterwards from all the noise caused by the commotion. 

It took them two hours, but by eight, Donghyuck was curled miserably into the corner of the couch, pale cheeks contrasted by a bright red flush sitting high on his cheekbones. A waste bin was placed on the floor in front of him, and two fever reducers were all but force-fed to the boy.

At first, Donghyuck had adamantly refused to take them; saying that he wasn’t sick, he had just eaten something that hadn’t agreed with him and he was fine now, see? 

Aria all but scoffed at that. She held it in, because she knew she’d be doing the exact same thing, would she be in his position. The broadcast performance was scheduled to be filmed that evening, and no one liked stepping down. Not even for a day. 

It was only when Aria had fixed him with a pleading look, eyes wide and worried, that Donghyuck caved. The two pills were swallowed, and when he was once again comfortably swaddled in as many blankets as they could salvage from around the dorm did the members return to their own morning routine. 

After all; the world doesn’t stop turning for a sick member, although sometimes Aria wished it did. She hated to leave Donghyuck alone; and she knew he’d never admit it to them, but he hated it to. 

All of them did, really. It was visible in the way that Jeno had put the back of his hand up to Donghyuck’s forehead three times in the last ten minutes; in the way Jisung was hovering anxiously, waiting for an instruction to go get a glass of water or another pillow; the way that Renjun had only rolled his eyes a tiny bit when Donghyuck insisted he was well enough to perform but stumbled backwards onto the couch when he attempted to stand up. Jaemin had lunged for his arm, catching the sick boy before he could do himself some more damage. 

The van had pulled up outside the dorms several hours later; and Donghyuck had waved them a sullen goodbye from his position on the couch. Aria closed the door behind her, but not before reminding him again to take another fever reducer in an hour, and to keep himself hydrated.

Donghyuck had rolled his eyes, and told her to stop worrying. “You’ll turn yourself grey, mom.” 

Aria had narrowed her eyes and stuck out her tongue, swinging the door shut. She relished in the bright burst of laughter that echoed through the hall. 

The journey to the venue was quiet. 

As was the changing room - the only noise coming softly from Chenle’s earbuds that he’d put in the second they’d located their room, and the soft bustling of the stylists as they moved around the members. 

Aria was tensed in her chair, anxiety running up and down her spine at the thought of something happening to Donghyuck while they were gone.

What if his fever spiked again? 

What if he fell and didn’t have the strength to get up? 

What if-

“Noona.” Jisung’s voice dragged Aria out from her own head. His larger hand encircled her smaller one, gently but firmly unravelling the fingers that were digging her nails into her palm. 

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. “Thanks, Sung.” She whispered, patting his hand lightly. 

Jisung made no move to leave, and instead took up the vacant spot beside her on the plastic-covered sofa in the corner of the room. “You’re worried.” He stated. 

Aria turned to look at him. Jisung had lost a lot of the baby fat from his cheeks that year - accentuating his jawline. He looked older, more mature. It suited him, she decided. Maturity was something he wore like it belonged on him; settling like the sun sets comfortably without fail. 

“We all are.” Aria sighed out eventually, taking a glance around the room. Jaemin was laid back in the chair as a stylist worked on fluffing up his hair, keyboard clicking obnoxiously as he typed on his phone. 

Normally the sound would bother Jeno - who was sitting adjacent, in a similar position - was it not for his phone making identical clicks. 

Aria couldn’t blame them; she’d turned her phone off silent the second they’d left the dorms in case Donghyuck called one of them. 

If the boy knew how frazzled the group was without him there, he’d have a fit. He’d never let them live it down. 

“It’s hyung, noona. He’ll be fine.” Jisung said, nodding resolutely. 

“He will, Sung. He’ll be fine, and then we can all go back to complaining about his presence.” Renjun made his presence known as he entered the room, directing his attention towards the pair immediately. 

“Ari, they’re looking for you for mic check.” He said, jerking his head over his shoulder. 

“Right, okay. Thanks, Injunnie.”

The following thirty minutes passed in a smushed blur of costume fittings, foundation brushes and an uncomfortably suffocating amount of hairspray. Aria was coughing by the time the stylist let up, waving a hand to try and disperse the smell. 

“Ari? We gotta go.” Jeno called, already halfway out the door. 

“C-coming,” She choked out, eyes watering slightly but determined not to wipe at them, less she end up with a streak of black across her cheek. 

By the time Aria had met up with the others in the wings, sliding her in-ears in, her breathing had steadied, and a little knot was beginning to form in the bottom of her stomach. She still got nervous before performing - didn’t think it ever really went away completely - but those were normally excited nerves.

This pit that was slowly growing felt foreboding. 

It went ignored, sliding under the radar as her in-ears began the steady metronome click that she’d become so accustomed to. She zoned out, and zoned back in, body moving in time with the others in flawless unity. 

Dancing without a member always felt off - felt empty, but it was nothing the group hadn’t dealt with previously. They knew the formations, knew who took what lines to fill in, and where their positions changed to keep formations looking slick and clean and not like one of them had been knocked over like a bowling pin; out for the count. 

Aria stepped backwards to let Chenle take her place as centre. Her mind was busy, tracking Jaemin’s positioning and making sure she stayed far enough away to give him space; so when a heavy, piercing sound ran through her right ear, she hardly registered it. 

It took her a moment, but her gasp of pain was heard over the microphones, a both hands coming to clap over her ear as the in-ear continued to bleed head-scrambling sounds into her brain. Aria tilted sideways, knees crumbling beneath her as she lost her balance and went crashing to the floor. 

She didn’t hear the gasp that floated up around the room; skimming right over her head that was pounding like a sledgehammer. Her hands scratched at the floor, trying for purchase and finding none.

Jeno, behind her was already half-dancing his way closer to her, and trying to help her back up without completely abandoning the song entirely. Aria’s breath was coming fast; the tech team having enough sense to cut her mic for the time being. 

When a half bar of silence sounded instead of Aria’s vocals, Chenle stepped in, ever the professional, singing her lines for her as the girl tried to regain her balance. 

Despite Jeno’s insistent push towards the wings, Aria shook her head minutely at the boy, rejoining the second last chorus. She could feel the boys’ eyes on her, burning into her back.

The in-ears bounced around her neck on their chords, having unconsciously tugged them out from her ears. 

Per the formation, there was to be a metre and a half gap in between each member, but Jaemin paid no mind to that, coming to stand almost directly beside her in the final few bars of the song; completely prepared to catch her should she take another stumble.

Aria was the first off the stage, stumbling over her own legs.

She stumbled into the changing rooms, fist shoved into her mouth to stop the broken cry from jumping out on the wave of tears that threatened to spill from her eyes.

Her vision swam like she was sea-sick.

With her free hand pulling at the mic pack, desperately trying to unwind it from where it was tucked in on the waistband of the orange trousers, her breath was coming in heavy, shallow gasps.

A pair of hands joined her, unravelling the wires quickly and efficiently. Once the mic pack was removed, it was handed off to someone else - Aria wasn’t sure who - and she was being spun around to face a concerned Renjun.

“What happened?” He demanded, already searching the rest of her body for injuries.

“I don’t- I can’t- ringing-” Aria gasped, hands coming to clutch at Renjun’s jacket. “My ear, it’s- it’s ringing, I can’t-” 

“Ari, I need you to breath, hold on a second, okay?” Renjun asked, shooting a look at Jaemin, who went to gently pull off Aria’s sweat-soaked jacket. 

She sunk to the ground, knees giving out for a second time. Renjun followed her, Jeno’s arms slipping beneath her armpits to stop her hitting the ground too hard. 

The only sound in the room was Aria’s uneven breathing, coming in irregular pants and choking her. 

The members settled around her, but being mindful to stay a comfortable distance away. Should Aria slip too far into her own mind, too many hands could send her flying into another panic.

“I can’t hear.” Aria whispered eventually, hands still maintaining their tight grip on Renjun’s jacket. He inhaled sharply, turning to face her dead on. 

“What? What do you mean you can’t hear?” He questioned, his own hands moving to gently grip the sides of her face. 

“Ringing,” Was the only explanation that Aria offered, canting sideways in his grip. 

Renjun choked lightly, trying to hold her upright. “No no, Ari, you gotta stay sitting like this, okay? What happened?” 

Chenle and Jeno exchanged a glance. 

“Did she hit her head?” Chenle asked.

Jeno instantly shook his head. “No, I saw her fall. She was clutching at,” he pointed. “Her right ear though.” 

Renjun looked back to him, before returning his focus to Aria. “Hey, Ari? Ari, your ear is ringing, right? Am I right?” 

Aria nodded slowly. 

“Okay, that’s okay. Was the feed too loud, or something?” 

This time, Aria shook her head, lifting a hand to mime an explosion by the ear. “Was like it exploded.” 

Jisung looked frantic. “Did her earpiece blow up?!” 

Jaemin emerged from the doorway, a mic pack clutched in his hand and a dark look on his face. “Feedback.” He grit out. “Mic pack malfunctioned, sent nearly 120 decibels into her right ear.” 

Jaemin held up the offending piece of equipment. “It even fried the voice coils.” 

Renjun was trying to keep Aria from slipping sideways. “What does that mean?” 

“It means, Ari just got blasted with the sound of a fire cracker right in her eardrum. It’ll be ringing for a while.” Jaemin moved to crouch behind Aria, taking some of the weight from him. 

“Permanently?” Jisung asked.

“They don’t know, but probably not. It’s mostly the shock of it, that causes ringing, I think.” 

Jeno swiped a hand over Aria’s forehead, swooping the hair back from her face. She whimpered at the act, nosing her way closer to the hand. Leaning down to her left ear, Jeno lowered his voice to let him whisper gently. 

“Hey, baby,” He began, keeping his voice level. “You’re gonna be okay, alright?” 

Renjun’s arms tightened around Aria’s middle, and it wasn’t long until Jisung and Chenle moved forwards to do the same. 

“The in-ear got a little loud, that’s all,” Jeno continued, hand coming to gently flick at her right ear. “No explosions - your ear is still there. Do you want to try standing up with me?”

At Aria’s mild agreement, Jeno shifted into a crouch and the multiple pairs of arms around her waist loosened minutely.

“You’ll be a bit off balance, baby, but that’s fine. That’s normal, and you’re okay. If you feel like you’re going to fall, then I can carry you, okay?” 

“So, what I’m hearing is, we’re never using in-ears again?” Donghyuck whisper-yelled from his position on the couch; Aria tucked into his chest. 

His fever had broken while they had gone, and their manager suspected it was just a twenty four hour bug.

Aria shifted slightly, whining at the noise, and Donghyuck instantly began crooning at her, whispering soft words of comfort in her left ear to get her to go back to sleep. 

Renjun rolled his eyes. “Jaemin considered it.” 

“Hyung looked like he wanted to murder someone.” 

"I still do."

[lord-explosion-baku]

Sorrow

Yandere Siren/Fae!Hawks x Reader

Warnings: Yandere content, survivalism, pain, slight blood, suggestive adult content

A/N: This is one of the fics I was gonna post in October, but didn’t finish it on time, but I guess that means I can be a spooky dude all year round.

Tears may be cheap, but you keep them sacred.

Your captor has taken almost everything away from you: your body, your mind, your freedom, but you will not be giving him your sorrow. That will stay buried, locked away inside your chest, where the key lies somewhere he will never get to. You know he wants it. He’d told you as much.

“I’ve committed all of your expressions to memory,” he’d said one night after you nearly bit his tongue off. He’d used his song to ease you into a half-lucid state, where he kept you in his lap, wrapped tightly in his arms, shrouded in his wings. “The scorch in your hateful eyes when you wish you could fight me. The tremble in your delicious pout when you wish you could resist me. The furrow in those beautiful brows when I have you forfeited to the pleasure I give you after a battle you wish you could have won.”

Air-light fingers brushed down your cheek. He’d grabbed you by the chin, and tilted your head so that your gaze was locked in with his.

“Do I really gotta sing every time I want you to surrender, little dove?”

His fingers tip-toed down your chest, past your opened blouse. His thumb encircled your nipple until it puckered for him. He’d given it a teasing pinch. You’d stifled a moan lodged in your throat. He’d noticed.

“Aren’t you sorry for hurting me?”

You remember how good it felt to have him kneading at your chest. How his breath was nothing short of intoxicating. How you wanted nothing more than to lean into him—to kiss him—to put your hands all over him. You also remember that the only reason you wanted any of that was due to his song—his sweet siren lullaby.

“Tell me you’re sorry, angel,” he’d said, cupping your face with his free hand. His thumb slid across your cheek, under your eye. You’d known he wanted to see you cry so badly. You would not.

You’d shaken your head, and took note of the twitch in his feathered eyebrows.

His hands had moved through your hair then, lightly pulling through your roots. That was when he’d parted his lips, and began to sing.

Kiego has three songs committed to memory: one to lull you to sleep, one to make you more suggestable in the bedroom, and one to beckon you to him. The song he’d sang for you that night was the suggestable one—the mesmeric tune that made you turn around so that your knees were on either side of his thighs, the one that made you melt into his embrace, the one that made you his.

You’ve always wondered why? Why you? Out of anybody in the world, the siren had grown to have an obsessive infatuation with you. At times, you have thought that if it hadn’t been you, it would be another unfortunate soul in your place—somebody else that might not be able to withstand him, or somebody else who would actively enjoy his company. But during the times he sings for you, you don’t think. You don’t have to.

When he sang to you that night, all you could think about was giving him everything he wanted; however, the stubborn sore in your heart still clung on to the idea that he would not have you in tears.

“Say you’re sorry,” he’d commanded again between slow, sensuous kisses.

And you’d responded with: “never.”

Since then, you’ve been good. You’ve been obedient. You’ve given him everything except your tears. If you don’t stick to your ideals, then you really do have nothing.

However, when one only has so little to lose, and so much more to gain, one becomes reckless. First, your recklessness comes in mere thoughts—creeping visions of harming your winged abuser, which proves as dangerous, seeing as he’s stronger than you, faster than you, and has that pesky siren song. Then, you’ve begun thinking about running. The closer, more agreeable you become, the more he lets his guard down. Unbeknownst to him, you’ve begun learning his schedule: when he eats, when he hunts, when he sleeps, and what wakes him.

Comfort and praise seems to be the ticket to getting him to trust you more. Each night, you stroke his wings, you kiss his neck, you tell him his voice is gorgeous, fathomless, and irresistible. He thinks he has you under his spell—maybe he does, a little bit—but you’re not completely lost to him. You know that you have to leave. You know that you will leave. You’ve just got to figure out when.

It happens early in the morning.

The night before, he’d brought home spirits for you and him to drink. The two of you toasted to each other, danced together, and drank together. But he hadn’t seen that most of what had been in your glass went discarded in one of the potted plants full of herbs and berries he has allowed you to tend to. He hadn’t seen when you spiked his glass with a concoction you’d been working on for weeks with the herbs and berries he’d allowed you to tend to. He hadn’t noticed when his eyes grew drowsy, and he fell into bed with you in tow, you eased away from him, waiting for his breathing to slow.

The sun’s not up yet, but you know you have to leave. When you’re ready, you tie your boots, stock some food and water, and despite everything he’s put you through, you kiss him. Once. A sort of farewell, thanks for the memories, I won’t be missing you, you piece of chicken shit.

The departure is soundless—something you’re not used to due to Kiego’s constant singing, crooning, and happy little chirps. His guard had been down the night before, so there aren't as many safety precautions to heed as you silently maneuver your way to escape his loft.

When you’re out, you’re out. Free. Running. The most you can do to not shriek with glee and alert him of your escape is to keep your goal in mind: Find civilization. Find help. Hide. Keep running. Whatever you need to do to keep your safe stead.

At least, that’s always been the plan. You hadn’t accounted for the landscape. In fact, you’ve only ever seen a fraction of the surrounding parameters of his loft. You don’t know about the drop-off point by the outer edge of the woods. The whispering oranges of dawn have only just cracked through the trees, so you don’t see the danger when you slip on some foliage and are sent spiraling. Falling, rolling, screaming, until you catch yourself on a tree. Rather, your body wraps around a tree, which nearly knocks the wind out of you.

Groaning, you lay there for a while and breathe. The air filling up your lungs is frigid. Deadly. A part of you wants to fall asleep, find warmth in your dreams. A part of you knows that if you do that, you might catch hypothermia and die.

So you stand.

The world is dizzying. Trees tilt, while shrubs and rocks spin around you. Your first few steps are a sideways hustle. You’re like a toddler first learning to walk. There’s a sharp pain in your leg, and it takes everything out of you not to look down. If you think you’re seriously injured, you’ll give up. You hadn’t packed anything for first aid, and even if you had, you’ve lost your water and food during the fall.

You’re not sure which way to walk for a few minutes. You’re dawdling, finding your footing. The destination should be away from the drop-off, so you slowly make your way down the hill, sitting and scooting when you’re unsure if you’ll fall again.

It’s only when you find solid ground again that you hear him. His song. Some new hypnotic tune, miles away, reverberating throughout the forest. It’s nothing short of haunting and you don’t spare another second to listen. He’s awake. He knows you’re gone.

The next mile is clumsier than before. Though you’re sure not to fall, your balance is off, and your body slams into a dozen trees. Sometimes it’s because you can’t help it, while you often just need one to hold you up so you can breathe. Your palms cover your ears the entire time, and even still, his song gets louder. Invasive. He’s growing nearer. If you don’t hide, he will find you.

By nothing short of a miracle, you find a large tree where the trunk is hollowed out. You crawl in, allowing your hands to touch the ground, away from your ears for only a moment, but a moment is all the song needs.

Suddenly, you’re struck with an aching. It’s anguish. Mourning. Sorrowful remembrance. Your chest constricts with a dire need to release, but you don’t go so far to ponder exactly what it is trying to crawl its way up your esophagus. You hold back your emotions with what’s left of your strength, while you try to keep your breathing steady.

Through the cracks in the trunk, you see a flash of brilliant crimson. The ground thuds with his landing. It’s silent for a moment, until his song starts up again. You keep your palms clamped over your ears while you bury your head between your knees. You’ll stay like that for however long is needed. You will not allow yourself to be seduced or lulled or beckoned. You will not be found.

There’s no telling how much time has passed. Seconds crawl to minutes, and minutes crawl to excruciating tension. You’re not aware of the end of his song until you use your hand to wipe at your leg. It’s sticky, probably from blood, but you won’t think about it until you’re safe.

It has to have been awhile since he’s scoured the area. You army crawl out of the tree, chest scraping away at the frosty, dirt floor. The sun is barely peeking up through the trees, and you allow its warmth to touch your mud-caked skin.

In the distance, there’s smoke. With a bit of walking, you see a fire pit, and someone in a black, wool cloak sitting by it.

Picking up your pace, you call out to him, but your voice cracks to only a squeak. Still, the hooded man looks up at you. You hope he can see that you’re hurt, recognize that you’re in need of first aid. He can shelter you, take you back to civilization, and save you.

But while you half-hazardly bound towards him, you’re pushed to the side. Rather, you’re zooming through the air, unable to utter a scream, until your back slams into a tree.

Despite the pain, the loss of energy, you writhe and howl under Keigo’s harsh scrutiny. His wings spread out, taking a predatory stance, while desperate amber eyes search your body. Though his face doesn’t show a hint of malice, you know the trouble you’re in. His lips part, and an unfamiliar melody begins.

“No!!!!!” Your hands fly up to your ears, but he catches them in a vice grip, pinning them back against the giant tree’s trunk. He begins to sing and you know you’ve lost.

Loss. That’s what this is—his song. Unbridled, unrelenting grief. The tune sweeps across your feet, slowly creeping up your body. It hugs your waist as it wraps around you, squeezing as it coils. You choke as the substantial heartache clogs your throat with the emotions you’ve been repressing for months.

Tears burn your lower lashes and your vision blurs. You blink, and a hot stream runs down your cheek. Though Keigo continues to sing, you see a subtle tilt to his mouth. While your body slackens, too tired to fight him off any longer, he cups your face and pulls you into him before you can crumple. He pets your beat up, bruised back, and coos.

“Sneaky little bird.” There are two octaves in Keigo’s voice as he speaks to you, as if two people were speaking at once. “I’ve been worried sick about you.”

A part of his statement is true. You can feel it. His songs reflect his emotions and desires, and he wouldn’t be able to create this relentless melody unless he, too, felt the way it made you feel. But you also hear the triumph on his tenor. He has obtained what he’s always wanted: the key to that sacred place in your heart you wouldn’t allow him to venture to. There’s no saying that he doesn’t now own you completely.

“My sweet angel, what am I going to do with you?” As he speaks, you cling to him, knitting your nails into his shirt.

“I’m s-sorry.” It’s a faint croak, but it’s all you have to offer him. It’s all you can do to stop more renegade tears from staining his shirt. His chest shakes as he chuckles.

A twig snaps in the near distance. Keigo sharply turns towards the noise, and wraps an arm around your waist, one of his wings shrouding you slightly. Through his puffed out feathers, you see the man from the fire pit standing near a tree. He eyes the both of you with intrigue, but not concern. You cast him a pleading look, and you know he sees you, but all he does is sigh.

There’s a low, sort of echoing growl coming from deep within your captor’s chest. It’s menacingly territorial, but the cloaked man doesn’t react. Instead, he steps back and into the tree. Not like he stepped into the tree, rather, at one point he was a man, and now he is the tree. Two separate objects becoming one.

Keigo lets out an annoyed grunt, and in one swift movement, hoists you into his arms, carrying you in bridal style. He looks down at your leg, which you can now see has a giant scarlet puddled gash in it.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” he says while his wings begin to flap. The gusts blow foliage around you as you lift off the ground, and Keigo offers you a sort of sweet, conjugal smile. “After that, we can discuss your...punishment.”

A sob tears out from your throat. Keigo tuts, cradling you closer to his chest.

“You don’t have to worry, little dove. Though, I do promise to be gentle, don’t expect me to act like a gentleman. You’ve put us through the ringer today, and once you’re healed and healthy, we’ll work on all the ways you’ll be apologizing. Until then, let’s go home.”

Home. The place where Keigo will have you locked away in his birdcage of a loft. The place where you give him your body, your mind, your freedom, and now, even your sorrow.

While the two of you take flight, you think to cry some more--to let it all out of your system before you have your captor’s undivided attention. But as he flies, he hums a tune, and soon your eyelids fall, and you slacken in his embrace.

[quirklove]

I beg of you- some soft Tomura, Compress, and Setsuno headcanons, please. I’m on my simp shit rn

aw, you don’t have to beg!! I’m constantly on simp mode for these babes

soft soft soft soft!!!!

ATSUHIRO

Is always humming something or other when he’s around his S/O. It might be an old nursery rhyme that’s stuck in his head, it might be some catchy pop tune that he keeps hearing on the radio, it might even be their favorite song. He’s nearly always an outgoing personality, but his S/O makes him so happy it puts that extra little spring in his step.

He’s a man of culture, (Name)! Somewhere he has a small stash of money from his past that he can draw on, so every once in a while, he likes to treat his friends and his S/O. (Most of the time, that cash goes to making sure they all actually have enough to eat or emergency supplies, and it’s obviously not too much money, so he doesn’t do this horribly often.) If anyone else will join him in disguise, he might be inclined to go with his S/O to a play or musical… perhaps even a ballet if the tickets are affordable enough. If no one else comes, ah, that’s alright; he’ll go with (Name) anyway, then bring back a slightly nicer dinner than normal for everyone else so that they aren’t left out. Maybe once or twice a year he does this, so everyone better enjoy it!

Noooo, he doesn’t wear the balaclava when he goes to bed, nor is it the first thing he puts on in the morning. He loves those times ― lying down to sleep and waking up. He gets to feel so vulnerable and exposed with his S/O, having them stare at him with his entire face uncovered, feeling their hands run through his hair like only ever allows in private. Plus, the fact that their gorgeous face is the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes in the morning? God. He’s gone soft. At least that softness is only for them, otherwise he might have a problem.

He likes to play cards with his friends and S/O if they’re not busy. No missions means he’s at the bar playing poker with Kurogiri, or war with Dabi, or… well, all Tomura ever plays is let me turn the cards to dust because fuck your games, Compress. What a brat!! One can practically see his face light up behind whatever mask he has on when (Name) asks him to teach them a game.

No matter what, he makes the extremely conscious effort to always give his S/O some gesture of affection before he goes off on a mission. Whether it’s tipping his mask to lovingly kiss their cheek, giving their fingers a passionate squeeze, or pulling them close for a gentle hug, he won’t leave without doing it. It’s a subtle way of saying goodbye, just in case things might go sideways. He acknowledges that the League’s affairs are incredibly dangerous and illegal; they could all die on any mission. He wants his beloved’s potential last memory of him to be something good. If he ends up dead, he doesn’t want them left with any doubt as to the fact that whatever else is true, he adores them very, very much and wants them to be happy.

TOMURA

Nightmares are a frequent thing with him, unfortunately. Sometimes it takes the form of memories, remembering the night his Quirk activated, leaving him with the image of crying in the middle of a circle made of his family’s corpses. Sometimes it’s a horrifying scenario in which Decay works on him, where he wraps his arms around himself and feels himself disintegrate piece by piece. Sometimes it’s his literal worst nightmare, a scene where he touches his friends or his S/O and they turn to dust in his fingers. Sometimes he wakes up screaming, his hands balled into fists so hard his nails are digging crescents into his palms and drawing blood, just so he can’t hurt anyone he cares about. Having his S/O take him in their arms and hold him close, kissing his face, whispering that he’s safe, reminding him that they’re here for him… he might not get back to sleep, but he finds comfort enough to stop crying within an hour.

There is one lone, solitary, singular way (Name) can get him to wear lip balm. That would be… to apply a surplus of it to their own lips, and proceed to give him as many kisses as he’ll allow them to in one go. Sure, the chapped lips aren’t unattractive ― but they’ve gotta hurt like hell. Just let your loving S/O lessen your pain a little, Tomura, you gigantic baby!! Also, they should pick a novelty flavor when they do this. It increases the number of kisses he’ll accept when their lips taste like vanilla frosting or Dr. Pepper.

Is like… the worst at any kind of self-care. He forgets to wash/comb his hair, he definitely doesn’t shower quite enough, he’s had at least one infection from not taking care of the wounds on his neck. The only reason he isn’t dead is Kurogiri, and later gains another reason; his S/O, obviously. Whenever he’s not working on his and All For One’s plans, he’s playing video games, and trying to get him away from that is like pulling teeth. However, his S/O has turned out to be very good at doing that. They can easily entice him with a warm shower together, and he’s pretty sure he’s never felt something as amazing as their fingers massaging his scalp as they wash his hair. Even though the ointment they want to put on his neck smells like medicine, he tolerates it simply because it feels nice when they rub it on. They’re always so gentle with him, and it just about breaks the poor man.

When encouraged and left in a non-stressful environment, Tomura is actually not terrible with children. He’s awkward, sure, he’s grumpy, sure, he doesn’t suffer brats, sure, but all things being equal, he does alright. Most of the time he’s not too scary around kids, or at least doesn’t act scary. (His appearance freaking some of them out, ah… that’s another story.) Though he’d have to do a lot of preparation, he might actually put an incredible amount of effort into learning if he found out he was going to be a father. How the man can’t manage to muster up the motivation needed to wash his clothes before wearing them a second time, yet can summon the will to read a ton of different parenting books, the world will never know. The point stands ― having a child combined with his love for his S/O would be a huge catalyst for his realizing that he doesn’t hate everything and everyone, and the world isn’t all bad.

Whenever he wants to touch his S/O in a sweet, intimate way but doesn’t feel comfortable or safe using most of his hand, he’ll use one finger. He might curl his fingers in to run his thumb gingerly over their cheek, or trace his knuckle down the side of their arm, or use the tip of his index finger to draw down their spine so he can see them arch their back. Tomura has never, ever had this before. Despite knowing he has to be careful, that he wants to be careful with them, there’s something endlessly fascinating to him about seeing how they react pleasantly to his touch when all his touch has ever done before is destroy. This also works in reverse; he wants to experience every possible touch of theirs that they’re willing to afford him.

TOYA

When he sleeps with his S/O, he really, really loves to be the little spoon. (He’s pretty well convinced that anyone who says they don’t, at least from time to time, is a liar!) It makes him feel safe and secure, like everything’s okay, like his S/O cares about him and wants to protect him. If he’s not being the little spoon, and sometimes when he’s the little spoon but facing them, he tends to cling in his sleep. His arms wrap tightly around their waist, his head buried in their chest or their neck or their back. It’s a product of his depressingly possessive nature; he loves them so much, they’re the best thing in his life, and he just… doesn’t want to lose them. Even while he’s asleep, he never wants to let go.

There are times Toya thinks about letting his hair grow out a little longer, to his shoulders maybe. The biggest thing that stops him is that he doesn’t know how he’d look with long hair. He isn’t sure he’d look that great or that he has the face for it! He’s a little afraid that with his more delicate features, having hair longer than it is now would lead to him being mistaken for a woman. If he mentions it to (Name), he might be a little startled by their enthusiastic, “Oh, that would look so charming on you!” coupled with a reassurance that they love his appearance no matter what he decides to do with his look. As far as they’re concerned, even if he ends up not doing it, they’re still going to think he’s the most handsome man ever. Knowing they’d support it, though, makes him think about actually doing it.

He rambles a lot, particularly when he’s feeling anxious. He rambles a lot. That goes along with his hands fidgeting and sometimes his leg bouncing a bit if he’s sitting down. For some reason he finds it hard to sit still or be quiet. He feels the need to fill the silence with something. So he talks, about anything and everything and occasionally about nothing at all. Most of the time only his S/O (or sometimes a friend) placing a hand over his, threading their fingers together, can calm him slightly. Often a gentle kiss when he’s doing the motormouth thing will get his mind to slow down and focus… at least to the point where he kisses back, and happily drowns in them for a while.

While not ‘on the job’, Toya… is usually kind of unsure what to do with his time. He reads, he watches TV a lot, he… sleeps. God, he sleeps. He seems to spend his life in a weird state of either being asleep or seeming wired as hell. There’s not really an in-between for him, at least not for a long time. He has trouble finding balance, especially since he’s so depressed. It seems to other people that he’s got too much energy and doesn’t fit the profile of what many people think a depressed person looks like. In truth, this is probably more accurate than people would like to think ― he hides the fact that he feels numb or sad by masking it with upbeat, happy, sometimes crazed behavior. Thankfully, he can sometimes find real happiness with his S/O, and it’s because of them that he might seek any kind of treatment so that he can feel better more often. Good thing, too, because not only will he be chasing a healthy life… his smile, genuine, painless, unaltered by any kind of forced joy? His true smile is the most beautiful thing.

Okay, but the man… has a serious sweet tooth. Most of the Hassaikai have their own room, and they can fill it however they choose. Toya’s cabinets are filled with nothing but sugary snacks. Even though he does eat regular meals, or at least tries to, he has to have something with sugar nearby to eat between. Chocolate is his favorite; he’ll eat almost any kind of candy, pastry, or even fruit snacks. If his S/O is very lucky, he will share! Pro tip: playing the pocky game with him is guaranteed to end in a cute, maybe steamy makeout session. And kissing any leftover chocolate that gets stuck to his lips? Oh, he’ll blush so hard.

[i-bleed-strawberry-milk]

T e n n i s (Shane Madej x Reader) (Smut Fic)

Request: "pfff uh like best friends who are both sexually frustrated and so they fuck??"

    You and Shane have been good friends for years now, having a weekly movie night has just become a part both of your schedules. Without fail, each week you take turns hosting the night and choosing the movies. Tonight it's your turn and you've decided the theme for the night will be cringey rom-coms. You're on your third movie of the night, you've been talking back and forth the entire night, cracking jokes every time something unrealistically cliché would happen. You're minutes away from the end of the movie when you begin to speak, "God, I wish my life was a movie sometimes. You know, I'd never have to worry about my hair, or having to go to the bathroom. And then, when I'm at my lowest point, some guy would chase me down the street, pour his heart out, and we'd kiss. Happily ever after." You gesture to the TV with your beer bottle in hand, "I mean, a horse and carriage? Come on, that is awesome." You furrow your brows, bringing your bottle to your mouth.

    Shane jumps in, "Not as awesome as this ambiguously upbeat pop song that has nothing to do with the plot they put at the end to try convince you that you had a great time at this shitty movie." He smiles, pointing to the TV as Count on me by Bruno Mars begins to play. You frown slightly in thought, "You know, why don't they ever make a movie about what happens after the big kiss?" You ask, turning to look at Shane. "They do Y/n. It's called porn." Shane states matter-o-factly, chuckling slightly. You groan, "God, I miss sex. Right? I mean, sometimes you just need it. It's like..." You begin to lean your head back against the back of the couch, cracking it slightly, " I don't know, it's like cracking your neck."

    Shane raises his eyebrows, widening his eyes and nods his head, "Right! Why does it always gotta come with complications?" You nod, "And emotions." "And guilt." You roll your eyes and groan, "Guilt." Shane shakes his head, "It's women's fault." Shane says, raising his bottle of beer to his lips. "What?" You exclaim, irritated. Shane tilts his head, looking you in the eye, "You heard me. 'Hold me. Let's spend the rest of our lives together.'" Shane mimics a female voice. You raise your eyebrows, smiling slightly in disbelief, "Oh, please, you are no better. 'Oh, yeah, baby, come on, now. Say my name. Yeah... I'm done. How was I?'" You say, impersonating a mans voice. Shane cringes slightly, "Who have you been with?" He shakes his head. You frown slightly. "Why can't it not be like that? It's a physical act. Like playing tennis. Two people should be able to have sex like they're playing tennis." Shane says, shrugging his shoulders as he slumps in his seat.

    "Yeah, I mean, no one wants to go away for a weekend after they play tennis." You shrug in response. "It's just a game. You shake hands, get on with your shit." Shane nods his head, again bringing his beer to his lips. "Yeah." You nod. "Yeah." Shane nods back. You take another sip of your beer, now seeing that its emptied, "Mm. You want more beer?" You ask, standing up and clearing up some of your and Shane's mess. "Mhm." Shane hums. He tilts his head as he eyes you up and down, rising his brows as you bend over picking up some pizza boxes. He bites his lips slightly as you walk away, your hips swaying deliciously. "Okay." You say, opening your fridge, grabbing two more beers. Shane squints his eyes in thought, "Y/n!" You nod still rummaging through the fridge, "Yeah?" You yell back. "Let's play tennis." Shane says, standing up. "What?" You giggle, shaking your head.

    "Let's have sex like we're playing tennis." Shane says, walking into your kitchen. "Get the hell outta here." You chuckle turning to look at Shane. "Don't laugh. This could be great. This could take all the weirdness out of it." Shane says, taking the bottles from your hands and placing them on a counter top. "Well, we talked about this. I don't like you like that." You laugh, shaking your head. "I don't like you like that either. That's why it's perfect." He nods. "I don't even know if I find you attractive." You smirk, crossing your arms. "That's cute." Shane smiles smugly. "Ah, well, I do have a thing for jerks." You nod, smiling inwardly, "And I don't even know if you find me attractive." You shrug, un-crossing your arms, now placing your hands on her hips. "That's cute." Shane continues smirking, crossing his arms over his chest. "No, no! Before getting to know my awesome personality, what did you think? Strictly physical. First time you saw me."

    Shane squints his eyes, "Strictly physical." You nod, "Mhm." "We're just two people? Just talking. Alright. I thought you had beautiful eyes, never thought I'd seen such big beautiful eyes." Shane smiles charmingly. You tilt your head slightly, "I liked your lips. Thought you might be a good kisser." He grins, "I am. Your breasts." "What about them?" "They intrigued me." "Really?" You furrow your brows, looking down at your breasts with a confused expression. "Yeah." "Oh, I think they're so distracting." Shane shrugs, "Still breasts." You smile, "Thanks. I liked your hands." "Mouth." "Butt." "Voice." "Chest." "Eyes." "You said that." "I meant it." Shane says softly.

    You pout in thought, "You swear you don't want anything more from me?" "You swear you don't want anything more from me!" Shane points at you accusingly, "I know how you girls get." You squint, "Okay, if we're gonna do this we're gonna have to get things straight. No relationship. No emotions. Just sex." You say, sticking your hand out in front of yourself palm down. "Whatever happens, we stay friends." Shane says, placing one of his hands on top of yours. "Swear." You say, placing another hand on top. "Swear." Shane palaces another hand on top. "Swear." You say in unison. You tilt your head as you both take your hands away from each other slowly, "Okay," You nod slowly, "I guess we should go to the bedroom." You say, making a bee-line for your bedroom with Shane at your heels. You flick on the light as you both stand awkwardly in the doorway.

    You both stand in uncomfortable silence until you decide you've had enough. You huff loudly, taking one of Shanes hands into yours, dragging him over to the bed and pushing him on top of it so that he's sitting on the edge. "I haven't had sex in months, I am not letting awkwardness ruin this opportunity." You say, pulling your shirt over your head, "But we only do this once." You say watching Shane unbuttoning his shirt hastily as you take your pants off. Shane nods his head as he begins undoing his belt and pants zipper. He quickly pulls them down, tripping slightly over his own feet as he takes off his socks. He sits back down on the edge of the bed, now only dressed in a pair of black boxer shorts. He watches impatiently as you stride back over to him, taking you in, from the curve of your waist to your plump thighs.

    As soon as you've straddled him, Shane was on you, kissing you, moving his hands over your body, curling his fingers around the hem of your panties and yanking you against him. You felt his erection grow through his boxers. You get up off his lap, disconnecting your lips, much to your own dismay. You crawl atop the bed and lie down only to have Shane climb on top of you. "Ready?" He asks huskily. You nod, jerking your head up and down once.

    Placing soft kisses down your throat, Shane worked his way down to your breasts. He gently slides his hands behind your back, undoing the clasp. He slips the bra off, kissing one of your breasts reverently. He tongued the nipple for a moment, then pulled it into his mouth and sucking firmly, causing you to gasp and rush a hand into his hair while your other grasps at the sheets. Shane lets out a low groan as you claw through his hair, the vibration causes goosebumps throughout your body, making you take in a sharp breath. Shane then pushes himself up, his forearms are on either side of your head so your trapped between his arms. He's inches away from your face, you can feel his breath on your lips, making you shiver. He has a slightly predatory expression, just the lustful look on his face alone is tying knots in your abdomen. You rub your thighs together, the wetness pooling between your legs causing slight discomfort. You whine slightly, making Shane smirk.

    Shane then began to work his way down your body. When he reached your legs he pulls off your drenched underwear and grasps one of your knees and pulled it up without hesitation. "Open for me, baby," he told you, pushing the knee sideways to expose your pussy. "Shane, you don't have-" You interrupt yourself as emit a loud moan as Shane spreads your legs wider and gently delves into your folds. He was pleased to feel the wetness there, and moaned in appreciation. "You're drenched, Y/n. Gorgeous. Does that feel good, baby?" Shane says teasingly, now bringing his hand down, circling your clit with his thumb, massaging it gently.

    "Yes," you breathed. You feel amazing, legs spread wide, head back, panting in intense arousal. Shane moved his head lower, kissing your navel and stomach, then moved to your core. He lifted your thighs and slipped his hands under your bottom, holding it firmly. Then he took a long look at her creamy folds, practically dripping with her feminine honey. You gasp and shut your eyes as Shane's tongue drew a path along her pussy, and then flicks at your clit. The sensations are incredible as his talented mouth sucks and licks you with a gentle but intense rhythm which had you writhing under his hold. Again and again he licked you, then penetrated you and licked inside. As he returned to tantalise your clit, you feel your eyes roll back as you begin huffing. Hot, hotter, and a building rush as if you were heading for a cliff, When Shane gets a firm hold of your nub and sucked it, you let out a cry and are suddenly pushed over the edge, griping Shanes hair tightly.

    You sigh, shivering slightly as Shane moves back up your body. You and Shane were face to face again as you continue to catch your breath. He then leans down and catches you in a feverish kiss. You can taste yourself on his lips, making you moan slightly. You move your hands up to his chest, pushing Shane onto his back, climbing on top of him. She moves down his body, yanking down Shane's underwear, his erection standing straight up, begging for attention. You take Shane's cock into your hand and brings it to her mouth. You lick up the side making him groan lowly, he then brings his hands to your hair, balling it up in his fist. You bring it into your mouth sliding down onto it slowly, causing Shanes hips to thrust up into your mouth, making you gag. You measure the rhythm of your sucking to Shanes thrusts. You hollow your cheeks, moving up and swirling your tongue around the tip. Shane gently continued guiding you up and down on his cock, hurrying you without forcing you to take more than you were comfortable with.

    You hollow your cheeks again, making Shane to shoot into your mouth, and you spluttered a bit, swallowing most of his essence, with some dribbling out the side in a very erotic manner. You rub it away with your thumb and put in your mouth, sucking it off. You then proceed to lie down beside Shane, taking a breath. Shane then gets on top of you, making you raise your eyebrows in surprise, "We're not done." Shane says, pinning your hands above your head, making you smirk, "Condom. Top drawer," you smile slightly, nodding your head in the direction of the bedside table. He takes one hand away from your wrists, rifling through the drawer, taking the condom and tearing it open with your teeth, putting it on, then returning his hand back to your wrist. He knees your legs open, and you comply easily. Shane poises at her entrance, his cock just touching her. He spends some time pushing up and down your folds, teasing your clit, until you're panting and writhing under him. When he felt another gush of moisture, he pushed firmly at her tight core.

    You held your legs wide and lift your hips, offering yourself to Shane in abandon. As you felt him pressing you, you almost cried with wanting. "Yes, Shane, please..." You say, your body loose and open, nectar flowing steadily with the extreme state of arousal you were in. Shane needs no further invitation. He enters slowly, only to have you wrap your legs around his wait, pulling him so that he was fully sheathed inside of you. You cry out in pleasure and struggle to release your hands, which Shane still have clasped above your head. He frees you, and you bring your hands back to his hair, massaging his scalp, making him groan deeply. Shane withdrew a little, then re-entered, eliciting another gasp from you. You start to move with him and find a rhythm. Shane steps up his pace, he's deep within you, balls hitting your ass each time he thrusts forward. He then rears away from your body and reaches in between the two of you to finger your clit. It was large, engorged with blood, and very sensitive. Your cries become louder and closer together. Shane increases his thrusts still further, and feels his own climax approach.

    "Jesus, Y/n, you're so fucking tight," he groaned out, and flicks her clit rapidly with his thumb. You convulse under him, bucking your hips and clenching around his cock. His release lashed through him and shot into the condom, pulling her hips to him as he jerked against her. You both come down slowly, Shane pulls out and disposes the condom, crawling back into the bed beside you. Pulling up the sheets, covering both you and him. "You know, technically aftercare is a big part of sex." You say, crawling closer to Shane. He nods his head, smiling slightly, "You're not wrong." He says, opening his arms for you, holding you close to his chest. He kisses the top of your head, "Night Y/n."

[notalone91]

i heard you calling (it hurt so much to let go of your hand)

Summary: Every year, like clockwork, on the Anniversary of the day they defeated It, the Losers make a point to crash back down on Derry and wreak some havoc. One stop they have to make is Neibolt Street.

I saw a post on tumblr and was inspired, so, taking a break from my Major Canon Fix It writing to bring you this little nugget. A choose-your-own-adventure of sorts.  This is unbeta'd and fell out of my hands and unraveled quickly, so just... take that with a grain of salt.

This is a Choose-Your-Own-Adventure story of sorts. After the read-more, hit ctrl+f and seek Option A (Camp Denial) or Option B (Camp Canon).

also available on AO3

Every year, like clockwork, on the Anniversary of the day they defeated It, the Losers make a point to crash back down on Derry and wreak some havoc.  They drink. They swim in the quarry. They drink. They laugh. They drink. They watch all the horrible old movies they used to see at the Capitol. They drink.  They reminisce. They drink. They cry. They drink. They visit the vacant lot on the corner of Neibolt street. They’re very sober. They all stand around for a moment before Richie steps forward to drop a flower he’d kept hidden in his jacket onto the rubble.  He runs his hands through the dirt, looking at the sprouts from where the flowers from the last four years have begun to take root. He swallows thickly and kneels, closing his eyes for a moment to block out the other Losers' hushed chatter. He knows they’re talking about him.  He’s heard it all before. Still, he has to do it. He has to let him know...

“So, uh, Eds,” he says, tongue feeling too large in his mouth.  “It’s been another year.” Another year makes five. It’s been five years already.  He can hardly believe it, even though it’s been a huge topic of discussion for the last two days.  “I, uh… I washed my sheets. Like twice.” He lifts his eyebrows and smiles, pleased with himself. He laughs to himself, raking a hand through his hair.  “I showered a couple of times.” He shrugs, trying to remember all of the things he’d want to tell Eddie that happened since the last time he was here. “I hosted SNL again.  They never wanted me as a cast member, but now that I’m all cool and relevant, they’re all over me. Figures, right?” Another laugh. The other Losers look on, none of them ready to interrupt his ritual.  They knew too well what happened when they intervened. “My manager threatened to bring in ghostwriters again because my new act wasn’t raunchy enough.” He sank back onto his heels, with his hands folded in his lap.  “I think I’m getting too old for the Trashmouth routine. Gotta grow up sometime, I guess.” He pushes his glasses up on his nose and stares at the sky, feeling tears start to bloom in his eyes. “New York is nice, but I gotta say…”  he takes a deep breath and exhales, close to a laugh, “it’s filthy, Eds.” He hiccups a little, a single tear beading under his glasses. “How did you live there for so long and not go on a city-wide cleaning spree? I get off the subway and feel like I need to light my skin on fire.  It’s disgusting. And the smell?” He bunches up his nose like the wafting steam had followed him to Maine. “I mean, I’m getting used to the smell, but I can’t picture you ever getting used to it.” He laughs, thinking about how many jokes Eddie could make about his Trashmouth being the source of the stench.  But he can’t get distracted. He can’t. “I got a dog. She’s a pit bull. I know,” he places a hand over his heart, gasping in shock, “not a pomeranian.” He gives a little sideways smile. “I’m still terrified of the yappy little things. But she protects me, just like you did.” He tries not to remember Eddie’s proud face when he thought he’d killed It with that fucking fencepost.  “Anyway, I named her Sunny. It’s supposed to be short for Sonia, but something in me decided that having to remember my lost love every time I looked at her sad brown eyes…” He can hear the Losers shuffling behind him, stifling their own emotions at his rambling. “Your mother did have the most beautiful eyes, Eds.” He bursts out a breathy laugh, “Sorry. I know you hate that.” He thinks over the present tense and realizes it’s not accurate anymore and the laugh dies on his lips.  “Hated,” he corrects, shaking his head. “Hated that. Even though, I don’t think you really did.” The tears that had been threatening to fall for quite some time begin to crash against his cheeks. “I miss you,” he shakes his head, sobs wracking his body. “All the time.” He buries his face in his hands, words building in intensity. “I never got to tell you how much I love you.” He doubles over and feels himself begin to lose his composure, picturing his Eddie alone in that dirty fucking sewer, clutching his old, beat-up leather jacket to his chest like a lifeline.  “God, you died alone. And I just… I just let you.” He takes off his glasses and puts them down beside him, wiping the tears away with balled fists. “I’m sorry, Eddie.” He tries to settle himself, but his sobs have become overwhelming and he can do nothing else but repeat, “I’m so sorry.”

OPTION A

Leaning against the fence, unimpressed with his husband’s performance, Eddie crosses his arms and rolls his eyes.  “You know, that’s still not funny, asshole.” Richie lets out a loud, exaggerated wail, signaling that his protests have been heard.  “I’m right fucking behind you, Richie,” he sing-songs, waving.

“It’s almost like I can still hear his voice,” he whimpers, covering his mouth in a stifled cry.

“STOP ACTING LIKE I’M DEAD, FUCKNUT!” Eddie groans, kicking a pebble in his direction.

Richie reaches up to the form that has closed in behind him, pulling Bev closer as she drapes her arms around his neck, kneeling.  “I’m sorry we made you leave him down there, Rich. There was no other way.”

Jaw dropping a little, Eddie huffs out a shocked, “Bev, not you too.”  Normally, Richie’s little monologue goes on by himself and everyone else lets him go.  Maybe because five years is a big anniversary or maybe because there’s enough distance between them and It now, there seems to be a bigger emphasis this year.  “Don’t fucking encourage him.”

“We just, we couldn’t risk it.  The building was crumbling and we never would have made it back out,” Bev adds over his protests, her own voice quivering.

Eddie looks over at the man next to him and smacks him in the arm.  “Ben, come get your woman,”

He just shakes his head in response, looking down at his feet.  “Your man started it,” he points out. At least he can find comfort in the fact that Ben won’t joke about his near-death experience.  Unlike Mike and Bill, who’ve moved forward, adding themselves to the unfolding melodrama.

“It never would have happened if I hadn’t called you all back here.  But,” Mike chokes out, reaching his hand for Richie’s shoulder, “it’s over now.”  Richie rubs his hand over the top of Mike’s and accepts his glasses being replaced on his face.  “It’s done. We can move on.” He nods, locking eyes with him. “We’ll find you someone new, Rich.”  

Sniffling pathetically, he gives an exaggerated shake of his head.  “Nope, never.” He flings himself forward as though trying to dig through the rubble to get into the sewers beneath Derry.  “There’ll never be anyone to replace my Eddie Spaghetti. Just let me be with him.”

Eddie turns around, resting his elbows on the fence and hanging his head.  “Oh, here he goes,” he adds as soon as he sees that Bill has opened his mouth.  Beside him, Stan shakes his head, bewildered at their antics.

“I’m sure that, in time, you’ll heal.  In the meantime, the three of us are always open to making it a foursome.  Isn’t that right, Stan?” Bill asks, looking up at the missing member of their triad.

“Could you not bring me into this?” he responds, stepping closer to Eddie in protest.

“I appreciate the offer, but it would all be meaningless, just like my whole life.  It would be empty sex and I couldn’t do that to you boys,” Richie says, patting bill on the cheek.  “I love you,” he looks between them sadly. “I love you all, but not in the way that I loved him.”

Eddie turns back to the dogpile of Losers in front of him.  Cupping his hands around his mouth, he calls out his trump card.  “I’m running away with Stan and Ben. You know, people who don’t make light of me almost dying to save your sorry ass!”  Richie sits bolt upright, one ear turned up like a dog. “I’m leaving you, Richie,” he adds for emphasis.

Turning around on his knees, Richie blinks at him, as though he had risen from the dead.  “Eddie?!” He stands, taking a few slow, hesitant steps toward him. “Eds?!” He lifts his husband from the ground and spins him around, shrieking out a blissful “EDDIE SPAGHETTI!!!!!”

Swatting at his arms and kicking his feet, Eddie squirms.  “Put me down, asshole.”

Doing as he’s told, but only to suit his own needs, he places his hands on either side of his neck and observes him carefully, turning his head from one side to the other.  “Could it be?!” he asks, tracing his finger along the fading white scar on his cheek, “Is it you?!”

“Stop it, would you?” Eddie says, fighting off laughter.

Richie leans back for a moment and untucks the front of Eddie’s shirt, raising it to expose the scar on his chest and kiss it once before moving on to smack a cartoony kiss on his mouth.  “Back from the dead! My one and only wish! My one true love!” He pulls him forward by the hands and spins around. “Bert to my Ernie!” He stops and kisses him. “Lime to my coconut!” He pulls him closer and kisses him again, a little more tenderly, knowing Eddie can’t complain about this part.  “Frosty to my french fries!” Eddie scrunches his nose because Richie knows that particular quirk grosses him out. “Chill to my Netflix!” He adds, pressing their hips together first before kissing him again.

“Are you done?” he asks, wanting to get the fuck away from this part of the trip as quickly as possible.

Richie gives a sideways smile.  “Almost,” he says and Eddie sighs, staring up at the sky.  Richie almost wishes he hadn’t lied about being almost because he can’t think of another one, but he can’t back down now.  He spits out the first thing that comes to mind and instantly regrets it. “Red Balloon to my sewer grate?”

There’s a collective groan from the Losers, including not one but three separate iterations of “Beep beep, Richie,” one from Bill, one from Bev, and one from Stan,

“Okay, I’m sorry,” he says, throwing his hands up in surrender, laughing and accepting every smack and kick that lands his way.  When their assaults die down, his town grows serious and he locks eyes with Eddie. “Every day, I wake up knowing how close I was to losing you and…” he shakes his head, trying to dislodge the image of Eddie’s pallid face, mouth dripping blood, gasping for breath from his mind.  He can hardly remember the minutes between Pennywise’s death, pulling Eddie to his feet, Ben taking him from him, suddenly understanding everything, and arriving at Derry Gen, but he knows that, in the deadlights, he saw them leaving him and he couldn’t let that happen. “I can’t.  I can’t imagine going on. You know that’s why I do this every year, right?” He laughs when Eddie shakes his head no. “It’s a very…” he trails off for a moment, looking for the right words, then nods, slipping into a dead-on Michael Caine impression, “‘Young Lad, what day is it? Why, it’s Christmas day, Mr. Scrooge!’ feeling every time we come back here and the deadlights-of-Christmas-Yet-To-Come scared the shit out of me.”  He rests his forehead against Eddie’s, sighing a little. “I saw that broken man and…” Richie rubs his thumb over Eddie’s and smiles. “I’m just so grateful that you’re here. And you’re alive. And you love me.”

Eddie smiles back, definitely understanding the second chance they were given.  “I don’t know why sometimes.” He pulls Richie closer when he gives an overdramatic pout, “But I love you more than anything.”  Tugging Richie into a kiss, forgetting momentarily that the other Losers are, indeed, right there, he feels himself melt into his husband.  He’d let him give that performance once a week if it would help him remember that this is real. When they pull apart, he nods over his shoulder at the street where the rest of the Losers have started heading back toward town.  “Can we get the fuck out of here now?”

Draping his arm over Eddie’s shoulder, Richie acquiesces easy enough.  “Whatever you wish, Jelly to my Peanut Butter.”

Bumping his hip against his, he laughs, “Okay.  I wish for you to stop.”

As soon as he laughed, he recognized his mistake, having given Richie all he ever wants.  “Cheese to my cracker?” Richie suggests, kissing the hand clasped in his own.

“Someone help me,” Eddie calls out to their friends, trying to catch up to them, but never letting go of his hand. Richie gives himself a smack on the forehead, “Spaghetti to my meatballs!  How have I never used that one before?!” he cries out, capturing Eddie in his arms and kissing his neck exaggerated.  Eddie thinks, for a moment, that this must be the closest thing to riding off into the sunset they’ll ever get.

OPTION B

Ben looks down at Richie, sympathetically.  Over the last five years, he’d let himself wonder occasionally what would have happened to him if it had been Bev that died and he still can’t fully grasp it.  All he knows is that he will let Richie do whatever he needs. “Let’s give him a minute,” he suggests, pulling the rest of the Losers out into the street, giving him some privacy to grieve.

Weeping, Richie rocks back and forth a little, arms wrapped around his middle.  “Eddie, I’m sorry. I’m so, so fucking sorry. I should have done something. I shouldn’t have let them…”  His breath hitches in his throat and the thought falls away. “They dragged me away. I wanted to stay there with you.”  He clamps his eyes shut, hoping that he can stop the tears from falling. When that doesn’t work, he just stares forward into the rubble.  “You never fucking knew. You died alone. You never should have been alone. I…” He tries to steady his breathing, but can’t. He’s too far gone for that.  “God, the next morning, I tried to come back and find you from the Barrens side. I tried. The caves had all collapsed. I couldn’t get to you. Fuck, I tried.  I walked the canal, trying to find another entrance, but every one was blocked.” He wondered, then, how Derry hadn’t flooded. Now, he wonders how he’s not drowning in his own pathetic tears.  “I love you. I’ll love you every day until I die.” He says, out loud, for the first time since his memories returned. Sure, he’d admitted it to himself, even let the other Losers guess it, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud.  Even now, he didn’t think it could do him any good. He was just talking to hear himself talk. But isn’t that what he always did? “I don’t know if I ever would have told you. You married a woman. You were married. I’m disgusting.” He pulls a necklace out from beneath his t-shirt like Eddie could see it.  “I wear your wedding ring on a chain around my neck like you were married to me. I just…” He trails off, realizing how truly fucked it sounds. “I found it in your room and I, uh, I couldn’t leave it. What kind of fucking psycho wears his dead ex-boyfriend’s wedding ring?” He gives a bitter laugh to himself, imagining for a moment that it was Eddie who said it and not him.  “I never would have told you that I still loved you, knowing you were married.” He shakes his head a little and finally lets his arms fall to his thighs. “I mean, I’m better about myself now. I even, uh, I even joke about my sexuality, now. Like, openly,” he widens his eyes a little, an unspoken ‘yeah, I know,’ that needn’t be done, “in public even.” He takes a deep breath and thinks about the first time a paparazzi picture surfaced of him with his arm around Bev and some late-night host asked him about it and he’d laughed openly, brightly.  When the guy asked why, he answered that the plumbing wasn’t right. He didn’t care about mentioning it, but his phone hadn’t stopped ringing to the point that he just shut it off when he got home. “My manager isn’t crazy about that but it’s not the 80’s anymore. It’s still not safe but, I figure, fuck it, I came out of the sewer unharmed, I owe it to myself to have given the closet the same treatment.” He smiled, remembering all the times Eddie had tried when they were teenagers and together, to make him more comfortable with the idea of being out publicly.  He could only hope that Eddie could see him and be proud. That’s what Stan’s letter to him had said. Be proud. “I owe it to you.” Hearing the shuffle of feet heading back into the yard, he sniffled, fighting to regain his composure. “Okay, well, the other Losers are starting to get restless, staring at me crying and all. Ben and Bev are getting married.” Pausing for a response that would never come, he smiles. “I know, finally.” He stands up and shoves his hands deep into his pockets. “Mike and Bill are getting used to one another again. It’s cute… I think.”  He swallows thickly and glances over his shoulder. Just Bev, still giving him a respectful distance. He’s glad. “Being around them just sort of hurts,” he admits to no one. He smiles a little, wiping away the slowing tears. “I remember when the four of us would go down to the clubhouse for double dates and ignore each other, just being safe together. It was nice.” It was. He misses that terribly, he thinks. He feels like he’s floating and chases the unwelcome phantom voice from the back of his head. “Now… I just… uh…” He stammers ineffectively, trying to come up with more things to say.  He doesn’t want this moment to be over. When it’s over, he’ll have another year before he has another excuse to be in the place that makes him feel like his conversations with Eddie can be heard. “I can hardly be in the same room with them alone. It makes me wonder what we could have been. If you’d have left her. If we’d have…” He trails off one last time and chokes out a sob. “I fucking hate the word ‘If.’”

“Richie?” Bev calls from the garden gate.  Her voice is quiet, but he hears her. He just… He doesn’t want to let her talk him away from him again.

He leans forward and touches the flower gently.  “I love you,” he whispers.

Heading up the path, she reaches a gentle hand out to his shoulder.  “Rich, honey?”

“Yeah, yeah.  I’m coming,” he says, moving toward her and letting her arm drop to his waist, edging him forward, but not before casting one more look back at what remains of the house on Neibolt street.  What remains of Eddie.

“You okay?” Ben asks when they reach him, before heading to where Bill and Mike stand a few houses down.

He shakes his head and accepts his outstretched arm around his shoulders, appreciating the steady, grounding weight.  “No,” he says quietly, for once telling the truth, and not letting some bullshit fall out of his Trashmouth.

“That’s okay.  You don’t have to be,” Ben says, nodding.  

Bev squeezes him tighter.  “Not today, and not with us.”

When the five remaining Losers find themselves together once more, they wrap Richie in a tight hug.  He appreciates it, but he knows that once they pull away, it’ll be back to his new normal. Alone.

[morphituu]

Milagro

Chapter 5: “Loom”

Nothing was recognizable, yet he knew he was standing in his backyard. The surrounding bushes and trees kept changing as if their shadows were evolving, but his focus was on cries he heard that seemed to be moving all around him.

Distant, soft, newborn cries. They quickened his already erratic heart, but turning and trying to scope them out only made his eyes heavier. There was no sun, but looking around felt like he was looking directly at it.

It was louder now, and he spun, realizing he stood barefoot in the grass outside, but it was warm and soft around his feet. The cries were inside his house. All the windows were dark, the whole world was, like a blackout.

His legs were so heavy- like trudging through thigh deep water.

“Callie?” he called, but his voice only carried so far.

The closer he came, the louder the cries were, but they were fading, as if life was draining from the source.

“Callie!?” he hollered desperately, stumbling through the backdoor and squeezing through the hallway, narrower than he remembered.

“Jakoby?”

He was in his room then, and Callie was before him, her back turned and… her knees bowed unnaturally, arms hung at her sides.

“Cal-”

She folded like a piece of paper against the ground, into a pool of blood that was glowing in the dark room, her stomach torn open.

His vision was tunneling, and met a pair of ice blue eyes that stared at him like a wolf in the darkness, stalking its prey. But this wolf held a baby in her hands, no longer crying, just as lifeless as his lover across the floor that still looked up at him with wild eyes.

He couldn’t see it’s face, but the baby bore his color.

He wanted to see it’s face, but when he looked up, Tikka was staring at him with pleading eyes, her fingers digging into the soft underside of his slain child.

“Jakoby?”

The sound he made was nowhere near any comprehensible word, more of a forlorn holler to end what he was seeing as he lurched forward, his arm pulling harshly from under Callie’s head. His peeled eyes jumped frantically, grounding himself, realizing he was in his room, but the world wasn’t as dark, nor were there cries of his…

A nightmare.

This dawned on him, and he leaned forward, head hung in his hands as he struggled to slow his heaving breaths.

“Baby?” Callie rose sleepily, uncaring of the thin sheet of sweat covering him as she reached around his wide shoulders, the other around his waist and a sweet kiss lingering on his shoulder. She couldn’t tell if he was simply settling his breathing or actually stifling cries what with his face hidden like that, but either way, it wouldn’t loosen the hold she had on him.

“You haven’t had one in a while,” softly she recalled, the touch across his back further calming him. When it ran the length of the back of his neck, he finally looked at her, but immediately his vision flickered down to her pregnant belly bared in only a sports bra.

Still there.

“I’m sorry,” he atoned, but a shake of her head tousling her long hair and a few kisses to his cheek silenced any of that.

With a soft tug, she pulled his upper half partly over so his head rested under her chin, her caress across his shoulder blades relaxing every fiber of muscle in his rigid body until he was boneless, and counting the kicks he felt beneath his palm where his hand rested.

“Woke ‘em up, too,” he graveled, curling the crook of his elbow around her belly protectively.

“Gotta put it back to sleep now.” she barely mumbled, the grazes of her hand slowing.

He knew it was pointless, but he still rubbed her stomach gently, even humming the tune of an Opeth song. The fresh sting of angry tears still pricked the back of his eyes, just as the strong hiccup of a whimper fought to crawl up his throat, but he forced them both down, veering all his attention to the small life still kicking inside her.

With Pucca circling a few times behind the bend of his knees and his thoughts muddling, he allowed a few fearful tears to pass onto her. Get it out, then get on with it.

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

It couldn’t have been more than 5 minutes he was awake the night before, but Nick still wandered around yawning repeatedly, bumping into the entrance of the bathroom as he checked on Callie.

“Any better?” he asked, rubbing an eye. She was scrubbing her teeth again, tired eyes meeting his in the mirror. They were red and puffy, her nose a little blushed too.

She spat, and stood straight with a frown. “It hates me today,”

“The hormones do,” he shrugged. She groaned, pulling her hair loose of it’s bun to fashion it into a neater ponytail. She scratched at the growing hair of her undercut, her other fingers flying to press against her lips.

He cringed, waiting… and there she went, kneeling back before the toilet, but her gut had voided anything left the previous 2 times.

“Zofran?” he asked, and she nodded before dry heaving again, tears slipping down her cheeks and spine bowing.

“Text your mom-” another heave from inside the bathroom as he dug through her bag. “We might be a while,” she groaned. He nodded, unable to find the small packet she kept her nausea medicine in. “I can’t eat the food,” she whined, sniffling, and by the sound of it, her face was hung in the toilet. He flipped her purse and angrily shook it, depositing its insides out across the tables surface.

Why does she carry so much shit- ah, there it is!

Nick was already ripping the aluminum square and pressing the tablet into his palm as he retrieved cold water for her, wide stepping his way back to the bathroom.

“It’s gonna make me vomit,” she moaned, shakily.

“Just throw it back,” he reasoned, and Callie looked up at him with swollen eyes, reluctantly raising a palm so he could hand off the pill.

Her eyes pinched shut as soon as the ‘strawberry’ flavored dissolvable pill coated her tongue, and with grabbing fingers she reached for the water, daring only a mouthful.

She shook her head, her mouth flapping. “Shits awful,”

“Always works though,” he grunted, sitting on the tiled floor before her just as Pucca had trotted in to see what all the commotion was about.

Sparse words were passed between them as they waited for the medicine to do its job, and thankfully the vicious nausea rested, and she felt comfortable enough closing the toilet beside her. It seemed she couldn’t go more than a few days at a time without the morning sickness carrying on the entirety of a day, even as far along as she was. Same went for the headaches that sometimes kept her in bed and the needles she felt unsettling her legs when she tried to sleep at night.

“Itchy nipples are the worst of it all,” Callie rasped, clearing her throat.

“Just scratch them,”

“Easier to do when your boobs don’t feel like they’re about to pop when you touch them,” she mumbled, eyeing him with colder of a glare than usual. It was her ‘shut up Nick’ look she’d mastered when he tried weighing in on her pregnancy without any personal experience to back him up.

He gritted his teeth together, his hand pinned under Pucca’s chin. “I like your pregger boobs,”

She tried to narrow her eyes, but a snort forced its way up, then a constricted smile. “Shut up,”

“Your automatic floaties,” he added, flinching when she leaned forward over her stomach to swipe at him. A few failed attempts yielded her efforts to beat him, but still gladly accepted his help after he’d stood and offered his hands to her.

“Still wanna go?” he asked.

“Of course. I need to brush my teeth again though,” she sighed, turning back to the sink. A quick kiss against her hair before he left the bathroom, heading for the kitchen to gather the salsas she’d made for the party. One bowl of salsa verde and an even bigger one of the red, the very kind that made him burn up just looking at it. It’s blood like hue and shimmering oil that pooled around the edges meant it was hot as shit, just how he liked it, even if he’d regret it later on.

“Is this my dads present?” he called, and she giggled, coming into the kitchen as she finished putting in a simple pair of studded earrings.

“No but it should be, huh?” she grinned, her hands twisted to hold against her back once finished.

He’d never say it out loud, but all he wanted to do was cuddle and tell her how big and cute she looked, especially wearing tighter shirts that showed her belly button that had started to pop a little bit. Damn his hands being full- he wanted a photo of her stood like that, a half smile on her ashen face. Her color would return soon- more than 10 minutes without her face in the bowl would do her good.

“Okay,” Nick looped his father's gift on a finger. “Ready?”

“Yep,” she answered, unhooking Pucca’s leash and harness from the wall. “C’mere mamas, ven! Ven!”

The pitbull had already been wiggling uncontrollably as soon as Callie had reached for the harness, and approaching her with it only made her the more squirmy, her tubby little body running circles around Callie’s legs.

“Careful-”

Too late.

With a fast charge from Pucca from behind, Callie went tumbling sideways, bouncing and rolling a little bit once on the carpet.

“PUCCA.” Nick boomed, the salsa almost spilled in his haste to set it on the counter and make it to Callie’s side, but she was laughing lowly.

“I’m okay,” she giggled, completely lifted by Nick’s arms around her. “Nick I’m fine,” she insisted, but he was patting all over her, especially her stomach that hadn’t even bumped anything in her fall from grace. There was still an angry chuff when he spun, enraged, amber eyes searching until he found Pucca laid flat on the ground, cowering beside the TV.

“Dumb brat,” he growled, stomping over to her. She army crawled towards him, chin flat to the ground and big eyes looking up.

A harsh smack made contact against her bottom, and Callie frowned, leaning back into her hands once again.

“No! You know better lat pa-gog beaukav!” he scolded harshly, even though Pucca had rolled onto her back and was ‘smiling’ up at him, her eyes squinted.

“Baby,” He turned, meeting Callie’s knowing look. “I’m fine,”

“You could’ve fallen forward,” he argued, but she patted his back as she passed to Pucca.

“That’s why I have hands to catch myself,”

The dog was much calmer this time around, cowering near Nick once her harness was buckled, but her tail wagged just as wildly when trotting to the front door. A low chuff made her flinch as she moved by him, though. Still, she tugged on the leash Callie wound around her wrist after slipping her Chucks on.

“I swear if she drags you across the ground-” he warned while grabbing the bowls of salsa. Just thinking of that… it made his stomach churn. The after effects of a very vivid nightmare still left him jumpy.

“I got her, I got her.” Callie insisted, leaning back into Pucca’s relentless tugging as soon as the front door opened. A low grumble of disapproval was all she got in return however, but they were off, walking across the lawn towards the truck with Pucca bounding excitedly. She at least could jump into the bed herself when Callie dropped the gate, and once secured, she beelined for Nick.

With his hands full, he couldn’t stop her from slipping her hand down his pocket to grab his keys. For a moment there he almost thought she was grabbing for something else…

Instead, she strolled happily to the drivers side, now having mastered how to hoist herself and her protruding belly up into the high seats without too much difficulty. When she started adjusting his seat and mirrors, it reminded him how useful another car would be, especially when the baby arrived. He couldn’t leave her stranded at home in case anything happened, and… it got kind of obnoxious squeezing into his seat after she’d use the truck. Her legs were just so short, though.

“Don’t you start huffin’ at me,” she grinned, earning another low growl that dragged on as he wiggled his shoulders into the passenger seat stubbornly. “I can drive until my stomach hits the wheel,”

“Even then you’ll be too stubborn to stop,”

“Might just pop it out behind the wheel if you keep bein’ so snippy.” she murmured, turning to back the truck out of the driveway. A quick pinch of her knee made her yelp, and halted her teasing.

Nick would snap his fingers loudly when Pucca started to bark at people who baby talked the pretty pitbull from their cars, more worried about people assuming she was a vicious dog instead of a big chunk of meat that was afraid of flies, but she’d hush when the truck started moving, hanging her head over the side so her mouth inflated with the air rushing past them.

By the time they turned onto the quiet street Nick’s parents lived on, Callie’s nausea had about finished it’s rampage, though she still cautioned herself to not eat much. Vomiting in front of Nick’s extended family would ensure never showing her face around them again.

“It’s not like they’d tease you about it,” he reminded her, but she shrugged.

“It’s still embarrassing to retch in the bathroom with so much family around,” she explained as she turned the last corner, and Pucca started whining excitedly.

Nick’s ears flickered, his lips pursing. “Saying you’re embarrassed to carry my child?”

“Oh shut up,” she chuckled, smacking his thigh. By the time they’d found parking on the street filled with the other cars, Pucca was near fighting her harness in attempts to bolt to the front door, already barking at the pitbull his parents owned.

Callie didn’t even have to hold her leash; she knew where to run to find her sister as soon as the gate was dropped and the leash was unhooked. Off she went, shooting across the yard and scratching at the front door.

Nick made it around the truck just as Callie had wavered a little, blinking away the dizzy spell. An arm around her back steadied her.

“You gotta stop jumping down like that,” he implored, hesitant to release his hold from her.

“Force of habit,” she frowned, back to herself. “I can carry one of those,”

“Oh yeah you take the gift so they’re nicer to you,” he drawled sarcastically, locking the truck twice.

“I wouldn’t need to- they like me more anyways.” she beamed mischievously, hissing when he smacked her ass harshly before they crossed the street.

They pushed and teased one another with secretive words as they walked, stopping their naughty comments when Oleg opened the front door to greet Pucca, then standing straight with open arms for Callie.

“Happy birthday!” Callie smiled, receiving a monstrous hug and even being lifted off her feet a couple inches.

“Thank you, my little bean,” he grinned, always patting her cheek before moving onto hug Nick.

“Mausan lovepak,” Dinara keened lovingly, meeting Callie next for a tight hug and always the same questions: are you hungry, are you tired- how’re you feeling? before she held the sides of her belly, face scrunched in affection. “Nalkren'uk avhe faushnu?”

“It’s good, Ma,” Nick answered, finally finding space to slip through the door.

“Oh your back must be hurting,” Dinara sucked her teeth, pulling Callie gently along. “Ukmall- grab that tea on the counter?” she directed to Nick just as he’d been walking out, only to spin on his heel and go back.

“I can’t drink sweet tea, I’ve been nauseous all morning,” Callie groaned, stopping often as multitudes of Orcs greeted her with hugs or quick kisses on the cheeks, some of them patting her stomach which in turn made her a little anxious.

Had she not had such a miserable morning it would’ve been easier to handle, but the slightest bump or touch made her woozy.

“Nick told me so. It’s Crescent tea, it’ll calm that little one down,” she winked at Callie. “Agh! All of you, stop! Let her find a seat!” she barked at the hovering hands and swiped a few away as Callie chuckled, waddling after Dinara as they made their way to the backyard where there was more seats and less Orcs to bump into.

It was cooler outside compared to the stuffy heat that hovered in the house from all the food cooking in the oven and stove top, relieving some of her discomfort. Pucca was bolting and bounding playfully with her sister Sunu; another Merle pitbull that Nick hadn’t had the heart to leave behind when he’d first picked Pucca from the litter. Good thing his parents wanted a dog, too. Orc toddlers and kids ran circles around the lively dogs with bubble wands while a few teenagers sat around the edge of the yard where they’d dragged over chairs, their eyes mainly glued to their phones. Laughter still floated between them as they shared memes, however.

Now that Callie was sat beside the long table littered with food and a few family members here and there, it was easier to let curious hands rest over her stomach as they eagerly wanted to feel the baby move. Mostly Nick’s aunts and cousins who all shared their advice about Orkish babies.

From techniques to jump start labor, to help with labor recovery, all the way to teething that apparently started much earlier for Orcs than it did for humans, Callie drank it all in, storing the information for later. She knew how to handle human babies, but Orcs? Even halflings? She was out of her depth.

Once the hands had stopped reaching and most of the extended families questions had been answered, it gave Callie the opportunity to answer Dinara’s burning questions about the return visit only a couple days prior.

“I didn’t think it’d be like human pregnancy,” Dinara restated, and Callie nodded in agreement. “So when’s the new due date?”

“Late July,”

Dinara’s hairless brow cocked. “Late July?”

“They still don’t know if the growth rate will be consistent,” Callie explained, and Nick’s mother’s eyes partly rolled in exaggerated humor.

“You’d think they’d be able to at least give you a rough date instead of the later half of an entire month,” she huffed as she stood, patting Callie’s shoulder as she walked back into her house.

Callie nodded indifferently. She has a point.

A few more family members sat at the table with Callie, curiously asking how she’d been doing so far and about everyday life, all of them equally excited and surprised that Nick was finally settling down. He’d been known as the loner of the family for years, not only for his relationship status, but to also be the only one without siblings, so it shocked most of them that he’d ended up with a human, no less.

“It’s because he had no siblings that he chose a human,” a low voice came, pulling Callie and one of his aunts attention away from their conversation.

“Say it louder, Ghorza,” the aunt, Yotul, who Callie had been talking to snapped, her brighter than normal eyes glaring at the chubbier aunt across the table sat beside her bigger husband.

Ghorza’s painted, crooked eyebrows pinched together in discomfort, but she squared her narrow shoulders. “He didn’t learn to stay with his own kind. First joining the humans at the LAPD and now that,” she motioned towards Callie’s stomach.

Though her hard expression was set in stone, Callie’s confidence faltered a little. Her foot started tapping under the table.

Words were passed between the aunts bitterly, but Callie understood little to none of the swift Orkish lashing off their tongues. Her arms crossed, more so over her stomach she now wanted to shield from anyone's gaze.

“What’s going on?” Nick asked, appearing from behind with a couple plates in hand along with the tea. Other family had held him up with conversation up until that point. She hadn’t been aware of the tension in her frame until she exhaled at the sight of her lover, scooting her chair closer to his. All at once, she wanted to hide against his chest, but she had to stand her ground, even if it was silently.

As hard as it could be now, it would only get harder once she had a halfling on her hip. Moms were already judged critically for anything and everything; she had to start developing that thicker skin to withstand the criticisms from both sides.

“Your auntie says you two are wrong for having a baby,” Yotul exclaimed, drawing the attention of a few other family members that had sat at the table. A low murmur of disapproval floated around, all aimed at the aunt who tried to keep her protruding chin lifted confidently.

“Not the first time we’ve heard that,” Callie mumbled. Nick looked at her at first with a grin, but the way her knee was swaying back and forth told him everything. A hand on her thigh brought her attention to him, lessening the intensity of her angry eyes.

“You act like it’ll be some great burden to the family. It will be no different from the other children we all have,” an Uncle of Nick’s piped in, reaching over his shoulder to grab for some of the baked chips before them.

Ghorza scoffed belittlingly. “Crossover children are bred to be mischief,”

“Wow, you sounded human there,” came a more timid voice. Beside Nick was sat his younger cousin, only a teenager, but from what Oleg had told them had always looked up to Nick as a mentor. It was because of Nick that this young boy, Adrik, was pursuing his dream of being a fireman.

Nick chuckled, bumping his arm.

The older Orc that had been beside Ghorza shook his head, his jowls shaking. “You bring disgrace to your family,” he muttered, his gravelly voice unsettling Callie further alongside a cold glare he shot her way.

“He’s done no such thing,” Oleg appeared from the other side of the yard with a plate stacked with grilled fish. “Leave if you’re going to be a sourpuss- it’s my birthday,” he stated dramatically, a hand on his chest in false exasperation and winking at Nick and Callie.

“If everyone can share their opinions than why can’t we? We were your family first,” Ghorza leaned in, eyeing Nick like he was a child being reminded of his lower status. But he wasn’t. He was a grown man, and had been taught by Callie, no less, to let go of whoever wasn’t in his corner.

“Not to my baby you won’t be,” Nick grinned, his clubmasters masking his squinted eyes, patting Callie’s thigh for added point.

Though Callie’s lip barely curled in a small grin, her heart soared. She was so proud of him.

“And don’t you go picking on my daughter-in-law again or we’ll bring up your little altercation with the police, eh?” Oleg smiled, waggling his hairless brows, and effectively ruffling Ghorza and her husbands feathers who in turn chuffed loudly at his brother.

“Ahh, I bet Nick knows all about that!” a different family member pushed in, stirring low laughter across the table as Nick nodded. He did, in fact, know about the forged checks his salty aunt had written in his grandfather's name.

Callie hid her smile behind her mug as the pair stood bitterly and moved into the house, two more cousins taking their spots with plates full of food.

“I’m sorry,” Nick intoned, but she shrugged.

“It’s not like you haven’t dealt with the same thing,” she partly grinned now. “I didn’t think she could dislike me anymore than before,”

“Don’t listen to her, she’s mad she didn’t stay thin like you when she was pregnant,”

This time it was Zaza who’d laughed that, Nick’s cousin who was the same age and who frequented the bank Callie worked at for her own job. Her brilliant patterning always entranced Callie; like a fairy had drawn intricate designs across her face and shoulders that showed beneath the lovely, baby blue blouse she wore.

“And that all her girls can’t stand her,” a longtime family friend said between Nick and Callie, leaning down to hug around Nick’s broad shoulders. He hugged her back awkwardly. “I haven’t seen you since you came into your celebrity status,” Jez teased, but Nick snorted.

“I was never a celebrity,” he corrected, petting Pucca when she came to rest her head in his lap, panting loudly.

“Says the one with the groupies,” someone called from across the table, igniting a small storm of laughter.

“I do not,” he griped.

“You do, actually,” Callie piped in. “I always get girls and guys on Instagram commenting about how they wish they had their own big Orc daddy in uniform for themselves,”

His family exploded with teasing, effectively heating Nick’s ears and setting off a light flush across his cheeks as he attempted to hide behind his drink and nervous chewing. When they insisted on seeing the photos, Callie had mercy and only showed them the mild ones, like the shot of them standing before their bathroom mirror and Callie flexing pitifully with a barely visible baby bump with Nick’s impressive arms flexed beside her, his chest and stomach chiseled with muscle he’d committed some great time to building up.

“Put that away,” Nick tried grabbing for the phone, chuffing in embarrassment as Callie smiled at him with her tongue between her teeth.

“This is also why your auntie is mad- you have a flat belly and Uram’s gut hits her while they fuck.” Ushug, another uncle basically yelled, stirring another round of loud laughter from everyone.

Most of the teasing died down after that, mostly due in part to Callie nearly peeing her pants as she struggled to stifle strong giggles, proving all the more difficult when Nick playfully leaned away so she couldn’t hide behind his shoulder.

Soon after, more food covered the table once Dinara and her brother had finished inside, effectively drawing the last of the scattered family together to eat. Fish and chicken and veggies were piled high, as well as bowl after bowl of hearty sides and snacks, more than enough to feed all Orcs hungrily grabbing for their share and still have some left for seconds and leftovers.

Callie had originally said she wouldn’t eat, but the scents wafting from the fish and roasted potatoes and spiced macaroni was too much to resist, and soon her stomach, and the somersaulting one inside her was demanding a plate that Dinara stacked, even when Nick insisted she not eat the fish.

“Do you think I'd give her something that was bad for her and the baby?” Dinara snapped at her son, glaring down at him coldly, effectively silencing his protests. His mouth was in a straight line, low growls emitting from him until his mother smacked his shoulder.

Callie chewed the grilled Tilapia purposely, smiling at Nick when he glared before pinching above her knee again.

She still asked Nick to fill her plate when she was too bashful to slop seconds onto it, but let him place chicken on the plate instead of fish the second time around.

“I’ll just take some home for later then,” she teased, narrowing his eyes.

Amusing conversation floated between everyone, all of them taking shots at one another in teasing manners or just gossiping, but none of it was ill spirited. Nick’s entire family, including a few humans that made up long time friends and distant relatives he saw only once in a blue moon were close knit, and Callie’s earlier worry that any more of them disliking her based entirely on the fact their Nick had knocked-up a human dwindled further with every kind smile and genuine interest in their soon to be newborn.

A few toddlers and younger ones came up to her curiously, inquisitive eyes trained to her as they inquired about how it felt, how it was happening, and how it had happened. That made Nick almost spit his drink, and in turn earned him a few low teases from the childrens mothers who insisted ‘Uncle Nick’ give them an honest answer. Soft touches over her stomach to feel the little one’s strong kicks fluttered about from their tiny hands, most of them flinching and giggling when there was a particularly energetic bump.

Once the little ones had ran off, Callie tried helping Dinara pick up the scattered plates, cups and napkins, but insisted the expecting mother sit down and get off her feet- everyone did, but Callie waved her hands and still stacked and picked. That was until she moved beside Nick and he turned his chair to pull her into his lap, an arm kept under her bust and hand on her thigh so she couldn’t escape despite a few shoves against his chest.

Both Nick and Dinara glared stubbornly as she did, and it was only because she was outnumbered that she stayed put, Nick’s toned thighs much easier on her butt than the stiff wooden seats that had started aggravating her achy back.

“So when are you gonna tell us what the gender is?” Oleg called from the head of the table, rubbing his hands together with glee.

“When it’s born,” Callie answered, and the table collectively groaned.

“Why wait?” an aunt inquired.

“Yeah why wait?” Nick suddenly said, looking up at her from over his clubmasters as he stuffed a towered chip into his mouth.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” Callie pushed against his cheek, interrupting his efforts to consume his mile high stacked chip.

“I’m getting impatient,” he paused to suck salsa off his thumb. “I already know it’s gonna be a girl,”

The table again agreed mutually, noting that Nick and two others were the only boys out of the 20 present.

“Ask Laka! He always knows,” someone announced just as Nick’s quiet uncle from his mother's side had walked by with his plate. Laka was a towering Orc with the muscle mass to match his intimidating demeanor, not the mention the chipped tusk and blind eye that aided his menacing features, but the few times Callie had interacted with him in the past was always pleasant, and the least bit frightening once he started talking.

“Oh just ask what position she was in when it happened,” someone said from afar, stirring more laughter.

“Was it doggy? Girls are always doggy,” Hanra, another cousin with a dazzling smile and golden tusks asked Callie outright, but she was hiding behind her hands, stifling flustered giggles as Nick stuffed more food in his mouth to avoid revealing their secret.

“Nooo just ask Laka! C’mon, tell her- it’s gonna be a girl, isn’t it?” Zaza came up beside Laka, leaning over to watch.

Nick’s uncle stepped beside Callie to look down at her thoughtfully, head tilted as his good eye observed her entire form. A large hand calmly moved into her space, his fingers barely pressing against her stomach for a chaste encounter before withdrawing again.

“It’s a boy,” he said, his deep voice soft, yet confident in his decision.

The table erupted with arguing and shaking heads.

“He’s lost his touch. It’s going to be a girl, ukmall,” Dinara eyed Nick knowingly, sitting down beside her stuffed husband who still accepted a piece of cake happily from her.

Laka patted Callie’s shoulder before moving away to grab more food, and she forced down a wide smile. For months she’d only heard ‘girl this, girl that’, so to finally have someone else in her corner after secretly hoping for a boy… it left her hopeful, even if there was no surefire way to know outside of a doctors office.

“Either way,” Oleg forced out through his full mouth, making Dinara cringe. “You have to pick names,”

“We have a name for a boy picked,” Nick said nonchalantly, despite everyone silencing enough to lean in.

“I swear if you two keep that a surprise too,” Dinara said through clenched jaws, looking at the pair with heated eyes.

Nick looked up at Callie, smirking.

“Leo Makar,” she said, delicately, another stir in her stomach affirming how much she adored the name they’d brought together. There were no disputes this time, but instead a collective hum of approval from everyone.

“And for a girl?”

“I like Veronika,” Nick stated, releasing his hold on Callie when she rose to use the bathroom.

“And Renata!” she called before entering the house, and he nodded in agreeance. Those names were met with a little more resistance, but not enough for Nick to be swayed in the slightest. The conversation finally rotated from them, back to private conversations between Orcs sat beside one another.

Laka came back around, sitting down on Nick’s other side once the chair was abandoned.

“How’d you figure it’s gonna be a boy?” Nick asked curiously, knowing full well his uncle really had never been wrong in his predictions.

At first he shrugged, but then explained, “Girls take more from their mothers than boys. Calista’s color is still good on her.” He solely stated, nodding at his own words before concentrating on his food.

Nick’s eyes slowly pulled away, chewing mindlessly on a piece of root that felt pleasant between his sharp molars. There was no real preference for Nick; he adored the thought of having a little girl on his hip just as much as a rambunctious boy following him around everywhere. His thoughts took him on a small stroll away from the loud chattering around him, to a multitude of scenarios, all displaying the countless possibilities his future awaited with their first child.

↠

Fero couldn’t help but turn over his shoulder every time she did, only to reveal again that no one was following them down the slumbering street. The only thing that would’ve given them away was the way the streetlights flickered above them when they passed, or the ridiculously shifty appearance her long trench coat and hood gave off.

He glanced at her, clearing his throat. “You’re making yourself more obvious,”

Tikka didn’t answer, and instead kept walking briskly across the wet sidewalk.

“MTF-”

“I’m not worried about MTF. I’m worried about Makhel,” she mumbled, again looking over her shoulder.

“I doubt he’ll be walking down a neighborhood like this anytime soon,” he chuckled, fingers running over the tops of cars they passed.

“You say that like he didn’t find and completely destroy the motel we were just in,” she hissed through her sharp teeth, flinching towards him to make him flinch back. “He destroyed everything,”

Fero straightened his jacket. “We didn’t need any of it anyways,”

“We needed cover. We needed to not be in the open like this,”

“We’ll find somewhere else,” he assured, his tone betraying his attempts to comfort her. He wasn’t entirely sure of his own statement, either. There was a short distance of silence between them, listening to the thick heels of her boots against the concrete as they walked briskly. “Rania is with him,”

Tikka’s head shook. A short beat of silence. “I don’t think she went willingly,”

“She’s half Orc-”

“That doesn’t make her any less of a Bright,” Tikka spun, fury whipping like wild flames in her striking eyes. “She’s a damaged girl and he understood that pain. She’s not wrong for staying with him,”

The ire radiating off her locked frame kept him still, nearly pressed against a car they’d stopped beside, and she didn’t budge until he nodded stiffly. He exhaled when she turned to continue down the sidewalk, and kept a safe distance between them with his mouth shut.

Tikka pulled a scorched paystub from her pocket, glancing at a house she paused before. Wrong one. She moved further down the sidewalk, coming to one with a long front yard and bamboo shades rolled up above the porch, lush green plants lining the yarn below the front windows. Another glance at the paper- this was it.

Fero stood close beside her, both of them staring at the dark windows of the home.

“Are you gonna go up?” he asked softly, and her expressionless face turned to him.

“You think I can walk up and just knock on his door?” she mocked, and he fumbled over words before simply exhaling, looking back at the house.

“Are we just going to stand here until he finds us then?” he bit back, ready to stand his ground when she turned on her heel towards him again.

Approaching headlights demanded their attention however, and Fero had pulled Tikka with him to duck behind a car just as the truck pulled into the driveway, a pitbull rising from the bed to trot towards the gate. Tikka looked around Fero’s shoulder as Nick stepped from the truck, stretching back on his heels with a loud groan they could hear from across the yard before closing the door and walking to let the dog from the bed. It ran across the yard, circling near the bushes as the Orc she once spent a dangerous night with walked around the other side.

“Is that him?” Fero whispered, and she nodded.

That’s when she saw her.

They came from around the front, waddling beside Nick as he carried bags, both of them smiling and talking. She was the reason for the carseat Tikka had noticed in his truck; she knew this when she detailed the distended state of her belly, and the way she walked with a hand placed protectively over it.

Nick had grown even more from the man she thought he was.

“He looks different,” she whispered, taking in his puffed chest and raised chin, so proud as he walked beside his nameless lover.

“Shh!” Fero pulled her back more when the pitbull started barking in their direction, stood alertly at the center of the yard.

“Pucca! Ven aqui!” Callie called, continuing onto the front door as Nick stopped to watch her.

But she went on barking rapidly, the fur on her back standing as he approached her. It offset him immensely, but it was too windy to pick up on anything that might’ve been there when he scented the air. His nocturnal vision saw only familiar shapes of cars, his hearing alerting to nothing. Regardless, it spooked him.

“C’mon girl,” he urged, but she only glanced up at him, turning to bark again. “Pucca!”

Stubbornly she backed up, whining before trotting beside Nick, nervously circling around his legs as she snuck in quieter barks at the street. She only silenced after the door closed behind them and could no longer rile herself up.

“Chill, weirdo.” Nick mumbled, moving to the kitchen.

Tikka remained crouched even when Fero stood, looking down at her expectantly. Still, she remained, bright eyes trained on the house now occupied.

“So what’re we doing?” he asked, hands on his slim hips.

“I can’t find Ward without him,” she said softly, reminding herself more than anything.

“So let’s-”

“He has a pregnant wife,” Her tone was matter-of-fact, a little perplexed he didn’t seem to understand the severity of Nick’s situation or his involvement moving forward.

“With a human, no less,” Fero shuddered.

When she rose, he came face to face with a deep fury rumbling in her heart; one that showed no amount of love for him could stop her from whipping out the wand carried preciously against her side and slaughtering him. He wasn’t her lover in that moment. He was someone who had crossed a Bright, and she resembled her sister like no other time than in those seconds that passed like hours.

“When you say things like that, I don’t blame Makhel for what he’s done.”

Tikka didn’t wait for him to respond, nor did she wait for him to follow as she made her way back down the street. For the time being, she didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say. Too many times she’d let his bitter remarks slide, but no more. Her heart couldn’t take much more of it.

A harsh breath expelled from him as he flopped into the couch, stretching pleasantly once he’d kicked off his shoes and pulled his sweatshirt up over his head, leaving him in a black muscle shirt and sweats. The chill lingering in the house sent goosebumps across his skin, but the deep cushions would warm him soon enough. Nick loved his entire family endlessly, but sitting in the silence of his own home was pleasing after such a lively day.

A wide yawn with another stretch later, and he was sure he could sleep in that very spot. The smallest of light was coming in from the kitchen, just enough to let him see Pucca settling into her bed by the hall, circling in the center before hanging half off the plush pillow.

Softly he snorted, gaze moving up to Callie when she sauntered from the bathroom, her tights hung over her arm. Her baseball T was gone too, donning only a maternity camisole and panties that showed more of that ass she’d put on.

Nick squinted past a smirk, twisting to better watch her go about organizing loose mail on their table, pushing in a crooked chair, swaying side to side with a hand against the crook of her spine as she overlooked some of the papers already torn from envelopes.

“Used less water this month. I’m gonna keep doing laundry at night,” she called back, but he only hummed, eyes kept on her peacefully.

How had he ever stood the emptiness of his home without her?

The bills were stacked and left on the table top, and she turned, a chair bearing the weight from her hand and the other holding her baby bulge as she met his gaze.

“I ate too much,” she softly confided, and he chuckled.

“Me too,”

“You gonna call it a night?” she asked, walking over to lay down beside him with a pleased exhale, her legs stretching across his lap.

Nick shrugged, squeezing between her body and the couch to rest his cheek over her stomach. “Lemme hold my baby,” he said behind a kiss, an arm draped over her thighs.

“You mean your son?” she bargained, and her smile grew wider as his brow arched higher once he looked up at her.

“Possessed with the thought now?”

“Convinced,” she corrected, rubbing his head as he adjusted his hold around her. The soft rumbling of purrs started soon after her nails drew designs across the back of his neck, a digit venturing to trace the shell of his ear. His big shoulders shimmied, and Callie giggled.

“I wanna know the gender,”

Big golden eyes found her bewildered ones, his chin resting under her bust.

“Really? Your family got to you?” she asked in disbelief, but Nick only shrugged.

“I wanna know if we’re having a Leo or a Veronika,” he confessed, fingers drumming.

“Or a Renata,” she added reluctantly, pulling her thigh up from under him. “What if I never got pregnant again and we don’t have the chance to keep it a surprise?”

“Do you know how many of my aunts wanna throw you a baby shower?” he grinned, eventually getting one out of her.

“So does Rosie,” she revealed, already feeling her formerly resilient stance on this subject wavering the longer she gazed down at his pout. Nick never used this face, choosing to save it for rare occasions knowing it was her undoing.

In defeat, she dropped her head back. “I’ll think about it,”

“Good,” he settled, unwilling to push his luck any further. A glance downwards caught sight of his toothy grin, but swinging her knee into his chest to knock it from his face did little when he caught her blow, his hand placed appealingly farther inwards.

She licked her lips, her other foot sliding off the edge of the couch.

He masked his inching in soft caresses, closer to her center now.

“I gotta get up early tomorrow,” she muttered, her breath heavying involuntarily.

She could feel his chest expand rapidly; he was scenting her. Nick swallowed and lapped his tongue against the roof of his mouth, relishing in the warm spice that was already coming off of her. It heavied his eyes immediately.

“We should go to bed soon then,” he replied gruffly, the back of his nails dragging side to side along the edge of her panties that sat at the crook of her inner thigh. She twisted ever so slightly beside him, already impatient.

“Soon,” she agreed, and her breath hitched when Nick’s featherlight touch traced her lips, up and down over her panties, craning his neck to look up at her. “Later,” she corrected, whining.

“You have stuff to do?” he smirked, and her expression was pure agony. “Say it,” he puffed, pulling up against his elbow so his face was before hers, his fingers still barely any pressure.

“Touch me,” came out in a harsh breath, her hips rising, awkwardly at that with her belly in the way.

“Again,” he groaned, licking the nipple that was barely poking out from under her camisole. Her breasts had swelled beautifully since pregnancy set in.

“Touch me, please,”

His lips found hers in time to smother a delicious moan just as his hand slid under the panties and between her lips, pebbling her soaked clit with his middle finger. Her kisses were messy, her grip on his face weak as he ground his palm in wide circles while his fingertips prodded her entrance.

“You’re cruel,” she gnarled, face tightening in anger when rocking her hips did little to get him in, but Nick’s crooked grin was devious, and sexy. Goosebumps cascaded down her inner thighs, her knee rising to hook over his thigh.

“Stop teasing-” he found his way deeper into her camisole, his tongue swirling around a hard nipple. “C’mon,”

“Hm?” he pretended not to hear, drawing wide circles around her clit, resisting a moan himself; she was so warm- it made him feverish thinking of sinking into her.

She exhaled angrily, her entire body bowing under him. But his touch still evaded her entrance.

“Baby please,” she grabbed his face, bringing his gaze to hers. A soft kiss, and he groaned, sitting farther up over her. “Inside me,” she sighed, her tongue finding his momentarily. “Make me scream,”

Nick chuffed, pushing his tongue in her mouth for a heated kiss just as he pushed his middle two fingers in, her body tensing in the most languid of fashions. His eager mouth fell to her neck as she bowed, her own hand resting over his to feel how he finger fucked her.

“Keep moving like that,” he growled, pumping his wrist in time with her hips. He sat up- he had to see the way her pussy ground against his palm, her juices already shimmering in the dim light over his skin.

“Faster,” she forced out, arms hooked over the armrest above her head, using the leverage to snap her hips harshly. A long chuff expelled from him, and suddenly his fingers had pulled from her.

His face fell back into her touch after he’d swiftly pulled the soaked panties off her feet and pushed his sweats down to free his aching cock, his tight undershirt bunched up around his ribs that rippled with muscle.

Both of them moaned when the head of his dick squeezed in, seating tightly against her core, and there was only a few chaste moments of desperate, messy kissing before he fisted his hands into the cushions beneath her ass and started thrusting.

His mouth dropped to the spot under her jaw his bite would always mar as her neck craned deliciously, long, throaty moans wavering from her. He laved his tongue over the healing bruise after biting down, slowly, harshly, snarling into her skin when his speed increased.

“Oh fuck baby,” she whined, her heels pressed tight into his lower back.

“You’re so wet,” he puffed against her cheek, following her face as her head lulled side to side.

“Don’t stop- please don’t stop,” she begged breathlessly, eyes rolling back when he obeyed, her ass smacking against his hips loudly.

He had to close his eyes, tightly. He was so close- watching where his glazed dick punished her would only send him there faster.

Her touch brought his face back to hers, struggling to find her lips when she bounced beneath him.

“Oh God- oh fuck,” she wept, her brows tightening. It was happening; her hands were stilling over his tensed arms, her nails starting to pinch into his skin as her breathing became rougher.

“There you go,” he placed open mouthed kisses across her jaw. “Cum on my dick,”

“Like that- just like that baby,” she exhaled harshly.

Fuck- the way she spoke when she was like this. Everything was a pleasured plea, her tone harsh, and heady. She whimpered something, many things, her entire body curling inwards until it rolled straight, long successions of strangled moans and melodies of his name flying from her as that submerging wash of ecstacy shot out to every corner of her body.

The pulses started around his dick, and he fell to his elbows, muffling the Orkish curses against her shoulder.

She was a fucking drug- one that created the best high he never wanted to come down from, but his end was approaching, her prolonged cries and spice of her damp skin making him dizzy. His thrusts were shortening as her touch dipped under his arms to move down his taut back, admiring the fibers of muscle that worked elegantly under her fingers.

“You’re so perfect, you feel so fucking good,” she breathed beside his ear, her arms tight around his ribs with her face hiding in the crook of his neck. She kissed his cheek sweetly until he looked at her. “Cum in me?” she whispered, her lips featherlight against his as he groaned loudly, borderline sobbing as he fucked this perfect human below him.

His hips jerked erratically, shouting disconnected words against her skin, quieting to low moans and grunts as he milked himself into her until there was nothing left.

Nick’s broad shoulders heaved with deep breaths, the gentle kisses dusting across his cheek pulling his face from the crook of her neck for a few sloppy smooches upon her mouth. His arms started to tremble when his heavy body wanted to fall, but he couldn’t crush her stomach.

With a disapproving groan from Callie, he sat up and slipped out, falling back against the other arm rest, a hand flat on his chest as he steadied his breathing.

“Oh god I gotta pee,” she griped, grunting with great difficulty as she sat up, and waddled to the bathroom. His hand followed her, but dropped to the floor.

Emptying his load in her had sucked the life right out of him.

So worth it, he smiled to himself, lifting his hips to pull his sweats up and the shirt down his lean stomach.

The bathroom door opened, and she ambled out, peeking at him from the dark hallway.

“Come spoon me,” she called longingly, walking backwards to keep her sleepy eyes on him as he reached for her. Her legs were still shaky, that much was evident even from across the living room, and it sparked a little pride in him.

It was with great effort that he rose to first turn off the kitchen light then follow her to their room, not even bothering to change as he flopped like a 250 pound sack of potatoes beside her, bouncing a little across the mattress.

Callie giggled endlessly as she rolled into his side, holding around his shoulders as he buried his face against her breasts, shoving a knee between her thighs. They were pretzeled, chatting quietly with soft touches across her lower back and his shoulder blades, sleep sneaking its way into their cuddle the longer they spoke. Soon they were yawning uncontrollably, and their words were muddling, so with a hand rested on her stomach- awkwardly that was- Nick was the first to drift off, his cheek mashed comically against her chest before Callie followed suit, still rubbing the pads of her fingers behind his ear that twitched on its own accord.

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

if Orcs are anything like i think they are, i imagine they'd throw bitchin' barbeque's and I WANNA BE INVITED. and they chose a name for a booooooy! 💕 (acting like i haven't posted spoilers on tumblr for MONTHS NOW)

thank you for reading! feedback is always greatly appreciated n_n

translations: -"ven! ven qui!": come! come here!

-"lat pa-gog beaukav!": you dumb beast! -"Mausan lovepak": my lovely -"Nalkren'uk avhe faushnu?": how's the baby?

And just in case cause i have a habit of choosing names that are pronounced weirdly: +Makhel (muh-kel) +Rania (raw-knee-uh) +Makar (muh-car; Leo's middle name)