#i also left it kind of open in case you wanted to continue and have a teeny tiny mini thread with red like we did last fall 😭

[tititilani]

I can't stop thinking about if Simon had taken Edwin's offer

Like Charles finds Edwin in the hallway as ever but this time there's another boy there too, cowering against the wall next to him. Maybe the dollhead spider doesn't care about Simon, too busy focusing on its favorite target, so Charles is left standing in the hallway with Simon when Edwin is taken.

They get out of hell, but Edwin doesn't confess due to Simon hovering behind his elbow. He doesn't want to confess his emotions in front of his killer, who he probably hasn't even properly figured out how he's feeling towards yet.

The Night Nurse is pissed they came out with an extra soul but Niko's same loophole still applies and Simon stays.

"This is Simon," Edwin says when it's all said and done, finally introducing the boy that's been hiding behind him since the door closed. "He was a...classmate of mine."

"He saved me," Simon says, looking up at Edwin moony-eyed and Charles knows that look and something settles heavy in his stomach.

"Glad to have ya, mate," he tells him even though the words taste sour. This other boy knew Edwin when he was alive, the thought is slightly terrifying to him.

Simon settles in fine with the agency even if the agency feels a little crowded now with five people in it but he continues to moon over Edwin and Edwin just...never tells anyone how they actually knew each other. He reasons it just doesn't matter, that he can't find the right time, whatever.

Charles never really warms up to him, though he tries to hide it, but he sees the looks Simon gives Edwin, a soppy smitten look that is somehow worse than anything Monty or the Cat King ever tried with Edwin because of all of them, Simon arguably knows the most about like Edwardian courting. That, like Edwin, Simon has also survived hell. Charles hates the idea that someone could potentially understand Edwin more than he does.

He hates it so much that nothing further happens between him and Crystal because the idea of Edwin being left alone with Simon bothers him so much. He sees Simon adjusting Edwin's collar one (1) time and it makes him feel sick.

And then there's the fortune-teller.

They only go to her sometimes for cases because she never fails to freak Charles out but her prophecies tend to be accurate like 60% of the time which is pretty good for a fortune teller. She looks at the two of them at the end, because it is just the two of them for once, and then looks just at Edwin.

"How kind you are," she says, the words a compliment but the tone snide. "To house your killer. Pray tell it doesn't come back to you."

"What." Charles says. "The fuck."

Charles is furious, of course, and it takes Edwin a long time to talk him out of smashing Simon's face in with the new cricket bat.

"He's like me," he insists in that quiet but firm voice. Charles wants to scream that Simon is nothing like Edwin - that he doesn't have a fraction of Edwin's kindness or pissiness, that his blue eyes are not nearly as beautiful as Edwin's green - but before he can even open his mouth, Edwin continues. "He...He likes boys, Charles. He likes me."

Oh. Oh.

Charles stares at Edwin who is looking back at him, trying and failing to hide the fact he's terrified, and Charles doesn't give one shit that Edwin likes boys because he's his best mate forever. He's still pissed that Simon is apparently staying but he has to hug Edwin at that. "I'm still pissed you didn't tell me about him," is all he says, swallowing back the other words he wants to say.

Charles grows even more paranoid about Simon being around, who has to get used to the fact that Charles takes to swinging his cricket bat ominously every time he comes within ten feet of Edwin. He finds out that adjusting clothing was an Edwardian courting thing and wants to break something. The very idea the very person who killed his best mate is now trying to put the moves on said best mate pisses him off.

It also makes him think of numerous times Edwin had readjusted his collar or jacket in the past and it makes his non-existent stomach flip.

Eventually, Simon decides he's ready to move on to his after-life and Charles keeps his hands from fisting when he looks at Edwin with that same soppy look. He knows Edwin has forgiven Simon by now but Charles has always been better at holding a grudge and he knows what is going to come out of Simon's mouth before he even asks. He knows that if Edwin says yes, he won't stop him.

Charles also knows that if Edwin does, there is no way he is going to find any kind of his own afterlife.

"You could come with me," Simon says hopefully and the moment after is the longest in Charles' life.

"Thank you, Simon," Edwin says kindly and Charles has to keep himself from crying. "But I have no interest in going anywhere without Charles."

He steps back - away from Simon and back towards Charles. Ears suspiciously pink, Edwin links their hands and they watch as Simon follows the Night Nurse.

[ssahotchnerr]

I saw your request for aaron hotchner valentine’s day! maybe an aaron hotchner x bau wife reader and they are all away on a case and they’re still there on valentine’s day and it’s been a rough case and y/n has been extremely stressed but Aaron makes sure she still feels special and treats her to a nice dinner and surprises her with flowers

too married

happy vday pt 2!!! cw; fem!reader, your usual cm case descriptions, mentions of food/alcohol, fluff <333

"it's disheartening, isn't it?"

aaron hummed from in front of you, fiddling with the key to grant the two of you access into your hotel room. "hm?"

"that we're here. on valentine's day." you could laugh if pushed, your voice sharp and inches away from wavering.

no matter how little the inflect, and even if you hadn't shown it at all, aaron still noticed it. he paused and turned back to you, a forlorn expression on his face. "sweetheart-"

"it's fine." you brought your hands to your face, frustratedly and tiredly rubbing your eyes for a moment. "sorry, i'm just looking for something to complain about. it's been a long day."

"a hard day." aaron added in your regard, reaching out to touch your arm soothingly.

your current unsub clearly hadn't felt the universal love within the air; he's been most brutal the bau had endured in a while. full of mutilation, a sickening signature, devolving by the minute.

truthfully it had gotten to you; you were finding it extremely difficult to compartmentalize, and spending most of the day staring at the graphic crime scene photos didn't help. at one point you couldn't bring yourself to look at the pictures, lowering your head down to the table and wanting nothing but to cry into aaron's shoulder.

but he was nowhere to be found, you've barely seen him. he had spent a good portion of the day conducting interviews, off following leads that only resulted in dead ends.

you did see him at lunch, but ignored his occasional, concerned glances. if you were to make eye contact with him, and despite how tempting that was, you would have lost it. in addition, the fact it was valentine's day, made it kind of worse.

sure, it was partly a hallmark, commercial holiday, but you couldn't help but yearn to be out to dinner with aaron - eating ridiculously priced food in a restaurant you could barely see him in, giggly and warm from the wine, serial killers being the least of your concerns.

and rather than going to bed to continue the night, you were going to bed to get a few hours of shut-eye if you were lucky - given the late hour and horrors of the day to keep your mind awake. before it was right back to where you had left off.

"besides, we're also too married to do anything too special, right?" you forced a laugh, the sound sounding foreign in the empty hallway. aaron internally winced, the strain and exhaustion in your voice tugging sadly at his heart.

you continued, "and if we were home, it'd be a quiet night-in wouldn't it? maybe we'd get take-out, watch a movie, go to sleep early."

a lie, but anything to make yourself feel better.

but, that's where aaron, without fail, always stepped in.

"well," he started, but didn't finish his thought - finally managing to get the room key to cooperate and pushing the door open, entering with you at his footsteps.

his back constructed your view, but once he sidestepped towards the bathroom to your right, he revealed a bouquet of red roses, chocolate covered strawberries, accompanied by a card waiting on the desk.

"i know it's not much." aaron explained as you froze, his hand finding the small of your back. "and it's not everything either, i do have more planned for once we're home but-"

maybe it was the near delirious exhaustion, the day you had, him, or all the above, but you only had one means of responding.

you grasped onto the lapels of his suit jacket, bringing him to you and kissing him so forcefully he nearly tripped up against the wall. aaron laughed gently in your mouth, but the kiss was long and deep, the two of you melting into each other.

not enough? it was everything, and the kiss alone silently proved that.

"thank you." you whispered once the two of you separated. your palms were resting on his chest, the fabric of his shirt soft under your fingers.

aaron smiled, the kind that caused the ends of his eyes to crinkle happily. "i love you. and although today wasn't how it should've been, and i would've loved to have spoiled you endlessly, and jack would've definitely been staying at jessica's for the night." his lips turned upwards into a light smirk, a wicked glint in his eyes before turning to their softness. "just like any day, i'm reminded how lucky i am you're my wife. whenever i'm with you, wherever we are, i'm home."

you blinked at him, in utter bafflement and awe. "how do you always know just what i need to hear?"

"because you're my beautiful wife, and like you said, we're too married." he teased, but his playful demeanor sobered, his voice lowering to a whisper. "i'm sorry you had a bad day."

"it's okay. it's better now," you answered just as softly as you looked into his eyes, stroking your thumb along his cheek before turning back to your surprise, "and when did you manage to do all this?"

"i can't reveal all my secrets, can i?" aaron quipped with a smile, pulling you in for another kiss. you reciprocated, wrapping your arms around his neck.

"happy valentine's day darling. and to many, many more."

[pedrospatch]

not a thing l part ii

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

part i

summary: You fess up and tell Joel about how Ellie overheard the two of you during the private moment you two had in the woods; Ellie confronts Joel about you while you’re asleep in the truck.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. IMPLIED AGED GAP (no specific age mentioned for reader, Joel is canon age) Joel is kind of an asshole, Ellie is a wiseass, mentions of Tess.

word count: 4.7k

a/n: decided to write a second part to the first Joel fic that i ever wrote! i am so, so stunned that one fic turned into more and that people actually want to read my stuff for Joel/TLOU. thank you all sm for everything and for interacting with me and my content. it means a ton!

“Think this might be a good time to stop?” Joel asked you, quietly.

You hummed, glancing back over at Ellie through the rearview mirror.

Even through the darkness inside the small cab of the pickup truck, it was almost too painfully obvious as to how fucking exhausted the girl was and how much this journey had already taken out of her after only just a few days on the road. Although she was on the smaller side and had an ample amount of space to stretch out her limbs, lay down, and get a decent night’s sleep in the backseat of the truck while you and Joel both took turns driving through the night, Ellie had expressed to you on more than one occasion that she’d rather stop to make temporary camp somewhere for a few hours and continue the drive in the morning once everyone had the chance to take a break. You honestly couldn’t blame her, not even if you tried—it was taking its toll on you too, a lot more than you let on to both Joel and especially to Ellie.

Being the adult, you kept your complaints to yourself, but the truth of the matter was that at the end of each day, you were also getting sick and tired, so damn sick and tired, of the ungodly amount of time that you were spending cooped up in the pickup, just sitting on your ass.

Sure, it may have been a little bit of extra work and it was keeping the three of you from reaching Wyoming as fast as Joel would have liked given the nature of the smartass, teenaged cargo you two had on your hands—but you also preferred to stop and make camp for the night.

After realizing that Joel was still waiting for a response, you nodded.

“Yeah, we should probably call it for the night,” You told him, glancing down at the map of the country in your hands. The three of you made it to the state of Indiana; Missouri was your next planned stop to find gas to siphon and refuel, and even though it was just a little less than six hours away, you figured an early morning wakeup call could have you all there by tomorrow afternoon. “Only problem about a state like Indiana is that it’s flat as fuck. There’s nothing but wide, open grassy fields around here.” You peered out of the window, then turned back to Joel, frowning. “Think we’ll find a safe enough spot?”

“We’re just gonna have to make do with what we got,” Joel stated as he carefully veered the vehicle off of the highway and to the left, onto the aforementioned grassy field. “You think about a mile out from the highway is decent enough? Mile and a half, maybe?”

“Let’s make it two,” You suggested. You neatly folded up the map and stuck it into the glove compartment in front of you. “I doubt we’ll run into anyone or anything out here in the middle of nowhere, but might be best not to risk being too close to the highway, just in case.”

He looked over at you, nodding his head in agreement. “Two it is.”

“Aww, teamwork,” Ellie teased from the backseat. “How fucking cute.”

“It’d be real cute if you’d shut up,” Joel quipped. Once he pulled the truck about a couple of miles out onto the field, he came to a stop and then cut the engine. “We’re gonna take a breather for a few hours,” he said to Ellie over his shoulder. “But only for a few hours, and not a minute more. Come sunrise, we need to get movin’ again, understood?”

She saluted him. “Aye aye, Captain. Whatever you say.”

The second that you hopped out of the pickup, you started shivering. The chilly evening breeze nipped at any patch of exposed skin it could find. The days had been pretty decent, but at night, the temperatures would drop drastically—it couldn’t have been warmer than forty or so degrees. Instinctively, you reached into the top of your pack, pulling a second jacket you carried for yourself out of it. You handed it over to Ellie and instructed her, “Put this on. Cordyceps infection might not have taken you out, but hypothermia will.”

She took it from you, shooting you a tiny, grateful smile. “Thanks.”

Joel eyed the interaction, his lips pursed together in displeasure.

He didn’t want you and Ellie getting attached to one another, but he feared it was too late. The girl had taken an instant liking to you and you seemed to have taken a liking to her too. “Here.” He tossed Ellie her blue sleeping bag. “Go lay down on the other side of the truck.”

“I’m already so fucking itchy just thinking we have to sleep here.” Ellie wrinkled her nose down at the grass under her shoes. Lifting her head, she took a glance around before turning her attention to you. It was written all over her face, evident in the way she started to shuffle nervously from foot to foot; she was afraid. “I feel so exposed. Are we really going to be safe? There’s fucking nothing out here, not even a single tree. What if someone finds us while we’re all sleeping?”

Before you could reassure her, Joel stepped in.

“No one is goin’ to find us out here,” he grouched. “We’ll be safe. Now quit your complainin’ and go get settled for the night. And don’t even think of askin’ me for a fire in the middle of a goddamn field. Got it?”

Ellie rolled her eyes at him. “Oh, it’s fine. You know, I’m actually kinda starting to get used to freezing my fucking ass off anyway.”

You lifted a hand to your mouth, trying to hide your snort of laughter.

She was too fucking quick for her own good.

Joel glared at you. “What? You think she’s funny?”

“Actually, I think she’s fucking hilarious,” You shrugged, causing him to let out an exasperated sigh. “What? It’s true! She’s made me laugh more in the last week than I have in the last two fucking decades.”

Ellie beamed at you. “At least someone still has a sense of humor.”

“Alright, that’s enough,” he snapped, irritably. “Both of you.”

She leaned over towards you, muttering the question right under her breath, “Jesus, has he always been this fucking crabby?” She nudged your shoulder with hers. “You must have the patience of a fucking saint to be able to deal with this on the daily. I would have killed him by now and then offed myself too with that fucking attitude.”

He stepped towards her. “What’d you just say—”

“Ellie.” Although you tried your hardest to reprimand her, instead, you found yourself fighting back another laugh. “Come on, let’s go before he strangles us both.” Taking her arm, you started leading her around to the other side of the truck. Dropping her arm, you reached for your own sleeping bag from the bed of it and started rolling it out. Though you were still fighting back a fit of giggles, you found it in you to offer her some words of advice. “Ellie, I know Joel is not the easiest person to deal with, but you really have to stop giving him so much shit, kid. The man has enough gray hair as it is. Take it easy on him, will you?”

“But I need to keep myself entertained somehow,” she replied with a small, innocent shrug of her shoulders. She unrolled her own sleeping bag, laying it out right beside where you had laid out yours; you saw a pensive look cross her face and after a second, she moved it closer to yours, leaving about a one inch gap of space between the two. For as scared shitless as you had been to take someone like her under yours and Joel’s care, the mere fact that Ellie seemed to feel safer being so close to you must have meant you were doing something right.

“Jacket,” You reminded her.

“I know, I know.” Ellie tugged on the spare jacket that you’d given her just minutes ago, zipping it up to her chin. She yawned, crawling into her sleeping bag. Before rolling over onto her side, she stopped and a tiny, tired smirk tugged at her lips as she looked up at you. “Wait. You and Joel aren’t going to bone each other tonight, are you? Because I might actually have to suffocate myself in this thing if you do.”

You sighed heavily. “And here I thought you were actually going to do me the favor of never bringing it up ever again.”

“What can I say? Giving you shit is almost as fun as giving it to Joel.”

You nudged her lightly with the toe of you worn, brown leather boot, chuckling as you told her, “Go to sleep, you little jerk.”

“Remember. Protection.” Ellie yawned again, rolling over. “G’night.”

“Goodnight, Ellie.”

The minute that you heard her soft snores coming from inside of the bag and you were certain she was asleep, you made your way back to the other side of the truck where you found Joel busy loading up and checking his rifle. Thankfully, hadn’t seemed to have heard what Ellie had just said to you. “I’ll take watch tonight,” You offered, holding out your hands and beckoning for the weapon. You instantly noticed the all too familiar look of protest on his face. “Joel, you were the last one to drive today and you’re fucking exhausted. Just let me take watch.”

“The whole damn point of me drivin’ all the way out here was so we can all get some rest without worryin’ about anyone findin’ us,” Joel reminded you. “And besides, I wasn’t plannin’ on standin’ watch. I was just makin’ sure this was ready to go, in case of an emergency.”

You chuckled softly, shaking your head. “Joel, please. I know you like I know the back of my own goddamn hand and I already know that I’m going to wake up in the middle of the night and I’m going to find you standing watch, regardless of how safe you say we are in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.” You continued holding your hands out for the rifle. “Look, my arms are getting tired here. Can you just give me the fucking gun please?”

“You need sleep—”

“We can swap places in a couple hours,” You compromised. “Deal?”

Knowing that you could be just as stubborn as he was, Joel grumbled something incoherently under his breath before finally shoving it into your waiting hands.

“Thank you. Now, was that really so hard?”

Joel scoffed, shoving past you. He reached into the bed of the truck and grabbed his own sleeping bag. “You really need to stop talkin’ to the kid so much. She’s startin’ to rub off on you and I don’t like it.”

“Sweet dreams, Joel,” You replied, watching as he stalked around to the other side of the Chevy where Ellie was fast asleep.

An hour later, you found yourself leaning against the cab of the truck, the sound of chirping crickets your only companion. You held the rifle gently, but still firmly in your grasp, your index finger gingerly resting on the trigger. You tilted your head backwards, gazing up at the stars in the velvet night sky—you tried not to let your mind wander off very far, but you couldn’t help thinking of what Ellie had said to you earlier that morning back in the woods.

He’s a guy who doesn’t seem to give a shit about too many things or too many people. But I know he does give a shit about you. He cares about you.

She was wrong. She had to be wrong. She was fourteen, she was just a kid, after all. Besides, what the fuck could she possibly know about you and Joel, especially after only having been with the two of you for about a week?

Ellie was sorely mistaken.

Joel only kept you around for his benefit.

And the meaningless sex wasn’t the benefit you were referring to.

Joel had always been the brawn, but both you and Tess had been the brains of the operation. That’s how it had always been, at least for the better part of the last few years. You might have been on the younger side in comparison to your smuggling partners, but for some reason, Tess had seen something in you—what it had been, you never had the opportunity to find out, but it made her take a chance on you.

Against Joel’s wishes, she decided that she would take you under her wing; at eighteen years old, you’d been closer to being a child than an adult, but that only meant your mind was still pliable, and she could work with it. By the time you reached your twenties, it was apparent that Tess had all but molded you into a miniature clone of herself—she’d shown you how to think outside the box, taught you how to be persuasive, how to keep trades or deals from going south, and most importantly, what to do if they somehow did go south.

Now that she was gone, you were all that Joel had left. You were what he was stuck with. After Tess died, there was a part of you that had to wonder if Joel felt the wrong person had been infected and killed. It’s not that you thought that Joel would rather it was you who were dead but the reality was that if he’d been given the choice between having you or Tess at his side for this, you were certain it wouldn’t be you.

But he hadn’t gotten a choice. 

It was you he ended up with, and you were his only shot at getting to Tommy and getting Ellie to where she needed to be. He needed help, and now that Tess was no longer here, you were the next best thing.

That was it.

A rustling sound nearby pulled you out of your train of thought. You immediately lifted your head and pushed yourself away from the cab, readying your weapon. You took quiet, careful steps and then sharply turned the corner around the bed of the truck, aiming the rifle at the figure in front of you with your finger still on the trigger.

“Fuckin’ relax!” Joel hissed at you, holding his hands up. “It’s me!”

“Jesus Christ!” You exhaled a sharp breath, lowering the gun. You narrowed your eyes at him. “You scared the fucking shit out of me, Joel! I just about shot your head off of your shoulders!”

“Your aim ain’t all that good, darlin’,” Joel stated as he walked up to you, a slight hint of amusement in his Southern drawl. “You keepin’ watch or zonin’ out over here?”

You ignored his teasing remarks. “You’re supposed to be sleeping.”

Your heart squeezed tightly in your chest as Joel fell into step in front of you, an all too familiar lustful glimmer in his eyes.

“Couldn’t really sleep,” he stated with a shrug of his is shoulder. “Had somethin’ on my mind. But from the looks if it, I ain’t the only one lost in thought.” He peered down at you. “What were you thinkin’ about, anyhow?”

“Nothing,” You fibbed. “Just, uh, just how fucking cold it is.”

Joel reached for the rifle, taking it out of your hands. He leaned over and placed it in the bed of the truck behind you. “And you tell me that I’m a shitty liar?” he asked with a small scoff. “Let’s pretend that for a minute that I actually believe that’s what you were really thinkin’ about.” With every word that he spoke, his voice became lower, huskier. “If the cold is what’s on your mind, I know a couple different ways I can help get your mind off of it.”

“Joel—”

“C’mere.” He hooked his index fingers through two of the front belt loops of your blue jeans, yanking you forward until you came crashing against his chest. He dipped his head, his lips eagerly meeting an exposed patch of skin on your neck. As he kissed and nipped at the delicate flesh, he started to move his hands from the belt loops of your jeans over to the buttons instead.

“Joel, wait,” You mumbled weakly, cursing how your body just always seemed to melt right in his fucking hands. “Joel, stop.” You’d said it so softly into his failing right ear that he hadn’t heard you.

Joel’s mouth left your neck, finding your own mouth instead in a way that made every single nerve in your body light on fire. He started to walk you backwards until your back hit the bed of the pickup, a soft thud noise filling the air around you. He pinned you tightly between it and himself as he kissed you fiercely, hungrily. The physically intimate moments that you two shared over the years had always been relatively short due to never having the time nor the place, but maybe that’s why he kissed you the way that he did—with such urgency, with such desperation, as if his fucking life depended on it. Because it never lasted as long as he would have liked and he never knew when he would be able to get his hands on you again.

Breaking away from you slightly, Joel placed his hand on your hip, his index finger grazing the soft skin right above the waist of your jeans as he murmured breathlessly against your lips, “I want you. I gotta have you. Right fuckin’ now.”

It took just about every last ounce of strength that you had inside you to place both of your hands on his chest and gently push him back. “I don’t think we should do this, Joel. Not with Ellie being so close by.”

“She’s asleep.” He frowned, taking your hands off of his chest as he took several steps back from you looking dejected. “Unless you just don’t want—”

You were quick to stop him. “Of course I want you.” You swallowed, your throat having gone dry. “It’s just that—see, the thing is that—”

“Fuckin’ spit it out.”

So you do.

“Ellie knows, Joel.”

“What?” Even in the darkness, you could see the color draining from his face. “How?”

“Look, I really didn’t want to tell you about this. But last night in the woods when we were—” You trailed off, shifting your weight from one foot to the other almost anxiously.

“She saw us?”

“She heard us,” You corrected him. “She confronted me about it this morning before we left. I pretty much made her promise to keep her mouth shut because I didn’t want her saying anything to you about it. I didn’t want her giving you grief like she did to me.”

Joel ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “That little fucking shit—”

“It’s not her fault, Joel. And you know that. We shouldn’t have done it with her being so close by.”

You watched as he dropped his hand from his head, his jaw clenched.

“Joel, come on. Please don’t be mad about this.”

Joel fixed his eyes on the ground and tightly shook his head. “Go get some sleep. I’ll take over watch.”

“But Joel—”

“Just drop it,” he said, rigidly, his gaze refusing to meet yours. “Go.”

Knowing better than to push it, you simply nodded. “Okay.”

The moment you crawled into your sleeping bag next to Ellie, you’d tried your absolute hardest to get some shut eye, but what happened with Joel had you much too worried, and rightly so. Still, you prayed for sleep to come, but it never did and the rest of the night dragged on for what felt like a fucking eternity.

Hours later, when sunrise finally came around, you got up to find Joel had already been packing up the pickup truck, getting it ready for the long drive ahead. The second he saw you approaching him, he simply told you to wake Ellie because the three of you needed to get a move on sooner rather than later. After that, he’d hardly said another word to you.

He couldn’t even fucking look at you.

Halfway to Missouri, during a quick pitstop, Ellie had noticed the odd tension in the air between you and Joel. She’d also noticed how tired you looked. She offered to trade places and sit in as Joel’s copilot for the rest of the day, at least until you reached Kansas City.

“I think he’d actually prefer you as his copilot,” You’d muttered to her in reply, hopping into the backseat. Between the motion of the truck, the soft country music playing from another tape Ellie found, and the open windows bringing in fresh, crisp air, you’d curled up into a little ball in the backseat and passed out within minutes.

Ellie glanced over her shoulder at you, making sure you were actually asleep before turning to Joel. “She told you, didn’t she?”

“Zip it,” Joel ordered. “Ain’t none of your business.”

Ellie hummed. “Well, seeing as I had the absolute delightful pleasure of having to hear the two of you go at it like a couple of cats the other night, I think it actually is kind of my business now.” She paused. She could physically feel the way he was wincing beside her, though what was causing him to be so uncomfortable was left to be determined. Ellie would imagine that it was getting caught in the act itself, but for some reason, she sensed there was a lot more to this mess than met the eye and she wanted to get to the bottom of it. “She told me that you guys aren’t a thing—”

“We’re not a thing. We’re nothin’ at all, alright?”

Ellie blew a raspberry. “Yeah, alright. I see you’re both sticking to that story. That you’re not a thing.” She raised her fingers in quotations.

“It ain’t a story, it’s the truth. We’re nothin’ more than just a couple of smuggling partners tryin’ to get you to where the you need to be.” He glanced at her briefly, then turned back towards the road. “And if you want to make it there unscathed, I suggest you shut your mouth and focus on that map in your hands instead stickin’ your nose where it doesn’t belong.”

“I think I at least deserve an explanation after you two put me and my innocent little virgin ears through the wringer.”

“Ellie,” he warned.

It was almost kind of scary how she was already used him saying her name in that tone already. “You’ve been treating her shitty as fuck today, you know.”

Joel frowned. Even though he knew he didn’t need to defend himself to a fucking teenager, he found himself doing it anyway. “The hell are you talkin’ about? I haven’t said a single fuckin’ word to her today.”

“Exactly.” Ellie pointed her index finger at him. “It’s bothering her.”

“She’s a big girl, Ellie. If somethin’ is botherin’ her, then she can come and talk to me about it. She doesn’t need some kid helpin’ her out.”

“That’s the thing. She can’t talk to you about it.”

“Beg your pardon?”

“Well, you’re not exactly the most approachable guy, dude.”

Joel gripped the steering wheel tightly. “Why the fuck do you care so much, anyway? You have other things to worry about. Like findin’ the fuckin’ Fireflies and helpin’ them create a vaccine that’s supposed to save the goddamn world.”

“Because,” Ellie said, refusing to allow him to change the subject, not when she felt like she was finally getting somewhere. “I like her. She’s a good person.”

Joel glanced up at the rearview mirror and looked at you as you slept soundly. He couldn’t deny that. Even in this shit world, even after the things you’d seen and all the people you’ve lost, you really were still a good person. You still hadn’t lost touch with your sense of humanity—that was one thing Tess never managed to change about you, the one thing that kept you from being identical to her, identical to Joel. You somehow hadn’t let this world turn you into stone, and maybe that is why you meshed well with them from the start. You brought this odd kind of balance that they hadn’t even known they needed.

That Joel didn’t know he needed.

“She likes you.” Ellie’s voice caused him to snap back to reality. “Lord fucking knows why.”

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, did I offend?” Ellie quirked an eyebrow, feeling a teeny smirk tug at the corners of her mouth. “Listen. All I’m saying is that she’s really young. And she’s really pretty. She’s nice, and smart as fuck, too. I bet she could probably have any guy that she fucking wants.” Her smirk only grew noticing how her words had gotten a rise out of Joel. Ellie could tell by the way his fingers had the steering wheel in a death grip, his knuckles ghost white. “And yet for some reason, she chooses to stick with you, you old fucker.”

“Listen here you little shit—”

She quickly held her hands up. “I’m just saying. She’s a good one, Joel.”

The words left his mouth before he could stop them. “I know she is.”

Bingo! Ellie thought to herself. Now we’re making progress.

“So, then why not treat her the way she deserves? Why just—what’s that saying? Hit it and quit it?”

Joel tossed a glare at her. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“I’m not wrong though. That’s what it is, isn’t it?” Ellie prompted.

“No!”

“But just a minute ago you said you two were nothing. So if you two are boning, but you’re nothing, that’s like a hit it and quit it, isn’t it? Or is it a fuck it and chuck it? Hump it and dump it?” She scratched her head, wracking her brain as she tried to figure it out. Beside her, Joel was about ready to implode. “Wait a minute, that can’t be right because you guys do it all the time. You’re not actually quitting it. So, it’s hooking up, right?”

“I swear to Christ I’m gonna make you fuckin’ walk to Wyoming if you don’t shut—how the fuck do you know all that? That what they teach you kids in FEDRA school?”

“Don’t change the subject.” Ellie grinned, crossing her arms over her chest. “Level with me, old man. Do you like her or not?”

Joel’s teeth were gritted together, his sights fixed on the road ahead.

“Or do you love her?” She practically sang.

“Ellie.” He said her name warningly once again, his eyes flickering to the rearview mirror. The last thing he needed was for you to wake up and hear this conversation; thankfully you were still out cold.

Ellie waved a hand at him. “Oh relax, the woman’s sleeping like a bear in hibernation. Now, answer the fucking question.”

Joel didn’t respond. He couldn’t respond.

He willed himself to open his mouth and say something—anything.

But he just couldn’t. He’d been stumped by a fucking fourteen year old who was too damn smart for her own good.

“Interesting,” Ellie mused after a minute of silence, curiously rubbing her chin. “How you can’t even deny it. Very, very, interesting.”

Before Joel could even think, the sound of you moving around in the backseat caused him to jump, the internal panic flooding him in one single wave. As soon as he was certain you were still fast asleep, he let out a breath of relief and turned to Ellie. “Now, you listen here—”

“Ah, ah, ah.” She held up her finger to her lips. “Let’s not wake Sleeping Beauty back there.” She dropped her hand down into her lap and glanced out the window, grinning to herself. “Besides, I have the answer I was looking for anyway.”

[dilatorywriting]

Monster Mayhem: Siren's Song [Part 2]

Gender Neutral Reader x Vil Schoenheit Word Count: 4.6k

Summary: Fish are friends (?). You are not food.

[PART 1] [PART 1.5] [PART 2] [PART 3] [PART 4] [PART 5]

The Siren wasn’t leaving.

Which a part of you had been expecting. Because surely if there had been a snowball’s chance in Hell of him making it out into the open ocean alive before you’d cut through the ropes, he would have taken it and left you stranded without a second thought. And his odds weren’t that much better now—his fins were still a mangled mess and the wounds all along his scales and dainty featherings were still raw and oozing. It only made sense that he’d take at least a few days to try and recover.

But… But still.

Did he have to make it so obvious that he was sticking around?

The glint of the light off his tail was a constant distraction—always bright and eye-catching even at the cloudiest points of the day. Always flashing just out of the corner of your eye as a perpetual reminder that there was something in the water that would very happily gobble you up if you bothered making a swim for safety.

He’d also taken to sunning himself. Like some kind of overgrown mer-cat. Stretched out languidly on a flat rock with the tips of his violet fins hanging over the edge—just enough for the gauzy edges to play along the surf and avoid drying out entirely. His pale hair splayed out in a halo around him as he snoozed softly in the heat of the afternoon.

Which! No fair! This wasn’t a vacation! This was a stranding! An SOS! A Rose Queen Procedural Rule Four-Hundred-and-Four! And him taking up the whole of the cove to, I don’t know, tan, felt like another intentional slap in the face. The sun rose over the bay, which meant this stretch of shore was facing East. Which was the direction your vessel had been coming from. Which meant that this was the place on the little islet where you needed to be. Subsection Three of Procedural Four-O’-Four. ‘In the case of Crew Overboard, we will always travel the same route as planned. In order to give the Strandee a chance to map out a reconnection point.’ Riddle always had been so smart about these kinds of things.

‘It’s just until he’s better,’ you reassured yourself for the umpteenth time that morning. ‘Then he’ll leave and I can get rescued or die here alone and in peace.’

A fin flicked up from the shallows to spray you with saltwater splatters and you spluttered indignantly when it ran down into your eyes. You glared at the Siren’s retreating back, musing bitterly about how you’d never thought it was possible for someone to make the tuck of their shoulders look smug.

‘Alone and in peace,’ you repeated hopefully. And it sounded like such far off dream.

.

.

On the second day post-rope-removal, the Siren waved you down with a sharp flick of his wrist.

You approached the waterline hesitantly, still mostly waiting for him to turn on you and make toothpicks out of your bones. But instead of murdering you and getting crafty with your corpse, he just pointed to some scribbles in the sand. You squinted at the loop-de-loops suspiciously. It almost looked like an illustration of dancing bubbles—the lot of them curling and popping along the ground in a line like a limerick. 

“Uhm, very nice,” you tried, and the fins flattened pissilly all along the side of his head.

He jabbed his claw towards the mess again. Then firmly at your eyes (hopefully not as a threat that he’d be happy to take them right out of your head if you continued to be obtuse). And then back again. He made a point to move the tip of his sharp nail from one swirl to the next in a little hop-hop-hop. It reminded you a bit deliriously of Riddle trying to teach some of the more socially bereft members of the crew their letters, and—

“You want me to read that?” you gaped, staring at the elegant curls of nonsense in the sand.

The Siren crossed his arms across his lean chest with a scoff that puffed past his lips hard enough to fluff out some of the paler, purple-tipped, hair hanging by his chin. He rolled his eyes at you and muttered something thin and spicy under his breath that you just knew had to be some sort of insult.

“I can read!” you defended, because it felt like it needed defending.

He leveled you with an entirely unimpressed ‘Oh, I’m sure you can’ sneer and you dropped to your knees, incensed. You dug your fingers into the sand and started sculpting out your own very cheery message into the muck.

When you were done, you waved a hand towards your proclamation and watched his brows pull together at the center into a teeny, pinched sort of expression. He let himself roll forward with the seafoam to lay more fully on the shore, and stared down at the mess you’d made like it was some strange code. Even reaching out to poke softly at the straight edge of a ‘T’ with one of his knife-sharp talons.

After a long moment of contemplation, he looked back up at you with an arched brow that was so unintentionally poised and not full of spite that it almost took your breath away. Who knew how pretty an already stunning face could become when it wasn’t twisted up in absolute vitriol? You shook away that absolutely damning thought in horror. That’s exactly what he’d want you to think. Siren, and all. Using his hotness to lure people onto his dinner table. Not you, baby. Because you were smart. And so gross from being stranded under island sunshine for a week that surely you’d taste like some absolutely rancid jerky at this point.

“Oh no,” you droned, and immediately that subtle curiosity of his ticked right back into irritation. “Two creatures from entirely different species and ecosystems have somehow managed to develop unique alphabets. What a completely unpredictable complication.”

The Siren puffed up like an angry lionfish and turned with a snarl to dive back into the shallows—making sure to whip his tail in your face and slam into the water with a huge splash as he went. The salt spray pelted down like rain and you snickered as it sloughed off your cheeks in rivulets, content to sit merrily in the wet sand beside your hastily scribbled: ‘Mermen Are Vicious Bitches. Hit Me if You Agree :)’

.

.

The next morning, there were more fish on the shoreline. Though these ones looked a bit less like they’d been dragged up by their souls and left to writhe in the wake of Siren-Screaming-Agony and more just like the unfortunate victims of a pair of too sharp claws.

You frowned down at a brown, sad-looking flounder that had clearly found itself at the very wrong end of a certain merman still swanning about in the bay not fifty feet away. It was mostly intact, and pleasantly plump for a flat, pancake-looking blob of muck. Your stomach gurgled and the thought of a nice, coal-charred, fillet really seemed quite nice. You chanced another peek at your resident Asshole, debating if it was worth swiping his snack. Another ominous rumble from your abdomen and you reached down to steal your prize and scuttle off deeper inland like a troll returning to its layer.

It didn’t take very long to get a small fire going, and within the hour you’d been fed and were more than ready for a cozy, full-bellied nap in the soft sand.

By the time you began to make your way back to the cove, the sun was high in the sky and you were already dreading sitting beneath its weighted rays for another afternoon. So you slowed your pace to a near snail crawl, dragging your feet as you went.

The little octopus from earlier was still swaying contentedly around the tide pool you’d shoved it into. It probably needed to be carried back out to the bay at some point so that it could swim back into the depths of the ocean, but the poor thing was just so small and round. Surely it’d get devoured by the first sharp-toothed thing that caught sight of it. Especially with your merman apparently being out for the blood of whatever other scaly things were swimming about in his temporary home. So for now you slipped it some small bits of leftover fish instead. You sat, crouched at the pool’s edge, and watched raptly as it grabbed the shredded bits of pale meat with its chubby tentacles to shove towards an eager beak.

“You’re the only friend I have left in the whole world,” you told the octopus miserably, wiping the greasy remnants of your lunch off your chin with a sigh.

The traitor hurriedly moved to snatch up the treat you’d offered it and hide itself away between some rocky crevices. You sighed louder. Rejected. What a time to be alive. 

.

.

The next morning, the Siren was singing again.

That familiar prickle danced its way up your arms, leaving pinpricks of goosebumps in its wake. Some pirates told tales of storms leaving their mark in such a way—that seasoned sailors could feel the tickle of thunder against their skin long before they could spot dark clouds on the horizon. You’d have to amend that little legend whenever you found your way back to The Rose Queen. Siren Sense was a lot cooler, anyways. Any idiot with arthritis could tell you when rain was due.

But either way, Mister Merman was back to idly circling the bay and calling into the distance. At least it wasn’t as miserable as it had been the other day—more of a leisurely pacing than the frantic, near-feral caterwauling that had soured your gut so terribly.

There was another fat fish on the shore. A bright, red snapper so brilliantly crimson that it was almost impossible to make out the garish wounds in its side. Almost. And even if it hadn’t been, the drooping, rust colored, rivulets dug into the sand would have been enough of a clue.

Why the Siren was bothering to leave his clawed-up kills at your feet like some overgrown cat dragging in mice, you had no idea. Maybe he was poisoning them, and subsequently you. Maybe he was bored and it was some sort of fishy enrichment. Maybe he just didn’t want to bother leaving dead things around to contaminate his favorite sunning spots, and tossing his leftovers in your vicinity was as close to a reliable dumpster as he could find on a remote island. Who’s to say.

Either way, you dutifully ignored the magical tingles racing up your shoulders and brought the newest fish back to your makeshift firepit. You grilled the snapper in silence, debating. Then you fed your octopus friend and returned to the beach, cooked fillets in tow.

You waited in awkward silence for a few moments, fish burning your palms, before raising your fingers to your lips and whistling loud enough to make your teeth ache. The mystical static faded from the air and you watched in pleasant (?) surprise as the Siren made his way back to where you’d set up camp. He rolled in with the tide, cresting on a gentle bit of surf and coming to rest neatly in the shallows—fins splayed out beneath him like a lord lying amidst his many silken robes. He propped himself up on his elbows and looked at you with an arched brow and slanted frown.

You awkwardly extended a hand—roasted snapper still resting in your open palm and burning the absolute fuck out of your fingers.

“Uhm,” you said, feeling a bit too much like the local idiot trying to feed one of the rabid, wandering, strays around town. “Food?”

He scoffed and rolled his eyes at you.

“Do you want food?” you tried.

The other brow joined the first, nearly rising all the way into his hairline. It wasn’t a pleasant sort of surprise.

“It’s better cooked?” you coaxed in the face of his outright constipated scowl. Be fed and full, you thought hopefully. Maybe then you won’t fucking look at me like I’m a boxed lunch.

He jabbed a sharpened, black talon in your direction, and then pointedly again angled up towards your mouth. Then back to the fish still roasting your poor cuticles straight off your fingers.

You blinked, a bit thrown.

“What? It’s supposed to be for me?”

He nodded, throwing in another one of those bombastically snarky eyerolls for good measure. ‘Obviously,’ that sneer said.

“Well,” you huffed, plopping down to sit cross-legged in the sand and offering up one of the fillets. “There’s plenty for both of us.” When he stared at you like you were attempting to serve him up a choice pile of literal dog shit, you wiggled your hand and entreated, “Please just take it before my skin melts off.”

The Siren huffed and reached out, plucking up the fish with the tips of his claws. He observed your meager meal as one might a particularly unappealing cockroach, and after a long moment, his nose scrunched (cute, you thought absently before immediately suffocating every wayward braincell that would dare call your murderous shore-neighbor anything of the sort) and he leaned forward to nip at a crisped, pink corner with the barest edge of one canine.

When your culinary creation didn’t immediately strike him dead on the spot, he took another, equally dainty bite. And then another. The tight pucker of his mouth eased as he chewed, and you watched as the harsh cut of his purple irises warmed with that same intrigue as they had when you’d first scribbled your foreign letters into the sand.

He readjusted his grip on the fish between his claws to get a better angle and took a proper bite, chewing thoughtfully. Before you knew it, you were watching him nip at the pads of his fingers, his gaze going a bit round and shocked when he realized that he’d devoured the entirety of it.

“See?” you hummed, tucking into your own portion with gusto. “Not all things humans come up with are terrible.” He harumphed and turned to glare back out over the bay, slouching into the surf with an expression that was most certainly not a pout. “But maybe you’d know that if you bothered to do anything other than murder and devour us on sight,” you chirped.

To which you were immediately doused with an armful of water for your troubles. The Siren glowered petulantly from where he’d just wave-bombed you, and then dove back into the deeper waters of the sandbar. He immediately started up his stupid singing all over again—pointedly keeping his chin high above the surface and splashing brine into your face anytime he looped close enough to shore.

“I don’t know why I bother,” you huffed, and ate your sopping snapper in grumpy silence.

.

.

There was a ship wrecked off the coast.

Nothing overly cool, and definitely only a small chunk of what had probably at one point been a rather impressive vessel. But it was something. The first change in pace you’d had in days and oozing with possibilities.

The only problem was that the great, rotting, hull of the thing was dug up into a jagged skerry about a hundred yards off the shore—wedged into the pointed rocks with no chance of any wave or breeze sending it adrift. You could swim perfectly well. I mean, living your life on a ship surrounded by tumultuous, depthless, ocean would have been a hugely stupid career move otherwise. The issue, naturally, was the thing currently making its home in these waters. Sharks and barracudas, blablabla. They were just animals, no matter how many teeth they had. The Siren had a grudge. And just as many teeth.

Right now, said spiky pain in your ass was lounging in the shallows like the froth was an elegant daybed made just for him—shredded fins swaying in the soft tides and his hair floating about him that same, white-gold halo that made him look far too peaceful for anyone’s good sense. He wasn’t singing today, which was great for the local wildlife population but terrible for your Siren Sense. Once you waded into the waves, you’d have no real way to keep track of him. Hope, maybe, that he didn’t think fucking with you was worth messing up whatever tan-line he had going on. But nothing concrete that you’d be willing to bet the safety of your limbs on.

You wiggled your toes in the sand and stared longingly out at the stupid, wrecked ship that was so stupidly close. If you swam your fastest you could probably make it there in under two minutes—less than that, even. But that was still more than enough time for the Siren to rake those dark claws of his across your throat and drag you down into the depths to drown.

Riddle’s angry, red face swam through your thoughts, and you could practically see him shoving that beloved law tome of his under your nose for the umpteenth time.

‘Rule 32, never make dangerous bets that you’re certain you won’t win, particularly if you are betting against a Blue Nosed Beetle.’

‘Rule 15, do not needlessly sacrifice your life in the name of curiosity, excluding—of course—if you hail from Cheshire or are a Cat.’

‘It’s only a dumb shipwreck,’ you thought miserably, if rationally. ‘It’s probably not even that cool.’

Your captain would be so proud.

.

.

The next morning you were rolling up the cuffs on your pants and wading into the cool shallows, silently lighting a candle in your heart for your beloved, steam-faced leader and promising that you would at the very least cover the costs of your own funeral so as not to inconvenience him further.

The waves lapped against your ankles and the waters themselves were shockingly clear and blue. You could practically see each grain of sand beneath your heels—make out each pointy rock and the little, red crabs that scuttled away from your tromping like civilians fleeing from the shadow of a leviathan. The Siren was back to singing today. Perhaps his poor, overworked throat simply needed a break every now and again. But either way, your Merman Magic Missive was working in full force. The hairs on your arms stood at full attention and you liked to imagine you could see them twitching in circles to follow his long, looping arcs through the bay.  

You made it up to your knees and waited, eyes scanning the open water and nose twitching like maybe you could smell the fucker. There was nothing but a familiar prickle along your shoulders and that deep sense of ‘tug tug tug’ with no answer, so you took a deep breath and pushed further, the water sloshing up to your hips, your chest, and finally you were floating—paddling slow and cautious towards the wreckage.

It really was insanely close. Even moving at your most cautious, sneakiest crawl, you’d made it nearly three-quarters of the way there within perhaps five minutes. And no signs of a vengeful, hungry Siren circling the waters beneath you either. More rules that perhaps that you’d have to tell Riddle might need some amending  once you finally made it back home to your crew. ‘Dangerous bets,’ who? ‘Needless sacrifice,’ what? You might as well have outsmarted the whole ocean.

As you moved closer, you could make out a strange coat of arms on the side of the hull that you didn’t recognize. Twining, silver songbirds soaring against the sparkly backdrop of an otherwise plain faced crest, which honestly looked far too delicate to be heading the broken remains of what was no doubt at one point an absolute monster of a vessel. You reached out to brush your fingers against the shining plaque and then you were underwater.

You fought the immediate impulse to gasp in surprise, because expediting the process of your inevitable drowning just seemed stupid even by your standards. There was a clawed hand wrapped around your calf yanking you down, and you squinted through a stream of panicked bubbles to see your terrible, horrible, completely thankless co-strandee snarling up at you with sharp teeth and a sharper flail of his delicate gills. Thankfully the water wasn’t all that deep, so by the time you’d been dragged to the bottom you were maybe only ten feet under. But still. It was the goddamn principle! And besides, you’d heard about enough drunks drowning in puddles to know that this was more than enough Liquid Death to put you in an early grave.

The Siren looped around you in tight circles, and you could feel the brush of his tattered fins against your skin like the ghostly fingers of a reaper trailing down your spine. You’d known he was big—giant, even. Long, and impressive, and built to rule the very depths he’d dragged you into. Large enough to wrestle with sharks and capsize lifeboats. Big enough, no doubt, to eat you whole and still be hungry enough for seconds.

The salt stung your eyes and you blinked hard to keep his vibrant, amethyst tail in focus. Would he strike from the back, where you couldn’t see? Or would he go right for your throat—a direct, full frontal, ‘fuck you, human’ if there ever was one. And honestly, what were you expecting? That a good deed and a few pieces of cooked fish would sway him from devouring you whole? Maybe the island sun had fried whatever remained of your rattled brain.  

He stopped in front of you and hissed—a stream of tight, tiny, bubbles jetting past his canines. You glared in petulant confusion, absolutely refusing to give your would-be murderer whatever reaction he was hoping for. His brow pinched into a tight, angry, v and he snarled again. You snarled back, and with that, the last breath in your lungs swooped out of you in a tight squeak. You choked, and struggled, and kicked at the claws holding you down. The Siren reared back, eyes widening in something that looked insultingly like genuine surprise, and you used his moment of hesitation to propel yourself off the sandbar and back to the choppy surface.

You gasped in a hasty breath, expecting to immediately be dragged back under. But when you weren’t pulled back down to your watery grave, you took in another and another. Gasping, and hacking, and spitting up seafoam. The Siren’s head crested the surface beside you and you flailed away, nearly pushing yourself under all over again. You paddled frantically, trying to keep your nose above the tide, and then suddenly there was something under you. You squawked and kicked it on instinct. The Siren snapped his pointy teeth in your face and you realized with a start that oh. That was him, wasn’t it? The long, winding, scaled muscles of his tail curled beneath your toes in what almost seemed like an attempt to keep you upright.

He stared at you with those unnervingly bright eyes of his—blonde hair curling softly at the edges where it plastered elegantly along his finned ears, and those too-long lashes dripping with small, sparkly, drops of salt water.

“What the hell is this bullshit?” you choked, coughing up more bubbly froth. “You don’t get to look so—so put together after trying to murder me!”  

The Siren huffed out something that the delusional, still half-drowned, part of you wanted to classify as a laugh. And then he organized that bemused expression back into its usual, haughty, iciness and began to carefully make his way back towards the shore—towing you along like a poor, little, lost buoy with nowhere else to go.

You let him drag you up into the sand and only flopped around a little. He flicked his tail at you and your dramatics and you turned on him with a fierce, waterlogged scowl—a bit more confident now that he didn’t have the home field advantage.

“What was that for! I just wanted to look at the ship! I wasn’t even doing anything to you!” you wailed. “I haven’t done anything to you at all! Ever! Why do you keep—" you collapsed back into the sand with a miserable whine that rattled all the teeth in your head, and ground the heels of your palms into your eyes until you saw stars.

After a long moment of nothing, you felt a gentle tap at your shoulder.

You looked back up with a start to see Mister Merman looking nearly sheepish.Or as much of an equivalent that his aloof mask of a face was capable of pulling off. The clawed finger resting at your collarbone dropped to the sand by your hip, and he carefully began to draw more of those squiggles. No, scratch that. Not the dancing, popping, ones from the other day. These actually looked sort of like the silver songbirds from that shipwreck. More jagged, certainly. But similar enough that you felt something a bit too coldly cautious to be confusion seep through your guts.

Once he was finished, he looked up and met your gaze—sharp, pointed. And then he reached back out and smeared the birds into nothing and shook his head, firm. His red lips moved slowly, exaggerated, again and again. And you could make out the vague shape of words you’d had shouted at you a hundred times over.

‘Not safe.’

That same, shivery, nervous feeling bit at your limbs.

“…okay,” you said after a moment. And then leaned forward to dig your own fingers into the sand, dutifully ignoring how your elbows knocked against his own.

‘Not safe,’ you wrote, and watched his eyes trace each letter like a treasure map.

There was another tap at your shoulder. And then he pointed to the words in the muck, then to himself.

You rolled your eyes. “Yes, yes. You’re not safe either.”

He sighed dramatically enough to ruffle the ends of your still soaked hair. And then pointed to the words again, tapping at the ‘N’ with the curved tip of a claw.

“Nnnn?” you mouthed, confused.

He moved to the ‘o’ next and it clicked.

“You want me to teach you how to read my letters?” you asked, flabbergasted. Another sigh, like you’d dropped the weight of all the world on his pale shoulders. Or perhaps that your idiocy was enough to put that hearty mass to shame. You decided that you were still feeling a bit too much like you’d only just barely escaped a brush with death, dismemberment, and dinner plans to push your luck with sassing him back too harshly, and just blinked owlishly in dazed surprise. “But why?”

His purple eyes trailed in the direction of the shipwreck and something cutting and poisonous clouded his expression. He pointed to the words again.

‘Not safe.’

“Alright,” you said, looking out over the water with a strange sort of sinking feeling in your gut. You leaned forward and began to draw the alphabet at your feet. His tail twitched by your fingers and you ignored the soft brush of his still-healing fins. “This one’s an ‘A’, like in ‘Asshole’—"

Whomp went the tail as he cracked it across your knuckles like a school matron with a ruler. And you couldn’t help the startled burst of genuine, tinkling laughter that bubbled past your lips for the first time since you’d been dragged overboard.

.

.

[TAG LIST - CLOSED]

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[darkcircles4lyfe]

it's a story about hands (reprise)

Yeah, okay, today's the day.

I gave my blog that title for a reason, you know, and it has loomed over me for years because the hand motif is absolutely everywhere and you could go on about it forever.

Maybe that's something I'll never actually attempt to do, but this chapter, we reached a breaking point.

Before I continue, I need to give a big, big disclaimer: I do not have a physical disability, so I'm not able to speak about that from the standpoint of representation as a first-hand perspective. I have at least listened to enough disabled people to know that fictional characters who become amputees only to miraculously gain their limbs back is, um, a trope. Disabled people in general being "healed" is a conception we would really prefer to avoid here. Not to call people out, but I don't think we're giving enough space to acknowledge that.

I don’t feel comfortable making the judgement call about what should happen. I’m leaving that open. I also don't want to downplay people's emotional reactions. Honestly, I don't know if I can accurately define the line between acknowledging real pain vs. ableist pity. But I’d like to talk about the possibilities of what could happen. Other characters have definitely gotten permanent disabilities as a result of their hero work, or even just the side effects of their quirk. But, for better or worse, I don't think this case is really about representation. Not that Horikoshi won't do that justice. He might. What I'm saying is that's not his purpose for having Izuku lose his arms. It's meant to be symbolic, so we can explore what it means. The other thing I’m keeping in mind here is that Horikoshi is notorious for playing with our expectations, like, alllllll the time. I mean, just take a few chapters ago for a classic example. Eri appeared at the end, and we all assumed she was about to take some sort of action to save someone with her quirk. Then, immediately following, we were given an explanation for why that wouldn’t be happening. And now it’s clear he wanted to do that “fake out” not just as a silly cliffhanger prank, but specifically so we would know not to suspect that Eri could be the miraculous solution to Izuku’s loss of his arms. Rest assured, there is no easy way out of this.

The expectation at play in this particular instance is an old one. It’s very understated, but its subtext has burned so brightly, you’d be a fool not to notice it. It sits with anticipation like one half of a call and response. Man, I was so certain. Lots of people still are. I was really looking forward to printing the panel where it happened onto a t shirt and wearing it proudly. All the hand motifs in this story radiate thematically from a single moment, the one that started it all for Izuku.

It raises all kinds of questions about the act of saving, who needs saving, why, what does it mean, what are the dynamics of power, politics, honesty, exploitation, compassion, pity, disdain, sacrifice. Katsuki has dealt with many of these since he first rejected Izuku’s hand. While Izuku was the one who was convinced Katsuki would keep on rejecting him…

…Katsuki was the one who kept that moment in his mind all these years and eventually came to regret it.

Katsuki is the one yearning for that hand-hold, the one who has imbued it with so much more weight than it ever originally had. Izuku, in contrast, does not allow himself to dwell on what he wants. To illustrate this difference, we need to look at another piece of foreshadowing:

Ugh, do y'all remember when lots of folks were complaining about how there never seemed to be actual consequences for Izuku's destructive treatment of his own body? I don't blame them, I was concerned and confused about it too. There were several "fixes" along the way. Recovery Girl healed him, but left a physical reminder. Then he started training to fight with his legs… sometimes. Then he got support items. All of these were unsatisfying non-conclusions because they didn't present Izuku with a lasting enough impression to change in a meaningful way. They didn't address his core, his origin.

Of course, that all changed this chapter. Now it looks like our frustration was inflicted intentionally. With the current context in mind, all of these moments look more sinister, like this day was always gonna come because they kept putting bandaids on a deep emotional and psychological wound. The problem is pretty much spelled out for us here:

As Katsuki put it, he just doesn’t take himself into account, ya know? He doesn’t care what happens to him. And he lies about it, to keep others from worrying, to keep them safe. To keep them from returning the favor and putting themselves in harm’s way for his sake. His motivations are noble,

…but what about the little boy inside Izuku? Who saves him?

This is all about Izuku giving himself up to the point that he literally has no more to give. The thing is, I bet he saw this coming. He knew his limits and decided to keep going anyway, because his personal safety and wellbeing are not important. Now that way of thinking has come back to bite him because the fight isn’t over yet, and he’s already made his sacrifice. So now we know who will be more distraught over this. Not Izuku—Katsuki.

It’s not about Izuku becoming disabled, it’s about how Katsuki wanted to use the intertwining of their fingers to communicate that he would never let go. Never stop valuing him most. Never let himself make the mistake of rejecting him again. Never let Izuku be so reckless with his life. To say: “we are in this together.”…if only Katsuki believed he deserved to be able to say such things. To reach out his hand would have been the ultimate way to simply imply them and let Izuku be the one to decide. Then, to feel their hands clasped together would be more than either of them dared hope for, but so beautiful, so right. A moment they’ve waited their whole lives for.

Yeah. That’s what we were expecting. We’ve been so comfortable. Horikoshi gave us all the signs. He tempted and teased us over and over. BUT. You know he does this thing were he gives us a desirable, completely plausible and simple thing to look forward to, and then he snatches it away. And THEN he replaces it with something much better, something we were not expecting at all because it seemed too good to be true. That’s exactly what happened when Himiko snatched Izuku away, and we were robbed of the chance to see him and Katsuki fight together. In hindsight, though, I’m glad things went a different way because now there’s so much more depth and angst on display. Likewise, in the present moment, we may consider how, as one door closes, another opens.

As wonderfully meaningful as the hand-hold would have been, perhaps it is still too simple a resolution for Izuku, for his and Katsuki’s relationship. Tbh, it could have been done like 100 chapter ago. At this point, there’s so much more potential. There are a couple of ways it could go. If Izuku stays armless, Katsuki will be forced to use other methods to get his point across. He’ll have to do something else, or say what he means, or both. Yes, I’m talking about what you think I’m talking about. If I say it, I just might jinx it (lol), but I mean it. I’m being serious. Either way, if Izuku did get his arms back in the end, I’m sure that it wouldn’t be an easy fix. It would be hard-won against Izuku’s self-destructive mindset, and/or by Katsuki’s conviction. Again, I say this knowing it is not meant so much as a representation of disability, but as a representation of Izuku’s greatest character flaw taken to the extreme. I know this might sound harsh, like, hasn’t he been through enough? I get that, but… I’ve said it before and I say it again: Izuku is stubborn as hell.

I wish I had a resounding final note to end this on, but I kinda don’t. I’m not sure what’s best. Now we just have to wait and see what Horikoshi has in mind.

[snaileer]

Time Unsolved

Dp Unsolved

“Today on Buzzfeed unsolved we cover the Timely Disappearance of Charles T. Williamsworth.”

Danny slurped loudly on his drink as the intro played. Was he maybe crazy for watching a Buzzfeed Unsolved True Crime alone, at night? Maybe.

But Danny had been attacked by ghosts. What was a human gonna do that Skulker couldn’t?

“What a name!” Shane cut in immediately, the video showing him seated at their table holding a cup of coffee. Ryan laughed.

“‘Ello, yes, my name is Sir Charles T. Williamsworth, how art thou? Ah yes, jolly good!” Shane mimicked with a horrifically bad posh British accent.

Ryan laughed harder, “We’ve been to London, they don’t sound like that!” He said between laughs.

“Uh, he does! There’s no way a man with a name like that is not ‘mm yes I will take a spot of tea with my biscuit thank you.’ I’m calling it, he definitely talked like that!”

Danny smiled at the antics as Ryan wheezed, “Well it’s too bad we’ll never know for sure then isn’t it, what with his disappearance, y’know what we’re actually here to talk about.”

“That’s okay. I’ll know. I know my buddy Charles.”

“Alright then.”

Ryan flicked his file open as Shane took a sip from his coffee.

The screen lit up with an image of a man on a black backdrop.

“The Williamsworths were a French-German family who moved to Biel, Switzerland in early 1914, just months before the largest war in European history kicked off.

They were one of the lucky few families to have left France before the war broke out…”

“Oh a family moving, that’s suspicious now?”Shane cut in, yellow words typing themself across the screen.

“Well, it was right before World War 1, I mean the timing is kind of suspicious.” Ryan replied in blue.

-People move, Ryan.-

-Okay, okay, it’s just the facts of the case,.-

Danny rolled his eyes, ready for the story to continue.

The images came back.

“This move would evidently prove to be quite fortunate for the family for obvious reasons. However, it also led Charles to find his true passion: … Watchmaking.”

There was a pause as a map of Switzerland came on screen. “Biel, the town that Charles would live in for the majority of his recorded younger life, was known for watchmaking, being one of several in the heart of an area named ‘Watch Valley.’ “

-You ever own a Swiss watch?-

-Nope-

-Heard they’re good. Reeeal good.-

-Yep.-

-…-

“Charles would reportedly develop a passion for clocks, watches, and timepieces in general, only getting more entrenched in his obsession over time.”

The image of the man now shifted to be overlaid on a map.

“By the time the First World War was over, Charles had gained an ostentatious apprenticeship under one of the premiere watchmakers of the time, Max Stührling. This lasted until Stührling’s death in 1938, after which Charles vanished from any records for two years.”

-Well y’know, his mentor had just died. -Maybe he wanted to grieve. Y’know curl up in his room and not see anybody for a bit.-

Ryan laughed, -2 years, he was crying in his room for 2 years and nobody found him?-

-Well, it’s not like records were great back then, I mean what are you gonna write on the census… just.. like..-

-Loud weeping heard from inside. One resident. Unnamed.-

-Yeah!-

“The next time Charles T. Williamsworth appears on record, it is in the back of a photo from France in 1940. Showing Williamsworth standing in front of a watch shop wearing dark clothes, a distinct pocket watch, and looking into the camera.”

The black and white image appears on screen, zooming in on the background figure. Danny tilts his head at it, something about it niggling at him.

“The shop and its owner would go on to be infamous within the French town for the duration of the Second World War. Charles was unwillingly drafted in the summer of 1941, serving on the front lines for no more than 3 months before sustaining a wound to his face, leaving him with damaged eyesight, facial scarring, and a medical discharge.

He returned to his shop soon after.”

Danny frowned at the mention of what the man had probably gone through.

“Later evidence statements regarding Charles stated that he was: ‘an odd man. He never mentioned the war, leaving it behind once he was not forced to be a part of it. He seemed to be separate from it all, he only cared for his watches.’

This sense of separation would extend to his shop, as when the town was bombed in 1944 leading up to D-day, his shop was left miraculously unharmed. It was reportedly open the very next day.”

-I can appreciate the dedication- Shane says in yellow.

-Yeah, I mean, the morning after is a bit soon, but he did really love watches. If he didn’t have to, I guess he wasn’t gonna close his shop.-

-His advertising: ‘Sure you were almost killed in a fiery explosion, but look! I’ve got new watches!’ Jazz hands.-

Ryan laughs.

“Over the next 50 years, Charles T. Williamsworth would disappear from records repeatedly, sometimes for months, only present on seven censuses between 1952 and 1979. Despite this, the clock shop was never sold, remaining in wait for its master’s return.”

Multiple pictures of pocket watches came onscreen. “It became known in the surrounding area for especially good pocket watches and grandfather clocks. Each personally made using Swiss essemblage practices, often engraved.

While it was a place of prestige, some described the shop as having ‘an unbearably loud sound of ticking, as if a thousand clocks were set to the same second.’

Apparently, Charles ‘seemed to enjoy the sound, often standing in the front room when no one was present. He was able to pick out one clock if it was off time.’ Witnesses stated.”

It cut to showing Shane and Ryan at their table.

“God, I can’t imagine. That’d drive me crazy.” Shane said, shaking his head.

“Yeah, I don’t know, a thousand clocks at the same time? Just..” Ryan looked back and forth frantically, as if there were sounds from every direction, “I’d go nuts pretty fast, I can’t even handle one sometimes.”

“I’d just go off and punch one of the clocks, just- RAAAH and -oh my god is that where that comes from?! I’m gonna punch your clock? Or like you clock somebody!?! Oh my god I never realized that!”

Danny’s jaw drops at the realization as Ryan laughs. Shane looks to be losing his mind as well.

“However, Charles’ most notable disappearance was his last.”

Dramatic music played as Danny zoned back in.

“Due to his frequency of vanishing for extended periods of time, it is unknown when exactly Charles disappeared. The last definite sighting of Charles T. Williamsworth was late at night on April 23rd, 1999, when neighborhood patrolman, Elliot Dubois, noticed him locking the door to his shop with its lights still on. Elliot, concerned for the safety of the elderly man, questioned him but eventually allowed Charles to leave, noting that he turned down a road that only led into the woods outside of town.

Two weeks later, 12 year old James Chappellè, a mailboy in the area, noted during his morning run on May 7 that mail had begun to pile up in front of the shop’s door.

Something that had never happened before.”

The word ‘before’ faded into red.

“It reached such a point that the mail system declared they would no longer deliver, as they couldn’t guarantee it wouldn’t be stolen.

At this point, the police got involved and the case was assigned to Detective Jacob Laurent.

It turned out to be a more difficult case than first expected, as when they looked into Charles’ past, they were unable to turn up any such notable documents as a birth certificate nor any document containing a birthdate.

But when police entered the shop on May 10th, they found it largely empty, with only the shelves, register, and equipment left remaining between the front and back room. There were no clocks of any kind.

It should be noted that there was still money in the register, and a light on in the back though the other bulbs for the front seemed to have been burnt out.

Upon entering the living space above the shop, it was found to be covered in dust, and all of Charles’ clothes and belongings still present.

Rather, there was evidence that Charles largely slept in his shop, with a cot beside his workbench.

A workbench that, upon police entry, only held one gold pocketwatch, personally engraved with the initials ‘C. W.’ As it was known for Charles to always carry the pocketwatch, he was officially declared missing and possibly presumed dead.

The watch’s presence also led detective Laurent to suspect foul play.

Despite the declaration of foul play, the police did not extensively search the town woods, citing the size and density of the forest.”

The video cut to Shane staring at Ryan, face deadpan. Ryan was clearly trying to hold back laughs.

“So… let me get this straight… an old man who’s… how old at this point exactly?”

Ryan laughs, “Nobody knows, there’s no known birthday-“

“That’s weird too, but okay, let’s say he’s like what, at least 95? I mean… there’s a certain age that like if you disappear… ..eh.” Shane shrugged.

Ryan looked at him incredulously, “Eh??”

“Yeah,” Shane shrugged again, “Eh.”

“What???”

“I mean… y’know… old people wander into the woods sometimes, maybe he just went for a walk and got lost. At that age… death has gotta be around every corner, I mean come on!”

Ryan wheezed into his elbow.

Danny laughed quietly.

Once Ryan calmed down, he organized the file, clipping it down on the table, “So! With the story finished, let’s get into the theories,”

Shane rolled his eyes, “Oh god this is gonna be one of yours isn’t it? What ghosts are abducting people now?”

Danny smiled, briefly considering how much effort it would take to go haunt Shane all the way in LA.

“The first theory is that Charles T. Williamsworth was involved with the mafia at the time and was a long standing or high ranking member that had crossed the wrong people.

Some reasons for this theory is the lack of early documents, suggesting a fake identity or forgery.

This case is especially supported by the long absences, where his shop remained closed and yet still remained in his possession.

In fact, the deed for the shop was not listed under Charles’ name, instead Iisted as owned under a private organization.

This theory explains his disappearance and possible subsequent death as an act of revenge from an enemy made from illicit activities. Leaving no body behind, there would be no evidence to prosecute the acting party.

Within this, there are also some who believe that if Charles was engaged in the mafia and lived under a false identity, that his disappearance was him returning to his actual identity, possibly due to being caught.

Prison records indicate 6 Swiss-German inmates arrested at the approximate time of his disappearance, roughly matching the age and appearance of Charles. Notably, none of them had a distinct facial scar and no identification was ever confirmed.”

The screen switched.

Shane smiled at Ryan, “Oh Ho Ho, my boy Charles is getting into some funky stuff, huh? Workin’ for the Mob, breaking knees, chopping fingers?”

Ryan laughed, “Yeah maybe, it definitely lends credit to him being a part of something. Maybe he was out in the woods breaking knees y’know. Or burying something.”

“Someone,…”Shane said ominously, then burst out laughing, “What if he buried himself! Just-“Shane mimed digging, clapping his hands like he was wiping off dust, “Alright, thats a good illegal grave right there, just a good hole for a dead- woaaah!” He pretended to fall, “Boom, stuck in his own grave.”

“Really, this old man dug a 6 foot deep grave? On his own?”

“Hey you don’t know his strength, maybe he lifts.”

“Alright.” Ryan shook his head, still grinning.

Danny smiled, considering it, it did kind of make sense.

“The second theory is that Charles T. Williamsworth did indeed just walk into the woods and never come out. If this is the case, what happened in the woods is widely speculated on. Some saying that animals may have attacked him, or that he simply fell or was injured and could not get up due to his age.

This theory loses support due to the fact that no body was ever found. Though some say that if the woods were too big for the police to search, there may be a den or that his body was covered naturally.”

“Or in a grave.”

“You really think he was mafia?”

“I mean, who could tell?” Shane shrugged.

“The third theory, much like the first, is that Charles was a federal agent for one of the Allied Powers.

This theory is also supported by the significant periods of absence and lack of documents to indicate a forged identity, meant to fool the German government and allow him to work behind the lines. However, unlike the first, there is also evidence of a man with the same distinct scar on his eye, showing up in the background of photos at the British Intelligence Office, the Eiffel Tower during Germany’s occupancy, and behind closed Swiss borders.

None of which would be possible without the unique skills and permissions of a government agent.”

Silence reigned as Shane and Ryan stared each other down, Shane clearly ramping up for something.

“The name’s Williamsworth. Charles Williamsworth.” He said dramatically.

Ryan burst out laughing. “You support this one more then?”

“Yeah, I’ve changed my mind, he’s not in the mafia. His suspicious activities were in the name of secrecy, national secrets, confidential war trades. Espionage…”

“Well I guess, nobody’s gonna suspect the 95 year old man to be up to anything. I mean, if I saw an old man somewhere I’d just be like, huh I wonder who lost their grandpa, not ‘I bet he’s secretly working to take down Hitler.’ Y’know.”

“Charles gets caught: just ‘Whaa-at me~e? I’m just a gentle~e o~ ol~ld ma~an, I can’t harm nobody~y.” Shane mimed leaning over a cane.

“He gets caught and just pretends he has dementia, ‘Who am I? Who are you? Why am I here? Where’s my breakfast?”

Shane cackled as Ryan laughed.

Danny considered it more, this one seemed the most likely, though… he’d definitely be the oldest agent.

“Another theory is that the shop was robbed and Charles returned while or before it was happening, catching the criminals off guard and leading them to react rashly, injuring or killing Charles. They then would have hidden his body and cleaned out the shop to hide any other evidence.

This theory however is disproven by the lack of money taken from the register.

Despite this, it is the official claimed circumstance by the police at the time.”

“Fucking police, always with the boring one.” Shane said ruefully.

“Our last theory, and my personal favorite,-“

Shane groaned. Danny smiled, this was gonna be good.

“-is that Charles T Williamsworth was a time traveler. And that all of his disappearances were when he was traveling through time.

This theory supports his families early move to Switzerland under odd timing, his appearance in so many photos and even his obsession with clocks. As well as why he seemed unbothered by the tumultuous times.”

“I can… accept it.” Shane said, hesitant.

Ryan laughed, “I’ll take it.”

“Despite all of these theories, there is still significant information missing from the case.

And so, like clockwork this case shall remain:

Unsolved.”

Danny’s mouth dropped as the screen went dark.

No way.

No freaking way.

He lurched upwards, eyes wide.

Obsessed with clocks, scar on his eye, fricking weird and talks in riddles.

Oh mygod!

Danny threw himself out of bed, “I’ve connected the dots!” He rushed to untangle himself from his sheets, transforming immediately, “I’ve connected them!”

He dove for the ghost portal.

Holy frick!

Charles T. Williamsworth was Clockwork!

[honeygrahambitch]

"Where did this come from?" Hannibal asked. His hands were busy washing Will's hair. A bruise on his temple drew his attention, making him brush away the foam to get a better look. "It wasn't here yesterday."

"A guy we arrested showed some resistance. He hit me with the barrel of his gun." Will explained. His eyes were closed and he was almost purring in Hannibal's hands.

Hannibal made a disapproving sound.

"Shame you arrested him. I can't go after him now."

"You do realize you can't chase down every guy who touches me, right?"

"One can always try." Hannibal answered honestly and continued massaging Will's scalp.

"I never hear about stuff like that from you." Will suddenly said and opened his eyes.

"What kind of stuff?"

"About the people that do anything to you."

"That's because the people who do anything to me don't get to live too much, darling. I take care of them myself."

"Of that much I am aware." Will said and pictured the way the Ripper case file kept getting thicker and thicker on his desk. "It would be nice if you didn't. At least sometimes."

"Are you implying that you want to play the knight in shining armour? For me?"

"You're stupid." Will concluded. "But yes. Sometimes you are too elegant with these individuals. And I get it, that's your thing."

Hannibal hummed thoughtfully.

"You got me curious. I might take your offer."

"Do that."

*

"Alright. Now, let's discuss what the victims have in common." Jack said, looking through a few pictures.

Will's phone rang just when he was about to reply.

"Sorry." He apologized and was about to reject the call. Hannibal's name flashing on the screen made him do the opposite.

"Hey." Will greeted him.

"My dearest." Hannibal started. "There is a gentleman here at Walmart who left his shopping cart in the parking lot. Right in front of my Bentley."

"That... sounds annoying?"

"And agonizingly rude."

Will smiled thinking of the funny choice of words. He found it adorable that Hannibal had called to share that with him. Then it sunk in. He remembered about their discussion last night.

"You're at Walmart where exactly?"

"In Quantico. I wanted to pick you up later."

"I'm on my way. Don't let that son of a bitch go." Will said and hung up.

That was it. His knight in shining armour moment. The looks he earned from everyone in the room were mixed and confused.

"Sorry, I need to go. It's important."

"Of course. The serial killer can wait." Jack concluded as Will was already leaving the room.

*

"Hey." Will said as soon as he parked his car. "You."

"Huh?" The man who was already very bored with the conversation he was having with Hannibal turned his head towards Will.

"Yes, you. Grab your shopping cart quickly and put it where it should be."

"And who exactly are you? The shopping cart police?"

"I will be your worst nightmare if you don't do as I say. Trust me, this is me being nice."

"I'm not doing anything." He said and started walking towards his car. Will did not quickened his pace. He memorized the car plate and watched the man leave with a content smile on his face.

"That was me being nice." Will told Hannibal who looked like he was watching his favorite movie.

"I am looking forward to what will happen."

"Good." Will said, then kept on his shining armour. "Are you alright?"

"Bothered by this incident but I am slowly becoming more and more enthusiastic."

*

"I hope you understand why I also asked Dr. Lecter to consult on this case." Jack said as soon as Will and Hannibal arrived at the crime scene. "It's quite peculiar."

"The man was found dead in a shopping cart at Walmart. His liver is missing. The cut is quite sloppy so definitely not the Ripper." Jimmy explained.

"Was it really that sloppy?" Will asked unamused by the feedback.

"I mean, it shows that our killer has no medical training whatsoever. But he's good enough. Meticulous."

"What do you think, doctor?" Will asked, ignoring Jimmy.

"The crime scene shows high class. Power. It has something sensual to it. I would say that the killer must have been quite disturbed by a very specific behavior caused by the victim."

"What exactly?" Jack asked confused by the specific choice of words. He knew better than to question Hannibal.

"Maybe the victim left his shopping cart in the parking lot?" Brian suggested making Jack roll his eyes.

"I'm sure it's deeper than that."

[band--psycho]

Sevika x Fem!Reader - Before Things Changed

So this is based off a request from @arevik2345 who requested an enemies - lovers trop with Sevika; but I decided to change it slightly to the lovers -enemies - lovers trope! (So don't worry there will be at least 4 parts to this series)

This is my first Sevika story so please be kind, reblogs are always welcome and greatly appreciated!

Requests are still open so if you have any ideas/requests, you're more than welcome to send them over (thank you to everyone who's requested a story so far, I'm working my way through them!)

I hope you all enjoy this! Thank you all for the continued support!💛

I do not give permission for any of my works to be copied or translated onto this site or other platforms!

Sevika Masterlist / Arcane Masterlist / Join My Taglist

Warnings: Overthinking!reader, mentions of loss, smut, fingering, overstimulation, dominating!Sevika, edging (18+)

You knew Sevika was angry, you could feel it radiating off of her even when the two of you arrived  home. 

You didn’t agree with what she said to Vander, about him being weak; but you understood why she’d said it.

Having the Enforcers down in the Lanes was making everyone uncomfortable. 

The disrespect the Enforcers showed everyone down here was horrible, but it wasn’t Vanders fault, the Enforcers were just arrogant shitheads. 

You also knew that Vander meant what he said, when he said that he would protect anyone in the Lanes; he wasn’t just protecting the kids because they were his kids, he was protecting them because they were from the Lanes.

Though you did have to admit that you could see how people were coming to this conclusion. 

“Don’t you think you were a bit harsh to Vander?” You asked Sevika softly from the sofa, watching as she grabbed a bottle of alcohol from the cupboard. 

“No,” Sevika answered bluntly, taking a large swig of the drink before sitting down next to you. 

A soft sigh left your lips as you shuffled slightly in the seat so that you were closer to her. 

“He’s just trying to do what he thinks is right,” you countered back, grabbing the bottle from Sevikas hands and taking a few sips of it before handing it back to her. 

“He’s wrong,” she stated bluntly, taking the bottle back from you

“He’s just trying to protect us." 

Sevika let out a small scoff at your words; as she turned to look at you, “You agree with him?” 

You did. 

Vander was your friend. 

You trusted him

Besides, you weren’t a fighter; not like Sevika..

You didn’t like the Enforcers, that was a fact. 

But you knew what another uprising meant. 

It meant that there was a risk of losing people you cared about…

It meant that you could lose Sevika. 

And you didn’t want that. 

So no, you didn’t want the uprising to happen. 

Did that make you a coward? 

Probably. 

But you didn’t care. 

You’d already seen enough death, suffered enough loss, that the thought of losing her, made your heart feel heavy.

“You know what happened last time…” you began, reaching out and tentatively stroking her arm, your eyes meeting hers, “I just don’t want to lose you.”

You watched  as a small grin grew on her lips as she placed the bottle down on the table beside her. 

“You worry about me so much, angel,” she hummed, savouring how delicate your fingers felt on her skin as she leaned in closer to you, “But you’re never gonna lose me.”

You wanted to believe her words; and put this down to your mind just jumping to the worst case scenario as it so often did.

But this wasn’t one of those scenarios. 

And no matter how much you wanted to trust the woman in front of you, you couldn’t. 

She was a skilled fighter, but that didn't make her untouchable. 

Your thoughts were halted when you felt Sevikas lips softly kissing up your arm.

“Sev, what are you doing?”

“Getting you outta your head,” she breathed, her lips trailing kisses up the side of your neck.

You hated how she could do this. 

How she could distract you from your thoughts with such ease. 

“Just relax, baby,” she whispered, her lips now only inches away from yours; as she ran her other hand under your oversized tshirt and up your chest to your breasts, “let me take care of you,”

 it was almost embarrassing how easily you complied with her orders. 

“Sevi,” you whined in response, laying back on the sofa,  the anticipation of her touch making your core ache with desperation. 

You needed her.

Needed her touch. 

Her lips. 

Something. 

Anything. 

You were so desperate for even the slightest touch.

It was all you could focus on. 

Sevika was all you could focus on; your thoughts and worries from earlier drifting further to the back of your mind with every blissfully torturous touch she left on your skin. 

“That’s it baby, just focus on me,” she praised, noticing how your body was squirming slightly beneath her, a clear sign to her that you needed more. 

“So needy,” she smirked with satisfaction. 

She’d barely even touched you and you were already a mess. 

She knew what she was doing to you; and she couldn’t help but revel in it. Revel at the little noises that were falling from your lips with every little touch she left on your bare skin; revel in how fucking beautiful you looked right now, with a look of desperation forming in your eyes.

Sevikas hand, the one that had been on your chest was now slowly drifting down to the place you craved to be touched the most. 

Even in the dimly lit room, you noticed a twinkle in her eyes as her thumb softly massaged your swollen clit. 

You could’ve cum just from that single touch alone; and you almost did, until Sevika quickly withdrew her hand from you. 

There was no denying that Sevika found it addictive, seeing you like this. 

But she needed to see more. 

That’s why she made such quick work of effortlessly removing your panties and oversized shirt  from your body, tossing them aside, so you were completely naked beneath her. 

She couldn’t take her eyes away from you; she was just staring at you, completely captivated. 

You opened your mouth, to beg her to just touch you; but your words morphed into a loud moan when she pushed two fingers inside your dripping pussy. 

You attempted to cover your mouth with your hand, but Sevika made short work of pinning both of your hands above your hand; her fingers pumping inside you at a relentless speed, ensuring to hit your sweet spot every time. 

“Need to hear you, angel,” she whispered in your ear before lightly biting the crook of your neck, eliciting another moan from you. 

You’d lost track of how many times you came. 

All you knew was that it was enough times to make your head feel all woozy. 

But Sevika didn’t stop; she just kept going. 

She kept pushing you over the edge again and again and again.

“Sev-Sevi-”you panted as you came down from another high, “I can’t-”

Sevikas pulled her fingers back to the entrance of your pussy, her thumb (unbeknownst to you) hovering over your clit once again. 

“Awh have you had enough, baby?” She teased, kissing the side of your mouth, flicking your sensitive nub with her thumb lightly, “I think you should be a good girl and cum for me again.”

You were so far gone; lost in the bliss of your countless oragasms, that you couldn’t deny her. 

Especially not when her fingers started pumping in and out of you again. 

Her words mixed with the fast pace of her fingers in conjunction with the occasional taps on your overstimulated clit, had your back arching once again.

“Sevikaaa fuck,” you moaned as she sent you tumbling over the edge of your own pleasure.

“Such a good girl,” Sevika praised against your skin, before placing a delicate kiss on your lips as she removed her fingers from your core. 

“So beautiful,” she whispered to you, making a tired chuckle fall from your lips. 

Beautiful? 

You were certain you looked a complete and utter mess. 

Despite your thoughts, Sevika just continued to whisper those words to you, as she pressed her lips over the bite marks on your neck as she laid next to you on the sofa, your legs intertwining with each others.

You were completely and utterly exhausted and you could feel yourself slowly drifting off to sleep, but you fought to keep your eyes open and yourself awake, desperate to give Sevika the same pleasure she’d given you. 

But when you went to touch her, she lightly grabbed your hand, halting your movements.

“Sevika-”

“Shh, just relax baby,” she muttered, pulling you closer to her. 

“But what about you?” You whispered softly as your thumb rubbed small circles into the back of her hand. 

“This was about getting you to relax,” she stated, nuzzling her head into the crook of your neck. 

You could’ve argued with her; but one, you knew that was going to be like fighting a losing battle and two, you were too tired to disagree with her. 

It only took a few minutes for sleep to take a hold of you; meanwhile Sevika was still awake. 

She understood your worries about another uprising; but things were getting out of hand now and someone had to do something about it, to protect the Undercity. 

Sevika thought Vander was that man, until tonight, now she doubted he was, which meant she needed to find someone who could do the job Vander couldn’t do. 

Tagging:

@xacatalepsyx @barbersjoy @conretewings @the-lone-librarian @cass-brightwood @fortune-fool02 @arielpanda1 @mothratic @simping-ella @stickyrice5096 @levis-butterfingers @lesbianinyourarea @vvampirelust

[vxlkirayaxo]

Older women part 1

Character: Scara/ kuni / wanderer

Warnings/ tags:, modern au, cursing, fluff, little angst, inappropriate jokes, reader being oblivious, scara being a simp, 4th wall breaking scara, milf reader, alcohol (reader drinking)

No gn reader this time sorry guys 😔 this idea has been sitting in my drafts for months lolllz

I had beidou in mind a lot for the reader sorry xxx

You started genshin at first to get closer to your teenage children who had started playing this game called genshin impact. You were already a gamer so you decided to give it a go, downloading it on your PC that you usually use for work and booting it up.

Pretty soon you got to the sumeru quest line and a certain indigo haired puppet caught your eye. His attitude reminded you of your first love which caused you to sob, a little bitter at the memories of what happened between you and your first love.

You learned that he was once called kunikizushi and that scaramouche or wanderer now, had a very sad backstory. You got a bit thirsty and bored so you stood up from your PC to grab a bit of booze. As you staggered out of your office to grab some drinks, wanderer who was talking in the game paused and looked directly at the screen.

"Tch...this is an important part of my lore." He grumbled making nahida giggle. He glared at her before crossing his arms and just impatiently waiting for you to come back. Tapping his foot on the ingame ground until the door to your office opened again and he went back to the position he was in before.

You took a sip of your beverage before you sat down in your chair. Humming as you clicked the auto play as you continued to listen to the dialogue. You couldn't wait to talk about the archon quest with your children. You took another sip before leaning your chin against the palm of your hand.

"Come back to the banner, I wanna get you so I can name you stinkytoots." You rumbled bored of all the dialogue. It took every ounce of restraint not to react to that, still having to put up the act that he wasn't aware of the videogame.

Eventually you fell asleep from boredom. Your arms crossed and laying on the table while your head rested up on them. Some drool out of the corner of your mouth meaning you were deeply asleep. Wanderer stopped talking when he noticed you were asleep. He tapped his foot on the ingame ground trying to think of something before he sighed and reached a hand through the screen and moved your drink away from you in case you moved around in your sleep and spilt it.

He sighed and looked at you. Reaching his whole upper torso out of the screen and watching you sleep, not in a creepy way but in a 'whag am I going to do with you' kind of way. Nahida giggled again, of course the goddess of wisdom knew she was also just in a video game but she preferred to watch scara hopelessly try to interact with you.

"mm... stinkytoots...your crit rate sucks..." You mumbled in your sleep as you repositioned your head on your arms. Wanderer let out a huff of disgust at the nickname. He wanted you to think much more of him than....'stinky toots'...

Yes, he wanted you to think of him much more than reminding you of your first love, a bastard that left you when you were in need of them the most. He wanted to be your only love, since you were his he thought it was only right. He reached a hand and touched the end of your hair.

"you need a haircut, I could see your split ends from in-game." He hummed, a cruel smirk on his face as he insulted you but he meant none of it. He placed a kiss on your head before going back into the screen. He figured it would be safer to watch you from inside in case you wake up.

He wasn't ready to actually talk to you yet.

[causenessus]

love notes

part 0.2. BACKSTABBING BITCH

“can i see you tonight? can i see you tomorrow? i want to be your friend. i wanna be more than that. will you love me tomorrow?”

from can i see you tonight? by eyedress, left at calmaart, sakai

° ᡣ𐭩 . ° . present day. ° ᡣ𐭩 . ° .

prev. | m.list | next

extras <3

i'm sorry i feel like the pacing of everything is a little convoluted,, there's not really a lot of timeskips. basically everything after this chapter is also in present day but i just wanted to make that clear <3 and hopefully the intros really clarifies how everyone's relationships changed, for example suna and y/n going from never talking to hanging out more <3

calmaart is a place in japan for street art supplies and clothing with a legal graffiti wall <3

IF YOU WERE HERE FOR THAT STUPID POLL I DID OVER "A" OR "MY" WHERE "MY" WON BUT I CHOSE "A" ANYWAY AND HAD AN ENTIRE CRISIS OVER IT THAT WAS FOR THIS CHAPTER (suna's "you're an angel") BUT THEN THIS ALSO LED TO ONE OF MY FIRST INTERACTIONS WITH @froyaoya WHO HELPED ME THRU THAT ENTIRE CRISIS SO IT WAS A GOOD THING IN THE END IG <3

both y/n and suna are typically people that use their priv accounts for the majority of their tweets. yn uses her public account for mostly photography to maintain an image of professionalism and suna mainly uses his public account for pictures of art and volleyball related things

suna is on yn's private because she lets all of her close friends onto it but she isn't on suna's because he told her it's mainly just the volleyball boys cursing each other out (which is true but most of all he was just scared to have her on it in case he tweeted about her)

y/n definitely skips school to have more available openings in her schedule for photography bookings

whenever she's taking pictures of a couple and they're not looking, she'll take a picture of them and send it to a groupchat with akaashi and kenma and ask if they think the couple's gonna make it or not

they'll spend hours analyzing the red and green flags

omi's the captain of the msby vball team BC I SAID SO

suna asked if he could leave practice early "to study for a test"

they have the same major and omi was like "we don't have an upcoming test."

suna played it off as retaking a previous test he hadn't done well on and omi could no longer be bothered and let him go

suna often stays until closing when he visits y/n at work and will walk her home <3

atsumu and oikawa work together well but in the beginning they had a bit of a rivalry, both being well known setters and they've just kind of continued to be slightly passive aggressive towards each other but get along for the most part

atsumu was locked in the bathroom for an hour until bokuto asked oikawa if they could let him out so he could shower

also not sure if i've said this but everyone is in their second year of college (not super important but just to avoid future plot holes)

taglist: @0moonii @iluvmang @bluebeanbee @wyrcan @oyasumeii @gyuijns @nbcvs @milkteade @eggyrocks @guitarstringed-scars @makkir0ll @mylahrins @cherrypieyourface @vivian-555 @sharkerino @r0seandth0rns @staileykout @lunavixia @thvvluvr @elliott0o0 @wolffmaiden @rockleeisbaeeee @toges-cough-syrup @cnnmairoll @ryeyeyer @hibernatinghamster @localgaytrainwreck @lemonocity @bows4life @sereniteav @madiexuberant @eclecticeggknightpsychic @phoenix-eclipses @sonicsolos @httpakkeiji @brkfclub @snail-squasher @starry-magicshop @cr4yolaas @kitnootkat @zzzlevislothzzz @iluv-ace @iluvaquaphor @stayyyyyyyyyyyy21 @applepi25 @twiishaa @girlkissersco @sleepystrwbrryy @encrypta

[joocomics]

Xdh catching you riding THEIR pillow

# xdinary heroes + riding their pillow

♡ gunil

he’d find it cute, silly, and he’d make sure you’re aware he doesn’t think you’re doing anything wrong. however, for a moment he’d be like huh? why didn’t you just call me? cause there’s no way this feels even remotely to the pleasure he brings you. he’d stand there intrigued, smirking at the sight of his pillow between your thighs. his shirt would come off presenting you his fit chest as you tell him the reasons you weren’t able to wait for him to arrive home, because he’d have questions for you for sure! and he’d need you to answer them while he lays you down on the bed, eating you out; pleased to see how much more wet you got now that you have his tongue on your clit.

“let me show you proper pleasure, love.”

♡ jungsu

something tells me he and hyeongjun would enjoy the sight of this the most. it’s like some kind of art for them. jungsu would love how sensual and intimate the whole thing is, and he would like to see your needy side - the one that reminds him how much love and lust you have for him. he’d sit close, praising you as you fulfill your needs, making compliments on how you look and move. i think it would make him even weaker at the knees if you’re wearing some kind of a flowy dress, or a tighter one that you’d wear if you’re going out for a drink. the fact you’re about to go out, or, you just came home too horny to continue with your day properly would both amuse him and excite him.

“is this what you do when you miss me?”

♡ jiseok

at first i was like “oh, he’d probably overreact as he always does,” but after i gave it some more thought, he wouldn’t want to make you feel embarrassed. he’d hesitate at the door for a moment unsure of how to approach you, but also - he’d want you to keep going. catching a glimpse of his own pillow underneath you would definitely act as a big ego booster, causing a prideful smirk on his lips. he wouldn’t need to ask you to continue because the instant effects his body and eyes would have from seeing you like this would make you want to tease him even more; to tests him how long he can watch before he breaks and pins you down on the bed. he’d adjust his hardening cock, chuckle and give you instructions in the lines of bounce on it like you bounce on my cock, baby. oh… it’s not the same, huh? he’d be mocking you lovingly for sure.

“come on, don’t get shy now.”

♡ seungmin

he’d regret interrupting you a little, but after you let him know how badly you needed him he’d stay, asking you if it feels good and if you want him to help you out with something. because one thing is for sure - seungmin knows how to give you a hand, and make it feel extra good even when it’s you mainly pleasing yourself. he’d kiss your neck from behind, praise you and tell you how much he missed you too. he might insert a few teasing questions like do you usually get this wet when you hump pillows? fully aware that you’re this much aroused solely because of his presence and touch. he’d be appreciative of how you continued your fun in front of him, and show you how much he enjoyed it by making you cum one more time.

“do you want me to leave? i’d really like to stay though.”

♡ hyeongjun

i see him as a big enjoyer of dry humping. actually, dry humping is one of his main kinks, so catching you rubbing yourself against his pillow not bothering to even remove your underwear would turn him on so much. no matter from which angle he’d observe it happening he’d cherish every second. he’d feel bad bursting into the room in case you left the door open, and he’d feel guilty and stupid for secretly peeking through it, so he’d call out before walking in to prepare you for his appearance, but he’d still tell you that he saw you so it wouldn’t matter. he would need to see more; there’s no way he’d ignore the situation. and as you proceed, he’d sit down comfortably and eventually start jerking off as you get closer to your climax.

“can i watch you? you’re looking pretty.”

♡ jooyeon

he’d be baffled in the best way possible. a wide smile would grow on his face, and an immediate boner in his pants. after hyeongjun, he is the next member that would turn this into a mutual masturbation thing which is a great idea, because you’d stimulate yourself even better by watching him get off to you riding his pillow. depending on his mood and energy, this can go two ways: he’d edge himself as you get closer to your climax, he’d wait for you to start moaning louder and grind quicker, then tell you to stop what you’re doing and take his cock; or he’d cum in his hand from not being able to edge himself long from how turned on he is. he’d encourage you to tell him as much as possible about what you’re feeling as you do it; what made you fuck his pillow and what did you think about before he caught you in the act.

“come here, ride me instead.”

[redroomreflections]

Not Easily Broken Chapter Eight

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Summary: Natasha and Reader go through a tragic divorce

Masterlist | General Masterlist

8/10

w/c:6.4k

Note: I hope y'all like this

It’s funny how you can be in the middle of something, and a completely random memory will strike. You’re at a red stop light, bobbing your head along to the low sounds of music, as you look into your rearview. Ryan is doing pretty much the same thing as he taps his fingers along the car door. He looks so much like Natasha when he smiles. She may not have carried him, but their similarities always amaze you. You think back to the time he was a tiny toddler, tapping his fingers along the car door much like he does now.

A small smile tugs at your lips as the memory warms your heart. Those early days were a whirlwind of sleepless nights and endless diaper changes, but they were also filled with moments like this—simple, yet profoundly beautiful. Ryan, with his curly hair and bright eyes, had always been a curious child, absorbing everything around him with an intensity that mirrored Natasha’s.

The light turns green, and you gently press the accelerator, your mind still lingering on the past. The familiar route to Emma’s dance school is lined with trees, their leaves swaying in the breeze. Ryan’s soft voice from the backseat pulls you back to the present. He’s telling you about his day at school yesterday, excitedly recounting a game he played with his friends. His enthusiasm is infectious, and you find yourself genuinely engaged in his story. 

“And I think another tooth is going to fall out if he’s not careful,” Ryan continues as he describes his time with Miles on the playground yesterday. 

“Oh yeah,” You say, reaching over to turn the radio down. “How’d he lose the other one?” 

Ryan grins, his eyes lighting up with amusement. “He was trying to show off on the monkey bars and slipped. It was pretty funny, but he’s okay.”

You whistle, shaking your head. “Boys will be boys, I guess. Just make sure you’re being careful too, okay?”

“I will, Mommy,” Ryan replies, giving you a reassuring smile.

"We still have a bit before Emma’s class is over," You say, checking the clock on the dashboard. There’s quite a bit of time left. "We could go to the bakery and grab some sweets. What do you say?"

"I like that idea," Ryan nods. "You always have good ideas."

"I don’t know about always," You shrug, "but I’m glad you think so highly of me." You quickly find a parking spot close to the shopping area. Emma’s dance school is only a few blocks away, just in case things let out early.

As you step out of the car, the warm aroma of freshly baked bread and pastries wafts through the air, making your mouth water. The bakery’s quaint storefront, with its colorful awning and display of delicious treats, invites you in. You help Ryan out of the car and he rushes to the door. 

"Let’s see what they have today," Ryan says, opening the door for you. 

“I’m raising such a gentleman,” You chuckle as he struggles to continue holding it open for you. 

Inside, the bakery is filled with customers, but it’s a cozy kind of busy. The display cases are filled with an assortment of cookies, cakes, and pastries. A friendly cashier greets you with a smile. 

"What looks good to you?" You ask Ryan, scanning the options.

"I’m thinking maybe a couple of those chocolate croissants," he says, pointing to the flaky, golden pastries. 

"Good choice," You agree. "And I think I’ll get a lemon tart. Emma loves those, so we can surprise her with one. What do you think Mama would like?” 

“Dark chocolate truffles,” Ryan insists, tapping at the display case. 

“Got it,” You nod. You place your order and wait while the cashier carefully boxes up your treats. As you leave the bakery, you notice a small park nearby with benches and flowering trees.

"Want to sit for a bit and enjoy these?" He suggests and he seems to be hopeful that you’ll say yes. You see his attempt at spending more time together for what it is. You won’t deny it. 

"Sure, sounds perfect," You reply. 

You find a shady spot under a tree and sit down, savoring the moment. Ryan sits next to you, practically curling into your body as you eat the treats. It had been a long time since you’d spent this much one-on-one time with him, and the realization tugged at your heart. Ryan’s small hand rested on your lap, his love for you evident in his need for physical touch. You figured now was as good a time as any to talk. 

“How have you been feeling, Ry,” You dust your hands-free of crumbs. “About me and Mama getting back together?” 

Ryan looks down at his lap, fidgeting with a stray thread on his shirt. 

“Hey, baby, you can tell me anything,” You assure him. You take his hand in yours. “Even if you think it will make me sad or upset. You never have to hide your feelings from me.” 

“I’m nervous,” He admits quietly, avoiding your gaze. “I want us all to be happy, but I just don’t want you to change your mind and break Mama’s heart again.”

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to reassure him. “I understand, buddy. It’s a big change, and it’s okay to feel nervous. I promise you, I’m doing everything I can to make sure things work out this time.”

He looks up at you, his eyes wide and searching for reassurance. “But what if it doesn’t? What if something happens again?”

You gently squeeze his hand. “We’re all working hard to make things better. Your Mama and I are talking more, listening to each other, and trying to fix the things that went wrong before. It’s not going to be perfect overnight, but we’re committed to making it work.”

Ryan nods slowly, his grip on your hand tightening. “Okay. I just want us to be a family.”

“And we are a family, Ry, no matter what,” You say, pulling him into a comforting hug. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Ryan rests his head against your shoulder, his worries eased for the moment. 

“Can we talk more about why you’ve been so angry?” You ask, wanting to continue the conversation and give him the space he needs to express himself. “I know we’ve talked before about you hitting Mama. From my understanding that hasn’t happened again right?” 

“No, I promise,” Ryan shifts slightly, still leaning against you but with a furrowed brow. “I guess I just feel scared,” he says after a moment. “When you and Mama were fighting a lot, it was really hard. And when you left, it felt like everything was falling apart. Like my heart was breaking into a million tiny pieces every day. I was sad and I didn’t know what to do.”

You nod, listening intently. “That must have been tough for you, Ry. I’m sorry you had to go through that. I left you in the dark about a lot. I shouldn’t have been that way with you and your sister.”

“It’s just… I thought maybe things would never get better,” he continues, his voice small. “And I was so mad because I didn’t understand why you and Mama had to get a divorce. I didn’t know if you were coming back, or if Mama was okay. It was like I couldn’t do anything to help.”

Your heart aches to hear his pain. “I can see why you’d feel that way. It’s okay to be angry and scared, especially when things feel out of control. But I want you to know that none of what happened was your fault, and you don’t have to fix it all by yourself.”

Ryan looks up at you, his eyes reflecting a mixture of relief and lingering worry. “I just want to believe that it’s going to be okay. That you and Mama won’t hurt each other anymore.”

You wrap your arm around him, holding him close. “We’re doing our best to make sure that doesn’t happen again. We’ve learned from our mistakes, and we’re working on being better for each other and for you and Emma. It’s going to take time, but we’re committed to making it work.”

Ryan takes a deep breath, seeming to absorb your words. “Okay,” he says softly. “I believe you. I just needed to hear it.”

“I’m glad we talked about this,” You say, kissing the top of his head. “You can always tell me how you’re feeling, no matter what. We’re in this together.”

Ryan nods, a small smile forming on his lips. “Thanks, I love you.”

“I love you too, Ry,” You reply, feeling a sense of calm wash over you both. “Now, how about we finish these treats and then head to pick up Emma?”

Ryan nods enthusiastically, the heaviness of the conversation lifting as he reaches for another chocolate croissant. 

**************

Seeing the smile on Emma’s face when she spots you standing near the entrance of her dance class is priceless. She looks so sophisticated and grown up as she prances over to you in her tutu. You catch her in your arms, offering her a big hug and kiss on the cheek.

“Mommy, are we going home?” Emma asks, and you nod.

“Of course, baby. I’m going to spend some time with you, Ryan, and Mama before we go back to my apartment tonight,” You inform her.

“Does it have to be just you and Mama?” Emma pouts as you carry her over to her dance bag. You set her gently on her feet, gathering her stuff, as she doesn’t offer to help.

You take a deep breath, trying to find the right words to explain. “Emma, Mama and I are trying to fix things between us. We love you and Ryan so much, and we want to make sure we’re doing the best we can for our family. Sometimes that means we need to talk and spend time together, just the two of us, to figure things out.”

Emma’s pout deepens, and she looks down at her feet. “But I don’t want you to go back to your apartment. I want us all to be together and have a sleepover.”

Your heart aches at her words, understanding her desire for you to be home. “I know, sweetie,” you say softly, kneeling to her level. “I want that too, more than anything. But for now, Mama and I have to take things slowly to make sure we’re doing everything right.”

Emma’s eyes fill with unshed tears as she looks up at you. “But why can’t we just be together?”

You gently brush a strand of hair away from her face. “It’s because Mama and I need to talk and work on some things. We love you and Ryan so much, and we want to make sure we’re the best parents we can be. Sometimes that means spending some time apart to figure things out.”

Emma sniffles, her lip trembling. “I just miss you, Mommy.”

You pull her into a comforting hug. “I miss you too, baby. And I promise, we’re doing everything we can to be together as a family again. How about this: we’ll have a special sleepover at Mama’s house this weekend, all of us together. Would you like that?”

Emma pulls back slightly, her eyes brightening a bit. “Really? A special sleepover?”

“Really,” You affirm, smiling. “We can watch movies, eat popcorn, and even have a bonfire or something. What do you think?”

She nods eagerly, a small smile breaking through. “Okay, that sounds fun.”

“Great,” You say, standing up and taking her hand. You stand to see another parent eyeing you from a few feet away. You connect eyes with her and offer her an awkward smile. 

“Hi, you’re Emma’s other mom, right?” She asks.

“Yes, that’s right,” You respond, trying to maintain a friendly demeanor. “I’m Emma’s Mommy. Nice to meet you.”

The woman smiles, her curiosity evident. “I’ve seen Emma with her other mom a few times. I’m Claire, by the way. My daughter, Lily, is in the same class.”

“Nice to meet you, Claire,” You say, shaking her hand. “I think I’ve heard Emma talk about Lily a few times. They seem to be great friends.” 

Claire nods, glancing at Emma, who’s now talking with Lily nearby. “They are. It’s nice to see them so happy. It’s great to see you around here.”

“Thank you, it’s great to be back,” You say before bidding her a good day. You know she had more questions than other parents usually did, and you didn’t mind answering just not right now. With the divorce, you had unfortunately distanced yourself from the children's activities. You hadn’t been present in their everyday lives, and the impact was evident. You almost wonder why Natasha didn’t push for full custody—she likely would have had a strong case.

Natasha, understandably, took on more responsibilities and became the primary caregiver during that time. She was actively involved in their school events, extracurricular activities, and day-to-day upbringing. 

Reflecting on it now, you realize that your absence might have painted a picture of disengagement.  It wasn’t intentional neglect; rather, the overwhelming emotions and challenges of the divorce had pulled your focus away from what mattered most—being there for Emma and Ryan.

“Alright kiddos, let’s go,” You lead them out of the studio with much to think about. 

*********************

“Mama, we got you dark chocolate truffles!” Emma exclaimed, offering the box to the redhead as she stepped through the front door of the house. Natasha gently put down her laundry bag, ready to catch Emma, who seemed very fond of running into her parents' arms.

“Did you now?” Natasha responded with a smile, scooping Emma up into a warm hug. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“Yeah, she ate a few on the way here,” You mutter with a headshake, a hint of amusement in your voice.

Natasha laughs softly, glancing at you. “Well, I can’t blame her. These are my favorite. How did you know?” she asked Emma, giving her another squeeze.

“Mommy said they were,” Emma replied, beaming with pride.

Natasha’s gaze softened as she looked at you. “Thank you,” she said sincerely. “It means a lot.”

You nod, feeling a bit more at ease. “We thought it would be a nice surprise. Plus, it was all really Ryan’s idea.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, a smile playing on her lips. “Oh, was it now? Ryan’s got good taste.”

“Yeah, he’s quite the planner,” You say with a chuckle, glancing over at Ryan, who is now watching Emma with a pleased expression.

Ryan, overhearing the conversation, walks over and stands next to you, looking a bit bashful but proud. “I just wanted to make Mama happy,” he says softly.

Natasha kneels down to Ryan’s level, pulling him into a gentle hug. “You always make me happy, Ry. Thank you for thinking of me.”

Ryan beams, his earlier nervousness fading away. “You’re welcome, Mama. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Natasha replies, kissing him on the forehead before standing back up. “I have lunch ready for us today. I always know Printsessa is extremely hungry after dance.”

“I am,” Emma says, rubbing her tummy. “But first, can I show Mommy my room?”

“I’ve seen your room before, Emma,” You join in the conversation with a raised eyebrow. “Is there something new in there?”

Emma nods eagerly, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “Yes! Mama and I decorated it differently, and I got some new stuffies. Come see!”

You glance at Natasha, who nods encouragingly. “Go ahead. I’ll finish setting up lunch.”

“I can help you,” Ryan volunteers. 

“Alright, lead the way,” You say to Emma, who grabs your hand and starts pulling you toward her room.

As you walk up the stairs to her bedroom, Emma chatters excitedly about the changes. “We got new fairy lights and a big rainbow pillow! And Mama put up a shelf for all my books.”

Entering Emma’s room, you immediately notice the transformation. The fairy lights cast a soft glow, and a colorful rainbow pillow sits proudly on her bed. The new shelf is neatly organized with her favorite books and toys.

“What do you think, Mommy?” Emma asks, looking up at you with anticipation.

“It’s beautiful, Emma,” You say, genuinely impressed. “You and Mama did a great job. It looks so cozy and fun.”

Emma beams with pride. “Thanks! I love it so much. And look, here are my new stuffies!” She runs over to her bed, picking up a few plush animals to show you. “This is Eloise, and Gertrude, and Penelope.”

“Whoa, where did you get these names?” You ask, raising an eyebrow in amusement. They truly sound like elderly-sounding names. Not that you would tell her that. 

Emma giggles, holding up Eloise, a fluffy bunny. “Mama helped me pick them. We wanted names that sounded fancy.”

“They’re fancy,” You say with a smile, taking one of the stuffed animals from her. “And they’re all very cute.”

Emma nods enthusiastically. “I like to pretend they’re having tea parties and going on adventures together. They’re my best friends.”

 “That sounds like a lot of fun. Maybe we can have a tea party with them sometime.”

“Yes, please!” Emma says, clapping her hands together. “You can be the guest of honor, Mommy.”

“It’s a date,” You agree, hugging her. “But for now, we should head to the kitchen before lunch gets cold.”

“Okay!” Emma replies, bounding toward the door with one of her new stuffies in hand.

You follow her back to the kitchen, feeling a warm glow from the simple yet meaningful moments you’re sharing. Natasha has set the table with grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. One of Emma’s favorites. 

“This looks good, babe,” You compliment without really thinking. You take a seat closer to her chair.

Natasha's eyes flicker with a hint of surprise, followed by a soft smile. “Thanks,” she says, a touch of warmth in her voice. “I’m glad you’re here to enjoy it with us.”

Emma, oblivious to the brief exchange, eagerly reaches for a sandwich. “Mama makes the best lunches!” she declares proudly.

Ryan nods in agreement, already munching on a piece of fruit. “Yeah, this is great, Mama.”

You settle into your seat, feeling a mix of nostalgia and hope. “It really does look amazing. Thanks for making lunch, Natasha.”

Natasha smiles, her eyes meeting yours. “You’re welcome. It’s nice to have everyone together.”

As you start eating, the conversation flows easily. Emma and Ryan share stories from their day, and you and Natasha listen attentively, adding your comments and questions. 

“So, Emma showed me her room,” You say, glancing at Natasha. “You both did a fantastic job decorating it.”

Natasha’s face lights up with pride. “Thanks. We had a lot of fun doing it together, didn’t we, Emma?”

Emma nods vigorously. “Yeah! And Mommy said we can have a tea party with my stuffies sometime.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea,” Natasha agrees, giving Emma a fond look. “We should plan it soon.”

After lunch, as you help clear the table, Natasha catches your eye. “Thanks for the compliment earlier,” she says quietly, a genuine smile on her face.

“Of course,” you reply, returning the smile. “I meant it. It’s really good to be here with you all.”

Natasha nods, and for a moment, there’s an understanding between you—a shared acknowledgment of the effort you’re both putting in to rebuild your family. 

“I was thinking we could head over to your apartment at five?” Natasha mentions. “I have a babysitter coming over. Yelena is still kind of on the fritz so I didn’t dare ask her.”

“Sounds good,” you nod in agreement. “Is she still ignoring your calls? I didn’t know us getting back together would cause so much grief with your sister.”

Natasha sighs, a hint of frustration crossing her face. “Yeah, she’s still not picking up. Yelena’s protective. She saw what the divorce did to all of us, especially the kids, and she’s worried about me getting hurt again.”

You nod thoughtfully. “I get that. I didn’t realize she was taking it so hard. I thought she’d be happy we’re trying to work things out.”

“She’s just cautious,” Natasha explains. “She wants to make sure we’re not rushing into anything and that the kids don’t get caught in the middle again.”

“I understand,” You say, feeling a pang of guilt. “I’ll reach out to her too. Maybe if she hears from both of us, it’ll help.”

Natasha gives you a small smile. “That might be a good idea. She just needs some time.”

As the conversation shifts, you both start preparing for the evening. Natasha ensures the house is ready for the babysitter, while you spend time with Emma and Ryan, making sure they feel comfortable with the plans for the night.

At five, the babysitter arrives—a friendly woman named Sarah, who immediately puts the kids at ease with her warm smile and easygoing demeanor. She doesn’t need an introduction to the kids' routines as Natasha’s used her services before. 

“We’ll be back soon,” Natasha tells the kids, giving each of them a hug. “Be good for Sarah, okay?”

“We will,” Emma and Ryan promise in unison.

As you and Natasha step out of the house and head to your car, you can’t help but feel a mix of anticipation and nervousness. The evening ahead holds the promise of important conversations and the possibility of taking more steps toward healing and rebuilding your relationship.

*****************

The drive to your apartment is filled with a comfortable silence, both of you lost in thought. Once you arrive, you take a deep breath and turn to Natasha. “Ready?”

She nods, giving you a reassuring smile. “Ready. What are you so nervous about?”

“Well, I didn’t exactly prepare for you to come,” You shrug. “I mean, it’s not like it’s dirty or anything. It’s just really bare bones and bachelor-y.”

Natasha chuckles softly. “I’m sure it’s fine. You always were a minimalist.”

You lead her inside, feeling a bit self-conscious about the simplicity of your apartment compared to the cozy warmth of your old home. This place has never felt like you belonged in it. It feels too much like how you’ve felt inside. Lonely. As you step into the living room, Natasha glances around with interest. It is an open living area with polished hardwood floors and large windows offering city views and tons of natural light. There’s a plush sectional sofa and a sleek coffee table in the center of the room. 

The dining area nearby features a stylish table set under a minimalist chandelier, adding a touch of elegance. The kitchen, equipped with high-end appliances and marble countertops, exudes functionality but lacks personal touches.

The bedrooms are spacious and well-furnished, with the master bedroom featuring a king-sized bed and simple, crisp sheets. The overall vibe is one of luxury and comfort, although the space feels more curated than lived-in, with minimal personal decor.

“It’s nice,” she comments, walking over to look out the window living room window. “Very you.”

You chuckle nervously, hoping she doesn’t find the lack of decorations or homey touches too off-putting. “I know it’s not as homey as your place.”

Natasha turns to face you, her expression gentle. “It doesn’t have to be. This is your space.”

You relax a little, grateful for her understanding. “Thanks. Let me just get us something to drink.”

While you busy yourself in the kitchen, Natasha wanders around the living room, examining a few books on the shelf and the simple decor. When you return with drinks, she’s sitting comfortably on the couch, looking at a framed photo of you and the kids.

“I’m glad we’re doing this,” she says softly, setting down her glass.

“Me too,” you admit, sitting beside her. “I’ve missed having you here.”

Natasha meets your gaze, her eyes reflecting a mix of emotions. “I’ve missed being here.”

You take a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment. Despite the nerves and the uncertainties, being together like this feels right. It’s a small step, but an important one, towards reconnecting and rebuilding what was lost.

“What’s this?” Natasha spots the photograph on the table tucked under a bunch of notebooks and your laptop. It’s an intimate photo of the two of you on your honeymoon. You’re holding Natasha in your arms, her back turned away from the camera, kissing your cheek. Both of you look incredibly happy. 

“I’ve been looking for this photo. You’ve had it all this time,” Natasha says, her voice filled with surprise and a hint of nostalgia.

You smile softly, picking up the photo and holding it between your fingers. “Yeah, I kept a lot of our photos.”

Natasha studies the image, a mixture of emotions crossing her face. “I remember this day,” she says quietly. “We were so young.”

“Seems like a lifetime ago,” You reply, memories flooding back as you gaze at the picture together.

Natasha nods, setting the photo down gently. “Thank you for keeping these.”

“They’re memories I couldn’t bear to part with,” You admit, your voice softening with emotion. “Even during the tough times, they reminded me of the good.”

Natasha reaches out, placing her hand over yours. “I’m glad you kept them,” she says sincerely.

“Come here,” You say softly, pulling her closer to you on the couch. The evening had started feeling more like a cordial business meeting than a date with your ex-wife.

Natasha moves closer, resting her head against your shoulder. The feel of the room shifts as you both sit quietly, the weight of unspoken words and shared memories hanging in the air. Despite the initial nerves and uncertainty, being close like this feels natural, comforting even.

“You know,” Natasha starts, her voice gentle, “I’ve missed this.”

“Me too,” You admit, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve missed us.”

Natasha nods, her fingers intertwining with yours. “So, what do you do in here all day? Read books? I can guarantee you haven’t opened any of those on that shelf.”

“I have read some,” you cringe, feeling a pang of guilt.

You hesitate, not wanting to admit that you've mostly been occupied with work and the gym. The truth is, you often didn't spend much time in this apartment to avoid feeling lonely.

Natasha squeezes your hand gently, sensing your discomfort. “It’s okay, you know,” she says softly. “You were doing what you needed to do.”

You sigh, grateful for her understanding. “I just didn’t want to be alone here.”

“I understand,” Natasha replies, her voice warm with empathy. “But you’re not alone anymore.”

“You know, I keep telling myself that I…” you begin, your voice trailing off. “I kind of isolated myself from everything and everyone. No one told me divorce would be so hard. I mean, I knew, but…”

Natasha listens, her eyes soft with understanding. “But living through it is something else entirely,” she finishes for you.

“Exactly,” You sigh, feeling the weight of the past few months settle heavily. “I threw myself into work and the gym, anything to keep from being alone in this place. It was too quiet, too empty.”

Natasha squeezes your hand gently. “I get it. It’s hard to face that kind of loneliness.”

“I didn’t want to admit it,” You continue. “But being without you and the kids… it’s been the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”

Natasha nods, her eyes reflecting a mix of empathy and regret. “I felt it too. It’s why I pushed so hard for us to try again. I believe we can do this.”

“I believe it too,” you say softly, kissing her head. “What do you say we try out this cooking thing? I had all of the groceries delivered this morning. You had a pretty extensive list.”

Natasha laughs lightly, the sound bringing warmth to the room. “I do tend to go all out with my lists. What’s on the menu?”

You stand up, offering her a hand. “Let’s find out. I didn’t peek too much, so it’ll be a surprise for both of us.”

Natasha takes your hand, and you both head to the kitchen. You open the fridge to take out all of the ingredients you have. 

“Okay,” she says, rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

You start unpacking the bags together, revealing fresh vegetables, herbs, various spices, and a selection of meats. It’s a well-thought-out collection. 

“Looks like we’re making a feast,” you comment, holding up a bunch of fresh basil. “What should we start with?”

Natasha glances over the ingredients, her eyes lighting up with excitement. “How about a nice stroganoff dish? We can make a salad to go with it.”

“Sounds perfect,” you agree, feeling a sense of anticipation. Cooking together feels like a new step in rekindling your relationship, it’s one of the things you used to delight in doing together. 

As you chop vegetables and prepare the meal, the kitchen fills with the delicious smell of fresh ingredients and simmering sauce. The act of cooking together, sharing tasks, and the laughter, brings a sense of normalcy and joy.

It feels intimate and cozy as you navigate the kitchen together. Natasha’s subtle touches against your skin make you feel even more worthy of her being here. Each brush of her hand, every shared glance, adds to the warmth of the evening.

“Hand me the mushrooms?” Natasha asks, her fingers lightly grazing yours as she takes the bowl.

“Sure thing,” You reply, enjoying the simple task of cooking side by side. The smell of the beef stroganoff simmering on the stove and the roasted beets wafting from the oven fills the room. 

As you roll out the pie crust for an apple pie, Natasha leans over your shoulder, her breath warm against your ear. “You’re really good at this, you know.”

“Thanks,” You say, smiling. “It’s nice to have someone to cook for.”

When everything is ready, you set the table together, this is the first time in weeks you’ve actually sat at this dining table. 

“This is amazing,” Natasha says, savoring a forkful of the beef. “You’ve outdone yourself.”

“Only because I had the best partner,” you reply, feeling a warmth spread through you.

“We do make a great team,” Natasha agrees, sipping from her wine glass. The comfortable silence that follows is filled with the soft clinking of silverware and the faint noises of the city outside. 

You take a moment to appreciate the moment before deciding to dive deeper into conversation. “So, what have you been up to at work lately?” you ask, genuinely curious.

Natasha sets her glass down, her expression is thoughtful. “Work’s been busy, as always. We’ve had a few high-profile cases come in. It’s been challenging, but I enjoy it. Keeps me on my toes.”

“That sounds intense,” You say, nodding. “But you’ve always thrived in that environment. I’m on sabbatical, as you know, so it’s a bit different for me.”

“How are you handling that?” Natasha asks. 

“It’s been an adjustment,” You admit. “I’m not used to having so much free time. I’ve been trying to stay busy, hitting the gym a lot. Visiting my parents. Tony’s been surprisingly understanding about it, though. He knows I needed the break.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Natasha takes another bite of her meal. Her smile fades slightly as she looks down at her plate. She hesitates before speaking again. “Can I ask you something that’s been on my mind?”

“Of course,” You say, your heart rate quickening slightly at her serious tone.

“Have you… seen anyone else during our time apart?” She asks, her voice soft but steady.

You take a deep breath, appreciating her honesty. “No, I haven’t,” you say, meeting her gaze. “I couldn’t even think about it. I’ve been too focused on everything else, and honestly, I wasn’t ready.”

Natasha looks relieved, her shoulders relaxing. “I’m glad to hear that. I’ve been worried about it.”

“I understand,” You say, squeezing her hand gently. “It’s natural to wonder. What about you?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head. “I couldn’t either. I just… needed time to process everything.”

You both fall silent for a moment, the weight of the conversation settling in. But there’s a sense of relief too, knowing that despite the time apart, neither of you sought comfort elsewhere.

“Thank you for being honest,” you say, breaking the silence. “It means a lot to me.”

“Thank you too,” Natasha replies, her eyes softening. “I’m really glad we’re talking about this.”

“I know we’ve talked a little bit here and there but,” You wipe your mouth with a napkin. “I never stopped loving you. I just..I was confused. We were hurting each other. I needed it to stop. It had gone on for so long and-

Natasha reaches out, her hand covering yours. “I understand,” she says softly. “It was hard for both of us. We were caught in a cycle of pain and neither of us knew how to break free.”

You nod, feeling a lump in your throat. “Exactly. I thought maybe some distance would help, give us both a chance to breathe and figure things out. But it didn’t change how I felt about you. It never could.”

Natasha’s eyes glisten with unshed tears. “I never stopped loving you either. Even when things were at their worst, a part of me always held on to the hope that we could find our way back to each other.”

You squeeze her hand, drawing strength from her words. “I’m glad we’re trying again. I want to make things right, to be better for you, for our family.”

She nods, her thumb gently stroking the back of your hand. “We’ll take it one day at a time. We’ve both changed, and that’s okay. We just need to be patient with each other and ourselves.”

You take a deep breath, feeling a sense of peace settle over you. “Agreed. And for what it’s worth, I think we’re off to a good start.”

Natasha smiles a genuine, warm smile that reaches her eyes. “I think so too.”

As you clear the dishes together, the comfortable silence between you feels reassuring. There’s no rush, no pressure, just the quiet understanding that you’re both committed to making this work. It’s a start, and for now, that’s enough.

“I don’t want you to go home just yet…” you mention as you both sit against the couch, much in the same position as earlier.

Natasha looks at you, her expression softening. “I don’t want to go home yet either,” she admits. “It feels good to be here with you.”

"Stay a little longer.” 

Natasha smiles, leaning her head on your shoulder. “I’d like that.”

 The only thing is, with you and Natasha, things never remain simple or quiet for that matter. You turn your head slightly, meeting her eyes, and in that moment, the unspoken words between you become clear.

Before you can overthink it, you lean in, capturing her lips in a soft, lingering kiss. Natasha responds immediately, her hand moving to the back of your neck, deepening the kiss. It’s a kiss filled with longing, love, and a promise of a renewed connection.

When you finally pull back, both of you are breathless. Natasha rests her forehead against yours, her eyes closed. “I want you,” she whispers.

“I want you too,” You reply, your voice equally soft. Your lips meet in another kiss that has Natasha moaning into your mouth. The heat between you is tangible as if it could be felt despite the slight chill in the room. Natasha’s hands trail down your body, tracing the skin under your shirt, as you nibble her bottom lip. You lean back against the pillows of the couch. 

Your fingers brush against the soft skin of her neck, causing her to shiver with pleasure. She makes a move to lift your shirt over your head and you waste no time throwing it on the opposite side of the room. She uses her nimble fingers to release your breasts from their confines revealing your bare chest. You look into her darkened eyes, finding lust and desire coursing through them. 

You lift your head further, your hands finding her waist, as she leans into your touch. You kiss her again, her lips parting slightly as your tongue slips into her mouth. Your bodies fit together perfectly as if they were made for each other. 

“Bedroom?” Natasha suggests as your kisses lead further down her neck. You offer a gentle bite against her clavicle, delighting in the hiss you receive from her. “Y/n?” She presses gently against your shoulder when she doesn’t receive an answer. 

“Yes, right,” You place one last kiss against her neck before she stands. 

Natasha takes your hand, leading you towards the bedroom. The room is dimly lit, with just enough light from outside to create a warm, intimate atmosphere. Your bed is scattered with pillows and blankets, inviting you both to fall into it and lose yourselves in each other's arms.

As you step inside the room, Natasha turns to face you. Her green eyes are shining with excitement, and she bites her lower lip lightly.

“Where do you want me?” She asks. 

“On the bed,” You gesture.

“Here?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. She sits patiently, her legs slightly spread, as you unbutton and push your jeans down your body. You step between her legs, your hips swinging provocatively as you come closer. 

Natasha reaches up, her fingers brushing against your cheek as she leans in to kiss you. The kiss is slow and sensual, igniting a fire in your core. As she deepens the kiss, her hands wander down your body.

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” You murmur. “Wanted you.”  

“You have me,” Natasha responds. You gently press against her chest, pushing her down against the bed. She rests against her elbows, watching as you unbutton her pants, and slide them down her legs. The smell of her arousal hits you and you close your eyes as you rest your nose against her pelvis. 

“You smell so good, baby,” You land several kisses against her mound before kissing a trail up to her lips. 

“I want you to fuck me,” Natasha says bluntly. “We can do slow and gentle later. Right now I need you to fuck me.” She practically begs as her chest heaves. 

[powdermelonkeg]

just saw ur gale/mystra analysis post. im new to the game and dnd lore and honestly… ur take on their relationship feels like the most natural/compelling one??? esp since its all too easy to simplify topics that have many facets and nuance….

thanks for sharing i love analysis and reading people’s takes on narratives : D

My pleasure! (Bee from the future here: congrats, you spawned another meta!)

I love complicated characters, WAY more than I like a clear cut-and-dry case. Flaws, to me, are what make a character compelling and lead to interesting stories about them with choices that can get them into situations. I'm both writing a fanfic and running a campaign where I'm playing as Gale, and in the interest of portraying him properly and in-character, I've gone into SUCH a deep dive into all the decisions and facts that make him him.

It helps to, y'know, also be in love with the fictional wizard, but I digress

The thing about Baldur's Gate 3 is that no character in there is perfect. I've seen a couple analyses about the theme of continuing cycles of abuse vs breaking out of them, but in my mind, in terms of the characters themselves, it goes like this:

The origin characters have just come out of the lowest situation of their lives (Lae'zel being the exception; being tadpoled is a gith's worst nightmare. You're seeing that lowest situation in real time).

Not the lowest point, mind. Gale's lowest was probably the day after he got the Orb. Wyll's was probably the day his father cast him out. Karlach's was the day she lost her heart. But the lowest, accepted normal for them is what they've just left.

They're then thrown out of their depth and forced to rely on you to live. That's #1 priority: living. We get the extremes of these characters before we get their nuances, because they're quite literally at their breaking points.

Then once we get to know them, we see their wants, their hopes, their fears, as they open up to us. Every companion's story is at their own pace, but they all have a moment where they ping-pong between despondency and desire. Sometimes that desire is what we know isn't good for them, like Shadowheart wanting to be a Dark Justiciar. Sometimes that despondency is only for a flicker, like Astarion's realization that he's condemned 7000 people to a half-life of tortured spawnhood for as long as he's been a vampire.

Romance lets us crack all that open more, because if you pursue a romantic partner, they see you as their closest confidant. They WANT to trust you, so they're more willing to explain how they see the world and what decisions they want to chase.

And then their endings. Those often get simplified as good/bad, continuing the cycle vs breaking away from it. But how is Duke Wyll on the same platform as Ascended Astarion? He's not evil, he's not even entirely unhappy. He might even have broken out of his abusive cycle with Mizora, if you played your cards right. And Ascended Astarion is overjoyed, even if he is remarkably more cold.

I think that the endings are less a dichotomy of "this is good for them" vs "this is bad for them," and more one of "bringing out their best traits" vs "bringing out their worst."

Wyll's worst trait is being willing to sacrifice his own wants for whatever people desire of him. His best is standing for what he believes in and ensuring people are safe. Duke Wyll leans into that necessity to turn the other cheek in the name of people who count on him, while the Blade of Avernus has seized that moral compass of his and forged it out of mithral.

Shadowheart's worst trait is blind obedience at the cost of her individuality, while her best is her desire to be kind to things that don't deserve to be hurt. Mother Superior Shadowheart's whole life is defined by Shar. Selûnite Shadowheart's life is defined by her hospitality, especially towards animals.

Karlach's worst trait is how willing she is to accept that things are (to quote her) fucked, letting despair override hope. Her best is her durability in the face of horror. Exploded Karlach would rather die than try to work out a solution in the Hells, because she's terrified of facing Zariel alone. Mindflayer Karlach has accepted her fate and decides to give up her heart and soul to go out a hero, losing who she is. Fury of Avernus Karlach is willing to keep fighting for a solution, and by the time the epilogue happens, she's got her sights set on one.

Astarion's worst trait is his desire for power over people. His best trait is using the tools he has to his advantage. Ascended Astarion has let his powerhungry nature and paranoia lead all of his decisions, with his sights set on dominating mankind. Spawn Astarion has embraced what he is, and carved out a life for himself where he can do as he pleases.

Lae'zel's worst trait is her blind fanaticism, while her best trait is her individual dedication, making her loyalty a marriage of the two. Ascended Lae'zel is a meal for the lich queen, turning a blind eye to all Vlaakith's tried to do to her and literally being consumed by her fervor. Champion of Orpheus Lae'zel has turned her loyalty into something productive for diplomacy. Faerûnian Lae'zel has seized her individuality by the throat and decided her own future.

And then Gale. Gale's worst traits are his hubris and, paradoxically, his low self worth. His best traits are his creativity and wonder for the world. God Gale is the embodiment of ambition, having burned away all but that in pursuit of perfection. Exploded Gale has let his remorse blot out all hope for a redemption in which he does not die, because he thinks he's earned it. Professor Gale leads his life by embracing the school of Illusion and letting his creativity thrive, teaching others to do the same. House Husband Gale has multiple creative projects he's working on, and Adventurer Gale is always finding new sights to see and wanting to share them with you.

There are arguments to be made on which ending the origins are happiest in, certainly, or which one benefits them the most, but each ending represents the extreme of a facet they possess.

So with all that, there's a sort of malleable method to figuring out the ins and outs of a character.

You take their endings—all of them, all variables they can have—and reverse-engineer the flaws and details they carry. Then you start to notice how those work into their approvals for minor things: Astarion approving of your taking of the Blood of Lathander, or Shadowheart approving of standing up for Arabella. Getting a list of approvals and disapprovals is helpful, but having those endings on hand tells you why they react like that to a majority of their decisions.

You take their romance-route explanations of how they act, and apply those to earlier decisions. Astarion's confession to manipulating you and Araj-prompted admittance to using himself as a tool brings to light how he reacts to your decisions, regardless of his actual opinions on them. Wyll's fairytale romance and love of poetic adages speaks to his idealistic nature, and why he takes a sometimes-blinded approach to decisions in which the "right" answer isn't always the smart one.

You take their beginning reactions to stress and use that to measure how future decisions impact them. Lae'zel locks down and gets snappy when she's scared, while Gale immediately turns to diplomacy. Shadowheart has gallows humor, while Wyll turns to quiet acceptance. If they break from these and seem even worse, you know the situation is more dire in their minds than having seven days to live.

And then you factor in all their fun facts and dialogue choices and backstories.

A wizard falls in love with a goddess and her magic, attempts to retrieve a piece of her power for her, is scorned for his attempt and is cursed to die.

Give that backstory to a Tav. Look at how it changes.

A chaotic good wizard fell in love with a goddess, thought retrieving a piece of power for her would be a showy bouquet of love, and was punished for not thinking things through.

A lawful evil wizard fell in love with a goddess's power, snatched the most precious thing she owned, tried to use it to barter his way through to the secrets she kept, and was given a swift retribution.

Same backstory. Same class, same act, same goddess. Wildly different connotations. Wildly different conclusions as to who is in the wrong.

If you take all there is to Gale, all that the game shows us makes up his character, and apply it to this backstory, you get what really happened:

A wizard, enamored with magic, fell in love with a goddess. His desires led him to want more than she was willing to give. In his well-buried fear of inadequacy, he concluded that the reason she wouldn't indulge his ambitions was because he just hadn't proven himself worthy enough. So he tried to prove himself, but he lacked the context for what he was proving himself with. And the goddess, seeing a weapon that had killed her predecessor, saw this ambitious wizard as losing his way and coming for her just like the weapon's creator had. She was angry, she withdrew his link to her, and he didn't know why. So he drew the conclusion that she took his powers to punish him, and let that encompass his fall from grace.

Was he wrong to reach for what was out there?

If you knew that the answers to everything you cared about were not only known, but kept by someone you loved—someone who adored you—what would you do to ask to see them? What if your curiosities were if there were other planets with life out there, or how dark matter worked, or whether or not we could one day travel in the stars? What if it was the potential cure to an illness that's little-understood, or the way to make a program you dreamt up, or the scope of the true limits of your artistic talents? Would your answer change?

Was she wrong to cut him off?

If you were once hurt, and the person you loved—the person who adored you—brought the thing that caused it to your door, believing you'd want it, how would you react to seeing it? What if that thing was someone you thought you'd broken contact with, like a friend or family member you'd been trying to avoid? Would your answer change?

That's the sort of scope that needs to be applied to this, on both sides. You have to take the perspectives of each party, and apply two analogies instead of one.

Gale saw the vastness of the universe, untold wonders, the solution to every question he could ever dream up, and saw Mystra as withholding this from him because she thought he just wasn't worthy enough. To claim Mystra knew his perspective does her a disservice.

Mystra saw a cruel weapon she thought long gone, in the hands of someone who could use it, brought right to her, and thought Gale was willingly following the path of Karsus. To claim Gale knew her perspective does him a disservice.

Should Gale have researched his prize more, so he knew just what he was obtaining? Should he have kept his hands off a cursed book that would devour him? Of course he should have.

Should he have given up on chasing his dreams?

Should Mystra have understood that Gale's pursuit of power was nothing like Karsus'? Should she have communicated when she was angry instead of giving the cold shoulder? Of course she should have.

Should she have given him the benefit of the doubt?

That's the root of their falling out. That's what leads to hurt being inflicted. Understandable, human reactions to the situations they perceive. Unhealthy, unwise choices made afterwards.

You work backwards from this to figure out their dynamic as Chosen and goddess. You work forward from this to understand more of where Gale and Mystra are during the events of Baldur's Gate 3. Gale reached too high, and understands this. His goddess hates him, and he regrets this. Mystra isolated Gale, and understands this. Her Chosen wants redemption, and she wants to make it happen.

Just like we took Gale's character into account, we also have to take Mystra's.

A goddess is faced with a problem. She uses someone who's desperate for approval to solve it, by telling him to kill himself.

An evil goddess is faced with a threat to her reign. She sees someone who's unfailingly loyal and hates himself, and elects to have him tear himself apart rather than do anything about it.

A good goddess is terrified of the future. She sees someone who tried to hurt her, who's going to die anyways, and tells him to use it to save the world.

Same story. Same act, same power, same pawn. Different character. Different perspective. Different outlook on whether or not this is the right thing to do.

Mystra has died, multiple times, to people trying to stake claim to her domain. Someone appears with the very thing that could do it again, right as she's regained her stability.

She does not see mortals the way mortals do. She is timeless. She is eternal. She has a duty to protect billions of people, and one person lost to protect that number is more than worth the sacrifice.

People like to bring up the Seven Sisters as proof of Mystra's cruelty. For those unaware, Mystra asked permission to, then possessed, a woman, used her to court a man (with dubious consent from the woman), and bore seven children, all of whom were capable of bearing Mystra's power as Chosen without dying. The woman she possessed was killed in the process (reduced to no more than a husk, then slain by her now-husband, hoping to end her suffering), and the husband was horrified by the whole story.

Mystra needed Chosen in order to restore herself in the event that she was killed again, to prevent magic as a whole from collapsing and wreaking havoc on the mortal realm, like it had in the few seconds Mystryl had been dead. Elminster, Khelben Blackstaff, and the Seven Sisters contributed to this. The more Chosen she has, the better; what happens if Elminster dies? She can't afford to have all her eggs in one basket.

Mystra has Volo (yeah, that Volo) as a Weave Anchor, imparted with a portion of her power to prevent the Weave from shredding itself to pieces in her absence. All Chosen of Mystra are Weave Anchors by nature. The creation of Weave Anchors was mandated by Ao, the Overgod, and Chosen are the best way to make sure those anchors aren't drained by ambitious people hoping for godlike power. Chosen can, and will, defend themselves, unlike static locations (which Mystra also has). The anchors are why the Weave wasn't completely obliterated during Mystra's last death, when the Spellplague rose up, because they stabilized the Weave around them.

Everything Mystra does is in the name of the big picture, to prevent a catastrophe like the fall of Netheril from happening again. Her restriction of magic, her numerous Chosen, her creation of Weave Anchors, her destruction of those who would claim her power, it's all in the name of the stability she's been charged with. Dornal Silverhand's grief and Elué Silverhand's death, while regrettable, were worth it to bring seven more anchors into existence to save all of the Material.

So someone appears with the Crown of Karsus, potentially powerful enough to try to kill the other gods in the name of the Dead Three. She can't risk being a target of them. She can't risk the destruction of magic again.

Gale is going to die. He lives in fear. He begs for forgiveness.

In Mystra's eyes, she's offering him the best outcome. She'll let him die in service to her, to save Faerûn, and she'll forgive him. He's going to die anyways, and if he does this, she'll give him everything (she thinks) he could ever want in her realm. She's asking him to do what (she thinks) is the right thing.

"She would consider what she considers to be forgiveness."

Notably, she leaves the decision in his hands. She doesn't have Elminster lead him to the Nether Brain. She doesn't activate him as soon as he's there. When he lives yet, she doesn't revoke the charm that keeps him stable. And when he declines, when he lets it go and starts pursuing Karsus' path, she doesn't smite him on the spot.

She is (she thinks) being incredibly patient. If Gale is going to try to be Karsus II, she's ready for him. If he decides to walk off and keep the Orb, he's dug his own grave in the Fugue Plane (those who don't have a god to claim them roam endlessly as husks and form a wall of bodies around the City of Judgement).

From her perspective, she's not being unreasonable. But from the perspective of a mortal, she absolutely is.

"Now, I have a question for thee: what is the worth of a single mortal's life?"

This is a question she cannot answer properly.

I think a lot of characterization is lost whenever someone paints one of them as being totally in the right. But I also think you have to be invested in them as characters to want to see that characterization. If you want to write about Mystra, you have to try to get into her head, analyze the decisions she made, figure out why she thinks she was right, and follow the pattern.

Gale's sacrifice is a very predictable thing for her to ask for.

[doumadono]

Warnings: blowjob, non-con, f!Reader Synopsis: caught spying for Sukuna, you find yourself facing an interrogation by Nanami

MASTERLIST

You were a spy for Sukuna, the King of Curses. Your double life had become a precarious dance on the edge of a blade, a constant game of shadows and deceit. But today, that life had caught up with you.

You found yourself in a dimly lit room, your heart racing as Nanami Kento, a stern and composed sorcerer, stood before you. His gaze, piercing and analytical, bore into your very soul. You knew there was no escaping his scrutiny.

Nanami leaned against the table, his fingers gently tapping a sheaf of papers, each detailing your treacherous activities. He wasn't one to show anger, but his disappointment was palpable. "You've been playing a dangerous game, and now the stakes are higher than you can imagine."

The cold sweat on your forehead betrayed your unease as you tried to explain yourself, though you knew it was futile. "I had my reasons, Nanami, I swear."

Nanami arched an eyebrow, a master of patience. "Reasons?" he asked, his voice tinged with a hint of skepticism. "Sukuna's allure may be strong, but your actions have consequences."

You felt a surge of guilt, knowing the danger you had put your comrades in. "I didn't want to, but I had to protect someone I care about. Sukuna promised a way, a solution to my problems."

Nanami's eyes bore into yours, his words measured. "And did you believe him? Sukuna's promises are as hollow as his soul. You've put not only yourself but also everyone else in grave danger."

As the interrogation continued, he proved he wasn't the kind to lash out in anger or frustration, but his cool demeanor was more intimidating. It was as though he could see through your soul, laying bare your motivations and fears.

Hours passed, and your defenses crumbled under Nanami's relentless questioning. You confessed your fear, your desperation, and the promises that had led you down this treacherous path.

Nanami finally straightened, his posture regaining its usual composed stance. "I'll report this to the higher-ups. There will be consequences, but perhaps redemption is still possible."

Your heart sank, but you felt a glimmer of hope in his words. Nanami's commitment to justice and order was unshakable, but he understood the shades of gray in your world.

"But now, you will obey my instructions," he commanded, and you immediately nodded in agreement. "On your knees."

Your response was a slow blink, as if his words hadn't quite registered. "W-what?"

He repeated his demand, his voice carrying a commanding and icy tone. "On your fucking knees."

You obeyed, and dropped to your knees.

Nanami opened the fly of his pants, pulling his already semi-hard cock out. It was an engorged cock, monstrous in size.

The tension in the room was palpable as Nanami's eyes bore into you with a mixture of disappointment and anger. His voice, though usually composed, carried a hint of frustration as he spoke. "You've let me down."

You could feel the weight of his words like a physical blow, and it left you speechless for a moment. "Nanami, I—" you began, but he interrupted you with a sharp, accusatory question.

"Did you get laid with Sukuna?" His anger flared in his eyes as he demanded an answer, the very thought of such an alliance seeming to infuriate him.

You swallowed hard, your throat feeling like sandpaper, even though your mouth was parched. "No… I mean, in some way…" you admitted, your voice quivering as you acknowledged your connection to Sukuna, knowing that it had let Nanami down in ways you couldn't fully explain. Your eyes moved to his dick that he was casually stroking.

Nanami's expression remained stern, and his disappointment was evident as he awaited your response. "In this case," he said firmly, "You will show me just how obedient you were to Sukuna. Suck me off."

Slowly, obediently, you crawled closer to Nanami, your movements cautious as you tried to bridge the emotional chasm that had opened between you.

You began to plant soft kisses all over his cock. You kissed the head of his penis, and sucked it lightly into your mouth as you looked up into Nanami's eyes. You licked lightly from base to head, you kissed each of his balls tenderly, over and over again, in an effort to show your allegiance. You sucked each of his balls as if you were starving for them. Finally, you took Kento's length deeply into your welcoming mouth. After a few moments, you pulled him out of your mouth, swirling your tongue around his reddened tip. You continue to suck him forcefully, gripping his balls with your hand. You continue to look up at him while you suck him off.

"I want you to show me just how much of a little slut you are," he growled through gritted teeth. "Show me how fucking dirty you were with that fucking thing."

With that, Nanami clasped on to the back of your head with his strong hand. He started pumping his cock into your mouth, face-fucking you at a steady pace; his balls were hitting your chin with each of his thrusts.

You grabbed on to his thighs for extra support, gagging around his dick; tears welled up in your eyes.

"Fuck yes, whore. It's a stark reflection of your own weakness to have conspired with Sukuna. Now, take this cock. Tell me you love it when I fuck your face like that. Huh? Didn't your loyal partner in crime fuck your mouth before, hmmmm? He pulled your head back so you could answer him.

As you gazed up at him, a sickly strand of saliva dangled from your chin, splattering onto your lap. "I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice quivering. "I shouldn't have engaged in those actions with him. I deeply regret it, Kento."

This drove him wild. Nanami grabbed your head again, and this time, he buried his cock deep in to your throat.

You gagged as a reflex.

He face-fucked you violently this time. "Take it, whore. Take my dick in your fucking throat. Look at you being the pathetic, little slut. This is the result of sinking so low. This is the price of not making the right choices. Every action carries its own consequences, whore."

With that, he pulled his cock from your throat, and collapsed over on to all fours, gasping for air.

Nanami grabbed a handful of your hair and forcefully yanked you back to a kneeling position. Nanami's movements became increasingly fervent, his brow furrowing in concentration as he jerked his cock to reach his climax. He occasionally brushed his thumb across the tip of his dick, a sign of the mounting intensity of the moment, until he finally shot load of warm cum all over your face, holding you in place by your hair. "Take it, bitch."

A portion of his cum landed on your lips, while some graced your chin and left cheek. A small trace also found its way on the bridge of your nose.

"Nanami…" you whispered, barely moving your lips, looking up at him.

A sly grin played upon his lips as he considered the situation. "It's quite unfortunate that you've proven to be nothing but a fucking traitor. It's regrettable to lose someone, but betrayal often brings its own consequences." He swiftly reassembled his attire, adjusting his pants and fastening his belt, then departed the room without uttering another word.

Kneeling on the cold, unforgiving floor, you could feel the scalding tears tracing a path down your cheeks. You attempted to wipe away his cum off your face as the tears continued to flow, relentless and unbidden.

You were painfully aware that the depths of your sorrow had yet to reveal their full, devastating weight, and you could only brace yourself for what you knew would come.

[ihaznoclue]

Sleep-Deprived

Pairings -> Ratchet x Reader

Warnings -> None

Note -> This is a story that I did on Archive of our own (Ao3) but I am going to change it up a bit. Also this is going to be a human version of Ratchet because I want to

Summary -> You couldn’t sleep at all because of one nightmare that haunted you for a while now, seeming that ratchet was still awake he helped you go back to sleep

Genre -> fluff and a little bit of Angst

Alright, let's be straightforward. You would have trouble falling asleep due to nightmares, tonight was the same as every other night it was because of a terrible nightmare that kept haunting you and making it impossible for you to fall back asleep.

You hated it so much.

You left your room and made the decision to take a short walk through the base's main area in an attempt to get your mind clear of the nightmare that had been bothering you ever since you woke up.

You chose to stay up the night at the base with the others for a special movie night.

Everyone was there except Optimus and Ratchet and you kind of dipped early during the film. You were also at the base because you lived with the others since you had nowhere else to go. 

As you were walking past the base's main room, you heard someone groaning, which you knew was definitely Ratchet. You approached him and depending on how unexpectedly you appeared behind him, you may or may not have scared him.

“Primus Y/N. Don’t approach me without a warning.” Ratchet then turned to face you fully and realized it was late at night, possibly around two in the morning.

“What are you doing up so late?” Ratchet asked as he seemed to wonder. “I can say the same thing about you, Ratch. I just wanted to keep my mind off something..” You quietly replied as you weren't pretending to not be tired since you didn’t want to go back to sleep alone.

Ratchet suspiciously side eyed you as he turned back around and sat down on his chair.

“So, what are you doing up so late?” You were now the one to ask. “I’m doing something important” He said as he sighed, you were hesitant to ask but you did anyway.

“Can I.. Can I stay with you for a little bit? Until I feel tired again?” You asked, you wanted company but you had a hard way of saying it, especially to Ratchet.

“Sure, go ahead” He said as he went back to doing his ‘important’ things while waving his hand. You found a spinny chair near you as you pulled it close to Ratchet as you sat next to him, laying your head under your arms that were crossed on the desk in front of you.

You continued to look at Ratchet’s actions which he seemed to notice but didn’t say anything. You then placed your face down as you deeply sighed.

You spent a few minutes by Ratchet's side, and during that time, you noticed that he appeared completely refreshed, which alarmed you because, from the way you were staring at him, you could tell that he was suffering from insomnia.

Perhaps you did too, but it didn't seem true because occasionally your eyes would open and close. You were terrified that nightmare would come again, so you were making a lot of effort to stay awake.

"You know, you can just go back to bed if you're really tired." You shook your head and told him you weren't tired and that you wanted to stay, but Ratchet didn't accept the lie and rolled his eyes.

"What's keeping you awake, then?" He asked which of you said "nightmare" in response.

The word "nightmare" seemed to soften Ratchet's expression. "Want to talk about it?" You shook your head again when he asked, not wanting to discuss it in case it crossed your mind, which is what you didn't want.

Ratchet didn't seem to say anything after that, he sighed as he continued to let you stay beside him a bit longer.

You were too exhausted to fight the tiredness, so you kept closing and opening your eyes. Ratchet extended his hand and began to play or scratch your hair and scalp.

You opened your eyes when you felt his warm hand, but before you could turn to face him, he put your head back down. “Sleep” Ratchet ordered, You thanked him quietly and smiled as he continued running his hand through your hair. 

You were now asleep,Ratchet got up from his seat to you. He could clearly tell the eyebags under your eyes as well as the dry tear stains that he couldn’t see early

He felt bad.

He pulled you back on the back of the seat to not make you fall, he then hooked his arms under your legs and on your back as he took you back to his room.

Placing you down on his bed, he got in you. He looked down at you as he wiped the dry tears on your cheeks. “Try to sleep well Love” Ratchet looked at you and gently smiled

“Goodnight” As he kissed your forehead and went to sleep.

Keeping you company in his warm embrace.

-A<3

[prettymita]

"jealousy"

KIM GUN-WOO - 6/10 on the jealousy scale

♡ gun-woo trusts you sooo much

♡ he knows you'd never cheat on him, so whenever you're talking to another guy, he wouldn't think much of it. he would keep an eye on you, though.

♡ it only really affects him if you start flirting with another guy. he thinks you're wayyy too good for him, even if that's not true. (no, bcuz this man only has eyes for you. he thinks you're the most beautiful girl in the universe) so when you start spending more time with another man and prioritizing them over him, he would get so sad :(

♡ poor baby wouldn't even tell you. he would try to act fine and tell himself that he was just being stupid and overthinking, he'd probably blame himself for it 😭

♡ when you start to notice how he seemed down, he would finally open up and admit that he was jealous. he's so cute i can't

♡ even if gunwoo isn't very extroverted or talkative, he's actually good at communicating his feelings with you. when he's jealous of a guy you're talking to, he would shyly pull you aside and have a conversation with you about how he felt about you hanging out with another man. "hey, can we talk?"

♡ and when you reassure him that he has nothing to worry about and shower him in kisses, he's a timid, smiling mess.

♡ he's so babygirl omlll

♡ when it comes to possessiveness, it's leaning towards less possessive. sure, if a guy is making you laugh and all, gun-woo will join the conversation, linger his hand on your back or waist innocently and pretend nothing is wrong. but he isn't too over the top, there is a healthy amount of possessiveness.

♡ he doesn't care what you wear, you are your own person, and he knows and respects that. so if you catch the gazes of men, it doesn't make him jealous. i mean, you were so beautiful, how could they not stare, right? besides, he could fight if he needed to. (he will subtly glare at a guy if their gaze gets too explorative, though. not even glare, to be honest. its more of a disappointed look LMAO)

♡ if a guy is making you uncomfortable, that's a different case.

♡ he would notice and act immediately. gunwoo doesn't like to resort to violence, even if he is mad. he would gently pull you away from the person and step in front of you, politely (but sternly) telling the guy that you weren't interested. he wouldn't pick a fight, unless the opponent swings first. even so, he'd stick to defending only, not throwing any life-threatening punches. cause damn, he is strong asf. you're kind of glad he is so non-violent and gentle bcuz if he wasn't, he might've killed someone already.

HONG WOO-JIN - 8/10 on the jealousy scale

♡ woojin does trust you, but the twisted knot in his stomach can overtake his sense of rationality sometimes

♡ he is very clingy. so if he sees you talking with another guy, he will try to join the conversation because he doesn't want to feel left out.

♡ if he's jealous, he'll often wrap an arm around your waist or sling it over your shoulder, or making it very obvious that the two of you are dating. "Oh, how's my precious girlfriend doing?" and then pecks you on the lips. its a little embarrassing sometimes but its woo-jin so its okay

♡ its funny because sometimes he completely ignores the guy's existence and continues to talk to you until you glare at him for being rude

♡ if you ignore woo-jin and continue to focus on the other guy, he will do anything to get your attention. and i mean anything. he will start telling the most unfunny jokes, physically get on the table and do something goofy to make you laugh. this man cannot be stopped.

♡ also, he will not admit that he is jealous. even if you know he is, he wouldn't say it unless you really pry at him. "Okay, fine! I'm jealous, is that what you wanted to hear?"

♡ and then he'll sulk around like a sullen puppy lmaoo

♡ so when it comes to you wearing revealing clothing, i'm sure he loves it the most, to be honest. but he's a little cautious of you wearing it outside, he just doesn't want you to get hurt. he might've tried to get you to wear something else or bring a jacket a couple times. he isn't really fond of others seeing what's his. (!!!)

♡ he's possessive, but he doesn't like to admit it. he'd rather show it through actions, being superrr clingy

♡ if a guy's staring at you and his gaze begins to wander, woo-jin will wrap a hand around you possessively. he might even snarl at the guy.

♡ if anyone makes you uncomfortable, he makes sure to get you out of there, probably threatening the guy a little. he might shove him lightly and get a little aggressive if he's really mad. then afterward, he would make sure you're okay and shit-talk about how the guy was an absolute ass.