#i am going back to sleep but i am thinking thoughts about him

[illyrianslut]

Spymaster's mate - Azriel x Reader

Summary: Azriel is away on business for the Night Court, but Y/N needs satisfaction while he is gone. He senses through the bond what his mate is needing and winnows home.

Word Count: 2.8k

Warnings: Smut, overstimulation, breeding kink, spanking, masturbation. I think that's it..

Author's Note: I don't write smut a lot, so please be kind xD Ao3 Link

Masterlist | Ao3

You had known it was going to be another long lonely night at home without Azriel to keep you company, but that didn’t make coming home to your empty town home any easier. It had been a rainy, dreary day in Velaris but you’d made the best of it deciding to visit Feyre and Nyx at Feyre’s shop surprising them with treats from their favorite bakery.

Even after spending time with you little nephew the ache of missing your mate consumed you once you were alone. Of course you understood that Azriel’s job as Spymaster for the Night Court was an important one, and one that often stole him away from you for days at a time, it didn’t ever take away the ache of being away from him or not knowing if he is safe.

Throwing your things in a pile beside the door, you enter your home and make your way to the kitchen to begin making something for dinner. Much to your surprise, there is a bouquet of flowers sitting on the table, a card with your name on it is sitting beside it.

You look around your home, feeling that your mate isn’t there causing you to wonder how the flowers got into your -locked- home. The note was clearly written in Azriel’s handwriting, confusing you further. You give a small tug on the mating bond you share with him, but can tell instantly that his walls are up and there is no chance of you getting through to him.

Y/N,

I wanted to apologize for leaving you home alone for so long. You know how it kills me to be away from you. Rhysand needs me to stay here longer, I can explain more when I get home. I am so sorry for being away my love, I will be home as soon as time allows. I love you, Az.

A disappointed sigh leaves your lips, it wasn’t the first time his job kept him away longer than anticipated, and surely wouldn’t be the last. You know not to take it to heart, but that doesn’t take away the sting of missing him.

You give up on the idea of dinner, just wanting the day to be over. Sleep sounds much nicer anyway. You give the flowers a quick sniff and smile, he had always known your favorite flowers to get. But you’d still rather your mate be home than have flowers.

Tomorrow would be one week since you saw him, one week since you felt his calming pretense, and felt him inside you. Your core aches at the thought of your last morning before he left, as always he made sure to satisfy you fully before leaving. You get to your bedroom and throw on one of his shirts and crawl into bed, still thinking about that morning.

He had woken you with his lips wrapped around your clit, and hands on your hips to hold you in place while he devoured you.

You move your fingers to your needy cunt, and begin rubbing slow circles on your clit, remembering the feel of your mate.

“Az.” You moan running your fingers through his hair, hips bucking to meet his tongue that is currently lapping at your entrance as though it’s his last meal.

“Good morning my beautiful girl.” He says, moving to slide a finger inside you. “How many times shall I make you come for me this morning?” He questions, adding another finger.

You can’t help but sigh deeply at the memory of his fingers inside you, tossing your head back moving your fingers faster.

You hum in response to his question, but can’t find any words as pleasure is coursing through your body. He begins sucking on your swollen clit, making a knot form in your stomach. “I’m gonna cum.” You clasp a hand over your mouth to hold back the moan rising in your throat. But he stops, taking away the pleasure he’d been giving so freely moments before.

“Don’t you dare hide those beautiful moans from me, princess.” He pulls your hand away from your mouth and holds it with his free hand, then goes back to lapping at your core. “You come for me, baby girl. Come all over my face.” His words are your undoing, your release hitting you all at once. Your legs clench around his shoulders and you let go, cumming on his tongue as he keeps licking, and pumping his fingers inside you quickly.

A tug is sent from the other side of the bond, a satisfied grin plasters itself on your face knowing that Azriel can feel the please you’re giving yourself. You drop what little shield was left to you, letting him in fully, letting him feel the orgasm you’re close to giving yourself.

“Please, I need more.” You beg him, not feeling fully satisfied, needing his cock inside you.

“Beg for it, Princess.” He commands, placing rough kisses up your body, sucking once he gets to your swollen nipple. “Beg for my cock if you want it so bad.” His hand reaches up to play with your other nipple.

Your body can’t help but respond to his deep, lust filled voice. “Az please, I need your cock inside me. I need you to fill my pussy.” Your voice comes out in a desperate whine while you take in the assault on your nipples.

“Good girl.” He praises you, lining his beautifully long cock up with your desperate cunt.

He doesn’t take but a moment before pushing his entire length inside you, earning a lust filled moan from both of you.

A brief rustle beside you brings you back to reality. You can’t help but startle seeing a dark figure in the corner of your bedroom, but once you recognize the shadows of your mate you continue flicking your fingers over your clit.

“You dirty little slut.” Azriel growls, stalking over to the bed and gripping your ankles to pull you to meet him.

You laugh excitedly, knowing that you’re in trouble, but also knowing the punishment will be well worth it. “What did I do?” You ask innocently, eyes raking down the man before you. His cock bulging through his leathers, wings fluttering as they always did when lust overtook him, and his eye narrowed on you.

“You know exactly what you did.” He leans down, grabbing the hand that had just been rubbing your clit and pulled you to a sitting position. His lips are close to yours, but instead of kissing you he lifts your hand to his mouth and sucks on the two fingers covered in your wetness. “Take off the shirt.” He commands, leaving no room for argument.

You do as your told, and toss the shirt you’d taken from his dresser across the room. He stood above you not breaking eye contact, he loved to hold the power over you in the bedroom, to be in control. “Get your ass in the air.” Another command, causing your needy cunt to clench looking for something to fill it.

You turn yourself around so that your ass is in the air, and shake it for him. A hard smack lands on your left cheek, a moan from you as you savor the punishment. “Please Az, I need your dick inside me.” You beg, wishing more than anything that cock was filling you up like it had before he left.

He sucks gently at your collarbone, sure to leave a nice purple bruise after he’s done. His hips pull out of you teasingly slow before he shoves his cock back into you so hard your body pushes up. He repeats his thrust again and again, earning pleasure filled cries from you. “That’s right pretty girl, take my cock like a good fucking girl.”

You clench around his cock at his words, digging your fingers into his shoulder. “Good girl, clench that pussy around my dick. That’s right, take it just like that.” Another thrust into your aching pussy.

Smack. Your right cheek stings as he slaps it bringing you back to him. “Dirty slut, distracting me from my work.” One more slap to your left cheek and he pulls away, a whine leaving your lips. “Take my dick out, and if you’re a good girl maybe I’ll fuck you.”

You sit up quickly, facing him on the bed and begin undoing the leathers between you and his cock. A satisfied hum comes from him at your eagerness, earning you a soft caress on the cheek. As soon as you’ve undone his leathers and hauled them down you take in the beauty that is his length. Pre cum is spilling out of the tip, you lick your lips before getting to your knees in front of him, licking his entire length.

He groans your name, and puts a fist in your hair tugging at the roots. You open your mouth wide to fit him inside, and dip down to take as much as you could, using your hand to pump the remaining length. “Fuck, just like that princess.” He praises, keeping his grip in your hair while guiding you in sucking his cock.

A glance up at him shows you his eyes closed tightly, and lips parted slightly as his soft moans fill the room. You use your free hand to cup his balls and he stiffens immediately, eyes shooting open to look down at you. “You are my good girl, aren’t you?” He grabs both sides of your head and thrusts into your mouth several times, making your eyes fill with tears, and gag as his entire length is shoved down your throat. Just when you think you aren’t able to take more he stops, and pulls you up gently. “Aren’t you?”

You nod, wiping at the tears that had filled your eyes from the face fuck, and reach behind him to run a gently finger across the base of his wings. “Do you think you deserve my dick?” He questions, shuddering at your touch.

“Yes baby.” Your words sound like a plea. You can’t help but grind against his cock, needing the friction, your dripping pussy aching for relief.

He leans down to your shoulder placing an all too gently kiss there before wrapping his arms under your ass and picking you up. Instinctively you wrap your legs around him, and lull your head to the side as he sucks at the soft skin.

Before you know it, your back has hit the wall, and he crashes his lips to yours. “You are my good little girl.” He lines his tip up with your entrance and without another word, thrusts into you. “Who got your pussy so wet angel?” He asks, pulling out and thrusting back in quickly, his balls slapping against you while he fucks up into you.

“You did Az, my pussy is soaked only for you.” You moan, taking his cock up inside you, grinding as much as you can to create more friction on your clit.

He hold you up with one arm, still fucking you when he reaches between you and uses his thumb to rub circles on your clit. A red hot ball begins to form in your stomach, lewd sounds leaving your mouth as you try to form words around the ecstasy that you’re feeling.

“I’m g-gonna.” You try to get out, but just as the orgasm is about to take over you he pulls out and sets you on wobbling legs. “Az-” You beg, looking up, legs shaking as you’re unable to hold yourself up at the let down from you ruined orgasm.

“Not yet you’re not.” He drags you over to the bed, holding you up as your body comes down from the disappointment. “You’re coming on my mouth first, sweet girl.” He tells you, laying you down and kneeling before you.

His cock is being fisted in his hand as he pushes you down and pulls you to the edge of the bed. “You don’t cum until I tell you to. Is that understood?” His mouth is hovering over your soaked pussy, but he refuses to give you pleasure until you acknowledge his words.

“Yes baby.” You confirm, hips rolling looking for any sign of satisfaction.

He leans in and immediately starts lapping at your soaking cunt “You’re so beautiful.” He says into you, sucking and slurping sending lightning bolts of pleasure rushing through you. Your ruined orgasm coming back, full force.

As though he senses the oncoming orgasm, he tears his hand away from his cock so he can put two fingers inside you, pumping quickly while he continues sucking on your clit. The pleasure is about to burst out of you, and you know you need to ask before you come. “Please let me cum.” You beg, hips bucking to meet his finger thrusts.

“Come for me princess.” With those words you come undone, your pleasure fulled moans filling the room, mixed with the slurping of your pussy in Azriel’s mouth. “Mmm, good fucking girl.” He praises, as your body convulses, letting the orgasm run through you.

You moan his name and a string of curse words, running your fingers through his hair. “Now it’s my turn, and I’m going to cum in that little pussy of yours.” Another wave of pleasure consumes you as he lay over you and thrusts inside before letting you come down from your first orgasm.

He fills you so completely, stretching your cunt to the limits filling you with the most beautiful feeling. His large hand finds your throat, and squeezes just enough to send more pleasure through you, his pace quickening as he fucks into you harder.

You reach back and play with his wings, and close your eyes enjoying the feeling of his hand around your throat. “I’m gonna cum in your pussy and fill you with my seed. You little fucking whore.” His thrusts are becoming sloppy, he releases his grip on your throat and hold himself over you continuing to pump into you.

Your second orgasm burst out of you when he took your nipple in his mouth, the sensation overtaking you. You knew he was close, and the stimulation was becoming too much for you to bare, “Please cum inside me, I want you to put a babe in me, Az.” You knew the words would be his undoing, he’d been attempting to get you with child for years.

Just like that his weight was on top of you in the most loving way and you felt his cum filling you up. Your name continuing to fall off his lips as he kept thrusting to push his seed further inside. As he finished his hips pressed into you, creating an overstimulated cry leave your lips.

As he realized what caused the cry, he began grinding against you harder, a devious grin spreading across his lips. You try to push his weight off you, feeling another unwelcome orgasm creeping up inside you “Az it’s too much.” You beg, your hips betraying you and grinding into his.

The orgasm hit you like a ton of bricks, another cry escaping out of you. “You have one more in you, I know it.” He slides down your body, and holds your hips in place while he attaches his lips to your exposed cunt again.

“Azriel!” You cry out, the overstimulation crashing into you, tears falling from your eyes and your cunt clenching trying to hold back an orgasm.

He nips at your bundle of nerves and that is your undoing, your final orgasm leaving your body like an exorcism. Cries of pleasure and pain fill the room as your cunt aches from overuse. “That’s my good girl” Azriel walks away for only a moment before coming back with a warm cloth.

He kneels before you, as your body is trying to regulate itself. “I’m going to clean you now princess, and you need to let me.” He instructs, you can’t do anything but nod as your adrenaline lowers. As he gently wipes at your dripping and aching pussy you want to pull away, but he holds you there getting every drop off you.

You can’t move in the aftershock of your orgasms, so he wraps his strong arms around you and brings you to the head of the bed, tucking you in. “Come love.” He whispers, pulling you close to him, letting you rest your head on his check.

“You were so good for me, you’re such a good girl.” He presses a soft kiss to the top of your head, brushing a few stray hairs from your face. “And who knows maybe I will have finally put a babe in you.” He smiles lovingly at you, and you can’t help but swell with love also at the idea of carrying his child.

[aerofbreath]

Actually writing something based off of this post. Y'all really seemed to like it and I got scared LOLOL

(How it will probably go (written poorly written cause it's almost 7AM and I haven't slept yet) . Also I have no idea what I'm doing. This will be rewritten better in a fic maybe.)

Jason sighed as he made his way into Gotham University's gym. It was the middle of the day and Jason was there at a Startup Event posing as a guy who was interested in what people had to offer. He had only had maybe a total of four hours of sleep since he had patrol the night before. Granted, this wouldn't have affected him as much if he was more mentally prepared to be awake. The only reason why he's out here was because Bruce had woken him up an hour ago to tell him a little last minute about what he needed to do today. Originally, the plan was to do absolutely nothing. But now he has to investigate a guy that Bruce had his eye on as of lately.

The person he's looking for is a man named Danny Nightingale. Apparently he's been in Gotham for a couple years and only recently started making a mess of things. How it went under Bruce's nose is beyond him considering how freaked out Bruce was once he did find out.

Apparently, the guy has been making life changing machines. Little mechanical bees have been flying around Gotham really just sucking up all the pollution in the air and just depositing it somewhere. According to the media, they go back to some headquarters and into a bee hive looking structure to deposit all the pollution and sludge. From the photos shown, it's actually pretty impressive. Some guy actually making a change around here.

For Bruce- no. For Batman, this is just highly suspicious. Why would some guy make these positive life changing machines? For the better? No. No genius with the power to change the world would do it for the better. There's got to be some ulterior motive behind it.

At least, that's what Batman thinks.

Jason thinks it's all interesting. Maybe there is an ulterior motive but even then, at a scale so large that it's literally affecting the city in a positive way? You've got to be literally more insane than the Joker if you wanted to plaster your face everywhere at an event like this. Everyone else at this event seemed to show promise but compared to Danny Nightingale's company? They're literally all small fry.

Surprisingly enough, however, no one else seems to be at Danny's booth. Not even Danny. Jason frowned as he approached the booth and just looked at the machines on them. The Bees are kind of just flying in place and the moment that Jason even looked at them, the Bees immediately got to work. They flew around him like a puppy with wings, nuzzling against him and bumping into him so dumbly. And honestly?

It was actually kind of cute. You would think that being on such little hours of sleep and being grumpy the whole morning would really affect the pits inside him but no. He's surprisingly calm.

"Oh my gosh, I am so sorry! They don't usually act like this," a voice stuttered out. A man hastily walked towards Jason as he gently plucked the Bees out of the air and brought it close to him.

"Uh, don't worry about it. I thought it was kind of..." Jason trailed out before locking eyes with the man who spoke.

This was Danny Nightingale. He was much shorter than Jason, only standing tall at 5' 5". His hair was fully black with only a white money piece right on his bangs. And his eyes? An alluring blue with only a hint of green at the center of his eyes. Honestly, the sight of Danny just about took Jason's breath away.

There was a subtle glow to him, almost making Jason think of there being some sort of meta activity going on but looking around the people in the area, no one but him seems to notice. Danny was concerned about Jason, that much is obvious. The way his eyes burrowed in concern then into confusion. It's strange why just looking at him made Jason's heart skip a beat, even though in hindsight, Danny looks much worse off than Jason.

That man looks like he hasn't slept in 3 weeks. But even then he was...

"Cute..." Jason finally finished his sentence a little too late.

Danny blinked in confusion, tilting his head to the side. His bangs fall freely over his eyes. Just the sight of that almost made Jason blush. "My bees were cute?" Danny spoke, the tone of his voice (very tired) sounded like a sweet harmony in Jason's ears. "Oh! You're interested in Nightech? No one else seems to be interested in my stuff yet. I can tell you all about this company and how it works? I put in a lot of work and love into these little guys and I'm sure you would love them too!"

Blah blah blah. Proper name. Place name. Backstory stuff.

Nothing of what Danny is saying is registering in Jason's brain right now. Maybe some. ("I... Love... You...")

"I love you too!!" Jason blurted out.

Danny blinked before widening his eyes. "Wh-What...?" There was that look of concern again but now there's another look. Recognition...

Whatever. None of that right now. This is embarrassing!

"I-I said I love your company. Uh. Do you have a business card? I can let Bruce Wayne know about this."

Wordlessly, Danny gave an information card to Jason before that poor brick of a man just ran out of there, not once even looking back. Honestly, from the way it's playing out in Jason's head right now, he feels like a princess running away from her prince at the stroke of midnight. The earpiece crackled before a voice started to speak.

"Jason? What the hell was that?" Bruce's voice questioned.

It was only when Jason left the gymnasium that he answered, "Me digging my own grave for the second time, old man. Let me go die in peace."

"No, no," Dick's voice chimed in, "Only after we replay that very short conversation about 50,000 times. Thank you very much."

Jason only groaned in response.

Danny, back in the gymnasium, only stared at the door that Jason left from in horror. The only way for people to react that way to him like that is for them to be dead or liminal. Now he has to figure out a way to tell Bruce Wayne that this person that he seems to know is a little bit dead!

This actually is a part of whatever the fuck I'm writing. I'm still thinking of a fic name. But all of the random posts go together in some way.

[cherrysweets-world]

Eyes of the Gods V

series masterlist - part IV

Pairing: Caracalla x fem!Reader x Geta

Summary: The Emperors are not subtle with their interest in you and others have begun to notice

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, eventual dub-con, power imbalances, mentions of previous domestic abuse, controlling behaviour, forced proximity, obsessive behaviour, unhealthy realtionships, unedited

Word Count: 3.5k

Sleep would not come. You tossed and turned for several hours before giving in and re-lighting the candle. Holding your fingers in the warmth of the flame, you began to contemplate your life.

The candlelight flickered and made you feel like the walls were closing in. In some aspects they already had. The walls had closed in without you even knowing it, so distracted by your own wariness. Now you were here, alone, and in reach of the emperors who had put you here.

How had you been so blind? Your own lack of self worth had made you stupid, disbelieving that the Emperors could have such interest in you. You had floated through those first two days, thinking that at any moment they would drop you, bored, like a forgotten toy. To your knowledge that was what usually happened! You had even see it; limping concubines and abandoned slaves. Instead, whatever was between the three of you had grown and mutated into something you had no hope in understanding.

The Emperors had power, yes, there was no denying it. Yet part of you felt as though you were giving them more. Specifically over you. They had not said you could not leave your rooms. So why stay when sleep insisted on evading you?

Your father had had that kind of hold on you and your mother. The situations were not perfectly similar but you were loathe to think you had allowed another man to control you like that. The thoughts made you feel irrational, made you feel like doing something dangerous.

The flame licked at your finger tips and you hissed, pulling them back to your chest. You knew this palace well. Better than the Emperors, even. You knew all the secret spots, all the ways to sneak around without being spotted. Perhaps it was time to put that knowledge to good use. A tiny rebellion of sorts.

Your mind was made up. If you thought on it too long you would lose all courage. Slipping into your sandals, you tried not to think too hard about what you were doing.

"I am going for a walk in the gardens," you said to yourself, "as I am entitled to do. I have not been told I cannot do otherwise."

The look Geta had given you flashed across your eyes and you squeezed them shut, dismissing him.

Reaching under your mattress, you gave your carved wolf a squeeze and then let go. You mumbled a quick prayed to Fortuna and then slowly opened your door, scanning the corridors before poking out your head.

There was no-one you could see. That did not mean that no-one was actually there; you were too close to the Emperor's chambers for their to be no Praetorians.

Part of you knew you were taking a risk. If you were so confident that you were allowed to leave your room then why did you feel the need to evade the Praetorians?

You scrubbed your sweaty palms down your sleepwear. The plain white wrap would make you a glaring target but your other options were no better. It did not matter; you needed fresh air. Needed to take it without the weight of eyes upon you. The illusion of freedom was better than nothing.

You slipped from your room like a breath in the wind. As expected, the first hallway you came to was lined with Praetorians. You wasted no time in slipping by them, dipping into a stairwell and tip-toeing down.

All you could hear was the pounding of your own heart. The sound made you dizzy and you allowed yourself to stop for a moment, steadying yourself. Trembling, you stumbled down the rest of the stairs under you reached a landing. There were yet more guards but they were looking for people sneaking in, rather than out. Waiting until their backs were turned, you made a mad dash for freedom.

The rest of the way was mercifully quiet. Slowing down, you appreciated the silence. Yours were the one footsteps you could hear. It was funny; that night, when you had first met Caracalla, you had been terrified of these empty halls. Now they curved around you, protective, and you brushed a hand against them in familiarity.

Cool air blasted you when you finally stepped foot outside. You laughed and it was immediately lost to the wind. You were not as weak as you thought. You would do whatever you could to hold onto this feeling of dependence.

The air was biting and made your eyes water. Staying out here for long was not an option. Goosebumps emerged along your arms and thighs as the wind pushed itself under your clothes.

When the gusts softened, you wandered further out. You allowed yourself slow appraisals of all the flowers, most of which you did not recognise. You had had no interest in gardening before but they suddenly felt like the most beautiful thing in the world.

Your past and present slipped from you like water. In this moment, it was only you. You could pretend that you had all the choices in the world.

And you did have choices. It was the consequences that scared you. You wished you could peer into the future and see all the possible answers, all the solutions, and make your mind based on those. But you were no seer; the future was barred from your questioning eyes. You would simply have to wait and go the long way around to see what the future held.

An abrupt sound startled you and you whipped around, eyes searching. At first you thought the garden was empty and you relaxed, releasing your death-grip on your elbows.

A flash of red made your head swim and you stood still, mouth parting. No, you almost moaned, no, no, no.

Gravel crunched underfoot as Geta appeared, rounding a flower bed and jerking to a stop. His cheeks were red despite being dressed warmer than you. His mouth parted at the sight of you and you swallowed hard.

Fortuna, you languished, you have forsaken me.

It took you a moment to realise it was not bad luck or coincidence that Geta had stumbled across you. It was difficult to see them through the myriad of plants but several Praetorians had accompanied Geta to the gardens. It seemed that you had not been quite as subtle as you had thought.

Geta started towards you and you squeaked, not daring to back away. It took only several paces before he reached you, grasping your elbows and yanking you to his chest.

"You," he gaped," what were you thinking?"

He gave you a hard shake to force the answer out of you. He was out of breath, almost gasping, and you were stunned into silence.

"Come," he barked, yanking you back the way he came.

You lurched after him, gravel grazing the tips of your toes. Thought escape you and all you could do was lock your eyes on the back of Geta's robe. The pattern was exquisite and you wondered what it would feel like beneath your fingers.

You expected him to let you go once you were back inside but he did not. He continued to pull you along, barking orders at Praetorians, all the way back to your rooms. Your face crumpled at the sight of it but you did not protest as he wrenched you inside and shut the door, sealing both him and you in.

He swiped a hand over his face, shaking. "Do you have any idea how fortunate you are that it was not Caracalla who stumbled upon your ridiculous little escape plan?"

"I -"

"You are well aware that he has some sort of dependency on you," Geta continued, pacing back and forth, "yet you would abandon him at the first chance you had?"

"No, no," you shook your head, "I wanted only to see the gardens!"

Geta stopped, eying you with disbelief. He looked on edge. He almost reminded you of Caracalla in one of his episodes. The more you learned, the more you realised how similar they were.

"The gardens?" he spat. "In the middle of the night? In the cold?"

You brushed your fingers down your arms, embarrassed. "Yes."

Geta shook his head, eyes flickering all over you. His eyes narrowed as he finally seemed to register what you were wearing. "And in those clothes?"

Nothing you said was going to make him calm down. You let your eyes settle on the floor and thinned your lips.

"You could have asked," he finally said, shoulders sagging inward.

"Asked?"

"To see the gardens," he threw his hands into the air. "I would have had someone accompany you. You could not comprehend the trouble you have caused tonight."

"What right do I have to ask for anything?" you said, shocked. "I am a servant, barely more than a slave."

Geta studied you in that way you had become almost used to. His mouth worked, opening and closing several times before settling into a fine line.

"Yes," he agreed, "and you will obey your emperors. You are not to leave your room till morning and we will have someone fetch you when we are ready. Goodnight."

He turned to your bed and yanked up the sheet, throwing it upon you before exiting from the room. He slammed the door shut and you stood in stunned silence, frozen until you heard the deathly sound of a lock sliding shut.

"No," you murmured at first, then quickly got louder. "No, don't!"

Your emotions spilled out of you all at once. Throwing yourself against the door you began to pound upon it. Geta was still outside; you could see his shadow lingering beneath the door.

"Please," you begged, "I am sorry, Emperor, please."

The shadow disappeared as though it had never been there. Choking on your own tears, you rested your forehead against the wood, fists aching. You let out one long, primal scream and then fell back, yanking the covers over your head and angrily wiping your tears away with the back of your hand.

You fell asleep like that, hands clenching the covers and cursing whatever Gods had pushed this fate upon you.

True to his word, Geta did send someone the next morning. A Praetorian soldier opened the door and peered in, cringing at your rumpled form on the bed.

"I am Consus," he said reluctantly. "The Emperors have sent me to retrieve you."

You scowled at the innocent man, dragging your body from the sheets. Your head was pounding and there were multiple spots on your hands where the skin had cracked and bled from your pounding on the door.

You were still in your bed clothes. Dirt stained the bottom and there were smears of blood dotted all over it.

"I need to get ready," you grumbled.

"That. . .will not be necessary," the guard said. "You will be relieved of your usual duties today but you must accompany me to the emperors."

Usual duties, you thought, whatever those were. But you were in no mood to argue so you stomped into your sandals and trailed after Consus. Whatever fight you had left had been squeezed out of you late last night. Now there was only the stinging of your hands and aching of your head.

It took less than two minutes to reach Geta's quarters. You had been foolish to think he would not learn of your brief dash for freedom.

Consus held open the door and announced your presence to the room. No-one had ever done that before. You had not been important enough.

You held your head up as much as you could and entered the room. Caracalla was the first to see you. It was almost comical the way his grin dropped from his face.

He stood up so fast that Dondus squeaked and leapt from his shoulder. He stormed over to you and cupped your hands in his, turning them over again and again as though he could not believe what he was seeing.

"What is this?" he was horrified. As though he had not caused worse injuries and found amusement in them.

"Brother," he snapped, "look. Someone has - someone has -"

Geta finally looked up. Despite being the last to see you, he was also stunned by your appearance. He swallowed harshly and stood straighter.

"She had a rough night, brother," he attempted to soothe Caracalla. "The healer is on the way."

His eyes told you not to say anything. You would not. There was no telling how Caracalla would react if he learned the truth of your escapade last night. Even though you had not truly tried to escape, it only mattered that Geta thought you had.

Caracalla yanked a hand through his hair. "Brother -"

"Enough," Geta raised his voice. "She is hurting. Let her sit."

The words seemed to do something to Caracalla and he steered you to a plush sofa, pulling you down so that you were half on his lap. You had no will to try to move and only sagged, letting Caracalla's hands wander over you.

It was strange how his jerky movements almost soothed you. Perhaps you were only glad for the company, having spent majority of last night confined to your quarters.

"Where does it hurt?" he whispered, eyes fixated on the darkened blood on your clothing.

"My head," you admitted, "and my hands."

Caracalla dusted careful fingers over your temples before turning his attention to your hands. He brought them to his face and kissed your palms. Your eyes welled from the soft touches. He murmured sweet nothings, brows furrowed as he took in your injuries. The smaller they were, the more they hurt. You sucked in a breath when his tongue darted out and swiped over a cut.

Consus appeared in the door once more, this time announcing the healer. The gentleman walked in, holding a leather bag that clinked with ointments and creams.

"Leave them and get out," Caracalla demanded, becoming louder when the man stalled. "Out!"

You would have felt pity for the man on any other day. He shrugged the bag from his shoulder and left it on a table, backing out of the room with his hands held up.

To your surprise it was Geta who retrieved the bag, handing it carefully to his brother. He eyed you in the way he often did and you held his gaze. Something like guilt flickered over his face but it was gone before you could analyse it.

Caracalla busied himself with the contents of the bag. He held up an expensive looking jar of cream and set it aside before picking up something much more recognisable - a small bottle of alcohol.

He popped the cork off. "This will sting."

You gasped and tried to yank your hands away but Caracalla held them steady as he dribbled small amounts of the liquid onto your palms. He used his own clothing to wipe away the traces of blood as if was nothing.

The cream was better. He dabbed it onto your cuts, glancing up at your face to gauge your reaction. You tried not to dwell to much on the fact that an Emperor of Rome was treating your superficial wounds.

"Better?" he asked.

"Better," you nodded. "Thank you, Emperor."

He looked over his shoulder and then back at you before leaning in to whisper, "You can address me as Caracalla."

A lump lodged itself in your throat. How many times had Caracalla been treated for his own injuries that he knew how to treat you for yours?

"What truly happened last night?" he asked you, careful to make sure Geta could not hear.

"Emperor Geta locked me in my room," you answered honestly.

Caracalla thought about it for a moment. "It is better that way," he decided. "It keeps you safe. Don't you want to be safe for us?"

Of course. Caracalla was no different to his brother though you could not pretend to understand their emotions or motivations.

Geta was watching the pair of you. He looked down when you noticed, pretending to be ensconced in his paperwork. Ignoring you just as he did last night when he left you screaming in your room.

You spent the whole day laying about in Geta's chambers. Caracalla doted on you, feeding you bits of food and checking on your wounds.

The more he touched you the harder it was to pull away. His touches got firmer, bolder; the back of your neck, your arms, even your thighs when you shifted. His eyelids grew heavier and heavier until it was impossible to ignore the blatant way he was panting over you.

And it was not as though you were immune to his caresses.

After a few hours of torture, Geta turned his attention back to you.

"There is a gathering tonight," he said, "you will get ready."

"And what am I to do at this gathering?" you boldly asked.

Geta pulled you from the plush cushions by your wrist. He leaned in close. "You are going because I cannot trust you enough to leave you alone. Do not complain; it is unbecoming of a young lady such as yourself."

His mocking tone sent a spike of anger through you. You deigned not to respond. Such blatant disrespect was stupid but you were still unfathomably angry that he had locked you away. You wanted to say that he had no right but, as Emperor, he did. Geta and Caracalla could do anything they wished and you were constantly reminded of it.

Geta pointed you to some clothes hanging up on a privacy screen. He dragged Caracalla away so you could change in peace - an apology of sorts? You yanked on the clothing and tried to let your temper cool. It would do you no good to have an attitude in the presence of others.

Once more you were back in the entertainment hall. Geta had you stationed by a wall, offering cups to anyone who wanted one. It was obvious you had been placed there only because it kept you firmly in his sight.

After an hour you found yourself feeling calmer, taking purpose in your small task. The familiarity made you at ease and you were able to put the Emperors to the back of your mind.

They were surrounded by concubines and tittering senators. A woman was perched on the cushions behind Geta, rubbing a hand on his shoulder and occasionally allowing it to dip beneath his clothing. Geta met your eyes across the room and leaned back, allowing her further contact.

The concubines were having a difficult time with Caracalla. He would relax into their forward touches and then suddenly jerk forward, shoving them away and screaming obscenities. You had never seen him quite so wild at a gathering; it was known that Caracalla enjoyed parties and was most approachable during them.

The concubines did not know what to do with themselves. Breaking point was reached when one dared to slip his hand beneath Caracalla's tunic. Immediately Caracalla was upon the man, hands flying in every which direction and beating him to a near pulp.

How was this the same man who had so softly attended to you earlier? Your anger seeped away and was replaced by familiar fear. What would it take for him to turn on you like that?

Praetorians approached and dragged the concubine away. The party continued as though nothing at happened. These people cared not for the lives of those below them.

Caracalla's eyes darted about the room. Searching for you, no doubt. You recoiled into the wall and shrank in on yourself, desperate to go unnoticed.

Someone did spot you, but it was not Caracalla. The master of gladiators gave you a predators smile and sauntered over, plucking a cup from the tray you were holding.

Something about Macrinus unnerved you. His smile was open enough but you did not trust the man. That had never mattered before when you were a simple servant in the kitchen but now. . .

"It is you," he smiled teasingly, bumping you with his elbow.

You recoiled at the unwanted touch. "I'm sorry?"

"You," he repeated, " who has enamoured the emperors and now takes up so much of their time."

Something cold slithered into your stomach. You did not like Macrinus - did not like that this man knew so much about you.

"I. . .do not know what you are speaking of," the lie caught in your throat but you pushed it out anyway.

Macrinus laughed, loud and cold. "I think you do."

At that moment Caracalla appeared, wrapping his hand around your elbow and exposing the lie you had told.

"I want to leave," he grumbled, "come now."

He uttered a tense greeting to Macrinus and dragged you from the room. You went willingly, thankful for any distance between yourself and the master of gladiators and his sharp smile.

Caracalla was rougher than usual as he tugged you along. This time to his chambers. He kept looking over your shoulder and muttering to himself, yanking you closer and closer until you were almost tripping over each other. You were not overly alarmed; you had faith that you would be able to pacify him.

Your mind was preoccupied with your brief meeting with Macrinus. The emperors made you uneasy but it was nothing to do with the sickening feel Macrinus evoked in you.

Authors Note - This might be my favourite chapter yet idkkkk - please let me know what you think! Please like, comment, reblog if you enjoyed and don’t be afraid to send asks because they are my favourite thing

taglist - @only4thefics @doodle-with-rhy @lover-rep-fanfic @claraisme23 @sashaphantomhive @multifandombtch @t6gse370

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[shiningjustforreid]

stains

glimpses through fem!reader and Spencer’s relationship, through four instances of spills.

word count: 3.5k ish

a/n: i love the idea that for some of us, our personalities are made up all the things we like about the people we know and see. the idea that we’re all little bits and pieces of the things we love, and our experiences. this sort of explores that. (also this was mildly self indulgent because much like reader i’m a klutz!) <3

warnings/tags: 18+ for implied intimacy and canon typical violence for cm, pet names up the wazoo, reader is lowkey clumsy, Derek Morgan being himself, reader gets injured but she’s fine, who’s Maeve?, anxious love confession, Spencer adores reader so so much, S1 and S6 (ish) Spencer, Spencer in and post prison, love letters, marriage, kids, and briefly mentioned pregnancy, girl dad!Spencer Reid my beloved

- ✩ -

coffee - the first stain

To be honest, at first, he’s appalled.

The mug you set down on his desk isn’t his, so God knows whose mouth was on it last. You - somewhat carelessly - plopped it down on the file he’s working on, grinning that thousand watt smile he’s secretly become fond of. You’re wearing a sweater he noticed that brings out your eyes - a berry colored wool garment that he wishes you’d wear more.

“Hey! Morgan said you were exhausted. Thought I’d make you coffee.”

You pick it up, and set it down again, for emphasis, and a few drops make their way down the side and onto his case file, surely creating a cinnamon toned half circle that Hotch will not love. You don’t notice, watching his face.

“I made it with a bunch of sugar. Just how you like it, right?”

Suddenly, he realizes he’s been staring up at you, and then his mouth is moving faster than his brain.

“Yeah, I uh, I am pretty tired, now that you say it. Didn’t sleep well, long night, you know?”

You nod, sipping your own coffee, fingers wrapped around the ceramic.

“I get that. Goes with the job, right?”

“Oh, absolutely, yeah, I- wait, Morgan said that? Did he— what else did he tell you?”

You grin, coffee mug to lips again.

Stop staring, Reid.

“Nothing, really. Just said you needed a boost. Thought I’d provide.”

Titling your head a tad, you look down, a mild panic crossing your face when you see you’ve stained his file.

“Oh my God - Reid, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-“

He’s quick to shake his head, hands coming up to reassure, his eyes wide.

“No no no, it’s okay, truly, I-I made a mistake on that one anyways. I’ll need to have a new copy printed, honest.”

Frowning, you look him over, searching for a tell, something to let you know whether he’s lying or not.

“Are you sure? I can do it, I’m not that behind on mine, I could—“

Before he thinks - you’d assume, with all his brains, he would - his hand grabs your arm, that gorgeous sweater under his finger tips, his eyes locked with yours. He says your name, once, his tone more serious than he’d like.

“It’s okay. Thanks for the coffee.”

You blink, and then a slow grin takes over your face.

“You’re welcome. Let me know if you need more.”

For a moment, neither of you move, the heat of his hand burning through the wool on your arm, until he lets go like you’re the one scorching his skin, like he’s just realized that he’s touching you. You laugh a little, awkwardly, and he grins with the same level of unpracticed nerves, and you head back to your desk.

He picks up the mug, and sips slowly, closing his eyes for a moment - it does have a mountain of sweetness, the saccharine liquid coating his mouth but soothing his senses. When he sets it down again, it’s on a part of his workspace not occupied by case work. Just as predicted, the file that once housed the beverage now bears a semi circle of dried java. His pointer finger traces the stain, clockwise and then counter, for a moment, before he glances up in horror to see Morgan, of all people, signature smirk in place.

“‘Thanks for the coffee’. I don’t what’s sweeter, that coffee you just got or-“

“Shut up.”

He mumbles, face flushed, small smile on his face despite the teasing. He traces the coffee stain one last time before he hastily tucks the soiled paper away in a drawer.

blood - the second stain

“What do you mean you aren’t getting a response from her on comms?”

He’s so scared, he can’t even stop to think just how breathless and afraid he sounds, as he turns to Hotch, who fixes him with a look that clearly says, Calm down, Reid.

“It could just be non-functional, or got knocked off, or caught.”

Hotch says calmly, almost maddeningly so. Spencer swallows back the protests, the arguments that swell up in his throat like bile.

They’d created, and given the profile, and once Penelope had narrowed down the couple possible properties their potential unsub owned, you, Morgan, and Prentiss had headed into an abandoned storage facility, silent and careful.

Perhaps not careful enough.

The voice in his head reminds him, almost sadly, and he grits his teeth inside tightly drawn and chapped lips. Shaky hands smooth over his slacks, again and again, as his eyes stay fixed on Hotch.

“Ask-ask Morgan again. If she’ll respond.”

He’s given a frown, dark brows pulling together in a very typical Hotch-like manner.

“Is there a specific reason you’re asking about her, Reid?”

Is there? God, he doesn’t know. You bring him coffee nearly every morning, but perhaps that’s just kindness. Then there’s the chocolate sprinkled donuts that start his work day from time to time - maybe you just enjoy pastry treats, and think of him, when you buy one. Oh, and heaven forbid he forget the way you’ll come by his desk, and ask for clarification on a piece of paperwork or a procedure - that you probably could’ve asked Hotch or Prentiss about. You listen, active listening too, eye contact, body still - when his explanations turn into rambles about statistics about this type of criminal, your eyes watching his face, your own voice quiet.

Is he deluding himself? Seeing phantom romance where there’s maybe merely nothing but platonic affection? Blinking, once, he shakes his head in response to his Unit Chief’s question.

“No Hotch. I’m just worried, she-well, she hasn’t responded, and Morgan has, and Prentiss has, and I—“

Speak of the devil, Morgan’s voice comes through, demanding and tense.

“I need a medic. Prentiss and I secured the unsub, but, not before—“

Oh God. Not before that bastard got to you with a baseball bat, to the back of the head, you unaware before your face met the concrete below. Spencer’s not even asking for permission, snatching the keys to an SUV off the desk nearby and flooring the gas pedal.

You can’t die. Not before I—

Driving there is like hell - his lungs burn like there’s smoke and ash polluting them, and fear feels like too tame a word to describe the overwhelming panic that seizes his heart the more he drives.

I’m a fool, he thinks wildly, as his knuckles grip the steering wheel like a vice. A damn fool if I don’t tell her-

He’s barely got the thing in park before he’s scrambling out the driver’s side door, Converse immediately coated from the dusty ground outside the facility.

When he finds Morgan, and you, head lolled to the side, eyes closed, face pale as his must be, he falls to his knees with little regard for his own pain or discomfort. Morgan watches, careful, his voice gentle when he speaks, trying to calm his terrified friend.

“She’s still out, Reid. Just a nasty whack to the back of her head, okay? Easy.”

Trembling thumbs trace and hold your face, like it’s made of paper, as he swallows hard to keep the ache behind his eyes from becoming tear tracks down his face. He spots the gash, trickling crimson down your ashy skin, onto his shaking hand, but doesn’t move from holding your face. A deep contusion, furious and violet-toned, on the back of your head, makes the air leave his chest like he’s been choked.

Beautiful girl, I couldn’t stop this.

He could sob, and he nearly does, until you make some sort of confused noise and force open your eyes. Light rushes through his heart, rekindled warmth as he meets your eyes, and yet, he finds himself almost frozen.

“Spencer? What, I thought-“

“Listen to me.”

He forces himself to speak - he has too. What if he doesn’t get the chance, and all he ever gets to associate you with is caffeine, sprinkles, and a listening ear? No, that won’t do. Not in the slightest.

You meet his eyes, hazy, but listening. Morgan’s brows furrow, as he protests,

“God, man, she just woke up, let her-“

Ignored, as Spencer often finds himself doing when there’s more pressing matters than banter, than propriety.

“You need to know. That I-care about you.”

Blinking, you swallow, and suddenly, the throbbing pain in the back of your skull is slightly dimmed.

“That I can’t let another sunrise or sunset go by where you don’t know that I’d give you the stars if you’d let me. Where I can’t touch you, where I can’t make sure you understand that I’ll protect the light you have inside you until I’m burnt from it. You absolute angel, I-“

He shudders, almost afraid of his own earnest, and says your name like it’s a prayer.

“I love you. Even if you don’t return it, my heart is yours.”

Morgan’s grin is wide, and he shakes his head, almost in amazement. Your own face is flushed, as you hear sirens and medics, your voice crackly and rough from pain, but still, that smile he’s grown to associate with his heart fluttering graces your face.

“My heart is yours, Spencer. Glad you’re finally realizing how absolutely in love I am with you, you goose, even if it took all this.”

He laughs a little, almost deliriously, and smooths his trembling hand over your face.

“Guess the doughnuts weren’t enough, huh?”

You manage, and he shakes his head, quick to push back.

“They were. You’re always enough for me, no matter what you do.”

Could he sound any more smitten?

Procedure says he can’t go in the ambulance with you - there’s no need, you’re just getting stitches and some ice and he can visit you at the hospital, okay? But as he heads back to the - oh dear, still running, he really was in a hurry, wasn’t he? - car, Morgan glances sideways at him, signature smirk in place.

“Pretty boy, I didn’t know you had it in you.”

Spencer stares down at his hands in his lap. They’re stained, and a grimace floods his face when he realizes it’s not dirt, but your blood, coating his fingertips. A soft sigh escapes his lips, and he bites back a nastier retort than his friend deserves.

“I guess I did. I can’t believe it took-“

Morgan sighs, stopping Spencer’s inevitable incoming guilt filled rambles.

“Hush. You told her. That’s what matters.”

Glancing down at Spencer’s fidgeting hands in his lap, he presses on the gas.

“Let’s get there, so you can get that off you. I’m shocked you got all dirty, with your germ thing.”

Spencer shrugs, looking out the window.

“For her? I’d-I think I’d do anything. No matter what it stained.”

Soap finds his hands at the hospital, but he finds you soon after, unable to stop the gentle press of his lips to your forehead, or the soft murmurs that follow as he tries to remind himself that much more of your blood didn’t spill.

ink - the third stain

Emily has to physically hold you back in the court room, when they take him out, his eyes fixed on you, and the team, almost hopeless.

“Then your client is a flight risk.”

You’re quite literally fighting her, suddenly terrified in a whole new way for your boyfriend, tears staining your face.

“Bail is denied.”

She’s got both arms wrapped around you, her soft, ‘I know’s, and ‘I’m sorry’s barely heard over your own pleas for her to let you go.

“Defendant will be remanded to federal custody pending trial.”

You hear someone sobbing - angry, fear-filled wailing - and until Emily has you turned around, your face in her shoulder, comes the realization that it’s you.

“He’s-Emily, what are we going to do, he’s not going to be okay, I-I can’t—“

The days that follow are dark. Going to the BAU without Spencer, let alone waking up without him beside you, is enough to send you into a spiral. You try to remind yourself that he’s worse off, that whatever hell he’s experiencing is ten times worse than your quiet fear and loneliness. So, to try to combat the weight that squashes your heart, you write him letters. Daily letters.

Spencer -

We have a case in Florida. Emily says it’ll be quick, but the Florida ones never are. We’d solve it ten times faster with you, you know? Geographical profiles are much harder alone, that’s for sure. The plane ride is quieter without you, and no one’s saying anything - you’d be saying something if you were here. Maybe that’s why we’re quiet. ♡

Every day. You don’t relent. If you can’t mail them in whatever town you get stuck in for work, you mail them in one big envelope when you get back home.

Spencer -

That case was rough. I cried twice - once when I spent over two hours staring at the map at the precinct and couldn’t find anything new, and once when Rossi accidentally snapped at me. He said he was sorry, that he’s ‘on edge’ right now - but aren’t we all? Emily’s working really hard to try to get you home. I wish I could come see you. I hope you’re safe. I love you. ♡

When you learn that he didn’t put you on the list of people who can visit him in that concrete hell, you almost lose what’s left your nerve, breaking down in Emily’s office, shaking. You don’t know whether you’re furious, in despair, or numb to it all.

“Emily, why? Why doesn’t he want me to come see him? If it was me, I’d want to see him every day, I wouldn’t want him to leave!”

She sighs, her face tight. Twisting your hands in your lap, you search her face for answers. Nausea claws at your throat.

“Honestly, my guess is it’s just that. He knows that if you come, he won’t want you to leave. It’ll hurt too much.”

“But Tara, and you, and his mother, and-

Spencer -

I think I understand. Sort of. I feel like there’s this pressure in my chest, and I can’t ever fully breathe. Not since you’ve been away. The weight on my heart never goes away. Missing you more every hour. ♡

Despite the slew of handwritten letters that reach him, you only get one back, after you and the team search his apartment - you keep it in your purse pocket, folded safe, and read it whenever your throat feels tight and your eyes burn. His untidy scrawl is enough to make you feel like a part of him is actually inside this letter - like he’s reading it himself to you, interwoven in the fibers of the paper.

Angel -

I wanted you to know I’m in solitary now - I made sure of it. I know you want me safe, almost more than I do. I love you beyond what I can say, my beautiful girl.

Yours, Spencer.

One night, you’re curled up in Spencer’s apartment, writing him a letter, as is your nightly routine. The ink stains the side of your hand now - an ever-present reminder of the fact that your heart constantly feels ripped out of your body. After addressing the letter to him, your phone buzzes - Emily.

Oh God.

“Hey. We figured out that- oh, you don’t care about all that. He’s coming home.”

She doesn’t need to tell you twice. Paper and ink pen tumble to the floor as you shove your feet in shoes and snatch your jacket off the coat tree. Tension is coiled in your body the entire way there. Ink still stains the side of your hand, a permanent reminder that every time you needed to just tell him something - you had to pick up pen and paper.

Heart in your throat, you push open the door with shaking hand. There he stands, your Spencer. He’s still him, you think, although his face is tight, and sleep clearly hasn’t been something he’s seen much of.

Three months.

You walk in slowly, body trembling. One hand reaches up, runs through the curls that have grown so long.

“Your hair.”

You breathe out, voice barely audible. He nods, his face almost impassive. Tentativel fingers trail down his cheek, make a path to hold his face. He nods, and then, you notice his eyes are misty.

“My angel.” He murmurs, almost in awe, and takes you in his arms with a fervor. Crushed against him, face buried in the cool fabric of his shirt, you bite back a sob, arms threaded around him.

“No. Cry, my darling girl, I’m— I’m tired of doing it alone.”

How could you refuse him? Just hearing his voice, let alone the relief you feel at being touched by him again, is enough to satisfy you for days, you think. For a bit, all that’s heard is uneven breaths, until he speaks, his voice rough and shaky.

“I need to see your face.”

He pulls back, face shining with tears, and you swallow back the lump that just won’t leave your throat.

Calloused hands - less soft than you remember - take yours, and then he frowns.

“Your hand.”

Your right hand is held up, inspected, like the blue on the inner side of it is red instead. You smile, laughing a little, still breathless.

“Ink, baby. Just ink. I was writing you a letter.”

He shakes his head, rubbing at the navy stain with his thumb, as if that will remove it.

“I would’ve kept writing. Never given up. You’d be sick of letters from me.”

“Never, sweet girl. There is no part of me who could ever find himself sick of you.”

After you’ve home, he wastes no time in pressing less than tender kisses to your mouth and jawline and the column of your throat. It’s not until he’s reacquainted himself with your contours and the dip of your hipbones and the soft way you gasp out his name when he does that, that has you next to him, so he can see your face.

He needs to see your face.

Hand in his, still faintly stained from ink, he examines it, and then, softly, hesitantly, he meets your eyes.

“You know ink poisoning is actually rare? Pens we use are designed with non-toxic ink, to decrease any chances of fatal ingestion.”

You never mind his information sharing, but your eyebrows furrow tiredly at his timing.

“Spence, I’m not saying I don’t care, but we just— you just—”

“Please. Let me look at the woman I love and pretend for a few moments that my damn eidetic memory won’t play back the last three months of my life like some wretched tape.”

You let him, as he holds your cobalt-colored hand and your eyes droop, his soft voice telling you that rubbing alcohol will probably get that stain out. It almost feels normal.

Almost.

paint - the final stain

“Spence! Can you get paint water out of carpet with any amount of ease?”

You call your husband, turning back to your mildly sheepish five year old, whose water color adventure on the coffee table has quickly done south.

In walks Spencer, not even noticing the overturned hard plastic cup or purpley-blue spill, eyes going straight to his daughter’s nearly finished picture.

“Beautiful, Penny. Looks incredible.”

He murmurs, bending to be eye level with a beaming Penelope, hand on her arm, before turning to you, mild tension and stress lining your face. His smile is gentle. It’ll wash out.

“Rubbling alcohol, angel.”

You nod, tension easing from your shoulders.

“We’ll go get it - we always clean our messes up, right lovely?”

He asks your daughter, lifting her with practiced care. She giggles, nodding, as they head from the room, letting you take a breath and set up the paints and picture in a new location - the kitchen table, with some newspaper tucked underneath because she’s five, and you of all people know spills happen.

Once she’s set up again - she really is so quiet when she’s engrossed in something - you find yourself curled up with Spencer on the couch, head on his shoulder, watching her paint and sing-song to herself.

“Think she’s lonely?”

Spencer asks, turning to you, his grin wide.

Troublemaker.

“Hmm. I think you just like me pregnant.”

He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your hair.

“Maybe. Maybe I don’t want Penny to be sad, ever.”

Silence, then, for a bit.

“She’s so much like you.”

Spencer muses, his fingers drawing patterns on the side of your sweater. You smile, fondly.

“You say that because I’m clumsy. She was dancing around with that paintbrush, that cup of paint water stood no chance.”

“No, I say that because she shines like you. No matter what tries to dim her.”

That night, when you peek in your daughter’s door to see Spencer reading her A Little Princess, she’s propped up against him, hazel eyes barely open. Affection swells in your chest as his voice carries on, even though she’s clearly almost in dreamland. In you walk, pressing a kiss first to her forehead, then Spencer’s. He smiles gentle up at you - this is his favorite time of the day - and keeps reading.

“Perhaps there is a language which is not made of words, and everything in the world understands it.”

Once you’re back in the living room, you check on the earlier spill from today. All that’s left is a barely visible blue spot, no bigger than a quarter.

“No one will see it but you.”

Steadying, warm arms wrap around your ribs, and soft lips press against the side of your neck, washing away any insecurity about the state of your carpet.

“Besides, stains aren’t bad, sweet girl. They’re little reminders that things happened, good things, or bad things that brought us together. Memories, attached to splotches, attached to wounds, to paper, to skin. How convenient, to carry our most impactful moments like heaven-sent tattoos.”

[gf2bellamy]

home — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) summary: spencer comes home from a case content warnings: spencer being exhausted , mention of feeling lonely a/n: i truly am in my spencer era all i think abt is him

Spencer pushed open the door to his apartment, the familiar creak of the hinges welcoming him home.

A wave of warmth greeted him, the soft glow of the living room lamp spilling across the space, a contrast to the biting chill of the freezing night outside.

He stepped inside, letting the door shut gently behind him. 

It had been a grueling four days. Four long, restless days on a case that had tested his limits emotionally and mentally.

Four days without sleep, without comfort, and—most importantly—without you.

As Spencer stepped further into the apartment, his eyes landed on you immediately. You were curled up on his couch, your back turned to him, the glow of the television flickering against the walls.

The remote was in your hand as you flipped through channels, not lingering on any one show for long. The volume was high—louder than he usually kept it—and it didn’t seem like you had noticed him yet. 

He smiled to himself, the sight of you there, so at home in his space, filling his chest with warmth. He remembered the time you told him why you always came over when he was out of town. 

“I just feel closer to you here,” you’d confessed once, a little sheepishly. “I know it’s silly, but it makes the time pass faster. Plus…” You’d laughed lightly, though there was a hint of shyness in your voice. “Your apartment feels so... you. It’s comforting.” 

You’d also told him before that the quiet of his apartment felt strange when he wasn’t home, that the noise of the TV helped keep the loneliness at bay.

He set his bag down as quietly as he could, not wanting to startle you just yet.

Instead, he stood there for a moment, taking it all in—the way you were absentmindedly chewing on your lip as you scrolled through the channels, the way the blanket was half-falling off your shoulder, and the faint scent of your perfume lingering in the air.

You yawned loudly, stretching out on the couch before glancing at the watch on your wrist—the one Spencer had given you.

It was a thoughtful gift, something that felt like him in every way. You smiled faintly at the memory of how shy he’d been when he’d handed it to you, murmuring something about how it “reminded him of you”

It had quickly become one of your favorite things.

With a sigh, you let your head fall back against the armrest, your body slowly sinking into the cushions as you sprawled out on the couch.

The warmth of the blanket and the soft hum of the TV were comforting, but the ache of missing Spencer still lingered in your

chest. Four days without him felt like an eternity. 

The sound of soft footsteps made your eyes dart toward the doorway, and you sat up slightly, your heart skipping a beat. For a moment, your mind raced, caught off guard by the shadowy figure stepping into the light.

But as the familiar sight of Spencer came into view, a wave of relief and joy washed over you. 

“Spence,” you breathed, your lips curving into a wide, genuine smile. You stood up quickly, the blanket falling to the floor as you closed the distance between you. Without hesitation, you threw your arms around him, standing on your toes to pull him into a tight hug.

His arms came around you instantly, wrapping you up in his warmth as if he never wanted to let you go. 

“I missed you,” he murmured against your hair, his voice soft.

“I missed you too,” you whispered, burying your face in his neck. 

You let your arms slip from his neck, only to gently cup his face in your hands. His skin was warm under your touch, and your thumbs instinctively brushed along his cheekbones.

“You okay?” you asked softly, your voice barely above a whisper. It was a question you always asked, no matter what, and he always gave the same answer. 

“I’m fine,” Spencer replied, his hazel eyes meeting yours. It was the same response. You could tell he was tired, not just physically but emotionally.

You didn’t push, though. Instead, you smiled gently, giving his face a final tender stroke before grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the couch.

“Come on, genius,” you said playfully, trying to lighten the mood as you pulled him down beside you. 

Spencer sank into the cushions with a sigh, letting the tension melt from his body as he leaned back. But before you could settle into your own spot, his arm wrapped around your waist, gently tugging you closer.

“Stay,” he murmured. 

You shifted toward him, your body curling into his side as you rested your head on his shoulder. For a while, the two of you sat there in silence, the hum of the TV playing in the background.

His fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on your arm, his touch featherlight. 

But then, as if Spencer couldn’t hold himself upright any longer, he shifted, laying down fully on the couch and pulling you with him.

You laughed softly as he guided you to lie beneath him, his long limbs sprawling across the cushions. “Spence,” you said, your tone half-teasing. “You’re crushing me.” 

He propped himself up just slightly, his weight resting more on his forearms as he looked down at you. “I thought you said you missed me,” he teased back, a faint smile tugging at his lips. 

“I did,” you admitted, sliding your hands up to rest on his shoulders. “But I didn’t mean I wanted you to flatten me.” 

Spencer chuckled, the sound low and warm as he shifted his weight again, this time fully relaxing against you but keeping enough of it off so you could still breathe.

His head rested on your chest now, his curls brushing against your chin. 

“You’re comfortable,” he murmured, his voice muffled slightly as he nuzzled closer. 

A soft laugh escaped you as your fingers found their way into his hair, your nails lightly grazing his scalp.

“Well, you’re lucky I don’t mind being your human pillow,” you said with a grin, threading your fingers through his curls. 

Spencer sighed, his whole body melting into yours. “I could stay like this forever,” he mumbled, his voice soft and drowsy. 

You smiled down at him, watching as his eyes fluttered shut.

“Good,” you whispered, continuing to run your fingers through his hair. “Because I’m not going anywhere.”

[shiyosugi]

IMAGINE, Sae who either rarely voices his love for you or acts like he loves you. It's just out of character of him if he acts like a lovesick fool right? You never really thought about it because you two were busy with each other's business. Both of you have a busy life. However, when you got a few days of rest from work recently, all of the sudden, the shared apartment became too silent and lonely for you. This led to you overthink about your relationship and how will you manage if anything happens.

As a result, when Sae arrived home, you couldn't help but asked him; "Don't you get tired of me?" That question certainly caught him off-guard. He just finished his bath, why would you ask something like that so suddenly? He gave you a confused look, but seeing your curious expression he just gave a straight answer which was a "no". You wanted to ask more, but you felt something weird in your chest so you decided to brush it off for tonight and went to sleep.

For the next few nights of your week off, Sae noticed how you were getting... distant. At first, he didn't think much of it, but it was getting hard to ignore your sudden change of behavior. One night, he sat next to you on the bed while you were busy with your phone. He hesitated but eventually reached out to touch your hair. Feeling startled you almost slapped his hand, but he grabbed your wrist before you could do anything.

"It's just me," he spoke softly. You looked into his eyes and the weird feeling came again, which made you looked away. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

You wanted to say that it was nothing and brushed it off, but for some reason, you can't lie and he knew how bad were you in lying. "Don't you want to break up with me?"

He shook his head.

"Don't you want someone better than me?"

He shook his head.

"Aren't you tired of being with someone like me?"

He shook his head.

"Do you still love me?"

He didn't give any response and that made you scared. Upon seeing your worried face, he sighed then moved you so that he could lay his head on your stomach and hugged your waist.

"Sae?" head tilted as you witnessed him doing something you didn't expect he could.

"I never said that I don't love you. I never said I'm bored of you and I never said that I'm tired of you. Where did you get that idea?" he raised an eyebrow.

"It's just... you never do or say anything to show me that you still love me. You are famous Sae. A famous soccer player with pretty face and I know damn well I am out of your league. You could have cheated-"

"Hold it there. Cheat? I would never," he frowned, holding you tighter.

"But-"

"No. I would never do that and stop thinking about that. I love you alright?" he held you even tighter as if afraid that you will disappear if he let go. "Please [F/N]*, believe me when I said I will never cheat or do anything bad that you are thinking right now," he caressed your back as he saw the small tears in your eyes.

He who thought you were as nonchalant as he was, now understood that you are as just as sensitive as he is.

[F/N]* = First name

[ell6ied]

heartbreak summer ꨄ︎

pairing: sae itoshi x f!reader

summary: after your friend finds out her recent ex has been in the news tabloids with yet another girl, your idea of get back turns your night into an unfortunate series of events with the outcome landing you directly in front of re al’s star player, and you’re about to kiss him.

cw: nsfw elements, swearing, toxic relationships & behaviour (not too much from sae surprisingly), angst

chapter 02: blackout

you have no idea how it happened. for a moment you was searching for kaia, who had mysteriously disappeared after oliver aiku spotted her in the club, dragging her away. and the next moment, your hands were in some man’s hair, was it auburn? brunette? your face itching closer and closer to his as he held the side of your face with one hand, and the other on your hip, dangerously itching somewhere you know shouldn’t be.

god, your head was fuzzy.

you remember gripping onto his shirt a little, trying to balance yourself, the thought of drinking so much being a bad idea lingering in your head for a moment. you looked up at him, those eyes are gorgeous, this man is beautiful.

and just like that, your lips were on his, his hands a little firmer as he held you in place as he kissed you, noticing your lack of balance. you couldn’t help but tug his hair slightly as he ran his tongue on the bottom of you lip, causing him to let out a quiet, but deep breath, smirking down at you. he then pulled away for a second, catching the breath you just took from him as he rested his hand between the nape of your neck.

“do you want to come back to mine, amor?”, he speaks in a soft, velvety tone, his head tilted slightly.

you pause, frowning, “ew no..”, causing his brows to raise slightly and the corners of his mouth daring to twitch into a soft smile.

6:48 am

the feeling of your head throbbing and the scratchiness of your throat causes your eyes to squint while your brain finally registers the brightness coming through the blinds, “what the fuck..”

you move your arms, sitting yourself up slightly on your bed, looking around to see your still in the clothes from the night before, with the feeling of makeup still on your skin and wait, is that-

“what the fuck?!”, you half yell, seeing a shirtless man sleeping way too peacefully in your own bed.

“huh?”, he frowns, his eyes half open now, squinting to look at you, “oh, g’morning.”

morning?!?

“why are you in my bed..?”, you ask, confused.

“i came home with you.”, he says. bit creepy.

“we didn’t- did we?”, you ask in pure confusion again. your clothes were on, but here was some random shirtless man in your bed, you couldn’t think of any other reason why he’d be here.

“no, we just slept.”, he makes himself comfortable on your bed, looking at you as he answers.

“right… okay.”, you pause, trying to comprehend what even happened last night.

“well, if you just wanna… grab that.. and like, leave?”, you say, your eyes roaming your room before bending down and grabbing his shirt, throwing it at him.

he looks down as you throw his shift, looking back up at you, his eyes weirdly innocent, “oh you want me to go?”

obviously?, “um.. yes.”

he pauses for a moment, as if he was contemplating something, tilting his head at you, it was cute actually.

“why?”

you frown at him, baffled by his pure obliviousness or whether he was just being difficult.

“i don’t want you here anymore, i have roommates.”

“oh, okay.”, he says like he finally understands, “do you want my-“

you cut him off quickly, “no!”, you pause, “um.. no thanks, we don’t need to do that.”

“damn, okay.”, he says, finally putting his shirt back on, getting up from her bed and grabbing his phone.

“you know where the door is?”

“yeah, i know.”, he states, walking past you before giving you a final look, leaving your vision as you hear the front door open then close.

you sigh loudly, rubbing your forehead before walking over to the mirror of your vanity, looking at yourself, “oh yikes.”

the next day

navigation: heartbreak summer

next chapter: 03

authors note: thank you sm for everyone reading 🫶🏻 i genuinely love writing this story & there’s abt to be sm dramaaa 🤭 sae is so awkward in this im giggling 😭

taglist: @vaelils @shironagi

[yuurei20]

Updated Sebek Facts: Self-Confidence (pt3)

Grim asks about Sebek’s yelling and Silver says, “It's his way of hiding his embarrassment and expressing gratitude. He may come off as abrasive, but he's actually very caring.”

Other characters pick up on Sebek’s hidden insecurity during Glorious Masquerade when he refuses to admit that he prefers coffee with milk and sugar: Riddle asks why he is so defensive, saying it is nothing to be embarrassed about, while Jamil says “Not everything has to be a point of pride.”

He also denies when his stomach growls, claiming that his interests are the same of those of his senpai, such as studying history. There is a similar happening during Lilia’s farewell party and at the citadel in Lilia’s dream where he again denies that his stomach is growling, possibly out of embarrassment.

When Epel comments on his shivering during Harveston he denies it (“I'm simply trembling with anticipation for our victory!”) and he also denies having any love for his plushie (“It’s not what you think!”)

There is a similar example during Fairy Gala IF when Jack says he came across Sebek “pacing nonstop in front of Ramshackle’s gate...He kept glancing at the dorm all sneaky-like while going back and forth.”

Sebek is reluctant to explain himself and Ortho says that Sebek must have been worried about them, which he staunchly denies: “I thought you deserved to know how foolhardy your plan was. Don't mistake my intentions. I am NOT here to help!”

Riddle, too, comments on Sebek’s curious participation in the event (when Riddle requested his help at the start Sebek had soundly refused) and Sebek defends himself with, “I came to demand they do better.” This claim is undermined by Ortho’s follow-up that he has been brainstorming and running errands with them, making Sebek look uncomfortable.

Sebek is motivated to weed fire lotuses during Glorious Masquerade because he refuses to be outdone by humans.

Ortho records his birthday interview for his family and teases Sebek, his interviewer, about making himself look bad on camera to Malleus.

Sebek responds, "What manner of blunder do you imagine l'd make? I could interview you in my sleep." When Ortho thanks him at the end he says, "What sort of interviewer would I be if I didn't offer you badly needed wisdom?"

[darkredsugarcookie]

"The Pressure of His Lips" - ex!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Hi! Like three (3) people have asked me to start posting fics on here, so here we go. I'm new to posting on tumblr, but I'm a wattpad and ao3 veteran, so be nice. I'm still trying to figure out the formatting and everything for this place :P

Summary: After breaking up due to your secret relationship being brought to the surface, you are not handling the separation well. Too much vodka and lonely nights end with you accidentally Bucky from the bathroom floor.

Warnings: Alcohol use, heavy intoxication, mentions of smoking weed, slight hint at SA history upon the reader, angst, alpine mention!!!! let me know if I missed any!

DISCLAIMER: This is an excerpt from a bigger fic I've been writing in which the self-insert has a history of SA. It is hinted at for one sentence in this specific blurb.

By all means, I should’ve been the one that managed to keep my head above water. Dad hit rock bottom when he was my age— after my grandparents died. He was no stranger to tell me about it. It was always an example of what not to do. Even Mom had her struggles after she lost her brother. 

I had every picture perfect reason to stay away from anything that could drag me down like a weight in still water. Which is why I couldn’t tell you how I ended up at the bottom of a bottle on a Monday night in uptown Manhattan. 

For a long time, I refused to drink more than once in heavy social settings after what happened when I was seventeen. But this? I didn’t care anymore. I needed whatever would keep him and my parents and the team out of my head. 

The problem I was running into, however, was that by the time I was cross-faded in a mass of bodies in a bar uptown, he was the only thing I had the ability to think about. 

Everything I wouldn’t confront during the day when I was sober chased me down until I was curled up in the corner of a bathroom stall. 

The smell of weed clouded my senses as the cold tile floor hit the backs of my thighs. The vodka still on my tongue made me dizzy and I could feel my heart beating like a drum in my head.

Every memory axed its way into my head like a migraine I couldn’t shake. I could spend every night like this, I could dance with strangers I didn’t care about, I could swear off men to my best friend and demand that I was completely fine, but I would always end up like this. Thinking about how I could still feel the pressure of his lips on my skin and if I tried hard enough, the temperature of the bathroom tiles almost felt like that of his arm under my fingers whenever we were curled up together. 

I couldn’t keep a straight thought. It all flashed through my head in images I couldn’t shake. 

My phone was vibrating. 

I fumbled for it, where it was tucked into the front of my dress, and I didn’t even check who was calling when I  tapped the screen and held it to my ear. I sniffled, wiping my nose. My cheeks were wet. 

I was crying. That seemed to be pretty normal for me these days. 

“Hello?” 

I blinked. Great, now I was hallucinating voices. I’d never reached that point of being wasted. “Nat,” I said, rubbing my eyes. I probably just ruined my makeup already. “What’s up?” I did my best to sound sober. Probably didn’t work.

There was a heavy sigh. “You didn’t mean to call me,” he said. 

“You called me,” I replied. 

“No, I did not. Are you… Are you okay?” 

“I am fine,” I said. “I’m not… supposed to talk to you.” “I know, angel.” Another sigh, a shuffle of something. Maybe blankets. It couldn’t have been that late. 

“Are you sleeping?”

“It’s almost four in the morning.”

My head was pounding, swimming… I couldn’t quite breathe right. “You don’t really sleep…”

“No, I don’t. Less now. Where are you?” 

“Why?” I felt defensive all of a sudden. No matter the fact I didn’t think I could get up off this floor if the building was on fire. 

“Because you’re drunk, sweetheart. And you’re alone. It’s not safe.”

“You don’t know that I’m- if I’m alone.”

A brief pause. “Yes, I do. Do you know where you are?” 

I was picking at a loose thread on the hem of my dress. “I’m…” I squeezed my eyes shut. That string wrapped around my finger twice. “I’m in the bathroom.”

“Okay, hold on—” I heard a door shut. It was quiet for a second. “I know where you are. You stay in the bathroom, okay? I’ll come get you.”

“But you—”

“No, you stay where you are.” I shrank a little. “Hear me?” 

“Yeah…” “Good. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

I think I fell asleep after that, because the next thing I remember was hearing a commotion of voices— only one of which I recognized. 

Then it got so bright as the stall door was pushed open and I swear it felt like my heart that had dropped dead almost a month ago was beating again. 

Bucky’s face was a mix of emotions as he touched my cheek. “Sweetheart…” He said, letting out a breath. 

“Why are you here?” I asked, blinking a few times to try and see clearly. If he was here, I wanted to feel it, see it. All of it. 

“I’m here for you, doll.”

“But you hate me.”

He looked at me like I was crazy. “No, I don’t, baby. I don’t hate you. But we need to get you home, come on.”

Without waiting for me to say anything, he lifted me to my feet. “Where are your shoes?” he asked. I just shrugged. 

As I limped my way to the bathroom exit, one of the other girls stopped him, demanding that he either explain how he knew me, or set me down. If I was sober, I might have hugged her for that. “He’s…” I started. 

She cast a worried glance from me, to the man holding me up. Bucky sighed and pulled out his phone, showing her the screen. “She’s mine, promise.” I barely caught a glimpse of the wallpaper. It was a picture Avery had taken of us when we were in Atlanta, we were in the kitchen, not even aware she was watching. 

Once we were past the crowds, he shoved the door open and helped me outside. The chilly air shocked me a little back into my senses, but not much. 

He pulled the car door open and helped me into the passenger seat before rounding the hood and climbing in. “I feel like lecturing you on how dangerous this is might be pointless because I don’t think you’re gonna remember any of it.”

I sniffled, wiping my cheeks. “I thought I was… fine.” “I’m sure you did,” he said, pulling onto the street. “Avery would have a heart attack if she knew about this, you know?” 

“Yeah… It’s okay.”

“It’s not,” he sighed, shoving a hand through his hair. “This isn’t like you.”

“Sure it is,” I replied as I looked out the window. “It’s in my genes.” Bucky glanced at me, but didn’t say anything. When we pulled up outside my apartment building, I paused. “How do you—”

“I had a feeling something like this would happen. I got it from Nat.” 

“She gave it to you?” 

“I had to ask. Beg, actually.”

“That isn’t like you,” I said, quoting his own words. He cast me that same look he always gave me when I said something annoying, but valid. I smiled a little, tipping my head against the headrest of the car as I watched him climb out. 

When he got to my side and pulled the door open, he didn’t give me an option. Next thing I knew, he was scooping me into his arms and I didn’t have it in me to fight. I leaned closer, letting my body relax for the first time in weeks. I could scold myself for this in the morning. 

“What’s the door code?” he asked me. 

“My birthday,” I replied in more of a mumble than anything. “It’s—”

“I know your birthday, angel.” 

I sighed and nodded as we stepped into the warmth of the lobby. I didn’t question him as he held me the whole way to my apartment, his fingers occasionally brushing against my body as if it was muscle memory. 

He pressed the same code into my door keypad and shoved the door open. 

“Don’t let the cat out,” I muttered. 

“The what— Oh my god.” I heard my little white kitten meow up at him. “That’s Snowball,” I said. “Or Alpine. I can’t choose.”

He sighed, a small smile on his face. “I like Alpine.”

Bucky carried me to the master bedroom and set me on the bed. I rubbed my eyes, the ache behind them starting to grow. He disappeared for a second and when he came back, he put a glass of water in my hand. “Drink this,” he said, setting my shoes in my closet. I wondered briefly where he found them before he returned from the closet with the Avengers Compound sweatshirt that used to be his, but I had reclaimed. “You can’t sleep in that dress,” he said. “Or that makeup.” 

“I’ll be fine—” I started. 

“No. You’re gonna change. I’ll give you a—”

“I can’t get the zipper myself,” I said quietly. “It’s not- It’s not a ploy… Promise.” 

He helped me to my feet and turned me around before tugging at the zipper. I felt the air hit my back a second before his hand landed at my waist. “Are you gonna remember anything from tonight?” 

“I hope so,” I said softly. Other words for definitely not. 

Bucky sighed and dropped his head to my shoulder. “I miss you,” he breathed, lips brushing against my skin. “More than I’ve ever missed anyone.” 

A pain lodged itself in my chest. It was so deep that in this moment I genuinely didn’t think it’d ever leave me. And if it did, it might just leave a hole where it sat. “Bucky…” 

“Get changed. I’ll be right back.”

When I felt his body heat disappear from me, I dropped my dress to the ground and tugged on the sweatshirt he’d set on the bed. I didn’t bother with shorts, just left my underwear on. 

I dropped onto the edge of the bed, finished my water, held my hands in my lap. 

Bucky came from the bathroom and clicked on the lamp beside my bed. He took my face in his hand and with the warm rag in his hand, wiped it gently along my face. “Close your eyes,” he said softly. 

I did as I was told. It wasn’t as in depth as I could’ve myself, but it was enough to keep my eyes from hurting in the morning.

He tossed the rag in the hamper and guided me into bed. “You need to sleep,” he said softly. 

“I’m not used to sleeping alone,” I mumbled against my pillow. 

“I know, sweetheart,” he replied, fingers combing through my hair. “Me either. But you’re gonna be okay.” 

I felt exhaustion coming for me like a thief in the night. “You think so?” 

“I know so. Sleep, baby.” 

A breath escaped me. I didn’t have the energy to speak anymore.

As sleep pulled me away, I felt his kiss against my head. Then the light clicked off and it was gone like a dream. 

[peakyswritings]

Heart, Body and Soul || Tommy Shelby x OC

CHAPTER 14 - EPILOGUE OF PART ONE

Summary: All hell has broken loose in the Ferrante household. There’s a choice to be made, and too little time to hesitate.

Warnings: time-typical misogyny, arranged marriage, mentions of forced marriage, mentions of killing, mentions of violence, mention of beatings, a bit of an age-gap (Tommy’s 30, Nina is in her early 20s). This is set between season 1 and 2. English is not my first language.

A/N: nothing for now, but I left a note at the end of the chapter. I got quite sentimental and rambled a bit, so I decided that it would be best to leave it there.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER

SERIES MASTERLIST

Gif credits

“According to tradition, they should get married at dawn, before word spreads,” Pietro paced around his father’s office, arms crossed, brain striving to find a solution to the predicament the family had found itself in. “But it’s too late for that.”

He snorted, wiping his face. The lack of sleep was starting to get to him. He hadn’t gone to bed after talking to Nina, he couldn’t imagine trying to sleep while the household threatened to collapse and implode. Moreover, he knew he would find his father awake as well, and he had been waiting for the chance to speak to him alone all evening. The meeting had been nothing but a mess. Everybody was too angry to think or act clearly, and they had accomplished nothing.

“Your uncle Mario has spoken against it,” his father shook his head. “And I can’t blame him. Shelby humiliated Agnese by…” he paused, grimacing. “Engaging with your sister. He wants him dead.”

“Uncle Mario has no head for business. We can’t afford to act out on revenge, not right now. If we listen to him, we’re fucked, you know it too.” Stopping in front of his father’s desk, Pietro rested with his left palm upon the wooden surface, slightly leaning in. “Imagine what would happen. We kill Shelby, we lose our ally against Sabini. And on top of that, we’ll have that mad brother of his seeking revenge,” he said, punctuating his speech with his finger.

“But if we give Nina to Stefano, we’ll seal our alliance with the Spinietta family.”

Pietro scoffed, raising his eyebrows. “The Spinietta family would betray us without a second thought, if that granted them the chance to rise, family or not. You forget Giuseppe Spinietta killed his own brother to take charge of the business. I wouldn’t be surprised if Stefano and Vito followed his example, someday.”

His father tapped his fingers on the desk, squinting his eyes. “So what do you suggest that we do?”

“We get Nina and Shelby married tomorrow, in secret,” he straightened his back. “During the night, or at dawn. Then we put them on the first boat to England.”

His father got up in an abrupt movement, taking a few steps away from his desk. He rubbed his mouth with his palm, pondering. “You want me to turn my back on my own brother?”

“It’s the only way.”

“He’ll never forgive me.”

“He will, when Shelby’s men help us in our war against Sabini.” Pietro crossed the room with long strides, until he was standing in front of him. “If uncle Antonio was here, he’d tell you the same thing.”

“But he’s not here, is he? And I don’t know how happy he’ll be when he finds out we made a decision without consulting him too.”

“Dad, this isn’t about us getting all along,” he said lowly. “This is about us averting a war we don’t need.”

The silence Pietro got in return told him he was finally getting through to him, and it spurred him to go on. He placed his hands on his father’s shoulders, looking him right in the eyes. “I can tell you’re not just worried about uncle Mario. You’re worried about Nina, about sending her away overnight. I am too. But right now, this is the best thing we can do for her. I don’t trust aunt Rita to stay quiet about what happened. If word spreads, she’s ruined.”

His father’s eyes traveled across his face as he took in his words, his expression indecipherable. At that point, Pietro could only hope they’d have the desired effect. Saying more was hazardous, and he had already pushed his luck by talking to him that way.

Long moments passed before his father nodded, more to himself than to him, a bitter smile making its way on his face. Then he affectionately patted him on the cheek. “One day, it’ll be you taking my place. I guess I should start letting you make decisions.”

Nina watched as the first rays of the sun filtered through the lace curtains, hues of amber and violet lightening the dark room. She hadn’t been able to sleep all night, tormented by thoughts of helplessness and guilt. What up until a few hours before had been nothing but a haze had finally taken shape in her mind, forcing her to face the mess she had made. Yet, there was still a missing piece, a doubt that nagged at her brain, a question she just couldn’t find an answer to.

How did it happen? Was there a turning point that had caused the unfolding of that unrelenting chain of events? Or was it a result of something so gradual she didn’t even notice it until it was too late?

Useless musings, she was aware of it. It had happened, no matter when, no matter how. Somewhere along the way, she grew to care for Tommy, and it made her reckless. It made her careless. So careless that she would leave her home, her family, everything she had ever known for the man who her cousin was supposed to marry. She felt like a terrible person for it. God, she was a terrible person. The vicious things she had said to Agnese that afternoon still haunted her. Agnese, who all her life had shown her nothing but kindness. She had ruined everything. For her cousin, for her family, for herself. And the worst thing was, despite the mess, despite the danger, and the risks, and the pain, - she did not regret it. She did not regret him. Because she had never felt more alive than she did with Tommy. When everything was dull and hopeless, he had lit a spark inside her, and that spark had bursted into a flame, and that flame had set her soul on fire. How could she ever regret something like that?

A soft knock on the door cut through her thoughts. Winston promptly raised his little head from his spot next to her, his yellow eyes snapping toward the source of the noise.

“Come in,” she said faintly, so faintly she suspected whoever had knocked couldn’t even hear her. But the door opened, revealing Pietro’s tall frame in the semi-darkness.

“I have just finished speaking to dad,” he said gravely, taking a few steps inside the room. He was still dressed as the previous night, and from the tired look on his face, Nina could tell he hadn’t closed an eye, just like her.

She anxiously scanned his features in search for a shift, a clue she could read to get her answer. But his expression was cold as stone. “And?” she enquired, fidgeting with her own fingers.

Pietro exhaled deeply through his nostrils, placing his hands on his hips. “He agreed,” he nodded, fixing his gaze on a point straight in front of him. “You’re marrying Shelby.” There was no inflection in his voice, nothing that could betray whatever emotion he might be feeling.

Nina’s breath caught in her throat. She blinked, letting his words hang in the air, afraid that it was only a trick or her own imagination, a counterfeit reflection of her hopes. “Are you serious?”

Her brother shifted his dark eyes on her, giving her a single nod. “Yes.”

Yes. Her father had said yes. A wave of relief washed over her, and she felt like she had been given back the air taken from her a few hours before. Tommy was safe. He’d be fine. They’d both be fine. She rubbed her eyes with her hand, holding back the sudden tears that had gathered. She hated feeling so emotional, so weak, but she couldn’t help it. And as the realisation sank in, something else came to the surface. Fear. Until that moment, marriage had been nothing more than a distant hypothesis, a possibility, a chance. Now it was awfully real, with all its implications, and risks, and consequences. Because it didn’t matter how strong her feelings for Tommy were, she had no certainties. She was jumping into the void not knowing where she’d land.

The mattress sank beside her, and a warm hand rested on her shoulder. “Chi fai, chianci?” Pietro taunted her, his tone softer, but still bearing a hint of reproach. (What are you doing, you’re crying?)

“No,” she sniffled, swallowing the lump in her throat.

Letting his hand fall, he leaned with his back against the wall, his shoulder brushing against hers. For a while, neither of them spoke. There wasn’t much to say. She had brought trouble upon the whole family, she knew that, he knew that. Nothing they could say could undo what she had done, no amount of anger and resentment could make them go back and change it. And Nina had already paid enough. The split lip their father’s heavy hand had left her with was proof of that.

It was Pietro who broke the silence. “If two months ago someone had told me you’d offer to marry a man just to save him I wouldn’t have believed them.”

Nina shook her head, the shadow of a smirk playing on her face. “Me neither.”

“You were supposed to do something more.”

Those words came like a stab. There was no malice in them, just pure, painful truth. A truth everyone around her had forced her to forswear, to lock away in a drawer as yet another hopeless dream. In her heart, she had always known she was meant for something more, that she would never be able to find her happiness in marriage and family, but the reality of things had hit her too hard way too many times.

Nina clenched her jaw, her mouth going dry. “I tried.”

“And you will try again,” Pietro murmured, like a statement of fact. “Because this is who you are.” A shadow of melancholy darkened his eyes. He let out a sigh, dropping his gaze to his hands. “I’m sorry I abandoned you after I came back from the war. I should’ve done more for you, I should’ve forced dad to see what I saw. Maybe things would’ve been different. Maybe-”

“You did enough,” she interrupted him, but there was no harshness in her voice. “Dad only sees what he wants to see.”

Their father was a stubborn man, and he had his own beliefs, beliefs he had already betrayed by allowing Nina way more than any other father allowed his daughter. Asking him more meant asking him the impossible.

“And…” she pondered her next words, playing with the hem of her nightgown. “This is not a sacrifice. Not completely, at least.”

She didn’t need to look at him to know that Pietro was scrutinising her, waiting for her to go on. For the bomb to drop.

“I care about Tommy,” she revealed. “I might not know what my life would’ve been like had things been different, or what my life will be like a year from now, but I know that I care about him. And that’s enough, for now.”

Her words sounded foreign to her own ears. She had never dared to say it out loud before, and yet there it went, coming out of her mouth as the simplest of truths. She felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders. Because finally she could admit it to herself. Tommy Shelby had bursted into her life and made her question everything she thought she knew. He had made her feel things she never thought she’d be able to feel for anyone, he had taught her to see him. To love him, without neither of them realising it. And now that she knew how it felt to see and be seen, she wasn’t sure she could just let it go.

When she glanced at Pietro, a small smile tugged at his lips. Her eyebrows knitted in a confused frown. She could swear he was disappointed in her up until a few minutes before. But again, what went through her brother’s mind would always be a mystery to her.

“You’ve always done as you pleased,” he said. “You wanted to finish school, you finished school. You didn’t want to marry Spinietta, you didn’t marry Spinietta. Now you have decided you want to be with Shelby. God knows what you’ll do when we won’t be there to keep an eye on you.”

Despite his attempt at a joke, his voice bore a sadness that pierced right through her, and that she immediately recognised as her own, too.

We won’t be there to keep an eye on you.

That would be the last day she spent at home, with her family. She wouldn’t wake up to her mother’s rants anymore, or to her brothers’ fighting. She wouldn’t sneak into her father’s office to read when she’d need some peace, or cover up Winston’s shenanigans to prevent her mum from throwing him out the house. There was no telling when they’d get to see each other again. She pursed her lips, forcing herself to smile. “I guess you’ll find out.”

“I hope so,” he whispered. He turner to look at her, and when he spoke again, his tone was deadly serious. “You can still do what you want to do. This doesn’t have to be the end.”

She hoped he was right. She desperately wanted to believe he was. But that was the kind of thing only time could tell. She nodded, her eyes travelling to her window. The sun was rising above the horizon.

“Pietro, I need to talk to Tommy.”

She felt him stiffen beside her.

“You’ll have plenty of time to talk after you’re married,” he said dryly.

“Please.“

He sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Alright. But there are men watching, and they don’t know why Shelby’s confined there. They can’t see you. I can distract them, but you’ll have to be quick.”

Nina nodded frantically. “I’ll be quick,” she promised. “I just need a minute with him.”

“Fuck!”

Tommy’s voice resounded in the small room as he angrily kicked the door. He had been locked in there for hours, like a lion in a cage, waiting to be freed or put down. He had been brought to some kind of shack in the middle of the Sicilian fields, and left there to go insane. From the considerable number of pits he had caught a glimpse of before they pushed him inside, he could tell that was the place where the Ferrante family made people disappear.

Chances were, someone was digging a fresh one for him that very moment.

It was quite the exit, killed miles away from home, then thrown in a shallow grave where no one would ever look for him. All because he had fallen for the wrong woman. Again.

He sat on the edge of the small, uncomfortable bed, and dropped his head in his hands. That was not how it was supposed to go. Things had taken such an unpredictable turn in such a short span of time he could hardly believe it. Some part of him expected to wake up in his bed, in his house in Small Heath, and find out that all of that had been nothing more than a strange dream. He wondered when and how his family would receive the news. If they’d receive the news, or they’d be left to come to their own conclusions. If they’d grieve him, or only grieve the things he wouldn’t be get to give them anymore.

How foolish had been of him, to think he could have a chance at happiness. To think he could find someone whose mere presence seemed to heal the most wounded parts of his soul and keep them. Maybe what Campbell had said to him a few months before was true. Men like him weren’t meant to be loved.

The sound of keys hitting the lock startled him from his musings. His head snapped towards the door, heart racing. He was unarmed, but he could still fight. He was a soldier, for fuck’s sake. And a gangster. He had cheated death more times than he could count, what was one more?

He jumped to his feet, waiting. And it took him more than a moment to realise it wasn’t death who had come for him. It was Nina.

“Nina…”

Before he could say anything, she closed the door behind her and threw herself into his arms, holding him with a strength he had never imagined she could possess. He promptly wrapped his arms around her, burying his nose into her hair, her scent soothing his frayed nerves. She was there. She had come for him. He tightened his grip around her, scared that she was only a figment of his imagination, that she would slip away and disappear at any moment.

“Are you alright?” she asked, pulling away just enough to check. She cradled his face in her hands, frowning as she got a glimpse of the cut above his eyebrow.

“I’m fine, love,” he reassured her.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, lowering her gaze. “I’m so sorry, this is all my fault.”

Tommy’s heart clenched in his chest. “Hey, look at me,” he said hoarsely, running his fingers through her raven hair away to move it away from her face. He gently took ahold of her chin, his thumb ghosting over her split lip. “Look at me. I don’t regret anything. You hear me? No regrets. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

Nina put her hand on his, then brought it to her lips to place a tender kiss on it. “We need to talk,” she murmured, and sent a quick glance towards the door. “But we need to be quick.”

Tommy swallowed hard, feeling the muscles in his back growing tense. He had to remind himself that yes, Nina was there, but that didn’t mean they were safe, not yet. “Go on.”

“The peace will stand. My father and Pietro are planning to make us get married in secret,” she explained, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “Then they’ll send us away. By the time my uncle finds out, it’ll be too late.”

He nodded, taking in her words. He should’ve felt relieved - and he did, to some extent -, but there was a doubt, a fear that stung at the back of his mind like a thorn by his side. Was it what she wanted? He wanted it, he knew it, and he had told her more than once. But she had never expressed the same wish. Not openly, at least.

She must’ve noticed the way he had wavered, because something changed in her expression. “If…” she paused, uncertainty flashing across her face. “If that’s what you want.”

Tommy quirked an eyebrow, tilting his head. “Well, it’s marriage or death, eh?”

Nina inhaled deeply, averting her gaze.

“Nothing has changed for me, Nina,” he said softly. “I’m just worried that this might not be what you want.”

She jerked her head up, shooting him a disbelieving look. “What part of ‘I’m yours’ did you not get?” she reminded him of what she had said to him the previous morning.

Tommy couldn’t help the grin growing on his face, a warmth he only felt with her spreading in his chest. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss on her lips. God, he had been wanting to do that since she had walked through that door.

“Tommy, wait,” she stuttered, gently pushing him away.

He looked at her in confusion. What, now?

“There’s something I need to tell you before we go through with this,” she said, taking a step back. “I mean, it’s not like we have much choice at this point, but still...” She sighed, searching for the right words. “You… you need to know. I don’t want you to jump into-”

“Nina, just speak,” he said firmly, putting an end to her rant.

“I don’t want children,” she blurted out. “I mean, I don’t want them now. Maybe that will change, maybe it won’t. But there’s a chance it won’t change, and you need to know.”

Tommy blinked, a frown making its way on his face. That was what worried her that much? He already knew. She had never put it in those words, but from the things she had said to him in the past, he had imagined it. And it wasn’t that big of a deal, for him. “It’s alright. We can wait until you’re ready.”

“What if it’s never?”

“Then we won’t have them, we’ll be careful,” he assured her. He let out a sigh, putting his hands on her shoulders. “Nina I want you. Fuck the rest. I love you. You don’t have to say it back, but I want you to know.”

Something unreadable flashed across her eyes, and he wondered whether he had made a mistake, by telling her. But he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore, he had to say it, cause had been eating at him for days. And she needed to know that what they were about to do wasn’t for nothing.

A soft knock on the door interrupted them. Nina glanced behind her. “I need to go,” she whispered, giving him a quick peck on the lips. A bitter disappointment filled his heart. He didn’t want her to go just yet. And a part of him had truly hoped she’d say it back to him.

When Nina walked away from him, she brought with her the warmth that had engulfed him, and he was left feeling almost cold, despite being in the middle of the summer. Before she walked out the door, she turned to face him, as if she had just remembered something. “Winston’s coming with us,” she stated in a tone that brooked no argument.

A throaty chuckle escaped his lips. “Yeah, Winston’s coming with us.”

She smiled in satisfaction, moving to walk out. Then she stopped again, turning to him one last time. “And Tommy?”

“What?”

“I love you too.”

Having placed the last of her bags in the hallway, Nina took one last look around her bedroom. It had been left almost completely untouched, she didn’t have the time nor the space to take all of her stuff with her. Her desk was still scattered with papers and notebooks, her favourite candle was still resting on the bedside table, her dresser was still full of books. Only her diaries had been safely packed in one of her suitcases. Her eyes trailed over all the things her grandmother had hand-painted for her when she was little: the little flowers on the closet, the bluebird on a corner above the door, the ivy on the side of the dresser. She couldn’t believe she was about to leave it all behind. The place that had watched her grow up, play, fight. The place that she had hated, cursed, that she had so desperately wanted to flee from. The place that would always have a part of her soul, despite everything.

Taking a deep breath, she forced herself to turn the light off and walk out the door. It was past midnight. It was almost time.

The door of Salvatore’s bedroom was open. They hadn’t talked since the previous night. He had been avoiding her on purpose, ignoring her questions, pretending not to see her, changing room whenever she walked in. She didn’t even know if he’d attend the wedding.

Gathering her courage, she peered into his room. He was facing the window, adding cufflinks to his pristine white shirt. From the way his back stiffened, she could tell he knew she was there, but he didn’t turn around, nor did he utter a single word.

After a moment of hesitation, she spoke. “Are you coming to the church?”

No answer.

She cleared her throat, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Is that a no, or…” she trailed off, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve.

Again, no answer.

“You’re still so angry with me you won’t even say goodbye?”

Salvatore’s movements came to a halt. He slightly turned his head, looking at her from the corner of his eye, and a muscle twitched in his jaw. For a moment, Nina thought her words might’ve gotten through him. But he didn’t face her. Instead, he walked over to a jacket laying on the chair in front of the desk, and started fumbling in one of the pockets. She frowned, watching as he took something she couldn’t see out of it. As he then approached her with slow steps, she couldn’t help but tense.

Salvatore had become unpredictable, over the past couple of years. He had always had a temper, but the war seemed to have taken it to the extreme, turning his anger into a dormant beast, ready to bite and devour at the slightest trigger. A part of her felt guilty for even thinking that he could ever do something to her. But she hadn’t forgotten the way he had tried to hit her the day before, and the spiteful look in his eyes as he dug his fingers in her arm.

However, there was nothing menacing in his demeanour when he stopped in front of her. He stood tall, proud as usual, but there was a hint of sorrow on his scarred face.

“I know you stole a knife from me a few years ago, and I know you always carry it with you,” he revealed, his lips curving in a grin. “But I thought you should have something more…”, he paused, searching for the right word. “…suitable.”

Nina immediately recognised the switchblade. She knew well the intricate design of its bone handle, the roses painted on it. The family knife. All the men of the family had it. Her father, her brothers, her uncles, her cousins. She carefully grabbed it, turning it in her hand. Its lightness was impressive. She flicked it open in one swift motion, pleased by how easy it was to handle. She read the incisions on the blade. Che la mia ferita sia mortale on one side (May my wound be lethal). Ferrante on the other.

“You don’t forget who you are,” he said, his tone grave. “In less than twenty-four hours you’ll have his surname, but you’ll always be a Ferrante.”

Nina closed the knife, raising her gaze on her brother. For a split second, she got a glimpse of the boy he used to be. The loud boy who bothered her, who pushed her around, who found many different ways to make her angry. And she could swear his eyes were glistening with unshed tears.

Suddenly, he pulled her to him in a harsh, tight hug, and at first she had no idea how to respond. Her family, including herself, had never been too physical, and they often felt awkward when it came to displaying affection. Yet, it didn’t take her long to warm up. She wrapped her arms around him, hiding her face in his shirt. They’d never gotten particularly along, they’d had a considerable number of fights and disagreements, but he was still her brother, and she would miss him. She would miss him so much.

He placed a kiss on the top of her head. “Si ti tratta mali, iu vegnu e cci rumpu li gammi.” (If he hurts you, I’ll come break his legs.)

The small church smelled of incense, wood and stale beeswax. The pale, timid rays of dawn filtered though the stained glass, eerily falling on the crucifix statue at the rear of the altar. Christ’s tortured face was the only thing Nina could focus on as the priest’s voice reverberated through the stone walls. From where she was kneeling next to Tommy, he seemed to be staring right into her soul.

Her family was standing on the side, and by the looks on their faces, the function looked more like a funeral rather than a marriage. Her father’s expression was a mixture of pain and shame, her brothers were stoic, and as for her mother, she didn’t have the slightest intention to make an effort to hide her discontent. Maria had always wished for her daughter a beautiful wedding gown, a church full of flowers and candles, solemn music. Instead, she got nothing but a short, hurried ceremony. No readings, no elaborate vows. Just a quick ‘yes’, the bare minimum to fix her situation. Then she’d be gone.

Vincenzo Ferrante had taken care of everything. He had instructed the priest on what was to be done, and made sure the language barrier wouldn’t be a problem. Tommy would just have to express his consent. Then, after the ceremony, a car would bring them to the dock.

Nothing had gone as expected. And the Ferrante family could’ve never imagined that after Tommy Shelby’s arrival, they would never be the same.

As the priest spoke, Nina couldn’t make herself listen to him. The crushing weight of an unknown future was slowly descending on her shoulders, growing heavier with each second that passed, trapping her in its dark, icy grip. Fear had taken root inside her, and it was gradually draining her of every ounce of courage she had left, turning it into a poisonous lymph than ran through her veins, to her heart.

In all that darkness, she found herself praying. Praying that things would turn out fine. Praying that she hadn’t been a fool, by following her heart. Praying that she wasn’t making the biggest mistake of her life. Never before had she so strongly hoped that there was a God listening. Lacking the blind faith of the believer, she didn’t often pray. Yet, right now it was the only thing she could do. But it wasn’t a Father she was turning to. No. She had always thought that if there was a God, it must’ve been a woman. No Father could love so unconditionally, no Father would ever die for his ungrateful children’s sins. It was the kind of sacrifice only a Mother would make. And the act of creation had never belonged to men. So she prayed that good, nurturing Goddess she desperately wanted to believe in to welcome her plea and protect her like a loving mother.

As if sensing her agitation, Tommy subtly brushed his pinky finger against hers. It’ll be alright, he seemed to say. That fleeting contact was enough to bring her back to her senses, but it hardly calmed her rising panic.

When the priest started to ask the questions, her heart began to race. Tommy shifted his gaze on her, but she couldn’t bring herself to do the same. She was afraid that one look in her eyes would be enough for him to know what thoughts were poisoning her mind.

“Thomas Michael Shelby, vuoi accogliere Anna Ferrante come tua sposa nel Signore, promettendo di esserle fedele sempre, nella gioia e nel dolore…” (“Thomas Michael Shelby, do you take Anna Ferrante to be your wife? Do you promise to be faithful to her in good times and in bad…”)

She took a deep breath, trying to escape the fog gathering inside her head.

“Nella salute e nella malattia…” (“In sickness and in health…”)

Marriage. An unbreakable vow. An arrow that, once shot, could never be retreated.

“Di amarla e onorarla tutti i giorni della tua vita?” (“To love her and to honor her all the days of your life?”)

“Sì,” Tommy’s deep voice resounded through the high walls.

She froze, her fears finally gaining the upper hand. Was it what she truly wanted, or just what she thought she wanted? Was she doing the right thing? Would she regret her choice? Was she betraying herself?

“Nina,” Pietro hissed, snapping her out of that whirlwind of thoughts.

Without her even noticing, the priest had asked her the question, and was now waiting for her answer. Everybody was. She gulped, turning to look at Tommy, whose features were now full of apprehension. But she didn’t find the unknown that had scared her so much, in his blue eyes. She found the safety he had made her feel, the love he had shown her through every glance, every word, every touch. Slowly, she let her doubts drift away. She wasn’t scared because she didn’t trust him. She was scared because she had never thought of herself like someone who could be loved, and it felt foreign, and hard to believe.

The words her brother had said to her echoed in her mind. This doesn’t have to be the end.

She bit the inside of her cheek, gathering her courage. It was Tommy, just Tommy. He loved her. She loved him. She could still do the things she wanted to do.

So she said yes.

The land slowly faded into a dark silhouette as the ship sailed farther and farther away. Nina’s eyes strove to hold on to it, refusing to move until it became a black dot, and then disappeared into the distance.

Her heart felt astoundingly lighter.

She leaned against the railing, watching as the light reflected off the crystal water, sparks dancing across the blue expanse of the sea. She had ripped off her roots, mercilessly severing them one by one, and found herself surprised to acknowledge how easy leaving was once she had eradicated herself.

There was just one thing weighing her down. She would never forget the look in her father’s eyes when they said goodbye, or his silence when she asked him if would ever forgive her. In her heart, she knew he’d never be able to look at her the same. Although kept secret, the stain of shame had dried all over her name, and it could never be washed away.

Shame. That word had been following her like a shadow ever since she was a child. She became scared of it before she even knew what it meant. It hung over her head, carrying the terrifying promise of a wretched fate. A four-headed monster whose dreadful eyes watched her every step, waiting for her to fall.

It would have to wait a while longer. Because there were lots of things to be ashamed of, but love was not one of them.

She glanced at Tommy, standing next to her against the railing. Smartly dressed, with his peaky cap on and his gun poking out of his jacket, he looked just like the first time she saw him. She couldn’t notice it in the church, too overwhelmed by her own thoughts. He rubbed a cigarette between his lips, then placed it in his mouth, his gaze lost in thought. Like her, he was probably just processing everything that happened. She wished she could enter inside his mind, only for a moment, to know what was going through it. If, now that they had taken that step, there was any kind of regret taking shape inside it. But when he shifted his blue eyes on her and gave her a playful wink, her worries started to fade. His look was still as full of love as it was in the church.

“You’ve survived my family,” she said, lightly nudging him with her elbow. “Now it’s my turn.”

A wide grin grew on his face, which he concealed by lighting the cigarette. “I think you’ll fit in just fine,” he murmured.

Nina shook her head, her own lips curving in a smile. She wasn’t that scared anymore. The unknown opening in front of her felt more like a chance, rather than a threat, and she was ready to step into it. But there was still a needle digging into her brain, one it would take time for her to get rid of.

“Tommy,” she grabbed his attention, her tone dead serious.

He turned to look at her, his eyebrows twitching slightly as he waited for her to go on.

“I’m trusting you. Don’t make me regret it.”

A/N: We’ve come to the Epilogue of Part 1, and I still can’t believe that over the course of almost one year and a half it became what it became. I wanted to take a moment to thank all of you who have followed Nina’s journey up until now, and those who will continue to follow it in the next parts. To those who have left comments, and asks, and engaged constantly with it. I may often be late with my replies, but I can assure you I remember each one of you. The loved you have showed to this story has been so important for me. A special thanks also goes to my wonderful mutuals, who have joined this mess and shown endless support. And for those of you who will continue to read this, be ready, cause this is far from the ending. I’m so excited to move forward, and I hope you will be, too🤍

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[sillyhanako]

✦　　﹐　　I just wanna get high with my lover..　　⌒⌒

﹒꒦꒷ WINDBREAKER BOYS cuddling scenarios ♡♡ ft. togame jo, sakura haruka, suo hayato and kaji ren.

୧﹒sfw // wc : 272 - 400 each

꒱﹒a/n﹒୨୧ sorry for being inactive chat im cooking up way too many drafts and the ideas are flooding my brain 🎀 twst is peak

ー﹕m.list﹐

﹫﹒TOGAME JO

It was one of those cozy nights where the world felt like it was wrapped in a soft, warm blanket. The moonlight peeked through the curtains, casting gentle shadows across the room, as you and Togame found your perfect snuggling position on the couch. The warmth of one another's bodies created a bubble of serene comfort, and the only sounds that filled the space were the peaceful inhalations and exhalations as you both drifted into a blissful half-sleep.

You, nestled comfortably into Togame’s side, sighed contentedly, feeling like you could stay in this moment forever. However, as you succumbed to the gentle pull of sleep, a familiar tingling sensation crept through your arm. It was a well-known sign that your beloved cuddle partner was squishing your arm just a bit too tightly. With a playful huff, you cracked open an eye, gazing up at Togame.

“Hey my sweet angel princess” you teased, suppressing a giggle. “Could you move a little? My arm is falling asleep.”

slowly unfurled from the comfortable bundle you both had created. “c'moooon” he replied with a grunt, “But I was so comfortableee can’t you just power through it?”

“Power through?” you laughed, your voice light and teasing. “What do you think I am, some sort of arm contortionist?” 

With a jolt, he shifted, still pouting, but instantly feeling the warmth of your arm invigorate again. “Alright, alright i’ll grant your wish,” he said, lifting his arm.

Sitting up slightly, you two shared a moment, your faces just inches apart, the teasing still lingering in the air. “But only if you promise to return to this cozy position in just a moment,” he added with his signature mischievous grin. Oh if only he knew how handsome he looked right now.

“whateverrr" you mumbled back, settling in again as you found your way back into that cozy bubble. In the quiet of the night, you snuggled again, warm and content, drifting off into a peaceful slumber.

﹫﹒SAKURA HARUKA

Cuddling with sakura who's as stiff as a board can feel like snuggling a popsicle—chilly and a bit rigid. It’s kind of like trying to get a cat out from under the bed; you need to be gentle, patient, and maybe a little playful.

you came back to your shared apartment from a long day at school and needed to recharge, what better way than cuddling your cute boyfriend?

So now you're all cozied up on the couch, and he’s sitting there, arms awkwardly at his sides. You could swear he’s a statue, frozen in time, unsure whether to embrace or retreat. His heart might be racing—after all, cuddling isn’t exactly in the job description of a guy who’s never been in a relationship.

So how do you break the ice? Start with a playful nudge or a light tease. Gradually, you can inch closer, laying your head on his shoulder as if it's no big deal, inviting him into the cozy cuddle puddle you’ve created.

As his rigidity slowly melts, you can feel his heartbeat sync with yours. It’s like discovering the secret to a puzzle that everyone thought was impossible. You catch him stealing glances at you, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. Those moments give life to the cuddles, turning the chilly embrace into something warm and comforting.

If he still seems a bit hesitant, don’t worry! It’s all part of the fun. Compliment him or tell him how good he's being doing lately and how enough he really is. You might just find that his flustered face is the softest pillow to rest on. With each tease and awkward shuffle of limbs, he might just start to feel safe enough to let go of that stiff facade.

In this playful dance between fluff and awkwardness, he'll discover that cuddling isn’t only about physical closeness. It’s about creating an atmosphere where he feels free to express the whirlpool of feelings he’s been keeping bottled up. And hey, sometimes, when you least expect it, he might just surprise you with an unexpected cuddle back, and in that moment, you’ll know you’ve unlocked a piece of his heart.

﹫﹒SUO HAYATO

Cuddling on a lazy Sunday morning is one of those simple, sweet pleasures of life. The warmth of your handsome boyfriend wrapping his arms around you feels like being enveloped in your favorite blanket—cozy and secure. As the morning sunlight streams through the window, the world outside fades away, and it’s just the two of you, lost in your own little space.

Every touch feels like a tiny spark of magic, igniting sweet little giggles as you playfully nudge against each other. His calm demeanor means that you don’t have to hustle or worry about maximizing every moment; you can simply be. There’s a tranquility in those still moments that grants you permission to drift into laughter about the silly things you two did last week or to share fond memories that make your heart flutter.

Amidst the sweet serenity, a sudden, unexpected sound breaks the tranquility. You, snuggled comfortably against hayato, can’t help but let out a little fart. It happens!! We’re all human, right?

“Did you just fart?” he asks, a teasing glint in his eye, mixed with amusement and a hint of disbelief.

“Yes,” you admit sheepishly , a blush creeping across your cheeks.

“It’s okay,” suo responds with that signature calmness that makes everything feel better. “release your demons babe.”

With a mix of laughter and mock desperation, you lets out an exaggerated groan, “aaaauuurghh..”

The room bursts into laughter, and suddenly, the atmosphere is lighter.

amid gentle laughter and soft whispers, the world outside ceases to exist. You embrace the imperfections, the giggles, and, yes, even the farts, as the true essence of your relationship shines through.

﹫﹒KAJI REN

The soft glow of fairy lights dances in the corners of the room as the scent of popcorn fills the air — the perfect scene for a movie night. You settle into the couch, and your boyfriend, kaji, saunters in with his classic laid-back vibe.

he doesn’t fuss or fret about plans or expectations. Instead, he just kind of... floats in and out of moments, like a gentle breeze.

As you cuddle, a delightful mix of warmth and quiet envelops you. His breathing is steady and calm, creating a soothing backdrop to your little pocket of the world. While he might not shout his feelings from the rooftops or engage in wild conversations, there’s a comforting strength in his silence. He’s the type of guy who listens more than he talks, which sometimes leaves you wondering what’s going on in that brilliantly quiet mind of his.

But every now and then, a subtle chuckle escapes him — when you least expect it. — you find yourself savoring those moments.

But today your stomach had a different idea.

You, with a playful pout, broke the comfortable silence, “I’m hungry." You shifted slightly, trying to get comfortable while you stomach let out a small grumble, as if joining the conversation.

Kaji, blissfully snug and unwilling to leave the warmth of the blanket, replied with a monotone voice, “no way am i moving,” one was craving food, while the other was perfectly content to remain cocooned in his warm sanctuary. plus he was reallly into the movie.

You both knew that the only solution to your hunger would involve a quest to the kitchen, but the task seemed monumentally heroic when faced with the allure of the warmth of the cuddles and the movie. With a mock sigh, youleaned closer, whispering dramatically, “But what if I starve?”

after an exaggerated pause, he replied, “find a way but im not moving, 'm way too lazy."

cuddling with kaji is like a delightful balance. Sure, youre often the one chattering away about everything from your day to the latest trending topics. Yet, there’s something grounding about having a partner who doesn’t feel the need to fill every silence with words. It’s as if you've developed your own language — a subtle squeeze of the hand here, a soft smile there.

there’s a sweetness in the simplicity of being wrapped up together, lost in your thoughts but connected in the profound hush of your recharge sesh.

© 2025 sillyhanako ━ do not copy, steal, or reupload my works. Thanks!

[maudie-duan]

A/N: Hey guys! This chapter is kind of graphic in the sense that I wanted you to feel like "a fly on the wall" during Marlowe's day. I hope you guys enjoy it and have a lovely weekend!!

Tag List: Always Open

All Chapters<-

Word Count: 8.2k

Warnings: 18+, Language, Smut, Under Age Drinking, Eating Disorder, Body Dysmorphia, Mentions Of Pregnancy, Graphic Check-Up Scene, Mentions Of Abortion, Teen Angst, Emotions. (If I miss anything, let me know.)

I had every intention of going to school on Tuesday, but I panicked as soon as I woke up. I knew it was playing with fire to have unprotected sex with someone, but I did it anyway, and I knew the smart thing to do was to rush to Planned Parenthood and get the morning-after pill. 

I know that emergency contraceptive isn’t a good form of birth control, but I had no intention of having sex with Trent after I got off the pill; I had no intention of having sex at all. I thought I hated it all together and could go a lifetime without it, but then Harry happened. Every time I was around him, my fucking sound judgment went out the door, this whole other me slipping in like a piece of me got to be free, like I finally got to be free. There was nothing to live up to, no goals to meet, or a specific appearance to keep up with—and I know there are bigger things, but this was my life. 

When I stepped into the waiting room after calling ahead, I sat there, peering around at the people coming in and out—at the woman trying to console her baby, at the girl who looked the same age as me, smiling over at me as she stood when the nurse called her name, her belly rounding past her small frame. It made my heart sink. Even though I didn’t know her story, she was walking back alone, and something about it felt lonely. 

It was the heaviest dose of reality I needed—A hard hitter as I sat there alone, wondering if I should have been honest with Harry about everything and if I had, would he be sitting here next to me now? There’s no better way to suck the fun out of a carefree moment than to slap it in the face with the truth.

And what about him? I had no clue what his sexual history was like; I mean, I didn’t need a specific number, but how many girls was he fucking with no condom? It seemed strange on both parts—why has neither one of us said a word, and is no condom such a regular thing for him that it doesn’t even cross his mind? Or is he just assuming that I’m on birth control since I’m not walking around with a baby on my hip after two years of sleeping with the same guy?

My mind kept returning back to the day I tossed those pills in the trash, making myself sick at the thought of ever getting pregnant because what would I do? Would they tell my parents? I never pictured a baby in my life; would I keep it? I’ve never been opposed to abortion, but could I follow through with it if the time came?

How would I tell Harry? Because without a doubt, it would be his—and then I’m whipping my phone out of my purse, scrolling back one month…a month and a half…almost two months since I had my period, and I thought my heart would fall heart straight through to my ass. Had it really been that long? I sat there trying to wrack my brain, thinking, when was the last time?

I can only remember buying tampons that week before I hooked up with Harry for the first time. I remember now because it was like a miracle from the universe that I had just gotten off my period, not even spotting, like my body was just getting back to normal.

Can Plan B fuck up your period? I honestly didn’t know anything about it. My sister just told me to take it in case of an emergency, and dammit, that was an emergency, just like now, and holy fuck, it is so hot in here, and that baby will not stop crying, and would it be okay if I cried? Would that be okay because suddenly I’m freaking out? I don’t want this responsibility; this doesn’t seem fair; why am I the one sitting here panicking, on the verge of spewing up my breakfast? 

Should I text Harry, tell him what I’m doing, and hit him with the same menacing reality? Would he hate me? Would this be my fault for not speaking up sooner? Because I think this would ruin everything, and he is so good. I don’t want to let him go yet. Was this the moment I called my sister and told her she was right? That I should have waited to have sex because she was, in fact, right—it’s just as confusing as she tried to drill into my stubborn head before. 

Marlowe Asher, the nurse, calls, breaking me from my prisoning thoughts; I drag my palms down my jeans, force a smile, and stand, trying to keep my tears at bay. 

The nurse returns the smile, greeting me as I walk through the office door. “Hey there, I’m Hilary. I’ll be your nurse today,” she says, her friendly tone somewhat setting me at ease.

“Okay, we’re just going to get your weight,” she says, leading me to a scale, and I pull my purse over my head, planting my keys and purse in a chair close by.

“It looks like we have 115,” she says out loud, making my heart slam into my chest. The last time I weighed myself, I was 130lbs. I didn’t think I had lost that much weight—I wasn’t even trying this time.

“Wow,” I breathe, stepping off the scale.

Hilary is writing on her clipboard, unbothered by my shock, “And how tall are you she asks, glancing up at me, “5’4,” I tell her, collecting my things and following her to the exam room.

When I called ahead, I told them that I wanted to schedule a routine check-up and screen for any STDs. Before we even started, she handed me a plastic container with a lid. “So this is routine; we’ll need you to pee into this cup. We normally run a quick pregnancy test before we proceed with any forms of birth control if that’s what you end up choosing.”

I take the cup from her hand, familiar with their whole spiel because I’ve been here several times, and this always seemed like the easy part. Luckily, I had to pee, so I filled the cup, washed the outside of the container, then my hands, dried it off, and placed the cup in the assigned bin.

Hilary led me to exam room 8, and as soon as we stepped in, she had me sit for a few follow-up questions:

“So this is a list of questions we like to ask, you know, just to get a background on our patients. If at any time you feel uncomfortable and would not like to proceed with any further questions, please let me know, okay.” She says, 

Easy enough, right?

“Okay, so we’ll start with the first question and move down the list, and it’s okay if you are unsure of any answer. They don’t need to be spot-on or super detailed. We just need a general idea.” She nods at me, eyes surveying my face, then looks down at her clipboard, the tip of her pen skimming down the page:

“When was your last period?

The first question seems the hardest because I know as soon as I say it, it’s going to sound bad, “I would say about a month and a half ago,” and Hilary peeks up then.

“Is that normal?” 

“I’m not sure. It’s been kind of random lately.”

“About how long do they last?”

“I think the last one I had lasted almost a month. I just stopped taking my birth control.”

Do you ever bleed/spot between periods?

“Not lately.”

Do you have any unusual pain, itching, or discharge from your vagina or vulva?

“No.”

Do you have any other medical conditions?

“No.”

What medical problems do other members of your family have?

“None that I know of…”

Are you sexually active?

“Yes, recently,” I answer, my mouth going dry, and I swallow hard.

Have you ever had vaginal, anal, or oral sex?

“Yes, all three, but I’ve only done anal once.” and my heart is starting to race. I’m not sure if I needed to clarify that detail because now my face is beginning to burn.

What gender(s) of people do you have sex with, and what kinds of sex do you have?

“Umm…just males,” I tell her, then clear my throat, “And I think it’s just like normal sex…I’m not sure how to answer that.”

Is sex ever painful?

“With the current guy that I’m having sex with…it was more painful than before…I guess at first, but maybe that’s because it had been a while.” And Hilary must sense my nervousness because she looks up then.

“I think that can be normal, Hon. You’re doing great. Just a few more questions, and I’ll set everything up and let the doctor know you’re ready…Okay, so—” she starts again as I nod my head. 

Do you bleed during or after sex?

“The first time I had sex, which I know can be normal, and the first time I had sex with my current guy…like after, I noticed it when I peed, but it didn’t last long.”

Are you using birth control?

“No.”

Do you think you might be pregnant?

“No, the last time I had unprotected sex with this current guy. I took Plan B, like that next morning. So maybe that’s why I haven’t started my period. Maybe it threw everything off..”

Do you want to get pregnant?

“Definitely not,” I tell her, a nervous laugh slipping past my lips.

“Perfect, and okay…last one,” Hilary says with a smile on her face:

What do you do to prevent STDs?

And I shake my head, pressing my feet to the ground. “I haven’t done anything with this current guys to prevent anything…”

Hilary is silent, jotting her last few notes, and my eyes shift to the ground, embarrassed that I’ve put so much faith in Harry, but if he does have an STD. Hopefully, it’s treatable, and moving forward, I will not be such an idiot. That’s what this is—One big scare to put me on the straight and narrow. I’ll get tested and get back on birth control, and all of this will be behind me, and I can move forward with my life. Happy and free of any burden. 

Hilary rushes around the room, laying a dressing gown on the exam table. Then, she finishes setting up the exam cart with the various items she collected for the exam. “Alright, so I put the gown on the table. You’ll just need to undress from the waist down. The doctor will knock before entering; you should be set from there. Do you have any questions?” she asks, reaching for the door handle. 

“No, you were very informative. Thank you for your time,” I answer, trying to sit up straight, like I’m not scared out of my fucking mind, hoping I’m not walking around with some kind of STD.

As Hilary exits, I peek at the clock on the wall. It’s 10:45 a.m., and I stand, unbuttoning my pants to prepare for the exam. 

When 15 minutes pass, I don’t think too much of it. I saw that waiting room. There were a lot of patients waiting, and sometimes they were understaffed. 

By 11:15 a.m., I lay back on the table, closing my eyes, trying to calm myself. I thought of everyone at school and how I should have just gone and put this off for another day. I was already dying to see Harry; just a glimpse would have been enough. 

I pictured his eyes searching for me when he didn’t see me after my Biology Class, the one time a day that I got close enough to reach out and touch him when I could graze his arm, and no one would have a single thought. I couldn’t believe how amazing that weekend was. Aside from the emotional stuff, we seemed to hit it off, able to co-exist in one another company for days. 

My first thought this morning was how strange it was, hanging with a guy, the most sleepovers I’ve had in a row. I had never stayed more than a night with Trent. I felt like a grown-up, wondering if this was what life would be like in college—and then a knock sounded on the door. 

“Come in,” I say, sitting up. The doctor comes in, reading her chart, then glimpses up with a pleasant smile. She seems in good spirits, even though they’re obviously slammed because when my eyes flick to the clock, it’s 11:32 a.m.

“Hello, Miss. Asher, I’m Dr. Cooper. How are you this morning?” she starts.

“I’m not bad. I just thought I would have a little check-up. Make sure everything is sound. I leave this summer for school, so I might as well tie up some loose ends.” 

She smiles, “Well, I like that you are taking the initiative with something as important as your health—”

Another knock sounds on the door, and Dr. Cooper turns to grant their entrance; Hilary peeks her head in with a smile and then says, “I did get those results—” She conveys. 

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Cooper says, turning back to me. The lab was a little backed up this morning.” Then she stands to retrieve some paperwork while Hilary stands by reading over her shoulder.

Hilary doesn’t close the door behind her, so all the noise from the hallway is drifting in, a cold draft drifting over my bare legs hanging over the exam table, making me feel exposed, with only a thin paper gown covering my lower body.

The draft sends a chill up my spine, making my teeth clatter, and I clench my jaw and watch the two women. This time, Hilary reaches over Dr. Cooper’s shoulder, pointing to something on the page. 

Hilary’s eyes dart to me, then back to the page, “I can stay—” she suggests, finally stepping back to close the door.

As soon as the door closes, my heart starts hammering in my chest, the loud thud, pounding in my eardrums, the chill turning into a noticeable shake as I wipe my cold, clammy hands over the paper gown, that continues to slip down, clinging to my hands, so I clutch them in front of me as Dr. Cooper pulls the rolling stool towards her, and takes a seat.

Hilary is standing behind her, hands clasped in front of her, sending me a faint smile when my eyes flit to her and then back to Dr. Cooper, and god, it is so cold in here because I can’t stop shaking—the shudder coursing through my torse, and I think I might be sick, I think that stomach bug is still lingering. I should open my mouth and tell them about it, but the way they’re looking at me now says otherwise.

Dr. Cooper clears her throat, and already my eyes are stinging with tears; then I shake my head, swallowing hard, and as soon as the tears spill over, she looks to Hilary. They don’t even exchange a word, and out of instinct, Hilary moves next to me. 

“Is it okay if I put my arm around you?” she asks, and as soon as I look at her, my face crumbles. I am sitting here alone with two strangers who I know are about to tell me something that will change my life forever.

The wheels of Dr. Cooper’s chair sound as she rolls forward, the hard plastic effortlessly sliding across the shiny linoleum floor, concern etched between her brow, or is it pity? I can’t tell.

“Miss Asher, Before we can proceed any further, I want to go over the results of your pregnancy test—” And I hear every word that she’s saying, but every couple of seconds, she becomes a blur, tears running down my face uncontrollably, dripping past my chin, and into the cleavage of my tank top, becoming an irritating soggy mess of tears pulling between my boobs.

The same tank top I questioned wearing because when did my boobs get this big? And so sore? How I wrote it off, thinking I was about to start my period, you know, like that’s why I’ve been so emotional, pre-menstrual precursors; It’s all normal. 

“So, I’m sure Hilary explained that we have to perform a routine pregnancy test, and looking at your results now—” And she scooches to the edge of her seat, handing me a piece of paper.”

My eyes skim the page until I find the word “results.” But I didn’t need the paper to figure it out; all she had to do was look at me. I didn’t say anything, mostly because I was in shock, but I didn’t think I knew what to say because I couldn’t even see the paper anymore. All I could see were the tears spilling onto the page, one by one, a foggy blur when a tear splats over the word “Positive,” and I shake my head. 

Maybe I’m taking too long to reply because Dr. Cooper speaks up then, “Marlowe—” and she uses my first name now. “Do you understand what you’re reading?” And all I can muster is a faint whimper because my throat is aching, a knot so tight that it hurts to swallow.

I couldn’t look up; I just kept wiping my hand over the surface of the document, now creasing between my thighs—the once crisp paper rippling in small wet blotches across the page, and I am so fucking stupid.

I am so stupid and careless, and how could I be such an idiot? All I can think about is that damn Plan B pill, I took it, I took it, and then it’s spilling out of my mouth, “But I took Plan B,” announcing it like it’s going to change anything like the results aren’t exactly what they are. 

“I took—I took it…right after, I swear,” promising because I feel like a fool, like a child being coddled with Hilary’s arm around my shoulders; I thought that was the right thing to do. 

“I thought I did the right thing—” I tell them, “I did exactly what I was supposed to do. I thought I fixed my mistake—”

And now I feel crazy because what was the point of that, “I’m not allowed to make mistakes—Oh, god—” I panic then.

“Are you going to tell my parents—?” 

Dr. Cooper puts a hand on my knee to calm me down, but I can’t breathe; I can’t breathe when every breath is a sob stealing my breath, and I am all alone—I’m that girl in the waiting room, all alone, her big round belly holding her future.

“Marlowe, try and take a breath for me—” Dr. Cooper coos, trying to console me, “Everything will be okay…you have options, Honey.”

And I suck in a hard breath, peering down into Dr. Cooper’s deep blue eyes as sobs shudder through my chest, then I’m holding my breath, trying to calm myself down, and when I close my eyes, all I see is Harry’s face, and I hold onto that image—every touch, the kindness he gives so freely, and it seems to be working.

I draw a small breath through my nose, my chest quivering in the aftermath of the fading sobs, “By law, we are not allowed to tell your parents. Now that you’re eighteen, whatever you decide moving forward is entirely your choice.” Dr. Cooper explains.

“I want an abortion—” I tell her, no thought, just decision because that is absolutely my only choice. 

“Yes, that is an option, but maybe we can go over the rest so that you have a clear perspective on your decision.” She explains, but I know the other options and don’t have time for anything else. We have three months left of school, prom, and graduation—I’m moving away this summer. I can’t stay in the place another year, being this person, this fucking people pleaser, because I’m so fucking tired—I’m exhausted, and I need something to hold onto, something to look forward to. 

“I don’t need time to think—” I tell her, straightening my posture, attempting to clear the whine from my voice, “Can we do it today?” I push.

Hilary squeezes my shoulder, then steps away to start resetting the space. “Marlowe, why don’t you take a few days to think this through? This is a huge decision that could majorly impact your life.” 

“I don’t have any other choice…everything is already planned—” I tell her, waving my arms around, “Like my whole future for the next four years—”

Dr. Cooper interjects, “Trust me, I understand that, and we will support anything you choose. But why don’t you go home, take a day or two, and make the appointment if you still feel certain about your decision?”

“Here’s the thing—” she says, “If your period was a month and a half months ago, we still have plenty of time to make an adequate decision. Even if it feels like a rush, trust me, there’s not, okay? Whatever you choose, right now, you have plenty of time to make a sound, healthy choice. Listen—I’m a mother. If my daughter were sitting here today, I would hope someone gave her the option I’m giving you—”

She places her hand on my knee again, “I know whatever you're feeling is extremely scary—” And the tears are back, blurring her face. “But don’t make the mistake of not thinking it through. It sounds like you made the smart decision to take Plan B, and for some odd reason, it didn’t work, and I’m sure that feels scary, too, but in that moment, you made the right decision. Today, you made the right decision to come and take power over your choices in life. That was so brave and so smart, okay?”

And all I can do is nod because I just want my mommy, “And Marlowe, we have a great support team. We are here for whatever you need or have questions about, and Hilary will set you up with some helpful brochures that can guide you in making the best choice possible; it’s entirely up to you and whatever you choose. This is a safe, judgment-free zone. We’re here to support each other in one another choices—” 

Hilary gives me a sympathetic smile, but I believe what Dr. Cooper is communicating, so I nod and draw in a deep breath, stretching my spine so that I can take in more air, “Do you have any questions?” she asked as Hilary handed over a few brochures.

“Nope…” I say, pushing out a deep breath, “Thank you for your time.” 

Dr. Cooper pats my knee and stands, giving Hilary a slight nod. “Alrighty, Hon. Why don’t you go ahead and get dressed? If you have any questions before you leave, we’re happy to answer them. Go ahead and take your time; there’s no rush, Sweetie.”

As Hilary finishes resetting the room, I wonder if she’s ever been on the opposite side of her role, sitting in a spot similar to mine. Or was she smarter, always playing by the rules like I was supposed to?? I thought I did everything right before this, so why is this happening to me?

I didn’t take my time getting dressed; I shoved my legs through my jeans in a furry, pushing the stupid pamphlets to the bottom of my purse, forcing my foot into my boots, readying myself for the walk of shame, knowing I’d have to walk past all these people. Would my face give it away? I was so thankful I didn’t wear make up this morning, could you imagine the mess? 

As I stepped through the exam room door, I pulled my oversized flannel around my body. I walked at a pace that wouldn’t draw attention, trying to remember the route we took. I held my breath every time someone peered my way as heat rose to my cheeks, the shame almost unbearable. Was Hilary the kind of nurse to walk out of the exam room and gossip to the fellow nursing staff?

Keep your eyes forward was all I could think, walking down an empty hall, pushing my way through the door into the waiting room, don’t make eye contact with anyone—don’t focus on the baby crying, try and avoid the toddler running out in front of you on your way to the exit, oh shit, did this little fucking kid drop his toy in my path? Do I pick it up? 

The toy rolls to my feet, and I bend down to retrieve it, “Here you go…” and I crouch down, reaching out with the toy. His tiny fingers wrap around the toy hesitantly, his big green eyes so innocent. He grabs the toy and then runs back to his mom as my eyes follow. She sends me a gracious nod, rubbing a hand over her protruding belly. She looks tired, like she’s already spent all morning chasing that tiny kid around, and I smile, eyes dropping to her belly, a brief nod of recognition. 

Then I’m out of the waiting room doors into the chill of the morning, the fog of my breath drifting past my vision, forcing myself with every step to keep it together long enough to make it to the car.

I went straight home, knowing my parents would be at work—well, at least my dad. My mom has a strict workout schedule throughout the week. Today was water aerobics, a class that she usually takes with my grandma, but I knew she wouldn’t miss a day, even if my grandma was out of town.

I run up the stairs, huffing and puffing as soon as I reach the landing, and bound to my room. I went straight for the trash can and fell to my knees, reaching for it, but the trash can was empty, and I fell to my butt. My heart beat thudding in my chest, a rapid whoosh filling my ears, vibrating out. My lungs ached with every breath that I took in, the realization hitting that my mom emptied my trash and yet another stupid move.

My eyes dart around the room, looking for any changes, then they land on my perfectly made bed, and there lies the empty Plan B packaging, waiting in a neat pile—waiting for me to stumble upon it because, of course, this is the one time my mom wants to be passive. Why didn’t she just call me? The gesture confuses me, but it’s the least of my concerns right now. 

I pace over to the bed and swipe the empty box off the bed, flipping it around in my hands until I fumble across the date—Expired—the fucking pill was expired by two years. Had I really had it in my drawer that long? Does medicine really expire? I thought it was just a suggestion.

How many times can one person read and reread the same label? with the same expiration date—ignoring my phone buzzing in my back pocket because whoever is calling can wait? 

Whoever it was had tried to call three times, and on the fourth attempt, I pulled my phone from my pocket and flipped it open. “What, Sienna?” I blurted into the phone.

“Jesus, Marlowe—Chill—” My sister snaps back, “What’s your deal?”

I exhale, pulling the phone away from my mouth, attempting to decompress the onset of rage filling my lungs. “Nothing, I’m sorry. I was in the middle of doing something, and you kept blowing my phone up.”

“I’m sorry—mom said you didn’t go to school today…”

“You talked to mom—?”

“Yeah, why? What’s going on? She said you’ve been distant lately—”

“I haven’t been distant—” I tell her, raising my voice, “I’ve just been house-sitting for grandma—”

“Marlowe—chill, dude, I’m not coming for you. I’m just checking in. I know I’ve been busy, but usually you call. Is everything okay?”

I roll my eyes, still on the defense, “I’ve been busy, too—” and I try and keep my voice calm, but I can hear how it’s still coming out, and I can’t control this mood swing; it’s like it’s taking over me.

“Okay…?” Sienna says, and I don’t respond because she’s the one calling me. If she has anything to ask, then she should just ask it.

“Lowe—” She nudges, of course using my nickname, the name she gave me since birth, when “Marlowe” was too hard for her three-year-old brain, and decided she hated it, and even though that’s changed, she’s never stopped calling me “Lowe.”

“Did mom tell you?” I ask flatly, clearing my throat.

“Of course, she told me, but why didn’t you tell me?” Even though I should probably have felt freaked out, a sense of calm washed over me because, at this point, the worst had already happened.

“She left the Plan B package on my bed…” I tell her, rolling my eyes.

She clicks her tongue, “Dammit, I told her not to do that. She thought it would be like an open invitation…in case you wanted to talk.” 

“There’s nothing to talk about—plus that shit is passive as fuck. It makes me want to do the opposite, actually—”

Sienna’s laugh muffled into the phone, “I know! That’s what I told her…”

“She should have listened to you,” I admit.

“I mean—that’s what I’ve been telling you guys for years—”

“Shut up—Sienna, don’t be annoying…” And I roll my eyes again, falling back onto the bed.

“That isn’t all she told me…” 

“Okay…” I say, pausing for her response.

She clears her throat, “That there was a weekend that you didn’t come home, like didn’t even call—which is strange, by the way…and she told me that you came home in a hurry—Mom said she heard you while cleaning the kitchen—anyway…she said you came home in Harry Styles hoodie…like the one you had that major crush on in Junior High—”

“I know who he is, Sienna—”

“I’m just clarifying for details because you haven’t breathed a word about him since then.”

I sigh, “I don’t tell you everything—”

“Bullshit—you haven’t even said anything, and I know you’re about to lie to me.” She starts.

“Was that the same weekend you took Plan B? Because that’s what mom thinks, and that seems pliable?”

I snap then, “What are you guys working together or something? What the fuck, Sienna, whose side are you on?”

“I’m on your side—but it’s hard to be on your side when you’re not talking to me.” She retorts, then goes silent.

“You guys always—”

“Don’t say always, Lowe, because you know that isn’t true.” she interrupts.

So, I sit there, trying to think of a way to rephrase the sentence, “I just feel like, most times…instead of just asking me…it seems like you go straight to each other, and I told you how that makes me feel.”

“I promise it wasn’t like that. I swear Mom only called because she was worried…we were not trying to gang up on you.”

I ponder her words for a moment, trying to decide what I should tell her, but instead of confessing to everything. I start projecting all my life problems onto her.

“Listen, Sienna, I’m sorry if Mom bothered you. I know how busy you get, okay? I know that you have a life outside of me; you’ve told me plenty of times—” I spit.

“Marlowe—”

“No—Seriously—I feel like it’s always going to come down to whether or not Marlowe is living up to Sienna’s potential…because heaven forbid, I step out of line for one fucking second—”

“Mar—”

“Seriously, Sienna—” I continue knowing that every word that falls from of my mouth is just to hurt her, and I don’t know why I’m doing it because, really, I just want to confess to it all; because I know she wouldn’t judge me, she would have the perfect advice because she’s such a good person.

“Did mom get scared? Call you thinking—god Marlowes about to ruin it all, Sweetie, please make some time in your busy schedule to call your pathetic sister??”

“Was that it? Sienna, was I slipping? Was one of my million flaws showing because I’ll never be as perfect as you!” I yell, I fucking yell, and then everything around me goes silent, except for the sounds of the whooshing still pulsing through my ears.

Sienna’s sniffle fills the line, and I hate myself the second she opens her mouth, “Marlowe, one day—” She croaks out.

“I hope one day you see that all those years you thought I was outshining you—I was just trying to give you space to be you—you know, the opportunity to just be yourself, that all those years that mom and dad were riding my ass, you were the one that got to explore yourself, make the friends, go to the concerts, date the cute boy because you liked him. My whole life has been a show, Marlowe. Have you ever thought that maybe I wanted to be like you?

“I’m nothing—” I force, tears streaming.

“You’re everything—but what you just said hurt me, Lowe…”

“I didn’t mean it…” I cry out.

“I know—listen—I’m here for you always. I’m never too busy for you…I don’t know what’s going on, and clearly you don’t want to talk about it—”

“I just—” I try.

“No—Marlowe, it’s fine. I’m here, okay? And if you need me to come down this weekend, I can shift some things around. I love you.”

“I love you too, Sienna, I’m sorry.”

“Just call me, okay? I have to go—” Then she hangs up, and I crawl under my blankets and sleep until I open my eyes and the room is dark, except for the glow of the moonlight, casting a shadow of the window frame across my bedroom floor, and then I roll back over, and closed my eyes. 

The following day, I woke to an empty house and a note on the table. My mom telling me she was out running errands, which normally meant getting her hair or nails done. 

When I checked my phone, I found two missed calls from Harry and a text message from him checking in on me since I had missed two days of school now—Want to take a guess at how many messages Trent sent—zero.

I gathered some more clothes and drove to my grandma’s house, wanting to be totally alone and isolated from the world around me. I didn’t know how many hours I had just slept, but all my body wanted to do was sleep, so I crawled into my grandma’s bed and hugged her pillow—her scent still lingering in her bedroom, and I drifted off to sleep. 

The doorbell woke me, and I slumped down the stairs. When I peeked through the side blinds, Skylar was standing on the porch waving when she spotted me, and I opened the door.

“Hey—what are you doing here…” I ask squinting my eyes, the world a little too bright.

She shrugged nonchalantly, as if this was already boring her. I hate this side of her. Sometimes she can be extremely present, and others, she’s a self-absorbed drone, moving through the motions of our friendship, a lot like Trent.

“Just checking on you,” she says, looking around, “I forgot how cool your grandma’s house is…”

“Yeah—” I breathe.

When I push past her on my way to the kitchen, she follows. “I brought your homework…” she tells me, and I glance back, catching sight of the strap slung over her shoulder.

“That was nice of you…Thanks,” I say, forcing a generous smile, placating her a little. I feel like Skylar’s up to something, a weird twinge in my gut. Things have been off between us lately, so this feels a little off-putting.

 “You want a soda?” I offer. 

Skylar shakes her head ‘no’ then slings the bag onto the counter, “I’m shocked they’re still giving homework to be honest,” 

“I mean—when you’re in all honor classes…it would make sense,” she combats with a laugh.

“I guess…” I agree, bringing the can to my mouth, eyeing her every movement. She seems nervous, barely making eye contact, and when she feels my gaze on her, she looks up.

“Why are you being weird?” she accuses.

I match her indifference, “I’m not—” 

“Mmmm…” she hums, reaching for my can. Then she takes a drink. Actually, I changed my mind…” she laughs.

“I do want a drink.” 

I raise a brow, “Take it, I’ll get another…” I say, rolling my eyes, and as I turn to the fridge, she says:

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong? You’ve been acting really strange for the last couple of weeks…and you ditched my party—”

“I didn’t ditch your party—I was sick—” I lie.

“Marlowe, you were fine most of the night—”

“And then I wasn’t—” I voice, my tone sharp.

This shuts her down, her eyes moving to the label on the can, “And what about all the text and calls? You haven’t been messaging me back…it’s just weird—”

“I told you I was sick over the weekend…”

Her voice raises, “It’s not just this weekend, Marlowe—”

“Look, Skylar…I don’t know what you want me to say…I could say the same for you…” And she shakes her head.

“That night of the party. I tried talking to you so many times, but you kept blowing me off, and then you and Trent were up each other’s ass…”

And her eyes whip to mine, “Oh come on, Marlowe like I want to steal your boyfriend. If I wanted your boyfriend, then I could have had him—”

“I never said that…and what the fuck does that even mean?” My eyes roam her face then, taking in her stiff posture, searching for clues. My eyes dart to her throat as it contracts, a slow, shallow, her lips parting, and when I shift my gaze back to hers, she looks away.

“I wasn’t accusing you of anything. I know that you two are friends. I’m just saying I have tried talking to you…”

She shrugs her shoulders, visibly uncomfortable by this conversation. She keeps fidging with the can, scraping a fingernail over the cuticle of her thumb. I know her, and this is what she does when she’s nervous, “Okay—whatever—let’s just drop it—”

I pop the tab on the new can and bring it to my mouth, pulling my phone from my back pocket. Harry messaged again, asking if he could see me tonight, and I bit back my smile, sending him a quick text, telling him I’ll call once Skylar leaves. 

When I glance back, Skylar is watching me, “Trent text you?” she questions. 

“Yeah—” I mumble, shoving the phone back into my pocket.

“So things are good between you two?” She asks.

I shrug, “Yeah—I don’t know why anything would be wrong…” I tell her, fainting ignorance. Then she turns, looking out the window, and I glimpse a hickey on her neck. when she turns back, my eyes move back to her face as her hand comes up to her neck.

“You never told me you were hooking up with someone…” I pry.

She smiles then, “I don’t know…It’s nothing serious…just like casual. He’s kind of preoccupied…” and I arch an eyebrow.

“Plus—He doesn’t go here—” she quickly adds.

“So he has a girlfriend?” I push.

Skylar rolls her eyes, “Not everything is so black and white, Marlowe.”

I just stare at her because she has a point, I’m in a messy enough situation; I have no room to cast judgement.

“Anything good happening at school?” I ask, trying to find some commonality because this conversation feels like pulling at teeth.

She lights up then, “Oh—! Yeah—dude—yesterday, Harry Styles came to school with the biggest hickey on his neck….and now everyone is trying to figure out who the mystery girl is…like no girl is coming forward—”

“Hickey’s must be a trend…” I say, scowling, thinking about the hickey on Trent’s neck, the one he claims is a “rash” I call bullshit.

“I guess…” she says, checking her phone and smiling.

“Harry’s probably seeing some girl from another school…” I tell her, but she’s typing away on her phone, not acknowledging a word I’m saying.

“What did you say?” she finally asks.

“Nothing—”

“Hey, I have to jet. I was just dropping by to give you your homework,” she explains, grabbing the empty bag and leaving her can on the counter in her wake. She must be in a hurry and she’s out the door before I can even open it for her, and I watch her get into her car, peer down at her phone grinning, then I shut the door and call Harry.

I know this is how I got myself into this mess, but as soon as Harry walked in, my worries went out the door, if only for a short while, long enough for me to grab his hand and lead him to the guestroom, and that’s how easy it was to forget everything.

How easy it was to take off my clothes and get into bed with him, to feed on his carefree energy as his playful hands groped my body. When he pushed his way inside of me and whispered, “I missed you,” I closed my eyes, breathing in his familiar scent, while he pressed his mouth to mine, kissing my cheek, my nose—a kiss on the neck, kissing everywhere his mouth decided to roam. 

And when I came, he came with me, that easy because now it didn’t matter, now he could come inside me every day until I rid myself of this leech sucking away at my life; because this would all be over soon enough. Everyone will go their separate ways, and I’ll never have to see any of these people again. 

I didn’t have to tell Harry anything because why burden him with this? He deserves to be happy; he deserves to be as happy as he makes me, and I can do this. I don’t need to burden anyone with this, not Harry, not my sister, definitely not my mom because I don’t think she could handle this. A pregnancy would be too much for her.

“What are you thinking about?” Harry asks, stroking my cheek with his thumb, my head on his chest.

“I don’t know—everything…” I answer.

He laughs, “Everything?” and the rasp of his voice echoes through his chest, and I press my ear against him, listening to the rhythm of his slowing breath. 

“Yeah—everything—” I tell him, closing my eyes because the sound of his heartbeat is lulling me to sleep, and he lightly pinches my cheek.

“Don’t go to sleep yet…I haven’t got to see you in two days…”

I laugh then, “Two days, Harry?”

“Yeah, two school days,” he clarifies, and his chest rattles with laughter, and I lift my head.

“My mom told me to go to the doctor—” And I sit up, crossing my legs in front of me, still facing him.

Harry traces a line across my calf, “And how was that?”

“I don’t know—” I shrug, “Exactly what it is. A stomach bug.”

He looks at me then, “Luckily, it hasn’t hit me…”

“You are very lucky—trust me…” I tell him, leaning down to press a kiss to his lips. 

“Hey—” he says, pushing himself up on the bed, “Can we talk? I just thought we haven’t really talked about anything—”

And my heart drops then, “Like what?” I ask, clearing my throat.

“Like—I don’t know—” and he scratches at the back of his head, a nervous grin spreading across his face.

“I don’t—I’ve been like thinking about it, and I just wanted you to know that you’re like…the only girl I’ve ever, like, not used a condom with.”

My eyes dart to his, “Really?” 

“Yeah…I promise, and maybe it’s shitty, but I figured Trent was the only guy you’ve slept with?” he says, but it rings like a question.

I smile then, “Well, Trent, and now you…” 

“And you’re like on Birth Control?” he asks, nerves creasing at the brow, but all I can do is stare at him.

“Marlowe?”

“Harry—I lied to you—” I blurt.

“When? I’ve never asked you…” he straightens in the bed, all ears now. 

“Today—just now—I lied?” 

He laughs, “About which part? Who you’ve slept with? Marlowe, I don’t care—”

“No—about the doctor’s appointment—” Then his face falls.

The lines between his brow deepen, “What about it?” 

“I really went to Planned Parenthood…”

“You did? by yourself?” He asks, reaching over to grip my leg. I draw a deep breath through my nose, trying to get it all off my chest before the tears start coming because my throat is already growing tight, and the worry growing on his face is scaring me.

“I think I need to start from the beginning, and if you hate me after all of this, I’ll understand—I just…”

“It’s okay…take your time…” he says, leaning down to look into my eyes, and I nod my head.

“Before we had sex—I guess you should know that I stopped having sex with Trent, and since I wasn’t having sex with Trent anymore, I stopped taking my birth control…” 

Harry nods, swallowing hard, but lets me continue, “I just want to be clear that the first time we hooked up, that was not my intention—” 

“I know—” He tells me, and he squeezes my leg to resume.

“That day when you dropped me off at home. I ran straight to my room and took the Plan B pill that I stashed away for emergencies because that was definitely an emergency…

And Harry nods his head up and down, the muscles along his jaw tightening, “I took the pill; everything was cool. I didn’t think anything, then I saw you at the party—”

“Marlowe—I know that part—” he says, impatience tugging at his tone. 

“I’m sorry—I’m sorry—” I tell, him taking his change in demeanor like a scolding, feeling the emotions simmering at the surface.

“No—Lowe—I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude,” He apologizes, cupping my cheek.

“Why did you call me Lowe?” 

He shrugs, a shy smile playing at the corner of his mouth, “I don’t know…it’s how I saved your contact in my phone…I just thought it was cute.”

I smile, “Only sister calls me that…”

“Do you want me to change it?” He asks lowly, his voice like a warm hug.

“No…” I whimper out because I was such a bitch to my sister earlier, and all of this is a fucking mess, and he is so kind and sweet, and now our time is over, and I’ll never have this with him again.

“Hey…don’t cry okay…I’m not mad, I’m just nervous—because I think I know what your about to tell me.” I bit down on my lower lip and nodded my head.

“Are you pregnant?” And I nod my head again as the tears cascade.

Harry blows out a shaky breath, tears filling his eyes. “I bet that was scary, huh?” he says, forcing himself to blink away the tears.

“Yeah—” I whisper. 

“I’m sorry that you had to do that alone…” And everything he says is so genuine, and it hurts even more to watch him try to keep it together for me. 

“Listen, I need to take a little walk—” he says, rubbing his palms over his eyes. I just need to clear my head…I promise I’ll be back. I just need a little air.” He tells me, pressing a long kiss to my forehead. Then he stretches past me, dragging the sheets with him. 

I don’t turn around. Shame is roaring its ugly head, and I don’t think I could look at him. I don’t want to see the pity, the look in his eyes, when he no longer sees me the same or feels the same feelings as before—See the look on his face when reality sets in, and everything changes—where we change from who we are in very this moment because it’s inevitable. 

“Lowe?” he calls from the doorway, but I don’t turn to face him.

“I’ll be back okay—?” and I nod my head, listening as he lingers in the doorway. Then the door clicks shut as darkness engulfs me, and I press my head into the pillow and close my eyes because as soon as I open my eyes again, everything will change.

A/N: Okay...so that's happened...now what?

All Chapters-> Here

Requests-> Here

[zaolat]

i will never be fucking normal about Saulot Vampire: The Masquerade bye

[waywardstation]

hi! i havent been on tumblr in a Hot minute but i wanted to come here JUST to tell you that hfbe might be my fave pla fic ive read ao far! the worldbuilding and the characterization of everyone just feels so so right i fall in love

i reread it on ao3 and even tho its not completed its still a joy to reread everytime

Hello hello!! Anon you have no idea how much it meant to me to get to read this. Knowing I put something out there that you wanted to back to and reread means A LOT.

I’m glad you like it so much but man I have been editing the first two chapters (fixing errors, making characters say and do things that are more in line with how I write them now, and just adding scenes in between to help things seem more clear or hit harder), and I’m like man this really isn’t that good haha.

It’s fun to see how much I think I’ve improved since I’ve started trying to write fanfics (I wasn’t aware of how obsessed I had been with commas and run-on sentences at the start lol)

So reading this nice message really gives me such a boost of motivation. I’m so glad you like the worldbuilding, and it makes me excited to get more out because later chapters are when I really introduce specifics on a lot of things. Namely the Pearl Clan’s hunting parties, that has been my favorite.

Now I just gotta get more out! Hoping to put more out for you to read soon kind anon, I really appreciate that you find it’s something you like to reread!

For now, here is a snippet below the cut; I am unsure if I have shared this before, but it’s a scene where Ingo is preparing to advocate for the Clan to use pokeballs to store their pokemon in, so that there is less food consumption (as in HFBE, it’s emphasized that pokeballs put pokemon into a stasis where they don’t need to eat, drink, sleep, etc. for as long as they’re in them. Ingo does it with his pokemon, and he wants the clan to do it too, for their own sakes).

Wording is subject to change (VERY MUCH SO), but enjoy!

—————

“Excuse me Miss Irida, but may we talk for a moment?”

The Pearl Clan leader turned back to see Ingo – he was trailing behind the group, purposefully so. He had been waiting for the right moment to approach her.

“Right now?” Irida’s eyes flickered back over the tops of people’s heads, up towards the communal hall at the top of the hill. “I’m sorry, but can it wait until after the meeting?”

“It is actually about the meeting.” Ingo’s grey eyes were unwavering, waiting — he wanted to ask her something. And Ingo was not one to usually ask for things.

“Ok,” She relented, pausing in the snow both so he could catch up, and they could have their conversation with some privacy. “You have until we reach the hall.”

“Thank you, I assure you it will be quick.” Ingo fell into step beside her, shuffling through the snow as they now both trailed behind the group heading towards the warm hall. He kept his head tilted down just like her, using the brim of his hat to protect against the wind and snowfall. “I, well… I am planning to re-propose a proposition at this meeting tonight. I’d like to make another attempt at advocating for the use of pokeballs.”

“Tonight? Are you serious?” Irida lowered her voice for his sake, looking back between him and the group. How could he possibly think about proposing that when this meeting was for them to discuss how to prepare for this famine? “I’m saying this not as your leader but as your friend, Ingo; now is absolutely not a good time for that. Everyone is already going into this meeting angry. And if you try and start this again, they’re going to-”

Irida took a deep breath; she was already getting stressed over it.

“You know how people are going to react to that. You know who it’s going to upset, Ingo. Especially after last time. And you said you’d let it go.”

“I am well aware of what I said and I intended to stick to it, but these circumstances have changed our tracks, and I believe this may save us from derailing!” Ingo whispered back. He kept throwing quick glances at the nearing hall, gauging how much time he had left to persuade her. “Pokeballs can help us much more than the clan realizes – I’m confident that this can bring us closer to a solution, if not at least be a part of one!”

Irritation and confusion were replaced with genuine curiosity, but a fleck of doubt hesitantly followed after. Irida shook her head, not understanding. “How could they possibly help with all of this?”

“I will explain that in the meeting.” Having conquered the snowy hill, the two reached the warm light that spilled through the hall’s windows to project onto the snow. “But to do that, I need to actually present my proposal, and I’m afraid that will be difficult with the elders tonight. I am trying this for the fourth time now, and I’m aware of how this will most likely be received. I expect they’ll call to send me back to my seat before I even start.”

Ingo paused just outside the doors, waiting for Irida to go in first — she could do so and end the conversation right now if she wanted to, but she didn’t. Instead she stood there, staring at their fading shoeprints in the snow.

Irida could see why he approached her about this now, and a part of her felt sorry for him. “So you want me to vouch for you.”

“Not the proposal itself. Just the time to talk.”

[unriding]

EVIE !!!!!

I SAW U USE MY ART AS UR THEME SO I WANNA DO A REMAKE !!! mostly cause the other one was full of mistaks hurrrrr orz

keeping the color palette the same so itd still fit + use softer shading so convey how soft u are + moze is now IN UR HAND !!!! >:3

oh nick :’)

[empty-blog-for-lurking]

My vld time travel au is really just- Beautiful morally grey women, who have close but concerning platonic relationship with Lance, and want Lotor dead/trying to violently murder him, not out of malice or vengeance or anything personal but simply because of pragmatic "it's for the greater good" reasons and they are sorta?? Right about it