#i can’t/won’t be using a heating pad because it’s still freaking hot

[whimsyprinx]

I’m going to cry and take medicine and be normal

[olivia200312]

Valentine's Love~ TFP! Optimus x Human! Reader (Lemon) *Request*

Requested by the lovely @Tianna814193.

Plot: Optimus hears of Valentine's Day for the first time and learns more about what it is thanks to the kids. He wants to do something special for Y/N so he took her to a special place and made love to her ;)

There was no plot nor which Optimus version so I had to choose.

Npte: the art goes to the onwer!

Head area: Brain: Processor / Brain Module Head: Helm Face: Face plate Ears: Audio receptors / Receptor Orifice / Audials Nose: Enstril / Olfactory Sensor Eye brow: Optical Ridge Eyes: Optics Mouth: Intake Lips: Dermas Teeth: Denta/Dentas Tongue: Glossa

Chest area: Chest: Chassis / Thoraxal Cavity Back: Hexa-Lateral Scapula Spine: Bipedalism cord / Back Strut

Chest and back armour: Chest plate Back plate Mid-section plating Neck guard Side plating

Arm area: Arms: Arms / Restarlueus Forearms: Bitarlueus Hands: Servos Fingers: Digits

Arm armour: Gantlets Shoulder pads Arm guard

Lower area: Pelvis: Pelvis Butt: Aft / Skid-Plate Thighs: Tibulen Calves: Cadulen Feet: Pedes - the high heel bits are called Struts or Heel Struts.

Lower armour: Skirt plates Aft plate / Skid plate Thigh guard Ankle guard

General/Internal components: Muscles: Cables / Pistons - It depends on the area in question. Veins: Fual lines Stomach: Tanks Lungs: Vents - used to stop the con/bot from over heating. Heart: Spark Tattoos: D-con/A-bot Insignias and the lark T-Cog: The thing that allows all Cybertronians to transform, be that their arms or their whole body.

Bonus:

Penis: Spike

Vagina: Valve

Body: Frame

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

Today was a snowy day in Jasper Nevada. Surprised, right? Usually, it's freaking hot and warm there since it's like... deserted place. Kinda like in Africa, Egypt. But don't get fooled! Weathers can change there too. Have you been ever to Alaska? It's tough to know when it's in fact night. Why? The occurrence takes place each winter because of the tilt of the Earth's axis. "This tilt makes it so that none of the Sun's disc is visible above the horizon," according to Chinchar. But that doesn't mean the town will be completely dark. It's also not always winter there like how you saw in the movies. 

So, it's February 13th... one day away from the official Vantine's Day. It's a day where you give your loved ones presents, to show love to them. You can give presents to your family and friends. It can be candy, cards, plushies, etc. 

Y/N was 18 and she was at her house. She sadly doesn't have time to hang out at the base. She got a lot of work to complete so she texted Miko, saying that she doesn't have time to hang out today.

At the base~

"Oh come on!" Miko groaned while throwing her hands up in the air, making her pink phone go flying and land on the couch.

Jack looked at her while Raf was listening while working on his laptop. Some bots were listening as well while others like Ratchet were busy. "What's wrong, Miko?"

"Y/N doesn't have time to come hang out in the base! Tomorrow is Valentine's Day!"

That caught every bot's attention, especially Optimus'. Once they all looked at the kids and Miko quickly noticed that every bot is staring. "What?"

"What's this 'Valentine's Day', Miko?" Optimus asked while walking over to the kids.

Jack looks surprised. "You bots don't know what Valentine's Day is?"

"On Cybertron, we don't celebrate holidays," Arcee said while her arms were crossed.

"Well, Valentine's Day is a day where you give gifts to your loved ones. Like to your family, friends, especially to your lover. It's also when someone confesses their love to their crush," Raf explained.

"And what gifts can you get?" Bulkhead asked.

"Oh, different things! You can get like candy, plushies, cards, prepare romantic dates, and much other stuff!" Miko answered with a big smile.

Optimus couldn't help but be interested. He's in love with Y/N ever since he met her. It's just... her beauty and especially her kind personality caught his attention. He offered to be her guardian and his spark beat happily when she said yes. She accepted the offer. But oh boy, he didn't know that Y/N is in love too with the handsome, kind leader. 

But of them didn't know that they'll be extremely sexually active like... they're both in the hard mood to do 'it'. It's normal when you are a couple but it's very important to be careful. Both of them won't admit to anyone but they both had wet dreams about each other more than once. Yeah... if they both showed signs or accidentally told it out loud, then they'll be so embarrassed (my best friend, who's a guy, admitted once to me in the school bus that he had a wet dream about a girl once).

"If you don't mind, will you explain more?" Optimus asked.

The kids nodded and they explained more. They even told me how it started. Optimus was thinking this whole time about how to confess his love to Y/N. He has no idea that he'll be sexually active right on Valentine's Day. His spike will be hard, begging to go inside of Y/N. Crap, he's getting naughty thoughts again. That's when Optimus has a plan...

The next day~

When Y/N woke up, she got dressed and brushed her teeth. She was surprised when Bumblebee picked her up instead of Optimus. The leader told everyone his plan to confess his love to Y/N, except for the naughty thoughts. He's having a lot of trouble keeping his voice under control. He's sexually active, needing to have sex. His spike is sure very hard behind his codpiece. Luckily, no one suspected a thing.

When Y/N arrived at the base, Ratchet told that Optimus was at the beach in the wooden cabin. Wait, how can he be inside since the wooden cabin is.. small? Welp. Only one thing to find out. Y/N went through the groundbridge when it was activated. When Y/N arrived at the beach, it was very breathtaking:

Y/N pinched herself to see if she wasn't dreaming. It was all real. Y/N then felt... hot. She couldn't help but let out a small moan. She quickly controlled herself and saw the wooden cabin. Once she opened it and went inside, she saw a big white bed, covered in beautiful rose petals. Even some candles were on to make it even more romantic, curtains closed. 

Y/N smiled brightly. Optimus loves her. She knew it now. She then heard metallic footsteps and she turned around to see the love of her life, except he's small! Y/N's mouth was open in shock while her eyes went wide.

Optimus chuckled and gently closed her mouth with his digit, but never left her face. He gently cupped her face with his soft, gentle servos and kissed her with passion. Y/N let out a surprised moan but she kissed him back. She slung her arms around his neck and kissed him harder. The Prime moved his servos to her waist and pulled her closer. Y/N couldn't help but let out a loud moan, especially since her private part was overheating and throbbing.

She pulled away embarrassed. "I-I'm sorry, Optimus. I... I just have a problem."

Optimus showed a gentle, kind, loving smile. "I know, sweetspark. I've read your body language." He then felt a little embarrassed. "I have the same problem with my spike."

Y/N felt confused at first until it clicked fast. His penis was hard. Spike is... you know. So, both of them have the same problem. But Optimus doesn't want to force his beloved since he's not that kind of a bot. As Orion Pax, he was shy, kind, quiet, overworking, helpful, respectful, and gentle. But now as Optimus Prime, he's stern, calm, strong, smart... So, he has kinda two sides. But there's still Orion Pax in him if you pay close attention to him. Ratchet told the story of who Optimus was before he became a Prime. The kids found it interesting, especially Y/N.

Y/N looked up to meet his optics. "D-Do you mind if we help each other. Clearly, our bodies want... you know."

Optimus doesn't respond, instead, he slammed his dermas on her lips. He backed her gently until she fell on top of the white bedsheets. At least the rose petals were soft. He climbed on top of her and looked into her eyes, asking for permission. Y/N nodded and started to touch his chassis, causing Optimus to purr. 

Some time passed by and Y/N was fully nude underneath the leader. She already has love bites around her neck. Optimus' optics was full with lust as his one digit entered her heated core. That caused Y/N to gasp and moan. "A-Ah! That feels so good! Please more!~"

Optimus granted her wish and added another digit inside of her. He moved inside of her, feeling her walls tighten around his digits. He's smirking inside. When he felt her orgasm, he pulled his digits away, causing Y/N to whine.

Y/N shot her eyes open when she heard a clank on the wooden floor. She saw his private member. His spike. "It's so big!~" That caused Optimus to look flustered and watched her as she used her hand to grab his spike and gently started to stroke it. Optimus moaned as his member twitched. Y/N stroked faster until Optimus shot his transfluid. It landed on her chest and stomach area. Y/N sill looked seductively and giggled. 

Optimus was surprised by the next act.Y/N lifted her legs up, and opened her heated core with her fingers, inviting Optimus to go in. Optimus then prepares and lined his spike right at her pussy.

"Please put in!~" 

Optimus smirked and went inside of her. He immediately grunted as the warmth and tightness greeted his spike. Y/N immediately moaned and instead of pain, she felt pleasure. Pure pleasure. She panted and moaned louder. "A-Ah, so good. Give all of you, Optimus. F-Fuck me so hard until I can't walk!~"

Optimus smirked and rammed into her. That caused Y/N to scream, moan and talk dirty. Like, really dirty talk. She couldn't help it! Her legs and arms are wrapped around him. "O-Oh, yeah! Yeah! H-Harder! I'm close!"

"As you wish, my dear.~" Optimus smirked and rammed even harder. 

Y/N felt her G-Spot being hit many times that she saw stars. She was just so in love, lost in pure pleasure... That's when she felt her orgasm. She screamed Optimus' name in pure bliss as he shot his transfluid inside of her. It was warm and sticky. Optimus stayed inside of her for almost a minute before pulling out. Some of his transfluid dripped down into the sheets. Both him and Y/N felt much better.

"T-That was amazing, Optimus."

Optimus smiled lovely as he laid down next to her and pulled her closer. He held her protectively. "It was, sweetspark."

Happy Valentine's Day!

[suituuup]

A Merry Crazy Christmas

for @raincloudtoyoursunshine. Merry Pitchmas!

shoutout to @scylla-ramshorn for the idea :)

*

“Bedtime, guys!” 

“Noooooo,” Logan whines, dramatically face planting on the floor of the playroom. “I wanna stay up ‘til Chwistmas!��

Beca rolls her eyes, having expected as much. “Come on Finn, go brush your teeth.” 

Her son nods without objection, shuffling past his mom to head to the bathroom. 

“Logan Jade,” Beca tries the stern voice and full name, even though she’s not really the authoritarian mom; Chloe is, and their youngest knows that perfectly well, and she likes to take advantage of it every time. “I’ve got Santa’s phone number, remember? He won’t be happy to hear you’re not listening to me.” 

Beca’s lost count of how many times she’s threatened to text Santa over the last few weeks. It proved pretty efficient to counter toddler tantrums. 

Logan grumbles in a very Beca way (it’s sort of scary sometimes, how much she acts like her) but pushes to her feet, dramatically dragging them on her way to the bathroom.

Beca waddles after them, one hand supporting her lower back while the other rubs her large belly. 

She’s three days away from her due date, and she’s miserable. Everything aches, her feet and ankles are swollen, and she needs to pee every five minutes. 

Once both kids have washed up, she reads them a bedtime story of Logan’s choice before tucking them in. 

“M’gonna stay awake,” Logan mumbles as Beca tucks the covers around her, even though her lids are steadily drooping. 

Beca smirks knowingly. “Sure you are.” She bends down to kiss the tip of her nose. “Goodnight, baby.” 

She heads to the master next, closing the door behind her. “Kinda wish we could use the Santa card all year long,” she says as she leans against the surface for a moment. 

Chloe chuckles from her spot on the floor, surrounded by a dozen unwrapped presents. “Let me guess, Logan?”

Beca hums and lowers herself on the bed, eyeing the already wrapped pile. “Our kids are spoiled.” 

Chloe grimaces as she looks around as well. “Yeah, we might have gone overboard.” She glances at Beca. “How you feeling?” 

A groan flits through Beca’s lips. “So done with this pregnancy. That baby better be cute.” 

Chloe laughs, pushing to her feet and making her way over. Christmas is only the day after tomorrow, so present-wrapping thankfully doesn’t have to be finished tonight. She sits down next to her wife, kissing her covered shoulder as her head comes to rest over her belly. “A few more days at most.” 

“I know,” Beca sighs, covering Chloe’s hand with her own. “Strong chances this baby is a Logan 2.0, you know that, right?” 

Chloe’s pregnancy with Finn was difficult, and the doctor advised against her carrying again, so when they decided to have a third baby, it was a no brainer that Beca would be the one to get pregnant. 

Chloe simply smiles. “I love that she’s so much like you. I know she’s going to grow up to be a determined, badass and loyal human being like her mama.” 

Beca rolls her eyes at her wife’s cheesiness. “The teenage years coming before that might be the death of us.” She groans again, tilting her head back. “And I need to pee. Again.” 

Chloe pushes to her feet and gives her a boost up. “Call me if you need help up the toilet seat.” 

Beca’s response is a huff as she slowly waddles to the bathroom. She thankfully manages to do everything on her own, and slides into bed when she makes it back, falling asleep to Chloe wrapping more presents. 

The creaking of the bedroom door as it’s pushed open the next morning draws her out of her slumber. She cracks one eye open to see her two kids tip-toeing inside, hair disheveled from sleep. 

“No baby yet,” their youngest, Logan, whispers to her older brother Finn. “Maybe he’s waiting ‘til Chwistmas morning!” 

“Maybe,” Finn whispers back. “I don’t think the baby knows when Christmas morning is, though.” 

“I tell,” Logan states decidedly, walking over. 

Beca’s lying on her side with a pillow wedged between her thighs and another behind her back, the only position she’s able to fall asleep in. Chloe’s somewhere behind her, but cuddling has been off limits for the past month as Beca gets as hot as a freaking furnace during the night. 

While Finn climbs onto the mattress, Logan comes to stop in front of Beca. 

“Whatcha doing, Munchkin?” Beca mumbles sleepily as Logan presses her ear to her large bump. 

“I listen to the baby,” she murmurs, eyebrows stitched together in focus. “Why’s it late, Mama?” 

“I guess they like where he is now. Warm and comfortable. You two were late, too.” 

“But the baby can’t miss Christmas,” Logan points out with a heavy frown. 

Beca chuckles, reaching out to smooth her hand over her hair. “There’s always next Christmas.” 

“Where’s Mommy?” Finn asks after a beat. 

Because of the mountain of pillows, Beca didn’t notice her wife wasn’t in bed anymore.

“Probably downstairs making breakfast,” she answers. “Wanna go see if she needs help?” 

Both kids nod and Logan follows her brother out and down the stairs while Beca spends a few seconds struggling to sit up. 

“Mama!” Finn’s shout makes her freeze on her way to the bathroom. He appears in the doorway a handful of seconds later, worry flashing in his features. “Mommy fell!” 

Beca blinks. “What do you mean she fell? Where’s she??” 

“Outside, she says she can’t get up!” 

“What?” Ignoring her bladder about to burst, Beca makes her way downstairs as quickly as possible given her state and follows Finn to the open front door. She gasps upon finding Chloe sprawled out on her back in the snow covered driveway, a shovel laying next to her. “Baby, what happened??” 

Chloe groans. “Don’t come out here, it’s slippery.” She huffs. “I think I threw my back out.” 

“Oh no.” Beca grimaces, eyeing the state of the driveway and debating whether it’s safe for her to go help Chloe. With the giant watermelon weighing her down, she’s got more chance of face planting than successfully dragging Chloe up. “Hold on tight, babe, I’ll call one of the neighbors.” 

“It’s okay, Mommy!” Logan calls out sweetly before Beca ushers them inside so they don’t catch a cold as they’re only wearing their pajamas and it’s freaking freezing. 

She grabs her phone and makes a few calls, eventually managing to get a hold of their across the street neighbor, a dude about their age. He comes over right away and helps Chloe up, supporting her weight as they walk inside the house and towards the couch. 

“Thanks, Brad,” Chloe mutters with a wince as she sits down. 

“No problem. I’ll shovel the rest of the driveway for ya.”

“I cuddle you better, Mommy,” Logan says, climbing on the couch and snuggling into Chloe’s side while Beca heats up a pad in the kitchen. 

“Mm, thanks baby.” 

“Here,” Beca says when she comes back, handing her the pad. 

“I wanted the driveway to be cleared in case we needed to go to the hospital,” Chloe mumbles, grimacing as she shifts to set the pad on her lower back. “Shit, I’m old.”

Logan gasps. “Bad word, Mommy.”

“Mm I know, I’m sorry Pumpkin. I’ll put a dollar in the jar later.” She glances up at Beca, worrying her bottom lip between her teeth. “I should call Jenny to let her know we might need her to drive you if the baby comes today.” 

Jenny’s Chloe’s closest colleague and friend in town. The Bellas are all scattered around the country, the closest being Aubrey in Boston. 

“She’s probably swamped with Christmas Eve dinner with her parents coming over and all,” Beca points out. “Besides, I really don’t think the baby’s coming today.” 

Chloe seems to internally debate Beca’s objection for a moment. “Fine. But I’m calling her the minute you have a contraction.” 

“Alright,” Beca concedes. “You’ll probably be more comfortable in bed. Think you can climb up the stairs?” 

Chloe nods. “Yeah, let’s give it a try.” 

Once upstairs, she helps Chloe out of her down jacket and props pillows under her back to ease the pain. “I’ll be back with some pain meds, alright?” 

“Is mommy okay?” Finn asks when she makes it back downstairs, blue eyes full of empathy. 

“She’ll be fine, sweetheart,” Beca assures him gently, running her fingers through his red curls. “Just needs to rest up for a bit.” 

She entertains the kids on her own for a while, whipping up a simple lunch. Logan thankfully doesn’t fight her to go down for a nap, and Finn seems content hanging out downstairs to watch a Disney movie while Beca goes to lie down for a bit. 

Her lie-down ends up being a two-hour nap, and she wakes up in a flash to the sound of the fire alarm. Chloe is still out cold from the pain medicine and Beca shuffles out of the room and heads downstairs as quickly as she can. 

“Finn?!” She calls out, following the burning smell to the kitchen. 

The seven-year-old is standing in the middle of the room, frozen as smoke seeps out of the oven. 

“Baby, step back,” Beca instructs, yanking him away from the oven. She opens it, relieved to find no actual flames, and opens the window above the sink to let some clear air in. Grabbing the oven mitts from the drawer, she takes out what looks like a cake and sets the baking pan out on the window ledge. She focuses on her son next, crouching to his level as her eyes sweep over his body for any signs of injury. “Are you hurt, Finn?” 

He shakes his head, tears silently streaming down his cheeks. “I-I wanted to help and-and make Ch-Christmas d-dinner,” he stammers. “I’m sorry.” 

Beca’s expression softens. “Oh, baby…” She pulls him into a tight hug. “I’m just relieved you’re alright.” 

“Bec?” Chloe appears around the corner, one hand braced over her lower back. “What happened?” 

“Our little guy wanted to make dinner to help out but things didn’t go as planned.” 

Finn sniffles, glancing at Chloe. “I made a cake and put it in the oven but then I went back to watch TV and I forgot about it until the alarm. But it was too late.” More tears leak out of his eyes as his features crumble. “Santa is not gonna come anymore. I ruined Christmas.” 

Beca shakes her head. “You didn’t ruin Christmas, honey. You wanted to help us, which is really sweet, but it’s not safe to use the oven on your own. So next time you should ask one of us, alright?” 

Finn nods. “Okay, I promise.” 

“And Santa is absolutely still coming,” Chloe adds with a beaming grin. “Because you’re kind, and devoted, and the best big brother there is.” 

“What’s devoted?” He asks in a small voice. 

“It means that you love your family and friends and will do many things to make them happy, like trying to make Christmas dinner.” Beca smiles. “But we can still make that happen. Wanna help mama make grilled cheese? That’s an acceptable dinner, right?” 

Finn’s head bobs up and down; grilled cheese happens to be his and Logan’s favorite. 

When Logan wakes up, the three of them spend an hour decorating the table and making dinner while singing Christmas tunes. They watch a movie Finn and Logan picked out, and the kids set a plate of cookies and a glass of milk next to the Christmas tree for Santa. 

“Oh man, what a day,” Beca mutters with a sigh as she crawls into bed after making a few trips downstairs to arrange the presents around the Christmas tree. “How are you feeling?” 

“A bit better,” Chloe says from her spot next to her. “This Christmas will definitely be one we’ll remember. I threw my back out, our son almost set the house on fire and--” 

Beca gasps. “My water just broke.” 

An almost comical length of silence follows as Chloe and Beca stare at each other with wide eyes. 

“Or I peed my pants, but I just used the toilet.” 

“You’re kidding,” Chloe whispers. 

Beca throws her wife a glare. “Fuck. Can you drive?” 

“I’ll manage.” 

It’s a good thing they already set up the car seat and that it hasn’t snowed anymore during the day, so their driveway is clear. 

“Whassgoin’ on?” She hears Logan mumble when Chloe crosses the hall to wake the children up. Beca’s water broke two hours ago, and her contractions are close enough that they need to head to the hospital. 

“The baby is coming,” Chloe says gently. “So you guys are going to go to Ms. Jenny’s for the rest of the night while mommy takes mama to the hospital.” 

While Beca’s labor with Logan lasted over twenty-two hours, this baby is in much more of a haste to meet the world. 

Riley Josephine Mitchell is born at 6:13 am on Christmas morning. Beca’s chest feels fit to burst with love as their tiny screaming baby is laid on her chest, her cries quieting down as soon as she feels Beca’s warm skin. 

“It’s okay, baby girl,” she murmurs, brushing soft kisses to her forehead. Her eyes find Chloe’s equally teary ones. “Merry Christmas, love.” 

Chloe beams, resting her forehead against the side of Beca’s head. “Merry Christmas.” 

Yeah… definitely one they will remember. 

[ghostly-cabbage]

Frigid (Chapter 5)

Genre: Horror, Angst, Enemies to Friends (to maybe more??? ohoho) 

Chapter Rating: T (Language, Canon Typical Violence, Brief Mention of Underage Drug Use) 

Word Count: 6,554

AO3 FFN

<<Previous | Next>>

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The black and white dashed pavement was all Wes saw. It moved underneath his clumsy feet in slow motion. 

Someone was holding his hand; he could feel the heat of their palm enveloping his. His hand was small in theirs. His shoulders were heavy, weighed down by a backpack. 

He wrung the padded red strap with his free hand. The person leading him tugged him along after them, insistent, but not unkind. When he looked up, he couldn’t see who it was. The sun was too bright, glinting in his eyes and allowing nothing but the dark impression of a silhouette. 

He had to get home, Wes remembered faintly. They had to get home or they’d be in trouble. An odd feeling crept up his legs, and he stumbled over an untied shoelace. The person with him made sure he didn’t fall, pulling up on his arm. 

“Silly Wesley, I thought you said you knew how to tie your shoes?” The person said. Their voice sounded muffled, like he was underwater. It sounded… familiar. Somehow. Like Wes should recognize it. 

They kept walking across the street, the far side growing no closer.

Wes swallowed, his throat dry. 

“Something’s wrong,” he said. His tongue felt clumsy in his mouth. He tried to look up at the person guiding him. They weren’t looking at him, and the sun drove his gaze away again. He looked back at the road, then over his shoulder where the blurry shape of school became more distant with every step.

 “Please listen to me this time, something isn’t right,” he tried again. His voice was small in his throat. His chaperone ignored him, or maybe they just couldn’t hear him. 

Cold panic seeped into him and he tried to resist against the person guiding him. He dug his heels into the rough hot pavement. He twisted and pulled at his hand, gripping the person's wrist in hopes he could slow them down. 

“It’s okay, Wessie! Your friends will be there when you come back,” came the voice, happy and completely oblivious. “I know it’s sad, but you’ll see your friends again, you’ll see.” 

“No,” he protested, the fear condensing into a lump in his throat. “No, we can’t keep going.” He didn’t know why. He just knew they had to stop. 

They had to stop before it happened. 

It ached deep in his bones, the dread and the sirens. His vision swirled and he blinked furiously against the tears. 

“Please,” he pleaded. “Please, stop, you have to.” He yanked on them, but they showed no sign of being inconvenienced. A wail rose in his throat. 

Why were they not listening?

“Maybe your Mom will let us have some fruit snacks when we get there, how’s that sound?” 

And then it was too late. 

His guardian gasped, and yanked him back. It sent a painful jolt through his arm. He stumbled backwards and hit the ground so hard it rattled his brain. 

The sound he could never push from his memories filled the world. The squeal of tires and a wet crunch. A squeal: high pitched and girlish. The solid thunk and crack of a body hitting the pavement, skidding and rolling and breaking and—

Wes sat bolt upright, strangling back a scream. 

Panic tingled over his skin and he clutched at his chest, fingers curling into the cotton of his nightshirt. His breath came in rapid gulps and his eyes darted around his room. Like he was expecting to see— 

He screwed his eyes shut and bit into his bottom lip until he tasted blood. God… He hadn’t had one that bad— that vivid in a long time. He focused on the beat of his heart for several long seconds, forcing his breathing to slow. 

God. He hated nightmares. 

He opened his eyes, taking in the dimly illuminated shapes of his dresser, desk and footboard. His curtains were drawn, and the weak light of morning tried in vain to worm it’s way into the room from behind the fabric. 

Wes reached for his phone on his bedside table. He unplugged it from the charger and winced against the light of the screen, 6:31 a.m. Friday. 

They’d had the last two days off from school due to damages to the plumbing system, but apparently it was all fixed up because school hadn’t been cancelled today. 

After that, going back to sleep was a lost cause. 

He shook his head and peeled his covers back. Might as well get an early start on getting ready for school. With a yawn he opened his door and glanced down the hall. 

Kyle’s door wasn’t open yet, which wasn’t surprising. Kyle was late most mornings; he liked sleeping in about as much as he liked weed… he slept in so much because of the weed more specifically. 

The house was chilly and quiet. 

That was until Wes heard footsteps and the sounds of drawers opening and closing in the kitchen. 

His right hand slid along the guide rail, the polished wood still smelling of lemon. Reaching the bottom of the stairs he poked his head around the corner of the wall and into the kitchen. He blinked. 

It was his dad. He was standing at the toaster, a butter knife held in his hand. Neatly ironed suit already on. 

Wes walked in without announcing himself and went to the cupboard. His dad jumped, catching a glimpse of him over his shoulder. 

“Oh, Wesley.” He cleared his throat and shifted towards him. “You’re up early.” 

“Yep.” 

He got a box of cereal and closed the cupboard. He turned his back to his father to get a clean bowl. 

“Right. Uhm. Did you… want toast?”

Wes nudged the cupboard door closed with an elbow. 

“No, I don’t want toast.” He put his bowl on the dining table and filled it with cereal. His dad watched him. 

“There’s eggs in the fridge too if you—” 

“Dad, it’s fine.” Wes didn’t look at him, and put the cereal box away. He got the jug of milk from the fridge and poured it over the sugary monstrosity that had the audacity to call itself a balanced breakfast. Other than the sound of the milk glugging, the kitchen was tense and silent. Wes screwed the cap back on the milk and put it back in the fridge, getting a spoon next from the silverware drawer. 

The toaster popped, and his Dad startled. 

Under different circumstances Wes might have laughed. 

He pulled out a seat at the table, its legs scraping over the hardwood floor. He sank down into the cold chair and started eating. He pulled his phone out from his sweatpant pocket and scrolled without really paying attention to the images and text that slid past. 

“Aren’t you late for work or something?” he said. His dad stopped scraping the butter on his toast. 

“Now that I’m finally settled into the office a bit more I don’t have to be in till seven.” 

Wes clicked his tongue. “Oh. Joy.” He shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth. His dad sighed, and he could see his shoulders slump out of the corner of his eye. 

“Your uh, tryouts are today, right?” 

“Why’s it matter? Not like you ever have time to come to my games anyway.” He said it hoping it would hurt. It was childish, Wes knew it was, but he just wanted his dad to get it for once.

“Wesley, kiddo... I know this has been hard on you and your brother—” Wes snorted. His Dad pressed on. “But this job was an amazing opportunity, I really think it could do a lot of good for us.” 

“We were fine with the job you had.”

“I thought a change of environment would help after everything that happened. I’m only doing what’s best for the two of you. For all of us, as a family.”

Wes laughed. It was empty and brittle. 

“Well, that’s news to me. We’re hardly even a family anymore.” 

“Wesley,” his dad’s voice took on a stern edge. 

“You didn’t care about us, if you did you would have asked what we wanted.” 

“And this is exactly why I didn’t.” His Dad gestured jerkily towards him with the butter knife.

“What’s that mean?” Wes slapped his phone down and glared up at his dad.

“It’s clear that you’re still too immature to deal with this like an adult. I’m doing this with your futures in mind, Wesley.” 

“By ripping us away from home? From all our friends? From Grandma and Grandpa? Uncle Ronnie?” Wes’ heart was thumping in his ears and he wanted to scream, flip the table over, something to make the pressure in his chest go away. 

His dad scoffed. 

“Don’t raise your voice at me. I told you when we moved that we would visit for the holidays.” 

“That just makes it all better. Doesn’t it?” he pushed through grit teeth. He squeezed the handle of his spoon in his fist, the cool metal pressing indentions into his skin. 

“The world doesn’t revolve around you and what you want. It’s no one's fault but your own that you’re choosing to learn it the hard way.” 

“You’re such a fucking hypocrite.” 

“Wesley!” his dad snapped. “One thing you won’t do is speak to me like that under my roof, you understand me?”

Wes held his dad’s gaze, not backing down.

“After tryouts you come right home and stay here for the weekend.” 

“What? Seriously?!” 

“Yes, seriously.”

Rage whirled in his throat and he bit down on his tongue. He stood up, his chair skidding backwards. Fucking bullshit. It was fucking bullshit. 

He threw his spoon down onto the table. It clattered and bounced off the side of his bowl. He snatched his phone and stormed away from the table and back up to his room. He slammed his door behind him and stood there seething, his hands balled into fists. 

He stood there as the seconds ticked by, eyes roaming over his room for something he wouldn’t mind breaking. The buzz of his phone distracted him, and he looked down, turning on the screen.

If it was from Dad he was gonna—

Alien Fucker: ? 

Oh. Right. 

It made sense that he’d probably woken up Kyle. He typed a message back into their chat. 

Basketball Freak: Nothing

Alien Fucker: Didn’t sound like nothing 

Basketball Freak: Dad grounded me again 

...

it’s whatever at this point  

Alien Fucker: F in the chat

…

want me to talk to him?  

Basketball Freak: no, its fine 

Alien Fucker: K just lemme know 

Kyle always felt like he had to be the mediator. In the year leading up to the divorce he was the middle man between Mom and Dad, despite Wes telling him that it was ridiculous. Their parents were grown-ass adults. They shouldn’t have fucking needed their seventeen-year-old-son to deliver messages back and forth because they couldn’t stand to talk to each other. And Dad called him immature. 

Kyle hated the tension, he took on the peacekeeper role like a job, trying to hold them all together in vain as the family crumbled around him. Wes probably hadn’t helped any, looking back. 

He picked fights with Dad like it was his job. 

And Mom… He still didn’t talk to Mom. 

He tried to get where Kyle was coming from, he really did. But pretending that shit wasn't fucked wasn’t going to unfuck it. 

Their parents deserved to know what they'd done was wrong. And if hating them was what it took, then goddamnit, Wes was going to do it.  

Wes tossed his phone onto his bed and started getting dressed for school. 

***

The school day passed by uneventful. Mia had the scoop about some couple that had broken up over the two day break that Wes hardly paid attention to. He helped her set her shutter speed and they took pictures of fast moving objects outside. 

At lunch he sat with Kyle and his stoner friends. 

In chemistry, Wes got there after Danny. He set his stuff down, scooting his stool away from him. They ignored each other the best they could as people got settled for class. 

 Wes bounced his leg on the stool’s rung and kept an eye on the clock. Two more classes until tryouts. 

Mrs. Merriweather erased the notes on the board from last class and once the bell rang her iron gaze flicked over the class to make sure everyone was where they were supposed to be. 

“Once I take roll, you’ll work on writing your findings from the last lab in a short essay.” An unenthused murmur filtered through the class. Wes glanced sideways to see Danny grimacing. 

Hah. Served him right. 

“Mr. Fenton. You can make up for your absence last class in an hour's detention after school today.”

Some of their classmates turned to look at Danny, half smiles and shared glances. Nothing was more unifying in a classroom than someone who wasn't you getting in trouble. 

Danny hunched his shoulders and sighed.

“Yes, Mrs. Merriweather,” he said.     

Sucked for him, but really, what did he expect? Skipping class was a risk he decided to take. 

Wes used his notes from the lab he’d done by himself, and started writing his short essay. The class quieted and the only sound was the occasional whisper and the shuffle of papers. 

Danny was quiet, fiddling with a pencil and looking at his phone under the table when Mrs. Merriweather wasn’t watching. Wes couldn’t tell who Danny was messaging, but if he had to guess it’d be the other two-thirds of his friend group. Eventually, Danny pulled out papers from a beat up binder and started working on it. From the corner of his eye he’d guess it was history homework.  

All Wes cared about was that Danny didn’t bother him. He wrote his essay with his mind half on the words and half on the growing excitement of hitting the court. Finally, finally he’d be able to do one of the only things he was good at. The minutes dragged past and around the fiftieth time he’d glanced up at the clock Danny shifted next to him. 

“Dude, chill out, you’re making me nervous,” he said quietly. He didn’t even look up from his homework when he said it. 

Wes lifted his head from his partially done essay and narrowed his eyes. 

“Mind your own business, Fenton.” 

Fenton rolled his eyes but said no more. 

Class wrapped up twenty minutes later, Wes turned in his sloppily written essay and bolted out of the room. The hallways swelled with students as they poured from their classrooms. Econ was all that stood between Wes and tryouts. He swung by his locker, grabbing his books. 

He was about to turn to leave when he bumped into someone. They both stumbled back and Wes recognized the pungent smell coming off the other person. 

“Whoa man, sorry ‘bout that.” Said a guy with blond hair and a beanie slouched over his head. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Wes said, trying to get around him. 

“Hey wait, you’re Wesley, right? Kyle’s lil bro.” 

Well, that explained the smell. 

“Uh, yeah that’s me. Sorry, but I’ve gotta—” 

“Dude, sweet. Name’s Robbie, I’m pretty chill with your brother,” he said. 

“That’s nice. Well, nice to meet you and stuff.” Wes stepped around the stoner and headed towards his class. 

“Yeah, totally! I wasn’t here for lunch but Kyle said you hung out with the group today—” Robbie said, following after Wes. 

He pushed a breath between his teeth. Great, guess this was happening now. 

“���but like Kyle’s told me a lot about you, man.” 

“Cool?” Seriously, why was this guy talking to him? 

“Yeah, I just wanted to say the group’s mega on your side.” 

“Uh-huh. Cool.” 

Wait. 

“On my side about what?” Wes slowed his pace.

“The ghosts, bro!” 

“What about them?” 

“Pf, bruh. We’ve lived in Amity Park for like, ever? We’re trying to convince him that this ghost stuff is legit.” 

Wes scoffed. “Good luck with that. I’ve been trying since I was like six.” 

Robbie shook his head. “I know what’cha mean, bro. Dude’s like a steel trap... or however that saying goes.” Robbie shrugged. 

Wes chuckled. “Let me know if you guys make any progress with him,” he said. He’d meant it as a joke, but Robbie nodded seriously. 

“Hell yeah, dude, that’s what’s up. You can count on me.” He held out a closed fist to Wes. 

He rolled his eyes but didn’t hide his grin. He fist bumped Robbie. 

“Okay, well… I’m going to class now.” 

Robbie held up his hands. “Oh, yeah, totes. I should probably do that too, now that I think about it.”

“Probably.” 

Robbie turned and walked away in the opposite direction, a single textbook swinging in his grasp. Kyle’s friends were always friendly. Even if they were a bit annoying. 

Wes was almost late for Econ, thanks to the fact the class was on the other side of the building. He slipped into the room and sat down, letting out a breath when the last bell rang thirty seconds later. 

Mr. Brown took his place at the front of the class, voice as monotonous as ever. His button-up was wrinkled around his midsection, and he ran his hands over it like that would help.

“Alright class, we’re going to start talking about the stock market today,” he said, pulling up Google on the projector.    

Wes hardly absorbed a word from Mr. Brown’s lecture, which was a total snooze-fest. The stock market wasn’t exactly riveting stuff. He bounced his leg under his desk, watching the clock.

Mr. Brown was in the middle of describing the homework: picking three stocks and tracking their ups and downs through-out the weekend, when the bell rang. Wes had been about ready to start pulling his hair out. 

He shot up from his seat and was first out the door.  

Wes made a beeline for his locker. Or at least he tried. He got stuck behind kids walking at a snail's pace three times. He got a few dirty looks for pushing past people loitering in their groups. 

Eventually, he made it to his locker and fumbled with the lock. Once open, he stuffed his books and notes anywhere they’d fit. Papers crumpled and his notebook creaseed down the center. He pulled his bag from the hook and slung it over his shoulder. He headed to the locker rooms at a jog, back to bobbing and weaving around people in the halls.  

“Mr. Weston, no running in the halls!” He heard Mr. Lancer call after him as he went past the English room. He slowed down to a power walk, not caring that he looked stupid. 

He got to the locker room and got his gym clothes out. He changed quickly, ripping his shirt off and almost tripping over his jeans. 

There were other guys in the room, some he recognized and others he didn’t. Before he put his phone away he checked it, the screen lighting up. At the very top of the lock screen was a message notification. 

Mom: How was the first week of school?

His fingers tightened around his phone, pushing the blood away from his fingertips and leaving them pale. He stared at it until the screen dimmed. 

He didn’t want to think about it, not now—not at all. He tossed his phone into his bag and zipped it up. 

Out of sight out of mind. 

He locked up the rest of his stuff and left the locker room. He followed a few other guys into the gym. 

The overhead lights reflected in bright streaks on the polished wood floor. He took a deep breath, filling his lungs with the smell of cleaners and old set in sweat. He scuffed the toe of his sneaker on the floor. The high pitched sound echoed around the room; it felt like home. 

Mrs. Tetslaff was standing by the bleachers, writing something on a clipboard. A few students that looked like freshmen were wheeling out a wire cart heaped with basketballs. 

Wes walked towards Tetslaff, coming to stop a ways away. He shifted from foot to foot in anticipation. Within a minute or two there was a loose ring of guys waiting around. A majority were talking amongst themselves, joking around. Clearly they were last year’s team, bonded by hours of blood, sweat, and tears. Wes was on the outside. He felt a sour twinge in his stomach watching them. He wondered how his old team was doing… None of them had messaged him since he left. Not even Cole or Adam.

“Ay, new kid!” 

Wes turned to see a guy with short black hair and olive brown skin. The guy was a bit taller than him. He came up and clapped Wes on the back so hard it stung his skin. He stumbled forward a bit before catching himself. 

“I hear you played point in Cali.” 

Wes tapped the toe of his shoe against the ground a few times. “Yeah?” 

The guy smiled, dark eyes sparkling. He had a nicely structured face, the stubble on his chin making it a reasonable guess that he was a senior. 

“I’m José. Wesley, right? ” He crossed his arms over his chest. Wes didn’t know if he was intending to show off his biceps or not, but it certainly seemed like he was. “I was point-guard last year, and ain’t no way in hell some lanky California kid is gonna yoink my spot.” 

Wes carefully gaged for any hostility, but there was none. José was all smiles. A friendly challenge? 

“I guess we’ll just see about that, won’t we?” He smirked back. 

Somehow José’s smile got bigger. He laughed, his posture breaking into something more casual. 

“I like you already, Wesley.” He stuck out his hand for a handshake. Wes obliged. José grabbed his hand without mercy and shook so vigorously Wes thought he’d lose his arm.

“Just ‘Wes’ is fine,” he said with a wince. José released his hand. “Ow,” he muttered, shaking his hand out. 

“C’mon, you can hang with us, save you the embarrassment of mingling with the Freshmen.” José slung an arm around his shoulders and steered him into the inner circle of guys. He followed, mostly because he didn’t have much of a choice. As they got close the group looked up, varying levels of welcoming. 

“Wes, this is Mark,” he pointed to the dude the farthest from them. He was shorter than Wes, long brown hair tied behind his head. 

“‘Sup.” 

“Next we got Joseph.” José motioned to a guy with terrible posture, it made it hard to tell how tall he was. He looked familiar and it took a few seconds for the light bulb to come on. It clicked and Wes remembered he had Homeroom with him. “We just call him Jo or Joey though.” The guy in question threw up a peace sign. He had light grey hair, obviously the product of a good chunk of money and some bleach. 

Now that Wes thought of it, living in Amity Park, it was weird how many people didn’t have crazy bleached or dyed hair. Maybe it was more of a west coast thing? Or Amity was just behind on the times. Probably both.  

“This is Anthony,” José moved to the next guy. He was about Wes’ height and he had neatly cut and styled almond brown hair. He looked like he belonged in a boy band. His eyes were hazel green, and he looked Wes up and down. 

“Hey,” was all he said. Wes tried not to stare too long as José moved on. 

“Last but not least we got our boy Isaac.” He had black hair, shaved on the sides and longer on top with loose curls. He had dark skin like José. Isaac pointed finger guns at him. 

“Yo, man, pleasure to meet ya,” he said. He had more of a detectable latin accent than José.   

José broke away from Wes to clap hands with Isaac and pull him into a one armed hug. 

“This here our inner circle, Joey and Mark are Juniors like you, but the rest of us ’re Seniors.” 

“It’s nice to meet all you guys, God, you don’t know how long it feels like I’ve waited for today,” he said. He rubbed his upper arm.  

“I just hope you ain’t rusty. I heard you got game.” Isaac said.

Wes shrugged a shoulder. “I mean…” 

“Humble,” José nodded. “I like that about you, Wes. I’m ‘bouta smoke you, make sure you stay that way.” 

The rest of the group let out a chorus of “oh”s. The gauntlet had officially been thrown down in front of witnesses. Wes didn’t fight his smile as he sank into the familiar feeling. 

“Cool, dude. Just don’t cry when I dunk on your ass, okay?” 

The group oh’d louder this time. 

“Dammnn, new kid! You got spunk, never would have guessed from class,” Joseph laughed. “Seriously, in Homeroom he never talks to anyone,” he told the rest of the group. 

“Hey, no judgment, Anthony’s been needing another introvert to keep him company.” Mark grabbed Anthony by the shoulders and gave him a rattle. 

Anthony waved him off. “Shut up.” 

The sound of a whistle pierced through the gym. They all cringed and turned to look at the source of the noise.

Mrs. Testlaff had her hands on her hips. 

“What’re you all waiting around for? You know the drill, warm-ups first.” She clapped a palm against the back of her clipboard. Her voice boomed through the gym.  “Two laps around the gym, go!” 

***

The amount of drills they did had to be criminal. Wes’ muscles burned and his hair was spiked with sweat and water from the fountain down the hall. He’d forgotten his water bottle at home, which he wholeheartedly blamed on his dad.  

It took a while, shaking off the rust and sinking back into his comfort zone. It felt like the court snapped into focus and all that mattered was the squeak of shoes and the fleeting touch of the ball against the curve of his palm. His body moved the exact way he wanted it to. He spun and dodged, nailed three point shots more often than not, felt like he was riding a high.

They practiced individual skills before they moved onto mock games. José was no joke. He moved like he could read the offence’s mind. It was frustrating and exhilarating at the same time. 

The group’s synchronicity of their plays made their history together obvious. 

The practice games were intense and competitive. For every layup and three pointer Wes scored, José would score the same. The others weren’t pushovers either. Isaac would shut him out with a shit-eating grin and Anthony was way faster than he looked. 

José blew past his sophomore defender and jumped, slamming the ball through the basket and holding onto the rim for a few seconds before he dropped. He bounced into a jog, whooping in triumph. Isaac and Mark high-fived him while Joseph and Anthony, who were on Wes’s side, groaned.

Mrs. Tetslaff blew the whistle and everyone stopped, turning towards her. 

“Alright, gentlemen, good job today. Take a five minute break. Go get some water and then we’ll move into cool downs.” 

Wes sighed, his shoulders sagging. Admittedly, he was tired, but he didn’t want to stop. His new friend group walked towards the corner of the gym to a bench where they had water bottles and towels. Wes, who had neither, just went for the company. Issac grabbed his shoulder as he neared. 

“Shit, man, you can actually play,” he said, giving him a shake.

“So can you guys,” he breathed. Wes grabbed the hem of his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat off his face. “You didn’t take it easy on me that’s for sure.” 

“Mrs. Tetslaff was impressed, I could tell,” Joseph said, sprawling out on one of the benches. 

“You think so?” Wes glanced back at the stern woman who was in the middle of yelling at a pair of Freshmen across the gym.

“For sure, bro. The way you played you might jus’ make varsity,” José said, smacking the cap of his water bottle closed. 

“‘Might’?” Wes quirked a brow. 

“Homie, yer gonna have to get past us to make varsity,” Isaac pointed out, gesturing to the rest of the guys. Wes blinked, looking at the five of them. 

“Damn, guess you’re right.” 

“It’s okay, you can take Joey’s spot, he won’t miss it,” Mark said, snapping his hand towel at Joseph. He squawked and rolled off the bench onto the floor with a thud. 

“Asshole! And what the hell d’you mean I wouldn’t miss it?” He pushed himself up to glare up at Mark. 

“Bruh, all last season you cared more about flirting with Tiff than showing up to practice on time.” 

Joseph’s cheeks flushed pink. 

“So? I still got better stats than you did. Plus who doesn’t lose track of time when flirting with a cute girl?”

“I dunno, man. Sounds like a straight problem,” Anthony said from Wes’ other side. Wes looked over at him, a little surprised. 

Joseph pushed himself up. “Shut up, Anthony, as if you haven’t been late because you’re flirting with some guy.” 

Anthony snorted. “At this school? Gimme a break.” 

“Whatever, dude, at least I don’t wanna fuck a ghost.” 

That managed to get a reaction out of Anthony. He stiffened, cheeks tinting red. His gaze darted around the ground before his expression hardened.

“If I remember right, Joseph, you retweeted Dash’s ‘Its not gay if he’s dead’ tweet just like everybody else,” he shot back, lifting his chin.

Joseph’s eyes widened. 

Isaac, Mark and José spluttered from behind Joseph. Anthony smirked and crossed his arms over his chest. 

“Because it was funny! It was a meme, dude!”

“No need to get defensive now, it’s okay. You can admit that Phantom made you have a gay awakening.” Anthony had an evil twinkle in his eye, like a shark that’d caught the scent of blood.

“What? Dude, no I— Guys come on, help me out here.” 

Isaac stepped up next to Joseph and threw an arm around him, pulling him closer by his neck. 

“Homie, no cap, I wasn’t bi till I moved here. That probably ain’t no coincidence, know wha’m’sayin’?  

Joseph looked stricken, like he could feel himself losing the argument. 

“Oh come on—what about you, newbie?” 

All eyes turned to Wes and he swallowed. Oh, God. Why were people in Amity so goddamn weird? Attracted? To a ghost? 

“Uhm… I mean. Uh. I’ve only seen him once…” He twisted the toe of his shoe against the ground. “Also he’s technically dead, right? Isn’t that like, messed up?” 

Everyone who wasn’t Joseph just rolled their eyes or puffed out a breath. 

“He’s new, give him a while, he’ll come around,” Isaac said, sharing glances with the guys in support of literally thinking a ghost was hot. Wes tried to hide his bewilderment. He seriously doubted he’d “come around”. What was wrong with these people? 

Joseph shoved himself away from Isaac’s grip and interlocked his arm with Wes’. 

“Fuck you guys, Wes is my new bestfriend now.” 

“Boy, you literally out here with silver hair, who’da fuck you think you foolin?” José said, jabbing a flat hand towards him.

“...Elliot said it’d help me get girls’ numbers,” he said softly, lifting his hands to tend it with a frown.  

“You actually listened to that clown?” Anthony grimaced. 

“Bro, I thought you said you liked it?” 

Anthony rolled his eyes. “Whatever.” 

“Oof, Anthony hit his word limit, guys.” Mark said. The guys broke into laughter. For the first time since moving to Amity Park, Wes actually didn’t hate being there. 

But because it was in-fact Amity Park, of course that’s when shit went sideways. 

There was an explosion from above them. Wes flinched, whipping around towards the source of the sound. The overhead lights flickered, and debris rained down on the center of the court. There was a gaping hole in the ceiling of the gym, sunlight streaming through. A huge shape flew down through the hole, stopping to float thirty feet up. The being glowed unnaturally and had what looked like a mohawk of green flames. The thing looked around, and then flew straight towards Wes and the group. Wes stumbled back into Isaac, his brain short circuiting.

“What the hell—” 

“Ghost!” someone screamed, and that’s all it took for the gym to descend into chaos. People scattered, fleeting through the nearest exits. 

But Wes and his new friends had nowhere to go. They all backed up, pushed against each other in the corner.

“Oh shit,” José said, voice hushed. “It’s Skulker.” 

“What? Who?” Wes whispered back. 

“Dude, shut up! He’s coming closer,” Joseph hissed, slapping a hand over Wes’ mouth. He didn’t even have time to be pissed about it before the ghost was right on top of them.

It grinned. The air felt heavy and Wes’ heart kicked in his chest. Its body was grey and sleek like metal. Out of all the ghosts that they could have, of course Amity had a fucking cyborg ghost. 

The ghost loomed over them. “Have any of you feeble little humans seen the Ghost Child recently?” Its voice was gruff and low, echoing horribly against Wes’ ears. Its eyes were disks of solid green burning into them as it stared. It was still smiling, jagged metal teeth gleaming in the dim reflected light. 

Wes wanted to say “no”, maybe that would make it leave, but Joey’s hand was still firmly over his mouth. The ghost leaned closer, its glare narrowing. 

“Well? Speak, you sniveling humans,” it growled. 

There was a moment’s silence, then: “recently? No.” 

Wes, along with the rest of the group’s attention snapped over in dismay to Anthony. He looked nonchalant, or would have if not for the rigidness of his arms and the tension in his brow. Their gaze slowly craned back over to the ghost, terrified of its reaction.

But the ghost leaned back, demeanor doing a complete one-eighty. “Huh, you haven’t?” Its eyes went cartoonishly big. He looked at a panel that appeared on the back of his wrist. “My scanners say he’s in the area.” The ghost tapped in the scanner a few times, before he gave up and shrugged. 

“No matter.” The cruel smile spread over its face again. “All I have to do is stir up a bit more trouble and my prey will surely appear.” 

Wes watched in horror as long wicked green blades extended out from the ghost’s arms. It closed the small gap between them, a chuckle building up from its throat—or whatever ghosts had. 

“Why hasn’t someone hit the Ghost Alarm?” Mark whispered. 

“Shh,” José snapped. 

Wes swallowed, his mouth going dry and his knees shaking. 

Yeah, he absolutely hated it here again. 

The ghost lifted a blade, resting its tip just above his collarbone. Holy shit, holy shit, holy—

Wes caught the sight of movement from behind the ghost: a flash of black and white. 

“Skulker, leave them alone,” came another echoing voice. Instead of feeling hot and stuffy a chill spread over Wes’ skin as the temperature of the gym dropped. 

The metal ghost spun around, its absence opening up the group's line of sight enough to see none other than Phantom. He was floating some ten feet away, arms crossed over his chest. He paid them no attention, his eyes fully locked on the hulking metal ghost. 

“Oh thank fuck,” Joseph breathed, relaxing enough to release Wes. 

“There you are, Ghost Child,” the cyborg said, sounding pleased. “I was wondering when you’d decide to—” Phantom became a blur. The next thing Wes knew, the huge ghost was sent flying, crashing into a wall on the right side of the gym. 

Phantom was now occupying the space the cyborg ghost had just been. He shook out his hand before curling it back into a fist. “Seriously, how many times do I have to tell you not to drag people into our shit, Skulker?” There was a beat, and Phantom looked over at them, like he’d just remembered they were there in the first place. His eyes flicked over all of them, and Wes couldn’t suppress his shiver when the ghost looked at him. 

“Oh, ‘sup. You guys might wanna, ya’know...” He jerked his head towards the closest exit. And then Phantom was gone, reappearing across the gym. The group didn’t need to be told twice, the next second they were moving. They scrambled out of the corner, practically tripping over one another. 

Wes felt like he was frozen in place. He stared dumbly at where Phantom and the metal ghost were now locked in battle. 

“Dude, what’re you waiting for? Let’s go!” José said, grabbing Wes by the arm and hauling him towards the doors. 

“Wait—” he objected weakly. His legs felt like jelly as he moved. He wanted to see the fight, see Phantom. He didn’t know why, but something in the back of his mind was screaming at him. 

He had questions.

But his new friends didn’t stop until they’d dragged him out through the metal swinging doors of the gym and into the hallway. The door slowly swung back closed, and Wes caught a glimpse of green bolts streaking like comets through the air and Phantom colliding with the ground.  

[toosicktoocare]

Prompt: Season 2 Jon being paranoid spying on Tim from a far noticing he’s acting weird/not very Tim eventually confronting him only to find out that Tim’s been acting strange is because he’s fighting off a nasty cold. Guilty Jon and some mildly grumpy Tim.

I love this prompt so freaking much!

Set in season 3 when Jon’s kinda suspecting everyone, but before everyone starts player hating on him. 

“Supplemental: Tim’s asked to leave work early. He was... quiet when he asked, almost subdued. It was quite disconcerting. He didn’t make eye contact with me when he asked, and... he didn’t call me ‘boss’ to annoy me as he usually does.”

Jon pauses, tape recorder hovering just before his lips. He’s frowning at the closed door, almost as if he can peel away the wood with his gaze alone and see what he’s promptly missing on the other side.

“He’s hiding something,” he deduces, voice quiet, speculating. “And I’m going to figure out what it is... End supplemental.”

***

“Supplemental: Tim was two hours late this morning. He practically plowed into me in the hall, and he looked like he hadn’t slept a wink. He just apologized to me under his breath and said he would skip lunch and work late to make up for it. His voice was lacking in energy, and his posture seemed rigid and distant, none of the usual too-early smiles and shoulder claps. I think... No, I know that he’s definitely wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday. Same plaid, button down, same navy trousers.”

Pausing, Jon sighs, thoughts reeling with theories he’s trying to work through. He thumbs the stop button, contemplating. “What could have kept him up at night and made him late this morning? What’s got him so on edge? What kept him from going home last night? Perhaps he knows something about Gertrude? He didn’t start acting like this until shortly after coming back from his leave. I’m... going to keep a close eye on him today. End supplemental.”

***

Jon leaves his office often throughout the day, for tea, to visit the library, anything that can have him walking by Tim’s desk. The first time he shuffles by, he spots Tim scribbling notes into a legal pad, eyes flicking back and forth from the screen to the paper. Tim doesn’t acknowledge his presence, which, in itself, is quite suspicious. Normally, Tim teases him with light jabs: “the monster’s emerging,” “I didn’t realize vampires could be out right now,” and, the one Jon hears the most, “Jon... Jonathan Sims? You still work here? Haven’t seen you in ages!”

The second time he walks by, Tim’s dozing, his face propped up against his knuckles. He startles awake when Jon clears his throat and masks a few coughs into his fist, wincing and apologizing.

Jon contemplates questioning him right then and there, too eager to discover just what exactly is going on, but then Elias rounds the corner, and he’s got a familiar look in his eyes, one Jon immediately squares his shoulders at. He’s carted off to a brief meeting with the library staff, annoyed at the interruption.

The third time he walks by on his way back from the meeting, Tim shoots a panicked look toward him when he rounds the corner and immediately shoves something into his desk drawer. There’s an air of tense silence that flutters over the two, and it’s in that moment that Jon decides he’s going to confront him today.

***

Keeping his word, Tim works an hour past quitting time, and Jon knows that Tim didn’t leave the building for lunch as he’s been watching him for the better half of the day. He slips out of his office, prepared to corner Tim at his desk, but he pauses when he spots that the desk is empty. He spares a quick glance around before briskly walking toward the desk and trying the drawers, finding each one locked.

“Damn,” he mutters under his breath. It’s only two minutes past six, so Tim can’t have gotten far. He keeps the brisk walk up when he exits the building, just barely spotting Tim rounding a corner across the street. He only spares a half glance at the road before starting across the street in a light run, waving apologetically at a few honking cars. His lungs are burning slightly when he meets the other side, his stiff body cracking uncomfortably, but he keeps the pace, whipping around the corner.

Tim’s only a few feet ahead of him, and he sucks in a deep breath and shouts his name, slowing to a walk when Tim freezes and spins around with a frown.

“Jon? What’s-” Tim’s unable to finish his sentence, overcome by a coughing fit that Jon doesn’t pay any mind to, the gears in his own mind already whirling far too quickly.ti

“You’re hiding something,” Jon spits out, a dangerous timbre to his voice, and Tim’s face twists from surprise, to confusion, then holding mild annoyance.

“Excuse me?” Tim matches Jon’s tone, and he cocks his head to the side, shivering slightly and pulling his jacket a little tighter around himself.

“You haven’t been yourself,” Jon starts, mentally ticking off each unusual scenario that’s led him to this conclusion. “You’ve been quiet, reserved even. You left early yesterday, and you were two hours late this morning, wearing the same clothes you wore yesterday. So I ask, Tim,” he pauses, voice low and just barely audible over the traffic beside them, “what were you doing at all hours of the night? And, what were you trying to hide from me in your desk drawer?”

Tim reaches into his coat pocket, and Jon’s entire body goes rigid. Is Tim going to pull out a knife and try to kill him? Or, maybe he’ll pull out a gun, the same gun that was used to kill Getrude. Was he right in his theory that Tim knows what happened to Gertrude? That Tim may have been the one who killed Gertrude? Does Tim have a thing for harming archivists? What dark story has Tim so wrapped up-

His thoughts, both current and the ones rushing forward, come to an abrupt halt when Tim presses a small box of paracetamol tablets into his palm. Frowning, Jon brings the box up to his eyes, and despite his best efforts of finding some unearthed, hidden meaning behind it, it is, in fact, just a box of medicine.

“What...?”

“Paracetamol?” Tim starts, raising one brow. “Medicine used to reduce fevers? Sure you’ve heard of it?”

“Yes, I know what it is,” Jon drags out sharply. “I simply don’t...” He stops himself this time, almost unconsciously, because when he looks up from the box to Tim just as a car’s whipping by, he can see through the car’s bright headlights that Tim’s cheeks are a concerning shade of red, and he’s sweating despite the full body chills he’s trying to mask with crossed arms. 

“They’re yours,” he says, almost dumbly, and Tim sighs, wincing when the low breath pulls into a deep cough that hurts his chest.

“Great job,” he grumbles flatly. “I took some earlier and didn’t want you to see and send me home.”

Oddly, Jon’s having trouble processing Tim’s reasoning, his mind still so wound up with heightened theories. “Your clothes...” he mutters, and Tim glances down at himself, a bit self-conscious.

“Yeah, about that... I sort of passed out when I got home yesterday, and I slept straight through until morning. I didn’t intend on doing that, so I didn’t set an alarm, hence my showing up to work late.” He shivers around his words and lifts his fist to his mouth to cover a heavy cough.

“You’re ill,” Jon mutters, almost to himself, his mind slowly down to the mundane reality that Tim’s been acting so “odd,” as he thought, because he hasn’t been feeling all that well. He presses up on his feet and smooths his palm across Tim’s cheek, hissing lightly and jerking his hand back at the alarming heat. “You’re really ill, Tim. You’re burning up.”

“It’s just a nasty cold I can’t quite shake,” Tim mutters, rubbing absently at his chest. “I got the paracetamol this morning while racing to work, so I should be better soon.”

“I thought...”

“That I killed Gertrude?” Tim supplies, finishing Jon’s thought through a series of coughs.

Wincing, Jon drags his eyes to the ground, pretending that the sidewalk is far more interesting to look at for he can’t quite life his head under the muted pressure of guilt pushing down on him.

“I’m... sorry,” he mumbles, clearing his throat, daring to push against the icy pressure of guilt to meet Tim’s eyes. “I’ve been preoccupied with-”

Tim stops Jon with one, shaking hand. “Save it for another time, Jon. It’s freezing, and I’m not sure how much longer I’ll be standing upright.”

Jon can see, now, that Tim’s swaying slightly, one hand presses to his forehead. He gnaws at his lip, glancing around, feeling terribly out of his element. “Do you, um, do you need to go to a clinic? Hospital?”

“I don’t,” Tim stops, turning away from Jon to cough harshly into his arm, “think so,” he rasps out, breathing a little too loudly for Jon’s liking.

“Let’s... You should... Let me take you back to the Archives, and I’ll phone a cab.” Jon’s guilt is morphing with a tight knot of concern deep within his stomach. “You shouldn’t be walking like this or taking the tube.”

“Fine,” Tim sighs. “I’ll go to ease your guilty conscious.” He manages a smirk, and Jon shoots a brief, sharp stare before guiding Tim safely back across the street, keeping one hand awkwardly planted to the small of Tim’s back, aware it won’t do much, but hopeful it will bring an ounce of comfort to Tim’s shivering body.

It’s not until they are back inside, with Tim huddled atop a floor vent that’s sputtering out hot air, and Jon’s already phoned with a cab that Tim tries to address Jon’s behavior, something Jon reluctantly expected.

“So you think that we are all suspects?”

“I...” Jon sighs, leaning against the receptionist desk, arms hugging himself defensively. “I don’t know what to think.” The knowledge is still new, still a fresh wound ripping angrily across his thoughts. The mere moment he was informed of Gertrude’s body, he shifted to high alert, suddenly seeing everyone differently, taking account to how his staff walked, how they talked to him, how they even looked when entering and exiting the archives. Yet, there’s a smaller voice, one that he keeps shoving away, that whispers “paranoia.” No matter how hard he tries to ignore it, it comes back, a perk, he thinks, of his mind’s necessity to consider all factors.

“Christ, Jon, I wouldn’t have asked if I had known you would get lost in your own head.”

Jon blinks slowly, the room around him coming back in slow waves. He turns to see Tim with one hand at the door, a cab waiting right outside.

“Sorry,” Jon mutters, clearing his throat. “You can... call... if you need anything.”

“Martin’s already got that covered,” Tim sighs, patting his coat pocket where his phone is resting. “He stole my phone when I dozed off at my desk and created a speed dial with his number.”

“Right,” Jon draws out, feeling suddenly drained, a consequence, he assumes, of spending an entire day lost among theories. “Well, I’ll speak to Elias on your behalf, so take as long as you need to recover.”

“You’ll speak to Elias about what?”

Tim breaks Jon’s gaze, looking past him, and Jon whips around to see Elias approaching the two.

A different feeling hits Jon square in the chest, one he’s familiar with anytime Elias approaches his staff, and unspoken drive to protect. He looks over his shoulder, mouthing for Tim to go.

“Right,” Tim says, almost hesitantly. “Bye then.” He opens the door, stopping when Elias speaks, his legs unable to move.

“Do feel better, Tim. You look quite dreadful.”

Tim doesn’t respond, slipping out the door with a wordless shudder that Jon watches with a frown.

“Glad to see that you’re still here, Jon. I’ve picked out a few statements I’d like you to review.”

“Now?” Jon asks, taking a moment to glance over his shoulder just as the cab pulls away.

“If it isn’t any trouble,” Elias says.

Despite the clear ‘out’ Elias gives him through words alone, Jon knows how to pick out Elias’s true intentions not by his words, but by the finality of his tone. So, he follows because while he sees everyone as a suspect, he’s got a gut feeling, one that’s overwhelming, that Elias is, and should be, suspect number one.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

Cherry Coke Special: Eight

A/N: Short Chapter today. My brain is really struggling.

Bucky watched you work for a second, wading efficiently into the mess of endless receipts and papers, setting it all to rights.

“Sparky?” he asked, amused. He hadn’t known you had a nickname of any description. He had pet names for you, but he hadn’t known anyone else did. 

You smile a little, “I started working Res Care while  I was still in college. I used to work with kids. So, I also had some really nifty rainbow glitter-covered Converse... So all my kids tended to call me Sparkles. When I got my bachelor’s degree, I started here at Horizons. Hourly, running medical appointments for Clients. I still had those same shoes... and some other sparkly ones people got for me. So the nickname stuck. It’s just since been shortened to Sparky.”

Bucky snorted, “And here I thought you electrocuted yourself or something.”

“No, not since high school.” You say this blandly, without looking up from your paper and Bucky waits for you to elaborate. But you don’t, and he leans back and regards you for a second. He wants to know. He desperately wants to know. Mostly because he loves it when you tell stories. But with no explanation forthcoming, his mind runs rampant. Everything from fucking around with a light socket or a freak vibrator accident. He just. He really wants to know. 

You lean back in your chair and sigh, rubbing the back of your neck, looking over your work. You don’t immediately notice the girl bounding over to the counter. You stop and look up at her, raising an eyebrow, “Boss,” she said, “Tatum broke the dishwasher.”

You sigh, “How?” you ask, pinching the bridge of your nose for a second.

“I dunno, it just won’t start,” she answered.

“And what makes you think I can fix it?”

She shrugs, “You can fix anything.”

You haul yourself to your feet slowly and pad around the desk, stocking feet silent on the tile. “Some people’s Children,” you grouse, walking into the kitchen.

Bucky half turns to look through the lifted kitchen grate and watches you inspect the dishwasher for a second and roll your eyes before putting the door up and pushing against it firmly with your hip and pressing start.

“Hooray!” the little blonde in the kitchen yells.

“Shhh,” you prompt, “Ya doofus.”

“Thanks, boss,” Both girls chorus, going back to cleaning the kitchen.

“Yeah yeah,” you say yawning. You feel a little laggy and slow still. Like you’re running through syrup.

Sharon stuck her head out of the med room and chuckled, “Y/N, go home, mama. You need to sleep.”

“No, I need to get this done so I can sleep tomorrow,” you tell her as you drop back into your chair and tuck your feet underneath you, tucking your hands into your hoodie pocket as you look over your stacks of papers.

Bucky pulls your chair closer to his and cupped your cheek in his hand, “What do you need, baby?” he asked. 

“Nothing,” you tell him, kissing his palm, “I’m just tired.”

“You hungry? Need something to drink?” he pressed, rubbing his thumb against your cheekbone with a soft smile.

“No,” you answer with a sigh, “I just really really need to finish this. The longer I sit here, the more tired I get.”

Bucky kisses your nose and smiles, “No wonder,” he says gently, “Getting up early in the morning and going to work then coming back. What can I do?”

“I dunno,” you say, tilting your head gently to coax your neck into popping. 

“Well,” he said, “How about I get out of your hair so you can work, and then I come back to pick you up when you get done.”

“Okay,” you say, nodding, looking back towards the desk with a sigh.

“Besides,” he rumbled, petting your stomach, “After working all night, the little one will probably really like some breakfast.”

“Probably,” you snort fondly.

Bucky smiled and stole his goodnight kiss before standing up and putting on his jacket, “Text me when you’re finishing up, sweetheart, and I’ll come to get you. I don’t want you taking the train that tired.”

“I’d be okay.”

“I know you would. I’m worried about anyone stupid enough to fuck with you,” he teased.

You snort and stifle a yawn with effort as he lopes out the door. 

____________

By morning when you texted Bucky, and you were waiting outside watching the sunrise spill over the horizon, you felt okay. Tired but less laggy. Alert- ish. 

But still, when you felt someone walk up behind you, you didn’t have time to react before someone had jabbed a needle into your neck. And after that, you didn’t know anything else. 

At least not until you wake up zip-tied to a chair with a pounding headache. For a moment, it’s hard to get your eyes to focus, and all you can see is gilded paintings and garish carpet. 

“What-” you groan unable to get the rest of that sentence out.

“Oh good, you’re awake,” a voice said, sounding frankly relieved. It’s enough to make you try and pull your head upright again and turn towards the sound, “Easy, Sweetheart, I know.” It’s not a voice you recognize, but it’s nice. Motherly. “Take your time,” it said gently, “We’ve got a little time. I doubt they want us dead. If they did, they’d not have put us in a room with so much carpet.”

You snort, “That’s a comfort,” you answer, stretching your neck.

“Oh good,” she sighed, “you have a sense of humor.”

“I’m sorry, but- what the fuck?”

She chuckled; ordinarily, she didn’t approve of swearing. But under the circumstances, she could understand.

“Deep breath,” she said, “It’s just some turf war nonsense. Probably Rumlow and his guys.”

“Okay, but Rumlow runs drugs. Why does he care if Bucky’s trafficking guns and cars?”

“Because where Bucky is, Rumlow can’t be. Bucky minds his turf too well,” she answers.

“Follow up question,” you say, stretching your neck.

Shoot,” she says, watching you. Amused and thankful that you aren’t in hysterics. And that you were wearing something that hid your stomach. It was likely that Rumlow’s guys hadn’t realized you were knocked up.

“Who are you?”

And practical. She was thankful you were practical.

“I’m Winnifred, dear,” she said kindly. 

“Pleased to meet you,” you say, trying to smile around the headache. 

“Likewise,” she said, smiling a little. “Do you know how to get out of zip ties?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, “my brother made sure I knew how.”

She nods, “Start working on that and keep your arms behind your back,” she instructs gently, “We probably won’t be here long once Bucky figures out we’re missing. Where’d they grab you from anyway?”

“Outside work,” you say yawning so hard your jaw cracks, “I was running an overnight getting stuff squared away for State.”

She smiles a little, “You just don’t have any luck with the backside of that building.”

“Right?”

She snorted, “You okay? They didn’t hit you?”

“I mean they didn’t have to. They knocked me out, and I went down before I knew what was happening.”

She nods, less worried. She didn’t want to see what was going to happen if Rumlow’s guys, and she was sure it wasn’t Rumlow. Just a couple of his younger, more hot-headed goons, had actually done anything to hurt you. Or your baby. She might not necessarily agree with Bucky deciding to raise this kid with you but, she could see your appeal. A pretty face and a good mind. Good qualities in a mob wife, if she said so herself.

Your zip tie around your wrists hits the floor and you pick it up, slipping it into the pocket of your hoodie easily.

“I’m surprised you can still bend down that fast,” she said a little impressed.

“Only if I don’t think about it,” you tell her.

“Do you know what you’re having yet?” she asked, also dimly aware that she was impressed with how subtle you were getting your hands free. 

“A baby,” you answer smiling, “Which is a shame I was hoping for a velociraptor.”

She rolls her eyes, “Smart ass,” she said without any heat. She could definitely see your appeal to her son.

[imaginesmai]

Tony Stark-Out in space

I’ve never written for RDJ, but I have a recent obssesion with him. So, if you’re up for any requests, please let me know!

Plot: Tony is trapped in space, and his biggest worry is not how to get back home, but rather if you’re going to make it. Because there is more than one problem he has to face.

Warnings: I don’t feel like I have to do this, but still: ENDGAME SPOILERS, and sadness but also fluff.

“I’m not hungry”

“Try saying that to your growling stomach, it begs to differ” his cocky attitude came back, and you smiled through the pain and the fear.

“Really Tony, I’m not hungry. I feel like I might throw up if I eat anything else. Please, take it” you pushed the silver envelope towards him. “I don’t want it”

Tony’s brown eyes fixed on your pale face and tried to distinguish the sickness from the huger, wondering if that awful packed food would really make you throw up. The silence in that dammed ship was deafening, not even the main pilot or the movement of the machine filling it any more.

You curled farther into the blanket, wanting to get every inch of warmth it could offer you. When you had woken up that morning (a week ago? A month? You couldn’t be sure anymore), you hadn’t thought you would end up trapped in the middle of nowhere with just the thin shirt you used to your morning run.

“You haven’t eaten anything since yesterday” he pointed out, not giving up so easily. He was bending in front of you, the frown of his face not giving away the discomfort of his knees and back.

“Neither have you” you whispered, wanting to close your eyes. “Please, love, I just want to take a nap.”

“That’s not the best idea, you’ve just woken up”

There was no possible way to know how long you had been on that ship, neither what time of the day it was. The same routine every day, trying to remain a little normality between your despair; getting up, eat something, playing that stupid game, trying to find a way out, eat something or nothing, talk, and go to bed. Or just close your eyes until you fainted of exhaustion, that worked too.

“Y/N, don’t-“

A sudden movement of the ship threw Tony on top of you, and you rolled a few inches to the left. The cans that had been stacked up so carefully by your boyfriend fell to the floor with a metallic noise, and even the blankets that Tony had pilled in case of an emergency moved.

Tony’s elbow made a strange noise when it bended in a strange way, as he tried to avoid his weight crushing you. You let out a small scream, and your hands gripped Tony’s shirt as if your life depended on it.

The movement stopped and you breathed relived, but didn’t move from your place. You were tucked between Tony and the wall, his hand holding you steady and protecting the most precious thing that was in that ship.

“It’s over” you said, and you moved your hand to touch Tony’s cheek. The beard tickled your hand, and he nuzzled his head against it. What had been a small goatee, was then a full beard, small white hairs sticking out. 

His eyes moved franatically across your face, almost if he needed to make sure you were okay. Since he was stabbed back in Titan and the moon had been thrown on him, he had been much more clingy. 

“Tony, love, it’s over. We’re fine. It was just a small turbulence.”

“Or not” he crocked out. “Last time it happened we were spiralling for hours”

“But this time it won’t happen”

“But you bled”

There was such a strong feeling on the last word that you heart clenched, and you tightened your grip around Tony. You had bled a lot of times; as a child, you were a clumsy child who fell all the time, so your knees were permanently scratched. As a teenager, you used to hit yourself with every surface, turning out in mysterious cuts every week. And as an adult, avenger and Tony Stark’s girlfriend, the problems kept coming. Broken bones, concussions, internal bleedings and superficial wounds were a part of your life, and Tony hadn’t ever freak out so much until he saw you being dragged up by that space ship with the doctor.

It was not the same, he told you. Because one thing is bleeding by a wound he could see, and another different was to bleed down there. Down there was the most important thing for Tony and you in that moment, and he didn’t want to risk it ever again.

“It was nothing, I was okay” you assured him, even if there was no medical way of knowing that. “It keeps growing, it’s okay”

You heard Tony trying to calm his breath, trying to avoid the panic attack that had been chasing him since Thanos appeared on Earth. The kid’s death, Doctor strange decision, the possibility of not coming back. And, above all of that, his pregnant girlfriend who had had the misfortune of crossing Thanos’ radar.

Tony hummed as you ran your hand through his tangled hair. You wanted a lot of things; a shower, because you were sure you would have to get a haircut if you didn’t brush your hair soon. You wanted hot chocolate with strawberries, or maybe with wiped cream; or just strawberries, and Cheetos with milk. The cravings of your pregnancy were being really strong, and you were dying to have some of them. Or a proper place to throw up, not the small bucket Tony had managed to get you. Besides, your clothes were becoming too tight.

But if there was a thing you really wanted, was to see Tony smile. It seemed that it had been ages since you saw him laughing, with his eyes crinkled and dimpled showing. You held him for as long as he wanted, until he felt confident enough to open his eyes and face the world once more. Or what was left of it.

“I’m sorry”

“No, it’s okay” you assured him, as he got up. “You’re allowed to break down, Tony. I spent the first day here crying until I fainted.”

“Yeah, don’t remind me” he gave you a tight smile, and offered you his hand.

You let him pull you up with some effort, since both of you were too weak to function normally. Once you were on your feet, Tony wrapped his arms around you in a surprise hug and pressed you against his chest, kissing your head quickly before letting go. You stood there as he walked back to the metal table in the middle of the ship, astonished at the sudden show of affection.

“What was that for?” you wondered as you followed his steps.

“It’s called affection, and I have a free pass since you decided to stick with me” he said, sitting on the bench and stretching out. “Did you know that hugs improve your immune system? They also avoid dementia and rejuvenate your body. Not really sure about last one, but I’ve noticed the greys hair on my beard and I’m getting concerned.”

“That’s what usually age does to people” you chuckled, and sat in the same bench. Carefully, you put one leg on each side and ignored the urging need to throw up from the little movement. “Wait until the crinkles arrive”

Tony scrunched his nose and pouted, giving you a sharp look before putting his elbows on the table.

“The only good part about dying in here is that you won’t have to see that” he tried to joke, but he didn’t smile. “You can’t leave me now because I’m too old to get it up”

“I’m not going to leave you” you chuckled. “I’ve seen you throw up all over yourself and inside the suit. You’re stuck with me, Tony.”

He finally met your eyes, and you noticed that they were glassier than usual. Without thinking, one of your hands made its way to your stomach, slightly bulged because of the baby that was growing inside. Something in the air changed, as if it had suddenly become thicker, and Tony gave you the most sincere look he had ever had.

“And I’m so glad to have you” he said, voice thick with emotion. “So glad. I’m gonna get us out of here, Y/N, I promise. I’m going to take you somewhere safe.”

You knew that the guilt had been there since the moment one. Since that doctor appeared through a portal and took Tony away. Since he met you again in the middle of the streets, trying to find if he was okay. It crushed him when he saw the sickening smirk on that blue monster’s face, who took you along with Strange. The screams, the tears, it would all haunt him until he stopped breathing; which, according to his maths, would happen soon.

The ship had only limitated food, air and your minds could stay sane for so long. 

Tony wanted to cry. He thought that the worst had passed when Pepper left him, or when Steve had betrayed him for Bucky. Then, seeing you lose the brightness of your eyes and the hope was much more painful.

In a quick movement, he was up and took the forgotten silver bag with the food, and walked back to the table. You didn’t say anything as he opened it, the bitter smell reaching your nostrils. Trying to avoid the need of throwing up, your focused on Tony’s fingers. You had always admired how fast they worked, and enjoyed watching him in silence for hours. Right then, they were full of bruises from fiddling so much trying to find a solution. One of his nails was purple, and most of his pads were bloody. He still managed to open the bag without asking for help.

“I’m not going to eat that, love” you tried reasoning with him, not taking the envelop from his hands.

“Y/N” he pleaded with his eyes, pushing it towards you. “I won’t- I can’t eat it if I know you’re hungry. Please, I-I… Just take it”

You wondered for a second if it was really worthy. You were hungry, of course; in your third month of pregnancy, it felt as if you had inside a food vacuum rather than a baby. But you had noticed Tony’s thin arms and weak legs. And there wasn’t much food left.

“Only if we share it” you sighed, giving up. “I’ll eat if you do too.”

“Just like our first date? I thought you wanted to forget that” Tony joked, trying to give you a real smile.

The memory was funny enough to make it real. Your first date had gone as bad as it could; raining, no car because Happy had fallen asleep, rude waitress and neither of you had money to pay for the dinner. It had ended with a rushed run to the compound where you had dried up in the shower, between a very heated make out session. Since then, your relationship had been filled with jokes and happiness.

“I would kill for a burger” you whined, taking the first sip. “With cheese, lettuce and, oh god, cheetos. I need something with cheetos.”

“I felt sorry for you at the beginning on the sentence” he chuckled, the bag back on his hand. “But now I feel like grounding you to the back of the ship until we go back. And when we do so, I’m locking you up and calling the food crimes department.”

“Oh, don’t act so cool now” you rolled your eyes. Tony took a sip of the food, yet you noticed it was merely the half of what you had taken. “I’ve seen you dip muffins on Martinis”

“First, that was a low blow, I’m never letting you see the private footages again” Tony pointed a finger at you. “Second, I was drunk, so that doesn’t count. Delete that from your memory. Erase. It has to disappear. Like, right now. Imperious necessity.”

You laughed softly, and accepted the food back. As the hours passed by, you noticed that you were the only one eating. Tony pretended to have some, and you weren’t sure if he really took it into his mouth and then put it back or had just some trick to make it seem as if he was eating. Still, he managed to take some gulps without feeling the weight of stealing food from his kid and his future wife.

His eyes drifted to your ring finger, empty and tanned by the soft sun you enjoyed in his private pool. Back in Earth, in his penthouse room and behind the drawer of the ties, hidden by the most horrendous one, was kept the small red box he had bought two years ago.

Tony had been meaning to ask you for so, so long he had actually forgotten. Loki, Ultron, the accords, Steve, the kid… It was a miracle that he had even gotten the ring, and he had been delaying the moment for too long.

He understood that, when you cuddled that night in the cold floor. The sky above him was beautiful, and he would love for you to watch it too. But he could notice from miles away your tiredness; and also, the sickness he didn’t want to talk about. You had bled, while having a child inside you, and he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. He got stuck holding your hair up while you threw up everything you ate, or holding you as you cried because of the pain. Tony didn’t know how long it would take him to figure a way back, and he had even prepared a small place for you to... deliver, just in case it was neccesary. 

Every day, he was tempted to end it. He wanted to just let himself float away, open the damn gate and end the suffering. You and the growing child were what stopped him; what made him put the huger aside, the stab wound and the fear, and focus only on getting back.

That was his hope, his motivation. To marry you back home, to create a family and give you what you deserved. Tony didn’t sleep that night; and when, finally, the blinding yellow light filled the front of the ship, he smiled. Because you were saved.

Want to know more about me? Here is my Masterlist! Feedback is always appreciated!!

[permanentcrossfics]

Blurred Lines // h.s.

“You’ve worn makeup plenty,” you said. “Haven’t they ever taken it off you before?”

“Not like this,” he murmured.

Your wrists tickled his nose and he hardly dared to breathe in case it threw off the tender, careful way you were touching him. “There we go,” you cooed. “That’s much better.”

“Can I open?”

“Not yet. Just a couple seconds more.”

“Did you get a new perfume?” Harry asked.

“Hmm?”

“S’just….” Christ, how was he going to get a foot like that out of his mouth? “Y’smell nice or summat.”

You didn’t say anything and again heat bloomed in his face.“Probably my moisturizer,” you said. Was it him or were you breathless? “Don’t move.”

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The shoot had gone late, so he was running late. When you’d said he could come over at six — that you’d be back from the gym and all cleaned up — he knew he should have suggested seven at the very earliest. Between the traffic to Brooklyn and the traffic out, he was fucked, but he’d been in town for nearly a week and hadn’t seen you once. If there was anything that made him look forward to coming here, it was you. Six was too early, but he’d do anything to spend a few more hours with you before he had to jet off, literally. And then the shoot had run late, which was why he was still scrubbing his face to try to get the black off his eyes, but all that seemed to do was make him look like Gemma after she and her first boyfriend split.

Good enough. It would have to do. His hair was still crunchy from spray and other products, but most of the makeup was gone and probably, hopefully, wouldn’t even be all that noticeable anyway. What he wouldn’t give to be able to use the damn subway to beat the traffic, but he clambered into the back of the town car all the same and his leg bounced the whole way over the bridge. He’d already asked the driver to take him to a new address instead — he’d pay the same, he swore — and when he pulled up in front of your building, he said goodnight in a way that made it clear he wasn’t coming down again.

You buzzed him in nearly instantly, and when he got to your floor, your door was propped open with a book.

“Pretty sure this isn’t what I wanted you to do with this,” he said, holding the door open while bending to pick it up.

“Pretty sure I can do whatever I—“

He stood to his full height, butterflies bursting in his stomach at the first sight of you he was getting in nearly a month and a half. You had on a t-shirt and pajama shorts and your eyes were sparkling, but when he started to smile, you laughed and gave him a look that had the tips of his ears burning.

“Are you…?”

“What?” Harry huffed, locking the door and throwing the chain on.

Eyebrows high on your forehead and mouth quirked, you shook your head. “Nothing, it’s just… I just….”

“What?”

“You’ve got—“ You gestured around your eyes and he pursed his lips, face hot.

“Still?”

You nodded.

“S’funny,” he said. “Took it off, so—“

“With what? A blade of grass?”

You laughed and he had the distinct feeling this was the least cool he’d ever felt in front of someone he fancied.

“Whatever they gave me,” he said. “I had a shoot.”

“I figured,” you said. “Though I wouldn’t hate it if you told me you were trying this out.”

You wouldn’t?

He tucked that piece of information away. Later….

“Your eyes are red,” you said.

“Scrubbed,” he said. “Really did try to get it all….”

You held your hands out and he stared.

“Come,” you said softly. You wiggled your fingers. “I wanna show you.”

He set the book on the table just inside your flat before taking your hands and you pulled him into the bathroom. You tapped the light on and he winced from the brightness but chortled immediately upon catching sight of himself.

“Well,” he said, blinking furiously as his eyes adjusted. “Yeah. Guess I didn’t get much of it, did I?”

Under the harsh fluorescents, he could see exactly how bad off he was. His eyes were red, and the black looked like he’d run a sharpie around but had gotten lazy and hadn’t bothered finishing the job to wash it off. His hair was another mess entirely, but that at least wasn’t new.

“Take your jacket off,” you said, pulling a basket out from underneath your sink. He shook it off his shoulders while you rummaged and examined a few bottles and pots. “Do you want to take your shirt off?” you asked. “Could get messy.”

His light blue button up and his newly acquired Led Zeppelin t-shirt were next, and suddenly, he was back on set. He stared at himself, hair mussed, makeup smudged, tattooed skin full of goosebumps, and he had to admit if he were you, he’d laugh, too.

“Come here,” you murmured. Harry’s eyes narrowed on your fingers, which were full of… something.

“What’s that?”

“Cleansing oil,” you said. “It won’t hurt.”

You hooked your wrists around his shoulders to draw him closer and he snapped his eyes shut just before your fingers made contact. He swayed before grasping your hips, and he held firmly as you rubbed the gentlest circles over his eyes.

“You’ve worn makeup plenty,” you said. “Haven’t they ever taken it off you before?”

“Not like this,” he murmured.

Your wrists tickled his nose and he hardly dared to breathe in case it threw off the tender, careful way you were touching him.

“There we go,” you cooed. “That’s much better.”

“Can I open?”

“Not yet. Just a couple seconds more.”

“Did you get a new perfume?” Harry asked.

“Hmm?”

“S’just….” Christ, how was he going to get a foot like that out of his mouth? “Y’smell nice or summat.”

You didn’t say anything and again heat bloomed in his face.

“Probably my moisturizer,” you said. Was it him or were you breathless? “Don’t move.”

Your fingers were gone first and then you were, too, and he was standing blind and untethered in your bathroom. A cupboard shut and then the tap turned on, and seconds later a warm, wet washcloth was over his eyes. He flinched and you snickered under your breath but wiped slowly — all along his undereyes, his inner corners, and across his lids.

“You can open.”

Harry blinked rapidly as you washed the cloth in the sink, peering critically through blurry eyes. Huh. Well, yeah. He supposed that was better.

“Thanks,” he said.

“We’re not done,” you said. You turned a bottle over onto a cotton pad and a thin stream of clear liquid squirted onto it.

“S’that?”

“Micellar water.” You glanced at him and he must have looked suspicious, because you clarified. “Takes off the rest,” you said. “Close your eyes.”

“Does it burn?”

You snorted. “No,” you said in such a way that he had no choice but to trust you. “Close your eyes.”

He did as you asked and the hair on the back of his neck stood on end when, just before the cotton pad touched his skin, you whispered, “I wouldn’t hurt you,” under your breath. Hands on your hips again, he held firm as you swiped the pad repeatedly.

You had to have swapped it at some point, because there was a gap in your care before you resumed, and when you uttered a small, “Open,” he did so, rolling his eyes around to clear them out. You smiled — a shy, warm, close-lipped one — and twisted your torso without pulling out of his grasp to get a bottle with a pump out of the basket.

“Do you want to do this part?” you asked.

“What is it?”

“Just face wash.”

“Oh.” He looked at the pink gel in the bottle. “You can do it. F’you wanna.”

You smirked but dispensed a good amount onto your fingertips and set the bottle down before rubbing circles on the apples of his cheeks.

“Did you shave?” you asked.

“I did,” he said.

“I can tell.”

You rubbed down and around his chin and jawline and then up over his forehead. “Have to close your eyes again,” you said. “Just in case.”

He waited until the last second, and after a few light swipes of your fingers, the washcloth was back. As soon as you’d run it over his eyes, he popped them open, and when you’d finished his cheeks, he asked, “Done?”

“Almost.” You smiled coyly and touched the tip of his nose. “Gotta do this right.”

You picked up a bottle and, like the… that other thing you’d rubbed on him before (water something), you turned it over onto a cotton pad.

“What’s this do?” he asked.

“Cleans everything up,” you said. “Makes it so your skin doesn’t freak out.” The cap snapped when you closed it. “You really can’t be this clueless about it all.”

“Have to close my eyes?” he asked.

“No.”

“Good.”

He watched you as you drew the cotton pad around his face. Every now and then, your eyes met his, but you averted your gaze almost immediately each time.

“What now?” he asked when you tossed it away. You picked up a little pot and unscrewed the top to reveal an unsettlingly pink, granular contents.

“Your lips are a little dry,” you said. “I could feel them.” You dipped your finger in and rubbed it around before holding it up. “Come here.”

Harry leaned in and you closed the rest of the distance. You scrubbed all over his lips and he pursed them with a slight frown before his eyebrows rose in surprise when you leaned in and planted the smallest kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Lick it off,” you said. “It’s sugar.”

He did as you asked, eyes locked on a cluster of granules at the side of your mouth, but you’d licked it away before he could make good on his thought.

“There,” you said at last. “Much better.”

“Thank you,” he said. “For your help.”

You smiled wanly and it looked like you were going to say something, but whatever it was, the cat got to it first.

“Might shower, f’that’s ok,” he said. “Get all this out of my hair.”

“Sure,” you said. “Can use my shampoo.”

“Wasn’t gonna ask.” Harry grinned. “Figured I’d just take it.”

You huffed but settled some when he touched your chin with his thumb. He stroked the underside of it with his forefinger and you closed your eyes. “How long are you here for?”

“Flight’s at four.”

Your eyes flew open, and even though he had no reason to feel guilty….

“In the morning?”

“Been trying to see you all week,” he said quietly.

“I know, but—” You pressed your lips together and paused. “So you’ll shower and head out?”

He ducked his head some, but you blinked evenly.

“Can stay for a bit,” he said. “Bags are packed. Just have to head back and grab them.”

You nodded and squeezed his wrists, stepping back. “I’ll let you get to it.”

You were upset, but what could he do about it? He’d tried to get to you sooner, but you’d been busy. The timing was just…. It was just what it was every time, wasn’t it? It was why things were this way to begin with.

He turned the shower on and stripped, testing the water before he got in and dunked his head under the spray. He groaned, eyes closed, and let the hot water sink into his hair until it was soaked to his scalp, and it was then he squeezed some of your shampoo out. He scrubbed as thoroughly as he could in his haste, and after a few brief runs of soap around his body, he shut the water off and grabbed a towel off the rack just outside the shower.

When he joined you in your bedroom, you were on top of your bedspread, the book you’d propped the front door open with in hand, and your window thrown wide with the curtains wound up in hopes of tempting a breeze to blow through. You glanced up and your mouth quirked.

“Looking better.”

“Yeah?”

You nodded, bending one leg to make room for him to sit on the edge of the bed, and he did so with a groan.

“Can’t pull these long days anymore,” he said and you chuckled.

“Body’s not the same?”

“Not really.”

“Shame,” you sighed. “Guess you should get going then.”

He smirked and you turned a page.

“I didn’t hate that other look, you know,” you said, and he grinned wider.

“Might’ve mentioned something about that.” He wrapped his hand around your ankle and pulled your foot closer, pressing his thumbs in, and instantly, your eyes rolled up. “Good?” he asked and you nodded.

He kneaded up and down the sole of your foot, watching your chest rise and fall slowly, until….

“I thought we had more time,” you said.

He ran his thumb deep through the center of your foot and your throat bobbed before you went on.

“I didn’t know you were leaving tonight.”

“Been calling since Wednesday,” he reminded you.

“Yeah, but—” You clamped your mouth and huffed, and his skin prickled when you turned your shining eyes towards the ceiling and his own dropped to where his hands were busy. He didn’t want to see you cry — he couldn’t stand it, and if you did….

“I’ll be back,” he said, fingers white underneath his nails from how intently he was pressing. “Maybe you’ll pick up next time.”

He’d meant it as a joke but you gulped visibly and his fingers stopped. “Hey.” He floundered after that, though, because what else could he say? Anything more was a promise he might not be able to keep, and he wouldn’t do that to you or to himself. Licking his lips, he said, “Hauled my ass across Brooklyn lookin’ like a clown t’spend time with you — little bit’s better than nothing, right?”

You laughed, a watery sound, but it eased the mounting pressure in his chest. “Why don’t you come here and give me a kiss?” he asked. “Been waiting a long time for that.”

Almost immediately, you closed your book and turned onto your knees to crawl close enough to throw your leg over his waist, and he grasped your ass firmly when you cupped his cheeks. Your lashes were damp and clumped together, but you leaned in before he could work out whether he should say something or not. Soft, sweet, and a little restrained, warmth flooded him and he swallowed a groan. A month and a half too long, and he had no idea when he’d be back for sure, but he would do anything to get any time at all. He’d even show up with all his makeup on if it got you to love him like that.

You wrapped one arm around his neck and he leaned back, rolling you both over in the process so he was sprawled half on top of you. His towel had fallen open in the process, but you were both far from even pretending to care, and his barely hard cock pressed into the soft, warm, supple skin of your leg when he peppered kisses down your jaw and neck.

His turn to treat you gently.

“S’a good girl,” he slurred. “Missed you... like….” Like what? Caught up in kisses, brow furrowed deep in thought, he couldn’t compare the way he’d missed you to anything or anyone he’d ever missed before. He’d missed you like he’d missed you — deeply, completely, aggravatingly, achingly. Texts with jokes, and memes, and a few lines here and there weren’t enough. Calling you when he was drunk enough — brave enough — just to hear your voice when you mocked him was starting to not do the trick.

Business didn’t bring him here much, though, and outside of that, he’d have to make a point of coming back for you, and that…. Neither of you were ready for that.

“Missed you, too… fuck….”

It was quiet, halfway between a whisper and a groan, but it made his throat close and he pressed his forehead into your breasts over your t-shirt. He’d do anything for a little, but a little wasn’t enough. You wriggled underneath him and it was then he sat up some to let you pull your t-shirt up your torso by the hem. He helped yank it over your head, and when it was off, he cupped one of your breasts and immediately bent to pull a nipple into his mouth. Stiff between his lips, he circled it with his tongue, smirking into your skin when your back arched, and he released it with a wet pop before pressing kisses all over your breast and in the valley between them.

“Harry,” you whispered and he grumbled wordlessly in his throat, refusing to pull his mouth from your skin as he moved down your stomach. His fingers practically shook when he hooked them into the waistband on your shorts and you lifted from the bed to help him get them off. He kissed your bare hip, then, and you dug your hand into the wet hair at the nape of his neck.

“Better,” he said, kissing low on your abdomen. “So much better….” Nose digging in, he opened his mouth and dragged his teeth over your skin, and you tightened your fingers in his hair. “Won’t hurt you,” he mumbled. “Wouldn’t ever hurt you….”

Gently, he drew his fingers over your slit, and he smiled tremulously when the pads of them dipped between your slick folds. Holding his breath, he probed inside you, clenching his jaw when you, in turn, clenched around them. You were hot and wet — his favorite things not just about a cunt, but yours in particular — and you were smooth and seemingly endless. He was up to his knuckles and he was barely reaching all the way inside you. He hooked his fingers and you gasped as he pumped them gently before pulling them out all the way. Wet from knuckle to tip, when he separated them, a string of you pulled between them in a way that went straight to his balls. His mouth watered and he only just slipped them into his mouth before you were tugging him up from underneath his arms. He scrambled clumsily while sucking and stroking his tongue over his fingers in earnest, and you wrapped your legs around his waist to pull him between your thighs just as he let go of them.

“Stop dicking around,” you said, breath hitching and arms draping over his shoulders.

“S’called foreplay, innit?”

“We don’t have— oh…!” Sharp and sudden, you cried out when he pushed inside you, and he struggled to keep his eyes from rolling up so he could watch yours do the same, mouth stretched wide and throat bobbing. “We don’t have time…” you said at last, grunting when he angled his hips and nudged deeper. Just as hot, wet, and smooth as before, but this time he was reaching all the way inside of you without even trying.

And the feeling… Christ, you had no idea how good you felt. When you two had decided to skip condoms, he didn’t remember — but he wasn’t fucking around with anyone else, even with months between, and you weren’t, either. If he only got this now and then, he didn’t want to waste time wrestling with a piece of tinfoil (not that he hadn’t enjoyed the excuse of having your hands on his cock to roll it on), or running to the shop when drawers turned up empty.

“Have as much time as I s-say.” Harry stuttered when he thrust again, having barely pulled out, and you clenched around him, squeezing his cock firmly inside you. “My flight t’miss, innit? F’I wanna fu—”

He shuddered when you strained to land a kiss on his jaw, and he turned his mouth into yours to return it with a searing force. Far from the gentle one you’d given him moments ago -- he wanted to kiss, and he wanted to be kissed. He wanted to feel the shape of your mouth bruised into his when he was sitting bleary-eyed in the lounge waiting for his flight, he wanted to have a reason to have him seriously consider bolting from the airport, he wanted a reason to come back.

He wanted a reason to miss his fucking flight, and he almost — almost — had it.  

“You know how I— how I feel about you?” he said between deep breaths. “Don’t have t’say it, do I?”

You shook your head, sighing when he thrust hard and he stilled momentarily, bringing your leg up higher around his waist.

“Ok,” he said, jaw tight, picking up his pace once more. “Good… good… oh, God….”

He dropped his head into your neck, shuddering from head to toe, and he held tight to you, losing himself in the rhythm he was building. You smelled like sweat, and sex, and him. Good. He’d rub all over you and leave himself behind and take you with him, at least for a little while.

The satisfaction he got at the idea of encountering a fan and having them report to the world on Twitter what he smelled like and knowing it was you they were talking about was immense.

“Ungh!” You grunted and patted his back. “R-roll over.” You patted him again and he groaned. “Roll over, please… please….”

He almost didn’t — he didn’t want to. He didn’t want to stop, he didn’t want to lose the feeling, he didn’t want to put you in a position where he wouldn’t be all over you. But you were whining so underneath him and starting to lift your hips in such a way that he had no choice. He stuttered to as standstill and trembled for a moment before he rolled sideways and brought you with him, still warm and sweaty against him, but heavy now, too. His lip curled when he fell out of you, but your kisses distracted him as you wriggled on top of him before you pushed yourself up on his chest.

“C’mere,” he breathed, eyes on your breasts. “Come, lemme….”

Sighing, you leaned forward, pulling yourself up his body slightly and alleviating some of your weight on his cock while placing yourself at the perfect height for him to latch onto your nipple. You cried out softly and he suckled, laving his tongue in repeated upwards strokes before releasing you with a wet sound.

“Go on, then,” he said, hands on your hips. “Do it yourself.”

Cock in your hand, you held him and he clenched his jaw when you opened over his head and slowly sank down. You took a deep breath above him and he practically spit through his teeth when you bore down on him. You dug your fingers into his chest and closed your eyes, lips parted, before lifting slightly and pushing back on him — slowly, easily, finding a rhythm, and killing him in the process. He exhaled through his nose, but forced himself to at least keep his eyes cracked. A month and a half gone, and who knew how long to go — he wanted to see everything.

Your nipples were pulled taut and your breasts bounced in time with each sway. Every now and then, your mouth opened with the softest, sweetest noises he’d ever heard, and one of your hands strayed to lightly tickle your stomach, your ribs, your nipples, and you shivered when you took extra time to pinch them. Your thighs dimpled slightly under his hold in a way that had his mouth watering with the urge to sink his teeth in, but his attention strayed, continually, to where he could see the base of his cock glistening just under your cunt.

His eyes snapped up when you exhaled sharply through tightly circled lips, head tipped up to the ceiling, neck long and stretched and fingers digging into his chest, under and above tattooed skin. Sweat made your forehead look as slick as your thighs felt in his hold, and he tightened his grip when your legs tensed and your pace picked up to a near frantic speed.

“Yeah?” he whispered. You nodded, shoulders shaking when your breath hitched, and you whined pitifully soft in the base of your throat as you ground against him. Eyes on you, one hand slipped from your hip to between your legs and he braced him his hand on your abdomen to rub your clit with his thumb.

“Oh, God, please…” you whispered and he ground his teeth together. The muscle between his thumb and forefinger cramped slightly but he refused to stop. Just one good one — you deserved that much out of him if it was all he could give you. “Harry, I’m gonna—“

“S’ok!” he said, hand shaking by that point. “You’re ok, you can—“

High, keening cries tumbled from you and you bucked wildly, thighs slick and nails digging and scraping in his chest. You shuddered, mouth wide open, and your shoulders slumped when you slowed, trembling in the aftermath and cunt still fluttering around him, and you pulled weakly. Harry pushed up and you whimpered but he spluttered.

“Please!” He squeezed his eyes shut and gulped. “Please, fuck, m’so close….”

Moaning between tightly closed lips, you rocked on top of him, and this time, he let himself feel the smooth way you moved and each stroke. Not as wild as before, but just enough to make him thrust in time with you. You stilled momentarily and lowered down so your chest was flat against his, and he held your ass with both his hands and guided your motions, never stopping his hips.

“Oh, please…” he said with barely moving lips. “Fuck, I wanna cum… I wanna… I want, I—-“

His pleas got progressively fainter and you placed kisses all over his neck, chin, jaw, shoulder that had his mouth opening and closing uselessly, wanting one but incapable of asking.

“Shit!”

He clamped down so hard on your ass he felt his knuckles pop, and he pushed up so firmly a long cramp pulled in the back of his leg, but he was cumming — thick, long, strong spurts that left him blind and nearly throwing you off if he didn’t have you so tightly held in his own two hands.

Cum in her cum in her cum in her. Leave that behind, too.

He exhaled through his nose, ugly and harsh, and when his muscles gave out, he lay there wheezing, fingers still grappling your ass. You were still kissing him, but now you were searching higher, and when you found his mouth, he groaned quietly and moved as best he could to return it.

“Jus’ gimme a m-minute and I can go again,” he said and you laughed softly.

“Ok.”

One minute, two minutes, twenty, a hundred. You rolled off him, both of you repositioned, you made him a coffee to keep him alert, and he hunted through your fridge for scraps of food like a dog before handing you his card to have a takeaway delivered from that Mexican place he liked.

“Not sure this is the best thing to eat before a transatlantic flight,” you said but he waved you off. When it came, he lured you back to bed with the excuse of not wanting to get his balls all over your sofa, but really? He just wanted a reason to keep you naked. You could talk without clothes with the television on low. Only the thought that this could be what it was like all the time had him retreating into a broody spell, but you pulled him out of it when you offered him a lime wedge.

You surprised him most of all when, after the food was cleared, you slid closer and wound your legs with his and settled on his chest. After the initial shock had worn off, he wrapped his arms around you and cradled you close, absorbing your chuckles into his chest. It was around one in the morning when you finally dozed off, and he spent the next half hour agonizing over whether to wake you or not. Even at this hour with the city’s scant traffic he’d be cutting it close, though, and he slowly, bit by bit, pulled himself free from you. He watched you for any sign of alertness as he pulled his clothes on again, and it was only when he was about done that he knew he had to be the one to do it if he wanted to give you both a chance to say goodbye.

“Hey….” He ran his knuckles over the back of your cheek. “M’gonna go now, yeah?”

You blinked and nodded but grasped his hand hard.

“See you next time.”

You nodded again and kept his hand held fast. He let you, too, but when your breathing started to even out again, he shook it some.

“Gotta go,” he said and his heart swelled painfully when your brow furrowed and you whined. “Be back.” He kissed your forehead several times at the hairline. “Love—“

“Mmm….” You stretched, eyes closed, and shook as if pulled by a string before collapsing. “You too.”

Harry stared, and when you opened your eyes, you smiled thinly. “Go.”

One kiss more and you let go of him to roll away, and he stood without looking back, because if he did, he’d miss his flight for sure.

Until next time.

[doriansbutt]

this was supposed to be a short chargestep thing but 2045 words later, here’s the Thing.

there was a much more intense reveal of this in my head but decided to  go with the soft instead. 

------

muscles are not supposed to scream. yet here you are, lying in bed, listening to every movement you try to make as you attempt to get comfortable, knowing it's a fruitless endeavor. it's a good thing you don't have anything planned today because you're not going anywhere like this. you pop a few painkillers and try to get a couple more hours of sleep, praying you at least won't be in as much pain when you wake next.

-----

you have no idea what time it is when you wake up. all you know is your phone is beeping--alarm? no, it's ringing, ringing. oh! it's ringing. you quickly fumble to answer it, only to realize it had stopped shortly before you picked up.  your brain does not want to work today, it seems.  scrubbing sleep from your eyes, you flip open your phone, noting it was ortega who called, and shoot him a quick text apologizing for missing his call. 

-morning sleepyhead. still on for dinner at my place tonight?-

you sigh, slowly stretching your neck, testing how much pulling those muscles still hurts. of course it does. you knew the second you woke up this morning it was going to be an awful pain day.  you decide to try a hot shower, to melt your muscles for a while, and then see if you'll be able to bring yourself to ortega's later.  yes, that seems like a doable plan. 

-----

you've been sitting on your bed in just a towel, staring at your phone just a few feet away on the nightstand for nearly an hour.  moving hurts too much. but cancelling plans hurts more for some reason. maybe it's because you were looking forward to it. maybe it's because sometimes your chronic pain makes you miss so much and you're just so tired of having to cancel things.

but you can barely walk across your room without groaning in pain. there's no way you'll be able to bring yourself all the way to ortega's like this....

ignoring the frustrated tears stinging your eyes, you suck it up and text him that you won't be able to make it after all...

you don't have time to overthink his reaction because he's texted you back so fast, and you thank some god somewhere in the back of your mind as you process his message.

 -would it be okay if i came over instead?-

ortega....in your apartment? you look around your room, wondering if it's safe, looking for any reason to turn him down despite wanting to see him.  and you do. want to see him.  there's really nothing here that would be dangerous to you for him to see; you've been very, very careful to give yourself this space...for this exact reason...

-sure. same time.-

he replies with what you assume to be some sort of smiley face of his own invention and you sigh. this is really happening. he's coming to see your apartment. he's coming to see you, but you are in your apartment and that's starting to freak you out a bit...but no time to panic. 

except maybe panic-clean as best you can.  you don't spend much time here, and it's just you here alone, so there's not much that needs doing. just a quick wipe down of surfaces and emptying the trash that's been sitting there waiting to be taken out for...a little too long. luckily the dumpster isn't so far that you hurt yourself getting there, but you are exceptionally sore and winded by the time you get back inside, so you pop a few more painkillers, hoping the hour before ortega arrives is enough for them to kick in, even a little bit.

with an hour to kill, you decide to simply set an alarm, put on your headphones, and zone out to some music as you lay on the couch with a heating pad on your back. and pray you don't accidentally fall asleep...

------

your alarm is jarring as it wrenches you from some random daydream, and you smile to yourself as ortega knocks on the door merely a minute later.  you try to stand and stretch a bit, hissing as you twist just the wrong way and it sends just the wrong kind of pain up your spine and into your shoulder.  "uh, be there in a sec!" you call, quelling any worry ortega might have that you're not answering the door right away. 

you'd hoped you wouldn't have to use them, but this pain will not relent, and so you grab your crutches hidden and tucked away in a nearby corner before making your way to the door.

ortega grins broadly when his eyes meet yours, and his expression doesn't even falter as he notes how tired you look. as you close the door behind him, he moves to wrap you in a hug but stops short, finally noticing the crutches.

"want a drink?" you ask before he can voice the question on his lips.  "i have...uh...beer? or water? that's pretty much it, sorry..." you huff an awkward, sheepish laugh.

 "beer, then," he says, slipping off his shoes.  he hovers near the entrance to the kitchen, trying to look casual as he leans against the counter but you can feel his watchful eye.  

"not gonna ask, huh?" his attempt at politeness is only making you crabby and you shove the beer bottle at him.

"teigue." he shakes his head. "you don't like to talk about things on the best of days. i don't want to push." he turns to enter the apartment proper and stops in his tracks, looking around the place in confusion.  "this...is your apartment?"

you can't help laughing.  "yeah. what about it?" you know you have a smug grin on your face and oh, how the tables have turned. he's made assumptions about you, very inaccurate assumptions, and it shows plainly on his face as he eyes your belongings.

 "it's...nice."

"fuck off with that surprised tone," you say, smacking him on the shoulder.

he keeps making little confused noises as if his brain can't decide what he wants to ask first. "you...i thought...okay..."

"yes, this is actually where i live. no, i'm not homeless. i just spend my money on other things." 

 he plops himself onto the couch, sinking into the soft cushions with a sigh. you make your way over, groaning as you sit down and try to find a comfortable position.

 "are you okay?" his brow furrows and it makes him look old. you almost comment on it, avoiding his question as you always do, but you realize this might actually be something about you he can understand...

"ah...not really." he doesn't fill in the silence that follows, but simply waits for you to continue. "just a bad pain day. uh...mods are acting up today..." they'll need to be updated soon, just a small one--something you can have eden do, fortunately. but it still sucks. it may be simple, but it's tedious, and that's something you would rather put off.

he looks at you in surprise, almost shocked to silence. almost. "mods?"

you can’t help the snark. "y'know, jumping out a fourth floor window and landing on a car kind of fucks a body up. just...saying..." the memory hurts, and from the way he looks away you know it hurts both of you.

he swallows thickly, blinking heavily.  "can i...will you tell me?" 

 you mull over it for a moment, trying to separate the matter-of-fact response from the myriad emotions it stirs up.  "broke my spine.  without mods, i'm paralyzed about mid-chest down.  i, uh...i don't exactly have access to the, uh...proper medical care right now... so they tend to cause a lot of pain sometimes..."

neither of you says anything for a long moment, and something in your head wants to make a joke about making him speechless for once, but you know this isn't the time for that.  you're trying to connect here.  he shifts, looking at you with sympathy, wanting to touch you but unsure if you're okay with that right now.

he asks, because the silence gets too much, or because he can't just sit here anymore, or...well, it doesn't matter.  what does matter is he actually asks. he doesn't move forward without your say-so. it has you feeling so soft that you can only nod, and he scoots closer and wraps his arms around you--gently, of course--and kisses the top of your head as you lean into him.

 "siento lo ocurrido, cariño..." the sentiment hangs in the air, but what he doesn't say is heavier. he's sorry. sorry for what happened. to you. to him. between you... sorry for the things he thought about you.

"napatawad na kita." its a whisper that comes so naturally you surprise yourself.

"you know i don't know what that means," ortega says with a chuckle, tightening his embrace. 

you pull yourself free, pointedly avoiding his gaze. "you're forgiven." is he though? 

"but am i forgiven by you?" that's the million-dollar-question, isn't it? he's looking at you, you can feel the intensity of it. but he doesn't give you a chance to answer; he simply pulls you close again, content to sit here in silence for a few moments more.  "what's that?" his question is sudden, breaking the silence almost immediately, and he's pointing at a covered-something against the far wall.

"my keyboard." you smirk because this is a quiet secret, a little surprise you really don't mind sharing.

"keyboard? as in..."

"as in piano, yes."

he doesn't quite seem to know how to process that.  you're very much enjoying all the loops you've thrown him for today.  "you don't--you play piano?"

 "i'm not gonna play for you."

the pout he gives you is impressive to say the least but his stomach growls and betrays him, and he blushes beautifully.  "you're right.  we need dinner."

"i...uh...don't--"

"you're right, you're in no shape to cook. it takes too much energy, and you need rest." he rises, making his way over to his phone he'd left on the kitchen counter. "i'll order something. what are you in the mood for, cariño?"  he smiles so wide, so brightly, and it hurts how much he cares right now. you're too soft right now.

-----

"i can't believe you don't have anything to put leftovers in." ortega stands in your very empty kitchen, still uselessly opening and closing empty drawers and cabinets searching for something.  "ay, no, teigue, please tell me you don't actually eat this?" he's holding up a can of soup with an embarrassingly outdated label.  "it's been expired for six years--your only answer to that question is 'no'."

"leave my eating habits out of this, old man.  just put the food away like you said you would."

he's muttering to himself in spanish, exasperated--promising to go shopping for you, commenting on how skinny you look--

you clear your throat a little too loudly and straighten your back as you sit at the piano.  it was a trade: ortega ordered food and  promised to clean up after--a meal he made sure would have lots of leftovers--if you promised to finish them instead of just throwing it all away, and provide a little background music while he cleaned. the tune starts softly, gently, something simple, but soon you've lost yourself in the song.  so much that you don't even notice ortega standing right beside you until you finally sit back and release the breath you were holding a the same time you release the last note.

 "beautiful." 

you groan. "this is not a romantic movie, ricky. you better not be secretly talking about me with that."

"hm, it's no secret. but the song was beautiful too. thank you." his hands rest on your shoulders, gently squeezing. too romantic.

"uhm...thanks..." it's been a too-revealing night, you feel frayed at the edges, but he makes you feel soft. safe. you begin to play again, a slower song this time, and he pulls a chair up to sit behind you, hands gently massaging. you want to protest but he knows your pain, knows how to help this hurt.  so you relax, you let him, let him have this closeness, this illusion of closeness.

just for now.

[sunflwrvolume6]

someone lost, something gained [9]

on ao3 | wattpad

[previous] | [masterlist]

People pass by, to and from the building, and an ambulance screams into the bay around back. Birds land and fly away, crumbs clutched in their beaks like prize-winning meals. An undulating worm of cars inch down the block - red, black, silver, blue, blue, lime green, black... The cup slowly grows colder in her hands, but still Veda sits.

Eventually, Debbie seems to get the hint that Veda won’t open the door again and follows after her siblings, leaving with a squeal of tires. Veda turns away from the front window with a self-satisfied smile. She has to admit that the encounter could have gone in a worse direction. It was, quite frankly, the best outcome that she could have expected. She isn’t sure what to do with herself now that it’s over, though. The anger she felt during the interaction, the pride at standing her ground, is gone again, smothered into nonexistence by the hollow cold that has enveloped her over the last week. Veda sighs and runs her fingers through her hair. A week. Veda can’t believe it’s been a week since Granddad passed. Losing him seems to have cut off any grasp she ever held on time. She pads quietly to the couch, dropping onto the cushions without ceremony, and stares blankly ahead. “What are you doing here?” Veda asks quietly once she pulls open the door two hours later, and Hattie gives her a grim smile and holds up a bottle of bourbon. “Figured maybe we’d wanna visit Granddad’s old pal.” A true smile, small and wavering but still genuine, twists at Veda’s lips, and she steps back to let her cousin into the house. Hattie passes the Jim Beam over, pulls off her heavy jacket and boots while Veda heads to the kitchen. It may be barely ten in the morning, but Veda won’t turn this down. Glasses full of ice and bourbon, Veda follows her cousin back to the couch. The pair drinks in silence for a while, but Hattie breaks the quiet after their second glass. She reaches out for Veda’s hand, squeezing gently, as a laugh bubbles up. “D’ya remember when- when Granddad was helping me to learn to ride a bike, but you got so mad because it meant that we had to use your bike, and you just, you laid down in the middle of the street and screamed of the injustice in the universe.” Veda bites her lip, nods and ducks her head. “I swear, Granddad about laughed himself unconscious over that. Which just made my tantrum worse.” “Didn’t you only move because of Nonna Costa?” “Well, she was Mamma Costa back then, but yeah. She scared me.” Veda sighs and sips at her bourbon. “Oh, oh! Do you remember when we got into a fight over who’d have the top room whenever we came to visit? And Granddad told us we’d better make a choice or he’d move all his shit up to the room and make us sleep on the couch?” Hattie giggles, pushing her hair from her face. The mid-morning sun casts a spotlight on the tears in her hazel eyes. Veda stares at the amber liquid, gleaming a light golden in the sunlight, and recalls the feeling of righteous indignation she’d felt when Hattie drew the longer piece of the spaghetti noodle. She snorts in amusement when she remembers exactly how she ended up in the room by the next night. “Is that room still haunted?” Hattie asks after a moment, and Veda pauses with her glass halfway to her mouth. “It, uh, it never actually was.” “Yes, it was! Or are you telling me I imagined all the scratching sounds and the voices?” “Well, you didn’t imagine the noises, no, but… it was me.” Hattie stares, wide-eyed and slack-jawed, as Veda admits that the scratching and thumping came from the broomstick handle against the ceiling of the second-floor bedroom, the whispering from Veda climbing on top of her dresser to moan and groan into the air vent that ran between the two rooms. When Veda finally goes quiet, feeling more and more like a total jerk, Hattie slaps her arm. “You asshole! I stayed up all night that night, freaking out because I thought some ghost was going to murder me!” “I’m surprised you never told Granddad about it.” Hattie shakes her head, her grin dimming slightly. “We’d argued for hours over that room, I didn’t wanna admit that I regretted the victory. Figured telling him I felt bad that you were so upset was a good way of, what’s the word, mitigating that.” “I hate that you don’t have very many recent memories of Granddad,” Veda admits softly as the amusement fades. “Honestly, it breaks my heart that you didn’t have the relationship with him that I did.” Hattie blows out a breath and swallows down the last of her drink. Veda watches her cousin refill her glass, drink it all in one long swallow, then pour more Beam in. Once Hattie settles back into the cushions, her lips curve into a slight smile, and she runs her finger along the rim of her glass. “I wish I did, it’s... better, I think, that I didn’t. That I wasn’t around a whole lot after I turned ten. I mean, I was like you for a very long time. I thought everything my mother said was the truth. That she couldn’t - wouldn’t - lead me astray. Grandpa didn’t need that. If I’d been allowed around him, I woulda just learnt to use him like the rest of them. At least he had you.” “What do you mean?” “You weren’t ever like our family, even when your mom had her nails so deep into you that you were her mirror.” Hattie shrugs, a jerky rise and fall of her shoulders. “You never treated him like they did. Not as badly as they did, anyway. Sure, you fucked up and kept going back to Olivia, but you broke free.” Veda leans against her cousin, lets their heads come together. She lifts her glass in the air. “To Granddad, the most amazing man we have ever known and who deserved more than he got.” “May he be gettin’ some tail up in the afterlife.” Their giggles slowly morph into identical weeping, and Veda is so thankful she isn’t alone for this breakdown. Having someone here who feels the same as she does makes it easier to let herself feel anything, even the crushing weight of Granddad’s death and the hole he’s left behind. _______________ Waking up with a hangover is something that Veda hasn’t experienced in a while, and she spent all of Friday nursing cup after cup of coffee that slowly grew cold, incessantly whining and moaning about the pounding in her skull. Hattie didn’t leave until late in the evening, promising to call Veda as soon as she reached her dorm room. The quiet after she left hadn’t been nearly as oppressive. Veda kept herself busy on Saturday by going through Granddad’s records, making a list of which accounts to cancel and which to transfer into her name. It hadn’t been much - the house was completely paid off, a wedding gift to him and Mom-Mom all those years ago, but there were still utilities and property taxes that needed to be paid. Plus, she has to pay an inspector to come in and make sure the house is still inhabitable. Three days after that drunken morning spent with Hattie, Veda finds herself stood in the corridor of the children’s wing, staring around at the passing nurses. Hoping for a somewhat familiar face. It’s a Sunday, but she isn’t certain what that means in the whole scheme of scheduling. “Uh, hi, I’m - I’m looking for Niall. He’s a nurse on this floor.” The woman behind the desk glances up from the file in her hand then immediately goes back to it. “Sorry, doll, can’t give information about staff or patients.” “I know, I know the restrictions. I work in a hospital, too. I just... Okay, well, if you see him, can you tell him Veda needs to talk to him?” “Will do.” Veda nods though the nurse doesn’t see it. Turning on her heel, she heads back to the lift. The to-go cup of coffee in her hand bleeds warmth into her fingers and palm, and she focuses on that the too-hot heat. It isn’t until she is sat on one of the benches outside that she realises that even if the nurse does pass on the message, Niall is going to have no way of contacting Veda. “Wow, really don’t think things through, do ya?” she mutters under her breath, fingernail picking at the edge of the cup lid. People pass by, to and from the building, and an ambulance screams into the bay around back. Birds land and fly away, crumbs clutched in their beaks like prize-winning meals. An undulating worm of cars inch down the block - red, black, silver, blue, blue, lime green, black... The cup slowly grows colder in her hands, but still Veda sits. Footsteps stutter to a stop then double-back. “Ve-Veda?” Veda finally looks away from the toes of her shoes, forcing a smile at Niall. The sun has shifted further to the west in the sky overhead, and she blinks in surprise. She hadn’t realised so much time has passed. She tightens her grip on the cup in her hand and clears her throat. “Can we go get that coffee now?” Her heart sinks when his confused expressions turns pained. He shoves a hand through his already-mussed hair and blows out a heavy breath. “I just got off a thirteen-hour shift. I, I don’t really think it’s a good time for that.” Veda knows her smile is far too brittle, but she nods and says, “Oh. Okay. That’s fine. Yeah, totally fine. I just, uh, wanted to see if the offer was still open. That’s all. Totally fine.” She hides her mortification - and disappointment - by taking a sip of her coffee, grimacing at how cold and stale it’s become. Tossing the cup into a nearby bin, she adjusts her jacket and bustles past Niall. He wraps his fingers around her wrist as she passes, tugs her to a stop. She avoids meeting his eye directly. Instead, she stares at the curve of his eyebrow. “I have tomorrow off, though,” he says softly. “I can come by yours around nine?” Veda swallows, dipping her chin. “That sounds great.” “Are you okay?” he asks after a pregnant pause; his blue eyes skim over her face as if trying to read the answers there. “I’m… not sure. I’ll see you tomorrow, Niall.” He releases her wrist, fingers sliding lightly across her skin as she pulls her hand back, and she sends him another smile before walking away. Something other than the usual grief niggles at the edges of her soul. It takes a long moment, but she eventually puts a name to it - hope, comfort.

[iphoenixrising]

For 700 Followers!

Hi babe. Ah, you know, I think we could really work something out because if there’s anything I like, it’s Tim trying to have the I am an island attitude with clingy, needy Bat Alphas right on his tail ;) Tbh, I wrote this once and it got lost, so I cried, but I’m going to give it another shot!

Also, just saying but there was also a short thing done about *ahem* toys in this au, and you’ll probably find a similar theme X

**

There is nothing worse than water in your fucking boots.

Seriously.

His impromptu dip in the harbor was completely worth the pain in the ass because Two-Face is going to live to see another day, and he even acted less crazy than normal when he was handcuffed by GCPD, quiet while he was taken away in the back of a squad car.

The best part? The villain told him he was glad he hadn’t filled him full of holes after all. Red Robin is going to take that as a win.

And since his sleuthing is done for the night, he can go back to his Perch in Gotham City and get out of these wet clothes and put his damn boots by a heating vent to dry out a little.

He feels good enough about the night to order a pizza and do his notes while a slice is hanging out of his mouth when dry clothes are a thing.

He has a fan turning lazily, trying to keep himself cooled down because the Heat symptoms just started to manifest while he was riding back from the take-down (all that wind rushing by while he’s in a wet suit and still he’s starting to get hot? Seriously, body, stop making shit harder on him).

The pre-Heat could take up to three hours before the main event starts, and he at least wants to get the notes done and go blackout before it happens.

He’s got a bunch of Gatorade and power bars from two weeks ago when Jay and Dick pretty much showed up just in time for him to go full blown. Luckily, Dick had picked up more on the way to his Perch since the God-forsaken sixth sense had struck again. Somehow, maybe some Pack Alpha instinct, Dick had known he was going to need them, and true to form, the last Heat had been particularly vicious, his body in physical pain when he was empty.

(And no, he doesn’t need a reminder how nice Dick and Jay were about it when he was literally fucking crying. Geeze, things he doesn’t need people to see for 100 Alex.)

Which means he should have been good for a month and a half, but Leslie had warned him going this long on suppressants would have some effects on him biologically. She’d mentioned he could have two Heats back-to-back as a sign his body is starting to regulate like any normal Omega. So, really, this pain-in-the-ass is his own fault anyway.

Notes done, he logs out of BI’s mainframe and shoots the Titan’s a quick message, In Gotham. Perfectly safe. Going to sleep for 24-36 hours. Don’t freak out about the blackout mode, and shuts down his main system in preparation.

Barefoot, he pads around to shut off the lights and fans, grabs a Gatorade, starts pulling his nerd shirt off on the way to the bedroom. Security in lockdown and he’s starting to feel the burn just a little bit more.

Not long now. Damn, hopefully this will be fast and furious.

A locked box in the back of the closet is deposited by the bed, his thumb print accepted. He shifts through the unopened packages until he gets the red one and the blue one out, laying them on the bed to open before the round of fuck my contingencies ramps up.

(His face is hot, and not because of the pre-Heat. The two knotting dildos were purchased when he started thinking one night about what he was going to do when his body started regulating out, so Dick and Jay wouldn’t need to play Alphas to his Omega anymore. Ironically, the two toys reminded him of their knots anyway, and he’d been guilty as fuck buying them.)

He’s already started sweating lightly and jumps in the shower to wash off Gotham Harbor.

His phone goes off while he’s drying himself off, shifting his weight because his abdomen is already starting to get tight and uncomfortable in anticipation.

The message on his phone makes him groan/sigh because the Red Hood is wondering:

Jaybird: How was the swim?

There’s more laughing emojis than he realistically needs.

In just boxers, Tim plops down on his bed, taps his phone to decide whether or not to respond. Since they already knew he’d taken down Two-Face, he really doesn’t have options.

Me: nice this time of year. Btw, Harvey didn’t drown. That’s a win for the good guys.

Before he’s done, the ellipsis meaning someone is typing shows up, so he’s got himself in a world of trouble by answering. Natch.

(On the other hand, his Omega whispers, if you hadn’t messaged back, they might come looking for you. It preens at the thought of his Pack Alphas concerned for him, coming for him– Dammit. Not. The. Time.)

Jaybird: Oughta come 2 the Manor. Al made pizza. Can celebrate?

Well, shit.

Me: Thanks 4 the invite. Running time-sensitive diagnostic for the Titans and crashing. See you at the next VA meeting tho.

Okay. So, normal. Jay will understand the need for fighting crime.

Jaybird: No problem. We’ll bring you some.

Fuck. Fuckity-fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck.

Me: Nah. Not tonight. Gonna set this up and crash. The alarm will wake me when the analysis is done. Enjoy the pizza!

Jaybird: If you’re sure?

Me: Positive. Sleep is calling. GN.

And turns off his phone with a sigh of unmitigated relief.

Crisis averted.

Right?

**

Forty-five minutes later, he’s idly eating popcorn and watching Infinity War when a wave of blistering heat washes over him, and the gentle reprieve is finally done.

His cock is hard and aching within a moment, his hands fisting in the blanket under him, hips jerking. The soft, subtle scent of slick tickles the edges of his senses, his ass starting to get moist under his boxers.

But Tim has old memories of doing this alone back when he was still in the tunic, and he forces himself to breath past the initial stages, fists his hands even tighter to keep from touching himself yet. He remembers how much better the orgasm was when he held off for as long as he could, remembers the time between waves lasted longer.

He bites down on his lower lip to keep in the noises (but really, what is the point?) and tries to just keep thinking.

He shoves the unopened boxes over and sprawls out on his back, trying not to let anything other than his boxers touch his aching erection. His thighs tighten, legs spreading automatically, feet bracing to work his hips a little.

It’s fine. You’ve done this before isn’t really that much of a consolation.

With the fire in his body starting to get more and please and Oh God, his mouth falls open to pant, toss his head back and forth with the arousal building, making his belly get tense.

An abrupt cramp knocks the wind out of him ending on a small, helpless noise that inadvertently escapes.

Rolling on his side, curling in on himself, Tim forces himself to just fucking breathe through it, it won’t last forever.

–when the comm on his desk blips, and the tinny voice is just loud enough to get his attention over things like terribly thought-out biology.

(Everything in you is screaming for an Alpha to help, touch, soothe. It’s not really your fault.)

“If you’re asleep, don’t get up. We’re just going to drop off pizza and we’ll be out of your Perch-”

Which is nothing short of fucking horrific.

“Almost goddit, Dickie,” is lost when another sharp cramp makes him huddle further into the pain rippling over his upper body while his brain screams to just fucking move.

The scent of slick gets stronger, clogging up the room, and the door isn’t even locked–

The next cramp makes his muscles flutter, but he can wobbly-leg it to the door and collapse in front of it.

(I was stabbed in the fucking spleen and still saved Pru. Without Ra’s, I would have been dead soon after, but if I can do that, I can get through this.)

He flips a small panel on the door frame and presses his thumb into it, forehead braced on the wall while he grits his teeth and gets a second or two of his muscles easing back.

Tim focuses on breathing, listening, and sure enough, there’s a timid knock a few minutes later. The door knob wiggles once softly, nearly inaudible voices mumble back and forth while he holds his breath.

He thinks he might be in the clear when it goes quiet again, thinking maybe they’d gone to dump the pizza in his fridge and be on their way out.

But a very clear, “do you smell what I smell?” is the proverbial nail in his coffin.

**

“Timmy? Are you…awake?”

“Please go away, I’m…I’m trying to sleep.” Tim tries again, more desperate now that hearing his Alphas’ voices is hitting all the deep places in him where the Omega hides.

“Don’t smell like it, Sweets. Think maybe ya mighta forgot ta mention something ta yer Alphas?”

(You aren’t mine. This is just about fucking Pack dynamics and bullshit biology. It’s fine, he gets it.)

“Hey,” and Dick’s voice is low and loud enough to be heard, and Tim slaps a hand over his mouth so he doesn’t whimper. “It’s okay. It’s us, Tim. We can make it better if you just open the door. You know we can, don’t you.”

It really isn’t a question, and Dick doesn’t pretend to make it one.

His abdomen spasms and he’s rolling his forehead against the wall in denial because fuck, haven’t they done enough? He’s not going to die, and, seriously, he’s a shitty Omega anyway.

“It’s not Heat Mania,” he tries to be reasonable, proud of himself when his voice only cracks once or twice, “I can get through it by myself this time. Y-You two just gave up five days a few weeks ago.”

The hand goes back over his mouth and his boxers are getting wet now, the way he’s curled in on himself probably not helping the situation.

Voices talking too low for him to make out again.

“Seriously, it’s fine. You guys got me out of danger. This? This is just business as usual. B is out of Gotham and you can’t be here for that long–”

“–B called in the Birds of Prey ta help out while he’s out wid’ the League,” Jay breaks through his ramblings. “We got Rob n’ BG. Cass is in fer a visit, and a trio of ass kickers. Ya ain’t gotta worry ‘bout Gotham, Timmers. Shit’s all kinds a handled.”

The door knob wiggles again, making him gasp because shit, if anyone could crack his fingerprint locks, it’s probably the Red Hood.

“So. That’s not an excuse to go through your Heat alone,” Dick cuts in, sounds more ragged and raw, the Pack Alpha coming out in him. “There’s honestly no reason for you to go through it by yourself at all because your Pack is supposed to take care of you. And we are here to do just that, Tim.”

And fuck he does (and doesn’t) want to.

(It really is going to hurt like a motherfucker when it’s all over with, isn’t it?)

And while Tim Drake could give them a hundred different excuses, could explain it away a hundred different ways

(“I don’t want my Omega to get used to having Alphas. That just makes my Heats more difficult. Please understand.”)

–he, Tim, not the Omega, really doesn’t want to.

(Oh yeah. He’s figuratively fucked. Literally fucked to possibly follow.)

He’s already reaching up to thumb at the panel again before he realizes what he’s doing and pauses, sighs at his own weakness.

And like they can feel him hesitate, the heavy musk finally gets to him from under the door. The combination of Dick and Jay and the Alpha instinct to soothe.

“Please, Timmy, Baby. Please let us in.” Dick says to the door, hands braced on the door frame outside, staring a hole right through the damn thing because he really wants to say is please let us love you.

Jay is nudged tightly against his back, peering over his shoulder with those precious few inches of extra height.

“S’all right, Timmers,” Jay’s deep voice rolls past his ear when his second leans over to talk closer, simultaneously sliding a hand over Dick’s hip, finger making soothing circles around the bone. “Ya know we love it when yer all pretty n’ pink fer us, yeah? Heat makin’ ya bite yer lip n’ flutter yer eyes when we get ta touch. N’ ya know how much we like it, don’t cha? Ya know it don’t matter how long it needs ta be, ‘er how much needin’ ya got saved up inside. Ya know the only thing what matters is how perfect ya are under our hands n’ mouth, yeah?”

Dick smirks at the tactic, turning just enough to get close to Jay’s face and shove their mouths together in a quick kiss.

His mate and second just grins right back, his down ‘n dirty one.

“Wadda ya say, Sweets? Gonna have mercy on these two ole’ Alphas? Let us be good, n’ take care a’ ya like we oughta?”

There’s a low noise, something muffled by the door, but Dick’s muscles tighten against the front of Jay’s body, putting the other Alpha right on point.

“Sounds like–” pain.

Jay just nods, staring intently at the door, fingers tapping over the hilt of this .45 like he’s thinking of taking the easy way inside. “Starting up awful fast, ain’t he, Alpha?”

“Leslie said something about double Heats while his body is getting back under control,” Dick reminds him absently. “I’m hoping this is the only one he’s experienced so far.”

Jay hums a little, “you n’ me both. Don’t like ‘im hittin’ two ina month. Too much strain.”

“Agreed, but we–” and Dick gets cut off by the sudden, powerful scent hitting them right in the instincts. The Alpha in them knows what a spike that sudden means.

Dick turns to make one last plea to the door, please, Baby, you don’t have to do this alone, before they would have to go. If Tim was that adamant, they wouldn’t hack the door to get to him, to force him to accept them during his Heat, but if he caught their scents, it could make the cycle more painful (“The inner Omega will pine for an Alpha. Scents will not help, but make the [sic] situation worse. An Alpha should vacate the premises if an Omega in Heat does not belong to him or her”). To keep it from being so much worse, they’d have no choice but the leave.

The possibility sticks in Dick’s throat, makes Jay rumble out a low whine.

But the telltale click resounds, kills the words in Dick’s mouth before they get out.

It’s a breath when he and Jay step over the threshold, kneel by the (their) pained Omega, warm hands and soothing touches, purring a low reverberation that makes Tim’s spine uncurl when Dick gathers him up and lifts. Jay is back with more Gatorade and power bars, throwing off his jacket and holsters while Dick kicks off his shoes and straddles Tim on the bed, leans closer to start kneading out the muscle spasms and nuzzling against Tim’s throat gently, soothingly.

“Ssshh, sshh, it okay Timmy. We’re here.” And Dick tilts his head just a little so his throat is visible and his scent gland right there if Tim wanted to give him and bury his face there.

(He totally does. Stupid fucking instincts.)

And Dick’s hands are warm, the pressure just enough to work out those muscles, to make the pain ease down. At one point, Tim had wrapped a hand around Dick’s forearm to have something grounding.

“You don’t have to do this,” is low and soft, “it isn’t going to be bad this time. Just a normal Heat. I can handle it. I have handled it.”

Jay takes a knee beside the bed, reaches over to direct Tim’s gaze with a forefinger under his chin. “Timmers,” is more stern than he’s used to hearing from the Red Hood, “like me n’ Dickie dunno how much ya can handle? Like we dunno how much ass ya can kick? C’mon, give us a little credit, yeah?”

Tim’s eyes get more dazed with all the stimulus hitting him right in the Omega instincts, blinking hazily at Jay kneeling there. “Seriously, I’m a shitty Omega, and neither of you need this. It’s bad enough you gave up a week already this month.”

“I told you,” Dick counters serenely, hands pausing, “that you are not a bad Omega. I would have thought during your last Heat you would have gotten that.”

They can both see Tim swallow, his eyes dart away, clearly disbelieving but not calling them on their bullshit.

Dick’s inner Alpha curls around his insides, wanting nothing more than to flop on the pretty Omega and pin him down until he cries uncle and finally believes in them, wants nothing more than to stick his nose in the sweet scent gland and never move, wants to hear Tim say it, just once–

“I’m yours, aren’t I Alpha?”

–but there’s no room for that yet. Not here, not now. Someday soon when Tim stopped giving into his instincts to hide and protect himself. Even if the Omega in him had accepted their Alphas, it still drew back, remembered the pain they both caused at one time or another.

And Dick understood. As Pack Alpha, he can scent more keenly, as a detective, he can put all the evidence together with the spikes of adrenaline, the quickening of a pulse, the flinch when certain things are brought up in casual conversation.

(Someday, he thinks fiercely, nuzzling into Tim’s jugular, while the knots under his hands ease down, you are going to forgive us, and everything is going to finally be okay.)

He huffs a little when Jay kneels by the bed, hands folded to rest his chin and watch. Timmy’s head flops over, the lines around his eyes still prominent with pain and the ingrained struggle not to just give in, and Jay trails his fingers lightly over the hand fisted in the sheets.

“Hey, hey. S’all right now, ain’t it, Baby?” He keeps it low and deep, lets it end on a nice purr. Inching the hand over, closer to his mouth, “an’ ta think, y’ weren’t gonna let me n’ Dickie here fer this? Tryin’ ta punish us, are ya?”

“Wh-What?! What are you even–”

Dick’s hand on his shoulder stops Baby Bird from sitting up, his cheeks gettin’ pink ‘cause he get all embarrassed ‘bout it.

(And fuck ain’t it cute.)

Big Wing smirks a little and leans up, gives Jay some room. He takes all he can, rising up on his knees, turning his jaw a little so his musk is stronger, getting fuller.  He gets to wrap a palm around that wrist, pinning it lightly when he hovers over Tim’s wide eyes, makes him face this, face him, face them.

“Ya already know it, don’t cha, Timmy?” Low and growly against his mouth, flick of a tongue over his bottom lip, “how much ya make us want, yeah?”

And since Jason Todd is a man what knows how Tim reacts to being touched, how he gets so sweetly slick and ready, how needy and soft he can whine, knows that as much as Timmy says he don’t need this, need them, his body don’t agree with it.

It’s how he n’ Dickie can tell when Timmy is lyin’ ‘cause it’s the Omega what tells them the truth.

It’s why Jay can purr and nuzzle, can lean in and take his mouth like he owns it. When Tim makes a noise, arches his back, Jay knows Dick is mouthing at him, right below where his palms are rubbing, licking the line between boxers and skin.

Pullin’ back just makes Timmy chase his mouth, eyes half-mast and cheeks just the right shade of pink.

“See that, Sweetheart? How pretty y’ are? An’ ya weren’t gonna let us be here fer it? ‘M hurt over here.” And he purrs against the tendon in Tim’s neck, just the sharp edge of teeth teasing down to his collarbone.

“Th-that’s not–!”

“But it is, Timmy,” Dick fills in soothingly, mouthing at the waistband of his boxers. “You weren’t going to let us have this.”

“Dammit that isn’t–”

“Sshh,” and Jay presses a kiss back to his throat, right below the scent gland, “s’all right. We f’give ya, Sweets. ‘Cause we’re here now, and that’s what matters, you feel me?”

Tim finds it in him to brace a hand against Jay’s shoulder, pushing him back just enough to be able to think around the heat pooling in his stomach, lighting his body with need.

“It isn’t like that!” He tries, he really does, stares into those eyes with green flecks faded away. “It–this–it’s just!”

Dick finally seems to have enough, knee walking up so he and Jay could loom over the squirming Omega, both of them facing him down.

“At first, it was because of the Heat Mania, Timmy,” Dick’s voice is low and firm, “but it stopped being about that for me in the first five minutes.”

Jay purrs at him softly, “like I’d keep comin’ back ta ya if’n it was only ‘cause a’ biology, Timmers. Like you think I don’t see this fine as fuck ‘Mega right ‘chere needin’ an Alpha? Like I don’t want a piece a’ ya?”

That is...so not what he anticipated tonight once he’d given the Alphas an appropriate out. The admission makes his heart thump painfully in his chest, a jolt of fear slithering through his brain pan at all the implications of this–

–that would fully set in later on after his body stops trying to literally kill him with sex.

Because it’s enough of a push, this moment when scents are so fucking sincere and they’re looking at him with heat and affection, and he wants so desperately to believe. It’s enough to make the Omega in him rear up past his barriers and bullshit masks, for the whine, the call to his Pack, to his Alphas, to spill out of his mouth without holding back.

Fuck.

Because even though it’s a rough, soft sound, something he’d never been able to let himself do before now, not with all the secrets he’d had to keep, it makes some of the tightness in his chest ease down to finally be able to let it out, let his instincts take over.

In the form of a whine, a call to his Alphas. His Omega could finally stop mourning being left out of the Pack.

So he’s completely unprepared for Dick and Jay to react so distinctly to that noise, for them to bury their faces in his throat and lick along both sides until the kiss of teeth along his collar bone becomes a bloom of pain and sinks deep into his subconscious. It’s not (and he gasps in a hard breath just thinking about it, about either of them biting down on the back of his neck instead…) to mate him or make him submit, it’s just marks made to show ownership, to show Pack, and his eyes might get a little hot and full with it while the Omega in him rolls over to show its’ belly to the (his) Alphas.  

And it’s something he’s been wanting for so long, the confirmation that he’s no longer the outcast, the Omega without a place. During the long road to come back to Gotham, back to the Bats, he hasn’t let himself sink into the depression that hit back when his tunic was yanked out from under him, leaving him hanging.

With the indents of teeth along his collarbone, with the distinct Alpha scent on his neck, the assurance he’s been claimed as their Pack Omega for anyone to see, is enough to make him close his eyes tight to keep from fucking crying. Instead, he distracts himself by lifting both arms around his Alphas to hold on while they lick across the indents of their teeth, soothing the sting.

He doesn’t let himself panic when they move on from marking him, when Jay is licking into his mouth and Dick’s hands are spreading his thigh, long-fingered hand cupping his straining erection.

He keens with it, back arching at the onslaught, his inner Omega sated with the marks on his body, languishing in the attention of his Alphas.

It’s so easy to fall under their spell, to put himself in their hands, and just give in. If they weren’t so damn careful and easy with him when he needs it that way, if they didn’t fuck him dirty and rough when it needed it that way instead, if they didn’t purr against his chest and lick at the marks, if they didn’t talk low against the back of his neck, if they didn’t hold the hell on when all he wanted to do is run.

Hands that know how to make him writhe, are busy smoothing up the sides of his thighs and over his abdomen, Jay and Dick trading places with his mouth. Thumbs make small circles on his nipples, makes them peak, makes the spark of pleasure shoot down his spine straight to his aching cock, while he keens in Dick's mouth.

“Uh-oh,” hazily gets through the heat pooling in his belly, in his blood, lighting his nerves on fire. “Looks like we have some competition, Jaybird.”

Fuck.

And Dick is leaning up on his knees, holding up the blue knotting dildo after he’d snatched it from the blankets, looking it over with a critically assessing expression–

Then those eyes slide over to the Omega spread out on the bed beneath them, the one smelling like a bakery, the one that needed him, needed them to take care of him.

“I told you, I can handle my Heats.” His face is going red and not because of the whole lot of naked happening beside the bed where Jay is stripping off the body suit.

“Mmhm,” and Dick widens his knees, spreading Baby Bird’s legs wider, puts the toy by his calf so he can be the one to use it on Timmy (and he is very interested on seeing how much of it his Omega can take before he’s screaming for the real deal).

The other Alpha’s eyes shoot to the subtly covered splash of red almost by the wall, and one brow quirks up as a side to the smirk on Jason Todd’s face.

“Dickie. Ya’ thinking what I’m thinking?”

“If it’s to fuck him with these things until he cries, then yes. I’m on board with that plan, Little Wing.”

“Good t’ see we’re on’a same page, you feel me here?”

The oldest vigilantes exchange a heated glance, the message clear from that look alone:

Time to teach Timmy a lesson and get to have him at the Same. Damn. Time.

Two Robins with one stone.

Jay is already crawling over Tim to lay on the other side while Dick moves fast, climbing off to shimmy out of his clothes until he’s in black briefs, coming right back to the perfect spot between the third Robin’s clenched thighs. He grins, already deciding on a plan, while Jay pins both wrists above their bird’s head, preparing him for the on-coming torture.

And when this cycle is done, when they’ve both had turns teasing him between waves with the toys he’d purchased, fucking him fast and rough or slow and soft until their knots throbbed to be buried in him, when they’ve made Tim give in to them, over and over, made him beg for their cocks, promised to always call next time no matter what.  When he’s so overwork, overstimulated, a trembling, babbling, crying pile of please fuck me before I die.

When they make the lesson stick.

(“Never gonna need ‘em again. Ya gotch us, n’ ya better damn well call b’for ya use it again. Do you feel me, Baby?”

“These are last resort only, Tim. You only get to use these after you’ve called both of us and not because of a case or checking in on Gotham.”

He’d only been stupidly grateful all three of them could fit in his tub at the time, water lapping lazily around him, caught on Jay’s lap with his leg in Dick’s, hands on his ankle and calf under the water. He was dozing and utterly fucking destroyed, which is the only reason he agreed to it in the first place, dammit. They took advantage of fucking him completely out.

(Alphas. Of fucking course.)

But this time, after they’d been so fucking thorough in showing him where his place with them really is, Red Robin can’t help but wonder if it’s more than just a bunch of Alphas taking care of the Pack Omega. If all the sweet things Dick growls in his ear is more than just hormones and Pack Alpha lizard brain. He wonders if Jay’s dirty talk doesn’t stem from some messed up sense of guilt or responsibility from back when they were just, you know, trying to kill one another. Or, Jay was trying to kill him and Red was really just trying not to die.

He wonders if it isn’t just a matter time until his body regulates.

He wonders if they know what they’re doing to him when they act like he’s theirs.

He wonders how far they’re going to go.

(A part of him is terrified to find out.)

[themiddlelayer]

It Comes in Waves...

The recognition of all the little things about my life before Tampa that were ‘normal’ and expected of me that were SO not normal or okay. This one comes with another dose of the ‘fuck you if you decide to read this’ to MM. 

Our home is never under 70 degrees. As a matter of fact most days Tampa is the one to turn the heat up because I’m still so conditioned to just wear another layer rather than risking the house getting too hot. 

MM was prone to dropping the AC into the mid-60′s in the morning because he got too hot while showering and getting dressed in the morning. There were days that he forgot to change the thermostat before leaving the house. He slept with a cooling pad on his side of the bed and the bed jet while I did the cliff-hanger thing in leggings and long sleeves, wrapped in extra blankets... shivering so badly that I struggled to fall asleep some nights. 

I love the smell of lavender and would occasionally use a lavender sheet spray when I changed the sheets... but only if MM wasn’t home and I had time to air out the room because he didn’t like the smell. Tampa washed the sheets yesterday because he bought us a heated mattress pad. He put lavender oil on the wool balls in the dryer because he loves the smell. 

We have a pretty standard hallway set up where there’s a switch at each end for the light. I turned that light off one night recently and realized that off was the “up” position outside our bedroom door. MM would walk across the house to ‘fix it’ if I turned the light on/off and left it in the ‘wrong spot.’ 

When I cook one of my vegan meals, Tampa just makes himself ‘bachelor chow.’ That’s it. He just feeds himself and is okay eating something different for dinner when he doesn’t want what I’ve cooked. He never asks me “What’s for dinner?” 

I made french toast for breakfast and twisted the bread closed, tossing the clip in the trash before instinctively cringing. MM’s mother used to beat him with her cane while making him close and re-close the bread with the clip with one hand. That’s fucking sad, but that doesn’t make it okay for the loss of the bread clip before the loaf is gone to be something that stressed me out. 

There are so many little things that became normal. I was so used to being the only one with any flexibility to the point where things were just done ‘his way’ because of how he would freak out if I didn’t. I have lived with Tampa for around 3 months and I still whisper to myself “There is no wrong way to load a dishwasher” whenever I clean the kitchen. 

This left me without a gauge of what’s normal... what’s okay... and when I’ve got the right to actually be angry. I’ve spent a good chunk of the day in a ‘therapy session’ with Cookie where she had to remind me that I’m not crazy and I have every right to be upset about the former sub/stalker sending Tampa a picture of her new vibrator while he was at the table with us yesterday. I have every right to put my foot down and tell him that I’m flat out not okay with him having any communication with her because he may have told her when she’s pushed a boundary, but she keeps doing it. Last night he also told me that she called him “Sir” recently. He told her she was not allowed to do that ever again, but that should have been it. And it wasn’t. He gives an inch, she takes a mile. He may take that inch back, but that doesn’t change what’s happening and how she’s trying to work him. 

And I’m not crazy for wanting Tampa to cut out his best friend’s widow. I shouldn’t have to not get on Facebook in order to avoid seeing her react and comment on everything he posts. After he “gave her hell” for listing them as ‘in a relationship’ last week she called him ‘babe’ in another comment. I told him that I may have promised to not contact her that day, but that if she pulls anymore shit that I can’t promise I won’t message her myself. But I shouldn’t have to do that. I shouldn’t have to deal with women that ignore the fact that he’s in a closed relationship and send him inappropriate pictures. Period. 

I have every right to be angry. Not hurt... ANGRY. And I need to learn how to do that because my face is so swollen that it hurts to blink right now. There is too much good in my life to cry like I did today. 

[lolainblue]

Presque Vu -- Chapter 38

FOR THOSE NOT AWARE: 

Since it’s been a while since I posted this story, let me reiterate: This story contains smut, kink, and sexual themes. This is a poly relationship. There are threesomes. There is BDSM. If this is not for you, that is fine, No judgment here. I have many other stories to choose from. I won’t tag individual chapters in this story, as references are made to all of that repeatedly throughout, so if you can’t read some of it, you probably aren’t going to be able to read most of it, and you really should just move on to another piece. 

Raina located a few generously sized wine glasses and set them down on the counter, observing the tiny quiver in her hands as she did so. She told herself to settle down, this was only a chat, she had certainly done far wilder things with Jared than chat. But this was different. Things done in the heat of passion, drunk on lust, were easy for her. Sitting down and calmly, rationally dissecting her feelings on anything wasn't a journey she took to easily. She was determined, however, to get through this...

Looking for the corkscrew, Raina rustled through one of the kitchen drawers but came up empty-handed. With a sigh, she closed that drawer and went to open the next one. In her anxiety and haste, she yanked too hard on the drawer. It came loose from its track with a clatter, sending silverware and kitchen implements spilling across the white tile.

“Dammit!” she exclaimed as she bent down to pick up the mess. “Why the hell does someone who can't cook have this much crap in his kitchen drawers?”

“Because he likes to have other people cook for him. And he has delusions of cooking for himself sometimes,” Shannon chuckled from behind her. He bent down, his eyes crinkled in merriment as they met hers.

Raina gave him a grateful smile. “Oh, sorry. I didn't hear you come back in.”

��It's okay.” His big hand slid across hers as she went to pick up an errant pair of kitchen shears. “Let me get this for you.”

“You can help,” Raina conceded before moving on to some grill skewers that had skittered underneath the edge of the counter.

“You know, you could do to take a few deep breaths while I get this, stubborn girl. Pour some of that wine you have set out.”

“I need the corkscrew. I was trying to find it when...” Raina gestured to the mess on the floor.

Shannon fished around for a minute before locating the needed implement and pressing it into her palm. “Here. Open your wine. I've got this. Jared needs to get the catch on the drawer fixed anyway. It's been broken for months.”

Raina straightened herself up and drew a nice deep, steady, breath in through her nose, held it, then slowly exhaled. Her tension was completely out of proportion to the situation and she knew it. She took a few more calming breaths before opening the wine bottle.

“Did I tell you you look beautiful tonight?” Shannon murmured as he moved in behind her, hands sliding around her waist and crossing her stomach before clutching her against his own warm body.

“Only about a dozen times,” she laughed.

“Well, that's because you do. You look absolutely stunning and it's nothing to do with that dress.”

“Oh? What it is then? The stockings?” she teased.

“No,” Shannon turned her around so that she was facing him. “It's just you. You are shaking off those shadows that you've been carrying with you all this time. The more you do, the more you that comes out. And you are remarkable.”

Raina could feel the blood flushing her checks. “Not feeling particularly remarkable right now. I feel like a big old chicken, too scared of what I want to admit it.”

“That's not honest fear. It's conditioning. The world likes to tell us there's only one way to do things. It's scary when you break away from that in any way, like moving a thousand miles away from home and starting a new life.” Shannon took Raina's chin in his hand and winked at her. She couldn't help but smile back. “Don't get a case of nerves on me now, Rainy Girl. You've come too far.”

Shannon drew the calloused pad of his thumb across Raina's lower lip. Her breathing changed immediately, from something tight and anxious, to quivering but deep breaths that drew in his scent and made her head swim. Her eyes fluttered, her body reacting to his touch and proximity by a curious combination of instinct and habit. When he pressed his body against hers and pushed her back against the counter she offered no resistance. She simply slipped her arms around his shoulder and enjoyed him as his lips claimed hers. When he pulled away, she was disappointed but calmer.

“Hey, I know you guys still haven't done your thing,” Shannon murmured, his voice low and sultry. “And I would love to take you back to the bedroom right now and get you the hell out of this dress. But I need you guys to finish and honestly, I need a few things from my place. Would it be okay with you if I made a quick run over there and then came right back? I can stay if you need me to but...”

“But maybe this would be easier if it were just me and Jared at this point.” Raina finished. “Yeah. You'll be back soon though, right?”

“Of course I will,” Shannon affirmed before kissing her again. “No way am I missing out on time with you.”

Raina managed to sneak one more kiss out of him before heading out the door, still dashing in his black suit. With a satisfied hum, she filled the wine glasses and made her way to the dining room, her mind now happily settled on Shannon instead of worrying over her inhibitions.

She had enough time for a few sips of wine before Jared finally reappeared from the little office, sheets of paper and pencils in hand. He proudly presented Raina with half the stack, and then took the seat next to her.

“Thank you for the wine,” he said as he took a small sip.

Raina laughed. “The wine is for me, let's be honest. You never take more than a few tastes.”

“I know,” Jared agreed with a shrug. “I don't like the feeling of being drunk. Haven't drank in years. But it's nice to enjoy the taste sometimes, and a few sips of wine don't bother me.”

“Does it bother you that I drink?”

“No. You enjoy your wine, but I don't think I've ever actually seen you drunk on it. You don't do it to excess, it doesn't interfere with your work or our relationship, so why would I object?”

“I don't know. It just seems that most people that I've met that don't drink get kind of judgemental about people that do it regularly.”

Jared leaned over and kissed Raina's forehead. “Don't you know by now I'm not most people?”

That made Raina laugh. “I guess I do.”

Jared smiled affectionately at Raina and she reached over and gave his hand a light squeeze before turning her attention to the papers in front of her. “Okay. So what do I do?” she asked him.

“It's pretty straightforward, really. This column here,” he indicated with a tap of his finger, “is for your experience level with that particular activity. You can indicate it however you want, but beginner, intermediate, advanced is probably easiest. If you haven't done it before but you're curious, use a question mark. If it's out of the question, just put a line through the whole thing. You know what hard and soft limits are, right? We've had that discussion?”

“Yes, Jared. We've had that discussion.”

“Good. We'll consider a strikethrough a hard limit. Maybe circle if it's a soft limit? Like, you don't think you'd like it...”

“But it's not 100 percent off the table. Yeah. I understand.”

“Great. Then after that, unless there's a strikethrough, go to the next column and indicate how interested or pleasurable you find the activity, from zero to five. Zero is not at all, five means it's one of your favorite activities.”

“Well, that sounds simple enough.”

“Good. I'll fill one out too and we can compare if you want or just focus on your answers.”

Raina took a big swig of her wine and then turned her attention to the questions in front of her. They started off simply and innocently enough, asking about vagina sex and oral sex, then getting slightly more risque with anal sex and threesomes. Things quickly escalated after that, however, and Raina found herself wading through questions about rope suspension, collars, leashes, gags, and paddles. When she reached questions about branding, knife play, a section ominously titled “Other Body Fluids” she set her pencil down.

“Hey,” Jared said softly as he no doubt took in her tense posture and fixed stare. “I know there's some extreme stuff on here. People are into some pretty wild things, and it's just a comprehensive list. Don't worry about the weird stuff. Just put a line through it and move if it makes you uncomfortable. That's what hard limits are for.”

Raina felt her throat closing as she shook her head. Her eyes with hot with tears and she felt a million miles away from Jared's soft, reassuring voice.

“Raina? It's okay, Babygirl. Talk to me.”

“What's wrong with me?” Raina asked as a hot tear fell onto the paper in front of her. “Am I broken? Is that why I like these things?”

“No. No, no, no, of course not.” Jared grabbed Raina's chair and pulled it back and turned it so that she was facing him. He took her head in his hands and waited until she finally looked up at him. “You are not broken, and neither am I. What question got you this upset? Because, as I said, I know there's some scary stuff on there. Hell, I've been doing this for ages and some of that stuff freaks me out a little. I don't even like to think about it. Kinks are kinks, and I'm not judging, but...”

Raina shook her head. “No. It's not the things I don't like that freak me out. Well, okay, a little bit, but...” She swallowed hard and swiped at her eyes to clear them. “It's what I do like that scares me. It shouldn't by now, I know,” she added hastily as she saw Jared beginning to object. “And if I'm being honest with myself, my earliest sexual fantasies were of things like getting tied up or spanked. It's always been with me. But I'm realizing I like the pain aspect of it. Like a lot. That shouldn't be right, should it? I shouldn't want someone to hurt me …”

Jared took in Raina's tears before simply wrapping his arms around her. The contact and warmth calmed her, and as soon as her breathing normalized, Jared sat back up.

“It's complex. No one really has any concrete answers for all of it. But everyone's brain chemistry is a little different, and pain releases endorphins and serotonin, just like pleasure does. I just think for some people that effect is a little more intense. It doesn't mean there's anything wrong with you. None of this does.”

“I don't want to feel bad about what I enjoy anymore. But I don't want to walk around broken anymore either. I've had enough of that.”

Jared's expression changed as understanding settled in. “Now I get it. You think because you had a breakdown under very nasty circumstances that somehow means you're broken. You've never been broken, Raina. You've been a little lost, a little underwater, a little in need of a helping hand. But you've never been broken. There are some things I don't think we're meant to manage on our own. Your reaction was understandable. Please stop beating yourself up over it. Forgive yourself.”

Raina nodded, trying to control the teas that caught behind her eyes. “I did. Go through it alone. Dan was never supportive, and my friends didn't understand. Sorrow makes some people want to reach out to you and drives other people away. Unfortunately for me, everyone around me was that second type of person. But I should have known better. I should have … I mean, the therapist said that I picked bad friends, a lousy boyfriend, so it was all my fault,”

Jared wrapped his arms around her again. “Baby, I don't think that's what that therapist meant. If it was, they're an idiot. It wasn't your fault. Please.”

It wasn't your fault. Forgive yourself. No one had ever said that to her before. Not like this. Not this plainly. Not that she had ever really heard, anyway. Forgive yourself. Dear god, why hadn't she? After all this time, why did she still blame herself for grieving the woman who had meant everything to her? Why did she still blame herself for things other people did to her? How much time and energy had she wasted on regret and self-recrimination?

A sort of absolute clarity washed over Raina, and for the first time, in the improbable setting of taking a sex quiz with one of her boyfriends, she let it all go. She grabbed onto Jared as tightly as she could and sobbed her heart out. To his credit, he let her have her meltdown, pulling her shaking body into his lap, clutching her tightly against him as he rocked her.

After what felt like hours, but was probably more like about fifteen minutes, Raina quieted herself again and moved back to her own seat. “Why is that every time I have some sort of emotional epiphany these days it's always while we're talking about sex?”

“Because it's the only time you let your walls down,” Jared explained.

“Yeah. I guess.”

“Do you want to keep going?”

“The bondage quiz or the psychotherapy?”

“Either? Both?” Jared laughed.

“Let me go wash my face first.”

Raina took her time in the bathroom, letting the cool water soothe her blotched skin before touching up her makeup a bit. When she returned to the table she picked up her pencil and finished the questionnaire without another word.

“You're not broken, you know. Really,” Jared told her as she handed him the completed stack of paper. “There are studies. Terms. This isn't a disorder.”

“Okay,” Raina replied. “I think maybe I'm finally ready to accept that. I'm sorry it took such a dramatic turn though.”

“You know, I've never had anyone break down on me before over this, but I've heard of it happening. It's more difficult for some people to process. You know you can always talk to me though, right?”

“I do. It's just not in my nature. I get that from my grandmother, I think.”

“Well, can we work on that a little more? I know my last attempt at compelling you to open up didn't work so well,” he chuckled. Raina blushed at the memory of that intense afternoon that had left all three of them a little shaken up. “But I do think we need to do a better job of communicating.”

“I can agree to that.”

“Good.” He turned his attention back to the papers in his hand. “Do you want to discuss this or should I just look through it? Do you want to see mine?”

“You can just look through it and then talk to me about anything you need to talk to me about. And of course, I want to see yours. I want to please you. A map would help.”

Jared smiled and slid his questions across the table to Raina. He leaned back in his seat and began scanning her own questionnaire. “Well, that's surprising,” he remarked after a minute.

“What is?”

“My, my. We are going to have some fun,” he chortled, a lewd grin on his face.

“What are you looking at?” Raina demanded in a bit of a panic, trying to see where on her quiz he was looking.

Jared clutched the pages against his chest before tapping his finger on the table. “Nope. You passed up the chance to discuss it. Eyes on your own paper.”

“Wait, I didn't mean we couldn't discuss it all. I just meant...”

“No, it's fine. I've got this. No questions for the witness, your honor.”

Raina laughed. “Oh, come on. I thought you wanted more talking.”

“Oh, I think we'll be talking quite a bit. But let me finish.”

Raina scowled playfully at him before looking back at the sheets in front of her. She was relieved to see that most of his answers either matched hers or were at least things she was comfortable with exploring. Some of the questions had been rather unsettling. Then came the inevitable snag. “Uhm, Jared?”

“Yes?”

“There's one here … mummification? That's where your whole body is wrapped up really tight, right?”

“Yes.”

“You have that as a four. That means you really like to do that to your partner, right?

Jared sighed. “Yes. And I see you put a line through it, so that's a hard limit.”

“So, what does that mean? You really like it, but....”

“It means that we won't do that.”

Raina sighed. “But you really like it, and ...”

“It's a hard limit for you. It is, isn't it?”

“It sounds scary and not even a little bit sexy. I guess I'm kind of claustrophobic. So yeah. But you're at a four...”

“It doesn't matter. If you aren't comfortable and enjoying yourself then it's going to be a zero for me. That's how this works.”

“I guess.”

“No, not you guess. Definitely. That's absolute how this works and how it is supposed to work. None of this is enjoyable or even okay if only one person likes it. Otherwise, what is the point of doing this questionnaire?”

“You won't feel deprived?”

Jared laughed. Raina realized he had been laughing a lot tonight, but she never felt like any of it was condescending. He seemed to be enjoying all this. “Babygirl, did you look at my sheet? Have you seen how many things I marked? I promise I can find plenty of ways to amuse myself that you will enjoy.”

This led Raina to another question, one that had been circling her brain for weeks now. “You always say you have to hold back with me. The one time I thought we really let loose, you said that wasn't even that intense for you. So what is?"

Jared's eyes fixed on Raina, his pupils large, no doubt owing to the sexy nature of their discussion. It made him look darker, almost predatory, and Raina shivered. He looked at her for a long moment before grabbing the sheets in front of her and spreading them out.

“There,” he said, pointing to a section under “Impact Play”. “And there.” This time he indicated a section under “Gear”. Then he drew a circle with his finger around the entire “Predicament” subsection. “And that.”

Raina blinked at him, and her pulse quickened. Those sections had a lot of question marks for her, but also her biggest concentrations of fours and fives. She wasn't sure if the tingles running through her limbs now were fear or arousal, and her imagination had started to run wild. “Sir,” she managed to squeak out, suddenly unable to speak his name.

Jared quickly flipped to those sections on her sheets, taking them in. He let out a deep breath. “Well,” he turned back toward her, his eyes darker than before, his almost menacing leer making Raina's mouth run dry. “I think you can stop worrying about mummification. I think we're going to find plenty of ways to amuse each other.”

“What's up, sex nerds?” Shannon's playful voice called from the entryway as he slammed the door behind him. Raina and Jared both jumped at his sudden reappearance, and Raina felt her cheeks heating up as her gaze dropped to her lap. “Put down those number two pencils. It's naked time.”

@msroxyblog @nikkitasevoli @fyeahproudglambert @pheenixpeterson @snewsome756 @thepromiseofanend @llfd1977 @lostinletoland

[luimelias]

Tell me you love me 🌹

It was August the summer heat was beaming in Riverdale making the air hot, sticky and humid something that toni loathes. She preferred a nice breeze and cool wind rather than blistering heat they called summer. That's what has her up right now, twisting and turning on her girlfriends red sheets, cheryls, bed is big and comfy with more than enough space for the two of them.

So she doesn't understand why Cheryl likes to sleep on top her, no, not just with her head on top of Toni’s chest like cute couples do when they cuddle. Cheryl Blossom was a big time cuddler, toni was used to waking with Cheryl’s body on top of her and she didn’t mind but tonight with this heat she couldn’t handle it, she was literally sweating in places she didn’t know she was capable of sweating from. She was even more pissed that Cheryl had made her turn off the air conditioning because “it feels like an ice box of death in here Toni, turn it off” Cheryl had demanded, “we’re going to burn alive if we turn it off, Cheryl it’s 90 fucking degrees out!” Toni tried to argue as she sat up on the bed.

The red head didn’t reply she just simply turned around towards Toni and gave her a look that could kill. “fine I’ll turn it off, you big baby” Toni huffed as she walked towards the air conditioning control pad and turned it off.

A couple hours later Toni wakes up in a pool of sweat With a huff she tries to push Cheryl off her a little so she could breath properly, but her red headed girlfriend wouldn’t budge. “Ugh, Cheryl” Toni whispered as she tried to get her girlfriend off her.

Cheryl, didn’t budge instead she turned her head towards The crook of Toni’s neck and inhaled sharply, falling into what Toni knew was a deeper slumber.

“damn it cheryl, get off me I can’t breath” Toni grunted a little louder as she tried to get the red head off her by pushing at her shoulders and jabbing at her sides with her knuckles, not hard enough to hurt her of course.

“What the actual fuck, toni!” Cheryl said as she bolted upright on top of the shorter girl. With Cheryl now sitting on top of her the pink haired girl, slapped at Cheryl’s waist to indicate to her to get off her. The red head still pissed at her sudden awakening got off toni and sat beside her rubbing at the side.

“I’m sorry, baby but you were literally suffocating me!” Toni tried to explain “shit, I’m sorry did I really hurt you?” She said as she realized that Cheryl was rubbing at her side where she had jabbed her.

“Of course you did, that shit really hurt” the red head explained as she lifted up her shirt to inspect where Toni had jabbed her.

Now, toni wasn’t sweaty or hot anymore, she felt a cold chill run up her body realizing that she had hurt the one person she would never try to intentionally hurt. “C’mere baby” Toni pleaded as she pulled Cheryl closer, “let me see, shit babe I’m so sorry” she said as her girlfriend slid on top of her lap. Toni lifted Cheryl’s shirt and began to rub over the spot where she had jabbed her girlfriend.

Toni was so into rubbing and kissing at Cheryl’s, side that she didn’t realize Cheryl had began laughing. “Babe” the red head couldn’t contain her giggles as Toni looked up at her from where she had been kissing at Cheryl’s side. “You didn’t hurt me, I was just messing with you, I just wanted you to touch me”

“Are you serious, Cheryl?” Toni huffed as she tried to push her girlfriend off her lap gently. “I’m sorry but you looked so cute” the red haired girl laughed as she wrapped her arms around her girlfriends neck tight “I’m not getting off you, so stop pushing me” Cheryl confessed as she tried to pepper kisses all over Toni’s face.

“Babe, I was freaking terrified, you know I would never hurt you like that”

“Calm down ma chèrie i was joking, but I’m sorry” the red headed girl confessed as she caught Toni’s lips and kissed her deeply. “You know I love you,Now tell me you love me” Cheryl pressed as she pulled away from Toni’s lips to look at her.

“No, you little aggressive cuddler, you almost killed me in my sleep, not that I mind when the Ac is on, but oh,wait you made me turn it off” Toni affirmed as she kissed Cheryl’s lips again. “Oh hush, you love it when I’m on you”

With that Cheryl got up from their shared bed and turned on the Ac “there you go, my big baby” the red head girl said as she climbed back onto the bed next to Toni.

“Now tell me you love me,” Cheryl said as she climbed on top of toni straddling her waist. “No” Toni said as her hands slid up and down Cheryl’s sides.

“Fine, then” with that Cheryl started to kiss down Toni’s neck, peppering light kisses here and there.

“Mm, so that’s your plan on trying to get me to say that I love you” the pink haired girl half moaned half whispered.

“Maybe, but since you won’t say it I guess, I’m going to have make you scream it” Cheryl grinned mischievously.

Should I continue? This is my first writing attempt, let me know what you think.

[artificialqueens]

But I’m A Cheerleader! - Chapter 29 (Aja x Farrah) - Millie

“Maybe it’s time we talk,” Aja piped up a few hours later. It had reached nine o’clock and the two were still warmly huddled in Aja’s bed, mostly distracted from the day’s events by the movies they’d watched.

Farrah removed her head from Aja’s shoulder and reclined so she could give her a questioning look. “About what?” she asked.

Aja sighed, pressing her lips together. “A lot of stuff,” she said. She knew she was being vague, and that was probably making Farrah panic, but she didn’t know how else to go about it. She didn’t exactly have much experience.

“Like…?” she questioned, her hand going to Aja’s and stroking her fingers softly, yet in an agitated way.

Aja looked down at the motion so that she had something to focus on. “Like… relationship anxiety - if that’s what it’s called.” She could feel the shiver run up Farrah’s hand. She feigned shock, as if that idea were a ridiculous one, and Aja looked back up and tilted her head as if to say, “Really?”

Farrah looked off to the side, suddenly finding Aja’s curtains very interesting. “I… may have something like that,” she admitted, sighing.

She smiled softly. “I’m proud of you for saying that,” she said, and she meant that truthfully. Farrah smiled back, making eye contact again. “So, I was thinking, it’s something we should talk about. Because it concerns both of us.”

“You have it too?”

Aja shrugged. “Who knows. Probably.” She looked down again for a second, biting her lip, before looking back up. “… Which is another reason why I wanted to discuss it.”

Farrah took a deep breath as well as a hold on Aja’s hand. “I want to discuss it as well.”

Aja smiled, silently encouraging her to continue.

Her eye contact faltered, and she spent a couple of seconds looking for something to focus on, to ground herself, before she went on.

“Well,” she began, “there was this girl, almost a year ago. It wasn’t anything serious to her, but it was to me, which was the problem. It was a “fling”, I guess.“ She made quotation marks with her free hand. "And so that really hurt me. I genuinely thought she cared.”

Aja reached over, suddenly full with heartache and anger at this girl, and she didn’t even know her. She pulled Farrah tightly to her chest as if she were trying to push all of her together, in case she started crying and fell apart.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she told her, rubbing her back. She could feel the hot tears that were streaming down her face begin to soak her shoulder, and Aja only hugged her tighter.

Farrah pulled back, but still held on to Aja’s arms. “This girl, like, ghosted me one day when I asked her what we actually were, and she still hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“Did this bitch go to our school?” Aja was bursting at the seams with rage. If she’d known this girl, she would’ve stormed out of the house at that moment and demanded a witch hunt (or, more suitably, a bitch hunt).

Farrah shook her head. “I met her at this party; we had mutual friends.”

“Did anyone else know this happened?”

She hunched her shoulders in an awkward half shrug. “I told Valentina everything, because she was one of my best friends,” she said, her voice breaking again. “And I mean everything that happened between us. But that was the only person I told. So, when she suddenly stopped talking to me a couple months ago… that hurt almost as much. She knew that would hurt me, Aja-”

“I know, Farrah, I know. She’s such a bitch - no, a cunt. Her and that girl, especially. I just… I can’t believe someone would do that to you.”

Farrah whined, about to burst into tears once more, throwing herself into Aja’s embrace again. Neither one of them cared that Aja’s shirt was turning into some sort of rag at this point, saturated with tears.

Aja was simply in disbelief at the confession. She couldn’t believe, didn’t want to believe that someone would do such a despicable thing to Farrah. Her Farrah, so seemingly innocent, so sweet and caring. The anger inside her made her forehead crease in frustration, her cheeks fiery, and brought out violent thoughts. What she would do to this girl if she ever saw her, she didn’t really want to go into detail about.

Farrah continued sobbing somewhat loudly into Aja’s neck, practically sitting on her lap like a child at this point. Aja didn’t know what to do (she didn’t deal well with crying) apart from stroke her hair; she knew Farrah liked that, and it was her best shot at calming her down. She wrapped a few locks of blonde waves around her index finger and twirled them for a few seconds before dropping it and repeating. The action, she found, was soothing to both of them, and after a few minutes, Farrah’s crying subsided. She pulled back a moment later, changing her position so that her legs were now wrapped around Aja’s waist.

“I’m sorry about that,” she said nasally, her nose now notably stuffy.

“No, no, don’t apologise,” Aja said, her eyebrows creasing. She wiped away a few remaining tears with the pad of her thumb and Farrah’s head sank into her touch, pouting guiltily. “It’s perfectly okay.”

“It’s just all been so… pent up for so long, and the only person I’ve ever told decided to be an asshole.”

“I’m not gonna be like Val,” Aja assured, “and I can tell you that for a fact. I’m always here for you - I promise.” She stared up into Farrah’s baby blue eyes, wide and glassy, and she hoped that her own conveyed the truth she was telling.

Farrah looked down. That’s what Valentina had told her when she’d confessed everything about that fling, and she couldn’t help but question where she was putting her trust. But, fuck it, this was Aja, her Aja, who she knew would never hurt a soul (despite how badass she tried to be sometimes). She’d been stuck on this teetering cliff for so long, and it was time to take a leap once more.

“I believe you,” Farrah told her. “I trust you.”

Aja flashed a smile, bringing her hand along with Farrah’s face down to meet hers for a kiss. Their lips touched gently, like Farrah was too fragile to handle anything more intense, and Aja caressed her cheek lovingly, her fingers moving to tangle themselves in her hair. Farrah moved forward, deepening the kiss, eliciting a tug on her hair from Aja. Farrah’s hands wandered to her girlfriend’s lower back and tickled the hem of her t-shirt, finding warmth in the heat of Aja’s skin. Her sigh turned into a soft moan as her shoulders relaxed; she hadn’t even noticed that they’d tensed.

Aja leant forward, their faces pressed together uncomfortably for a second as she moved one hand to Farrah’s back and laid her on her back so that she was hovering over her. She opened her eyes for a second to catch a glimpse of the blonde, the only thing illuminating her being the faint light of her mom’s laptop, before leaning back down to kiss her again.

A few moments later, Farrah placed a hand on Aja’s chest and pushed her back a couple of inches. Both of them were breathless and their lips were reddened while they took some time to just look at each other, and Aja was reminded of how beautiful she thought Farrah was.

“I don’t want us to get distracted right now,” she said, still a little breathless. “I love kissing you and all, but isn’t there more stuff to talk about?”

Aja sat up so that she was sitting between Farrah’s legs. “You mean stuff that I need to talk about?” she huffed. She knew what she’d got herself into, but she’d hoped that Farrah would forget about it amidst making out.

“… Yeah,” Farrah said. She suddenly tugged on the bottom of Aja’s shirt. “Don’t, like, get up and run away like a deer.”

“What? I won’t.”

She giggled. “You sure look like you’re going to.”

She pulled Farrah back up, who still kept a light hold of her t-shirt, and rested her hands on her waist.

“I’m staying,” she reassured, smiling, and Farrah returned the smile.

“So.” She tilted her head. “Talk to me. What’s happened that makes you feel that you have this kind of anxiety?”

Aja laughed. “You sound like a therapist.”

Farrah raised her eyebrows before laughing along with her. “Oh, God, I was just trying to sound nice and understanding.”

“Like a therapist would.”

“Shut up,” she chuckled. “I want to listen to your deep-rooted issues like a loving and supportive girlfriend.”

Aja rolled her eyes playfully before her stomach rapidly dropped. The room suddenly felt very small, like her and Farrah were a couple of caged birds. She’d never discussed this outside of her old friendship group, and even then, she’d kept it brief. Not even Sasha knew about it, and she considered her to be her best friend.

“Well,” she started, focusing on the feeling of material in her hand, which she found helped ground her. That, and the general presence of Farrah almost sitting on her lap. “When freshman year started, I really liked one of my friends from middle school. But I wasn’t out.” Farrah gave her a sympathetic look. “So, like, one day she was at my house and I kissed her for some stupid fucking reason, and obviously, she freaked out because we were fourteen and had known each other since we were pretty much kids -”

Sensing that she was stressed, Farrah slipped her hand under Aja’s shirt, her palm warm to the touch and the contact strangely calming. She began to trace lines across her ribs with her thumb, and Aja took a couple of slow, deep breaths before continuing.

“After that, it was really awkward, and put me off coming out for a while, obviously.” She gestured loosely with her hands. “My other friends were stuck in the middle but since I was at a different school to them, they stayed closer to her than me. Which is great. Thanks for listening to my TEDtalk!” she exclaimed sarcastically, fully aware of how quickly she’d been talking. She was out of breath, not from the speed of her speech, but from the sheer panic she was feeling.

“Aja…” Farrah cooed, snaking her arm around her back to pull her into a hug, and Aja rested her head in the crook of her neck. “Thanks for telling me. I know you don’t really like this sentimental shit.”

Aja laughed softly. “Clearly. I just thought, it would be better to let you know because I know that during this whole thing there’s been times where I’ve come across really defensive. And I’m sorry about that, seriously, and it’s just the idea of telling people secrets and stuff.”

“It’s okay, babe,” Farrah said, still making patterns across Aja’s skin. “I’m glad you brought it up.”

Aja planted a gentle kiss on her collarbone as a sign of acknowledgment.

“I know I apologise a shit-tonne, and that’s because I’m afraid of coming on too strong. I’m sorry about that -” she laughed at herself. “Speak of the devil.”

“We’re a bit messed up, I think,” Aja said. “But that’s okay.”

Farrah nodded against her shoulder. “It is. I’m happy we spoke about this; it’s been on my mind for a while.”

Aja squeezed her tightly. A humongous weight had been lifted from her shoulders, and she felt like a bird that was finally able to fly. The room expanded once again and everything felt normal-sized. For the second time that night, Aja let a tear or two slip out, although she made sure they were undetectable to Farrah.

“Should we watch another movie?” Farrah suggested with a giggle, pulling back.

“I think that’s enough for one day?” she replied. “Even by our standards.”

Farrah pouted. “One more?” she asked. Aja raised an eyebrow at her. “Ajaaaa,” she drawled out, looking up at her girlfriend with puppy-dog eyes.

“… Fine,” she gave in. “I’ll go downstairs to grab some food.”

Farrah squealed with happiness and turned towards Aja’s mother’s laptop to search for something worth watching. Aja cursed at herself silently for giving in so easily, and walked down the stairs to her kitchen.

Amidst grabbing a couple bags of chips, her mother’s voice interrupted her.

“Are you guys okay?” she asked, and the sudden appearance of noise startled Aja.

She composed herself quickly, taking the bags down and placing them on the counter to her right.

“Yeah, why?” she asked.

“I thought I heard Farrah crying earlier,” she said. “Was she?”

She turned around. “Oh, she’s… going through some stuff right now. I was comforting her.”

“Okay.” She was surprised her mom didn’t put up much of a fight. In any other circumstance, she would’ve inquired further, asking for exact details of why Farrah was upset, or if she should call her mother. Maybe she was becoming more relaxed, especially about the idea of Aja having a “friend” over fairly often. “I’ll leave you to it. I’ll check on you two before I go to bed.” Aja instinctively bent her head down for her mom to kiss it, which she did, before heading back upstairs with the chips.

She dumped the bags onto her bed and climbed in under the covers; Farrah was already relaxed with pillows surrounding her and the duvet pulled right up to her chin, her arms protruding over the top.

Aja pressed play and sunk back into her own pillow, following suit. Farrah rolled over and nuzzled into her side, and Aja’s hand automatically went to her hair, tangling her fingers in the mass of blonde waves.

-

Both of them were falling asleep by the time the movie reached its credits, and Farrah jolted awake at the sound of silence. The bags of chips lay opened on the floor, half the packet still left over which would probably be stale in the morning, but neither one of them cared in that moment.

Aja pushed herself up, accompanied by some momentary complaining from Farrah, to switch off the laptop and place it on the ground so neither one of them knocked it off the bed during the night. Once she was back down, Farrah pulled her close so that she had her head resting on Aja’s chest. Aja stroked her hair and she signed contentedly.

“You’re like a puppy,” Aja whispered with a soft laugh. “You need so much attention all the time.”

“Oh, shut up; you love all of this,” she teased. “I know you love coddling me.”

“What? No, I don’t,” Aja said, pulling her arms away from Farrah. “I just do it because you love it.” She folded her arms over her chest and rolled over just to make a point. Of course she could go a minute or two without being all affectionate.

“Aja,” Farrah whined, trying to coax her back over, but Aja stood her ground. “Please, turn over.” She pulled the top of Aja’s t-shirt.

Aja didn’t respond, and she knew the silence was torturous for someone who craved attention like it was a drug.

Farrah slumped over the side of her, draping her arm over her waist and resting her head on her shoulder. She could’ve fallen asleep right then and there. Just as long as she was next to Aja.

“Babe,” Farrah said, lining her arm up with Aja’s crossed ones. “I want to cuddle. Please.”

Beginning to resist, Aja slowly rolled back over and wrapped her arms around Farrah. As expected, Farrah returned the action, and smirked at the fact that she’d got her own way so easily.

“Fine,” Aja said. “I give in.” There was no response apart from the smile and pleased sigh against her chest.

Aja ran her hands up and down Farrah’s back, something she knew soothed her. Her tight grip quickly relaxed, and before she knew it, Farrah’s breathing began to even out and slow down. Aja pulled the covers up so that they covered Farrah’s shoulders, and she rested her head just over Farrah’s.

She always felt peaceful at times like this, and tonight was no different, especially after all they’d talked about. With a deep sigh, she felt all the previous panicking crumble away. She’d never felt as close to Farrah as she did right now, not physically, but emotionally.

“Farrah?” Aja whispered.

Already falling asleep, Farrah hugged Aja slightly tighter to let her know she was listening.

Aja kissed the top of her head before whispering, even quieter, “I-I love you.”

She could tell Farrah had heard her, as she pressed a kiss against her chest.

[hotsterfield]

What happens in Vegas pt. 4 - Tom Holland

Word count: 2514

Summery:  You wake up after a night in Las Vegas, only to discover you married the one and only Tom Holland

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Epilogue

Masterlist

A/N: This didn’t exactly turn out the way I wanted it to, but it’s here!  Currently I have 2 requests waiting, that I’m really excited to write, so I’m going to do that at some point. I still got something planned for the next part, but if there’s anything any of you guys want to happen, let me know! And let me know what you think!

It was finally Friday, and you couldn’t be more relived. Not because it was the weekend, but because you had a couple of days off. The next two days wouldn’t be pleasant. You knew you were getting you period this weekend, and as always it was going to be a pure hell.  

It had only been around a week or so since the whole lap dance thing with Tom. The entire week, you had kind of avoided each other, not once making eye contact. It hadn’t been hard to avoid him. You left before he got up in the morning, and when you got home, you were so exhausted that you went straight for your bed. But now you were going to be home for the next 36 hours.  And he was properly going to be as well.

It was only around 1, when you got back to the apartment. You were slowly beginning to feel nauseous, and you could feel the cramps slowly coming. They had been present for the past 2 hours, but it hadn’t been anything you couldn’t handle. You went straight for the couch, and just let yourself fall down.

You decided to just lay there. You lost all sense of time, as the cramps got worse. It felt like 1000 tiny needles pressing against your skin from the inside. Your whole body was tensing up, as you tried to fight the pain, but as always it was useless. You felt the tears pressing, as the pain intensified. The needles were turning to daggers, and you felt paralysed by the pain.

Since you were a kid you had had pretty bad cramps. You’d given up on painkillers, since the side effects just made you feel worse. You were on birth control, so you choose to only have your period every 3. Month. Sure, it was a bit worse, but at least it wasn’t as often. You always had to stay home anyway, so why not make it as few times as possible?

You heard the door open, but you didn’t even care enough to turn your head. You didn’t want to move more than necessary. There was no reason to make the pain worse.

“Oh you’re home” Tom said calmly, as he walked into the living room. “Are you. Are you alright?” He asked concerned as he looked at you. You shook your head, head still buried in pillows. You turned you head to look up at him. For the first time this week, you looked into his eyes, to see that they were filled with worry.

“Darling, what’s wrong? What’s the matter?” He asked with a quiet voice, as he kneeled down next to the couch. You wanted to make a snarky comment, but you didn’t. The words refused to leave you mouth. Instead you let out a whimper, as a new wave of pain hit you. “Darling, you’re scaring me a bit now”

“It hurts” You said, barely above a whisper. Without a word, he stood up, and walked away. It wasn’t like him to care anyway, so why should he this time? Because of your hormones, this hurt you much more than it should, and you actually felt upset.

A short moment you could hear him walking around in the living room again. Once again you turned you head, to find him in his previous spot next to the couch.

“Alright princess. I got you some pain killers for you. I got you a glass of water, with a straw, so you don’t have to get up” You looked at him confused. Why was he suddenly so caring?

“I don’t like painkillers” You whimpered. You always had more side effects than you had benefits from the painkillers. As a kid you had refused to take painkillers, unless there was no other way.

“I know darling, but I promise you’ll feel better afterwards. The sooner you take these pills, the sooner I’ll bring you something hot to ease the pain” He had never been this kind to you. You hadn’t really spoken in a week, and suddenly he was being so nice to you. How did he even know what you needed?

“Come on y/n. I’m going to bug you all day if you don’t take the pills” He continued, when you didn’t seem to take the pills. You closed your eyes in defeat, and slowly moved your hand out to take the pills. He held the water for you, as you swallowed the pills.

“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it? Now it’ll just be 20 minutes time before they kick in, and then I’ll leave you alone” He said, as he stood up, and hopefully went to find the heating pad. Already after a couple of minutes you started to feel the pills. The pain was still very present, but it wasn’t as bad anymore. On the other hand, you were also starting to feel a little high, one of the major reasons to why you hated pills.

“So we don’t have a heating pad in the apartment. I’m sorry. I think I sent it to the storage” He apologized as he came back. This day couldn’t possibly go any better. Not only were you in a pain hell, you were also starting to get high, and you had no heating pad. Oh, and of course the best part. Your hormones were a mess in front of Tom.

“It’s okay. You really don’t need to be so nice to me. Just go have fun this weekend. I’ll be fine” You snapped. You didn’t mean to come off as harsh you did, but you were suddenly just so annoyed. What kind of idiot sends a heating pad to a storage unit? Oh yeah, Tom.

“Despite what you think, I am actually a decent person. I’m staying till the pills kick in. Which should only be around 15 minutes” Oh boy was he wrong. They were already kicking in. “But if you’re really in need of some warmth, I can get you your duvet? And some blankets. Or I can heat some water, and put it in a bottle?”

“No, it’s fine. Warm water bottles are just. No. It’s fine. I’m fine. I’m not dying, so I’m fine” The pills were starting to take away your filter, and you were pretty sure that everything would go straight from you brain to your mouth from now on. Which might not be a good thing.

“I take it, the pills are starting to work?” He asked, with a careful smile. You gave him a quiet nod, not really trusting your mouth. “Good. That’s good… So… Do you want me to bring you some chocolate, or something? I have a small storage in my room” He offered.

“You’re just about the most amazing person in the world right now” Yep. The filter was definitely gone. “I would really love some chocolate. Thank you” He quickly went into his room to look for the chocolate, and was back almost faster than he had left.

“There you go, darling. Chocolate for the princess” He handed you the chocolate bar, and sat down on the small table next to the couch.

“What’s with all the pet names? Why are you being so nice to me? Why are you acting so strange today?” You asked. This wasn’t like him at all. He was an arrogant jerk. It didn’t make sense that he was being so sweet all of a sudden. He was being really suspicious.

“Oh I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you were lying on the couch, not moving, and looking like absolute shit when I got home. And you seem to be in a lot of pain, so I’m not going to be rude to you. When you’re better, I’ll turn back into an arrogant asshole, I think it is you call me” You couldn’t help but laugh, when he mimicked your accent.

Your laughing quickly turned into grunts of pain, but for some reason, you kept laughing. “I hate you Tom! It’s not fair. It actually hurts when I’m laughing, and you’re just so funny!”

“It’s good to see you smile, but it really wasn’t that funny” He looked at you, a bit confused, as you just laughed harder. The pain was going away again, and it didn’t take long until you could hardly feel it.

“Oh my god! You look so cute when you look confused! It’s like a confused puppy, when you pretend to throw something, but you don’t, so it can’t find the thing you threw. Tom, we should totally get dog! I would love a dog. Or a cat. We should get both! We should adopt the entire shelter!”

“Y/n… Are you high? You don’t seem like yourself. You’re being a little too happy, a little too suddenly” He still had the adorable confused look on his face. You couldn’t help but just laugh at him, something he took as a yes. “Alright. That’s why you don’t like pain killers. You get high. That’s noted”

“Yeah! And then I kinda lose my filter. And then I become really honest, and that’s a problem, because I’ll most likely won’t remember half of it, so that’s going to be really funny and awkward later. And how did you know I don’t like pain killers? How do you even know I needed them? How did you know I was on my period? Because if you keep a calendar on me, or track my birth control it’s kinda creepy. You’re a bit creepy”

“Your mom told me. I know you two don’t really get along, but she told me how bad your periods were. You know, just so you could be somewhat safe. And maybe so I wouldn’t be completely freaked out. So I’m not some creepy dude tracking your period. But since the pills have kicked in, I can leave if you want?” He offered, something that made you feel a bit upset. You didn’t want to be alone. That wasn’t any fun. His confused face was.

“No. Please stay” Your voice sounded so desperate, which made Tom smile while he shook his head.

“Okay. I’ll stay. No reason to get upset again. I’ll just text Harrison, and cancel my plans for the rest of the weekend. So I can entertain high Mrs Holland” He sighed, as he found his phone and sent a text.

“Could you use those pet names again? You make them sound so sweet, and it sounds really hot when you say them. Actually in general you are hot. But I’ll never admit that. Oh wait. I just did, didn’t I?” Now it was his turn to laugh at you, and then he sent you one of those stupidly hot smirks.

“Yeah you did, darling. But I appreciate it. And despite your current state, you are quite attractive yourself.” He even added a wink. That smooth arrogant asshole. That smooth arrogant hot asshole.

“Could you stop that. Stop being so hot, and flirting. You’re driving me crazy. I can’t sleep with you while I’m on my period, but I sure as hell want to! You already said the sex is amazing, and it is, so why don’t we do it more often? I still don’t like you, but I do like sleeping with you” Tom choked on his breath, as the words left your mouth.

“You… Eh, what? I… Do you… Mean that? Do you really mean that? You are pretty high, so maybe you’re a bit confused about what you want” The confused expression was back on his face, which made you giggle.

“I know what I won’t. I won’t ever admit it to you. You know, the actually wanting to sleep with you part. I won’t admit that” You kept giggling as you spoke, causing Tom to smile sincerely. Just when you though he couldn’t get any more attractive, he did.

“But you just did” He smirked again.

“But I won’t remember it. If I can’t remember it, it didn’t happen, now did it?” You raised your eyebrows at him, but he just laughed at your statement.

“Right. I’ll remember that” He shook his head at you. “Now, do my princess need anything?” He asked you, with a glint in his eyes.

“A heating pad” You responded, before letting out a yawn.

“That’s about the one thing I can’t get you, darling. I’m sorry” Another yawn come over your lips, as he spoke.

“You can be heating pad” You mumbled, as you snuggled deeper into the couch, earning yet another charming smile from Tom.

“Oh, I’ll be the heating pad? And how exactly do you expect me to do that, darling?” He asked you, trying to contain his laugh.

“Cuddle. You’re warm. Like a heating pad” You explained.

“Are you degrading me to a heating pad? I thought we were going to be married for a little longer, before that happened” He joked, making you giggle.

“It’s an upgrade from arrogant asshole” You commented.

“You know, you should take pain killers more often. It’s very entertaining to be around you, when you’re high” He kept smiling at you. That stupid smile, that you hadn’t really seen till today. Why hadn’t you seen that smile before?

“So you don’t like being around me normally?” You asked him, suddenly feeling upset again. Were you really that horrible a person? Was that why you had never seen that smile before?

“It didn’t mean it like that. Please don’t be upset. I just meant. Well. I mean. We’re not exactly best friends. We do fight half of the time. The other half we don’t really talk to each other. It’s going to be some really long months, if we go on like this” It only made you more upset, knowing he was right. It was going to be some really long months if you kept acting the way you did.

“Darling, I didn’t mean to upset you” He apologized, and leaned in to hug you. “Maybe we should spend more time together? All we do is fight and sleep together. So maybe it would be a good idea to actually get to know each other?”

“Well, I guess my mom already told you a lot about me, so I think you’re one step ahead of me. But you know. Maybe we’ll end up like one of those shitty romance movies, where they pretend to be in love, and then they end up falling in love. Properly not, but it would be a great story” You rambled on. As the words left your mouth, you were already starting to forget what you were talking about.

“Maybe you should just get some sleep” He laughed, as he lifted you up, and took place under you. The warmth from his body made you relax. He did made a nice heating pad after all. “Goodnight love”

“Night” You mumbled, before falling asleep on his chest.

“Maybe we will end up like one of those movies. Or maybe it’ll only go one way”

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