#i feel like even when she and will get married she's gonna go by dr atwood

[ophernelia]

indiyah atwood core.

[tarjapearce]

Strawberry Jam (Pt.2) +18

DadBestfriendAu!Miguel x fem!Reader

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. SMUT, Breeding kink, Body Marking, Rough sex, mentions of Exhibitionism, fluff, daily situations.

Pt. 3

Ever since your dad knew about you and Miguel, things at home were tense for a while. You always had to meet up Miguel either at his home or he picked you up.

At first, your dad gave you both the silent treatment, but seeing Miguel trying to be a good man for you, chipped away the anger. He never stayed during the nights and always visited you during the 'appropriate' mingling hours.

He always got you flowers at every chance he got, and always respected your boundaries. And then, you met Gabriela. The child was sweet and polite, yet sharp and quite the observer.

At first, your relationship with her consisted in her making questions, such as "You like my dad alot?" "What do you like the most about him?" and a bold one "Dad knows when someone is for the money. But so far you seem cool enough."

Gabriela was smart, perceptive and of course a daddy's little girl. You were worried that things with her wouldn't work out. Something you had told Miguel, once you reached the three month dating milestone.

Despite the stress, one of the biggest achievements in your life approached, your college graduation. Two more months to go and you'd be free from college.

Miguel had taken you to a new, lovely and expensive looking restaurant to have a private celebration, previous to your graduation. Miguel had asked you about Gabriela, and how the kid secretly admitted to him that, ever since you got into his life, he seemed more at ease, more of a cool dad. Happier even.

Some people around you stared as you both kissed. Of course you were aware of the snide comments done around you whenever you were with Miguel. Mostly accusing you for being a gold digger, or being manipulative enough to make Miguel your personal sugar daddy.

But to Miguel, you were none of that. And he made sure to always remind you what you meant for him.

------

With the graduation around the corner, two days actually, your dad finally just accepted the fact you were dating his best friend. Still he was squeamish about you being alone with Miguel while he was gone out of business, but so far he had kept his promise to not knock you up, despite Miguel's discontent.

"So... whatcha gonna do once you've graduated, cupcake?" He ate his dinner as he sat across you. It was just the two of you.

"Well, my career coordinator landed me a spot in Alchemax."

"Oh really? Where?"

"In the Informatics department, as Dr. Bushman's assistant."

"Does Miguel know?"

"Not yet. I wanna surprise him."

"Hm."

Your dad sighed and looked at you, with an unreadable expression on his face.

"You really like Miguel, sweetie?"

"Of course. I mean... He's the best man I could ever had asked for. He knows what he wants, and so do I."

"I'm just a bit concerned on how you'd manage to... be a mother to Gabriela at such young age"

"I know it's gonna be hard, and that she might get some time to get used to it as well, but, I told her that I wanna be someone she can trust, besides Miguel, someone she can come home to and just tell her how much an amazing kid she is, because it's true." You sighed and looked at him.

"I had none of that growing up, because of mom's doings. And if it wasn't for you, sometimes I wonder what kind of person I would've turned out. But... that's why I've decided to break the cycle and be that figure to Gabriela. She's just... so sweet dad. And Imma do my best. For her, and for Miguel."

"Would you marry Miguel?"

The question sending a bright flush on your cheeks.

"W-We haven't spoken about that. I mean, we've been only dating for five months now."

"Still, would you?"

"I would, yeah. He's too much of a good man to just let someone else that wouldn't treat him the way he deserves, get him, ya know?"

"You love him?"

"Yes. And I don't know if it's wrong to feel such intensity in such little time. Just hope he feels that way too."

"Ah, cupcake. Miguel doesn't let anyone into his life so easily. It took me almost two years for him to get to trust me. And look at you. You're already having play dates with his daughter, and doing great with him, he's really attentive and wants the best for you as well. If that ain't love, I don't know what is it."

-------

Graduation was over, the celebration with your dad, Miguel and Gabriela was a success, and soon, you were back with your dad at home. Your dad went to sleep and soon you changed into more comfortable clothes

The doorbell rang half hour later, you went to pick up, and to surprise you saw Miguel.

"Hey, come in." He kissed you in the process and soon, gave you a bouquet of roses.

"Thank you, they're beautiful"

"Congratulations, princesa. Where's your dad?"

"Sleeping. He was exhausted."

"What about you?"

"Hm?"

"Are you tired?"

"A bit. But if you wanna go for a walk, I don't mind. Just let me get my sneakers on."

You went to your room, and grabbed a pair of sneakers. You were lacing them, and the door behind you closed, the lock clicking. Big and strong arms picked you up and made you straddle his hips.

"My dad's sleeping!" You mumbled between gritted teeth

"Even better."

"You're such a perv." You kissed him as his hands removed your shirt and smirked upon finding bare breasts.

"Me? You're not wearing a bra, cariño." his mouth grazing your neck as his hands held you in place.

"Never liked them anyways." Your giggles were replaced by a soft moan as his fangs nipped at your sensitive skin. His fingers hooked in the hem of your shorts and panties to slid them out your legs, leaving you bare before him. The socks and sneakers were the only thing that dressed you up.

In all reality was that despite your dad's initial rejection to your relationship, that didn't stop Miguel to have his fun with you in other places in your home, before cleaning of course.

You had gone from the kitchen, to the porch, the thrill of of your neighbors catching you was borderline maddening.

Miguel had a thing for exhibitionism. And so you had discovered once you were fucking in the attic's window. In his car in the middle of a parking lot? check, your garage? Done. Had to wash the front of your dad's car since your silhouette was engraved on it. Shower? twice already. Stairs? of course.

You wore a dress and that was enough for him to take you in the spot.

"Now that I think about it, your room is the only place where we haven't had fun." He twirled you around and positioned in all your fours on the bed. The smoothness of your skin, displayed before him. Puffed labia waiting for his ministrations.

"Ass up, face down." He commanded as you flattened your chest down on the plush bed, obeying at his words.

His hands took yours as he made them grab your ankles. Spreading your soft flesh for him even further. He groaned at the sight as he licked his lips.

He removed his clothes, and kneeled behind you.

"Where was the last time?" His mouth pressed soft kisses in your inner thighs, and then he moved to your nub of nerves. Your body tensed at the feeling of his wet tongue dribbling up and down your slit.

"T-The living room" you spoke in between tiny, shaky whines, his tongue flickering with speed on your clit, you trembled and bit your lip to drown a shaky moan. The suckling and kissing noises sent chills down your spine.

He hummed and released your flesh with a small pop

"Oh, right. Had your dad sitting where you rode my face..." You groaned as the grip on your ankles faltered, his thumb rubbed in slow motions the already sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Where you rode me" He nearly whimpered as the memory replayed in his mind. He sunk his face once more in between your folds, holding your hips in place, eating his food with such delight it made your toes to curl in.

"Dios, te veías tan preciosa montándome." (You looked so gorgeous riding me)

He growled and slapped your rear, that only jiggled and flushed softly in response.

"Bouncing over and over, tryin'to make me cum inside this tight little pussy..."

Your hips bucked by instinct at his words, Your folds glistened both in arousal and his spit. You were turned around and got your knees bend up to your shoulders, folding you into a mating press position. His wide shoulders flexed as his hands maneuvered yours to hold yourself in place.

"You trying getting knocked up, hmm?"

"Y-Yes" You hissed in between soft pants.

"Oh..." Your heart and pussy throbbed at his expression. Goosebumps making your  skin crawl, you could swear from the light that his eyes glinted red, his breath hitched. As if waiting for so long for you to say such words. And now that you had granted him permission, there was nothing holding him back.

God, What had you done?

A flicker of fear crossed your features as he smirked. His fangs in full display for you. He guided his tip and stroked it against your folds to then sink himself in you. He shuddered at the warmth and tightness welcoming him.

"Fuck" he groaned and looked at your face as he entered you, you choked a sob.

"Let's make a mami out of you" His words slurred an octave lower. He groaned and his hips smacked yours.

You gasped and he covered your mouth with a single hand.

"But you gotta be quiet, princesa. We don't wanna wake up your daddy when we're making a baby here." His hips rammed yours and your eyes went shut, inhaling sharply against his mouth. He remained deep buried, unmoving, relishing the heat your cunt provided.

His weight crushed your body, keeping your legs folded as he hovered over your face. His other hand craddled you, and his hips rolled again, earning a shaky whimper from you. He was going slow on purpose, a pace you weren't used to.

You could feel every inch digging inside you, stretching your flesh and poking at your cervix.

"Te vas a ver tan chula" (You're going to look so beautiful)

He breathed as he nibbled the skin of your neck, grazing his fangs, to then bit. you could only groan and sob into his hand.

"Round and swell with my kid growing inside you" His whole body kept you folded, as he slowly fucked its way into you. He refused to give in as you rocked your hips against his, urging him into a faster pace.

He was low and steady, mumbling how well you were taking him, how he couldn't wait to milk your breast once you got pregnant, and how pretty you'd look in his big shirts, belly popping out all while he kept fucking you in a torturous slow pace.

He kept cooing and mumbling things in spanish that you didn't understand, but his cock kissing your womb over and over, grazing sweetly at your spot, made your toes curled in.

"You cumming mi amor?" You nodded weakly as he pressed tighter on your mouth, your breath hitched and your body went taut.

"Esoo" (That's it) He kissed your temple and removed his hand, you gasped for air, panting and heaving as your insides trapped him.

"P... Please" you whimpered and looked at him as he repositioned himself above you. Both his hands held you now in place, giving him more access into you.

"Please what?" he gave a condescending smirk your way as he hoisted his hips upwards, without leaving you completely

"H-Harder" you croaked and he let his whole weight to fall on the firm and deep thrust. Your jaw clenched as he stretched impossibly deeper inside. Tears pooled at the corner of your eyes and he lifted his hips once more, air knocking out of your throat

"Sweet girl wants me to fuck her harder?"

You nodded dumbly, his tip stretching your entrance.

"Please!" you begged with a mewl. Mouth went slack open as he rammed his hips. Your breast bounced in between your hoisted thighs as you shook with every thrust his body mustered. He wasn't holding back. The room was filled with the sounds of his growlings, your mattress creaking under your weight, menacing to cave in the sturdy wooden frame and the constant slapping of flesh.

All you could hear was a

Slap a pause slap slap slap slap

Tears rolled down your cheeks as pleasure screwed up your judgement. Your mouth opened, ready to voice out your pleasure, but a hand on your neck prevented you from doing such nonsense. Fire licked at your skin

Your folds received him with a squelching suck each time he ventured deeper. It felt like you were made specially for him. So ever hot and tight no matter how much his cock stretched you, over and over.

"You're being too noisy, mi amor." He squeezed and you gasped. Air slowly leaving your lungs as he fucked the daylights out of you, just the way you were used to. This time however, you weren't on contraceptives anymore. And that fact alone was dangerously thrilling for him.

You didn't know what made you hotter, the fact you were actually trying in making a baby with Miguel while your dad slept, and he was making everything for you to be loud, or the way he always seemed to ravage you in hopes to get you pregnant.

But dizziness took over and your nails clawed at his squeezing hand as he came first with a deep growl, spurting all his seed deep in you. Hot and flooding your insides. Your muscles spasming only welcomed his cum deeper, your eyes rolled back.

"You'll be such a good mommy for me." He panted and let your neck go, his mouth kissed softly at your marked skin. Red handprint glowed on your flesh as you wheezed and panted for air,

His eyes softened at your blissful blown face, to then pepper you with kisses. You were trying to find your voice as your numb hips finally went back to a natural and laid back position. Legs shaking softly. Breaths coming steady, He stared at you, a warm feeling spreading on your chest.

"I...-"

"Cupcake?" You dad spoke from the other side of the door.

You froze, Miguel chuckled silently

"Uh, yeah?" you rasped, trying for your voice to not sound as hoarse as it was

"I'll go to the store. Want something?"

"Some cherry cola, please."

"Gotcha. Be right back."

His steps faded until you could hear the main door being closed and his car revving. You couldn't help but giggle, he followed and kissed you.

----------

"You ok?" Miguel handed a papercup full with coffee to your dad as he watched you going through some some bridal gowns.

"Yeah... Just... She's getting married."

"Hm."

"To you."

Miguel frowned and your dad smirked with mirth.

"I once asked her if she would, but seeing this turning into a reality is... overwhelming."

The both men watched as you and Gabriela scrunched their noses at a particular dress and then laughed.

"Bad timing then."

"Hm? For what?"

"She's been moody and emotional lately."

"... Shut up..."

"I kept my promise didn't I?"

Your dad only rubbed his face and sipped his coffee.

"Guess you did. Nothing I can do about it I guess."

Miguel's eyes followed you as you took Gabriela's hand and led her to another section of the bridal shop.

Despite your request of being a private and intimate ceremony, Miguel still insisted into wearing a white dress.

"Would it be fucked up to say that I'm glad you're the one marrying my little cupcake?"

"Very. Still.. Glad you understand that I'm serious about it. Does her mom know?"

"Yeah, didn't care. Never did, actually."

"I see."

"As long as you're making her happy, that's all I care about."

"That's a promise."

"Im sure she'll buy waterproof makeup, she's quite the-"

"Crybaby? Yeah. I know. Quite adorable when her nose goes all red."

Your dad chuckled. As messed up the whole thing was, according to some of his most trusted coworkers, he felt a huge weight being lifted out of his shoulders. 

-------

If you wanna be added to nsfw related fics of Miguel let me know!

Taglist:

@um-well

@capmedusa

@migueloharaslxt

@thbidkbutok

@joestarbitch

@angelarcheangel

@ewan-tef

@gejo333

@hyunrelics

@topreice

@luvstich

@loonalockley

@allysunny

@punk-22

@jesterglitch

@sc4rltwitch

@roselove105

[boiohboii]

Noble prize winner wife (Toto Wolff x reader)

It's no secret that Toto Wolff is married, but no one ever saw his wife, for a while people doubted he actually had a wife as very few were invited to the wedding and she doesn't attend any races, but when they finally decide to go to an event together they break the Internet

or

in which they're the IT couple; with money, beauty and brains.

N.B: WARNING: not proof read, so there might be some spelling mistakes, like 2 or 4 swear words, f word. If I missed anything please let me know.

Face claim: Song Hye-kyo

Liked by danielricciardo, carlossainz55, lewishamilton and 967,187 others.

mercedesamgf1: Boss, you are too cruel for keeping your genius of a wife away from the paddock. Please welcome Dr. YN LN, 2 time Nobel Prize winner, to our page and hopefully the paddock soon (boss please let us invite her).

username: Holy fuck, she's serving 2 different looks

username: Mrs. LN , I am nothing but a speck of dust on your heels

username: SHE IS SO UUGGGHHH

username: she looks so dreamy

username: CAN TOTO WOLFF FIGHT

username: oh girlie, you gonna have your ass handed to you

username: you better hide

username: oh man, you prepared for a KO? cause Toto ain't letting no body touch her

username: at first I was all like, why won't he show his wife, but after seeing her and reading about her in the Nobel Prize Winners book, it's understandable

username: not me calculating my chances of winning against Toto Wolff

username: you know damn well you losing

username: I'd start begging before the fight even begins

Liked by Lewishamilton, Pierregasly, Charles_Leclerc and 890,517 others

mercedesamgf1: congratulations to our Mr & Mrs Boss on 15 years of marriage 🖤🖤 wishing for a baby boss soon

username: I am loving all the Wolff family content we are getting

username: they have 15 years to make up for

username: tbh I don't care about Toto, I just want to see YN

username: Toto didn't let people know that YN is his wife cause he knew she'd be stealing his fans

username: everyone switching to the YN LN lane

Liked by Lewishamilton, Charles_Leclerc, carlossainz55 and 917,621 others

Mercedesamgf1: The Mercedes team would like to congratulate Dr. YN LN on her hard work throughout the years and her leadership in such an important medical field. Her research has been helpful to many doctors and her website is extremely useful to our future doctors. Thank you Dr. LN for your work and dedication.

username: I love how this turned into her fan page

username: I would like to be adopted by the wolff family

username: the sunglasses are such a look

username: with every photo of her i get more and more obsessed

username: I love my mother

username: ever since they decided to go public about each other I have been feeling more and more single

username: her going to a race, toto going with her to receive her award can you all stop making us feel lonely as hell

username: wishing for her to join toto to the FIA awards ceremony

username: she will serve

username: will eat everyone up with her style and leave no crumbs

username: I am buying some crystals

username: no one will give a f about the drivers if she goes

username: bet toto took the third picture

username: for research purposes, I would like to know where the second picture was taken

Liked by Mickschumacher, formula1, maxverstappen and 918,369 others

mercedesamgf1: we would like to thank Dr. YN LN for joining us this evening, it had been a pleasure to have you with the Mercedes team. The Mercedes admin would like to ask our boss's Boss if you can please convince Mr. Wolff to give us a vacation a few days till he can find his way back from your eyes (can't blame him, I want to get lost in there too)

username: NOT THE ADMIN OUTING WHO'S THE BOSS IN THEIR MARRIAGE

username: BOSS'S BOSS!

username: well, now we know who ears the pants in this marriage

username: THE GLASSES MADE A COMBACK

username: THEY HAVE A DOG!!

username: I would not be surprised if the next photo is of them with a 14 year old kid

username: milf yn and dilf toto

username: don't mess with me rn

username: listen, I thought black is her color, but that pink dress is doing something to me

username: her doing her hair up is so sexy of her

username: fuck the kardashians, she is the only one I want to keep up with

username: you can't just make me die with a photo then to resurrect me with a cute one only to have my heartbeat crazy with the third

username: what cute one? The dog is doing nothing to distract us from her look

username: all I see is mommy

Liked by Lewishamilton, Pierregasly, Georgerussel and 826,179 others

mercedesamgf1: The boss is a bit busy, no better time for some team bonding.... the admin is so happy, thank you universe for giving Mr. Wolff some work

Lewishamilton: where are you guys? I want to join

mercedesamgf1: @.lewishamilton get in line, we have 5 other drivers on the waiting list

danielricciardo: @.mercedesamgf1 does that mean you will send me the location now?

mercedesamgf1: @.danielricciardo you are the third buddy, you have 1 British boy and 1 Spanish man in front of you

Charles_leclerc: @.mercedesamgf1 I thought I was before Carlos!

Carlossainz55: @.Charles_leclerc I told you I'm meeting her first

Georgerussell: @.mercedesamgf1 is that why everyone is coming to out paddock?

Danielricciardo: @.mercedesamgf1 wait, I was forth, who was first on the list

Mickschumacher: @.Danielricciardo hey man ✌🏼

Landonorris: tell Mrs. LN to check her phone please, I am standing in the cafe and her order isn't available

Mercedesamgf1: it's fine, you can just come to the location I sent you -Boss's boss.

Pierregasly: YOU HAVE HER NUMBER!

Maxversteppen: this is so unfair

Landonorris: go cry about it somewhere else

Mercedesamgf1: @.danielricciardo one British boy had been removed from the list

username: not everyone and their mothers wanting to meet YN

username: they are all down so bad and I understand

username: I would not be surprised if every single driver shows up next week with a swollen face

username: toto really had a point in keeping his wife hidden from these HOOLIGANS!

username: lando having her number is the most unexpected thing

username: how do you think Lewis and George are feeling?

username: they are crying in the club rn

username: not Mick being the first one on the waiting list

username: he's like a duckling following its mother whenever she comes to the paddock

username: the fact that she went twice and in both times Mick was seen just following her around

username: toto having to literally grab Mick by the back of his neck to be able to have a moment with his wife was the best thing to happen in 2023

mercedesamgf1: unfortunately all drivers that aren't with our team are banned from the paddock, Boss's order

username: toto really fighting for his wife's attention

[alexander-arcturus-black-lupin]

Insecure...

Spencer Reid x Y/N

Content Warning: Coarse language, panic, fear of embarrassment, restraints, Spencer laughs and teases reader, Switch Spencer but he's mostly dom, insecure reader, breeding fetish, praising, degradation, orgasm denial, oral (both receiving), vaginal sex, backshot(sex from behind), unprotected sex(Condoms don't exist babes).

Summary: You feel insecure about being Spencer's girlfriend and he decided to do something about it.

These gifs of him are too perfect likeee 🤧 it's just a 29 year age gap it's not that much really

Spencer Reid x Y/N

Genre: smutt

Word Count : 1261

Content Warning: Coarse language,restraints, Spencer worships and cares for the reader, dom behaviour in terms of him mostly being in control and giving the orders,  insecure reader, breeding fetish, praising, degradation, oral (both receiving), vaginal sex, backshot(sex from behind), unprotected sex(Condoms don't exist babes).

Summary: You feel insecure about being Spencer's girlfriend after Maeve calls and he decided to do something about it.

Reid was on the phone with Maeve and you know they were officially ending their relationship, but there was some part of you that felt...insecure. You didn't even notice when he slipped onto the bed beside you. He wrapped his arms around your neck. 

"Hey baby,"

“Hi” you flinched as Spencer pulled you onto him and held you close, peppering your neck and shoulder. 

“Baby why are you being cold,”

“I’m not being cold Spencer, leave me alone please,”

Spencer gets off the bed and leaves the room and you feel yourself shrink in yourself. 

Oh

Would he do this if-

But then he comes back in with a tub of ice-cream. Oreo flavoured my favourite.

“Y/n, I’m gonna give you a spoonful of ice-cream for a sentence,”

“Are you trying to bribe me, Dr. Reid?” I feel a slight smile tug at my lips,

“That depends on whether you consider this a bribe” I gesture to the ice cream.

“Yes, that is a bribe,” He frowns a little.

“But I’m open to it” you say despite yourself.

He smiles and resumes his position behind me. 

“Baby what’s wrong?”

I stay silent.

“Baby,”

“Why do you love me Spence, why me?”

“What do you mean, why me?"

“I mean why me as if you could have any girl in the world, yet you choose me?”

“Yeah”

“Why”

“Because I love you”

“Why do you love me?”

“What brought this on?”

“Spencer please, Maeve and you-"

"I'll stop you right there, Maeve and me are history alright, I won't lie to you yes I loved her but she's not the one I wanna marry, she's not the one I want to have a family with, she's not the one I wanna die with" he continues.

“Y/n Y/L/N you are a beautiful, sexy, intelligent, courageous, hard working woman who has my heart. You are the reason I wanna wake up sometimes or the reason I got to bed too because I get to see you in my bed or me in your bed, either way I get to see you, I get to see you as the moon outlines every curve of your beautiful body. I love how your eyes shimmer and shine when you talk about something you’re excited about. "I feel tears in my eyes.

“Baby,” Spencer sets the ice-cream down and holds onto me. “Baby don’t cry,”

“I’m not crying, um I’m sorry Spence I-,” I directed my attention out the window. 

“What is it?”

“I just got a little, it’s stupid,”

“Y/N”

“I got a little insecure,” I mumbled. Spencer sits in front of me and looks at me like he’s analysing me. 

“Don’t look at me like that,”

“Like what,”

“Like a some sa-”

“Baby, I’m looking at you and wondering why a goddess is insecure,”

“Spence-”

“Baby you are a goddess,” a smirk appears on his face. “And I’m going to show you how much of a goddess you really are.

Spencer kisses you and pulls you onto his lap, kissing you hard. He his hand moves to your neck and he holds you in place. He lets go only to remove your shirt and your pants.

He pushes you onto your back with his neck and kisses you. You wrap your legs around him grinding against him.

"You're wet already," Spencer chuckles against your skin sending vibrations all the way down.

“Spence-”

“Oh baby, you want me?"

"Mmm"

"To fill you up baby huh?” Spencer’s lips burn deliciously down my neck towards the dip between my breasts, he take one of nipple between his fingers and takes the other in his mouth driving me mad

“Oh Dr. Reid,” I feel him curse against my skin. 

“You calling me Dr. Reid,” He chuckles against my breast. “I like it,”

"Oh baby," Spencer moves down and places his head between your thighs. He kisses your inner thigh sending shivers up your spine, just when you think he's going to go down on you he stops.

"Reid?" He gets off you and pulls you by your thighs towards the end of bed. He then sits behind you. "Wha-?"

"Look in the mirror" he moves one of his hand and holds up her chin.

"Spence," There we a standing mirror in the bedroom. In the reflection, y/n finally saw how she looked. Her hair was a mess, her lips were swollen.

"What do you see," Spencer kissed along your shoulder blade. Spencer pried open your legs showcasing your throbbing pussy. He started rubbing and pulling your nub.

"Mmh," fuck

"Words baby, words"

"I-i see, oh oh Spencer, fuck I see you and me,"

"Do you know what I see?"

"Fuck, Spencer,"

"I see, a goddess, a goddess I'd worship any day, a goddess whos forgotten she's a goddess"

"Spence," Spencer's fingers sped up and started to ram in and out of you. Heat started to build up in my core.

"Look at yourself," In the mirror, my eyes are glazed, "So high on me, look at my fingers, fucking you"

"Spencer, please"

"Come," I feel myself let go.

Your legs felt numb, Spencer however pulls you onto the bed and leans over your pussy, you try to undo his pants.

"Patience, Patience,"

Spencer's tongue flicks over the swollen nub and sends shivers up your spine. He holds down your hips, he digs in and when your about to burst again he bits down on the nub.

"Spencer please," Spencer finally oblidges and and undoes his pants. He slowly eases into you gasping and he grunting

"You are so warm and tight fuck" Spencer normally slow, he always does but today it's different. He rams hard into you, your hips jolt upwards to meey his but he holds you down.

You free your legs from his hold and wrap them around his waist angling yourself in a gratifying position. You clench around his dick which is enough to make him come.

"You look so fucking good with my cum in you, you'd look better swollen with my children" you blush. Spencer stays in you for a while before removing himself and getting up to take you both to the bathroom.

He cleans you up (After giving you like multiple orgasms in the shower) and you both get dressed.

"Y/n"

"Yeah Spence,"

"Don't ever beat yourself up or compare yourself to somebody ever again, you aren't perfect but neither am I. I'm a genuis yet it took me years to ask a really pretty girl out," you chuckle.

"That pretty girl liked ice-cream but i took her to a bar instead, even though neither of us drink, that's not really genuis is it?"

You shake you head a smile on your face, you lay down on the bed as Reid picks up the ice-cream container

"I also didn't take a certain tube of ice-cream and put it back in the freezer did I?"

"To be honest Reid you were a little pre-occupied," Spencer quickly puts it back and comes back to spoon you in the bed. "Thank you Reid,"

"You never have to thank me for that," He whispers into your shoulder blade placing a light kiss.

"Goodnight y/n"

"Goodnight Spencer,"

[guess-my-next-obsession]

Guilty as Sin? - Chapter Two

pairing: professor!javier peña x f!reader

rating: series is 18+ only, minors DNI, lots of yearning, derrick disappoints us, javier flirts...kinda, law school stuff that i'm researching as i go so bare with me actual lawyers and law students, mentions of a crime/DV (used as an example), reader wears skirts (for the sake of future smut)

word count: 3.8k

series masterlist

After a long night of imagining Dr. Peña’s stern eyes peering into yours from between your thighs, it was time to face him yet again. With his Criminal Law class Monday through Wednesday, and his Intro to Forensics lab Wednesday through Friday, it seemed you’d have to learn to get used to his dizzying effect on you or else you’d never get a full night of sleep. It didn’t help that both Nina and Alondra had guests over last night, their explicit noises forcing you into sleeping with headphones on. 

Ears aching and eyes tired, you carried on with your day as usual. New lectures in Advanced Forensics and Criminal Profiling in the morning, and Dr. Peña’s class in the afternoon. Derrick followed you around in between classes, eager to prove himself to you by buying your latte and carrying your bag—even when you insisted you were fully capable of doing both on your own. 

You weren’t sure what had gotten into him over the summer while he was away with his family in the Hamptons—a luxury you could only imagine as you spent your summer working as an underpaid secretary for a law firm. Perhaps it had to do with his older brother’s engagement and recent promotion to an attending physician that compelled him to be so pushy when it came to you. Unfortunately for him, you had no interest in getting married this young, not when you still had so much to prove. 

“Hopefully there’s a seat in the back today,” he said, opening the door to the lecture hall for you. While he may have a good reason for not wanting to be the center of Dr. Peña’s attention again, there was a decent sized part of you that adored his attention—even if it meant a scolding. Maybe especially if it meant that. 

“Yeah,” you lied, swallowing down your nerves as you stepped into a much more crowded room than yesterday. You scanned the room, now full of hopeful women and men who must have heard about Dr. Peña’s looks and transferred out of their old classes to get a glimpse of the man. Only five seats remained, four of them scattered around the auditorium and one in the front row. 

“Shit,” Derrick swore, scanning the room. “Guess we have to split up.”

You fought away the smirk threatening to spread across your face and frowned. “Sucks. Well, I’m gonna be in the front.”

“So he can pick on you?” Derrick asked, raising a brow. “There’s a seat near the back, take that one.”

“I’m fine,” you assured, giving him a glare to admonish whatever control he thought he had over what you chose to do. He scoffed, watching you as you made your way down the steps of the hall to the front row where you found a seat beside a girl you were friendly with during undergrad, Mayte. “Is this seat open?”

“Yeah,” she chirped with a smile, moving her bag from the seat to let you sit down. “Crazy how full this class is. I don’t feel like it was this packed yesterday.”

“It wasn’t,” you chuckled, unpacking your notebook and pen. 

Striding in in a red button down and almost skin tight black slacks that you couldn’t help but notice bulged out at the zipper, the reason for all the new transfers became clear. The hush that fell over the room was telling, a silence that filled you with so much jealousy you thought you might be sick. 

“Afternoon,” he greeted, setting his back down in his chair. After pulling out a stack of papers, he gave the room a quick once over, his shock written in the lift of his brows. “Full house today.”

The room filled with flirty laughter, your eyes rolling in response. Heading over to Mayte who sat at the start of the row, Dr. Peña handed her the stack of papers, his eyes flickering towards yours as he spoke, “Take one, pass it down.”

You looked away, the window now seeming far more interesting than it had a second ago. 

“Today’s lecture will be on the fundamental elements of crime,” he said, reaching his podium. Hearing your name called, you shrank a bit in your seat. Still, that thrill of earning his attention raced through your veins, daring you to meet his eyes. “Can you tell the class what these elements are?” 

You nodded, flipping to the page in your notebook you’d filled out the night before while studying. “The fundamental elements of a crime are actus reus, mens rea, and causation.” 

The corner of his mouth tilted upwards as he gave you a nod, his eyes hesitantly shifting from yours to the row behind you. “Mr. Velasquez, define actus reus for me.”

“Actus reus refers to the act of committing a crime, either knowingly or unknowingly,” he said. 

“Very good,” Dr. Peña commended. “Simply put, actus reus—which is Latin for guilty act—refers to the ‘what’ in a crime. These criminal actions must be considered voluntary and done during a lucid state to constitute a crime. For example, a sober man comes home from a hard day at work and assaults his wife. This act was done both in a conscious state and by his own volition. Now, if the wife were to be in a state of survival and had no other choice than to respond to the assault with an extreme measure, this is an entirely different story and does not meet the qualifications for actus reus.” 

“Murder is murder, isn’t it?” Derrick asked from somewhere in the middle row, causing you to roll your eyes. Did he really not understand the difference between murder and self defense this far into the law program?

“Murder is murder, and survival is survival, Mr. Crawley,” Dr. Peña explained, crossing his arms over his shoulders. “Do you disagree with this logic?”

“Sort of, yeah,” he said, matching Dr. Peña’s arrogance without possessing any of the charm. “There are ways to defend yourself without killing someone?”

“Do you think these victims have the time to strategize when they have a gun pressed to their temple? If there’s a blade to their throat?” he challenged. “They do what they have to do to survive. It’s not our place as lawyers to judge them, it’s our job to uphold the law.”

“Laws that are written with double standards,” Derrick scoffed, earning a shush that sounded an awful lot like Nina. 

“Perhaps if you make it to the end of the program you can change things,” Dr. Peña smirked, glancing at you before turning back to your friend who was looking an awful lot like a stranger these days. “But I’m not so certain that’ll be the case for you, Mr. Crawley.”

After the scene that was class, you met up with Alondra at the library, both of you determined to avoid the noise that came along with Derrick having his male friends over at the apartment. Beyond the obnoxious volume they all spoke at, you hated the way they watched you, whispering amongst themselves about how jealous they were that Derrick got to live with three beautiful girls—nevermind the fact that none of you wanted anything to do with him in that sense. 

“What are you doing your paper on for Arman’s class?” Alondra asked as she typed on her laptop. 

“Not sure yet,” you said, taking a bite out of the banana you’d hoped would fuel you until dinner. “Maybe capital punishment.”

“That’s good,” she commended. “I was thinking of analyzing the process of trying someone with psychological disorders.”

“Still interested in criminal psych?” 

“Yeah,” she smiled. “Sometimes I wonder if I should’ve done the psychology route instead, but there was no way I was going to convince my parents to fund that.”

“Why not?” you frowned. 

“They don’t think mental illness is a real thing, which is funny considering they both exhibit traits of bipolar disorder and narcissism,” she laughed, hiding her trauma behind a thin veil of humor like she always did. Not that you minded it. The whole expressing your feelings thing never really came that easily to you. “Oh, shit. I forgot to tell you something.”

“Oh, no,” you winced. 

“So rumor has it that you and Derrick have a little date on Friday?” 

“Yeah,” you sighed, shaking your head. “I just want to get it over and done with so he’ll drop the whole thing. I mean, four years into being friends and I never felt a thing for him. Does he really think that changed overnight?”

“Knowing him, probably,” she chuckled. “Anyways, I heard from a very credible source—“

“Sabina,” you guessed. 

“Maybe,” she blushed. “Anyways, she told me that on the first night back, Derrick hooked up with an undergrad and caught a case of the clap.”

“Shut up,” you gasped. “Chlamydia? At his grown age?”

“I know,” she laughed. “So, just be careful if you decide to—“

“Believe me, I had no intentions of fucking him before and I sure as hell have none now,” you assured, cringing at the thought. 

“Interesting conversation for a library, isn’t it?” Dr. Peña’s warm timbre sent a chill up your spine as he stood behind your chair, Alondra’s eyes wide and cheeks flushed. 

“We were just…gossiping,” she offered, shrugging the embarrassment off. “Women, am I right?” 

“Two very bright women who’d be far better off studying,” he challenged. 

You refused to turn around, his leather and vetiver scent combined with his proximity already too much for your system of self restraint to handle. Instead, you flipped the page of your textbook in strained silence. 

“I actually was hoping to speak to you about tomorrow’s lab,” he continued, now speaking directly to you. 

“8 p.m., got it,” you said, your tone clipped with frustration at your dirty mind. 

“It was actually in reference to your…clothing,” he returned, causing Alondra to raise a brow as she pretended to resume her typing. Turning in your seat, you peered up at him with furrowed brows. 

“What about my clothing?” you inquired. 

“You seem to wear a lot of dresses and skirts,” he noted, though he looked as if it was torture to even have this conversation. “I just wanted to remind you that appropriate PPE is required for all labs, which means—“

“Pants. Understood,” you said, turning back to your book. 

“Good,” he managed, almost sounding as if he’d lost his voice with how strained his tone was. “I’ll leave the two of you to your gossiping and studying, then.”

Alondra watched as he walked past your table, his hands tucked into his pocket as if he owned the place. 

“Hot,” she whispered, biting her lip. “I’m pretty gay, but that tension…” 

“There’s no tension, he’s just a dick,” you snapped, feeling your cheeks heat as you replayed the interaction over and over in your head. 

He really paid that much attention to you? So much so that he felt compelled to remind you of lab etiquette you learned back in high school? 

The delusional part of your mind swooned while the logical part recoiled. 

“Please show up in a mini skirt,” she begged, her hands clasped together in front of her chest. Snorting at herself, she proceeded to mimic his deep voice, “I thought I told you no mini skirts.” 

“I’m begging you to shut the fuck up,” you sighed, rubbing your temples. 

“Yes, I’ve been such a naughty girl, Professor.”

“Would you look at that. Seems like it’s time for me to get the fuck out of here,” you said, closing your book and shoving it into your bag. 

“Don’t be like that, I’m just trying to paint an image,” she teased, laughing as you hustled to get your things packed. 

“Sorry, I’ve got a date with my bed,” you snarked, slinging your bag over your shoulder. 

“How convenient,” she smirked, tapping her pen against her chin. “I give you a brand new fantasy and now you’re off to bed.”

“Someone’s moans kept me up all night so I’m exhausted,” you retorted, laughing at the way she kept staring you with that knowing look of hers. “Fuck off.”

“Love you more,” she called as you turned and walked away. 

After another night of restless sleep and inappropriate fantasies of Dr. Peña’s hands sliding up your skirt, it was time for yet another day of this back and forth. You’d expected Derrick to keep his distance after his humiliating interaction during CrimLaw, perhaps brood about like he usually did when things didn’t go his way, but it was business as usual today. He followed you around like a lost dog, talking your ear off about his upcoming project for his mock trial in his Criminal Procedures class as you wandered off in your mind to a reality where he hadn’t changed into this hyper masculine man you didn’t recognize. 

“I’m excited,” he beamed, rubbing his hands together. “First time to prove myself in a courtroom.”

“An artificial court room,” you clarified, earning a scowl. “Hey, I have to get to Peña’s lab.”

“We’re, uh, still good for Friday, right?” he asked, catching your elbow as you moved to walk away. 

“If you want,” you shrugged, looking down at where he still gripped your arm. “I should get going.”

He nodded, letting your arm go. “I’ll see you at home.” 

After managing to ditch Derrick, you assumed your walk to Dr. Peña’s lecture hall would give you a moment of respite, but of course fate had different plans. 

You didn’t even recognize him until he was already approaching with a cocky grin and his arms held out wide. Micah, the man who’d ruined your entire undergrad experience with all of his back and forth bullshit. You fought the urge to scrunch your nose in disgust over his new mullet and pitiful mustache he likely spent all summer growing. 

“Hey,” he chimed your name, creating an absurd desire inside you to change it just so you’d never have to hear it on his lips again. You feigned confusion, as if you could ever forget those green eyes that still haunted every dream. “Shit, you don’t recognize me.” He laughed. “It’s Micah.”

“Oh. Hey.” Your greeting was as strained as your smile. 

“You’re looking good,” he praised, admiring you from top to bottom. You cringed at his appraisal, at his ignorance over the entire situation. “How’s, uh, how’s law school?”

“Fine,” you replied, clipped and cold. 

“Why’re you acting like that?” he asked, a smile tugging at his lips. Oh, the amount of money you’d pay for the chance to slap that arrogant smirk right off his face. “You still holding onto all that old shit?”

“Four years of emotional abuse will do that,” you replied. “Anyways, I have to be somewhere.”

“C’mon, all your friends forgave me for that shit. Why can’t you?” 

Maybe today would be the day you finally lost your shit on him and ended up in jail. Though, that would mean missing Dr. Peña’s lab and you certainly couldn’t miss out on the chance to ogle him. 

“They forgave you because they weren’t the ones you fucked over,” you explained, choosing to be mature even when it ached. “So I get to decide when I want to forgive you. Not the other way around. And just as a good rule of thumb, I don’t plan on forgiving you anytime soon.”

“So what, we just avoid each other?” he frowned, daring to act as though he was hurt. 

“That’s the goal,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Besides, won’t be long now until you flunk out since I’m not around to write your essays anymore.”

“Fucking bitch,” he hissed, signaling your cue to walk the fuck away before you did something that would end up with you in a jail cell. “And you wonder why I cheated!”

Shaking your head to clear out all the memories of nights spent sobbing on the floor or in Nina’s bed because yours reminded you of him too much, you marched off towards the lecture hall with five minutes to spare. Thankfully unlike your Criminal Law lecture, you didn’t have to worry about finding a seat given the fact that you’d be sitting at the front of class in a desk designated to the TA. 

You passed rows of undergrads whispering and laughing amongst themselves, all of them blissfully unaware of the storm heading their way. As you reached the front of the class, Dr. Peña walked in with the same frown of disapproval he wore on the first day of your lecture. 

“Evening,” he greeted, silencing the room with one simple word. He shot you a glance, doing a double take as he noticed you were still unpacking your bag and getting settled. 

“You’re late,” he scolded in a whisper as he walked over to your desk, the cinnamon on his breath invading your senses. 

“I’m five minutes early,” you challenged as you opened your notebook and jotted down the date, well aware of the sea of freshman and sophomore eyes trained on the two of you. 

“I need you here at seven-thirty,” he ordered. “I had to prep by myself.”

“I apologize,” you sighed, half due to your run in with Micah and half due to the ever present exhaustion of trying to keep your fantasies of your demanding professor at bay. “I’ll be on time tomorrow.”

“That would be appreciated,” he snarked, shaking his head as he wandered back to the center podium with a clearing of his throat. “Welcome to Intro to Forensics. I’m Dr. Peña, you’ll refer to me as such this semester—not dude, not bro, and certainly no nicknames. I’m not your friend, I’m here to teach you. Understood?”

God, he was a dick. A beautiful, wound up dick that you couldn’t stop thinking about. 

“This is your TA for the semester,” he introduced you by name, and something about the way it sounded on his lips caused your breath to hitch. “She’ll be here to help during labs as well as tutoring on her own time. If you have questions about the material or assignments, I suggest you speak with her first. You’ll find her tutoring hours on the syllabus.”

You frowned a bit as you thought about the whole tutoring part of being a professor’s assistant. Spending your weeknights at the library helping out undergrads sounded like pure torture at this point in your life, but at least the extra cash would go a long way towards covering your bills. 

“Today we’ll be covering DNA fingerprinting,” he said, pulling up a slideshow presentation. “Can anyone tell me how exactly this process works?”

A pretty freshman shot her hand up before he’d even finished speaking, curdling your stomach with jealousy you knew you had no right to feel. “Yes, Miss…?”

“You can just call me Jess,” she smiled, tucking a piece of her caramel brown hair behind her ears. 

“No. What’s your last name?” he sighed.  

“Jacobs,” she sputtered, her cheeks turning a shade of red. “DNA fingerprinting uses nucleotide sequences in DNA to determine who the fingerprints belong to.”

“Very good,” he nodded. “And what are nucleotides?”

“I…um, I don’t know,” she admitted, that sparkling smile now long gone as she stared down at her book. 

“Figured,” he chided, skipping to the next slide. “Your knowledge doesn’t mean a thing if you can’t explain it.”

Watching him talk down to a student shouldn’t have stirred you the way that it did. In fact, if he’d been any other man talking to a woman that way, you’d have detested him. But there was something about Dr. Peña that poisoned your mind in his favor, a very annoying thing you now had to add to your list of shit to sort out upstairs. 

After a relatively silent lab where the students had to match DNA samples to their rightful owner, it was nearing ten o’clock, the pitch black sky outside beckoning you to hurry the fuck up and get to bed. Of course, nature was forgetting your very demanding professor who seemed dead set on wearing you out in all the wrong ways. 

“You take half, I’ll take half,” he suggested, splitting the stack of worksheets in two and handing you your share as you sat in his private office that was adjoined to the lecture hall. “Should be finished quickly enough.”

“Is there any way I can just do these at home?” you asked, your eyelids growing heavier with each blink. 

He studied you for a beat, those brown eyes traversing every single feature, every inch from head to toe as if he was searching for something. “If you’d prefer.”

“I’m just really tired,” you admitted, suddenly feeling small under his gaze. “Don’t want to accidentally fall asleep in your office.”

“That would be inconvenient,” he chuckled, and god, what a sound. “Grade them wherever you’d like, just make sure you drop them off tomorrow morning.”

Nodding, you grabbed your bag and carefully tucked the papers inside. 

“Tomorrow morning,” you echoed.

“I look forward to it,” he smiled, a fleeting thing that disappeared the moment you turned to look at him. “Have a good night.” 

You took in a slow inhale and offered him a more lasting smile. “You too, Professor.”

“And don’t worry about the PPE tomorrow,” he added, stopping you as you moved to leave the room. Raising your brow at him, he looked entirely unphased, his eyes once again combing you over before he seemed to realize himself. “No lab, just a lecture.”

“Right,” you said, biting your lip. “I’ll be sure to wear my shortest skirt.” 

Did you really just say that? Out loud? 

Dr. Peña cracked a smile and shook his head, turning back to his desktop. “I wouldn’t want you to cause a scene.”

“I’m not sure the sight of me in a skirt is scene worthy.”

He tilted his head to the side in consideration, his eyes still locked on his screen. 

“I’d beg to differ,” he said, wearing that taunting fucking smirk as he typed. “Anyways, be safe getting home.”

“Yeah,” you chuckled—at him, at yourself, at everything. “Night, Dr. Peña.”

“Good night,” he smiled. 

And just like that, you discovered a way to taunt him the way he taunted you by just existing. 

[anhed-nia]

R.O.T.O.R. -- AGAIN!

Even ripoffs can be beautiful.

I am writing about R.O.T.O.R., neither for the first time nor the last, because something new strikes me about this startling movie every time I see it. Its amazing premise, which amply rips off THE TERMINATOR and JUDGE DREDD (but not ROBOCOP, oddly, which began shooting after R.O.T.OR., also in Dallas) provides fertile ground for all sorts of useful interpretation. This time I was most struck by the fact that R.O.T.O.R. is all about jobs and going to work.

The story concerns "police scientist" Captain Coldyron (cold-iron) who has invented the Robotic Officer Tactical Operations Research/Reserve, a T-800 type of android made out of a "self-teaching alloy" that can kick anybody's ass. Coldyron resigns in a huff when his boss conspires with local politicians to rush the lawbot to market, and the project races forward dysfunctionally until R.O.T.O.R. inevitably busts lose and starts killing people for minor mischief. Coldyron hooks up with the robot's coauthor Dr. Steel (female bodybuilder Jayne Smith who is like something out of Crying Freeman, which I mean as the highest compliment) to hunt their creation down and destroy it.

Coldyron is played by Richard Gesswein, who was also created in a lab.

That might sound pretty action-packed, but in execution R.O.T.O.R. is heavily focused on the drudgery of daily life. Enormous amounts of time are spent walking through parking lots, traversing the atria of hotels, finding parking, being seated in restaurants, and most of all, spending hours and hours at work, making countless phone calls. You have never seen so many people on the phone in a movie in your entire life. There's work phones, home phones, payphones, and even CB radios. At times it feels as if you may never see more than one person on the same set again. On the phones, people say things to each other that have already been said earlier in the movie if not earlier in the same scene, if not earlier in the same monologue. In the scene where Coldyron learns that R.O.T.O.R. has gone rogue, he delivers this incredible screed during one of THREE calls that he makes in a row:

"Its last program was prime directive... Prime directive to our ROTOR unit is judge and execute. It stops felons, judges the crime, and executes sentence. Justice served, COD. You call the Senator and you tell him ROTOR walked through a busload of nuns to get to a jaywalker, with malice towards no one. It won't stop. It wasn't ready. Its brain functions are incomplete. It can't think twice, can't reason, can't change its prime directive. It's like a chainsaw set on frappe..."

It begins to feel as if he will never stop reiterating whatever he (and others) just said, and this is not the only such example.

Most of these calls, like all of the activity in the movie, are focused on jobs. Coldyron calls his girlfriend first thing in the morning to tell her that he is getting ready for work, and to ask her if she is also getting ready to go to work at her own job. He promises that "if you're a good girl and go to work" then he will grill steaks at her house later. When he goes out to buy charcoal for the reward steaks he stumbles upon two creeps robbing the store and trying to take a hostage--a woman who stops the crime with several karate kicks, to whom he says "Hey lady, you want a job?" Meanwhile at the police robot lab, a scientist slaves away while complaining about the impossible new R.O.T.O.R. deadline as the comic relief security bot whines, sighs, and says "One of these days I'm gonna quit this job!" (Later on he actually does) Once R.O.T.O.R. has escaped we meet the Linda Hamilton of this movie (Margaret Trigg), who is having a vicious fight in the car with her fiance because she wants to get a job; the fiance wants to forgo the "barbaric ritual" of the wedding and just be automatically married to a woman who will not embarrass him by getting a job. Finally he concedes, "Elope with me tonight and I'll help you get a job after the honeymoon," but it's too late for all that because he's speeding and about to get killed by R.O.T.O.R.

For extra job-related realism there is workplace harassment in the form of a guy who tries to fuck his colleague by describing ancient execution methods and who calls her a white supremacist for turning him down (he says he's Native American, she says he's not, I don't know the right answer because this is the actor's only credit--and actually he's uncredited for the role, though he is acknowledged for composing the movie's primitive synth soundtrack which I kind of enjoy). It's also worth mentioning that the comedy droid is a real robot with a job, according to iMDB (sadly there is not a wealth of info on this movie):

"Willard the Robot is played by APD2, a robot purchased in 1986 by the police department of the Town of Addison, a northern suburb of Dallas, for $17,750 (approximately $41,000 in 2018 dollars). APD2/Willard performed public relations duties and was tapped to lead the Christmas parade in Addison that year. His contributions to actual law enforcement and his subsequent whereabouts are unknown. "As quoted from 'theoldrobots' website; 'Officer Willi from 1985 - This 21st Century Robotics robot was operated by remote control, showed videos about public safety, and was used in teaching important safety topics such as stranger awareness, traffic safety, and much more..'"

Coldyron is actually a very good prototype of the modern tech mogul who has way too much time on his hands and whose existence is mainly composed of heroic fantasies about himself, whether he is molding the future face of law enforcement, or dicking around on his enormous ranch where he lamely practices his lasso technique on tree stumps before blowing them up with dynamite. At the office he demands "hydrogenated wheat germ and dessicated liver" which boosts his handball game, and I thought, jesus christ I think I've worked for this guy. Coldyron is *I think* the hero of this movie but I'm never sure how much you're really supposed to like him; when his girlfriend sends him out for charcoal so he can cook her reward steaks, he goes to a mini mart and just starts looking for trouble, harassing minorities and flashing his gun. It's like, this is the reason there are loitering laws, but naturally they don't apply when you're a rich cop.

Someone please make these stickers!

The best way to understand R.O.T.O.R. is through the knowledge that director and co-writer Cullen Blaine worked on a variety of popular cartoon shows during what they call "the dark age of animation". First of all, there are scenes in this movie whose aesthetic, humor, and internal logic only begin to make sense if you imagine them taking place in an episode of Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles--and actually much if not all of the dialog was dubbed by a whole other cast due to problems with getting the stars back for ADR, creating a whole other layer of literal cartoonishness. But the period in which Cullen Blaine created R.O.T.O.R. and designed many children's shows was dominated by what's called "limited animation" which I almost don't even have to describe. It's all in the name, the goal was to do things as cheaply as possible while turning out dozens of episodes per season. Part of the problem was, as with all things, Ronald Reagan, whose deregulation activities defanged measures to make sure children's programming was not just a steady stream of hard sell marketing. Under Reagan, the requirement for some portion of programs to be educational became so easy to meet and manipulate that animation studios were compelled to crank out zillions of Trojan horse toy ads with glib moral declarations tacked on. (I think I understand this correctly, I'm sure @bogleech has better material on the subject) Animators are a historically abused lot with a sad history of failed strikes, and I'm just extrapolating here, but I bet it's reasonable to guess that R.O.T.O.R. reflects the filmmaker's experiences in the grueling cartoon mines. The brutal sacrifice of quality to speed, the hostile work environments, and the endless, redundant calls and meetings, all smack of a script by someone who has had a very bad job.

"We've all got plenty of time to figure out what this means to each one of us," Coldyron sagely concludes at the end of his misadventure. Obviously I am still working on what it means to me, since this is the fourth or fifth time I've seen this movie and (at least?) the second time I'm writing about it. I will say that while the film I have just described sounds intolerably boring--I mean, a whole movie about rat race drudgery with the fewest and least convincing action sequences ever--but believe me, it is not boring. R.O.T.O.R. is constantly surprising and fascinating, with weirdly vivid imagery and pages and pages of the strangest dialog you will hear anywhere. Just watch the movie and let it shock you. You'll have plenty of time to figure out what it means to you later.

[kanerlove88]

I am always thinking about post-canon RoyJamie. Roy moves out of his own way. All that work they put into becoming better people and becoming friends works out so well. They’re beautiful together, Roy and Jamie. Incredibly codependent and god, they’ll live under each other’s skin if they could but boy do they make it work. It baffles everyone around them but they don’t even realise it’s not normal to spend that much time around your partner. Freak4freak but very much in love about it.

They’re not perfect of course. They fight like any couple would. Probably more than most couple even. Neither of them are easy individuals. They both learned to hurt each other long before they ever fell in love and it shows sometimes. But they learn to give each other space, to take a breather when they’re furious. This understanding comes with time and a lot of therapy of course. They weren’t always so good at that but they learn to be patient with each other.

Even if talking about feelings always feels like pulling teeth, they force themselves to do it. It’ll never come naturally to them but it does become easier over time.

Anything they can’t solve themselves, they go to therapy for. They go to couples therapy because you don’t only need help when your relationship is falling apart. You’re gonna need help along the way and they know not to take that for granted. Both of them still see Dr Sharon individually too. They’re better off for it.

Jamie loves Phoebe. They get along like house on fire and it makes Roy so happy, to see his favourite people get along this way. It doesn’t take long before Jamie becomes Uncle Jamie. The next Uncle’s Day, Phoebe has two Uncles to celebrate and she tackles it with gusto. Jamie definitely will cry a little about it. That boy staring at his Roy Kent poster in his childhood bedroom could have never known that one day he’ll have all the love he could have ever asked for and it’d come from Roy Kent himself.

They’re it for each other, that much they both know. Roy worries, of course he worries. A 15 year age gap looks like a lot when you’re 40 and your partner is 25. Worries he’s too old for Jamie, that he’ll hold him back. He’s 40 and all he wants to do is stay at home and read a book cuddled up with Jamie but would Jamie want that too or would he be giving up nights out at clubs for him?

Jamie, who used to wake up at 4am to train with Roy. Jamie, who is very much aware of the age gap and has definitely thought about what it’ll be like as they both grow older. Jamie who would live in Roy’s ribcage if he could. Jamie who will choose Roy no matter what. Roy will understand soon enough. And what do you know? A 15 year age gap doesn’t look too bad when you’re 85 and your partner is 70.

Their wedding is beautiful. 2 years, maybe 3 years after getting together. Roy proposed but Jamie had a ring too. When they get married, every greyhound who has ever played under Ted will descend onto London, Ted included. It began with Roy and Jamie in the locker room, touching foreheads in anger and it ends with Roy and Jamie at the altar, touching foreheads, so in love with each other. Husbands. What a beautiful life they will live together.

[desire-mona]

heard we were making house ocs and ive had a dingus floating around in my head since january so i FINALLY got around to actually making a proper ref sheet. i present my silliest

Dr. Nanette "Ninny" Amesbury :3

more under cut !

big warning lore n backstory n stuff is very bare bones and not all the way there cuz im #lazy

birthday is vague but lets go with ~35 circa s2

if i had a nickel for every oc i had who had absent parents and was raised catholic by their grandparents, id have two nickels. unintentional that it happened twice i sorta forgor the other one's lore for a bit and now its stuck so ummmmm sorry laney. wont be going into childhood bc i havent come up w that yet and honestly i dont care to!!! yada yada yada catholic guilt but not in the chase way bc she hasnt left the church n likely never will

ummmm relationship chart + template

lets just quick go over some relationship highlights cuz some are def more important than others

wilson: mr president a 4th ex wife has hit the james wilson. when were they married? ummmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm 😁

but they were married for like. 3 years? YES it ended bc he cheated but nin also wasn't the best either her ass was literally never ever there she was ALWAYS at work (like more than normal doctor amounts of at work - only came home to sleep and even that was only 4x a week(also worked at a different hospital))

tw suicide for next part bee tee dub

a big part of the beginning of their relationship was (big surprise) wilson's attraction to what he THOUGHT was neediness but was literally just nin wanting (and trying) to kill herself lol. once the magic of all that went away (perceived independence thats rly just #bottling shit up) he was just kinda like oh :/ its not cool to have a mentally ill wife anymore :/ i was expecting ramona flowers :/ or whatever. so infidelity impact font, hijinks and moving away for [amount] years ensue before nin being hired at ppth as the head of pediatrics. brief fwb situation w wilson Again b4 she finds out shes a lesbian at the end of like. s2.

oh yeah she also tries to kill herself again once she figures it out (see catholic guilt mention) but its cool she lives

cuddy: GAAAAAYYYYY GAAAAYYYYYYY GAY!!!!! DR AMESBURY WANTS TO FUCK THIS WOMAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! its one sided tho boooooo cuddys briefly like Wait ? just b4 nin moves away at the end of s6 roughly but shes already. thats done its not happening.

kutner: dont even fucking talk to me. i dont wanna talk about it. im gonna talk about it.

so kutner (like the slut that he is lowkey but society isnt ready for that) asks nin out just after he gets hired and shes like ermmmmmmmmmm! but sensing his loser aura she (still deeply closeted) is like hey haha i dont swing that way sorry !!!!!!! but its ok they become super mega best friends and get nerdy together

i like to think they listen to weird al together OH YEAH NINS THE BIGGEST WEIRD AL YANKOVIC FAN IN NEW JERSEY

and then nothing bad happens!

if youve seen this post about the little writing things kutner got after he croaked then hooray here's nanettes

they make me so fucking upset.

anyway as i stated above nin moves away after s6 for a bunch of reasons. 1) thanks obama 2) a big part of what contributed to her suicidal ideations n such was the fact that deep down she didnt ACTUALLY know what she wanted to do w her life. u may be like she doesnt. want to be a doctor ? NO she doesnt thats just what she did to get money to eventually do what she wants. whatever that is. something something feeling lost in life and unable to reach a goal when u dont even know what the goal is something something. also persistent depressive disorder but like spoon in kitchen.

idk what shes gonna end up doing after she moves but id imagine she shows up for house's funeral so i cant just be like lol nobody gets to know! im thinking painter but idk IDK guys her lore is ROUGH

thats it if u have questions ill answer thanks

[lavellenchanted]

💛 & OTP: I want the whole damn thing

💛 Reunion Kiss/Relief

Jackson's an interminably long board meeting when it happens, trying to make sense of the world's most boring financial presentation, so he doesn't immediately notice the news bulletin popping up on his phone. It's only when they start hearing voices in the corridor and someone runs past the board room window that they all start to realise something's going on, and Jackson suddenly catches sight of the blinking red notification on his phone screen.

"Multi-car pile up," he explains shortly to the board, already on his feet and heading for the door, scrolling down for more information. "I'm guessing we're the nearest hospital - it's gonna be all hands on deck, so if you're qualified to hold a scalpel, get down to the pit."

(Frank, still holding the clicker for his presentation, looks thoroughly relieved that his only qualification is in accountancy.)

Halfway down the corridor, Jackson stops dead. A cold shiver run down his spine and it feels like his stomach has dropped out of him entirely as he sees the location of the accident. That's April's route to work.

Immediately he brings up her number and dials - but it goes straight to voicemail, and he wants to be sick. He shoots her off a quick text and then tries ringing again and again as he heads down to the E.R.

Each time it goes to voicemail.

He tries to tell himself not to panic. The phone lines are probably horrendously busy with people trying to contact emergency services or friends and family to make sure they're alright, and April not answering might just mean she's not looking at her phone. She's probably trying to help, if she is near there.

He tells himself that, but all he can think of is Ben calling him, telling him he was going to have to perform a C-section on April in her kitchen, of April quarantined behind glass, of watching April on the operating table of Grey-Sloan.

(How much luck can one person have?)

"Pick up, damn it!" he shouts as her voicemail message plays again, and a nurse passing jumps in fright.

"Dr Avery? Is everything okay?"

"I'm sorry, I'm just - I'm worried about my wife."

The word slips out automatically, and it's only after he says it that he remembers that, technically, April isn't his wife any more. Because he was stupid enough to divorce her. They're not even dating, despite the fact that they've been living together since they came to Boston, are raising Harriet together.

And yet he never really stopped thinking of her in that way, did he? Even when they were separated, when he was dating other women, when she was marrying someone else, he still thought of her as his.

"Has a woman called April Kepner been brought in? Late thirties, red hair?"

The nurse shakes her head. "I don't think so - not that I've seen. I'll check for you."

She scurries away, but before Jackson can follow or try to ring April again he's stopped and asked for a consult, and then another, and another, and then he gets pulled into a surgery and loses all track of time.

The whole way through he's repeating silently, Please, God. Please let her be okay. Please let me get another chance. I promise I won't waste this one.

His faith still isn't as strong as April's, he doubts it ever will be. Half the time he's not even really sure what it is he believes in. But it's comforting to pray, whether anyone's listening or not.

When he's finally finished and comes back out into the corridor, he immediately pulls his phone out. It's been nearly five hours, and there's still nothing from April. He wants to scream.

And then -

"There's no signs of internal bleeding, but get a CT scan just to be sure."

He spins round, his heart in his throat. April's just coming out of a patient room with an intern; she's in jeans an a tshirt instead of scrubs, dirt and what looks like splashes of blood staining them, her hair scraped back and a band-aid on her forehead, but she's alive and whole and the most beautiful thing Jackson's ever seen.

"April?"

"Jackson, there you are!" Her face lights up as she turns and sees him. Relief crashing over him, he starts running towards her. "I tried to find you but they said you were in surgery. I came with one of the -"

He cuts her off by pulling her into his arms and soundly kissing her. How she got here doesn't really seem to matter any more, just that she is here and uninjured.

She lets out a little sound of shock, and then melts into him the way she always has, her hands coming up to clutch at his scrubs. The feel of her lips is achingly familiar against his, and he rains kisses down on them, one after another, trying to make up for every time he should have kissed her but didn't. And his heart sings as she lifts herself up on tip-toes and kisses him back, meeting each stroke of his mouth with one of her own.

Finally he pulls back, but only enough to rest his forehead against hers.

"You weren't answering your phone," he says quietly.

"I was doing triage at the scene, and then the battery died. I'm sorry."

"You're alright?"

"Totally fine. I promise."

For the first time since he saw the notification on his phone, he starts to relax.

"Dr Avery?" Glancing up, he sees the nurse he was talking to earlier at the end of the corridor. "You found your wife, then?"

Jackson looks down at April, who's smiling knowingly up at him, a warmth in her eyes that gives him the confidence to reply, "Yeah. Yeah, I did."

kiss prompts

[mangoshorthand]

Inspired by this post. When your daughter is eight years old, Five organises a family trip to County Clare, Ireland. His reasons why are completely transparent.

The Changeling | Five Hargreeves/Reader, Five Hargreeves & 8 y/o daughter Words: 7.7k

GIF by: @seance

It was Aoife’s first flight, and it was only through Five’s gentle persuading that you were convinced that it would be safe. At eight, he said, she was more than old enough to listen and control herself.

Still, just before you boarded, you knelt down in front of her and took her by the elbows. 

“Aoife, listen to me, honey.”

She blinked at you with Five’s eyes. She looked the picture of innocence, and if you didn’t know better, you might have been taken in.

“You cannot blink on this flight. You can’t blink on this trip at all unless it’s just me and Daddy in the room, but you especially can’t blink on the plane, okay?”

“Okay Mommy,” she said, sulkily.

“Seriously,” you said, giving her a gentle shake, “If you misjudge it by just a tiny amount, you could end up outside the plane. You could fall and die.”

Aoife looked up at Five for backup but didn’t find it. He put a hand on her shoulder with a stern look that was uncharacteristic when aimed at her.

“Your mother’s right, cara. This is life and death. And even if you try it and don’t die, we’re going to go straight back home again as soon as we land. There will be no trip at all. You hear me?”

“I didn’t even do anything yet!” she said, indignantly.

“Yes, and I’m sure you won’t because you’re my good, sensible girl,” you said, hoping she’d live up to the label. 

“I’m just making sure you understand what’s at stake here, kid.” Five said, “ Non sto scherzando . Now, repeat it back: tell me what’s gonna happen if you blink.”

“I’ll die,” she said, with petulant impatience.

“And if you blink but don’t die?”

“No trip,” she repeated.

“Correct,” Five said, “we won’t even leave the airport. We’ll turn right around and get on the next flight home.”

“I know you’ll be a good girl,” you said, kissing her on the nose, “you always are, aren’t you?”

You kissed once, twice and three times until her pout was replaced with a smile. 

As it happened, once the initial excitement of being airborne had worn off, Aoife fell asleep almost immediately, the early morning catching up with her. She was leaning against you, chest rising and falling slowly, and would remain so for all but the last hour of the flight. 

Five was also quiet, staring out of the window at clouds in the odd light of changing time zones. 

Ever since suggesting the trip, he’d been a closed book. He was still himself - still loving, and still every inch the husband and father you knew -  but he was more insular, more like he was before you got married; keeping the internal workings of his mind under wraps. 

With Aoife against you, you couldn’t reach out to offer him any physical affection, so instead, you spoke to him over her head.

“You okay, sweet guy?”

He looked over at you and plastered on a smile that didn’t hide his impatience with the question.

“Of course I am. Why wouldn’t I be?”

You pulled a face at him, one that told him you weren’t an idiot. He didn’t exactly need to tell you for you to guess what this trip was really about. 

Five couldn’t help but feel slightly annoyed by your knowing look. It was galling to know he no longer held any mysteries for you. He leaned his head against the plane’s wall and closed his eyes. 

It wasn’t that he was shutting you out, it was more from a strong sense that this was something he had to do alone. 

It came up in therapy a couple of times. Maybe it was his age, or maybe it was being a father, but he found himself coming back to this idea of history. Aoife’s family tree on his side was more of a hedge: extremely wide but only one generation tall. He wanted to give her an anchoring in this world beyond a strange experiment by a billionaire that resulted in her mentally unstable father.

On his mentioning these feelings, Dr Daley asked him whether it was possible he was projecting, but Five dismissed this.

To him, being Irish by birth didn’t mean much. It might explain his liking for Guinness, but that was about it. And who didn’t like Guinness? 

No. If he’d grown up in Ireland, he’d be a completely different person, as alien to him now as anyone else. For better or worse, Five was the sum total of his experiences. If Reginald was his father along with the harsh life he’d offered, then the apocalypse and all its horrors may as well be his mother. 

The woman who’d birthed him sold him for a couple of grand. He couldn’t imagine it as he glimpsed Aoife out of the corner of his eye. The first time he held his newborn daughter was transformative. He’d felt his entire world crash down and reform around her. He knew she was his on an animal level that left reason entirely behind. His very skin cried out for her.

And yet…childbirth was a bloody, agonizing mess. He’d watched you go through it, and it wasn’t exactly trauma free, even after months of mental preparation.The idea of it happening, all in the space of a few minutes, to women who had no mental preparation was nothing short of horrifying. Now he thought about it, it was amazing that so many of the other October 1st children seemed to have been kept.

But still, when he looked at Aoife, he couldn’t help but wonder. 

He looked up again, and caught your too-understanding eyes. This time, he smiled at you,  irritation giving way to affection. Over ten years you’d grown to know him better than he knew himself. You’d been there for every step as he tried to rebuild his mental health, every tough therapy session, every new drug, and every addition to his laundry list of diagnoses.

You’d known what this was about as soon as he mentioned the trip.

“Can you get the week commencing the 12th October off work?” he’d said, over his cereal one morning, around six months ago.

“I think so,” you said, surprised, “why?”

“We’re going to Ireland.”

“What?” you said, and then, “What about school?”

“They’ll be fine. Call it an educational trip,” he said, “We’ll have Aoife do a project or something.”

“What brought this on?” 

He shrugged, and the way he looked down at a newspaper on the table gave you the distinct impression he was trying to avoid your eye.

“I’ve booked seven nights in County Clare, staying in this huge castle. Dates back to the 17th Century. Aoife’s gonna lose her mind.”

You studied him for a few moments as he sipped his coffee, eyes stock-still on the newspaper, not really reading it.

“Weren’t you born in County Clare?” you asked, gently.

“Mmhm,” he replied, blandly, turning a page.

You waited, and when he didn’t elaborate, you just stuck out a hand and laid it on his forearm. *** When you arrived at Shannon airport, it was raining. It rained like a veil of mist, pin-pricking your faces in a moist cloud of chill wind. It was mid morning, though the foggy skies made it indistinguishable from any other time of day. It made Five glad of his coat, and he paused outside the terminal to zip it to his chin. 

Aoife rubbed her eyes and looked around at the gray, concrete parking lot

“Where are we going?” she asked, in sleepy confusion.

“Not far,” you said, squeezing her hand as Five wheeled your luggage.

The rented Skoda estate was comfortable enough, although not what Five would prefer to be driving. Still, it did the job. As you helped Aoife strap into a booster seat, he had to concede that, on unfamiliar roads, it was more important that style give way to safety.

The thought made him smile to himself as he loaded the luggage into its roomy, sensible trunk. Sometimes it still seemed odd to find himself having such daddish thoughts. It was odd, but good too. 

The environs of the airport faded into the misty rain behind you, and you very soon found yourselves in country that more naturally sprang to mind when you imagined Ireland. 

The landscape was mostly flat and green, damp fields stretching out to the horizon on every side. Short but lush trees and hedges lined the dual carriageway, occasionally leading to taller trees and more advanced woodland, but it mostly served to insulate the surrounding farmland from the road. 

“Do you think there are fairies in those woods?” you asked Five, conversationally, eyeing Aoife out of the corner of your eye. 

“Hm,” Five said, playing along, “It’s possible.”

“Fairies?” Aoife said, her interest piqued as you intended. 

“That’s right,” he said, “there are lots of stories of fairies in Ireland.”

“Will we see some?”

“Probably not,” you smiled, “but it’s fun to pretend.”

As you got deeper into the countryside, stone walls ran along the roadside. Every few miles or so, the fields gave way to the occasional, squat house; all rendered in white with gray slate roofs. They were small, asymmetrical; clearly built for function over form. Once or twice a chimney smoked, bringing with it the smell of peat smoke on the air. 

As you traveled, the sun started to cut through the haze, although the rain didn’t let up, coming down in those same misty clouds. The trees began to thicken, until the land on one side of the road was completely obscured with woodland. At last, you came to a grand iron gate. 

“We’re here.” 

Aoife shuffled excitedly in the booster, trying to peek out from behind the passenger seat to see ahead.

You passed a gatehouse, and soon the thick trees gave way to a simple avenue, leading you up a drive surrounded by lush lawns, upon which small brown rabbits were dotted, those nearest the drive lolloping away from the skoda as it crunched along the gravel.

Aoife was predictably excited by these, and it took some stern words from you to stop her removing her seatbelt and blinking from the car to chase them.

But as you rounded a corner and Ballycarnane castle became visible across the small lake surrounding it on two sides, the rabbits were completely forgotten.

“Look!” she said, in high-pitched awe, “It’s a castle!”

“So it is,” Five said, as if only just noticing it.

It was huge, robust, and square in formation, built with solid gray stone with battlements topping sturdy towers on rising ground. Fountains, trimmed hedges and perfectly mower-lined lawns decorated its immediate environs. At the top of the tallest tower, an Irish flag flew. 

“Is there a princess in there?” Aoife asked, breathlessly, kicking the back of your seat in her glee. 

“Ci sarà presto, cara.” Five said, quietly, a smile playing about his face. 

“Are we staying near here? Can we go visit? Please?”

You looked at Five. He was loving this, you knew, as much as he tried to hide his self-satisfied smile. He gave you the nod to deliver the final bombshell. He was always sweet that way: his daughter’s glee was all the reward he needed. He didn’t need to take the credit too.

“We’re staying right here.” you said. 

“IN THE CASTLE?”

“That’s right,” you chuckled.

Aoife exploded, letting out a series of shrill shrieks that made both you and her father wince.

“Ouch,” you said, at the redoubled kicks to the back of your seat. 

“ WE’RE STAYING IN A CASTLE!”

“Esatto, principessa,” Five replied, pulling into one of the parking spots, “and it’s a very fancy place, so best behavior, okay? You gotta act just like a real princess.”

“CAN I WEAR A PRINCESS DRESS?”

“We’ll see,” you said, “now calm down , sweetie.” *** The next couple of days passed in a blur of sight-seeing, fairy-hunting and princess games. You and Five made excellent ladies in waiting, or else the king and queen, knights, or whatever else Aoife decreed.

Always unable to resist giving his daughter anything she asked for, Five bought not one, but two princess dresses from the ridiculously overpriced boutique attached to the hotel. He also returned with a beautiful, pure silk dressing gown for you, although you suspected this was partly to buy you off after spoiling Aoife.

It was mid-afternoon on Wednesday, you and Five stood on the lawn watching as Aoife tripped over her grass-stained skirts as she climbed a tree stump just for the joy of jumping off. 

“I think I’m going to walk into town,” he said, casually.

You looked at him. 

“Into town?”

“Yes.”

He caught your eye, and his expression was unreadable enough to be perfectly legible to you.

He stood a little apart from you, hands in the pockets of his corduroy trousers. He looked unlike himself, standing there in sturdy walking boots and a thick, oversized cable knit sweater over a flannel shirt. His hair played around his face in the slight breeze, masking and then revealing his face. 

He looked into your eyes, and you saw the grim determination there.

“Do you want us to come with you?” you asked.

“No,” he said, calmly, “you enjoy yourselves here. I’ll be back before sundown.”

“Are you sure?” you asked, approaching him and putting a hand on his upper arm.

“Yes darling,” he said, calmly. 

You understood. Five’s tendency to try and face things alone was a habit born of the apocalypse. He was insular; self reliant to an unhealthy degree, but you suspected that this wasn’t like this. 

This was no impending apocalypse, this was something intensely personal. Processing it himself was no bad thing. This was about him, and part of you knew that he was only standing here at all because he had the security of knowing you’d be there, whenever he was ready to let you in; be it tonight, tomorrow, or months from now. 

“Okay,” you said with a reassuring smile. *** It was a four mile walk from the castle itself into Ballycarnane. He walked almost as the crow flew, across fields; down farm lanes and public footpaths; through wooden gates that creaked with age. The rain spat occasionally, and even the hood of his coat couldn’t keep it from blowing into his eyes. 

As he walked, he couldn’t let his mind drift: it was caught in the features of the landscape, keeping him present in every step. He was struck by the wilderness of it all, even as its habitation was constantly declared by the presence of tarmac and the occasional lonely dwelling.

He tramped over damp gorse and heather, taking detours whenever the ground became too marshy to walk on. His walking boots were good quality and supportive, but that didn’t mean he needed to brave the outskirts of a bog when he could retreat to serpentine, single track roads. 

He’d thought the land was relatively flat when he arrived yesterday, but no sooner had the marshy areas fallen behind him as he walked into rugged, rocky countryside, dotted with pine woods.

This might have been his home, he mused. He might have been familiar with this environment, these roads and the ever-present stone walls, as sturdy as they appeared ramshackle. How might he have spent his childhood? This rain on his face, these clouds above him. Green as far as the eye could see. 

Gradually, more and more signs of habitation sprung up around him: the roads became fractionally wider, the houses more varied and frequent as he approached the outskirts of the town. Now he was on streets, the hedges neatly kept, and there were road markings too, single tracks leading onto dual carriageways. 

At last, he passed a sign welcoming him to the town proper, and he began to pass others bustling around him, speed humps, housing estates, white vans and churches. A woman with a stroller thanked him quietly as he stood aside off the sidewalk to let her pass.

He passed a convenience store, an undertakers, a shop selling fancy cheese and wine, and then he saw it: across from a pub was a butcher’s shop. 

Though many of the shops and houses on Ballycarnane’s main street were painted in bright colors, and many other buildings were of the dull concrete variety he’d grown used to back home, the default building style in this area seemed to be those single story, white rendered buildings with those gray roof tiles. His mother’s butcher’s shop was one of these, with a large window displaying wares. 

Below the building’s blue gables, a mural on the outside of the building depicted a cow, sheep and pig. To Five’s mind, they looked inappropriately happy to be depicted, given the context. Above them, in hand-painted italics read: ‘ Jones Family Butchers’, beneath them, ‘ Est.1979’.

He knew her name was Efa Jones, but seeing the name was odd. He was here. *** “Okay, princess Aofie,” you called, as Five’s figure retreated down the gravel drive, “we’re going to get started on your school project.”

“But Mooommy,” she said, gesturing to the tree stump as if there were depths to its joys she had as yet not discovered. 

“What if we did it about the fairies of Ballycarnane?”

Aoife still looked skeptical.

“You remember John from this morning?”

Aoife nodded. She had exchanged a hearty conversation about the rabbits and deer that roamed the grounds with the old man working as the hotel’s senior concierge.

“Well, he told me there’s a fairy fort nearby. You want to go?”

“Yeah!” she said, enthusiastically, jumping from the tree stump one final time, bounding towards you taking your hand. 

“And,” you continued, setting off, “he said once we’d been to go and find him, and he'd tell us a story all about it. If you write his story down and draw some pictures, that can be your project to show Mx Leyton.”

*** Five finished his third Guinness. 

He’d been nursing the beers for over two hours, looking out of grimy windows into the butcher’s shop across the way. He could see movement within, but no detail. Only two or three customers had been in and out in all the time he watched. 

The pub was a spit and sawdust kind of place. The Weaver’s Inn had a cheap paneling on the walls, mismatched dark wood chairs and a carpet that looked like it hadn’t been changed since before the butcher’s shop was established. 

On a Wednesday daytime in October, there had been only one other patron when he arrived, an old man who looked at him with slight suspicion as he entered, but now, as five o’clock drew nearer, people began to trickle in, and there were over five tables occupied. 

He looked into the bottom of his glass. It was now or never.

He recognised her from the newspaper clipping he found as soon as he walked into the store. She must have been pushing seventy, only five or six years younger than himself. 

Her back was bent into a painful curve over her butcher’s block, though she scrubbed at the salted wood with her metal-bristled brush with more than enough vigor. As his entrance caused a bell above the door to give a little trill, she looked up. 

Her wrinkled face was dominated by a pair of thick-rimmed glasses, white hair scraped back beneath a hairnet. Her brown eyes were slightly misty with the beginnings of cataracts.

“It’s just the pre-cut now,” she said, nodding towards the block, “you’ve left it late.”

“No problem,” Five said, watching her lay down her brush with the air of one not keen to be interrupted. 

He approached the counter slowly, forcing himself to look down through the glass at the meat on display. 

“What’ll you have?”

She exuded a stern, no nonsense attitude. Customer service might be in her job, but not in her nature, it seemed. 

“Uh,” Five said, uncharacteristically unsure, “steak,” he said, suddenly.

“What type and how much” she prompted, approaching the counter. 

“Uh-” he said again.

“Tourist, are you?” she said, shrewdly.

All the Irish accents he’d heard until now were lilting, but hers lilted differently. 

“Is it that obvious?” Five smiled, looking back down at the counter.

“American?” she asked, as if it were an accusation. 

“Yup.”

“Staying at the castle, I’ll bet.”

“Correct.”

“Sure. You’ve got that silver-spoon look about you.”

Five let out something halfway between a chuckle and a scoff.

“Well, you might say I landed on my feet.”

“You telling me they let you cook steak in those fancy bedrooms?” she asked, skeptically.

Five shifted uncomfortably. She was inconveniently shrewd. 

He guessed he knew where he got it from. 

“We’re self-catering,” he lied, and then, as it came into his thoughts, “I’d say you’re not local yourself, Efa.”

“How d’you know my name?” she asked, suspiciously. 

Shit.

“The bartender at the Weavers Inn,” he said, with a tight smile - she had him on his toes in the way few people could manage - “I told him I wanted a good steak and he said you were the lady to talk to.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“That’s as nice as Liam Moore’s been about me in thirty years,” she muttered “So my beef’s good enough for out-of-towners but not good enough supply his dive of a pub?”

 But then, in answer to his question:

“You’ve got a good ear. I was born in Caerphilly.”

“Wales?” he asked, unable to hide his surprise.

“Wales indeed,” she said briskly, “Now, I’ve got a nice rib-eye, fillet’s only thirty-five euro per kilogram today, and this sirloin’s nicely marbled. What will you have?”

Five didn’t process this, “You’re Welsh?”

“Half.” she said, slightly perturbed, “Mam was Irish, Dad was Welsh. We came here when I was ten.”

It all clicked into place. 

“Efa’s a Welsh name,” he said, coming to the conclusion out loud, “That’s why you’re not Aoife.”

“That’s true,” she said, “I was named for my father’s mother.”

She watched him curiously as he cast his eyes back down to the counter. 

“My daughter’s name is Aoife.” he said, in an attempt at off-handedness.

There was silence then, and Five lowered his eyes. 

“And what’s your name?” she asked.

He swallowed. ***

You warmed yourself in an armchair by the fire, while Aoife’s cheeks were still pinched red from the cold outside. 

John sat beside her on one of the couches in the hotel foyer, flanked by two suits of armor.  He was smart in his gray waistcoat, a gold name badge catching the light at his lapel. His white shirtsleeves were immaculate, his thin, white hair combed over his bald head. His bright blue eyes seemed permanently crinkled into a smile.

“Before we begin, I wonder if I can arrange a hot drink for you both? Will you have a cup of tea, coffee? Hot chocolate for the little one?”

“Can I have marshmallows?” Aoife asked you eagerly.

“She has to have marshmallows, Mammy,” said John, twinkling at you.

“Of course,” you said, “And I’d love a coffee, thanks.”

“A baileys coffee?”

“I shouldn’t,” you said, though very willing to be persuaded.

“You’re on your holidays,” John said, waving aside your diffidence. He caught the eye of one of the junior concierges, motioned him over and made the order.

“Now,” he said, resettling himself, “this is rather a recent fairy story,” John said, “One my mother said happened when I was only a lad, going on for fifty years ago, I’d say.”

You looked at Aoife. Predictably, she looked astonished. To her, fifty years previously may as well be prehistory.

“This story’s not for the faint of heart,” John continued, “Can you handle a spooky story, little one?”

Aoife nodded, wide eyed, her pen poised ready to take notes over a freshly bought notebook. You looked quickly over at him with a small, doubtful grimace. 

He smiled and nodded back at you, taking the hint. 

“Just be assured that this is only a story, now,” he said to her, “It’s not real, it’s just something to tell one another for a bit of fun, alright? I was sixteen when my Mam told me this, and she acted like it had only just happened. It was just to scare me out of walking home late at night. You understand?”

“Yeah,” she said, eager for him to begin.

“The fairies you might have heard about before are not like these fairies. Our fairies are not gentle or very kind. They don’t grant wishes and they’re not to be tangled with.”

Slowly, Aoife wrote down a note in her large, uneven cursive. 

“Fairy forts like the one you visited today are supposed to be where creatures from the fairy realm gather. Did you see any there today?”

Aoife shook her head.

“I thought not,” he said, “they’re supposed to gather at night. And that’s when the story starts. Mam said there was an old man walking home to Ballycarnane and he walked too close to that fairy fort.”

John paused as Aoife laboriously copied down what she’d heard, watching her write and offering the odd prompt to aid her memory. The drinks arrived in this interval, and you sipped your coffee gratefully as you watched them.

“Now this fella wasn’t local, you see,” John continued, “he lived nearby but he wasn’t born around here, so he didn’t know you needed to give them a wide berth. And then the poor fool was confronted by a banshee, wailing.”

“What’s a bant-shee?” Aoife asked.

“A banshee ,” he said, “a terrible fairy. Always a bad omen. They look like women with long hair, and they appear to people, screaming and crying. The story goes that if you see or hear a banshee, it means someone you love’s going to die.”

Aoife scribbled this down, mouth hanging open slightly.

“Remember it’s not real though,” he added, reassuringly, adding a little cold milk to cool her hot chocolate for her, “that’s just what they say.”

“What did the man do?” Aoife asked, too transfixed to take the drink from him when he offered.

“Well, he knew what a banshee was, alright, and he knew what it meant. So he tried to beg her not to take his wife or daughter, only it was too late. The banshee wailed, ‘oh no, you’ve disturbed us, so now you’ll pay the price: either you choose a death, or you’ll give the fairies a newborn child of your blood before the sun goes down tomorrow’. ”

He paused to allow Aoife to write down this last, and then pushed her drink towards her. 

“Drink up, pet.”

Aoife took the hot chocolate from him and took a gulp, leaving foamy residue around her mouth, still watching John with wonder in her eyes. The cup wobbled in its saucer, and you leaned forward to help her put it back on the coffee table, lest her princess dress get covered in even more dirt. 

“Then what happened?” she asked.

“Well, this old man and his wife were too old to have any more children, and their only daughter was grown, and she certainly wasn’t going to have a newborn baby so soon, so he thought he had a chance of beating that banshee.”

You could tell even from several feet away that Aoife’s writing was becoming more and more illegible in her haste to hear the rest of the story. You sensed that some translation and aiding of her memory might come in useful when she came to write up the project.

“So the old man agreed. He said, ‘you can have a newborn of my blood before the sun sets tomorrow,’ thinking he could cheat the fairies out of their due. And what do you think happened next?”

Aoife shook her head, unknowing.

“Well, that man fell into an enchanted sleep, and woke up by the fairy fort at mid-afternoon the next day. No sooner than he woke up did he hurry home to check on his wife and daughter.”

Aoife wasn’t even writing notes anymore, hanging on John’s every word.

“And he found a terrible scene.” John said, ruefully, “While he slept, his daughter had given birth to a changeling, though she certainly hadn’t been pregnant the day before.”

You sat up. 

“What’s a changeling?” Aofie asked. 

“A baby the fairies leave when they steal a human one. They’re supposed to be cursed children, sometimes they’re evil and naughty, and sometimes they have strange powers.”

You leaned forward and opened your mouth to speak, but John spoke before you could ask him anything. 

“And then, the old man realized what he’d done: when there was no newborn to take, the fairies took away his daughter’s future firstborn instead, forcing her to birth the changeling in its place.”

“What happened?” you asked. 

John looked over at you, surprised by the sudden seriousness in your tone.

“Well, the old man and his wife died without any grandchildren. Their daughter never married, and their line died out.”

“What happened to the changeling?” you asked. 

“Nobody knows,” John said, returning his gaze to Aoife with a smile and mysterious tone. ***

“I’m Five.”

There was a long silence. He chewed his lips as he looked down at the meat, not willing or able to meet her eyes.

At last, just to say something that might break the tension, he motioned to a pile of beef.

“That brisket looks good.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but when she did, her no-nonsense voice was firmly back in place.

“It’s the best in the county,” she said briskly, “you can’t beat Irish beef and won’t find a nicer cut, especially when it’s slow cooked.”

“Sounds good,” he said, awkwardly.

“Will you have a piece of that instead of steak?” 

“Sure,” Five said, relieved to have the decision made for him.

“To serve how many?” 

“Just three,” he said, watching her hands as they reached into the display of meat. 

They were just like his. The same long, bony fingers. The same bones and tendons standing out on the back of her hands as her fingers flexed. 

“This piece will do you,” she said, decisively.

Five risked a look up at her, and her brown eyes met his green. 

He must have got his eyes from one of his grandparents, he thought, and then Efa looked away from him quickly. 

“I have a secret recipe for brisket” she said, as she took the beef to the scale and weighed it, “Falls apart in the mouth. It was my mother’s, and I only got it out of her on her deathbed, she prized it so much.”

Five couldn’t resist this opening. He had to know:

“Will you pass it down to your kids?”

She paused for a mere fraction of a second and then she turned to ready brown paper in which to wrap the meat.

“I don’t have children,” she said, firmly, her back still to him, “I was never the marrying or the mothering type.”

As she folded the first layer around the brisket, Five blinked rather rapidly. There was a tight fist somewhere in his abdomen. 

When he mastered himself, he spoke again.

“I understand.”

She nodded, still facing away from him, wrapping the brisket carefully in brown paper, still facing away from him at a plastic table.

“Still,” she said, quietly, “it seems a crying shame that nobody should taste my Mam’s brisket after I’m gone.“

She stuck a label to the wrapped beef, holding the paper in place. Then, from behind her ear, she pulled a stubby pencil, knife-sharpened into a rough, angular shape. 

She tore another small portion of brown paper and began to write with the sort of fevered energy Five himself used to write equations on the concrete walls of the Argyle public library. 

“Now, this is to serve six or so, but you can scale as you like.”

Her pencil clicked smartly along the paper.

“You start with a rub. Dark brown sugar, onion powder, mustard powder, garlic powder, cayenne pepper and salt. Mam would usually leave it there, but I’ve had success with paprika too.”

She looked up at him, pausing in her writing, eyebrows raised imperiously.

“Only you make sure it’s smoked paprika, alright?”

“Of course,” he said, slightly taken aback at her forcefulness. 

“Good,” she said, “And the key is to leave it coated in the rub for at least twelve hours in the fridge. Then, when you cook, a lot of recipes would have you use beef stock, but for my Mam’s recipe, it’s beer or nothing: a nice ale. None of that crap excuse for lager you lot try to pass off as beer.”

“Got it,” Five said, catching her flow, “No American beer. Would Guinness work?”

Efa pulled a face.

“You can try it, I suppose,”

She fell silent as she jotted down the final instructions. 

Five watched her as she worked, jaw set, and eyes intense. She finished the recipe with a flourish, folded the paper and handed it to him smartly across the counter. 

“Thank you,” he said.

“And that’ll be thirteen euro forty-five.”

He reached into his pants pocket and handed her the money as she placed the parcel of meat in a paper bag and handed it over. As she searched in the cash register for the change, he watched her lined face, the rim of her glasses obscuring her eyes.

When she put the coins in his hands, her cold fingers brushed his.

“Thank you,” she said.

“Thank you,” he repeated.

He looked at her, trying to do…he knew not what. He only knew that if he was going to drink her in, now was his opportunity to do so.

“Goodbye,” he said and, with it, there was finality. He wouldn’t come back here. This was the first and last time he’d see her. 

His mother.

“Goodbye Five,” she replied, and her lips twitched into the first smile she’d given him. 

It was small, sad, and spoke no love, but it spoke good will just as clearly.  *** Five arrived back at the hotel just before seven. You were sitting on the four poster bed in your new robe, reading a book. Aoife was already asleep in the suite’s adjoining room, the hangings of her own bed drawn around it. 

“Hi,” you said, as he entered. 

“Hey,” he replied, as he closed the door behind him. 

His boots were muddy, his hair damp and windswept. 

“I hope you don’t mind, I already got Aoife dinner. She’s tuckered out. Long day.”

“Me too,” he said, heavily. 

He turned back to the door and the coat hook on its back. He made as if to take off his coat and hang it with the rest. But instead, he sagged and leaned against the door, his forehead against Aoife’s coat.

You sighed sadly, placed down your book and crossed the room towards him. 

“Come here, sweet guy,” you murmured.

You wrapped your arms around him from behind and laid your head against his, occasionally planting kisses at his hairline. Five let out a sigh of his own at this, and you felt him relax into you slightly.

“How about I run you a bath? I’ll order us room service and a bottle of wine.”

“That sounds nice,” Five said, voice muffled against Aoife’s bright blue raincoat.

You helped him off with his own coat - oddly heavy, you noticed - and put down on the bed. 

“I’ll go run the bath. You get those clothes off okay?”

“Thanks dearest.”

When you returned from the bathroom, where a piping hot bubble bath was already running into the claw-foot tub, Five had stripped to his underwear, sorting his laundry.

“Will you order the pinot noir?” he asked.

“Still don’t trust me to choose wine?” you asked, amused, returning to his coat, “not even after ten years?”

“Never,” he said, smiling.

“Why do you have almost two pounds of meat in your pocket?” you asked, having fished out the brown paper bag emblazoned with: Jones Family Butchers, Est.1979.

“Long fucking story,” he mumbled, “just put it in the trash. I don’t know why I bought it.”

“And what’s this?” you asked, finding the piece of folded paper.

“Nothing,�� he said, simply, removing his underwear and putting them in with the dirty clothes, “can you just put it with our passports?.”

“Sure.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, he disappeared into the bathroom. 

Ignoring his request to put in the trash, you put the meat in the fridge that contained the extortionately-priced minibar, thinking you’d deal with it in the morning.

You opened the folded piece of paper as you went to hang his coat. At first, you thought the handwriting that recorded the recipe was his: there were the same bold lines, the same frenetic energy in the triple underlining of the word ‘smoked’ in ‘smoked paprika’, but the more you looked, the more differences you saw. This wasn’t his handwriting.

You refolded it, opened the room’s safe and filed it along with your passports and boarding passes. *** The helpful voice on the other end of the phone informed you that dinner itself would arrive in around forty minutes, while the wine would be sent straight up. Just enough time for you to place Five’s pajamas on a radiator to warm before a knock at the door announced its arrival.

Bottle and glasses in hand, you joined Five in the bathroom, settling on the low bench beside the shower, fogged up with the heat coming off the bathwater.

Five’s eyes were closed, lying with his head against the rim of the tub, breathing the steamy, fragranced air deeply.

“Wine,” you announced.

“Mm,” he said, contentedly. 

He opened his eyes, his submerged left hand surfacing to receive the large glass you’d poured him.

“Thanks beautiful,” he said, looking up at you, eyes lingering for a moment at the cleavage visible where your robe met at the chest. 

You raised an ironic brow. Clearly he wasn’t totally cut up over this. 

As he took his first sip, he let out a small moan.

“Good?” you asked, amused.

“Heavenly,” he muttered, closing his eyes again.

He might not be so distraught that he couldn’t appreciate a nice view of boob, but he still needed this. You scooched your bench closer so that you could run your fingers through his hair.

He hummed appreciatively as you petted him, and you sat that way for several minutes, watching him unwind and fall into gentle repose. 

Who could give him up? With that smooth skin, that dimple on his cheek, his parted lips, his keen eyes, framed by lashes as thick as his soft hair. 

Not you.

At last, when he had worked his way sufficiently down his glass, you topped him up and asked:

“So, how was it?”

“I’m not sure,” he said thoughtfully, “it turns out I’m a quarter Welsh.” *** The sun came out for the last couple of days of the trip. On your final full day there, you were taking a few hours in the hotel spa. Five, however, was to be found being chased around one of the lawns by his daughter, he laughing, she screeching in delight.

“Come back!” she said, in mock outrage, “you need to have YOUR SHOTS!”

He barked, back bent and arms out in front of him like forepaws.

“Never!” he yelled, deploying a perfectly executed commando roll to evade her. 

Unfortunately for him he commando-rolled straight into a large rhododendron bush.

“IF YOU DON’T HAVE YOUR SHOTS YOU WILL GET SICK AND DIE, YOU BAD DOG.” yelled Aoife, holding a small stick clasped in her fist like it was a knife she was about to go full-psycho with.  

“But I don’t want to!” Five whined, trying to disentangle himself as Aoife advanced upon him, “you’re a big meanie vet! Woof!”

“I’M A BIG NICE VET, ACTUALLY.” she said, as he wriggled away from her once more, “YOU’RE JUST A BIG BABY.”

“I’m a big baby who’s getting away!” Five grinned, looking back over his shoulder and sticking his tongue out at her as he darted away.

And then he tripped over a tree root and fell with a thud onto the soft grass. He flipped over, laughing, as Aoife approached. 

“A-ha!” she said, triumphantly, taking advantage of his compromised to jump on top of him, stick raised. 

“Oof!” he said, winded as she straddled his waist. He tried to grab her wrist, but it was too late: she managed to poke the stick into his upper arm.

“There.” she said, “Now what was all that fuss about, little dog?”

“Owwww,” Five cried, pouting and whining like the dog he was supposed to be. 

“Pull yourself together!” Aoife said, affecting a clipped, professional voice, “Or you won’t get a candy.”

“I'm a dog, I'm not allowed candy! I want a treat!” Five replied, indignantly. 

“WELL YOU HAVE TEN MORE SHOTS FIRST.”

“Surely this is unethical?” Five expostulated, his childish affect replaced by a more adult one as she held his arm down and ‘injected’ him (stabbed him repeatedly through his sweater).

“I am NOT un-effable.” 

“Unethical,” Five corrected, rarely able to stop himself from taking advantage of any teachable moment, “it means morally wrong.”

“What does morally mean?” she said, with a small roll of her eyes.

“Ouch. It means how you behave. If you’re morally wrong then it means you’re behaving wrongly.”

“Then you’re being unethable!” she said, triumphantly, “because if you don’t get your shots then you’ll make other doggies sick too.”

“But do the ends justify the means?” Five mused, grinning. 

“What?”

“Nothing. Thank you for my shots. I’m feeling much better, even if my immune system has eleven different attenuated pathogens to deal with.”

Daddy, you always talk funny,” she said, sounding equally amused and irritated with him. 

He put his arms around her and pulled her down onto his chest. 

“E’ vero, cara.”

He kissed where her hair parted at the crown of her head, feeling the deep damp of the soil beginning to soak into his sweater, but not caring at all.

“Usi sempre parole così grosse,” she replied, and he could hear you in her tone, the loving mockery in it. 

He held her to him tighter and kissed her again, harder this time.

“I love you,” he said, feelingly.

“I love you too,” she replied, smiling down at him, her chubby cheeks dimpling as she did.

He felt his chest heave as he looked at her, and when he spoke again, his voice wasn’t quite his own.

“Being your Dad is my favorite thing about myself. And it's my favourite thing to do.”

And it was. He’d saved the world for the love of his adopted family, but perhaps he’d fought so fiercely because some part of him longed for this. Being a father and husband felt intrinsically, cosmically right, and made more sense than any mathematical logic. 

Perhaps his daughter was always written there, deep in his DNA. He didn’t believe in fate, but still, some part of him knew he was supposed to be here, his daughter in his arms and days upon days of rain soaking from the earth, through his sweater and onto his skin. 

He rocked her slightly, there on the grass, one hand in her hair and the other at her back; his baby girl, no matter how much she grew. 

This was what he needed. You and her. You were both his reward and privilege to love.

Aoife considered his words, slightly taken aback by his sudden affection and not really understanding his intensity. After a moment, she spoke thoughtfully:

“Mine is my hair.”

“What?” he asked.

“My favorite thing about myself. I like it because it's curly but not too curly.”

Five laughed, and she laughed too as she was jostled by the movement of his stomach. She shuffled up his body, causing him to flinch away from a potential knee to the balls but, thankfully, she avoided that. 

Instead, she crawled so that her head was level with his, grabbed him by each ear, and kissed his face.  *** At dinner that last night, Aoife coloured the pictures she’d drawn for her project, tongue sticking out of the corner of her mouth as she tried her best to color within the lines. The pencil crayons you chose for the job were tactical: unlikely to mark the pure white tablecloth. 

The waiter brought your drinks. As he did so, he caught your eye and nodded conspiratorially towards the door, where Five couldn’t see him. 

You looked over subtly. John stood in the doorway to the kitchen, motioning to you that the prepared surprise would be only two more minutes.  

“Can we see the menu?” Five asked. 

The waiter hesitated.

“I actually ordered for us all,” you said.

“Hm,” Five said, looking curiously up at you, “what are we having?”

“Thank you,” you said to the waiter, dismissing him for now. 

You turned back to Five, and he was watching you with curious eyes. You caught his significantly, and spoke to him now with lines under your words. 

“It seemed a shame to throw away that brisket you brought back the other day.”

He drew in a breath through his nose. You could tell he was unsure how to feel. You placed your hand over his.

“I copied the recipe too,” you said, softly, over the scratch scratch of Aoife’s pencil and the quiet chink of knives and forks on plates, “I thought you should try it before we go home.”

Five looked down at the tablecloth and put his other hand on top of yours. When he looked back up at you, his jaw gave a slight tremor.

“Thank you,” he said, quietly, “truly.”

You smiled, relieved.

“Are you happy?” you said, checking nevertheless.

Five gave one slow outward breath, and in those green eyes that low light sometimes disguised as blue, you saw an intensity of feeling that was hard to witness without bringing tears to your own eyes.

“I couldn’t be happier,” he said, so earnestly that Aoife looked up in surprise.

He wasn’t just talking about the brisket, you knew.

You smiled, losing the battle and swiping away a tear as you and Five squeezed each other's hands. 

“Good,” you said, sniffling, “because I tipped the kitchen way too much money to make this happen.”

Taglist: @nevbrooke-555, @fiannee, @abeeabee6969, @chalametabingbong, @lolawassad, @icantpickanamefromonefandom, @kaybreezy3000

Megalist

Request info + rules

NOTE:

I take Five requests, I'm fairly versatile in what I write (fluff, smut, angst, psychological character study- I'll try it all) but I will consider them on a case by case basis. See request info + rules for request status and more.

Disclaimer: As an English person, I was conscious of the potential for unintended xenophobia as I wrote this, especially given the fast and loose attitude I've given to folklore. Unfortunately I wasn't able to get any Irish sensitivity readers before posting this though. I have a lot of Irish family and have visited many times in my life, but I'm aware I have blind spots just by nature of being English. If any Irish folk want to discuss anything that made them uncomfortable, my DMs are open :)

[persephonewritessometimes]

Moon Song / part two: and you're married

Summary: Hotch and Y/N's relationship is still complicated, and Y/N is navigating some new information. Will she tell Hotch or not?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x (AFAB) Reader

Word Count: 4405

Warnings: ANGST, MISCARRIAGE, arguing, toxic!hotch, slightly toxic!reader, emotional reader, mention of menstrual products/gynecologist/medical appointments, infedelity, mentions of cheating/adultery, mentions of blood

This work is meant for readers aged 18 and over. You are responsible for your own media consumption.

-Two Weeks Later-

         “Come on baby girl, your birthday is in a week and you’re telling me you don’t want a party?” Morgan says teasingly.

         “I’m just not in the mood to party, that’s all,” I mutter. It’s early in the morning and my nausea is so strong I’m afraid if I talk too much, I’m just gonna spew my breakfast everywhere.

         “Whatever you say, but you know the team is gonna want to party anyway,” Morgan says, finally retreating to his desk. I make up a flimsy excuse to go and talk to JJ, half noticing Reid watching me. I think nothing of it and shut the door behind me when I get to JJ’s office.

         “Hey, you okay?” She asks, looking up from the papers she was poring over.

         “Nauseous.” I spit out, sitting in a chair and sighing.

         “Oh! That reminds me, I found something for you. You said the ginger candy didn’t work, so I found an alternative.” She digs around in her purse and pulls out two little gray bands with a plastic bead in each band.

         “What are those?” I ask, now curious.

         “They’re called Sea Bands; they help with nausea.” JJ shows me how to put them on and I pull my sleeves over them, effectively hiding them. We give it a couple of minutes, and the nausea does start to get better.

         “JJ, I love you, thank you so much,” I say, giving her a small smile.

         “Anytime, Y/N. Have you told him yet?” I clam up at that.

         “Um…no. I wouldn’t even know the first thing to say.” I say, picking at my cuticles. “Besides, I don’t know if I want him to know just yet. It’s still pretty early.” Dr. Mitchell confirmed that I was pregnant a week ago when I had an appointment with her. When she confirmed it, I cried. I told her I was sorry, and that I didn’t know why I kept crying, and she explained that it was just my elevated hormone levels and that it was perfectly normal. Hotch has stayed over twice since I found out, and I know there’s something I’m supposed to say, but I can never get the words out. So we fuck and we fight and that’s it.

         “Y/N? You still here?” JJ says gently.

         “Sorry. Just thinking.” I feel a lump start to form in my throat, but I’ve cried in front of JJ enough in the last week. I don’t want to burden her with my fucked-up life right now. “Excuse me.” I get up and rush out, running to the bathroom and locking myself in a stall, finally letting myself cry. A few minutes later I hear the door open, I sniffle, trying to get my shit together when I hear,

         “Y/N?”

         “Reid, this is the women’s bathroom. I think even a genius would know that.” He chuckles at that.

         “Yeah, I know. I’m just worried about you. You haven’t been acting like yourself lately. You look seasick every morning, you tell Derek you don’t want a birthday party even though you make every excuse to go the bar and sing karaoke, and you’re always visiting JJ.” I’m quiet. I’m not sure how I want to respond. He’s attentive that’s for sure, but I don’t know if he would understand what I’m going through. “Y/N, are you pregnant?”

         I let out a surprised laugh, unlocking the bathroom stall door and opening it, looking at Spencer leaning against the sink. “I knew the genius would figure it out. Yeah, I’m pregnant. Only JJ knows, and I would really appreciate it if you would keep this a secret.”

         “Of course, Y/N. Your secret is safe with me. Are you doing okay? Despite, you know.” He gestures at my abdomen.

         “The nausea is the worst part. And I’m emotional.”

         “Yeah, I could tell.” He says, raising his eyebrows. I smile at him.

         “Thanks for coming to check on me,” I say, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. I sometimes feel like Reid is the brother I never had, and he dotes on me as my younger sister does.

         “I was just getting worried.” He pauses, then says, “You know, sometimes I think of you like the sister I never had. I may not have much, but you guys are my family.” He scratches the back of his neck, and I grab his hand.

         “The feeling is mutual. Now let’s get out of here before you scare the shit out of the next woman that walks in here.”

-The Day Before My Birthday-

         “Okay fine,” I say, walking into the conference room, “I’m having a birthday party.” Morgan whoops, telling everyone that he knew I would come around. “Okay, enough, enough. Tomorrow, five PM, my house.”

         “Will your karaoke mic be making an appearance?” Emily asks.

         “It wouldn’t be a party without a little karaoke.” I shoot her a grin. “Also, no gifts, please. I don’t want anything, and I always feel awkward opening presents.”

         “What’s this about presents?” Hotch says walking into the conference room.

         “Our birthday girl has finally agreed to a party, but she doesn’t want any presents. Tomorrow at five, her place. Do you know how to get there?” Morgan says. Hotch glances at me, and I can see he’s holding back a laugh.

         “He might need some directions. Wouldn’t want him to get lost.” I say, swallowing my grin and sitting down.

-My Birthday-

         “Okay, I’ve got the pizza, the karaoke mic, plates, drinks, cups. What am I forgetting?” I mutter to myself.

         “Maybe you should change out of your pajamas?” Reid asks.

         “Oh my god, yes, that’s what I was forgetting! Thank you, Reid!” I shout, jogging up the stairs to pull on a pretty tank top and dark-wash jeans. I braid my hair, putting on a little bit of mascara before giving myself a once over and heading back downstairs. Reid is making sure everything is organized properly when I come back downstairs, and I let him do his thing, shaking out the nerves. I like parties to an extent but having so many people in my home stresses me out.

         “You, okay?” Reid says, looking at me over his glasses.

         “Yeah, just nervous.”

         “Is it because of-," He's cut off my Morgan shouting,

         “The life of the party is here!” I shoot Reid a confused look, but he doesn’t finish his question. I go to greet the others who have shown up.

         “You find your way, okay?” I ask, telling people where to put their coats.

         “Easy enough. It was like I’d been here before or something.” Hotch says, grabbing my hand and squeezing it. He’s not smiling, but I can see a smile in his eyes. I blush, looking down. He had been nice lately, we still fought, but we’d talk about it afterward, rather than him just shutting down and storming out.

         “JJ!” I exclaim as she walks through the door. “Thank god, there are way too many men here.”

         “Hey!” Morgan and Rossi exclaim at the same time.

         “Take the testosterone to the kitchen please!” I shout. They all grumble but do it anyway, and I pull JJ aside.

         “Reid knows. I forgot to tell you, but he knows. Found me in the bathroom sobbing my eyes out.” Her hand covers mine.

         “I’m glad someone else knows.” She pauses, getting ready to ask a question. I already know what she’s going to ask.

         “Don’t. Not today, please. I’ll tell him when I’m ready.” The lump in my throat is back and I blink hard a few times, begging the tears to not come. At that moment, the door bangs open again, and this time it’s Penelope and Emily. The lump disappears and Penelope grabs me in the warmest hug I’ve had in a long time.

-

         I must be dreaming because Hotch is definitely not singing karaoke right now. Of all the songs, he picked ‘Hey There Delilah’, but he keeps trying to substitute my name for ‘Delilah’ and somehow manages to butcher it every time. He’s singing at my birthday. I’ve never seen him smiling so big. The rest of the team is egging him on, cheering and chanting, and I’m caught up in the revelry. We already ate and did cake, and I’m content on the couch, stomach, and heart full.

         Hotch finishes his song and gives me a dramatic bow, Derek and Penelope now fighting over who’s singing next. Something twists low in my gut and I suck in a breath. I shift on the couch, trying to find relief. My period must be starting soon. I think to myself, then pause in panic. No, no, no. Please no. Another lash of pain. Tears prick at the corner of my eyes. I get up and head to the bathroom.

         I pull down my pants and underwear and there’s bright red blood on my underwear.

         “Please, god no, please, I’m begging you,” I whisper. I grip the sides of the sink, staring myself down in the mirror. I pull my pants back up and open the door. I see JJ in the kitchen and quickly walk over to her, placing my hand on her arm.

         “Y/N?” She asks.

“JJ, help, something’s wrong, I don’t-the baby,” I say clutching at my abdomen as JJ realizes what I’ve said.

“Okay, stay right here I’m getting Emily and Penelope.” “No, just want you.” I gasp out. “Fuck, my back hurts. JJ, I feel like I’m dying.”

“Come on, we’re going to your bedroom.” She’s typing something on her phone as we make our way up the stairs. I have to stop every few steps to take a few shaky deep breaths.

“Y/N? Are you okay?” I can hear Hotch’s voice call up the stairs.

“Food poisoning.” I choke out.

“Party’s over,” JJ says firmly, “Everyone go home. I’ll stay with Y/N.” Hotch starts to protest but JJ cuts him off with a glare. “You’ve done enough. Go home.” He looks confused but retreats.

When we get to my bedroom I rush to the bathroom, ripping off my clothes feeling like I can’t breathe. This can’t be happening. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I sit on the toilet, feeling the life of my baby, and my sanity slipping out of my body.

JJ sits across from me, my nakedness not seeming to bother her. I grimace as another cramp wraps around my lower back and belly and squeezes with no remorse.

A few minutes pass. Or it could be an hour.

“I had a miscarriage once. I was in college, dating a scum bag boyfriend. But I wanted that baby so bad.” JJ looks at me, “I’m really sorry, Y/N.”

“Yeah, me too. My mom always says we hate tears in heaven,” I pause, and the next sentence is so quiet I’m not even sure I say it out loud, “But it’s sad his baby died.”

At this, JJ grabs my hand, squeezing tightly. “I won’t let you go through this alone. I’m going to be here the whole time.”

After a while, the cramps get better, but I’m still bleeding. I fish out an overnight pad from under the sink and tell JJ which drawer holds my underwear, and where she can find a pair of pajamas. She steps out of the bathroom. She comes back and gives me privacy to get dressed.

Through the door, she says, “You don’t have to look if you don’t want to.” I don’t respond.

I gingerly stand up after wiping, quietly shutting the toilet lid without looking inside. I get dressed, flush the toilet, and wash my hands. I stare at myself in the mirror. I look the same, but something very deep inside of me has fractured, like a bone when too much pressure is applied. I open the door, and JJ has prepared my bed, and I see a bottle sitting on the bedside table. She follows my gaze,

“Extra strength Tylenol. I asked Emily to pick it up. I didn’t tell her why.”

“Thank you.” I take two of the pills, swallowing them dry. “I’ll be okay, you can go home now if you’d like.”

JJ gives me a look that resembles one she gives Henry when he’s in trouble. “I’m not going anywhere. Will can watch Henry tonight.”

“Well, at least let me get you a pair of pajamas,” I say, walking over to my drawer, and pulling out a pair. “It’s the least I can do.” She gives me a sad smile, taking the pajamas from my hands and walking into the bathroom.

As she puts them on, I get in bed and find that she found my heating pad and plugged it in. I press it into my abdomen, forcing the tears in my eyes to stay where they are. If I start crying, I won’t stop.

JJ comes out, tells me that she’s going to lock up the house, and sets off down the stairs. She comes back a few moments later, and gets in bed with me, leaving the bedside light on. I’m quiet for a few moments before asking,

“Do you think this is punishment?”

“For what?”

“Sleeping with a married man.” I look at her with wide eyes, trying to convey that I’m not joking. This feels like some sort of cosmic joke, losing his baby when he’s married to someone else.

“Y/N, no. Sometimes there’s something wrong with the pregnancy, your body is just trying to protect you.” She pauses. “You’re a good person. Don’t let anyone else tell you otherwise.”

“But-“ I start.

“No buts. Doesn’t matter what you’ve done, or whom you love, I know that you’re a good person. You are kind, and full of life, you’re great at your job, and you make everyone else around you shine a little brighter. We can’t help who we love.” She looks sad as she says it, grabbing my hand and squeezing again. I fall asleep with her holding my hand and wake up in the wee hours of the morning, the air still, fog heavy on the ground. I use the bathroom and change my pad. I leave JJ asleep and go downstairs to leave a message for my gynecologist. I put on a pot of coffee, make a slice of toast, and eat it in silence. An hour passes, and I open a book. Close it. Open it again. Close it again. Frustrated, I rub my eyes.

How am I supposed to move on from this?

I lay down on the couch, but sleep doesn’t come. Another hour passes, and my phone rings.

“Hello, this is Y/N.”

“Y/N, this is Doctor Mitchell, how are you?” That question breaks my façade. I start sobbing on the phone, Doctor Mitchell trying to soothe me. After a few minutes, I force myself to pull my shit together, wiping my snotty nose on the hem of my shirt.

“I’m so sorry. I don’t know why that happened.”

“Y/N, that’s very normal. You’ve just gone through something traumatic, it’s okay to be emotional about it. Now, can you come into the office today? Just so I can check you out and prescribe anything if it’s necessary.”

“Yeah, of course. I’ll take a sick day at work. What times do you have available?”

“Does 9:30 AM work for you?” I tell her it does, and she says that she’s here for me, and then we hang up on each other. I text Rossi, telling him I’m taking a sick day due to the “food poisoning”. He tells me to feel better soon.

“Hey,” I hear to my left. I turn and see JJ leaning against the doorway, arms crossed, concern etched on her face. She looks silly in my cartoon print pajamas.

“Hey to you too,” I say, trying to make a joke but my smile slides off my face as quickly as it was put there. I hold up my phone, “My doctor. I have an appointment today.”

“Do you want someone to go with you?”

“No.” I think about it. “I think this is something I have to do alone.” She nods.

-

I always liked Dr. Mitchell’s office. It’s painted in soft pastel yellow, the warm glow making me feel at home. I’m shaking as she comes out to get me. The exam is quick, and she confirms that I did have a miscarriage. Before I go, she hands me some pamphlets on therapy resources in the area. I take them and thank her, leaving the office and stopping for a few minutes outside so my eyes can adjust to the sunlight. I leaf through the pamphlets before carefully putting them in my purse. That can be dealt with at a later time.

I have no idea what to do with the rest of my day, and it hits me that I don’t have any semblance of a life outside of work. I sigh, and my phone vibrates. It’s my sister, asking me how work is going. A lump forms in my throat, and I quickly shoot back a text asking if she can talk on the phone right now. She calls me instantly, frantically asking me if I’m okay. I don’t cry this time, but I tell her everything. Hotch. The affair. The baby. Losing the baby. He doesn’t know. She’s very quiet, letting me word vomit until I have nothing else to say.

“Y/N. I’m sorry. You don’t deserve to go through something like this.” She finally says. We talk about what’s next, she asks me to take some time off and come stay with her for a week or so. I tell her I don’t want to intrude, and she counters with the fact that she’s worried about me. I know she just wants to keep an eye on me, but the thought of going to my hometown right now makes me sick to my stomach. I tell her I’ll think about it, she lets it slide. We talk a few minutes more, and I tell her I have to go. I hang up the phone, staring blankly at my steering wheel.

         I end up taking the next two days off of work, blaming it on the food poisoning. Hotch texts me a couple of times, checking up on me, asking if I’m okay. I give short, noncommittal answers. JJ comes by every night with a hot meal and her company.

         It’s lunchtime on my last day off and I’m picking at the ham sandwich I made when there’s a knock at my door. I look through the peephole and am relieved to see Reid. I open the door and he pulls out a bouquet from behind his back.

         “Um, JJ told me. I thought you might want something nice to look at.” I wordlessly take the flowers from him looking them over. It’s a beautiful arrangement, with soft pink, and yellow flowers. They smell heavenly. I give him a small smile.

         “They’re beautiful. Would you like to come in?” He nods, and follows me inside, shutting the door behind us. I quickly clean up my lunch and get a vase down for the flowers, methodically cutting the stems and putting the plant food powder in the little vase. Reid just watches, letting me do what I’m doing. I put the flowers in the vase, adjusting them ever so slightly before putting the vase on my dining table.

         “Do you want to talk about it?” Reid asks.

         “I-“ I pause. Do I want to talk about it? I should talk about it. Reid seems like a safe bet. “Kind of. It’s – it’s hard to talk about.” I swallow thickly.

         “I can’t imagine what you’re going through right now. I’m sorry about what happened.”

         “Yeah, me too,” I say quietly. “My sister wants me to come home and spend some time with her.”

         “Do you want to do that?”

         “I don’t know. I’m not sure what I want anymore.”

         “Hey, that’s okay. You don’t have to have it all figured out, Y/N. You’re young, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you. It’s okay if you don’t know your next step right now.” I just look at him, wanting desperately to believe what he was saying. I walk over to him, and he opens up his arms, knowing what I want. I wrap my arms tightly around him, just needing to be held. Not by Hotch, but by a friend. I don’t know how long we stand there, but I finally loosen my grip. “I do think you should take some time off. Maybe not go back to your hometown, but just spend some time with yourself.” I nod.

         “I’ll think about it.” With that, he changes the subject, something about a book on quantum physics, and I let him ramble on, asking clarifying questions now and then which he happily answers. We talk for an hour or so, before he states that he has to get back to the office. “Spence,” I say as he’s walking out the door. “Thank you for today. I really needed it.”

         “Of course, Y/N. Anything for my little sister.” He adds, winking at me, and I laugh.

         I lay down for a nap after he leaves and wake up to my phone going off.

         JJ: Emily and Penelope are worried about you. Can they come with me? You don’t have to tell them anything you don’t want to.

         Y/N: That’s fine, it would be nice to have some girl time.

         I tidy the house up a little bit, make it look like I haven’t been sleeping on the couch where the TV can drown out the thoughts that scream at me. That my current diet has been pringles and chocolate, and the meals JJ has been bringing me every night. The doorbell rings fifteen minutes later, and I open the door, cursing the fact that I forgot to change out of my pajamas. I give them a small smile as they come inside.

         JJ had brought a giant pizza from a local spot with her, and my stomach growled when I saw it. We all laughed at that. We settled down on the couch, and Emily asks,

         “What do you think gave you food poisoning?” JJ and I lock eyes for a split second and then I say,

         “Um, actually, I had a miscarriage.” It gets silent for a split second before Emily and Penelope are telling me how sorry they are. I don’t miss the exchange between them though and I add, “You can ask who it was, but I think you already know.” I pick at my cuticles, waiting for them to say something.

         “We know. And it’s okay.” Penelope says, smiling at me. “You don’t have to explain anything to us.” I smile at her, the weight lifting off of my heart a little as a tear slides down my left cheek.

         “Does everyone else know?” I ask.

         “Well, Reid was the first to notice. He kept going on and on about you and Hotch’s body language. One thing led to another, and…” Emily trails off.

         “And I’m your favorite subject to study, got it,” I say with a half-smile. I knew Reid knew. That must have been what he was going to ask me on my birthday. I’m glad he let it be, probably knowing that I was hurting more than I needed to know that he knew. I change the subject, and our conversation wanders its way through many topics before I know it I’m yawning, and JJ is ushering Em and Penelope out the door before coming back to big good night to me.

         “Anything else I can get you before I head out?”

         “No, I’m okay. Thank you for everything, I appreciate it.” I settle down on the couch, pulling my blanket off the back of it and situating it around myself. After a few seconds, I notice JJ watching me smiling. “What? What is it?”

         “Sometimes I just forget how young you are.”

         “I’m not that much younger than you!” She chuckles and I want to ask her what she means, but she bids me good night and leaves out the garage, so I don’t have to get up and lock the door behind her.

         Work resumes like usual when I come back. A couple of people joke about the “food poisoning” and I laugh it off. I can feel Hotch watching me closely a lot though. I didn’t let him come over when I was miscarrying, afraid that I’d look in his face and the words would spill over until I couldn’t hold them back anymore. He calls me into his office at the end of the day.

         “Y/N, are you okay?”

         “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” I say, on the defensive. I know that no one would have told him behind my back, if they did they’d have to answer to my wrath. He looks me over.

         “If something happened, you know you can tell me, right?”

         I stare him down, battling with the part of me that wants to tell him everything, and the other part that’s afraid he’ll use it against me later down the line. “I’m fine. Can I go now?”

         “Y/N, come on. You didn’t even let me visit you when you were sick.”

         “JJ kept me company. I was fine.”

         “I’m just hurt that you didn’t want my company.” I blink in surprise. He’s being vulnerable.

         “I’m just dealing with some stuff right now, okay? You…you just make things complicated.”

         “I’m here for you always.”

         “And you’re married,” I say plainly. “You have been from the start. I just need a break …from whatever this is. You’re married and I’m – I’m just me.” My voice cracks on the last word.

         “I -,” he sighs, rubbing his eyes. “Yeah, that’s fair. We’ll take a break for a little bit.” I excuse myself, heading back to my desk to grab my things. For some reason, I feel worse now taking a break than I did with him. Before I leave, I glance over my shoulder towards his office, and he’s watching me. I freeze for a split second, locked in an intense gaze before he breaks it, looking back down to his paperwork. I sigh and leave, my house feeling empty with his presence.

part three: and you might be dying

[filthyfluffyfantasies]

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . DL;DR - this fic is not meant for anyone under the age of 18 as it contains the following: topper's virginity kink - stop that, he's a gentleman about it ffs, he takes the best care of you , p in v sex of the protected variety, swearing, biting/marking, dirty talk, a little tearing up, kissing/saliva exchanged. writer does not give permission for her works to be reposted, with or without permission. ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

prompt four- virginity

character | fandom - topper thornton | outer banks

reader | original character - female reader, pogue!john b's sister & non -or vague, description.

words - roughly 6.3k

tagging - <taglist here >

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . you've been dancing around the way you feel about him for a while now, but a Halloween bonfire at the boneyard + a few drinks might just change all that..✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

You couldn't stare at Topper Thornton any harder if you tried. Your eyes are glued to him like magnets as he tosses a football back and forth with some other Kooks down the shore. Staring is all you're ever gonna get. Might as well enjoy it. - the thought has you frowning to yourself and you bite your bottom lip as you watch the way he peels off a long sleeve shirt and tosses it at the sand.

Your brother John B happens to notice that you're distracted and you haven't paid attention to a single thing he’s been saying so he clears his throat and when that doesn't work, he bounces a green grape off your forehead.

Kiara snickers quietly. Sarah raises a brow and Kiara gets her off to the side, explaining what she was just laughing at.

❝ Wait.. she likes Top?❞ Sarah glances at you and John B, a brow raised. She groans to herself as she catches the tail end of yet another argument between the two of you. 

❝ She’s in love with him, actually.❞ Kiara shrugs as the argument between you and John B kicks into high gear.

John B glares at you. ❝ We discussed this. I don't even want that prick Thornton breathing your air, sis. He's not a good guy.❞

❝ We didn’t discuss anything, JB. You dictated, like always and I agreed just to shut you up.❞ you snipe, glaring at your older brother. ❝ I'm not involved in this stupid Kooks versus Pogue bullshit. And, ❞ you pause, a hand on your hip, ❝ You don’t know the guy.❞

❝I know him one hell of a lot better than you do, little bit. So what he saved you from drowning and he just happened to be there that time you took the Twinkie out and th' tire blew. Just because he felt like being a nice guy two times doesn't make him a good person. Stay away from th' guy. I'm being serious, lil bit. ❞ John B argues. 

His firm warning is met with a roll of your eyes as you decide you'd rather chew glass than keep arguing with the brick wall known as your older brother. 

❝ Would you fucking relax, dumbass? Its not like I'm gonna screw or marry the guy.❞ you yell, probably a little louder than you should have. Your face is on fire as soon as you realize just how many people your angry outburst has staring at you.

As you're storming away, you happen to crash right into Topper, the unaware subject of the entire fight you've just had with John B. He gazes at you in concern as his hands rest against your upper arms. ❝ You look upset.❞

You swallow hard. And naturally, the thought comes, bitterly, I'm gonna go all weird and quiet now. Just like every other time I'm near Topper.

❝ Y-yeah.❞ you finally murmur, ❝ Johns just bein an asshole…Again.❞ and you're staring up, lost in the multi-toned warmth of his eyes. You can feel your brother and the rest of his friends staring and you sigh a little. But Topper hasn't let go of your arms yet and if the look in his eyes is anything to go by, he doesn't buy what you're saying at all.

❝ Yeah, that tracks.❞ Topper finally mumbles as he reluctantly releases the hold on you, instantly missing the softness of your skin under his hands as soon as its gone. He gives John B and the other Pogues a dirty look and it's fleeting, he's quick to turn his attention back to you. 

❝ I'm gonna get going...❞ you reluctantly step away, instantly wishing you hadn't, ❝ Before he busts a vein.❞

Topper chuckles. And he'll tell himself that the only reason he does what he winds up doing next is solely to cause that, its just to get your very overprotective big brother all riled up, maybe it is. But as much as that's the honest to God's truth, there's a deeper reason he invites you to the Halloween bonfire tonight at the boneyard. 

He wants to see you again. He's like an addict, he needs his fix. 

❝ Hey!❞ he stops you in your tracks, ❝ There's a bonfire tonight..to celebrate Halloween, I guess. You should come..I mean, unless you're scared it's gonna make big brother mad.❞

You can feel the rage and frustration as it rolls off your brother when JJ nudges him so he doesn't miss what's unfolding.

You know you should turn him down, every part of you insists that going anywhere near that damned bonfire tonight is not only a bad idea, it's possibly the worst one you've ever had and yet.. when you open your mouth to do the right thing, the smart thing, and gently tell him no, ❝ Maybe I will, Thornton. Maybe I will.❞

You hurry away after answering, mostly because you know if you don't do that, John will come over and restart the argument you two were having that made you storm away and collide with Topper just now in the first place. 

Sarah and Kiara exchange looks.

❝ Tell me you were picking up on the way Topper was with her just now. Tell me I'm not reading into what we both just saw way too much.❞ Kiara asks after a few seconds. Sarah laughs softly and shakes her head. ❝ I think I have an idea. C'mon.❞ she starts to walk towards where you happen to be standing on the boardwalk as she glances back at Kiara and Cleo, ❝ We can wait for permission now or beg for forgiveness later.❞

❝ Wait, hold on!❞ Kiara rushes to catch Sarah, ❝What are we even doing?❞

❝ When I was dating Top...❞ she trails off and watches Topper as he's watching you, ❝ I used to be so jealous of her. I used to think that he wanted her more. I'm starting to realize I was right… and if she likes him back, I mean…❞ Sarah trails off, speaking up a few seconds later, ❝ Top is a good guy.. He deserves to be happy too, Kie.❞

❝ You do realize John isn't gonna see it that way...❞ 

❝ And we'll cross that bridge when we're there. What I do know is I owe him.❞

❝ Okay, so what are we thinking?❞ Kiara asks, watching as you watch Topper throwing the football around, further down the shore. 

❝ Everybody is gonna be in costume tonight.. well, most everybody.❞ Sarah muses, gazing from you to Topper as she formulates her plan. 

Cleo and Pope wander up to you as you finish your cigarette and thump its remains at the pavement.

❝ John is just being protective..❞ Pope speaks up after a few seconds. You nod, exhaling the last plume of smoke into the afternoon air. ❝ I know, Pope. I just don't get it.. Topper has actually helped out when we asked. Of the rest, he's the least biggest asshole. And I can't help who I.. nevermind..❞ you laugh softly and shake your head, ❝ He’s probably right, its not like a guy like that,❞ you nod in Topper's direction, ❝ Is even interested in me in the first place.❞

Cleo happens to look over where you were just staring right as you make yourself stop staring and Topper starts staring at you.

❝ I think you’re wrong.❞ Cleo muses, nudging Pope to get him looking in Topper's direction. Pope rubs his chin thoughtfully, tuning back into your continued rant just in time to hear you going off on a tangent about the way John B is engaged to Sarah and its kind of stupid to be an ass about Topper based solely on that. 

❝ I mean,  if he obviously liked me to begin with, he's totally a hypocrite for continuing to be an ass about this.❞ you go quiet.

Cleo snickers softly. ❝ There's one way to find out.. Go to the bonfire tonight. He did invite you.❞ she's challenging you, daring you to do something because she's gotten to know you well enough at this point to know that challenging you or daring you is a surefire way to get you to do something, quick, fast and in a hurry. 

You mull it over. You were already planning to go, you were going to hang out with Cleo and Pope. If things seemed off you could bail and you wouldn't be stuck by yourself because Cleo is your best friend and she'll be there.

❝ Come with me.❞ Sarah butts in, ❝ We're going costume shopping.❞

You raise your brow. Laugh softly. ❝ Now why am I gonna do that, hm?❞ you ask, shuffling your feet against worn wood.

Sarah grumbles. Then she sees the stern look she's getting from both you and Cleo so she launches into this long-winded ramble about just wanting to have a little fun, pointing out that you did promise your brother you would at least attempt to give her a chance. ❝ Everybody is gonna be in costume tonight.. well, most everybody. I thought it'd be fun..❞

You laugh. ❝Okay, fine. But I probably won't buy one. I'm a little too old for dress up games.❞ you're kind of scoffing, thinking to yourself that it figures the Kook princess would be into dressing up.

Cleo gives you a gentle nudge and you manage a tight smile at Sarah Cameron.

❝ I've got an hour to waste til my shift at the bar. No lingerie or cutesy animal themed stuff, got it?❞

Sarah laughs. ❝Fine. But you have to let me do your makeup and hair if you pick one.❞

You snort in laughter. ❝ How about you just be happy I agreed to tag along with you two..❞ you nod to Kiara as she leans against the railing around the pier, ❝ And leave me to my own devices with hair and makeup, huh?❞

❝ This is a bad idea, Sare.❞ Kiara gives you a dirty look and you roll your eyes right back at her. Cleo laughs quietly and shakes her head.❝ Alright, you three. Behave. If we’re going, we should go.❞

❝What's wrong with me doing your hair and makeup, anyway?❞ Sarah asks and you laugh. ❝It’s fine for you..I'm just not into the whole princess vibe.❞

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ ･ ｡ﾟ ───

You're lingering hesitantly with your brother and his friends, infinitely regretting your spur-of-the-moment decision to buy the form fitting little white tank style dress and the veil and garter, but in your defense, Cleo dared you. And you're nothing if not petty, so given that you're going to the bonfire tonight just to see Topper and you know what your brother's always saying, you chose the petty road and tonight's costume is you, making a point. The thrifted dress had been longer 3 hours ago but all the tulle and fluff had been torn away from the rest of the dress, leaving you with a form fitting white dress that stopped just about the tops of your thighs. It's the shortest thing you've ever worn out in public but when you also found a garter and an old veil that you could use to form your own shorter veil, you took it to be a sign from the petty gods.

When you'd told Cleo this earlier, she nearly doubled over laughing.

❝ The flannel and combat boots are throwing off the whole costume.❞ Sarah clucks her tongue as she says it, giving you a once-over. ❝ I don't get why you had to destroy a perfectly good wedding dress either...❞

You shrug. ❝Deal with it, Sarah.❞

Sarah spots Topper as his Jeep pulls to a stop next to the Audi Kelce drives. 

Cleo nudges you but you shake your head. ❝ Not right now..❞

Sarah and Kiara have spotted your brother and JJ so they're gone with quickness and it's now only you, Cleo and Pope standing near the coolers and kegs waiting to be tapped. Cleo nudges you and nods at Topper.

You happen to look up just in time to lock eyes with him. You figure he's going to look down first so you're surprised when he smiles and gives a little wave. You pour yourself a drink and take a sip, almost immediately spitting it out.

❝ You are officially on your own, girl. Me and Pope are going somewhere a little more…private.❞ and now Cleo and Pope are gone, leaving you all by yourself. You shuffle your combat boots against the sand awkwardly and you're just about to head over to play a hand of cards with your friends Jesse and Alec, but just as you take a step in the direction of Jesse's tailgate, you're tapped on the shoulder.

❝ You’re here.❞ Topper's breath is minty against your neck and your thighs clamp together in seconds. ❝ I didn't think you'd show up.❞

You turn to face him, head tilted slightly to look up at him. He towers over you easily and you swallow hard, blowing at a strand of fallen hair. All you can do is shrug as words fail you yet again.

Topper chuckles, the sound is husky, quiet. A crowd racing past you both forces you to step into his body and as the wind picks up a little, you hug your flannel shirt tighter against your body. Topper notices this and with a chuckle, he pulls off the jacket he's wearing and holds it out to you. You glance at it, then up at him. He pushes it at you and when you don't immediately take it, he slips it around your shoulders. 

You can feel the exact second both JJ Maybank and your brother have caught onto it but you honestly couldn’t care less. Topper smiles down at you and because of the height difference between you two, he has to bend down just a little when he whispers ❝ I’m glad you came tonight. Kelce, he’s uh.. Been after me to just do something already but I.. Forget it.❞ he laughs quietly, ❝ It’s dumb.❞

You take a sip from the orange plastic cup in your hand and stare up at him quietly, nodding. Your cheeks feel a little warm, a little flushed and you can’t decide whether it’s from the watered down 80 proof in the cup you hold in your hand or if it’s from being around Topper Thornton, like usual.

Every time the two of you have a little run-in, you come away flustered then too.

Duh, you reflect on it, I'm always getting myself into weird and dangerous positions that somehow, he always manages to be close enough to save me from. And I wanna feel bad about that but it puts me in his path and I'm fine with that.

❝ I figured it was the least I could do, Top. I uh...❞ you shift your feet in the sand a little as you laugh at yourself and the sheer lack of ability to form words you’re suffering currently, ❝ I kind of owe you my life.. Three thousand times over, actually.❞

Topper snickers for a few seconds, falling silent again. By now you’ve migrated to a little bonfire further down the shore from the bigger one that everybody’s crowded around. He slips an arm around you and this pulls you straight into his side. Against him. You’re so close that the scent of his cologne envelopes you. As the two of you settle down in a spot on the sand, he speaks up again, gazing into the fire. ❝ I wasn’t keeping score. Y’know, you’re kind of a trouble slash danger magnet, right?❞ he chuckles as he looks over to see you pouting at him. You lightly swat his arm. ❝ Hey! That’s not fair! It’s not like I try to get myself in weird or dangerous situations, Top.❞

❝ Yeah.❞ he laughs, giving you that dimpled grin. You’re trying to resist, but the urge to be closer is driving you crazy. You lean against his side a little, your head resting against his bicep.

Topper’s breath hangs.

❝I always love t’ come out here and look at the stars.❞ you mutter quietly. Topper nods. ❝ Yeah, but the view at the lighthouse is prettier. Go all the way to the top and you can see everything..❞

❝ I’ve always wanted to go there..❞ you muse. He pulls himself up off the sand and holds out his hand to you. And that stupid, sexy, dimpled smile is back. You gaze at the hand he holds out and swallow hard. He’s grinning ear to ear. ❝ C’mon. We can slip away, nobody will ever know. I only come to this shit anymore because Kelce drags me.❞ Topper admits, conveniently leaving out the part where he mostly comes to be as close to you as he dares to get, lest he invoke the wrath of your overprotective big brother, John B.

But he’s got a foot in the door tonight. One chance to be even closer to you than he typically dares to get -aside from the times he happened to be in the right place at just the right time and he managed to keep you alive and safe.

He’s determined to take it.

You take hold of his hand. Biting your lip as you’re pulled off the sand and straight into his body. You’re only half teasing when you say it, ❝ Bet you take all the girls up there, huh? You being a ladies man and all..❞

He shakes his head. ❝ Nope. It’s somewhere I go alone, actually.❞

And you’d never own up to it but when he tells you that, you’re falling even more in love with him and you were just starting to think that couldn’t be possible.

❝ We’re gonna have to speed-walk to the Jeep.❞ you say it and through laughter, the two of you make a beeline for the Jeep. You practically dive into his passenger seat and he backs out of the spot he parked in as fast as he can, his arm around the back of your seat as he turns his head slightly, looking back over his shoulder.

You can feel those butterflies in your stomach, for sure. You know what you’re about to do, sneaking away with a Kook, is at best, a mere bad idea.. But for a bad idea, it feels so good.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ ･ ｡ﾟ ───

The stars glitter and glisten through floor to ceiling panes as you step into the little room atop the lighthouse. Your gasp makes him smile because he’d been hoping you might actually appreciate the view if he ever managed to be lucky enough to get you up here with him.

You turn to him in a rush, your chest presses against his as one of your hands finds purchase in the front of his favorite denim jacket, the one lined with wool. ❝ Top,❞ there it is, that sweet and sultry little purr that haunts his dreams, asleep or awake. He’s staring down at you, dazed. Because the moon is hitting your face just right and your skin is soft and dewy. You’re staring right back up at him, your grip on the front of his jacket tightens just a slip. When you realize just how close you’re pressed against him, your breath catches, a quiet gasp leaving your slightly parted lips.

He leans down, his face into yours just a little. A hand raises and cups your face after he’s brushed some loose strands of hair out of your eyes. ❝ What’s up?❞ he asks finally, the silence is too much for him.

❝ It’s so beautiful up here.❞ you mutter, raising one leg slightly, bent at the knee. He chuckles. The sound is soft. A little husky. Deep as the sound rose up from the very bottom of his soul. It gives you another little tummy flutter. For just a split second, you wonder if this is how awestruck Sarah Cameron had to feel when he looked at her the way he’s looking at you right now. And then in the next breath you’re doing all you can to mentally gaslight yourself that no, he’s definitely not looking at you like that.

You almost manage to pull it off until he shatters the silence. ❝ What I’m lookin at right now is more beautiful.❞

You gulp. The minty clean warmth of his breath fans your face as his moves even closer and the hand that had been on your cheek just seconds before moves to the back of your head. Thick digits catch against your hair. You melt against him and you try not to do it, but your eyes flutter closed as your tongue drags over your bottom lip. The ripped piece of lace you’d stapled to a headband to make yourself a veil at the last minute is lifted, raised out of his way completely.

❝ I’m gonna kiss you.❞ he mumbles quietly, his free hand settled on your hip which he squeezes and uses his grip to pull you into him even closer, as if there was any space left between you both in the first place. ❝ You.. If you don’t want me to kiss you...❞ words are frustrating. He swears under his breath and takes a very shaky deep breath to try again. But you don’t want to wait a single second longer, maybe at least half of your brain is convinced that this is a daydream and you’re going to come out of it to find Cleo and Pope sitting across from you in your usual booth at the Wreck, laughing their asses off.

❝ Are you crazy?❞ you mumble soft, your lips bump right into his as you speak, ❝ I’ve wanted to kiss you since we were twelve.. When I almost drowned to death and you saved me?❞ 

Topper blinks. He’d honestly thought that given all previous interactions, you’d panic and bolt. Because that used to be what you did in any situation where you found yourself alone with him. ❝ You.. you really mean that...❞ he studies you, curious.

❝ I said it, Top.❞ you mumble quietly. You’re not good at making eye contact for too long. So when you try to stare a hole through the front of Topper’s denim jacket, he cups your jaw and makes you look up at him. The distance between your mouths begins to close again. Time all but freezes and finally, his thick tongue splits the barrier of your lips. You keep up with him as best as you can but it’s clumsy. A little needy and you’re melting into his body the more the kiss deepens. When your lips latch onto his bottom one, he groans against your mouth quietly and the hair his hand is so caught up in is given a slight little tug. 

The two of you are light-headed, racing hearts and breathing for each other when the kiss breaks and you reluctantly pull apart, a strand of saliva keeping just a small hint of connection between your mouths. ❝ Fuck.❞ - that’s both of you mumbling the word in unison because he’d imagined what kissing you might feel like for a while now but what he’s just done went above and beyond his wildest imagination. And he knows it won’t be enough because he’s already pulling you back against him and leaning himself down into you for another one.

Your hand raises and settles in his hair, giving it a tug as you climb up into his arms, your legs circling his waist. The ripped lace of the flimsy DIY veil falls down between both of your faces at one point and Topper’s hand catches against the dollar store headband and slips it off your head, letting it fall from his fingers to the wooden floor of the room. You’ve rubbed yourself against him at least two times by now and you keep making these cute little whiny sounds that are driving him to the brink of his restraint.

When your mouth strays from his, seeking out the side of his neck, he sucks in a sharp breath. Hands catch against your ass, squeezing a double handful through a skintight white tank dress. He growls into your neck, ❝ We.. we don’t have t’ do this.. This isn’t why I brought you up here, love.❞ and it’s so cute and sweet and when he calls you love it’s just such a gentleman’s choice of word. You pull away to stare up at him. ❝ I know, I just..❞ you take a deep breath, laugh at yourself because you know damn well you’re rushing into this but at this point, it just feels like you’ve waited longer than forever. Maybe even longer than an eternity.

❝ What? You can tell me, love.❞ Topper coaxes. You play with the front of his jacket as you try to will the words out. ❝ I promised myself if I ever got a chance.. With you.. I was going to do everything I could to make you mine.❞ you cringe a little, it has to sound needy. It has to sound crazy, after all, every previous interaction between you both involved you making a hasty retreat.

❝ You.. you did?❞ he’s puzzled. Because he’s never been anyone’s first choice. He’s never been the guy who gets kissed like you just kissed him. He’s the best friend. Comic relief. The one people turn to only when he can do something for their benefit.

❝ Topper,❞ you whine out as you try to rub against him as much as you can and cling to his body, ❝ I want you..❞

He’s gaping. Stunned. Speechless. Because not only is someone begging for him.. That someone is someone he’s actually had his eye on for a really long time. Secretly, of course.

❝ I… I didn’t say too much, did I?❞ you ask quietly when he’s still dazed a second or two later and you notice that he’s not really responding to anything you’re doing. You frown a little and you’re just about to climb down out of his arms but he takes a step back. You wind up sat on the circular metal railing that surrounds the circular room. ❝ No. No, love.. You didn’t. I just needed to process.❞ Topper explains as his hands leave your hips, skimming up the front of your body, squeezing and cupping your breasts through thin fabric. When you start to rock into him all over again, he bites back a growl and thrusts himself against you so you can feel how hard he is through the jeans he’s wearing. And then he’s staring at you, eyes burning, pupils blown with lust. ❝ You’re.. You’re sure, yeah? We don’t have t’ do this right now, love...❞ he’s melting back into you, his mouth against your neck, tongue dragging the length of your pulse before he takes a little nip of exposed skin.

The scent of vanilla, of you and that sugary sweet cheap perfume you always wear, that fills his awareness, permeates the air all around you both. When his hand slips up your dress and he feels the garter wrapped around your thigh, he inhales, resting his forehead against the top of your breasts. The clasp to the garter was tricky. It was frustrating for him, especially when the only thing he wanted was to strip everything away that kept your skin from touching his.

❝ I hate this damn thing.❞ he huffs out just two seconds before he finally just loses all patience with your tight and stubborn clothing and rips the garter away. Your thin flannel shirt goes next, followed by his denim jacket, both settling in a heap on the floor of the observation room. 

With shaking hands you reach down between your bodies to unbutton his jeans and they settle around his ankles. 

He’s sucking your neck as he works the short and tight little dress up your hips, relishing all your little whimpers and whines and the way you're just so damn responsive to every little touch or kiss. His hand slips between your thighs and your breath catches, your head fallen back against the floor to ceiling pane of glass at your back. He cups your wet sex, rubbing his hand against it until you're rocking yourself against his hand, moaning his name and he can feel you dripping against his palm.

❝ Have you ever..uh, have you done this before, love?❞ he asks the question both not expecting your answer and preparing himself to be at least a little jealous, more determined to erase anyone else you've ever been with from your memory. ❝ No.❞ you breathe out against his neck as you work his shirt up and out of the way. Topper is frozen again. Trying to process everything, from the first kiss to now, when you've just told him that he's going to be your first lover. Only, his mind corrects as he feels himself getting harder at the mere thought that he's going to be the first, only, boy to bury his cock inside you. He never thought that just finding out you are a virgin would drive him as crazy as it is.

❝ Okay, look at me, love..❞ he's trying to be the voice of reason, to slow things down before they go too far. He wants to make sure you really are ready. He cups your jaw, tilting your gaze up ❝Do you really want this? Are..are you sure?❞, he asks, trying to get you focused on the question.

 But you're begging and the way you keep kissing on him while clinging to him as much as you can melts him. He melts down into you after releasing his hold on your jaw, his face buried in your tits as his hands squeeze your ass. 

❝ I want you, Top. Nobody else. You.❞ you answer quietly, cupping his face to make him look up at you so he knows you mean it and you're not just in the heat of the moment. ❝ You.❞

It's everything he's always wanted to hear and given up on hearing. He's all over you after it sinks in, lips against soft skin, hands anywhere he can get them on you. ❝ I'm..fuck.❞ he breathes out against your mouth as he crashes his mouth against yours, ❝ I'm yours, okay?❞ he promises, melting into you so much that you're pressed back against the window.

Your fingers drag over his abdomen as you take in what he's promising. You weren't expecting it, you're blown away.

You whine out in need as you tug at the waistband of his boxers. He chuckles.

❝ Oh no. No, love, not until I get a taste of you first.❞ he mutters against the shell of your ear. Thick digits hook in the side of your panties, he works them down your legs and when they settle at your ankles, he gets down on his knees in front of you, gazing up. ❝ C'mon, love.. open those pretty legs for me. Let me see what I'm doing to you.❞ he murmurs, parting your legs with his hands. As he sets sights on your bare cunt -and how wet you are, he barely stops a groan at the sight. You fidget a little, squirming in his intent gaze because he's your first. This is all so very new to you. You’re afraid that he's going to change his mind. ❝ Relax, love. I swear to God I'm gonna take care of you,  baby.❞

His tongue drags over the outline of his lips as moonlight makes your skin glisten, you're dripping for him and he's barely done a thing. He takes a pause, a few seconds to wrap his head around the fact that this is real and its happening.. with him. He's the one you've chosen to give yourself to and he's determined not to make you regret it.

His tongue drags over the soft skin, tracing its way up your inner thighs. When you start to giggle because you discover you're ticklish on your inner thighs, he chuckles quietly. When his tongue drags a stripe right up the center of your dripping hot sex, your breath hangs in your throat. He groans at the taste of you as it fills his mouth and two fingers join his tongue, stretching you more than you're used to. Your hand catches in his hair and you tug as his fingers and tongue fuck your virgin cunt to prepare you to be full of him. He mutters against your skin  ❝ Pull harder, love. If it helps.❞ as he buries his tongue deep inside. Your free hand curls around cool metal and you whimper and whine. 

There's a white hot ache that's creeping in, settling in the pit of your stomach as Topper works his fingers and tongue inside you. ❝ Top…❞ you're moaning his name like a prayer as you try to move your hips, desperate for more.

❝ Good girl. Fuck. Fuck,❞ he groans out, the sound of his voice muffled by the way he's got his face buried between your thighs. He stops to breathe - and to watch the way your head falls back and your mouth is hanging open partially, begging him to fuck you. ❝ Such a good girl for me.❞

You're so close. He can feel you tense up. He starts to slow down and you cry out for him, frustrated tears shining in your eyes as he looks up at you, his tongue dragging over your throbbing clit. ❝ Too much, love?❞ he questions.

You nod. He pulls himself up off his knees and steps between your legs, his hands pinning your hands against the glass at your back as he lets his boxers fall to the floor and lines up his cock with your dripping hole. As he fucks into you for the first time, you clench around his cock and it's so tight. His breath catches and when he feels you tense up, he goes still. Kissing on you as he waits for you to get used to taking his cock.

❝ Is it.. are you okay now, love?❞ he asks, gently cupping your jaw as you nod and start trying to rock yourself into him. 

This feels so fucking good, - the thought comes as you clench tight around him and he groans against your neck, plowing into you slow and deep. 

❝ –oh God don't stop dontstop, baby you feel so good. So gooood.❞ you're in the heat of the moment and all he can do is watch as you come undone, the sexy little sounds you're making combined with the way you clench around his thick cock is almost enough to make him come undone. ❝ Easy, love.❞ he coaxes, driving into you at a new angle as he lets go of your hands and grabs your hips, picking you up to slam you down on his cock over and over. ❝ I'm…fuck…I wanna cum, princess. You feel so so good. So good.❞ he's begging for it and he doesn't care, he's got no shame at all. You’re clinging to him as your orgasm rips through you and leaves you a fucked out and needy mess. He's thrown into his own orgasm, your cunt squeezing his cock so perfectly that he can't hold it off. 

You feel him throbbing, hot seed painting your insides and he leans down into you, his forehead against your tits while he takes a few sloppy thrusts. His mouth crashes against yours in a kiss that's equal parts sloppy and sweet.

Down on shore, the festivities are still going, you can see the bonfire from where you are as you slip down from the rail, the two of you helping each other redress, stopping to steal kisses or melt into each other.

As he holds out your 'veil' to the costume, he turns it over in his hands and chuckles quietly. ❝ Tiffany..from Bride of Chucky, right?❞ he asks and you laugh softly.

❝ Nope. I am a bride though.. since my brother thinks that I'm gonna run off to marry you just because I really like you and I stare too much, I decided to prove him right.❞

Topper chuckles. Then it sinks in what you're admitting. He catches up to you as you're about to open the door to the room and he turns you around to face him. ❝ I kinda thought you hated me or that I scared you because you're always rushing off whenever we happen to be alone.. thats not true?❞

You laugh softly and shake your head. ❝ I didn’t want my idiot brother to come after you. If he hurt you, I..❞ you trail off, a hand raised to caress his cheek as you stare up at him. ❝ I'm not trying to scare you or anything but..❞ you lean against him, ❝ I think I could love you. That I have for a long time..❞

He's blown away. He cups your jaw to make you look up at him as he takes in what you've just said. ❝ D-do you mean that?❞

You smile softly and nod. He holds you tighter, his nose against the crown of your head. ❝ He doesn't scare me. And he won't stop me from being with you.❞ Topper promises, staring down at you. 

❝ Wanna go back down?❞ he asks after a few seconds. You laugh and shake your head no, telling him ❝ I only came tonight to be close to you.❞

The two of you do make your way out of the lighthouse but it's to sit on the deck, you caged in by his body as he holds you close and points out different stars in the sky.

[samslvrgirl]

Waitress - pt 1. Bad Baby Pie

Pairing: doctor!Sam x Reader

Summary: Y/N, a struggling waitress trapped in an abusive marriage, finds out she is suddenly pregnant. While in her appointment to make sure she is, she meets Dr. Sam Winchester, her new doctor since her old one is on vacation.

Characters(in this chapter): Reader, Lisa Braeden, Jo Harvelle, Dean Winchester, Gordon Walker, and Bobby Singer(mentioned) No Sam in this chapter. (in the next one)

Word Count: 2,028

Warnings: Language, emotional abuse, pregnancy, (Let me know if I missed any)

A/N: This is my first story so please be advised that it's not the greatest.

An oven opens, a pair of hands remove a baked pie to cool, only to add another to bake as well.

Making pies has always relaxed Y/N, putting her in a zen-like state. All her troubles float away and it’s just her and her pies.

“Honey, You’ve put it off long enough.”

Looking up, Y/N sees her two co-workers and friends, Jo and Lisa.

“What?” she replies.

“You know what.” They both said at the same time.

----

“Negative. Negative. Come on, negative… Come on!” Lisa rambles on.

All three women are huddled in the small employee bathroom, waiting on Y/N’s pregnancy test.

“Dear Lord above, please protect our Y/N from the hell of unwanted pregnancy.” Jo says while pacing back and forth, her hands in prayer.

“I don’t need no baby. I don’t want no trouble. I just wanna make pies. That’s all I wanna do. Make pies.” Y/N anxiously says.

“I thought you don’t even sleep with your husband anymore? Lisa questioned.

“He got her drunk one night.” Jo quickly says.

“Got me drunk. I should never drink. I do stupid things when I drink, like sleep with my husband!”

She gasps.

“Oh no…It looks like a pink line is forming…shit..!”

“One line or two lines. One line or two lines!?” Lisa frantically says.

“Two lines! The control line and the other line. The bad line, the yes line!” Y/N starts to freak out. Not wanting what she thinks is happening.

Lisa rushes up to Y/N, swiping the test out of her hand.

“Let me see that now…Two lines. Two definite lines. No mistaking them.”

The women all look at each other. A bit horrified. Then, there’s a knock on the bathroom door.

“What’s going on in there? We have customers! Where are my waitresses?” Dean, the manager, yells out behind the door.

“Hold your balls straight Dean! Y/N ain’t feeling well” Lisa answers back.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“None of your business, ya blowhard!”

“Nothing, Dean! I’m fine. We’ll be right out.” Y/N quickly ending the confrontation.

“Hurry UP!” Dean yells back.

They wait a minute, for Dean to walk away. Lisa and Jo both look at Y/N. Her eyes are closed, deep in thought. “Honey, you okay?” Jo asks Y/N.

“Shh…I’m inventing a new pie in my head. Tomorrow’s blue plate special.” She softly says.

A quiche is being made. Scrambled eggs, ham and cheese are quickly poured, then blended into a crust.

“I’m calling it,’I Don’t Want Gordon‘s Baby Pie’.”

“I don’t think we can put that on the menu board, hon.” Jo says.

“Then I’ll just call it,’Bad Baby Pie’.”

“What’s in it, honey” Lisa asks. “It’s a quiche of egg and brie cheese with a smoked ham center.”

“Sounds good, baby.”

Y/N opens her eyes. She stares off into the distance, spacing out.

“I ain’t never gonna get away from Gordon now.”

Finishing the rest of their shifts, Y/N, Jo, and Lisa sit outside on a bench in front of their workplace, Bobby’s Pie Diner. Y/N is carefully wrapping a slice of pie in tin foil while Lisa smokes a cigarette, offering to pass it to Y/N for her to drag.

“Want it?” Lisa asks.

“No, are you crazy? Can’t have no cigarette. I’m having a stupid damn baby. So, if I’m smoking, she’s smoking.”

“She?” Lisa asks. “How do you know it’s a girl?”

“Boy. girl, whatever. Anyway, Gordon don’t let me smoke. He’s coming any second to pick me up.”

Y/N was miserable in her marriage. She thought she was stupid to marry young, thinking Gordon and her were young in love, but that wasn’t the case. He ended up controlling everything. From her own finances, to not owning anything at all. Everything was his, not hers.

“You gonna tell him?” Jo quietly asks. Knowing Gordon, it’s a death trap for her and her child.

“Not sure. If my plan comes true and I can make my big escape from him in a couple months, maybe he never has to know.” Y/N said.

“Are you sure it’s his child?” Lisa suddenly asks. Y/N looks at her shocked, her mouth in awe.

“You know everything I do. I ain’t never cheated. I’d never do that.” She answers back defensibly. “No, you’d just run away from him without any warning, abandoning him forever.” Jo says.

“That’s different from cheating. That’s escaping to Lebanon where that big pie bake-off is held, then winning the prize money, and starting a fresh new life for myself.” Starting a new life is just what she needed. Her original plan that is, but now she is having a baby. A baby she was stuck with.

“I feel sorry for you, Y/N. I mean, I’d do anything to meet a man, and Lisa’s husband is a downright senile fruit cake…” Jo starts off. “JO!?” Lisa yells out, cutting Jo off mid-sentence. “Well, I’m sorry, it’s true. But now, here you are, married to this handsome guy…”

“Who’s got a very good smile…” Lisa jumps in.

“Who’s got a very good smile…” Jo agrees. “And pregnant with a little girl.” “We don’t know if it’s a girl.” Y/N butts in. “But neither one of us would trade places with you for one second. Would we, Lisa?”

“No, we wouldn’t Jo. No we wouldn’t. Except just once in my life, I’d like to make a pie half as good as Y/N can make a pie” “Yeah, me too.” Jo mutters wistfully.

“Oh come on. So what if I can make a decent pie. Who cares?” Y/N doubtfully says. Pies did in fact bring a great deal of comfort and a piece of mind in her times of need, but she didn’t see how it has affected others around her. They’re just pies.

“Your pies are magic.” Jo perks up. “You don’t have no self-esteem.”

“Look at this, Y/N.” Lisa started. She pulls her jacket slightly open, “As you can plainly see, my right boob is much higher than my left boob.” Lisa closes her jacket, now pointing her hand out to Jo. “Jo here has pasty,pasty skin. I’m stuck in a marriage to Drooling Phil, the invalid, and Jo eats TV dinners alone, but we still wouldn’t rather be you, Y/N.”

“I do have pasty, pasty skin…” Jo says, ashamed. Just then, they hear honking. Gordon, pulling his black Buick up. He’s honking non-stop. “Yeah, I know you’re here…” Y/N says under her breath. “See you tomorrow, honey.” Jo says as Y/N stands up from her seat. “Good luck. If you do tell him you’re having a-” Lisa begins as Y/N gathers her belongings. Y/N shushes her, not wanting her husband to overhear. Gordon, who is alongside them in his car, rolls down the window. “Hey!” He shouts out over his loud music. “Hi.��� She replies quietly while walking around to the passenger’s side. “Hiya Gord! We all just agreed that your smile is super attractive. Hooray for you!” Lisa jokingly says. Both Jo and her woo-hooed at the same time, but Gordon doesn’t respond and speeds off as soon as Y/N settles in the car.

“I don’t care if she is a pie genius, I wouldn’t trade places with her.” Jo says to Lisa as they watch the car drive away. “No, me neither.” Lisa agrees.

Gordon, driving, glances at Y/N for a second, who's sitting with her hands folded in her lap. "You don't look happy to see me." He bluntly says. "Aren't you happy to see me?" "Yes, I'm happy to see you. I even brought you a piece of today's special, Kick in the Pants Pie. Cinnamon spice custard." She replies with a fake smile. Gordon has no response. "You didn't give me a kiss." Silence. "Give me one!" Y/N hurries to to lean over to kiss him on the cheek. "That's more like it." He smirks. "Where's the money you made today?" "Right here, in my pocket." "Well now, hand it over." She takes the money out of her pocket and hands it to him, while trying hiding her smile. The rest of her money is in her bra, hidden away. "Not much here, is there?" He questions.

"Slow day, you know." Gordon then puts the money in his own pocket. "You've been having more and more and more of those. I'm really not sure it's worth you working there anymore." He says. That's the last thing she needs right now, him trying to take away the once source to run away. To a better life. "I think I might rather have you be at home, making ME pies all day long. Me and me alone." He continues.

"I don't like those girls. Or your boss." "Yeah, I know.." There's a slight pause.

"You didn't ask me how my day was." He complains. Here we go again. The same routine. Over and over. Y/N was sick of it. "How was your day?" She asks, in a monotone voice, already tired. "Ask me like you care about it." Y/N sighs. She turns her head towards him, and in a fake caring and sweet voice, "How was your day, Gordon?" "...Well you know. Johnson was on my case again. About the mortgages and everything. But I can't control the policies of the bank, and I told him that. But he doesn't listen..."

As Gordon rants and complains, Y/N shuts her eyes, in deep concentration. ' I Hate My Husband Pie'. You take bittersweet chocolate and don't sweeten it. You make it into a pudding and drown it in caramel'

"You're not listening to me!" Gordon suddenly shouts, breaking her train of thought. "Yes I am." She flusteredly says. "What did I say?" "You were bitching about Mr.Johnson." “But what were my exact words?” “I can’t repeat them verbatim.” “You don’t listen to me! Hurts my feelings. Say you’re sorry so I can let you out of this car so you can start on my dinner.” Without missing a beat,“I’m sorry, Gordon, for not being able to to repeat your words verbatim. It’s something I should be able to do.” She really didn’t mean this. I mean, who the hell can? “Whenever I need it?” He asks. “Whenever you need it.” “Okay, then.” The car pulls up in the driveway, in front of a modest, depressing house. Small, without any charm.

Y/N and Gordon sit at their dinning table, eating a spaghetti pie that she had made for dinner. Y/N has barely touched the food on her plate.

“You look handsome tonight, Gordie.” Y/N suddenly says.

" Thank you honey. It’s been a long time since you called me Gordie, I like it.” He slightly chuckles, going back to eat his dinner. “And you look pretty tonight. Maybe a little tired is all. You’re not eating your spaghetti pie, Why not?”

Y/N was too nervous to eat, wanting to ask him about the bake-off she had mentioned to Jo and Lisa. In reality, asking for money was to hurry the process of leaving. “Because I’m…I’m thinking I want to borrow some money from you.”

“My answer to that, of course, is no.”

“There’s a big pie bake-off in Lebanon in a couple of months and I’d like to go.”

“And my answer to that, of course, is no.” He repeated.

“Prize money is pretty good.” She says, trying to convince him.

“Why do you need money? I give you everything you need, don’t I?” He questions.

“Absolutely.” “You want for nothing, don’t you?” She really wanted the money, but not for nothing.

“Yes Gordon, I want for nothing.” Not wanting to argue, she quietly stops talking. There’s no point. “You’re pies aren’t bad. But what’s so important about that when you got me to take care of?” Gordon says, putting her in her place, manipulated.

‘Good point, Gordon.”

Taglist: @isntthatsweetiguessso

Make sure to add me to your notifications so you won’t miss the next part!

[hismercytomyjustice]

I’m getting caught back up on Dracula Daily and this time around, I find I’m so fixated on Lucy. Maybe it’s knowing what’s coming, maybe it’s listening to Re: Dracula this time and the actress doing such an amazing job…

I gotta put my feelings somewhere, so…

…this got wildly out of hand. I’m gonna put it under a cut…

Spoilers for the later parts of Dracula below.

I wonder if part of why she always ends up hypersexualized in adaptations is because those making them see her getting three proposals in one day and think she’s some kind of flirt or too liberal with her affections. Like, yes she has three separate men vying for her hand, but that’s because of who she IS.

Even writing about the proposals to Mina, her dearest friend, she’s so considerate of her suitors and their feelings. She’s so vulnerable with Mina with how she tries to tease them a bit yet also is just so moved by their ardor that she can’t make light of them. And how she flits back and forth being like “oh, I know all about how a man tries to woo a woman” only to then be like “but Arthur didn’t do those things” and how she had to meet him halfway in a sense to help him propose.

You just see her working through her feelings as she’s writing. How she wants to initially make light of the cowboy’s proposal, thinking that at least she won’t have to hurt him like she did Dr. Seward. But then he becomes vulnerable with her too and she realizes how much he does care for her too and how much she doesn’t want to hurt him.

She’s so carefully considerate of their feelings. She even asks Mina not to tell others aside from Jonathan lest they all think they can expect multiple proposals. I think she starts out feeling flattered, three proposals from three kind men, and this is the sort of thing she’s supposed to want, right?

But then she realizes that three proposals means two rejections. And Lucy is just so good and kind and compassionate. She’s such a natural when it comes to reading people and so earnestly tries to make everyone she comes into contact with feel genuinely cared for. She can’t stand the thought of hurting these men, even though her heart lies elsewhere.

I think it’s very telling too, how both Seward and Morris ask to stay friends with her after her rejection. They don’t offer in a way to soothe their bruised egos or to try and change her mind, but because they genuinely care about her and value her friendship. And we see it so clearly later on when they do everything in their power to try to save her. Not just because they wanted to marry her, but because they truly love her and she loves them. Even if they aren’t the ones she said yes to, they still care so deeply for her and she returns that sentiment in kind.

I think it speaks a lot to how Van Helsing reacts later on too, when he arrives to try to help her. To be fair, we don’t get to see much of him outside of his crusade against the darkness, but he is just so beside himself with how devastated he is in what’s happening to her. He’s so desperate to help her, to the point of breaking down. And all the while, even as the life is literally being drained from her, Lucy tries so hard not to worry the others and to be strong for them. Even as she’s dying, she’s so concerned about doing everything she can for them to ease their minds and to thank them for their help and support.

She’s the polar opposite of Dracula. He’s the night and she’s the day. He’s the darkness and she’s the lighthouse that pierces it. Dracula only sees people for what they can do for him, but Lucy is so selfless. Dracula claims he can love, but it’s Lucy who truly loves.

Dracula is arguably drawn to Lucy for her beauty. He’s incredibly vain and loves to have pretty little things at his beck and call.

But going after Lucy is the biggest mistake he could possibly have made. Precisely because of how much those around her love and care about her. Their love for her is what leads to his ultimate downfall.

If he hadn’t targeted Lucy, how long would it have taken for Van Helsing to arrive on the scene? Seward’s the one who contacts him, after all, to ask for his help to save the woman who turned down his proposal. He had every reason to wash his hands of her after the rejection but he doesn’t. Morris comes to her aid too. She has Van Helsing, Morris, Seward, and Arthur all fighting for her and trying to save her life. Plus the Harkers.

What would have happened if Jonathan had made it back to England and this group hadn’t already been brought together to save Lucy and stop Dracula? He was a broken man by the time he escaped the castle, barely managing to keep his health and sanity in tact. Maybe he and Mina could have tried to fight Dracula on their own, but how successful would they have been? How many more people would have died while they tried to figure out what to do?

Even Van Helsing, resident vampire aficionado, is hesitant to reveal what he knows to the others. He certainly doesn’t want to end up being one of Seward’s patients. So how would Jonathan have faired when it came to drumming up support to fight Dracula on his own?

Plus, with Van Helsing’s knowledge, they’re able to prolong Lucy’s life with the blood transfusions. This gives the other men ample opportunity to come to terms with the supernatural aspect of her affliction, making them more receptive to the idea. It also trauma bonds them. They’re so desperate to save her and yet her life keeps slipping away like sand through their fingers. They’re devastated by her “passing” to a level they might not have reached had she more quickly succumbed. Sure, they still would have been upset, but they fought so hard. She fought so hard. She brought them together and gave them a common goal. Yes, Van Helsing showed up to fight vampires from day one, but the other men showed up for Lucy.

Maybe they still would have banded together to fight Dracula, but she was the catalyst. They never signed up to fight a vampire, they signed up to save their friend and loved one. For them it wasn’t just a matter of ending Dracula’s reign of terror, but just as importantly to save Lucy and then to avenge her.

So by the time Jonathan and Mina are back in town, there are already four other people ready to go to war against Dracula. Jonathan has his own reasons for wanting Dracula dead, but those are further compounded by Mina having been Lucy’s best friend. Any hesitation Jonathan may have felt about going after his captor is quelled by he and his wife’s need to avenge Lucy.

So now Dracula has six people ready to tear him limb from limb. And yeah, they’re understandably terrified of him just as the folks back in Transylvania are, but that’s trumped by their mutual love of Lucy. Love is what puts the final nail in Dracula’s coffin.

Dracula literally could not have picked a worse target than Lucy. He likely selects her because of her beauty, but has no idea how the people around her are so fiercely loyal because of who she is not just because she’s a pretty face.

Now he has to deal with Van Helsing and his vampire knowledge, Seward and his access to Renfield, Jonathan and his intimate knowledge of Dracula himself, Morris who knows how to fight, and Arthur who bankrolls their band of mercenaries team.

But, most importantly, Dracula has to deal with Mina who takes the time to put together her “Dracula 101” crash course in addition to using Dracula’s link to her against him. You do not mess with Mina’s Jonathan and her bff if you value your life. Dracula is so busy reveling in the horrors and games he’s subjecting them to that he doesn’t realize just how badly he screwed up until it’s far too late.

I gotta admit I know how Dracula ends, but I haven’t read the entire novel yet. Just the bulk of it. Apologies if I missed or am mistaken in my analysis.

I just have a lot of feelings, okay. And Lucy deserves the sun and the moon and the stars. (-̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥᷄_-̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥̥᷅ )

I’m so sad she’s constantly diminished or misinterpreted in the adaptations.

Going back through Dracula Daily for the third time (yes I know I haven’t actually fully finished it, I have ADHD okay, but I’m really trying this time around) I’m reminded of Hadestown and how you just want things to end up better this round. I want Lucy to live and marry Arthur and for her and Mina to stay bffs and for her their kids to be friends and and and

(ಥ﹏ಥ)

[my-dr-is-a-big-meme]

Shifting Community and “what you can’t do”

I just found out about an aging debate going on in the shifting community and I just wanna say for the record that it’s not that serious. Agree to disagree if you’d like

I know me personally, as a 20 year old, I have two school drs. One where I’m a student at Professor X’s school, and a marauders era one. In the x-men one, I made up an S/O (who’s an S/O I have in a lot of drs) because it’s connected to my loki show dr, and in my marauders era one, I’m dating Severus

I feel like if that’s wrong, then teenagers who shift to marry adults should be scrutinized as well. It’s the same concept flipped. What do you mean you’re married to Chris Evans and y’all have twins? Ya know?

I don’t think it’s wrong to want to experience youth again. Some people make it weird, yes, but it’s a very small amount of people. You can’t just gatekeep things because there are weirdos in the world. That’s just making pre assumptions that everyone older is a weirdo. Which is stupid. Shifting is therapeutic for people…a lot of drs are for mental health, there’s no gatekeeping!

And not everyone shifting to be younger is doing it for an S/O! Being an adult is hard, ESPECIALLY in this damn reality. If some people wanna go back to their youth, they have all the right to do so! This is shifting culture! We shift to experience the life we want or the life we wish we had! And most people I see complaining about people aging down are minors…you don’t know what it’s like to be an adult yet! You think YOU’RE stressed now, but you haven’t see stressed yet…like, what if Janice is stressed about her bills and and job and dumbass husband and mean mother in law, and wants to go back to her middle school days and join school clubs, get straight A’s, and have a bunch of friends to go to the mall with? She shall!

And I mean, if you shift to stranger things, would you REALLY wanna be Hoppers age? Or do you wanna be young and spry so you can keep up with Dustin and Lucas’s dumbasses? Or so that you can do fun teenage girl things with your besties Eleven and Max? Or even for people shifting to Harry Potter…do you really wanna be a professor? (I’m a professor in my Lightning era one, BUT ITS NOT COMMON! I just wanna be with Severus💀)

It’s visible when people have ill intentions, so call THEM out instead of saying people can’t do something in general. That’s audacity and entitlement I’m not supporting it in the slightest.

Like…be fr. Just my two cents though. Community starts to fall apart when we nitpick at it. Soon you’re not gonna have anything to pick at because it’ll be all gone. Just stop.

[cierraonline]

S2EP2: BILLIE AND SIREN DIVORCED!?....& more

Read in dark mode please 

💚💚💚💚

I can tell you want it good, girl

You ain't gotta worry no more

You keep my bottles cold and you pop 'em

As soon as I walk in the door

These dudes don't know me from Adam and Eve

That's why they can't mess up my flow

And when this beat drops, your heart stops

You feel it from your head to your toes

If you know what I'm talking 'bout (Hey)

Let me see you work it out (Hey, girl)

Girl, that's what I'm talking 'bout (Come on, Finneas, talk to 'em)

💚💚💚💚

“Wait is that our new theme song!?” Billie smiles in excitement hearing her brother’s voice in a style she never knew he even liked, since his style of personal music was more on the indie side. 

“Maybe,” Siren shrugged her shoulder not really having a thought about it being the theme song for the podcast. “It was just really a snippet of my album as a producer.”

“It sounds so good so far,” Claudia compliments. “So you’re working on two albums this year?”

“Yeah, well the first album as the artist is already completed, and this album as the producer is just something to work on while I am bed-ridden.”

“Why are you being bed-ridden?” Concern was slapped onto Zoe’s face as this was the first time any of them was hearing this. 

“The doctor said that Siren is going to experience a high-risk pregancy so within the next month or two we have to prepare for her to be on bed rest for the remainder of the pregancy,” Billie offers clarification. “She didn’t tell us why thought. But she did say everything is healthy.”

“Maybe you guys are having more than one?” Claudia suggested. 

“My stomach isn’t even that big for it to be more than one,” Siren shook her head. “And I don’t think I can handle pushing out more than one body out of me.” 

“Well your belly just popped so it might grow increasingly over the next few weeks.”

“Let’s not put that out into the universe,” Siren nervously laughs. “It’s gonna be one baby and one baby only.” 

“I think it’s going to be twins,” Claudia smirks.

“Ouu that would be cute,” Zoe gawks. “Like one mini Siren and one mini Billie.”

“That sounds like a nightmare for them if that is to happen,” Billie laughs. “We were so bad as kids. If we get mini verison of ourselves we would then be forced to expereince what our parents had to go through with us.” 

“We’re not having twins, it’s just one baby in me,” Siren declares.

“But you don’t know that,” Claudia states, with a big smile on her face.

“And you don’t know that there’s twins because none of us have actually seen the screen or hear the heart beats.”

“Why is this pregnancy such a secret?” Zoe questions. 

“Probably because the writer made an impulse decision to make Siren pregnant and doesn’t know what direction she wants to take it in,” Billie looks at the camera.

“Huh?” All the girls turns to Billie.

“I mean-” Billie clears her throat. “Because I think it would be such a crazy and iconic moment…almost like russian roulette.” 

“Oh.” 

“I’m Billie and that pregnant gal over there is Siren and you’re watching the ‘Whatever the Fuck This Is’ Podcast and like always we have Claudia and Zoe on the couch and Rodrick behind the camera. 

“Can we talk about what happened after therapy? How are you guys doing, honestly,” Claudia turned to the married couple in the room. 

“Well, I moved out the house and now staying with my brother next door,” Siren reveals.

“At the moment we are separated,” Billie adds. 

“So you guys are actually going through with the separation thing?” Zoe asks for clarification.

💚💚💚💚

Dr. Maleeka Brown’s Office

I think Billie and Siren need a break from each other 

The room went silent and back to its tense ways including the family therapist who honestly did not see this coming. 

“Who wrote this,” She tried to keep her tone neutral. 

“I did,” Patrick raised his hand.

“Why would you say that?” Billie comes off aggressive to her father. “Like do you want me to be unhappy. Is that what you’re saying?”

“Billie I’m sure your father has a good reason on why he wrote that,” Maggie jumps in trying to mediate. 

“What possible reason can he have to want me and Siren to not be together anymore?”

“You’re already unhappy Billie. Because if you were happy, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now,” Patrick states. 

“Billie lets calm down,” The therapist looks at her patient before turning to her father. “Can you explain to us, but most importantly to the girls why you think they should take a break from each other.”

“All they know is each other like the back of their hands and because they believe they know everything about one another it was easy from them to jump into marriage. They didn’t take the time to get to know each other on an intimate level that involves dating.”

“Okay that make sense,” Dr.Maleeka Brown agrees as the rest of the older adults in the room nodded in agreeance.

“No it doesn’t,” Billie deadpans. “If Siren and I know everything about each other there’s no need for the useless dating phase.”

“There’s always a need for the “useless” dating phase, Billie,” Patrick intercepts her thinking. 

“Your father is right, Billie,” Dr. Maleeka chimes in. “The dating phase is where you see the green flags and the red flags. Learn about what motivates each other and learn about what causes self-sabtoaging on an intimate level. And for example, if you dated you would’ve learned about Siren’s bad drug use before the marriage and not during it. Siren would’ve learned that you actually do want kids. When you are dating even if it’s your best friend the conversation is no longer based on what you thought you knew but rather what you're willingly to learn and what needs to be updated.”

“So you think we should put our marriage on a hiatus and date to learn more about each other?” Siren spoke up for the first time in a while. “Okay, I’m down.”

“What about you, Billie?” Eyes turned to the ocean eyed girl.

“No because I’m not understanding why we need to basically get a semi-divorce to date and learn new things about each other.” Frustration reeked from the girl. 

“Because the safety blanket is knowing that at the end of the night you will fall asleep in bed with Siren next to you. If you separate, that safety blanket doesn’t exist until you put in the work to create it.”

“I still don’t want to do it,” Billie shook her head. 

“You do realize we are close to being stuck in a endless marriage that none of us are happy in if we keep going down this path, right?” Siren questions her wife.

“No we’re not. You love me and I love you. We are going to be okay. Every married couple goes through a rough patch,” Billie tries to reason, grabbing ahold of her wife’s hand. 

“If you love me then you would do this for me,” Siren gave her direct eye contact. 

💚💚💚💚

“It’s not a separation, it’s a hiatus,” Billie corrects. “And honestly, although I was against the idea, I can see that it’s probably the best thing we could’ve ever done.” 

“Yeah, like I’ve never been in relationship before and all I knew about being in one is what you and Finneas would share and I didn’t understand what the bubblyness was about since you guys knew each other like forever. But now I understand,” Siren smiles. 

“It reminded me how fun dating and going on date actually are and reflecting on the dates we’ve been on lately made me feel bad because I don’t think I ever took Siren anywhere and it labeled as a date or made her feel like it was one.”

“So what have you gys been doing?” Zoe smiles.

“We’ve honestly just been around the compound and eating at the different restaurants or going to the movies that I recently developed in the compound.”

“I think now we make sure to priortize not always needing to be around each other and creating mystery and anticipation, so we have something to talk about when we go on our dates,” Billie adds. 

“Is there ever a time where you guys didn’t know what to talk about?” Claudia begins. “Because there are times where Finneas and I would go out to eat and we simply wouldn’t know what to talk about after a certain period in the date.”

“Our first date was so awkward because we didn’t know what to talk about about everything the casual how you been. And before the second date, I was at Barnes and Nobles looking for a dummies book for parenting newborns and as I’m walking I pass by the gaming aisle and saw this box where it had basically questions and conversation to have on dates. So at our second date I bought them and we just had fun.”

“The game was fun, but also helped me update answers about Siren I thought I knew like i thought her least favorite color was green but it actually deep red due to the times she had to wipe up my blood from when I would hurt my self.”

“Just going on these dates is starting to build our intimacy with one another and changing the mindset to that we know everything to there’s more to know,” Siren smiles.

“This is the most I’ve seen you genuinely smile in a while, Siren,” Rodrick speaks up from behind the camera. 

“Eww,” Siren laughs at his comment, knowing what to actually say. 

“So speaking of intimacy," Zoe smirks. “Did you guys stop having sex with the hiatus.” Flushed with red the girls looked in other directions.

“U-um.”

“Wow.”

“I’m guessing you guys are still having sex then.”

“Look at their faces, Billie is tomato red,” Claudia points out.

“I will say, Billie and I did not have sex after the first and second date.”

“What about the dates after?” Zoe hums. 

“It’s not our fault!” Billie exclaims laughing. “The sexual attention just lives there and everything feels more intense than it did before.” 

“Plus, Billie developed this breeding kink so she’s more damnding and in control in bed since the pregnancy.”

“Oh my God!”

“Eww.”

“What the fuck!” 

“Let’s change the topic,” Redness traveld from the top of Billie’s head down to her neck as she covered her mouth to hold in her embarrassed laughs. “You have a conspiracy theory for us,” She turns to Rodrick. 

“Okay so you know how people on social media been talking about how Chipotle has been giving out super small portions?”

“Yeah,” Everyone agreed. 

“Well it’s been said that their manager tells them to do that. And people who order online have it worst. So today we’re going to test that out. Off to the Conspiracy van!” Rodrick gets up from his seat and runs away from the setup.

“So do we just follow him?” Cluadia looks in the direction the male ran off to. 

“I..guess.”

💚💚💚💚

“Where the fuck did you get a replica Scooby Doo gang van from?” Siren takes a seat in the passenger van, with her eyes scanning every cervice of the vehicle.

“Replica?” Rodrick mocks offended.

“Don’t tell me you bought the actual Scooby Doo van from the movie?” Billie turns to him with wide eyes.

“Okay, I won’t,” The shaggy haired boy shrugged his shoulders. 

“You have way too much money,” Siren shook her head in disbelief.

“Thanks to you, buttercup,” The boy pinches his best friend’s cheek, resulting in his hand being slapped away. 

“Don’t touch me.” The brown-skin female snarls at him in a threatening warning tone.

“Be good or no Scooby Snacks,” Rodrick teases.

“You have Scobby Snacks?” her eyes widen in want and adoration.

“The box is under your seat, my friend.” Rodrick states as he turns on the engine which automatically causes the Scooby Doo theme song to play.

“Scooby Dooby Doo, where are you? We got some work to do now. Scooby Dooby Doo, where are you? We need some help from you now,” Everyone in the car sings along vibing to the song.

“Off to expose Chipotle!” Rodrick screams, accelerating out of the driveway and speeding through the back pathway since cars aren’t allowed inside the compound in order to maintain the environment being walking friendly.

“I thought you liked Chipotle,” Zoe speaks up from the back. How does she know that? Siren eyes subtly widen in realization of the conversation that happened a couple weeks ago. 

“Hmm, i guess i was wrong,” The white eyed girl mumbles to herself. 

💚💚💚💚

“Okay so the running thesis is that Chipotle hates their customers so therefore they serve little portions…but since small portions don’t follow corporate standards whenever there’s a camera out recording they make sure to do extra,” Rodrick explains, putting the car in park. 

“Or maybe they give little portions so they don’t have to keep making food since they’re use to long lines,” Billie reasons, not seeing what the big deal is.

“If I’m paying $11 plus tax. I want my money’s worth.”

“Your order is only eleven?” Siren turns her head to her best friend. “Mine is like sixteen sometimes twenty.”

“What the fuck are you ordering that causing you to spend almost $20 at Chipotle?” Billie looks at her separated-but-still-dating wife. 

“The barbacoa is not scooped up into the bowl like the other proteins so I always get double protein,” Siren explains with a guilty tone ridden in her words. 

“Anyways my app isn’t working so let’s use your phone, Siren,” The shaggy haired boy holds out his hand in which a disposable camera phone cased Iphone is placed in his palm. “How do you have five hundred points?”

“I'm feeding another human being, don’t judge.”

“Are we going to like confront them if this is like a serious thing?” Claudia asks with excitement. 

“We’ll have Siren do it since she’s the meanest one here.”

“I am not mean,” Siren pouts her lip, crossing her arms.

“You want the twenty two year old who looks like a pregnant sixteen year old to confront them?” Billie points out. 

“Plus I thought we were coming back for lunch tomorrow?” Zoe questions.

“You guys have lunch together?” Billie turns to her childhood best friend.

“N-n..uh..sometimes.” Zoe stutters out, not knowing how to respond. 

“Does anyone have a burrito order?” Rodrick asks, quickly changing the subject before Siren opens her mouth to say something smart. 

“I want a burrito,” Siren speaks.

“I want a bowl,” Claudia adds. 

“Okay we can do Siren’s burrito and Claudia’s bowl on the app,” Billie directs, looking down at Siren’s phone that displayed the app as Rodrick beings clicking on buttons, ordering their food. 

“Alright everything is ordered,” Rodrick announces. “Alright me and Zoe are going to do the in person orders since you guys are too recgonizable and might ruin this theory by getting special treatment.”

“Technically wouldn’t your thesis just be changed to restaurants are biased when it comes to celebrities with influence ordering food,” Siren questions. 

“Nah, the Keith Lee movement already proved that.”

“True,” all the females agreed. A second later Zoe and Rodrick found themselves walking to the chain restaurant but as they were walking Siren couldn’t help but to noticed how close to each other they were walking.

“Are they messing around with one another?” Billie whispers in Siren’s ear. 

“I think so,” Siren answers. “Honestly I thought it Dre who she was crushing on. Who would’ve thought?”

“So do we tease her about it?”

“Not yet.” 

“What are you guys whispering about?” Claudia looks at the pair.

“Nothing,” Billie blurts out revealing that she was lying.

“Anal sex,” Siren states calmly showing no signs of deceit. 

“Why?” Claudia looked disgusted, wishing that she never asked her initial question. 

“Ever heard curiosity killed the cat,” Siren remarked. 

“Ever heard satisfaction bought it back,” Claudia rebuttals with a smirk drawn on her face.

“I told Billie I want to try anal sex since I fear if we have regular sex she would just be hitting the baby. And then we went on about what size dildo we shoud buy.” the lie danced off the brown skin’s tongue. 

“Eww,” Claudia’s face scrunched up, before looking back at her phone.

“Wait,” Billie whispering turning her head back to Siren. “Do you really want to try anal?”

“Sure I’ll be your bottom bitch.”

“I understadn why Zoe left but why did Rodrick leave? What are we supposed to talk about to the camera since this whole theory is his?” Billie states.

“We can talk about how Biden dropped out the election race,” Siren offers.

“Since when were you into politics or even current events. Not once have I ever seen you picked up a newspaper or watch the news,” Billie comments. 

“My phone died and I was forced to watch the tv at the doctor’s office in which they only played the news and that’s what the people on the tv were talking about.”

“All I’m going to say is thank God,” Claudia praised. “This whole election is giving a shit show.”

“I don’t think I’m going to vote,” Siren shook her head.

“Yes the fuck you are,” Strict Billie came out to play. “A no vote is a vote for the other side. And have you seen that bullshit, Project 2025 floating around? You’re fucking voting even if I have to drag your ass to the polls.”

“So who the fuck are we voting for because it’s giving we’ll all be damned either way.”

“I heard that VIP Kamala Harris is going to be running as a replacement,” Billie answers, not realizing the mistake she made.

“VIP?” Siren squinted her eyes. 

“What?” Billie looked confused. 

“Who’s VIP?”

“Kamala Harris…”

“Um..Billie I don’t think she’s VIP,” Claudia recgonize the mistake the brunette was saying. 

“Yes she is,” Billie nods her head. 

“Well she is but just not in the way you’re meaning it,” Claudia responds, hoping the girl would catch onto her own mistake. 

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“It’s VP not VIP, dumbass,” Siren remarks.

“You guys knew what the fuck I meant!”

“Did we?”

“Imma just shut up,” Billie sat back in her seat, not saying a word again after. 

“We are back!” Zoe announces their presence as the two spies walked closer to the van and jumping in. “We got the in person orders and to-go orders.”

“So what’s next, Scobby?” Siren turns to the mastermind of this concept for the podcast. 

“We simply just weigh them,” He pulls out a flat scale. 

“Hmm, I had the same scale a few years ago,” Siren hums.

“What the fuck did you have a tiny ass scale for?’ Billie spoke up for the first time in a while since the girls made fun of her. 

“To measure weed before selling it,” The Vixen girl shrugged her shoulder.

“Sometimes I forget that you used to sell drugs,” Billie comments.

“It was the highlight of my teen years…you know besides the birthing drug addiction….and becoming famous.”

“Anyways, let’s measure these bad boys,” Rodrick ignore what his best friend said in order to not start a roasting battle as he would lose up against Siren. “First the burritos.” Digging in both bags the boy pulled out the food and there was an obvious difference. 

“One is bigger than the other,” Billie states.

“Thank you Catherine obvious” Rodrick deadpans.

“The saying is captain obvious,” Billie spits back.

“You didn't watch Nick growing up did you?” Rodrick stares at her.

“Huh? What does that have to do with anything.”

“He said the phrase right, it’s Catherine obvious as in the line from Victorious when Tori didn’t know the correct phrase was captain obvious,” Siren explains.

“Ohhh.” 

“So the bigger one is the in store order with my phone out recording... and the small one is the to go order meaning the conspiracy theory is correct. If you oder online you should expect less food compared to the obvious amount of food from ordering inside with the camera on their guilty asses,” Rodrick tells the camera. 

“Fuck, that was my food,” the pregnant one moans. 

“Not they discriminating against preganant women,” Zoe jokes causing everyone to laugh besides Siren who was pouting about her food. 

“Now the bowls,” He hands the burritos over to Siren who happily unwrapped hers and took a big bite. Although she was upset about the portion, the taste on her tongue blinded her anger at the food chain. “This one was in store,” He opens the bowl that Zoe ordered. “And this one was ordered on the app,” He opens Claudia. “They look the same but maybe let’s weigh it.” Placing the scale in the middle so everyone would be able to see it, Rodrick places the the in store bowl on the scale and it read 705 grams. Switching out the bowls, the scale revealed that Rodrick’s thesis was correct. “682..Chiptole is ripping us off.”

“So you gonna go in and have them fix it?” Siren asked, not knowing whats the next step here is. Are they going back inside to get it fixed or just accepting it and one of them eat the bowl?

“I guess we just go back home and eat the food…i guess.”

“Claudia close us out.”

“Well people, if you haven’t been watching because you were too busy scrolling on your phone. Billie and Siren are temporary separated so be prepared to see those sad romance ship tiktoks all over your fyp. But don’t worry they'll still be sleeping in the same bed again soon and it won't just be after they had regular or anal sex. Joe Bidden dropped out the race and we might be on our way to having our first female President, so make sure to vote so your voice can be heard. And today Rodrick proves he is not a dumbass and that Chipotle is ripping off us especially if you order online. This was Whatever the Fuck This Is Podcast see you next week.”

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