#i should’ve blocked her ages ago

[ramonathinks]

seen something an ex-mutual said because someone im mutuals with liked it and… it’s kinda obvious it’s about me with a conversation we had lol. and then if i say something i’ll be seen as a mean girl because she’s a smaller account 😭… when she can just shut up.

[d-z20]

A Strange Kind of Healing (NSFW)

Pairing: Agatha Harkness x Reader

Summary: You've just broken it off with your good-for-nothing ex and find yourself at your local watering hole mulling things over. That is until a stunning woman catches your eye - and it just so happens that you've caught Agatha's too

- OR -

Turns out she owns the place and takes you back to her office to treat you right (i.e. giving you all the validation you need as she fucks you)

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, alcohol, top Agatha, fingering (R recv), little bit of biting, hint of soft Agatha but she's cocky too, mentions of a shitty ex, mentions of body worship-ish, obligatory sprinkling of praise

Words: 2k

A/N: Y'all want to know what's been causing my writers block? The mf word murmur. I couldn't find a synonym that felt right 🥲 Fic request

AO3 | Masterlist

The low hum of conversation fills Agnes’, your local bar; it’s dimly lit and the kind of place that feels both intimate and mysterious. The air smells faintly of aged whisky and citrus, and the amber glow from the sconces flickers softly against the polished wood of the bar top. You’re nursing your second drink, fingers trailing lazily over the rim of your glass, when you feel her presence before you even see her.

A throaty laugh cuts through the chatter, and you glance up. There she is: dark, tousled hair, piercing eyes framed by delicate wrinkles, and a smirk that could melt glass. Her confidence radiates from every movement as she leans on the bar, chatting with the bartender. Dressed in a tailored black blazer and slim pants, she looks effortlessly sharp, her shirt unbuttoned just enough to tease. You’ve seen striking women before, but she’s on a different level—someone who knows exactly how powerful her presence is.

You turn back to your drink, unsure whether you want to be noticed, but it’s too late. When you glance back up, she’s looking right at you, her smirk shifting into something softer, more curious. She saunters over, a glass of deep red wine in hand.

“This seat taken?” She asks, her voice smooth like velvet but with an edge of mischief.

You shake your head, suddenly feeling exposed under her gaze. “Not at all.”

She slides onto the stool beside you, and the scent of her—smoke and something floral—makes your head swim.

“Rough night?” She asks, nodding toward your drink. Her tone is casual, but her eyes search yours, seeing far more than you’d like.

You hesitate, then sigh. “Something like that. Let’s just say my choice in partners has been questionable at best.”

“Mm,” she hums, tilting her head. “Let me guess: selfish, inattentive, and couldn’t find your clit even if they had a map and a flashlight?”

Your laugh bursts out before you can stop it, and she grins, clearly pleased.

“Am I wrong?” she presses.

“No, not even a little.” You shake your head, still smiling despite yourself. “It’s been a long time coming, though. I should’ve ended it ages ago.”

“Then here’s to fresh starts,” she says, lifting her glass in a toast. You clink yours against hers, the sound crisp and bright.

She doesn’t hesitate. “I’m Agatha,” she introduces herself smoothly, her eyes never leaving yours.

“Y/N,” you reply, feeling a bit warmer with each passing moment.

—

For the next hour, the conversation flows easily. She’s sharp-witted and shamelessly flirty, but there’s a warmth beneath her teasing that keeps you hooked. She’s funny, too, in that dry, irreverent way that makes you forget everything else. By the time she stands and offers her hand, you’re more than willing to follow her lead.

“Come with me,” she says, her smile promising something you desperately need.

You hesitate only a moment before slipping your hand into hers. Her grip is firm and the way she leads you through the bar, unapologetically confident, makes your pulse race. She doesn’t head for the exit but instead takes you through a discreet door near the back with ‘Employees Only’ written across it. The hallway beyond is quieter, the muffled hum of the bar fading behind you.

“You work here?” You ask, confused as to why she was drinking if she was on shift.

“Honey, I own the place,” she says, glancing back with a sly grin. “One of the perks is having a private office for... moments like these.”

The door to her office swings open, and you barely have time to take in the sleek yet cosy space—a large desk, a leather couch, shelves lined with books and vintage bottles of liquor—before she’s pulling you inside. The door clicks shut, and then her hands are on you, firm but not forceful, cradling your face as her lips find yours.

Her kiss is hot and commanding, her lips soft but unyielding. She tastes of wine and something darker, more rich, and it’s intoxicating. You press against her instinctively, your hands gripping the lapels of her blazer as you lose yourself in her.

She pulls back just enough to whisper, “Tell me if you want to stop.” Her voice is low and serious, despite the heat in her eyes.

“Don’t stop,” you say, breathless. “Please.”

Her smirk returns, but there’s a tenderness there too. She guides you toward the desk, her body pressed onto yours.

“You deserve to be worshipped,” she murmurs, her lips brushing against your jaw. “Let me show you.”

You barely have time to process her words before she presses you back against the cool, unyielding wood of the desk, her body flush and warm against yours. The sharp edge digs into your thighs, but the discomfort is distant—blurred by the heat of her kiss, searing and all-consuming. 

Her hands roam with purpose, sliding over your sides and skimming your waist; her touch is electric. Each brush of her fingertips sends sparks racing across your skin, leaving you hyperaware of every nerve ending. When her hands slip beneath your top to palm at bare skin, a soft gasp escapes your lips. The sound pulls a low hum of approval from her, a vibration you feel against your mouth as she deepens the kiss.

Her hands move lower, tracing the curve of your hips before deftly unfastening your pants. The motion is fluid, confident, like she’s done this a thousand times but still finds the thrill in it. Her lips leave yours, only to trail a slow, deliberate path along your jaw and down your neck. Her breath is warm, teasing against your skin, and every press of her mouth feels like a promise—one she’s intent on keeping. 

Her teeth scrape along your collarbone before she bites down, not hard enough to break the skin but enough to make you cry out. The sound earns a growl from her throat, her hands gripping your hips to pull you closer.

Then her hands slide further down, finding your clit with ease. The first circle of her touch steals the breath from your lungs, and your hips move instinctively, arching into her hand, chasing the friction she offers so expertly. 

She nips at your earlobe, her voice turning commanding. 'Stay still for me,' she murmurs, her fingers holding your hips in place even as your body twists against her touch.

Your hands fly into her hair, gripping tightly as if to anchor yourself to her. She hums in satisfaction, her lips ghosting over your ear as she whispers, “Let me hear you.”

You let go of your reservations, letting the sounds spill from your lips, each one urging her on. Fingers working you steadily, her rhythm relentless and perfectly tuned to your responses. The pleasure builds with each pass, but a flicker of something else pushes to the surface—an ache for more, for something deeper, something that will tip you over the edge completely.

The thought lingers, teasing the edges of your mind. You want more. You need more. The way her fingers tease and circle feels incredible, but you crave something fuller, something that will truly unravel you. The desire is sharp, but it’s accompanied by doubt, a familiar weight that settles heavily in your chest.

Your ex’s voice echoes unbidden in your mind, a memory of every time they dismissed your needs, every time they made you feel like asking for more was too much. The hesitation claws at you, tightening your throat even as the heat in your core builds.

Her lips press against your collarbone, the soft warmth of her mouth drawing you back to the present. “You’re so perfect,” she murmurs against your skin, her voice reverent, her fingers never faltering. “So responsive. Tell me what you need, sweetheart. I want to give it to you.”

Her words pierce through the haze of doubt, cutting through the insecurities threatening to hold you back. You hesitate, your body trembling beneath her touch, before finally forcing the words past your lips, shaky but audible. “I want... more,” you whisper, your voice barely louder than a breath. “Please.”

She stills for the briefest moment, lifting her head to meet your gaze. Her eyes are soft, filled with warmth and a quiet intensity that steals your breath anew. “More?” she repeats gently, her fingers brushing against your cheek. “Show me what you mean.”

Your hand trembles as you guide her, positioning her fingers so they’re at your entrance. She watches you carefully, her gaze steady and unyielding, and when she pushes them in, the effect is immediate. Your body jerks, a moan spilling from your lips that you can’t hold back. Her smile widens, a slow, wicked curve that sends a fresh wave of heat coursing through you.

“Like this?” she asks, her tone low and smoky as she begins to move with a new purpose.

“Yes,” you gasp, your hands clutching at her, pulling her closer. “Exactly like that.”

Her mouth finds yours again, capturing your gasps and moans as her rhythm intensifies, driving you higher and higher. All thoughts of your ex, of hesitation and doubt, dissolve under the force of her touch, replaced by nothing but sensation and the raw, undeniable connection between you.

Agatha’s fingers curl a couple of inches in, pressing firmly in a way that makes you see stars. She strokes you deliberately, her fingers slipping deeper, dragging over that spot with precision. Each thrust makes you gasp, the slick heat of her movements leaving no doubt as to how much she’s undoing you.

Your back arches, a broken cry escaping your lips as your body clenches around her. She doesn’t stop; if anything, the precision of her touch sharpens, the rhythm of her movements intensifying.

“You’ve never had this, have you?” She taunts gently, her fingers curling harder. “Someone who knows exactly what you need.”

Her free hand braces against the desk, holding you in place as her other works relentlessly, her fingers stroking that spot with devastating accuracy. The pressure builds with each thrust, a relentless wave climbing higher and higher. Agatha’s movements become faster and harder, her palm pressing against your clit in just the right way, amplifying the delicious friction. 

Each thrust of her hand makes the desk creak beneath you, the rhythmic scrape of its legs against the floor a staccato beat in time with the growing tension coiling deep within you. The wet, rhythmic sound of her fingers fills the room, mixing with your ragged breaths. It’s messy, overwhelming, and utterly obscene, and it drives her to press even harder.

The coil tightens, winding impossibly taut, and then—like a thread pulled too tight—it snaps. Your orgasm crashes over you, white-hot and all-consuming, stealing the air from your lungs. You cry out her name, your hands clutching desperately at her, your nails digging into her shoulders as you ride out the waves of pleasure that ripple through you, each one stronger than the last.

“You’re doing so good,” she growls, her smirk widening. “Let me hear you. I want everyone in this bar to know who’s making you feel like this."

Your body trembles uncontrollably, your thighs quaking against her as she works you through the aftershocks. Her lips hover at the curve of your neck, planting soft, grounding kisses. When she speaks, her voice is low, thick with awe.

“Perfect,” she hums, her breath hot against your ear. “Every inch of you.”

Her words send a shiver through you, warmth pooling in your chest even as your limbs remain boneless and spent. You’re panting, your breaths coming in ragged gasps as you cling to her. The heat of her body pressed against yours is grounding, her hand still resting against your waist as her lips trail along your jaw in languid, soothing caresses.

Finally, she eases back just enough to look at you, her thumb brushing over your cheek. Her eyes search yours, and what you find there—a mix of tenderness and pride—makes your chest ache in the best way.

“You okay?” She asks, her voice low, the edge of it rough with lingering desire.

You nod, still catching your breath, and a small smile curls at her lips, warm and genuine. She leans in, brushing her lips gently against your temple before pulling you into her arms. Her next words make your chest tighten in the best way.

“Whoever let you go,” she murmurs, her thumb grazing your cheek with infinite care, “was a fool.”

-----

I had to pull on every 'cares for another person' Agatha moment to write this and there wasn't a lot to go on 😂

-----

Taglist: @aceday @danveration @alwaysharmony @idkwhatever580 @lostbutlovely33 (let me know if you want to be added)

[agathasfamiliar]

hi!! I just found your blog, can I request g!p detective!agatha railing reader in a missionary position and has a bulge kink (poking the bear🤭🏃‍♀️)

thank you so much for this request it was very fun to write, i hope you enjoy it!

fuck the police:

detective agnes o'connor x fem!reader

You fucked up and finally got caught for your long-running streak of graffiti artistry. What's worse than being arrested, however? Being interrogated by the one detective in town who causes you to question your all out hatred for the profession.

word count: 6.2k

tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, agnes is trans/intersex/has a penis, penis in vagina sex, power bottom!reader, service top!agnes (but agnes still needs a little control of course), handcuffs, breeding kink, bulge kink, agnes loves reader's tits, smut

author's note: trans butch agnes, my beloved. also i probably could've done more research into a more realistic set up/i know this isn't how someone being arrested/interrogated would work but it's porn so...hopefully you can look past that

You never thought you’d find yourself here, arrested and waiting to be questioned for your crimes. Perhaps you should’ve seen it coming, your graffiti art has steadily risen in popularity over the last few months, ever since one particularly evocative piece got featured on the local news and allegedly inspired a number of protests throughout the city of Westview.

Not that you had anything to do with that.

The police department has issued several requests for information on you, even offering a pretty handsome reward for the proven identity of “Hex”, the name you tag every piece with. A rumor has even reached your ears about a copycat artist getting arrested over in Eastview. Serves them right for using your signature, but it at least has kept the feds off your trail for a bit. 

Admittedly, you’d gotten cocky thinking you could get away with tagging the squad car stationed at the busiest intersection in town. In your defense, it had looked empty. How were you supposed to know the deputy on duty was napping in the back seat? You’d made it halfway through the looping pink pig face you were sprawling across the windshield before he woke up and chased you down four blocks.

If you were wearing your usual running shoes instead of having slipped on an old pair of slides in your rush out of the house, you probably would’ve outrun the middle-aged cop chasing you, another mistake you won’t make again.

  Now, you sit shivering in nothing but a sheer white tank top and sweatpants so spattered in all the vibrant colors of your, now confiscated, cans of spray paint, that you can’t even remember what color the pants originally were. You weren’t an idiot, you had a black hoodie on when you went out to do your work, but the rookie cop that booked you at the station also insisted on taking your sweatshirt for “evidence”.

You’re pretty sure he just wanted to see you suffer in the refrigerator-like temperature they keep the precinct at, clearly only recently having graduated the academy and already taking a shine to abusing his power. Pigs, indeed. 

The interrogation room they brought you to well over 30 minutes ago sits at the very back of the building, a windowless box that somehow looks and smells both musty and sterile. A large one-way mirror covers the wall opposite the door, the only noise in the confined space being the tick-tick-tick of the clock above it that reads just past midnight.

You rattle the short chain connecting your handcuffed wrists to a bar on the heavy metal table in front of you, just to disrupt the suffocating silence. Have you seriously been forgotten here?

Just as you have that thought, as if summoning another person into existence with it, the door, opposite the corner where you sit, opens briskly. 

Twin sighs of irritation drop from both your mouth and the supposed detective’s as she enters. You can’t make out too many details of her appearance at first because of the dim lighting that mostly just illuminates the table you sit at, as well as the fact that she has her head down looking over what you assume is your intake forms. 

“I want a lawyer.” Are the first words out of your mouth once the woman has turned to shut the door behind her.

“Ha!” She laughs dryly and it has you simmering with rage already, but something about it also sounds familiar.

 “Well, sweetie,” The still concealed detective continues as she finally steps into the light, “not likely to find a public defender that’s available at this hour, but if you insist on staying overnight…” She trails off amusedly, finally stepping into the light and causing your prepared reply to die in your throat as you connect the recognition of the voice with the blue eyes that meet yours.

“Detective O’Connor.” You greet, trying to keep your tone even. 

Fuck.

Of fucking course, of all the detectives in the goddamn city, this is who had to come question you. The same detective you’ve served coffee to every morning for the better part of three years at your shitty cafe day job. The same detective who barely acknowledges your existence, but when her fingers brush yours as you pass her usual over the counter, you think about it for the rest of the day. The detective you berate yourself for fantasizing about, because she’s everything you despise and your friends would never let you hear the end of it if they found out, especially with how often you’re spouting your “radical” political beliefs (not that you see them that way.)

Detective Agnes fucking O’Connor…

This is not how you imagined it would look if you ever got her in a room alone.

“Huh? Do I know you?” She questions, almost offended, and now you’re the one to let out a dry laugh.

“Here, let me help jog your memory.” You say, picking up the small, paper cup of water that had been left on the table for you in one bound hand, holding it aloft and reciting her order.

 “One large hot coffee with two sugars and half a pump of vanilla.”

She looks unaffected at your display, only raising both eyebrows once in sudden recognition before sauntering over to the chair on the other side of the table and sitting down casually. 

“Impressive, that how you’ve avoided custody so long? Charming Westview’s finest by memorizing their coffee orders?” Her questions are laced with condescension.

“Nope, just yours. Why? Is it working?” You smirk despite your better judgment. You hadn’t planned to try the flirting route to get out your charges, but hey, the best schemes have an element of truth to them. Plus, if this is the only chase you’ll have to speak to the detective alone, you might as well make the most of it. 

She doesn’t answer, instead leaning back in the rickety metal chair that lets out a squeal at the motion. Her long brown hair is pulled back into a ponytail that’s tied low at the base of her skull. Blue flannel sleeves are rolled up to the elbow and it’s all you can do not to think about tracing your tongue over the veins that snake over her strong forearms.

The jeans she’s wearing strain with the way she sits, legs spread apart, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to stop from letting out a gasp when you notice how it puts the delicious outline of what’s beneath the denim on display. Fuck, you do not need to be thinking about straddling the woman where she sits and grinding down against her bulge right now, but you are anyway.

Mercifully, she leans forward again in the seat to ask another question and the view is gone. You need to focus if you’re going to get out of this without incriminating yourself.

“What were you doing tonight?” She asks flatly, getting down to business. You know better than to provide anything resembling an answer, true or false.

“This whole thing seems pretty excessive, all things considered. I mean, an interrogation? Really, Agnes?” Her first name slips out before you can catch it, but you don’t really care.

“Just answer the question. And it’s Detective.” The flare of anger in her eyes only spurs you on.

“Sorry, Detective Agnes,” you correct yourself, purposefully using her name this time, just to see that flash of heat again. 

“If you were so curious about where I was tonight you could’ve just asked me out.” Now that you’ve opened the floodgates, the suggestive remarks just keep coming out.

For Agnes’ part, she remains still and draws in an angry breath. Her blue eyes blaze with irritation at your lack of cooperation more than the intrigue you were hoping for, but that just means you’ll have to turn up the dial on this improvised plan you’ve laid out for yourself. What’s the worst that could happen, anyway?

“Listen, if you’re going to keep wasting my time I’ll just lock you up now and wait ‘til morning.” She threatens with a glowering expression, voice raising every few words in an attempt to intimidate. It’s kind of cute, actually. 

You think she might hear just how her phrasing comes out and anticipate your next response, because she almost looks remorseful. The slightest pink tone that rises to her cheeks and the way she pokes her tongue out to wet her bottom lip when her eyes flick down to your barely covered chest don’t escape your careful observations either. 

“Ooo,” you start, falsely scandalized, “now you want me to spend the night?” A slight giggle escaping you at your own words and the way you lift your handcuffed wrists in front of you playfully. 

With the action, you’re sure to press your biceps against either side of your body to even more obviously display your tits, and she can’t help but look down with the movement, eyes raking over your nipples that stand at attention beneath the thin fabric in the cold space.

Heat is practically rolling off her in waves and you can’t tell for sure if it’s arousal or fury that is threatening to boil over, or what will happen when it does, but you have always been the type to take risks. Why stop now?

“Can’t you just get me off with a warning? I mean- let me off…” You ask before she can recover from your last question, attempting a simper at the intentional slip up in your speech. 

It seems that this is what finally pushes her over the edge as she slams her hands loudly against the metal table and stands up, causing it to vibrate with the impact. Her chair goes clattering to the ground behind her, but she doesn’t seem to care. The satisfied expression you wear drops for a second at the forceful display, maybe this wasn’t the best idea.

“Alright, that’s enough!” She shouts, leaning over so you can practically feel her breath on your face before she rounds the table quickly.

“Do you really wanna keep poking the bear?!” She asks, furious, now standing at your right side and heavily folding at the waist to shout into your ear. 

You have to lean away slightly at the volume that threatens to burst your eardrum and it provides just enough space to look the detective up and down where she stands. 

That’s when you see it. 

Unmistakable and pressing against the zipper of her jeans so forcefully that it’s a wonder they haven’t burst; Detective O’Connor is hard. 

You can’t drag your eyes away from the tented fabric, so obvious that it nearly casts a shadow onto the denim in the odd light of the room. As you are still seated, you’re practically at the perfect level to just lean over and mouth the length through her pants. It’s all you can do not to let your head dip where it wants to most, as if you’re a magnet being drawn by its opposite charge.

“I- uh.” You stutter, unsure of your words for the first time since she walked in. The amount of saliva that has accumulated in your mouth at the sight in front of you forces you to swallow before you speak again.

“I think I’d rather have the bear poke me.” You breathe, sounding wrecked just at the thought.

When you finally drag your gaze back up to hers, her face is burning red, but this time you can tell it is much more out of embarrassment than anger. She looks self conscious in a way you’ve never seen and it’s so, so pretty. 

“It’s okay I c-” You start, reaching out uselessly in your confines, but you’re cut off from your attempt at a rare comforting word when Agnes seizes your right shoulder and lifts you to your feet. She then immediately folds you over and presses you against the table on your stomach, handcuffed hands pinned beneath your chest. You let out a grunt at the forceful action as well as the freezing cold metal that almost stings your skin that has warmed at your flirting.

The position is much like the one you were put in a few hours ago upon your arrest, only now it causes you to ache with desire instead of seeth with fury. 

“You think this is funny?!” She questions, but it sounds strained and unsure. Your own hesitance at her intentions keeps you from muttering out that it’s actually not funny, it’s really fucking hot.

It dawns on you then that she probably turned you over like this so you aren’t able to see the blush that’s probably still spreading over her skin, or the bulge in her pants that’s no doubt only getting worse, especially with how you purposefully arch your back in her grasp.

She has you pinned beneath her hands, one still on your shoulder and the other holding your waist, the perfect placement for her to pull you back against her. Instead, a shaky breath sounds from behind you. It seems like she’s deciding what to do next and you can almost feel the heat radiating from between her hips that begs her to choose the option you’re hoping for too.

You start pressing back yourself, impatient and using any amount of leverage possible to reach your destination. To help her decide.

“Come on, detective. Let me help you out.” You nearly whisper in the most convincing and sweet voice you can muster. Her hands loosen ever so slightly at the soft sound and you use the opportunity to slide the last inch backwards, your ass just barely brushing her front, aware also that if she had wanted to stop you she would’ve easily been able to.

You feel the hardness and heat of her cock against you through both your clothing and nearly release a whimper at the sensation, at the idea of her finally being inside you like you’ve fantasized about so many times. 

Just as quickly as it’s there, it’s gone again. Her hands release you entirely and she steps away without a word, leaving you feeling even colder than the steel table you’re slumped against. You drop your head to the metal in defeat. That’s it, you think. Your efforts haven't worked and you’re not only going to spend the night in a cell, but you’re going to do so while very uncomfortably wet and wound up. Plus, she’s probably going to try to add attempted bribery or harassment to your charge sheet. God, this was a dumb idea. Why couldn’t you have just gotten some old guy detective whose questions you would have dodged coldly and without a second thought?

All these thoughts flash through your head in the few seconds it takes Agnes to step away from the table and turn you by the hips to face her, the chain keeping you there being just long enough to allow such movement. 

You look down immediately, as if out of instinct, to find the large bulge still present, possibly even more so somehow. A bolt of desire strikes through your core at the small dark spot you notice has formed on the crotch of the already dark jeans. The evidence of your effect threatens to turn your legs to jelly. Finally, your eyes raise to meet Agnes’ with a curiosity, who stands less than a foot from you, hands still holding your hips loosely. The thrill of not knowing what she’ll do next makes your already racing heart beat even faster.

You find that she looks as weak as you feel, drinking you in like you’re an ice cold glass of water she’s found in the middle of the sahara. It’s clear that she’s used up every last thread of restraint she has to resist your offer, and it still has proven to be insufficient. Her blue irises have nearly been swallowed by blown black pupils that bore into you as she speaks her resignation to her rapturous fate.

“If I’m gonna fuck you,” she breathes the words out like she’s just run a marathon, “it’s gonna be while looking at those pretty tits.”

You lean back into the table in favor of collapsing straight to the floor at those words. How is this actually happening?

Seeing you stumble into the table, her right hand shifts down to your thigh and lifts, helping you to sit on the ledge as she steps closer to let your knees bracket her body. She looks so much more confident in this moment, and not in the same stone-faced way she had while you prodded at her before. It brings a soft smile to your lips and she looks away, somewhat coyly, at your noticing. It’s hard to decide if you prefer her shy or assertive.  

Blunt nails graze gently over your covered thighs, to your hips, then your waist, before finally settling over your scarcely contained breasts. Your own sharp intake of breath meets your ears as you lean into the warm touch and she squeezes them with a smirk playing on her lips.

  “I might not remember your face…” she rasps, leaning to speak directly into your right ear, “but I definitely remember these.” Both thumbs move to brush over your already pebbled nipples, causing them to harden further. You roll your eyes, both at the comment and at the thread of pleasure that tugs right from where she touches you all the way down to your pulsing clit.

For all the humor in it, you can’t help but notice just how sincere her comment sounds and flashes run through your mind of every low cut top you’ve ever worn to work, wondering which one’s are her favorite.

“Shut up and fuck me already.” You exhale with a chuckle against her cheek, momentarily forgetting your binds and trying to reach around her shoulders to pull her closer. The chain rattles loudly and you jerk with the reminder of your limited movement.

Agnes shakes her head and laughs at your needy but firm command as well as your inability to move.

“Here, let me.” She continues laughing gently as she reaches for the key ring you somehow hadn’t yet noticed swinging from her hip. 

“No.” You blurt before you can think better of it. 

“Leave them.” 

It’s a daring statement and you run your tongue across your teeth mischievously while the implication works its way through the woman’s mind. Her lower lip disappears into her mouth with how hard she bites into it, looking at you in disbelief and utter need. 

“Fuck,” is all she says, dropping the keys back to her side and moving instead to undo her belt with a clumsy haste. 

You would be scrambling to remove your own pants as well, not wanting to waste anymore time, but your own request has left you unable to do so. Instead, you’re left in awe as the black leather belt is unlatched and left hanging loosely open while Agnes works at her zipper. Even less is left to the imagination when denim is pulled aside to reveal cotton boxer briefs protruding with the tension of her arousal.

Her cock is pressing tautly against the soft, grey material and the way the underwear clings to her body causes you to gape at the implication of how much the secure garment is still concealing. 

The dark spot you’d noticed on her jeans is even darker and more centralized to its origin on the grey cloth. Saliva fills your mouth again at the sight, the only thing better than seeing her from beneath that last layer of clothing will be when it is finally removed.

As if reading your mind and wanting you to suffer a moment long, she pauses her motions of undressing any further. Before you can argue or make a snide remark, her hands are on your own waistband, tugging the paint-covered article down as much as she can while you’re still seated. You can’t very well lift yourself with your hands at the moment, so you slip off the table quickly to help get them the rest of the way down, hopping back up just as swiftly and letting her pull them off your legs, shoes falling to the floor one by one in the process. 

The cold table under your mostly bare ass draws the breath from you momentarily, only a black pair of boyshorts now protecting you from the metal.

“Do you ever wash these?” Agnes asks down at the rainbow vomit littering your clothing before dropping the pants to the floor, a real dry humor in her voice replacing the stern, mocking one from when she first entered the room.

“What’s the point?” You ask, because seriously, why would you wash them if you’re just going to get paint all over them again?

“Do you answer every question with a question?” She fires back, moving back between your knees from where she’d stepped back to help undress you. Her fingers play again at her own waistband, dipping into them slightly before meeting your eyes, waiting for your answer.

“Do you always stall like this when a girl wants you to fill her pussy?” You ask with an exaggerated expression of curiosity, as if you are genuinely awaiting the answer and not just communicating your impatience. 

Her cheeks pink again at the response, any clever comebacks quickly forgotten. You remove your gaze from her face and shift it back to her arousal to allow her to blush in private.

In your peripheral vision, you see her eyes flick up to watch your face as she dips her left hand into her underwear and grasps herself so gently, right hand pushing the material down to reveal what you’ve been waiting for.

You’re first met with a mess of dark curls that trail all the way up to her belly button, which you only catch a quick glimpse of with the way her shirt momentarily gets caught by her arm. You stifle a moan at the reveal of her thick cock; rock hard, reddened and still beading pre-cum, as you saw evidenced on the front of her jeans and underwear.

Now you slightly regret having her leave the cuffs on, as you long to reach out and take the length in your hands, or better yet, your mouth. Heat takes your face at the idea of getting on your knees before the detective and gagging on her length, and now you’re the one blushing and biting your lip.

Painfully tearing your eyes from the beautiful sight to catch Agnes’ expression, you find her still looking for your reaction. She finds exactly what she’s looking for in the way your eyes soften and you use one finger, your hands still bound at the wrists and settled in front of your chest, to beckon her forward.

Loose strands of brown hair that have escaped her messily tied back tendrils brush the side of your face as she leans in close to catch your message.

“I need your cock inside me, detective.” You husk, more than speak, into her ear, the lust dripping from the title she insisted on minutes ago causing a physical and auditory shudder through the woman. Looking back down, you see Agnes stroke herself once, as if your words have rendered her unable to resist.

Maybe she notices that you’re about to make a comment about it, because in one swift motion Agnes’ right hand flies up to your left shoulder, shifting you fully to your back on the table. You let out a gasp at the sudden movement, metal tabletop clattering at the impact and drowning out the sound. Just as quickly as you’ve adjusted to your new position, you’re being pulled by the thighs to the very edge of the table and towards exactly what you want, Agnes then guiding you to wrap your spread legs around her hips for support.

“You need this, huh?” She asks, hungrily looking over your body from her new perspective. You’re about to answer her question with your own when she slowly and teasingly drags the head of her cock from your clit to your entrance, over your underwear. Her timing is getting a little too convenient.

You groan at the feeling of your own wetness being pressed against you by her hardness. It makes you ache knowing it’s so close to being consumed by your heat, only a thin shield of fabric left between you. If you had full range of motion of your hands, you would have already ripped the rest of your clothing off, but the quick and dirty way you’re both still mostly clothed almost turns you on more. 

Desperate to maintain the dizzying contact, your hips grind upward as your legs become a vice, pulling her ever closer. The clear enthusiasm only spurs her on, gliding back up and down again, circling your clit three times with her cock on the last pass until you're squirming beneath her and hopelessly trying to contain your whimpering. You would rather wait a lifetime for your orgasm than beg a cop.

You’re so sopping wet, though, that when you look down between your bodies you can see the way her cock shines with your arousal despite not having yet made full contact. It’s almost too much to bear, your clit throbbing in time with your pounding pulse. Something has to give or you’re soon going to be a blabbering mess. 

“Just fuck me, Agnes!” You bark out, hips rising insistently and your voice verging on a whine.

The room goes still for a moment, even the clock ticking away on the wall seems to pause for dramatic effect as she quirks an eyebrow and tilts her head dangerously at your outburst. That same feeling from before washes over you, when you thought you might’ve really fucked up, but it only lasts for half a second before a hand is shoving your ruined underwear to one side and you feel the tip of her resting at your entrance.

Your eyes meet her blue ones, which are actually still mostly black, especially in this light. They burn into you like before and you don’t know whether her silence is a good or bad thing. 

You draw in your own shaky breath, waiting for her next move, and on the exhale she sheathes herself to the hilt inside of you.

Even she can’t contain her half of the guttural growl that comes from both of you at the perfect feeling. You don’t even have the wherewithal to feel embarrassed about just how fucking soaked you are that she was able to slide all the way in with one thrust, because the way her cock is filling you up so completely has rendered every other thought irrelevant.

A moment passes where you both breathe, adjusting to the stretch and squeeze respectively. You feel her throb once within you and think, at this point, with enough determination, you could come just from that small amount of friction.

You don’t need that determination, though. As if mocking that passing thought, Agnes skips any unnecessary build up and starts at a positively bruising pace. Just one moment ago she was panting over you, looking like she might not even make it two thrusts in before unraveling, and now she’s slamming into you with a literally breathtaking force.

No intelligible noises are able to come out of your throat at first, only broken, reedy gasps. Your eyes roll back in your head as the glorious, slapping sounds of your joining sexes fill your ears. Her length jabs over and over again at the perfect spot inside you, just where you need her. 

Doing your best to focus your vision, you look up to see the red face of a woman clearly holding on to her composure for dear life. Her finger nails are short, but still able to bite into your hips ever so slightly as she practically slides you up and down along the table while also moving against you herself, which deepens her thrusts even more.

This also seemingly provides quite the show for Agnes, who you observe is splitting her time between watching your face contorting with pleasure, her cock sliding in and out of your pussy, and most of all, the way your tits are bouncing considerably with her every movement.

“You like these? You should fuck them.” You make out between gasping breaths, nodding down at your own chest.

Agnes takes a moment to respond, her laser focus causing her to not even register your words at first. When she does however, and notices your gesturing, her thrusting falters only for a moment, as if the idea alone has made her nearly swoon with desire. Crystal irises scan you over again and you can tell she’s thinking about it by the way her eyebrows knit together in a desperate sort of way.

“Maybe next time.” She decides, smirking down at you and ramming herself into you particularly hard once before returning to her rhythm, while her left hand comes up to grip your right breast greedily.

“Mmn- next time?” You ask around a moan, trying not to sound too hopeful, but it’s also such an unexpected sentiment from the detective you can’t help but question her further.

“I’d bet good money this won’t be your last arrest,” is all she says to satisfy your curiosity. While it’s also a subtle dig at your evading skills, your imagination still runs wild with the unspoken promise of how a future slip-up might turn out for you. It almost makes you want to get caught again.

“Right, because you’d love to f-fuck, fuck! Oh my god!” Your response turns into a moaning curse when her hand shoots down from playing with your tits so her thumb can land firmly on your clit and press down with flawless pressure, never letting up consistently filling you in the process. 

“Oh fuck! Don’t stop! Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me..” The mantra spills from your lips while your orgasm mounts within you and you know you’ll be toppling over the edge any minute now.

If your hands were free you would be locking your fingers behind her neck and pulling her even closer to you to ensure you get what you want, but the burn of the metal chafing your wrists is a delicious alternative. The pain only sharpens the pleasure you’re feeling everywhere else and you throb at the idea of waking up tomorrow and seeing angry red and purple bracelets of evidence.

At your emphatic request, she doesn’t stop. You’ve never been so full before and when Agnes’ cock throbs within you after every couple of pumps, stars explode behind your eyes. There’d better be a next time because you’re pretty sure nothing and nobody has or will ever make you feel like this.

“I’m so, so close. Fuck!” You shout, unsure what possesses you to tell her, but her response only drives you closer to the edge.

“Fuck, yeah, fucking come for me. Come on my cock, come on my c-cock…” She huffs, the exertion that you were already impressed with her maintaining finally shows in her voice, but she still never lets up. It almost sounds like she’s begging, a “please” barely contained behind her lips, and that’s what makes you really want to come for her.

Chasing your orgasm, you redouble your efforts of rocking your hips up and it makes her length press even more fully against your front wall until you’re practically screaming with pleasure. The new angle caused by your rocking coupled with the way your walls are tightening around her in anticipation of your release is also clearly doing something for Agnes.

Her breaths are coming in short puffs and she is completely unable to stifle the loud whimper that bursts out of her when you clench around her even harder, your orgasm just seconds away.

That’s what finally does it, that mewl that you were able to pull from the tough detective. It sends you flying, every muscle tenses and wave after wave of pleasure causes you to buck against the table and Agnes, but she holds you firmly in place, fucking you through it and moaning herself the whole time as she marvels at your release. The aftershocks go on for what feels like forever while you float in your euphoria, never wanting it to end.

After your release, Agnes’ thrusts quickly become short and frantic, almost rutting into you with a fervor. The throbs you’ve felt are coming on every pump and you’re content to lie back in your blissed out state and let her take whatever she wants, until she starts to pull out of you, one trembling hand releasing your hip and clearly intent on finishing herself off. 

You’re suddenly more lucid than ever, quickly locking your ankles behind her from where they’d fallen limp, and shoving her back into you until she bottoms out. A surprised breath leaves her at the action, a sheen of sweat breaking across her forehead as she stutters out her reasoning.

“I-I’m gonna-” She can’t even get the words out and it’s the second time in so many minutes that you feel your heart squeeze at just how adorable this usually grave woman is. 

“I know, I know. Come inside me, baby.” Your voice is thick with desire and you’re still lingering bliss, the pet name slipping out like water, but you need her to know just how badly you want it.

Her eyes widen slightly as a deeper blush somehow takes over her already red face, unsure but so very full of want. You feel her twitch within you despite herself and her hips roll just at the words. 

You don’t break eye contact, making clear how serious you are to quell her doubt.

Tentatively, after a beat, she starts up a slower pace, pulling almost out of you before thrusting all the way back in, like she’s giving herself time to think again.

“You can do it baby, I know you want to. Fuck, you feel so good inside me.” You gasp out the words while she fucks back into your pussy and you think you could come again just from the way she looks at you when you say them.

You repeat your cooing encouragements and it doesn’t even take three more of those slow thrusts before she falters and stays sheathed inside you, rutting weakly. 

“Come on, baby.” You repeat, and you know she’s done.

More of those beautiful whimpers fall from her lips as you feel one stronger throb and then warmth explodes into your walls. You can’t help but moan yourself at the feeling of being filled by her. Spurt after spurt of her cum coats your insides while she holds you tighter and tighter, as if you’ll float away if she lets go. Her desperate moans die down eventually and she slumps against you, still inside, and draws in one big breath before releasing it slowly. Her eyes are screwed shut and her head is now resting against your restrained hands on your chest. 

It’s probably good they're restrained, you think, because if they weren’t you’d be having a very hard time resisting running your fingers through her long hair, tenderly scratching your nails against the nape of her neck.

Another beat passes where the two of you breath against one another and come down from your respective highs. The delicious mix of your and Agnes’ cum has started to drip out of you onto the table below and it’s a hot enough thought that your sensitive clit gives a weak twitch and you clench around Agnes unintentionally, causing her to crane her neck to look up at you.

Her eyes are clear again and softer than you’ve ever seen them; you let your coursing endorphins carry you away on a cloud of imagining leaning the six inches it would take to capture her lips in yours, but you don’t dare actually do it.

She starts to shift, maybe shaking herself from some similar thought, you can’t tell. Her soft sex pulls out of you slowly as she pushes up on her hands and waits for you to release her from the grip your legs still have her in. You unsteadily unravel yourself from her, shuddering slightly at the loss and trying not to think about how empty you feel without her.

Now free, she tucks herself back into her briefs and makes quick work of finally undoing your cuffs. Her hands rub at the raw skin absently, using her hold there to pull you into a seated position. She then reaches down for the balled-up mess you call a pair of pants and slides them back onto your trembling legs easily. After you’re relatively put back together, cum still leaking out and coating your already ruined underwear, she looks you over once more with hunger along with something else you can’t place. 

She looks thoughtful, like she wants to say something else but thinks better of it, instead letting a sly smile pull at her mouth and a different comment sneak through with a soft laugh.

“Consider that your warning.”

[sherewrytes]

can u do some nice angst and arguing that leads to eren comforting reader

Title: Mishap

The night had been perfect—too perfect. You and Eren were out with friends, a rare chance to let loose. The club was alive with energy: neon lights pulsing, bass vibrating through the floor, and laughter spilling over the edges of every conversation. Eren sat beside you, his arm casually slung over your shoulder, the picture of ease.

At some point, he left to grab drinks, leaving his phone on the table. It buzzed, lighting up with a notification. Your gaze fell on the screen, and that’s when you saw it.

Mina: Eren, we need to talk. Call me when you’re alone.

Your heart stopped for a moment, then kicked into overdrive. The message wasn’t just casual—it was intimate, demanding. Your grip tightened around his phone as unease crept in.

When Eren returned, you held up his phone. “Who’s Mina?”

His smile faltered, replaced by a guarded expression. “She’s nobody,” he said, too quickly. “Just someone from a long time ago.”

Your friends went quiet, the tension between you two palpable. You leaned in, your voice low but sharp. “Then why is this nobody asking for a private conversation?”

Eren’s jaw clenched. “Can we not do this here?”

But it was too late; your anger had already ignited. “No, Eren. Let’s do it right now. Because if she’s texting you like this, it’s either because she doesn’t know about me, or she thinks I’m not worth respecting.”

Eren stood, his frustration evident. “I’m not having this conversation in front of everyone.”

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have left your phone where I could see how you’re still entertaining your past,” you shot back, grabbing your things.

Before he could respond, you stormed out, leaving him behind in the pulsing lights and murmurs of your stunned friends.

By the time Eren got home, the silence in the apartment was deafening. You were waiting in the living room, arms crossed, eyes blazing. He shut the door quietly, his face unreadable as he approached.

“Talk,” you said coldly.

Eren sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, Mina’s from my past. We haven’t talked in ages, and I didn’t think she’d ever reach out again. It caught me off guard, too.”

“That’s not good enough, Eren,” you snapped, standing. “Why didn’t you tell me about her? Why did I have to find out like this?”

“Because she doesn’t matter!” he shouted, his voice finally breaking. “She’s nobody to me now.”

“But she thinks she’s somebody,” you said, your voice trembling. “And you didn’t even shut her down. How am I supposed to trust you when you keep things like this from me?”

Eren’s expression darkened, and his next words slipped out before he could stop them. “I didn’t think it mattered because we used to be… more than friends.”

The room seemed to freeze. Your chest tightened as the weight of his confession crashed down on you. “More than friends?” you repeated, your voice barely above a whisper.

He nodded slowly, guilt etched into his features. “It was a long time ago. Before you. We were friends with benefits, but it ended. She doesn’t mean anything to me now.”

You stared at him, a mixture of anger and hurt bubbling to the surface. “You didn’t think I deserved to know that someone you slept with still has your number and feels comfortable texting you like this?”

“I didn’t want to dredge up old shit that didn’t matter,” Eren said, his voice softer now. “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“Well, congratulations, Eren,” you said bitterly. “Mission failed.”

His shoulders slumped, and he stepped closer, his voice filled with regret. “I know I messed up. I should’ve told you. I’ll block her, I’ll do whatever it takes to fix this. But please, don’t let this ruin us.”

You looked away, tears threatening to spill. “It’s not just about her, Eren. It’s about trust. You hid this from me, and now I don’t know what else you’ve been keeping.”

He reached out, gently taking your hands in his. “There’s nothing else. I swear. You’re the only one I want, the only one I care about.” His voice broke slightly, the vulnerability in his eyes cutting through your defenses.

“I don’t know if I can believe you,” you whispered, but your voice wavered.

Eren pulled you closer, his forehead resting against yours. “Please, give me a chance to make this right,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I can’t lose you.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with sincerity. Despite the anger, despite the betrayal, you felt the walls you’d built around your heart begin to crack.

You pulled back from Eren’s touch, your heart pounding painfully in your chest. “You don’t get it, do you?” you said, your voice thick with emotion. “It’s not just about this one thing. It’s about all the little things you’ve kept from me, the pieces of your life I’m only now finding out about.”

Eren’s face fell, his hands dropping to his sides. “I’m trying, okay?” he said, his voice low. “I’ve never had to do this before—let someone in like this. I didn’t know how.”

“You didn’t know how?” you repeated, your tone laced with bitterness. “That’s your excuse? You’ve been with me for how long, Eren? And you still think it’s okay to decide what I should and shouldn’t know?”

“I’m not perfect!” he snapped, his frustration bubbling over again. “I’ve made mistakes, and I’m going to make more. But I’m here, aren’t I? I’m trying to fix this!”

Tears finally broke free, sliding down your cheeks. “You don’t get to play the victim here,” you said, your voice shaking. “You’re not the one who has to wonder if the person you love has been keeping secrets, if they’ll ever fully trust you.”

Eren’s eyes softened as he watched you crumble. “I do trust you,” he said quietly. “I’ve never trusted anyone like I trust you.”

You shook your head, stepping back. “Then why does it feel like I’m always fighting for a place in your life? Why does it feel like there’s always some part of you that’s still out of reach?”

Eren’s silence was deafening. He looked at you, his green eyes filled with a mix of guilt and sorrow. When he finally spoke, his voice was barely audible. “Because I’m scared,” he admitted. “Scared of messing this up. Scared of losing you. I’ve never had something this good before, and I don’t know how to handle it.”

His confession hit you harder than any argument. For a moment, the anger ebbed, replaced by a deep, aching sadness. “You think hiding things from me is going to protect us?” you asked softly. “All it does is push me away.”

Eren stepped closer, his eyes pleading. “I know. I see that now. I’m sorry, okay? For everything. I’ll do whatever it takes to prove to you that you’re the only one who matters to me.”

You didn’t respond right away, your mind racing with everything that had been said. The hurt was still there, raw and stinging, but beneath it, you could see the truth in his eyes, the genuine regret and fear of losing you.

After a long moment, Eren reached out, gently pulling you into his arms. This time, you didn’t resist. You let yourself collapse against him, your tears soaking into his shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “I’m so sorry for hurting you.”

His arms tightened around you, holding you as if letting go would shatter everything. You could feel the tension in his body, the way he was holding back his own emotions for your sake.

“I don’t want to feel like this again,” you whispered against his chest. “Like I’m just another part of your life you can compartmentalize.”

“You won’t,” Eren said firmly. “I’ll be better. I swear.” He pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his hands gently cupping your face. “I’ll tell you everything from now on. No more secrets, no more half-truths. You deserve that.”

You searched his face, looking for any sign of insincerity, but all you saw was a man who was genuinely trying, even if he didn’t always know how.

“I want to believe you,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Eren nodded, his thumbs brushing away your tears. “Then let me show you. Let me earn back your trust.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hands grounding you. “Okay,” you said finally, your voice fragile but hopeful. “But this is your last chance, Eren. I can’t go through this again.”

“You won’t have to,” he promised, his voice steady. “I won’t let you down.”

For the first time that night, the weight on your chest began to lift. The road ahead wouldn’t be easy, but as Eren pulled you close again, you felt a glimmer of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could rebuild what had been broken.

[coveredinsweetpea]

A/n: I let the whore out for this one 🤭 and I'm not even ashamed? I wanted to make it more filthy but I decided to not push it 😬 but lemme know if you liked this one!!! I'd love to write more!! Summary: just the story of perv!bouncer!Eddie x dumb!ice-cream vendor!reader and the little white lie he used in order to get you where he wanted you. (KINKY) 4.6k Warnings: so first off, perv!Eddie (he's a bit of a meanie) and dumb!reader, ok? He takes advantage of you, oopsie. Humiliation, degradation, lying and gaslighting, pet names, groping, very strong D/s vibes although not established, spit kink, a hint of dubcon? (only if you squint). Needless to say, 18+!! (also I wrote this in one go don't @ me if it's shitty)

You shouldn't have worn heels - it was late at night, you were running late and while the rain had stopped, the mud still managed to splash its way up to your ankles. And come to think of it, the skirt hadn’t been that good of an idea either, not for the metal concert you were attending at least, but you were two blocks away and it was too late to turn back now.

Before entering the venue, you stopped at the corner, fixed your hair and your shoes with a napkin you found around your purse, and prayed to the gods that even though the concert should have already started, the bouncer would still be there to give you a ticket and allow you inside.

“Eddie!” you exclaimed relieved. He was just about to stand up from his little booth when you burst inside the building, and his eyes widened when he realized who you were.

While it truly hadn’t been that long since you last saw each other, it surely felt like it. The last time you saw him was at his graduation, one week after you finished junior year. Currently, almost two years had passed since you yourself were done with school.

“Y/n, wow. I haven’t seen you in ages, how are you?”

“Good, good, I’m good” you huffed, getting ready to fish the money for the ticket out of your purse. “You work here?”

“Yeah. I’m a bartender but something came up and our guy had to leave for a bit. I’m just covering for him.”

“Oh, ok. Cool”

“Did you come for the concert? It’s about to start”

“Yeah, mhm. I know I’m a bit late.” you said, picking out the dollars out of your purse one by one. When you decided your bag should be cute and fit your outfit rather than actually be useful, you didn’t imagine you’d have to embarrass yourself like this. “Here’s 7 dollars-” you mumbled handing him the money, “Wait, I have three more, just give me a second”

“Y/n…” Eddie said as he hesitated to take it from you. “It’s 30 dollars.”

“30 what?” you gasped. “I thought it was 10”

“It was 10, until like an hour ago. You should’ve bought it in advance, tickets are always more expensive at the door”

“You must be kidding me” you cried, “I can’t pay 30$ for a concert of a band I barely even heard about”

“Then don’t” Eddie chuckled, “It’s not that big of a deal, it’s only going to last one hour tops”

“Yeah but my friend likes the vocalist. I promised her I’d be there”

“Then pay?”

Instead of going back to explaining why you really didn’t feel like doing that, you straightened your back and grinned. “Eddie…”

“I’m not interested," he laughed in a heartbeat, fully aware of the tactics you might want to try on him.

“Free ice cream for the whole month!” you belted, grabbing his shoulder to help you get your point across. “You know you can’t say no to that”

“I never even bought ice cream from your shop, Y/n, no”

“Two months!”

“Baby girl, buy the ticket or wait for the concert to end. I can’t just let you in”

“Yes, you can” you scoffed, stomping your foot against the floor. “Since when do you care about the rules?”

“Since my job is at stake, sweetheart”

“Who’s gonna know? Right, no one. So pleeeeease, Eddie! Pretty please with a tiny and sweet cherry on top?”

He was thinking about it, it was obvious the wheels were turning. His eyes traveled along the length of your body as he licked his lips, and that gave you hope. But unfortunately, when he looked back up into your eyes, he shook his head, “I’m sorry, I can’t”

“You can” you pouted, “You just don’t want to”

Eddie tapped his chin, “I guess that’s true. There’s nothing in it for me, so…”

“Asshole!” you giggled and hit his side. “Just tell me what you want, you got it”

“Anything I want?”

“Anything!”

“Anything, anything?” Eddie laughed.

“Just say it, you jerk”

But he didn’t really say it. What he did however was lean behind his little desk and then stand back up with a small camera in his hand. With one eyebrow raised, he motioned with his head to one of the small back rooms to the side, and that should’ve been your cue to at least try offering him ice cream again. 

"I can't believe I'm doing this" you nervously giggled as you placed your purse on one of the chairs you found laying around. More things crossed your mind while you took your jacket off but you kept quiet, only turning around to face Eddie when you were left in your tank top and skirt. "This is stupid. I'm being stupid, right?"

"It's just a little bit of fun" he smiled, moving the camera from one hand to the other. "You absolutely don't have to do it if you don't feel comfortable"

"Comfortable getting naked for a stranger to take pictures of me?" you laughed in disbelief.

"Are you?"

His raised eyebrow and the confidence he had made you unconsciously rub your thighs together. "Don't hold this over my head, ok?"

"It's just a few pictures, Y/n, no big deal"

"I know" you pouted and crossed your arms in front of your chest. "But I don't want you to think I'm a slut or something. I don't do stuff like this"

"There's a beginning for everything, sweetheart. What if you end up loving it and want to take more?"

"Yeah, right" you rolled your eyes and felt a very strong urge to look anywhere else but at him. "Ok, how do you want them?"

He thought about it for a second. "Take your top off, we'll see from there"

The little bit of conscious thinking still present inside your mind had a very hard time accepting just how fast your hands worked to remove your shirt. The second that piece of clothing went over your head, your cheeks started burning and a very painful but familiar feeling awakened in your core. Half naked and maybe a little bit confused, you turned to look at Eddie - who was grinning from ear to ear, getting ready to snap the picture. 

"Say cheese!"

You didn't say it, but you did straighten your back, smiled, and even put on a cute pose with your hands beside your cheeks. 

"You've done this before?" Eddie laughed after taking the picture as he waited for it to slip out of the device.

"No, why?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "It's a nice picture"

"Let me see" you said and bubbled over to him, looking at the picture as it exited the camera. "Oh, yeah. You're right! It really is cute"

"Told you, sweetheart" Eddie grinned and grabbed your chin.

You instinctually followed and tilted your head up to look at him, shame spreading across your body as you reveled in his little words of praise. "What next?"

"Bend over that desk over there"

Without as little as a hint of hesitation, you walked over to the desk, planted your chest on top of it and pushed your skirt up over your ass. 

"See why I'd think you've done this before?" he laughed and slapped your ass. "I didn't even tell you to lift your skirt"

"You were about to anyway, I'm just ahead of you"

"Such a good, little girl" 

As much as you hated to admit, the way he groped your ass, and his fingers - rough and digging into your skin, it all made you squirm under his touch. You remained motionless and sat there quietly, only your feet wobbling a bit from the uncomfortable position as you allowed him to do his thing. "Can I take these off?" Eddie asked, his pointer finger already hooked behind the little piece of fabric that covered your cunt. 

"Yeah, mhm" you nodded eagerly. "Do what you want"

Maybe you shouldn't have said that. But a part of you forgot about the concert and was too focused on Eddie's touch, on his presence behind you, the fact that you couldn't see him making all your senses go off the rails. 

But a deal was a deal and Eddie wasn't about to break it… that much. After pushing your underwear to the side, the cold air hit your already heated and sensitive core. "Can I see how wet you are, doll?"

You nodded. 

And his finger slipped right in, knuckle deep, his big, silver ring barely visible between your damp, puffy folds. 

"How about two?"

"...ok"

"Three? Can you take three?" Eddie asked, slipping his fingers inside without wasting time to hear your answer. 

A soft moan broke past your lips and your back arched the way he was filling you up, little tears of pleasure gathering at the corners of your eyes. "Eddie" you cried.

"Yeah, puppy?" 

But only a grunt escaped your throat as you let your forehead fall against the desk. 

When he didn't get an answer from you, he just chuckled and the next thing you heard was the sound of the camera going off. 

"Cute" Eddie said, retracting his hand from your pussy. 

The sudden feeling of emptiness made you whine, "That's all?"

"What? Did you want more?"

"I- I thought-" you mumbled, turning around to face him, "I thought you were gonna, I don't know…"

"Do you want me to, doll?"

The way the words almost slipped out of your mouth was pathetic. But you managed to control yourself, and just pushed yourself up and shook your head. "No" you lied. And he could tell. 

"You sure, kitten?"

"Yeah, no. Just take the next pic"

"Ok, last one, sweetheart. Can you get on your knees for me?"

Still visibly disappointed with how he left you hanging, you wordlessly kneeled in front of him. Your hands flew up to grip his thighs and your head fell back, your eyes on his. "Like this?"

"Exactly like that, puppy. You're so good, you know that?" Eddie said, nonchalantly licking your juices off his fingers. "And you taste so sweet, baby"

"Thank you" you weakly smiled as he caressed your cheek. "What, um… what do I do now?"

"Open wide for me, just like that. Can you stay like this for a bit?" Eddie commanded. 

All you could do was nod and follow him with your stare, your heart nearly beating out of your chest when he lowered himself in front of you and grabbed your chin. 

"Do you like this?" 

Yes. No. Fuck, you squeezed your eyes shut for a second then then, much to his absolute pleasure, nodded yes. 

The sheer embarrassment you felt from not being able to answer him as your mouth hung open made the pressure between your legs grow even more unbearable. You wanted him to do something, anything, touch, or at least talk to you, but he just left you there, hanging pathetically and waiting. 

"How about this for the last picture?" Eddie questioned and then shoved his fingers into your mouth. Ring deep and with no warning, he forced your jaw open as he pushed his fingers as far as they could go, making your eyes snap wide open in shock. 

"Easy, sweetheart. Stay still for me, ok? Don't fight it"

But it was impossible, with your airway partially blocked and your gag reflex threatening to act up, your hands found his wrist and squeezed as all you could do was look up into his eyes. 

"Do you like being like this, angel? All good and dumb for me?" 

Your answer came in the form of a blink, your eyebrows also arching upwards, before a cough broke in the back of your throat.

"Easy, doll. Slow down, stop fighting it. Relax, you can do it, you can do it, baby" but he was not helping you, instead pushing down harder onto your tongue, making your eyes water from the lack of oxygen. 

But still, you didn't try to fight him, to pry his hand away or to even distance yourself. You just stood there, choking on his fingers, painfully awaiting the moment he'd figure you'd had enough. 

While he didn't let you off easily, when your throat constricted around his fingers again, he finally retracted his hand. Drunk on the so dearly needed breath of fresh air that rushed down your throat, you fell forward, your cheek against his thigh as you struggled to regain your composure. 

"So good for me, puppy. You listen so well" Eddie cooed, brushing your hair as you refused to pull away from your leg. 

"Eddie…" you pouted, "You didn't take the picture"

"That's ok, doll. How are you? Are you good?"

Still unwilling to move, you nodded against his leg. "Yep"

"What do you want to do next, sweetheart? You can choose for the last picture"

"I don't wanna choose" you shook your head, "Just tell me what to do"

"Is there nothing you want, angel? Not even one thing that crossed that pretty, little head of yours?"

"No"

"Then open up for me again, sweetheart" 

Lazily, you shuffled to the side and settled back into your position on your knees in front of him. This time, he only pried your mouth open a little bit, much for the aesthetic of it all, his fingers on your tongue and his heavy rings against your bottom lip. 

When he brought the camera up, you looked directly into the lens, eyes wide and soft, as you were all but drooling. The way you squirmed once you heard the click of the camera was probably pathetic, but he enjoyed it and you wanted more.

"That's enough" Eddie said, placing the device to the side and squatting down in front of you. "Can you swallow for me?"

You blinked in confusion but burned with enthusiasm, almost moaning out loud when you saw him tower over you and spit down onto your awaiting tongue. 

You didn't question it, didn't even flinch, you just closed your mouth and swallowed as he told you. 

Once done, Eddie helped you up and waited for you to change. Back out at his little security desk, you waited patiently for him to put the yellow bracelet around your wrist. "Thank you"

"Pleasure doing business with you, doll"

Despite rolling your eyes, you couldn't also hide the way your lips curled at the little pet name, suddenly getting to you in a way half an hour ago you couldn't have even imagined. 

"Come with me to the bar, I'll fix you something to drink. On the house" 

"Where was this generosity before?" you teased and stepped inside as he held the door open for you. 

"Don't push it," he playfully threatened. Once inside, Eddie grabbed your hand and guided you back behind the bar. "What do you want to drink, sweetheart?"

You knew what you wanted, but the annoyed looks of the people impatiently waiting their turn distracted you. Eddie noticed it in a heartbeat, the distress in your eyes saying it all. 

"Fuck them" he scoffed, raising his middle finger in their direction as he shielded you with his body. "Just tell me what you feel like drinking"

"Um, a screwdriver, please"

"Coming right up" he said and got to work, only to have you follow him closely like a lost puppy. Too many pairs of judgemental eyes still followed your every move, and without Eddie's attention on you, they felt even more intrusive than before. 

"Eddie, I want to pay for it" you said as you opened your purse, "I feel bad"

"I'm not taking your money, Y/n"

"They're looking at me as if I've committed a crime. I'm not going out there with my free drink that I didn't even have to wait for. Just take my money, Eddie, please!"

That sounded like it pissed him off. Not you, though. They did. You sounded genuinely worried, and he didn't like that. After he finished making your drink, Eddie placed it in front of you and then turned to face the customers. "Before you all get your panties in a bunch, she didn't cut to the front, you're waiting to get served by my colleague, I haven't even started my shift. And even if she had cut in front of you, that would've been fine too, because I said so. If any of you even looks at her the wrong way, you're getting kicked out and banned. Thank you!"

Despite his rant having done its job perfectly since no one dared comment or even keep staring, you barely found it in you to look at him. "Eddie… you didn't have to do that"

"If anyone bothers you, come find me" he said, as if he hadn't even heard you. He just grabbed your glass and placed it between your hands, "Go enjoy the concert, sweetheart"

"Thank you" you meekly said.

"No problem, doll" he grinned and slapped your ass as you turned to walk away. 

Luckily enough with the soundcheck and stage preparations, you managed to find your friends before the second song even started. 

While the music wasn't necessarily your favorite, you still danced your soul out and used the little breaks between songs to listen to your friend vent and fangirl over the vocalist. Tall, long hair and a leather jacket - another thing whose appeal you didn't think you'd see any time soon. 

But the whole thing turned out to be a blast, no one interrupting your dancing sessions and by the time the concert was over, you were all spent, barely able to maintain your balance on your aching feet. 

After collapsing in the nearest booth you found available, one friend who made the happiest choice of the night regarding the shoes and chose a pair of sneakers, sacrificed herself and made her way to the bar while you all waited for her at the table. 

Mostly, the conversation circled around everyone's surprise with how enjoyable the concert actually was. A few other topics had been touched, such as whether they'd party at this bar or not, or if any of the members were single, but when the subject of the price rolled around, you felt personally attacked. 

Without explaining, you excused yourself from the table and stomped your way to the bar, walking behind it like the place belonged to you.

"Eddie, I need to talk to you"

"Not now, sweetheart. I'm a bit busy" he hurriedly spoke, unable to even look at you as he balanced 7 shot glasses between his hands. 

"Now, Eddie!"

"It's gonna have to wait, have a seat" he huffed and dragged a stool over to his side of the bar. "Wait" 

The only thing that kept you from making a scene right then and there was the number of people that were waiting for their drinks. And while you would've very gladly given Eddie a hard time, those people had nothing wrong. So, with a pout and a frown on your face, you sat down and proceeded to wait. 

"What's wrong? Can you tell me what happened?" Eddie eventually said in between orders, still visibly busy and not giving you all the attention you required.

"No" you crossed your arms, "Not like this"

"Did something happen?" he questioned, sounding genuinely worried. He threw the towel in his hand over his shoulder and leaned closer, softly touching your thigh as he spoke. "Tell me if-"

"I'll hit you" you snapped and shoved him. "Take a break"

And that was what he did. As soon as he got a little window of time, he asked his colleague to cover for him and then guided you out from behind the bar, and over to a more secluded corner.

"Ok, what happ-"

"Asshole!" you slapped his cheek - as hard as you could but nowhere near hard enough to do any real damage. "Fuck you!"

"Whoa!" Eddie gasped as he recoiled from the blow, instantly grabbing your wrist to stop you from delivering another blow. "What the hell happened?"

"30 dollars!? You lied to me!"

"Oh, that…"

"Yes! That! You're a fucking asshole!"

"Hey, now. Don't go there" Eddie calmly said, arms going up in a defensive position despite still holding onto your hand. "It was just a bit of fun. You had fun too, didn't you?"

"That's not the point"

"You didn't deny it!"

"Asshole!" you snapped again, this time using your free hand to hit his side. But he grabbed onto this wrist too, pulling you closer to him despite your protests. "Eddie, let me go!"

"No, you're gonna hit me again"

"Yes, I am. You lied to me"

"Ok, I lied" he raised his shoulders and rolled his eyes, "So what? We both had some fun, and you got in for free and also got a free drink. I think it's fair"

"No, it's not fair!" you tried to free yourself but his grip was iron strong. "It's not fair because it wasn't 30 dollars, you lied!"

"It was still 10 dollars, which you didn't have to pay, now did you?"

"I would've paid 10 dollars!"

"But you didn't. I saved you some money. I think you should just thank me, doll" 

"You're unbelievable" you scoffed, turning your head to the side so that you wouldn't have to look at him. 

Eddie however, had a different idea. As he let your wrists go, he cupped your cheeks into his hands so that you'd face him. Despite the annoyed look on your face, your hands traveled up to his sides, grabbing onto his leather jacket as he held you close. 

"Come on, you can't really be upset with me right now, sweetheart."

"Well, I am," you frowned. 

"I'm sorry, dove. It wasn't my intention. I never meant to upset you"

"You wouldn't have lied if you didn't want to upset me"

"I didn't think you'd find out" he chuckled, which deepened your frown. "Hey, look at me" 

"No" you pouted and turned your head to the side, making Eddie have to lean from left to right multiple times in order to meet your eyes.

"Angel, look at me, come on"

"No, Eddie, leave me alone!" you protested, but the smile was audible in your tone. He knew he got to you. 

"Hey, come on. Look at you, all smiling"

"I'm not smiling!" you said, trying to sound serious, but eventually giggled when you finally looked at him.

"There you go! That's my girl!" Eddie laughed and brought you closer, "You forgive me, doll, right?" he asked, lightly rubbing your chin with his thumb.

"No"

"You're a bad liar, sweetheart. I think you didn't even mind in the first place, did you?"

"I did!"

"Then why were you so wet for me, huh?" he grinned.

"I'm mad you lied to me" you sighed, not showing any signs of wanting to distance yourself from him anymore. "You didn't have to do that"

"How was I supposed to know you'd say yes?"

"You should've asked!"

"I'm sorry, baby. I really am" he said softly and then nudged your forehead with his. "Kiss me to make it better?"

"I don't want to kiss you, Eddie, I'm still upset"

"No, you're not" he laughed and leaned in, his lips brushing against yours a couple of times until you couldn't help it anymore. 

"You're an asshole, you know that?" you shook your head in disbelief, unable to contain your nervous laughter. But despite your words, you were still pressed against him, your hands on his waist and your lips inches away from his. 

"I'm fun, sweetheart. Just kiss me"

"Ok, but you're not going to lie to me again!"

"Never!" he swore, all wide eyed and not at all grinning as he did so. 

But you didn't pay too much attention. That promise, however empty, was enough for you to feel completely content with going in for a full kiss. He welcomed you fully, one of his hands finding your ass in no time, squeezing hard enough to bruise. But it only riled you up further as you clung onto him, breathing him in with every single brush of your tongue against his. 

"Ah! My lipstick!" you whined as you pulled away for air. 

"It looks alright, it didn't smudge, don't worry" Eddie smiled, looking at you in awe as you tried to make sure your lipstick didn't get all over your face. 

"The girls said it's blowjob proof, I guess they were right" you giggled when you saw no color transferred to Eddie's lips or your fingers. "That's 5 dollars well spent" 

"See?" Eddie grabbed your ass as he proudly spoke, "And now, thanks to me, you can get two more. I can even help you try them all out. Multiple times, see if they really are blowjob proof."

"How nice of you" you mocked.

"I know, right?" Eddie chuckled and then kissed your temple. "I have to go back to work now, though. You can hang out with me, if you want"

You were about to follow him, but right before he reached the bar, you tugged his sleeve. "Eddie? Can I ask for a favor?"

He blinked in curiosity. "Sure, sweetheart. What is it?"

"You know I told you I have this friend who likes-"

"Who likes the vocalist, yes, I remember"

"Yeah, well… I was wondering if you could introduce them?"

"Yeah, doll. No problem" Eddie said and looked around, "I think they're still in the back, come with me"

And you did. You followed him wordlessly and reveled in the privilege of walking through the "employees only" door. The dark and sticky corridor Eddie dragged you through had absolutely no reason to make you feel as important as it did, but you loved it. And once outside, in the parking lot you yourself had crossed earlier on your way to the concert, as you and Eddie approached the band's van, you still managed to feel important, as if there was business to attend to.

Even talking to the band you couldn't care less about felt empowering, especially the way each member went to shake your hand as Eddie did the introductions. But despite all of them being nothing but a happy and laid back bunch, you still felt the need to cower behind Eddie as he conversed with the vocalist.

Even though they were all heading inside for some well deserved post concert drinks, Eddie made sure to mention the one fan the man absolutely had to meet. 

"This one?" the vocalist, whose name you found out to be Joe, or Joey, asked, pointing at you.

Your eyes went wide, but Eddie only chuckled. "No, she's with me. It's one of her friends, though. She's inside" 

While the band still had a few minutes worth of organizing to do, you and Eddie headed back towards the bar. 

"I'm with you?" you giggled, almost feeling the need to cover your mouth at how giddy his words made you. 

"Aren't you?" Eddie laughed.

"I guess I am" you smiled and resumed your spot on the chair he had brought for you earlier. "Can I help you with stuff? Or is that allowed? I don't know"

"Everything's allowed, sweetheart, but don't worry. Enjoy yourself, I don't need any help. Sit there and be pretty for me"

"I can do that" you wiggled your legs in the air. "And thank you for speaking to Joey. She's gonna be so happy, I'm never going to hear the end of it"

After sending you a knowing smile, Eddie put his arm around your shoulders and kissed your forehead, "Anything for you, sweetheart"

[marniaah]

SOMEONE ELSE

a/n: hi i’m bored and i have nothing else to do so here u go!! pic from @/astralnymphh on pinterest btw<3

warnings: lowercase intended; exgf!ellie; gf!abby; afab!reader; angst (just a little bit i swear); drunk texts; mentions of cheating; fluff at the end? kinda? anyway idk what else to put here if i forget something lmk!!

also english is not my first language and this was not proofread SO! if u find any mistakes pls let me know, thank u!! 😁😁

you were staring at your phone. more specifically, at the messages that just popped up on the screen.

ellie: pls comw bsck

ellie: i miss yu

ellie: im sorry

you felt weird. something about those notifications made you feel weird. why would she text you after three years?

just by looking at the typos, you could tell she was drunk. typical of her. but you still couldn’t understand why ellie was sending you texts at 1am when she was the one that broke off whatever you two had going on years ago.

she was the one who cheated. she was the one that destroyed your heart with a fucking sledgehammer. she was the one that made you feel like a piece of shit everyday. she was the one that would never treat you right. and now she was drunk texting you, begging you to come back?

you snorted, clicking on the notifications. you should’ve done this ages ago. you clicked on ellie’s contact info. you clicked on ‘block this contact’, and then on ‘delete this contact’. and then you turned off your phone, placing it on the bedside table.

and, as soon as you did so, you felt your girlfriend’s strong arm wrap around your waist and you couldn’t help but crack a smile.

you turned around, mesmerized at the sight of a sleeping abby. she just looked so peaceful while asleep.

you kissed her forehead and cuddled up against her warm body, drifting off to sleep as you thought about how lucky you were to have her.

how lucky you were to have someone else.

a/n: kinda short but oh well! 🤷🏽‍♀️

[kathlare]

out of bounds

Lando Norris x Amelie Dayman

Summary: A seemingly harmless habit turns into a gut-punching revelation, sending Lando's mood into a downward spiral.

Wordcount: 0.8 k

Warnings: none

January 7th, 2022 - Dubai, United Arab Emirates

The sun hung high over the desert skyline, beating down on the perfectly manicured grass of the golf course. Lando pulled his cap lower over his face, squinting as Max lined up his shot, Ed standing nearby with his arms crossed.

—Mate, you’re taking fucking ages,— Lando groaned, leaning against his club.

Max huffed, stepping back to glare at him. —Shut the fuck up, Lando, I need to concentrate.—

—Concentrate? It’s not that deep,— Ed added, grinning. —You’re not winning the Masters, mate.—

Max flipped them both off before turning back to his shot. Lando rolled his eyes, already bored. He had enjoyed the first half of their golf session, but now the heat was getting to him, and he wasn’t exactly in the best mood to begin with.

His mind had been restless all day. He’d posted about his relationship with Luisinha a couple of days ago, making it official for the world to see. His comments were flooded with congratulations, heart emojis, and the usual “couple goals” bullshit. He had done it because it felt right, because Luisinha was sweet, patient, and had been nothing but good to him.

Then why the fuck did he feel like something was missing?

Sighing, he slung his club over his shoulder and made his way to the golf cart. He needed a break from Max’s endless bickering, needed to get out of his own head. Slumping into the seat, he pulled his phone out of his pocket, unlocking it without thinking. His thumb hovered over Instagram.

It had become a habit. A pathetic one, but a habit nonetheless.

Even after everything, even after she had made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him, he always checked Amelie’s Instagram. It wasn’t like he followed her anymore—he’d unfollowed her months ago, mostly out of spite—but her profile was still burned into his brain. He had memorized the username, the way she curated her feed, the way she posted just enough to keep people interested but never too much to reveal anything real.

He tapped on the search bar and typed her name.

Nothing.

His stomach dropped.

Lando frowned, tapping again, making sure he hadn’t misspelled it. But no, there was nothing. Her account didn’t show up, not even under related searches.

What the fuck?

He clicked on George’s profile, scrolling through his following list, and there she was. Still there. Still active. Still fucking existing.

Blocked.

Lando felt his grip tighten around his phone as realization set in.

Amelie had blocked him.

—Are you fucking serious?— he muttered under his breath, staring at the screen in disbelief.

A wave of irritation—no, anger—washed over him. She had blocked him. After everything, after all this time, she had actually gone out of her way to make sure he couldn’t see her. Why? What the fuck had he even done?

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his temple twitching as he tapped out of his main account and switched to his photography one. If Amelie thought she could keep him from checking in on her, she clearly didn’t remember who the fuck he was.

He typed her name again.

Still nothing.

—Oh, fuck off.—

She had blocked him there too.

Now he was pissed.

Was this her way of getting back at him? Had she done it because of his post with Luisinha? He hated how his brain immediately tried to justify her actions, to find some reason behind it that made sense. But it didn’t make sense. If anything, he should’ve been the one to cut her off completely—not the other way around.

Fine. If she didn’t want him knowing anything about her, so be it.

Fuck her.

—Lando!— Max’s voice snapped him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see his friend standing a few feet away, his golf club resting against his shoulder. —Why do you look like you want to kill someone?—

—Because I do,— Lando muttered, shoving his phone into his pocket and pushing himself up from the golf cart.

—What happened?— Ed asked, taking a sip from his water bottle.

Lando hesitated. There was no way in hell he was admitting he was angry because Amelie had blocked him. That was pathetic. He needed to let this go.

—Nothing. Just hot as fuck out here,— he lied, grabbing his club. —Can we fucking play now?—

Max and Ed exchanged a glance but didn’t push it.

He clenched his jaw.

She had blocked him.

She didn’t want him in her life.

—Fuck this.—

He grabbed his phone and went straight to his settings.

If she wanted to act like he didn’t exist, he’d do the same.

Block.

[hazellevessque]

@pjo-halloween-trade thing for @reyna4ever

I’m Just Kidding (But Really)

Solangelo Please Please Please AU (Part 1)

Will had to give himself credit. Four whole hours at college, and no one had asked for his autograph yet. Or a photo. Or interrogated him about the current Hollywood rumors that were circulating the Internet.

Then again, he spent most of those four hours in his room. 

His mom had insisted on flying with him from Texas, but she had left thirty minutes ago, kissing his cheek and wishing him “good luck!” before departing for her flight back to Austin. So he was alone, decorating the wall above his desk with concert posters and flopping down on his freshly made bed.

He was excited for college. He really was. But with parents like his, you didn’t always know who to trust. Do you really have any friends if all of them use you for their own gain?

Will sighed, staring at the ceiling. He would do something tonight. Maybe just meet some people who live on his floor and talk to them for a bit. That was a start.

The door opened, pulling Will back to reality. As he sat up to see who it was, another boy his age walked in. Will could barely see his eyes through his messy black hair, and when he brushed it out of his eyes, he caught the flash of silver on his finger. 

“You’re Will, right?” he asked, shifting his bag from one hand to another.

“Uh—yeah. Nico, was it? Do you need help with your bag?”

His roommate, Nico di Angelo, looked exactly like he did on his Instagram—gorgeous. But that wasn’t the reason Will had reached out to him instead of any other Freshman looking for a decent person to room with. Nico also lived ten years in the past. Based on his posts (and the shirt he was wearing right now), the only kind of music he listened to was heavy metal from the 2000s, meaning he knew next to nothing about country music. When Will and DMed him a few weeks ago and asked if he listened to country or pop, he had only confirmed Will’s previous suspicions. That meant that he had no idea who Naomi Solace was. Which meant he had no idea about her producer, Apollo.

Which meant that he had no idea who Will was.

Which meant he was perfect.

“No! No, it’s fine. I’m good.” Nico responded in the present, a look of panic sweeping across his face. “I got it.”

Will shrugged. “Okay,” He looked back at Nico, whose face had swept back into its neutral expression. A small, polite smile, the kind you gave when you were meeting someone new. The kind that made a good first impression.

But Will couldn’t help but notice that when Nico opened his bag, he angled it away from Will, not letting him see the contents. He put the usuals on display: his laptop, posters of heavy metal bands, and a few other things, but there were no photos of his family, or any indication of what his personal life was like. 

Now that Will thought about it, there weren’t any photos of Nico’s family on his Instagram either. 

When Nico deemed himself done unpacking, he shoved his bag in the tiny closet space their room had. Really shoved it. From the way he was pushing, Will guessed there was still something in the bag, something pretty heavy. But Nico refused to take it out.

That should’ve been the first red flag.

—

“Do you wanna do something?” Nico asked, flopping down onto his bed. 

Will looked up from his homework, turning almost 180 degrees so he could face Nico. “Like what?”

“Anything. I mean, it’s been a month and we’re basically each other’s only friend.”

Not true. Will had made two other friends, three if you count Drew Tanaka (which he wasn’t sure if he did; he still didn’t know if she actually liked having him around). But instead he nodded and said, “Alright. What?” 

“I know this place a few blocks away from campus. It’s not a huge thing or anything, but my sister goes there sometimes. She could get us in.”

When Will looked back on the moment, perhaps he should have asked himself more questions. He should’ve asked where this place was, or what it was. He should’ve asked about Nico’s sister. He should’ve asked something.

But he didn’t do that.

”Sure.”

[theoddcatlady]

My Older Brother Paul

I didn’t even know I had an older brother until he showed up outside my school that afternoon.

It was two years ago, after school. I was a sophomore, my little sister Paige was a freshman. The original plan that day was hitching a ride to a friend’s house, where we’d probably team up and knock out our homework as quickly as possible.

That plan changed when we exited the building and someone called my name.

“Parker! Hey, Parker!”

My attention was immediately grabbed and I glanced around for anyone familiar. All I saw was a guy in his late twenties, leaning against a fancy car parked on the street. He smiled and waved me over.

“Parker, over here!”

Double checking to make sure there were no more Parkers in the immediate range, I decided to at least meander over. Paige was practically clinging to my backpack as we walked over, she was a little shy and I was expecting any second for this stranger to look away and find that other mystery Parker.

But he didn’t. He lit up and looked right into my eyes as we walked up to him.

“Wow. Parker. You’re gonna get taller than me, aren’t you?”

I frowned and made sure to take a side step in front of Paige, just to put myself between this stranger and my sister. “Can I help you?” I asked.

He looked a bit sad for a moment, before he sighed and nodded. “Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t remember me. You were only two and Paige here,” He stood on tiptoe to look at Paige, “She was just a lil baby.”

I must’ve looked super confused, because Paul reached for his wallet and pulled out a photograph. “I’m Paul. I’m your brother,” He said, handing me the photo.

It was so jarring. There was my mom and dad, I was standing in front of Dad with a big old smile on my little toddler face, Mom was holding Paige, and there was a boy standing between my parents, about thirteen or fourteen years old, with the same blond hair that both me and Paige had and a grin on his freckled face.

I’d never seen this photo before. But it was real and in my face and impossible to deny. I looked back up at Paul, who was back to smiling. His freckles had faded away with age, his teeth were straighter and whiter, but he still had the same goofy smile. And I could just about tell we had the same shape of our eyes, the same ears that stick out just a bit… the resemblance was uncanny.

Paul reached out and clapped his hand on my shoulder. “We have a lot to talk about. Come on, you like McDonald’s?”

Paige cleared her throat. “We should- we should probably just go home, mom and dad-”

“They’re gonna be at work until what, five? Six?” Paul glanced over my shoulder to look at my, well, our apprehensive little sister. “If they’re still the workaholics I remember, they’ll not be home for hours. We’ll only be a bit. I just wanna catch up. I’ll buy?”

I should’ve known better. So should’ve Paige. But even if we did, we still got into the backseat of Paul’s car, and he drove us to the McDonald’s a few blocks away.

Lunch that day had been pretty garbage, so getting a McDonald’s treat was more than welcome. Paige tried to decline, saying she wasn’t that hungry, but he ordered her an Oreo flurry and like magic her appetite came back.

As we sat in a booth, I stopped inhaling my burger for a moment to confront that elephant in the room.

“Why didn’t mom and dad ever tell us about you?”

Paul was not at all surprised by the question, but he answered with one of his own. “You’re a good kid, aren’t you? Always home on time, straight A’s, chores done without a single complaint?”

“I mean, I have a B in algebra-” I stopped myself before I nodded. “I guess so.”

Paul glanced over at Paige. “You too?” He said. Paige also nodded and Paul sighed, nodding with understanding. “Yeah, that’s about right. Nothing wrong with that, but I was a bit more… high maintenance.”

I pushed my fries away and leaned forward to listen. Paige, despite her apprehension, was looking with just as much interest as I was.

“I guess you can say I had issues? I mean, I was fourteen, but I was already getting myself into heaps of trouble.” Paul drummed his fingers on the table. “My grades were awful, got into fights at school, I’d sneak out at night… I mean, once I got out of there, I figured out I wasn’t like most kids. I couldn’t be parented like most kids. But one day Mom and Dad just… sent me away.”

Paige gasped quietly, her eyes going wide. “They sent you away? Where?” She asked.

“Tennessee, friend of dad lived down there. They took a weekend trip and dropped me off at the door with a suitcase and a note.” Paul shrugged. “I don’t blame them, I mean, I was a holy terror. But man, it does sting a bit that they never even mentioned me to you guys. I’m still family… or at least, I thought I was.”

A wave of sadness and disgust washed over me. Sad that I’d never gotten to know about Paul, disgust that our parents just gave up on him like that. Most fourteen year olds go through phases of being difficult, right? It sounded like he just needed some therapy, some freakin’ support, and our parents just made him someone else’s problem and erased him from our lives.

Paige finally lowered her defenses, reaching across the table and resting her hand on his. “I’m sorry, Paul,” She said.

Paul smiled, reaching across the table to ruffle her hair. “Not your fault. Not yours either, Parker. You were just babies, after all. But hey, I’m here now. Let’s make up for lost time. Don’t waste food, but if you want anything else, let me know. And feel free to ask me literally anything you want. I got nothing to hide.”

I didn’t want anything else, but Paige did get an order of chicken nuggets. We munched and got to know our older brother.

After Paul left the house he was dumped at, he had traveled all over the states. He ‘didn’t want to go home without showing he was worth something’, he said. He’s worked all sorts of jobs, waiter, mechanic, janitor, but it was his most recent job as a manager at a small store that he ran into his girlfriend… well, ‘girlfriend’.

“Do you guys know what a sugar mama is?”

Paige nearly choked as Paul handed us his phone, a picture of himself and a woman that was probably in her early sixties. Sure, she was pretty okay looking for her age, but damn, she was without a doubt older than our mother. “That’s Elaine,” He said, pointing at the woman. “Elaine lost her husband a few years before we met, lung cancer. She just wants some company, specifically, she wants cute company.” He poked himself on the cheek. “And I happen to be adorable.”

I couldn’t stop from laughing as I picked up the phone to get a better look. “Dude, our parents would kill you,” I said.

“Listen, in life, you’re up to your ears in debt until you die, you start off rich, or you marry into the good life. I mean, Elaine and I aren’t married,” He laughed at the thought of that, “But I can do whatever I want and she won’t care, long as I’m home every now and then and ready for some… snuggles,” He gave a pointed look at Paige, who scowled at the innuendo, but I just cracked up.

True to his word, Paul did get us home before our parents, but once we all got out of the car he tossed the keys to me.

“Registration’s in the glove box, she’s paid off and only got a few hundred miles on her. You have your driver’s license, right?”

I was too stunned to do anything but nod.

“Then you’re set. Think of it as the present for all the birthdays I missed. See you soon, guys.” With that, Paul just walked off in the direction of the nearest bus stop.

Course, our parents had quite a few questions when they came home and all of them revolved around the car in our driveway that was easily worth over fifty grand.

I just waited for them to get out all their questions at once before I looked at Paige, who crossed her arms and said what they needed to hear.

“Paul came to visit.”

Their faces were enough to confirm once and for all that Paul was our brother. Mom’s face went white and Dad staggered back, falling into his chair to probably avoid fainting.

Mom took a seat on the couch, taking several deep breaths. “He found us?” She asked.

“Found us?” I repeated, that earlier disgust starting to boil up into rage.

“We moved after…” My mom swallowed, “You’re all right? He didn’t hurt you?”

“Hurt us?!” I snapped. “Are you kidding me? Why- why did you never tell us about him!? He’s our brother!”

My dad cleared his throat. “Half brother, actually,” he stared at our mother, who just looked at her hands, “And you need to tell him to take the car back. When he comes back, give him back the damn car.”

I scoffed. “No way. You can’t afford to get me a car, if you want it gone I’ll just sell it and save the money for college,” I said. “Why didn’t you ever mention Paul?”

Mom’s head was bowed in shame. “Paige, Parker, Paul isn’t- Paul’s not right-”

I didn’t want to hear it. I just stormed out of the room, Paige right behind me. We’d heard all we needed to. Our parents abandoned a kid just because he ‘wasn’t good enough’. And Paul was actually not so bad now… least, we thought so, anyway.

Paul showed up again the next day, at school, not at home. This time he took us to his condo, which was just as nice as you’d expect from a man just giving away luxury cars. We had a Skype call with his ‘girlfriend’, and Elaine really was nice, if not a little eccentric.

“If you’re Paul’s family, you’re mine,” She laughed quietly, “So if you need anything, and I mean anything, just call me. I’ll help you however I can.”

After the call, we ordered pizza and just spent the whole afternoon chilling out, playing video games and just getting to know Paul. He was competitive but never a bad winner, just giving tips about how we could improve. He gifted Paige a brand new laptop, perfect for homework and for playing video games. ‘I’ll get you your own car when you get your license,’ He promised, ruffling her hair and then asking if what movie we wanted to watch.

When Paul dropped us off late that night, he didn’t come into the house, but he did wave at our parents waiting at our front porch. My mom just looked ready to die of embarrassment while my dad… I guess he looked so stern to hide any fear he had. We didn’t talk to them, we just went inside to do our homework.

It went like that for a few weeks. Mom and dad would tell us to stop hanging out with Paul, but since he was always outside school at the end of the day, we just hopped in his car and took off for another fun afternoon. Mini golf, arcades, wherever we wanted to go he’d just plug it into his GPS and we’d spend an afternoon having fun. We even spent a whole Saturday at Six Flags, Paul had us take an overpriced picture and put it in an even more overpriced frame as his souvenir. I got a t-shirt, Paige got a stuffed animal that was almost as big as she was.

Meanwhile, our parents were clearly upset, but we barely talked with them. I had resolved that I hated them both for cutting Paul out of our lives and I was going to do the same to them when I turned eighteen. God, the fact they moved after they left him to be someone else’s problem so he couldn’t find them? It pissed me off. Paige too, her theory was that Dad gave up on him so quick because ‘Paul’s not his kid’. It was so tense at home I wanted to spend even more time with Paul, just to escape all that.

One of the final things we did was go out to a movie. By then we were all best friends, Paul, Paige, and I. We had so many expensive gifts, so many fun memories, we weren’t even a little bit afraid of him. We’d all gotten all the snacks we could carry from the concession stand and settled in to our seats when a handful of popcorn smacked into the back of my head.

I turned around and internally groaned to see some unfortunately familiar faces. Paul glanced over to see the popcorn sticking out of my hair. “What the-” More popcorn flew through the air, followed by some pointed snickering and loud whispering.

“Ignore them,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose, “They’re just some jerks from school.”

Paul’s eyes widened. “You’re getting bullied?” He asked quietly.

“I wouldn’t call it that, especially since Evan is the principal’s son,” I glanced back at the group and glared at the middle one, who only proceeded to laugh and throw more popcorn, “But they mess with me sometimes. It’s fine, they’ll get bored sooner or later.” I’d gotten a thicker skin from this sort of thing, I was already one of the tallest of my class but I was also the quiet guy who didn’t stick up for himself, so I was an easy target.

Paul turned around and I swear it was the first time I saw that carefully placed mask on his face slip. The look in his eyes screamed murder. “Fuck off,” He growled at the group behind us.

Evan mockingly ‘ooh’d’. “Whatcha gonna do about it?” He asked, smirking like he knew he was untouchable.

Paul responded by getting up and starting to walk back the few rows where Evan and his goon squad were sitting. I don’t know what they saw, but I think Evan realized that Paul wasn’t just going to sit and take it like I was. He threw up his hands and repeatedly whispered apologies. Paul stopped at their row and leaned in close to the boys that looked ready to shit themselves.

He whispered something I didn’t hear, and I think Evan did actually piss his pants a little. Paul straightened up, I heard him mutter ‘enjoy the movie’, and then he returned to his seat. Back to being fun big brother Paul, just like that.

At least I wasn’t getting popcorn thrown at my head anymore, so I brushed aside any concerns I had.

That night when Paul dropped us off, he didn’t stick around long. He said he needed to call Elaine, she had left him a voicemail earlier about how much she ‘missed him’, and frankly that’s all I wanted to hear. Ew.

This time, my parents were waiting in the living room, together. They’d been going at it like cats and dogs for a week now, constantly having whispered arguments and I think my mom was sleeping on the couch.

“Your mother has something she wants to say,” Dad said. Mom just stared at her shoes for several painfully long moments before Dad added, “Or I’ll say it, and I won’t be as nice.”

Paige scowled. “What?”

“You need to know the truth about Paul… so please, sit down,” Mom said, her voice barely above a mutter.

I did take a seat across from them, but I probably looked as interested as I did during Algebra. “What?”

Mom looked like a woman defeated. “Like… like your father said, Paul is your half brother, but that’s not the whole story.” She swallowed before she sat up straight and finally told us that whole story.

“I met him at camp. I was a counselor. Your father and I were on a break,” She glared at him, while he just quietly scoffed, “After he’d cheated on me with his tutor at college. So I was bitter. I was alone. I was… empty. But Paul’s father, he was charming? Different, but charming. After camp that year, I realized I was pregnant. Paul’s father, we- we couldn’t be together, so I just went back to your father, and I let him think that Paul was his… until Paul was born, anyway. It was impossible to hide that.”

Dad shuddered. “You gave birth to a monster, Andrea.”

“What the hell is wrong with you!?” Paige blurted out. “Just because he’s not yours-”

“I wasn’t. Being. Metaphorical.” Dad glowered at Mom, who seemed incredibly focused on the wall rather than any of us. “Tell them, Andrea.”

Mom’s eyes welled up. “… Paul… Paul was born a few weeks early, and he came so fast we didn’t even have time to pack up for the hospital. And when he did, he… he wasn’t right. I can’t even describe- it’s something you’d have to see to understand.”

“Paul looks fine to me,” I said.

“Because he wants you to see him like that,” Mom rubbed the back of her neck, “He can do that. Within minutes he looked like every newborn baby boy. I would’ve blamed it all on the pain and hysteria if your dad didn’t see it too. And sometimes, he’d look like… that, again, if it was only me in the room.”

Paige and I probably looked equally confused. “Mom, you’re not making any sense,” She said.

“I know,” Mom nodded before she looked at me. “The scar on your stomach, Parker. Shaped like a triangle. Is it still there?”

I hauled my shirt up to show it off. It had faded over the years, but it was still visible. “From the time I fell?” I said.

“That’s not how you got it.”

Mom shook. For the first time in weeks, I stopped being angry at her and was now genuinely worried. “Paul was- he was mostly like any other child until you two came along. He was a good boy. But he changed. He changed and I was afraid, terrified,to leave him alone with you. The one time I did… oh my god… I can’t, I can’t…” Mom broke down in tears, burying her face in her hands.

Dad finally interjected. “He was acting up beforehand, but your mom was taking a nap in the room over. I came home from work early and I found Paul in your room. You were just laying there, eyes glazed over, and he had his mouth on you.”

I nearly threw up. “What?” I had to have him repeat it.

“I thought he was just being a sicko and ripped him off, but it- Parker, you were bleeding real bad,” Dad shook his head, “You only started crying when his teeth were out of you.

I looked at the scar again. My head was swimming, I couldn’t breathe. “He bit me?” I asked.

“He was trying to eat you.”

When my dad started to shake, it was with pure rage.

“I nearly lost it. He wasn’t even sorry, Parker. He was just mad I interrupted his snack.”

Paige looked so white she looked ready to faint. “That doesn’t look like a bite mark,” She managed to get out.

“He bit him with his real mouth.” My dad managed to get himself back under control after a deep breath. “What you’ve all been seeing, it’s not really Paul. He’s not human, because his father wasn’t. I couldn’t let him be in the house anymore. I began doing research, and I found someone-”

“I thought you shipped him off to a friend,” I interrupted.

“Not exactly.” Dad finally looked a little ashamed. “I found out more about Paul, and what he could be. And I found someone who could handle him, teach him to get his hunger under control. But Paul ran away from there after a few months. We’d already moved, but I didn’t sleep through the night for years because I was afraid he’d be back to finish what he’d started.”

I leaned forward, trying to wrap my head around this. “How is he not human?” I shook my head. “This can’t be real.”

“It is real,” My mom sat back up, wiping away some of her tears, “I never wanted to give Paul up but- he would have killed one or both of you. We didn’t have a choice.”

After the room stopped swimming, I got up.

“I need to be alone.”

I went into my room and laid in bed for hours, just staring at the ceiling. I knew what I had to do, but I had to wait for everyone in the house to be fast asleep. Even Paige. Even if she was a part of this, I had to do this on my own.

My alarm clock read 12:13 when I finally got up. If my parents heard me start the car, they wouldn’t have been out of bed before I was zipping down the road towards Paul’s apartment. I probably broke the speed limit but I didn’t want to wait. If my parents were telling a lie that was that out there, I needed to let Paul know they’d freaking lost their minds.

Paul’s apartment lights were on, and by then I knew where he kept the spare key, so I let myself inside. It was quiet, but I figured he’d just drifted off to sleep on the couch while binging Netflix.

He wasn’t on the couch though. I walked through the apartment, trying to hear him snoring or something.

As I pressed further into the apartment, I didn’t hear snoring.

I heard this wet, squishy sound like someone was wading through knee deep molasses, and it only got louder as I headed for the spare bedroom. He’d used it for storage, he told us, so I never bothered to check it out. The door was cracked just an inch, and despite my better instincts, I pushed it open.

What I saw… god. What I saw. I still can’t believe it, even though it’s been years, I can’t believe it.

I barely recognized the two corpses hanging by their ankles from the ceiling. Both were stripped of their clothes, completely drained of blood and their torsos ripped open, their bodies empty except for some bits of flesh and bones. The third body was still twitching a bit, and still had some color in the face, but it still took a second for me to place him as Evan. I’d never seen Evan so… blank. There was nothing going on behind those empty eyes.

And the thing next to him… I don’t even want to describe it. It was humanoid, but barely so. It had two legs but only one arm, its gut stretched out so far it looked ready to topple over. Its skin was baggy and all mottled blue and green, and its arm was shrunken, curled in towards its body like a claw.

Its head was pressed up against Evan’s gut, teeth set into his skin as it continued to suck blood and whatever else fluids it could get. I saw its sharp tongue stab into his gut and Evan gasped before his eyes rolled back and shut. His body caved in like the monster was draining a capri sun, liquefied guts spilled into the creature’s mouth and some dripping down its chin. It finally pulled off when Evan was hollowed out.

It turned in my direction, his triangular mouth filled with rows and rows of spines that never seemed to end. Its tiny eyes blinked, and so did I… and then there was Paul, standing in front of me, looking entirely normal except for being soaked head to toe in blood.

“Parker?” He said, so softly, sounding so surprised. It jerked me out of my shock.

I slammed the door and ran for it. I barely got to the living room before the back of my shirt was grabbed, sending me flying onto my ass.

“Parker, dammit, wait a second!”

I looked up, expecting to see that thing instead of my brother. But it was Paul, out of breath and looking like a genuine serial killer.

“Christ, you know how hard it is to run just after you’ve had a big meal?”

I thought I was going to die. I wanted to beg for my life, remind him he was my brother, that he didn’t have to hurt me. But I didn’t have to say any of these things.

Paul crouched down next to me, brushing his red stained hand against my cheek. I flinched, something he didn’t miss judging by the hurt in his eyes.

“I wanted to tell you. But then there’s just so much more to explain, and I just… I just didn’t know where to start. I just wanted to say sorry for what I almost did to you as a kid, so I figured, why not give you something? Something to show I didn’t want to hurt you?”

I swallowed, telling my legs to crawl backwards and away from this blood soaked maniac but I couldn’t move. I was frozen. “What are you?” I asked.

“My father’s child. A son of Beleven.” Paul shook his head, tears welling up in the eyes that looked just like mine. “I’m so sorry, Parker. Back then I was so, so hungry, all of the time. And I just couldn’t stop myself, I couldn’t. And those dickwads in there? The world’s better with a few bullies gone from it, and this way, I won’t lash out at someone else. Someone like you and Paige.”

I shook my head. “You killed them…” I glanced to that room, where three classmates were still hanging like meat in a freezer, “You just killed them.”

“I did,” Paul nodded and I think I saw what my father saw so many years ago, that apathy for human life. “I did, and I did it for you.”

I finally ran. I finally got my stupid legs moving and I fled that apartment, and Paul didn’t try to stop me.

When I got home, my parents were waiting for me on the front porch. I hadn’t brought my cellphone, stupid, I know. They thought I’d gotten myself killed.

I just hid in my room. I didn’t tell them that I was sorry. That they were right all along. I didn’t think I needed to.

Since then, my parents have divorced. I stay with Mom most of the time, Paige stays with dad. We don’t see each other except at school or during holidays when we sneak away from our respective guardian. It’s rough, but we get by. I’ve never told her entirely what I saw that night, only that our parents were right all along and that we needed to stay the hell away from Paul. I sold the car, Paige gave away the laptop. One by one, we got rid of his gifts.

Paul’s just… gone. After Evan and two of his friends were reported missing, his apartment was vacated, he left without a word or a goodbye. The bodies were never found. I don’t know if Paul just ate the rest or dumped them somewhere where they can’t be found. I don’t know. The nightmares from that night are neverending though, the images of Evan just hanging there, letting Paul drain the life out of him without a fight flash before my eyes. Needless to say, I’m a bit of an insomniac.

Why has this all come up now?

Well… because I got a welcome letter for a job I never applied for. Alongside the letter is that picture we took at Six Flags, with the words ‘I’m waiting for you’ written on the back. It wasn’t signed, but I have a feeling who applied for me and who’s the one waiting there. So I’ll be accepting the position.

Next summer, it looks like I’m going to be a counselor at Camp Golden Oak.

[she-karev]

Out of Nowhere (Jo Wilson and Amber Karev Sisters Imagine)

Previous Chapter Here

Age Rating: 12+

Chapters: Three of Six

Fandom: Grey’s Anatomy

WARNING: THERE ARE ELEMENTS OF STALKING AND HARRASSMENT IN THIS CHAPTER.

AN: This chapter takes place in season 14 episode 9 when Jo is confronted by her abusive ex-husband. I will take one shot requests.

Summary: Amber figures out her stalker is Jo's abusive ex-husband who has come to the hospital upsetting Jo and Amber who helps.

Words: 2921

I sit in the attending’s lounge talking to a couple of police officers who were called in by Andrew. Chief Bailey gave us the lounge after we explained what happened so we can have privacy. Andrew is standing by my side for which I am grateful for.

“And you didn’t recognize the vehicle in question?” Officer Royce asks, “Nobody in your building drives a black Lexus?”

“No.”

“Look the guy didn’t just follow her after work he followed her back to the hospital and waited outside.” Andrew explains.

“Sir please calm down we’re getting her statement.” Officer Jennings turns to me, “Do you have any idea who it could be? An ex-boyfriend or spouse? Someone you went on a date with recently? He usually lives in the same city.”

“No, my exes all live in Iowa and New York and I just moved here a month ago my circle is really small.” I pull out my phone and show them the message board, “I tried blocking him but he messaged me this time from the hospital in real time. He took those photos from a corner while I was working.”

“Has he approached you physically?” Royce asks, “Has he been violent to you?”

“No he hasn’t but he’s here I mean the evidence is right there on my phone.” I glare at them and continue, “Are you gonna find this guy and make him stop?”

“We’ll trace the phone to the source but odds are it’s a burner phone based on the ID. And even then, he could throw the phone away.” Andrew scoffs at Jennings, “I understand your concerned but we’ll do our best to find out who’s been calling you and bring him in for questioning.”

“We typically advise people in your situation to keep close to someone at all times so he doesn’t approach you when you’re alone. Also, you should keep a record of every incident of harassment.” He pulls out a handheld notebook that I take, “If he calls you, texts you, follows you write it down. It’s a sure way to gain credibility and get a restraining order and possibly jail time.”

“Possibly?” Andrew asks in frustration, “This guy followed her in his car last night, he could’ve run her off the side of the road and make her hit a pole or worse. Would he ‘possibly’ get jail time then?”

“Andrew calm down.” I tell him under my breath and face the cops, “Thanks for the help officers.” I lead them out of the door and close it to face Andrew who fumes, “I let you stay in the room so I could be stopped from pissing off the cops but I think I should’ve done that for you instead.”

“How are you not angry right now?” Andrew asks incredulous, “I mean the cops basically gave the guy a free pass to attack you in the middle of the pit and you don’t see a problem with that?”

“Of course, I see a problem with that but I expected this from the beginning.” I tell him this harsh reality, “A woman being followed is low priority against a murder or a hospital hacking. I appreciate your concern but the harsh truth is that other than a blocked number I haven’t given much for the cops to go on.”

“Well, you’re not just gonna be a sitting duck for this guy.” He says it with conviction, “I’m between places right now but I can get us a hotel room until the police catch this guy.”

“I told Alex and he’s offered to let me stay at his loft for a while.” I inform him and he nods.

“Okay good.”

“Yeah, it’s a loft and I’m sure it’ll be cramped.” I grin and Andrew grins back.

I chuckle lightly as a thought comes to me, “What is it?” Andrew asks.

“Normally my friends seeing me hugging you and kissing you would be my greatest concern but this takes the cake.” I grin at the cruel irony, “Do you think they would buy it if I told them you were giving me body warmth after I contracted pneumonia.”

“I don’t think even Glasses is dumb enough to fall for that.” I snort at his joke, “Qadri knows and you said she was cool with it.”

“There’s a difference she’s not awful Roy and Helm on the other hand are gonna make it their mission to never let me live this down.” I groan as I imagine their sneers, “I need to go back out there the place is falling apart and Bailey gave us the room until after the cops leave.”

“Okay let’s go back to the pit come on I’ll walk you.” I stand up and follow him back to the pit feeling calmer now that I know he’s by my side through this nightmare

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Alex sits in a bench putting his surgical booties on so he can place a shunt in Frankie’s AVM. As he finishes, he sees someone he recognizes sitting on the bench next to him too. He pales as he sees the man next to him is Dr. Paul Stadler. The last time he saw Stadler he tracked him down and contemplated what to do about him and decided to let him go knowing it’s not what Jo would have wanted him to do.

Every cell in his body right now wants to beat him up but he reins it in and keeps his voice calm so as to not raise suspicion, “What are you doing here?”

Paul looks at Alex, “Hi Paul Stadler, Orlando Medical.”

“Yeah, I know who you are.” He says with a slight of anger he’s feeling.

Paul feigns innocence, “I’m sorry have we met before? You know your face looks kind of familiar like someone else’s.” Paul has a slight malice in his eyes that Alex catches and Paul continues to play dumb, “I just got in yesterday, do you have a brother or a sister? Maybe I saw them before.” He emphasizes the sister part making it clear he knows who he is and who Amber is.

Alex connects the dots and realizes Jo’s abusive husband is also Amber’s current stalker, making his blood boil more if that was possible. Just as he’s about to snap Helm runs outside the O.R. calling for him, “Dr. Karev, Dr. Shepherd said Frankie’s angio shows a bleed.”

“Yikes don’t let me keep you.”

Alex ignores Paul and rushes inside the scrub room making Frankie his priority right now. However, his girlfriend and sister’s safety is still on his mind as he faces Helm, “Intern what’s your name?”

“Helm. Like Hellmouth without the outh.”

“Don’t scrub. I need you to find Dr. Wilson and Dr. Karev and bring them here.” Alex tries to keep calm even when his worries skyrocket.

“You want me to call them?”

“No.” Alex says sharply, “I want you to find Jo Wilson and Amber Karev and bring them both here. And don’t leave either of their sides.”

“Why?” Helm asks annoyed.

“Just do it.” His sharp tone makes Helm walk out. Alex faces the sink tensely ignoring Amelia when she asks what’s going on.

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

I stretch my neck releasing the knots that formed while I helped transfer nine patients from the pit to other area hospitals. The AC was shut off by the hackers and as a result I’m wearing a layer of sweat all over my body. The blood bank is locked out as well and until emergency shipments are brought in employees are encouraged to donate blood. I decided to take the initiative as well as Andrew who is next to me filling out the paperwork.

I exhale as I fan myself with the clipboard, “If I die of heat exhaustion, I give you an order to not resuscitate me.” Andrew chuckles, “I’m starting to think that Black Mirror was on to something about technology being the end of good and honest society.”

“I wouldn’t know I’ve never seen it.” I look at him baffled by his lack of pop culture again, “I’m a doctor I don’t have time to relax and binge on Netflix. Sue me.”

“If we make it out of this nightmare alive, I am making it my personal mission to catch you up on all my favorite movies and tv shows.”

“Why do I get the feeling I’m in for a scary and bloody ride?” Andrew asks with a grin.

“You are but don’t worry you can curl up next to me when the scary parts come on.”

“In that case I can’t wait.” I chuckle at his eagerness to be close to me.

“Clear!” I look to my left and see the source is from Casey Parker who put the defibrillator paddles inside the blood bank keypad. He charges the paddles and the keypad short circuits, Casey then opens the door, “We have blood!”

I look at Andrew who is also impressed by Casey, “I guess we don’t need to give blood.”

Andrew puts our clipboards away, “Back to the pit of hell.” I groan and reluctantly walk by him in the direction of the pit. Helm sees us and runs to us with an annoyed face.

I glare at her and speak before she can, “Helm back away I don’t want to hear your opinions on us.”

“Oh, I have a lot trust me.” I roll my eyes, “But I’m not here for that I’m here because your brother sent me to find you and Dr. Wilson and bring you to his O.R.”

“What? Why?” My anger shifts to confusion at Alex’s request.

“I don’t know.” Helm looks confused too, “All I know is that he wants me to find you two and bring you to him he sounded really serious and quite frankly scary. Did word get back to him about your little moment in the elevator?”

“Helm watch it.” Andrew says sharply, “Did you find Dr. Wilson?”

“No I just spotted you and I don’t know where Dr. Wilson is, she was supposed to be working on Frankie.”

“Okay I’ll find her and bring her to Alex’s O.R.” I turn to walk away but Andrew gently grabs my arm.

“Whoa hey are you sure it’s a good idea to walk around here alone?” I see Helm roll her eyes out of the corner of my eyes but I ignore her.

“I’ll be fine I won’t be alone and I haven’t heard from him since the elevator. Besides Alex sounds pissed and as much as I want to see it I would rather Helm not be on the other side of his fury.”

“I heard that.” Helm says.

“You were supposed to.” I focus back on Andrew who still looks worried, “I’m gonna look for Jo in the gallery’s and Helm will take the lounge’s. You should get back to the pit though they’re probably still swamped. I’ve got this and I’ll call you if I need any help.”

“You promise?”

“I promise. Now go.” Andrew nods still looking concerned but leaves me and Helm in the hall, “Did you already look at this floor?”

“Yeah I checked the lounges and the patient rooms but I didn’t find her. I was gonna look at the surgical floor next, I got this you can go.”

“No, I’m coming with you.”

“Look I got this.” Helm snaps and I narrow my eyes at her, “You should go help your boyfriend in the pit god knows where else you helped him here.”

“Hey guys are the blood banks still locked I want to donate.” Qadri approaches us at the worst possible time.

I ignore her as I face Helm with an angry face, “Helm if you have a problem woman up and tell me to my face before I punch yours.”

Dahlia widens her eyes, “Bad timing?”

“I would love to tell you all the problems I have with your privileged ass, but I don’t want to piss off Dr. Karev.” Helm states, “And unlike you I don’t have all the advantages handed to me in a silver platter.”

I get in her face, “You don’t know anything about me Helm. Nothing, so why don’t you try keeping your mouth shut about things you don’t know but of course that would render you a mute. My personal life is my business not yours to judge and insult, Dahlia got that when she found out and she agrees with me.”

Helm faces Dahlia in shock who looks at us in painful awkwardness, “You knew?!”

“Only for a tiny bit and it was an accident.” Dahlia explains.

Helm scoffs and turns back to me, “The only reason she’s cool with it is because you two didn’t work as hard as I did to get here.”

I roll my eyes at her, “God I swear it’s like you’re actively trying to make everyone hate you.”

“Yeah, well not everyone can be born pretty like you or have a famous last name or sleep with a senior resident.” I keep my temper even so I don’t deck her, “Some of us have to work harder than others and it makes us bitter especially towards people like you who had it easy.”

“Keep talking and I’ll make you work harder with a chipped tooth.” Dahlia gets in the middle.

“Guys can we save this cat fight for when the hospital isn’t falling apart? And besides don’t you have work to do?”

“Fine.” Helm says with indifference, “I’m not an invalid I can handle this on my own because you are the last person I want help from.”

“Well your wrong to think I’m helping you I’m helping my brother who would no doubt yell at you for stalling us and wasting time.” Helm closes her mouth at that and walks away from us. I groan at her before walking in the opposite direction. It aggravates me that Helm immediately assumes my life was easy and I had my success bought by my family.

If she knew even half the things, I went through growing up she would feel like the biggest idiot in the world. I almost want to tell her and make her eat her words but doing that would make me a pariah among the interns. I won’t give her that satisfaction, I’ll just have to beat her in an O.R.

I check the gallery above O.R. 3 and I find Jo sitting there alone observing the surgery, “Hey.” Jo looks at me with a startled expression, “I was looking for-”

Jo shushes me, “Be quiet.” I stop talking and I look to see that Jo isn’t just startled, she’s terrified. She looks at the surgery below with a frightened face that until now I’ve never seen on her. I close the door quietly behind me and take a seat next to her.

“What’s wrong?” I whisper to her to make her feel safe but it doesn’t work because she’s still looking at the surgery in frozen silence. More specifically she’s looking at the guy across from Dr. Grey as they operate on a woman. I recognize the man as Dr. Paul Stadler, I’ve researched him enough and used many of his cases for my classes to know who he is and what he looks like. I look to Jo and she’s still looking at him like he’s gonna jump up the gallery and kill her, “Jo what is it? Do you know him?”

“So Jo Wilson.” Dr. Stadler’s voice calls to me and I look down at the O.R. with her but with curiosity instead of fear, “Has she said some things about me?” Dr. Grey isn’t answering him and I begin to suspect she’s ignoring him, “I can only imagine. Was she drunk when she told you?”

“Suction and laps please.” Grey told the nurse and Stadler continues to reveal more information on what’s happening here.

“I think what Brooke craved from me was stability. I mean the way she was raised. Her mother abandoned her. She lived in her car in high school and I thought I could help her, save her. And for a few years I mean she was great.” I understand now what’s happening and why Alex wanted to find us. But I’m too stunned to ask Jo as we both listen to Paul’s side of the story intently, “But it didn’t last because she’s not stable, and she wasn’t able to hear that, ever. She would get…just awful if you tried to mention that she needed help. I wish…but she vanished with a lot of my money. Hey I mean if she’s got it figured out, then that’s all that matters. If she’s happy I’m happy too.”

I know that his words are just for show. I know this because I’ve grown up with abusive assholes like him whether it’s foster fathers or brothers and I know a guy hiding behind a peaceful persona when I see one. It takes a while for me to find the words and ask Jo what I already know.

“He’s your husband, isn’t he? The one you’re hiding from.”

Jo’s breathing goes shallow but she swallows and answers, “Yes.” I don’t say anything else I just hold her hand so she knows she’s not alone with him right now and she grips my hand for dear life as if she needs to be reminded of that too. I let her hold on to me as we observe her abusive ex husband operate below us.

Next Chapter Here

[sidewayspeace444]

Team Real will genuinely never make sense to me.

In the broader scheme of things, they technically “won” bragging rights because according to publications and the words coming from Chris’s own mouth (he didn’t mention the skank directly but 🖐🏾😒🤚🏾) CE & AB are “married”. So why do these grown adults worry so much about if other grown adults have different opinions than them? Are they scared that any day now something’s going to pop up and expose this whole situation for being fake? Are they scared they won’t have traction if they don’t continue being the opposing “side” and cause strife and chaos here between blogs? Are they scared that they’ll have to come to terms with being used as pawns in a game that should’ve never been invented in the first place and they’ll have to face the reality of how terrible they looked and acted?

If you’re so secure in your position that a celebrity relationship is so real despite you not even being 1/2 of it, then stick to your shit and move on with your life. You got what you wanted. Why are you still wallowing and crying about other blogs? I understand that some blog’s have anons who go to other blogs and cause drama in hearsay, but practice what you preach and block the opinions and asks that you don’t like. It’s as simple as that. No one deserves death threats and harassment over their own perspective, but if you don’t like something being said remove the problem. Especially if it’s your blog. Curate your experience for yourself and surround yourself with people who share the same ideas you. I mean their favorite Nazi Pornstar surrounds herself with racists and antisemites so obviously she curates her experiences to what she wants around her since she hasn’t kicked their asses to the curb. Take a lesson from your new fav. You know the same one whose ass you were just dragging this time a year ago.

Their first excuse anytime someone disagrees to their opinions is, he won’t fuck you. Sure, he won’t. Since he doesn’t know us. And I wouldn’t wanna fuck him either after how he’s been acting the past two years. But he won’t fuck you either just cause you’re now kissing his aging Casper ass and she probably wouldn’t piss on you if you were on fire just cause you’re choosing to now support her dirty ass too.

I will just never understand how women in their late 20s to apparently Chris’s age (and this is not me just bringing up age to bring it up, this is me pointing out the antics of overgrown ass women and adults) forgot that everyone is different, and not everyone is going to think like you do. I think they’re just bothered because a lot of anons or peeps they used to interact with are in a state of whiplash by how quick they flip flopped like fish (😏) with going from dragging to now just absolutely adoring Dumbass and Megamind over here so they’re getting called out for being fake. Which in a sense is what they deserve. You can’t sit here and be in outrage over her racism associations and co, but then within the same year start loving her and forgetting all of the shit she did and then forget your own actions in the process like it never happened and then have the audacity to get pissy when people are calling you out for it. It don’t work both ways. You chose your lane and stay in it. Don’t be mad because your lane looks to be going into oncoming traffic.

No let’s bring up age. These women are apparently in their late 20s to early/late 40s and act this way? Sweetie pies…. Did you have a mental stunt growth? Truly unbelievable how they dedicate their lives to “Team PR”

I didn’t agree with the team deal before, but why does it matter what people think? If a man treats you the way CE has treated Alba then get out of that relationship. There’s no love.

[armando-triplepapito]

Okay story time!

Before I got obsessed with ysblf, I was obsessed with BTS. So obviously I was in the BTS army/fandom. I was active in Twitter so I had quite a following (over 4,000 followers! Sorry I had to brag🤭). Random people would message me and you know me, I wanted to make friends so I would reply back and made some nice conversation. Now tell me why a 10 year old girl started messaging me!!! The worst part is that I didn’t even know she was 10 until multiple messages later!! When I found out her age I was flabbergasted! Like why is a 10 year old messaging strangers!! Kids these days are so bold!! This was 3 yrs ago so she’s probably only 13 now ugh I can’t believe it! I always think about that girl till this day😭 I should’ve known honestly, cause the way she “typed” was off like you could tell she was way too young😭 that got me wondering tho! How old we’re you guys when y’all decided to message strangers online? I was 20yrs old when I started to do so and that’s for my BTS Twitter account. I’ve always read fanfics, I think I started when I was 13 yrs old but even then I never commented on a fic ever until this year, just a few days ago actually. And that’s only cause the fic I commented on belongs to a mutual here! I’ve always been too shy to talk with strangers 😔

In my Twitter bio I always had my date of birth (Ik I shouldn’t) so everyone could know my exact age plus I wanted to attract people my age yk, but no! I always got kids I’m my dms! (That 10 yr old knew I was 20 yet she still decided to dm me💀) I even made good friends with these two girls, in my head they became my besties! But dude!! One was 13 and the other 15!😭😭😭 tbh I miss them🥲 but turns out the 13yr old blocked me! How dare she! Like why? What did I do? We had deep conversations and everything! Maybe I offended her 😞 I also had deep conversations with this 14yr old Brazilian (well her bio at the moment says she’s 17 so I’m assuming she was 14 when we talked). I feel so bad cause I never saw/opened her message. Her last message was her talking about how ashamed she is to talk to people in English since she’s not fluent. Like girl noooo don’t apologize!! I should be the one ashamed! And I am!! My poor baby! If only I replied to make her feel better! But in my defense by that time I was already homeless so I couldn’t log back in and when a year has passed and I finally found a place I watched ysblf and got obsessed so I never went back to Twitter. I actually logged in just a few days ago and that’s when all the memories started🥲. Army Twitter 2020 was the best!

Anyways yea Ik this is random and all but yea I just wanted to share a bit and go on a bit of a rant. Tbh I was never not shocked when I found out the ages of my mutuals on Twitter, they were hella young! Tho I sometimes do get shocked when I find about y’all (tumblr moots) ages too cause I’ve noticed some of y’all are over 30😳 which idk why that surprise me cause y’all are so smart I love it🥰

Its crazy how I was an army for 3-4 yrs and I’ve been a ysblf fan for a little over a year now. Makes me wonder what I’ll be obsessed with next tho I don’t wanna jinx it cause I wanna stay in this fandom as long as I can! I love y’all 🥹❤️

[celinedionswang]

novellette in progress pt 1

Prologue

The Night on Bay Street

It was 3 AM in the slums of New York City.

No woman should’ve been walking on the streets at this time, especially alone – but nevertheless, Mandy walked, mascara-streaked tears running down her face as her fake, cheap nails tapped frantically at the screen of her phone. Her client was somewhere behind her, abandoned on the third floor of the hotel with a knife stuck in his neck. When police arrived at the scene, they would find an empty gun, and a pack of unloaded bullets in the mobster’s pocket. But Mandy didn’t have time to think about all of that – she needed a way out, and she needed one fast. Her pimp wasn’t going to be happy, that’s for sure, but he didn’t need to know it went south until they were far, far away from the crime scene. She could take a beating. She knew she could. She could take anything, but the police? She shuddered at the thought, remembering how she’d gotten into this sick, fucked up prostitute chain in the first place. One accident. One call. And her life was ruined forever.

Again, didn’t have time to think about that. Walk faster, but not too fast, anyone will see you and think you’re running. Straighten shoulders, adjust clothing, make it look like you’ve just finished a job. Maybe some scumbag will pick you up for a good time. If he doesn’t get here, that’ll be our only way out of this. No sirens yet, so she allowed herself to breathe, her chest showing off an unhealthy piano of ribs as it moved up, and down, slowly. She was halfway into her purse looking for some powder when a commotion a few blocks down grabbed her attention. She frowned. Had she really already walked all the way to Main Street? As she tiptoed over (as quickly as she could in her sock-feet, stilettos long ago abandoned), she realized with dismay that she had arrived at Main Street, one dark alley away.

The crowd that had been screaming was just a bunch of girls, no older than college age. From their blushing, freckled skin to their carefree attitude, it was clear they were just towngirls in the city for a night of fun. They were staring at the billboards high above them, the bright, colorful flashing drawing Mandy’s curiosity until she stepped into the light as well, craning her neck to get a good view of the video screening. The man wore a suit, stark in contrast against the all-black background. He didn’t look happy (she could tell that much) as he began to speak. “INHABITANTS OF NEW YORK CITY,” his voice boomed, loud enough to wake even the dead, “WE ARE IN THE NINTH STAGE OF ENVIRONMENTAL EXTINCTION. IF YOU CARE AT ALL ABOUT YOUR PLANET, YOU WILL LISTEN TO WHAT I HAVE TO SAY. AS YOU NOW KNOW, WE ARE IN THE NINTH STAGE OF ENVIRONMENTAL EXTINCTION. THE TENTH COMES SOONER THAN YOU THINK. THERE IS ONLY ONE THING THAT CAN PREVENT THIS FROM HAPPENING. THROUGH A RECENT SCIENTIFIC BREAKTHROUGH, WE HAVE FOUND THAT BLOOD IS NOT ONLY A SUPERSTARTER IN THE PROCESS OF BIODEGRADATION, BUT AN AMAZING SOURCE OF PROTEIN FOR ALL FORMS OF LIVING LIFE, AS WELL AS BEING A FANTASTIC FERTILIZER.” The man paused, seemingly for dramatic effect. “LADIES AND GENTLEMEN –  WHAT YOU ARE THINKING IS RIGHT. HUMAN SACRIFICE IS THE ONLY SOLUTION TO SAVING THIS PLANET.”

With that, the screen turned completely black, only to restart the same video after a couple seconds. Mandy watched it a few more times, confused. Was this real? Her vision began to burn at the edges as she finally tore her eyes away, looking around to see others doing the same. “Look!” Someone cried, pointing to a building further down on the street. “They’re all broadcasting it!” With horror, Mandy realized they were right – every screen in her sight played the same video, over and over without end, the man in the blue suit never growing tired, his speech never growing weak. Was this some crazy terrorist stunt? Or communist propaganda? Everything she’d been worrying about ten minutes ago seemed so small and trifle now. What was there to worry about guns or officers when some psychopath was telling everyone to kill themselves? Shakily, she took out a cigarette, unsure of what else to do. Everything is fine. This is just some foreign bullshit video that the government’ll all have explained by tomorrow. She started her lighter, about to burn when a man cleared his throat behind her. She turned around, relieved to see it wasn’t anyone she recognized. “Weird shit, huh?” He joked, eyes to the ground. “Yea,” she replied flatly, annoyed. She drew the cigarette to her lips and lit it quickly, slumping against the wall as she took a deep, much needed inhale. The smoke clouded her vision and she hoped when it cleared the man would be gone. He wasn’t. “What’s your name?” He asked. And it would’ve sounded genuinely curious if not for the nervous fidgeting, the hands in his pockets. All of this Mandy noticed. “Laura,” she lied, still staring straight ahead. That man stepped closer. “That’s a nice-” “I charge one-fifty an hour,” she interrupted him, finally turning her head. “More if you want perks.” She shook her pocket, highlighting the obvious sound of pills. The man swallowed. “And where – ?” With a sigh, she got up, stubbing her cigarette out on the brick wall. She nodded at the man. “Follow me.” Her ears had grown accustomed to the sound of the video now, now longer deafening as she walked the man down the same street she’d come from. Little bits interrupted their peace. “...NINTH STAGE…ONLY ONE…AMAZING SOURCE OF…” “Do you think it's real?” The man piped up, taking a few long strides to walk directly next to her. It took her a few seconds to respond. “Dunno,” she finally replied, taking a sharp turn. “Would it really matter anyways?” 

After this, the man was quiet. Mandy rode him well into the morning and left the hotel puffing yet another cigarette from her tired lips.

[apieceofconsciousness]

I made a stupid fucking caption about friends here that I never ended up liking because I couldn't word it properly so I wrote this

All of my memories are through photos and videos of these friends and maybe I’ll remember them fully someday. I sit on my bed eating a cheesecake and it is 1:16. I think about how I was 14. I am 17 now, i’ll be 18 in a few months. I try to imagine how my mind and thinking has changed in only half a year and it still escapes me. I’m grateful for it but i’m scared of acknowledging how different it was from my first year at high school.

i worry my brain will break doing all of this. But i take it in stride, and i’m not stupid. My brain is changing because i am growing, because of the summer, and because of me. I think differently and it’s something i grieve.

I can see the people around me getting addicted. Trying new things and not letting go, going for more, looking at more in the future. I realize my hypocrisy, but i know i’ve developed a discipline, kind of. i just hope they’re all ok.

some people i haven’t seen in a while and i miss them and i worry they hate me because i was busy for the last month and now i’m fucking things up and overthinking daily and fuck therapy better work when it starts because therapy in my own head is brutal and confusing and complicated and tiring and i’m tired. I’m so fucking tired. I can’t hold myself up and the season is changing. I don’t know what to do. I’ll be fine in the end like i have been before but not knowing how makes everything such an ache, a burden on top of being a burden.

I was more hopeful about the future 2 months ago. and it approaches and my crystal clear plan blurs into nothing more than an afterthought and every time i’m reminded of it i panic and i panic and for fuck’s sake i wish i could ask for help better. i wish i had learned to speak up for it.

I have school in 7 hours and i am 17. the semester just changed and i am in grade 12, my life isn’t over after high school, contrary to what i believed in elementary. I wish peace for myself and i work towards peace with my mental wounds but i can’t seem to fully get there yet, sometimes i question if this good day will last forever and then i sit down, and think.

i wish i was better for my partner, she doesn’t need my overthinking with her exhilarating and fast brain, but i know that she’s locked in at this point and we’ll figure it out.

maybe someday i’ll remember the face in the mirror fully, until then i look at them as if i’m encountering an old friend and look away just the same, because i know things have changed. my face is different, i was 7 and i couldn’t look out my bathroom window, i was 13 and i could, i am 17, and my house is changed. i don’t have a bathroom window and my walls are grey. the vent is falling out of the ceiling and i’m too forgetful to just screw it back in. my curtains don’t have designs that the child me would find faces out of, and my sink is more reflective of me, and not who i wish i would become.

i am 17. and i will be 18. and then i will mourn this age like i’ve mourn the last, and hopefully i will find peace, though i’m afraid i’ve found peace in this grievance. i love life but i hate mine, and my reasons for it getting foggy every day. i must learn to forgive myself, and i hope that will come. i need to let go, and i thought that had to come from blocking some accounts on social media, but i think i’m at peace with that, as i’ve written what i hope stands as a true summary of my feelings for a long time. i love my life, but i hate myself, i love the ability to observe people and culture and places and thoughts and expressions and beauty in so many forms, but i hate myself because i can’t do math or sit still in a chair or not focus with headphones.

maybe i’m a wreck, maybe that is what the later years of growing up is. I was scared that growing up would be boring, or that it would be great and go too quick, but i didn’t know i should’ve been scared that it would’ve been painful.

i hope the peace i long for finds me, and i hope the friends i can co-exist with stay close with me. i wish i was better at expressing the love i have and i hate that the people closest to me are the hardest ones to show my gratitude to, it’s my fault for my racing mind.

I have school in 6 hours, and i remember how my schedule was so different a year ago, how i thought i ruled a different part of the city, and where i bussed everywhere. i’m happy for my partner’s car, and she knows it, just as much as she knows i miss my board. i’m alive because of her. i really would’ve done it. this winter was going to be shit. or maybe i wouldn’t have, i pull back on everything last minute.

i understand why my friends love flowers and their friends and cats and oranges and unheard of niche games and the colour green, but a green somewhere in the spectrum of olive and forest green, closer to forest, and skateboarding and live concerts and music and books and poetry and god i hate that my mind was only aware and not obsessed with these things, these building blocks of my psyche and push me through every single day, i hope to whatever god that someday i’ll be able to express myself in the way only i ever want to and that i’m financially good enough for me and my mom since she puts up with my stupid ass and that my girlfriend stays there with me the whole time and that i get my creative outlets into the world and i hope that one day i wake up satisfied with my achievements, and that i continue afterwards.

i must learn to love myself, but until then i will love my friends the way i wish i could turn it inwards, and maybe it’ll help someone, and that’ll be worth it. i feel most like myself when i’m not doing good, and that’s ok, i’ve started to feel an odd comfort in feeling like myself even if the circumstances aren’t ideal.

i am older now, wiser, i have much more wisdom to gain, and i am appreciative of the good people in my life, i believe learning this early is important and i’m proud i work on it.

i am 17, and the promise of tomorrow calls me to rest tonight.

[gxrefxtish]

Story time has arrived.

I’m sorry this actually got super deep when that wasn’t my intention to trauma dump.

There was actually two different incidents, I’ll start with main one I asked about and then the last one.

TW: implied SA, neglect??, possibly childhood trauma I’m still figuring that one out myself haha, delusions, overall mental issues, suicide too.

I’m pretty sure I was like this because of unresolved issues I had after stuff that happened to me when I was younger. (I had no friends, bullied, and was assaulted by my best friend and later another friend.)

I was probably like this for 4 years before I completely forgot about it, so it started when I was about 6 and ended when I was about 10. (The same age when I moved)

I was a huge Fnaf fan and still am, my favorite character has always been The Mangle, I related to her and felt a connection with her.

It started off innocent enough, just enjoying drawing her, watching mangle videos, etc. over time this evolved into excessive daydreaming. (which was and still is a problem even before this.) My life slowly began to revolve around Mangle and being her, and I wholeheartedly believed I was her, and I didn’t belong in this world.

I would draw her constantly and talk about how I was her constantly.

My mom realized this and tried to ask me if I realized this was just my imagination, this made me upset but I acted like I knew what she meant.

The next story might be a bit messy considering I don’t remember much, (again, unresolved problems causing memory blocks) but it’s a bit more weird, but similar.

I was about 8 when this delusion started forming but it was short lived.

I believed I was a demon wolf who didn’t belong in this world. (Gacha life ass plot tbh.) this was another coping mechanism for my problems, I still have the art of my “true self” (8 year old me persona) and if I can find it I’ll include it.

This was also about the time I met one of my assaulters and he became part of my character stuff (he said he was a dragon I’m not even kidding and I believed his ass)

I still am delusional but I’m aware that it’s just delusions, I know that sounds weird but basically I’m really into psychology, delusions being one of them, and this helped me realize pretty quickly that I had a problem.

My main delusions consist of believing I can talk and Interact with fictional characters.

The peak of this delusion made me believe if I killed myself i could live in a fictional world better than my own.

I honestly feel terrible for young me because there was a reason for this.

I was going through stuff a young girl should’ve never gone through, I didn’t have a support system and found it in fictional places and characters, I still do but now I have some sense of support in my friends, but that young girl did not, she was left to be alone, left to realize there was something about her no one liked. I didn’t have the support and comfort I should’ve gotten while I was younger so I found comfort from a fake world that I enjoyed, making it take over my life.

Art from when I was 9

entry at beginning of the book: “Day 1 hello I’m (deadname) I’m 9 it’s summer I just got school (I think I meant “out of school”) not that long ago im at home upset that my sister sis isint hear I realy miss her alot and im very sad But I’m also happy Because shes guna come as soon as posible But Ima go Byee.”

I included all my misspellings, and lack of grammar to show just how young I was and how I was still just a kid.

The notebook above was during my mangle delusion and is full of just Mangle and a few other Fnaf characters, especially Mangle and Springtrap, but mainly Mangle.

I wasn’t expecting to get this deep and that it would be a funny story but honestly it’s just sad tbh. I feel it’s good to talk about to get off my chest, I’ve never told anyone about this, only talking about my mangle delusions as if it’s a joke, but never in a serious fashion.

[privateanxieties]

The Things We Never Talk About

Synopsis: A health scare reveals to Peter the things she never talks about, and worse, the things she keeps hidden for fear of speaking them into being.

Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (she/her pronouns); established relationship, angst, worry, fluff; Basically, if you’d like to suffer and then recover in 9k words, read this.

Warnings/Spoilers: health related concerns (spoiler warning: reproductive health is included), troubled family history, horrible mothers, mental illness, tragedies, mentions of other elements related to these issues. This is quite emotionally demanding, but ends on a positive note. Also, please note that the medical info in this is intentionally manipulated for the story’s convenience. For example, you cannot diagnose certain illnesses with a blood test, but one is used here. There aren’t any bogus claims or anything like that, but medical accuracy is sweked.

Words: 9.3K

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

A half hour has passed since she received the call from Dr. Connely, and the same half hour has been spent staring at the wall farthest away from her work desk. No one has called her out for it yet, but then again, the office is mostly empty today. Few people choose to come in when the weather resembles the end times, but she happens to like torrential rain. It's especially nice when you work on the first floor, rather than the 14th, but somehow not even the thundering of rain drops can distract her mind.

She doesn't know what this means, for now or for the future.

She does, however, wish she hadn't gone for that check-up. Yes, she would've been postponing the inevitable and embroiling both her and her partner in something entirely nebulous, but she just wishes she had more time.

Peter.

What kind of world is this, where at once you're the happiest you've ever been, and then a six minute phone call severs the branch from under your feet?

Maybe she should've suspected something, or at least been more cautious, given the state of things. Family history being what it is for her, the likelihood of this outcome was sadly not that low.

And now it proves devastating.

Going home weighs heavy on both heart and mind, and ten blocks away the pitter-patter on the umbrella has become too much, so she puts it away. Not even two blocks later, she's soaked to the bone but successfully distracted, at least temporarily. She knows Peter's arrival isn't that far away, and in a moment of fear, she considers not going inside and just meandering about in the storm.

Only, it's freezing already and she doesn't want to tack a cold on to ovarian cancer.

She drips water all through the lobby and leaves a small puddle in the elevator, but when she reaches the door, her heart drops once more.

She can hear him, on the phone, in the apartment.

Their apartment.

They moved in together almost three years ago, and she remembers what he said at the time: our first home. She knew then that Peter was thinking of their future, and that he was serious. He wasn't just moving in with his college girlfriend, though they were both far beyond undergraduate studies. She knew plenty of people their age who were still living life to the extreme and not planning on settling down any time soon, but she never felt any need to explore that avenue. It was only one of many, and she'd already found her little corner of the world.

Now, something is chipping away at it piece by piece. She's almost in a trance, dripping water at the front door, but it's broken by the key turning in the lock.

A smiling Peter appears a couple of seconds later, though his eyes do widen comically when he sees the state of her.

"Hey! Did you get doused by a bus or something? You're soaking wet!", he says, pulling her inside and helping her out of her coat. She manages to gather her bearings in time, the sight of his face and the sound of his voice enough to shock her into some state of functioning.

"My uh - my umbrella broke, so I had to do without.", she responds, the lie already tasting bitter on her tongue. When was the last time she lied to him? She can't remember.

"Aw, baby. You should've called me, I would've brought you one. God, you're freezing! Let's get you out of these clothes."

He sounds chipper than usual, and she almost doesn't want to know, but she knows it's something. She knows Peter's voice and its various inflections like the back of her hand. She knows when he's happy, and she knows what excitement looks like on him. It's one of these two, quite possibly both. What a thing.

She doesn't want to let it dampen her mood even further, but it's like her mind has switched gears completely. Everything is starting to become a sign, or some kind of joke by fate. How could something happen to make him happy when simultaneously she is falling into despair? Who's making the rules around here?

She realizes she hasn't said anything back when he pauses, hands on her shoulders and expression questioning.

"What's going on? What happened?"

No. No. She isn't doing this, at least not right now. She isn't, so she reverts to a habit she hates admitting wasn't that foreign to her just a few years ago.

She makes up a lie on the spot. She did it earlier, and it was like a crack in the dam relieved some of the pressure.

"They denied my candidacy."

Fuck, how is she even going to explain this later? How did she even stoop so low as to lie about something that monumental, especially when both of them were on the verge of celebration? Especially when she knew Peter got approved for his just yesterday and was over the moon, yet wanted to wait for her news before any kind of revelry?

"What? No - no, how did? Baby, your work is brilliant. I know, I looked at it, I - Dr. Bernoff said it was one of the best he's ever seen. There's no way, there has to be some kind of mistake -"

"Well it isn't.", she snaps, and a gasp follows suit.

She couldn't help it. The mention of a doctor, even if Bernoff isn't that kind of doctor, was enough to trigger the worst in her. At the same time, it might as well be true, what she said. Doctoral candidacy approved or not, she was never going to see it through to the end now.

"I'm - I'm sorry. Pete, I'm so…"

She doesn't get to finish whatever apology she intended, because sobs just manifest from her lips as easily as those lies. Just as easily, she's enveloped in strong arms she thinks of as home more than any actual place, and the evening turns into Peter doing the absolute most to comfort her.

He goes as far as promising to look into some kind of recourse, any sort of legal avenue there might be to get a re-evaluation or see if there was a mistake involved.

All the while, the letter approving her candidacy burns a hole through the inside pocket of the rain-soaked jacket, and shame burns a hole through her.

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

A week goes by.

A week filled with terrible impulses and memories surfacing, muddling the atmosphere in their home, which she hasn't left for the past two days. It was the weekend, but they usually do something on the weekend. Peter takes it a little bit easier as Spider-Man, and they have more time to just be with each other.

This time, she infected the entire apartment with so much acrimony that Peter spent both Saturday and Sunday either out with his friends or suiting up. To be fair to him, he did try his best, but it was no match for her worst.

All week, all she did was pull away, both emotionally and physically, and the latter probably hurt him more than the former. Peter is loving in every way one might desire, but his foremost act of affection is touch. Reassurance, comfort, safety, or just plain confirmed presence - he conveys all of them through gestures unique to him.

Any other time, she'd be melting at the sight of him just being himself, but the conversion from normalcy to volatility took very little push. Maybe this isn't how people normally react when getting this type of life-altering news. Maybe the first thing they feel isn't scalding guilt. Maybe, they allow themselves to process the information alongside loved ones, instead of causing them stress by hiding things from them and acting like the world is ending for what appears to be no well-founded reason.

To think, a week ago, she thought she'd have good news. Great news, in fact. She thought maybe that nausea meant something else. She thought the ring on her finger might get another one placed next to it some time next year.

All these plans people have, and they're unaware they could crumble in a second - or, in her case, six minutes or less.

Today marks the one week anniversary of that call, so she's trying to focus on everything else, sometimes all at once. Having requested to work from home for the next few days, citing the flu, she's free to keep occupied even when she should be taking reasonable breaks. It's not like her job is labor intensive - it's her eyes that hurt more than anything else at the end of the day.

It isn't the case right now. She isn't sure where these sensations keep coming from, but all day has been nothing but discomfort. The worst of it is concentrated in her lower back, and she knows from experience that pain from her navel radiates all around her abdomen. The nausea has come back, tacked on to general exhaustion for extra misery points. She knows the doctor told her to come in as soon as any symptoms like this start manifesting, but she isn't ready for that. She doesn't know if she will be for a while.

He also said she should come in anyway, just to discuss the road ahead, but she isn't sure about that either. She can't do it until she's talked to Peter, but she can't talk to Peter today. After what she's put him through all week, she needs to dial it back a little and not drop this on him at a horrible time.

She supposes no time is particularly good for telling your fiancé that eventually, he'll have to find someone else to marry.

No one has made it. No one.

Her grandmother, dead at 64. Her mother, dead at 57. Both her aunts, with hospitals as second homes for years. Both gone.

Gone screaming and blaming.

Her mother wasn't even all there at the end, the dementia having eaten away at the parts of her that sometimes professed love for her family. There wasn't much to devour, but it did all the same. She doesn't really remember her grandmother, or granny, as she was forced to call her. Although she doesn't remember, she has an imagination and her mother's words. There wasn't much to lose, but it too was lost, to a stroke.

Auntie Marcia didn't come to the funeral, but she did show up to the will reading. Most of her inheritance was spent in Austria and Switzerland, searching for a cure for MS, when a very willing doctor took her money in exchange for experimental surgery. She ended up living less than she would have, and with a worse quality of life.

Auntie Crystal took her life at 49, the youngest of them all.

Or she was.

Despite every female figure in her life having been laid to rest, their legacy seems to have been passed forward. They all had horrible fates to deal with, but they enthusiastically imparted every bit of those on their husbands and children.

She is not doing that to Peter. She'd sooner stage a murder or melt into the sun.

But she doesn't know how to talk to him either when pain seems inevitable, so she wonders why it had to be this way. Why can't her body just… not do this to her, so she doesn't have to do this to him?

Why is shielding the man she loves from the thing she fears most not a possibility? How is she supposed to put him through what others very happily put her through?

There's no handling this with care. She knows what he'll say, or she thinks she knows. She knows what he'll want her to do, and she would do it for him at a moment's notice, but is that… is that…

Marriage was supposed to be their life. A family was supposed to be their life. Just a little corner of their own, because they happen to be pretty good at filling whichever empty space with love.

The thought tears open a raw wound, and a shocked breath leaves her. She's managed to think herself into a startled wail that has given way to painful clarity.

Still, she has enough mental fortitude left to quell the sobs and get up to wash her face. It's close to when Peter should get home, and she isn't putting more tension between them. She feels too weak for a peace offering like dinner, even if she could find something to keep down, but she can at least pull herself together.

God, twenty-nine. She won't even see forty.

She won't see Peter at forty, much as she teased him about that single silver hair on the top of his head some time ago. Even if she somehow lives, despite everything in her history that says she won't, what she isn't doing is putting him through this.

She knows what it is to live surrounded by fatal diseases. It's rarely the one thing - rather, the comorbidity rips an individual apart. You become your own worst nightmare.

She can't. He's too precious. She'd give everything to protect him from that.

Rinsing her face once more, she knows the water hasn't done enough to clear the puffiness or the redness of her eyes. He'd see through her in an instant - might even smell her tears, weird as that is. He's had moments like that before, where he sensed her distress despite hours having passed.

She doesn't want to think of what it must've been like for the past week. She's done a pretty good job of not breaking down while at home, but once he left for nightly rounds, tears couldn't not escape.

He might ask, and he might not, but most likely he will, so she might as well try to look a little more alive. Shutting the door to the bathroom, she makes her way into their bedroom, opening the first drawer of the vanity for her makeup bag.

She doesn't sit down in front of the vanity, because she doesn't want another trip to the bathroom or another splash of frigid water to her face.

She manages some improvements like concealer and blush, but it feels like painting over a cracked wall. The makeup feels cakey and unnatural, and in a small fit of anger, she wipes it off, returning her face to what it was before: crestfallen and just slightly dented. It feels like that anyway: like a permanent locking of her facial muscles into the right position for ruining any night.

Putting away the makeup, she's startled by her ringing phone in the living room, and quickly makes her way over, eager for a distraction but hoping it isn't Peter.

She makes it only two steps in before a bout of intense dizziness swirls her world to darkness.

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

Peter drags his feet on getting home, and he realizes with a heavy heart that it's the first time in a long, long time that this has happened. He can't remember ever being anything less than excited to see the love of his life at the end of a day, and if he ever was, then he longed for her touch and quiet comfort instead.

Last week he was deprived of both, and this week isn't shaping up to be any better, if the morning was any indication. He left before breakfast, which rarely happens, and when he kissed her cheek she barely mumbled a goodbye in return.

He understands. Or, at least, he tries his best. Since the news about her candidacy rejection arrived, she's retreated into a space he couldn't reach her from all through the weekend. Peter knows what this means to her, because he knows what it means for himself as well. Maybe she'd decide to try again, to go over her work and do more and maybe get approved in another couple of years, but maybe she wouldn't.

He isn't obtuse, or a stranger to her innermost thoughts. He knows what she must be thinking, and he knows she blames herself. They left the wedding for next year specifically because this year was supposed to be the end-all, be-all for their academic journey. The work was done and the papers were in order. All that was left was getting those fancy letters after their name, not that either of them cared too much. Still, he liked their little private joke of who would be more obnoxious about it: her friends or his.

Not that funny anymore, especially since he'd get to go ahead and complete his Ph.D.

He wishes he got rejected too, just to share in the misery, or maybe to not feel this guilty.

Peter is tired after a week of seeing her like this, but to be fair, any amount of sadness is too much for the person he loves. He's felt her devastation ten times over, because he knows there isn't anything he can do but watch and be there for her. She hasn't said anything about any of his proposals to go over the work together and maybe fix something for next year.

And though Peter cares and feels and loves deeply, he is human - at least where it counts - and he has been excluded from, even denied, contact with the one he adores most. It doesn't feel like she's simply sad or disappointed, intense as those emotions may be. It feels like she's pulled away from him and has no plans of reestablishing contact.

He knows it's silly, and that his own emotions are running on fumes right now, so he's prone to misinterpreting things - but there's a hunch, and it sits uncomfortably in the center of his chest every time he looks at her and she avoids his eyes.

He wants to talk, even if she doesn't. He wants to at least make sure they're ok, that this is just the first major setback they've handled together - well, maybe the second. They were, after all, sort of broken up for a week back in college, when instead of telling her his secret, he let her (by accident, of course) find him passed out in his dorm, bloody and beaten and wearing his suit, whatever was left of it.

They've come a long way, through graduation, sharing a workplace for a little while, moving in together and promising to entwine their lives for the rest of time. Yeah, Peter feels a little sentimental after a week without emotional fulfillment.

So he skips home a little faster instead of moving through molasses, thinking he can always try again and hoping she's at least open to receiving affection.

He moves past the entrance and jumps over the handrail of the first floor, and maybe he cheats a little by not walking up all the steps to their apartment. When the door comes into view, he knows instinctively that she's home, which is a little odd given the time, but he's more than fine with it.

He wonders briefly if he should ring the doorbell or use his keys, but he tries for the doorbell first. He waits for the patter of her steps, but it doesn't come right away, so he tries again.

And again, nothing.

Thinking she's in a meeting or maybe just has headphones on, he retrieves his keys and selects the one for the lower lock, but when he goes to turn it, he realizes her own has been left in on the other side. He shakes his head with an amused huff before taking out his phone and calling her. He hears it ring loud and clear inside, but again no movement. The phone rings and rings, but she is in one place, quite close to the front door based on how her heartbeat reaches his ears.

She isn't listening to music in the middle of the hallway, and Peter's hair stands up on his arms.

He wouldn't care for the front door, even if it turned out to be a mistake, but when a shove from his super strength tears it open, he doesn't care about anything anymore.

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

She wakes in a room she doesn't need to see clearly to know where it resides, and it churns her stomach before she's even gathered her bearings.

Light or day, she can't make out yet as her eyes continue to adjust, but the grip on her right hand she'd recognize sedated.

Too many hospitals she's been in, but never as a patient and never with him. A deep terror seizes her heart, thinking it a horrendous little glimpse into the future and wanting to disappear on the spot.

Her panic alerts both Peter and the heart monitor, one before the other with a considerable lapse between them. Of course he knows. He always does.

"Shh, I'm here. Right here, sweetheart."

His hand brushes the hair from her face gently, holding her cheek and wiping away a tear that escaped.

He coos and shushes her sweetly, providing much needed relief but also plunging the wound into more salt. Inevitability has arrived, and it has made it so that she has to hurt him in the worst possible way.

She doesn't even remember what exactly happened, only that she wasn't much better before waking up in here, and if she doesn't remember, it means he found her like that. Just inexplicably unconscious.

She knows how Peter worries. She knows just how deeply you must reach into his heart to succeed in hurting him. This is not a surface wound - he's confessed his worst fears once before, voice quiet and trembling, and they are living in them now.

She is making him live them.

"Hey, hey. Baby, you've gotta calm down. You're alright. The doctor's gonna see us in a minute or two, ok? I'll go get 'em."

"No - no, Peter. No, please. Please, just stay here. Please just…"

The words her mother said, ringing out inside her skull, bring the world to a stop.

Do you know what it's like… begging him to stay? Begging him not to leave you?

She gasps for breath and pushes him away, shocking both of them momentarily.

I hope you do. I hope you find out.

Peter brings her into his chest and holds her there until she calms, having not seen her like this in a very long time but unable to forget what to do. She’s been like this only once before in the entire time they've known each other, and he remembers, because she was grieving.

Her mother had just been buried, but she wasn't invited. No, she was expressly left out of the funeral at her mother's request, and Peter also remembers thinking he's grateful he never met the woman.

Something has gotten away from him in this moment; her distress shows that unequivocally. Perhaps something got away from him last week, as he dreads to believe. Whatever it is, the love of his life is trembling in his arms like a leaf in the wind, so his mission right now isn't to investigate.

But it would appear his mission is going to be interrupted no matter its purpose, because a doctor walks in with a look he instantly doesn't like.

She doesn't react.

"Oh… I'm sorry to interrupt. I'm Dr. Connely. Um… I wanted to discuss something important with both of you, and I'm afraid it can't wait, even if it seems a bad time.", he says with a firm look, yet his eyes don't hold Peter's gaze like he expects them to.

What is so important that can't wait until his girl isn't turning catatonic in his arms?

"I don't know what you two have gone through already, and you have my sincerest apologies for this. But I want you to know that we have started an investigation into what happened, and there will be consequences for the people involved."

Peter finds himself shaking his head in disbelief at what he's hearing. What on earth is he talking about? What the fuck is that supposed to mean? How is he looking at the state of her and not reacting to help her?

"You're the fiancé, Peter, yes?", the doctor asks.

"Right now I'm Mr. Parker. But yes. Would you mind informing us what's going on?", Peter returns in a rigid tone.

The man clears his throat and looks away again, shifting his position uncomfortably before taking a steadying breath.

"Please don't."

Both men turn their heads to follow the sound of her voice, one surprised and the other wishing he were anywhere else.

"Baby?", Peter asks, trying to see her face but she avoids his gaze as she removes herself from his embrace.

"We haven't - I haven't had a chance to talk about it yet, so I'd like to talk to my fiancé alone. Could you… give us a minute?"

Peter is confused, but hurt isn't lurking far behind in this carousel of emotion.

"That's… I'm afraid that's just the thing, ma'am. There's been a mistake. The diagnosis you were given last week, the - the call I gave you last week - I apologize. I know it doesn't begin to cover it, but there was a mix up at the lab. They attributed your test results to someone else, and only this afternoon did they identify the problem. I tried to call you earlier, but I couldn't get through. I am so terribly sorry."

There's silence, and then there's a sniffle.

And then a louder sniffle, but half-suppressed. She breathes in deeply, wiping away tears and rubbing at her cheeks with more force than necessary. Nonetheless, her features don't light up, but they aren't so solemn anymore. It's the face of someone who's just been through everything only to discover it was for nothing, either good or bad.

"Are you… you're sure?"

She doesn't look directly at the doctor, but that's mostly because she's trying to avoid lifting her head and catching Peter's expression. She needs to gather herself first.

"We're certain. It was a horrible mistake, and you are fully entitled to seek clarification and anything else you might feel you need in order to… to make this right. We apologize."

Her mind is mostly… quiet. She doesn't know what else to say to him, and that's because she wants to say nothing more. If possible, she wants to just stay silent for a while.

But she needs to ask.

"Could you um… tell me why I'm here, then?"

"Sweetheart, you passed out. I found you on the floor, in the living room. Can you please, please tell me what's going on here, because I feel like I'm losing my mind.", Peter says, trying his best to get a hold of himself and not freak out like he wants to. He understands both very little and too much.

To her credit, she does tearfully look at him, a plea in her eyes and brows and entire being that floors him. He knows when she's asking him to hold her without words, and despite his confusion and his hurt, he can't deny her.

"Peter… this is… I know how you - God, baby. I promise, I'll tell you everything. Everything you want, what I should've told you. I just… I need you right now. I need you.", she whispers to him, having forgotten everything about any third person in the room. No one exists but the two of them.

And Peter? Peter has never heard her begging like this, as if for her own life, and it scares him stiff.

Their moment is only broken by Connely, who is clearly not trained to handle this type of atmosphere in a patient's room.

"Your fainting episode was caused by an iron deficiency. Your levels would be normal, but in your current circumstances, you're going to have to take some supplements to keep them within the normal range."

She reacts before Peter, searching for the doctor's expression with her own tired one. Peter doesn't have much of an expression, because he's an inch away from insanity.

"I realize that this is not how you might want to find out normally, but given the extraordinary… events that have led here, and my part in them, I'm compelled to inform you that your test results were identified… ultimately. The blood work confirmed your pregnancy, which we estimate at around five weeks."

…

Nothing. Crickets. Awkwardness, perhaps, which Dr. Connely feels too harshly for a few more moments before he turns on his feel and leaves, having already fucked up enough things. The door closes with a quiet click and the room remains quiet for many unbroken minutes.

"This isn't real. I'm a clown, and this is a circus."

She doesn't mean to laugh. She doesn't. She's actually a little horrified that she does, but she also can't stop. It is by no means a natural laugh - no, it feels like her body is trying to force something out without doing too much damage, and the only way it knows how is like this.

Peter doesn't laugh. He frowns at her laughter though, and continues frowning until his forehead is frozen into position. His eyes feel like they're disappearing behind his eyebrows.

He thought maybe he'd breach insanity, but apparently it's her.

His fiancée.

His pregnant fiancée.

Oh my God.

Oh my God, she isn't stopping. She's going to hurt herself.

"Baby - baby stop. You're gonna - just stop, ok, I'm losing my fucking mind here, please?", he tries, and to his great relief, she does come to a stop with some more chuckles.

"I'm sorry, heh… I don't think I wanted to laugh. Just didn't know what to do. Still don't know, actually.", she says, attempting to fix her wrinkled clothes and tangled necklace with trembling hands. Thank god they didn't put her in one of those gowns, because that would be the only way to make this whole situation the perfect shitstorm.

Though, in fixing her clothes, she pauses briefly on her shirt, and it's almost impossible to resist the urge. Her right hand comes to rest over her abdomen, searching unsurely for some moments before settling on the spot most comfortable.

There's nothing to feel yet; of course there isn't. But it doesn't stop the rush of unparalleled emotion from tearing down every defense and every worry.

Through misty eyes, she sees Peter's hand come to rest over hers, and her lids fall shut in a moment of bliss. It's not happiness, not in the conventional sense; but she's never felt relief of this sort traveling from the top of her head to her toes. It's overwhelming in the most innocuous way, like leftover adrenaline after a rush of danger. Her feet are kind of sweating, and the only need she has in this moment is to feel him close.

She leans over to the right to reach her arms around his neck, but he surprises her by moving onto the bed, making her scoot over before pulling her into him more fully.

There they sit, together, for longer than either anticipated needing. They don't speak, because there's no need yet. There's only the security of the other's embrace and small kisses planted on cheeks and temples.

Peter is the one who speaks first, words a whisper of reverence.

"There's a baby in here.", he says, palm spread out over her belly and lips by her ear. He hasn't stopped kissing her hair for the past minute, and she hasn't said anything about it, more than aware of just how disoriented he must be.

Peter never likes flying on high emotion like this, since it always disturbs his control of his senses and induces a whole body ache. She's been there with him for many sessions when he just needed to calm down, and enlisted her help to do so, usually by touch that provides a baseline. He always says it's easier to focus with her there.

"There is.", she whispers back.

She doesn't believe in the saying that words can make something true once spoken, but it's undeniable just how monumental that affirmation is and feels.

There is a baby in there, and she didn't even get to jump for joy or scream or cry, or plan some stupid little surprise for Peter where she watches him work it out. She didn't get to have an evening or two where she's the only one who knows and smiles a million times, thinking of how he'll react when she tells him.

No. Instead, she got this. And he got worse. And there is anger, but also guilt, and a good amount of anxiety for what's next.

None of it is in his eyes, though.

His eyes, when she searches for them, are nothing short of unforgettable for what she finds in them. She's never seen him this way on any of the days and nights they've shared in life, and she can only respond with a desperate kiss that feels neverending.

Only, it does end when the door opens, but the feeling stays there, trapped between them and held in their hearts forever. She doesn't know what it is they've just said to each other, but she knows what it means, and she's free to relax for the first time in a week.

The nurse takes her blood pressure and other vitals while they somewhat defrost, returning to their more normal selves. She's told she can go home, but that until she begins taking the required supplements, she shouldn't overextend herself.

It's Peter who confirms that the recommendation is understood, and she already knows what the next months are going to look like. It brings an amused smile to her lips before the nurse has even left, but she says nothing.

They're told they can fill out the release form at the front desk, and also pick up the iron and vitamin prescription there. She tells Peter he can go get them when she sees him anxious to leave, but he waits until she has her shoes and coat on - which she's amazed he thought to bring - before wrapping an arm around her waist to guide her out of the room.

And down the hallway.

And all the way back home, which they take a cab for at his insistence.

Yes, the next eight months or so will be exactly like this, she thinks as they exit the elevator in silence.

Nothing much has been said, but tension doesn't exist between them; only tender connection necessitating no words. However, she can't resist uttering some words when she sees the door to their apartment.

"Pete? What did -"

"I broke that."

She looks up from his side, seeing the toothy grin only partially as he doesn't meet her gaze.

"You broke that? Peter, we just installed that door a few months ago. You said we needed a new door because you didn't like how flimsy the old one was."

"Yeah, and now we'll get another one."

"The last one was almost a thousand dollars!"

"And it could've been ten thousand. Would've broken it anyway.", he confirms, not seeing her point.

He helps her past the bits of debris from the jamb, even if there's really no danger. He can't help it. Ever since they left the hospital - and honestly, before that really - he's switched modes. His entire body is vibrating with something. He hasn't been farther than a foot away for the past few hours, and he's quite fine with that. Would be hard to be any other way right now.

"Why?"

"Wha - what do you mean, why? Because you were in here unconscious!"

She looks back at him as he tries to prop up the door as well as he can, knowing it isn't fixable with any tools they might have around the house.

"You couldn't come in through the window?"

The question gives him pause, but he refuses to acknowledge that that was even a possibility. Nope, it never was. He knows how she is - if he tells her that he forgot he even could do that for a minute, she'll never let him live it down.

"Baby… did you forget you were Spider-Man?", she coos with a laugh.

"Shh! The neighbors can hear you! We don't have a door!"

She laughs as she heads into the bathroom, Peter calling after her to be careful and to leave the door open.

"D'you need to hear me pee?", she jokes.

"I hear you pee anyway, door or no door!", he calls back, chuckling at her popping her head out to shush him.

"Peter!"

"What? I don't listen, I just hear it - it's involuntary, you know that."

"I don't think I did. And now I do. And I wish I didn't!"

"Sweetheart, we're gonna go through a lot of embarrassing stuff soon, you know that right?"

"No. You mean I'll go through the embarrassing stuff, and you will look on in shock and horror and then wonder how -"

"That is incorrect! This is a team effort!", he interrupts, motioning between them.

"Oh. Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize you'd be providing assistance with growing the baby."

He blanks and pouts at her deadpanning.

"Well, no - but I'll be assisting with everything else! Foot rubs, snack runs, doctor appointments -"

There's a clang from the bathroom, and Peter's feet almost move without him. The door is open, and she's cursing and bending over to grab a bottle of mouthwash she dropped into the sink.

"You ok? Dizzy again?", he asks, wanting to move closer but giving her some space. He doesn't need to be suffocating.

She closes her eyes with a sigh, hands on the edge of the sink.

"No… No, just… maybe no more doctor's appointments for a few days, ok?", she asks quietly before looking at him with uncertain eyes.

Peter exhales long and slow, taking in her tired face and dropped shoulders and realizing just how much this week has taken out of her. Or, he would realize, if he knew what actually happened, but he hasn't the faintest idea how to approach the subject. The revelation of her state complicates things, and he's willing to give her whatever she asks in a heartbeat because of how sensitive he's feeling too.

It's as though she can see his hesitation and internal turmoil, because she gives him a small smile.

"Let's eat something and talk… about everything, yeah? I want to tell you, but it's gonna… be hard. I never talked about this with you, but I need you to know it wasn't because I was hiding it. I just thought I was past it, and that it meant nothing anymore."

Peter nods with a tiny smile of his own, going back to fiddle with the door. Nothing he does helps, until he gets the idea to just snap it back into place like Tetris, hoping the frame will at least hold until tomorrow.

To his credit, it does, but the noise it makes when he jams his shoulder into the steel provokes a yelp from the kitchen.

"Jesus, what are you doing to that thing?", she calls out.

"Fixing it!"

Dinner follows almost an hour later, and they realize how little food is left after last week. To Peter, this is unacceptable and must be immediately remedied - and he says so, prompting a full laugh from his partner.

There may be a very protective streak taking hold of him, but as long as she isn't complaining, he's set to go full steam ahead.

They eat mostly in silence, but they do so on the couch, side by side and comfortable with it. When they've finished, he doesn't know who should go first, but she takes the initiative.

Cuddling up next to him and pulling a blanket over their legs, she sighs into his chest before taking his left hand in her right.

"This won't be easy to hear, just so it's out there…", she begins. Peter finds that his chest doesn't tighten up at the warning. In fact, this feels like a conversation they've almost already had in a way, because of how much his mind ran itself into the ground while waiting for her to wake up at the hospital.

The doctor's words arose many suspicions, and he knows she'll quell them now, even if he doesn't know everything.

"I went to get blood work done about ten days ago, because I'd been feeling a little weird. I figured it was… well, what it is now, because you know.. We haven't really been careful, just - at all, lately."

Yeah, he knows. She slaps his chest when she sees the stupid little smirk on his face.

"I'm being vulnerable here.", she asserts.

"Sorry, sorry - go ahead."

She clears her throat once before continuing.

"I got a call last week from the doctor we saw at the hospital, but he didn't say what I thought he'd say. He didn't tell me I was pregnant. He said - he said that I…", she stops, sucking air through her teeth and squeezing his hand.

He doesn't press, but he steadies his own mind.

"He told me I had ovarian cancer."

Peter holds in a breath for longer than necessary, but when he releases it his eyes are no less teary.

"And you - you… pff, uhm…"

He doesn't want to accuse. He doesn't. But he can't see how - how did she not -

"I didn't tell you, and you have to trust me, please, because I couldn't believe it was happening to me. I didn't want to believe it was following me, like it um… like it followed everyone else, I guess.", she says shakily, pulling away an inch in order to look into his eyes.

Followed everyone else? What is she talking about?

"Peter… in my family, every woman I've ever been related to has lived an awful life and died an even worse death. You don't know this, because I never, ever talked about it. I didn't want to. Most of them were dead before we met, and my mother… you know what my mother said. About me, to me… But you don't know what it was like to live with them.", she takes a pause, breathing in and out to calm herself.

Peter watches as if suspended in time.

"My grandmother died when I was little. My mother used to leave me with her for the summer, maybe just to get away from me or maybe because it was nice to get a break from a child she didn't want to have. I didn't like my grandmother, even as a kid. I always got the feeling she looked at me like she wanted me to know she didn’t love me, and that it might make me leave or something. I don't know. But the summer before my sixth birthday, she had a stroke and died on the spot. I called my mom to come pick me up but she didn't answer until the next day, so I slept in the house with her. I think I… I think I tried to put a blanket over her. I didn't know what to do."

She wipes away her freely falling tears before Peter has a chance to, and she pushes on despite the little sobs that escape.

"My aunt, the oldest one, she was estranged from the family but before she really broke away, she told everyone in our neighborhood - and you know, it was a small town where everyone knew each other - um, she spread stories about us. She made up things, she told some truths, but the end was the same. My mother hated her forever for having to leave her house. We only heard from her again when they read my grandmother's will and she told us she had MS. My mother wished her agony, and I suppose she got her wish, because some hack in Europe operated on her and left her paralyzed for three years. Her kids didn't even visit her once before she died, and they buried her in Austria."

She breaks to lean over for the glass of water on the table, but Peter is faster, handing it to her and wiping away her tears with his sleeve when she's done. She tries to smile at him, but can't quite manage it.

With another deep breath, she continues, realizing the dam is just about to spill over.

"Auntie Crystal was the youngest. She was diagnosed with schizophrenia at 47, but she didn't tell anybody. We knew she acted a little strange, but my mother didn't believe in mental illness, so she left her with us whenever she needed, or just - when she felt like it. At 49 she tried to burn down the house with me and my cousins in it, but I think she had a moment of clarity or something, because she brought us out of the house before anything… you know, happened."

"Fuck…", Peter says quietly, unable to help himself.

"Yeah… but then - b-but she… she walked back inside. She walked back inside and never came out. I think she felt guilty for trying to hurt us. My mom didn't believe us when we told her, so I think, for a long time, she just resented everyone involved. I never saw either of my cousins after that."

"Baby, stop. Hey, just - let's just take a break, yeah?", Peter asks, but his tone is rougher than he wants it to be. It's a lot to take in, he's trying not to be overwhelmed, but he's also unable to watch her in so much distress.

She shakes her head however.

"I know this is… I know it's so much information. But I can't ever talk about this again. I want to do it now, and I want to put it away for good. And that's ok if you don't think you can listen, you can tell me. Please."

"Sweetheart, listen to me: it's not too much. It's hard seeing you like this, but if you need to say it, I want you to. That's all I'm here for. I love you."

They steady each other with a lingering kiss as she returns the sentiment, keeping close but discarding the blanket. It's gotten a little bit warm.

"Do you remember when my mother died? That I couldn't go to her funeral because her lawyer told me she didn't want me there?", she asks, and Peter nods. He does remember, most notably because it was the first time he helped her out of a panic attack he didn't see coming. He wasn't as in tune with her back then.

"She had dementia, Peter. She couldn't even remember who I was by the end, even though I was the only one still showing up to see her. She didn't have that put in her will before she died. She must've done it years before, if not earlier. She nev - she never loved me. She never loved me. My mother never loved me."

And so the dam finally breaks, or spills, or ceases to exist at once. Whatever force it exerts as it shakes her body, it's the type of force Peter knows he can't fight with brute strength. All he can do is be the foundation she needs to keep going and purge this from her soul finally.

It's with great exhaustion and reluctance that she separates from him minutes later, but it's just to reach for the blanket again, wrapping it around herself and lying down with her head in his lap. He smiles down at her, watching her with tender eyes.

"Sleepy?", he asks.

She nods with a sniffle.

"Don't pet my hair. I'll pass out, and I have more to say."

He huffs in soft amusement.

"You sure you don't wanna nap first?"

"It's not much more. This part is about us."

"Oh… well, go ahead then."

"A gentleman, I see."

"Isn't that why you love me?"

"This is why I love you. This and a million other things. We'll be here all month if I have to list them all. I might give birth on this couch if I start."

They share a silly chuckle, and it's just what they seem to need before the next part.

"I lied to you. I didn't mean to, but I panicked. I was in shock too, I guess. It's not an excuse, but I'm trying to explain what was happening in my mind at the time. When I came home and told you that my candidacy was rejected, that was maybe an hour or so after I got the call from the doctor."

Peter can't say he's too shocked or surprised, but the confirmation of one potential avenue he'd considered still brings some form of jolt to his brain.

"You didn't get rejected?"

"No. I know it's horrible that I lied like that. I wanted to have more time to process what I just heard, and I don't mean anything by it, but I can't hide anything from you. You read me like - I don't know, something easily read."

Peter barks an unexpected laugh.

"Nice metaphor... miss Ph.D."

"Shush. I have no tangent with artsy fields."

"You painted our bedroom wall with sunflowers last winter."

"And you let me. Case closed."

"I really think you should be nicer to me. I feel very bamboozled right now.", he jokes, but immediately sees it doesn't go down well.

"Pete", she whispers, suddenly sitting up and throwing her arms around his neck, holding on tighter than he thinks she ever has before. He doesn't know what happened.

But she tells him soon enough.

"I don't know how to apologize to you. I don't know what to… say. The things I've been thinking all week, how I treated you - I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry. I didn't tell you all this so you can feel bad for me or understand me better. I told you because me not telling you is the reason I never let it go. All those memories of my mother and what she did to everybody, and what they did to her… I lived surrounded by illness all my life, and I've seen what it does to people. But I've also - seen what they can do with it. My mother drove my father to his breaking point, in part because she wanted to. Because at some point, she wanted everyone to feel how her illness wrecked her. We all shared in that misery for years. I didn't - I didn't want that to be me, and I didn't want that to be you. Least of all you, baby."

Peter's grip gets as tight as he'll allow in lieu of just absorbing her into himself. Both of them are crying freely, muffling sobs and soaking up each other's shoulders with tears.

It turns out, knowing isn't always the end goal. What Peter has wanted to know all week was not a revelation, but a feeling decades in the making. It wasn't hidden from him with ill intent, but born out of a need to protect.

He understands. Oh, does he understand.

He tries communicating it with declarations of love, and they are all received and returned tenfold. He never realized just how much she held locked inside for his sake, and it blindsides the most vulnerable parts of him. He's seeing her with new eyes now, and a subtle shift has taken place in their relationship that is entirely needed.

They'll be going forward stronger now, and more in sync than ever. He senses it in how they move in the days after their conversation.

They seem to be on the same wavelength about everything, sharing thoughts and even, one time, a craving for popcorn. They're functioning seemingly from the same weird plane of existence, as if they've unlocked some new stage in their shared lives.

The first doctor appointment is his suggestion, but only because she lets him go first when they both speak at the same time. She was going to say the same thing, apparently.

She confesses an extreme dislike of hospitals, so Peter finds a smaller clinic with a very well appraised obstetrics specialist, and they learn that they have much to learn. Despite their various accolades, neither of them knows a great deal about babies, except for how they're made.

They get reacquainted with some of the specifics that have brought them here, and Peter finds with great delight that some changes have already taken place. Heightened sensitivity is no longer just his thing, and they both discover one of those embarrassing moments he mentioned weeks ago. Well, embarrassing for her - he's absolutely delighted with just how responsive she is nowadays.

Around four months in, she finds an opportunity to seize some of the joy she feels was unjustly taken from both of them in how they found out the news of her pregnancy.

She debates for a good while if she should do it, but then it's as if fate intervenes - for once, in her favor. It just so happens that Peter's defense of his doctoral thesis is scheduled at the same time as the ultrasound she's been thinking about for days. They're supposed to find out exactly what sort of menace will be born in a few months' time, and they both agreed on wanting to know way back when. They have bets going.

Peter's feeling just a bit more confident than her, having already piled around a hundred bucks or so on his insistence that their firstborn will be a little girl. She's put forward nothing, changing her mind every single day, but she did promise to match him if he wins. Peter has teased her more than once that she just doesn't want to admit he's right.

But when the opportunity presents itself to find out before him, as his presence is unfortunately impeded, she suddenly finds herself extremely sure. Something within her just knows, even if she hasn't arrived at the clinic yet. Whatever it is, it's in agreement with her fiancé.

She isn't even a little surprised when the doctor confirms it, but her mind is running a million miles an hour with stupid little scenarios.

She wants to find the most ridiculous way to tell him, but she doesn't have time. He'll be finishing his defense any minute now, and she knows he'll check in before he can present his final statement. She needs to do something before that.

It's a text. Just a text. Yet she can't stop smiling while typing.

Good luck on your statement. We're rooting for you.

xx Your Girls xx 

She's never been this yucky or sickly sweet, but she can't feel anything other than giddiness.

Especially when she sees his reply. His four replies, rather.

You owe me 97 dollars.

I knew it

I'm gonna fuck up my statement. fuck

I'm gonna make love to you all night.

She laughs copiously in the parking lot of the clinic, and when she gets home, she goes about with another surprise, one Peter thoroughly enjoys when he makes it home. He makes good on the promise he texted earlier, and they start another little chapter of their lives together.

It's fairly weird to keep discovering so much about each other; with every milestone, it's as though they see themselves in a new light. This is what it means to build: to make singular experiences into a shared foundation, and to see how everything connects moving forward. It means removing yourself from old structures, so that you may start anew.

Part of us as part of something else is how we live our lives, a give and take of trust and love, to be shared and reinforced with every new experience.

And together, they’ll go forward with renewed love.

-fin-

A/N: I welcome any feedback, whatever form it’s in, and it always warms my heart to hear your thoughts. Thank you for reading. I hope you are all alright.