#i started with cleaning the kitchen for about a week (poorly and without actually being told what to do) &then i would work at the counter

[merphus]

When I was working with cheese and raw/cooked/smoked meat at the deli counter of a grocery store, i was told to clean the knives and cutting boards we used in front of the customers once per day in the evening. Once. Sometimes the cheese knife was used for the cooked meat and the other way around. I had one bucket of soapy water for all the knives. Sometimes the scrub daddy was the same I had to use around lunch time to clean the knives/boards/counters in the kitchen. So there almost certainly already were bits and bacteria of raw meat and cheese and cooked meat on the scrub daddy. But depending on the manager of the day, I had to use the same one. So id have my soapy water bucket, the contaminated scrub daddy and some good will. Id clean my equipment as best as I could and then let some clean water run over it and then dry it with some paper towels. There were so many customers watching me do this and asking me to really make sure the clean running water got everywhere because they wouldn't want soapy cheese. Like. Dear customer. Two weeks ago I lost the tip of my middle finger probably in the cut up ham of another customer because I never got a safety training with our cutting machines and there are bits of raw chicken in my soap bucket, but sure, you dont want soap on your cheese.

people will complain about companies throwing out food then want food thrown out constantly and it's not adding up. today a customer was like "can you throw out this apple? it fell on the floor". bitch you're supposed to wash the produce at home anyway‼️‼️‼️ people act like the floor is lava at grocery stores when the rest of the store is just as unsanitary. like that apple would be equally as dirty if you put it on the conveyer belt which is covered and soaked in everything imaginable. yes i'm mad about the apple thing

[non-electrical-outlet]

10/31/24: Pre-Coaching Check-in

Biggest news from this week is that I had a 3 hour long conversation with my dad, and something particularly notable was that it did feel like we were engaging on equal terms. The conversation was able to happen because a) I needed his help for car stuff, b) I made active efforts to understand my uncomfortable emotions in the moment and act differently from my past self, and c) I felt emotionally resourced as a result of the work I've been doing in and around my Coaching sessions.

Another notable thing about that conversation, more on the uncomfortable side of things, is that I did feel trapped and restless toward the end. Conversation with dad, as well as certain other types of people I encounter, is unrelenting. No lulls, no room for thoughtful reflection, just more and more and more questions and challenges, and no acknowledgement of body language and efforts to escape. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Right as I finished writing that sentence, I realized that the next time I encounter feeling stuck in a conversation (with anyone, not just dad) is a great opportunity to practice disengaging gracefully from an interaction (a skill that I need to hone for Nursing). ------------------------------------------------------------------------------

To summarize Notable Thing 2, as well as my realization about it: - I started to feel angry towards the end of our conversation. - Dad started mentioned the idea of me acting as a mediator/marriage counselor for him and Mom, a suggestion I found insulting considering my childhood emotional trauma stemming from their conflict; My current understanding is that I'm fucked up emotionally because I was parentified by each parent in order to cope with the other, and now my Dad is finally interested in me because of the emotional intelligence I display as a result of that trauma? Fucking infuriating. - Dad also was trying to talk shit about Mom, referring vaguely to choices my mom made decade(s) ago and how they affected both her and him. He said that he ended up being right about those choices and their outcomes. I wonder if he really was right, or if my mom simply acquiesced one way or another. But I don't have the time or energy to find out. - I did actually and successfully set a boundary in this regard AEB me politely explaining without blaming that I did not have the resources to mediate their decades of conflict. -

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

The other thing I wanted to make sure to write about before my coaching session this week is about The Kraken Bridge Incident, feminism, and Why I'm Still Moving Out ASAP ™.

The Kraken Bridge Incident was set off by Dad telling me to wash the dishes in the sink. A combination of his tone and my irritability r/t nicotine resulted in me becoming very angry, going outside to physically let of steam by punching the coniferous bush outside, as well as me slamming the front door on my way out. My slamming of the front door is presumably what angered Dad, and he proceeded to confront me when I returned inside.

Things got heated during this confrontation and Dad made my reaction out to be unreasonable, citing that people sharing a household should share chores. Though I wasn't able to express it at the time, this statement angered me then and since because Dad does none of the regular household chores (cooking, vacuuming, dishes, cleaning the kitchen) or does them poorly (i.e. putting soaking wet dishes into the cupboard despite having been told not to do so countless times over the years; weaponized incompetence?). Upon reflection today (10/31/24), I am further incensed by the fact that slamming the door was the specific action I did that set my Dad off; How many years did I spend learning to avoid my Dad's presence due to his slamming of doors and drawers? How many nights were my mother, sister, and I all laughing and connecting over dinner, only to fall silent at the sound of the garage door? How much of my life has been spent terrorized by this man's anger, powerless to fight or to flee from it, and now I am supposed to be "reasonable" with my anger for his sake? I'm supposed to talk to this man to meet his emotional needs when he is the cause of my own unwellness?

This is why I'm still planning to move out ASAP after graduating. I am planning to keep an open mind, apply to some new grad nursing programs at UCH and CHCO, look into getting a job at Sandstone Care so I can maybe move to the Springs, keep learning what I can from clinicals and school.

The future is coming, and it is uncertain and a bit scary, but it hasn't killed me yet. Let's see how it goes.

[earnestly-endlessly]

Hi! I'm wondering if you can make a list of fics where Erik's jewish heritage isn't ignored? I just came across the fact that a lot of authors don't explore this part of him for some reason and i found it kinda upsetting so i'm wondering if you have any recs! I liked "As They Kiss, Consume" and "Who Shall be King Hereafter" by sherwoodfox, in case anyone who's reading this ask is interested in the same topic.

Hi Anon. I'm sorry for taking so long with this list but your request sent me on a wide search for fics that fit with your request. I tried to find a variety of fics where Erik's Jewish heritage is addressed. Some of them aren't necessarily cherik, but most of them are. I hope you enjoy this list.

Mistletoe, Latkes, and Long-Term Revenge Strategies – pocky_slash

Summary: Charles knows that Erik hates working at a department store in the best of times. Being Jewish in a department store during the holiday season is far from the best of times. He does what he can to help.

A Nice Boy (the Family Matters Edition) – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik's not sure whether the problem is that he doesn't want his parents to meet Charles or that he doesn't want Charles to meet his parents. Either way, he never invites Charles to brunch. Why should he? It's not like they're dating.

A Road Trip to Pennsylvania – Aainiouu

Summary: For a year Charles has nurtured the biggest and most embarrassing crush known to man towards Erik. They are friends and roommates and when Erik asks Charles to accompany him to home on Thanksgiving of course Charles goes.

In the Bleak Midwinter – keire_ke

Summary: It is not easy to find out, well into the second decade of the twenty-first century, that your mother arranged a marriage for you. It is even less easy to convince her that you have no interest in the very fertile Magda, she of the wide hips and lustrous auburn hair. Fortunately, with a good friend at his side over the holiday weekend, Erik is sure he will prevail.

Speech Making – phalangine

Summary: Modern Emma AU- Charles Xavier, accomplished matchmaker and headmaster of North America’s preeminent school for mutants, intends to add another notch to his belt: setting up his friend Moira. His oldest friend, Erik, has doubts about this plan.

Charles doesn’t share them.

This is life (and everything’s all right) – pocky_slash

Summary: Edie Lehnsherr came into Charles' life long before he ever heard Erik Lehnsherr's name, and her death left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone in Charles' family. As the first Purim without her approaches, he begins to get creative in his efforts to bring everyone out of their grief. Kitchen creativity, however, is not quite his strength....

Bashert – AvengingAngel

Summary: Erik and Charles meet and fall in love. I wanted to write a story where Erik had a huge family. Pretty fluffy (for me anyways). I suck at summaries.

Note: The summary doesn’t reveal much but if you’re looking for a fic where Erik is jewish and has a large family with a heavy dose of cherik fluff and angst then this one is for you.

Math Reasons – pearl_o,  pocky_slash

Summary: "Mom says Erik always knows what he wants, it just sometimes takes him a little while to actually realize it," Ruth said.

Charles fell in love with Erik the first night they met, the first week of freshman year. Two years of friendship, adventures, arguments, hijinks, secrets, and summer visits later, Erik is starting to catch up.

Ser

It’s kind of our whole things – pearl_o, pocky_slash

Summary: After two years of best friendship, Charles and Erik thought they knew everything there was to know about each other. They're surprised, then, when their first summer as a couple reveals that they have a lot to learn about each other and themselves.

Sequel to Math Reasons

A Winter in New York – nextraordinaire

Summary: Charles and Erik have been childhood friends for as long as they can remember – Erik, living with his mother in Queens, and Charles in the big mansion in Westchester. For all, expect themselves, it was just natural progression that they'd end up together.

A series of ficlets from the same universe – can be read as separate and are out of chronological order.

Baby, It’s Cold Outside – heyjupiter

Summary: "It's just, this is my first Chanukah away from my parents. And it's--it's like 90 degrees out."

Erik Lehnsherr and Kitty Pryde celebrate a Genoshan Chanukah. It's a little different from the way it used to be in New York, but some unexpected visitors help them embrace the spirit of the holiday season.

Hold Back the Rain (front!strict mashup) – euphorbic

Summary: Charles Xavier: society darling, powerful political activist, well-known professor, and Dominant.

Erik Lehnsherr: anti-social, international motorcycle racer, and defiant submissive.

Erik is at Sepang in Malaysia for the fourteenth leg of the International World Championship. After doing poorly in qualifying, he's furious to find he has to take another VIP around the track instead of meeting Charles at the KL airport.

The Swan – waitfornight

Summary: In 1939 Erik and his sister Ruth are sent to Devonshire, England, during the Kindertransport refugee program to live with Kurt and Sharon Marko as foster children just before the start of World War II. Angry and wishing he could return home on the night of his seventeenth birthday, Erik meets a boy alone in the forest who is cursed to transform each day into a swan, only taking his true form by night.

Swan Lake AU.

The boy with the heart on his sleeve – euphorbic

Summary: Charles loses a high-stakes bet to Raven and is required to get a tattoo. However, when he makes a disparaging remark about the art form, Raven's acerbic mentor, Erik, steps in.

Or, the one where Erik and Raven are tattoo artists.

The Wurst Case Scenario – sareyen

Summary:If anyone asked why Charles, come rain, wind or shine, made the significant trek during his dismal lunch hour to dine at "Edie's Kosher Delicatessen", he would stubbornly say that it was because their pastrami on rye and potato knishes were absolutely to die for. He wasn't completely lying, because the deli's namesake, Edie Lehnsherr, made the best matzah ball soup Charles has ever had in his life. Still, Charles would rather shave his full head of hair off than admit that the real reason he would willingly walk through hail and fire to get to the corner deli was because of Erik, the insanely attractive man working the counter.

Sure, Erik has barely spoken two words to Charles other than "Hello, what can I get you?" or, after the third day in a row that Charles came to the deli, "Welcome back, what can I get you?", but Charles was more than happy to just ogle at the man from afar while devouring the juicy wurst Erik had put together with his (large and very capable) hands.

But, little does Charles know, Erik doesn't usually work the front counter. He only does it when he knows the cute blue-eyed man will be dining in.

This is life (and everything’s all right) – pocky_slash

Summary: Edie Lehnsherr came into Charles' life long before he ever heard Erik Lehnsherr's name, and her death left a gaping hole in the lives of everyone in Charles' family. As the first Purim without her approaches, he begins to get creative in his efforts to bring everyone out of their grief. Kitchen creativity, however, is not quite his strength....

c'est regarder ensemble dans la même direction – melonbutterfly

Summary: Since that day on the beach, Charles and Erik have learned to agree to disagree for the sake of living and working together. Then, for Christmas, and Charles gives Erik Hanukkah back a second time, and their relationship shifts a little further.

Terrible Hanukkah Sweaters and Other Life Challenges – professor

Summary: “Why am I here again?” Erik groans.

“I need you to lift things and glower at people over my shoulder when I tell people that it’s not ‘politically correct’ or a ‘war on Christmas’ to have a non-denominational winter holiday festival,” says Theresa Pryde.

Well, at least those are two things he’s good at.

Shrapnel – librata

Summary: It's late 1940, and tensions between the Axis and the Allies are tightening. Displaced and alone, 16-year-old German Jew Erik Lehnsherr finds himself employed as a servant by some snobby, terrible family in England whose house is far too big and whose money never seems to end. The worst part is, he isn't just mucking stables or cleaning plates–-he's tasked with tending to the whiny, disabled son named Charles, who might just drive Erik into absolute madness.

Or, the World War II fic in which Erik and Charles experience a changing world and a lot of teen angst.

Defying Expectations – Baamon5evr

Summary: Charles and Erik meet each other’s family. Neither of them gets what they expect.

table for three – pocky_slash

Summary: Erik should have known to call ahead to the Chinese restaurant--it's Christmas Eve and he lives in a predominantly Jewish neighborhood, after all. But before he can go home to mourn the loss of another one of his mother's yearly traditions, he's accosted by a teenage girl with a strange proposition--that he should stay and have dinner with her and her mother, instead.

different from all other nights – metonymy

Summary: "This year we are slaves; next year we will be free." Kitty and Erik host a seder for Passover at the Xavier School.

Libertad – ariadnes_string

Summary: Erik knew the look, had seen it his whole life, even before the war.  ”You, with your height and blue eyes and straight nose, you can pass. You can be free of us. You are not marked with your difference.” If you only knew, he’d thought then. He thought the same thing now. And it was that thought, as much as anything, that made him move towards the gate.

Wash Away – sebastian2017

Summary: One quiet, lonely morning, before Yom Kippur, Erik makes his way to the sea in search of forgiveness.

After? There is No ‘After’ – Unrepentant_Marvelist

Summary: Erik knows what he is for. He has known his responsibilities as a survivor since the moment he woke under a scratchy, lice-infested blanket in the Red Army hospital. His world is painted in lucid blacks and whites (so often splashed in red) and there is no room for uncertainty or indecision... until a certain sunburned Englishman throws himself into his world.

The Children of an Idle Brain – Margo_Kim

Summary: Sometimes, when he’s lucky, Schmidt can’t hurt him. It’s like there’s a room inside of Erik’s head that’s he’s usually locked out of, that won’t open no matter if he beats himself bloody against it. On those days, he endures. But sometimes—and Erik doesn’t know why, whether it’s that the stars align or some higher power takes pity or Erik screams loud enough to earn his reward—the door opens. Erik can duck inside and slam it behind him and watches himself through the windows as Schmidt slowly, methodically tortures him to strength.

These days, this past week, there’s a boy in the room with him and he tells Erik, “That’s horrible,” like that means something.

Somehow, across the world, Erik's and Charles' minds touch when they need each other most. They can't be sure that the other boy is real. They suspect that he is not. But that doesn't mean they aren't each other's lifeline until they lose each other and then for a while longer.

Tehillim – kvikindi

Summary: Erik, in Israel, afterwards: another life he could have had. If.

I fear no fate (for you are my fate, my sweet) – childishinquiry

Summary: Erik has worn long sleeves his whole life, even before they had to wear yellow stars. Marching along his arm, in neat, black, English letters, are the words "My name's Charles Xavier."

Precious Few Years – sherwoodfox

Summary: Erik and Charles (known only to each other by the letters inscribed on their wrists) are meant to be together, soulmates, destined for the most powerful kind of love and connection a human being can experience.

But they are separated in almost every possible way- by distance, by circumstance, by language, by war. Their chances of success- of finding one another in the labyrinth of the world- are very slim. There is a reason why most people never find their soulmates.

But of course, Charles and Erik aren't ordinary children-

They have their gifts.

[toomanystoriessolittletime]

mix up

Summary: A mix up with the buildings laundry was all it took to get what you always secretly wanted.

Pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (can be read as reader insert)

Wordcount: 4k+

Warnings: lots of cursing, smut (Oral; female receiving; sex), sex toys, also fluff, bad flirting as ususal

A/N: In my mind, this was a drabble. Apparently my brain had other ideas. The biggest thank you to @f0rever15elf​ for being my beta on this <3

Masterlist

Taglist in reblog

Pushing the laundry bin with your dirty laundry out of your apartment, you checked if you had  everything before you locked the door of your apartment behind you. It was laundry day. Thankfully the apartment in Bogata came with a laundry service. Not that you were not able to do your own laundry, you simply didn’t have time for it. The last thing on your mind while chasing down Escobar was doing your laundry. The job took every single second of your life, even in the few times you were off from work, even in your sleep. Walking down the long hallway, the last door you passed was Javier’s. You heard him curse something in spanish before the door opened and a similar laundry bin was placed in front of his door. You tilted your head as you looked at him, crossing your arms in front of your chest, a little grin on your lips.

“What?” He asked looking down at himself. 

“Nothing.” You hummed. “I love that color on you.” You winked before you walked out.

“Fuck you too.” He chuckled as he followed you.

“What? I do love it. As a matter of fact I own some pink stuff I wear occasionally.” You unlocked the car and he jumped into the passenger's seat.

Javier and you were co-workers. He had joined you in the hunt for Escobar only shortly after you arrived here from DC. You would say you even became friends. As possible as it was to become friends with him. There were only a handful of people who knew the lengths you had to go through at this job. Of course, he had tried to get into your pants first but the both of you decided it would be for the better to keep this strictly non physical. At least that’s what you told yourself. 

Though secretly you felt yourself wishing it was you on the receiving end of his “affection” as you lay in bed alone at night, while he was fucking some prostitute on the other side of the building.

“I’ve never seen you wearing anything pink, Guapa.” He pushed his yellow aviators up as he reached for the pack of cigarettes. You started the engine and looked at him.

“Oh Javier… There are many things you haven’t seen me wear.” You winked. You could see when the penny dropped and he shook his head, with a small grin. 

“Fuck. I didn’t even have my coffee yet and you put pictures of you in underwear inside my head?”

“I never said it was my underwear. But… That’s payback for making me listen to the moaning from your apartment last night.” You finally got the car on the road.

“Jealous?” He asked, holding his cigarette by the window. You mentioned once that you weren’t a big fan of smoke but didn’t mind it. He had made the effort to turn himself away from you from that day on when he smoked.

“More curious.” You said honestly.

“How so?” You stopped at a red light, turning your head to look at him. 

“We both know you are paying most of those women, so how real is their… valuation with you if you know what I mean?” You were genuinely curious. You had two relationships before and both of them didn’t really care for your pleasure. You had been responsible for your own orgasms all your life and you were wondering…

“Oh they aren’t acting Guapa. I know what I’m doing.” He winked at you and threw his cigarette out.

“Every man says that.” You shrugged, rolling your eyes.

“Well… You’ll have to trust my word. The only way you could be sure was if I showed you, and we both agreed that nothing will ever happen between us, right?” He asked. You nodded and looked away from him, starting the car again, when the light switched to green. You didn’t notice him looking at you as you continued to drive.

“If we wouldn’t be working together, would you?” He asked as you parked the car in front of the embassy and killed the engine. The car ride had been silent since the red light.

“Would I what?” You asked pulling your purse out from the backseat.

“Let me show you that I definitely know what I’m doing?” He asked, his voice deeper as he looked into your eyes. You looked back into his and wondered if anyone had ever noticed the small caramel like spot in this right eye.

“I guess that’s another thing you will never find out, Peña.” You had a small smile on your lips, hoping to cover up your nervousness. He looked at you knowingly before he let his tongue dart out to wet his lips. You swallowed, your eyes flying to his lips before you looked up and he bit his lip.

“Shame,” he whispered before he opened the car door and got out of the car. You closed your eyes, ignoring the throbbing between your legs as you watched him go into the building.

“Fucking hell,” you muttered, shaking your head to follow him inside.

Weeks went by without either of you mentioning the conversation between you. At some point, you thought you imagined the whole thing. You continued to work together. You both took care of Steve when Connie left to go back to the states unannounced. You couldn’t blame her. You’ve been wondering yourself if what you were doing would end in catching Escobar in the end. 

Javi and you were a pretty damn good team at work. He always had your back which was a gift you truly cherished. When you had first met him and Steve, you would have bet a lot of money that they would be just like the other assholes you had worked with before. But they weren’t. Of course Javier continued to flirt with you. That’s just who he was. But he also did acknowledge your intelligence and knew when he had to shut up and actually listen. You grew so comfortable with each other that just one look from the other would tell if it was a good day, or a bad day. 

Today had been a bad day for you. 

Not only was the lead you had chased the day before a dead end, but you just felt exhausted. Like the last weeks of working constantly came crashing down at you all at once. So you called in sick. For the first time… ever. You ignored that one of the reasons you felt so shitty was the fact that Steve and Javier had been gone for 3 days now. 

A knock on your door made you groan but you made your way to open up anyway, thanking the lady with your clean laundry with a smile before you closed the door and brought it into your bedroom. Deciding to put the clothes away right now instead of letting them stay on your bed as you usually did, you frowned when you saw a very pink shirt on the bottom. You let your fingers run over the fabric. It was Javi’s shirt. The one you teased him about.

Biting your lip, you looked down at it. You should give it back to him. You knew that. But he would be gone for at least another two days and you felt lonely. You opened the buttons, pulling the shirt you were wearing off and got his shirt on. You looked at yourself in the mirror. You had never worn a shirt of a man before, and when you pictured it before you weren’t thinking about a pink shirt, or Javi’s, but somehow you liked the way it looked on you. Smiling to yourself you pulled the fabric closer and you could swear you smelled his aftershave even though it was freshly cleaned. You did spend more time than you would ever admit to anyone thinking about him. The way he walked. The way he ran his hands through his hair when he was frustrated. How you could see his chest hair when he was wearing his poorly buttoned shirts. Closing your eyes you shook your head.

Coworker. He was your Coworker. 

Your very attractive Coworker who you caught undressing you with his own eyes more than once. In the quiet of your apartment you often dreamed what it would be like. Him touching you. You knew he could have anyone, yet he chose to pay for sex. He didn’t seem like he was looking to have any relationship, and you couldn’t blame him. But what if he chose you? What if he wasn’t your Coworker? What if he was just Javi? Your neighbor. What if you weren’t in Colombia chasing down drug lords? 

You pictured him coming home to you and taking you on the kitchen table. Would he go down on you? You bet he would. He seemed like he enjoyed pleasuring his woman. His woman. You wanted to be his woman. Even though you knew he wasn’t looking for someone. He told you before on a very drunken night out that he sucked at relationships. He just needed someone to make him forget, someone…

A knock on your door interrupted your thoughts again. Looking at yourself you considered answering whoever was at the door dressed in this shirt but decided against it and put on your bathrobe. There was another knock at your door.

“One second!” You called pulling the bathrobe closer around your body as you unlocked your door.

“Javi?” You asked, surprised. “I thought you’d be back on Saturday.” You pulled the bathrobe around you closer, suddenly feeling too naked to be standing in front of him, even though your whole body was covered.

“You’re okay. Thank.. Fuck. You’re okay.” He sighed relieved looking at you.

“Why wouldn’t I be okay?” You frowned, a little confused. 

“I went to the embassy and no one knew where you were and…” He closed his eyes.

“I called in sick. I’m okay. I promise.” You said quietly. He ran his hand over his mouth, his other hand on his hip as he looked at you, his eyes tired.

“Are you okay Javier?” You asked a little confused at him just showing up like that. “Why are you back already?”

“Dead end. Didn’t see the point of staying there.” He shrugged.

“Okay. Then you should go to..”

“What are you wearing there?” he asked and nodded towards you.

“Uhm…” You looked down at yourself and tried to hide your surprise at seeing a bit of the pink shirt out. You looked up at him again, and you could see his grin.

“Is that pink I see?” His grin got wider. You sucked your bottom lip in.

“I told you I wear pink. Occasionally.” You shrugged. He nodded and continued to look at you before he stepped a little closer. You could see in his eyes that he was trying to work out what was going on and you noticed the moment he made the connection. His eyes darkened and you cursed yourself for not changing out of his shirt before you answered the door. 

“Is that… my shirt?” He whispered deeply. A shudder ran over your body. His hand came up, reaching for the collar that you apparently hadn’t tucked in as well as you thought you had. His finger brushed over your throat as his other hand slowly opened your bathrobe. One of your hands held your shirt together that you didn’t bother to button up. You shouldn’t have put it on in the first place. 

“Fuck, you’re wearing my shirt,” he cursed. You looked up at him, breathing deeply. You weren’t wearing anything but some panties beneath it. He looked down your body before he looked up at you again, his hand running up your neck to the back of your head.

You should take a step back, turn around and get away from him. Cause the way he was looking at you made your knees weak. 

“Javi, I can explain…” You mumbled, but he only shook his head slowly. The look he gave you made your poor explanation die on your lips.

“Tell me to stop,” he whispered as he stepped even closer. You felt the coldness of his leather jacket as he pushed your bathrobe from your shoulders and you shivered.

“Close the door, Javier,” you whispered. He looked at you, taking you in before he turned around and closed and locked the door. Pulling off his leather jacket he let it fall to the floor as he stalked towards you.

“I will never be able to get this picture out of my head.” He said as he walked you backwards until your back hit a wall behind you.

“You… You don’t have to get this picture out of your head.” You whispered.

“No?” He asked. One of his hands coming down on your hip as his other hand brushed some of your hair away that had fallen in your face. You shook your head at him.

“If you want to see me in your shirts, make sure to leave them with me after…” You bit your lip.

“After?” He leaned down and you felt his breath on your face.

“After you’ve fucked me.” You whispered and sighed when his lips crashed down on yours. You grabbed onto his back, pulling him closer as he licked into your mouth. Parting your lips without resistance you moaned when you felt one of his hands slip down your back.

“Been dreaming about this for years.” He groaned against your lips as he kissed down your neck, pushing the shirt you were still wearing open and you saw his little smile when he saw your boobs.

“Me too.” You whimpered as his teeth scratched over your neck. 

“Tell me.” He whispered, softly sucking on your pulse point on your neck before he kissed down your collarbone.

“Wanted you to feel against me. Wanted to… Ahh..” You cried out when his lips closed around one of your nipples.

“Tell me.” He groaned and looked up at you, not releasing the bud and sucked. You wouldn’t be able to continue to stand on your own feet if he kept that up.

“Wanted to taste you. Wanted you to taste me. Wanted you to…”

“Fuck you?” He asked, releasing your nipple with an obscene sound. You just nodded.

“Been wondering if you taste as good as you smell.” He whispered and kissed down your stomach.

“May I?” He knelt in front of you, his dark eyes wild as he looked up at you. You hesitated.

“I… No one ever….” You sucked your bottom lip in, shy all of the sudden. He seemed to understand immediately, cursing under his breath.

“You should be worshipped. Fucking losers. All of them.” He shook his head and got up from the ground.

“Will you let me?” He asked softly. There was nothing but affection in his eyes and you felt yourself nodding. You shrieked when he picked you up in his arms, moaning when he kissed you as he carried you to your bedroom. Carefully he set you down and you looked up at him. You wondered what this would change between you. Because you wouldn’t be able to go back to being just friends after this. 

“You’re not just a fuck, hermosa.” He seemed to answer your thoughts. 

“Let me feel you.” You said as you got up to stand in front of him. He didn’t stop you as you pulled his shirt out of his jeans and began to unbutton it, kissing his chest before you pulled it off. He groaned as you teased his nipple.

“Lay down on your back and let me take care of you.” He kissed you quickly and you complied, wanting to take the pink shirt off when he stopped you.

“No. Keep that on.” He smirked and you giggled.

“Whatever you want,” you hummed.

“Be careful what you wish for.” He said quietly as he looked down at you. A shiver ran over your body at the look he gave you and you could feel just how wet you were.

“What if I like playing with danger?” you asked. He furrowed his eyebrows before his hands opened the fly of his jeans. You swallowed, your eyes not leaving his as he pushed his jeans down. It was like he was challenging you to look and when you did you released a breath you couldn’t remember holding in. Of course he wasn’t wearing anything beneath his tight jeans.

When he was standing completely naked in front of you, he leaned down to slowly peel your embarrassingly damp panties down. He kissed up your leg, his mustache rubbing over the skin and you giggled when he kissed the skin behind your knees.

“Someone’s ticklish.” He mumbled against your skin.

“Maybe.” You smiled. He kissed up your inner thigh and unintentionally you wanted to close your legs but he didn’t let you.

“Let me look at you hermosa,” he whispered, looking up at you. You were only able to nod slowly. 

“If this is how I die I won't complain.” He murmured before his tongue darted out to taste you. You wanted to look at him but the way he nibbled, licked, and sucked made you throw your head back, moaning loudly. You grabbed the bedsheets, trying to ground yourself as he sucked at you clit.

“So fucking good,” he groaned against you and you cried out. 

“Fuck, keep going…,” you moaned. One of his hands on your stomach held you down while his other hand grabbed one of your boobs, kneading them, pulling at your nipple.

“Cum for me baby.” He whispered, his tongue dipping inside of you.

“Fuck….” You arched your back, heat rushing through your body as you almost blacked out when your orgasm washed over you.

This was unlike anything you ever felt before. You were so out of it you didn’t notice Javi stopped until his mouth was on your neck before he made you look at him. You felt his cock between your legs and you shakily breathed out, a blissful smile on your face as he leaned down to kiss you softly. You didn’t know nor did you care how long he kissed you, you just knew you never wanted to stop.

“You did enjoy that, right?” He asked and you punched against his chest, making him laugh.

“You’re awfully full of yourself, Agent Peña.” You shook your head and he cocked an eyebrow. 

“What if I want you to be awfully full of myself?” He smirked.

“You did not just say that.” You snorted, shaking with  laughter beneath him.

“Sorry,” he laughed with you, looking down at you.

“No you’re not.” You grinned and he chuckled. 

“Do you though?” He asked, quieter now as his laughter subsided. You arched your eyebrow in question. “Want me to fuck you?” He kissed down your jaw, as he rolled his hips against yours.

“Is me naked beneath you not clue enough? I thought you knew that you were a good Agent and knew what you’re doing...” You teased, your hands wandering down his back, pulling him against you. He bit into your shoulder and you moaned.

“Oh I’m gonna show you that I know exactly…” He kissed you. You groaned as you felt the tip of his cock at your entrance. “How to make you cum.”

“Condoms... “ You gestured to your bedside drawer. He nodded, disappearing from your point of view before he was back, a dirty grin on his face.

“This is gonna be fun.” He whispered, holding a condom and your vibrator up. You blushed looking away from him.

“No need to be shy, hermosa.” He ripped the condom package open and pulled it over his hard cock. You felt his hand between your legs and you looked up at him, before two of his fingers entered you, his eyes never leaving yours.

“So If nobody ever made you cum by going down at you…” He kept fingering you slowly, adding another finger and you moaned quietly, feeling so full already.

“Did anyone ever make you cum?” He asked, his thumb slowly circling your clit and you were about to cum again when he stopped. You pouted.

“Huh?” He asked. 

“Yes Javi. I made myself cum.” You groaned and he shook his head.

“Not anymore.” He hummed before you slowly felt himself push into you. You stopped breathing, looking up at him, embracing the delicious burn you felt as he split you in half. The sounds he was making would haunt you in the best way possible.

“So fucking tight,” he groaned and you released a breath when he was fully inside of you. He stilled, probably wanting you to get used to the stretch but all you wanted was..

“Move. Javi.” You pleaded and that was all he needed to hear.

“Feels better than I imagined.” He pressed, slowly fucking into you. He put your legs around his waist as he leaned down to kiss you. Holding him close, you let him fuck you, rolling your hips to meet his thrusts. Never in your life did you feel that full. He kissed every piece of skin his lips came in contact with and you grabbed onto his back, surely leaving marks as he moved faster. 

“Please…,” you moaned.

“Please what Hermosa?” he rasped, sucking on your shoulder.

“Harder.” You whimpered.

“You want it harder my needy girl?” he asked. You were only able to nod as he pushed away from you, pulling your legs over his shoulders. He held on to your legs before he began to ram into you.

“You want it harder. You get it harder. You get everything you fucking want.” He groaned.

“Fuck yes.” You moaned, holding onto the mattress beneath you. Closing your eyes you just let him do whatever the fuck he wanted. Never in your life had you been fucked like that. The familiar buzzing of your toy let you snap your attention back to the man curently fucking the life out of you and you almost jumped when the vibe made contact with your clit.

“Shit…,” you cried out, surprised when your orgasm washed over you within seconds.

“Fuck fuck….” Javie groaned, fucking you through your orgasm, throwing the vibe away.

“Can you give me one more?” He asked. You shook your head, still trying to breath properly, when he pulled out of you and turned you so you were straddling him.

“Ride me baby.” He smiled up at you. You leaned down, kissing him longingly before you carefully sat down on his cock.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said in awe, looking up at you as you slowly rolled your hips, still oversensensetive from your orgasm. Both of his hands sneaked under his shirt you were still wearing, massaging your boobs.

“You gonna give me one more, hermosa?” He moaned quietly, pushing himself up, his arms coming around you, his chest against you as he moved his hips against yours.

“Javi…” You whimpered, holding on to his shoulders.

“Tell me what you need…” 

“Kiss me,” you whispered. His lips were on you in the next moment and you shook as you felt your third orgasm approaching.

“Cum for me, Javi,” you whispered, clenching your walls, one of your hands pulling at his hair. He moaned against your chest as you felt him swell before he twitched and that was all it took for you to cum again. 

Out of breath you held on to each other, your head on top of his, his lips still attached to your boob.

“We should have done this sooner,” he chuckled and you smiled as you looked at him.

“We should have,” you agreed. You felt him soften inside of you but not you nor him were ready to let go of one another. You kissed him softly.

“We could do this again, you know?” You said carefully. You knew you wouldn’t be able to share him with anyone, he had to know. He looked at you.“But I’m not sharing what’s mine,” you added. 

“Yours, huh?” He asked, a little smile on his face. You nodded.

“I like the sound of that.” He said before he kissed you deeply. 

[sly-merlin]

be my shield | j.suh

Rainodanna requested : Simmiiiiiiii~ how about mafia Johnny coming home covered in blood and you have to patch him up 👀

Words : 1k

Warning : mention of blood

Genre : mafia, worrisome fluff?

Maybe poorly written bcs it's 4a.m and my brain makes mistakes and i couldn't find a beta reader

   

20:45

Bouncing on the tunes of your favourite music, you entered your sweet home, letting the emptiness greet you. You stopped abruptly in the hallway to jiggle your hip to the chorus and whilst giggling at yourself, danced your way to the kitchen. Tossing the large grocery bag on the counter and going through the ingredients, you decided to cook something nice for your fiance as a surprise.

 Johnny, your not so conventional lover, was addicted to many foul habits and the most distasteful for you was him going missing in action for days. Of course the others weren't bearable either but when you fail to ignore something, you somehow manage to live with it. When even after knowing Johnny's job you couldn't unlearn to love him, you decided to gulp down the tainted reality that embraced him. The day you came back to his house was the very day he had vowed to make sure you'd never see the darker side of the moon that he operated in. To minimise your involvement with the black neos, he met you only on certain days and today was one of those special occassions and the exact reason of your shopping spree. Earlier in the morning, he had called you through the symbian phone, confirming his attendance for the whole upcoming week. Hence, you were standing in the kitchen, ready to cook a late night dinner.

Just one more song, you told yourself before turning around with the jute bag to stack the surplus. When you finally unplugged the earphones, you unconsciously expected to be met with the silence that surrounded the premises whenever you were alone but instead uneven grunts startled you. Stumbling upon your feet, you tried to follow the painful voice, praying that your eyes would not meet the scene your mind had conjoured right after hearing the voice. Finding the bedroom void of any existence, you took careful steps towards the connected bathroom and a loud gasp escaped your lips as your gaze fell on the bloodied handle. With no intention of touching it, you pushed the already ajar door with your elbow only to face the dread itself. By the bathtub laid Johnny's limp figure, shirt torn apart showing the severely injured abdomen. You were quick in your steps as you approached him and snatched the rubbing alcohol from his hands with which he was trying to fix himself. Trying!

"Jo-john wha-how did this happen!" You stuttered in worry laced voice. Upon mere physical examination, anyone could say that the now stiffening cut was caused hours ago and that only meant that johnny had resisted against the medics for help. It wasn't your first time seeing him in the excruciating pain but like everytime, watching him damaged didn't hurt any less.

He winced at the pressure of the liquid against the wound and his trembling hand caught yours before you could clean it further. That's when you noticed the stream of tears ruining his face and his pain opened the route of yours too. 

"Please let m-me do it." Squeezing his hand reassuringly, you started patching him up. Whenever he cried in anguish, you shushed him with soothing words. With blurred vision and almost forty minutes of labour, you managed to stitch the knife cut. You helped him out of his reddened clothes and slowly assisted him to carry himself to the bed for the much needed rest. Infinite questions ran through your head but you decided to save the confrontation for some later hour when he would be in actual position to answer.

**

"It's sour! I don't want to eat this!" 

"Baby are you getting a fever?" You questioned, palming his forehead for the taste of the soup, a few minutes ago, was very much sweeter. He wasn't warm but still looked exhausted. 

Johnny was more than what could be described as strong but he was a mere human in the end and it didn't happen very frequently that the great johnny suh could be caught crying like a baby.

"No y/n. I'm alright. It was left open for too long maybe that's why it was hurting too much or maybe i was just being dramatic" he choked out a painful chuckle, wimpering slightly at the stress it caused on his lower body. 

"Where was your bulletproof jacket johnny? You are supposed to wear it. It's given to you for a very specific re-

"Hey. I'm fine now. Besides it was meant to be just a simple pistol exchange! Who knew they were not the giving types." 

 your eyes remained transfixed on his troubling expressions. He was clearly not fine and you couldn't point out what was more painful, him acting strong for you or him trying to divert his eyes so you won't read the truth from his face. 

"What about xiaojun and renjun? Why didn't you go to them? They are the medics John. And how did you even reach her-

Inching forward, he cut your word supply by covering your lips with his hand, leaving you perplexed.

"They were behind me so i dodged them and waited out for the sun to get down so i won't be followed back home " he explained as his fingers brushed your lips to cup your cheek. Leaning your face against it, you kissed his palm, showing your unwavering concern. He knew there was no way he could stop you from worrying and the least he could do was make sure you were convinced. 

"Come here" he said, squeezing your jaw. You crawled over his legs to reach the left side so your touch won't put a strain on the injury. Once settled and tucked under the covers, he let out a content sigh, relishing the much needed company. 

"Promise me next time you won't go out without backup and would be more careful." You requested warmly, snuggling little more into his neck. He softly kissed your hair in return and tugged you closer like it was even possible.

"Yeah. I've to" he mumbled, knowing he didn't need more words to explain what he really meant.

I have to because that's the only way i can shield you.

[hitoshisbabygirl]

Keys hit the table and the usual grunt of cuss words fill the living room of the shared apartment of Bakugou and his roommate [ ]. Hearing the angry blonde enter [ ] felt herself getting up as she entered into the shared living room of them “Bad day?” She asked as vermillion eyes glanced towards her concerned [ ] ones. “ ‘M fine'' The usual grunt filled the room as he pushed back past the worried girl. Frowning and used to this curt greeting of his from the last few days [ ] sighed and went back to their kitchen yelling to the blonde that she started a shower for him, getting no real response from him.

Bakugou and [ ] had an odd relationship. They started to live together because of the boys burning his kitchen on their day off when they all lived together. He told the others ‘She was the only smart one out of his dumbass friends and the only one he could trust to not burn his place down’ and with that the usual group of Sero, Denki and Kirishima moved out of his place and to the place beside him ,the group wanting to still be around the grumpy blonde. [ ] was used to coming over with Mina and the group being around before Bakugou asked her, quite aggressively one day ( Oi you're moving in with me, i'm tired of these dumbasses destroying my place on their days off of patrol) which is how they ended in this arrangement

Even with Bakugou being a handsome and very popular hero with ladies, he never had anyone over, no awkward run-ins with [ ] staying there, nothing at all. He rarely even left the house to visit the others unless he knew he had the time for it. Bakugou was dedicated , being the #2 hero he had little time for much outside of work. He refused to take brakes, no matter how much [ ] and the others tried to get him out hed huff and puff about work until he actually had fun at whatever function it was that he was dragged to so he could get fresh air

He'd been like this since highschool when she met him. Angry , confidence that was more like cockyness, a temper to be messed with, prideful and not afraid to speak his mind, good or bad. [ ] could remember from when she used to get paired with him how smart he actually was, but how he could also belittle you if you didn't realize he gave you backward compliments. She owns him over with taking him head to head on, in practice battles and in the work behind the scenes. Bakugou wouldn't admit it but [ ] kept him together, more than he let show on the outside. From bandaging him up after an intense fight, to letting him vent when he was angry ; [ ] was there for everything, his good , bad and ugly.

Hearing the showeer turn off [ ] continued to find them something to eat as the silence in the room was comforting. As dinner started she took his hero clothes to the washer, starting the load so he'd have a fresh outfit, even with him having multiples of the hero costume, he was quite fawn of the one that he had gotten during highschool, the measurements needing to be increased heavily for his now large size but that was nothing for [ ]. As a gift once he got his own agency she had repaired the old threads, even going far enough to bulking them up so they'd be less prone to ripping or shrinking. That was the one time [ ] had seen emotion flash through the stoic blonde before he thanked her, genuinely with a rare smile that blessed his face.

Soon though, she felt a presence in the room. Turing around she was met with those same vermillion eyes, this time the look in them unreadable as he stared his friend down “Yes Kasuki?” [ ] said as she turned back to the boiling pot of rice on the stove “What Are cooking?” He asked as he stood over the aisle to see what she was stirring. “Rice so far, do you want chicken, fish or beef to go with it?” She asked as she turned to the still staring blonde, his eyes wavering as she stared back at him “Are you okay Suki?” [ ] said again as he pushed himself up , crossing around the aisle before going to her side “You don't have to do this for me” He said as she ignored him “ So Chicken is fine?” “[ ], i'm not a child you don't have to keep treating me like one” Sighing the girl turned to him, seeing that he was hunched over the counter, stretching his back as she could see the pained expression as he pulled out the muscle “Sit down yeah? Consider this an early birthday present to you” [ ] said as he gave her a glare “That doesn't mean you have to constantly cook and do shit like this for me, I have two weeks before it anyway” “Katsuki, sit down and take the kindness i'm giving you and hush” Pointing with her stirring spoon [ ] shooed the now grumbling and fussing blonde away. Just a usual day in the apartment

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

Hearing a loud cuss from the living room [ ] got up to see her roommate slump against the door, face tensed in apin as he ganced to the concerned girl “Shit, fix your face princess ‘m fine, just a bit of - fuck…- jsut soem pain is all” Reaching for the blonde [ ] helped him in, the larger male trying to hold up his weight as much as he could as she helped him to their bigger bathroom, sitting him on the toilet “Do you have any cuts or anything? Should we go to the doctor?” [ ] asked as a large hand sat over hers that went for his shirt “Im okay [ ], just some bruising and some little cuts here and there okay? Don't worry your pretty head about me” Feeling her face heat up she ignored what he said and started to help him out of his clothes, showing her a dark and slightly bloody mess of his rib cage. Wincing from the sight alone she started to lightly clean around the open wounds and surface scrapes around them. As she did he told her about the recent building that was destroyed from him using his blast too intense in one area like the villains he fought wanted him to. Another bad habit of BAkugous was beating himself up when he felt like he did poorly, which took a lot of trying to get him to let out. He would just overwork himself instead of relaxing and taking time to cool off and realize he wasn't the issue. “Any pain when I push here?” with a slight push bakugou hissed, eyes closing as she pressed deeper on his rib cage “Sorry sorry” Wrapping him up as tight as he could take [ ] stooped to look over his injuries, a frown on her lips “Stop it” Bakugou said, causing the girl to blink at him “ Stop what?” She asked as he met her eyes in the mirror “You're pouting. I'm a big boy thats what me being a hero is for i can take it , don't baby me” Her frown now deeping [ ] pushed his shoulder “Well you need a break , last week you were babying your shoulder now your ribs, im calling you in sick” Growling Bakugou went to sat something until he saw her face ; fear. She was afraid one night he wouldn't come home, that it would be the others telling her he was gone permanently. With a deep sigh he reached for her hand, pulling her back to him as he gave her a hug. Concerned and trying to come to her racing heart she looked up to those deep eyes of his, the same concert starting to fill them “ [ ]...i'll take the week off it makes you happy and rest, I’ll be okay alright? Just...please..I dont want to disappoint the one person who helps me even when im stupid and tells me what i need to hear without just agreeing with me” Shocked at his words all [ ] could do was rub his arm and bury her face in his warm chest, inhaling the smell of smoke and burnt caramel from his skin “Oi princess..” He rasped out as she just hummed , not moving from her spot. With ease the still injured blonde picked her up effortlessly and placed her on the sink, causing her to cry out. Slowly he let his hands trace her face, their eyes studying the other as he pressed his forehead to hers “Thank you..for dealing with me” He whispered against her lips as they slowly closed the gap between them, lips sealing in a soft peck. As soon as it happened it was over, Bakugou pulled away before he got too invested. Biting his bottom lip he gave her a lopsided smile, heading to his bedroom

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

4/20, The day of the birthday boy Katsuki rolled in a lot faster than he thought it would. Sitting up slowly he looked around his dark room, the bright light of 2:00 am mocking him as he got up to go to his kitchen. Seeing [ ] humped over at the computer sparked the explosion heros curiosity. Finishing his glass of water she came over to her, seeing that she had one last piece of paper in her hands that strangely looked like….

“Are those my reports?” a deep voice rumbled out. Letting out a screech [ ] jumped, turning in the swiveling chair to an almost adorable sight. A shirtless and sleepy Bakugou was rubbing his eyes as he let himself focus on her “Uhm...well yeah they are. They're all done now!” [ ] said as she gave him a wide smile whined the blondes' frowns deeped “You did all of my paperwork?” He said in disbelief as she looked at her hands , picking at her hand “Well yeah...I wanted you to have a non stressful birthday” She admitted as he scoffed , getting closer to her as he wrapped his arms around her neck and the top of the chair “You're so sweet...too good for me….” He grumbled as he hid his face in the nervous girl's neck. Gasping as she felt his hot lips kiss the junction of her neck she couldn't help but lean over more . letting him absentmindedly kiss her all over her shoulder and neck, little ‘Thank yous’ spilling from the tired man's lips. Still following his same path he worked his way up to her cheek, basking in the little laugh she let out as he nuzzled under her chin. Slowly what happened a few days ago repeated itself, they were face to face as his still sleep swarming eyes stared back at her curious ones. Tapping her bare leg from her seat she moved as he took her by the arm to his room. Hearing her heart in her ears [ ] sucked in a breath as he flopped on his luxury bed, making grabby hands at the standing girl. Giggling [ ] crawled in the bed with him as he pulled her on top of him “[ ]....” He groaned as she looked at him. Licking his lips as whispering Bakugou spoke “ I really like you...You and shitty hair dont have to do much for me all i want is you…” He said as she gave him a wide eyed look, not sure she heard him right “Yeah im finally admitting it...ive had a crush on you for a while...i never noticed it until Shitty hair called me out for having a worse mood when that good for nothing vibrating little shit tried to steal you from me at the banquet” As the comfortable silence filled the room he spoke up again “ And i really...wanna kiss you….but im scared you wouldn't like me back...after all these years of dealing with my shit and how i can be...your like a godsend to me..” As he opened his eyes to her he was surprised to feel her lips press against his , full and warm. Slowly he wrapped his arms around her waist, holding her in his lap as they kissed more and more, the kiss becoming deeper as she pulled away, whispering a soft ‘ I love you’ as he kissed her again until they drifted to sleep in eachothers arms.

[strabbyshortcake]

the truth about snaktooth

Gramble finally tells his partners what befell him and everybody else on the island.

“Whatcha doin’, Gram?”

The screen door clatters as it shuts behind Boots. It’s a nice summer night, one of the rare ones they got with little humidity, so Gramble had left the main door open, the sound of katydids and crickets drifting through from the outdoors. He looks up from the hand towel in his paws, shoulders hunched guiltily.

There’s a large cardboard box sitting on the floor, full of bits of kitchen décor. Ceramic plates with fruit stenciled on them, prints of vintage ads for bread and desserts, towels with produce embroidered on them. All the kitschy things Boots knew he liked decorating his spaces with, and Gramble spent more time in the kitchen than either her or Piesha, with how much he enjoyed cooking.

“Oh, evenin’ Boots,” he greets her, expression softening into a smile. “You remember we talked about Lizbert and Egg visitin?”

“Yeah…?” She pads over, frowning a little at the bare spots on the walls and shelves. Boots was acquainted with the two from attending expedition reunions with Gramble, and while she made it no mystery that she disliked Lizbert’s invasive style of exploration, it was all in the past. Liz had retired from that life after the whole Snaktooth stunt to become a museum curator. “What’s the matter, they allergic to tackiness?”

Gramble laughs at her affectionate teasing. “No, well… Actually, funny you should say that. Egg’s fine, but Liz has got… I guess you could say she’s got kind of a hang-up over food imagery. And while she’s doin’ well these days, might just make her a lil’ more comfortable to not feel so surrounded, y’know?”

“Yeah, yeah, I get you.” Boots nods, reaching up to take the clock off the wall. It’s a piece of painted wood in the shape of a strawberry. Nollie had made it in an art class. “Place is a little dusty, anyway.”

Together he and Boots work to mostly strip the place of any food-related decoration, leaving only a couple little accents up so the place didn’t seem too bare. Gramble sighs at the empty walls, leaning into Boots’ touch as she places a paw on his shoulder.

She and Pie had always been so understanding when he told them he couldn’t talk about what had happened on the island, but he hated to keep his loved ones in the dark. Not simply for the fact that there might still be danger lurking out there, but that he knew he could trust them, and yet, just telling them what had happened was almost as terrifying as the thought of being back there. The idea that just speaking of it would somehow make it manifest, bring it back into his life when he’d worked so hard to escape it, haunted him, but so did keeping it bottled up inside.

“…I need to tell you both what really happened,” he says quietly. “It’s been long enough. Just, after Liz and Egg are gone. Then we’ll talk about it.”

Boots blinks down at him in surprise. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.”

--

The visit went well. This was the first time Lizbert and Eggabell had seen the new house and the refurbished barn, the first they’d met Cardi and Dember, and Nollie had only been a year old when they’d last come around. They’d caught up, shared stories, enjoyed Gramble’s cooking and chatted about where their lives were going and where they’d been.

After they’d waved goodbye, gotten in Eggabell’s car and driven off to see Wambus and Triffany, after the dishes had been cleared and cleaned and the kids were all in bed, Gramble sat Boots and Piesha down on the porch swing in the back while he took the rocking chair.

“I need to tell you,” he says, fidgeting with his paws where they rested on his chest. “about what happened on Snaktooth.”

“Alright.” Pie nods slowly, leaning into Boots’ cushy side. Boots gives him an encouraging smile, rocking the swing back and forth slightly with her heel.

Gramble swallows, licking his lips. “So… Not all of what I told you was a cover-up. We did run outta food and I did almost starve to death. But… Geez, I dunno where to even start.”

“Why’d you go in the first place?” Boots asks.

“Oh, that I didn’t lie about either. My mama really did up and leave while I was at college. I went cuz… Cuz I guess I felt like I didn’t have anywhere else to go. I saw Liz on TV say she was gatherin’ people up for her team and I just… I wanted somewhere to go that wasn’t home.”

She nods solemnly, gesturing for him to go on.

“Well, Snaktooth… Liz said she found somethin’ there. These creatures she was documenting. D’you… Have either of you ever heard of bugsnax?” Gramble nearly whispers the last word, even though it’s just the three of them out here, just the three of them and the crickets and fireflies, the kids sound asleep.

Piesha tilts her head, thoughtful. “Mm… Maybe a long time ago,” Pie says. “One of those things they got lots of fairy tales about. Critters made of food, right?”

“Right.” Gramble nods. “But they’re real. And please- I know how it sounds,” he stammers, even though neither of them looked skeptical. “But I swear. I saw them, I picked them up and held them, I had a whole barn full of them that Liz and Buddy caught for me. I had names for them, and… and everybody said they were the most delicious things they’d ever eaten. B-but there’s a reason for that. Sorry, lemme go back a bit and explain.

“When we got there, we thought we’d be able to farm. That was Wambus’s thing, but no matter what he tried, the crops would wither, or the bugsnax would get in and destroy them. The only thing he could grow was the sauce that grew on the island, and that wasn’t anywhere near enough to live on. Pretty soon we ran outta food, but that wasn’t a problem for most folks. They’d just eat the bugsnax.”

“And I’m guessin’ you didn’t?” Boots asks.

He shakes his head. “No, I didn’t want to. I already didn’t eat meat, and the snax were always so cute and friendly and I couldn’t bear the thought of hurtin’ them. So I just… didn’t. I tried to live off the sauce, and I ate dandelions and weeds, I ate damn near anything that was edible, but it was never enough.”

“That’s awful, Gram.” Boots says, her brows knitted. “Why didn’t you leave?”

“Well, I… I thought about it,” Gramble wraps his arms around himself. “Even though I didn’t have nowhere to return to, I figured it might be better than starving. But it wasn’t too long after that Lizbert up and disappeared. Her and Egg, there was an earthquake and after that they never came back to town. Some folks thought they died, others thought they ran off, but without her nobody was bringin’ in bugsnax to eat and they started to eat mine, so I ran off with the rest of ‘em and that made everybody mad and I really did start to think there was nobody who cared about me but the snax and Wiggle, and… and even she was eatin’ them too, but I let her cuz I didn’t have nobody else... I was so afraid she’d leave me too that I put up with it.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath. “So, um… I guess a couple weeks after that, Buddy finally showed up. We’d been on the island almost a year at that point. They wanted to interview Liz, figure out what happened, and they managed to get all of us back into town within a week or two. I was really doin’ poorly though.” His claws absently scratch at his belly over the scar that the rake had left, concealed beneath his fur but never fully faded.  “Didn’t care much whether I lived or died. Nothin’ I tried worked, and one of the big snax I asked Buddy for nearly killed me. And then…”

Boots holds Pie’s paw between both of hers, stroking it, both of them patiently waiting for him to gather his racing thoughts. It had been so long since he’d even thought about all this, and much of the events were a haze of hunger and pain, he was amazed he could keep the basic timeline coherent.

“Then, one night… When we were all back in town, Filbo decided he wanted to throw a party. That was when everything… That’s when it all fell apart. There was an active volcano on the island, and it erupted. Eggabell suddenly showed up back in town and told us she knew where Liz was, and she and Buddy and Filbo ran off to get her while the rest of us tried to get to safety. B-but… You remember what I said before, about the bugsnax?” He lifts his gaze to the two of them.

Pie nods at him. “Yeah. They taste good, right?”

“They also…” Gramble holds his paws out, curling his fingers into fists. “They change you. Whenever you eat one, your body parts become it. I know it sounds silly, but everybody was walkin’ around with arms and legs made of strawberries and corn and cinnamon rolls and you kinda just… got used to it. I only ever ate one when I was sleepwalkin’, and I don’t even remember what it was like, but everybody else except Shelda ate ‘em all the time. You get used to it and then you start believin’ that they’re the only thing that can make you feel good anymore. Sorta like drugs, but sorta like… Wiggle used to say they inspired her, and Chandlo thought he could get stronger with them, it was whatever you wanted. I guess even I was fallin’ for it, thinkin’ they could replace my family, and I never even had to eat ‘em.

“But that’s the trick. You get dependent, but you don’t realize that… That they’re parasites. And I’m kinda fuzzy on the details, but according to Buddy, Liz was somehow stuck down in the main… meat of the hive,” Gramble brings his paws together, looking down at his intertwined fingers. “And that’s where she’d been all along, down in the darkness with all those food bugs crawlin’ all over her and into her mouth and… that’s why she’s got such a thing about food.”

“Ah…” He can’t blame Boots for looking a little numb, covering her mouth with her paw as Pie stares blankly at him. It was a lot to take in. “Yeah, I guess that’d do it.”

Gramble goes on. “They attacked us not long after Buddy and the others left, tryin’ to force themselves into our mouths, or kill us, either or. I guess they knew the jig was up, then and there. No comin’ back from that. But we all got away, in the end… And that’s what happened.”

He falls silent. The porch swing creaks slightly as Boots lets it come to a stop, letting the singing of the insects fill the air between them for a long moment.

“S’this place still out there…?” Piesha speaks up softly, glancing out into the darkness as if the snax might be watching from the trees.

“Far as I know,” Gramble says, slipping off the chair to walk over and take one of their paws in each of his. “But you gotta promise me you will never, ever go there.” His expression is grim as he peers up at them. “And you’ll never breathe a word to any of the kids about it, or to anybody else. Nobody should ever step foot on that awful place again.”  

“Gram,” Boots squeezes his paw in return, then leans over to scoop him up and pull him into her lap, the swing groaning in complaint as yet another grumpus is piled upon it. “…there’s gotta be somethin’ we can do-”

“No.” Gramble shakes his head, desperation creeping into his voice. “I- I don’t know. Maybe there is somethin’ that someone out there can do, but it can’t be any of us. I don’t want nothin’ to do with it ever again and if word gets out, it’s just gonna be more people goin’ there and that’s exactly what it wants. Please,” he tilts his head up at her, the porch light glimmering in his eyes. “Just leave it alone. It can’t get us here and I want it to stay that way. Promise me.”

When she hesitates, he repeats himself, teeth glinting as his lips peel back. “Promise me, please-”

“I promise.” Boots leans down to kiss him on the nose, wrapping her arm around him as the other draws Pie in closer. “I won’t tell nobody if that’s what you want.”

“That’s all that I want,” he murmurs into her fluffy chest, suddenly very tired despite the mental weight that had lifted. He’d spoken Snaktooth’s name aloud, finally uncorked what he’d kept bottled up for nearly two decades now. He should feel better-prepared, now that they were all on the same page, so why did he still feel like he was only summoning the beast? Perhaps he just needed to sleep, let this new information digest, and they’d face whatever came tomorrow together.

Hundreds of miles away, the island remembers them too.

[whumpingcrow]

Pt.24 "Hunting for Bunnies"

CW: creepy/intimate whumper, stalking, discussion of homicide/suicide (explicit), injury mention/description, blood (explicit), strangulation mention, gun/gunshot mention, character death mention, drugs/alcohol mention, prison mention, tics/tourrettes (descriptive), ptsd/nightmares, panic attack, chloroform use, self injury, x-acto knife (brief), gag/restraints, discussion of past whump, vomit mention (brief), conditioned whumpee, stockholm syndrome-type language (let me know if I missed anything!)

Healing was a good look on Elias. As weeks went on, his smile returned to his face, his bruises slowly melted away, the numerous scars scattering his body faded into small pinkish lines. He cut his hair a little shorter, dyed a streak of blue through it. He and Tyson got matching tattoos, little rain clouds and with lightning bolts on their forearms. They were happy, very obviously so.

August wanted to kill both of them for it.

He wasn’t entirely jealous (he was, so jealous he was blood thirsty every second of the day), he was more so just frustrated that Elias thought he was able to be happy without August. He was stupid. Adorable, but stupid. He didn’t know that he needed August to survive. He didn’t know that being away from each other was killing them both. Rather, he didn’t know how much the distance was making August want to kill them both. It would have to be a grand gesture, a murder suicide so beautiful there’ll be copycats. He had to talk himself out of those violent fantasies several times a day, hold himself back from getting out of his car while he followed Elias and just grabbing him. Maybe he’d strangle him again, watch the life drain out of his face, watch him slip into the dark abyss of death. Maybe he wouldn’t, maybe he’d take him home and torture him until he was broken beyond broken and then put him out of his misery. Single shot to the face, like he’d made Elias do to Sawyer so long ago. And then...August guessed he would do himself in after that. He was tired of being in and out of prison, and if Elias didn’t exist anymore, then what would be the point in living? Maybe that was the thought that made him change his mind, when his hand was on the door handle and he was getting ready to make a huge, violent, romantic scene. Maybe the idea of a world without Elias was just too sad, and he knew he didn’t really want Elias dead. He just wanted him away from Tyson.

They were both entirely oblivious that August was even close by, let alone watching them all the time. He was renting a room at a motel a couple streets away from Tyson’s apartment, but he was hardly ever there. He spent most of his time parked near their apartment, which was conveniently on the first floor and had a large window in the living room that was facing the street. There was also a porch in front, where Elias would occasionally sit outside late at night and smoke cigarettes or blunts. Sometimes he was alone, sometimes Allen was there with him. August often thought about how hilarious it would be to walk up to both of them at times like that, just to see them both unravel with fear at the same time. A few nights, when Tyson is working and Elias is all alone, August sits out front in the grass next to a tree and just watches Elias inside. He can see him smoking in the living room, he watches him pass out on the couch, sometimes he goes into the kitchen, comes back with nothing. When he goes to bed, August watches him lock the door, and it pisses him off so badly he wants to throw a rock through the window. He doesn’t want to go inside, he’s letting Elias heal again, he’s respecting his space, for the moment. Still, knowing that Elias actively wants to keep him out stings. So, he holds off breaking in for as long as he can.

It’s just a shame his resolve isn’t so strong, not when it comes to Elias. He can’t stay away from him anymore, he knew it the second he bought a plane ticket back here to find him, despite the very real possibility of being arrested any second. On the plane, he came to the conclusion that he had absolutely no control when it came to Elias. He couldn’t stay away from him, he couldn’t restrain himself when he was hurting him. He loved Elias, loved him so much it was driving him insane. Things just didn’t make sense when they were apart, August could hardly form a coherent thought that wasn’t about Elias, or how much it hurt to only be able to look but not touch. Though, when he broke in he wasn't able to touch Elias still, but it was at least closer than being separated by a window.

Tyson and Elias left the house, August wasn't sure where or when, but when August finally left his motel and pulled up to their place, the car was gone. It would be easy enough to find them, August had Tyson's number still and could get his location in minutes, if he wanted. Instead, he tested the door handle. It was unlocked. He guessed if they weren't there it didn't matter to them whether someone broke in or not.

August didn't make it obvious he was there, not the first time. He went through some of their things, put everything back in its place. He took one of Elias's shirts, a pair of his boxers. He didn't think either of them would notice, which bummed him out because he wanted Elias to know he was close by.

The next time he snuck in, it was when Elias was there. August had held himself off for as long as he could, he'd been in LA for 28 days already and he hadn't been closer than six feet from him the entire time. So when Elias smoked a huge bowl and went to bed without locking the door, it was like he was practically inviting him in, and August just couldn't help himself. He let himself in, he smoked what was left in Elias's bong, and he walked around the house for a little bit, waiting to make sure Elias was actually asleep before he went to see him.

Something about watching Elias sleep had always made August go disgustingly mushy for him. He looked so small, so vulnerable and unaware. This time was even better, because this time Elias thought he was free, thought that life was moving on without August, and yet here he was, kneeling next to the bed and watching Elias's chest rise and fall with each deep breath. He was beautiful, August was jealous of the moonlight kissing his face and making his face glow pale blue, he was jealous of the blankets wrapped snugly around his waist, he was jealous that Tyson got the privilege of sleeping next to this - his - angel almost every night.

August didn't have the courage to touch Elias, he was afraid that if he started he wouldn't be able to stop, he didn't want to get carried away. It might start with trailing his fingertips over his face to see if he'd wake up, then if he didn't he might kiss all over his body until he opened his eyes, then he'd probably smother him with a pillow.

That time when he left, he took the blanket that Elias had been using in the living room earlier. It smelled like him. That night he slept in his car right out front, wrapped up in the same blanket that had touched Elias's skin, his clothes, his face. It was the closest he'd felt to him in months.

After that he was cocky. He found their spare key poorly hidden under a potted plant on the front porch, and he completely took advantage of it. He went in all the time when neither of them were home, cleaning up after them in small, nearly unnoticeable ways, or looking through their things, or just sitting on the bed where Elias often slept, wishing he was there at the moment. He also used it on nights when he couldn’t stand being away from Elias for a second longer, waiting until late in the night to sneak in and sit on the floor for hours to watch him sleep. Once, and he never did it again because Elias almost woke up, August reached out and gently pushed his hair away from his face, where it was tickling the tip of his nose and making his face twitch. It was a reflexive touch, August had only realized he’d done it as an afterthought, when Elias huffed softly and started to move under the blankets. August stared at his hand in disbelief, oh shit I just touched him. And then he left. But Elias still didn’t know he was there, and truthfully, August was getting bored. Bored? Try going insane. He wanted them to notice that something was off, that maybe they weren't as safe as they thought. But they just continued on with their stupid, repulsively happy lives. It was maddening, and at some point August couldn't take it anymore.

The first deliberate mistake he made to blow his cover was running into Allen at a grocery store. He wore a hat and a hoodie, and he carefully avoided him until he was near the front, in a crowd of people. August walked right into him, caught one of the many snack foods that he knocked out of Allen’s overflowing arms, and handed it back to him with a smile.

“Sorry, my bad,” he said smugly, watching Allen’s face fall from his tight frown to a blank, horrified stare. And then he just walked away.

Allen surprisingly didn’t go and tell Tyson and Elias that he saw him, at least if he did, neither of them seemed bothered in the slightest. That irritated August further. He’d been counting on Allen to run and tattle on him, rattle them up so that August could dive headfirst into chaos and whisk Elias away. Incompetent. Unreliable.

So August wrote love notes. He taped them to trees in the yard, tucked them under Tyson’s windshield wipers. They said stupid things like “you’re my favorite brand of heroin, I want to overdose on you” and “I can’t stop thinking about the heavenly way you scream my name today, you look nice by the way”. (His sister had taken a poetry class while they were in high school, he would like to think she would find this humorous. He’d tell her, if she would ever talk to him.) That shook them up a little bit. Really, he believed that Tyson was the only one finding and reading them, and he didn’t think he ever told Elias. Probably didn’t want to scare him. But he started really keeping an eye on the locked doors, as if August hadn’t already made himself at home there multiple times. Elias could sense his tension, it seemed, because he started passing out on the couch and staying there more often, waking up multiple times from nightmares. They were anxious. It wasn’t enough to have them anxious.

Again, August just couldn’t control himself.

So he paid Tyson a visit. He knew his work schedule, knew that he left a little after five in the morning, knew that on normal days he would be home and in bed with Elias by six, they would sleep until around nine. But that day, August was waiting for him, along with chloroform and some duct tape. He followed him to his car, he came up behind him and slowly lowered him to the ground as he knocked him out with the dowsed rag he was holding. He was hardly able to put up a fight. Then he dragged him to his car, and drove him to his motel room. It was easy enough to get inside unnoticed, and also easy enough to tie Tyson up in a chair and gag him before he woke up. He made sure it was all secure before he went back to their apartment.

Elias hadn’t woken up yet, so he had some time to smoke some of his weed and pour himself a glass of wine before he got started. He brought an x-acto knife from his motel, and he wandered around the apartment, slicing into his forearm and using his finger to smear his own blood into declarations of love on their perfect, off-white walls. He wished he could be there when Elias woke up. He could only imagine how his face would look as he walked around reading “I love you so much it hurts”, “you’re mine Bunny”, “we’ll be together forever”, things of that nature. He’d be mortified. Before he left, he slipped into the bedroom and left the nearly empty glass of wine, messy with his bloody handprint, on the bedside dresser so Elias would also see that upon waking up. Then, completely on impulse, he reached out and traced his fingertip over Elias’s cheek in the shape of a heart. The blood on his finger stayed behind on Elias’s pale skin, and August smiled brightly. Elias would be so scared when he got up and was all alone, he’d surely call Tyson first thing. Too bad he wouldn’t have his phone.

August left his car there, took the bus home with his hood pulled low over his face, folding his arms so no one could see the blood seeping through. His hands were buzzing with excitement, high off of the idea of being able to get Elias back.

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

Elias almost slept late into the morning, that was the first sign that something might be wrong. Tyson would usually be home when the sky outside was the washed-out blue it got before sunrise, would crawl into bed with Elias and pull him close. Then he would apologize to Elias for waking him up, and Elias would ignore his apology and ask him about his night, and then they would fall back asleep for a while. That morning, hours and hours after Tyson would usually be home, the sun was floating in through the partially opened curtains and turning the insides of Elias’s eyelids a bright red in it’s warm light. He woke up, stretched against the soft mattress, and then slid his hand over the sheets until he found Tyson, who would be in bed with him by now. Only, he was met with more blankets and an empty bed. Elias could feel the tired, confused scowl spread across his face upon realizing Tyson wasn’t right next to him, but he pushed the bitter anxiety that came with it away. Maybe he was making breakfast, maybe he was in the shower. It was just like Tyson to not wake him up when he decided to start his day, to try and let Elias sleep for as long as he could. He was sweet like that, always had been.

With a yawn, Elias tossed the blanket off of himself and swung his legs over the edge of the bed, stretching his tired muscles out. It was still relatively new, and a little weird, for Elias to be able to stretch and move and even breathe without the addition of earth shattering amounts of pain, but he was getting used to it slowly. It didn’t come with nearly as much strange guilt anymore, he could hardly hear that little voice in the back of his mind telling him that he wasn’t deserving of a painless life, a life of ease. Even some days, when that little cruel voice was more of a brutal yell in his ear, telling him that he wasn’t worth any part of this simple, enjoyable life, he was able to get past it now. The voice would say “this is way too nice for you, you don’t deserve any of this”, he was able to, for the most part, smile and think back, “yeah, and aren’t I lucky I get it anyway?” and most of the time, it helped. On days that it didn’t, Tyson stepped in instead, told him anything he needed to hear: “you deserve everything to be nice, you’re an angel” or “it’s a shitty apartment, not a castle, it isn’t ‘too nice’ for anyone,” or sometimes, when Elias couldn’t be convinced, “even if you don’t deserve it, I want you here with me”. It was starting to feel like today was going to be one of the days that Elias needed Tyson to be louder than that voice in his head, as he pushed himself to his feet with ease and felt bad about it. He tried to reassure himself, he told himself that Tyson was right in another room and all Elias had to do to feel better was go see him. That was easy, he could do that.

He would have done that, if right before he stepped toward the door he hadn't caught sight of a wine glass sitting on the dresser next to the bed. The glass was dirty with a rusty brown color, and Elias frowned and looked around the room before stepping closer to it. He was too afraid to pick it up (it still had some deep red wine at the bottom and Elias knew there was a chance that once it was in his hands it would end up as a stain on the floor) so instead he crouched down in front of it, inspecting the grime closely. It was hand shaped, surrounded by a couple of smudges and fingerprints here and there. It looked like blood.

“What the fuck!” Elias ticced, then, much quieter: “Ty?” As he stood straight, his stomach dropped and his head felt light and airy.

No more blood. No more blood. No more please, god, no more.

“Tyson!” He called louder this time, already feeling the familiar burning of panic clawing restlessly in his chest. There was no answer. His mouth and throat were a desert. His knees were shaking. There was blood in his room. Was he bleeding? He tried his best to keep his arms still enough for a moment to run them over his torso to look for any injuries. He wasn’t bleeding. He wasn’t even fucking hurt. “Pathetic,” he heard himself whimper, “pathetic, pathetic, pathetic! Ty-fucking pathetic- Tyson!” He stumbled back, away from the blood covered glass. Where was Tyson? Surely, Elias was being loud enough with his irritating shouting to get his attention, he would’ve come running, by now, with a comforting hug and reassurance and promises that Elias is safe and good and not dying.

The apartment was a crime scene straight out of a psychological thriller. Every few feet there were drops of blood on the hardwood, and then when he got the courage to look, he also saw that there was more smeared across the walls. As soon as he recognized it as more drying blood, he closed his eyes tightly, breathing picking up the longer he stood there. He tried to imagine Tyson’s voice teaching him how to calm his breathing: “Inhale, Eli. Deep, deep, all the way into the bottom of your lungs. Good.”

“Good boy, letting me cut you open like this. So pretty for me, all covered in blood.”

No more blood! No more fucking blood no more no more-

“Exhale now, baby.”

No more no more no more no more-

“Elias, breathe out. Stop holding your breath now.”

“You breathe when I allow you to breathe. I don’t think you’ve been behaving well enough for air.”

Don’t kill me don’t kill me don’t kill me!

With his shoulders held high and his head dropped toward the ground so that he could open his eyes without seeing the blood, he turned on his heel and threw himself back into the bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him, letting all the air out of his lungs in ragged sobs. Even then, it was hard to catch his breath in between his unintentional cries of “What the fuck! What the fuck! What the fuck!”

Something deep in his gut made him swivel around and lock the door, and then he slid down it until he was on the floor. He covered his face with his hands, knees up to his chest to protect himself as much as he could. It felt like a nightmare, waking up alone in the middle of the day to find his walls covered in blood, only he just couldn't wake up. “Tyson...Ty...fuck...Tyson…” he crawled across the room, toward his phone, left on the charger next to the bed all night. His fingers were trembling as he tapped in his password, then still as he found Tyson’s contact to call him. As he waited what felt like an agonizingly long time for the ringing to stop, he tucked himself in the corner of the room behind the bed. He made himself small, “pathetic,” so that any pain would be limited to his arms and his legs, and he wouldn’t be hurt so badly, at least.

He couldn’t wait for Tyson to start speaking once he answered the phone, only able to wait with bated breath until the long pause after the last ring.

Click.

“Tyson!” He sobbed, clutching the phone tighter to him like a lifeline. He felt like throwing up. “Ty-Tyson I need you to come ho-fuck-home, I need you to come home right fucking now! P-please-fucking shit- come home.” There was a soft, muffled, sigh on the other line, Elias let out another hoarse sob. “Where the fu-fuck are you?! I...I’m s-sorry, I’m sorry. Tyson please, please co-come home, something’s wrong-”

“Calm down, Bunny.”

No.

No no no no no no no no no no NO NO NO NO!

“You’re freaking yourself out way too much. You have a tendency to do that. It’s adorable, really.” August laughed, Elias almost threw his phone, barely stopping himself. “But not very helpful.”

“No…” Elias squeaked out. He craned his neck to look over the bed at the wine glass. August was here. Is he still here? Elias folded in on himself smaller, safer, more pathetic, “fucking pathetic!” He ticced. August laughed again. “N-no, please, August. Please don’t...don’t…”

August made a soft shushing sound, slightly softened by the static of the phone. Elias’s head always gets messed up when August acts like that, makes it feel like cotton candy and causes his chest to flutter in an agonizingly confusing way.

Sometimes he’s so nice to me I think, since I have no other choice, I’ll force myself to love him. Just so that my love doesn’t go unused. That way I’m not a waste of life completely.

“Stop working yourself up, sweetheart. Seriously, I want to have a conversation with you, you always do this.” He sighed, gruffly, with an air of boredom. “Pretty fucking annoying honestly.”

Sometimes I want to give him a bunch of his own stupid drugs and drag his ass down the stairs and chain him up and bleed him dry-

No more blood! No more blood!

Elias gritted his teeth, he tried to feel the scar on the back of his tongue, he tried to keep his mouth shut. “Where’s...Tyson?” He grumbled.

“Ugh, shut the fuck up!” August shouted.

Elias flinched, pulling the phone away from his face. He didn’t think he heard an echo of his yell in the house. He listened, close, and could hear August’s voice distantly on the phone, but not out in the hall. Not distantly, in the living room or kitchen. He relaxed a little, straightened out his spine as he pulled his phone back to his ear.

“I was about to tell you all of that. I had a whole speech...Impatient little thing.”

Elias forced himself to his feet, took a few shaking steps for the door. He didn’t turn the lock, not right away, shaking hand hesitating over the brass knob. “If y-you hurt him I’ll-”

Again, August chuckled cynically at Elias’s stammering, his false braveness, his beginning to an empty threat. Elias cringed hard. He wanted to hang up the phone and crawl back into bed, fall asleep, and then wake up from this nightmare to find Tyson next to him. But he wasn’t in a nightmare, and his apartment was covered in blood, and Tyson was gone.

“This would be so much easier for all three of us if you just listened, Bunny. Can you be a good boy and listen closely for a second?”

Embarrassingly, Elias felt his knees buckle at the words, and he reflexively nodded at August’s voice.

I’ll do anything you ask, just call me good, just stop hurting me, I’ll do whatever you want.

When August spoke again, Elias could hear the smile to his voice without even seeing him. “Perfect, sweetheart. Now, I need you to do everything I say, ok? Tyson will be just fine if you just do exactly what I tell you.”

“Oh, f-fuck,” Elias whimpered, pressing his forehead against the door to try and steady himself, “God fucking d-dammit-”

“Shh, Bunny. Take a deep breath.” Somehow, August had added some sort of softness to his words, making himself sound caring and gentle and human, and it made Elias even angrier.

Liar liar liar liar liar liar liar!

He forced himself to draw in a deep breath, just because he was told to, just because it was August’s voice telling him what to do, and it was easier to just listen to whatever he was told the first time rather than face the ugly alternative.

“I left my car keys on your kitchen counter, my car is right out front. Full tank of gas, it drives beautifully, by the way. Can I trust you to take care of it when you drive it over here?”

Elias unlocked the door with his breath still held, shuffling out into the hallway. He couldn’t help but glance at the blood on the wall, and his stomach churns terribly. Before he could even process it, his shoulder hit the wall as he stumbled to the side.

I love you so much it hurts.

Elias would prefer the freezing blanket of death over the paralyzing fear he felt reading that.

We’ll be together forever.

He could never get away. No matter where he went or what he did, August would find him, August would destroy him. Maybe it would be easier to just hand himself over to the wolves instead of trying to outrun them.

You’re mine, Bunny.

There were scars everywhere on Elias’s body that validated that, there was a switch in his brain that flipped every time someone sounded too much like August that also proved it, Elias belonged to him now, even when he was far away from him.

“I asked you a question, baby. Will you take care of my car?”

“You’re fucking c...crazy.” Elias cast his eyes back to the ground, pushing himself off of the wall and stumbling out to the kitchen. He found the keys August was talking about. Thinking about August in the apartment, helping himself to a glass of wine, tossing his keys onto the counter, made Elias sway where he stood.

There was a groan on the other line. August was annoyed, Elias would have to pay for that. “I know that, idiot. You don’t think I fucking know that?” A sigh, a soft thud in the back, a small laugh. “Just get here, ok? The address is written on a paper in my car. You might want to hurry, Tyson’s waking up and he’ll be wondering where you are. And if you take too long...he’ll be wondering why you didn’t come rescue him.”

He laughs.

Elias wants to kill him.

Click.

[cyhyr]

Summer of Whump Day 15: Sleep Deprived

Fandom: Naruto

Rating: G

Pairing: Hatake Kakashi & Umino Iruka; Umino Iruka & Uzumaki Naruto

WC: ~3320

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Notes: AU backstory for the purposes of I Wanted To.

A/N: This is just. I don't even know guys. I started writing and then it got bigger and bigger and I couldn't stop. It's just. A Lot.

~

Kakashi has not been able to take care of his sensei’s child the way he should, the way the boy admittedly deserves; and yes, absolutely, he takes that fault personally but also doesn’t do anything about it because really… what can he provide for this child besides instability? He’s hardly in the village anymore, though Sandaime has hinted that, if Kakashi asked, he could be assigned missions closer to home. Instead, Kakashi does what he can without bothering Naruto or letting the boy realize that he even exists. He ensures the bills are paid up in six-month increments, and has the utility companies know to charge to his personal account anything he misses due to being out on mission. He provides non-perishable groceries, placed in the pantry late at night every month or so: oats, rice, dried or tinned meats, beans and legumes. He’ll bring a small selection of vegetables with him at the same time, (no more than three or four items, so they don’t rot before Naruto feels obligated to eat them) usually pilfered from Gai’s garden so he knows they’re not poisoned.

And whenever he’s in the village, he makes a stop at Naruto’s apartment at least once to check in on the wards wrapped into the walls and window frames.

This is how he learns about Umino Iruka and the interest he’s taken in the village jinchūriki.

~

The wards when he gets to Minato’s son’s apartment this time are different. Odd. Not… well, actually, they might be stronger; Kakashi glances at the walls with the sharingan and finds himself mildly impressed. Whoever placed these wards knew about the ones Kakashi put up, and modified their own to augment and strengthen Kakashi’s.

Kakashi says modified because he’s seen these styles of wards before, but never used like this. The key in the front door jingles a bit, like the person unlocking the door knows Kakashi’s in here and is giving him time to leave. Kakashi takes the out for what it is and slips out the window, closing it quietly behind him. He stays plastered against the wall beside the window for a moment, however, wanting to get a glimpse of who’s taking care of his sensei’s kid in Kakashi’s stead.

The door opens and Naruto—gods, how old is he, seven? Eight?—barrels by the figure in the doorway with a grin and shoots straight for the pantry.

“Naruto-kun, take your sandals off first. I mopped for you just earlier this week, I’m not doing it again so soon.”

One arm balancing a paper bag of fresh groceries, a leather school bag over the same shoulder; hitai-ate and vest both neat, but his sleeves and pants legs are scuffed; and his fingers carry the faint dusting of chalk that hours of holding ingrains and a quick wash won’t wipe away. A teacher.

“Iruka-sensei, I can mop later; I’m hungry now!”

“I won’t ask you twice.” The man—this Iruka-sensei—walks barefoot through the apartment and sets the grocery bag down on the kitchen table. Naruto hangs his head and goes back to the door, and once he’s out of the room, Iruka looks at the window Kakashi is peeking in, scowling initially. The scowl lessens when he sees the Konoha ANBU mask, and he nods, but makes a slight shoo gesture.

“What’re we making tonight, sensei?” Naruto bounds back into the room, barefoot as his sensei.

“I’m thinking of teaching you breakfast for dinner,” Iruka says. “Miso soup, tamagoyaki, steamed salmon; how’s that sound?”

“Sounds great!”

“And if we make enough, you’ll have enough for the morning, too,” Iruka ruffles Naruto’s hair. “Go grab out the rice and we’ll get started, okay?”

Kakashi leaves. Iruka-sensei seems to have only good intentions.

~

Iruka is a new teacher, one that (if the very quiet rumors are to be believed) didn’t initially want to be the jinchūriki’s homeroom teacher. Something changed his mind, clearly, and now he’s spending every moment outside of class with the kid.

Every. Moment.

Kakashi notices the third time he’s in the village after meeting Iruka—notices how tired the man seems. He follows the teacher from just before dawn when he wakes up and heads out to Naruto’s apartment and fixes him breakfast. Kakashi watches Iruka herd Naruto around the apartment, brushing teeth, getting changed, gods Naruto where’s your homework I told you to put it right back in your bag last night after I helped you with it. Then they’re out the door and one of them locks the deadbolt while the other activates the wards (Iruka always double-checks the wards if Naruto does them) and they walk to the Academy together.

Iruka spends the day in the Academy staunchly refusing to play favorites. If Kakashi didn’t know that the man had made Naruto eat breakfast while searching for a clean shirt for the child to wear, he’d swear Naruto was Iruka’s least favorite student—based solely on the amount of yelling.

But the two of them have lunch together, talk and hang out during recess unless Iruka shoos him away to play, and then they walk together to either Iruka’s or Naruto’s apartment after school. Sometimes they’ll go out for ramen, or to one of the training grounds to work on a technique they started in class which Naruto needs more time to fully grasp. Iruka is a patient teacher, especially one-on-one, and even though Minato-sensei’s son doesn’t perform well on the tests in school he learns the techniques after class and gains the appropriate muscle memory.

Which is admittedly much more important than the grades Naruto earns. Iruka won’t say as much, but it’s obvious that he agrees when his teaching style puts emphasis on practicals rather than paper tests. Kakashi approves.

After a day of minding twenty-five ankle-biters, an afternoon of extra training for the village jinchūriki, and an evening of making sure Naruto is fed and happy and his homework is completed to the best of his ability, Iruka then helps Naruto get ready for bed. Against the kid’s token protests, they’ll read a story together (Kakashi suspects Iruka does this because Naruto’s reading skills are lacking, but he could also very well just be doing it because he enjoys it—the man’s motives are enigma to him) and Iruka will tuck Naruto in. He stays at the apartment until he knows Naruto is asleep, tidying up here and there or even just leaning in the bedroom doorway watching the jinchūriki’s chest rise and fall.

Only when Naruto’s asleep will Iruka leave, activating the wards and locking up after himself.

It took only two times of Kakashi watching these kinds of days go by before he realized that Iruka knew he had been watched all day. As he passes the tree outside of Naruto’s building, the only one that reaches high enough to afford a glance into his apartment, Iruka looks right up into the limbs where Kakashi is crouched, waves, and continues back to his own home.

(He had been underestimating Umino Iruka’s awareness. He’s intrigued.)

(But anyway.)

Once he’s home, Iruka rushes through grading and lesson plans and adjustments. He makes lunch for himself and Naruto for tomorrow. Cleans, if he remembers; showers, if he has any energy left. Then, Umino-sensei crashes hard around one or two in the morning.

All to start over again at five-thirty the next morning.

It can’t be sustainable. Kakashi is morbidly interested in how long Iruka planned to keep up this kind of schedule.

~

It starts out with checking out during lunch. Kakashi is lounging in the trees on the Academy grounds, pretending to read but listening intently to Naruto ramble on about some new topping Ichiraku is introducing on Friday and please Iruka-sensei can we go? Then the soft click of dropped chopsticks against a bento box made Kakashi look down to the pair sitting at the base of his tree.

“Iruka-sensei? Are you—?”

“Oh, I’m. I’m alright.” Iruka laughs it off, fumbling for his chopsticks. “I was just thinking too hard there.”

“You shouldn’t do that!”

“Hu—?”

“You tell me not to think too hard all the time,” Naruto pouts. “That I’ll hurt myself.”

Iruka’s laugh crinkles his eyes and he tips his head back. “Gods, Naruto, I’m sorry—no, not—um. Listen, forget it, okay? Ramen, on Friday, right?”

“YES!”

And it was forgotten. Except, Iruka is unconsciously rubbing his fingers together beside his hip and Kakashi can see it. Something happened to force the drop—likely, he lost feeling in his hand briefly.

~

Kakashi’s out of the village as it gets worse, but he hears all about it from Shikaku and Inoichi when he gets back. They’re in the hallway outside the Hokage’s office, talking in low tones like they were discussing an attack on the village.

“What could cause such a serious mood shift?”

“Genjutsu; one of the other teachers sabotaging him; another student practicing poorly.”

“Iruka-sensei?” Kakashi asks.

Both men look at him as he approaches. He’s still in his ANBU armor, but the mask is in his locker. It’s an open secret he’s in ANBU; only his codename is high-clearance.

Shikaku nods. “Shikamaru’s complaining about the man’s temper being shorter than usual.”

“My Ino confirmed this behavior shift. We’re understandably worried, if someone if trying to use an Academy teacher to attack the kids—”

Kakashi shakes his head. “It’s not that.”

“And you would know?” Shikaku prompts.

“He’s taking care of Naruto,” Kakashi shrugs. “It’s probably catching up with him, finally.”

“What is?” Inoichi looks honestly confused.

Kakashi tilts his head and then realizes. “Ah. That’s right. You’re both married. You have a way to share the responsibilities.”

Sakumo hadn’t ever been irate with him, but Kakashi can remember him being tired. He lifts his hand and walks away. “I’ll see if I can’t have a talk with Iruka-sensei,” he says, as though he speaks with the man on a regular basis instead of just waving back from his shadowed space in the tree at night when Iruka leaves Naruto.

~

He doesn’t get a chance to talk to Iruka for weeks. When he gets back, it finally comes to a head.

Kakashi is perched outside Iruka’s apartment where he and Naruto are preparing their dinner. Naruto, still talking a mile a minute, hardly notices that Iruka is dazed at the counter, his hands going through the motions of peeling carrots and separating pieces of broccoli without being fully cognizant. He’s much paler than the last time Kakashi peeked in on them—all except for the bags under his eyes; those couldn’t get much darker if they were black.

He flinches forward as Iruka drifts to the side. Naruto catches his teacher before Kakashi can take a step, and the clang of a knife hitting the floor is more than a little startling. Together, they stick Iruka’s hand under running water from the tap, and then Naruto disappears further into the apartment and returns a few seconds later with a first aid kit.

“What was that about, Iruka-sensei?”

Iruka takes a bit to answer. “I haven’t been sleeping well,” he says. “I’m a bit tired, that’s all. Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Naruto says. He finishes caring for his sensei and then says, “How about I go get some take-out, and then we can clean up and you can go to bed?”

Iruka smiles tiredly. “We can bring the take-out to your place, okay? I’ll clean up when I come back home.”

“But—”

“It’s okay, Naruto,” Iruka puts his unbandaged hand in Naruto’s hair. “I’d rather make sure you’re fed and well-rested for school tomorrow. That’s what's important.”

“You’re important, too, sensei,” Naruto says.

Kakashi can’t help but agree.

“Let’s go get some ramen, and we can argue about this later.”

Kakashi flashes away to Ichiraku to put in their order and pay. It’s the least he can do, right?

Later that night, Iruka leaves Naruto’s apartment and like always, lifts his head to wave up at Kakashi in the tree. Only, his eyes roll back with the movement of lifting his head and his knees collapse under him and Kakashi makes it just in time to keep the sensei’s head from hitting the ground. He catches Iruka with one hand under his back and the other cupped behind his head and eases him down against his raised knee.

As soon as Iruka is horizontal, his eyes flutter back open. “Oh, ANBU-san,” he mutters. He’s dazed and foggy, but tries to stand up on his own anyway.

“Sensei, are you well?” Kakashi asks, knowing the answer but needing Iruka to admit it.

Iruka waves him away. “I’m fine, I’m fine. Just a little tired.”

It’s more than that if you’re slipping into micro-sleep, Kakashi thinks, but lets the man stubbornly stand up. He’s still holding his hands out, ready to catch him again, when after five paces Iruka tips sideways and falls again. Kakashi keeps him upright this time, arms tight around his waist and back.

Iruka stays under for a few seconds this time, and when he wakes he leans more heavily into Kakashi’s armor and groans. “What’s happening?” he murmurs.

Normally, he would stay and look after Naruto all night, but this seems more important. “Umino-sensei, I’m going to see you to the hospital now,” he says.

“But… Naruto?”

Because of course Iruka figured out that Kakashi—his ANBU persona at least—stays close to Naruto at all times. “Together, our wards are top-notch, sensei,” Kakashi says. “He’ll be okay for a night.” He slips Iruka onto his back, pulling his arms over his shoulders. Iruka’s light breath huffs past his ear as he says, “Hold on.” Then, they’re gone.

~

Iruka wakes up much later, Naruto tipped against his hospital bed, snoring. He feels so much better after however many hours of sleep he’s gotten. He wonders briefly why he’s here, and where the ANBU that brought him here is. If Naruto is here, that ANBU is likely closeby. Iruka lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and settles back down on the pillow to sleep some more.

When he wakes up the second time, it’s because he has to pee so bad oh gods. It’s night time and Naruto is gone—Iruka tries not to feel disappointed. His legs shake under him when he tries to stand to get to the restroom; whatever’s wrong with him, it’s making him weak as a newborn but he will not embarrass himself by not making it to the toilet. He pushes chakra through his legs, and, finally, blissfully, makes it.

He gets a good look at himself in the mirror as he’s washing his hands. His eyes are puffy and red, but he has some color back in his skin. His hair could use a wash and some heavy conditioning—he hadn’t had time for that in awhile. All in all, it’s not bad; but he’s still wondering why he’s here.

Iruka leaves the restroom and is halfway across the room to his bed when his chakra flares unexpectedly. He stumbles, collapses, and feels his eyes blur and begin to roll back.

Before his head can hit the tile, he’s caught and cushioned by Naruto’s ANBU. The ANBU gently picks him up, one arm under his knees and the other around his back, and it’s like Iruka weighs nothing as the ANBU stands and carries him back to bed.

“Thank-you, ANBU-san,” Iruka says, flushed. “I promise I’m not usually so weak.”

The ANBU fusses with the blanket and covers Iruka back up. He (Iruka assumes they’re a he, the voice and height lead him to believe it but he’s been wrong before) seems frustrated, in the way that ANBU show frustration: by being busy, and then by being absolutely still. He’ll make sure the water pitcher is full, and then stand silently by the window for a few seconds. Pace the width of the room from window to door and back, and then stand at the end of the bed.

“What’s going on, ANBU-san? Is Naruto—?”

“Uzumaki-kun is safe, healthy, and well-cared for,” the ANBU says, cutting him off. “You are a godsend to this village, if only to care for the uncared for.”

Iruka glowers. “Someone had to do it. He’s seven years old and living alone and has lived alone his entire life. I couldn’t—”

“I’m aware,” the ANBU holds up a hand to stop his rant. “Believe me, if I could have done more, I would have. But an ANBU is no role model, especially not me. I’m glad he’s had you. That said.” The ANBU somehow matched Iruka’s glower through the mask; he was suddenly glad for all the time spent in Sandaime’s office around the ANBU that he can pick up on these micro-aggressions for what they are.

Iruka folds his arms and waits for the ANBU to continue.

After a heavy sigh, the ANBU says, “Sleep deprivation.”

“I—what?”

“What you’re here for. You’ve been running yourself into the ground, sensei. You slept for twenty-two hours, and you’re still not fully recovered. The medics say it could take up to a week of proper sleep for you to feel normal again.”

Iruka flushes and ducks his head. “I… But, that doesn’t…”

“How much sleep have you been getting? Three, Four hours a night? And then you’re exhausting yourself all day looking after pre-genin and then Naruto.” The ANBU folds his arms. “This isn’t sustainable.”

“I know that. I just.” Iruka groans. “I don’t have time for—” He scrubs both hands across his eyes. Now that he’s actually gotten some sleep he’s really tired. “No one else takes care of him, not the way he needs it; he’s just a kid! It bothers me enough that he lives by himself—”

“Your immune system was compromised when you arrived, sensei.” The ANBU snapped, quieting Iruka’s tirade. “Who’s going to take care of Naruto the way he deserves if you’re stuck on your back with a perfectly, normally treatable form of the flu? What will happen to him if you critically injure yourself due to a micro-sleep at an inopportune time and find yourself off-roster for weeks? What then, sensei?”

The silence is heavy. Iruka picks at a stray thread in the blanket on his lap.

“I don’t know,” he answers, his voice small. “I didn’t… I wasn’t thinking that far ahead, I guess.”

The ANBU nods. “At least you’re aware now.”

There’s a long, awkward pause as Iruka wonders what else there is to say.

“You have a spare room in your apartment, yes?” the ANBU breaks the silence.

Iruka nods, slowly, not sure where this is going.

“Maybe…” the ANBU continues slowly, “maybe changes in Naruto’s living arrangements can be made. If Naruto were living with you, could you agree to a better sleep schedule—one with which you can better take care of yourself and Naruto?”

Iruka could kiss this man.

“Yes! Yes, please, I’ll—yes! I’ll take him, even if it means I have to lose him as a student, I’d take him as a foster.”

The ANBU chuckles. “I’ll speak with the Hokage. If he says no, well… There’s nothing saying that Naruto himself can’t choose where he lives, is there?” Then his micro-aggression is back, leaning over the foot of the bed with his arms wide. “My only stipulation is that you take better care of yourself. A sick guardian can’t very well keep up with any child, let alone a jinchūriki.”

Iruka nods. “Deal.” He covers a yawn with his palm and asks, “Can this taking care of myself clause start now, with me asking you to leave so I can go back to sleep?”

“I’m not leaving,” the ANBU says, standing back up straight. “If you’re to be the guardian of our jinchūriki, you’ll need to get used to the ANBU guard, sensei. But please, get some sleep.” He chuckles lightly, “I think I’ve caught you enough in the last thirty-six hours, don’t you?”

[the-purity-pen]

The Meal

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Wife Fem!Reader

A/N: I had put out a prompt list a few weeks, months at this point, ago and my good friend @shiny-captain-no-pants​ gave me the prompt: “Frankie Morales surprises you with a home-cooked meal”. We all know Frankie is a goddamn sweetheart and that the entire movie would not have happened if he had said no to fuckwit Tom. But here’s what I imagine would happen if back home, you are his spouse and the newborn baby life has been particularly rough on you. (This was entirely too self-indulgent but I am not sorry). Word Count: 3,230

CW: mentions of postpartum body, allusions to postpartum depression and anxiety, a tinyyyy bit of smut towards the end

Frankie had been home for a few days and the extra hand around the house was extremely appreciated. The baby was going through a new growth spurt and she decided that sleeping through the night was no longer an option. You felt defeated and definitely exhausted. The help from neighbors and friends was nice but having your husband home was infinitely better.

The late-night feedings had been turned over to him and he did them without complaint. He let you sleep as much as you needed and it was refreshing to wake up and be able to cook breakfast without burning every pancake. The one thing that Frankie let you do to let you feel normal was to cook every meal.

The baby was down for her evening nap and your eyes fluttered open, unaware that you had actually fallen asleep for a few minutes. Okay, half an hour. But it was needed.

As you woke, the smells of delicious food wafted into your nose, causing a smile to cross your lips. Whatever was being made would be truly delicious. You wrapped your body in a silk robe before tiptoeing into the hall and past the baby's room where she was still sleeping. Thank god.

You came down the hall and came up behind Frankie who was knee-deep in concentration at the stove. Your arms wrapped around his aproned waist and your head rested on his shoulder.

"Hey, baby. Did I wake you?" The smile on his face was evident just from the way his head turned slightly and his cheeks puffed out a bit.

You hummed contentedly before giving him a soft squeeze of a hug. "The best way to wake up is to food. You didn't have to cook dinner baby," you cooed as you leaned forward onto your tiptoes to kiss the scruff on his jaw.

Frankie shrugged. "I wanted to surprise you with something special,” he told you as he held up the spatula. Your eyes widened with excitement. He was making one of your favorite meals from your childhood.

"Frankie!" You exclaimed happily as you scooted to the side of him to take a small bite from the spatula. He watched with adoration as you closed your eyes and savored the taste. "Oh my guh,” you said before fully swallowing the bite.

"Good?"

"So good baby." You swallowed and opened your eyes to see him lean over to kiss you. You of course kissed him back. This man was perfection wrapped in a very attractive package.

Your arms came back around him as you rested your head on the side of his arm. You watched as he stirred in a few more spices and felt your heart melt for the man before you.

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

The baby had woken up just before dinner was to be served. Frankie set the table and served the food as you settled the baby into her high chair. You moved to start placing some of your cooled down food on the tray and Frankie stopped you.

He went over to the fridge and got out a small plastic plate that already held perfectly safe sized chunks of the meal, cooled down to perfection for the baby to eat.

The look of adoration for his planning ahead made you melt as you watched him interact with your child and give her the food on her tray. She was smiling so big at her papa and you knew you had absolutely made the right choice in a life partner.

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

An hour later and all three of you were stuffed, Frankie and little one were nodding off in their respective chairs. You smiled to yourself once more before getting the baby ready for bed.

Returning to the kitchen, you found the table emptied and Frankie was cleaning up in the kitchen. You shook your head lightly at the disbelief of how perfect he was.

He was standing over the sink, his hands and wrists covered in dish soap as he scrubbed the pan he had used. You repeated your greeting from earlier, wrapping your arms around his waist from behind.

Frankie hummed happily as your head came up to the back of his head and scratched gently at his scalp through his curls. "That was delicious Fransisco," you cooed happily as your lips found the side of his neck, peppering him with kisses.

"I had to do something special for you. You've been alone with the baby for the last few months. You're really a superhero in disguise," he grinned as he shook off his hands and turned around to face you, his hands coming to your hips like a magnet.

He leaned down to kiss your nose then each cheek then down to your lips. "I'm glad you enjoyed it."

"I more than enjoyed it, baby. You made me fall in love with you all over again," you admitted, feeling a small heat grow in your cheeks as you looked up at him with a warm smile.

Frankie felt his chest swell with pride knowing that after all these years he could still have that effect on you. With the smile on his face growing enough that you could see the little crinkles near his eyes, he leaned in to plant his lips on their home, your own.

You sighed quietly into his mouth as he pulled you closer by the hips and slipped his hands to your lower back, pulling you closer. His hands made a small journey to cup your ass cheeks, giving a soft smack to both.

You giggled and pulled away from the kiss. "Mr. Morales!" You admonished him playfully as your hand came down to smack his chest lightly, making him chuckle.

"I've missed you, baby," he said with a smile so wide, his teeth were showing.

Your eyes took in the sight of him, that smile you loved so much, the little change in the color of his eyes. "I've missed you more Frankie," your voice was soft but held a hint of lust.

Frankie knew that tone and immediately leaned down to kiss your neck as his body slowly pushed you back toward the empty counter behind you.

You gasped as your back hit it, one hand holding the counter while the other found its way into Frankie's curls. He let out a quiet groan as you tugged softly. You smiled knowingly as Frankie stopped his string of kisses on your neck to pull away and look at you.

He pressed his hips forward and you felt his cock against your thigh. "Look what you do to me woman," he growled with a smirk. You hummed contentedly. "Exactly what you do to me hubby," you laughed as he rolled his eyes, his hands making a path of destruction to slide under your robe.

He groaned when he found just your slick heat waiting for him. His breathing became shallow. "You had ulterior motives today, didn't you?" He asked but you didn't have to answer, just giving him a little shrug.

He groaned as his calloused fingers gathered up your wetness. Keeping his gaze locked on yours, he pulled his hand away and slowly licked his fingers. Your eyes widened as you watched him thoroughly enjoy the taste.

You leaned forward to his ear. "Are you gonna fuck me or just continue tasting me, hm?"

Frankie took the hint and immediately propped you up onto the counter, spreading your legs so he could stand between them. One hand came to the side of her neck while he suckled on the other side. His free hand came down in one swift movement to tug at the small silk tie of the robe, exposing your chest to him.

His mouth found the swell of your breast and laid hot open mouth kisses down to your nipple where his tongue circled the sensitive nub. You let out a heavy drawn out moan as your hands attempted to reach between you and cup his cock through his jeans. You heard the small murmurs of cursing as you gently squeezed his hardened length, knowing he was straining against the denim and that you had been the one to make him that way. Despite the baby always making you exhausted, the insatiable hunger from Frankie made your heart swell.

Not once did Frankie ever let you think poorly about your postpartum body. The stretch marks were cared for with a gentle trace of his fingers in the early mornings. Your sagging butt cheeks from lack of muscle tone were gnawed at and given little pats as you roamed around the house. Your breasts, well, they were constantly in pain from being overfull with milk but Frankie always offered to help massage them even if he knew it wasn’t inherently sexual. His groaning became needier as he pawed at your body, gently but firmly. His mouth made the way back to yours and you wrapped around your arms around his shoulders, your hands still tangling into his dark curls, your nails stretching lightly at his scalp. His arms found their way around your waist and lifted you gently from the counter to help you onto the floor. He guided you as his lips found every part of your body he could, one hand holding out behind and to the side of you to guide along the wall and down the hall. The other hand kept a firm grip on your hip as he lead you to your shared bedroom just at the end of the hall. You both instinctively went far more quiet as you snuck by the nursery, pausing in your affections to tiptoe by to not wake the small child.

Once the coast was clear, Frankie was right back to devouring your neck, one hand coming up to your chest to fondle your breast and the other to the light switch to turn off the light. He didn't need the light to see you. Besides, the moonlight casting in through the window made you look radiant every time.

Breaking away from you, Frankie made to quietly close your door. You took the free moment to shed the robe you'd been wearing and I'm the moment you turned back towards him, Frankie was on you. His hands grasping at everything seemingly at once, his mouth on a hungry tirade over your neck and shoulders.

His movements were sure and purposeful as he knew every part of your body that needed attention. His hands guided your hips to that you were to the edge of the bed, the back of your knees buckling slightly to make you sit in the bed itself.

You looked up at Frankie and saw that lustful look in his eyes and it hit you like a ton of bricks. The sudden swelling sensation in your chest as your heart fluttered, a tear streaked down your face.

The instant Frankie saw your face change he stopped everything. He dropped to his knees next to the bed, groaning slightly at the discomfort before his hands were holding your face in the most Frankie way possible.

"Baby? Baby are you okay?" His voice carried such a heavy tone of concern that it made you sniffle as another hot tear fell down the opposite cheek.

You nodded and sucked in a breath trying to hold back the full sobs that were building in the back of your throat. You couldn't form the words to tell him just how in love with him you were.

He knew. Of course, he knew. He wouldn't have married you and had a baby with you if he didn't know. But something about the way he just endlessly loved and cared for you and was always lusting after you even after all these years struck a chord with you.

His fingers gently caressed your cheeks, catching the falling silent tears as you tried to scrunch your face in an effort to not cry. Frankie was starting to drown himself, afraid that he had done or said something to make you upset.

He didn't understand postpartum issues but he had done research since being home from the mission that Santi had put him on. He had even helped set you up with a really good therapist despite your insurance not being great.

"Baby… look at me, please. Tell me what's going on," Frankie pleaded with you, lifting your face so you would look at him.

You sniffled. "I just love you so much," you responded with a shaky breath. Your eyes crinkled in trying to fight the tears but it was useless. You knew Frankie didn't care about you crying in front of him.

The sobs were quiet as Frankie moved closer and lifted himself to sit on the bed beside you. He pulled you in so you could cry into his chest, his arms around your shoulders and his hands gently petting your arm.

You wrapped your arms around his waist and quietly sobbed into him, his only responses being gentles shushes, and coos of how much he loved you and the family you made for him. The man was a saint, a pure saint for just sitting with you as you cried, your emotions confusing you and frustrating you at the same time. When you had calmed down, Frankie used his hand to pull your chin up to look at him. “You are my everything baby. You amaze me every day and especially with how well you take care of our baby. Our baby,” he re-iterated as he wiped the streak of tears with his thumb. “Nothing you could do or say would change how I think of you, okay?” When you didn’t answer immediately, he said your name softly.

You nodded and felt the tears start to dry up which prompted you to sit up straighter and place your hands on his scruffy face, the patchy beard exactly the same as it was when he had left with Santiago and the boys. Your eyes studied his face before you leaned in, pulling his head towards you to plant a kiss on his lips. You felt the quiet sigh of his body, a thankful reprieve that you were feeling a bit better. Frankie wasn’t the type of guy to just forget that you were having real internal struggles and coerce you into having sex. No, he wanted to make sure you were taken care of: mind, body, and soul. So while he kissed you back, he pulled away to look into your eyes, and seeing no hesitation or worry left in them, he grinned, the corners of his eyes wrinkling slightly. He leaned in and kissed you again before leaning back to pull you on top of him. You giggled softly before adjusting your hips so you could straddle him, being sure to grind your hips down into him. He groaned slightly. “Good to see you back to yourself baby girl” he mused as his hands held your hips and gripped them tighter, guiding you to rub your bare cunt against his jeans. You shook your head. “You, Mr. Morales, need to catch up to this undressing game though,” you smirked as your hands ventured to his chest, running down it to the hem of his shirt, playing against the softness of his tummy. You let your nails scratch at the tufts of hair there, the line that would lead down to his cock and you felt his abdomen clench under the sensation. He groaned and bucked his hips up into you.

Within the next few minutes of playful giggles and touches, Frankie was undressed beneath you. “Muy bonita,” he uttered as his hands roamed your body and up to your chest where his calloused fingers worked your nipples until they were hard. Your head lolled back as you hummed in approval. Your hands came down to rest on his chest as your head dropped so you could look him in the eyes. Your moisture was already soaking the underside of his cock as you rubbed yourself against him. You could feel him twitch beneath you as he grunted and moaned. You leaned down to press a soft kiss to his lips as your hips lifted in the process. He knew your movement and anticipated it, his hand coming down between you to align himself with your opening.

Your mouth laid hot open-mouthed kisses along his jaw, down his neck onto his check, your tongue swirling into the patches of hair there as he guided himself up into you slowly. His hips bucked up to press himself into and you lowered your hips at the same time until he bottomed out inside of you. Both of you moaned at the same time at the feeling of him and you took a moment to look into his eyes to see them filled with all the love in the world. You slowly rocked your hips and let your forearms rest on his shoulders so you could tangle your fingers into his curls and tug softly, causing a grunt from him. “I love you, Frankie,” your voice was broken as you made slow love to your husband. “I love you too baby,” he echoed in the same soft voice before he moaned out quietly at the new sensation of your hips. His fingers dug into the soft flesh at your hips as you gyrated and danced, letting the tip of his cock hit just right within you.

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

After an hour together in bed, tangled in the sheets that had once been freshly made, you were snuggled into Frankie’s side, his arm around your shoulders, your arm laying across his stomach. Your fingers made little senseless patterns as you listened to the calmness of his breathing and his heartbeat. You had talked about nothing and everything between the few moments of just post-coital silence. But all the same, you could feel yourself growing more and more attached to the man you had married. “What are you thinking about?” Frankie’s voice mumbled as if he could hear your thoughts. Just as he knew your body and your movements in bed so well, you wouldn’t doubt that he had somehow picked up the superpower of hearing your thoughts. You shrugged against him as you turned your face to kiss the side of his chest. “You, mostly.” You smiled against his skin and looked up to see him grinning and shaking his head a little. It was then that the baby started to stir, making her cooing noises over the baby monitor.

You started to get up but Frankie now wrapped both of his arms around you and pulled you into him. “She’s fine,” he reassured as you both paused to listen. She was fine. She was just babbling happily away probably at her stuffed animal. You giggled and chewed your lip as you adjusted your head to look up at Frankie, seeing the soft greys growing more and more prominent in his beard.

“Just five more minutes, okay?” he asked before looking down at you and giving you the warmest smile with the most devilish glint in his eye. Five minutes, yeah right. But then he was swiftly moving to hover over you, his mouth trailing hot kisses down your body. “Five minutes,” he repeated as his mouth found its intended target.

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

Just tagging the folks that liked my “are you ready” post about this fic for now. If you don’t want to be tagged, I’m sorry!

@aimspham @cryptkeepersoul @heythere-mel @babybelou @thisismyidea-of-fun @lackofhonor @wordsfromshona @autumnleaves1991-blog​ @dreamgirl-67

[hellpotter]

Hello! How about 48 or 51 from the prompt list of you want to 💛

i might have slept with your robe while you were gone | percabeth (I guess?)

Annabeth hadn’t expected she’d become so attached to Sally. Sure, she’d always liked her a lot, but after Percy had disappeared, they’d grown closer and closer together. Now, she was like an older sister or a mother or... Annabeth didn’t know well how to put it in words. She just knew Sally was now someone necessary for her sanity to be kept. She was sure she wouldn’t be dealing with Percy’s disappearance if it wasn’t for her. She knew she wouldn’t have the strength to carry on. She just knew they helped each other survive, and that was enough.

That’s why, the day after she met her mother on the subway, she just knew maybe seeing Sally would help her feel better.

It had been a crappy week. It had been some crappy weeks, actually. But now, with that burning drachma on her pocket and that whole bunch of nonsense about revenge and the Mark of Athena in her head... It was just too much. She felt like crying and screaming and punching someone all at once. She needed comfort. She needed Percy.

So, she didn’t think much about it before showing up at Sally Jackson’s apartment. She didn’t think about the abnormal number of monsters she’d found and fought on her way there, or the bruises they’d left her with. She didn’t register the environment around her before walking in and hugging her, and then being led to a comfortable sit at her couch. She wasn’t surprised when she found herself crying and trembling and holding a cup of tea while spilling out her feelings.

They talked about what happened. They tried to figure it out. They talked about Percy. They cried and they held each other together. And soon (or maybe long hours after) Annabeth felt like there were no more tears inside her to be shed. She felt cleaner and less overwhelmed, but at the same time, she felt strengthless, like all the energy she had in her body had been drained. So she just sat there and stared at the ground.

“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly, which made Sally raise her eyebrows.

“What for?”

“I- For everything. For not being able to keep him safe. For not keeping it together. For showing up like that without notice,” she stared at the window and watched the sun go down, unable to look inside Sally’s red eyes.

“Hey,” a hand on her shoulder made Annabeth reestablish eye contact. “Don’t be. You have nothing to be sorry about. None of that is your fault. And I don’t mind you showing up. You’re not alone, and you being here reminds me that I’m not, either.”

She could only nod and pull her into a hug that she wasn’t sure how long lasted.

“I hope we can find him,” she whispered.

“We will,” Sally muttered back. “We have to believe it.”

When they broke apart, Sally looked at the clock and got up suddenly. “Oh gods,” she looked down at Annabeth, apologetically. “Honey, I have to go. I promised Paul I would go to the grocery store before picking him up at school, so I really have to leave now.”

Annabeth started to get up, but was stopped by a hand on her shoulder again. “Why don’t you stay here?”

“What?”

Sally bit her lip. “Stay for dinner, at least. You can wait here and we can all have dinner together when I’m back with Paul. I’ll make some pasta or we can order pizza. We can drive you back if it’s too late.”

Annabeth wasn’t sure how to feel about it, but she suddenly felt the urge for some traditional family time, and shook her head. “Okay. That sounds good.”

When Sally smiled to her, she thought maybe it was the first time she’d seen it in a long, long time. “Good. And Annabeth, maybe you can take a shower and try to calm down while I’m out, honey. I think it’ll make you feel better.”

“Oh. I don’t-“

“I’ve got some clothes on the bathroom cabinet, you can borrow them.”

“O-okay.”

It wasn’t long before Sally left and Annabeth caught herself sitting there staring at the sky again, loosing herself in the burning feeling of the silver drachma near her skin. Then she took a moment to feel the pain on her body and noticed the dirt and bruises she’d been left with, from her short travel to the apartment. So she decided a shower might not be a bad idea, after all.

The hot water helped comfort her, and even though she had to keep the same underwear, the feeling of clean clothes on her body made her feel her head clearer, her thoughts and feelings lighter, somehow. Still, the cotton shorts and shirt she’d found on the cabinet made her feel chilly, so she grabbed a light robe that she saw hanging behind the door.

She was on her way back to the couch when she passed through the door to Percy’s room, that was slightly open. She stopped, considering. And then took a deep breath before walking in.

Everything inside screamed Percy Jackson. The poorly done bed, the dark blue sheets and the posters and drawings on the walls. The opened bag with school books left hanging on the wall and the old skateboard leaning besides the wardrobe.

It all brought back to her the memory of him, the way his hair was never properly on place and he didn’t seem to mind. The way his eyes lightened up when he talked about something he liked and darkened whenever he was worried or they were in danger... Whenever he looked at her hoping he hadn’t said or done anything wrong.

Also, the smell. Somehow, the place still smelled salty, like the ocean was just around the corner.

Finally, the photographs. The picture of him besides his mom in Montauk when he was a kid. The one were he and Grover stood on the strawberry fields, and the one where he and Tyson held their skateboards, arms around each other, childish grins on their 13-years-old faces. And then... The one where he had his arms around her, wrapping her in a hug from behind, huge smiles on their faces as they looked to the camera in Central Park.

She could almost feel his arms on her body, the safeness in it. Like he had vanished just two seconds ago, instead of days and weeks and... Like he was just behind the door, in the hallway, and could walk a few steps and wrap her in that homey hug again.

And then she was crying again, and wrapping her own arms around her and laying on his bed because she couldn’t trust her legs to keep her standing. And then her eyes were just too tired and her mind was just too much and her heart was just too heavy for her to be awake for a minute more.

***

She woke up at the sound of Sally coming home with Paul.

“We’re back!”

By the time she reached Percy’s room, Annabeth had already gotten up, but she was sure her face and clothes basically had written all over them that she’d been napping.

Sally stopped at the doorway and turned on the lights.

“Annabeth?”

“Gods- Sally, I’m sorry, I,” she looked at the ground. “I might have slept with your robe while you were gone.”

She was sure her face was as red as Apollo’s sacred cows.

Sally’s mouth turned slightly up into a side smile. “It’s alright, honey.”

They stood in silence for a while, Annabeth facing the ground until she found the courage to look Sally in the eyes and was surprised by how welcoming and warm they still were.

“Why don’t you sleep here tonight? You can stay in Percy’s room. Maybe it’s better if you’re not alone tonight.”

Annabeth nodded affirmatively.

“Okay, then. You can grab some of his clothes if you want, too. If it’ll keep you warmer.”

“Okay.”

“Well, c’mon then. I could use some help in the kitchen.”

She turned to leave, but Annabeth finally found her voice. “Sally?”

She stopped and turned back to her, with questioning eyes.

“Thank you. For everything.”

“We’re family, honey. That’s what we do. We stick together.”

Annabeth was glad she didn’t find it hard to trust her.

[hammeredalcoholic]

Soft Jotaro nsfw? I love for soft Jotaro 😍

i actually started writing a whole ass fic for this, so i’ll give it to ya! 

featuring ur Stand: Roman Holiday (Roman for short) 

rated: nsfw/18+

It had been too long. Jotaro had been gone for way too long. That’s all the bombarded your mind as the summer days passed by. There was that deep feeling, that fear, that he wouldn’t come back. It scared you, because you knew what type of work your husband was involved in. 

You had your own Stand, Roman Holiday, which mainly kept you company while Jotaro was away. It was fairly powerful, but despite that, your husband always insisted that you stay at home, where you can be safe. 

It was rather annoying. Being left to your own devices for weeks on end, with nothing to do but sit around and go to work. Your job was only part-time anyways, so it wasn’t that much of a distraction in these times. 

Although you knew that you shouldn’t go out of your way to see him. Morioh may be about an hour drive from Tokyo, but it would be a wasted trip. Jotaro would have your ass back in the car, driving back to where you came from in under a minute. 

It was nice, deep down, how much he cared about your well-being and protecting you. But still-- there was a deep thought that it would be the last time you’d see him. And the thought alone made your heart clench with worry. 

Shaking those thoughts from your head, you stared at the TV in your living room. Daytime television was beyond boring. Nothing was on but sappy, poorly written soap operas, and the occasional news update. It was tiring. 

All you wanted to do was see your husband. To know that he was safe in your arms, away from any danger or enemy Stand user out for his guts. Your thoughts took off again, and you absently fiddled with the platinum wedding ring on your finger. 

That’s when your phone went off. 

You looked at it on the coffee table curiously. All of your friends had full time jobs, and you weren’t expecting to hear from anyone all day. Glancing at the screen, you were taken aback at the message that appeared. It was a text. From Jotaro. 

Picking up the device, you read the text over and over again. 

Joot 3:46 pm I’m coming home tonight. 

You were astounded. Your husband, who had been gone for upwards of a month at this point, would be back tonight. Your fingers twitched to respond to him, but you knew better than that. He was probably busy putting everything together so he could leave Morioh as soon as possible. 

Setting your phone back on the table, you decided that cleaning the house was in order. Jotaro would appreciate coming back to a clean home, and a nice meal. So, that’s what you set out to do. 

Spending the next hour and half deep cleaning the whole house, making sure everything was the way it looked when Jotaro first left, maybe even better than that. You washed the sheets that belonged on your king sized bed, wiped down every surface in the kitchen, and washed all the dishes that had piled up. 

Glancing at the clock, you bolted back over to your phone. You had received another message, luckily it was sent only a few minutes prior. 

Joot 5:37 pm  Finished packing up. Leaving soon. 

Your heart raced at that, deciding that now would be the best time to clean yourself up, and start dinner. Putting away all your cleaning supplies, you dashed to the master bathroom, stripping down and dropping your clothes in the hamper. 

Turning on the water, you let it warm up before stepping inside. The stream hit your back nicely, giving you a fine sense of calm, and peacefulness. Your husband was finally coming home, you were going to be able to wake up to him on his side of the bed. 

Another thought crossed your mind. When was the last time you had been intimate? Thinking back on it as you washed your hair, you had come to the conclusion that it was the night before he left for Morioh. Jotaro had made it a point to actually make love to you-- not wanting to just fuel his desires and fuck you senseless. 

Jotaro knew what his long absences did to you. That’s why he strives to make sure you felt loved before he departed. 

It was a good feeling. 

You quickly finished up your shower, drying yourself off and walking towards your closet. What would be the perfect outfit to welcome him home with? Glancing through all the articles of clothing, you decided on a simple shirt and cardigan, with a pair of black skinny jeans. You knew what the denim did to him. 

The slight twinge in your abdomen reminded you of your shower thoughts. Maybe a cute set was in order, as well. You quickly picked out a matching bra and panty, knowing that it was Jotaro’s favorite. It was a deep purple, the material a mesh, with embroidered stars covering both pieces. 

Dressing quickly, you made your way to the kitchen, determined to make Jotaro the best meal he’s had in the entirety of your marriage. Getting the ingredients together, you called out Roman to help you with the cooking. 

An hour passed without a hitch, having a good time with your Stand, making dinner and setting up the dining table. You supposed that Jotaro would be home any minute, so you lit a few candles and put them in various places around the house. You just wanted it to be perfect. 

Setting up the last candle, you heard a shuffle of feet on the other side of the front door. You hurriedly made your way to stand a few feet away from it, enough to give Jotaro some breathing space. 

The door opened, and your husband walked inside. His eyes met yours instantly, and the suitcase in his hand dropped to the floor. Jotaro walked towards you swiftly, putting his arms around your frame and pulling you close. You quickly did the same, throwing your arms around his midsection and squeezing him tight. 

“I missed you.” Your heart practically melted at that. It always does.

“I missed you too, Jotaro.” If he could have squeezed you any tighter, he would have. Too soon, you let go, grabbing his suitcase to put in your master bedroom. “I made dinner! Go ahead and sit down. I’ll be there soon.” 

Jotaro did as you said, going over to the table and looking at all the food you had made. It looked amazing, and he was so glad to be back. He hadn’t noticed that Roman Holiday was still mulling about in the kitchen, but Star Platinum did. 

He practically jumped out of his user, opening his arms up wildly. “Ora!” Star shouted, and Roman grinned at him, running over to jump in his arms. Jotaro took notice, and had to stop himself from smiling. It was always so cute when your Stands got reunited again, they probably missed each other as much as their users did. 

You came back down to the kitchen, noticing Roman and Star in a tight embrace. Grinning from ear to ear, you were happy they finally got to see each other. “Dinner is going to get cold, we should probably eat soon.” Looking over at Jotaro, he nodded, taking off his jacket and hanging it up. 

He went and sat at the dinner table, and started to help himself to the food. You were proud of your cooking-- it was something you tried to perfect, always asking Holly for her recipes, because you knew that Jotaro loved them. 

Quickly joining him, you began to eat as well, striking up some small talk. 

“How was Morioh?” 

“It was alright. Chaotic and bizarre. I’m just glad I got my thesis done.” 

“That’s good! How was Josuke and Joseph?” 

“Annoying and old.” 

You couldn’t help but laugh at that. Jotaro smiled slightly, before getting up and grabbing a bottle of wine from your cabinet. He looked over at you, asking if you wanted a glass without even talking. You nodded, smiling at him. 

“It is a special occasion after all. My husband is home!” 

The both of you sat at the dinner table for what felt like ages. One glass of wine turned into four, and you felt the warm buzz in your head. Jotaro could tell, your cheeks were flushed and you were grinning like a madman after every word he spoke. 

He finished his glass, before getting up and taking your dishes to the sink. You had made a meal for him, the least he could do was clean up after it. You smiled at him as he started to wash the dishes, despite being gone for so long, Jotaro was still a great husband. 

Getting up from your seat, you walked up behind him, linking your arms around his midsection. You leaned your head between his shoulder blades, sighing in content. 

“I missed you a lot, babe.” 

You felt him stiffen under your touch, before resuming his actions. That wouldn’t do. Pressing your chest against him, your hands explored his chest, then moved to run over the planes of his stomach. The taught muscles underneath his turtleneck always did things to you.

“I missed every part of you.” 

Your hands trailed up to press around his chest, and stayed there, for the time being. “I missed your face, your voice, your hugs...” You started, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. He hummed softly, acknowledging your words. 

You grinned to yourself, unhooking one hand and letting it slide down his torso again. “But, most importantly, I missed...” Your hand brushed over his belts, before settling over his crotch. “This.” 

Jotaro stood as straight as board, not thinking that you would be this forward. But, he supposes, you did have four glasses of wine, and that tended to loosen you up quite a bit. “Did you, now?” He asked, continuing to dry of the dishes he had washed. 

Nodding against his shoulder, you felt a blush cover your cheeks. It was the truth-- getting off by yourself for the last few weeks wasn’t the greatest, your husband was a hundred times better than your hand. “I can’t help it when I get horny and you leave me for so long!” 

Jotaro let out a chuckle, lightly pushing you away from him so he could put the dishes away. You pouted at him, crossing your arms against your chest. “What’s so funny?”

He shook his head at you. “Nothing, nothing.” He turned around, quickly pinning you to the kitchen counter. His lips were against your ear, pressing a sweet kiss. “How about I make up for lost time?” 

The next thing you knew, your clothes were shed on the way to the bedroom, and you were gently pushed onto the bed. Jotaro’s lips were on yours, pressing kiss after searing kiss. His hands trailed down your body, admiring the set you had put on. 

“Looks like you were expecting this.” He mumbled against your lips, and you shivered at his tone. Covering your eyes, you moaned softly. “M-Maybe.” He chuckled again, his fingers dipping into your panties, and pulling them off slowly. 

You lifted your hips, helping him get the material off. After they were tossed to the floor, he stripped his shirt off, and then dropped to his knees at the side of the bed. You stared down at him, watching as two fingers came up to rub along your folds.

“Oh, god-” Throwing your head back, you let out a gasp. Jotaro continued his ministrations, taking his time, rubbing along your clit to dropping down and lightly pushing into your hole. It was too much. 

Then, he leaned forward and pressed his tongue against you, lightly suckling on your clit, and thrusting his fingers inside you. You moaned loudly, your legs clenching hard around his shoulders. God, it felt so much better when he did it, for sure.

He continued his rhythm, adding a third finger, and lapping at your fluids. It wasn’t long until you felt your orgasm approaching, Jotaro’s name on your lips. “Fuck- I’m gonna-” 

He stopped then and there, pulling his fingers out, and standing up. You looked up at him in confusion, before he popped his wet fingers in his mouth. That sight set your skin on fire, and another round of wetness soak your inner thighs. He smiled around his fingers, before removing them and leaning over you. 

Your legs went up to hook around his waist, and he pressed another sweet kiss to your lips. “Just as good as I remember.” He kissed you again, messier this time, tongues dancing against each other. You felt one of his hands go down to his pants, unzipping them, and pulling them off. 

He leaned away from you, stripping his boxers off as well. Jotaro grabbed your hips gently, lining himself up. “Are you ready?” 

You couldn’t nod faster. 

He entered you slowly, letting you adjust to his size again. It had been so long since you felt him, but the stretch was wonderful. He filled you up just right, hitting all the right spots along the way. 

Once he was fully inside you, he stayed there for a minute, pressing kisses along your neck and chest, telling you how good you felt. It sent shivers down your spine, and warm radiated from your face. He was too good to you. 

“Jotaro, move-” Without hesitation, he pulled out, and thrusted back in. It was slow, loving, and you were in heaven. He continued this pace, pressing more kisses over your body, mumbling compliments as he panted against you. 

“You feel so good, god, I missed you so much.” 

That statement alone almost brought tears to your eyes. Jotaro was normally so stoic, but with you, it was like a switch had flipped. You moaned and gasped, trying your hardest to meet every thrust. It just felt so good, you needed more. 

Jotaro noticed this, speeding up, thoroughly pounding into you. You cried out at the change of pace, your legs tightening around him. This was what you wanted, no, needed. He stopped kissing you, deciding to hold onto your hips, using them to pull you against each thrust.

The pleasure was amazing. You could barely let out any noise, strangled gasps was all that you could manage. The bed was creaking with your movements, slamming against the wall it was next to. It was so much, you were so full, and it felt so hot. 

Then, Jotaro hit that special spot inside you. Your vision went white, and you cried out his name. Orgasm flooded through your body, and you shook hard against his thrusts. 

He grunted, continuing to pound in your tight heat until he spilled, letting out a low groan. You both panted in unison, looking at each other with lidded eyes. Jotaro pulled out, going and grabbing you a wash cloth to clean up with. 

You sat up, feeling his seed rush down your thighs. If you weren’t already spent, that would have heated you up even more. He returned shortly, parting your legs and cleaning you up himself. 

He tossed the cloth on the floor, and looked to you again. You smiled at him, running your hands through his messy locks. Jotaro leaned into the touch, his eyes closing slightly. 

Pulling him close, you pressed another kiss to his lips, before whispering against them. 

“I love you so much, Jotaro.” 

He smiled back at you, his hands running along your sides. It might be rare for other people to see him smile like this, but not for you. 

“I love you more.” 

[sadaboutniall]

Without Fear

masterlist | tag | wattpad

Chapter One. January.

remember that first laugh? all it changed once I had that // like a hurricane, but I don't care where I land - rome, dermot kennedy 

The whole thing had started out as a joke. Or maybe a pipe dream. Or maybe a massive mental breakdown and a poorly thought-through trip to the passport office for a rush renewal and a visa application. 

No matter how it had started, Luna hadn’t actually thought it would pan out. Two and a half months ago, standing in her parents’ kitchen in New York, reading the lawyer’s letter, it had been a shiny, exciting, half-baked idea—an escape she could cling to while everything else was going to shit. It hadn’t been a reality. 

It was hardly a reality even as it began to happen: Luna, packing her bags on a Friday night, deciding which pictures of her ex to keep and which to toss; Luna’s dad, hoisting her bags into the trunk of the car for her; Luna’s mom, petting her hair as she hugged her goodbye at the airport.

And it wasn’t real when she got to Inis Mór either: her snug little apartment above the coffee shop, the smattering of mismatched furniture that her Great Aunt Niamh had left behind, Ruairí, the black cat her new neighbor had been feeding, the mess of her suitcases, exploding on the floor, markedly different to the seemingly ancient chairs and quilts and sweaters that Niamh left for her. 

Or, just left. It’s been hard for Luna to tell what’s for her and what isn’t. 

And even now, nearly a month into living here and it only half feels real, the way she gets up every morning and putters down to the shop to open up, the cat following behind her, meowing for breakfast and Siobhan, the baker, already well on her way to done with the morning’s pastries, the smell of cinnamon and dough and vanilla and the cold air outside wafting through the shop to wake Luna up sweetly; the way old Mr. Whelan is always her first customer, never deviates from his order of a black coffee and a croissant, toasted; the rush of cold air every time someone opens the door, feeling like it’s flaying the shop open, sending napkins fluttering to the floor, causing Ruairí to hiss in protest and curl up closer to the fireplace. There’s nothing real in the way the sun sets at 4pm these days, quick as a wink over the hill outside the window, a flash of orange and purple the only reminder that day once broke in this place that always feels dark, under cover. There’s nothing real in the way Luna needn’t worry about anything here—her rent is paid and there are no deadlines anymore, no screaming bosses, no one angry with her for dropping an artist file or fucking up a coffee order. It’s not real, not even when she calls home and talks to her parents, when they tell her about her brother Sam’s new PhD research and his girlfriend Mary’s trip to Honduras. It’s not real, any of it. And it works. It’s fine. And so is Luna. 

It’s hardly real on a Monday night at the end of January, either, after Siobhan has already left for the day and Luna is quietly closing up, tucking mugs into cabinets and dropping bits of pastry on the floor for the cat. She’s not thinking about much of anything—in the month she’s been here, Lu’s found the very start and very end of her days to be the most relaxing, the way she can clear up the shop or fire up the coffee maker without having to talk to anyone, think about anything. It’s so markedly different from what feels like a lifetime ago: bustling into the office at 8:30 and still feeling like she was late, a tray of coffees balanced in one hand, someone’s dry cleaning in the other, 12 voicemails already waiting for her, 30 emails, more coming through as her phone vibrated in her pocketbook. This is quiet and slow: Ruairí is weaving between her legs, meowing gently when he wants more treats, and outside it’s dark and still and cold, despite it being only 7pm. Luna is tired but not wiped—a feeling she forgot existed before leaving New York—and it occurs to her that she can have a slice of cake tonight in front of the TV, and maybe a glass of wine, while watching Law and Order until she falls asleep. 

She’s lost in that thought—and the already building annoyance at the fact that she knows she’ll inevitably wake up on the couch at 3am and have to stumble to bed—when the door creaks open, nighttime wind rushing in, a boy stumbling after it. 

“So sorry,” Lu looks up from where she’s been wiping down the counter behind the pastry display. “I’m closing up. But I still have a few leftover slices of cake if you want—”

“Oh, erm,” the boy stills, maybe surprised, and Lu does too. He’s—well. Lu hasn’t seen anyone here who looks like him. 

He’s a mess of hat hair, dark at the roots and an unnatural blonde at the tips, curling over his ears and flopping over one eyebrow. He’s bright blue eyes, wide when he looks at her, and cheeks flushed red to match the tip of his nose, and a smattering of stubble along his face, darkening in the dimple of his chin, his pink lips chapped where his tongue darts out to soothe them. He takes her breath away for half a second—or maybe that’s the rush of wind that crashed against her chest when he opened the door. 

The boy is clutching a guitar by its neck, gloved hand wrapped almost reverently around it, and his white high-top sneakers are mucky where the rubber soles have been sludging through the perma-mud outside. He looks like something out of a dream, maybe, Lu’s heart catching a little in her throat. 

“Hi,” he says, finally, looking just as out of sorts as Lu feels. She’s not sure if that’s good or bad, but he carries on. “I wasn’t expecting—I didn’t think you would be so… uh. American? Uh,��� gently, he tucks the guitar under his arm and tugs off his navy blue gloves, the cotton pilling from wear. “I’m Niall,” he reaches out a hand. It’s cold when Lu takes it to shake, when he wraps it gently around her own. “I live Kilronan.” 

“Hiya,” Lu’s voice comes out softer than she expected it to. “I’m Lu. I work here.” 

“Right, right,” Niall nods, swallows thick. “You’re Niamh’s niece? I was so sorry to hear about her passing—she—”

“Great niece,” Lu rushes over Niall, exhausted, even a month later, of every introduction on this island starting with a condolence. “I actually only met her once. But it sounds like she was a force.”

“You—once?” Niall shoves his gloves into the pocket of his puffer jacket. 

“Yeah,” Lu shrugs. “Your guess is as good as mine. Was there, uh,” she doesn’t want to get rid of him,  but doesn’t know where to go next. “Did you want one of those slices of cake? I’m sorry for you to come all the way from Kilronan for nothing.”

“Oh,” Niall looks like he’s only just remembered where he is. “No, I didn’t come for cake. I, uh, I have a… a question? An idea?”

Briefly, Lu worries if she should be nervous—but crime doesn’t happen here, not like this, and Lu knows the statistics when it comes to stranger attacks. Either way, Niall keeps talking before she can spiral, the words tumbling out like he knows he has to speak before he thinks better of it.

“I, uh, I was wondering if there’s any chance you were looking for someone to, like, play guitar and sing a bit? Like, live music in the shop for a couple hours a week? You don’t have to pay me or anything, ‘m not asking for that, but I could maybe leave my case open for tips? I can do covers or requests or—whatever you want, really. And I can give you my work schedule and we can work around that; I’m free on the weekends mostly, except for when I coach football, but also on weeknights if you’d prefer that and if you want to split the tips I understand, we can do that too, and also—” 

“Niall,” Lu can’t take it. He’s speaking so fast it’s shuttling her toward an anxiety attack, and throwing up on the shoes of the first cute boy she’s seen in a month was not on her agenda for today. Meeting a cute boy in general was not on her agenda for today, but Lu’s been learning that things don’t tend to pan out the way she plans them. “I like the idea. That sounds cool.” 

“I totally understand if—wait, really?” Niall pauses, hand halfway up to his face, like he was going to cover his mouth, or rub his eyes, or bite his nails. His brow furrows and his mouth drops open a little, like he didn’t expect it to be that easy. Like he didn’t accept Lu to be agreeable at all. 

“Yeah,” Lu shrugs, then nods at the guitar still tucked under Niall’s arm, “but you’ll need to audition for me,” she bites back a cheeky smile, watches Niall do the same. “I can’t have a crap singer driving away all my customers.”

“Ah, fair play,” the left side of Niall’s mouth pulls up into a smile, and Lu pointedly ignores the kick in her chest. “What would you like to hear?”

She shrugs again, as if “casual” or “easygoing” were ever words people would’ve used to describe her back home. “Your favorite song?”

“My favorite—” Niall scoffs, but there’s no malice in it—it’s playful, inviting, fun. It makes Lu feel like he wants to keep talking to her. Like he wants her to keep winding him up. “You think I can narrow it down to one favorite song?”

“I can,” Lu smiles, soft, “I’m good at making decisions.” 

“Go on, tell us then.” 

“You first,” Lu gestures toward a table, the only one in the shop that isn’t rickety when there’s too much weight on it. “Then I’ll tell ya.” 

Niall hums under his breath, approval, and settles himself on top of the table easily, feet perched on the chair, guitar natural in his lap. He strums once, to check that everything is in tune, and then glances up through the bit of hair that’s fallen over his eye. He’s striking—bright blue eyes, a shock of blonde at the tips of his hair, a lone dimple digging into his filled out cheeks—and Lu feels her stomach swoop and kick again. She takes a deep breath, crosses her arms over her chest. Niall sits up straight. 

“Alright,” he says it so quietly that Lu thinks it might just be for him. She’s suddenly struck with the notion that she’s intruding on something, a moment between Niall and his guitar and himself that isn’t for her—that, maybe, this isn’t something a lot of people get to see. 

And, if that’s true, Lu realises the second he starts strumming, it’s a damn shame. 

It takes Lu a second to recognize the song, but it doesn’t even matter. With a guitar in his hand Niall is even more mesmerizing. Hypnotizing. Completely, incomprehensibly, irresistible.

And then he opens his mouth. And Lu feels sick. 

It’s “With or Without You”. 

But there’s none of the corniness, none of the playful groaning and eye rolling that usually accompanies a U2 cover. Instead, Lu feels frozen to her spot in the middle of the shop, Niall, seated atop the table, eyes down, an anchor in the middle of this island. His voice, lower than she expected, and raspy in all the right places, is somehow vulnerable and confident at the same time—somehow makes her want to simultaneously hold him and be held by him, to protect him and let him protect her. It’s real. It’s vulnerable. It’s terrifying. Lu doesn’t know what to do with it. 

The song lasts forever and is over in an instant. Eyes closed, Niall carries out the final, desperate, confident, terrified, “I can’t live, with or without you,” as he stops playing and lets his voice take over. The whole shop shakes with it. Or maybe that’s just Lu, trembling. 

His eyes don’t open for a few seconds. Lu can feel herself breathing, she can feel her heart beating, she can feel the wind, outside, throwing itself against the shop’s ancient windows. She can feel it when Niall opens his eyes. 

“Was it that shite?” 

Overwhelmed, Lu exhales an unstoppable, lovely laugh. Niall’s cheeks are red and his eyes are a little glassy and he runs a hand through his thick hair, his bicep flexing just a millimeter. Lu already knows there’s no way this can last.

“Terrible,” she smiles. “Worst I’ve ever heard. When can you start?” 

####

They work out the schedule together, leaning over the only good table, comparing planners. Lu still keeps her old Moleskin, dark purple, embossed with her college seal and the year she graduated. She hasn’t needed it much lately—after years of her work, and eventually her social life, revolving around Google Calendar, she feels a freedom in being able to jot down appointments and approximate times in a messy journal. Niall’s got a battered leather one—doodles on the front, his name in script on the first page. He flips through it quickly, keeps it close to his chest. 

He works at a local furniture and home goods boutique most days, as a design consultant, and coaches the middle school’s co-ed soccer team on Monday, Wednesday, and Thursday afternoons, with games on Saturdays. Lu tells him not to overbook himself but he does it anyway, and they settle on Monday, Thursday, and Friday nights, as well as Saturday mornings, starting the next week. He says he’ll have a friend work up posters to advertise, and tries, again, to tell Lu he’ll split his tips. 

At 10:30, he notices the time, his cheeks pinking up, his chapped lower lip caught between his teeth. They’d been splitting the final two slices of cake, and there’s a tiny glob of chocolate caught in the corner of his mouth. 

“Fuck,” he says, looking reluctant, “I’ve got to go, I’m meant to be at work at 8 tomorrow morning.” 

“Oh, God,” Lu feels a bit like she’s coming out of a daze, that feeling she gets, sometimes, when she’s been reading a book or watching a movie and then has to reimmerse herself in the real world. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you.” 

“No, no,” Niall rushes, “you didn’t. I—thank you. For the chocolate cake. And the, uh, opportunity.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Lu presses her lips together, resists the urge to lean forward and thumb at the chocolate on his mouth. “You’ve got, uh, a bit of chocolate,” she touches the mirroring spot on her own mouth, “right there.” 

“Right,” he smiles, tongue darting out to catch it. “I won’t. Thanks.” 

Lu gathers the plates and cups and totes them to the sink while Niall gets his things together. When she turns around, he’s bundled in his coat and scarf, hat pulled low over his brows, free hand shoved into the pocket of his puffer. She doesn’t know how to look away from him. 

“I guess I’ll see you next week, then?” He asks, fiddling with the zipper on his puffer. He hasn’t got all the chocolate—Lu wonders what it would taste like against his lips.

“Next week,” she echoes. “Yeah.” 

“Brilliant. I’ll, uh—I’m excited. Have a good week.” 

Lu’s “and you” gets lost in her throat as she watches Niall head toward the door. His hand is on the knob when he turns back around. 

“Wait, Lu.” 

The sound of her name in his mouth makes her heart stutter. She hopes her raised brow will pass for a response. 

“You didn’t tell me.” 

“What?” She gets that out, at least.

“Your favorite song of all time,” Niall smiles, dimple prominent. “What is it?”

Looking back, Lu has no idea where the sudden confidence comes from. But, somehow, it does. She smiles, tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Not sure I want to tell you yet,” she says, kind. “I want to see if you figure it out for yourself.” 

####

taglist: @missy14us @coconutdawn @ficnarry @okaaayniall @theresnooneheretosave @niallgolden @tinyfelthat @adoremp3 @thelifeofbo @crocodileniall @niallsguitarthings 

Join the tag list here.

[writtenonreceipts]

The idea of this came quick and haphazardly.  I meant to have it ready on thanksgiving, but then didn’t, haha...enjoy a last little slice of thanksgiving fic...

About 2K.  Planning on doing a Christmas and/or new years addition with this one too.

Thanks so much for reading!

 #

Friends Like These

Aelin cursed as she stared at the pan of green beans she pulled from her oven.  Frowning she glared at the mess of crispy fried onions on top and the edges that were most certainly black instead of golden brown.

“Well this was a terrible idea.”

She didn't even like green bean casserole but Lysandra had insisted they needed green beans of some sort and Aelin was a mess of uncertainty. She wanted to bring an extra chocolate pie but Lys refused that front citing that she had all her pie bases covered.  

Aelin did not believe her.  For as much as she loved her best friend, Lys did not understand Aelin’s desires for chocolate and pie in general.

Back to the green beans however, Aelin was certain they were burned. Who the hell liked green beans anyways?

“A real, real terrible idea.”

Talking to herself wasn't going to fix anything, so Aelin grabbed her oven mitts and made for the door of her apartment. By some twist of fate and intense insistence, Aelin lived across the hall from her best friend and cousin. Lysandra and Aedion had only been married a few months and they were already intent on being the go-to couple for holidays and other occasions. As long as it meant Aelin didn't have to clean her place, she didn't care.

She left her apartment door open and crossed the hall to Lysandra’s. 

"Open up bitch,” she called and kicked the door. Too late did she think that the neighbors would not appreciate her antics. She received far too many looks of exasperation from them anyways.  

Despite how much she really didn’t care, she glanced down the hall.  Maybe she could ditch this poorly made casserole on some unsuspecting soul.  As she glanced down towards the elevators, she caught sight of a ridiculously good-looking man coming up the hall and he had most definitely heard her. 

His silvery hair was stark compared to his bronze skin and his button up shirt strained against his obvious muscles. Oh he was very attractive.  Aelin had quite often found herself fondling over the likes of Rowan Whitethorn.  

It was highly unfortunate that he was already here, considering Aelin was still in yoga pants and an oversized cardigan stained with bleach from a misadventure in cleaning.  Not to mention her hair was a failing top knot and she hadn’t even put on a coat of chapstick today.  Oh hell, she was most definitely staring at him.  

“Galathynius,” Rowan said, giving her a long, penetrating look.  His generous mouth tilted into something akin to a sneer.

“Whitehorn,” she replied.  She prided herself at least on the fact that she managed not to lick her lips while checking him out. Because holy hell it should be illegal for him to look so well put together.  She wasn’t sure if she preferred him in this almost professional style as compared to the dark grunge that he was usually found in.  Or both.  Definitely both.

Aelin was saved from saying or doing anything else as Lysandra opened the door to her apartment.

“You actually brought something other than chocolate,” Lysandra said with an amused sort of expression

“Bite me,” Aelin snapped and swerved past into the apartment.

She missed whatever Lysandra said to Rowan, but it was clearly filled with more love and appreciation than what was extended to Aelin.

Aelin entered the kitchen and was immediately greeted by the scents of cooking turkey, stuffing, and rolls.  It was wonderful.  She stuck her still hot pan on the edge of the counter while she dug out another hotpad from where Lysandra usually kept them.  

Aedion was busy setting things up in the small living room where he’d dragged out their table and an extra foldable one.  It looked like there were far more place settings than Aelin had been expecting.

“Hey Aelin,” Aedion said as he settled a floral arrangement on the table. It was a cheapish plastic one—but it reminded Aelin of years growing up with him and tossing the abused decoration around the table to use it as a means of hiding from Aunt Maeve.

“Hey, where d’you want this,” she asked, holding up the green beans.

“Wherever should be good,” Aedion said with a shrug.  He looked the pan over and frowned. “You burned the green beans?”

“No one even likes green beans Ashryver,” Aelin fired back.  She slapped down the hotpad and the casserole and tried to pretend she didn’t care.  

Truth was, she’d actually tried on the casserole.  But she wouldn’t admit that.  It would just make the end product all the more pathetic.

“Thanks so much for bringing pie, Rowan,” Lysandra was saying from the kitchen.  “I tried asking Lorcan, but he was staunchly against it.”

“Nah, the bastard would never make such a commitment,” Rowan.  Aelin glanced at him to see a crooked smile that did not help her feel any better about herself. “He will bring plenty of booze though.”

“At least he’s good for something,” Lysandra laughed.  Her laugh was short lived though as she looked between Aelin and Rowan.  It was no secret the two had nothing short of a hostile relationship.  No matter how long their friend groups had been integrated for—they always found a way to be at each other’s throats.

Lysandra took the bag of pie from Rowan and smiled gratefully.  “Also, I appreciate everything you’ve done in the shop, too.  I don’t know what I wouldn’t do without the help.”

Just across the street, Lysandra was opening a clothing boutique that would hopefully expand into a makeup and hair styling salon as well.  While Aedion was finishing his law degree and working full time in an apprenticeship, Lysandra had bitten the bullet to fulfill her dream of owning her own business.  Even if it was a slightly inconvenient time to be an entrepreneur. Aelin couldn’t have been prouder of her best friend.

“Oh, until everyone else gets here, Rowan can help you move that dresser Aelin,” Lysandra said suddenly.  Aelin froze in a sudden wave of panic. “She’s getting rid of that tiny little dresser she has and got a new one.  You’ve been complaining about it all week.”

Rolling her eyes, Aelin brushed a few loose bits of hair from her forehead. “It hasn’t been all week.”

“Right, just the hours we’ve been together,” Lysandra said with an ironic sort of expression.  In truth, the two had spent nearly every waking minute together in the hopes of getting the shop ready to open.

Scowling, Aelin made her way back to the door of the apartment. “Can’t believe you married her Aedion.  C’mon, buzzard.  I need help, apparently.”

“You can’t move a damn dresser by yourself?” Rowan groused.  But he followed after her, shooting irritated looks over his shoulder no doubt.

“Be nice to each other!” Aedion called after. “It’s Thanksgiving.”

The door closed softly behind them.  The hall was silent as they crossed the short distance to Aelin’s place.  She was muttering under her breath the entire time about how annoying it was to have him in her apartment.

As soon as they entered Aelin’s apartment, Fleetfoot was on them.  The dog, despite loving her mother to no end, went to Rowan with an excited flap of her tail.  Rowan glared down at Fleetfoot in exasperation.

“Don’t you give your dog any attention?” He asked.

Aelin gave him the finger over her shoulder as she went to her room. “Get your ass in here and help me.”

Rowan cursed under his breath and followed. “Why do you need a new dresser anyways.  The old one was fine.”

“Well someone told me it was too small.  And someone said that how could a substantial amount of clothing even fit in the drawers I had.  And that same someone told me that something had to change.” She leaned against her bedroom door and glared at him. “And that, dumbass, was you.  So now I have a giant dresser that I don’t know what to do with. So really, this is all your fault.”

Rowan quirked a brow and looked down at her, but he said nothing.

For the past three months since Rowan had begun helping Lysandra in her shop, the two had started something.  Something that neither knew how to define or explain.  It involved quite a bit of kissing, sex, and staying over at one another’s apartments.  And no one else in their friend group knew.  

The previous week Rowan had made a comment about never having enough space for his things in Aelin’s place which had resulted in an uncomfortable conversation of defining what it was exactly they were doing together.  It promptly led to ignored texts and phone calls.

“You got a new dresser,” Rowan said, finally.

Aelin dropped her eyes from his and turned slightly so she was leaning against the wall instead of the doorjamb.  She looked into her room where the new dresser was standing at an awkward angle.  She hadn’t quite known what to do with it so she’d left it half up against one wall and half blocking her closet.  Rowan wasn’t supposed to find out about the dresser this way.  Mostly because she didn’t want for it to be a big deal, even though it was...they’d danced around the idea of each other and being more than friends with benefits for so long that this—giving up space and a little bit of independence was huge.

Especially for Aelin.

“I just wanted some more space,” she said dismissively.

Rowan’s eyes were still on her.  She could feel them burning into her.  If she looked at him now, she was certain she would combust.  There was always something about Rowan that made her feel different.  That made her feel complete.  It was strange to say.  Especially after being on her own for so long.  But being with him, even for the few short months, had given her a new sense of purpose and self that Aelin had never had before.

“More space?” Rowan asked, stepping closer to her.

Aelin chewed on her bottom lip and finally looked up. “Less space?”

Rowan grinned down at her, his body heat completely enveloping her as he pulled her to him.

Aelin went willingly, wrapping her arms around him and clinging to him tightly.  It was slightly embarrassing how much she’d missed him.  Even in this one week of being apart and not even texting had been unbearable.  

With gentle hands, Rowan cupped her face and ran his calloused fingers over her cheeks.  The feel of it caused Aelin to shiver and immediately want to burrow into him again.  Rowan had other plans as he tilted her chin up and captured her lips with his.

Sighing happily, Aelin melted into his touch.  She curled her fingers in his hair and pressed herself harder against him.  Every other plan for the day went right out her head.  None of it mattered when he was so close.

A loud knock sounded on the front door and Fenrys’ voice called out from the kitchen. “Have you two killed each other or what?  Come on!  Turkey’s getting cold.”

“We’re coming,” Rowan called out as Aelin pressed her lips into his neck, in part to suppress her grin and also because she wasn’t ready to let him go. “Galathynius can’t make up her mind.”

Aelin nipped at his skin with her teeth and his hands tightened on her hips.

“Finish after turkey, I didn’t spend all morning making yams for them to go to waste,” Fenrys yelled back.  The front door slammed shut as he left.

Aelin couldn’t help the chuckle that escaped her as she kissed her way back to Rowan’s lips.  “I don’t want to go.”

Rowan pressed his forehead against hers, breath slightly uneven. “Unless you want to tell everyone about us.”

Shaking her head, Aelin sighed. “I’m not ready to share you.”

She of course already did share him with everyone, but Rowan seemed to grasp the underlying meaning of her words as he captured her mouth once more.  The kiss was hot and deep and Aelin was ready to lock the door to her apartment and feign death or illness if it meant she could spend the day wrapped up in Rowan.

“Fireheart,” he whispered.

“Buzzard,” she replied.

He smiled against her lips before pulling back and running his thumb over her cheek. “Beautiful.”

“I look like hell,” she complained.

Rowan shook his head.  “Beautiful,” he repeated before regretfully pulling away.

Aelin sighed before running her hands down his chest and interlocking he fingers with his, just for a moment.

“Stay the night?” she asked quietly.

Rowan rolled his eyes. “You just need help with that dresser.”

“True,” she admitted, “but I also missed you.”

Rowan nodded once before giving her a quick, chaste kiss. “C’mon or else we’ll really have to tell everyone about us.”

Sighing, Aelin pulled away completely.  She left her room and made sure Fleetfoot was settled on the couch, and episode of “The Office�� playing on the tv to keep the dog company.

Before they let her apartment, she looked back at Rowan with a determined gleam in her eyes.  “Soon.”

“Soon,” Rowan agreed.

And they went back to being somewhat tolerable friends.

#

thanks for reading dears, i so appreciate the support and comments and everything!

tags: if i missed you let me know, by inbox/asks are always open

@tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx  @bamchickawowow

[maribabyart]

Do you have any Demon Martha headcanons? How do you think her reunion with Mrs. Mayberry (The teacher who paid for her assassination) in hell would go?

 OK YES I HAVE HEADCANONS FOR THIS HERE WE GO --

MARTHA HEADCANONS <3

So, I’m gonna start with her before she died so I can fully get into why every part of her is the way she is as a demon.

Martha is light skinned Latina woman with family coming from Venezuela. Her mother has a much darker skin tone than her, but her father is far more light-skinned, where she gets her complexion from. While she was raised in America, her parents were immigrants. She was born at home, and she didn’t get a birth certificate until she was four, the year before she started schooling.

She has three older brothers. They were very rambunctious with Martha as a child, pulling pranks on her/with her, taking her hunting, etc.

She was raised out on a farm in the middle of a forested area in Kentucky. They raised cattle, sheep, chickens, and horses. Martha’s main job on the farm was to groom/ride horses and feed chickens.

She learned her sharp-shooter skills in a more intense version of something like 4H unique to her area. She was fantastic with a bow and arrow, and even better with her firearms.

Cannibalism was normalized in Martha’s life from a young age. She knew that it must be kept secret from the outside world, and that it wasn’t accepted. However, it wasn’t something she found to be horrid.

Her family -- and their close friends -- came from a long lineage of Satanic cultists that practiced cannibalism to purge any bit of, “soul” remaining in the corpses of their sacrifices. Due to this, Martha had evolved to be able to be immune to the ill side effects of cannibalism, along with the ability to not feel repulsed by the idea of eating human meat.

Her favorite part of the body growing up was the brain, and it still is to this day. She loves the frontal lobe slathered in spices and hot sauce.

She began her cultish killings at age fourteen, when she officially joined the cult of her family’s descent -- Compañerismo de la Fruta Prohibida (Fellowship of the Forbidden Fruit, a refrence to their following of Lucifer)

Martha didn’t love Raphael Peterson, or, “Ralphie”. She was married of to him at age sixteen, when she became a, “Woman” in the cult’s eyes. They were both meant to appear as an ideal couple so that people wouldn’t suspect them, as their parents before them have.

Ralph and Martha always saw each other as friends with benefits.

They moved to Dayton, Tennessee to start their family when they turned eighteen.

In Nashville, Martha started singing to music her husband played in Taverns. Think Dolly Parton style music. She sounded a lot like that.

Their first child was born when Martha was eighteen: Their daughter, Jolene Peterson. Two years later, they had their son, Beau Peterson.

Martha was always really involved with her kids’ school activities, and she was always volunteering to work events, and her kids were in every activity they could be.

She used her physical attractiveness to seduce and kill men.

While sex favorable, Martha is on the aspec -- greysexual (sexual pleasure is irrelevant to her, and she only engages in it to appease her partner generally. She only finds sexual attraction in people while in the act.) Because of this fact, Martha only has affairs for the sake of gaining trust to bring the men home so they can be killed and eaten.

When Martha was shot, the community villainized Mrs. Mayberry because the town darling, Martha Jane Nunez Robles-Peterson, would NEVER cheat, right? The situation was misread: Martha was just talking to Jarold Mayberry that night about t-ball-related things, right? He WAS the the little league captain for her 6-year-old-son’s league, wasn’t he?

Martha was gifted millions by the community, and people were insanely supportive of her. They wanted the sweet Martha they, “knew” to get better soon. They loved her so -- such a darling woman!

Her music became more well known, and soon, Martha was all over TV. Her big musical break came from when she auditioned for American Idol and made it. Her sob-story propelled her, and she eventually won.

Martha was a hero to everyone around her -- surviving a traumatic event that was uncalled for, while also being so damn chipper and kind.

Hell, did you guys see the background in one of those scenes?! Martha was canonly proclaimed a SAINT! People loved her that much.

She used the public trust to lure in more victims and never be suspected.

Martha was 28 when she died. Ralphie was 28 as well. Jolene was 10, and Beau was 8.

Ralphie managed to survive the explosion, albeit he was completely paralyzed, and the two children went to heaven. Ralphie repented during his last month alive, and confessed to his crimes. He was sent to heaven as well.

Martha and the children were declared to have died in a bear attack, as Compañerismo de la Fruta Prohibida covered up their true demise with ease.

People were heart broken -- Martha’s music was used in sad collages on Youtube, Tik Toks had Martha’s face in them for memorials.

No one ever realized her crimes.

Now! As a demon....

In hell, Martha picked up the alias Hero -- it’s what she was in life, right? I’ll be calling her Hero from now on.

Hero is both different and similar to how she was when she was alive. She’s still the got her kind-hearted, southern mama vibe going for her: She tends to be able to fit into any demonic crowd well, either by attractiveness or by sheer, overwhelming allure -- she’s a very magnetic personality.

As far as powers go, Hero’s are mostly related to firearms. She’s acquired these powers through deal making and soul dealing, as most demons do. Her charming aura very quickly lure people into thinking she’s naive or really just being honest with them.

Her nails can peel back to allow her to shoot from, “finger guns”. Each finger is a different gun, besides her middle and index fingers. They are both shotguns. Together, they make a double barrel shotgun.

When in full demonic form, Hero’s bandages become sentient. They peel away from her wound, revealing a minigun like weapon in the hole in her head. This can rapid fire while the bandages can grab onto things or hoist Hero up. She can make this last for five minutes -- ten at the longest -- before she gives out to sheer exhaustion and needs to eat demon meat to replenish herself.

Within her first week in hell, she was known to be powerful. Not quite an overlord, but powerful enough to hang around overlords. 

She hit overlord status three months later, during the terf war seen in Hazbin Hotel’s pilot: She took several areas of land, and was seen to have several lesser demons flocking to be on her good side.

Hero used her land to build up a bar and grill that serves strictly demon meat and blood, where demons can play music and dance. It’s like a fucked up country dinner. It’s an insanely popular addition to Cannibal Colony, where she lives.

The place is called La Cocina de la Calle Kuru (The Kuru Street Kitchen)

Hero REALLY wants to get her hands on exterminator tools, but she’s not really a fan of black market deals -- it’s too “trashy” for her.

Hero knows Alastor pretty well, as he’s came in for meat and to watch the music. They’ve had pretty decent conversations while she was on break, seeing as they were both influential  southern, cannibalistic serial killers. It’s a running gag between them where they jokingly talk about who was more iconic -- “I bet I took out more belles in a lifetime than you could in your entire afterlife!” “Well hon, at least I could eat the brains without gettin’ Kuru!”

She talks to Rosie a lot about business, and has met Niffty and Mimzy before. (Al hooked a bitch up with some friends lmao)

She REALLY likes Mimzy. She reminds her of Ralphie, and they became super fast friends. 

Vox and Hero have a confusing sort of friendship, as neither really wants to be seen with the other -- In his case, because she’s much lower on the overlord spectrum than him, and in her case, because she’s no stranger to Alastor and Vox’s hatred for one another. However, she often finds herself consoling Vox on sleepless nights after closing up the bar, trying to convince him that Valentino is NOT worth his time. Beyond that and him occasionally paying her back in tech at random hours of the morning, they don’t talk often.

Hero LOVES dancing! Like, a lot.

She’s seen Charlie’s ad for the Happy Hotel. Her and Mimzy watched it, and they both thought it was the stupidest damn thing they’d ever seen. However, Hero said she was happy Charlie got up there, because she was just, “Cute as a button, that lil’ sweatpea was!”

Hero’s best friends are Mimzy and an unnamed demon who specializes in black market, extermination tool selling (the one seen in in Addict -- Cherri Bomb’s former lover).

These two people, and these two people alone, can call her “Martha”

Hero cooks whenever she’s stressed. She also adores sewing and binging soap operas and reality shows on Voxflix.

Hero’s Instagram would be, “HeroicMelodies” in reference to her music career and name.

Hero gets hit on A LOT, and she despises it. She doesn’t need to seduce people anymore to get away with murder, and she doesn’t want to. She dresses the way she does because she LIKES that clothing. People can fuck off.

The reason Hero is white and pink is to show how innocent she looks. Her pitch-black eyes show her dark soul.

Hero sings in Spanish to herself when cleaning up.

Sometimes, Hero and Rosie spend holidays going around with ground demon meat to throw to the hell crows and other critters. They find it peaceful.

Hero, shockingly, holds no hatred for I.M.P., and commonly jokes about how the I.M.P.’s, “Did her a favor” by sending her somewhere she can actually be her. She has no idea who called for the hit, though. 

Hero finds Blitzo’s Instagram posts being poorly spelled to be, “Damn near precious”.

She thinks he’s a teenager, and probably would think it less adorable if she knew he was a grown man with a grown kid.

Hero doesn’t care about Mrs. Mayberry at all. Like, at all. She honestly assumes the woman is in heaven. She knew Mayberry wasn’t bad -- she probably wouldn’t care if she was in hell, though. Oh well. Sucks to suck, bitch.

Husk frequents La Cocina de la Calle Kuru to drink and engage in the gambling scene. Hero finds him trashy, but can’t say she hates him. She finds him funny as hell, and enjoys the business. Just not someone she’d personally hang out with.

[shutupandshipit]

Sharpen Your Blades - Ch.12

Summary: “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”

The thinning of Aizawa’s patience was evident in the twitching of his brow. “If you stop asking questions, maybe I could finish explaining.

”With a huff and roll of his eyes, Katsuki glanced away from their coach.

“City Hall and the SC want us to give them more variety. We are a team solely made up of single skaters. Every year, we dominate the rankings for single skate while Shinketsu dominates the pairs, so this year both cities are being required to split their skaters evenly between singles and pairs with at least one pair coming from out top five.” There was a collective intake of breath, but no one commented, choosing instead to remain silent. “Unfortunately, for us, it’s a lot easier to switch from pairs to singles. With our male to female ratio, alpha/beta/omega ratio, and those of you actually experienced with pair skating, we’re at a disadvantage. So, I’ve decided to choose your partners for you.”

…..

Or where Katsuki and Izuku are forced to be partners so they can continue to compete, but the blood in the water may be thicker than anyone realized.

Pairing: Bakudeku

Rating: T

Chapter: 12/20

Previously <- Chapter 11: Solo

Chapter 13: The Innocence of Children -> Next

Chapter 12: Parents and questions they shouldn’t ask

Katsuki sat on the couch between his parents, eyes down as two men and a little woman he knew very well talked with his parents as if he weren’t there. Or maybe they were trying to include him in the conversation, and he just wasn’t paying attention. He hadn’t been doing a lot of focussing recently, all his attention put into wondering if Izuku was going to end up in the hospital all over again. If one day he’d wake up to Mitsuki telling him there had been an accident. If-

“So, what do you say?”

Blinking quickly, Katsuki raised his head to see Toshinori Yagi staring at him encouragingly, gaunt smile wide and toothy. He glanced to his parents, but they were also staring at him expectantly. Frowning, he muttered, “What?”

Aizawa Shouta was the one to answer this time, sitting forward to draw Katsuki’s attention to him. “Do you want to come train with us for the new generation of Yuuei skaters?”

His immediate, instinctual response was to shout, “Yes!” To accept without a second thought. But there were second thoughts that reared up as he opened his mouth to answer. Thoughts of Izuku in a hospital bed with so many casts and wires. Thoughts of Izuku with distant glassy eyes and his room smelling of heat gone wrong. Thoughts of Izuku smiling hollowly when Mitsuki forced him to go to the hospital and the little, ‘Sorry, Kacchan. At least you won’t have to deal with me on the ice anymore.’

“On one condition.”

“You make this sound like we need you, not the other way around,” Aizawa said, but his dark eyes were keen and curious as they surveyed him.

“On one condition,” Katsuki repeated, eyes trained on the man unflinchingly.

Sitting up straight, Aizawa shrugged. “What is it? Then we’ll decide.”

“My par- My ex-partner. I want you to give him the offer too.”

One of Aizawa’s eyebrows arched up while both of Toshinori’s shot to his hairline. Shuzenji smiled at him. “Midoriya Izuku? The one who got hurt recently?”

“He can come back from it!” Katsuki said, all vehemence as he leaned forward on the couch, “I’ll only agree if he does.”

Aizawa smirked. “Is he good enough?”

Katsuki didn’t even hesitate. “Yes.”

Standing, Aizawa nodded. “We were already considering him, but we appreciate the input. Now it’s all up to him to agree.”

Katsuki stared up at the older man, the older omega who might also be able to help Izuku. “He’ll agree.”

…..

"You want me to what?" Katsuki gripped his phone tight to his ear in complete disbelief. His mother was insane. She was a fucking mad woman if she thought he had the time-

‘Don't take that tone with me, brat. It's been months since you've been home. We want to see you. We're having dinner with an old family friend. It'd be nice if they could see you too,’ Mitsuki said conversationally. There was a lot of banging and thumping going on on the other side of the phone, and he had to wonder what they were doing. He heard Masaru grunt and then yelp.

A little ways down the ice from him, Izuku had his own phone pressed to his ear, a frown tugging at the corners of his usually grinning mouth. He said something, short, simple.

"What the hell are you two even doing right now?" Katsuki finally asked, never taking his eyes from Izuku. He'd come across the first edition of a seriously old figure skating book in an antique store the other day. It was damaged and the owner didn't even realize what he had, and Katsuki had gotten it for barely 500 yen. He wasn't sure when he was going to give it to the nerd, but he wanted to do it soon. After Izuku's performance during practice the week before he felt he had even less time than before.

He felt like he could feel his chance with Izuku slipping away while he grappled desperately for the end of the rope.

Mitsuki hummed on the other side of the phone. ‘Your father is bringing in the Christmas tree so you can decorate it when you get here.’

"Mom, I'm not a child anymore."

Mitsuki was quiet for a long moment, and it took Katsuki longer to realize it was because he'd called her 'mom' and not 'old hag'. He held back a curse, refusing to acknowledge the slip. After a moment, she cleared her throat.

‘Just come home and spend time with us tomorrow. We're not asking for a week. We're not even asking for a whole day. Just dinner with us and some friends.’ Her voice had softened, a tone he hadn't heard from her in what felt like forever. The last time he could remember was the day he'd had to help Inko get Izuku to the hospital. She'd been so soft, and she'd held him close while he struggled to breath through his panic.

"Yeah, sure," he finally muttered, holding Izuku's eyes when he glanced at him.

‘And Katsuki?’

"What?"

‘Is everything alright?’

Inhaling slowly and finally dropping his eyes, trying to keep that memory from coming further to the surface, he muttered, "Yeah. Everything is fine."

‘Good. See you tomorrow. Your dad and I love you.’

"Sure, yeah, love you too." She hung up the phone, but he didn't drop it. He took several more moments just for himself, counting his breaths and grounding himself in the feel of his blades on the ice. He was fine. He was fine. He. Was. Fine.

Dropping his phone, he looked back at Izuku again. The omega was watching him curiously, expression open and receptive.

"What was that about?" Katsuki asked, indicating the now silent phone in Izuku's hand.

"Oh, Mom wants me to stay over tomorrow night since she hasn't seen me in a long time." He bit his lip, glancing away from Katsuki for just a moment. "I know we're in the middle of training, and we've still got a lot of work to do-"

Katsuki didn't let him finish, partly because he could already see his parents' poorly laid out plan, mostly because he could see much how much Izuku wanted to see his mother. "Go. We've still got practice in the morning. Skipping one night won't make that big of a difference."

The explosion of Izuku's smile across his face almost rocked Katsuki back. "Thanks, Kacchan, it'll be really nice to see her again!" There was a very definitive, but significant pause before Izuku continued. "Was everything alright with your call?"

"Yeah, just my parents wanting to see me too." Katsuki could see the relief wash over Izuku's face and straight into his scent. The eerily clean smell had gotten stronger over the passed weeks, and Katsuki hadn't gotten up the nerve to ask Izuku what the fuck he thought he was doing. He'd been saying it for weeks now that he wasn't Izuku's mate. He wasn't entitled to information like that even if he only wanted to protect the omega. Izuku didn't owe him anything, and he wasn't going to pretend like he did by demanding answers from him.

He just didn't want Izuku to get back to that precipice again. He hoped Izuku knew after all these years where that line was.

"It’s so weird that they lined up the days! But then again, our moms have always been kind of scary like that."

"Yeah, what a coincidence," Katsuki said in a monotone because Mitsuki would at least get to see one surprised face. His wouldn't be it though. Pressing play on his phone and pushing away from the wall, he held out a hand to Izuku. "Let's go again before the cleaners come to kick us out."

They hadn't gotten Izuku's feet off the ice yet, but each day, Katsuki felt them getting closer and closer to that moment. He felt like that would be the tipping point. Once they could trust each other enough to perform their tricks is when everything would really start to happen. He fervently hoped for that day to come soon.

"Yeah!" Izuku accepted his hand, but sprinted forward towards center ice, dragging Katsuki along.

…..

Izuku used the spare key to open the door to Inko's apartment. Something in him told him that he should knock, that this wasn't really his home anymore so he didn't have a right to just go inside.

'You have a home with someone else,' his omega whispered traitorously, 'The alpha with the gifts.'

He shook his head and forced himself through the door. 'You're being completely unreasonable,' he shot back, and he knew if he could see his omega, it'd be turning up its nose at him, 'Rude.'

Out loud, he called, "Mom, I'm home!"

Inko bustled around the counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, smiling ear to ear. "Welcome home, baby! It's so nice to see you again!" She hugged him tightly, squeezing him until he wheezed out a breath. When she pulled away though, her nose was scrunched up. "Izuku, I thought the doctors told you to stop taking suppressants."

"I'm not," he lied immediately, and flinched when her eyes flashed.

"I've known your scent since I gave birth to you, and I've also known your scent on suppressants since you started taking them when you were twelve. Don't lie to me." Her face grew worried, voice softer. "I'm just trying to look out for you."

Sighing, Izuku hugged her again. "I know, Mom, sorry. I just hate talking about it. They said I could finish my prescription, and then wouldn't fill it again. It's alright."

"I don’t know, baby, maybe you should just throw them out." Izuku's system immediately rejected that suggestion, and he had to swallow down the growl that rose in the back of his throat. "It would be best if you just started looking into options to help you during your heat since it's going to be more intense this time. I can ask some friends-"

Heat shot up from beneath his collar, thinking about the toy he'd bought at the sex store with Uraraka and Kaminari. The clerk had suggested it for difficult heats. Knotted at the base with an insertable vibrating bullet that could also be used on its own… It had come out most nights since he'd bought it, and it had helped along several lewd fantasies. He did not need nor want anyone else's assistance. One toy was good enough.

"No!" he exclaimed too quickly, "I'll be fine on my own. Thanks, Mom."

Pulling away, Inko sighed. "Well, go put your things away and get ready. Dinner will be ready soon, and our guests will be here soon too."

Stepping around Inko and into his old bedroom that had been converted into a guest room, but still held everything he'd left behind, he asked, "Guests? I didn't know we were having people over tonight." As he turned, there was a knock at the door. Loud and abrasive and mildly rude with the force of it.

“I’ll get it. Go ahead and change,” Inko said with a wave of her head. She didn’t open the door until he was already tucked away in his room.

The voices that filled the living room sounded vaguely familiar from behind the door, but he wasn’t paying too close of attention to them. Instead, he thought of Katsuki’s hands on his waist from that morning as he pulled his t-shirt over his head, and he thought of what Katsuki might actually feel like instead of the toy he’d been using as a substitute. He swiped on a new layer of deodorant and scent blockers. He pressed his shirt to his nose when he was done, and caught the fading scent of the alpha, allspice and cinnamon and something Izuku would have gladly eaten.

Katsuki’s scent calmed an anxiety deep in his chest that he hadn’t even realized had been building. The tight ball in his diaphragm eased, and suddenly it was easier to breathe.

Shaking his head, Izuku threw the t-shirt in his bag and went to find the shirt and slacks his mother had no doubtedly set out for him. Once he was dressed and presentable, he stepped out into the living room and immediately stopped. Standing in the entryway with his mother and father, Kastuki endured a thorough greeting from Inko.

Izuku swallowed thickly, eyes skirting over the tightness of Katsuki’s shirt beneath his heavy down jacket and the sinful curve of his legs in darkly expensive jeans. His mouth watered.

He didn’t have a chance to say anything before crimson eyes flicked to look at him. “Nerd,” Katsuki said as way of greeting. He held a nondescript paper bag in one hand tucked close to his side.

All attention swung to him, and then Masaru and Mitsuki were on him. Mitsuki hugged him close, ruffling his curls and completely disarranging his ponytail.

“Bathroom?” he heard Katsuki ask Inko, and her responding laugh.

“Oh, Katsuki, you know where our restroom is. You don’t have to ask.”

Katsuki eased around the cluster of Izuku and his parents with the brown bag in tow. When he returned, the bag was missing, but Izuku had been corralled at the dining room table and couldn’t go in search of it.

Dinner was… nice. It was really nice actually. An hour passed in relative peace. Inko, Mitsuku and Masaru chattered and ruminated about how long it had been since they’d all gotten together and when Izuku and Katsuki had been younger. Izuku and Katsuki did their best to ignore their parents as they debated patterns and color choices for their costumes. They were scrolling through Izuku’s phone for inspiration when someone cleared their throat.

They looked up at the same time, and Izuku realized just how close they’d been. “What, old hag?” Katsuki snapped in lieu of the silence that had begun to creep in, sitting back into his chair.

Inko and Masaru were smiling gently at them while Mitsuki was smirking knowingly. Izuku felt himself growing hot around the collar as they stared and stared and stared.

“So, when were the two of you going to tell us that you were partners again?” Mitsuki asked all accusation as she crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair, mimicking her son, “I had to learn from the news of all places. You didn’t think to tell us? Maybe that we even deserved to know?”

“We don’t owe you shit,” Katsuki said more evenly than usual, and Izuku thrilled at the use of the word ‘we’. It had been so long since they’d been a ‘we’ instead of ‘Izuku and Katsuki’. “Why would we have told you?”

Mitsuki rolled her eyes spectacularly. “I don’t know, so we could congratulate you two, maybe?”

“You two started out as partners,” Masaru said in that calm, gentle way of his, “and it’ll be really good to see you two skate together again. You’re great on your own, but you’re at your very best together.”

“That’s great, but I’m still missing where it was any of your business or where you get off demanding the information,” Katsuki responded though his tone had gone soft around the edges.

Instead of responding to Katsuki’s barb, Mitsuki chirped with a wicked grin, “When can we expect you to start properly courting?”

Izuku felt himself flush as readily as he saw Katsuki flush, eyes darting to his father before back to his mother.

“Are you high, old hag?” Katsuki shouted.

Izuku jumped up. “Bathroom!” he called, but pushed into his bedroom instead and closed the door. He slouched against it with closed eyes, thankful that his heart was beating so loudly in his ears that he could barely hear their voices at all. He breathed for several long moments until the rush of blood had quieted. When he opened his eyes again, there was a brown bag with small twine handles sitting on his desk.

Eyes widening, he shoved away from the door and cautiously peaked over the edge of the bag.

Right on top was a sealed pouch with a label on the front. Instead of reading the label, he plucked up the pouch and peeled it open. Summer apples and apricots tickled his nose with the sharper tang of black tea, and he inhaled deeply as he stared down at the herbs. He wasn’t much of a tea drinker, but the colder the weather grew and the higher the snow piled, the more tea he tended to drink. This was just the flavour he tended to gravitate towards as well. A mouthful of summer with every sip. Taking another deep breath, he sealed the pouch back up and set it aside.

Next, he pulled an old battered book out. The cover was tattered and faded, the image that had once decorated the front barely visible at all. When he flipped open the cover, he was distracted by the well loved softness of the pages. It was only when he finally read the title page that he nearly dropped the book. He buried his face against the page and clenched his teeth against the squeal that threatened to spill from his lips. In that moment, all he wanted to do was sit on his floor and read every single word held between the covers.

Instead, he reluctantly set it aside and dug out the last item in the bag.

The longest and softest scarf he’d ever felt unfurled in his hands. It was forest green just like the gloves and beanie he’d been gifted with little white bunny motifs along each end. When he pressed it to his nose, it smelled overwhelmingly of Katsuki, like he’d taken the care and time to properly scent it.

‘They’ve been from Kacchan. They’ve been from Kacchan. They’ve been from Kacchan. Everything-’

‘Gifts from alpha! Courting! Alpha cares! Courting!’ his omega raved, running ecstatic circles in his chest.

He buried his face in the fabric, grinning like a fool. ‘He’s been courting me,’ Izuku thought tenderly, tears pricking hot at his eyes, ‘Why wouldn’t he just give them to me face to face?’ But he knew the answer to that. With their history, he would have done the same as Katsuki if their roles had been reversed. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he just breathed in Katsuki and his new found knowledge. The only place he would have felt warmer would have been right on the edge of a fire.

Someone knocked lightly at his door. After a silent moment where Izuku prayed they’d just go away, Inko said, “Izuku, come back out? We’re about to have dessert.”

With a heavy sigh, Izuku dropped his hands. “Okay,” he called, carefully folding the scarf and placing it on top of the book. He couldn’t help his grin when he stepped out to the dining room again. The conversation had calmed, and he took his seat where Katsuki seemed to be fuming, cheeks rose red in his irritation. Izuku considered reaching over, putting his hand on Katsuki’s thigh, taking his hand, but knew that wouldn’t be well received.

Instead, he nudged Katsuki’s calf with his own.

Katsuki shot him a wounded glare. “You left me here to fend for myself,” he hissed.

“Sorry.”

After another hour of easier banter, the Bakugous stood and started to gather themselves up. Mitsuku and Masaru thanked Inko for the dinner. Hugs were exchanged as goodbyes were given, and Izuku couldn’t rip his eyes away from Katsuki.

"Oh my fuck, stop looking at me like that. If you want to hug me, just hug me already, nerd," Katsuki snapped, eyes narrowed at Izuku.

He had his arms wrapped around Katsuki in the next instant, squeezing him tightly as Katsuki’s own arms settled around him tentatively. They could skate for hours in each others arms, but they could barely exchange a proper hug, and that both humored and incensed Izuku. When he finally pulled away, he was smiling widely. Their parents waited on the other side of the doorway, still chattering away despite the freezing cold. “Thank you for the gifts, Kacchan, I really loved them.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about,” Katsuki muttered, tugging up the edge of his scarf to cover his mouth and not meeting Izuku’s eyes.

Izuku didn’t let that deter him, smile still firmly in place. “Okay, Kacchan, see you on the ice tomorrow.”

Katsuki glanced at him out of the corner of his eye as he turned towards the door, “Yeah, see you tomorrow.”