#it's one of the few places I can reliably make go out of joint. if I'm chewing and start laughing it WILL come out

[sheliesshattered]

I’m always surprised by how exhausted I get after a bad dislocation. It happens often enough that you think I would have learned to expect the exhaustion, but nope, every single time I’m like whaaat, whyyy??

[apomaro-mellow]

Two in the Bush 7

Part 6

Agnes lifted her head from the computer to see two men enter the library. The words “welcome to the library” died on her lips as she took them in. One was decked out in denim, jeans and jacket. And looked like he’d be more at home bent over a pool table and not nose deep in a book. The other looked just as out of place, with his leather and long hair.

“May I help you?”

“We’d like some books on pregnancy and child-rearing please”, Eddie said.

Billy had been the one to suggest they do this, but he felt less sure as Agnes set them up with reading materials. 

“There’s this much?”, he said to the mountain before him.

Eddie whistled. “The things I don’t know about pregnancy can LITERALLY fill a book.”

An hour in and Billy felt like his brain would explode. He also felt more and more sorry for Steve.

“You okay over there dude?”

“I think Steve deserves to kick us both in the dick. At least once.”

“Yeah, I’m getting that impression too. Did you know the baby can come out backwards?”

Steve was unaware of their joint study session until the day of the shower. Eddie invited his uncle and friends from the shop. He also promised to bring some pictures to his next visit to his dad. Billy had invited Max and his stepmom and Steve appreciated that. He’d never met Billy’s father and he’d like to keep it that way.

Most of the guests were Steve’s friends and the house was filled with noise and laughter. Most were in the know about his situation with Billy and Eddie and thankfully that kept things from being too awkward.

“So how are you coming along?”, Chrissy, one of Eddie’s friends asked.

Steve smiled as he looked down at his bump. He’d grown quite a bit these past few months but still had a long way to go. “Good. Still waiting for that first flutter though.”

“It’ll come any day now though”, Eddie said. “It happens later with the first pregnancy sometimes.”

Eddie having random knowledge wasn’t new. Him having baby-specific knowledge was. That was the first odd occurrence at the shower. The second being Billy’s behavior. He was, for lack of a better word, fussing over Steve. He made sure Steve had enough to eat and drink, made sure he didn’t stand for too long. He even brought out a mini-fan when Steve started to wave his hand and cool himself slightly. It was a far cry from the normal ‘do what you want, I don’t care’ attitude Billy normally had. 

“It’s just you and Robin in this house, right?”, Lucas asked.

Robin grinned and put an arm around Steve’s shoulders. “Him, me, and the little flea in there.”

“So when are your two baby daddies gonna move in?”, Dustin asked, grinning.

“Move in?”, Steve’s eyes got wide and he looked to Billy and Eddie, who were looking back, apparently having heard the question.

“Well, I think it’s a great idea!”, Robin exclaimed, grinning.

“You do?”, the other three said, all with different inflections.

“Yeah, you guys are over here every other day anyway”, Robin reasoned. “And you always make up some stupid excuse that basically just amounts to wanting to be around Steve anyway.”

“I mean…his water could break at any second…”, Eddie said, leaning towards Steve.

“Not ANY second”, Billy said, suddenly right by Steve too. “He’s not due until-”

“Spare us, dude”, Robin rolled her eyes. “He’s got it down to the second, like it’s gonna happen that way.”

Billy crossed his arms. “I found a pretty goddamn reliable calculator for it. And I remember when I nu-”, he cleared his throat, remembering where he was. “I’m just saying I’d put money on how right I am.”

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

Moving in turned out to be a relatively simple process. Billy took the guest room and Eddie chose the nursery for himself, saying it’d get him into the headspace of the baby and thus be able to make the best kickass mural for their little tyke to look at. 

When Steve woke up and came into the kitchen to see Robin, Eddie, and Billy all awake and in the middle of cooking breakfast, it felt surreal. And every morning after that too. Billy cooking, seeing him and Eddie off as they went to work, coming back home and greeting Eddie when he returned, then seeing off Billy when he went.

Steve didn’t even realize until he was fixing his nest one day that he’d taken some of their clothing to add to it. 

“Thank you”, he whispered to Robin one evening during dinner. He hadn’t known how much he’d wanted this until he had it.

“Yeah, well enjoy it while it lasts”, she whispered back.

And there was the dump of cold water. Because this could only last as long as they didn’t know who the father was. Steve brought a hand to his bump. He wanted his pup to have the best life it could. And he knew both potential sires wanted to know too. Steve couldn’t deal with them sniffing around it all though, so he got a test in secret. Getting DNA from both of them wasn’t too hard now that they were living in his house. 

When they arrived though, Steve found he couldn’t bear to look. If it was Billy’s, then he was sure Eddie would stay around, but if it was Eddie’s…Steve hid the results away in his room without looking at them. If he didn’t know, he couldn’t be held responsible for not telling them. Until then, he could hold onto them a little longer, couldn’t he?

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

“This baby, is called a guitar.”

“I know what a guitar is Eddie”, Steve said, lounging on the couch next to him.

“Not you, I’m talking to the baby”, he nodded to Steve’s bump, then went back to talking with it. “See now, this used to be my baby. And then you came along. Now you’re my number one baby. And this here’s number two.” He strummed a light tune. He was still strumming when Billy came in.

“You’re back early”, Steve said. “Or are you heading back out again?” He checked the clock just to be certain and sure enough, this was usually when Billy went into work. 

“I switched shifts with someone”, Billy said, then turned to Eddie. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Tell me what?”

“I figured we could ask together”, Eddie smiled.

“Ask me what?” Steve didn’t know whether he should be excited or scared.

Eddie set the guitar to the side and got down on his knees, then waved Billy on over to do the same. Steve’s heart skipped a beat and he sat up. They had his full attention now.

“Stevie, baby-”

“Oh so I’m baby now?”, he rolled his eyes.

“You’ve always been baby!”, Eddie exclaimed.

“Uh-huh, number one or number two?”

“Well I can’t put you above teeny-weeny here”, Eddie patted his belly. “But you’re definitely top three!”

“Let me guess, that lineup includes your guitar?”, Billy shook his head. “We just wanted to ask you out on a date. All three of us.”

“Oh. Oh!” Steve felt just a twinge of disappointment, what with them being on their knees and all, but it was quickly replaced. He hadn’t been on a date since he’d gotten pregnant. Apparently, a bump was only attractive to the guy (or guys) who knocked you up. “I’d love to go out with you both.”

Eddie clapped his hands together. “Put on your fancy shoes and let’s paint the town red!” He grabbed Steve’s hands and pulled him to his feet.

“Careful, Munson”, Billy warned with the way Steve wobbled. He brought up the rear as they went upstairs to get ready, hands out like he expected Steve to topple over at any moment. Once he was upstairs though, Steve shooed them both away so that he could dress for a night out. 

A night out…With two alphas. He could hear Robin’s voice, trying to get him to explain how he was NOT going to end up sleeping with one of them tonight and he promptly pushed it away. It was probably just dinner and they could still be total boneheads at times. There wasn’t a chance in hell they could even come close to convincing Steve to fuck them tonight.

Part 8

[things-about-cars-in-posts]

So I had my dad talking to me about cars today, telling me how I should basically avoid getting any cars except those made by Japanese companies because of how shitty other countries manufacture their cars (mileage and life span)

Do you have any thoughts on this? I don’t know much about cars and I thought of this blog while I was having this conversation so that’s why I send here

Do I have thoughts on this. Do I have thoughts on this. Babygirl (gender neutral) I have thoughts on aspects of cars you wouldn't even conceive of. I have thoughts on aspects of cars that aren't even real. Up the ante, folks! Ask me which cars are most bisexual!

That aside, for my opinion: Italian food is good. But of course, when I eat out in Italy, I don't go to any random place because "this country does this well", because I'm not ordering from a country, or a region, or a city, but from a specific joint - and some of them suck, some dropped or rose in quality, some are exceptionally good/bad with certain things, hell, some serve foreign food and then what's the adage matter now! That's why Yelp doesn't have country reviews.

Much the same, Japanese cars are usually pretty reliable, but Nissan spent the last two decades making a case against that claim (especially with their CVT transmission, a known ticking time bomb they've done fuck all about for years) with the help of whatever's left of the shell of Mitsubishi, and Infiniti is just the luxury brand of Nissan so ditto for it... indeed, another point to make, some cars are just based on, or outright are, cars from other brands. Infinitis are built by Nissan, and usually based on the equivalent Nissans. Except the QX30, which is just a Mercedes GLA - which probably was part of the same deal through which Mercedes got to sell the Nissan Navara as the X Class.

And there's a lot of cross-nationality brand partnerships like that, past and present, like the four-decade-long Mazda/Ford one, or the time Saturn had such a crappy engine they had to get Honda to give them a proper one. And by the way, the guy who posted that? He owns a different Saturn which took 360k miles of bare minimum care like a champ, because reliability can vary wildly within a lineup, and also a Volkswagen that's been a thorn in his side, which definitely wasn't the experience I had with mine, because mine is over twice as old, and a brand can completely change over time too! (You'd think they were run by people or something.)

In fact, reliability changing over time and models is the norm - not as drastically as, say, "older German cars were unstoppable tanks and now they're overly fit-prone electronics messes where everything is costly to buy and dastardly to replace" (which, however, is actually a notable trend), but usually in terms of "in this model, through these production years, this component was overly keen on failing" (as per my Accord post). Part of how Toyota (and by extension its luxury brand Lexus) rightfully earned its reputation of King Reliability is such cases in their production being especially few and far between, and none notable enough to become an automotive meme like Subaru head gasket failures (and no, the Camry dent doesn't count). So, say, Hondas may not be less reliable, just a bit less consistently so (but even there, Honda interiors tend to hold up much better than Toyotas', yadda yadda yay for nuance).

So if you are buying a used car (as you should) it's always important to research for potential common problems (for instance, pre-90s Toyota frames are to rust what the letter X is to Elon Musk) and thoroughly inspect the car, to check that nothing is broken and that it's been properly serviced.

That last part is very important, because reliability is not a tickbox, it's a spectrum, and a function of how a car was built and how it was maintained. Carelessness will kill any car sooner or later. Every car has fluids that will at some point need changing, wear items that will at some point need replacing, and the occasional part failure. Even yours. So even when it comes to your car, keep up with that stuff, or it will eventually catch up to you. (And if regular services would tax your finances, look into how to perform them yourself - you'll find it's a lot easier than you thought, you'll give it a shot and it will be very rewarding and save you a lot of money!)

And also, if a hinge starts squeaking, if something starts sagging, if some trim breaks, if you get a dent or scratch, take care of those too. Not because they make your car work less or worth less, but because they foster an indifference that snowballs into neglect. Working on those little things will keep you feeling like your car is nice and your loving effort is going to keep it nice, dammit - in much the same way as it's important to take care of yourself and your environment for your mental health, to keep yourself feeling like you are making it and with your loving effort you are going to keep making it, dammit.

Links in blue are posts of mine explaining the words in question - if you liked this post, you might like those!

[harrison-abbott]

An old Friend [Part Two]

But when I eventually moved back to the home city there was a brief interlocking, again. He had new mates. And they were good folks, it seemed. What I noticed when we were hanging out, in group circles, was that when I said something to the group – he would look at the other people to see how they responded.

And he would make plans with me to hook up and then change his mind the night before, similarly with those excuses that something important had come up and therefore he couldn’t make it. His interest in music was waning these days and he was losing confidence in his songwriting ability. And there were five occasions when he made plans with me to make music, and then bailed on the plan a few days early. One time I was hosting this event. The venue was literally a ten minute walk from his flat. I asked him if he wanted to come and play at the event, and he agreed. So it would be mutually beneficial; for him to have a gig as the ‘musician of the night’, it being a spoken word arts joint. He said yes – initially – and then hours before he was set to play, he texted me he had the flu.

I remembered having the flu before gigs as well. All I did was tank a few beers and get up and play anyway. I come from a musical family and therefore know many songwriters and so forth. And have known many musicians in the past. And one can always tell, in my opinion, when somebody is 100% committed to their craft. Or they’re not. I see it as black and white as that. And my old friend I’m telling you about was definitely the latter. [I had another mate with who I tried, in vain, to work with musically for years. And one time he vowed to turn up for a jam – which he suggested we do, and booked the time and so on. He didn’t end up coming, because it was raining outside …]

Anyway. Time kept churning on. We lived in different parts of the city and had alternate jobs. I’d hear from him less and less. When there was a morsel of dialogue, it was often with that similar sense of his not really caring too much. Make a plan and then change his mind. I just got a bit tired of it.

Moreover, I did not see him as being particularly intelligent anymore. I mean, he was good with mathematics, and had a strong general knowledge. But emotional intelligence is the key thing in friendship, is it not?

For a while there was a period where I’d hook up with him and his friends to play football. One time, the park that the team usually played on was too busy with people, so the group decided to move the match to another park the other side of the city. I didn’t know this. So I went to the original park. No teammate was there, so I called him up to ask what the deal was? Because I didn’t know about the moving plan. And he told me where the new place was. He was still in the neighbourhood – as he lived very closeby – and I knew that he had a car. But he’d already decided to cycle across to the other place. I suggested to him on the phone, “Is your car available or is your girlfriend driving it?” And he responded, “I’m taking my bike, man.” He didn’t just think that he could give me a lift with his car, and then we would both be on time. He’d already decided he wanted to cycle and that was that.

These might sound like trivial examples, in a grand sense. I still love his person. And wish him well. It’s only that there’s an amount to how many times a pal can let you down.

For those music recording sessions that he cancelled – I would prepare for them for days and days and make demos to show him, print off the chords and lyrics, and so on. Get all excited about the creative process. Then there would be a cancellation …

He finally invited me to his wedding earlier this year. I had travelling plans already so couldn’t go. [There was no invitation to his stag do.]

Honestly, I hope he’s going grand. It’s only that it’s hard to rely on somebody that is not reliable. Would rather commingle with people who will be there for you if you need them. Just some passing thoughts.

[hamishpetersen]

Eating at...

An impromptu text written after eating at the restaurant Londo, in Ōtautahi Christchurch before moving to the UK. PDF designed by me for fun.

https://londo.bar

Eating at

LONDO(3)

Papa is a māmā.

After we finished our desert, my dad said he felt like he had been for a walk in the hills for the night and was arriving back at the car, wishing he didn’t have to go home. The last time I saw my parents, I told them we were moving to Britain; to go farming and vist standing stones, maybe live in the highlands and save some cash caring for plants so that C could make more work in the studio. A way to vacate our selves, or position ourselves elsewhere, requiring us to span a distance between our present and possible versions. We sought out how another piece of land, which knew our old people, might move us so.

Canteloupe is canned fruit salad and eighties holiday sunsets. Anti-anxiety herbal remedy in the first course. Granita disappears and comes back in the pasta. First pork in five years. Blooded salt, melonwater running.

A friend has started their PhD to understand how manipulations to the environment of carrot crops on the canterbury plains can speed their biennial seed cycle. Grow a strong root one year, send up great umbels of flower to set seed the next. A big investment. Canterbury’s immense stakes in the global carrot seed market makes for an abundance of research funding in the area. 

Carrot as speculative capital. Dusty. Aniseed sweet. Of a certain age. Ryegrass gone silver in 4:33pm light. Will be a different shade tomorrow. Carrots have been simmering in that pot for years now. Lorna got married last week! Jewelled rods accross the plate. One of these days the chestnuts will be full and ripe enough to make pie. Caramel roots buoyed by romesco; whatever ectasy that is. Sit down, saucepan in the middle, over-ripe toms and the last basil. Talk for hours. 

In Riverton we bought a few tiny Urenika seed potatoes. More like shrivelled yams than our idea of potatoes. I put them in the ground before Christmas and as the zuchinnis paled and powdered themselves I dug up the smallest bowlful of finglerling tubers from the mass of stems. I had to leave thousands of tiny siblings in the ground — marbles who turned glinting, giggling, glassy when rinsed. The following Feburay my flatmate got excited about putting winter greens in and dug up the potatoes that had grown from those abandoned gems. Twice as many, twice the size. Sometimes doing less is better. The tohunga who had these for dinner for centuries really knew what they were doing. 

Sailing a crisp across Lake Buttersauce. Invisible sechuan heat tempered by lemons. When well-boiled, they hold a texture of sandy loam that melts in contact with saliva. We attend a soil cupping. Notes of burnt sugar and echinacea. Abstracted, well-seared cow rectangle galumphs around the table awaiting affection. We take the potatoes for a victory lap.  

Buckwheat filled the garden bed with paddly green leaves until it was warm enough for the tomatoes go in. Hearted leaves  now dangle yellow on jointed scaffolding. Once chantilly cream dollops attracting hoverflies and floating in the breeze on reddish stems, the flowers have become seeds; pyramidial, black. 

When husked, their stony, roasted innards are steeped, syruped, and whipped frozen with cream. Toasted barley tea. Infintely more than bread and beer. The land given maximum and methodical love that it may return; animate. Not just land but lond. From before. Not just papa but Papatuuaanuku. The soil and the waters. Your islands or mine. We go deep into the tunnels to leave our offerings. Can I make a golden silk from this carrot, a cicada’s worship in a cup? Fill it up. Now cannot be before. Look after the new growth in th old place.

When we sat down to dinner my mom handed me a brown envelope. This dinner was my birthday present and I knew there would be a small card. My parents are reliable in these formalities. Small theatre. Inside the card my father had written in his quickest, way-out-the-door handwriting, “You are going to fly away. Take me with you.”

A low, 5:53 lemon sun and the crunch of another evening.

Rats eat the fallen walnuts overnight. 

Pull the drapes

[sadlittlestray]

health vent

i'm very lucky i found a good PT literally 60 seconds from where i live who understands and respects CFS and is willing to learn about hEDS and help me with increasing my joint stability so i don't constantly pull things out of place standing stock still and maybe reduce my hip/knee pain etc. etc. but at the same time we still haven't found a good balance between making progress vs. triggering PEM and my health in general is taking a very bad turn since starting PT :( my POTS symptoms are a lot worse than they were before even though i'm working to increase my cardio endurance (verrry slowly... there will be someone three times my age just flyin by on the elliptical next to me without much perceived trouble meanwhile i can't go above 3 MPH (average walking speed for adults) without my heart rate exceeding 200 BPM right away and triggering my asthma and it still gets that high by the time i've done 5 minutes at that speed lol). in general my fatigue is the worst it's been in years. i've had to start using more aids to get anything done (cane, shower chair, impact mats, ergonomic kitchen tools, using chairs more often) and lately i can't even eat the few things i keep in the house that i can a) afford b) tolerate and c) prepare reliably. i've always had to eat slow but lately i've had to take several hours to eat meals that i used to take maybe 30 minutes to eat before (and those are the things that are most agreeable to my stomach) because my motility issues are so much worse than they ever have been, eating more than a couple bites makes me feel fucking awful but i also feel worse when i haven't eaten obviously. and i've started noticing that sometimes meals will cause my heart to start racing, though i haven't been able to pin down a pattern so i'm not sure what the cause is yet or if it's even anything i can control. my sensory issues are so much worse, too - it's gotten better with age to an extent, but i've also worked really hard to challenge myself to periodically try things i've not liked in the past and i've expanded my horizons quite a bit. but lately i've been averse to foods that are normally fine so much that it causes me full-body pain until it's out of my mouth so a lot of times i've gone to prepare something i normally eat and not only does it hurt digestive-ways but also sensory-ways so i can't eat it at all (or have to spend even more time picking out whatever is causing the problem and be on edge the whole time that i missed something). i had overwhelming sensory issues as a kid but i think i forgot just how viscerally bad it was lol. re: the motility issues i need to start eating smaller meals more frequently but that's even more time preparing things and i can't currently realistically afford many ready-to-eat foods that i can actually tolerate, everything i can scrape together needs to be prepared in some way (even if with just microwaving or boiling water or chucking it in a rice cooker). i can't even go to the store by myself anymore and i know i'll figure it out but with the few hours and little energy i have to do anything and the unreliability of whether or not i can drive anywhere myself (used to be like two or three times a month i would spend my best energy days to drive to the store, i've gone to the store one (1) time since starting PT in december) this is a bigger task than it should be and with everything else going on i feel like i'm in freefall... i'm very grateful i finally have a foothold to get into a doctor's office much less get them to maybe listen a little sometimes if they're nice and they feel like it. but it's been 13 years since i've been saying something's *really* wrong and while i've done my best to make peace with my body and health it's still just a lot to deal with sometimes

[drakeandwrigley]

Our Guide to the Most Common Types of Door Hinges for Homes

Welcome to our in-depth look at the different types of door hinges used in homes. People like doors for how they look and what they're used for, but what about the unsung stars that keep people safe? That's right, I mean door hinges. These parts, which don't seem important at first glance, are very important for the safety and proper working of your doors. It's helpful to know about the different door hinge choices whether you're remodeling the whole room or just replacing the old hardware. This page talks about different kinds of hinges, such as mortise hinges and ball-bearing hinges. Now is the time to talk about the fun subject of door hinges in New Zealand and how they can make your doors look better and work better.

Different Types of Door Hinges

Before you buy door hinges for your home in New Zealand, you need to know about the different kinds and what they can do. Now, let's look at a few of the most common types of door hinges.

Because they look clean and unobtrusive when they're set up right, mortise hinges are the standard for inner doors. This is a strong and reliable product because it is built into the door frame and the edge of the door. Mortise hinges are often used in more classic or decorative designs because they look beautiful and will never go out of style.

Second, if durability is very important to you, a ball-bearing hinge might be the best choice. These hinges make it easier and quieter to open and close doors than regular hinges because they have tiny ball bearings inside each one. These are usually on industrial-strength doors or other places that get a lot of use.

Not like regular butt hinges, pivot hinges let a door open 180 degrees in one way without the need for a center pin or knuckle joint. Because of this, they work great with big, heavy doors that need to be pushed to the side or opened wide to let people through.

When the door is opened past a certain point, a spring device inside the door spring hinges closes the door. Self-closing hinges are usually used on doors that need to stay closed all the time for fire safety reasons, like in factories or flats.

Take your time and carefully think about your choices; the first hinge you look at might not be the best one for you.

Mortise and Hinge

A lot of people use mortise hinges as their usual door hinge. There are hidden hinges that blend in exactly with the door and frame when the door is closed.

It's great that mortise locks last a long time. They are usually made of strong metals like brass or stainless steel so that they can be used over and over again without breaking. Because of this, they are often put on big doors or other places that get a lot of use.

Another good thing about mortise hinges is that they are safer than other types of joints. Because they are set into the wood, enemies will find it much harder to take out the pin and get in.

To put in mortise hinges, you need to be very good at woodworking because you have to cut them into the door and frame. Once they are in place, though, these hinges make it easy to operate and hide any gear that is visible from the outside.

Mortise hinges in New Zealand are a great choice if you want a latch that looks good and lasts a long time.

Bearing for a ball hinge

It is very common and commonplace to use ball-bearing doors. The name of this type of hinge comes from the fact that it has small steel ball bearings inside a greased metal case. It's easy to open and close doors when these ball bearings are used.

Ball-bearing doors are stronger and last longer than other types. Ball bearings are used in the design to cut down on friction and make the hinge last longer. This means that front doors and other large interior doors might gain a lot from them.

Not only are ball-bearing doors strong, they are also very safe. These types of doors are less likely to be broken into because they work more quietly and smoothly.

Even though these hinges in New Zealand are useful, they may cost more than others because they are made with better materials. High-quality door hardware may cost more than other choices, but it is an investment that pays off because it works better and lasts longer.

A lot of use and abuse won't hurt ball-bearing doors. They are strong and reliable. Their modern style not only makes your home or office more useful, but it also makes it look better.

The Good and Bad Things About Different Door Hinge Styles

Let's look at the pros and cons of each of the most common door hinges now that we've talked about them. Now you know how to choose the best lock for your home's doors.

The pros of Mortise Hinge, Number One Because it is so strong and lasts a long time, the mortise hinge is great for heavy doors. It works well and can be quickly tweaked if needed.

Cutting the door frame to the right shape can make installation harder than with other types of hinges.

The small ball bearings between the knuckles make action smooth. This is one of the best things about the ball-bearing hinge. They last a long time and are easy to keep up.

Even though these hinges might cost more than others, they are well worth the money because they last a long time and work well.

Because they are flexible and can be used in many situations, butt hinges are useful. They are inexpensive and come in different sizes to fit different door weights. They are also very easy to install.

Due to the fact that they are fixed on both sides of the door frame, butt hinges aren't as safe as mortise or ball-bearing hinges.

The pivot hinge: - Pros: This type of hinge lets doors open from the middle, which makes it look better than side-mounted hinges. They work on doors that are thick or heavy too.

Cons: Installing it can be hard because it's harder to get the hinges lined up correctly than with normal hinges.

[grison-in-space]

man, this is often how I feel when I'm making decisions about my dogs' health. I don't do breeding--Tilly will probably be spayed in a few months, I'm clearly not going to get off my ass to go to conformation classes at this point--but even questions that don't hinge on bringing new life into the world are really hard to interpret, especially when the data just isn't all the way there yet. This is one of those things where you have to grapple with an ethical accounting where none of the answers are good, and where there are upsides and downsides to literally anything you might choose to do; you're the only person who can decide what will let you sleep at night, you know?

I'm a scientist, sure, but I'm not exactly this kind of scientist: I can evaluate the lit, and I'm fluent in population genetics, but I've never worked directly on dogs and I am only one flawed human being. That said, I have some thoughts behind the cut here.

Here's the thing: if I was you, I would not rule out breeding him to a bitch with a Grade 1 or Grade 0 back screening, given everything else about him, with full disclosure to any puppy buyers. I say this because, well, you're willing to breed a Dachshund and not march at full speed to another breed. I don't necessarily think that breeding him to a Grade 1 or 0 bitch is worse than breeding any Dachshund dog to a Dachshund bitch, and I can see some fairly strong arguments to treat this like a strong fault rather than a total disqualification from a breeding program.

The thing about dog breeding within a closed studbook, especially in a breed like Dachshunds, is that you're closed in with a lot of hard decisions to make. As You Know, Bob, there are straight up not a lot of Dachshunds with back screening to choose from out there, and most of the ones that do exist do not have ideal back scores. You've seen the genetic data re: FGF4 insertions, right? It's just straight up fixed in all of them. Additionally, IVDD screening is complicated because the phenotype we care about, which is actual disc extrusions, isn't the same as the number of calcified disks that the screen measures. This is actually really similar to hip dysplasia in that PENNhip and OFA tests don't measure the thing we really care about in dogs, which is the crippling arthritis and lameness that often (but don't always) come alongside a dysplastic hip conformation.

You've heard me talking about hip dysplasia and why loose-ligamented, extensiony GSDs suffer so much more of the associated arthritis than dogs with tight joints and ligaments that hold the joint in place, right? That does not mean that breeding for good hips isn't important, and it doesn't mean that you can't have a long-striding dog with perfect ethics, but it does mean that you have to select much more intensely on hip ball/socket fit in GSDs than you can get away with in other breeds in order to not subject the dog to the chronic pain aspect of the disorder. IVDD is going to be similar in that respect: disc calcifications correlate with disc extrusions, sure, but they are not quite the same thing. (This is especially true since interrater reliability for disc calcifications is, uh, not that good. I would personally want multiple blind expert opinions on my dog if I was trying to make decisions based on the score; I don't know if that's a feature of your scoring system offhand.)

Breeding is, by definition, about selection: not all dogs produced will be bred, right? A good breeding program selects the traits that we want to carry forward, and from there we can fix them. But when we select on good stuff, we carry a lot of things with that and concentrate it. Ideally, we can outcross to refresh our population with the neutral stuff and select from the offspring to bring back the traits we want. The trouble is that this process takes time: the looser your selection and the more you wash the general population back into your selected predictable dog population, the slower you go and the more variation you retain. The faster you move setting your type or selecting for the variants you want, perhaps by linebreeding or exercising very strong selection on your population, the more things you absolutely do not want will be carried along for the ride. For Dachshunds, propensity for IVDD has been carried along and--in the form of the FGF4 insertion--fixed. (In this case the fixation might just be a consequence of the most extreme dwarf phenotype or it might be something that is relatively neutral for Dachshunds.)

The problem with a closed studbook is that you have no way of re-infusing that neutral to positive variation once that studbook closes. So for example, if you pivot only to back-screened dogs, you lose Kermit's entire sub-population of falconry dogs into the bargain. That whole group gets washed away, along with any allelic variations specific to those dogs that might be useful later. This is what it means when people talk about dog breeds being like conservation of endangered species: they're not, you can outcross any time you want except for the cultural stuff, but if you close the studbook and ban all outcrossing permanently, you will eventually wind up with a gene pool that is too damn small very easily. Once you're there, it can be impossible to rescue the animals, and if you even can, you have to breed very carefully to maximize the genetic impact that every single individual born into the population has in order not to lose more beneficial variation. This is where Doberman breeders are at now.

Now, the trouble with building a fence around the law when breeding dogs and emphasizing breeding for a trait that correlates strongly with health but isn't the same thing as it is that this constitutes a form of very strong selection on the population. This goes triple for a breed like Dachshunds where the problematic disease state is extremely common, because you have to filter out even more of the dogs and shrink your potential pool of breeding animals. It's possible to concentrate down on a totally different disease in doing this, and that's the thing I personally would worry about from the data I've passed over in Dachshunds. (Ah, forgive me for the infodumps; I just keep checking the literature because, well, it's such an interesting frontier to investigate and I like to know how we develop new bodies of information.)

One thing this means is that purebred dogs are going to have different levels of heritability for complex traits left to work with. Heritability is not "how genetic a trait is," it's more like "how much of the phenotypic variation we see in the population (here number of disc calcifications) is attributable to genetic variation, and how much is the result of other factors?" If you've fixed all the genetic variation in the breed, heritability will be very low even if the disease is clearly genetic and found in high frequencies in your breed. I could find two estimates of heritability for disc calcification in Dachshunds, but both involve small sample sizes: Stigen 1993 estimates heritability as low as 15-20%, while Lappalainen 2015 reports a much more optimistic (for breeders) range of 43-52%.

Unfortunately, I should note that I think the Stigen paper is better even though it's older: the Lappalainen paper studies the radiographs of all the dogs submitted for spine analysis to the Finnish Kennel Club since 1997, while the Stigen paper seems to be a more general sample of dogs that has less in the way of population stratification. The Lappalainen results are also counter-intuitive to me in a few different respects: first, it seems bizarre that the genetic heritability of disc calcification should increase after 15 years of selection on this trait, and it does not seem that the intervening 15 years of selection has actually reduced the level of phenotypic disc calcification in the breed. There are a few estimations of breeding values in the Lappalainen paper also that are not clearly connected to direct values that have me peering at its conclusions with a certain amount of skepticism.

Another thing that occurs to me is that it's hard to get a sense for what other factors are creating potential for injury beyond simple disc calcification. When you reported Kermit's spine readings, I confess that my first thought is that he's an incredibly active little dude: between the agility and more importantly the ratting, his spine has a lot of insults that could develop into an injury in his every day life. That said, we know that muscle tone and ligament strength can have a protective effect on actual disc extrusions: what if the actual meaning of the spine calcification read is that Kermit's abdominal wall strength prevents discs from actually extruding even if they calcify? I really find Rohdin 2010 convincing on this: she finds that calcified discs as measured by xray are not actually more likely than non-calcified discs to cause extrusion injuries, and that the level of internal calcification is not always visible from xrays alone as confirmed by histopathology.

What I would personally do is screen the shit out of everything, use the outcomes to determine strengths needed when pairing dog to bitch, and move forward with my eyes open--not least because when you're working with the best dogs you can find for ratting ability, you're going to be limited in what you can get access to in order to breed into your lines. I would also keep detailed records with puppy buyers if at all possible and cross back and forth a fair bit across various types of lines if possible. Across dogs with Kermit's activity level, what do spine calcifications look like? We just do not have the data to ascertain that clearly right now, as far as I can see.

Jumping off what I just posted, when I said I was pulling Kermit from breeding due to the number calcifications in his back and some stuff going on with his littermates, a (American) dachshund breeder told me I was making a mistake.

I won't go into the whole conversation, but among other things she said that back screening is a pseudoscience and it's foolish to base breeding decisions on "just" calcifications. She also said that she is a veterinary neurologist who regularly deals with IVDD in her patients and she totally ignores calcifications, "so you can see how much stock I put in back screening".

And. I don't know.

On the one hand, yeah, it's not perfect. I know it's not perfect. I've been treating it like screening for hip and elbow dysplasia. The information it gives us is limited at best, it does not guarantee offspring will be ED/HD/IVDD-free, and it's basically a shot in the dark. But it's better than nothing. It's better than totally ignoring the problem.

I didn't say anything back because I'm not interested in a debate, but the people who are writing the papers on back screening are also veterinarians. It's not like they are laypeople who invented some snake-oil scheme to sell to unsuspecting plebs.

And I don't know, I feel like doing something is better than doing nothing. Nearly every American breeder I've talked to is doing nothing. And quite a few of them hold "those Europeans" in disdain. Like, don't you care? Don't you care about your dogs? Don't you want to get rid of this terrible thing plaguing your breed? Isn't selecting for more normal backs better than loudly declaring "my dogs are healthy" and vilifying owners whose dogs herniate a disc? Don't you care??

But what do I know. I'm just some rando who has an Animal Science degree but isn't a veterinarian or a breeder or a scientist. I'm just doing my best to understand.

[eddie-van-munson]

Hellooo, I would like to request an Eddie song fic based on the song Bad B*tch by Divided Minds for @typofilledusername please if possible. Thanks <3

I had never heard this one! Catchy as hell!

Warnings: Very sexually tense lol, Cursing, Drug Use (weed)

***********

"I'm telling you, you're the only good thing I've got going for me, right now."

You, groaned, eyes stinging and red rimmed as you watched Eddie take another hit off the joint. "Stop saying that shit about yourself, man!"

You gave him a playful shove and he laughed, "I'm serious!"

You laid flat on the mattress next to him where he was propped against the headboard. "Dude, you've got a fucking band. You're about to graduate. What the hell do you mean?"

He smiled down at you, leaning over you and  resting his middle and index finger against your lips so you could take a hit. You obliged. "I don't know. Maybe I'm talking out my ass. I've just gotta get the hell out of here, Y/N."

You held the smoke for a moment before exhaling it away from his face, "And leave me here all by my lonesome?"

He chuckled, "Oh come on, Princess. I could think of a million people who wouldn't mind sharing a joint with you."

"A million, huh?"

"Hell yeah. I hear it all the time. 'What the hell is a girl like that doing over at Munson's place every night?'"

You laughed, "A girl like that? What kind of girl am I?" 

"A bad bitch."

You burst into laughter again, making Eddie grin.

"Is that right?" You sighed, still grinning.

"Hell yeah. That's what I'm saying, Princess. You're the best of me." You rolled your eyes. Eddie laid his head on your stomach as you held his gaze at him.

You reached down to muss his curls. "C'mon. Stick around just a little longer? For me?" He rolled his eyes a little, and you cradled his face, running your thumb over his cheek. "I need you. You know I'd be lost without you."

"Lost, huh?"

You grinned as he fought a smile, "Blind and alone. Wandering the halls of Hawkins High forever more. I'd cry myself to sleep each night, 'Oh if only my Eddie had stayed...' " You harrowed dramatically.

 He snorted, passing you the joint. "Hm...that would be tragic, wouldn't it?"

"Pitiful, really."

He paused, just admiring you.

"You know what I need?" He sighed, plucking the cashed joint from your fingers and reaching over to put it out in an ashtray. "A few extra dollars. That's what the fuck I need. Maybe a new set of friends too. You know, ones that's aren't twelve?"

You chuckled as he sat up, straddling your hips and pulling another joint from his pocket. He grabbed the lighter from where he had it laying beside the ashtray and burnt the end of the joint as he held it between his teeth.

"Maybe a reliable car?" He spoke, his words slurred through his clenched teeth. His eyes closed as he inhaled deeply. God, he looked good like this. "But I guess those things can wait, huh?

You nodded as he french inhaled, smirking at you from where you watched him with wide eyes. Your pupils were blown from the drug. Slowly, he crawled over you, tilting your chin up to exhale the smoke into your lungs. You held it, your eyes locked with his as you breathed it out again, slowly. He grinned, "What the hell do I care as long as I've got my bad bitch coming over when the night ends?"

***********

[wing-ed-thing]

Retail Therapy (Kakuzu x Reader)

Synopsis: Deidara has a new partner for a combined effort with the Zombie Combo. However, something about you has Kakuzu heated.

Word Count: 2,123

Tags/Warnings: Violence, Threat of Violence, Probably Language, Gender Neutral Reader

Notes: Kakuzu content is probably some of the best stuff I’ve ever written. Right now I’m watching a video on fried milk. Ever hear of such a thing? Fascinating.

Kakuzu didn’t like being paired up with Hidan, let alone joint missions where he’d have to deal with even more people. Not to say that Kakuzu hated people, because he did, but he never thought that he’d hate anyone more than he absolutely hated you. He hadn’t even met you yet, but he knew at his very core that you would quickly become the bane of his entire existence.

“Shopping?” Kakuzu asked slowly, the word forming on his lips as if he had an aversion to even speaking it. Deidara leaned back on the large bounder that he settled on and stretched his arms up above his head. The blond nodded with a short groan before his hands came to rest behind his head.

“Yep,” he answered, “And for hours too, so I’d get comfortable.” Hidan plopped down on a patch of dirt below, his back and scythe against the side of the rock. Kakuzu glared down at his partner causing Hidan to shrug. To Hidan, if Deidara thought that the three of them would be waiting a while, he would take his word and make himself comfortable. Kakuzu’s attention turned back to Deidara.

“Hours? What possibly could someone be purchasing that takes them hours?” Hidan gazed up from his spot, head tilted back against the surface behind him.

“And we only came like five minutes late too. Who takes off like that?” Kakuzu almost nodded in agreement, but knowing his partner, Hidan would take any excuse to complain. Deidara shrugged, basking in the warmth of the sun and stayed lounging even as a rustling came from the woods. Hidan’s hand immediately reached up to grip the handle of his weapon and Kakuzu took a defensive stance. Deidara’s eyes remained closed.

“Oh hello, boys! I didn’t know you were here!” You sauntered out of the trees, bags hanging from both arms. They were pushed tightly in a line, every other patch of your skin strained by the handles of a different shopping bag. Even in your altered Akatsuki cloak, Kakuzu took a look at you and immediately decided that you were decorated far too ornately and that he’d like to kill you when he had the chance. You were objectively beautiful, but if Kakuzu had his way, Deidara would have to be assigned another partner soon. “You haven’t been waiting for too long, have you?”

“You shouldn’t have left us waiting at all,” Kakuzu glowered, although not any more than usual. Either you didn’t hear him or you ignored him as you walked up to your partner. You plucked a package from one of your more reachable bags.

“I got you something, Dei-dei!” You threw it up to Deidara weakly but he managed to catch it. He opened the small, folded, paper bag. Deidara glanced down at you with a nod of his head and a fold of his lips. He took the neat band in his hand while you looked at him expectantly. “Aren’t they nice? Hair ties. Silk from a small village in the Land of Water.” Deidara held them up to the sun.

“That’s some great quality you found. Thanks.” Your partner glanced down at you again. “Must’ve been one hell of a fight assuming that you got a good price for it.” Kakuzu looked on at your exchange, increasingly beginning to lose his temper.

“Believe me, I did. And I found a ton of other great finds too. I gotta show you—”

“Enough,” Kakuzu growled and you finally turned your attention his way. Hidan had since passed out against the boulder that Deidara sat on. “You’re wasting all our time. The sooner we start, the sooner we can part ways.” You gave Kakuzu a once over with your nose wrinkled in disgust.

“Well someone’s grumpy,” you mused. You rolled your eyes and pointed your nose upward. Huffing, you threw your shopping bags into the air and as they fell, you swiftly unfurled a scroll. Your new items disappeared one by one. You rolled the paper back up, scowling as you slipped the scroll into one of many slots that you wore strapped to your clothing. The pockets ran down the small of you back and you latched the bundle of paper in place with a flip of your nimble fingers. Kakuzu frowned back, tentatively wondering if all the scrolls you carried contained the same amount of shopping bags. You approached him with crossed arms. “Okay then, tough guy. Let’s get started.”

You sat down and summoned a map of the next village. It laid out in front of you and placed your hands on your knees in challenge. Kakuzu sat down on the other side of the map, eyes boring into you. You didn’t budge. And as you began to speak, it was hard to focus, at least for Deidara. Though he supposed he’s seen you this fired up before.

“It would be easier if we lure the jinchūriki outside of the village,” you said, gesturing to the small, unnamed village on the map. It wasn’t large, but just big enough to serve as a maze for your prize. At least you knew the woods better and a jinchūriki was bound to stand out among the trees.

“I can get up some traps,” Deidara added and you nodded.

“Back them into a corner and cage them into a small space—” You nodded again— “We can use some explosives around the area… maybe here?” You pointed to a section of the map outside of the village. You looked up at Deidara. “You’d be our last line of defense when the jinchūriki tries to run.” Deidara smirked and puffed out his chest.

“Leave it to me!”

“We’ll need someone to drive the jinchūriki out of the village,” Kakuzu cut in, not particularly liking how you dominated the strategizing. “I’ll go with Hidan.” While Kakuzu thought that he would stop at nothing to get away from the Jashinist, this had to be a regrettable first. Hidan napped a few feet away.

You raised an eyebrow and scoffed, “You and Hidan? Psh… might as well have Deidara set off fireworks in the sky that spell out ‘single, hot jinchūriki in your a—”

“I can do that!” Deidara cut in before immediately backing down at Kakuzu’s pointed glare, not that he’d show it. You locked eyes with Kakuzu, taking his fiery stare off of your partner.

“I’ll go. You’re too conspicuous and, really, have you seen Hidan? You two would be spotted a mile away.” Kakuzu almost snarled.

“And you wouldn’t?” You let out a short, bitter laugh. Your left arm supported your weight as your knees touched together on the right side of your body. Kakuzu scowled at your blatant lounging. Everything about you challenged him and he hated you for it. Your lids narrowed in a smug smile.

“I’m not the one—” who’s fuckin’ jacked — “ with big-ass black stitches across my whole body.”

“And four faces on his back…” Hidan called out, still half asleep. You turned back to Kakuzu.

“And four faces on his back,” you repeated, much to Kakuzu’s vexation. The sass in your blinks was lost on the older shinobi. He stood, causing you to stand too. Deidara took a hint and retreated. Kakuzu crossed his arms over his chest and he planted his feet on the ground about the same width apart as his broad shoulders. He pointed two fingers at you harshly.

“And you’re—” Gorgeous. — “a brat. I should just kill you right here.” You stood your ground, daring to slap Kakuzu’s hand out of your face.

“As much as I’d like to see you try, tough guy, I’d actually like to do some quality work and get the hell away from you as quickly as I can.” Kakuzu huffed, gritting his teeth underneath his mask.

“Nice to hear that we’re on the same page.”

And with neither of your partners wanting to deal with either of you pissed off, you and Kakuzu were paired together.

***

Deciding that your cloaks were too noticeable, you sealed yours away. Kakuzu kept his draped across his arm, distrust of you evident. You walked down the road together under the late afternoon, waiting for nightfall. You hoped that striking at night would give you not only the surprise advantage, but also minimize the number of clueless civilians that would no doubt wander in your way. But as soon as your eyes fell onto the market, Kakuzu quickly began to wonder if his stubbornness landed him with an even larger headache. But his usual, standoffish demeanor remained the same. Kakuzu’s eyes drifted to their corners as he scowled down at you.

“No.” That was all he said, as if you would actually listen to him and not immediately march in the direction of the market. He reluctantly followed, every reach to hold you back by your robes falling just a bit short each time. By the time you were stopped, too many people surrounded the two of you for him to pull you away without drawing attention. Normally, attention from others wasn’t anything that Kakuzu would be concerned with, but your two teams had their orders and Kakuzu would be damned if he had to spend anymore time with you.

You stood in front of a booth with your hand on your chin. Kakuzu stood next to you, following your gaze to a simple, but sturdy-looking sword. You gingerly picked it up, carefully studying it’s craftsmanship. The man behind the booth leaned over his table, motioning to the piece of merchandise in your hands.

“Ah, you have a good eye, mercenary.” You glanced up at him.

“Land of Earth? Lots of excellent craftsmanship comes from there, I’m not surprised.” You ran your thumb across the dull of the blade. “Antique too, but still hardy.” The merchant nodded pointing to a few spots across the weapon.

“Could get you out of a bind too. Reliable smithing comes from Tsuchi no Kuni.” Kakuzu looked on at the show in front of him. In stark contrast to earlier, you seemed poised and he found you knowledgeable. You appeared calm and competent enough to handle yourself and for a second, Kakuzu became lost in your analysis.

You stepped back, turning the sword around in your hand to feel out the balance. The blade whipped around your body with ease. The seller softly applauded your embellished practice. Kakuzu almost rolled his eyes, but took some comfort in the fact that you were looking to purchase something of quality and not just anything at the very least. You looked down at the weapon with a nod or two before asking the dreaded question.

“So what’s your price?” The merchant didn’t hesitate.

“A hundred thousand ryō.” Kakuzu almost left right there, but a dominant part of him wanted to know what you were going to do. His hands grasped his biceps, his cloak still hanging from his forearm. Kakuzu watched you closely. You shook your head.

“You’re going to give it to me for twenty-five thousand.” The merchant gaped at the outrageous price you named. He sputtered a few times.

“That price is far too low for this quality. You must be joking if you think I’d sell this fine piece of equipment for practically nothing.”

You did name a ridiculous price. Not even Kakuzu could see getting what you wanted for that price without a fair bit of violence and intimidation. But you ripped into that merchant. You ripped into this poor seller like nothing Kakuzu had ever seen before. He didn’t even know if he could call it bartering, but whatever it was, it was likely one of the most skillful things that Kakuzu had ever seen.

He folded his lips under his mask. You didn’t yell. Kakuzu didn’t even find your appearance intimidating in the slightest, yet every point and number the merchant brought up, you countered. And by the end of the intense conversation, if Kakuzu didn’t know any better and had less of a spine, he’d likely be handing the sword over too. The man had long since started sweating, tugging at his collar. If Kakuzu didn’t see it with his own eyes, he wouldn’t have believed it as you handed over exactly twenty-five thousand ryō. He almost overlooked the complete waste of money as he still stood stunned, though not outwardly showing any such emotion.

You nestled the sword by your hip and the seller let out a breath of relief by the time you walked away. Kakuzu followed wordlessly next to you as you strutted off in triumph.

Perhaps he misjudged you. He stared, not noticing as he did so.

Yes, you were going to save the organization a fortune.

Notes: “oH mY gOd KaKuzU sAiD hE wAs GoNna KiLl rEader! wHy wOuLd yOu wRiTe sOmEtHiNg sO tOxIc???”... They’re criminal terrorists, Susan.

Thank you to all who liked, reblogged, followed and otherwise supported. Your support means so much and is greatly appreciated.

[alltooreid]

Clean

As Spencer struggles to overcome his dilaudid addiction, Y/N is dealing with an addiction of her own, to her toxic, manipulative boyfriend. This is an account of a full year, following their joint journeys to sobriety and new love.

A/N: Hi!! I have another Taylor Swift inspired Spencer Reid one shot (but of course you do not need to know the song to understand the one shot). Although originally I was going to write something more fluffy, I switched to this song to write something more angsty and interesting. However, to change pace from my last one shot, this one has a much happier, hopeful ending. However, it is very triggering so please read the trigger warnings before you start. Also, if you have any songs you want to read please let me know!! Also, if you just have a general request please send it my way! Thank you so much for the love on my All Too Well one shot, I never thought my first fanfic on here would be so well received!

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Type: Angst, but hopeful angst

Word Count: 7.6K

Content Warnings: Cursing, mentally and physically abusive relationship, relationship cheating (ie, reader is being cheated on), blood and cuts description, drug addiction (these parts are kept short purposefully), lots of fighting and yelling both in reader’s relationship and between Spencer and reader, however, there is a happy and hopeful ending. Reader is struggling to get out of her toxic relationship, please no comments about her being stupid. If you are in a situation like Y/N, please don’t use this fic as a guide. Get help immediately. https://www.thehotline.org/

Things to Know: Italics and bold are flashback moments, the time and date headers serve as time skips :) let me know what you think! Please request any songs you would like to see be made one shots!

“You're still all over me Like a wine-stained dress I can't wear anymore Hung my head as I lost the war And the sky turned black like a perfect storm”

3:27 AM, April 16th, 2007.

You have known Spencer for a long time. In fact, you’ve known him longer than you’ve known Randall, and you’ve felt like you’ve known Randall your entire life.

Maybe that’s because you let him become your entire life.

Still, although you had known Spencer for 7 years, 2 years longer than the entirety of your on again, off again relationship with Randall. You still felt weird calling him. He was going through a lot right now, not that he wasn’t normally. Spencer had one of the most difficult jobs you could think of. You know Spencer has shot and killed people before, and you know every time he did it ate him up inside.

And every time he did he called you.

You also knew that Spencer is one of the kindest people you have ever met, you struggle to imagine him wielding a gun on a daily basis. He just seems too sweet, too perfect.

Yet there was a lot you didn’t know about the young genius.

You have no idea that as you stand in the street, contemplating whether you should call Spencer to come and get you, Spencer is making a difficult decision of his own. As you worry about the possibility of waking Spencer up this early in the morning, Spencer sits wide awake and ponders if he has enough time to get high before he has to leave for work in 3 hours.

As you sit on the side of the road, debating between your very few options, Spencer leads up against the side of his bathtub tears pouring down his cheeks, tears that he doesn’t even register as being there.

Fortunately for the both of you, at the same time Spencer reaches into his bag to search for that tiny glass bottle, his phone begins to ring.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

You sigh, “He kicked me out again Spencer, is there anyway you can come get me?”

Spencer looks around his apartment, frantically hiding the belt and the needles he had gotten out for the events he was anticipating. “Yeah, of course I can come get you, um, just give me a couple minutes and send me your location.”

3:52 AM, April 16th, 2007.

You’re in the passenger’s seat of Spencer’s car, both of you sitting in silence. This situation isn’t new to either of you, Spencer has picked you up plenty of times before, in fact he’s done it for years now. One time, about 3 years into your relationship with Randall, you were permitted to go out by yourself with Spencer’s team, they wanted to meet you, apparently Spencer talked about you all the time. While you were at dinner with them, Morgan asked you if you had a car of your own. You explained that you did, but that your boyfriend had it a majority of the time, and that when he didn’t he hated you using it because you always had to mess with everything. He hates you touching his stuff. Morgan made a weird face about that answer, so you quickly followed up, explaining that you didn’t mind.

You do mind though. You hate how he never lets you touch anything or go anywhere, and you hate how much he despises your only form of transportation.

Spencer.

Randall hates everything about Spencer Reid, and he especially hates seeing his car pull into your driveway. That’s why after the 8th time he kicked you out, you started walking half a mile to the nearest gas station before calling Spencer.

The first time Spencer came to get you Randall came out to talk to you before you left.

“What are you doing? Who is this?”

“It’s Spencer, he’s gonna take me to his apartment.” you explained, confused why Randall was so angry you were leaving when he was the one who had kicked you out.

“Oh so just because I don’t want to look at your bitchass all night that means you can go sleep with another man? I knew you were a whore Y/N. You know him and his stupid fucking car aren’t going to be able to deal with you the way I can. How old is that thing anyway?”

“Randall, calm down, I’m not sleeping with Spencer. I love you, I don’t want to sleep with anyone else. But I’m not gonna sit out here all night, where else should I go?”

“Well maybe if you weren’t so quick to whore yourself out to the easiest man you could find I would invite you back inside,” he said before slamming the door in your face.

So you got in Spencer’s car, the one Randall would grow to hate so much.

“Are you okay Y/N? He didn’t hit you did he? You know you can come live with me, you should really get out of that house, I can get Morgan tomorrow and we can go get your belongings. I have plenty of-”

You snapped at him, “No Spencer he’s not hitting me! Why do you always jump to that conclusion, Randall is a great guy! I would’ve never called you if you were going to jump to conclusions like this. You’re supposed to be a genius, yet you’re acting like such a dumb ass right now.”

Spencer looked at you, and immediately you regretted your words. You knew Spencer was just worried about you and with his line of work he had reason to be. However before you could apologize he spoke again.

“I’m sorry Y/N, forget I said anything.”

You both sat in silence for a few moments before you even knew what to say, and yet all you could think of was, “Hey Spence, what kind of car do you drive?”

He smiled, “It’s a 1965 Volvo Amazon P130 122S, it’s horizon blue, that’s the color they refer to it as. Did you know they’re known as so reliable that the 4 door models are still used as police vehicles in some places. This one’s a two door, but still runs great. . . “

You smiled, how fitting a man as reliable as Spencer Reid had the perfect car to match.

When you get to Spencer’s apartment something seems off. Spencer has always lived in organized chaos, but this just feels different. Unlike his normal mess, this one feels like a blatant disregard for his things, even some of his most prized possessions. His books are strewn across the floors, his clothes overflowing from his laundry basket, which was a mix of both folded, clean, yet to be put away things and worn items. Weirdly, the one place that looks untouched is his kitchen, as if he hasn’t used it in months. And you mean that in the most literal interpretation, his counters are covered in visible, undisturbed dust.

“Thank you so much Spencer, I don’t know what I would do without you.”

He smiles, but his eyes look so tired. “Don’t worry about it Y/N.”

And at 4:47, you finally fall asleep in Spencer’s bedroom, which he insists you take, and he stays awake until he leaves for work just a few hours later.

9:33 PM, April 17th, 2007.

You leave Spencer’s apartment the following night, after an unfortunate screaming match with him. You have never seen him so angry, so easily ticked off. Yet as soon as Randall called you Spencer became aggressive.

“Yeah babe, I’ll be home as soon as I can. I’ll take a cab and be home within the hour. Of course I’m not mad at you sweetheart, I know you didn’t mean it. I love you, see you soon.”

Spencer exitted his kitchen in a huff, and opened his mouth to start talking before you spoke up.

“I’m sure you’ve overheard already, but Randall’s letting me back in the house. Thank you so much Spence. I really appreciate everything you do to help me. Call me soon please, I definitely owe you lunch,” you said, grabbing your coat and your phone, the only things you had managed to grab from your home before your unplanned eviction.

“Why do you even stay with him Y/N? Why do you keep going back there?” Spencer yelled. You had never seen him like this before, so livid and irritable.

“I love him Spence, and he loves me,” you explained, and you were telling the truth. You do love Randall, and you know that in his heart he loves you too, even if he got a little angry sometimes.

“If he loved you he wouldn’t treat you like this Y/N! Don’t you think I would know? I see this everyday! It’s my job! And yet my best friend is too stupid to realize she’s been in an abusive relationship for almost 6 years!”

You were just as angry now, “You’re wrong Spencer, I don’t wanna hear this okay? I love Randall and he loves me. We deserve each other.”

Spencer’s face softened before growing angry once more, “You have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Fuck you Spencer, I’m going home. I don’t need you and I don't need your help,” you said, grabbing your things and slamming the door open. You were lying, you need Spencer and you need his help more than anything, but you didn’t want to admit that while he was being such a dick.

“Fine!” he yelled, “Go run back to him then, but you better not call me when he kicks you out again. I don’t care anymore!”

And so you left, Spencer slammed the door behind you as you stormed out of his apartment. You didn’t stop to think about the fact that Spencer never acts like this. He has never lashed out at you, never questioned your relationship with Randall to your face, let alone scream at you and insult you because of it. You didn’t stop and think about what Spencer was on, or not on, that was making his act like this.

But you thought about it now.

You want to get home before Randall starts to get upset and suspicious, but now after your fight with Spencer you have to walk home. You couldn’t ask him to borrow cash for a cab, let alone ask him to drive you there. You were stuck walking, which also meant you were stuck with Randall’s wrath when you returned.

You already feel terrible about the way you treated Spencer. You think about going to apologize, and stand in front of the door for a second, weighing the pros and cons of doing so. Eventually, you go to turn away, ultimately deciding that you both needed to calm down before speaking to each other again.

Yet as you turn, the door opens. Spencer stands right there, strangely calm, seemingly out of it. All fury and anger you had seen just minutes before gone. In this moment he resembles Randall, and it's the first time you’ve ever been able to draw any comparison to the two.

It’s scary.

“Spencer I-” but you get cut off, not by words, but by an object. Before you can even register what was just thrown in your face the door is closed again. You duck down to grab what was thrown.

Twenty dollars.

For the cab ride home.

1:34 AM, April 23rd, 2007.

You light the final candle on your dining room table, before stepping back to admire your work. Randall always came home so late from work, so you rarely ate dinner together. But today was your anniversary, so you stayed up late, prepared his favorite meal and set up all of your fancy dinnerware so that you could have a very late dinner together before he goes to bed and you go to work. He should be home any minute now.

Yet 3 hours later Randall is not back. You’re just about to cut your losses and call it a night, and start to clean up the melted down candles and cold steak dinner as you hear your front door open.

“Y/N! What are you doing still awake?”

“Do you know what day it is Randall? Because I do.”

He looks down at his watch, checks the time, and looks back up at you, “Well it is now 3:57 AM, meaning it is now Monday. Which is why I’m curious as to what you’re still doing up sweetheart, you have to be at work in 3 hours.” “There’s something special about THIS Monday Randall,” you sigh, you’re disappointed but not surprised, this has happened for the past 3 years.

“Do you have a project going on at work baby? You know I can’t keep track of all that crap, your job is so silly and easy to lose track of. You have to remind me of these things if you actually want me to care about them.”

“It’s our anniversary Randall.”

He stops, but instead of looking guilty or remorseful (like you secretly hoped), he gets livid, “No it’s not, are you stupid or something?”

“Randall, baby it’s okay, it’s not a big deal.”

“No! You stupid fucking bitch, are you trying to make me look bad, cooking this stupid fancy dinner and staying up late. Trying to lie and act like I forgot our five year anniversary?! Stop playing the victim Y/N. So tell me, are you lying to make me feel bad, or is your brain really that fucking empty?”

“It’s our six year anniversary,” you whisper.

“What did you just say?”

“I said I was just being stupid Randall. You’re right baby, I forgot the date of our anniversary.”

He snarls. “I don’t think so Y/N, I think, actually I know that not only are you stupid, but that you’re a liar. I know that you just want to make me look bad by preparing our anniversary dinner a week early. And you have to push it by claiming we’ve been together for six years. I know it’s five. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m sorry, babe,” you cry.

“NO YOU’RE NOT!” he yells, pushing his plate of steak and mashed potatoes, letting your parent’s wedding china shatter on the ground. You cry harder. “You’re a stupid, waste of my time Y/N. Five wasted years I’ve spent on you. Do you know why I do it, huh. Do you know why I stay with you when I could have one of the beautiful, rich, successful, truthful women I’m fucking?”

You shake your head.

“It’s because I feel pity for you. No other man would want you. I’m the only one that will ever love you. You know that right Y/N?” He picks up a piece of your hair, gently tucking it behind your ear. “Tell me that I’m the only one who will love you, you know it’s the truth right?” You nod your head. In a swift motion Randall turns, grabs a glass full of red wine and chucks it at the wall, narrowly avoiding your left ear.

“I WANT TO HEAR YOU SAY IT.”

“You’re the only one who will ever love me Randall,” you croak out in between sobs.

He closes the distance between you two once more, gripping your chin and jerking your face so that your eyes meant his. It hurts, and makes you cry more, but you don’t say anything.

“Don’t you know it sweetness,” he lets go, delivers a sharp slap to your check and grips your wrist. “Now clean your mess up, and then I think it’s best if you get out of the house for a little bit, don’t you agree?”

You nod quickly. He smiles.

“Good girl, now I would normally be worried about you going to hook up with that string bean you’re always all over, but according to the last time I went through your phone, he isn’t in your recent calls. Glad to know he’s finally done with your bullshit. I’m sure a nice long walk alone will do you good. You can think about what led you to lying tonight, and then maybe you can come back in time for our real anniversary.”

He slips upstairs, so you clean up the rest of the uneaten meal and the broken wine class, cutting up your hands severely in the process. You spend at least an hour in a futile attempt to get red wine stains off of your wallpaper, before grabbing your phone and purse and running out the door.

Even after what Randall says, you still think about calling Spencer. Your thumb hovers over the call button for a minute until you switch the contact, phoning your boss instead. You inform her you need a personal day, and that it’s a family emergency.

You check the time, 6:53. Spencer is almost definitely on his way to work right now. You want to call him so bad, but the things he said you ring through your mind. You can’t ask for his help anymore.

For the first time, you are truly on your own.

Until a familiar horizon blue Volvo pulls up next to the curb you’re sitting on, and Spencer Reid sticks his head out the window.

“Y/N? What are you doing here? Get it the car, come on I’ll drive you to work with me.”

Confused as you are, this is your best option right now. So you climb into the passenger seat of his car, refusing to make eye contact with him, instead looking at your bleeding hands. “Oh my god, Y/N. You’re bleeding. Did Randall do this to you? Why didn’t you call me?”

“No, Spencer, Randall didn’t do this to me. He dropped a wine glass and I helped him pick it up. Now just drive.” And he does, drive that is. But you can feel his stares, on your cut up hands, and you forming bruises. You can feel him profiling the signs of abuse on your body.

But more than that you hate that you can feel he’s upset with you. Upset because you didn’t call him. Does he not remember screaming at you not too?

He pulls into the parking lot, parks the car and finally turns to make eye contact with you. He has tears in his, “I really wish you would’ve called me Y/N. If it’s getting this bad I want you to stay with me.”

“Spencer am I going insane?”

“Of course not, what do you mean?” he looks so gentle, so kind and you’re so confused.

“Do you remember what day me and Randall started dating?”

“Yes, it was April 23rd, 2001. 6 years ago today actually. Is that why he did this to you? Does it have anything to do with that?”

“How can you remember that but not our screaming match a week ago?” you laughed, your hands burned now, there’s definitely glass in there, you swear you can feel the tiny little shards in your blood.

“What do you mean, Y/N? We didn’t scream at each other? I haven’t even seen you in weeks. How long has he been hitting you? Why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“Spencer, on the 16th you picked me up and took me back to your apartment because Randall kicked me out. On the evening of the 17th I went to leave because Randall told me I could come home. You said I was being abused and called me stupid for going back to him. When we fought about it I stormed out and you told me not to call you if he kicked me out again because you didn’t care anymore. That’s why I didn’t call you.”

You look up at Spencer, and nearly start crying yourself when you see his crumpled face. Tears are freely spilling down his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry Y/N. I don’t remember that,” he pushes his long hair out of his face, clearly frazzled, “I- I can’t believe I don’t remember that.”

Before you can say anything, Spencer pulls out his phone. “Hey Hotch, it’s me. I can’t come in today. I need to use a personal day. . . I’ll tell you later. Okay, thank you” He angrily pulls out of the parking lot, and you can tell he’s headed back to his apartment.

“Spencer it’s okay, I’m not upset with you.”

“No Y/N, it’s not okay. I said all those terrible things to you, of course you were scared to call me after them. The worst part is I was too high to even remember it all. I- I just can’t believe I helped him do this to you,” tears still freely flowing down his face.

“Spencer what are you talking about? I was with you all day, you weren’t high. You don’t even drink, how could you be high?”

He sighs, “do you remember when I was kidnapped by that unsub, Tobias Hankel? About 2 months ago?” You nod, encouraging him to continue. “Well, I told you about his multiple personalities, how one beat me to death and then Tobias resurrected me, how  I had to kill Tobias in order to survive, even though Tobias himself did nothing to me. Well when I was in the barn, Tobias would give me drugs, dilaudid, in order to cut the pain of his other personalities’ abuse. When I killed him, I took the drugs he had one him with me, and I can’t stop Y/N. It’s affecting my life, my work, and now it’s affecting you.” He parks his car in his apartment complex’s lot and turns to look at you. “Hotch has never said anything about it, so even though the team knows I have no reason to quit, I think I do now. Y/N, I think we need to get clean together.”

Suddenly that night made sense, Spencer was irritable and strange, he wasn’t high, he was going through withdrawal. But when he threw the money at you, so loopy and out of it, he was on it. He was so high he didn’t remember the moments before.

“Spencer, I don't know what to say. I want to help you get sober, I want that more than anything, but I’m not addicted to drugs, I rarely even drink.”

“I know Y/N, you don’t have a drug problem like me, but you are an addict. You need to leave Randall. You know it, I know it, but you can’t.” You open your mouth to defend yourself, but Spencer continues to speak, “It’s okay, I understand why. But we both need to quit, and I think it’s best if we do it together.”

“Well how are we supposed to do that,” you whisper.

“Come on, let’s get started,” you and Spencer exit his car, he loops your hands together, leading you up to his apartment. When you get there, he digs through his messenger bag and grabs a couple of tiny glass bottles and a syringe. He throws them into his garbage can, and turns to look at you.

“Pull out your phone.”

“What? Why?”

“We’re going to block Randall’s number.”

You want to fight him on it, but you know he’s right. You need to leave Randall, and now’s as good of a time as any. Yet, you can’t forget the things he’s said to you. “I can’t Spencer, he’s my boyfriend, he loves me.”

“Y/N, please, please do this with me.” You shake your head, he sighs. “Okay, I get it, this is going to take time. Just, um, stay with me for a couple days. Please. We can go get your stuff tomorrow night.”

You think about rejecting Spencer’s offer, but you really don’t want to go back there. More than anything, you want to stay right here. You try to tell yourself it’s because you’re worried about Spencer, but deep down you know it’s more than that. So you nod, and Spencer wraps you in a hug, burying his head into your shoulder.

“Thank you, Y/N. Now let’s go get your hands wrapped up.”

9:21 PM, May 2nd, 2007.

You’ve been staying at Spencer’s for just over a week now. You haven’t seen Randall since your anniversary, and Spencer hasn’t taken dilaudid while you’ve been here. Things are going well. You’re watching a lot of bad reality TV, and Spencer has gone through about 7 packs of Gatorade, but you’re both doing okay.

Now you were just waiting for him to come back from his case in Idaho, you knew this one was pretty bad. They were searching for a woman in the middle of a huge forest, as she was being hunted and chased down. Spencer called you right before getting on the jet, and told you he would be home soon, so now you were just waiting for him.

While doing so however, you found something. A lump on Spencer’s side of the mattress. Under it, were two small glass bottles and a syringe. The same ones you had seen Spencer throw into the garbage days prior.

Now you need to talk to Spencer, so you sit on his couch, and wait for him to come home. When he comes through the door, he immediately sees you and smiles. “Y/N! I’ve missed you.” He hugs you, and for a second you forget why you’re even mad at him in the first place.

“Spencer, I need to talk to you. I found your bottles.” The mood in the room instantly shifts, but you don’t care, you need to get your words out. “You told me you were quitting, I watched you throw them away.”

He brushes his hairs through his hair, and begins to mess with his hands. “I am quitting Y/N, I haven't taken any, but. . .  I just need them to be there.”

“Spencer, please, throw them away. I’m trying to help you here.” Suddenly he grows very angry, and you can tell you said the wrong thing.

“Well I’m trying too. To me it seems the only one not trying is you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, you still haven’t blocked Randall, he still calls all the time! Why do I have to throw my addiction away if you can’t even do the same to yours?”

“That's not fair.”

“How so?” he yells. “How is it that you can’t block your abusive, no good piece of shit boyfriend but I have to throw away the things I enjoy? That doesn’t feel like trying to me.”

“I’m not addicted to Randall Spencer, I just love him. I don’t want or need to quit him.”

“Oh really? Then why are you even still here? Why haven’t you answered his calls? Or gone to see him? I think you know exactly why.”

And you do. You don’t want to go back there, but what Randall says is true. He is the only one who will love you, and you’re not ready to lose that yet. You’re not ready to cut off all contact with him.

“I can leave if that’s what you want Spencer.”

His face softened, “no, that’s not what I want. That’s the last thing I want.” He stops and thinks for a moment. “If you block Randall I’ll throw away my dilaudid.”

You ponder it, “Okay.”

He breaks into a wide smile. “Really? You’ll do it?”

You smile at him.

“Yeah, I promise. I’ll block Randall.”

6:56 PM, May 30th, 2007.

You did not block Randall.

Even after watching Spencer pour out his bottles, breaking up the glass and tossing it away for a second time, you couldn’t. Even after seeing him snap his syringes in half, and feeling him kiss your forehead, after seeing how happy and excited he was for your fresh start together, you just couldn’t do it.

Spencer thought you did, and it was easy to hide the truth from him. Randall hadn’t called since then, so you and Spencer continue to spend time together, last week you celebrated one month of sobriety. You got an ice cream cake and little, silly party hats and exchanged gifts.

And it made you feel like shit.

Spencer was so happy, so proud that you had both been clean for a month, but you still couldn’t decide if you wanted to be clean at all.

You still can’t decide if you should block Randall’s number.  

You try not to think about it, instead focusing the energy into making you and Spencer virgin pina coladas, he was currently out picking up burgers from your favorite restaurant. When he returns, you were going to watch one of your crappy reality TV reruns, and then an episode of Doctor Who. It was Spencer’s idea a couple days ago, and quickly it became a regular occurrence.

Faintly over the loud whir of the blender you can hear your phone ringing. You run  quickly to go grab it, just in case Spencer needed your help with something, but your heart drops when you see the caller ID. It’s Randall, trying once again to contact you.

Your thumb hovers over the accept button, but before you can make a decision, the call times out and sends Randall to voicemail. You let out a breath and set your phone down.

But then something possesses you, and you snatch your phone and dial Randall’s number. He picks up on the 3rd ring.

“Baby, oh my god baby is that really you?”

He sounds so excited to hear from you, how could you have stayed mad at him for so long?

“Yes baby, it’s me. I’m sorry I haven’t answered your calls at all. I’ve been busy.”

“Don’t worry sweetness, I’m so so sorry for the things I said to you, I need you to come home. You missed our anniversary you know? But it’s okay! We can celebrate now! I got you a really beautiful gift, one we can definitely experiment with tonight.” You could hear his smirk over the phone.

“I’m not sure if I’m ready to come back right now, maybe later baby, but not right now.”

You hear his breathing pick up, and tense. You can tell he’s getting agitated. He wasn’t expecting you to answer like that, you always come home as soon as he tells you you can come back. “What do you mean? You’re being ridiculous, I want to see my girlfriend. I’m sure you want to get off of the streets too, you’ve been squatting for over a month now.”

“I’m not squatting Randall, I’m living with Spencer.”

“What!?” he yells. “I thought I told you not to stay with him. I hate that guy, you know that.”

“Would you rather me be on the streets Randall? Spencer’s a great guy, and I want to stay here.”

“Frankly, yes I would. But don’t worry, you can still come home. Just send me the prick’s address and I’ll come pick you up. We can enjoy tonight together.”

“No.”

“No?”

“I’m not going to send you Spencer’s address. I’m staying here. I don’t want to see you anymore. Leave me alone Randall. I’m done.”

Before he could say anything, you hung up. As you did so you heard the front door open, and Spencer made his way to the bedroom.

“Hey! I got burgers! Ready to eat?” he looks down to see your phone still resting in your hand, stuck on the phone app. “Who were you talking to?”

“Just an old friend,” you say.

“Think you’ll be talking to them again anytime soon?” you can tell he knows, and you’re surprised he isn’t lashing out at you. You’re so used to how Randall reacts when you go against his wishes, Spencer’s calm, understanding presence is like a breath of fresh air.

“No, I think I’m ready to leave them behind,” you smile at each other. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen in a sec okay?”

He nods, and goes to set up the food and TV.

It takes you seven seconds to block Randall.

1:12 AM, June 10th, 2007.

You haven’t gone out with your coworkers in months, you forgot how good it feels to just be present with people. You didn’t even drink tonight, wanting to remember every second of this time out with friends. You were beaming when you unlocked the front door.

Yet your smile slips when you enter what had become you and Spencer’s shared bedroom.

He isn’t there.

You pull out your phone to call him when you hear a thud coming from the bathroom door. You hesitate, scared of what you know you’ll likely find. When you finally throw the door open you’re already teary eyed, and these sobs escalate as soon as you see Spencer, tipped over, lying on the bathroom floor, the needle still sticking out of his arm.

You’re sobbing as you rip it out, hastily undoing the belt wrapped around his upper forearm. He looks up, even in his groggy haze you can see the guilty look in his eyes when they made contact with yours.

“Y/N. . . I- I’m so sorry. I don’t know what came over me but I just couldn’t stop myself . . . I-”

“Shhh, It’s okay, just breathe,” you whisper through your tears. “It’s going to be okay Spencer, I’m here, and it’s going to be okay. I’m staying right here.” You pull his head into your lap, stroking your shaking hands through his hair.

His head begins to shake, and you can feel his tears on your dress. You rest your head on his, and for a few seconds you just sit there, crying together.

“You’re going to be okay Spencer.”

8:09 AM, June 11th, 2007.

Your head is buried in his chest, you need to be able to hear him breathe. You need to hear his heart beating. You need to be as close to him as possible right now. He stirs as he wakes up, and wraps his arms around you. 

“I’m so sorry Y/N.”

“Don’t apologize Spencer, this is a part of recovery okay? You’re still in recovery, just because you relapsed doesn’t mean we have to start over. You’re so much stronger than you were before. So much braver. So much better. You can do this.”

He smiles at you, “thank you, thank you so much.”

“Of course, now withdrawal is going to be even harder this time. I’m going to the store. We’re going to need plenty of Gatorade and water. We have to flush everything out of your system. Do you mind if I take your car to the store?”

He beams, even in his groggy state he manages to look so perfect, “You know my car is always yours to use Y/N.”

“I’ll be back soon okay? Don’t move a muscle,” you grab his keys and head out the door. And you really do mean it, you fully intend this to be the shortest grocery trip of your life. You’re terrified of leaving Spencer alone long enough to get high again, even though you spent all day yesterday searching for drugs and throwing anything you found in the garbage, taking it out the main apartment dumpster that night. 

You get to the store, grab everything you need, 3 packs of blue Gatorade, 6 cases of water bottles, and the store’s entire stock of Jell-O and rush back to Spencer’s car. You were only in the store for 17 minutes, the majority of which was just check-out time. You smile, thinking of how excited Spencer will be when he sees all the Jell-O in the fridge, but feel your stomach drop when you see a familiar face examining Spencer’s car.

Randall. 

Before you can decide what to do, he turns and sees you. 

“Y/N! I was expecting Spencer, but this is even sweeter. I knew I recognized this hunk of junk. Where have you been?”

“I’ve been around, I’m kind of on a tight schedule here. I really need to get going,” you say as you load up your groceries into Spencer’s trunk. 

“That’s a lot of Jell-O sweetheart, you hate Jell-O.” That’s not even true. You hate pudding, you love Jell-O.

As much as you wanted to yell at him for calling you sweetheart, you couldn’t deny that it felt good. You still missed him. Blocking him helped, but you still felt strong urges to call him sometimes. “It’s not for me, it’s for Spencer.”

“I thought I told you not to stay with him anymore.”

“What part of that conversation would make you think I would listen to you?” you say.

“You should always listen to me Y/N, I’m your boyfriend.”

“I haven’t seen you in months, we’re not dating anymore. I’m done.”

“You don’t mean that you’re just being irrational. Are you on your period? I bet that’s it. Come get breakfast with me. You probably just need chocolate, and the place down the block has incredible chocolate waffles.”

You open your mouth to reject him, but you can’t. Part of it is because you know if you do then he’ll follow you back to your apartment and the last thing you want is for him to know where you’re living right now. But the other part is much worse. A big part of you wants to let him try again. You can’t explain why, but you really want for him to redeem himself as your first love.

“Ok, you have 20 minutes, let’s go get breakfast.”

The walk there is silent and awkward. Randall grabs your hand, too tight for you to do anything about it, and keeps this grip until you sit down in your booth. 

You don’t get chocolate waffles. You really don’t even like chocolate all that much. Randall knows that, or at least you thought he did. Instead you get cinnamon french toast, and within minutes it’s at the table. 

“You know baby, Spencer doesn’t love you.” He says halfway through your french toast.

“We aren’t dating Randall.”

“Doesn’t matter, you’ve been with him in that apartment for a while now. I’m surprised he hasn’t given you the boot.”

You sit in silence, Randall takes this as a sign to continue. “We’ve been together for five years, sweetness. No one can love you the way I do. That’s just a fact. Spencer fucking Reid can not replace me, no one can replace me.”

“I hate that you’re right. I hate that I can’t breathe when I’m not with you Randall. I hate that you’re stuck to me. You’re this god awful stain on my life. I hate looking at it but no matter what I do I can’t wash it off.”

He smirks. “You’re not gonna get rid of me Y/N.” He pays the check, and gets up from the table. You go to get up too, but notice he didn’t tip your waitress, so you leave another five bucks on the table. 

When you get outside he grasps your shoulders. “I knew you would come around Y/N, I knew you would get it. Now come on, we can go collect your stuff from that prick’s apartment and get you home. I know exactly how you can make it up to me.”

You pause, “I don’t think so Randall. I’m not ready quite yet, but I promise I’ll call you.” You meant it, you had already unblocked him from your phone.

“Oh absolutely not, you’re going home with me now.”

“No I’m not.” As you were yelling at each other you notice a strangely familiar face standing nearby, just in ear shot. You can’t place him, but you know you’ve met before.

“Yes you are! We’re happy together and you’re coming to live with me again!”

“We don’t love each other, Randall! Not right now at least!” 

He’s livid, and once again you feel that scared, indescribable feeling in the pit of your stomach. “That’s not true! I’ll prove it to you.” He grabs your chin and pulls your face to his.

You feel as if water is filling your lungs, you’re drowning and no one is around to save you. Randall is physically stronger than you, you’re stuck in his grasp. It’s like you’re screaming and no one can hear you. 

And yet, this flood of emotions you’re feeling is the first time you realize something. 

You’re addicted to Randall.

You need to get out.

You need to get back to Spencer.

After what feels like minutes (but is actually about 3 seconds) of being unseen and vulnerable, you discover you’ve been protected the whole time. The man you can't place rips Randall off of you, “What’s wrong with you? Get off of her!”

It’s his voice that lets you place him. Derek Morgan, Spencer’s closest friend and coworker, punches Randall in the face. “Get out of here!”

“What the fuck is wrong with YOU? That’s my girlfriend! Sweetheart, tell him to leave us alone!”

They both turn and look at you, with tears in your eyes you look at Morgan and shake your head. “Please, get him to leave.”

And Morgan does just that, with a little yelling and a flash of his FBI badge, Randall is running for the hills.

“Come on baby girl, let’s get you back home. Did you walk here?”

You shake your head, “No, I drove Spencer’s car here.”

“Well, how bout I drive you home, and then afterwards I swing back and get Spencer’s car and drop it off?”

So you do just that. After profusely thanking Morgan, and him insisting that it was nothing, and also insisting to carry your groceries in from the car, you and Spencer are together once again. 

“I’m so sorry Spencer, I didn’t believe you before. I was going to go back to him. How could I be so stupid?”

“Don’t talk like that Y/N, you said it best yourself. Just because you relapse doesn’t mean you aren’t trying, and it most certainly doesn’t mean you’re stupid.”

“I think it’s time we get clean Spencer. Both of us, once and for all.”

“I think so too Y/N.”

He pulls you into a hug and in between sniffles you manage to choke out what you’ve been wanting to say since you got into Morgan’s car. “I love you.”

He looks at you, and the look in his eyes almost makes you cry out of pure joy. He looks so happy, as if he’s been waiting for you to say that for years. 

Maybe he has.

“I love you too.”

7:29 AM, April 16th, 2008.

You press your lips to Spencer’s, you know he has just woken up, but you know it’s a big day for him. 

You both have been sober for over ten months now. Today is the day of his first group meeting. He found Beltway Clean Cops recently, and has been so excited to go. You’re excited for him. You know how proud he is of you, and you want to show him in every way possible that you’re proud of him.

He opens his eyes and smiles up at you. “What did I deserve to get a wake up like that?”

“What kind of question is that? You’re incredible, and an incredible boyfriend deserves an incredible morning. Do you know what else he deserves?”

He hums and waits for the answer.

“An incredible breakfast! That’s why I made blueberry pancakes. Now hurry up and come eat. You should  leave soon if you want to make it to your meeting on time. Have I told you yet how incredibly proud I am of you?”

He smiles, “Only an average of 15.6 times a day since I told you I was going.”

“Well that’s not nearly enough, now come on, get up. It’s pancake time,” you say. “Oh, and Spencer?”

“Yes flower?”

“I’m so proud of you.”

He smiles, “I love you flower.”

“I love you more.”

You ate breakfast together and then forced Spencer out the door, making sure he had plenty of time to get to his meeting. You knew he would regret it if he was late. 

You weren’t going to lie to yourself, you still thought about Randall a lot. You still missed him. You still love him in a way. But now that you had Spencer, now that you were clean together, you would never risk going back to him. 

That day where you agreed to go to breakfast with him, Derek asked you if you wanted to press charges. You didn’t, you don’t regret that either.

You’re even more proud of yourself this way, because you know he’s still there, still accessible and available to you, and still didn’t run to him. You know that any trace of Randall in your future is gone. 

You know you and Spencer are finally clean.

“Ten months sober, I must admit Just because you're clean don't mean you don't miss it Ten months older I won't give in Now that I'm clean I'm never gonna risk it”

- Thank you for reading! Please reblog and let me know what you think :))

[sharkbait77]

The Sun Sets With You

Chapter One: The Season Begins

Summary: A simple yet despondent farm life suddenly sparks with new hope when an unusual traveler makes your town his latest stop and brings with him intriguing and promising viewpoints and no one to share them with. Until he meets you.

Pairing: Ezra Prospect x f!Reader

Rating: M

Warnings: Despondency, depressive undertones, death of a parent, grief, unsolicited advances, age old sexism, strained parent relationship, nosy neighbors, food, lmk if I missed any pls!

W/C: 3.2k

A/N: And here we go! The first chapter! Welcome & thank you for tuning in, it means the world, truly! As I mentioned before, this story may not be the best for some, so please heed the warnings & proceed with caution. The sadness will not consistently be in each chapter, that much I promise, but we have to get through it right away so we can understand our dear Reader’s mindset as of right now. NO EZRA YET, SORRY! And like I said before, this is probably not totally historically accurate, so take everything with a grain of salt pleeease. Other than that, enjoy!

Tags: @the-ginger-hedge-witch @asta-lily @honeymandos @pascalpanic @aliwritesfic @mandocrasis @hnt-escape @winter-fox-queen @barbossa2319 @sarahjkl82-blog @day-off-inkyoto @pedrocentric @astoryisaloveaffair @ezrasbirdie @danniburgh @foli-vora @lucrezia-thoughts @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamer @quica-quica-quica @meesterblack @amandalovess @hunterofartem1s @pedro4ever @mishasminion360

Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed!

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Chapter Two

~APRIL FIFTEENTH OF EIGHTEEN SIXTY-SEVEN~

Your eyes flutter open on instinct as the sun rises against the pale blue of the sky, its ochre rays peering from behind the grassy hills and across the wheat fields while waking the birds. They start their day with a song, shaking their feathers and stretching their wings as they merrily fly through the air in search of their morning meal. The hens that found solace in their coops from the stark chill of night chatter amongst themselves as they roam around their pen and the lone rooster releases its shrill call, a signal for the day to begin. Beat you again, you think.

The sun rises a little higher now, the bright of day in full effect as it fills your room with its intense luminosity. You lie in bed a moment longer, watching the dust mites float through the air and dance in front of your nose with each exhale of breath you release. Signs of life all around you, from the dew drops that formed on your window in the early morning to the muscles within your very skin twitching as you climb out of bed. Every little thing teasing and taunting you of significance, of meaning just on the horizon, yet so far out of your reach.

This is your life. Each and every morning, day, and night is as repetitive as the last. Wake up before the rooster crows and stare into the minute cracks rippling through the ceiling, envious of the pollen that manages to escape through and longing for you to shrink microscopic enough to hide away as well. Fill your basin with cold water you had gathered the night before to wash yourself quickly before your father wakes. Clothe yourself in your underdress, long sleeved, blue work dress layered on top with the sleeves rolled up, an apron cinched at your waist, and dirty and worn, black boots laced up tight enough to prevent you from minding the ache they feel as the day progresses.

You look at your reflection in the hazy mirror as you braid your hair; the drabness of the glass only accentuates exactly how you perceive yourself. The girl staring back at you was but a shell of the one you knew before. Before, when you still had ambitions that would have led you far from this town. To a place you could live anew. Now, just an empty being as one day fades into the next. Eyes that no longer gleam, hair that no longer shines, skin that no longer glows.

You had given up long ago of any hope and dream of something more, surrendering to the bleakness and repetitiveness of this life when your mother passed. A promise on her death bed to help care for your father any way he needs. And this is what he needs. You, here on the farm, helping tend to the chickens and the cows and the small shop he owned in town. The one your mother ran that was unceremoniously thrust onto your lap. The organ within your chest beats solely to pump the blood through your veins and keep you breathing, if only for the promise you made to your mother.

You fasten the gold chain around your neck, a locket with a faded photograph of your mother hidden within hanging to your breast. You tuck it into your blouse to keep her close to your heart and head down the ladder, stepping lightly as to not awaken Pa any earlier than necessary. Your Pa, an old man now with hair white as snow, only having turned the shade since Ma left.

Wrinkles crease deeper into his skin and the bags under his eyes droop slightly to his cheeks now on his once chiseled face. His strength has dwindled within the last year, and with no other siblings to share the burden of the farm, you knew you could not leave your Pa to deal with it by himself. So your own dreams and goals were swiftly thrown into the dirt to be rained on and turned to mush, impossible to be picked up again.

As you finish grounding the coffee beans and throw them into the pot of already boiling water resting on the range, Pa begins to stir and soon after wakes up, the aroma of caffeine acting as his own signal to wake. Leaving the house to give your father privacy to dress, you head to the hen coop to gather a few eggs for breakfast.

You take a deep breath of the crisp morning air, the smell of apple trees at the front of the house, then the smell of grass with fresh dew, to the smell of hay and chicken feed as you get closer to the pen they are corralled in. As you head back into the house, Pa is already seated at the small, round table with his tin of coffee.

“Good morning, Pa,” you greet softly.

“Good morning daughter. Thank you for the coffee.”

“Grace to our health, Pa,” you say, as you always do when he gives you his thanks.

Financially, you and Pa were well off enough; you still couldn’t afford luxuries like sugar, but you were able to live comfortably with only the necessities and the occasional new pair of boots. You were grateful to have the farm and the shop, both reliable sources of income for your small family, and you were blessed that Pa was still able to work the fields, but you know as time passes and his joints weaken, you would then need to take over the labor. There was truly no path for you to leave this life.

The older women around town had begun to whisper about you, not necessarily trying to keep their gossip from reaching your ears. They were just as bad as the hens that cluck around their pen all day. A never ending chatter of you being stuck in the house or the farm or the shop, working as an old maid for the rest of your life.

You’re still fairly young, just over two decades of life in you; sure, the girls you once played in the streams with as children were all married women now and on their third, fourth, fifth child, but you didn’t feel the desire to find a husband just to bend to the simple mold of life this society has cast. If you were to still have any control of your life, it would, at the least, be that.

You crack the eggs into the beaten and tired pan over the range, letting them cook to completion before removing and plating them, along with a roll of bread and the butter you had just churned the day prior. You walk over to Pa and place his portion down before working on your own. Pa sends up a quick prayer and starts to eat. His prayers turned to letters to Ma, but he never failed to speak them before every meal or before bed, sometimes even when a sudden abundance of eggs were laid or vegetables had sprouted during the night.

“The season is nigh for corn and potatoes,” Pa mumbles and you feel your heart sink to your feet.

You had forgotten about the season, when Ma and Pa would work the fields together endlessly, sweating through their work attire to be washed every evening. You still feel the creak in your elbows to this day. It is the busiest season, bringing in the most coinage for the year, but now that it was only you two, you worry about juggling between the shop and the farm.

“Pa, how will we manage?” You voice your concern. Pa takes a deep breath.

“You will hang a notice in the shop when you go today,” he says matter of factly. “Ask Mr. Williams if you are able to hang one on his window at the post as well.”

“And what shall it say?”

“‘Seasonal laborer wanted – will provide lodging with pay’.”

“Where will he stay?” You inquire.

“The barn; we will provide him blankets and he will be free to use our wash basins when needed and we will offer him meals.”

“It will be a lot of money expended, Pa; will we be all right?” You ask as you sit at the table with your plate and coffee tin.

“We will make do, daughter,” he says, the finality in his voice signaling for this conversation to cease. “We will not be able to pay handsomely or feed him much, but we require the extra hand if we are to pass the season.”

“Yes, Pa.”

You lower your head and eat your eggs in silence. You don’t pray anymore, not necessarily feeling the need since your Ma was taken, as well as your aspirations. Pa finishes his coffee, leaving the dishes in the wash basin and grabbing his hat, walking outside into the fields to begin preparations for the season. You sigh; the tears that have long hidden in your ducts refuse to spill out to bless you with relief.

The last time you properly cried was for Ma; every day you feel them there, the pressure building in the corners of your eyes, but nothing ever falls. A mind trick, you suppose, to force you to focus on the more important things. You don’t have the time to spare to release them; your mind and body are now slaves to the farm and the shop.

After your breakfast, you walk to the wash basin with your dishes, hand pumping the water from the pipe just off the side and using the homemade lye soap you learned to make from your mother. Once the dishes are washed, dried, and put away, you walk over to the black safe in the corner of the room, turning the dial to its correct numbers and pulling out the metal lockbox from the inside.

It carried within it the sales ledger for the shop and the velvet bag for the coins. Pa empties the bag every day as he looks over the ledger, placing the coins into another metal box that only he has the key to. He gives you coin anytime you ask, as long as it is needed for the shop or food for the house and, occasionally, on special days.

You pick it up and take it with you to the front door, pulling your bonnet and fabric bag from the hook they hung on. You stick the lockbox inside your bag, as well as the key assigned to it, and head outside. Pa is already far into the fields, hacking away at the dirt and smoothing it out for the new growth. You don’t bother saying goodbye; he knows where you’ll be. Where you’ll always be.

Living alone with Pa became quite challenging, you were disheartened to learn. You’ve always had a loving bond with him since you were a child; maybe he expected the same from you as he did from Ma, but he still managed to make his lessons on the farm enjoyable, doting upon you as any loving father would. Now? The anguish you both have felt since losing the feathery soft and caring love of your mother strained the relationship between you two.

What was once a thick belt of leather that connected you now pulled further and further apart until it became as frail as rubber, threatening to snap at a moment’s notice. You love your Pa; of course you do, and you know he loves you too. If only you could grieve together.

Upon entering the town, the people are going about their normal routines. The baker stacking the fresh loaves of bread in his window, the shoe shiners along the streets working tediously on men’s boots, the hens clucking – the older women gossiping away passionately about whomever they desire. As long as it isn’t you today.

You reach the shop, key in hand as you unlock the brass keyhole and turn the knob, the small bell dinging above you as you enter. You flip the sign in the window from the side that reads ‘Closed’ to the side that reads ‘Open’ and you pull back the shut curtains, allowing the light of day to flow into the small room.

Heading back to behind the counter, you remove the lockbox from your bag and set it on the shelf underneath in its usual resting place. You barely have a moment to remove your bonnet when the bell dings and you look up to greet the person who has walked in. Wonderful.

“Hello, my sweet,” the man husks and you find it difficult to choke back the bile rising in your throat.

“Hello Silas,” you say flatly. “Is there anything I can help you with today?”

“Darlin’, you know exactly how you may be of service to me.”

Silas Taylor, a boorish man of thirty-eight years, has desperately been attempting to attract your affection for the past two years. He had the decency to respect you and Pa after your mother passed, halting his advances for all of one week. Considering his age, he did not show any signs of maturing, both in his looks and his brain. One might even label him handsome, were he not such a crude and overbearing personality.

Ma and Pa had bid you to consider his proposal, but in time came to understand he was not the best man you could have as a husband. Pa despises Silas, has even told him so to his face, yet it did not cause Silas to stray from pursuing you. Disrespectful, despicable, a generally awful person, Silas is.

Why he had you locked on to his sights, you weren’t sure. You never gave him the opportunity to court; staying cordial as to not make an outright enemy of him, yes, but never once have you made it apparent you enjoyed his attention. Nevertheless, he continued.

“Silas, please. I must ask you to leave my shop if you are not interested in a purchase,” you implore, hoping he will understand your position and take his leave.

“But, little one, I am very interested in a purchase. What must I do to make you my wife?” He grins, as charming as the manure out in the fields. In a flash, your vision goes red as you replay his statement in your mind.

“I am not for sale, Silas. That is the most offensive remark you have said to me yet,” you declare harshly, the acidic bile in your stomach turning into a burning rage.

“There must be something that can be done, my sweet. You name it; the most lavish jewels and dresses your pretty, little mind can dream of,” he presses on with a smile only found on masks to scare the children with.

‘Pretty’ and ‘little’, amongst his unwelcome endearments, are the words to send your mind into a downward spiral to declarations that you’d rather not say unless you were alone, lest he take offense and decide to wreak havoc on you and Pa. You put your foot down and grab his arm roughly, pulling him with you to the front door. He only laughs at the scene unfolding, rather pleased with himself that he’s ruffled your feathers so.

“Silas, I am no longer asking. Please leave,” you say as plainly as you can, doing your best to keep the tremble of anger out of your voice.

“Fine, fine,” he chuckles satirically. “Until our next meeting, my love.”

He pulls your hand to his lips, his strength surpassing yours and his thick, wiry mustache rubs harshly against the tender skin of your hand. You furl your lip and flare your nostrils, unable to contain the look of disgust on your face as he glares at you perversely with his black eyes. You tug your hand away and the bristly hair under his villainous nose scrapes you with the motion.

You stand with your jaw clenched and hands balled up in tight fists at your sides, your fingernails digging into the skin of your palm as you watch him walk away, leaving puffs of dirt trailing behind with each cocksure step he takes. If you were to only be allowed one person to despise in your lifetime, it would be Silas Taylor.

“Dear, are you well?”

A gentle, aged voice calls out to you from behind. You whip around quickly, your skirts twirling as you face the elderly woman that has hailed you.

“Mrs. Williams,” you greet, willing your fury from the unpleasant interaction to rest for the time being.

“Was that Silas Taylor you were speaking with?” She asks.

“Yes,” you exhale. “Yes, it was.”

“He’s a quite handsome lad, dear. It is known all over town how you have bewitched him. Why do you not accept his proposal?”

Adelaide Williams; the sweetest among the hens, but still a hen nonetheless. You sigh deeply to yourself, deciding not to engage in the conversation with the one woman who treats you with any shred of respect and kindness, even if her ideals still match those with the others in town.

“Mrs. Williams, while I have you in my presence, may I ask a favor?” You appeal.

“Why, of course, my dear!” She smiles, all thoughts of your personal affairs exiting her imagination.

“Do you suppose it would be alright to leave a notice at the post office? We are asking for help on the farm for the season.”

“Yes, dear, it’s quite alright,” she smiles, her wrinkly skin creasing along her cheeks and eyes.

“Thank you; will you wait a moment while I draft it?”

She nods and follows you inside the shop, slow in her old age. You quickly grab a sheet of paper and a fountain pen, inscribing the words your Pa informed you to write in large enough letters.

“I imagine this season will be most difficult without your mother. I am so very sorry, dear,” Mrs. Williams says as you write and your hand quakes slightly at her comment. “How have you and your father been managing?” Cluck, cluck, cluck.

“Not without difficulty, Mrs. Williams, but we manage nonetheless,” you say courteously, not wanting to relay any information that could be the next piece of news to travel through the grapevine. You finish the notice and hand it to her.

“Shall I direct him here or to the farm?” She inquires as she reads the note, perhaps looking for anything contradicting what you already stated would be written.

“The farm, more suitably, so he can speak directly to my father,” you reply. “Many thanks to you and Mr. Williams,” you end with a sweet smile.

“No thanks are required, my dear. Anything to help you and your father. Your mother was a wonderful being. I was proud to have known her.”

Another quake. You nod politely, letting her hold your forearm as you walk to the front door. The bell dings as it opens and you watch her while she walks down the wooden pathway to the post office. Once you’re sure she’s well on her way, you turn back inside and draft another notice for the shop window before you begin arranging the merchandise for the day, taking inventory of goods that are depleting, and checking order forms belonging to families around town for produce off your farm.

A most provincial and forlorn life, indeed, that you will have to bear until the end of your time here on Earth.

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Chapter Two

[madhyanas]

there can be no oceans

It's only when the Child needs a bath that Din realises his ship doesn't have one.

Read this on AO3!

Characters: Din Djarin & Grogu | Baby Yoda

Rating: G

Word Count: 2.7k

Warning(s): One mention of ‘spice’ as a drug. Set sometime soon after Chapter 4: Sanctuary. No spoilers for S2.

Notes: i! want! to write! more! character fics! so take this. thank you @pettyprocrastination for taking the time to read this beforehand <3

masterlist

———

The Crest wasn’t built for children.

Her walkways are narrow, interiors unpainted. Any room not taken up by essential utilities has long since been repurposed for weapons and munitions storage. There are no rounded corners, no softened edges; there is no baby-proofing to speak of. A capsule of robust, sturdy durasteel hurtling through the galaxy.

As reliable as she is, especially in the hands of Din’s capable piloting, the bare minimum the Crest offers to any inhabitants at all is an absence of jagged scrap metal jutting out to be slashed on. Which is as close to a miracle as he’s going to get, considering his ship’s survived being taken apart and stitched back together again.

Sometimes the visor’s sight catches on a slivered scar. The junction between the cockpit and ladder, the panel next to the hatch. He’ll look at it for a second, bumpy and gnarled, remembering the Crest’s shell scattered in pieces across desert rock. He’ll remember his ship, peeled to bits without mercy. Then he’ll brush his fingers over the soldered mark, and walk away.

But despite everything, the Crest is comfortable; Din can admit that her resilience, outlasting her age, is something he’s grown attached to. And when it comes to the very, very mundane, the kid seems to have pretty good instincts — doesn’t dangle over heights, doesn’t stick his hands into sockets and plug ports. His ship, in and of itself, doesn’t pose a threat to the little one. So long as he’s not left in the cockpit unsupervised.

It’s a minor weight off his shoulders that the kid’s content to amuse himself with that gear knob, occasionally gurgling commentary to Din — who has found “Is that so, kid?” to suffice as proof that he’s listening — and offering a satisfied, toothy grin. This is typically the point that Din feels his mouth pulling up into a crinkling smile, fond and proud.

It reminds him of something Omera told him in passing. Din hadn’t understood the phrase at the time, hadn’t ever needed to apply it in his day-to-day.

“You’re lucky,” she’d said knowingly. “He’s an easy baby.”

Thinking of mudhorns and mudjumpers and the kid’s inability to follow instructions, Din didn’t think it made much sense. He understands it now.

But, no — the Razor Crest, being a gunship and not a nanny droid, was not constructed for childcare. In all honesty, this hadn’t really occurred to Din beyond the obvious.

Until the kid needed a bath.

A bath that his ship does not have.

Din sighs, standing in the refresher doorway and staring at the slim sonic shower compartment. The Child waddles in curiously behind him, leaning on his boot with both arms hugging the ankle. He coos up at Din questioningly. There’s a slight twitch of his ears before he raises his arms. Two chubby fists clench and unclench repeatedly, a familiar demand.

Din promptly bends down to pick him up, angling him face forwards to stare at the offending compartment together.

“It’s a sonic shower,” Din explains. He frowns, wondering how to go about this. The kid smacks his lips idly. “Don’t think it’s meant for kids, buddy.”

Those wide, dark eyes suddenly turn to him with hope, but Din’s already shaking his head. “No.”

The kid blinks, multiple times. Din could swear the little monster’s batting his eyelashes. “No. You still need a bath, you’re not getting out of it that easy.”

In his arms, the kid deflates with a huff. His ears droop so quickly they bat against Din’s chest and quiet grumbles buzz through the cloth of his shirt.

It makes Din smile, part-amused and part-relieved. He’s never been very good at the whole ‘disciplinarian’ thing, especially not with a kid that can move things with his mind. It’s difficult to tell where to draw the line between kind and disapproving. He’s probably leaning more into the former.

“We’ll just have to… figure something out.”

He glances to the left. The sink is built into the wall, a nondescript metal bowl with a drain and tap. Din avoids looking at the mirror above. After so many years under the helmet, it doesn’t necessarily feel surreal. It’s simply odd to have visual confirmation of what he looks like.

The kid squirms in his arms, and Din blinks, slowly placing him back on the ground. He shuffles out of the ‘fresher quickly to whichever corner he’s chosen to play in today, his stuffy brown robe dragging slightly on the ground. Maybe that needs to be looked at.

Din looks back to the sink, figuring something out.

———

For all intents and purposes, the sonic shower is useful. Or perhaps that isn’t the right word, considering it just does what it’s supposed to.

It’s efficient, then. A way for Din to stay clean without worrying about the ship’s current water capacity. Whether it’s actually pleasant or not is another question, but one that’s never been important enough to be asked.

Now, though, Din thinks he’ll need to find a more permanent solution.

The sink in the ‘fresher has its own water supply, true. But it’s enough for Din to wash his hands and shave every few weeks at most. Since the New Republic started cracking down on smuggling circuits, the price of water transportation fit for hyperspace has spiked. A popular medium for diluted spice, apparently. So he’s careful with how much he uses up, wary of the ever-dwindling pile of credits to his name.

He kneels down next to the sink, craning his head to check behind a panel and exhaling sharply with the protesting ache of his neck. It’s a small slot for a liquid tanker, and Din soon realises it won’t be enough to fill a cup, much less the whole basin.

It won’t work.

———

This brings him to the next idea. Somewhat quickly, because the kid seems to have gotten into his head that no water means no bath. That’s probably bad handling on Din’s part.

There are sealed tanks of water stored in a hull compartment. Bulk-purchased and potable, for prolonged journeys and adverse conditions. Tanks that he’s loath to crack open when there’s water available elsewhere.

He lugs one into the fresher, and when he feels his lower back twinge with the effort, he makes sure to bear the brunt of the weight with his legs. Then his knees begin to strain. He sighs.

He passes by the kid on the way, sitting on the floor and gnawing on his metal ball with intense focus and adoration. He looks up at the sound of Din approaching, tilting his head sweetly at the tall canister.

Din takes it as a question, so he answers. “No idea, kid.”

When he does, finally, manage to shove the tank in the refresher and pour as much of it as he can into the sink’s water supply tube, the Child follows. His head turns from the half-empty tank, to Din, and back to the tank. As the ears swish with every movement, like palm leaves twitching and swaying in the breeze, Din watches the gears turn patiently. It’ll click.

Then the kid thwacks a hand on Din’s thigh, and very insistently garbles something with a firm nod. His approval is understood.

Din smiles. Lets it linger on his face, melt in his chest so warmly he can nearly ignore his aching joints. Gently, he places a hand on the little one’s head, rubbing the spot between his ears and eliciting a fond coo. “Thanks.”

———

That good mood doesn’t last very long when the kid realises, eventually, that bath time has arrived.

———

A tragic wail cuts through the Razor Crest.

From where he’s held over the ‘fresher sink, the kid screeches in Din’s hands, kicking his little legs in the air and keeping a vice grip on Din’s sleeves. Even the ears — those huge, petal bat-ears — are wiggling up and down in his efforts to escape.

“Hey,” Din says. He tries for stern, but it comes out mostly tired. “Hey. Stop that.”

The kid is either ignoring him, or just can’t hear it over the racket he’s making. He scrunches his eyes closed with newfound vigour and shrieks so loud it rings in Din’s ears. He winces.

The Crest’s refresher is built into a cramped corner of the hull. Fitted with a sonic shower, privy, sink and mirror, Din’s fairly certain there are graves dug bigger than this.

It’s never mattered before, since Din spends so little of his time in here anyway, but now he’s stuck in a broom closet — a metal one, with solid, echoing walls — with a screaming child.

Din sighs, with feeling. His headache, which hasn’t let up since the jump into hyperspace, throbs heavily behind his eyes and between his ears. For a second, he toys with the idea of turning off the helmet’s auditory sensors.

The kid had more or less been fine at first. From filling the sink to fetching the soap — a standard, unscented brand that Din only really stores for handwashing — to barely managing to tug his robe over those oversized ears. The kid had insisted on doing that last one himself, until he’d stumbled with the shift in centre of gravity and bowled himself over.

He’d been fine, until his stubby, clawed toes first dipped in the water.

It’s remarkable, Din realises as he looks down at the distraught child dangling from his hands. The kid hasn’t really cried for… for anything till now. At the most, Din just gets a dry, unamused look whenever he hasn’t followed the little overlord’s express wishes. Like eating wild frogs off the ground. Womp rat.

Hearing the repercussions now, it might not have been remarkable so much as just lucky. How does one so small have lungs so strong?

“All right,” Din calls. Trying to be gentle yet also heard over the noise at the same time is a challenge, so it comes out somewhat choked.

At his voice, the kid takes a breather. Literally, his round body heaves in Din’s hands, gasping for breath after his tantrum. Din eyes the tear tracks streaming from his wide, dark eyes, and his sniffling little nose. He can feel the kid’s ribcage pushing in and out rapidly beneath his fingers, stretchy like a balloon fitting in the palm of his hand. He hadn’t forgotten how tiny the kid is but — a lump settles in his throat at the reminder.

He feels his face fall. “I’m sorry,” he says softly, unsure of what he’s pleading for but feeling as if he’s wronged the Child anyway. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it would upset you so much.”

Whether it’s his tone or the words themselves, something brings the kid to peace. Though still hiccuping, his breathing evens out.

“That’s it,” Din encourages. “Deep breaths.”

He inhales, lifting his head and shoulders slightly with the movement to demonstrate, before lowering on the exhale.

The Child watches him for a moment, blinking wetly, before doing the same. His ears perk up and down with every breath. “That’s it,” Din repeats.

When he’s reasonably sure the Child won’t start bawling again, Din takes a second to rearrange the kid into sitting balanced on his forearm, facing him towards the mirror. With the other hand rubbing circles into the kid’s back, he addresses the reflection.

“Listen,” he starts seriously. The kid looks up, watching the helmet in the mirror’s shiny surface. “I get that you don’t like it. And I’m sorry I upset you. But you need a bath, so we have to figure something out.”

Din swallows, wondering how they’re going to do just that. The kid, in the meantime, clutches the shirt of Din’s sleeve in two grubby claws and starts chewing, not taking his eyes off the helmet for a second.

Just as he’s about to ask the kid to stop, or at least lay off a little so the fabric doesn’t tear, he gets an idea.

———

In the recent past, Din can’t really remember when things last went his way. So he’s almost confused when the third time really is the charm.

“That’s all it took, huh?”

The kid happily ignores him, watching the gear knob through the shallow, mildly-soaped water with fascination. He stares straight down, his ears sticking up like fresh reeds from a pond, enamoured with the sight of his favourite thing underwater. The concentration he uses to roll it around with both hands softens the corners of Din’s mouth.

You’d never guess the little womp rat was raising hell just minutes before.

Fetching the gear knob from outside was a last resort. He’d been grasping at straws, willing to take anything that would calm the kid down.

And it worked. Leading Din to scrub the bar of soap between his hands, trailing suds through the clouding water.

The temperature suits the kid just fine, apparently. With no way to heat the basin, Din had just… waited for it to get more or less lukewarm. Not ideal, not by a long shot. He’d clenched his jaw, uncomfortable and awkward in the face of yet another reminder that he doesn’t know what he’s doing. Standing around doing nothing didn’t sit well with him. At one point he half-seriously considered getting the flamethrower out to speed things along.

But the Child, naturally, didn’t seem to mind. He now slaps his hands into his bird-bath pool with delight, relishing in the waves he can create. The pale, fuzzy hairs on that wrinkly head don’t so much as twitch, and Din has to wonder if the kid’s leathery skin has something to do with that tolerance.

A bubble wobbles into the air, fragile and translucent. A dark, watery gaze snaps to it immediately — the kind of precision only reserved for mudjumpers. The kid stills, and the gear knob is momentarily forgotten in favour of biting through the air to catch the floating parlour trick between sharp, pointy teeth.

Pop. Smack on the kid’s mouth. A light burst of soap residue sprays on the kid’s face, and the squeak of a sneeze he lets out pushes him an inch backwards in the basin.

Din can’t imagine how a thing could be that tiny.

“Nice job,” he offers quietly, because a successful hunt is something to be praised. He gives the kid’s face a once-over — with eyes so big, it’s impressive that the soap missed them entirely. The kid whines disagreeably; he evidently doesn’t care much for the flavour. His button nose wrinkles, and he bounces again with a cough.

Din chuckles. The sound rings in time with water sloshing over the lip of the sink.

“Maybe save the hunting for outside,” he advises, patting the kid on the back. The Child looks up at him mournfully, as if to agree, before returning to the gear knob resting by his foot. A new game is begun; shoving the metal ball so that it rolls halfway up the sink’s bowl before returning straight back, like magic. Every metallic scrape brings a new ripple of laughter.

He should be more mindful of how there’s more water on the floor than in the basin, now. But there are always more tanks in the brig.

In a series of excited, comprehensive babbles, the kid begins explaining the rules of his new game to Din, who listens closely. He interjects here and there to show the kid as much, but is otherwise just a spectator to the kid’s lecture.

Then for a moment, without thought, he looks up. Straight ahead, into the mirror. And he almost can’t recognise the sight.

It’s his helmet, obviously. Comforting; beskar gleaming as much as the day it was first given to him. Unchanged. Same height, same clothes.

But his sleeves are rolled up to the elbows, baring inches of skin and several wiry scars. The front of his dark, woven shirt is darker still with the water lapping over the sink’s edge, a sodden patch forming over his abdomen. He feels some of it drip onto his boots and the floor. His hands are covered in suds, tenderly but thoroughly scrubbing the edge of one floppy green ear.

The kid, sitting satisfied and unaware with his cherished toy, makes the image look complete.

Din looks at the man in the mirror, giving his son a bath in the sink. He thinks that his image probably needed a reset anyway.

Then, with something caring and delicate fluttering in his chest, he moves on to the baby’s claws. He makes sure to scrub between the fingers.

———

[wizkiddx]

a friendly face

a lil one inspired from seeing the recent interviews abt cherry - yes im a couple days late but am very slow. This is basically stolen and adapted from another of my stories so I don't think there's any bits left over by my dyslexic proof reading isnt that great so apologies!!! very speech heavy so sorry am trying to balance my writing more

Summary: Tom is having a hard time filming Cherry and dealing with the emotional baggage of it, so Harry recruits someone to make everything that little bit better.

tomhollandxreader

fluff and a little angst I guess?

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Harry, Tom and their driver Sian where all sitting in the car having left the set 20 minutes ago, heading back to their accommodation. Or more precisely, Harry and Sian sat in the two front seats- Harry only in the front as to allow Tom to lie down across the three back seats. He was asleep, or at least looked asleep, but Harry knowing his brother so well knew he was just wishing he was. The day had been torturous for Tom, they’d been filming a hospital sequence in which his character was heart broken. The sequence had involved him being thrown onto the floor multiple times, by a heavy handed stunt double who was not nearly as precise as those he’d worked with at ‘marvel’. Furthermore, there was also multiple scenes of him having to properly cry on camera, which although it sounds tame, is one of the hardest things you can ever ask an actor to do. At least, someone who commits half as much as Tom. For him to show that emotion, he had to go back to a place in his life where he didn’t really ever want to venture again. But even then, this character was such a fuck up, he had to do deeper.  He felt completely drained, emotionless and cold. But he couldn’t sleep, not for the guilt he felt for being short with everyone on set- he had never been like that before, he just felt like no one was respecting or understanding what he was going through. So instead he just lay on his side, facing the backs of the leather seats, arms folded in stubbornness- even if he had no idea why.

“Tom?…Tom, I know you’re awake… Look, we need to make a quick stop. You gotta come out.” Harry was actually slightly nervous his brother would just point blank refuse, even if he needed this so bad.

“I just need to get back to the apartment. Please Harry. Can’t we do it tommorrow?” The desperation dripping off Tom’s voice actually pained Harry to listen to. He knew Tom was having a crisis about how he treated everyone today, so chose to ignore his please in favour of some assurance.

“You know everyone understands… They just kept asking me if you were alright?” Harry could see the guilt radiating off Tom. It hurt him to see his big brother like this. 

“Please… I just need to get back” His small voice barely made it to the front of the car, but Harry heard it all. 

“It will take 2 minutes tops, I had a delivery but I need a hand carrying it, come on” Harry spoke as Sian turned on the indicator to pulled up next to the sidewalkpavement; the car slowing to a gentle halt. Tom didn’t reply, instead huffing as he used the head rest of the middle seat to pull himself up. Already out the car, Harry opened the door for him waiting patiently, because Harry knew he would be a hundred times better off in just a few moments. 

“What the hell have you even ordered that’s so big?” Tom sighed while ducking through the door into the cold Cleveland air, keeping his eyes on the sidewalk as Harry motioned for him to follow his feet. 

“Oh um don’t know, a good friend sent it actually” Harry tried to hide the grin that was spread over his face from showing in his voice, as he saw a very familiar head of hair running toward them.

“What friend?” Tom looked up sassily toward Harry, shortly questioning who would send Harry a parcel from England that was too big to be delivered or carried by himself. Only then, nearly 5 metres away from Sian in the car, did Tom look up to see where they were. It wasn’t the nearest post office or delivery warehouse - they were at the airport. “Harry what’s going on?” Tom questioned with a low and warning voice, skipping a step or two in order to catch up with his younger brother. 

“We’re collecting her” Harry smiled as he nodded forward. Following his gaze with eyes wide open, Tom turned forward just in time to see Y/h/c  flying over his face as he was engulfed by someones arms. Immediately sensing exactly who this was, Tom did not hesitate to wrap his arms around your waist and push his head into your neck. Smelling the familiar perfume, Tom couldn’t help but scoff, allowing a the jerky breath to leave his lungs as you arched away from the hug, cupping Tom’s face with both her hands. 

“I’ve been reliably informed you could use a friendly face” you smiled, noticing his raw emotions threatening to overtake him, so swiftly pressing just pressing your lips onto his. Seemingly frightened to move, Tom barely reacted to the kiss, so you pushed and deepened into it a little more- till you felt him relaxing against you. With that, you arched away again and smiled massaging his stubbly hair behind his left ear.

“How are you here?” He croaked staring deeply at her, switching between her left and right eye as if that somehow would confirm that this was real, not some cruel dream he was having. 

“Someone somewhere knew you were in need and bought me a plane ticket over… I’m coming home with you on monday” You grinned while  watching Tom’s eyes light up, he leaned in again to your lips instead of replying. 

“Er-cuh-huh” Harry loudly cleared his throat, causing the two to pull away from each other. “Sorry to interrupt, but Sian isn’t really allowed to stop there long sooo” They both nodded, before Tom lunged at his brother, holding him close and whispering thanks too. It was clear this was at least partly Harry’s doing, and he could never thank his brother enough.

“Umm.. as much as I’m enjoying this brotherly love we really do have to get back in the car” Harry awkwardly spoke as he almost pushed Tom off him. 

“Awww my favourite little brother being all mature” You giggled, taking your turn to hug Harry, admittedly a little shorter than Tom’s, but still with lots of gratitude.

“Please get stop loving me and get back into the car!” Harry yelled as he stormed off to Sian, leaving both you and Tom in fits of laughter. Grasping each others hand simultaneously the laughter continued as you followed Harry down the street to the car. 

Seeing you standing there; feeling your arms wrapped round his neck ; hearing your oh so sweet voice had Tom feeling…. Feeling lighter. It was as though your mere presence gave him the strength to carry all the things that were previously weighing him down like a truck. What was extraordinary though, was how it wasn’t just psychological. He literally felt his joints feel looser, he felt his body flood with warmth and he felt his heart calming down. When you’d first been getting close to each you’d had rather the opposite effect. Which was surprising because that was at the point Tom had never felt more confident - he had just returned form a avengers press tour, where naturally everyone had just loved him and played up to his every whim. He had legions of girls, some of them drop dead gorgeous where falling at his feet. And yet, when he met you it was as though he was transported back into his incredibly awkward teenage years. It was infuriating, he knew he could act cool and unbothered and smooth however as soon as you stood informant of his it was like his mind melted, filling it with utter gibberish and garble. In fact, he was plainly floored by you - how kind and pure hearted you were, how respectful and how you found hhis jilted flirting adorable and not to forget how drop dead gorgeous you are. 

It had taken a while and a hell of a lot of opening up, but over time he found the opposite happening. Your presence became something else entirely, not one that would put him on his toes and have his heart racing - more of a comfort. He slept better when you were beside him, his nerves never got the better of him if you were there to cheer him on. He could relax completely without any fear of judgement, any worry at all with you. What you had done is change the definition of something so fudemental and a given in life. You’d changed home from a place to something much more intangible. A person; a feeling; a connection. You were his home.

“Sian are we close?” You asked, turning your attention away from the two brothers annecdotes from filming, realising Sian must’ve been driving for about 30 minutes. 

“Yep just the next right I think” Sian replied gently while turning the wheel as the indicator clicked.

“Where are we going?” Tom asked, looking first at you then pleadingly at Harry- knowing he had more of a chance with his brother. 

“Well” You started and he whipped his head back round “I know it’s late and you’ve been working all day, but you have alater  10 o’clock call time tomorrow instead of 6, so this is the best night to do something. We found a driving range-with heaters” which was a very important factor since Cleveland was bloody freezing “- that we thought you’d like to play a game or two?” The massive smile in response meant you’d hit the nail on the head.

“And soz but I’m crashing the game otherwise- and no offence, but you would win waayyyy toooo easy Tom” Harry butted in and sniggered as he interrupted the lovey-dovey stares. You gasped at that in mock offence, holding your hand over your chest. 

“Oi you, Paddy has been teaching on the Holland boys days out you both missed- I’ll have you know I now am aware that you have to get the ball into the hole, not a goal as previously thought.”

The boys both groaned in unison and Y/n wiggled her eyebrow grinning, elbowing Tom slightly in the side. “Things might have changed since you left you know?”

Yet another thing Tom loved so completely about you, was how effortlessly you had fitted into his family. Honestly, none of the Hollands could imagine life without you anymore - especially Nikki, who had quite literally attempted adopting you so she officially wasnt the only female in the immediate family. Sam used you as an expert taster for all his marvellous culinary creations (even if your judgement was always the same, it was very good); Dom often ended up picking your brains about your work, he found you ‘actual proper’ job as a doctor simply amazing , where all his family had never been especially acadmeically gifted; and Paddy just plain saw you as his older sister. So it was hardly surprising at all that when two of their actual kids flew across the world , you’d been the obvious placeholder. Yes, golf was most definitely your forte - but you were enthusiastic, with a positive (if flightily misguided) give it a go attitude. 

The try-try-and-try-again attitude that never really worked … until Paddy taught you how to hit a clean drive.

“I am not joking, I am asking the lady at the desk there’s no way!” 

“Tom you are the worst looser I have ever met! I didn’t cheat, I’ve just taken up a new hobby”

“There is no way Tom… no way she can get that good” Harry huffed as he ran straight past you to catch up with Tom, making sure that you did see the harsh glare he shot him. The outrage that Y/n had beaten them both at the driving range was way worse than anything you could’ve predicted- now you sort of were wishing you’d let them win. Oh wait…. Of course you weren’t  - this was priceless. Especially their faces when you’d launched your first ball super accurately inn the centre of the second furthest away target. They had reacted as if you had just stripped butt naked, you thought; standing their jaws hanging with a look of almost fear in their eyes.

“You could see the balls land with your own eyes! Practice makes perfect!”

“Thats not fair though! It took you like 8 weeks to be like that?”

“I mean you were obviously just taught by the wrong Holland, Paddy’s a  pretty good teacher!” You smiled as your trio turned the corner and walked through reception, seeing Harry desperate to ask the receptionist but Tom just looking over his shoulder to give a hurt look to at you.

“I’m going to ban you from being closer to my brothers than me”

“I can’t help if he’s cuter then you alright?” You smirked and raised an eyebrow, as Tom stopped in his tracks and turned to face you.

“That’s it… your gonna get it” he spoke in a low voice, with a mischievous look in his eye, abruptly he launched himself at you -  barely having  time to swerve away from him and start a sprint towards the exit, giggling as you took a glance back to see Tom chasing you out, Harry quickly in tow too. 

“Your not allowed to beat me at golf!” In a jokey voice, you heard Tom yell, just as you reached the sleek black 4x4 and hurdling yourself into it. 

“I’m in the car it’s a no fight zone!” You cowered in the corner,back pressed up against the opposite door and  arms crossed to make an ‘x’ sign in front of her body. 

“That is not how it works” Tom and Harry grinned from the open door. As fast as lightning they both vaulted in and started tickling you, making you screech curses at the two of them.

“Alright alright kids, no fighting while I’m driving thats an order.” Sian calmly spoke, trying to hide the laughter from her voice, as the two men retreated and helped to pull you up from the position half on the floor that your squirming had gotten you to. 

“Get off my leg Tom… arghhh… thanks Sian, I’m sorry they’re so moody, I just whipped their asses at golf”

“You’re here to make me feel better right? Not doing a good job so far” Tom’s snide remark meant you scrunched up your nose while plugging her seatbelt in, making sure to jab Tom’s side hard as you did so.

“How did I end up sandwiched in between you two twats then?” You grinned from the middle seat as Harry just rolled his eyes looking out the window, and Tom gave you a loving smile- not able to hide his relief of your presence.

“Think it’s about a 40 minute drive you gotta enjoy” Sian smiled looking at you via the rear view mirror, to which Tom couldn’t quite stifle the yawn that escaped. 

After all he had done much more than the typical 9-5 hours work, and the golfing was an unexpected addition to the already long day. His excitement and just pure joy at having you here had made him forget about It all for a couple of hours - but now his exhaustion was catching up with him with a vengeance. Instinctively you wrapped you arm round Tom and in doing so pulled him into your side. 

“Get some rest huh?” You whispered into his forehead, and all Tom could do was reply with a weary nod, letting his eyes slip close to the constant beat of Ally’s heart. You immediately sensed Tom was properly out of it, and contented yourself looking out his window for a few minutes,  before you felt something heavy briefly whack your other shoulder. Jumping a little at the contact, you looked round to see Harry’s head bobbing side to side in a light slumber. In the midst of worry for Tom, you hadn’t realised the kid had been doing the same long hours as him. Plus dealing with Tom and being Tom’s support, which surely took it out of him. Harry had always been ‘the most important brother’ in your eyes. Just because Tom trusts him so implicitly and completely, they had an understanding only real brothers could get to but also extended far beyond blood. When you’d first been introduced Harry had been colder to you. It wasn’t personal though, he just wanted to be sure on you and your intentions with Tom because as he well knew often when people saw Tom they didn’t just see an opportunity for love. It was an opportunity for a lifestyle, for fame, for relevance. Harry took a while before he trusted you but now you were miles and miles beyond that point. So now, being at a stage with Harry where he was phoning you to come and fly out to save Tom (and him too). It was not to be taken lightly.  Therefore, you gently pressed your hand to Harrys face and pushed him to lean against her other shoulder too- hoping to cure the dark circles under his eyes a little bit too. 

You were quite content for the rest of the journey, feeling warmth radiate through your body as the two men breathed deeply and calmly either side of you. You sort of didn’t want the car journeyer to end - but sure enough it wasn’t long till Sian was pulling into the hotel entrance.

“Get you a girl that can do both, beat yo ass at golf and look after your family” Sian whispered as she handed the phone back to you, after having taken some of your favourite ever photos, the 2 boys asleep on your shoulders while you pulled a variety of different faces. Smiling back at Sian, you then sighed-knowing she had to wake the two up, given their exhaustion you didn’t really want to either. 

“Boys…boys… hey let’s get you both into bed yeh?” You spoke softly, gently raising your shoulders in order to disturb them both. Harry’s head immediately shot up, his eyes puffy and half open, but a sheepish look on his face as he realised how he was sleeping. Just responding with a smile that said it was all okay, before  you turned her attention to Tom- forever stubborn to wake up, at least nothing had changed there. 

“Come on Tom, can’t have you sleeping in the car all night” You pushed again, this time lifting Tom’s head, earning a very deep groan as his eyes slid open and he pushed against the movement. It was at this point Harry slammed the car door shut, making Tom jump out of his skin, you loosing the hope of any serene wakeup call. Rubbing Toms arm, relaxing the tension now present in his body you encouraged him once again. “Come on lets get inside mister” 

His hotel room was exactly what you’d expect for an a-lister and lead actor in a million pound film. Large, modern, squeaky clean and posh. It was almost too big to be filled by one person though, Tom had always found it a bit cold and just not cosy - why he opted to spend the majority of his down time either fast alseep or in somebody else’s company. Both of those also stopped him getting too much in his head - or more accurately in his characters head. Cherry was a weird character and from interviewing all the veterans and lengthy discussion of his past, Tom almost felt as if he had in some small way experienced what Cherry had. Felt what Cherry did. Thought like Cherry did. 

And that was a sure fire way to fuck yourself up.

Now, with you here in his room haphazardly digging through your case, if felt warmer. The cold but brilliant white lights seemed to have softened to a gently warm glow that bounced off your skin and made your figure look almost angelic to Tom. You were his home. 

“What are you waiting for?” You mused while turning away from your (now) inside out suitcase, proudly carrying her pyjamas which you had found hidden at the bottom the whole time- not the most practical packing in the world. All the while Tom sat on his bed, back leaning against the headboard and arm bent behind his head too.

“Just thinking that I need to go through all the scenes for tomorrow” A monotonous tone laced his voice, for he knew he couldn’t spend the night the way he really wanted to, safely wrapped up with you.

“Oh… well let’s go through it together then hey? We will be done in no time; but if you want we can go over them again tomorrow morning.” It was a practical suggestion, a helpful action you could implement - even if you had a feeling Tom wouldn’t just agree. Since his lines clearly weren’t the only thing on his mind this evening. 

“Yeh but everyone on set is already sick of me after today… I can’t be being shit as well as horrid” his voice was small as the memory of how he snapped at some of the extras had him cringing inwardly at himself. He shouldn’t have been that rude, shouldn’t have blurted it out, should of offered a solution rather than just critiquing.

“Hey would you kindly shut it? No one is sick of you, everyone is just ready for christmas and missing their families. Now get changed” Your soft tone turning into an imperative order, as you threw his pyjama bottoms at the him, smashing into his face before falling into his lap.

“Oi” he shouted, but followed instructions and stood up reaching round to pull his hoodie off. Stood shirtless, his side was exposed to the now changed you, the sight making you gasp and clamber over the bed to gently touch Tom’s back. You followed the outline of an impressive patch of bruising, stretching from the bottom edge of his shoulder blade all the way to his hip. 

“Tom, what the hell happened?” Whispering in fear, Tom turned round to face you, seeing your eyes watering up as you kept glancing at his back. He was littered in a variety of purple, yellow and slightly green marks on the whole of his left flank. It looked like a minor crush injury, not something a pampered actor gets after a day of filming infront of tens of people including an onset medic and health and safety risk assessor. 

“What?” Tom asked before turning to the mirror and looking back over his shoulder to see the bruises for himself. He hadn’t expected the ache to look that bad. “oh - I - er… Today the scene, I get smashed to the floor by someone and I kept doing it wrong so we had to do it lots I guess.” He looked away and down at your feet, not being able to meet his girlfriends eyes suddenly. You just nodded, trying to blink back the tears-  he had truly been broken by this role both physically and now mentally- he hadn’t even put a stop to the constant and clearly severe pain. 

“Put your stuff on” your  voice was muted, as you waited for Tom to get prepared. He turned around again and then replaced his trousers and quickly pulled a top on to hide the marks, suddenly embarrassed. In the silence the sound of his clothes dropping to the floor, then of him sitting on the bed again- throwing his legs over so now he mirrored your position - the sounds were pretty defeaning.

“I love you so much….” Barely whispering, you suddenly ripped the duvet out from under you both holding it over you as you swung a leg over Tom so you straddled him, slightly leaning over him and letting the blanket rest on top of your back.In your position you looked down in an almost scary way to his warm brown eyes. Tom swore you were literally reading his thoughts, your intense gaze absolutely crumbling any walls he thought he’d be able to hold up. Pressing a gentle peck to his lips you then whispered onto his lips, letting him feel your words as well as hear them. “ …So that’s why we are going to sleep right now and you can worry about all of that tomorrow”

“Y/n I-“

“Your safe with me.” You were not standing for his nexuses and arguments, as you slid down his body - ending with your head resting on his chest, you legs tangled with his. Once you’re properly rested you’ll learn them ten times faster than what you can now… Before you get ill I am telling you to take a break. I’m not going to let you not. So relax and-….Tom?” Ending with a whisper, you delicately lifted your head off his slowly rising chest to see your broken boyfriend already asleep; lips parted as soft snores crept through the silence. In reality as soon as you’d said that he was safe the exhaustion had completely over taken him. Desperately needing to recharge his batteries, no matter how much he had wanted to stay up and work late it could never really happen - at this point physically impossible.

“Sleep well Tom” she smiled, planting a kiss on his cheek with a sad smile.

///////////////////////////////////////////

The next day rolled around all too quickly, but the morning was much better than any of the past couple of months because you were together. Tom, having had a solid 7 hours of sleep compared to his normal 5, was for once ready for the day. He’d gone through the script with a certain someones help in record time, and now the three were just pulling up at the set. 

“You’ve been awful quiet this car ride…” you grinned as she clasped Tom’s hand across the empty seat, making Harry turn around and give you a warning glance. Oops. In a moment where Tom went to the loo at breakfast, Harry had fully disclosed everything that had happened on set yesterday- especially the  burst of anger. So naturally, Tom was feeling nervous and scared to face everyone. 

“It will be fine I promise… and if not tell them I’m your personal body guard- no one will be rude to you if me and Harry are ready to attack” Tom let out a breathy nervous laugh, only then meeting your eyes.

“ A fly wouldn’t be threatened by you two. Harry would just take a photo while you’d check their pulse or something”

“Errrm” Harry furrowed his eyebrows as he contorted round from the front seat so Tom could see his disapproving look, meanwhile Tom was dodging your affectionate fake-slaps.

“Children we’re here” Sian sighed as she brought the car to a steady halt “and if you could get through the day without killing each other I’d appreciate it, otherwise I’m out of the job”

“Not promising anything when I’ve got these pair to deal with” Tom grinned as he opened the car door, before anyone else could retaliate.You laughed before quickly following suit, joining Tom at the front of the car and interlocking your fingers with Tom’s. Hesitating for a moment Harry took a second before unplugging and leaning for the door handle.

“You see what I mean?” Turning his head to look at Sian “It’s sickening how happy they are.”

“Yeh but your glad about it don’t lie” she grinned, before practically shooing the poor boy out her car.

“But dont tell them!” Shouting in reply, as the car was already pulling out. 

Tom’s body seemed to tense more the closer you walked to the crew tent, you could feel the way he squeezed his shoulders back and his jaw tensed and untensed. There was little you could do apart from squeezing his hand that little bit tighter - further reiterating the fact you would always always be in his corner. Perhaps the most telling about Tom’s own character was how truly guilty he felt for the way he was with the crew. Normally, he was one of the most down to earth actors around - no trace of an ego or superiority complex. It didn’t matter if you were a cleaner or head of a multimillion dollar studio, Tom would pay both the same amount of respect. He always out that completely down to his upbringing and mum and dad, but even that was being humble. He was just a good person to the core, no one saw that more than you either. It’s part of love, you see the good and the bad parts of a person and promise to unashamedly love them all. 

Just before you both had made it into the main tent, Tom was pulled away. “Oh Tom we wanted to talk to you about yesterday!” The familiar voice of Joe Russo called, as he and Anthony  ran up to Tom from his left, giving a little nod of greeting to the actor, before falling in step with him.

“Morning, I-uh I wanted to apologise actually-“Tom was cut off while you hung back off to his right, not wanting to intrude on this conversation.

“No we should. The team were all being slow yesterday, and they were making some hard scenes harder on you. We really appreciate what you are putting yourself through for the sake of the film.”

“But still I acted like a brat and I’m sorry”

“Tom” Anthony spoke up for the first time. He was a man of limited words- but whenever he spoke everyone listened. “ You are one of the best, most-dedicated actors we’ve ever worked with. We’re all overtired, run down and ready for the holidays. You’re missing your family too. It’s already forgotten… So let’s just get on with the movie?” Tom smiled, pressing his lips together to stop their kindness overtaking his emotions. Tom always felt safe with the Russo’s. They’d dealt with him when he really just was a kid actor - overwhelmed and without a clue what was happening. They’d dealt with hiM adjusting to fame and the much bigger part Marvel seemed to want him to play in the future. They trusted him with this, most incredibly complex and also personal film for them. So when they spoke and they said it didn’t matter, Tom was much more likely to agree.  Then proceeded the bro-hugs, as the men all showed they were good with each other. 

“Well lets make a motherfucking movie!” Tom exclaimed once they broke the hug and the brothers laughed at him. “Oh where-d….” He muttered as he looked round before meeting your eyes, still standing rather awkwardly a couple of meters behind them. “ Joe, Anthony you remember Y/n?” Nodding and smiling the brothers beckoned you over; both greeting you with a warm handshake. 

“Good to see you again!” You grinned and the directors responded nodding.

“We didn’t know you were coming! I would’ve made a list of all my doctor question for you.” Joe winked, knowing your pet-peeve was people asking you all their gory body questions as soon as they found out she was a doctor. You didn’t need to know about you dentists acid reflux issue, you didn’t need to know about your granny’s friend’s constipation, and you really really didn’t need to know about an old friends erectile dysfunction.

“Ha ha ha “ You rolled your eyes sarcastically “ and no it was a bit of a spontaneous trip, I just landed last night.” Throughout the whole of the exchange Anthony had taken an aloof stance, just  observing you and Tom. Observing the bright smile Tom gave you, even when you were simply making small talk. The way he looked so much healthier, well rested and just happy, in the space of a single evening.

“I’m glad you’re here” Anthony basically interrupted the conversation, addressing you then immediately turning on his heel towards the set. 

“Uhh right- get to make up we’ll call a cast meeting in a bit” Joe stammered, giving his brother a funny look before addressing Tom “ and we’ll have to have a proper catch up later.” You nodded in response, as Joe turned and did a half jog to catch up with his brother. 

“That was weird!?” You frowned as you looked up at Tom. He explained the encounter in rather simplistic terms.

“That was Anthony.”

The morning was spent with Tom doing what he does best in front of the camera. They were shooting a larger scene for the army section of the movie, with at least 100 actual soldiers as extras, all geared up in full camo outfits. It was impressive, but also gave you a chance to meet Ciara - you’d been dying to meet her since Tom told you what a laugh she was. Fair to say you weren’t disappointed at all, you guys hitting it off instantly and you going as far as giving Ciara some embarrassing Tom stories that she could wind him up with in the future. Of course though, the main attraction was seeing Tom act first hand. Every time it astounded you, even though you knew that face so completely, in all his movies he fully had you believing he was someone else. It was mesmerising and you couldn’t be any prouder. 

“You’re amazing! I seriously forgot how good you are!” You ran over as Joe Russo called cut to the end of the morning shoot. 

“Well er thanks I guess” Tom furrowed his eyebrows as you wrapped him in a hug. He’d just canned a pretty hard scene and everyone was more than ready for a lunch break. You’s been watching from behind the cameras with Harry the whole time, after Tom gave you permission to sit in his special set chair.

“Seriously I’m very…. “ Her speech broken with an impressive yawn “….very proud of you.” In thanks Tom gave you a kiss first to your nose and then lips. 

“I take it someones not adapting to jet lag?” He chuckled as he pulled away and cupped your face in his hands.

“Which I’m totally ashamed about considering I work night shifts… my body clocks supposed to be better than this” Angrily, you vented, frustrated at your own body when all you wanted to do was stays within reaching distance of Tom. Even if Tom had had the best sleep of this whole shoot last night, you’d been to over excited and enthralled just absorbing every little thing about him that you’d missed so much that you’d been wide awake the majority of the night. If you blamed you fatigue on jet lag alone, it would be an impressive lie. 

“Go take a nap in my trailer… Harry can you take her?”

“Yes master” Harry bowed down and wobbled his head sarcastically, making you giggle. 

“At least this way you get a break from him” You grinned to Tom’s brother, which Harry could only agree with. Giving Tom a parting kiss , you followed Harry away from set. It was at this point that Anthony excused himself from the monitors reviewing the footage, and approached Tom.

“Kid… that was great that scene.”

“Thanks mate, means a lot” Getting his directors approval forever reassured Tom, letting him relax his shoulders a bit as he nodded gratefully to Anthony. 

“Well it’s just truth… so your girlfriend, Y/n right?”

“Yeh that’s her” Tom nodded, suddenly a little concerned as to where Anthony was going with this. You had met the Russo’s a number of times, and it never before seemed as though Anthony had an issue with you- at least to Tom’s knowledge.

“Right well um… you know how I don’t really get involved in all this stuff…” Tom nodded, folding his arms apprehensively. “But I just thought I should say that she’s really good for you.” Tom silently breathed a sigh of relief and waited for Anthony to get to the point. “Joe told me you had a rough patch at the beginning of the year so… I don’t know our industry is hard. And harder for you and her in the spotlight… Just seeing you with her today…Don’t be afraid to take the next steps with her…Don’t let her get away.” Tom was stunned to say the least. Anthony is the last person he had ever expected to get relationship advice from. 

“I um yeh… I don’t know I hadn’t really thought about it. I mean we’ve been together for 2 and a bit years, well including the break… she means the world to me-“

“Well don’t waste it”

And that was the end of the conversation. Anthony turned to his trailer to get lunch and Tom just stood, replaying the conversation in his head. Weird to say the least. 

But it did get the cogs turning. It did get Tom really seriously considering his future. Or rather considering your future together.

And that was for certain. It was you and him, always. 

[s0ftness]

lost and found | i

Summary: In dire need of a safe place, you stumble upon a kind stranger in the middle of the woods.

Pairing: Lumberjack!Thor x Reader, Lumberjack!Thor x Hispanic!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, 18+ ONLY.  Mild mentions of physical injury, oral sex, vaginal penetration, unprotected sex, fluffy shit.

Word Count: 5.8k+

A/N: So, this is my first time posting my work and I’m a little nervous, so any sort of feedback is greatly appreciated. Inspiration for this came directly from @imanuglywombat​‘s and @nellblazer​‘s Celebration of Lumberjack Smut Challenge. There’s a whole lot I’d like to explore with this pair, so there might be more parts in the future. Please let me know what you think!

Also, find this on AO3!

The sun was slowly making its way down the sky, eager to find rest behind the mountains, tinting the firmament indigo as stars began to blink awake. The temperature was also going down but sweat coated your skin and made your clothes stick to your body as you hiked up the mountain. Unsure of where you were even heading to, you ventured deeper into the woods in search for a safe place to spend the night. Unable to recall when your last meal was, your vision began to blur and you lost your footing for a second, slipping on a loose rock and ripping open your pants, the skin of your knee and palms scraped. Great, just what you needed. You wiped at the torn skin with the back of your sleeve, but there truly wasn’t much you could do. Darkness was creeping in closer, faster than you thought it would, and the sight of heavy clouds rolling in made your empty stomach clench with dread.

The sound was faint at first. And you stood in silence then, every muscle frozen. You hadn’t crossed paths with a bear yet or anything of the sort, but you knew there were countless dangers lurking in the shadows, and were well aware of your vulnerable state. Not tripping over your own two feet and splitting your head open so far had been a feat of its own, but an ever-present possibility nonetheless. Holding your breath for as long as you could, you trekked forward as silently as possible, slowly beginning to discern the rhythmic pattern of the sound. Not an animal, then.

Not far from where you were, the trees gave way to a clearing and you realized you were now on somebody’s private property. And that somebody was chopping wood.

You shuddered at the thought of a crazy man chasing you away with an axe, but you didn’t have many options here, not to mention you were running out of time. After drawing in one deep, fortifying breath, you cautiously made your way over. The rustling of leaves and crunching branches beneath your feet gave you away, apparently, because the figure suddenly stood still. Your fingers grazed over the rough bark of the tree in front of you, and you peeked around it.

Just a few feet away from you, stood a tall man. Huge, really. Your eyesight wasn’t your most reliable sense right then, but he looked strong. And alone. Truly, you weren’t sure either of those things were good or bad, but your body was too weak to hold you up any longer and you feared you might pass out right there on the treeline.

Holding up both hands in what you hoped was an appeasing gesture, you moved forward as slowly as you could. He remained rooted to the ground, right next to the stump he used as a chopping block, his hand wrapped loosely around his axe by the handle.

“No trouble…” you croaked out in a heavily-accented voice, as you took a trembling step forward. “Not looking for trouble,” you attempted to clarify.

That seemed to amuse him, as he snorted a bit. You didn’t look like you could cause much trouble, even if you wanted to. You looked like you’d been through hell and had barely made it out. If you felt like shit, the way his face contorted into a deep frown when you stepped into the light made it clear you looked even worse. With a soft thump, he lodged the axe on the stump and made his way over to you. You cringed instantly, stumbling back a few steps when he got too close.

“You alone?” His voice was deep and rich, but he quickly glanced around to check along the treeline for good measure. You nodded, but the motion sent your head spinning and you stumbled a bit.

“I just need somewhere to be tonight. I think a storm is coming,” you murmured, the lilt of your voice barely audible at such volume. A couple of warm hands reached forward to grab you by the upper arms, steadying you. He half expected you to bolt, but you surprised him by slumping in his grip. With a low sigh, he led one of your arms to wrap around his shoulders as he held up most of your weight while walking you up the front steps of his cabin.

Once inside, he placed you on a loveseat by the fireplace. There was no fire burning, but you felt much warmer indoors. He grabbed the blanket draped over the back of the seat and laid it over you. You frowned in confusion by his kindness, but decided it was probably in your best interest to keep your mouth shut for a while. As he stood this close, tucking the fabric around your shoulders and feet until you felt like a blanket burrito, you finally got a chance to look at him. Like, really look at him.

Boy, was he beautiful.

He looked like he’d had a long day, too. His eyes were tired, but kind, and impossibly blue. His long blond hair was messy but tied at the back of his neck in a low ponytail. You faintly wondered if he’d been sculpted by gods, because that bone structure was to die for. If you had had even one ounce of energy left in your body, you probably would’ve used it to touch his cheek to make sure he was real. His beard was thick and suited him well, and you wondered if it felt as soft as it looked. His lips were full and plump, and they were… moving?

Oh. He was speaking to you.

“... in a while. I can heat up some soup for you, if you want.”

You blinked a couple times as you forced your eyesight to focus. The man let out a quiet sigh and gave your shoulder a gentle pat.

“Stay here, I’ll be right back.”

So you did. All bundled up and warm, you battled yourself to maintain your eyes open as he headed to the kitchen. For soup, you reminded yourself. For you. That was the moment your stomach decided to growl embarrassingly loudly, and you sunk deeper into the soft, worn leather of the sofa.

A gentle shake on your shoulder awakened you, and you jolted a bit in surprise.

“Hey, it’s okay! It’s okay, you dozed off for a bit. Why don’t you eat this? It’ll make you feel better.” He then placed a large bowl of hot soup on your lap and you wrapped both hands around it. Your eyes were impossibly round and doe like, and your host had to force himself to look away.

“Thank you, er… uh…”

“Thor,” he offered as he lowered himself to sit on the edge of the coffee table across from you. “My name’s Thor.”

“Thor,” you repeated softly, savouring the foreign word in your tongue. He swallowed hard. You offered your own name in return. “Thank you, Thor.”

He hummed in response and rose to his feet to kneel in front of the fireplace to set up some wood in it and get it going. The flames took on quickly and you let out a quiet sigh of relief. Thor glanced at you over his shoulder, and found you raising the bowl to your lips to gulp down the broth eagerly. A smile tugged on the corner of his mouth, but he quickly rose to his feet and walked away.

It wasn’t often that Thor had visitors. He had never had any, to be honest. Ever since he’d come back to Earth after wandering the universe senselessly, he’d been on his own. Up there, he longed for home. But home no longer existed, not to him anyway. Everybody he had ever considered to be home was gone now, so he’d decided to build one for himself out here. It got lonely sometimes, but it was peaceful, and that was much more than he thought himself worthy of.

Inside his bedroom, he rummaged through his things to find a few pieces of clothing you could wear and set them on the foot of his bed. Next, he went into the bathroom and drew you a bath with the hottest water he could offer, and threw in some bubbles for good measure. He’d always loved a good bubble bath, and you looked like you could keep a secret.

With everything set up for you to clean up, he made his way back to the living room to find you laying on your side on the floor in front of the fire. You were curled up in a little cocoon under the blanket he’d given you, and you were lazily watching the flames dance over burning wood, your eyelids getting heavier by the second. Thor bit the inside of his cheek and went to kneel next to you, one broad hand coming to rest on your shoulder.

“I prepared a bath for you. There are also some clothes on the bed you can wear. Just leave your dirty ones in the bathroom and I’ll take care of it, yeah?”

You rolled onto your back and gazed up at him, brows knit together in confusion. “You really don’t have to do all this. I can just stay here and leave when the sun comes up.”

“Nonsense,” he replied with a shake of his head. He rose to his feet and held out a hand for you to take, hauling you up onto your feet and grimacing apologetically when you winced in pain. Your hand felt minuscule engulfed by his, but you relished the warmth as he led you through his home and to the bathroom. Against the far wall, was a beautiful wood bathtub and you gave in to the impulse to brush your fingertips along its smooth side before dipping them in the hot water. A wide smile spread on your face. It had been longer than you’d like to admit since you’d had a proper bath, even longer one with warm water. You turned to face your host to thank him, but the sheer emotion in your glazed-over eyes nearly knocked him off his feet.

Thor cleared his throat and walked over to hand you a washcloth and a bar of soap, but your free hand came up to trap both his ridiculously large hands between yours.

“You… you don’t have to go,” you whispered, gaze fixed on your joint hands.

Thor flushed red in an instant. He pulled both hands back like he’d been burned by you, and rubbed his sweaty palms on the front of his worn jeans. The hurt in your expression made him want to punch himself. He opened his mouth to speak, only to clamp it shut when he was unable to come up with a proper response.

You merely gave him a half smile and took a step back, closer to the tub. Without releasing his gaze, you toed off your boots and pulled your hoodie over your head. He swallowed tightly, and his pupils dilated. His eyes were dark now, a thin ring of stormy blue where there had been sparkling sea glass before. You weren’t sure what had come over you, you weren’t usually this bold, but the whole thing seemed surreal and it had been far too long since you’d felt warm and cared for. He was a ridiculously attractive man and you knew a longing stare when you saw one. Even if it was just for a moment, you both seemed like you could use the company.

Nimble fingers pulled your pants open before pushing them down your legs and stepping out of them. Your knee was scraped and bruised, but Thor could hardly focus on that when you were slowly exposing miles and miles of soft skin. You wore nothing under your long-sleeved shirt, and a pained sound ripped through him at the sight. Your velvet skin was littered with small cuts and bruises, some around the base of your throat and what he could’ve sworn were fingerprints around your arms, causing him to frown deeply. You were covered in grime and dry blood, and he felt his hands twitch into fists at his sides. He had no idea who you were or where you’d come from, but he’d known the second he laid eyes on you that you had nowhere else to go. It was a feeling he knew all too well by now. He didn’t have much to offer, he was merely the broken shell of the man he used to be; but somebody had hurt you, and you stumbled into his life because fate willed it so. He was no King, no god, no warrior. Not anymore. But you seeked no king, no riches… you seeked solace. And he felt you deep inside his soul.

Unaware of his own movements, Thor found himself standing right in front of you, hands hovering the curve of your hip bones. Yours lead them to touch you, the tips of his fingers hooking into the soft fabric of your undergarments before pulling them down your thighs and letting them fall to the ground by your feet. Despite his form towering over you, you did not feel intimidated. You felt confident and desirable, powerful even. You called the shots here, you had him wrapped around your finger, and he looked more than ready to drop to his knees to worship you.

Thor vaguely wondered if you were real at all, or if perhaps this was some fantasy his mind had created to chase away the coldness of solitude. He lifted one hand to ghost over the side of your face, and you leaned gratefully into the touch. The rough pad of his finger grazed over the apple of your cheek, down the slope of your nose and over the shape of your plush mouth. You puckered up your lips to press a soft kiss to his thumb, the tip of your tongue peeking out after to taste the salty skin. His jaw clenched and his grip tightened, said thumb pushing past your lips and into your scorching hot mouth. You opened wide for him, eyes fluttering closed, now standing on the tips of your bare toes and leaning into him as you swayed in your spot. His free hand came to rest on the small of your back, steadying you, pressing you forward against him while he watched, entranced, the way your warm wet tongue swirled around his finger. Thor withdrew his hand enough to make your lips release him with a soft pop, and he dragged the digit across your lips, wetting them with your saliva. You licked your lips together and leaned forward, blindly chasing after his touch, only to meet his mouth with your own.

The sound you made was angelic, and he was certain he couldn’t have made you up. Not you, not this perfect, not this warm. Both your arms slid up to drape over his broad shoulders, and he bent down to kiss you deeply, slowly, unwilling to let a single inch of you untouched. Carefully, he led you to take a couple steps backwards until the back of your knees hit the edge of the tub.

“Get in,” he commanded gruffly.

You felt his voice right in your core.

Lip caught between pearly whites, you kept your gaze trained on him as you carefully stepped inside the bathtub. A soft sigh escaped you then, and you let your head fall back, soaking your hair in the warm water. Thor quickly discarded his clothes, kicking them off to the side before climbing inside behind you. You pouted for a second, sulking for missing your chance to admire him in all his nudity for he’d moved in a blur. The sentiment was shortfelt, though, when he pulled you to lean back against him, his broad torso surrounding you as he encased you in his arms. He stretched comfortably, the entire tub clearly customized to fit his large form.

One wide palm lay flat on your belly, pressing you back against him until you sat on his thighs, and you swallowed a moan when you felt him settle comfortably between your cheeks. You rolled your hips back experimentally and his breathing hitched. A wicked smile curling your lips, you peered back at him through your lashes as you repeated the motion. Thor growled softly and pinched the inside of your thigh, making you squeal and attempt to squirm away. The palm on your stomach held you still while his mouth ran from the top of your shoulder, along the curve where it met your neck, and up to nibble at the shell of your ear. He then reached over to grab the bar of soap and lathered up the washcloth to begin washing you.

He rubbed your tender skin carefully until you were clean from head to toes. He’d even delved between your legs to wash you there, but his touch was much too gentle to appease your burning need. Soft mouth sounds came from him, soothing you into relaxation as he took care of you in ways you never dared imagine. Nobody in your life had touched you with such gentleness and patience, and when he started washing your hair, carefully running his fingers through your locks to detangle them, you lost it.

Crystal tears rolled down your flushed cheeks and you squeezed your eyes shut. Thor made no comment about it, and instead just kept on humming softly while massaging your scalp. After he rinsed your hair out, you wiped away at your face before carefully turning in his arms to straddle him, this time his length coming to nestle between your lower lips, and you couldn’t help grinding down on him, gliding your core along his shaft from root to tip. This time, he made no move to stop you, both his hands coming down to grab your backside tightly.

You nearly gave in, the blunt head of his cock resting right against your entrance, merely a hair’s breadth away from slipping inside you. But you were not done with him, not yet. So you scooted back to sit on his upper thighs again and grabbed the washcloth from the edge of the tub to lather it up with soap and begin repaying him in kind for his gentle treatment.

Thor couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d been with a woman, and he felt giddy and excited like a young lad. Not that it mattered really. No other woman mattered when he had you right there, in his arms: real, tangible, his. Perhaps only for a second, but his nonetheless. He captured your mouth in a searing kiss, and it took a ridiculous amount of sheer willpower to break apart from his scrumptious mouth.

“Don’t distract me, I’m not done,” you mumbled between stolen kisses. Thor gave your ass a rough squeeze and you yelped softly.

“Do hurry up then, little one. Water’s running cold.”

-

After turning on the heater in his room, Thor walked out to lock up for the night. Seemingly unfazed by the cold weather, he strolled around the cabin barefoot, his nudity barely concealed by the towel  perched precariously low on his hips. You followed him around like a lost puppy, wrapped up in the bathrobe he’d lent you, the length of it nearly dragging against the floor. Once he made sure all the doors and windows were locked, he approached the fireplace to put it out but you rapidly protested.

“You don’t have to do that! I- I meant what I said earlier. I can stay right here and leave first thing in the morning. You’ve already done so much for me.”

Your words put a furrow between his brows so he went to stand right in front of you. With two fingers tucked under your chin, he tilted up your head to gaze directly into your eyes. His voice was low, and you struggled not to look away, his grip on you tightening when you tried to. “Is that what you want?”

You shuffled your feet nervously and chewed on your lip, a nervous habit you hadn’t been able to quit. “You’ve been so kind to me, a total stranger, and I-'' Your mouth clamped shut when he grunted in protest, his frown deepening.

“That’s not what I asked. Tell me, is that what you’d prefer?”

Struggling to word a proper response, you merely opened and shut your mouth like a gaping fish. His gaze flickered down to your lips, but his own were set in a stern line. You shook your head no. He rose one thick eyebrow questioningly. You swallowed the lump in your throat and straightened your spine.

“No. I’d rather be with you.”

Thor hummed lowly in response, clearly pleased. Bending down slightly, he gave you a quick, chaste kiss before turning back and walking away to put out the fire. You merely stood there, waiting for him to finish while you rubbed your cold feet together and toyed with the long sleeves of the thick robe. Once he considered everything to be in order, he approached you again and took your hand in his to lead you back into his bedroom, shutting the door behind you.

“Aren’t you cold?” you asked timidly, inching closer to him to slide both arms around his tapered waist from behind. Your cold nose pressed against the space between his shoulder blades, lips ghosting over his freckled skin. He shuddered, but it wasn’t because he was cold. He was surprisingly warm, and when he slowly spun in your embrace to face you, your cheek went to rest against his broad chest, gently rubbing against the light dusting of hair there.

The air in the bedroom was thick and warm thanks to the heater, and you could feel your muscles loosen as warmth seeped into them. After shaking his head in response to your question, he brought up one of those ridiculously large hands of his to cradle the back of your head as he leaned down to brush a kiss against the crown of your head. “Come, I’m sure you’re exhausted.”

You really were, but your blood was boiling and your skin was buzzing, and sleep couldn’t be farther from your mind. You stepped back and closer to the bed, your fingertips trailing down his torso to give his towel a gentle tug. Thor merely watched you, curiosity and desire dancing in his heated gaze. Despite his body’s pleas, he didn’t budge. You huffed out a low breath and gave the fabric another tug, more insistent, and he took one step forward, the tail of the towel tucked against his skin coming loose. If you moved your hand back, it would fall to the ground, and god, you really wished he’d make this easier on you. He wanted you and you knew that. You saw it in the ferocity of his eyes, in the flaring of his nostrils, in the clench of his jaw. Hell, you could even see it through the stupid towel he made no effort to get rid of.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched you grow impatient, but he’d be lying if he denied you made all his blood pool in his groin, his head dizzy and oxygen-deprived. He was dying to run his hands all over your body, over your impossibly soft skin, over every dip and curve of your silhouette, he wanted to kiss and taste you, and discover every beautiful sound he could coax out of you… But what he wanted didn’t matter now. Thor was aware you were a tough one, he’d known it the second he saw you, but you could still be fragile in many ways he didn’t quite know yet. If this was going to happen, it would have to happen on your terms. Because you willed it so. Because you wanted him.

One small fist still clutched the fabric against his body while your free hand reached out to grab his and place it over the knot keeping your robe together. He instinctively gave the small bow a single yank and both sides of the robe fell open. Thor drew in a deep breath and, unable to hold himself back any longer, he slid one hand over your bare stomach and around your circumference, fingertips digging into the small of your back to tug you forward. In that instant you let go of his towel and let it fall to the floor in a heap. A loud whine escaped you at the sight, and you fell to your knees.

He was instantly reaching to hoist you up, but you were already pressing your face against his muscled thigh, nuzzling the coarse hair coating it and inhaling deeply his scent. He smelled like musk and pine trees, like freshly turned ground and a brewing storm. You whimpered and pressed your face against the soft spot between his inner thigh and his hip before licking up a broad stripe there. Thor’s knees buckled, but his hands instinctively went to run through your soft hair and massage your scalp. His erection stood proudly, thick and hard as steel. You mouthed softly at the entire length, your pink tongue peeking out to kitten lick his soft skin. The fingers in your hair tightened their grip as you leisurely made your way to the tip, pressing a kiss to it before opening your mouth wide and welcoming him in.

It was unlike you, to drop to your knees for a man. Particularly one you virtually knew nothing about. But it was like your body acted on its own around him, abandoning all sense of shame or even self-preservation, driven by something deeper, wilder inside you that had laid dormant until now. He tasted both tart and sweet, and you let go of your inhibitions as you devoured him like a woman starved. His sighs and low grunts only fueled your desire, egging you on to bob your head and swallow around mouthfuls of him.

Too long. It truly had been way too long, and Thor was clinging to whatever remnants of his sanity were left when you worked him like you knew exactly what he needed. It was difficult enough to not let go the second you took him in your mouth and coat your throat with his hot spend. Unable to hold it together any longer, Thor carefully pulled you away despite his own protests, an obscene whine escaping him at the crude sight of his cock slipping out of your mouth, slick with spit and desire. He entertained the thought of shoving himself back down your throat for a split second, but the better part of him knew he needed to be inside you right then or else he would combust.

Somehow managing to keep his touch gentle, he all but shoved you back onto the bed while peeling the offending robe off your frame. You were truly exquisite. His lips latched onto your sensitive neck to lick and nibble its tender skin until faint bruises bloomed from within, hellbent on replacing the marks on your body with ones you wouldn’t recoil from when you looked at yourself in the mirror (he hoped so, at least). Repeating the motions, Thor slowly made his way down your body, refusing to neglect a single inch, to kiss and lick and suck, staking his claim over you.

You were a writhing mess beneath him, sweaty hands reaching out to hold onto him, caressing and clutching onto his shoulders, the blunt edges of your fingertips leaving crescent-shaped dents in the vast field of tan skin. “Kiss me, please,” you pleaded breathlessly, attempting to wiggle in his grasp enough to capture his mouth in yours.

Thor obliged happily. One warm hand cupped your cheek as he kissed you deep and slow, while the other reached to grab a pillow to place under your hips, propping you up at the right angle for him to slide right inside you. At first, you feared the intrusion to be too much to handle. Your lower half grew stiff as concrete but he laid his free hand on your belly, holding you in place when the rocking motion of his hips began. Despite the fire burning violently within him, Thor’s body moved in controlled, smooth waves, easing himself deeper into you, inch by inch. The tension in your muscles slowly evaporated as pleasure came to reign, the sounds emanating from you going from shaky intakes of breath to quiet whimpers and soft moans.

His thrusts were slow and shallow at first but your body soon grew hungry for more, aching to soothe the hollow pain of places so intimate you’d forgotten about.

“Thor,” you whispered breathlessly against his moving mouth. He hummed lowly in acknowledgement though he refused to break the deep kiss you shared. “Thor… please, más,” you pleaded.

Propping himself up on one elbow, he pulled back enough to look down at your flushed face. A small crease formed on his forehead out of confusion, unable to recall the meaning of such word. Your hands currently clawing at his hip bones were more straightforward. You were tugging on him, urging his body closer between your legs, deeper inside you. With one particularly deep thrust, he bottomed out and released a deep, animalistic growl in stark contrast to the loud cry of pleasure you let out.

“Más, más! Sigue, sigue así, por favor… oh dios, no pares – Thor! T-Thor!”

Thor’s chest swelled with pride when realization dawned on him. You were so out of your mind with pleasure, your brain had regressed into your native tongue as you begged him to keep on. Your back bowed off the bed, hips propped up by the pillow as you moved your body in tandem with his, meeting him halfway in every rock of his hips. His forearm slid under the back of your knee and lifted your leg higher, your knee brushing your side while he made the most of the new angle, shoving himself deep inside you. Your cries of pleasure were obscene, loud and shameless, and Thor relished every single one. He kissed you deep and hard, swallowing your moans and muffling his own while the slapping of skin against skin and wet squelching sound of your coupling reverberated through the room.

Unable to concentrate enough to continue kissing him, you merely lost yourself in his hot, dark gaze while both your hands clutched handfuls of his long, slightly damp hair. Your jaw quivered and your eyes rolled back in your head out of sheer pleasure, and Thor was certain he’d died and gone to Valhalla. You were definitely the most sublime creature he’d ever laid eyes upon, and to see you come undone beneath him in such fashion, nearly threw him over the edge. Strong-willed as he was, he refused to find his own release until he’d satisfied you thoroughly, so the calloused pad of his thumb travelled south to catch the bundle of nerves hidden between your slick folds. Your sex was tender and puffy, your clit swollen and firm like a pearl. He drew small circles on your skin then, despite your protests and attempts to ease on the overstimulation currently making your brain short-circuit. One after the other, Thor coaxed the most delicious, toe-curling orgasms out of you until you were weeping, hot streaks of tears running down your burning cheeks. With one final deep push, he found his own release, grunting through it against your throat.

You were a sweaty, trembling mess. Utterly exhausted as you were, you struggled to keep your eyes open despite the blissed out expression on your face. Taking pity on you, Thor carefully dislodged himself from you and rolled to the side to lay beside your frame. Your body curled against his side instinctively, seeking his warmth as you snuggled into a little ball beneath his arm. Thor was unable to suppress a smile as he watched you get comfortable.

He disliked denying you of your much needed sleep, but his need to provide for you was far greater. After soundlessly slipping out of bed for a quick trip to the kitchen, he nudged you awake as he brought a glass of water to your lips.

“Drink up, little one,” he cooed lowly. You blinked heavily up at him for a moment before gratefully gulping down the cool liquid, soothing the dry aching of your now-sore throat. Downing the rest of it himself, he reached over to set the empty glass on his bedside table and fetch a piece of sliced apple to offer you.

Thick fingers pressed the small piece of fruit to your lips, and you parted them obediently. It was crisp and juicy, and your sensitive tummy rumbled gratefully. Although confused by and unaccustomed to his caregiving, you basked in it. It was a brand new yet wholly pleasant experience, to say the least.

Once you’d finished your food, Thor pulled up his thick bedding to cover both your bodies, his wrapping protectively around yours. With his bare chest pressed to your back, he nuzzled his face into your hair and bent his legs to tuck them under your bum. After scooting back to mold your body against his and leading his muscled arms to embrace you, you both quickly fell into deep slumber.

For the first time in a long time, nightmares were nowhere to be found.

The following morning, you woke up warm and relaxed. Your body ached a bit, but each pang of pain sent an electric shock right to your core. For the first time, your aches were born out of passion and pleasure. Waking up to a heavy body draped over you and ocean-blue eyes watching you intently did catch you off guard at first, panic threatening to seep deep into your bones. Thor was quick to chase away the darkness creeping on the corners of your mind (and his) when he kissed you, and proceeded to claim your body again. It was slow and lazy, and everything you never knew you needed.

After breakfast, you sat on the loveseat by the fireplace with a steaming mug cradled between your hands, curiously studying your surroundings. The sound of the front door opening broke you out of your reverie, and you peeked from the back of the seat to watch Thor toeing off his heavy boots and hanging his coat near the entrance. The second his gaze landed on you, a heartfelt smile crept on his lips. You took a tentative sip from your beverage to conceal your own, attentive eyes following his every movement as he made his way over to pour himself a cup and join you on the sofa. Large hands crept under the blanket draped over your legs to grasp your ankles and lead them to rest over his knee while he sat back against the armrest, facing you.

“So,” he spoke calmly, piercing blue eyes boring into yours. “What’s your story?”

PART II

[milazka]

𝐘𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

𝑖𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑜𝑛 𝑝𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 : 𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐬𝐭 & 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 : 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 𝟑𝐤+

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 : —

𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐛𝐲 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐚 𝐭𝐰𝐚𝐢𝐧

𝐚/𝐧 : 𝐢 𝐠𝐨𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐚 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐢 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐞 𝐚 𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐨 𝐨𝐟 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐢𝐭 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐛𝐞 𝐧𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐚 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐜𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠. 𝐢 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲 𝐢𝐭 ! 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨, 𝐢 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐢𝐭 𝐬𝐨 𝐢𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬, 𝐢’𝐦 𝐬𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐲!

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 : 𝐰𝐡𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐚 𝐬𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬...

─── °• ❀ ───

When I first saw you, I saw love

And the first time you touched me, I felt love

And after all this time

You're still the one I love

The stars were twinkling in the indigo sky, not a single cloud was covering them. Some firebrands were trying to rise towards the sky but were dying along the way. The warm flames of the fire made your cheeks redden, although, the bottle of cheap beer in your hand must have been partly to blame as well. It was normal in the Outer Banks to see fourteen-year-olds drinking alcohol, especially on the Cut.

Sitting on one of the logs, a smile slipped on your lips as you saw your friend Pope running towards the sea, completely naked. A few of your friends whistled at the boy who let out a scream as he entered the salty water. John B had the brilliant idea to play truth or dare with the Pogues and a few other people from The Cut. You all had finished school today and it was a way of celebrating the beginning of summer.

Like she always did, Kiara acted up like the ‘mama’ of the group and got up to threw her beach towel to Pope so he could dry himself before returning into the circle around the campfire.

“Y/n, truth or dare?” A boy named David asked you.

“Dare.” You answered before you took a sip of beer without taking your eyes off him.

“I dare you to kiss JJ.”

You spit out your beer, splashing John B on the way. You were expecting everything, but not this. JJ was your best friend, you couldn't kiss him, it would have been weird.

“I can’t.“

“Oh c’mon, Y/n! Don’t be a prude.” David shouted to provoke you.

You've never been a coward in your life and this wasn't the night you were going to start being one. Everyone started to cheer you, shouting and clapping their hands while you made your way to the other side of the fire where JJ was sit on a log. Your eyes met his ocean-blue eyes that were sparkling from the number of beer cans he had drunk since the beginning of the night. You knelt on the sand with your hands resting on JJ's knees so you wouldn't lose your balance. The alcohol flowing in your veins was taking effect and you were definitely tipsy.

“It’s just a kiss, Y/n/n.” JJ said, cupping your face with his hands as he leaned down. “It means nothing.”

His lips gently touched yours, almost as if he was afraid of hurting you with them. He tasted like a mix of weed and beer, a taste you would have normally hated, but which kind of turned you on in the moment. You felt the tip of his thumb flattering your skin as his tongue slipped into your mouth to move in sync with yours. A feeling of emptiness settled inside you when you separated from each other, completely out of breath. Your eyes met his and for a second, everything around you seemed to have stopped.

─── °• ❀ ───

Lying on the dock, your head resting on JJ's stomach as he ran his fingers through your hair, you couldn't help but think back to the way you felt when your lips collided the other night.

"What's on your mind?" JJ asked you, clearly seeing something was bothering you by the way you were chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Nothing.”

“Y/n, your my best friend and you’re also the worst liar that I know.” He giggled, making you bless your poor lying talents.

“You remember when we kissed yesterday?”

“Yeah.” He whispered, placing his arm behind his head so he could lay rest on it. “It doesn’t change anything between us, if it’s what bothering you.”

"No no, it's not that..." You replied, playing with the edge of your hoodie.

“Then what is it? You know you can tell me everything, Y/n.”

"I don't want it to mean nothing because it was my first kiss." You whispered, willfully neglecting to tell him you had found out that your feelings towards him were more than just friendly.

“Really? I thought you kissed John B during seven minutes in heaven.” JJ said, surprised.

“We made everyone believe that we did because he wanted to make one of the girls jealous." You explained, sitting cross-legged on the wooden dock to face JJ.

“Well, I’m glad I was your first kiss, it’s definitely a much better experience to kiss me than John B.” He laughed, pulling you into a hug.

At that moment, you couldn't be more grateful that the lights were all off because your cheeks were peony red. While still in JJ's arms, you made a promise to yourself that you would never let your feelings for him get in the way of your friendship because it was the most precious thing you had.

Looks like we made it

Look how far we've come my baby

We mighta took the long way

We knew we'd get there someday

Like most days of the summer, you were sitting at the front of the HMS Pogue driven by John B. He came to pick you up first since you were the one who lived closest to the Chateau. Since his father's disappearance, you had gotten closer; you were there to listen to him when he needed it or to comfort him when he cried late at night. This had caused you and JJ to drift apart a little, but it was better that way, especially for your feelings towards him. He was still your best friend, the most important person in your life, but over the past few months, girls had become his top priority and your heart was breaking a little more each time he told you and the Pogues about his steamy nights.

JJ was sitting on the side of the boat, rolling one of his joint. It was probably the moment when the boy was most concentrated, you had never seen him frown his eyes brows like this during an exam. John B slowed the boat down as you approached Pope's dock. Dressed in his infamous cap and barely buttoned shirt, he was sweeping the quay under his father's stern gaze.

“Pope, get in, we’re goin fishin!” You exclaimed as you slid your sunglasses over the tip of your nose.

“I can't, I'm grounded because I came home after curfew yesterday.” The boy pouted, glancing at his father.

“Okay, we’ll see you later!” You replied before JJ or John B spoke, not wanting to get your friend in more trouble.

Once you were far enough into the marsh, John B dropped the anchor in the water. The sun was particularly hot that day, obliging you to take off all of your clothes and just be in a black bikini. JJ also took off his sleeveless shirt, exposing you to the sight of his tanned and perfectly cut body. Thanks to your sunglasses, you were able to check him out without him noticing. Your eyes landed on the scratches on his back when he turned away from you to grab a beer in the cooler.

“Did you sleep with a tiger last night?” John B mocked him when he saw the scratches.

"Dude, she was so into me! I made her come twice in-" JJ started but was cut off by your forced cough. “What?”

"Nothing, the beer didn't go down well." You said innocently, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to run down the corners of your eyes.

The blond boy kept telling you and John B about his night with the wild girl, never forgetting to mention all the details. A sharp pain appeared in your chest, as if your heart was being torn in two, when he said he was planning on bringing her on a date soon. It was too much, you couldn't take it anymore.

“Fuck, my mom just texted me that she needs me at home.” You lied. “Could you drop me at my dock?”

"Yes, I'll pull up the anchor and we will be good to go." John B kindly smiled at you, knowing that it was just an excuse to get away from JJ, but didn't said a word about it.

─── °• ❀ ───

The trees seemed to be moving on either side of the road which did not look as straight as usual. Everything was a bit blurry around you until you blinked a few times. The almost empty rum bottle in your hand was the cause of this. Since you came home this afternoon, you'd drowned your emotions in alcohol, the best way to stop feeling anything according to a reliable source; you. You don't remember how or when you decided to leave your cozy bed to end up on the dirt road leading to the Chateau. When you reached the front of the house, you made your way to the backyard, taking a few sips of the cursed liquid that burned your throat.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?" JJ's voice reached your ears, almost making you drop your bottle on the floor.

You were standing on the stairs of the house porch so your back was facing him since he was lying in one of the hammocks. Your hand tightened around the glass bottle as you brought it to your lips one more time.

“I-i’m here to see JB…” You managed to say, despite the sob that was caught in your throat.

“You know he’s at Sarah’s house, he told you this afternoon.” JJ said.

You could hear his footsteps getting closer to where you were, making your heart rhythm increase.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” He asked you gently putting his hands on your bare shoulder.

“Don’t call me that!” You exploded in anger as you pulled away from his embrace.

“What the fuck Y/n?! Are you drunk? Did I do something wrong?” JJ questioned you, his frowning eyebrows reflecting his misunderstanding.

“Did you do something wong? DID YOU DO SOMETHING WRONG?! You are fucking blind, Maybank.” You shouted at him, staring at him with guns in your eyes. “I've been repressing my feelings for two years, two fucking years! Every time I see you leave with a girl after a party, my heart breaks in a million pieces. And when you talk about what you do with girls, I envy them because I wish it was me. I wish it was me you were talking about with stars in your eyes, I wish it was me you were kissing so passionately, I wish it was me you would hold in your arms.”

You were breathing heavily, tears were running down your cheeks and you couldn't control them. JJ was speechless, shocked by what you just revealed to him.

“Y/n…”

“Don’t say it J. I can’t take it anymore.” You whined, not wanting to hear him reject you.

Without trying to glance at him, you walked towards the main street, ashamed of what you had just said to him. You couldn't take it back, you would have to deal with it once you'll have sober up and that wasn't appealing at all. It was once you were walking in the middle of the main road that he stood in front of you, putting his hands on your shoulders to keep you from moving. Head bent down towards the ground, you didn't have the strength to lift it up to face his gaze.

“Please, look at me.” JJ whispered, softly placing his fingers under your chin to lift it up.

Your eyes blurred by the tears met his ocean gaze through which you could get lost for hours. A soft smile made his way to the corner of his lips, those damn lips you had dreamt about more than once.

“I’m sorry for hurting you, I never thought that you had feelings for me.” He apologized, rubbing his thumb on your cheek drenched by the tears.

"I don't want to lose you, Jay. Just forget what I said and let's go back to being best friends." You sighed as you wiped the corner of your eyes with the back of your sleeve.

“I can’t, Y/n, I can’t forget about what you just said because I’m fucking in love with you!” He exclaimed, a tear running down his cheek. “I never said anything because I didn't want to ruin our friendship. I never go further than one date with the girls I sleep with because my heart has always been taken by you.”

You didn't waste one more second before you crushed your lips against his. Your hands made their way to the back of his neck while his hands slipped automatically to your hips, pulling you closer to him. It was passionate and wild, you'd been waiting for this moment for so long, you had needed this moment for so long. His tongue requested access to your mouth and came dancing sensually with yours. A grunt slipped out of his mouth when you bit his lower lip while running your fingers through his blond hair that were still a bit wet from his surfing session with John B. Breathing heavily, you split up briefly before he hugged you tightly, your head lying on his chest that was rising promptly.

“I’m never letting you go again, sweetheart.”

They said, "I bet they'll never make it"

But just look at us holding on

We're still together still going strong

Tears were flowing down your cheeks and there was nothing you could do about it. The sight of your boyfriend shocked face while you were being handcuffed like him for a crime you didn't commit was destroying him. You both were in the wrong place at the wrong time, but the cops wouldn't listen. Being from the Cut had its good sides, but also its bad sides and being constantly doubted by the police was one of them.

“Get in the car.” Ordered Deputy Shoupe, opening the back door of his car.

You didn't even dare to think about what your parents were going to say when they would found out that you we're being held in custody. They had never approved of your relationship with JJ, telling you he would bring you more trouble than love. Your father always said that your relationship wasn't going to last, that it was temporary because you would realize soon that JJ wasn't good enough for you.

Once you were sitting on the uncomfortable little bed of the cell, you let your head fall back against the cemented wall. Eyelids close, you let a long sigh exit; you couldn't believe that what was supposed to be a cute date with your boyfriend turned into nightmare when you ran into Rafe and his two pocket dogs.

“Baby?” Your boyfriend’s voice echoed from the cell beside yours. “I’m sorry for getting you in trouble.”

“Hey, none of this is your fault, love.” You rectified him as you made your way to the grid and passed your hand through it.

JJ's hand slipped into yours, squeezing it to comfort you a little. Just his touched made you feel a bit better and more confident.

“We’re gonna make it, Jay, we’re gonna prove them wrong.”

You're still the one I run to

The one that I belong to

You're still the one I want for life

You're still the one that I love

The only one I dream of

You're still the one I kiss good night

Morpheus arms were about to grab you as you let yourself go to sleep. You were somewhere between the world of dreams and reality when a boom in your window made you jump. Another knock against your window forced you to get up quickly, not wanting to wake your parents who were sleeping in the next room. You narrowly avoided a worn black boot by bending down quickly after opening your window.

“JJ? What the hell?” You whispered loudly at the sight of your boyfriend standing on the ground down your window.

“Get dressed and join me.” He simply said to you with his stupid smile. “And don’t ask questions.”

You quickly put on a pair of mom jeans, your eternal orange converses and a hoodie that belonged to JJ. The scent of your boyfriend soaked in the cotton made you smile stupidly; it was your favorite odor. Without making any noise, you closed the front door behind you and went straight to JJ who was already on his bike, helmet in hand.

“Where are you taking me?” You asked as you passed the helmet over your head.

“You’ll see. Now, hop on, baby and hold on tight.”

You wrapped your arms around his waist, using the opportunity to feel his contracted muscles over tin shirt. The wind was pounding against your skin, waking you up. Riding with JJ on his bike was one of your favorite thing to do, it felt like the world was yours.

You loosen your embrace around his waist when he decelerated in the middle of nowhere. The road was only lit by an old lamppost, no sound could be heard besides the sound of your own heartbeat.

“What are we doing here?” You asked the blond boy as he grabbed your hand.

He didn't say a word, leading you to the middle of the road where he turned to face you.

“Exactly one year ago today, we shared our first real kiss here.” He smiled at you. “Happy one year anniversary, my love.”

Your heart melted when you heard him say those words. You tiptoed yourself so you could press your lips against his. He pulled you closer to him, his hands sliding under his hoodie that you were wearing. The coldness of his hands against your warm skin sent shivers down your spine. You rested you forehead on his, getting lost inside his blue eyes.

“I love you, Jay.”

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