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emiqip · 6 days ago

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apocalyptic ponyo au!! ft. shockweaves little menaces. @keferon

One week had passed since Skids saw the ocean swallow their city whole.

It happened during one of those lazy days in the Dead End: with the cold season drawing near, few people roamed the dirty narrow alleys, more preoccupied scavenging for a place to settle down and spend the winter. He and his sort-of-not-really-adopted bunch of siblings had the luck to find an old gazebo made of sheets of rusted metal, basically a five star abode especially when your main concerns where a) not getting pissed on by the sky and b) find an actual place able to hold ten scruffy kids.

And even with nothing, life was good- or as good as it can get. Not having to fend and fight on the streets for yourself, having someone to bicker and argue with for the stupidest little things but still knowing everyone will have your back until the very end. The nights spent huddled together for warmth while Thundercracker, being the only one who knew how to read, dramatically re-enacting the scenes from a fairy-tale book and when storms so loud the walls of their shelter shook hit the city, you could pick out the soft humming of Damus, lulling the younger kids back to sleep.

Yeah, life wasn't anywhere near perfect but it was enough.

But now...

The partially sunken landscape could suck all hope from one's soul. The once lively and bustling city was now a wet husk of rubble and toppled buildings. Abandoned vehicles and all sorts of trash floated on the surface, littering the water for miles. He was honestly impressed at how fast it all went down- them barely making it out only thanks to their shitty shelter, that served as a make-shift raft until they eventually reached a patch of dry concrete.

They've been walking for a few hours now, trudging between shallow water and debris, never daring to test their luck and trying to swim- they all got a taste of what lurked in the deepest parts during their little trip on their rackety raft and came to a general consensus to give those areas a very wide berth and not risk their lives more than they were already.

With a last distrustful look aimed at the water, he re-adjusted the heavy weight of the shotgun strapped on his right shoulder and walked away from shore, joining the others at their new alcove.

\\\

Finding a place to truly call their main base of operation was surprisingly easy- the mess of destroyed and eroded buildings that titanic wave left behind made for a pretty cushy place if you ignored the smell of seaweed and moist drywall.

They were separated from the main patch of dry land and the chance of encountering any survivors was nearly slim to none- not that he was complaining or anything, less the possibility of meeting any hostile adults and being stripped of what little resources they had. From the wrecked remains of the city they managed to find quite a few useful things, but sadly not enough for ten kids. The food was especially low, the only way was fishing and catching it themselves but they had already established it as a big fat No.

As the evening was slowly closing in, everyone was working to start their nightly routine. The oldest kids were in charge of the fire, which usually entailed watching TC read the partially wet copy of "Little Survivalist" to a very much not interested Trailbreaker and Windcharger. At the mouth of their shelter Soundwave was meticulously arranging their sleeping mats, while Skywarp sorted their blankets. Skids was chosen to stand guard today and soon after Damus would join him to keep watch on the others while they slept.

Main while Bluestreak and the twins where- uhm. Where were they actually?

"Yo, 'Warp! Have you seen the little goblins?" Skids approached the teen, still intent in choosing the softest blanket for himself- aft.

"Ah-what? Uhh, i think they wanted to explore the area but it wasn't my turn babysitting them so..." The other shrugged, returning to his task.

"I swear if they come back with another mutated crab I'm going to lose it."

"Naaw, everyone loved Bob, why do you have to be such a grump?"

"Well, if 'Bob' had the courtesy to try and not pinch me while I was slee-"

A shrill scream broke their conversation.

In a second all of them were at their feet or reaching for their nearest weapon as they watched the small shapes of the twins quickly getting closer. Sideswipe and Sunstreaker were sprinting towards them at full speed, and when they arrived they almost toppled Skids over, while still screaming and shouting frenetically.

Witnessing this, Damus came swiftly forward to try and assess the situation.

"C'mon guys, deep breaths- what's going on?" The oldest tried to sooth.

"BLUE IS DEAD! THAT THING GOT HIM AND IT'S MY FAULT" Sideswipe screeched snatching both of Damus sleeves like a lifeline.

"Whoa- hey 'Sides-"

"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE DEAD! But me and Sunny wanted to take a closer look- But turns out it was napping! And we tried to run but Blue fell and he hurt himself and that thing sNATCH HIM UP!! HE'S DEAD AND- AND IT'S MY FAULT!!"

After that the thirteen year old broke into a storm of unconsolable blubbering sobs- they all looked at each other in the eyes: 'Sides and Sunny were known for two things, being unsufferable little shits and that they never cried. Even when sad or scared they were used to put on their brave faces and endure like how they were taught.

So a crying or upset twin meant trouble.

Damus, understanding this quickly shifted his behavior and started barking orders to the others: he, Trailbreaker and Skids would go and find Blue the rest were to remain at the shelter and prepare in case they needed to flee as fast as possible.

With that they braced their weapons and ran into the direction the twins came.

\\\

He felt his heart beating in his throat as they ran towards whatever had attacked the youngest children. He couldn't help but picture small innocent Blue, laying on the shore motionless, a pool of blood beneath him- NO! Blue was okay! He had to be! And they were going to make sure of that. No one was keeping him from getting his littlest brother to safety.

When they reached the shore, the smell of blood didn't greet them like they were all secretly dreading- but something else did.

Something much, much worse.

Bluestreak had always been a talkative little bugger- one of his siblings would sometimes even catch him talking to himself or inanimate objects when none of them were around. He always held conversations all by himself, jumping from topic to topic without catching a breath.

However Blue wasn't really the type of kid to talk to strangers without getting shy and ducking behind one of the others for safety.

Apparently, following little Blue logic- GIANT FISHMEN don't count as strangers.

"...and so I thought it would be cool, you know? but then 'Sides told me that I would get worms but I don't mind worms! They can be cute if you aren't a little baby who gets scared of everything and TC reads to me a lot so I know I won't get worms but I'm still very careful you never know..." The young boy happily ranted away as he sat snugly under the fish- man? argh! The mermaids giant flippers.

The huge being wasn't bother at all by the little morsel chatting away at him- on the contrary, it looked fond of Blue as he let the kid talk. Skids almost pulled the trigger as he looked as the fishman slightly moved his massive head to nuzzle Blue in a show of complete affection. (if Skids strained his ears he could almost hear the soft vibrations the giant fish was producing)

Only then, as he was giggling like mad, did Bluestreak notice them as he lifted his left hand and waved frantically at them.

"HI GUYS!! LOOK WHO I FOUND!! SAY HI TO SIR. PANCAKE!!"

He felt Trailbraker sagging beside him as his weapon almost slipped from his grip.

"...what the actual fuck."

///

pt.2 :P

#transformers #apocalyptic ponyo #shockwave #how do i tag this mmh #local fish gets ambushed by ten homeless kittens #im so sleepy #hope you enjoyed!!

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godihatethiswebsite · 8 months ago

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Tethered Bonds

✽ Poly 141 x f!reader (Omegaverse AU)

A lucky stroke of fate led you right into the arms of your alpha soulmates. But is it everything you dreamed it would be or just the continuation of a nightmare?

Main Masterlist ✽ Ao3

✽ Part Two - The aftermath

So many of you came out of the woodwork for this story and I couldn't be more grateful for all the kind words of encouragement! I'm truly flattered by the amount of love this received for being something that randomly popped in my head on a whim ❤️

I'm glad I was able to get this part out so quickly. It might be a tick before part three, but I've already got some of it worked out. I'll still try to keep chipping away at it while I work on my other series~

Trigger warnings: swearing, angst, depression

“I saw them the other day.”

“...saw who?”

“My scent matches.”

There’s a pregnant pause as your therapist of four years takes the information in, caught off guard by the abruptness of the statement but also the further implications behind the words.

Dr. Miranda has been your life raft and confidant ever since you’d first gone to your family with the appalling reality of your newfound situation. An omega like yourself; she specializes in the treatment and rehabilitation of women who've endured abuse at the hands of their packmates and the dredges of society. Highly recommended by the United Designation Resource Center for psychological trauma.

It had taken you over a week following the incident to gather the strength to confront your fathers on the thorny subject - too ashamed of admittance and too anxious of their response. And even then it was done over the phone in the most uncomfortable video call of your life, the dour atmosphere so at odds with that blessedly clear mid-afternoon sky, its temperate climate and soft summer breeze carrying along an enchanting melody of carefree innocence.

Inside, it was raining.

The wretched bond was a gravity well, sucking you down into a chasmic abyss and siphoning your once bountiful vibrancy. Responsibilities fell by the wayside, locked away in your self-imposed prison as if the globe would simply stop moving if you only ignored its rotations. Not until both your fathers made the three hour flight up north did you muster the courage to finally remove the makeshift barricade guarding your front door, talking through the deceptively difficult act with them on the other end of the phone as the two alphas supported you during the twenty five minutes it took to overcome the all-consuming panic and usher them inside.

They stayed with you for the better part of the month, taking over where depression had failed you in your efforts to function alone. Your parents allowed you space to look after yourself, clearing away the physical filth of your living quarters and, in doing so, sweeping away the cobwebs of your teetering sanity. They scrubbed at putrid greasy plates while you scoured tainted flesh under a scalding hot stream, the dead skin cells contaminated by his poisonous touch spiraling down the drain along with your tears.

The harsh truth of the matter is that there is no escape from your own body. You come screaming into this world given one to do with as you will, to mold and shape based on lived experiences with no regard for the decisions and circumstances made outside your control. There is no space to slip between the weaved threads of time, no hands to turn counter clockwise when you make a mistake. Just a grim acceptance that the life you once aspired to was forevermore out of reach.

There was only so much to be done given your situation. As much aid as your family offered, they were as helpless of bystanders as the soul in your meat suit. Chores were completed, accumulated bills paid, a hearty meal piled high on your plate combating the recent gauntness of your face. You were cherished and fussed over like the wee babe found scattered amongst family photos in your childhood home, cradled in their arms when the horrid presence came calling, dragging a hot poker through your insides and causing mental anguish at all hours of the night.

The more time they spent around you, the more apparent it was that you could no longer stay there. The closer the proximity to your bonded alpha the more power he held to disrupt your life.

That's how you landed in Dr. Miranda’s lap. Before you'd even set foot on the tarmac arrangements had been made for a new life in a new city on the other side of the country - spiriting you away on a mission to regain your independence, the distance easing the damage he could do even as the strained bond churned.

Initially dreading having to confess the horrors you’d endured to some random unknown, she’d worked diligently to soothe your broken nerves in both demeanor and environment. A kind omega in her early forties, the subtle crows feet and laugh lines only accentuated her cheerful personality, disarming in her ability to draw out your insecurities and work with you through the trauma in a way that didn’t feel intruding.

Dr. Miranda was a veritable well of understanding, always encouraging of whatever pace you set, careful of the fragile boundaries constructed to guard your heart from further damage.

She operated as part of a larger business that provided therapeutic services and catered to all designations alike. You’d been thrilled to find there was a separate entrance away from the cacophony of the common room, bypassing the headache of having to wait amongst strangers and leading directly to her office in the back right corner of the building.

The space itself was considerably cozy, low lit warmth all plush and homely. The spacious couch against the back wall invited you to stretch out comfortably, decorative pillows available in a colorful assortment of textures - catering to a discerning omega’s personal preferences. A small diffuser wafting light refreshing mists operated as both a handy descenting spray and an emotional pick me up. Every accommodation purposeful, given special care for your emotional easement and wellbeing.

You appreciated the effort she put into making her office feel more like a living room than a sterile setting. It was easier for you to converse when it felt like you were speaking with a friend.

Bit by bit, Dr. Miranda coaxed you from the sheltered recesses in which you’d burrowed; not just a guiding hand through the concrete dust and collapsed rubble, but a mentor recovering your confidence, reminding you of the path you once walked independently and peeling back the suffocating layers that kept you from standing on your own two feet.

In hindsight, you probably could’ve broken the news of your scent match a bit less abrasively - probably should’ve led with it too.

The pair of you had been engrossed in a topic that was moreso a follow up from your last session rather than anything of actual import. Your brain had been functioning on autopilot the past twenty odd minutes, making sounds vaguely human enough to get by without requiring proper attention. Honestly, most of her words had been drowned out by the incessant buzzing in your ear that had been slowly growing in volume, throat clenching and knuckles flexing, more aware of the sweat dripping down the back of your nape than anything she had to proffer.

Eventually the dam just broke. The words slipped out like grease, lubricated in a film of oil too slick to be contained and begging to be addressed.

There’s a struggle on her face to try and maintain some level of professionalism after the sudden revelation. Knitted eyebrows spiked before smoothing back down, jaw almost dropping until she remembered herself and switched it from an ‘o’ to a relaxed flat line. She mirrored your own position on the couch from her velvet wingback chair, sitting cross legged with an air of casualness. Her only remaining tell was her hands fidgeting in her lap as if her fingers itched to shake you down like a coconut tree or pry your brain open like a valuable specimen.

Knowing the scarcity of scent bonding, this may have very well been the first time she’s come across this scenario - whether in her personal life or from her spot opposite you in her seat.

“How are you feeling about the encounter?” A loaded question if ever there was one, giving you plenty of breathing room to start the conversation however you needed and giving her a chance to compartmentalize.

You tried to focus on the initial emotions, remembering that first brush of sweet alpha pheromones on your olfactory senses. The rush of endorphins as your inner omega staked her claim with that first gulp of built up citrus infused drool.

“I didn’t know I could feel like that...” There was a breathy quality to your tone as you visibly brightened, gazing at the plush rug in the center of the room without actually viewing it, a glow to your smile that was soft in your reminiscence. “They don’t prepare you for that first whiff at the Academy. It’s almost like…”

How could you explain in the span of a few sentences what the most ardent poets struggled with over the course of a lifetime?

“It’s like when someone grows up not being able to breathe properly and they don’t even realize it’s a problem. To them it’s normal to be in a constant state of dyspnea because that’s all they’ve ever known. No one else might be complaining about it, but no one’s asked them about it either. They just assume that's how your lungs are supposed to function and carry on none the wiser.”

Dr. Miranda nodded along, ever patient as you attempted to spew out your thoughts in an at least semi-coherent structure.

“But then, one day, they’re walking behind a guy who’s fumbling with his attempt to shove a small object back in his pocket and watches as it falls to the sidewalk. They pick it up off the ground like a good citizen; strike up a conversation. Ask him about the strange contraption the guy calls an inhaler - learns there's another way to breathe. And so they go home and tell their mom what’s been going on with them and she takes them to see the doctor who gets them one of their own. And when that first dose of medicated mist gets sucked into their lungs…”

The image of a wide eyed innocent gasping in a world full of untold possibilities as if reborn from the ashes of their previous life, no longer chained down by the invisible restrictions tethering them to the globe, eyes glistening full of wonderment at how something so small can be something so cosmically life altering.

With each new breath, they soar.

You’re pulled out of your musings and back to reality as your own lungs expand, something weightless shimmering in your gaze, glassy eyed and perfectly at ease. “Now I know why they call it living.”

The words are floated around the space with a sort of reverence akin to hearing a favored childhood fairy tale read aloud at their mother’s knee. Something wistful and longing and filled with effervescent hope.

“Sounds heavenly...” Her own voice was just as breathy, living vicariously through the moment she herself hasn't experienced. Curling her legs up under herself, Dr. Miranda encouraged, “tell me more.”

“There were two of them,” you went on, smile turning playful and newly invigorated. “The first one was just this big bulk of an alpha. I mean, seriously, he was properly huge!” Animated arms opened wide for emphasis, your grin reaching almost the same diameter. “Built like a fucking linebacker or something. I can only imagine what he must do for a living. Kinda gives off scary vibes, but like… in a non sketchy way? He dresses a bit like a drug dealer, but feels more like a gym teacher. Maybe that’s just me being biased ‘cause he smells like a cupcake, I dunno.”

The energy you gave off was infectious. Dr. Miranda couldn’t help but join in with amused laughter, endeared to the way you were lighting up the room. It wasn’t often she got to see you like this, glimpsing the lighthearted woman you were before the accident. It was a welcome sight after so much negativity. “And the other?”

“Fuuuuck me, Doc.” You groaned good naturedly, head falling back to rest against the spine of the couch as your limbs went limp. “Swear to god he was the prettiest guy I’ve ever seen in my goddamn life. Gorgeous smile. Like, I’ve always been a casual fan of coconut, but after that encounter…” You shuddered. “I just wanna roll around in an entire box of fucking samoas.”

“And do these tasty specimens have names?”

Just like that, you wilted.

The temperature shifted rapidly, a violent change that dragged out of your whimsy and back into a world where life didn’t discriminate between those deserving of heaven and those who broke their way in to taint the ghosts at peace.

She picked up on it immediately, back straightening as if you weren’t the only one in the room with a chill suddenly dripping down their spine.

Your admission came from a voice far more fragile than she’d heard in a very long time. “...I never got to ask.”

Recounting the excruciating memory was like shoving needles underneath your nailbeds, bringing up the other person in the room keeping you from wanton bliss, describing the torture you’d endured witnessing them existing with their own omega unaware of the damage she’d inadvertently done. You relayed their moment of recognition and sympathy. The confusion on the poor omega’s face.

How you turned tail and fled like a coward from the scene.

“I panicked,” came the strained confession, stumbled out in a frantic rush that spoke volumes of your frazzled mental state. “I-I didn’t know what else to do! I couldn’t just waltz up to them all willy nilly and throw a wrench in whatever the hell kinda life they’d already built. I mean, she was right there! How was I supposed to fawn over the men who should’ve been mine to keep when they were never mine to begin with?!”

You flinched away from the unwanted flashback of silvery bite marks, the pale white indents plastered on her skin displayed proudly beneath the collar of her coat like an olympic medal. So at odds with the ones mirrored on your own flesh, hidden now under a thick cotton turtleneck that you fought the urge to scratch.

Dr. Miranda listened closely, keen eyes analyzing the familiar body language and monitoring your growing levels of distress. She watched as you picked apart a loose hanging thread with jittery deftness until inevitably too much unwound and fluffy white stuffing poked out between the seams of the pillow clutched like a life jacket to your chest.

“I can only imagine the hurt you must’ve felt in that moment…”

Where once your voice had been full of life, now there was only a grave emptiness. Color had been sucked from your aura the same way it had been from the room. There was no hiding from your devastation in the tiny office, the frayed threads of the cashmere pillow a reflection revealing the true turmoil roiling beneath the skin. It rotted from the inside out, exposing the vulnerable squishy interior and keeping you reliving the same brutal lacerations again and again and again.

“...I hadn’t even considered it a possibility, you know…?”

Hadn’t allowed yourself the concept of hope.

“And suddenly it was right there - the answer to all my problems. For a brief moment, I was shown a glimpse of a better life. A future… one where I didn't wake up with earth shattering headaches and relentless nausea and I’d actually have energy to do more than just be a useless fucking couch potato and there could be laughter and healing and–”

You weren’t sure at which point in your stream of consciousness you’d started crying, nor when you fitfully clawed into the padded fabric, shredding the delicate material as it twisted and stretched in your trembling hands.

“I wish I never ran into them at the store... I wish I could’ve kept living in stupid fucking ignorance. At least then they could’ve just stayed made up characters in my head. Anything would’ve been better than this–” you spat angrily, chucking the mangled remains of the pillow on the ground and gritting your teeth through the onslaught of tears. “Having them ripped away from me like some sick fucking joke! Like the universe hasn’t already crushed my hopes and dreams and laughed in my face for wanting a normal fucking life!? Well guess what, gods? You win! Okay?! You fucking win! Take my heart! I don't want it anymore!”

Consoling arms encapsulated your quivering form, the comforting florals of Dr. Miranda’s airy omega scent projecting like a protective blanket and overpowering the tart bitterness of your once sweetened pear turned ashen in your mouth.

The floodgates opened. They couldn't be stopped.

“I’m just so fucking sick of this!” Your screams of devastation become muffled against the softness of her pink knitted sweater, harsh blubbering sobs broken up by heaving gasps as you mourn the life you’ll never have. “I hate him... I hate him! I don’t wanna do this anymore! I just want my fucking life back!”

There are no words that can fix the lesions of the heart. There’s no comfort of a better tomorrow that she can wax poetic whilst drying your tears. Sometimes grief cannot be mended - only managed. And sometimes that means accepting the bad days with the learned knowledge that not all anger is made of evil.

Holding you close, lulling you into a guarded safety with a placating purr, she grants you reprieve from the mask that you wear.

Not much more was discussed in the aftermath. The remaining time was dedicated to helping you stabilize from the emotional trauma, bringing you down carefully to avoid dropping into a catatonic state. She’d witnessed it with you before - at the start of your visits. When the grief was still too near and your triggers splayed out like a million mouse traps all primed to go off. Avoiding them was all but impossible in those early days. Three hours of your life were forever lost to time, the only proof of its occurrence the foggy aftermath filled memory of cold dampened skin and sweat soaked weighted blankets clutched tight in a dark room, uncontrollable trembles wracking your form and a bone deep exhaustion as if you’d just ran ten miles.

Dr. Miranda never once left your side.

Trudging your way back to your vehicle, the air inside the car was only mildly warmer than its outer counterpart, sinking into the rigid cloth seats and listening to the laboured clicks of the old engine grappling to turn over in the bitter cold. Snowflakes gathered on your coat began to melt as it finally gave way, puttering to life and filling the space with dense heated air.

You huffed out a loaded sigh, absentmindedly scratching at the already abused skin as you felt his presence poking experimentally across the bond. As if you didn’t have enough on your plate without him adding his delightful input, sniffing around your emotions like a trained bloodhound attuned to your melancholic brooding.

He was a spiteful thing; had been since he first opened his eyes the next morning from his drug induced stupor and found the pretty thing he’d coveted had just up and vanished. You never knew when he’d invade the sanctity of your mind. The flicker of amusement from his end was the telltale proof this was all just a sick game.

The bonds didn’t allow any actual communication. There were no words passed back and forth, no sudden powers of telepathy. Just intense sensations - emotions conveyed as though tangible and speaking ideas down an invisible phone line.

The whole point of a mating bite in the first place was to bring a further cohesion to the packs. As an omega, you were the fixed point in space around which all other members orbited. A mediator of sorts; it was your job to smooth the serrated edges of an alpha’s instincts, regulating their emotional needs and nurturing them to achieve a sense of balance - and vice versa.

An omega’s naturally empathetic nature meant you were frequently prone to becoming easily overstimulated. It was an alpha’s duty to soothe your frazzled nerves.

He liked to abuse his privileges.

Sometimes he went days without pestering, others his tiresome machinations seemed unending. The longest reprieve had been just shy of three weeks, lured into a false sense of optimism that just maybe he’d overdosed and freed you from his haunting clutches. His return was a hot knife stabbing into your skull, grinding and drilling like a makeshift lobotomy for the clinically insane.

You were grateful for the miles between now softening the blows. Once he’d begun to feel the strain on the flight to your current city whittling away at the strength of your bond, he’d lashed out in unbridled fury. You’d spent the first leg of the trip huddled on your knees in the airplane stall, his mental punishment sawing into your ribs and expelling the simple breakfast you’d eaten an hour prior.

Sobs of anguish turned to tears of relief as time went on and his reach stretched thin across the continent.

The bond withdrawals came afterwards. His presence still lurked in the tether that binds you, but no more than a casual thought in the back of your mind, the quiet voice that whispers on the edge of a canyon daring you to ‘jump’.

The bond withdrawals were now the worst of your worries. It was hard to function on a day to day basis when the same distance granting you a second chance caused you to become physically - sometimes violently - ill. Instances like that, Zofran was your best friend.

Buckling your seatbelt, you waged an internal battle over whether or not to do the responsible thing of making a second attempt at grocery shopping (despite your best efforts over the past two days, you hadn’t yet figured out how to miraculously will food to materialize in your barren pantry). Statistically speaking you were most likely safe from another encounter… unless they’d pulled a you and hadn’t left with their wares either.

But if you didn’t have the luxury before to keep putting it off then you certainly hadn’t acquired it now.

Math was on your side as you emerged with a full cart of goods and a lack of new therapy material. You’d still been the most skittish paranoid thing ever, scurrying quickly through the aisles like the CIA was out to get you, scanning your periphery and emerging quickly from the self checkout lanes to hurry towards your car. But just because you’d been successful in your venture doesn’t mean you weren’t followed along by fuzzy raised brows and curious - if not judgemental - looks.

It was an odd notion - being terrified of the one thing that should’ve made you feel secure. It was all you could do to distract yourself from the frustrating realization that this was a game you’d be playing for the foreseeable future unless you shelled out the extra cash to bypass doing the chore yourself.

That would have to be a worry for another time. Right now, all you desired was to curl up in your tiny studio apartment with a home cooked microwaved meal and lose yourself in the diversion that was the food network channel.

But first: caffeine.

You ignored the nagging ghost of responsibility tugging at your ear as you pulled into a parking spot alongside the main road, stepping out of the warm confines of your car and hurrying inside the nestled hole in the wall you frequented a few times a week for a caffeinated boost.

Large crowds still bothered you even with the reassurance he wasn't there, as if he could somehow physically slink out of the bond formed between you and hide amongst the chittering rabble waiting for an opportune moment of weakness to strike. Thankfully you’d arrived after the mid afternoon rush - although there were still a few stragglers with the same mindset as you eager to escape the frosty air with something warm on an otherwise picturesque snowy winter’s day.

The chiming bell above the door hailed your arrival, festive drink flavors assaulting your nose and instantly watering your mouth. Smoky chestnut praline, rich peppermint mocha, enticing caramel brulee. Cranberry laden pastries, chewy gingerbread cookies; all folded together in a Christmasy mix laced with the pleasant aroma of freshly ground coffee beans.

Your mind zeroed in on exactly what it wanted, pinpointing the most succulent fragrance amongst the bountiful bouquet, cutting through the sea of heavy pheromones belonging to the other patrons and hitting something raw inside your weary soul.

The veritable nectar of the gods.

A rich shot of bold espresso. Sweetly caramelized with smooth, creamy, chocolatey undertones. It zapped your spine with a jolt of adrenaline, awakening your senses while simultaneously soothing them. The first relaxing sip of a perfectly hot beverage. The golden liquid flowed down the back of your throat and alleviated the tangled knots still keeping you on edge, settling like a sturdy hand on your shoulder and allowing you the chance to breathe easy.

Something about the blend had your inner omega preening, ears perked up and startling a small purr from your chest that had you blinking down at your torso in surprised confusion. You’d barely stepped foot inside the cafe and suddenly the craving had expanded tenfold, something ravenous and feral urging your steps towards the counter that you had to fight to withstand.

Shrugging off the intense hunger as a simple lack of shoving something slightly more substantial in your mouth before leaving this morning, you adjusted the strap of your purse more securely on your shoulder and raised your eyes level to the awaiting interior.

Right into the most alluring shade of brilliant azure - sparkling like sapphires and already fixated on you.

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namisin · 10 months ago

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❝ HOPE WHEN THE MOON GOES—

(—THAT YOU DON'T GO.)

⚝ pairing : gojo satoru x reader.

⚝ synopsis : satoru likes you to a painful degree, dare he say he loves you. everyone but you can see it. the problem? you only want to be friends (with benefits).

⚝ content : 18+, fem reader, tiniest bit of angst, fwbs to lovers, oral (m receiving), college au, piv, pet names, brief mention of dubcon? (drunk reader), mentions of alcohol, rated w for whiny gojo, pet name(s), prὁne-bone, possessiveness, praise bc he's just a sweetie, choking, reader is spoiled but so is he, MDNI.

⚝ word count : 3.2k | 11 min read. y'all idk how this happened

⚝ a/n : gege please dpwm i need my man back this INSTANT. but tysm u guys for the warm welcome !! like, comment &/or reblog for smooches on the mouf ♡

𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 friday night, another club outing satoru did not wanna be on.

granted, it was a setting that would otherwise be right up his alley. satoru was the life of the party after all, the loudest one in the room without fail. but he could distinctly remember the point before your arrangement began, and after.

it didn't matter before that he could get anyone he wanted, have any warm body take up space in his king-sized bed. it didn't matter that you could do the same; dance up on anyone, grind your perfect ass against them until they had no presence of mind but to follow your piper's song to the nearest empty room. then regale your best friends with the details the next morning.

however, after the first time you propositioned him, drunk out of your mind but purring in his lap like a needy cat, it only became harder and harder for him to keep his hands to himself in public. his patience to wait out these parties to get you home wore thinner, to the point of near-nonexistence. obnoxiously thrumming bass, bodies smacking together like mindless fish caught in a net, having to yell and strain to hear his friends standing less than a foot in front of him...things he never minded at all before became all too fucking annoying.

but you've always acted as his life raft, bidding his escape with a, "wanna get out of here, toru?"

and he followed every single time, ignoring shoko's wiggling eyebrows and geto's smirking as you led the way out the door. their jeering bounced right off his skin; he felt damn-near invincible knowing he'd be having his own kind of fun, with much better music.

tonight was no different. you stood by the bar, drumming your fingers against the counter while waiting for the bartender to return with two drinks. satoru's eyes roved over your body shamelessly over the rim of oval glasses, taking in the expanse of your legs that weren't covered by your leather miniskirt and the way your top hugged to your figure. he approached with his bottom lip tucked, much like his hands in the pockets of his pants.

by the time he arrived to stand next to you, the glasses were placed down with a muted "clunk," just barely perspiring as his usual was passed into his freed palm.

"my saviour," he greeted, bent over at the waist to let the words brush against your ear, "what would i do without you?"

"mmm-mm," you shrugged, grinning in return, "probably die of thirst."

satoru exhaled sharply through his nose, rightening his posture to take a sip of his drink. he caught the double entendre he wasn't even sure you meant to drop — there was a constant thirst inside him that you really were the only cure for. a thirst to hear you whine and beg for him, call him toru in that sweet tone that made him want to legally shorten his name.

another long sip.

the way he wanted, no needed, you was almost obsessive. he knew that. but could he be blamed? you were pure temptation wrapped in the most enticing body; you were the raging flame and he was but a moth, acting on pure instinct to capture that warmth for his own. every night he spent with you was a testament to that effort, prodding and caressing your body in every way he knew how. he pulled every trick out of his book to have you writhing on his sheets. satoru was sure the neighbours hated you both, but at least they knew his name well.

"you lovebirds coming over to the table?" shoko raised a thin brow at the pair of you, an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips.

"lovebirds? sho please, you know better," you laughed, crossing the space to link arms with her.

ah. satoru felt a twinge of something pinch in his chest. that problem still remained.

he worshipped the ground you walked on, blessed your name like you were his deity, but you still only saw him as a friend. granted, he was a friend with extensive benefits, but a friend nonetheless. hell, for as long as you two have had this arrangement, you've never spent a full night with him — instead opting to scoop your clothes off the floor, grab a quick shower and bid him a soft goodnight, simultaneously calling yourself an uber as you left his apartment.

his face was much dimmer following behind you and shoko, having dropped a small wad of cash he didn't count on the bar-top, and he drew his glass back to his lips in an attempt to quell that pinching feeling.

it wasn't as if he never offered for you to stay the night, never lifted his messy sheets on the opposite side he always kept vacant for you. but, it was hard to stay persistent when you always answered with some variation of, "thanks toru, but we're just friends, remember? i don't wanna make it weird for us."

he watched your hips sway under your skirt with a furrow in his brow. the hem flapped around the very tops of your thighs, drawing other eyes that weren't his own cerulean pair to its attention. he itched to make a show of you being his — maybe throw an arm over your shoulders or lean down to peck your lips — but knew how well (not well at all) it would go down with the other party if you caught on.

it just meant he had to be the one to get you out of there sooner.

satoru let you have your fun, down a responsible-enough number of shots, twist your hips this way and that on the dancefloor with geto and shoko. they both towered over you, almost forming a protective ring of raven black and coffee brown around your twirling body, and he was grateful for it. the imagery alone of some other person creeping up behind you, grabbing at your waist in an attempt to steal a dance, was enough to tighten that vulnerable spot in his chest.

after downing the rest of his second drink, he stood, leaving another roll of money in shoko's purse and making a beeline for you on the dancefloor. geto parsed him with a knowing look as he squeezed passed them, shoko only gave a thumbs up and a wide grin. they both knew all about what went on between you two, and they knew all too well how much satoru pined over you.

if it wasn't the way he looked at you, or the way he'd mindlessly put his hands on the small of your back, on your hips, around your shoulders, then it'd have to be the fact that he grouched about it at every given opportunity. the minute you left him alone, he'd go on and on until one of them had to smack him in the back of the head to shut up.

so, watching him slot his hips to yours, immediately winding them in tandem to the beat, they understood quickly to leave the pair of you to your little world.

"let me take you out of here, y/n," he murmured, you spun in his toned arms to settle into his torso. your arms circled his neck as he pushed his nose closer to yours to bump them together.

"you stole my line," you drawled, "getting impatient on me, toru?"

satoru bit back a groan, the way you spoke coupled with the eyes you gave him from beneath the canopy of your lashes was staggering.

"maybe i am, you're holdin' out on me."

you blew a raspberry of a laugh at his frown, "you saw me last night, you baby."

"twenty-four whole hours too long."

your eyes rolled unconsciously, he could be such a little shit when he didn't have his way. still, you were never one to deny him.

"take me home then, before you start sobbing for pussy in the club."

a triumphant beam overtook his face at that, he actively disregarded the teasing lilt to your words. all he heard was "take me home," and it was like you waved kikufuku in his face.

he picked up you up easily, princess-style, making you squeal and nearly kick a patron close by. you giggled out your apologies, but satoru was already leaving, carting you off to the exit of the club.

your back landed hard against his front door when he put you down again, and his body followed right behind. your lips crashed together with fervor, teeth colliding and tongues looping around each other. you mewled so sweetly into his mouth as his hands wandered up under your top, grabbing hold of your tits over your bra. his cock twitched in its confines, you had an effect on him that would be scary if he didn't relish in it so much.

"lose this shit already," satoru huffed against your lips while tugging the hem of your blouse upwards. you obliged with the nth roll of your eyes, and with the top gone, you pulled him back down for another searing kiss.

you marked your path downward after switching your positions, pushed his shirt up to his chest to lick a wet stripe down his abs, until you came face-to-face with the sizeable bulge in his pants. he smoothed your hair away from your face while you pulled his belt buckle apart. an exhale stuttered in his chest — you mouthed around his bulge from the outside of his boxer-briefs, though with the sounds satoru made, you may as well have shoved the whole thing into your mouth.

deciding to end his misery, you hooked your manicured fingers into the waistband of his underwear, pulling his cock free to smack against your cheek. you licked another matching stripe up the underside, shadowing the pulsing trail that was his most dominant vein, then kitten-licked at his slit once you hit the peak.

with one hand wrapped around the base of his cock and the other on his thigh, you took his pretty pink tip into your mouth, and his face absolutely crumpled.

satoru groaned, long and low, his head thumping against the door as it was thrown back. you could feel the corners of your mouth tingling from the stretch, straining a little to fit around his girth despite making this journey countless times by now.

he stammered out a hiss when his tip hit the back of your throat, you would've laughed if not for the fact that you desperately held off your gag reflex. his grip on your hair tightened, coming to hold it in a fist to both keep the hair out of your face and guide your movements as you sunk further down his length. you breathed through your nose and willed your throat to relax, more broken sounds sprang from his lips as you let him in.

"f-fuck, just like that, pretty," he praised hoarsely, gently bobbing your head up and down his length with his grip on your hair. you powered through the tears flooding your lashline and the rivulets of spit accumulating to drip down your chin.

while he worked your mouth, you pried your lids apart to peer up at him, eyes rimmed red and pupils blown wide.

and that was his undoing.

his body tensed hard as he held your head down, nose right up against his pelvis and tickled with snow-white hairs. his abdomen spasmed under the point of it, undulating as he painted your throat white.

"you're so fucking good to me," he mumbled against your lips after helping you back to your feet. satoru, of course, was the shameless type to make the fuck out with you right after dumping his cum into your mouth; and he did just that. he picked you up again while his tongue swiped over yours, blindly walking you up the stairs to his bedroom.

he plopped you down unceremoniously, pulling your legs apart to sink between them. you'd lost the skirt somewhere along the way, that left nothing but your thong to separate you from satoru's still-leaking, still-hard dick. however, even those got ripped down your legs and tossed to the side — every article of clothing was a victim in his ever-expanding need for you.

"i need to fuck you, will you le'me fuck you?" he babbled in a pitchy, fissured voice, circling your clit with his fingers. he dipped them shallowly in and out of your hole to smear your wetness right across your folds. all he needed was for you to nod the affirmative before he was rapidly replacing his digits with the head of his cock, gathering your syrupy arousal to drench him.

"just suckin' me off has you this wet, hmm? i knew you liked me."

"sh-shut up and put it in already, toru- hate it when you tease."

satoru snickered, but complied, grabbing at your legs again to flip your body over. he knew you loved getting fucked prone the most, you didn't even hesitate to grab a pillow to hold on to. something about the way you seemed to scream for him that much louder, claw at the sheets and burble for him to give you more more more— made it his new favourite position too.

so, with little hesitation, he positioned and pushed his cock into you, slowly enough for you to adjust to his girth. your eyes rolled back almost immediately, the way he filled you up could never get old.

you mewled into the pillow once he found a good starting pace, dragging his cock deliciously slow against your spongy walls. still, it was only a taste of what you knew he could give to you.

"more, toru, want more- shit!"

you barely started getting the greedy words out before satoru was settling a hand on the small of your back, using it and his palm flat against the bed as leverage to drill into you. now that he knew you were adjusted, he didn't hold back — what kind of guy would he be if he didn't give his girl everything she wanted (and then some)?

drool and tears soaked into the white pillowcase while your sticky essence doused his cock, collecting in a ring at the plinth of it. repetitive strings of "fuck yes!" mingled with his deep groans to ring throughout the room, bouncing off the walls in conjunction with his hips bouncing off your plush ass. he couldn't help but free up a palm to smack it, then two, three more times when he heard how much more noisy it made you.

"g'nna cum for me? yea?" he took note of the way you started to quake beneath him, your cunt clenching and releasing uncontrollably around his length. he knew your tells by now, and that quiver in your moans told him everything without you needing to say a word. satoru secured his hand around your throat, squeezing just enough at the sides for your brain to go foggy and remaining thoughts turn to mush.

like a thief in the night, your orgasm stole through you, bringing the simmer in your blood to a boil. heat flashed through your body, collecting to pulse through the walls of your cunt that clamped down against satoru's battering. with another ruined groan, he was right behind you, cock twitching and throbbing wildly inside you. rope after rope splattered your insides, though that didn't stop his hips from jerking in a fractured pattern.

you both came down panting. you turned in his arms to look up at him, his softened eyes were already centered on your face. as mean as he was when he fucked, he was always otherwise gentle with you — tender in a way that made a part of you melt with every touch. but he was your friend, and you both had a good system going. what would be the point of ruining it?

"what're you thinkin' about so hard already?" satoru's usual pouty cadence returned quick, successfully knocking your thoughts off track.

"i need a shower," was your only reply, and you moved to crawl from beneath him. your bed-partner's features toppled into a genuine frown; he knew exactly what that meant.

you were leaving him again.

but he wouldn't let it happen this time, not if he could help it.

"wait, y/n," he moved to gently grasp your arm before you could scoot off the edge of the bed. you turned to him with question in your gaze.

"let me join you," he propositioned, and a hint of a smile pulled at your lips.

"i don't know if i have the stamina left, toru."

"i won't- we can just shower. y'know, together," he started, freeing your arm to rub at the back of his neck, "and you could, y'know, stay."

your expression turned wry, "toru, you know why i can't-"

"no, actually, y/n. i don't," he scowled, "why can't you? why don't you? we've been close enough for so long, slept together for so long. you know i can take care of you."

exasperated, you stood. he followed quick, moving to hold your arms again. even in his own displeasure, he was mild. you were melting again.

"you tell me all the time we're just friends, but what if- what if i want more? need more, than just friendship with you?"

you gawped up at him, blinking in place of something to say. of course, you always had a kind of a feeling — satoru was not the man known for his subtlety — but it was another thing to hear him say it to you, much less with this desperately pleading intonation.

"satoru, i..." you sighed, "i can't fuck this- we can't fuck this up. you're too precious to me."

"but what if we don't? you're precious to me too, y/n, more than you even know."

and for all you knew, he could be right. he was always sweet with you — patient, attentive, doting, so painfully soft. it wasn't like the thought hadn't crossed your mind before, either. you contemplated staying with him several times before, fantasized on what a 'morning after' — many 'morning-afters' — would even look like. but shit, what would you do if you one of you found a way to mess things up? topple a best-friendship you've had going for more years than you could even trace back?

"i just- i can't lose you, satoru."

"you won't. you're stuck with me forever, pretty, we promised."

he moved to cup your cheeks, holding your face akin to the way someone held precious china.

"i like you way too much. shit, at this point i think i love you."

your bottom lip wobbled. this snow-haired fuck really did always make it hard to say no to him.

"i-i like you too, toru. a lot."

"so you'll stay," he gleamed, making a statement more than he was asking a question, "please say you'll stay."

"yes, toru, fine. i'll stay."

with his smile still very much in place, he leaned down to kiss you.

god, he couldn't wait to finally wake up to you tomorrow.

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lycheeleeches · 4 months ago

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Jasper in the Sweeney Au plays two roles,Toby and Anthony. Of course, meaning that Jasper was the one to find Hyde drifting out on a raft. He helps him, and they then set off to London. Since Jasper saves Hyde, after Hyde wakes up, he helps Jasper with his botched wolfsbane potion.

( ^ dialogue from the song “The Barber and his Wife” ) When Hyde tells the story about his old life as Jekyll ( of course while being vague about everything), Jasper can sort of tell that there’s something more to that story, but as Hyde has been constantly telling stories ( some sounding very true, others not so much), Jasper tends to just take it as face value for now and never really gets to revisit it as his slight friendship with Hyde ends here. This friendship was more of an exchanging of debts rather than anything too deep. They do meet again, but as Jasper working as an assistant to Rachel. Jasper and Hyde don’t get anymore one-on-ones (par for making plans to help the lodgers, who kind of fill the role of Johana )

#lycheeleeches’s art #the glass scientists #tgs #tgs hyde #tgs edward hyde #tgs jasper #Tgs Jasper kaylock #sweeney todd au #LL’s Sweeney Au

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justagalwhowrites · 8 months ago

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Halcyon - Ch. 14: Me Too, Baby

Joel helps you. A continuation of Halcyon from the prologue through Ch. 13, a modern no outbreak AU TLOU fic found on Tumblr here.

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

Warnings: SMUT! Unprotected P in V sex. Fingering. Childcare struggles. Modern No Outbreak AU, No use of Y/N, Slow burn, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Length: 6.7k

AO3 | Main Master List | Prologue | Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Joel wasn’t sure what he expected to find at his front door at almost midnight on a Friday night but it wasn’t you with a screaming baby in your arms.

“Please,” you said again, your eyes red and wide and there were little rivers of mascara that ran down your cheeks.

“You’re OK, Goldie,” he said. “I’ve got you, you’re OK.”

He moved without thinking, just taking the carrier gently from your trembling hands. He had to almost pry it away from you, your fingers clinging to it like a life raft. He carefully tucked the handle over his arm and put his other arm around your shoulders, guiding you into his house because he wasn’t sure he could trust you to just walk in all on your own.

“I’m s-s-s-,” you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to contain the racking sobs that were making your whole body shake. “I’m sorry, she just… she won’t stop crying and I can’t get her to eat and…”

“It’s OK,” he said gently, taking you and your wailing niece to the kitchen. He set the carrier gingerly on the table and took you by the shoulders. “Goldie, when did she last eat?”

“I… I don’t know,” you said, getting worked up again from what little calm you’d managed to gain only moments before. “I got her to take some of a bottle earlier but not enough and that was… that was… what time is it?”

He looked you up and down, frowning. He’d known things with Anna and Ellie were bad but he’d never seen you like this, never seen you out of control like this.

“It’s OK,” he said. “She’s probably hungry…”

“I know she’s hungry!” You snapped before you gasped and clamped your hands over your mouth, new tears welling up in your eyes before you pulled your hands away. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, it’s not your fault I can’t take care of her, I…”

Joel hushed you gently and wished he could just hold you for a while, get you to breathe, but that would have to wait until after he got Ellie to settle.

“I’m going to feed her,” Joel said calmly, his hands still on your shoulders as he guided you to a chair at the kitchen table. “You sit, it’s OK, I’ve got you, both of you.”

He went to the pantry and got one of the cans of formula he’d picked up from the store earlier that day. You’d texted him the night before after getting home from Ellie’s appointment, worried that the doctor hadn’t told you anything useful. He remembered the formula struggle with Sarah, how it took what felt like a small eternity for the pediatrician to tell him to change what he was feeding her when it seemed like all she would do was cry and all Joel wanted to do was take whatever was hurting her away. He didn’t want to put anything else on you and Anna so he just picked it up, planning to bring it to Anna’s tomorrow afternoon.

He made the bottle quickly as you sat as his table, a glassy look in your eyes as you stared straight ahead and Ellie cried. He tested the formula temperature on his skin before going and taking Ellie delicately from her carseat.

“I hear you, baby girl,” he said quietly, tucking her into his body just so. He angled her head and, after some coaxing, got her to take the bottle. She was still breathing in little, worked up huffs but she was eating, quieting as she did. “There you go, you’re alright.”

“How did you do that?” You sniffed, drying your eyes on the backs of your wrists.

“We’ll see how she does with it,” Joel said, looking over at you. “Sarah was real rough early on, too. Wouldn’t eat for the life of her. Turns out she was allergic to somethin’ in the formula and it was upsetting her stomach and there was something about the angle I was holdin’ her at too… anyway, I got some of the formula that worked for her, figured I’d try the way I held her, too.”

You just nodded before looking around yourself for a moment and then frowning.

“What?” He asked, watching you was he walked slowly with your niece, bouncing her gently as she ate.

“My bag,” you said, looking around. “I think I left it in the car, I wasn’t thinking, I wanted to write down what you were doing but I don’t have my notebook and I’m not sure I’ll remember it and…”

“Goldie,” he said gently. “You’re alright.”

You nodded and teared up again before closing your eyes and taking a deep, trembling breath.

Ellie drank most of the bottle and fell asleep before finishing it. Joel swayed with her gently as he set the bottle on the counter.

“Are you OK?” He asked, still moving with the baby in his arms to make sure she was good and out of it. You nodded quickly. “Good. Where’s Anna? Why do you have the baby?”

“Anna…” your lips quivered and you hiccuped. “She… She left.”

“What?” He gaped at you. “What do you mean she left, where is she?”

“I don’t know,” your voice was thick and wet. “I don’t know if I should call the police, I’m afraid if I do they’ll find her all drugged out and arrest her but I wouldn’t even know where to start…”

“What happened?” He asked, straining to keep the concern out of his voice. You were already close enough to a panic without his help. “Just… start at the beginning.”

“We had Ellie’s appointment yesterday,” you said, taking a deep breath. “It didn’t go well, the doctor said he wanted to see us back in less than a week because she’s lost weight. Anna told him she’s been trying everything but… I don’t know, it felt like he didn’t really believe her. I took her home and said I would stay over last night but she told me no, she wanted to do it on her own… so then I went home and I was working and it was late and she texted me to see if I was home and then a few minutes later she texted me to check my porch and I did and Ellie was there, she was just there, in her carseat with her diaper bag and the can of formula and Anna was gone, she was just gone, I called her and she answered and told me she’d be back but I have no idea where she went or who she’s with and…”

“Alright,” Joel cut you off before you fully panicked. “It’s alright, you got Ellie, it’s OK.”

You just nodded again and he watched you for a moment.

It was so unnatural, seeing you this way. You had always been so remarkably certain in his mind. You were the smartest person he’d ever met, you always had the answers, you knew what you were doing with your life. You had talent - so much goddamn talent - that it had never even really been a question. You had a path and the drive to find your way through it and, while you’d stumbled in some things, you were still you. This wasn’t you.

“OK,” Joel said, the baby’s breaths having settled into the steady rhythm of deep sleep. “I’m gonna go set her down. You go to my room and sit down, OK? Sarah’s asleep, this hasn’t exactly been quiet…”

“Sorry,” you said softly.

He gave you a look.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I’m glad you’re here and comin’ here was smart. Just that I don’t want you feeling like you need to explain this to my daughter right now. We can deal with that in the morning once you’ve gotten some sleep. Now. My room. Go.”

You nodded and got up slowly from the table and Joel walked behind you, up the stairs and down the hall. You went in his room and he went into the room he’d pretended was going to be an office when he’d bought this house even though he knew he’d never have a job that required an office. Instead, it had turned into a storage room for shit that wouldn’t do well in the garage and that he was too lazy to move to the attic. At least, it had until Anna had gotten pregnant. He’d cleaned it up then, getting Sarah’s old nursery stuff out of storage and cleaning off the cobwebs and the dust. He’d even set the crib mattress at the height that would be best for Ellie at this age, feeling like a dumbass as he’d done it - why would you be taking your newborn niece to his house? - but he was grateful for it now.

He set her gently into the crib and she scrunched her face for a moment, like she was considering wailing again, but then she relaxed and settled there. He turned on the baby monitor - also from Sarah’s infancy, he’d been amazed at the technology in them now when he was helping you pick one for Anna - and pocketed the receiver before he crept out of the room, closing the door almost silently behind him.

There was a glow of light from around the frame of his bedroom door and he tried not to think about the last time he’d shared a bed with you, how you’d both ended up when you had.

He went to the kitchen and got one of the biggest cups he could find - one of those tall beer glasses he’d gotten at some Oktoberfest thing Tommy had dragged him to one year - and filled it with water. He grabbed a snack sized pack of almonds he had for Sarah’s lunches and went back upstairs, taking a deep breath before opening the door to his bedroom.

You were sitting at the foot of his bed, your arms folded and clutched around your stomach as you stared straight ahead.

“Hey,” he said, more to say something than to actually say that. You looked at him, like you’d only just noticed he was there. You’d cleaned up the streaks of mascara. “Here, guessing you’ve eaten about as much as she has today…”

He set the receiver to the baby monitor on his dresser before he handed you the almonds and sat beside you on the bed, his legs stretched far out in front of him. You opened the small bag and poured a few nuts into your palm before putting them in your mouth as though they were a handful of pills.

“This too,” he said as you chewed, handing you the water.

You nodded and took the glass, your fingers brushing his as you did, and you drank in big, desperate gulps, Joel’s hand coming to rest at the small of your back, slipping below the hem of your shirt to find the soft of your skin there and when he did, the tears started again, less overwrought and more like a release of some deeply held pain.

“Talk to me,” he said quietly. “What’s going on.”

You looked at him then, cheeks wet and eyes red and he just wanted to take you away from everything that had ever hurt you.

“I can’t do this, Joel,” you said softly.

“Goldie…”

“I can’t,” you said it with such certainty. “I’m going to ruin this baby, I’m going to ruin her and she’s going to be stuck living with my inability to take care of her the way that she needs. She’s going to be the one who has to suffer because of it, not me, her and she doesn’t deserve that, Joel, she doesn’t! And she’s… she’s so tiny and perfect and she deserves someone who can give her everything and I can’t. I wish I could, I would do anything for her but I can’t and…”

“What makes you think you can’t?” He cut you off as you started to edge toward hyperventilation.

“Look at what I’ve done so far!” You stood up so fast it made Joel flinch a little. “I’ve had her not even a day and I’ve already failed her! Anna trusted me with her daughter and I’ve done nothing but fuck up! I wasn’t good enough to help Anna when she needed me and she had to leave to stay sane and she left me with her fucking kid and I…”

“Why do you think this is on you?” Joel cut you off, watching as you paced, resisting the urge to just hold onto you, giving you a chance to work some of the nervous energy out. “Babies… they’re fuckin’ hard sometimes, they just are. They can’t tell you what’s wrong, they don’t really understand it themselves, all you can really do is try and figure it out and yeah, sometimes that’s a lot of trial and error…”

“Trial and error that I am not built to do!”

“Why do you say that?” He asked, not able to keep from touching you any longer. He got up and took your shoulders in his hands.

“Because it’s true!” You looked at him, your lip quivering and you seemed so small in that moment, like he could gather you up and carry you with him forever.

“Why?” He asked. “Baby, you’re not makin’ sense, you need to explain this to me because I’m fuckin’ lost…”

“You really think I’m someone who should be looking after a child?” You asked, eyes wide.

“Yes!” Joel said, baffled, looking you up and down like there would be some physical indication of whatever defect you were talking about. “I’d trust you with Sarah in a heartbeat…”

You scoffed.

“Why shouldn’t I?” He continued like you hadn’t made a sound at all. “I’ve told you before, I’m glad you’re in her life, I’m thankful for it every damn day! She needs someone like you - hell, not someone like you she needs you, why wouldn’t she?”

“Because I’m too selfish!” You all but screamed it, closing your eyes when you did.

Joel had the strangest urge to laugh. It wasn’t funny but the concept was so ridiculous he didn’t see what else he was supposed to do.

“What?” He said instead.

“I’m not capable of doing what it takes to take care of a child,” you opened your eyes and looked at him, pleading. “I’m just not, it’s not in me…”

“Do you not want kids?” He asked, brows raised. The question stung, as if you’d want kids with him either way so it didn’t matter but it didn’t sound like you. You liked kids. You always had. He didn’t understand.

“What?” You looked back at him, so baffled that it calmed your crying. “No, of course I want kids but it’s not a good idea for me, you know me you must know that, you must see that, you…”

“No,” he cut you off. “I don’t, I don’t know what you’re talking about, baby, you’re not making any damn sense and…”

“I’m not capable of doing what is necessary for a child!” You said. “I’m too… I’m in my own head all the time, in my own head or on the page or anywhere else but I’m not reliable enough or nurturing enough and he knew that and you must know it, too and…”

“Who knew it?” Joel said. “I still don’t…”

“Gale!” You choked on his name and Joel’s hold on you tightened. “He knew, maybe you’re just not close enough to me now to see it but he could see it, he could see me and he knew that I would ruin a baby and I’m ruining Ellie, I’m ruining Anna’s baby, I ruin everything and I’m trying, I’m trying so hard but I just can’t!”

“You’re not ruining anything!” He said, eyes searching yours. “That… that fucker? He didn’t see you, Goldie. He never did.”

“Joel…”

“He didn’t,” Joel said, his grip sliding up and over your shoulders to your neck, your face, holding what felt like the world in his hands. “He never saw you, Goldie girl, never. He saw someone he could fucking manipulate and use but he never saw you because you… Fuck, baby! You are everything and he doesn’t get to take that away from you! You… you are brilliant and fucking beautiful and you are one of the most caring people I’ve ever met. You couldn’t ruin anything if you fucking tried and that… that fucking guy doesn’t get to tell you otherwise! Understand?”

You just stared at him for what felt like an eternity, your face held firm in his hands, your tears on his palm, and the next thing he knew he was kissing you.

Your lips were desperate on his, more than he’d ever felt before. You kissed him in the same way you’d fucked yourself against him in the hotel, that moment he would have given anything to go back to and given anything to take back.

He hadn’t been able to get it out of his head the days he was away from you. He’d made himself come over and over to the memory of you pressed tightly against him, hoping it would eventually work its way out of his system and he could go back to thinking of you as Goldie, his best friend who he loved more than almost anything, not the woman he couldn’t look at without wanting. After three days, he gave up. He just hoped that, some day, it would fade and he could find a way to move on.

But now your arms were around his neck and your body was pressed tight to his and your tears were on his face and your kiss tasted like almonds and salt and he knew there would be no coming back from this. Not for him.

He guided you back toward the bed, turning you so your legs were against the mattress and you eased yourself down onto it, fingers tangling in his hair, your lips never leaving his.

You moved back toward the middle of the bed and Joel moved with you, one knee coming onto the mattress and then the other, one between your legs as he tugged your shirt up and over your head, casting it aside on the floor. You pulled at his and he helped you take it off, breaking the kiss with you long enough then to watch as you deftly unhooked your bra and slipped it off, the straps sliding down your arms, the cups the last thing to leave your body and then you were bared to him there, the plush fullness of your breasts and curve of your waist and the way your eyes looked up at him round and deep and needing him in the way he’d always dreamed that you would.

“Joel,” you whispered and he kissed you again, his hands trying to go everywhere all at once. He needed to touch you everywhere, memorize everything, take all of you into himself in a way he never had with another person. He’d had the chance with you once before and he’d squandered it, too lost in the fact that everything was intense and new to really understand that it was happening with you. He had the strangest desire to swallow you up. To let the essence of you dissolve on his tongue like sugar so he could taste you and hold you within himself forever.

Instead, he found satisfaction in your skin. You were so soft below his touch and his fingers lingered on the small things it felt like only he could know about you, little swells and creases, things he was sure you would worry about him noticing but he loved them. All these little things that made you human, made you you and he wanted to know them all. It felt like he already should.

Your hips rocked up against him and you whimpered against his mouth as his hands skimmed over your waist to your breasts and he took them in his hands, marveling at just how fucking good you felt. Nothing had ever felt this good, nothing should feel this good but you did. It seemed forbidden, somehow, like it had the morning after prom and you both realized what you’d done. But even that cold memory couldn’t take away from this moment, here with you, warm and soft beneath him.

He pulled his lips from yours to kiss down your cheek, your chin, your throat, taking a nipple in his mouth as he cradled the warmth of your tit in his hand, sucking and licking at you, making you gasp and your back arch. Your hands trembled as they found his shoulders, sliding slowly over his skin and down his back like you were savoring him the way he wanted to savor you.

Joel kissed over your skin, trailing his lips and tongue along to your other breast, tasting that one, too, as you took a shaky and desperate breath below him. He kept going down your body then, working his way gradually lower until he reached the waistband of your jeans. He unbuttoned them and slowly, carefully, unzipped them, hooking his fingers around the denim and the soft cotton of your underwear but your hands met his and he lifted himself from you enough to look you in the eye.

“Want me to stop touchin’ you?” He asked, praying that you wouldn’t say yes.

“No,” you whispered but you still looked uncertain.

“Trust me?” He asked, watching you closely. You nodded quickly. He leaned forward to press a soft, lingering kiss above your navel before looking back at you. “I’ve got you, baby. Don’t worry.”

“Please,” you said softly, your voice shaky.

He turned back to the work of pulling off your clothes, tugging your pants down with you lifting your hips from the bed to help. Joel stood as he bared the last of your skin, your thighs pressed tightly together, feet propped up on the bed, your arms covering your stomach as best they could.

“Can I see you?” He asked as he opened his own jeans. “All of you?”

“You,” you closed your eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath. “You want that?”

“I do,” he said. “More than anything.”

You straightened your legs gradually, relaxing them as you went, your hands sliding slowly, almost sensually over your stomach as you did.

“Want you to touch yourself,” he said as he took hold of the waist of his pants and the top of his underwear. Your eyes went wide. “You… you ever think about me when you do?”

“Yes,” you whispered and you closed your eyes again, swallowing harshly. “All the time.”

“Show me?”

Your hand trembled as you slipped it between your thighs, brushing over your clit for a moment before moving lower, the heel of your palm pressed tight to the top of your slit as he watched, entranced, as your finger slid inside yourself, whispering his name as you did.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathed as he watched you, your other hand moving to take hold of your tit, squeezing it and he had to remind himself to move instead of just watching you do the things he was ashamed to admit he’d dreamed of you doing.

He stripped and ran his hands over the inside of your calves to your thighs, opening your legs to him, his eyes all but locked on the way you were working just a single finger in and out of yourself. His hand covered yours and you gasped, freezing when he did.

“Keep goin’,” he said, gravel in his voice. You swallowed, hard, but obeyed and, when your finger was all but fully outside of your entrance, he covered it with his own, the wet heat of you on your own skin intoxicating.You slowly, firmly, pressed back into yourself and he followed your lead, his thicker, longer finger pushing in alongside your own.

You moaned as he did, the sound seeming to come from deep within you as he slid inside, something almost broken about it. He moaned, too. He couldn’t help it, already lost in just how goddamn warm and tight and wet and soft you were inside and he thought, for a moment, maybe he hadn’t imagined just how good it had been with you so many years ago. Maybe it hadn’t been all in his head, some memory gilded by the haze of youth and by his inexperience and by the fact that it was with you. Maybe being with you was that much better than everyone else he’d ever touched.

“I’ve got you,” he said and you nodded, slipping your finger out of yourself and Joel felt you completely grip some part of him for the first time in so long and he groaned at it, watching where part of him disappeared into you.

He worked you slowly, firmly that way for a minute, until your hips were moving almost of their own accord and he could feel the softest parts of you on the tip of his finger. He added another one and felt you stretch a little to accommodate him and you whimpered as you took him, one of your hands groping your own tit, the other twisting in the sheets as your legs fell even further open. He scissored his fingers apart inside you, opening you to him and your back arched and you ground yourself down on his hand, your pussy tightening around him.

“That’s it,” he said, not even caring that he sounded out of his mind with need. “C’mon and come for me, you’re real tight, need you to come.”

“Joel,” you panted. “I… fuck!”

“I’ve got you,” he said gently. “It’s OK, just let go for me, don’t hold back, never hold back with me, just let go.”

You turned your head and buried your face in his blankets and moaned as you fell apart and he couldn’t help but watch where his fingers were inside you, how your body fluttered and clutched at him, how your chest rose and fell, how your back arched, how fucking beautiful you looked when - for just a moment - he was able to drive every worry from your mind.

He worked you through your orgasm, his fingers stilling inside you as your walls did and he pulled himself from you slowly, gently, his skin shining with your pleasure before he spread it over his cock, harder than he could ever remember it being.

But when he looked to your face, your eyes were wide and uncertain and he felt his stomach drop.

“Is this what you want?” He asked quietly. “Because…”

You nodded quickly, cutting him off before he could finish.

“I want you,” you said, sounding breathless and fucked out. “Please, I want you so bad.”

He nodded then and moved the head of his cock to brush over your slit, trailing up and down and thrusting a little against your swollen clit. He gently, reverently, spread you open for him, exposing your grasping entrance to him and he had to resist the urge to press his lips to you there, to slide his tongue inside and devour whatever pleasure you would let him take. But he was already afraid that this wasn’t going to last as long as he wanted and he didn’t want to risk coming before he was even inside you.

Joel spread one hand on the soft of your stomach, the other fisted his cock as he pressed himself into you, a moment of resistance before he was enveloped in your tight, wet heat.

“Fuck,” he panted, watching where you were joined, just the first two inches of him inside you but you moaned all the same and suddenly, he wasn’t nearly close enough to you, there was too much of your skin he wasn’t touching. He looked to your face and you seemed to have the same thought he did, eyes wide, pupils blown.

“Please,” you whispered, like wanting him was a secret. “I… I need…”

“I know,” he said, covering your body with his own, one hand slipping below your back to hold you tighter to him, the other finding your thigh to pull your leg against him. You closed your eyes and nodded, a blissed out look on your face. “Me too, baby.”

He drove himself deeper into you, memorizing the way your body opened for him as he fit himself into the cradle of your hips and he was aware, suddenly, he hadn’t put on a condom. It had been years since he’d been inside someone without one - since the night Sarah was conceived - and it was a heady thing, realizing that there was nothing separating him and you. But instead of any underlying fear or spark of wrongness like he’d felt years ago with Sarah’s mother, he just felt right. Like this was how he was supposed to be, a part of you, breathing the same air and feeling your throbbing pulse and shuddering breaths from inside. You opened your eyes then and looked at him, your gaze locked on his as he filled you totally, feeling his head brush the back of your channel. You tilted your hips just so and he moaned a stuttering moan and marveled at just how clearly he could feel you like this.

He kissed you then, your mouth warm and soft as he ground himself deep inside of you, you grinding your hips up against his, your hands on his back, fingers pressing into his skin as he worked himself into you. He was reluctant to pull back even a little, the satisfaction he found from being this close to you too short lived. Almost immediately, he needed more, he needed closer, he needed you to let him inside your skin where your blood pulsed and lungs filled because anything short of that was not enough. Instead, he kept himself buried to the hilt within you, totally enveloped by you, the wet of your come making a sticky mess of him and he didn’t care. He hitched your leg higher, found ways to be deeper, bodies in total alignment when he pulled his mouth from yours to move to your neck, kissing and sucking at the delicate skin of your throat.

“Joel,” your fingers grew tighter on his back, like you wanted him impossibly closer, too. “I’m going to come, I…”

“Not gonna last when you do,” he said, his own climax already so much closer than he wanted it to be. He wished he could spend hours inside you like this, pulling orgasm after orgasm from you. “I…”

“Don’t leave me,” you tightened your leg on his hip, your arms pulling him so close to you. “Please don’t leave me.”

“Not leaving,” he said, fucking into you a little harder, pressing as deep as he possibly could with each and every motion, brushing his lips against the skin of your throat. “Never leaving, you’re OK.”

“Joel,” you said again, your fingers going from his back to his hair, pulling his face from your neck. Your eyes searched his for a moment before you pulled his mouth to yours and kissed him, rocking your hips up against him before holding them there and he felt you come apart then, in a way that seemed like your entire being was throbbing around him so hot and tight it almost hurt before he gave into his own orgasm, his fingers pressing deep into the softness of your thigh, the small of your back, holding you as close as he could as he emptied himself into you.

He wasn’t sure he’d ever come that hard in his life, not even his first time with you 15 years earlier, pulse after pulse reaching from somewhere deep inside himself to give it you. Because, he reasoned, damn near everything that was him belonged to you, anyway.

Joel collapsed when he was done, trying to be conscious of his weight so as to not crush you beneath him but his mind and limbs were buzzing and he couldn’t seem to manage anything beyond just existing inside you for a moment.

After a minute, though, he came back into himself. He lifted his body from yours slowly, gently, you still breathless below him and pulled his already softening cock from your warmth, a thread of your come and his still connecting your bodies until the tie broke.

He lay carefully beside you, watching you closely, waiting for you to panic or run. But you didn’t. You turned your head to look at him, your eyes ranging over him and you felt so far away. He didn’t like that.

“Here,” he said, nudging you onto your side with the arm that was still below you so you were facing him. He pulled you closer before brushing your hair back from your forehead, your eyes closing as he did. “I’ve got you, OK?”

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you pressed yourself close to him, your face buried in his shoulder and your arm hooking around his back and he trailed his fingers up and down the path of your spine as he felt you fall asleep in his arms, feeling like you and him were right where you belonged for the first time since prom.

May 2008, the Tuesday after prom

Why was Ricky always fucking late?

Joel was pacing below the stadium, his footsteps echoing ominously off the concrete. Ricky’s last block was free, too. He told Joel he could meet him here, he said he’d come as soon as he was done with class and where was he? Not fucking here, that’s for damn sure.

He pulled out his phone and checked the time. There were only a few minutes left of the school day now and this wasn’t a conversation he wanted overheard if he could fucking help it.

“Goddammit,” he muttered to himself, clenching and unclenching his jaw.

“Sorry!” Ricky ran over, hiking his backpack strap up on his arm and looking back over his shoulder. “Ran into Kasey on my way out and she was a little pissed I wouldn’t tell her what the fuck I was running off to do so this had better be good…”

“I need your help,” Joel said, looking around him one last time, as though anyone really gave a shit about what he’d be saying but still. “And I need you to keep your mouth fucking shut about it, OK?”

“Sure, man,” he said, frowning. “Stays between us, what’s goin’ on?”

Joel crossed his arms, his thumb worrying at his elbow and he paced, his tongue in his throat now that he had to actually fucking own up to this.

“You and Kasey,” he said, watching Ricky. “You two are fucking, right?”

“Yeah,” he shrugged. “I mean we’ve been dating two years, I’d fucking hope so.”

“Right,” Joel nodded, his stomach in knots.

“Jesus, Joel, look like somethin’s eating you alive,” Ricky said. “What, you get herpes or something?”

“What?” Joel gave him a look. “No, Jesus, I just…”

He paced for a moment before coming to a stop in front of Ricky.

“You know I went to prom with Goldie, right?”

Ricky frowned and said your name, something that sounded so familiar but so foreign to Joel.

“Yeah,” he continued. “Y’all looked good together.”

“Right,” Joel nodded, then quickly added. “Thanks…”

“So,” Ricky said after a minute. “What about it?”

“Well,” Joel ground his teeth for a moment. “Well we… we had sex.”

“Oh shit!” Ricky laughed, clapping him on the shoulder. “Good for you, man, she looked hot as fuck that night. She good? I bet she’s good, she looks like…”

“Hey, fuck you!” Joel yelled and shoved him. “Don’t talk about her like that!”

“Woah, sorry, fuck!” Ricky said, his hands up. “Didn’t mean anything by it, she just looks… anyway, what’s the problem? You’ve had a thing for her forever, right?”

“Yeah, but,” Joel said, his voice low. “I didn’t use a condom.”

“Oh shit,” Ricky said. “Why not? You’re a dumbass but I didn’t think you were that much of a dumbass.”

“I didn’t have a condom,” he hissed. “It’s… it’s Goldie. I didn’t think that was going to happen, not in a million years did I think that was going to fucking happen and I just…”

“Just what?” He asked.

“What if I fucked up everything for her?” Joel asked. “What do I do? What if I got her pregnant? You and Kasey must have talked about that shit, right? Had a scare or… or something? My mom checks the fucking computer at home and everything at the school is blocked so I can’t even Google this shit…”

“Shit, man,” Ricky sighed, his eyes wide. “We haven’t had to deal with that. Fuck knows we’re not perfect about condoms but she’s on the pill. I don’t know if there’s even a clinic around here, I could ask Kasey, she might have some friends…”

Joel just nodded, still trying not to panic. It felt like he’d been on the verge of panic since the morning after prom and realized what he’d done. How had he done something so fucking stupid? How had he been so goddamn reckless? With you of all people?

He’d taken the fucking sex ed classes - which was more than his mother had ever said to him, only ever saying “just wait until you’re married before you go thinking about that” - and he knew that it only took one time, one time of him being a fucking idiot and giving in to what he wanted so bad he thought it might swallow him whole if he didn’t to ruin everything. He knew he might have gotten you pregnant and it wasn’t fucking fair that it was your life that would get wrecked because of his stupid fucking choices. He’d trade places if it were possible, make it so he was the one who had to go through all the bullshit and get all the stares for becoming a teenaged parent but it was always worse for girls. He wasn’t stupid, he’d seen it at school and he couldn’t handle seeing that happen to you. Especially if that meant you needing to drop out of college and derail your entire life, everything great you were going to do, because he’d fucked up.

“Well, hey, at least it’s her, right?” Ricky said, pulling Joel out of his own head. Joel just looked at him. “Could be worse, at least if… you know. At least it’s your friend.”

“No,” Joel shook his head. “It’s Goldie. I wish it were anyone else. It’d be better if it were anyone else.”

Joel heard signs of people nearby and sighed.

“Shit,” he said. “School’s out… I need to go try and find her, pick up Tommy…”

“Maybe it’d be better if you gave it a few days with her,” Ricky said, looking Joel up and down. “You’re freaking out, man. You’re only gonna freak her out, too. Just… Calm down, get your shit together, then talk to her. It’s not like she’s going anywhere, right? I’ll help you come up with a plan just in case but don’t talk to her while you’re freaking the fuck out. It’ll just make it worse.”

“Right,” Joel nodded. “That’s… you’re right.”

Ricky clapped him on the shoulder again, giving him a friendly shake.

“Y’all will figure it out,” he said. “If anyone can, it’s you two.”

Joel nodded, trying to sort out his thoughts and figure out if he even could actually stay away from you any longer than he already had.

But, he thought, Ricky was right. You were the smartest person Joel knew and, for you, he was pretty sure he could figure out anything.

Next Chapter

A/N: Alrighty, I think we have most of the missing pieces to the Goldie disappearance now, right? Yeah? Cool.

I hope this chapter was worth the wait! I know it's been a long time coming for these two and they certainly still have a LOT to work through - the angst is still gonna be angstening for a bit yet because it's me BUT at least they got this far. Thanks for coming along for the ride! I really couldn't love and appreciate you all more.

Love you!!

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x oc #smut fic #the slow burn finally paid off omfg #halcyon #fucktacular

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llamagoddessofficial · 2 years ago

Note

Siren au! Instead of meeting in a aquarium like usual, what happens if they meet MC on a stranded boat. Maybe there was a shipwreck and she’s on a life raft, maybe on a piece of wreckage?

ohoOOOOOOO she's trapped in one of those rinky-dink life rafts with nothing but a tarp over the top to protect herself from the sun and rain, and a few day's worth of provisions.

What shall she do...

Sans: He's the first to find her, adrift in the middle of the ocean, with nothing but her raft and rations. Encountering a siren is scary enough on a big boat, let alone in a tiny little raft with nothing to defend herself. She's forced to watch a monster stalking her as she drifts alone in the endless ocean.

... But for some reason... he doesn't eat her. When he finally does approach the boat, he talks to her- despite the frightening look in his eyelights he's strangely approachable. And after that, he starts bringing her supplies. Though she still finds his mannerisms eerie, she's not exactly going to turn down his help... he brings fish, turtles, edible seaweed, birds he snatches off the water's surface, plastic bottles for collecting rainwater. If she can't bring herself to kill something he does it for her. He gives her endless survival tools- and in return, she indulges in his obvious desperation for someone to talk to.

She'd rather the crazy siren wants to help her, after all.

Red: She loves when Red shows up.

Again, at first, she was terrified when a massive shark siren started stalking up to her raft. She very nearly called out for Sans. But then Red popped up, put his arm over the edge of her boat- and he started flirting. She was so shocked that it genuinely made her laugh... something she thought she'd forgotten how to do, considering what she's going through. He regularly appears to just crack jokes, call her cute, and ask her about her life on land- she never would've thought a siren could be so funny. Now, when she hears that familiar "heya, pretty pearl~", she really can't help but light up.

He's clear that he's there to flirt, to play, to have a bit of fun. His easygoing aura keeps her sane... sometimes, it almost feels like he talks to her just to keep her from going mad.

Sans and Red clearly don't like each other. They both want to be her favourite, and they're both territorial. But when they fight, it really frightens her; she retreats into the raft and covers it with the tarp, refusing to come out for hours.

So they behave... just for her.

Skull: He only comes at night, when the darkness is absolute.

She hears the sound of him approaching. His tentacles twisting in the water. She lays flat on her back in the boat, hidden from view under the tarp, terror gripping her entire body. He knows she's there. She hears something brush against the hull, she hears something tapping a repeating rhythm just inches from her face, she feels when he grips the raft and her entire world instantly seems so fragile. She sees light, colourful glows creeping up from the other side of the raft edge... though her curiosity whispers at her to just look once, to see where the light is coming from, her terror keeps her absolutely stone still every night.

She doesn't know why he doesn't just tip the boat, he's clearly capable of it. She doesn't know why he never reaches into the raft, only remaining outside. Maybe he's playing with her. She doesn't know why he seems to like to hum to her, quietly...

... And she doesn't know why he's always gone by sunrise.

#llamagines #life raft au #hehehehehehe #skull doesnt want to violate her 'den' space #it would be extremely rude to do that #she'll come out to him eventually #she has to...#sans: i get all her food. i get all her survival supplies. obviously im her favourite #red: mhm... well. have you considered im her silly little guy

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fayes-fics · 24 days ago

Text

The Wonderful Unexpected: Chapter 2

Masterpost PREV | NEXT

Pairings: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader, Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader (future chapters), Modern AU

Chapter Summary: Who are all these people? And how did you end up someone's fiancee?!

artwork by me

Warnings: none, really... character is in a coma, but injuries are not life-threatening.

Word Count: 3.2k

Author's Note: Chapter 2 of our story. After the mugging, Anthony is in hospital, and there is a confusing development as the Bridgerton clan arrives en masse. In this AU Violets father, Lord Ledger. is still alive and I’ve given him the first name Victor. Please see the masterpost for a synopsis. Thank you to @colettebronte for slogging through two versions of this; seriously, she's my hero. Please enjoy! <3

Everything is a blur when you arrive at St Thomas’s Hospital. The ambulance was on the scene so fast - the lack of traffic on Christmas Day likely helped with that to no end. Before you know it, you are being told to step aside as medics swarm around his stretcher.

“What’s his name?” A hawkish man in scrubs rapidly fires at you as he checks pupil reactivity.

“I um, l-l, l don't know,” you stumble as they wheel him into Casualty.

“You don't know his name?!”

“I… I..”

“Are you family?” His brusque tone just makes you even more halting. “Family only.”

“No, you don't understand, l was…”

“You cannot come further if you are not family. Wait out there.” He snaps tersely, jabbing a finger towards the waiting area, looking at you almost angrily.

Feeling helpless, you catch a final glimpse of your Prince Charming being wheeled beyond some double doors.

“Oh, l was gonna marry him….” you sigh under your breath.

The next thing you know, a friendly-looking nurse with Dorset on his name badge is guiding you to the waiting area.

—

“Miss? Please come with me…”.

You startle awake, not realising you had drifted off. Mildly discombobulated, you get up and follow Nurse Dorset on instinct, hobbling slightly, your body stiff from napping on the hard, uncomfortable plastic chairs. It doesn't even occur to you to ask where he is taking you or why.

You are led down the corridor and, a few minutes later, ushered into a fancy-looking wing you never even knew existed. Then on into a private ICU room. There, among a raft of beeping machines, is your Prince Charming. He looks so peaceful, even with an ugly bruise on his forehead and a small cut on his stubbed lower lip.

“Come on, over here,” Dorset beckons with an encouraging mien as you hover close to the door. “Let him hear your voice.”

Before you can even say anything, Dorset is called out of the room, and you are left alone for a few seconds, staring at the man who has been the star of your spicier dreams for months now—with no idea what to say.

—

“Is that the woman who saved his life?” The doctor queries, staring through the porthole in the door at the back of your head.

“Yep. But it’s even better,” Dorset grins gleefully. “She’s his fiancee…”

—

“Hi... I…” you reach for your man’s hand, an instinct to comfort.

Anything else you might say is interrupted as the door sweeps open and a doctor strides in.

“Hello, Miss, I'm Doctor Samuels.”

“Hi, I'm....”

But your response is cut off, this time by a large gaggle of people barging into the room.

“Where is he? Where is my son?” An elegant woman in her fifties harries.

“You can't come bursting into this unit!” A harassed-looking medical receptionist bustles in after them. Who they all seem to roundly ignore.

“This is my son,” the lady addresses the doctor, her elegant features looking pinched with concern. “How is he?”

“He'll be alright? Right doctor?” A handsome man with a smooth voice queries, wrapping an arm around the lady, seeking reassurance for her.

“What happened? What's going on?” An elderly man who looks vaguely confused about his surroundings peers around them.

The doctor signals to the receptionist all is okay with a nod then turns to the gathered crowd.

“He's in a coma….” they begin.

“On Christmas Day?!” The elderly man interjects lamentingly.

“He is stable. His vital signs are strong, and his brain waves are good," the doctor continues as the man mouths a concerned ‘brain waves?’ at the lady, looking very worried. “We are running tests, but the prognosis looks promising so far. We believe he is going to get through this.”

“He’s such an idiot….”

“How did this happen?”

You can't even keep up with who is saying what anymore. They are all talking over each other.

“He was mugged in the street,” Dorset pipes up in answer to the last question.

You didn't even see him re-enter the room. It is like you are watching a film unfold right before your eyes, forgetting momentarily that you are actually in the room with them. Well, that is until the next person speaks up.

“Who's she?” A stately looking slightly older woman queries, standing apart from the rest, her eagle eye on you, pointing at you with the tip of her cane.

“She's his fiancee….” Nurse Dorset responds, looking puzzled.

All their heads whip towards you, comedically in sync.

“His fiancee?” A teenage boy scoffs. You hadn't even seen him until now.

“Anthony's fiancee?” The first lady who spoke - his mum - looks at you in utter disbelief.

“Anthony's engaged?” The elderly man, likely her father based on the family resemblance, echoes.

Well, at least your Prince Charming has a name. Anthony. Somehow, it really suits him.

“Yes, I thought….” Nurse Dorset seems just as perplexed as they are, and you know you need to intervene.

“No, you don't understand….” you try again, but you are drowned out in the chaotic scene.

“Wait. Whaaaaaat? Why didn't he tell us?!” The teenage girl has a look of complete glee about the unfolding drama.

“He should have told us.” The lady with the cane corrects, tapping it on the ground, looking peeved.

“Maybe he was busy?” The younger of the men shrugs.

“Too busy to tell his own mother he's getting married?!” The first woman outbursts, staring down at Anthony as if expecting an answer from him.

“Don't shout at him!” The old man scolds.

“I'm not shouting at him, Papa,” she snaps before tilting her head back and sighing. “If only Benedict were here…”

There are a few moments where they just bicker amongst themselves, almost as if you are not in the room again. Then, in the midst of all the commotion, the old gentleman suddenly grabs the end of the bed frame, his complexion paling, as the teenage girl reaches for him.

“Grandpa?”

“Is he alright?” The doctor looks up from the chart and at him askance.

“He's got a heart problem,” the lady with the cane mutters, trying not to be overheard. “He's had three attacks already.”

The old man seems to rally a touch, shooting her a disagreeing glance. “They were not attacks, Agatha. They were episodes,” he disputes.

“Nothing wrong with his hearing,” Agatha asides, and you suspect there must be some history between them.

“Excuse me, Doctor. What is she doing here?”

It's the man from before in the scrubs, staring disapprovingly at you. The one who would not allow you to accompany Anthony earlier. Just the latest entrant into this merry-go-round of people in the room.

Nurse Dorset scowls at him. “ She saved his bloody life, Cowper, remember?”

“You saved his life?” Violet looks at you anew, eyes wide.

Before you can reply Agatha cuts in. “l thought he was mugged?”

“He was. They knocked him out, stole his watch. Left him in the middle of the road. She dragged him to safety, avoiding the street sweeper.” Dorset explains, grinning at you proudly. He must have gotten the story from the ambulance crew while you were napping.

“You dragged him out of the road?” Marcus looks just as incredulous now, sizing up how you could have moved a six-foot athletic man.

You go to answer, but as practically expected by now, you aren't even able to start your sentence.

“Doctor, it's supposed to be family only,” Cowper sneers.

“She IS family.” Violet attests, stepping forward purposefully and looking steely at him.

Something warm spreads in your chest at the very thought, but you also cannot lie anymore.

“Okay, look, l-l'm sorry. You, you don't understand…” you begin to protest.

Before you know it, she has grabbed you and pulled you into a motherly embrace. She smells of fresh cotton and lilacs.

“I'm so sorry, my dear. Anthony is a complete workaholic. We haven't seen him for a long time, so we didn't know he had a new relationship...” She apologises softly into your hair as she squeezes you so tight.

You should be the one asking forgiveness for this complete mix-up. But there is a lump in your throat that steals your voice. Something about her motherly embrace makes you incapable of replying.

“I always wanted him to find a nice girl,’ she smiles, cupping your jaw. “I'm just so glad he found you.”

Oh fuckity fuck.

—

A few minutes later, you finally manage to escape and catch up to Nurse Dorset, grabbing his sleeve.

“Why did you say that?! I'm not his fiancee!”

He looks shocked. “Why did you tell me that you were?!”

“I didn't! I've never even spoken to him! Not really. I just pulled him out of the road, that's all!”

“But…but when you arrived, you said, you said you were gonna marry him?” Dorset counters.

And you suddenly realise where all this confusion started from—your silly, offhand comment.

“Bloody hell,” you exhale, “l was just… talking to myself…”

“Well, next time you talk to yourself, tell yourself you're single and end the conversation,” he suggests, rather unhelpfully.

You exchange looks for a beat.

“Excuse me, nurse. Is there a pharmacy in the hospital?” Agatha materialises next to you.

Dorset buffers briefly before inquiring: “What do you need?”

“Victor. He wants nitroglycerin.”

“Oh, for his heart problem?”

“Problem? Problems, my dear, plural…” She replies sardonically before she turns her attention to you. “l think you saved his life. In fact, l think you saved the whole family,” she states somewhat enigmatically before tapping her cane. “Why don't you come with me?”

It's said in a tone that brokers no argument and so dutifully you follow.

—

By the time you are back in the waiting room, a much fancier one in this private wing, Agatha has explained who everyone is. You learn that Anthony’s mother’s name is Violet. That Marcus is her partner. Victor is indeed her father, and the teenagers are her youngest - Hyacinth and Gregory. Anthony is apparently her oldest child, and you can see it. She must have been very young when she had him. Agatha doesn't elucidate her relationship to the family, and you don't pry, guessing she might be related to Marcus somehow.

Just as you sense she is about to grill you, to your relief, the others spill into the waiting room while Anthony is taken for more tests.

“So, tell us the story of how you two met…” Victor grins as he drops into a soft chair, his relief at being seated palpable.

“I doubt she wants to talk about that right now,” Violet contends diplomatically as if intuiting your desire to stay quiet.

“Why not? We could all do with a nice story while we wait,” Victor shrugs.

“How do you know it’s nice?” Agatha needles him.

“Of course it is. Why shouldn't it be nice?” He contends, shooting her a somewhat flirtatious look. Which she pretends to ignore, but you don't miss the ghost of a smile twitching her lip.

“What about that other one? What's her name? The one we bumped into him with outside The Ivy?” Agatha frowns, gesturing to Violet as if she can help with her recall. “Do you remember? He got all sheepish. Couldn't wait to get her away from us.”

“What's that got to do with the price of apples?” Victor throws out.

“Siena Rosso,” Marcus answers, pulling a face as if the name itself is an insult to his sensibilities.

“Marcus..!” Violet chastises softly.

“What? All l know, my love, is that she was a tad conceited for someone who makes their living dancing on TikTok,” he comments drily.

“Well, he has a nice girl now,” she dismisses, smiling benevolently and grabbing your hand, squeezing it gently.

There’s that lump in your throat again.

“So, did you-- did you steal him from Siena?” Hyacinth’s face is impish and gossip-hungry as she flops onto the seat next to you, raising an eyebrow.

“l bet it was love at first sight.” Victor smiles at you avuncularly. “l have a sense about these things.”

“Grandpa, let her speak,” Hyacinth whines, rolling her eyes.

“She is telling it.” he counters, shooting you a wink. “l bet he picked you up in that Aston Martin.”

“What was it about him that first caught your attention?” Violet asks, looking almost doe-eyed. You can tell she is a romantic soul, and you have to answer without artifice.

“It was his, uh, smile,” you admit, your tone wistful as you recall the first time you saw it, knowing your cheeks are heating.

“His teeth are fake,” Gregory chips in, looking up from his phone for the first time.

“No, they aren't,” Violet hushes him before turning her attention back to you, her hazy blue eyes so expectant, willing you to go on.

“Well, um…”

You feel your heart thumping as all of their attention is on you now—his whole family, a loving, spirited, close-knit bunch. You find yourself again not wanting to lie. You will just have to be vague.

“We saw each other, and, um, he smiled. And, well, l knew that my life would just never be the same…”

You are mildly impressed with your own ability to fudge the details, but then your dreamy look whenever you think of him undoubtedly helps. They all smile and settle back into their chairs, seemingly happy with your answer. You take a sip of your lukewarm tea and stare up at the tiny TV hanging from the ceiling in the corner, silently playing The Snowman, and you swallow hard.

How on earth am I going to tell them the truth now?

—

It's 6pm by the time you get back to your flat, an hour’s walk away from the hospital. There’s no Tube or buses on Christmas Day. Despite the dreary cold, you actually think the long walk helped. It gave you time to decompress from the most dramatic Christmas Day you’ve ever had. But it got you no closer to working out what you can do to tell Anthony’s family the truth. You feel you have to tell them but have no idea how to even broach the subject now.

Alby is in the hallway when you open the door, a novelty Santa hat perched on his head, the smell of food and the sounds of a dispute leaking out from the doorway to his flat. He had mentioned his dad’s relatives would be coming over to keep him company on his first Christmas alone. He, however, appears to be attempting to glue the hallway table back together.

“Escaping for a few?”

Your guess startles him from his reverie, but he looks inordinately pleased to see you.

“Y/n! Happy Christmas! There’s some big argument about the best way to roast potatoes,” he rues. “So I thought it best to deploy myself elsewhere.”

He gestures to the table. The fixed leg looks, well, not great. Botched really. It’s definitely uneven now.

“What do you think?”

You don't have the heart to be truthful.

“It looks as good as Christmas Day…” you offer opaquely, aiming for breezy.

“Thanks!” he beams and gives a double thumbs up as you ascend the stairs.

He doesn't need to know its apt metaphor for the complete shitshow this Christmas Day has been. You can already hear Chairman Meow’s loud protests that you have dared to leave him alone all day.

—

After the delight of Wallace and Gromit over a microwave meal, you head to bed. But it’s a sleepless night of tossing and turning, haunted by sudden flashes of the mugging, imagining awful versions where you are not able to help him. So around 5am, you give up, knowing the buses will start running soon; you throw on your coat and head back to the hospital, something in you needing to see him safe, to know he is being cared for.

The ward is quiet, apart from the rhythmic beep of machines when you arrive. As you get to his room, you leave the door propped open. Collapsing into the chair at his bedside, you watch his handsome face, so peaceful in repose, for a few moments before speaking.

“Hi. I guess you're wondering what I'm doing here?” you open with an ironic smile before continuing. “Well, l thought l should introduce myself properly. I’m y/n. You might vaguely recognise me; I'm the one who sometimes makes your daily espresso. Anyway, sooooo, a bit of a mix-up. Your family - they are lovely by the way - they think we're engaged. Dunno about you, but never been engaged before. Not sure about this ring?”

You hold up your bare left hand jokingly and laugh incongruously at the absurdity of the situation before changing tack.

“l came back here to tell you the truth. Yep, I know that's silly because you probably can't hear me. But I couldn't sleep and needed to tell someone. So you are that someone. Lucky you, eh? Anyway, l didn't mean for any of this to happen. I just wanted to check you were okay after the mugging. And then things all went a bit pear-shaped. Still not quite sure what happened myself, if I’m honest, but… here we are. Y’know, if you had any inkling of self-defence, we wouldn't be in this mess in the first place. Sorry. Not blaming you. But, okay, well, I sort of am…”

You reach out to pat the back of his hand reflexively in apology for your gallows humour, but you linger. His skin is so soft and warm under your fingertips. It's been a while since you touched a man’s hand, and it makes something jolt in your gut. Perhaps it’s the lack of sleep after a crazy day, or maybe it’s just something about him, a sudden compulsion to tell him more about yourself.

“I guess I’m like so many people my age: still confused about where my life should be. Trying to be a filmmaker, but that is not really going anywhere, as you can no doubt tell from my stellar barista skills.”

You chuckle sarcastically and sit back in the chair, crossing your legs.

“I can’t really complain. My life is not bad. l have a cat, Chairman Meow; he's the best animal in the world, and I will accept no evidence to the contrary. I have the aforementioned job, which just about covers the heating bill and my Deliveroo addiction. l have a flat all to myself thanks to some inheritance. Which means sole possession of the remote control - very crucial. It's just... well…”

You pause, not sure you should voice it, but seem unable to stop the truth from spilling out.

“If you tell anyone this, I will have to kill you, but… okay, yes, I'm a little lonely. I’ve never met anybody that l could laugh with, share the sofa with, hell even the remote with. Just sitting together in a happy silence? I want that. That person who just… knows you…”

The wistfulness has you staring at his long, dark lashes, almost willing his eyes to open.

“Now all that person has to do is dump the perfect dancer that they are with,” you jest pointedly, recalling the Siena his family mentioned earlier. “And realise that you are, in fact, the one that they just want to be, well, boring with.”

That last line gives you the mortifying realisation of how ridiculous you sound, even to yourself, talking to a comatose man predawn on Boxing Day. You definitely need some sleep.

“Have you ever been so alone you spent Christmas confusing a man in a coma?” You deadpan as a parting line, deciding it's best to leave this poor man and his family alone. You can just be a strange anecdote they talk about for years to come: the unknown woman who turned up on Christmas Day claiming to be his fiancee and then just disappeared.

But as you stand up and pull on your coat, what you do not see behind you in the doorway is Agatha Danbury, a look of understanding washing over her face.

She heard every word you said.

masterlist • wips • taglist (must follow this blog to be tagged)

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