#like i'm not planning on using the eggs though i don't need to be warned that they're not fertilized

[dredshirtroberts]

well as it turns out, werewolf transformation is as painful as it looks.

in related news, guess who has memory problems and remembered their hormonal cycle directly impacts their chronic pain issues. (hint: it's meeee)

[pynkfairyheart]

Pairings: connie x black reader

Warnings: smut 18+ Connie's a lil toxic, mentions of a gun, pretty angsty

pt.2 to birthday girl but can be read as a standalone

Miss you

Constance Springer. The man who was once the source of your happiness though recently the source of your frustration and headaches.

“I just don't get it, Con. You take me on these amazing dates, buy me anything that catches my attention, and say you wanna spend the rest of your life with me, yet when I ask to publicly announce we’re together, which I shouldn't have to, you always brush it aside.” You spoke as calmly as possible. Though considering this was the 4th time this week you were having this conversation your calm tone resembled shouting.

It had been five months since your birthday. Five months since Connie gave you the best gift you could ever think of. Himself.

The first four months felt as if you were on cloud nine. The entire duration it was as if you were conjoined at the hip. Connie had to make a couple of drops? There you were in his passenger seat watching a movie or using his card to pay for the large quantity of your cart.

You needed to go make up a missed exam? Connie was waiting in his car with a bouquet of your favorite flowers. The only time you weren't seen together was if he was doing something he didn't want you involved in or if he was out buying you secret lavish gifts such as the car he got you a week after your birthday. Life was great.

It wasn't til you were at your nail appointment with Mika where she nearly cut you with her clippers from shock the moment you brought up your relationship with Connie, that you realized no one knew about it.

At first, you were confused. How could no one know? You were always together but the more you thought about it you started to understand. Whenever you were out he wasn't as affectionate as when it was just the two of you, just a few touches that could easily be considered friendly, but you just brushed it off as him not being comfortable with PDA.

Even when you went on dates he'd buy the entire venue or restaurant out so it'd be just you two or would plan the nicest dates at the house, either way, no one saw you on dates as a couple.

You thought about it for a while before it finally ate you up and you just had to ask. His response was the reason shit went left.

“Whatchu mean let people know we’re together? Ion want people in our business. I'm yours and you're mine, that's all that matters” He brushed it off with a kiss on your forehead before running to go get some eggs around the corner. He was only gone for ten minutes yet in that time frame you went through hundreds of different reasons as to why he responded that way.

At first, you were confused. Then, you were trying to reassure yourself he's right as long as we know then we straight. But immediately after that thought came anger why the fuck doesn't he want people to know? Am I the fuckin side chick?

By the time Connie came back you were fuming. You trusted Connie, the night he asked you to be his he promised you he'd never do anything to hurt you yet you couldn't deny how suspicious this was. He barely had time to lock the door behind him before you started with your questions.

“You cheating on me Constance?”

“What?” He almost gave himself whiplash with how fast he turned, looking at you as if you had said the stupidest shit ever which in his mind you did.

“You heard me. Are you cheating?” You followed him into the kitchen of his apartment.

“No [☆] I'm not cheating. I needa take you to the ER? Cause it sounds like you hit your head while I was gone”

“Then why don't you wanna tell anyone?”

“About us?”

“Duh”

“I already told you, mami, I don't want people all up in our business”

That was two weeks ago and you guys were nowhere near in a better place. By no means were you insecure. You knew Connie loved you and only you but you wanted others to know as well. It's not like you wanted to leak one of your many sex tapes on IG. You just wanted at least your friend group to know you were together. Connie wasn't having it though.

“Mama lower your tone” He groaned. Inked hands rubbing his face from frustration.

“Just tell me, Con. Why don't you want anyone to know?”

“Is it wrong to wanna keep our relationship private? I love you princess but you buggin’ for real. Drop it”

“You know what. Fuck this, nd fuck you too. There's a big fucking difference between private and secret.” You slammed his bedroom door. This was too much. You couldn't take it anymore; it was as if he was ashamed of you. You loved Connie, you really, really loved him but this hurt, the constant drop of your heart whenever he let go of your hand the moment you stepped out of his apartment complex or whenever a girl flirted with him in front of the group but there was nothing you could do. You were done. No amount of love could make you settle for anything less than you knew you deserved.

Despite your teary eyes you managed to pull yourself together. Grabbing your bag, you packed as much as possible before finally exiting the room.

Connie was in the middle of rolling a blunt when he saw you walk out, he would have been convinced that his heart was lying on the couch when he stood up if it wasn't for the loud thumping in his ears.

“Where are you going?” He stood in your way

“Connie please move” You sniffled

“No, not until you tell me where you're going. Please [☆] lo siento, mami, por favor, no te vayas please don't go” His voice cracked as reality hit him. Dropping to his knees, his hands gripped the soft flesh of your hips.

“I promise to be better, I promise. I will call everyone on my phone and tell them about us right now, please don't go” At this point, you had to look away. His tear-stricken face and Spanish almost had you fold.

“We'll work this out ma, estaré mejor, lo prometo I'll be better, I promise”

“No, we can't Connie. Not right now” And with that, you left.

A month had passed so far. It was rough in the beginning. He blew your phone up 24/7 to the point where you had to block him. You couldn't eat, and whenever you did have the energy to stay awake you did nothing but scroll on your phone, your thumb always finding the photo album where you stored all pictures of Connie.

Sasha and Mikasa finally had enough, while Mika was the only one you told Sasha had a pretty good idea after she went to visit Connie only to find him in the same state as you, maybe even worse. Deciding you needed to leave the walls of your apartment and have fun, they finally convinced you to go out. Taking a couple of pregame shots while shaking ass in the mirror, your outfit leaving nothing to the imagination as you finally felt ready to face reality.

By the time you had arrived at the party, the drinks started to kick in and you grabbed the first sexy guy you saw and dragged him to the dance floor.

Unknown to you Connie was also at the party, standing in the corner as he made a few deals. He looked tired, and he was. The moment the door closed behind you he broke down. Ignoring all of the calls and texts he got from clients as he sat there. He was angry. Angry at you for leaving him but mostly angry at himself for fucking up.

When Connie finally caught sight of you it was as if someone had finally flipped the switch on throughout his body. His heart sped up, his posture straightened and his dick twitched at the sight of your body in the dress.

His dick wasn't the only thing twitching. When it finally registered to Connie that you were letting some random guy touch you as you whined on him, his eye twitched and his hand immediately went to his gun.

He was furious. With zero fucks he approached you, the barrel of his gun pressed against the guy who you were currently throwing it back on.

When you no longer felt the swaying of the man behind you, you turned to be met with the fear-frozen stranger and Connie whispering something in his ear. You didn't have time to ask what was going on before the guy scurried off and Connie roughly grabbed your arm, dragging you out of the house party.

Despite the fact you were no longer together and he had no right to drag you away, you stayed quiet. Connie rarely got angry but when he did you knew it was best to just stay quiet.

“Get in the fucking car [☆]” He threw open the door. You were convinced the thong you had on was completely drenched after those six words. His voice was low and threatening and you almost felt disgusting from how turned on you were. Almost. With one look into his rage-filled eyes, you got in the car, the door slamming behind you when he was sure you were safely in.

He quickly got in, tire tracks marking the ground as he sped off. It was silent for a minute before you decided to speak, once his grip on the steering wheel loosened and the color returned to his knuckles.

“Connie?” You faced him, eyes burning into the side of his head as he kept his dark stare on the road.

“Connie, come on. You can't just kidnap me and then not speak. Pull over and talk to me now” You huffed.

With a roll of his eyes, he pulled into a deserted parking lot.

“Hello? Either you get to talking or I'm getting out nd calling an Uber”

“No the fuck you're not” He groaned loudly, eyes meeting yours.

“Then talk” You borderline yelled

If Connie's hair was long enough to grip he'd have a couple bald spots from how frustrated he was. He gave you both time to cool down before he spoke.

“Look I'm sorry for dragging you away, and for threatening your lil boyfriend-”

“He's not my boyfriend”

“He's not?”

“No. Continue your apology” You rolled your eyes.

Your response had a smirk forming on his face. He missed you so much, even your attitude.

“I missed you ma. I'm sorry for dragging you away. I'm also sorry for how things ended.” He grabbed your hand.

“I now understand your feelings and your concerns and I'm sorry I ever made you feel like I was ashamed of you or if there was another woman. You're the love of my life ma, this past month has been pure hell. I need you baby. Please take me back.” His hands were shaking as they held yours securely. It was rare to see Connie cry, and the sight of his tear-streaked face made your heart ache. He really did love you.

Swallowing the lump in your throat you asked the one question that started it all.

“Be real Con. Why didn't you want anyone to know?”

With a sigh, he rubbed his facial hair.

“I was afraid you'd realize you could do better”

“What? What made you think that Con?”

“I sell drugs for a living, mami, I'm involved with a shit ton of dangerous people. I was afraid when others found out they'd start telling you things about me and you'd realize you can do so much better”

“Oh, Connie” You could no longer resist the need to be close to him. Maneuvering yourself so you sat in his lap you cupped his face as your eyes searched his.

“Papa there is no one better. I love you so much, Connie. There is nothing anyone could ever say to make me want or love you less because I know you. I know how much you care and love those around you. There is no one better, Connie.”

For some time, the two of you were wrapped in each other's arms as you faced your emotions.

When you both were calm, you finally dared to look into his eyes. The energy shift resembling the one from your birthday.

“Con” You slowly inched your face closer to his

“I'm sorry for all the hurt I put us through mami” His hand wrapped around your neck

“Déjame compensarte let me make it up to you” He closed the space between you.

It felt like the first breath taken after being underwater for a long time. You felt alive, felt loved. The once slow kiss grew into something more passionate. Both of you needy, as you fiend for dominance in the heated exchange.

Ultimately you lost the battle when his hands gripped your hips tightly as if to assure himself you weren't leaving again. It wasn't soon after that you found yourself in the back of his car with your legs resting on his shoulder as he drilled into you.

He littered kisses on your ankle as his grip on your hips tightened. His thick cock stretching you out had your eyes rolling back and moans of ecstasy coming out of your agape mouth.

“Yeah? You doing so good fa me ma. You miss this? Miss how good I fuck you?” His thumb found its way to your clit.

“Fuck, Connie” You whined. Attempting to push his hand away from the sensitive bud.

“Answer me princesa or ima stop” He warned

“Yes, Connie- mhmph I miss it so bad papi oh my god” Your velvety walls squeezed him tight.

"Fuuuck. Don't ever leave me again, you hear me? I can't take it, baby, I love you too much. T-try that shit again nd Imma make you watch while I put a bullet in between his eyes. Understand?” His pace increased.

God that shouldn't have turned you on as much as it did. You were convinced you could have come on the spot, the added pressure on your carotids when you didn't answer immediately wasn't any help.

“Y-yes Con, I promise it won't happen again” You managed to say in between the moans and whimpers that you no longer had the energy to contain.

“Keep squeezing me, mami. I'm so fuckin close” He groaned, hand no longer on your neck as it rested against the steamy windows to stable himself.

The atmosphere of the car was pure filth. Your moans bounced off the windows, the sloshing sound of your wet pussy and slapping skin that created the creamy ring around the base of cock topping it all off.

His thrusts were slowly getting sloppy, you were just squeezing him so tight.

“C-Con” You managed to gasp out, the marks he littered on your neck to suppress his whimpers, having the coil in your belly tighten.

“I know mama, let go fa me” He groaned.

That instant you came, eyes rolling to the back of your head for a quick second as your cream and small spurts of squirt leaked from your pussy.

“Shit mama” He panted, dick twitching as he painted your walls with his cum.

Connie being the lover boy he was despite repeatedly denying it whispered apologies, and sweet promises into your ear as you came down from your high.

“I'm sorry mami, I promise to be better” He kissed you softly as if you were in a fairytale before whispering in your ear.

“But don't think just cus we're good now, that I'm not gon tear that ass up when we get home for giving that loser a taste of what's mine.”

I dont know how i feel about this one buuutttt all thanks to @masterofthepp for giving me this idea. Hopefully it meets your standards babes. As always any feedback is welcome. mwah

[etheries1015]

Etheries hello! If you're open to requests right now, could you write something for twst where they find out (gender neutral but presumably afab) reader is pregnant with their child? I'd love to request for Azul, Vil, Malleus, and Rollo specifically but any others you think would be fun to write would be fun to read too. Thank you!!

YYYAAAA!!! I LOVE THIS CONCEPT Twst men with children make me so giddy inside hehehehe. Especially the non-humans for some reason, like Fae and Mer folk aosiefjlskadjf

You're pregnant!! Their reaction?

you know what, I decided to throw in how many daughters/sons I'd think they would have, too. For shits and giggles.

Featuring: Azul, Vil, Malleus, and of course I need to add my baby girl Lilia <3 I'm sorry, I really can't write Rollo, I sat here for an hour trying to think of something, but I suppose he is where my creativity halts... my apologies. I hope you like this nonetheless!

General warnings: Afab reader, but no pronouns are used. I feel like there is obvious malleus favoritism because I think he's a huge simp that wants a bunch of babies LMFAOOO, there's so much to write on him. And Lilias is a little bit more on the angsty side of things...but overall fluffy! Not very proofread either <3

Azul

He is BEYOND anxious. More anxious than he had ever felt in his entire life. You? His lovely significant other, pregnant, with HIS child? His offspring?

Almost faints at the news. When you tell him the news, he just stares at you with wide eyes and jaw ajar.

He is happy, truly, but he's honestly a mess. Will this be a mostly human child? Will you be giving birth to an octo-egg? Will they need to be birthed in the water of the sea? So many uknown variables and questions swim in his mind, but his first plan of action is to hug you tightly and sob into your shoulder.

CONSTANT doctor checkups. He's asking you to go more often than they would recommend, but he can't help it. He needs to be 10000% certain that you are going to be okay and find out what form his child will be taking.

Imagine if it's twins, oh my gosh. He would actually faint.

his children will have a never-ending supply of love from Uncle Jade and Uncle Floyd

Weird presents, probably ingesting food from the sea by his recommendation, prenatal potions, and bed rest. If he read it, you were doing it. Your health was his number one priority.

Azul is probably leaning towards a traditional father, going to work and getting as much profit as possible to support you and his children. But of course, he will take a significant amount of time off to help you and any obstacles that come with having a mer-folks child.

On the sweeter side...

His hands will be trembling ever so slightly, with tears in his eyes every time he feels your stomach. He will kiss your stomach, and lay on your lap to be close by. He can't believe he has come so far in life- to the point where he has a beautiful significant other such as yourself and a child on the way.

He worries about many things, finances, being able to get the most out of life, if he will be able to provide for you and this child, and the kind of life his child will have.

Kind of hopes that his child is mostly human. He was bullied for his species, being slow, pudgy, and whatnot. That's not the life he wants for his children if they end up looking more like him.

You're able to calm his nerves, though. All in all, he is incredibly excited to meet his new baby, and will be doing so by his beloveds side <3

I personally see him having one child. Probably a boy, probably an easy baby. I don't think Azul would want more than one child.

Vil

the moment he saw that positive pregnancy test, he had a conflicting wave of emotions.

Of course his outward reaction was to hug you, stroke your head, and pepper your face in kisses. Of course, the news elated him, he seemed calm and collected enough, but there were many worries in his mind.

He doesn't want to accidentally "ruin" his child.

Vil was always in the face of cameras, the face of the public's wary eye, and was hyper-focused on his image and how others may perceive him.

He would hate to accidentally subject his child to the same watchful eye of the public and create this whole image that he needs to be perfect. He wants this child to grow up how they choose, with good values, instead of fearing what may come out of the public opinion.

always hiding you and shielding you from paparazzi. He wanted to hide the news that you were pregnant until later down the line. There are some crazy fans out there, and he would never risk something happening to you. Face masks and disguises were not unknown to you from dating him already at this point, but it was almost as if it came out tenfold.

Rook and Epel = sweetest most doting uncles ever!

Vil had to slap Rook on the head when he felt like Rook was getting a little too handsy with your baby bump.

Epel made sure you had the best batch of apples straight from the farm! Good for the baby, he says!

Vil loves playing music for you and his child, piano, singing...he loves it. it's great bonding for the both of you. He'd hum and sing songs to your stomach while rubbing it gently.

Finances will never pose a problem. Another thing that was never a problem, was Vil going out of his way to take off work and make sure he was there to properly take care of you. You never felt abandoned and alone despite his busy schedule and the fact he was always out doing some sort of movie shoot or commercial, he would never hesitate to take off or call in if you were having a particularly rough day.

Overall, he's excited! He hopes the baby grows up in their own skin and individuality, making choices for themselves when it comes to their career path. And a little side note...he really liked how cute you looked waddling around pregnant with a baby bump. Heuehue.

I can envision you and Vil possibly having two-three children, pretty even in age difference. Depends! I think he would like a big family, get a home with plenty of space. I can see him with both boys and girls, I think I see Vil being a really good "girl dad" tho.

Malleus

absolutely ecstatic. He wanted this so so so bad. He was over the moon. He held back an embarrassing display of giggling and fangirling over the fact he impregnated you, instead opted with a smile and a "Wonderful."

You sometimes wonder if he purposefully did something to result in your pregnancy because I like to think he's a little bit insane like that, but it's okay! You don't mind!

This man wants so. many. kids. Half-fae Half human children run around the castle bringing it to life and showing off the world the unity between humans and faes. He doesn't care if anyone else doesn't agree with this, he on the other hand is absolutely bemused by you and the fact you are bearing his children.

Will they come out as eggs needing to be hatched? How long will it take to hatch with your nonmagical side? Will they have mostly human attributes? Will his fae genetics be so dominant that it's like a bunch of little copies of him? Will his child have your ears and his eyes? and vise versa? will his child come out looking just like he did, in a full dragon form, or will his child come out like a normal human? He has asked ALL of these questions and more. He is so excited.

Buys a lot of clothes, builds rooms in the castle (yes, rooms. because he knows you will have more of his children and wants to be prepared.) "Can never have enough to be prepared for all outcomes," He says. Whatever floats his boat, I suppose!

Appoints the most skilled doctors there is in the Valley. You are always, without a doubt, taken care of. He reads piles upon piles of parenting books, he's always by your side, to the point where sometimes he brings you into important meetings just to be sure you were in his sights.

He vows his children will never feel the crushing lonliness he did as a child. He vouches to always be availble to have meals with his children, to play with his children, and be active in their learning process. He will allow them to travel all over and gain knowledge, and be certain they will never feel like they are missing out on anything.

He LOVES your baby bump. At night in bed he will press his ear up against your stomach, rub it, kiss it, talk to it. He is so infatuated with you and your body. Kisses every single stretch mark, and his hands are all over you. Seeing you pregnant with his child stirs up some sort of desire to keep you that way, but he tries to...push down this part of him. For the most part. Heuheu.

And when you two are sleeping, his dragon tail always comes out to wrap around you protectively. It's his way of making sure both of you are safe through the night because sevens forbid anything happens to his beloved and their child(ren).

Honestly, I am a firm believer that Malleus would have twins, for some reason. Two hatchlings! Together! A boy and a girl. (I have a whole fic idea for this...you'll probably see it one day. heuheu.) or two boys. I think it would be super chaotic with two twins with big draconic features and attitudes, alot of running around and mischief in the house!! He would of course go on to have more children with you. I think it may become an addiction for him. Or not! I can also see him being content with two.

Lilia

Honestly, when you first gave him the news, he was uncertain how to feel. He inquired if you were serious,him raising a child at his age? He wasn't certain he'd be able to do it. He raised Silver, and now that his magic reserves were dwindling, he was worried he wouldn't be able to fully be there for you and your baby.

"Lilia...i'm pregnant." Once those words left your lips, his normal silly demeanor dropped slightly. He had a thoughtful look upon his face, eyes wide staring at you. He asked if you were certain, and it was initially a long and deep discussion about your future together and how things will pan out.

After talking it out, a few tears and heartfelt moments, Lilia smiled brightly and gave you the biggest hug and kiss on the cheek. He started to become a little more excited! And once you shared the news with Silver, Malleus, and Sebek, they were more than happy to pitch in a helping hand.

Honestly, I think as he saw your baby bump grow, so did his excitement. He of course loved the children he adopted more than anything in the entire world, but something about looking at you holding your tummy full of his very own blood, it felt...different.

He was nervous, for sure. This was a child that was going to carry his lineage, his very own DNA coursing through that baby. He wasn't sure how things would turn out but prayed that this baby would have a life of peace and acceptance, unlike his war-filled days and alienation for being a lesser type of fae.

He was OBSESSED with how you looked pregnant. He could get used to this sight, you waddling around, swollen feet... for more in-depth details about how he felt about you being pregnant, you can take a read at this fic I wrote a while ago about it. All in all, he pampers you to death. Rubbing your feet, kissing your stomach, tracing your stretch marks with his fingers...oh he could truly get used to this.

He does fear what the future may hold. He wants all of his children to see him at his strongest, not to see him slowly give into old age as his magic fades to nothing. You may have to reassure him a few times throughout your pregnancy that you and this child will love him no matter what, and remind him that YOU are magicless as well. And Lilia would make an amazing father, with or without his "power." It's his personality and determination as an amazing, child-loving figure that will give this child a life to look forward to.

Once he gets over the insecurities about becoming a father to a new half-fae, half-human baby, he starts to dig up old parenting books he used to have.

He will give this baby, and you, as much love as he possibly can <3\

I can see Lilia with a girl! Probably just one baby, because he can only handle so much anymore! He would be an AMAZING girl dad. He would be a great father regardless of the gender of the baby, but I can really see him with a daughter for some reason. The visions are strong with this one.

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Chapter 10, Pt. 1: Happy Birthday, Javi

Summary: Javier Peña has never liked celebrating his birthday. That is, until you came into his life, and planned to give him a birthday that he will never forget. (Part 1 covers leading up to Javi's birthday and the morning of)

Word Count: 9.3K (I don't know how my peanut brain thought I could make his birthday only one chapter and keep it a reasonable length)

Warnings: SMUT (18+), unprotected p in v sex (wrap it up, y'all), oral (f receiving), vaginal fingering, creampie, praise, overstimulation (if you squint), anal fingering (f receiving *runs away into the sunset*), Javi being our consent king, Javi really just loving your ass (It's his birthday, give the man what he wants), mentions of death/grief (but in a really sweet, wholesome way), mentions of food/eating, Chucho Peña once again being the world's best dad and you two having the cutest lil bonding moment, sweet tooth-rotting fluff (but it's these two, so would you expect nothing less?)

A/N: The people have spoken, so I now present to you, part 1 of Chapter 10. I'm not sure what I was thinking when I started writing this chapter, I knew it was about to be long as hell because our sweet Javi deserves the best birthday ever, and boy oh boy, is he gonna get it. Also keep in mind as you read this, that I will die on the hill that Javi loves all of you, but is 100% an ass man though and through don't make eye contact with me after reading this, man deserves his lil birthday treat More birthday fun is coming soon!!! Thanks to the very talented @wheresarizona for the inspiration of this birthday smut!

Series Masterlist Next Chapter Previous Chapter

“New boots?” 

“No.” 

“A new briefcase for work?” 

“No.” 

“A pony? A trip to the moon? A million dollars? C’mon Javi, it’s gonna be your birthday, there has to be at least something that you want!” You groaned, playfully hitting Javi’s chest as your warm bodies laid tangled together in your bedsheets, sunlight just beginning to spill through your curtains. 

“As long as I get to spend my day with you, that’s all I care about, Osita.” He chuckled at your stubbornness, pressing a soft kiss into your forehead. 

“Ugh, you being so sweet is making this very hard on me, you realize that?” You sighed dramatically, giving him your best grumpy face as you ran your hands through the dark brown curls of his messy morning bedhead. “Alright, you have to go get ready for work, what do you want for breakfast, handsome?” 

“You.” He rasped, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you and nipping at your neck, the hairs of his mustache brushing against your skin making you squeal and squirm. 

“Javi! Real food, you dummy. You’ve already eaten me out and and we’ve fucked this morning and it’s not even 7:00 o’clock yet. At this rate, your work is gonna start writing me up for you getting in later and later every day.” You giggled as you tried to wrestle your way out of Javi’s strong grip, your bodies intertwined with the sheets of your bed as Javi finally let go, giving you a long kiss before letting out an exaggerated sigh. 

“I thought you said you still needed to figure out what to get me for my birthday. This works just fine, Hermosa.” He looked at you, trying to give you his best puppy eyes and pouty lips. You lovingly swatted your arm at him, shaking your head. 

“You cannot use your puppy dog eyes on me like that! Your birthday still isn’t for another week, and believe me, you will get all the birthday sex you want then, but right now, you need to go get ready for work, mmmkay? Do you want scrambled eggs or sunny side up?” 

“How did you know I wanted eggs?” He asked, smiling at you. 

“It’s almost kind of like I know you, just a little bit. Now go, get your cute butt in the shower before your puppy dog eyes take full effect and I lose the little self control I have left.” You gave him a quick kiss as he rolled out of bed, the muscles of his back flexing deliciously as he yawned and stretched his arms above his head before making his way into the bathroom. 

From the moment you had found out about Javi's birthday, he had been very adamant that you didn’t need to do anything special to try and celebrate, let alone get him any gifts. To him, it was just another day that he got older, and that no one needed to do anything to acknowledge that. Truth be told, Javi hadn’t really had anyone to celebrate his birthday with since he was a much younger man than he was now. When he was in Colombia, the only person he had told about his birthday was Steve, and with the threat of beating the shit out of him if he told anyone else, the most Javi ever got for the past decade or so was Steve’s annual bottle of birthday whisky and a phone call from his dad. He wasn’t used to anyone caring about him, let alone his birthday. Javi knew that you were a terrible liar and couldn’t keep a secret to save your life, so you had been trying your best to throw him off your tracks for the past few weeks by asking things like what he wanted for his birthday, or what he wanted to do to celebrate. Little did he know, you already had a plan in place to give him the best birthday that he’d had in a very, very long time. Today, you had to try and execute the next phase of your birthday plot, which required a little luck, and finding Javi’s cell phone. 

Once you heard the water of the shower running, you knew you were in the clear. You shuffled over to Javi’s side of the bed, where his pants from the night before were still laying in a heap on the floor. Digging through his back pocket, you pulled out his cell phone, opening it up to press through the contacts page. “I really hope he only knows one Steve…” you mumbled to yourself as your finger clicked on the down arrow, scrolling through the names on the tiny screen. “Samuel H… Sargent Davis… Oh yes, here we go! Steve!” You were relieved to find there was only one Steve saved in his phone, assuming that it had to be his former partner Steve Murphy. You quickly ran out to the kitchen to grab a notepad and a pen to scribble down his number before closing his phone and folding the piece of paper, stashing it away in your nightstand. 

After you had opened up to Javi about your brother, Patrick, he slowly started to reciprocate, letting you dive deeper into his past life in Colombia, beginning to share stories from his time halfway around the world. One of the things you had quickly picked up on was how much he really liked his former DEA partner, despite how many times he had told you he was the biggest pain in his ass he had ever met. So much so, that a few weeks ago, Javi had gone out of his way to call Steve, just to catch up and talk, learning that his friend had moved to the San Antonio area not too long ago, looking to get away from the hustle and bustle of Miami. The conversation had ended with them saying they should get together at some point, and the party you had been planning for Javi seemed like just the right occasion to try and reunite him with his old friend. The plan was to try and call him today while Javi was at work and pray that he really was the right Steve you were looking for, and that he and his family would be able to come down and celebrate. 

Satisfied with your mission, you slipped on one of Javi’s now many shirts that lived in your drawers, his collection of clothes at your apartment seeming to grow by the week as the two of you spent more and more time together. You headed out to the kitchen, pouring yourself your mandatory cup of coffee before you got to work on breakfast. 

As Javi made his way down the hall, freshly showered and suited up for work, he leaned up against the wall, enjoying the new favorite part of his morning routine. It didn’t take long for Javi to start spending practically every night at your apartment once the two of you had started dating, his presence in your home becoming an almost permanent fixture in your day to day life. It took even less time for Javi to quickly discover there were few things he loved more than coming into the kitchen after he had showered and gotten himself ready for work to find you in nothing but your underwear and one of his shirts, singing along to whatever music you had picked for the morning as you cooked breakfast. It had now become ingrained as his favorite part of his morning, taking a few extra minutes just to lean against the kitchen wall and stare, taking in everything about your sweet and sassy self that made his heart feel like it was going to burst out of his chest every time he watched you dance and sing around the kitchen. This morning’s choices were his navy blue DEA shirt and Hall and Oats, already finding you singing louder than usual to “You Make My Dreams Come True.” 

“Someone’s in a good mood this morning.” He chuckled, standing behind you as he wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin against your shoulder as he watched you scramble the eggs in the pan below you. 

“Well it’s hard to be in a bad mood when you wake up to getting dicked down by your super hot boyfriend who comes out of the shower in his stupidly attractive suits for work.” You giggled as he kissed your shoulder, giving your ass a playful smack. “I could say the same for you, ya goof.” 

“Like you said Osita, hard to be in a bad mood when you wake up next to the most beautiful woman in the world and come out to find her making you breakfast in nothing but your shirt. The sex part’s alright too, I guess.” You nudged your elbow into his stomach as you both laughed. 

“Oh please, like you weren’t practically begging me to go for a second round this morning. Here, eat your breakfast, you horny menace.” You giggled as you put the finished eggs on a plate and handed them off to him. 

Per usual, Javi had already almost inhaled his food by the time you sat down to eat with him, taking a big mouthful of your eggs as he cleared his plate. “Any plans for today, Osita?” He asked, taking a sip of coffee out of the Star Wars mug that had now become his personal favorite after had finished watching the last of the 3 movies a few weeks ago. 

“Just some errands and stuff.” You tried your best to keep a straight face, knowing that you weren’t really lying about your plans for today, but you also weren’t exactly telling the truth. “Should probably start working on getting stuff ready for going back to school. I need to accept the fact that summer’s gonna come to an end at some point, as much as I don’t want it to.” You shrugged, trying to change the subject of Javi’s initial question. “Your complimentary breakfast and lunch every morning may not be as frequent once I have to go back to work, so I apologize in advance.” 

“No need to apologize, baby. You’ve spoiled me for the past few months. Just means I get to wake up early and make you breakfast now.” He stood up, grabbing his plate to bring it over to the sink, stopping first to give you a kiss on the forehead. After cleaning up, Javi downed the rest of his coffee and gathered his things to head out the door, preparing for the second favorite part of his morning, giving you one last hug and kiss goodbye before leaving for work. “Have a great day, Osita. Can’t wait to see you later. I love you.” He draped his arms around you, hugging you from behind as you still sat in your kitchen chair, planting a kiss on your cheek as you turned around to face him. 

“Love you too, Jav. Have a good day.” You stretched your neck towards him as he leaned down, your lips meeting softly and tenderly, leaving smiles on your parted mouths as you pulled away. Closing the door behind him, you gave him a soft smirk, the both of you beginning your internal countdown of the hours that needed to pass until you saw each other again. 

As soon as you heard the door lock, you waited a moment before you ran back to your room, grabbing the piece of paper with Steve’s phone number, hoping it was early enough to try and catch him before he got to work. You took a deep breath, wanting to make a good first impression on Javi's friend, even if it was just over the phone. You punched the numbers written on your note into the keypad, sitting on the couch as you let the dial tone ring. 

“Hello?” a low voice with a pronounced twang answered. 

“Hi, is this um, is this Steve?” You asked, anxiously chewing on your bottom lip, crossing your fingers that you had the right number written down from Javi’s contacts. 

“Yeah, this is Steve. Who’s askin’? Sorry, gimme one sec- Hey Connie, Olivia wants to know if she’s stayin’ late for soccer practice today. Okay, yeah, I’ll remind her. Hey sorry, tryin’ to get the girls off to summer camp and daycare or God knows where. Jesus, I cannot wait for school to start again. Sorry, who’d you say you were?” You let out a little sigh of relief hearing Connie and Olivia’s names, knowing you for sure had the right Steve. 

“I’m um, I’m Javi’s girlfriend.” You introduced yourself. 

“Well I’ll be damned. You really are real.” You could hear him chuckle to himself through the other end of the phone. “Javi wouldn’t shut up about you when we talked a few weeks ago. I’d never thought I’d live to see the day I saw that man so in love. What can I help ya with?” You smiled to yourself, blushing at the fact Javi hadn’t talked to Steve in months and you were the thing he was most excited to bring up. 

“Well, I heard from Javi last time the two of you talked that you moved to San Antonio not too long ago. I don’t know if you remember, but Javi’s birthday is coming up, and I’m trying to throw him a surprise birthday party and I wanted to invite you.  I’m sure he’d love to see you- Connie and your daughters, too. The party’s going to be Saturday the 16th at 3:00 at his dad’s ranch! I completely understand that it’s a big ask, and kind of last minute, but I figured I’d at least try!” 

“Awh shit, it is, isn’t it. I do owe that old man a few years worth of birthday whiskey. Lemme go talk to my wife real quick, hang on.” You heard him set the phone down as you held your phone up between your ear and shoulder, grabbing your notepad to write down a list of things you needed to get today while you waited for Steve’s response. “Hey, you still there?” You heard his voice again through the receiver. 

“Yup, still here!” 

“Looks like that old man’s about to have some more birthday guests. Con just wants to make sure it’s really okay if we bring the girls.” 

“Absolutely! Lots of friends and family are coming, so there will be plenty of other kids there, too! Thanks Steve, I know this will really mean a lot to him.” 

“Perfect. I sure do miss that asshole. Thanks for the invite. I guess we’ll see you on the 16th.” 

“Thanks again, Steve!” 

“Of course. And hey- I wasn’t jokin’ when I said that he wouldn’t shut up about you. You got him head over heels in love. I think I could count on one hand the number of times I’ve seen that grumpy bastard smile and I could practically hear him grinnin’ through the phone. Glad to know he found someone who makes him happy.” You could hear the other end of the line click as Steve hung up the phone, leaving you with nothing but an ear to ear grin as you grabbed your list and got yourself ready for the day. 

You had really been putting Javi’s lie detector skills to the test the past few weeks, going out during the day to meet with Chucho at the ranch to work together to plan Javi’s surprise party. Javi’s dad was absolutely thrilled with the idea after you had brought it up in secrecy one night when you and Javi had gone over for dinner, and was enthusiastic as can be to try and help you make the day a special memory for his son. Today was the last day you could be over at the Peña ranch to help with preparations without raising too many suspicions from Javi, losing out on your excessive free time as you needed to start preparing for the beginning of the new school year. Heading in with your arms full from your massive trip you had just taken for party food and decorations, you walked into the Peña home looking for Chucho. 

“Hey Chucho, it’s me!” You shouted, kicking your shoes off at the door as you balanced your grocery bags in your arms. 

“Hola, Mija! I’m in the kitchen!” He shouted from across the house, his tone warm and joyful. You grunted as you set down your bags on the table, finding Chucho in his usual spot at the stove, cooking something for the two of you to eat as you talked party details. 

“What’s on the menu today, chef? It smells delicious!” You smiled, unpacking the groceries as Chucho wiped his hands on his apron, waddling over to help you. 

“Chilaquiles. Figured it’s still early enough for breakfast food, and I know it’s your favorite.” He chuckled to himself as he watched you pull more and more items out of the brown paper bags.  “Dios mio, mija. Did you buy the entire store?” 

“It feels like it. With how many people we have coming, I don’t even know if this is going to be enough! Steve is coming, too! And his wife and daughters. I just called him today. I really think Javi’s gonna be excited to see him.” You grinned, your heart feeling full thinking about how many people wanted to come celebrate Javi on his birthday. 

“Oh, estupendo! (Wonderful!) He will be thrilled. Wait, how did you manage to invite him without Javier finding out?” He raised an eyebrow at you as he walked back over to the stove to turn off one of the burners. 

“I have my ways.” You smirked as you gave your shoulders a little shrug, organizing the items on the table. 

“Chiflado.” (Crazy). He snickered, plopping an egg on each of your plates over the fried tortillas and sauce. “That one can be our word for the day. It’s a good one. Here, eat, mija.” He smiled, passing a plate over to you as you sat down at the table, Chucho pulling out a chair to join you. Ever since you started meeting with Chucho a few weeks ago, you had asked him if he would help you work on your Spanish, knowing how important it was to Javi and his family. You cared so deeply for both the Peña men who were now a part of your life, and the least you could do was learn more of the language so deeply ingrained in their identities. Like most things you asked Chucho for help with, he was enamored by the idea, your request practically bringing him to tears. Since then, he’d been helping you learn more words and phrases, picking one to focus on each time you meet.   

“Chiflado.” You repeated, taking a bite full of your food. “What does that one mean?” 

“Someone who is crazy, a little bit nutty. It’s a good one for you, mija, and Javier.” You both laughed at each other, enjoying his use of the word. 

“That is a good one. Good one for me and you today since this is the last chance we have to plan together before the party.” 

“Es la verdad.” (It’s the truth.) So tell me, Chiflado, what’s our plan for today?” He winked at you as he set down his fork over his already cleared plate. 

“Well, I was thinking you could work on food, and I could help with decorations, since it’ll involve a lot of getting up and down off of chairs, and before you can tell me you’d be just fine, I don’t need to hear you whisper “Punta madre, me dulele las rodillas (Motherfucker, my knees hurt.) all day when I could have just done it for you.” You looked at him sternly, knowing that Javi had definitely inherited his stubbornness from his father, often leaving you in Chucho in a battle of iron wills over helping each other. 

“Fine, fine, fine.” He swatted his hand at you. “Just tell me soy un anciano (I’m an old man) and move on.” The both of you broke from your stubbornness, laughing playfully at one another. Chucho grunted as he stood up, outstretching his hand to take your plate back to the sink. You stood up out of your chair, pushing it behind you as you let out a quiet, nervous breath. You had been working up the courage to ask Chucho the question that had been lingering in the back of your mind for the past few weeks. Every time you tried, you’d chickened out, but with only one last meeting between the two of you before Javi’s birthday, you knew you had to do it now. 

“Um, there is uh, one more thing I wanted to ask for your help with, if it’s okay.” You said shyly, Chucho turning his head in confusion at your now meak voice. 

“Of course, Mija. Cómo puedo ayudarte? (How can I help you?). 

“I- I wanted to know if Javi had a favorite food his mom used to make him before she passed. I really wanted to surprise him and make it for his birthday. But I know how special Lucia’s recipes are to you, and if you don’t want me to make it, I totally understand. I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, I wanted to ask for your help since-” 

Before you could finish, Chucho was standing with his arms outstretched, tears welling in his eyes, as he pulled you in for a hug, tightly wrapping you in his grasp. “Oh Mija.” He whispered between gentle sobs. “I would love nothing more.” He took a step back from you, hands still grasping your shoulders as the wrinkles of his worn face crinkled from his smile. “She would have loved you, Mija. She would have loved you so much. I know she is smiling down on us, knowing the joy you have brought to our sweet Javier’s life. Dios la bendiga (God bless her), all she ever wanted was for him to be happy. It brings me peace to know she can rest a little easier, seeing the love and happiness you bring to our hijo. I know Javier is so thankful he found you, but know I am just as thankful, too.” 

You could feel the tears beginning to stream down your cheeks as Chucho spoke. You wished you had words to tell him how much it meant. That you were so grateful to be a part of Javi’s life, so thankful that Chucho had loved and accepted you, like you were one of his own from the moment that you two had met. You wished you could tell him how honored you were that he thought so highly of you, when all you wanted to do was just make Javi happy. You wished you had those words, but right now, they couldn’t make it out. The best you could do through your tears was pull Chucho back in for a hug, letting out a shaky whisper. 

“Thank you, Chucho. For everything.” 

He pulled back once more, the both of you wiping the tears off your wet cheeks as you smiled at one another. “Of course, mija. Of course.” He paused for a moment to compose himself before wiping his hands on his apron with a mischievous grin. “Tears won’t taste any good in our stew. C’mon, let’s get cooking.” 

Chucho pulled the well loved recipe box out of the shelf above the stove, flipping through its contents to pull out an index card covered in red sauce stains and tears around its edges. “Here we are. Pozole de pollo. Javier’s favorite dish. This is the last one from Lucia’s box I've yet to make.” He smiled to himself, gently holding the tattered recipe card in his hands before passing it off to you. 

“Why haven’t you made it yet?” You asked curiously as you ran your finger up and down the worn recipe card. 

“It’s the one that reminds me the most of her. Just haven’t been able to bring myself to make it. Now, I couldn’t be more excited to.” He beamed at you, grin stretched from ear to ear. 

The two of you quickly got to work, Chucho walking you through each step, mentally noting to yourself all of the little details he pointed out as you worked your way through the directions. You wanted to make sure that you didn’t miss a thing, feeling the need to do the special recipe as much justice as you could. While waiting for things to boil and simmer, the two of you found yourself chatting away as you chopped the rest of the vegetables you needed for your sauce and garnishes.

“You know, pozole de pollo was the only thing Javier ever wanted to eat when he came home from college.” Chucho chuckled, chopping up the rest of the garlic he had in front of him. “Could eat a whole batch of it in a day, a bowl for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Even in the dead heat of summer.” 

“I believe it, that man is an eating machine.” You giggled, pulling out the chiles you’d finished soaking for your sauce. “Did he know he wanted to work for the DEA when he graduated?” 

“I don’t know if he knew that, but he did always want to have some sort of job where he felt like he was making a difference. Always had a strong sense of right and wrong, and always wanted to help others. Lucia and I weren’t thrilled when he got the job, no parent wants to think about their child in danger. But you know as well as I do that our Javier is a stubborn man, and if he wants something, there is no stopping him until he gets it. That’s how I knew he was in love with you. Wouldn’t stop talking about you from the moment he met you. For goodness sake, he woke up at 5 in the morning to build a fence just to see you. He’s a man who knows what he wants.” You tried your best to hide the red of your blushing cheeks as Chucho blended the pozole sauce. “That’s how I know he is counting down the days until he can ask you to marry him.” 

You just about dropped your ladle into the pot of boiling broth you were now stirring, hoping Chucho hadn’t heard the audible gasp you had made. “What… What did you say?” You asked as you gulped, trying to keep your cool. 

“You heard what I said, Mija.” Chucho smirked, clearly enjoying your current flustered state. “Don’t worry, he hasn’t said anything to me… Yet. But like I said, when Javier knows what he wants, he won’t stop until he gets it. I’m sure if I asked him, he’d say he’ll give it a year, but I give it 6 months, tops.” 

This time, the ladle you had been white knuckle grasping had now fallen to the floor, your face in absolute shock as your hand covered your face. “Wait, do you, are you… Chucho, are you being serious?” 

“Mija, all I know is that Javier está enloquecido por ti y el te ama con todo su corazón. (Javier is crazy for you and loves you with his whole heart) and I am not getting any younger. I need some nietos (grandchildren) to spoil before I get too old.” His grin now even bigger as he chuckled to himself, watching your cheeks turn bright pink, taking every ounce of self restraint you had in you to keep yourself from smiling like an idiot. You bit down on your bottom lip, Chucho letting you have a few moments of peace as you turned back around to the stove to stir the pozole. Chucho just kept shaking his head and laughing to himself, almost as if he could hear the squeals of delight screaming in your head through the quiet silence of the kitchen as you continued cooking.

“Alright Mija, what do you think?” Chucho said, handing over a spoon now that the pozole was finally finished, simmering in its pot on the stove. You scooped some up, slurping down the warm broth as Chucho followed suit, letting out a satisfied hum. 

“It’s delicious. No wonder it’s Javi’s favorite. What do you think? Is it okay?” You looked at him nervously, waiting for his response as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. 

“Just as good as I remember it, if not better. Javier will love it, almost as much as he loves you.” He winked, wrapping one of his arms around your shoulder, smiling at the stew and then back up at you. “I have a feeling this will be the best birthday that he’s had in a very long time, thanks to you. Now, what do you say you listen to this old man swear at his knees as he helps you put up these decorations?” 

You couldn’t believe it. Javi’s birthday was finally here, and everything had gone off without a hitch. Chucho had called one last time yesterday to let you know that everything was ready for the party, you had successfully hidden all your gifts and surprises in the apartment without them being discovered, and best of all, Javi hadn’t suspected a thing. You had made sure the night before to set your alarm to its quietest volume, praying that Javi wouldn’t hear and would sleep in long enough to let you put up some decorations in the apartment before making him breakfast and giving him a proper birthday good morning. Seemingly unstirred by your alarm, you tiptoed out of bed, trying your best not to wake Javi as he snored face down into his pillow. You grabbed some clothes before carefully closing the door behind you, fingers crossed that you could at least get another 30 minutes of sleep out of him. You quickly got to work taping the streamers and banners along the ceiling, topping off your decor with the balloons you had someone managed to hide in your coat closet. After setting out your gifts on the table, you quickly got to work on breakfast, indulging in your own family’s birthday tradition of confetti pancakes, which were really just pancakes with sprinkles and whip cream, but given Javi’s insatiable sweet tooth, you were sure they’d be a hit. You started with pancakes, along with the bacon and eggs, so focused on trying to get things done as quickly as possible, you hadn’t heard your bedroom door creek open down the hallway. Javi’s footsteps were soft and sleepy, the carpet of your apartment floors drowning out the sound as he finally stepped into the living room, speechless at what he saw. 

“Osita…” His voice shook, mouth hanging half open in shock as he looked around at the colorful streamers and balloons that filled the apartment. He took another step further into the living room, now noticing the handmade banner that read “Happy Birthday, Javi!” in your cute, neat handwriting. He was still at a loss for words as he turned the corner in the kitchen to find you, finishing the last of your pancakes for the breakfast feast you had put together for him. 

“No, go back to bed! Don’t look, I’m almost done! You didn’t see anything!” You ran towards him, trying your best to turn Javi around and force him back towards the bedroom. You pushed against his chest, trying to get him to move as he stood there for a moment before wrapping his arms around you, still taking in everything that you had set up for him. 

“Baby… Did you… Is this… Is this all for me?” He asked, eyes glistening with joy, as he turned his head down to you, smiling in his grasp. 

“No, I just really wanted to celebrate my birthday early. Yes, of course it’s for you. But right now, I need you to go back to bed for like 5 more minutes so I can finish and get my first present ready, pretty please?” You grinned at the tender expression on his face as he tried to process that you had really gone out of your way to do all of this for him. 

“Baby, I told you, you didn’t need to get me anything, you already did so much, you don’t need to-” 

“Javier Peña. It is your birthday. I want nothing more than to shower you with love and gifts and affection, but only if you go back into the bedroom and wait a teeny tiny bit longer and pretend it’s not your birthday yet for another few minutes.” You giggled, now shoving back into him, attempting to push his broad body down the hallway. He finally gave in, throwing his hands up, laughing as you guided him back into the bedroom, giving him a quick peck on the lips before closing the door behind him. 

As promised, it didn’t take long for you to get yourself ready for Javi’s first present of the day, slowly opening back up the bedroom door to find Javi laying down in the bed, elbow resting on the mattress with his hand under his chin holding up his head. “You ready for it to be your birthday now?” You giggled, peeking your head through the crack of the open door. 

“Yes, baby, I’m ready for it to be my- Oh, fuck me.” By the time you had made it through the doorway, Javi was sitting upright in bed, jaw just about on the floor as he watched you enter the room. You stood at the end of the bed in a lacy, black lingerie set- the bustier hugging against every curve of your body, its garters holding up the stockings pulled up your thighs, topped off with a strappy lace thong. You could hear how heavy Javi was breathing as he watched your every move towards him, his tongue darting out between his lips as he looked you up and down, soaking up every inch of you. 

“Happy Birthday, Javi.” You winked, making your way towards the edge of the bed, watching as Javi’s eyes grow darker with lust. Your sweet voice was enough to already make his cock start to twitch, but that, paired with the fact you were all dressed up just for him had him half hard in seconds. 

“Hermosa… Fuck… You look fucking incredible. Is this all for me, baby? Do I get to unwrap you like the pretty little present you are?” He rasped, practically climbing over the edge of the mattress to pull you into bed with him. He grabbed you by the hand, ushering you up onto the bed as you straddled over his lap, feeling how hard and heavy his dick had grown beneath you in his boxers. His hands slid along your sides, fingers tracing over the lacy fabric before he reached down to grab a handful of your ass, kneading your soft flesh between the strong grip of his fingertips. 

“I don’t know… I thought you said that you didn’t want any presents.” You teased, Javi giving you a playful smack on the ass for your witty remark. 

“If this is the only present I get to unwrap for the rest of my life, I’ll die a fucking happy man.” He mewled, grabbing your hips as he pushed you deeper into his lap, groaning as you rolled your hips against his cock, straining against the fabric of his underwear. 

“Don’t worry, this one’s just the first of many. You can unwrap me however you want, birthday boy. Anything you want, I’m all yours.” Your words made him shutter as he looked up at you, a curious smirk growing under his mustache. 

“Anything?” He whispered, licking his lips, his eyes filled with want and desire. 

“Anything.” You cooed, raising your eyebrows at him. 

“Fuck me…” He took one more look at you before grabbing you and flipping you on to your back, making you squeal. He kissed his way down your body, hot, wet presses of his lips against your skin and lace, covering you from your chest to your stomach. His hands ran up and down the meat of your thighs, fingers toying with the ends of your stockings before wrapping his arms under your legs, yanking you closer to him.  He grazed his fingers over your thong, the fabric already soaked, as he pushed it to the side, revealing the slick pooling along your entrance. 

“Jesus, Osita, haven’t even touched you yet and look at how wet you are for me. Fuck, I need to taste you, baby.” Spreading your legs open wider, he dove into your pussy like a man starved, feverishly lapping you up, tongue swirling and pressing against your already throbbing clit. It wasn’t long until his two fingers pushed inside you with ease, making you gasp as your back arched along the bed, whimpering at the way his mouth and hands worked against your heat. 

“Javiiiii…” You whined, bucking your hips towards his face, already feeling the arousal starting to pool in your belly at the way he knew just how to make you come undone. “Baby, you feel so good, fuck, Javi, fuck.” 

He removed his mouth for a moment, his breath hot against your sensitive bundle of nerves as he glanced up at you in delight. “Yeah? It feels good, Hermosa? Gonna be a good girl and cum all over my face, let me taste that sweet fucking pussy?” You nodded frantically, practically feeling his smirk against you as his fingers curved, hitting the sweet spot inside you that had the heat building at the base of your spine. He licked long, flat strokes of his tongue against your clit, his hand thrusting deeper into you, moaning his name over and over as you squirmed underneath him, his free arm draping over your hips, holding you in place. You could feel how tightly you were beginning to clench around his hand, your pussy fluttering as you felt yourself reaching your high. 

“Javi, Javi, Javiiiii.” His name the only words forming as your brain short circuited, coming closer and closer to your end. 

“Keep saying my name, baby. I love the way you say it. Don’t hold back, Hermosa, let me hear how good it feels when I make you cum.” It only took a few more thrusts of his hand before you snapped, crying out his name as your pleasure rolled through you, your fists grasping at the bed sheets. You cunt clenched around him, squeezing his fingers as they still pulsed inside you, nowhere close to easing from their usual pace after Javi watched you fall apart beneath him. You could feel yourself panting, worked up and on the edge of overstimulation. 

“Gonna give you one more, Osita. Doing so good for me, pretty girl. I know you can take it, baby, just a little bit more.” He purred, giving you a smug look before barely pressing his thumb against your clit, making you cry out from his touch, so sensitive and worked up from your first orgasm. The pad of his thumb pushed just a little bit harder, circling around your mound as you felt yourself on the brink of falling apart once more. Already so close, he slipped a third finger into your heat, the sweet stretch of his digits inside you making you lose yourself once more. Your moans were swallowed by his lips as he leaned down to kiss you, finally slowing his pace before removing his hand, leaving your legs trembling and breathing heavy as you tried to compose yourself. “Such a good girl, taking me so well.” He hummed, cradling the jaw of your blissed out face as he brought his other hand to your mouth, his fingers drenched and glistening from your slick. “Open.” His thumb pulled at your bottom lip as you complied. “Taste how sweet you are for me, baby. Sweetest fucking pussy I’ve ever had, and it’s all fucking mine.” Your tongue swirled around his fingers as they rested in your mouth, sucking the tangy taste of you off of them before pulling back out. 

“It’s all yours, Javi. It’s all yours.” You moaned, finally catching your breath enough to form a coherent thought. 

“You really meant it, Osita? Anything I want?” His hands running up and down the length of your body, taking in how beautiful you looked beneath him, lace covered and blissed out, all for him. 

“Anything you want.” You repeated, the sweet brown gaze of his eyes locking with yours. 

“Hands and knees, baby.” He smirked, grabbing you by the waist as he pulled you up, propping you on all fours as he shuffled behind you on the bed, smacking your ass before gently massaging your flesh. “I fucking love you so much, you know that? Fuck, I’m so lucky. So lucky that you’re mine, all dressed up just for me, Jesus Christ, you’re fucking perfect.” You whimpered as you felt him line himself up with your entrance, running his tip through your folds, the lips of your pussy still soaked and puffy from your last two orgasms. 

“Fuck, I love you too Jav-ahhhhhhh.” You gasped as you felt Javi bottom out inside of you, the angle of him pushing himself into from behind always stretching you in a way that had you speechless. He paused for a moment before slowly beginning to rock his hips, only pushing himself halfway in, savoring how sweet you felt. It wasn’t long before his thrusts became deeper, his cock brushing against your cervix, punching into the spot that had your vision going white, leaving you trembling and breathless. You could hear how wet you were, the sounds of him pounding in and out of your weeping pussy on top of the grunts and whimpers between you two had the room sounding borderline pornagraphic. 

Despite how amazing it felt as he pumped in to you, there was a part of you that was surprised that fucking you from behind was all he wanted after you had given him free reign for his birthday. Javi loved your ass, and that was putting it lightly. The man worshiped it, and being on your hands and knees was a position you found yourself in frequently in the bedroom, so you were surprised that this was his choice. That was until you felt his fingers reaching under your thong, pulling the lace even further to the side, the wet spit of his mouth on your ass, his hand creeping further down the base of your spine until it stopped there. 

Oh. 

Oh. 

You felt his thumb press against the tight ring of your muscle, swirling his spit as you shuttered, cunt clenching at the thought of what he was about to do. You knew why he wanted you like this. Oh, fuck. 

“Is this okay?” He asked softly, gently pressing the pad of his thumb more firmly against your tight hole, making you whine in delight.

You nodded desperately, your response practically incoherent as it babbled from your brain, falling off your tongue. “Yes, oh my god, Javi.” 

“Osita, tell me if it’s too much. If it’s too much I’ll stop right away, okay? Promise you’ll tell me?” God, this man was about to put his thumb in your ass and he still found a way to make it sweet. 

“I promise.” 

“Okay.” He kept his thrusts inside you steady as you felt his thumb breach inside, making you whine. Audibly whine. His thumb was barley in you and it felt so tight, the feeling of how full you felt making you wetter by the second. “Relax baby, it’s okay, I’ve got you. Doing so good for me, sweet girl.” He hummed, his praise deep and horse. You took a deep breath, feeling yourself relax as he pushed his thumb in further, making you whimper as you felt your clit absolutely throbbing with each press of his digit inside you. “You okay?” He asked, leaning over you, nipping at your shoulder as you shook your head yes, your brain an absolute loss for words. You gasped as you felt his thumb exit, being replaced by his two fingers pushing deeper into your tight hole. You felt so full, the size of his cock and the thickness of his fingers had you whimpering, clawing at the bed sheets underneath you. The thrusts of both his dick and hand slowly began to pick up their pace, feeling yourself throbbing in delight from the stimulation. It was like you could feel every nerve in your body screaming in pleasure, you were barely hanging on by a thread, painfully close to your end. All it took was the slightest press of the heel of Javi’s palm against your clit before you were screaming out his name once more. 

“Javi, fuck, fuck oh my god, Javi, I’m gonna-ahhhhhAHHH.” 

Your orgasm crashing through you like a tidal wave, leaving every inch of your body trembling, practically seeing stars from how hard you came. That was all it took for Javi to follow suit. He was already so worked up from the image of you, riled up and moaning his name, that watching you cum as hard as you did sent him over the edge instantly. It took all of his self restraint to not come from the moment you had agreed to let him play with your ass. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it more often than not, wanting to pleasure you in any way he could, and now that you had let him, it was game over. With only a few more pumps, he found himself rapidly pounding into you as he chased his own high. 

“Fuck baby, I’m gonna come too. Did so good for me, my good girl taking me so well. My fucking perfect girl. Quiero estar contigo para siempre, Osita. Te quiero con toda mi alma. (I want you forever, Osita. I love you with all my soul.) Fuck, I’m-”  You could feel his cock throbbing as he pulsed inside you, spilling deep into your walls, milking himself of ever last drop as he slumped over your body, your chests rising and falling together. After catching his breath, Javi pulled out, the mixture of the two of you running still down your thighs as he quickly got up to go wash his hands and grab a towel, laughing as he returned from the bathroom to find you face down in the bed, sprawled out across the mattress. “You okay, baby?” He shook his head as he sat down on the bed next to you, running his hand across your back. 

“Ho-ly shit.” You rasped, face pressed against your pillow before lifting it up to look over at Javi. “Javi… holy fuck. I don’t think I’ve ever came so hard in my entire life. I think I’m dead. I think I died and went to heaven.” 

“You’re fucking ridiculous, Osita.” He chuckled at your dramatics, gently wiping the cloth against you and cleaning you up before tossing it in the hamper. “To be fair, I don’t think I’ve ever came that hard either. Happy fucking birthday to me. This is the best  birthday I’ve ever had and it’s not even 10:00 AM yet. God, I love you.” You sat up as he grabbed your face, pulling you in for a long, deep kiss, a grin spreading across his lips as your mouths met. 

“Well then you’re in luck, your day’s just gettin’ started, birthday boy.” You winked, playfully pinching his cheek as the two of you laughed. 

“Does this mean I finally get to go out and see the rest of the apartment now?” Javi smiled, now remembering all the decorations you had set up for him around the house that he had only half appreciated in his shocked and sleepy state. 

“Absolutely. I’ve got breakfast and more presents for you too.” 

“God, what the fuck did I ever do to deserve you?” 

“I could ask myself the same thing.”

Your hunch about the confetti pancakes was absolutely correct, losing track of how many Javi had eaten, considering you’d stopped counting after 4. To you, the decorations that you had set up around the apartment were just a fun touch to help celebrate, but to Javi, it was about the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for him. It almost brought you to tears seeing how excited Javi was that you had got him balloons, streamers, a handmade banner that he couldn’t seem to stop complimenting, even when you insisted that all you did was just write a little more neatly than usual. Javi meant everything to you, and the fact that you were able to bring him so much joy from something so small made your heart burst at the seams. If he was this excited from just decorations, you were really gonna have to ease him into the rest of the day. 

“You ready for your presents, or do I need to make another batch of pancakes?” You laughed as Javi finished off what had to have been his 6th pancake, squirting the can of whipped cream in his mouth to top it off. 

“Baby, I told you, you didn’t have to get me anything. You’ve already done more than enough for me.” He said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he leaned back in his chair. 

“Let me rephrase- I bought you presents and I’m giving them to you. Can I please give them to you now?” You folded your arms over your chest as you gave Javi a stubborn look. 

“Yes, fine. Thank you. They better not be fucking expensive, you don’t need to be spending that kind of money on me.” He grumbled as you handed him over the first gift, slowly taking the tissue paper off the top of the bag. 

“Will you stop being such a party pooper and just open your damn gifts? I’m a big girl, I can spend my money how I want, and I wanted to spend it on you.” You sassed as he shook his head, pulling out a silky blue and red checkered tie out of the gift bag. He smiled as he picked it up, running his hands over the fabric. 

“This is really, really nice, thank you, Osita.” 

“You’re welcome. I figured it’d look good with any of your suits, and that you’d look handsome in it, regardless. Okay, next one!” You grinned, handing him over the next box, waiting excitedly for his reaction as he ripped off the wrapping paper. As Javi peeled the rest of it back, his eyes widened as he looked at the box before looking back up at you in shock.

“Osita…” He stared at you for a moment, just holding the box in his hands, almost as if he was refusing to see what was inside.  

“Will you just open it, please?” You pleaded, having a feeling this was going to be his reaction to your gift. Carefully, he took the lid off the box, his head shaking as he saw what was inside. Gently, he pulled the silver watch out, holding it in his hands as he stared at you with those big, brown puppy dog eyes. 

“Baby… This is fucking nice. Like, so nice. Do you know how expensive these are? You didn’t need to do this, I can’t-” 

“You have been constantly complaining about how your watch does work and you needed a new one. I know it's expensive, but it’s your birthday and you deserve it. And don’t you dare try and tell me to return it, I will come over and put that watch on your wrist myself if I have to.” You raised an eyebrow at him before he could rebuttal, biting down on his tongue as he smiled, slipping on the watch. He got up from his seat, cupping your face, kissing you deeply and tenderly. 

“Thank you, Osita. You’re amazing. I don’t deserve any of this. I just- thank you.” His thumb rubbed along your jaw as he cradled your face, practically feeling the genuine joy and appreciation radiate from him. 

“There’s one more thing I still have to give you.” You beamed, trying your best to contain your excitement for the final gift you had for Javi. 

“Baby, there’s more? You already got me way too much, please-” 

You cut him off, holding out the tiny black box that you had been hiding behind you, gesturing down at it for him to take it, your hands shaky as you nervously passed off the gift. With a sigh, Javi took it, undoing the bow you had tied as he opened the package, looking at it with confusion. 

“A key?” He asked, puzzled by the present. 

“Go take it and stand out in the hallway.” You requested, Javi complying but still utterly confused as to what was happening. Javi stood on the opposite side of your doorway facing you, giving him a little wave before closing it on him and clicking the lock. 

“Osita, what is happening?” You heard him laugh through the other side of the door. 

“Use the key!” You insisted, smiling to yourself as you heard the doorknob rattle, Javi twisting it open as he walked back into the apartment. You grinned at him in anticipation, hoping that he had caught on, but Javi still appeared to be completely oblivious to the point of gift. 

“It’s a key to your apartment?” He questioned, a confused look still spread across his face. 

“Mmmhmmmm.” You nodded, over dramatically, waiting for it to click with him. 

“Baby, I’m really sorry, I don’t understand.” He laughed, running his hand over his face, shaking his head. You put your hands on your hips, looking at him, bewildered how he still had no idea what the key meant. 

“Wow, I really thought your detective skills would have come into play on this one, Agent Peña, but I guess not. Javi. It’s your own key to the apartment. I- I want you to move in with me.” 

“Osita… Are you… Baby, are you serious?” He stood there frozen in shock, his jaw hanging open as he processed what you had just said. 

“I mean, only if you want to, I know it’s kinda fast and I don’t want you to feel pressured, but I- OH!” You shrieked as Javi locked his arms under your thighs, hoisting you up as you wrapped your legs around the small of your back, draping his arms around his shoulders. You could feel his smile against your skin as he peppered you with kisses, making you giggle and squeal as he spun you around the living room. 

“You’re really being serious?” He beamed at you, his grin stretching wide across his face as the tears welled behind his eyes. 

“Of course I’m being serious, ya goof. I love you, Jav.” Your face mirrored his as your happy tears streamed down your cheeks, burying your face in the crook of his neck as you hugged him tightly, Javi squeezing you closer to his chest as he held you.

“I love you so much. Fuck, of course I’ll move in with you. There’s nothing else I’d rather do than spend every day coming home to you. Me haces muy feliz. Eres más de lo que merezco. Tú y yo juntos por siempre, Osita."(You make me so happy. You’re more than I deserve. It’s you and me forever, Osita.) 

"Tú y yo contra el mudo, Javier Peña." (You and me against the word, Javier Peña.) 

Taglist: @cool-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed

[deadforprettyboys]

2nd time EVER writing something, wish me luck!

'I Bumped Into My Nemesis In A Hallway And All I Got Was An Australian Himbo Boyfriend' by Fall Out Boy - G.Waller x Reader

warnings: banter, arguing kinda, lil itty bitty bit of angst! kinda hints towards smut?? minors dni!!

(not proofread lmao)

Grayson walked down the halls of this week's Smackdown arena, championship belt on his shoulder, confidence (or arrogance) as prominent as ever. He had no plans for a match or even an appearance this evening, so he found himself aimlessly wandering the hallways, when all of a sudden he bumps into his so-called arch nemesis, because it wouldn't be a fanfiction if he just paced the arena for an hour.

"Well, if it isn't Y/N," Grayson sneers. "I should have figured you'd be in my way somehow. Do us both a favor and stay out of my path in the future, yeah?"

Y/N meets him with a "Love you too, Waller." before even a beat can pass. "Watch where you're going, dickhead. We both know this isn't my fault. How about instead you stay out of my way so that I don't have to kick your ass!" Y/N sneers right back at him. 

Grayson rolls his eyes, clearly unamused by Y/N's response. "Oh, please, spare me the empty threats. You're not gonna do anything, you know that. You're lucky I even acknowledge your presence."

"Oh please, as if I give half a damn whether you 'acknowledge' me or not. 'Oh, Grayson, you're so important, please pay attention to me, I'm begging you!' God, grow up, asshat." Y/N mocks, hoping to get a rise out of him.

Grayson scoffs at Y/N's mockery, his expression hardening with annoyance. "You really know how to push my buttons, don't you? But let me tell you something, sweetheart. When you're the Aussie Icon, people begging for your attention is the norm. And trust me, you're not the only one who's grown up, I'm just on a whole different level." He smirks with an annoying amount of confidence.

"You act like a 30-something year old frat boy who peaked in high school but still wants to seem cool to the 'youngins'. And that haircut isn't helping, babe." Y/N knows she's lying through her teeth just to make him mad, but all's fair in love and war, right?

Grayson's nostrils flare as he grows more irritated by the minute. "First of all, I'm not some old codger stuck in the past. And as for my haircut, I'll have you know that it's a classic style. I guess you wouldn't know anything about that, with your boring, uninspired look."

"Haha, very original insult. Calling my style boring, really? You don't have anything better up there in that ol' noggin of yours? Come on, now." Y/N feels a pang of guilt being this mean to Grayson, sure, they squabble often but it's all in good fun. But this almost feels a bit too far, like she needs to lighten the mood a little. But she doesn't, only continues to egg him on.

Grayson's annoyance turns into anger as he clenches his fists, trying to maintain his composure. "Oh, you want originality, huh? How about this, I've seen more personality from a brick wall than from you. You're plain and forgettable, just like your insults."

That stung a bit. Hearing the guy you've been hopelessly crushing on for 2 years say you're forgettable? Ouch. She'd almost believe it, too, if this didn't happen every week.

"Yeah, yeah, don't forget, I'm gross, annoying, always in your way, etcetera etcetera. Admit it, Waller, you're obsessed with me. How else are you literally ALWAYS bumping into me, huh? care to explain?" She prodded. 

"Obsessed? Me? Please. I have much better things to do than pay attention to you. You're just... unfortunately always there. And if I do bump into you, it's only because you're constantly standing in my way. You're like a thorn in my side, a mosquito buzzing in my ear." Grayson tried to convince both Y/N and himself, though they both knew it was a lie.

"And I'll continue being that thorn in your side as long as I live. I get such a kick out of watching you lose your temper, it's absolutely hilarious!" Finally, something to lighten the banter a little. Y/N giggles after her sentence just to rub in the point a bit more.

"Oh, I bet you do. You get some sort of sick satisfaction out of getting under my skin, yeah? Well, guess what? I'm not going to give you the satisfaction. I'll stay calm and above it all, no matter how much you try to annoy me."

"Way too late, babe. You've already lost it once." Y/N grins. "Let's see how long you can keep up the act, huh?" Y/N smirks up at him, knowing he can't keep his cool forever.

"Don't call me babe," Grayson says through gritted teeth. "And I haven't lost anything. I'm in full control of my emotions. I may have gotten irritated at your childish behavior, but that doesn't mean anything. I can keep this up all night, so don't test me."

Y/N smiles wide, "oookay, babe, let's give it a try, then!" She begins lightly tapping him on his arms and chest, trying to get on his nerves as much as possible. Grayson's jaw tightens as he struggles to keep his temper in check. He takes a deep breath, attempting to stay calm. "Do you really think your little taps are going to bother me? I'm not some fragile flower that's going to snap just because you touch me."

Y/N frowns. "Aw, bummer. I was really hoping you'd just shatter in front of me so I didn't have to look at that face any more. What a shame."

Grayson's temper flare even more, his patience wearing thin. "Shatter? You wish. I'm tougher than you could ever imagine. And my face, you know you're secretly jealous of my good looks. Admit it. You can't keep your eyes off me." 

"Very funny, Waller. You'd be one to talk, huh? I've seen you staring at me from across the room more times than I can count. What's the deal with that, anyway? Am I so pretty you can't stand it? Do you like me so much you have to steal a glance whenever I'm around?"

Grayson glares at Y/N, his cheeks slightly flushed. "What? Me staring? That's ridiculous. I don't... I mean, yeah, you're attractive, but that doesn't mean anything. It's not like I'm... it doesn't matter. Shut up." He looks away, embarrassed. Y/N can't help but find it endearing.

"Woooow, I finally got the cocky, arrogant boy all flustered, huh? Lucky me. How cute." Y/N smiles, a genuine one for once, rather than a smirk.

"Shut up," Grayson growls, trying to regain his composure. "You didn't get me flustered. Don't think so highly of yourself, princess. I just wasn't expecting you to bring up me... noticing your appearance. That's all."

"You brought it up first, did you not? And hey, I couldn't have noticed you staring if I didn't look over at you now and then, right? I never denied it when you accused me of staring, did I?" She's playing with fire now, but it feels so good. This could go one of two ways, horribly wrong, or horribly right. 

Grayson swallows hard, feeling embarrassed at being called out. "Fine, so maybe I've looked once or twice. It doesn't mean anything. I'm not some lovesick puppy drooling over you. I just... I happened to notice you, that's all."

"Right, right, and the sky is gray. You're obsessed with me, Grayson. Admit it."

Grayson huffs, clearly annoyed at Y/N's insistence. "I'm not obsessed with you! I'm the Aussie Icon. I have admirers and fans lined up at my feet. I could have anyone I want. I don't need to be obsessed with you."

"You certainly don't need to be obsessed with me. But you sure do seem to be. Hell, you're right. You could have anyone you want. So then, why don't you?"

Grayson opens his mouth to respond, but closes it again, clearly flustered by the question. He crosses his arms in a defensive gesture. "It's... complicated, alright? I don't have the time or patience for relationships, okay? I'm focused on my career and becoming the best. I don't need the distraction."

For all she knew, it could've been the way he phrased it, or the fact that she was finally letting herself be a little bit vulnerable, who knows. But that hurt. And she chose to believe him this time. "Right, of course." Y/N frowns slightly, trying once again to hide her true feelings. "Good luck becoming the best, Gray." She began walking away, not wanting to deal with her slowly breaking heart in front of the one who's breaking it.

Grayson watched as Y/N walked away, a pang of guilt tugging at his chest. He hesitated for a moment, his mind and heart both racing.

Then, he suddenly called out. 

"Wait!"

She turned around slowly, scared to hear what he may say next. "What's the problem now?" She manages to stutter out.

Grayson rubs the back of his neck, looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable. He takes a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking again. "I... Look, I didn't mean to be such a dick, okay? And I don't just see you as some thorn in my side. You're more than that, whether I want to admit it or not." He starts walking towards Y/N slowly, trying to make up the distance from her leaving before.

"Grayson, are you running a fever or something? Is this a prank? Is there a hidden camera?" She had never seen him be so honest, so vulnerable. She didn't know what else to do other than make dumb jokes to lighten the mood.

Grayson laughs softly, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "No, I'm not running a fever and there's no camera. I'm serious. I've just... I've never been good at expressing my feelings, okay? I always act like a jackass because it's easier that way. It's a defense mechanism or something."

"I could say the same about acting like a jackass, honestly. It's so much easier."

Grayson smirks, a hint of humor returning to his usually cocky demeanor. He takes another step closer to Y/N, his gaze still intense. "Yeah, you definitely have a knack for being a pain in my ass. But it's... endearing, in a way." Y/N takes a step back, still very nervous, but finds herself against a wall instead. 

"Endearing... how?"

Grayson takes another step towards her, closing the distance between them even more. He leans against the wall, his face only a few inches away from hers. "Endearing because it gets under my skin, but in a good way, if that makes sense. You don't listen to me, you're not afraid to push back, and you never let me get away with anything. It's frustrating, but also... kind of refreshing."

"Oh yeah? I could say the same about you." She smiles up at him, feeling a small jolt of confidence rush through her. Grayson can't help but crack a small smile at her witty remark.

"Well, look at us, finally agreeing on something."

He studies her face for a moment, his gaze lingering on her lips for a beat longer than necessary. She notices and follows suit, looking at his lips for a moment too long before snapping out of her trance and turning away to look at the floor.

Grayson notices her eyes dart away and the blush on her cheeks, a wave of confidence washing over him.

"Hey," he says softly, gently lifting her chin so that she's looking at him again. "Don't look away. Look at me." He smiles at her, a genuine one, and she's sure it's the most beautiful thing she's ever seen.

She looks into his eyes for a moment or two before whispering "if I look at you much longer, I won't be able to keep myself in check any more, Grayson." His heart races as he hears her words, her soft voice sending a shiver down his spine. He leans closer, his face so close to hers that he can feel her breath on his skin.

"Who says you have to keep yourself in check?" He muses.

With this, she finally stops holding herself back and quickly leans in, closing the distance between them and kissing him with such force that he nearly stumbled backward. He stood shocked for a moment before kissing her back with a passion to match hers, grabbing onto her waist and pulling their bodies flush against each other as he deepened the kiss.

After a few minutes of practically grasping onto each other for dear life, they finally have to pull away for air, but still hold onto each other and remain as close as possible. After a moment of gazing into each other's eyes, Y/N speaks up. "Finally. You have no idea how long I've wanted to do that." She pants.

Grayson is equally out of breath, his heart thudding in his chest. He can't help but smile, his hands still on her hips. "Oh, really?" he teases. "I had no idea you were so desperate for me, princess." At this, she slightly pushes Waller on the arm. "Shut up, I know I'm not the only one who wanted that to happen."

Grayson laughs, not at all offended by her playful shove. "Okay, okay, you got me. I'll admit, I've thought about it, too." his smile turns into a mischievous grin, "But hey, you were the one who initiated it first. Couldn't get enough of me, could you?"

She chuckles and blushes, looking away slightly. "Maybe, maybe not, who's to say?" Grayson raises an eyebrow at this. "Oh, now you're playing coy, huh? You can't just kiss me like that and then act all nonchalant about it. I know you just couldn't resist me any longer."

She leaned up to his ear, "and maybe I still can't."

Grayson's smirk widened as she closed the distance between them again. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her body against his again before he pulled away from the kiss.

"Careful, Y/N. You're playing with fire."

"Fire was meant to be played with, baby."

He laughs, looking down at her and smirking. 

"Well then, princess, let's play."

[just-some-random-blogger]

Hello again 🙋🏻‍♀️! I couldn't stay away from your blog much longer, treating myself a full binge of your beautiful work on my evening off 😋.

So, I come with another meow meow Daemon thingy, where he's betrothed to a sharp Stark lady who's ruthless with him and he's like 😍; So he's geting "ahem" impatient at the wedding, losing control and trying to touch her. I'll leave the rest to you as I trust in this vivid imagination 😄.

Thanks for being the amazing creator you are, have a lovely day 💐

A Ring is Merely Jewelry and Marriage a Contract

Daemon Targaryen x Stark!Reader

Summary: You had a lot to say to your father about his plans to marry you off to house Targaryen. And though you thought the prince was as appalled by the match as you are, something rewired his brain when he saw you. Direwolf against dragon anyone? Dare to place your bet on who wins?

Word Count: 5k+

Warnings: Misogyny, arranged/forced marriage, fem!reader, snarky!reader, annoying!Daemon, enemies to lovers(?), father's reader is sick and coughs every other moment, fluff, typos, etc.

A/N: HIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII! I WAS SO EXCITED TO SEE THIS IN MY INBOX!!!!! '... couldn't stay away from your blog much longer' begs the question why were you staying away in the first place 🤨 I'm so glad you think im amazing <3 SLAY yuh. my heart goes boom but i have to admit, the prompt stumped me a bit. so hopefully you enjoy what I made. i enjoyed writing it myself Also, I don't know much about game of thrones lore so im just making stuff up as i go SKSKASKFA:SF I LOVE LONG HAIRED DAEMON GAAH LOOK AT HIM ALL PETTY AND PATHETIC WITH THAT DRAGON EGG Part 2 anyone "Fire & Havoc"

I slam my hands on the table, "I WILL NOT GO, FATHER!"

He is unfazed by the ruckus I cause and only proceeds to eat his breakfast.

"You told me I could choose whom I marry," I whine, "you swore it. I-"

"But that was before," he speaks plainly, offering me a mere look after.

I scoff, twice as wronged because I knew exactly what he meant. "Cregan!" I call to my older and only other sibling, "surely you do not-"

"This matter does not concern your brother," my father dismisses.

"Oh," I stand from my seat and glare at my father, "does it not" I scoff yet again, "when he will surely benefit from the marriage you are suggesting with that horrid prince-"

"Silence!" my father takes his turn slamming his hand on the table. For a moment, the two of us glare at each other. He continues after taking a deep breath, "you are to pack, leave your wolf and-"

"Leave my wolf?!"

"-to travel to King's Landing at once, with not a single complaint."

My jaw slacks in utter disbelief. My fists tighten in rage.

Cregan, who had been spectating silently the entire time, finally drops his fork and swallows the food in his mouth, "father, don't you think making her leave without Ha-"

"ENOUGH!"

Both Cregan and I stiffen at the echo of our father's voice. However, his body proceeds to rattle with an intense cough.

The anger in me fades into concern when his ragged barks do not cease. Before I could gather my skirts and go to him, he raises his hand and forces him breath to even, "enough."

Rickon looks back to me and the hollowness of his face is suddenly apparent, "I will not argue over this any further, daughter."

"But, fa-"

"You are a Stark," he sighs, "cunning, strong, and capable, but when I die, all that I have will pass to your brother," he leans against his chair, "and even though I know he would not abandon you, the fool will surely not remember you enough to keep you safe."

"But I don't need him to be safe, I-"

"The world will not allow it," he manages before choking into another cough.

As Cregan gives the old man a drink, I feel tears glass my eyes out of spite.

Rickon does not accept the cup upon seeing my expression.

"It is not fair," I mutter under a jagged breath.

He sighs, "if it were up to me, I would-"

"You cannot make me leave my wolf," I point accusingly, "you cannot make me go to him, as though I am a subservient entity with no mind and no desires."

My father speaks my name, but I am not having it.

"If you are so hellbent on me marrying that insolent younger Targaryen that you waste your dying wish on him," I seethe, anger leaving me in a form of bitter of tears, "then I will do as my Lord Stark commands," I offer a fake curtsy.

My father calls me again, another cough takes possession of him.

"But know this," I say as I straighten myself up, "if he dares lay a finger on me, I will slit his throat. And if he is a good enough warrior to survive my blade, then he will slit my throat for my treason," I move away from my seat, "and when my blood waters the earth, father, it will be because of your dying wish."

"ENOUGH!" Cregan demands, pointing at me angrily.

By the time my the coughs reverberating in the dining room dampens, I've already made my way out.

There was a part of me that regrets leaving home like that. But it was precisely Rickon Stark who imparted his great pride upon me. I could not even bring myself to look at him before I left, though Cregan bribed me with my own wolf to have me speak to our father.

She new I was leaving, Havoc. I nearly jumped out of my carriage when I heard her desperate howls. I found that my door was locked from the outside and the idea enraged me enough that I nearly broke the window open.

But then it dawned to me that it was pointless.

Even if I managed to get out of my prison, I would be shipped to King's Landing either way, only this time, I would have worn everyone's patience thinner.

You could only imagine the state of my own patience when I arrived at my horrid destination.

It was unbelievably sweltering and unimaginably cold all at once.

Him, tenfold, that Daemon Targaryen.

Not only did he place no efforts in welcoming me, it seems he ordered my chambers to be at the opposite of his, to make things more annoying and more difficult for everyone.

Fine.

It seems he did not want me, and I did not want him. We at least had something in common we could work on.

Today marked the 10th day of my stay in this wretched place. Each morn, I would seek audience with my betrothed and yet his handmaiden would curtsy to me and say, "the Prince is not here, my lady."

I chuckle dryly in disbelief and make an effort not to snap at the woman, for I knew she was not at fault, "and have you expressed my tenacity to seek audience with him. I-- Lady Stark, who has defeated my Lord suitors in combat, and would gladly attack him for less if he continues ignoring my existence-- seek his audience" I nod feverously, "have you expressed this to him?"

My words are visibly unsavory to her ears, "I have, your grace."

My face twitches as I avert my gaze away from the woman. But not even the sight of the blue sky halts the way my chest vibrates in annoyed laughter, "then he is more insolent than I could have ever hoped," I release a sharp shudder, "and I am to be wed to him in two days time."

I turn back to the perturbed maid, "what jovial news, don't you agree-- Bethany, was it?"

She nods her head as her face twists in fear.

I take deep breaths to calm myself and screw my eyes shut at the feel of sweat dripping down my nape because of the fucking climate of this wretched place.

I rub the back of my neck roughly as I open my eyes and force a smile, "then shall you lead me to the training grounds?"

"As you command," she shakes her head, "but I am sure the prince is not-"

"Not for him," I blurt, "for me."

Her brows knit, "... your grace, I-"

"And I do not mean the royal training grounds. It's utterly boring there. I mean the area where those Gold Cloaks train. Do you know what I speak of?"

Bethany quickly nods.

"Yes, that's the one. I am fucking sick of doing nothing all day, and so I might as well entertain myself before I end up killing someone."

I do not have enough patience to explain the light jest in my tone after hearing how roughly she gulps.

Bethany wordlessly escorts me to the training grounds, where I then see about a dozen men, sweaty and loud, as they spar and practice together.

I find myself releasing a sigh of relief at the sight before me, and promptly dismiss Bethany with a nod.

The moment she goes on her way, however, I call out to her, remembering my own poor handmaiden, "might I ask one last favor before you leave?"

Bethany nods, "of course, my lady."

"Please inform Belidea of my whereabouts. She is a terrible worry wart and I cannot stand the sound of her high pitched nags."

"Of course, my lady," she repeats more urgently.

I nod, "very good. You have my thanks."

Once she is gone, I make my way to the training grounds, and my mere presence commands the attention of the soldiers.

"My lady," a man with brown hair and a long beard nods, walking over to me with his golden cloak swaying behind him.

I nod back at him, "who is the commander of this training session?"

"That would be me, my lady."

I smile at him and introduce myself, "you are welcome to call me simply by my name."

"I do not wish to offend Prince Daemon," he says, then adding, "Ser Phineas, at your service, Lady Stark."

"A pleasure," I say, "though I must correct you in your belief that your beloved prince even knows of my existence."

"Nonsense," he shakes his head, "his head is heavy with thoughts of your marriage."

I snort, "you don't say? You are acquainted with his insolence well then?"

Phineas lets out an uncomfortable cough, My lips curve at it.

"I would not myself assume to be well-acquainted with our prince at all."

"Hmm," I cross my arms, "very well then, ser Phineas. I wonder then if you would allow me the warm regard your dragon born did not when I arrived to King's Landing."

The man bows in response.

"I would like to spar with your finest swordsman."

He lifts his face to me.

"I am terribly bored and quite frankly annoyed by the continuous absence of my beloved," I suck in a deep breath, "and so I should like to relieve my stress rather than allow it to fester within me."

He opens his mouth, closes it, then opens it again, square shoulders relaxing, "Ah. I would gladly instruct the lady in the art of-"

I raise a finger at him, "I did not ask to be taught," I cut him off, "and if it is you who you believe to the best amongst your peers, then I shall warn you not to twist my words and delude yourself to be better than I, simply because you are a man."

I see how his expression shifts at my words. Phineas sucks in a a breath from his nostrils, "Lady Stark, I do not wish to harm you, nor do I think it would be wise for you to rile up the prince, if that is-"

"Bold of you to think you could harm me, first of all," I say walking off to the circle him, "second of all, if you bring up the prince again, I will rip your cloak off and use it as a towel," I rub my forehead, "the heat of this place is unbearable."

"It must be polar opposite to the frost up North," he says, turning to me when I make it back in front of him.

"It is," I state, "now. Will you let me spar, or will I have to provoke you even more?"

He is unable to control the curl of amusement from his lips.

The whole training ground clears and crowds around us as we make it its center. Phineas turns to his brothers-at-arms and then back to me as he twists his sword in his hands for show, "I will go-"

"Easy on me?" I roll my eyes and finish for him, stabbing my sword on the ground before me so that I can stretch, "I would advise you otherwise, since I am as adept with the blade in a skirt, as I am without." I roll my shoulder back as I smirk, "it would hurt your fragile ego too much if you should lose to me too quickly."

The crowd mumbles at my haughty remark.

Phineas chuckles but shows no trace of annoyance or anger.

I smile at his composure and pull my sword up, pointing it to him, "enough chat."

"MY LADY, NO!" the frantic voice of my handmaiden calls out. All eyes turn to her as she makes her way through the crowd and makes herself visible to me.

"Belidea," I call, "just in time for the show."

"Please," she catches her breath, adding lowly, "do not make a spectacle of yourself."

I roll my eyes, "then would you like to spar with him?"

Belidea only continues to heave as I offer her the weapon in my hand.

I raise a brow at her and go back to my stance, "then be still and silent."

Phineas readies himself, "you can still-" but the sound of my steel crashing against his effectively shut him up.

It seems, finally, after all this time, I have finally merited the attention of the prince.

"What is the meaning of this?!" Daemon barks, beholding his beloved Gold Cloaks, worn out, battered and beaten, with several injured.

Having taken a moment to drink some water, I see the long silver hair on his back and find my brows raising at the sight of it.

The man I was drinking with, Elias, chokes on his water and wipes his lips quickly with his wrist. He leans and mutters to me, "that's the prince, my lady."

"Yes," I shift on my leg, "it is obvious, it is not?"

Faced with frantic faces, Daemon is still with rage at the lack of answers.

"Betrothed," I call from behind him the moment I am near. With my hair wild out of its original hairstyle, and my skirt ripped short out of my own rage towards it, I curtsy at him with my hands behind my back.

My eyes do not leave the Targaryen's face as he examines the cuts on my arm and thighs. There was blood on my clothes that was indistinguishable if it were mine or not, but there was a sure darkness behind my eyes. I rise when I speak, "it is a wonder to finally meet you face to face."

Belidea, who was quick to run to my side, shrinks as not to meet the prince's gaze. She quickly makes an effort to wrap the golden cloak I took as my prize to mask my indecency, but I merely push the cloak of me.

"Were you captured?" he quickly interrogates, as if he is concerned.

I scoff and roll my eyes, "as your men are ashamed to admit," I turn to Phineas, who was missing his cloak, "I amused myself by winning all the matches against them."

The man shifts to face me, grabbing the fabric of what used to be part of my sleeve, "and this looks like winning to you?"

I rip the fabric off me using I had in my palms and step forward, motioning to the side, "does that?"

He bares his profile to me as he examines his battered men. A curve forms on his lips and it makes my eyes narrow in anger.

"All of you morons lost to the lady?" he calls loudly, ending his words with a chuckle.

I fidget with the dagger in my hand.

Upon catching this, Phineas places a hand on my arm. I turn to him with a dirty look that immediately makes him withdraw.

"Is it so hard to believe, Prince Daemon?"

Daemon turns back to me, eyes bright, matching his grin, "no, I am impressed."

I scoff, "because you do not believe my might."

He steps closer to me, eyes flickering to the dagger I was still playing with, "perhaps you would grace me with a demonstration-"

"Go fuck yourself," I blurt, throwing the dagger off to the side before storming off.

And as shocked as he was, Daemon was more so excited than anything.

It seems he was so moved by my performance that he finally came to me instead of the other way around. He, however, lacked the decency I had and came to me in the darkness of night.

It took everything in my not to ram into him and strike him with the comb I was using when he rudely walked in my chambers. I controlled myself for the sake of the poor servants that would behold my massacre.

"What do you want?" I blurt, eyeing him from my vanity.

Daemon, who was in his own sleeping attire it seems, smiles softly as he places his hands behind his back, "my lady wife has been seeking my audience."

I slam my comb on my vanity and cause my maids to gasp. I march in front of the seemingly further amused prince and clench my jaw at the sight of him, "the mere fact you are referring to me as your wife tells me that I should not seek your audience at all."

He chuckles at my words, linking his hands in front of him. Daemon hums, "I see. You do not wish to wed me."

I scoff, "and a few hours ago, you shared the same sentiment." I tilt my head up at him in annoyance, but it seems the sight of the blood on my clothes has made you change your fickle mind."

He chuckles more loudly this time, "that was because I was fed lies about marrying an obedient wife that wanted nothing but to sire me strong heirs with the will of Starks and Targaryens."

"And what pig shat out that crap?"

"That would be the lords of the council," he smiles, "but clearly they have not met you."

I lick my teeth at his expression, "do not act so pleased, as though you have won me over."

"Worry not, my dear, the dragon in me so burns at the challenge."

I shake my head and roll my eyes at him, "do not speak to me of your dragon," I step away from him, "it does not entice me."

I catch sight of my servants as Daemon laughs. I promptly dismiss them as the prince makes his way to my bed and sits on the side, "ah yes. I was wondering why I had yet to behold your famous direwolves."

I cross my arms as he presses his lips into a pleased smile, "would they not fare well in this weather? Is that why you did not bring yours?"

"Are you quite comfortable, my prince?"

His shoulders shake in amusement, "I am."

"Then do not be surprised if you do not make it out of here alive," I say as I stalk towards him.

Daemon give me a lopsided smirk, "they did not allow you any weapons, as your brother warned."

"A comb would be a good weapon as any," I blurt, grabbing the said object from my vanity and pointing it to him as I stand before him.

I am surprised that he does not laugh at my words. He is wise not to anger me any further.

"You must admit it is better that you and I end up with each other."

"And why would I ever admit that," I whisper through grit teeth.

"Because you and I are the same," he says, standing.

"We are not the same."

Daemon turns to the comb still pointed at him as he walks closer, "I too would make a weapon out of anything I could get my hands on."

I lean towards him, dropping my comb, to grab his collar, "that does not make us the same."

He releases a hot breath that hits my face. As I glare at him, his hands land on my sides, making me jolt. I promptly shove him off when I feel his unwelcome touch, "fuck off."

He reels back, but does not fall on my bed. I gaze upon him with anger and wrap my arms around myself, annoyed by the goosebumps that form on my skin.

"If you shall call to me again, I will hastily answer."

I grunt, "Fuck. Off."

He offers me one last chuckle as he nods, "I look forward to our wedding."

I do not.

The hour comes swiftly despite this.

We were now in the dining hall on either side of the king. The two brothers were making merry, yet I was making no effort to hide my distaste.

"I heard that you made a spectacle of the Gold Cloaks, sister," Queen Aemma spoke, making me turn to her as she caressed the bump of her belly.

I looked at her smile and pitied how she was reduced to nothing but a baby maker.

"Uncle went from denying your existence to praising the very ground you walked on," Rhaenyra adds, mischief written all over her face. Her mother to scolds her, to which she responds, "what, it's true?"

"I so would like to know how good you are with blades. It is not everyday that we hear of a woman warrior," King Viserys chuckles, and it makes me snap.

"Well it is not everyday that a father allows his daughter to practice her strength," I coldly remark, turning from him to Rhaenyra, "I heard you dissuade the princess from going on dragonback though it is in her very nature to be drawn to it."

Daemon chuckles as his older brother goes quiet.

I catch sight of my impeding doom's amusement, and turn away from him. That very moment, the dining hall's doors open and I find myself shooting up from my seat.

No matter ho much of a solid fortress I convinced myself to, the moment I saw my brother walk in with my father being carried by two of our men in a litter, I was crumbling at the very seams.

I feel the Targaryens burn their eyes on me but I do not care.

The moment my family is before me, I clench my jaw.

"My King, My Queen, My Prince, My Princess," Cregan smiles between the royal faces then turns to me, "dear sister."

"Lord Rickon," Viserys greets, "Lord Cregan."

"I hope you have taken kindly to my daughter, Prince Daemon," my father mutters with a strained voice.

I do not tear my gaze from my father, whose illness was clearly getting the better of him.

"She was surely the pride of your house," Daemon says, "and now she will be the pride of mine."

The old fool nods at the prince's words, and I feel bitterness coat my tongue. My father seemingly wanted to say something, but his cough decides he won't before he can even open his mouth.

Cregan takes it as a cue to take him away. He gives me a look, "father wished to tell you that you are the perfect bride."

I watch as they make their way to their spot.

I cannot bring myself to move an inch from where I was standing as tears coat my cheeks. It was all a betrayal. It was all so much colder than the Northern snow I find myself yearning for. How could they allow this to happen to me? How could my-

"Go to him."

I turn to my side, finding Daemon's face as he repeats, "go to him."

Before I know it, I am standing behind my father who had just caught his breath from the coughs he started.

Cregan calls my name once he notices me, and this causes Rickon to turn over his shoulder and make me grind my teeth.

"You fool," I mutter bitterly, "you old, fucking fool."

Cregan places a hand on me. My father calls my name, and it brings me to my knees. I grab onto his cold and thin arm, thinking how it felt nothing like the hand that guided me in my youth.

"Do not waste your tears on this old, fucking fool, daughter."

I look up to him and see tears on his face. I shake my head, "papa," I whine, "don't do this to me. You can still take back your word."

"Sister, that is enough," Cregan hushes.

Rickon places his other hand on my head and sighs, "he does not deserve you," he inhales, "that much I agree."

"Then make this right! Release me-"

"So make him deserve you," he catches my chin, "make him as loyal as your wolf," he coughs twice, "or feed him to Havoc yourself."

Our father rattles out into another fit out coughs.

Cregan pulls me to my feet and sighs. He pulls me to the side yet the sound of coughing does not fade. "He has only worsened since you've gone."

I suck in a breath and will my tears away.

"I pray you release your grudges, before it's too late."

I scoff, "easy for you to say when everything is easy for you, brother," I push his hand off me, "you are the heir, you are in charge."

He calls my name in frustration, "you know damn well that is not what I meant."

"Worry not," I scoff in annoyance, "I will do as our father instructs," I turn to the said man, "as always. I will make him as loyal as Havoc," I gulp, turning to the prince who was already looking at me, "or feed him to her myself."

Cregan watches as I storm all the way back to my seat.

The rest of the events are a blur, the toast, the ceremony, the merrymaking I was clearly not a part of.

But it doesn't matter. What matters is that I could now feel Havoc's warmth against me. She had nearly tackled me to the ground when we were reunited. She felt my heartache and whined with me as I emptied my sorrows on her fur.

Though she spoke no words to me, she provided the best comfort I could ever ask for. Havoc and I have been bonded ever since she was born. She knew nothing but me and I knew nothing but her.

And so when she began to snarl, I felt her protectiveness in my bones.

I turn to the direction of her anger and see my husband still in his spot.

"You are wise not to tread any nearer," I mutter to him as I stand to my feet. Havoc stands beside me. I command her to stand down and lie on her belly. She is reluctant but obedient.

Daemon places his hands behind his back, "I hope you know that it was a mistake for them to bring her to the dragon pit."

"I am not a fool, I would not bring Havoc anywhere near your-"

"I will introduce Caraxes to her slowly," he cuts me off, "though I confess, I do not know how he would react."

I tilt my head to him and measure his words, "and why would you do that?"

"Because she belongs to wife," he spokes as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

When he stretches his hand out to me, Havoc reacts with another snarl.

"Enough, Havoc," I command her, placing a hand on her snout, making her soften her warning sounds.

"Would you introduce me to her?" the prince asks, hand reaching out to me.

I feel a pit in my stomach. There a loud voice was screaming loudly in disagreement, screaming to allow Havoc her carnal desire. Yet the voice of my father rings in my mind, 'make him loyal'. At the same time, the feeling of Daemon's gentle touch as he kissed me after our vows plays in my head.

I turn to Havoc, back to Daemon, and step once so I could reach the prince's palm. Once I have him in my grip, Havoc begins to snarl loudly again. I scold her and pull Daemon behind me. I ignore the way my stomach drops when his other hand rests on my waist. Though the touch is uninvited, I do not fight him off for the sake of keeping Havoc calm.

I place my hand atop Daemon's and link my fingers in his then place his palm on my wolf's large, furry head.

Havoc does not appreciate it, I can feel it. And yet, she does nothing but snarl as she feels Daemon's hand on her.

"He is my husband, sweet girl," I hush her, placing my other hand on her back, "you will not eat him."

Daemon chuckles, then presses closer behind me. I feel my body ignite when his chest meets my back.

He proceeds to speak in another tongue, and to my surprise, Havoc tilts her head at him and dampens her threats.

"How did you do that?" I mutter, turning to him as well.

Our faces nearly touch when I do, and I make sure not to start, lest I trigger the direwolf.

"My blood runs with magic she recognizes," Daemon mutters, violet eyes peering down at me. My breath hitches when his hand brushes to my belly, "I do not doubt Caraxes will recognize the same in yours."

I turn away from him and pull my hand out of his. I then push him away just as Havoc finally ceases her growls altogether and begins to pant.

I release a sigh and turn to my beloved wolf, "good girl," I praise, grabbing her large face.

Daemon chuckles behind me, "you treat her like she is merely an overgrown pup."

"Well, she is," I say, turning over, finding the prince's soft expression, "and yours is an overgrown lizard."

He tilts his head, "I have not met a lizard who breathes fire."

"I wonder why you look any further," I pull away from Havoc to look at the vast chamber, "so, tell me. If not here, where then shall I keep her?"

He shifts on his legs, "your chambers would be large enough, would it not?"

I narrow my brows, "my chambers?"

He chuckles, "well I cannot force it to be our chambers in the face of your beast now, can I?"

I scoff at this and whistle, making Havoc stand.

Daemon does not break eye contact with me as I walk over to him. I move past him though and beckon my wolf to follow, "I appreciate your candor, prince husband. Perhaps I shall not commit treason after all."

[13as07]

Spitting Image #3

(Gaara Sabaku)

[Artwork is not mine! Credit to Tamengkay]

Requested by: Myself

Word Count: 3,874

Warnings and/or Pre-Notes:

Should I do a prequel of their night together? Hmm… probably

———————————————————————

The opal eyes my son inherited from his father are staring back at me from the door frame of my apartment. "Yoshiki isn't here right now," I mutter, clinging to the door I've cracked open.

     "I know. Shikadai and Inojin were playing with him at the flower shop when I stopped. I stopped at the flower shop, on the way, for these," Gaara races out, shoving one of the fancy bouquets toward me. Ino and I tease that it's the 'I fucked up' bouquet since its starting price is twelve thousand yen.

     "The thought is appreciated but flowers aren't a good present for a nine-month-old," I point out, a ting of sadness aching in my chest. Yoshiki has officially been out in the world longer than I carried him for.

     It's been about two months since Gaara met his son and since we met Yoshiki's family. The Hokage keeps randomly showing up, never going longer than a week without appearing back in the village. More often than not he's only gone three or four days, and while he's away his older sister tends to show up.

     The extra help is nice, for the most part. I'm still a bit on edge about letting Temari help though. I don't like someone I barely know around my kid, even if it is his Aunt.

     The only person stressing me out more than Temari is Gaara himself. He seems cold most of the time, definitely not the blushing 'oh my this is happening' guy he was the night we spent together. He also seems to not know what he's doing, which I get if it wasn't for the older son he has. It leaves room for speculation.

     That and I can only imagine how the sand village is reacting. It's a good half-a-day trip either way, and with him spending so much time in the Leaf I'm sure his council isn't too happy, especially since rumor has it our council isn't too happy with his constant appearance.

     Pair all that with the constant shove of money in my face and it doesn't sit too well in the gut. I know he's doing it in good nature, the fancy dinners, constantly buying new things for Yoshiki and leaving money around the house when I deny it from him. I know it's all meant in good faith... I think, but it stresses me out too.

     I don't need Gaara to take care of us, to take care of me. Don't get me wrong, I'm glad Yoshiki's father can offer him the nicer things in life and a part of me is glad that he wants to. But it still stresses me out. It makes me feel like he's setting himself up for a 'you owe me'. Another worry that doesn't get stomached too well.

     I haven't used any of the money Gaara keeps leaving behind. I have been saving it though, squirreling it away, keeping it as a little nesting egg in case Yoshiki and I do have to make a run for it. My father might have kept me blind to the Shinobi world but he didn't keep me blind from ways to keep myself safe. Rule number one: always have a packed to-go bag and an exit plan. At the rate things are going, that might just come in handy.

     "I know that," Gaara says a bit defensively, pressing the flowers to his chest before leaning them back towards me. "I got them for you," he mutters, eyes jumping around the apartment I'm in the middle of cleaning. "What is it that you are doing?"

     "Cleaning," I answer, eyeing the flowers. Is Gaara acting suspicious or am I being paranoid? We shall see. "Yoshiki has grown out of his pre-me clothes and some of the other outfits he has so I'm going through them. Whatever Konah and his wife don't want is going to be taken to the women's shelter."

     "Pre-me?"

     "It's short for premature. Yoshiki was born just short of thirty weeks. He was really small, three point two pounds. He's doing good now. His doctors say he's still a bit underweight but it's nothing to worry too much about. Just something to monitor." During my rant I've shuffled away from the door, focusing on folding more of Yosh's clothes and placing them in the box to bring Konah.

     "I was born premature," Gaara whispers, following behind me to watch as I fold.

     "My mother was too, so the chances of Yoshiki being a pre-me was always there. Besides that's a thing that comes from the mother's DNA, so don't work yourself up over it."

     "I was not going to," he murmurs, eyes jumping around the small space as his cheeks slowly dust themselves pink. I hum in disagreement, carefully watching as Gaara makes the short walk from the living room to the kitchen. "Where do you keep your vases?"

     "I don't have any vases."

     "What do you mean you 'do not have a vase'?" He asks, face scrunched up as he looks at me.

     "Exactly what it sounds like. I don't own a vase. Never have cause I've never needed one."

     "I am going to get you a vase."

     "You really don't need to, Gaara. I don't need a vase and I don't need flowers. I appreciate the gesture but I'm good," I tell him, panic banging around my chest at the thought of him buying me something else, much less more flowers.

     His head tilts and his face scrunches more before he shakes his head. "I am going to get you a vase," Gaara says more to himself than me, nodding in agreement with himself. "And new cups," he mutters, opening the cabinet, being met with the mix-match cups I've somehow gained over the years. "You shall have a vase and new cups next time I stop by."

     "I really, really don't need a vase and those cups work just as well as any others. I don't need new cups or anything else from you. I'm doing fine for myself and my son."

     "Our son."

     "My son," I repeat, feeling like I'm going to throw up despite the hardass tone I've managed to maintain.

     Gaara blinks at me a couple of times, seeming a bit dumb-founded and looking it as he stares, still holding the 'I fucked up' bouquet. "As you wish," he mutters, finally back in motion. He sets the flowers down before opening random drawers in search of something. When he finds it - a pad of paper and a pen - he goes to work scribbling on it. "Nonetheless, I shall walk around and make a list of things you two need."

     I let out a laugh of disbelief, clothes completely forgotten because of the madman's words. "No, you are not. I already told you -"

     "If you wish me to stay out of your room I will, but yes, I am going to figure out what it is that the mother of my child and our son needs," Gaara freezes for a second, imaginary eyebrows jumping up. "My apologies, what your son needs."

     "Are you being a smart-alec right now?" I ask, another disbelieving laugh leaving my lips. "Is that what you're doing?"

"No," he says matter-of-factly. "You are not okay with me referring to Yoshiki as something we share, so I will avert from doing so."

"Dumbass," I mumble under my breath, turning my attention back to the pile of clothes I'm giving away. "I got knocked up by a dumbass."

————————————

"I'm just saying, Gaara is being a little much," I grumble, messing with my keys in search of the one that unlocks my front door.

"And I'm just saying, Gaara wants to take care of you. What's the harm in letting him?" Ino asks, her eyes are shiny with amusement.

"If you like the idea so much, ask him to take care of you," I groan, finally managing to get the key in the lock.

She laughs focusing on the grocery bags she's shifting in her arms. "Ya let me just ask Gaara to give me a baby too. I'm sure that'll go over well. Honestly, I still don't know how you managed to talk him into bed."

"You and me both," I mumble, pushing the door and leaving it open for Ino to follow. She does follow after me, silence flaking between us as we head towards the kitchen to place my groceries down.

     "Welcome home!" Shinki calls out, racing into the kitchen to greet us. "Oh! Hello Auntie Ino!"

     As Ino greets him, I head back out to the living room in search of Yoshiki. Panic starts to rise a bit when I don't find him - or Gaara.

     The panic doesn't last long though, the two of them falling into view when I push Yosh's nursery door open. Gaara looks uneasy as he sits in the rocking chair, my - our - son fast asleep on his chest. "Hello," he calls, stiffening when our son stirs in his sleep.

     "Hello," I echo, softly closing the door before I head towards them. "You know you can lay him in his crib," I tell him, carefully picking Yoshiki off his chest.

Gaara stiffens again, face scrunching up as he inches forward. "I am aware. I did not wish to."

A smile weighs on my lips as I cuddle with my son, pressing soft kisses to his head as I rock the sleeping boy. "Do you want him back when I'm done?"

He blinks at me in his slow way, his face slowly softening as he thinks. "Yes," he mutters, relaxing in the rocking chair again. "I enjoy our time here."

"I'm glad," I hum, soaking in my greeting to Yoshiki for another beat before I gently lay him back on his father's chest. "Yoshiki enjoys it when Shinki and you are here too."

"Do you enjoy when we're here?" Gaara asks, eyes locked on me, his stone-face expression on it like usual.

I think about it for a moment, trying to decide what answer to give: honestly or sugar-coated. "I enjoy spending time with Shinki, he's a sweet kid. I absolutely adore him. I'm happy the two of you are in Yoshiki's life." Both, that works.

"Are you happy we're in your life?"

"Yes," I answer before I have the chance to fully think about it. It's not a lie, I do enjoy having the Sand Shinobis around. I truly adore Shinki and like having him around. Gaara isn't terrible to have around either, it's nice having an extra set of hands, to have a man for Yoshiki to grow up looking up to, and I might have grown a bit fond of the flowers and the pale blue vase he got me.

He nods to himself, slowly rocking himself and Yosh in the chair as he spaces out. "How was your grocery shopping trip with Ino?" He finally murmurs, opal eyes set on me in their intense way. I swear Gaara can't look at anything calmly.

"It was alright. I think I'm going to make homemade ramen for dinner. I'm thinking of topping it with pork and boiled eggs."

Another spaced-out look and agreeing nod. "You should wait until Yoshiki wakes up so I can help you."

"I think I'm capable of - "

"- I know," Gaara cuts me off, eyes scrunched in a way that makes the markings of his eyes stand out. "I am aware you are capable of a lot of things. I am here to help, so I shall help. I wish you would let me help you more often."

I open my mouth to respond but get cut off again, this time by a knock at the door. "Hey, mamas," Ino's voice rings out as she opens the door, slowly poking her head into the room. "I have a meeting soon so I'm going to head out. Shinki is working on putting the groceries away. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Enjoy your meeting, I'll see you later," I call back, waving at my friend before she pulls the door closed again.

"Let me help with dinner," Gaara butts in once the door is closed, ending my attempt to respond before I can even start it. "I want my sons to see me helping around the house. It is not fair for you to work all day and then come home to do the household duties. Let me help."

I let out a long sigh, crossing my arms over my chest as my eyes jump around the nursery. "Fine, you can help with dinner," I say, giving in to Gaara's request.

I suppose there's no harm in letting him help more around the house, especially since he and his son spend most of their time in the village here. Of course they don't sleep here, it's only a small two-bedroom apartment, but if they're not sleeping or spending time with friends and family in the village, they are here. Which means they're here most of the day.

As I leave Yosh's room, thoughts of getting a bigger apartment cross my mind. Should I start looking for a three-bedroom or a four-bedroom? Probably a three-bedroom, I don't think Shinki would mind sharing a room with his younger brother... maybe. I'll just look for both. After all, at the rate we're going Gaara isn't going to let up anytime soon.

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"You're doing that thing again," I grumble, shifting the strainer back and forth to shake the water out of the noodles I'm prepping for dinner.

"What thing?" Gaara asks, his eyes still intensely on me as they have been for the last ten minutes. I swear he hasn't even blinked during the time.

"That thing where you sit there and stare at me. You did it during..." My mouth snaps closed, not sure how to refer to our night together so long again. Not really, it's only been eighteen months. Though a lot has changed in that year and a half. "Our time together," I murmur, shaking the strainer harder.

"Did what?"

"Just sit there and stare. Even in my drunk stupor, it creeped me out a bit."

Gaara finally blinks a few times, slow and steady as he thinks of his response. "You are a very beautiful woman. Besides, I like to look at the mother of my children."

The plural use of the word makes the strainer tumble from my hands, crashing into the sink as I lean down to rest my weight against the edge of it.

"Are you okay?" Shinki asks, his head popping up from the wood blocks he and Yoshiki are playing with. Shinki is trying his hardest to teach his younger brother how to spell his name. I don't think he has grasped the concept of how young Yosh is yet. Still, it's been cute watching him try.

"Yes, sweetie. We're fine," I call before letting out a silent sigh, my eyes snap closed as the sink edge digs into my palms. "What the fuck, Gaara?" I hiss out quietly, refusing to let the boys see me lose my temper with their father.

"What?" He asks, blinking in his slow 'trying to comprehend' way that's starting to piss me off.

"Child, the mother of your child. Singular, one, I have had one baby. In total. Not just one of your sons, one in total."

"Yes, I know that," he says, face scrunching in lack of understanding. "But you are the closest thing to a mother Shinki has known, and I fully intend to get you pregnant again. Perhaps we will have a daughter this time."

"What the hell, Gaara?!" I yell before I can stop myself, snapping my eyes open and standing up straight.

"There is no need to yell. It is not something I plan on doing soon. There are things we need to get in order."

"Like what?" I hiss quietly, shifting closer so it's easier to keep my tone quiet. I don't need the boys noticing the fit heating up, and Shinki's glancing eyes let me know he's starting too.

"Well, I would like to get Yoshiki and you situated in the Sand Village, again not anytime soon if you don't wish it but preferably within the next couple of months. Then we will need to get the events in place for the wedding and of course the papers to update Shinki's adoption order. Then the matter of getting pregnant again. I do not mind the age gap between the boys but I think it would be best to have our next child sometime before Yoshiki is three or four."

"Get out." The words come out airy, disbelief and anger rooted in my mind.

"What?"

"Get out," I repeat, anger quickly outweighing my disbelief. "I need you to get out of my sight. I need you out of my home, I need you out of the village. I need you as far away from me as humanly possible. Get out, now."

"What is it that I've - "

"Get out!" I repeat, shouting at him now. My hands jump forward, connecting with his chest before I start shoving him out of the kitchen. "Out! Get out! Get away from me! Get away from my son! Go away!" I yell, continuing to shove him.

"I do not understand what it is that - " Gaara tries to say, his hands jumping up and gently cupping my elbows, he's not even trying to stop my shoving.

"I swear to the lord I'm going to stab you, Gaara. Go away," I shriek, tugging myself from his grip before slamming the front door open. Once the door is open, I go back to shoving him out of the house, leaving the Sand Hokage in the hallway before slamming and locking the door shut.

When I turn back around, Yoshiki is crying and screaming in fear because of my yelling. Shinki is wide-eyed and his mouth hangs open as he stares at me. "I swear," I mutter under my breath, taking quick steps towards my son. I swoop down, picking him up before I try rocking him. "It's okay, Yosh. I know, I know. Mommy is sorry for yelling. Everything is okay," I coo, shifting us back and forth as I rub his back.

"Are you kicking me out too?" Shinki's soft voice calls out, the volume being his failing attempt to hide his sadness.

"No, no. Of course not, sweetie," I continue to coo, my fake calmness aimed at him instead of Yoshiki. "I'll never kick you out of my home, okay? You're always welcome here," I continue to soothe, dropping the arm not holding Yosh down so I can run my fingers through Shinki's hair.

"This is a safe space for you, Love. I'm sorry I've made it unsafe," I continue to soothe the older boy, placing his younger brother back on the ground now that he's calmed down. I fall to my knees in front of Shinki, wrapping my arms around him and pressing his head to my shoulder. "How about we put Yosh in his high chair and you can help me make dinner, okay?"

"Okay," the older boy whispers into my shoulder, willingly laying his head down now. "I'm sorry Papa upset you."

"You don't have to be sorry for him. Just because I'm mad at Gaara doesn't mean I'm mad at you, Sweetie," I tell him, littering the side of his head with kisses. "Let's finish making dinner now, okay?"

"Okay."

————————————

Ino lets out a loud chuckle, hunching over the counter as she giggles. "I'm sorry, it's really not funny... except it is."

A groan escapes me as I lay my head on the counter, rolling over my fight with Gaara again. "I do not know what is funny," Sai says, looking quite confused as his head switches between his wife and me. "I think it is nice that Gaara wants another child."

"My dear," Ino says, wrapping herself around Sai's arm. "Gaara's bluntness is what's funny. They barely know each other, they are nowhere near close enough to get married, let alone have another child together."

     "Well, why not?" He asks, head tilting as he looks at his wife. "Gaara is here about as much as he's away. They practically live together and already have one child together. The only person in the village who knows Gaara better than her is Temari... well, and possibly Naruto. It seems that the only way they are not married is by the law of the Great Nations."

     Now it's my turn to giggle at Ino's unaware father of her child. "Well," she starts, mouth gaping like a fish as she struggles with her words. "The... there's not the emotional part of it. No one should marry someone they don't love, Sai."

     "Are you blind, my love?"

      "What?!" Ino shrieks, letting go of Sai's arm.

     "Please calm down. I meant it in a joking way, not literally. I am just saying it is obvious that Gaara enjoys her company."

     "What do you mean?" I ask, turning my attention away from the hissy fit Ino is throwing.

     "Like I said before, Gaara spends a lot of time in the village. I am aware it is to see Yoshiki, but he seems quite interested in taking care of you as well. If he did not love you, why would he be interested in your specific needs? Personally, if I was not interested in the mother of my child, my sole focus would be on my child. I would not care about the mother is all I'm saying. My child's needs would be met and that's it."

     Ino's lecture about the hypothetical situation goes into full swing, a few groans of manners and politeness thrown into the mix. As she gets after her husband, I replay Sai's words in my head. Maybe he had a point, or maybe he didn't. I don't know.

     Gaara's and Shinki's constant travels have been weighing on my mind recently though. They travel to and from the village at least once a week, if not twice. It would be a lot easier on them if we all lived in the same village, and well... it would be easier for Yoshiki and me to move to the Hidden Sand than Gaara and Shinki moving here. After all, Gaara is their Hokage, and leaving that job wouldn't be easy or smart, financially.

     "Maybe I will," I mutter, letting out another sigh.

     "Maybe you will what?" Ino asks, stalling her discussion with Sai.

     "Maybe Yoshiki and I will move to the Sand Village. It's the least I can do since Gaara is doing so much for us. Besides, it would be easier for me to get a new job at the same pay I have now than it would be for him."

     Ino and Sia fall quiet for a couple of minutes, the weight of my words hovering over them as much as it's hovering over me. Ino finally pipes up, saying "Whatever you choose to do, we'll support you. Always."

I swear I'm never drinking a margarita for the rest of my life.

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[transbeeduo]

Hey! Welcome to my Blog! Call me Crunch! I'm fine with whatever pronouns, but I mostly alternate between He/She/They! I identify as Asexual, Ambiamorous, and Panromantic! Also I’m an adult 👍

Alt Tumblr: DM TO ASK FOR IT TIMES I HAVE HIT POST LIMIT: 28 🎉

https://linktr.ee/transbeeduo (I also have a Discord, which Mutuals are free to ask/dm for!)

I'm primarily a MCYTBLR blogger! I mostly tend to stick to the DSMP side of things, although I'll often post about OSMP and QSMP, and occasionally dabble in other MCYT related fandoms! Along with that I post about Five Nights At Freddy's, Pokémon, or whatever else I'm interested in at the time!

SYSTEM TAGS (Not used super often due to mostly just being me here)

⛏️ : Posts from C!Crunch (NOT Crunch Transbeeduo!! Two different people!)

🎸: Posts from Monty (Montgomery Gator Fictive)

📼: Posts from Cassette/Cass/Ran/Ranboo (Generation Loss/CC!Ranboo Factive. DON'T FUCKING NOTIFY RANBOOLIVE ABOUT THEM BTW DON'T DO THAT SHIT)

🪓: Posts from Ares/Techno (DSMP/OSMP Technoblade fictive)

📺: Posts from Lolbit (Lolbit Fictive)

🎁: Posts from Ophelia/Oleander/FMAN (FMAN122 Fictive)

🔥: Posts from Pyro/Sapnap/Saps (C!Sapnap Fictive)

🌋: Posts from Groudon (C!Tubbo/Groudon/Q!Tubbo fictive)

☁️: Posts from Bo (Pine AU Q!Tubbo fictive)

⚓️: Posts from Bucky (Bucky Beaver Shipwrecked 64 Fictive)

🐺: Posts from Artemis (Fox Furry Joker P5 Fictive, Black Fox Therian)

🐾 - Posts from Ranboo (C!Ranboo Fictive)

Anything not tagged: Almost always Crunch Transbeeduo! Just assume it's them!

(LINKS TO A PRONOUNS.CC PAGE WITH MORE INFORMATION COMING EVENTUALLY)

I quite like every DSMP character, so they'll all tend to show up on this blog, but the most discussed here are C!Beeduo (if it wasn't obvious), along with Michael + my Fankids for them! (Found under "#Bug Posts" and "#Wizard Posts") but I also quite like The Eggpire/Badlands, The Syndicate, and Las Nevadas!

For OSMP I'm usually going to stick to O!Beeduo, while for QSMP I'm quite a fan of Q!Tubbo and Q!BBH! (I don't watch QSMP, only really absorb it through the dash! I do have plans to watch it soon though!)

(Credits for these!)

CC Banner: @////tmmyhug (X added by me)

Beeduo Banner: @////cannosoup

Loves Beeduo: @////thedialup

Technoblade, Sootings, and Parasocial Blinkies: @////block-toad

Michael Feed: @////doodlebloo

Genloss Banner @////Pathtrick

Tommy/Tubbo/Phil: @////Offishly

QSMP Eggs + Theory/Analysis Blinkie: @////etoilesbienne

Alliumduo/Peerpressureduo Banners: @////theenderwalker

Koraidon Banner:@///sweetpeauserboxes

Quackcicle/Ranboo Banners: ???? (Couldn't find the OP, if anyone knows please tell me!)

All other banners: Mine!

BOUNDARIES/BYF UNDER CUT (please read!!):

If it's not incredibly obvious, I do NOT want you here if you support the CC! DTeam or William Gold/Wilbur Soot. Get outta here go. Scram

I AM NOT A CC SHIPPER, I AM NOT SHIPPING REAL PEOPLE NOR DO I CARE FOR SHIPPING REAL PEOPLE IN A SERIOUS MANNER. Everything I say shipping/headcanon wise is about FICTIONAL CHARACTERS.

I block somewhat liberally!!!!! Please do not follow me if ur under 15, I post suggestive things on here sometimes!

PLEASE ask if something I discuss needs Content/Trigger warnings!

I'm not the best with words, or articulating the things I'm thinking about really well. If I say something that doesn't make sense or is confusing I'm sorry.

Please do not be weird in my Inbox. Don't ask me about discourse, don't spam me or ask me to follow you or promote your things, don't like be weird to ME. (Also please don’t ask me anything personal, I am uncomfortable sharing that kind of information online)

I AM NOT A DISCOURSE BLOG!!!!!!! I'll discuss it sometimes but that's just because I like being a hater sometimes. Don't treat me as a discourse blog

PLEASE don't send me C!Beeduo /neg shit unprompted, or if you do at least tell me it is.

[mairitess]

form 009-xm3rc, signed, in triplicate // to be known, ch. 2

summary: jordana has her own ambitions. and her own friends.

a/n: i'm giggling so hard i can't believe people like this and that i'm so influenced i whipped out this next part bc of comments luv and thanks? this is also ch. 2 but i don't think it necessarily haaaaaas to be read in order ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ do what u wanna do + also on ao3!

words: 2.8k

tags: angst, jaya mentioned, jordana characterization if it were up to me, and now it is up to me, jordana pov, dr s2 spoilers

warnings: n/a

preview:

They shrugged in tandem unnervingly. “You know us. There’s the form for filing a complaint of abuse of power, Form A17-PQ9 for actually complaining about an abuse of power, the form for filing a complaint of aiding and abetting a coup, Form A38-BU9 for actually complaining about aiding and abetting a coup, the–” “I get it!” Jordana interrupted. “Where do I file the form for filing a complaint about wasting my time?”

Nya’s last words echoed painfully at the tail end of all of Jordana’s thoughts, steady like a heartbeat, as Jordana walked through the fluorescent-lit halls of the Department of Reassignment. Gotta fill out form BA-7180. Gotta notarize form BA-7180. I’m not what I do. I’m more than what I do. Have to make sure Agent Walker has copies of Form 009X. Have to go to HR to corroborate Agent Walker’s statement. I’m not what I do. I’m more than what I do? Need to mediate a meeting between Lord Ras and Agent Walker. Need to find Nokt. I’m not what I do. I’m more than what I do.

Steady, for sure, but believable? Jordana wasn’t sure. Though maybe it would become more believable the more she said it. What was it that one wizard said? The more you believe something the more you manifest it? No – That couldn’t be right. Jordana ran with facts and figures, not signs and persuasions. Certainly not manifestations. Sure, there was elemental power; sure, she could harness Source Dragon energy; sure, she’d learned a good bit of Theroxian magic… Yet those still felt markedly different from simply sitting somewhere, thinking really hard over and over again, just willing something to be and it becoming.

Here were the facts and figures, at least those she liked to keep at the forefront of her mind:

Figure: Jordana had a 74% success rate while working under Dr. LaRow.

Fact: The success rate took the number of inventions she suggested, with the number of inventions she worked on, with the number of inventions tested and passing lab trials, with the number of inventions that were used practically outside of a simulated scenario.

Figure: Sora’s success rate, though she was working under Dr. LaRow for far less time than Jordana, was 84%.

Fact: Don’t ask Jordana how she knows.

Fact: She knows because she was counting.

Figure: Jordana’s success rate after being recruited by the Administration increased to 89%.

Fact: Jordana was only recruited as a mercenary.

Fact: If Lord Ras’ plans fell through, Jordana was more than happy to join the Department of Reassignment full-time.

Fact: It wasn’t an “if.” It was a “when.” Lord Ras had overstepped when he lost Nokt.

Fact: Jordana only knew because Agent Walker offhandedly told her. “It’s a good thing you’re not putting all your eggs in one basket,” he said. “That ship is sinking fast. We’re just making sure we have all the evidence for it.”

Agent Denholt begrudgingly walked Jordana over to an empty desk, and Jordana plopped her stack of files loudly on the table. “Agent Mantha is out doing surveillance for the next few hours, so make sure to finish by then,” they said.

Jordana hadn’t necessarily thought of herself as the “bureaucratic type” while she was working with Dr. LaRow, and the paperwork surely was not a highlight of the position she held now. But the more time she spent with the Administration, the more she warmed up to the idea of the Administration – not as pencil-pushers, but as enforcers of order. Jordana liked order the same way she liked her facts and figures: You were either right or wrong, good or bad, acting as you should or acting as you shouldn’t. All she needed was to be told where the line was, and from there, all Jordana had to do was sort.

When the Administration first found her, Jordana had just finished her first week with Dr. LaRow, and was still riding off the highs of achieving a childhood dream. Though Dr. LaRow mentioned Sora every two seconds, Jordana didn’t care – one of them was there, and the other wasn’t. She didn’t quite know, either, why Sora left. Probably couldn’t take the pressure. But Jordana could take it. She wasn’t a quitter.

“A girl of your talents could go much further than one realm,” one of the agents said. “It may just be one realm,” Jordana retorted, “but it’s mine.”

While extremely flattered by the Administration’s initial offer to join them, to put her skills to use with the Department of Reassignment, Jordana simply took it as proof she was good enough to compete with Sora. Was Sora getting recruited by the logistical gatekeeper of all the Realms? No. Well, probably not. But whatever the Administration was offering wasn’t enough for Jordana to leave the laboratory. Besides, what could an enforcing agency want with an inventor, a scientist?

The second time the Administration found her, two agents – Agent Pi’idi and Agent Urda – materialized from a bright portal right after Lord Ras had convinced her to join with his efforts. She’d just turned her back once Lord Ras sifted into the darkness of the night, and in his place were the Administration’s enforcers. Though this time, their recruitment tactics were different.

“Do you really think the Administration would let Ras go so far to achieve total domination like that?” They asked her. Jordana’s hands shook, yet she managed a casual shrug. “The Administration hasn’t stopped him yet.”

They shrugged in tandem unnervingly. “You know us. There’s the form for filing a complaint of abuse of power, Form A17-PQ9 for actually complaining about an abuse of power, the form for filing a complaint of aiding and abetting a coup, Form A38-BU9 for actually complaining about aiding and abetting a coup, the–”

“I get it!” Jordana interrupted. “Where do I file the form for filing a complaint about wasting my time?” She snarked, drawing a sarcastic laugh from the suited agents.

“Trust us,” Agent Pi’idi said, smirking. “We’ll make your time well-worth it.” “All we’re offering is a tour,” Agent Urda added. “You give us an hour to see what we do, we tell you what we’re looking for, and you give us a decision in a week.” “Do you have all the paperwork already filed for an outsider?” Jordana asked, jokingly. “Where’s my visitor’s badge?”

Agent Urda pulled a rectangular piece of plastic from his lapel while Agent Pi’idi pulled out a stack of files in triplicate. Jordana could see the notarized stamp on top, peeking through from underneath the carbonless copy paper. “We’re the Administration. Of course we do.”

------

The tour was exactly an hour as promised, Jordana circling around the Department of Reassignment and back where she started. While Agents Pi’idi and Urda brought her in, the department manager, Agent Walker was the one to give her the tour. At first, she thought his rambling and verbal meandering were nerves, but after 20 minutes, she realized – he didn’t really care. Jordana, surprising herself, kind of liked that.

“So you’ve seen each of the departments, met some of the other agents… This is my office. Rule of thumb: Do not call on me unless there’s an emergency. What counts as an emergency?” “Someone needs realm reassignment.” “And?” “That’s it.” “Yup. That’s it. Any questions?”

Agent Walker just did what he needed to. He must have been good enough at the work to become manager, but he didn’t gloat about it, nor seem like a try hard. And from the video game controller in his hand, Jordana could make a pretty good guess as to what he was really spending his time on while at work.

“Just one.” Jordana frowned. “What does the Administration want me for? I don’t understand how I could be of any help.”

Agent Walker shrugged, and pulled a slip of paper from the folder he’d tucked under his elbow while they walked. “It says here that the Administrator thinks you’d fit well with the Department of Reassignment. Uh… Hold on.”

He mumbled to himself as he skimmed through, flipping the page. “‘Jordana’s commitment and advanced technological understanding, notably through her development of containment and transference vessels for pure elemental power, would best be recognized as reinforcement of Administration duties and responsibilities as opposed to threats,’” Agent Walker quoted. “‘Jordana’s conscription or, preferably, allegiance with the Administration would be a useful asset to Administration goals.’”

He looked at her. “Does that make sense?”

Jordana turned the paper towards herself, re-reading it. “It says you’d prefer my ‘allegiance’ over my ‘conscription.’ So that means…”

Agent Walker returned the pages to their respective folder. “What do you know about the Administration, Jordana?” “Not much,” she admitted. “Just that it’s slow and bureaucratic. Nothing gets done.”

Agent Walker smiled. “Good. That’s precisely what they want you to think.”

He opened the door to his office, gesturing for her to step inside. There was a standard desk with two meeting chairs, no windows, and a small gaming set-up with a TV and beanbag. The TV’s lights were dim, but still gave away Agent Walker’s paused gameplay. Jordana took a seat while Agent Walker closed the door.

“Everything has its place, Jordana. Everything belongs somewhere. My controller,” he said, tossing it on the beanbag as he moved to sit across from Jordana, “connects to the console. My computer sits on my desk. And just as everything belongs somewhere, so does everyone.” Agent Walker’s brow furrowed, somewhat unbecomingly serious.

“I mean that in two ways. The first is in the literal job of the Department of Reassignment. After the Merge, all we wanted to do was make sure everyone got back to where they belonged. Call it going home, if you want.” Jordana nodded slowly, and Agent Walker leaned forward towards her. “The second is that everyone has their place in the system. And that’s where you would come in.”

What… System?

“Some people actively avoid their place. But that upsets order – everything was in order before the Merge. The Administration, sometimes, needs people…” Agent Walker trailed off, choosing his words. “Adjacent to the Administration to help find them. Why spend three days filing Form 5U-O3E to search a last known location when the subject may have left it two days before? Why not,” he suggested, “simply file Form 009X, to process and reattribute mercenary acquisitions of targets?”

The older agent smiled to himself, proud. “It’s practically a game, Jordana. You find them, we catch them, and I put them back in their place. A completely reimagined, completely expedited process.” Jordana’s gaze flickered up to a certificate framed and hung on the wall, just above Agent Walker’s desktop. Greatest Annual Contributions to the Department of Reassignment.

“And what do I get?” Jordana asked.

Agent Walker leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. “When everyone’s back where they belong, Jordana… All the realms will have you to thank. Nobody could do it like you.”

He smiled, earnest. “That’s why we’re asking you, Jordana. Only you. And if you agree to help us, we’ll make sure everyone knows you saved them from the effects of the Merge.” He kept saying you. She’d never heard her name used so many times in one conversation, attached to such promises of greatness and success.

Bright lights started dazzling in Jordana’s head, the buzz of cheers and congratulations filling her ears. “Oh, and if you thought Imperium’s labs were advanced… Wait ‘til you see the Department of Innovation.”

“I get to work there?” Jordana asked, feeling lightheaded with fantasies of what could be. “The Department of Reassignment doesn’t just put people in their place, Jordana. We decide where everything goes.”

The next day, Agent Walker received a completed and signed form through the pipes, in triplicate. Form 009-XM3RC: Filing to Work in Consortium With the Administration.

------

Lord Ras was completely unaware of Jordana’s dual allegiances, completely engrossed in his own endeavors. Jordana didn’t mind. She felt what she was doing was bigger than Lord Ras, even if he managed to bring back the entirety of the Forbidden Five. The Administration pulled more strings than she could’ve imagined. Jordana felt lucky to be pulling on a few of them herself.

Her first mark was a test – a Juniper Long, attempting to evade returning to her work as a lighthouse keeper in the Never-Realm by hiding out in the Wyldness. Easy grab, at least, in between her orders from Lord Ras. Jordana had caught Juniper against a tree, Juniper confused beyond all measure, and Agent Walker opened his portal and swiftly took Juniper away. For sake of appearances, Agent Walker would often pretend to be somewhat cold to Jordana when he finished their tasks; he’d pretend he was taking her work from her, or that Jordana didn’t have as much agency in her work as she truly did. Jordana didn’t mind the theatrics. Besides, they couldn’t have people outside the Administration realize that there were more Agents and pseudo-Agents than the public thought.

“It’s a balancing act,” Agent Walker tried explaining to her once. “Remember what I told you about everyone having their place, everything being part of the system?” “Yeah. I don’t think I ever really understood what you meant by ‘system,’ though,” Jordana admitted.

He laughed. “Think of it like… Like yin and yang. The Administration isn’t on a ‘good’ side or a ‘bad’ side. We’re bureaucratic because order – systematic, global order – requires both. Life itself is about opposites moving together, forever, complimenting the force of the other as it goes.” Agent Walker’s voice grew quiet as he finished, as if he were recalling some distant thought he couldn’t quite place.

“… I guess.” Jordana shrugged, and Agent Walker laughed again. “You’ll get it when you’re older. Maybe.” She shoved his shoulder, and he clutched it closer to him in mock hurt. “Hey! I’m your superior!"

Jordana stuck her tongue out, and she felt like she was exactly where she needed to be as a grin spread across her face.

Agent Walker was perhaps one of the best people she’d ever had the pleasure of knowing. He was kind to her and gently corrected her mistakes while (maybe over-) congratulating her on her successes. Sometimes she’d visit the Department and hear him speak so highly of her it made her feel shy. No one in Imperium was proud of her the way Agent Walker was. Agent Walker would always ask about her new inventions, and as it turned out, he was pretty handy with technology himself. Soon enough, they were developing new gear together. It might not have been her dream job, but Agent Walker was far better than Dr. LaRow ever was. Even with his help, everything she did still felt like hers. It was Agent Walker’s idea for Jordana to etch a maker’s symbol at the bottom left corner of her creations, something he said was inspired by a blacksmithing tradition he’d heard about long ago.

------

A few months into their agreement, Agent Walker called Jordana into his office, handing her a tablet with a looping clip of a ninja Jordana had only seen before in passing. A woman caught on a security camera, likely about Agent Walker’s age, pretty despite the scowl on her face. She pulled her mask over her face, and it took losing sight of the woman’s entire face for Jordana to start recognizing her.

“Do you know her?” Agent Walker asked, his face stern and arms crossed over his chest. “I… No,” Jordana said, shaking her head. “But I’ve seen her. With Sora and Arin.” Her mentor nodded, pursing his lips. “She’s your next target.” He started to turn away from Jordana to return to his game. “Do I get to know why?” Jordana halfheartedly called out, still looking at the streaks of blue in the woman’s hair.

“She says she’s my Yang,” he responded, and Jordana turned to him in shock. She had so many questions – What were you doing with her? But that felt unfair, given his apparent disposition. It was the first time she’d seen him defeated, slumped in the beanbag, not even bothering to pick up his controller.

The Yin/Yang promise had fallen out of practice, to Jordana’s understanding. It was a Ninjago custom, but after the Merge, some rituals simply ceased to be. At least Jordana thought some of them had. But if Jay had a Yang…

“You’re from Ninjago?” Jordana asked, quiet. Agent Walker glanced up at her. “I guess so.” “You guess?”

He sounded sad. Jordana didn’t know what she was supposed to do other than watch and maybe awkwardly offer to sit with him.

“I… I didn’t know where I came from.” He took a deep breath, exhaling shakily though he tried to laugh it off. “That’s why they put me in the Department of Reassignment, I guess. Bringing other people back home if I didn’t have one.”

Sometimes when Agent Walker stepped the wrong way, she’d watch him grab his shoulder or brace his back. Jordana first thought he might be older than she’d assumed, but after this… Who was Agent Walker, really?

“Do you know her name?” Jordana handed the tablet back to her mentor gently.

“Nya,” he responded, her name rolling off his tongue like water.

[wouldntyou-liketoknow]

Just Another Night at Sparky's

(Disclaimer: Ness/WaiterPat and Jack/Cabbie!Cory are not my creations. I gave Jack his name because he wasn't given one in the movie. Now, one of the characters you'll be seeing here technically belongs to me, but I don't really consider him a full fanego.)

(I was already planning to write for Ness and Jack, but after I learned how Mark was originally intended to play the role of that first security guard who died, I decided to adopt that abandoned character. Go here for headcanons and a more thorough explanation.)

(Certain plot-points in this story were inspired by @flawlessstriker and @insane4fandoms! These two are very talented artists, and I'm not sure I would've thought of such clever/funny easter eggs if I hadn't seen some of their own work, so please go check out their blogs and show them some love!)

(Trigger Warnings: food and drink, eating/drinking, implied trauma, mentions of past violence, mentions of blood, strong language. Please let me know if I missed anything.) 

In Ness’ personal experience, the people who dined at Sparky’s could be divided into three sections on a metaphorical pie chart. 

Twenty-four percent of customers were. . .just a little off. Not like that was necessarily a bad thing, mind you. Working in the restaurant business meant having to interact with lots of people each and every day. At some point, you’d learn to pick up on certain things that were odd in the way you couldn’t quite put your finger on (or, perhaps you just knew deep down that you didn’t want to). 

Ness strolled out of the kitchen and into the seating area, expertly balancing a tray on one hand. He approached a couple of bespectacled young women in one corner of the diner. 

Their visits to Sparky’s were a bit sporadic, but they never failed to claim that one booth in the corner that no-one else ever sat at no matter how crowded the joint was. The backpacks they always hauled along were positioned further up the booth’s seat cushions, half-open and nearly overspilling with various books. 

They always used indoor voices, but he could still pick up bits and pieces of their conversation whenever he was near. 

Tonight was no different:

“—he’ll be hungrier than usual,” murmured the one on the left, who boasted short, wavy hair that had been dyed a dark shade of violet. It complimented her shirt, which read ADOPT A FAMILIAR at the top. Pictures of creepy-looking critters were displayed beneath the message, orange-eyed and outlined by blue against the black fabric. “And he’ll need a live one this time.”

“Ooh,” replied the one on the right, who sported a yellow shirt with the screen-printed likeness of some obscure, spikey-haired cartoon character near the collar. A blonde ponytail spilled out from the back of her ball cap. “Who’s it gonna be? The lady whose eyes were found in that jar last month?”

“Nah, she’ll be in some psych ward. Too far-gone to keep on the playing board, y’know?” A sly grin etched its way across Urban Fantasy Nerd’s features. “I was actually wondering if you’d like to choose. Your guy is making the delivery, after all.”

“Ah, that’s right!” Cartoon-Fan snickered in a way that was just a teensy bit unhinged. “I can already see him slipping on some of the blood."

“Third time’s a charm?” Ness asked as he halted, carefully setting this duo’s Usual on the table. 

(Two milkshakes: one chocolate, the other strawberry. Yeah, it was kind of basic, but he wasn’t too much of a judgemental guy. Besides, Sparky’s shakes were a much safer option than the lilac-colored drinks that chicken shack around the corner had started selling. And Ness didn’t just carry that opinion because of his employment. During one of his typical night-walks, he’d passed an alley just in time to see said purple beverage oozing through said chicken shack’s windows. The strong, sugary smell wafting off it had reminded him of prion disease.)

The girls both paused. Though they smiled up at him and offered quiet “Thank-yous,” as they moved their respective, sticker-covered laptops out of the way, visible confusion mixed itself into their gratitude. 

“For the university’s creative writing contest, I mean,” Ness elaborated. “There were articles in the paper about the last two, and I saw your pictures in the list of winners. Congratulations, by the way.”

“. . .Oh,” Urban Fantasy Nerd answered, exchanging careful glances with her friend. “Yeah. Writing. Let’s go with that.”

“If anyone asks, we were also writing here two months ago,” Cartoon-Fan added with a conspiratory wink. “On Friday, between five-thirty and nine o’clock.” 

Ness chuckled, raising one hand to pull an invisible zipper over his lips. “You’ve got it. Enjoy.”

As he retraced his steps to organize some stuff behind the coffee counter, a little voice in the back of his theater-trained head wondered if the girls’ tones had been joking enough. Unlike many times before, he pushed that voice aside.

On one hand, missing person cases did always seem to pop up on the news channels a few days after the two students stopped by to enjoy milkshakes while typing away and occasionally turning the screens of their laptops toward one another. 

On the other hand. . .well, those cases were always located states and states away, typically near more seaside areas. None of them had been anywhere close to Utah. (Not yet, at least.)

Besides, even if those girls were somehow connected to more sinister things than their coursework, they were still very nice. Good tippers, too. Nowhere near the worst patrons Ness had served in his time.

The strange customers almost always seemed to come in pairs.

Like the duo of twenty-somethings from last week. One sported ginger hair and a She/They button pinned to their  jacket. The soot-stains on said jacket had been very obvious, as were the burn scars on their palms, but she’d still been a delight to make smalltalk with.

The other, a pale young man, had been much more quiet, but still friendly. He’d kept peering through the window at (what was presumably) his or his friend’s car, shakily fidgeting with the headphones around his neck, so it’d taken some time for Ness to realize that his eyes were just as reflective as mirrors.

(For the duration of their stay, the jukebox over by the counter had spat out songs that most certainly weren’t on its index cards. Fine, that might’ve caught Ness a bit off-guard at first, but he still knew to appreciate variety.)

Or the two men who’d come in a few months ago, wearing battered navy-blue bomber jackets and thousand-yard-stares. The one with a dyed-red fauxhawk had screamed and practically leapt out of his skin when Ness came over with menus and his usual greeting, but he’d apologized soon enough. After giving Ness a thorough look-over, that is.

His companion, a similarly dark-eyed man with a larynx that could only be found on seasoned musicians, had muttered, “Don’t mind him. We’ve just. . .had a bit of a rough trip.” His voice hadn’t been unkind, but he’d kept glancing at Ness whenever he thought he wasn’t looking. 

Well, perhaps that particular pair had broken the trend a bit. Because a few hours after they’d paid for their food and left, a lone traveler had come in.

His bloodshot eyes—which Ness could’ve sworn were orange instead of brown—had never stopped bulging, never stopped darting this way and that above his rictus of a smile. When he wasn’t speaking, he’d hum or murmur things with a shakiness that was typically found in rabid dogs.

He’d asked for way more coffee refills than could ever be considered healthy, as well as if Ness had seen anyone fitting the descriptions of Red-Haired-Screamer and Wary-Possible-Musician. Ness, following his instincts, had said no, to which the loner started simply shaking his head and grinning with a mouthful of teeth that looked a smidge too sharp.

Or the scruffy man who'd started coming in for breakfast every other week with his young sister in tow. He was living proof that you could recognize someone without officially knowing them. After all, it was pretty damn easy for Ness to remember almost making eye-contact with him, barely moving out of reach of his flashlight’s beam in time, and then having the seconds feel like hours as he watched him shake his head and mutter to himself about seeing things. 

It wasn’t like that’d been Ness’ first little midnight rendezvous around Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzaria. Just like how that particular man wasn’t the first security guard who’d gotten dangerously close to spotting him during his unofficial, self-driven investigations.

For the record, Ness knew that said investigations weren’t legal—especially not if you counted some of the things he’d. . .borrowed from the old animatronic jamboree restaurant—but he’d made his peace with that.

He hadn’t been sneaking around there to deal drugs or partake in any himself.

He wasn’t exactly chasing the adrenaline that always came with an evening full of ducking around corners and trying to ignore how loud his shoes sounded against linoleum floors when he rushed to find anything he could feasibly hide behind, underneath, or inside of.

He never meant any harm when it came to snooping.

It was just a simple case of having a little too much curiosity.

Thankfully, Security Guard #13 still had yet to show up at Ness’ place with some accompanying cops, so it seemed he didn’t recognize Ness as anything other than a humble waiter. (Or, if he did actually recognize Ness from that night, then he was miraculously chill enough to not bring it up and get him in trouble.)

The very first time they’d paid Sparky’s a visit, it would’ve been impossible to ignore the distinct smell that had been wafting off of Security Guard #13. It’d had a bite to it; like machine oil mixed with something much more. . .organic.

From that bleak look Ness had seen in his eyes, Security Guard #13 was most certainly NOT what anyone could call unbothered, but he was still polite. Plus, Kid Sister was the type who just deserved all the crayons in the world, what with the little masterpieces she’d decorated the paper menus with.

So, yeah. There was a genuine difference between oddball customers and customers that made you lose some of your faith in humanity. 

People who asked for trout to be blended into their yogurt parfait or for their donuts to be topped with slices of pickles that had gathered fuzz from their mysterious journeys at the back of the refrigerator were still easier to handle than people who threw temper tantrums because they didn’t get a refill in under thirty seconds. 

Back to the pie-chart—another forty-six percent of customers were perfectly decent and standard.

Plenty of the locals had a soft spot for this joint; Ness had lost count of all the times he’d been told that the pancakes served here were some of the best on planet Earth. Yeah, praise like that technically wasn’t directed at him, but the cooks were great people to work with, so it still made him happy to relay said praise to them. 

He’d be lying if he said it wasn’t awkward for someone to confusedly ask if they’d already seen him working at the bar on the other side of town. Even so, that once-a-month occurrence always left him amused rather than annoyed. If anything, it attested to that particular customer’s observation skills. 

Sure, he and Sans were identical twins—the fact that their uncle had mixed them up on several different occasions when they were little was still a running joke in the family. But it’d been years since Sans had decided to remedy that via a skeleton face-mask and a dark blue leather jacket, and he’d made a habit to don both aforementioned garments each day ever since then. (Ness was still in partial disbelief that the manager at Grillby’s was cool enough to let Sans wear them over his uniform.)

Just as many of Sans’ customers apparently ended up mistaking him for Ness. Sans got a nice little kick out of that, of course. He hadn’t just been born with a comedic heart—it truly seemed every bone in his body was a funny one. Some people would argue that he just delivered puns upon more puns upon even more puns, but Ness knew his brother better than that. 

After all, Sans had been the one to train him to deal with the last category of customers: the thirty percent of entitled neanderthals who thought treating staff as less than human would somehow magically make their miserable lives more interesting. 

“Food work is all about balance,” Sans had explained sometime after he and Ness had grown tall enough to take plates and cups from a counter without having to stand on their tip-toes. “You’ve gotta be nice and still let people know that you won’t take their crap. If they’re civil, then you’re helpful. But if they’re rude. . .” Sans had paused, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “. . .then you have a little fun.” 

Ness had always been a pretty fast learner. It’d taken a week or so of practice, yeah, but with his twin’s help, he’d developed a tongue sharp enough to rival any butcher knife in the kitchen.

“You use a lot of big words for a waiter,” snorted a wannabe business bigshot with a wrinkled clip-on tie and a way, waaaaaay over-gelled hairdo that spoke volumes of desperation. 

Ness, who’d been explaining the differences between certain ingredients and flavor-enhancing chemicals because Hair Gel’s girlfriend had asked a fair question about the smoothies on the menu, barely batted an eyelid when he came back with, “And you smell a lot like hotdog water for someone who apparently doesn’t work with food.”

“This was the WORST thing I’ve ever put in my mouth!” Exclaimed a woman with an unidentifiable crust caked around the corners of her eyes and an ill-fitting shirt that was advertising some essential oil brand.

“I highly doubt that,” Ness mentioned, raising an eyebrow as he took the plate (which was suspiciously much emptier than when he’d first brought it out) from her table, “but whatever you say. . .”

“Oh! Thank you!” A tiny boy who couldn’t have been older than seven chirped, bouncing in his seat when Ness placed a sundae down in front of him.

Ness had been about to reply, but the boy’s mother—a lady who was trying very hard to look posh (but not succeeding very well due her asymmetrical haircut, as well as all the little green marks around the jewelry she was practically drowning in)—cut him off. 

“You don’t need to thank him, sweetheart,” she’d instructed, reaching across the table to corral her son. “That’s his job.”

That one had, admittedly, forced Ness to take a deep breath and appeal to his higher self for a few seconds.  Despite this, he’d still made sure to look that Karen dead in the eyes when he observed, “I’m not sure what your problem is, ma’am. But it must be hard for you to pronounce.”

(At least the boy didn’t seem to be too influenced; his bright eyes were nothing but apologetic when Ness came back with the check.)

The relative silence was shattered by the jingling call of that little bell suspended over the front entrance. Ness blinked, his train of thought screeching to a halt. He glanced over in the door’s direction, grinning at a familiar sight. 

Another regular; one that Ness got to have actual conversations with on nights like tonight. 

Mason glanced around at all the empty tables, brushing back his nearly shoulder-length raven hair and quickly getting the hint that he could just seat himself.

A golden retriever trotted beside him, connected to a leash in his hand via a pink vest that’d been fastened around her shoulders and belly. It was adorned by black velcro straps that read THERAPY DOG in a bold white font. The forest-green sherpa hoodie Mason always seemed to wear was only about half as fluffy as her fur.

Ness ducked into the kitchen. No more than three seconds had passed before the last cook on duty for tonight—a lanky blonde guy who was perhaps the most unapologetically flamboyant foodie you could ever have the honor of knowing—called, “Order Up! Your buddies’ Usuals, fresh from that babbling kiddie pool of oil.”

Dylan set a triad of dishes onto a waiting platter: the first held a stack of waffles (much like Sparky’s pancakes, their recipe was a secret that his very own grandmother had entrusted him with) and fried chicken tenders. The second supported a small mound of bacon. The third was adorned by a couple club sandwiches with a side of mozzarella sticks.  

“Thanks, man. Right on time,” Ness called back as he hefted the platter up, balancing it on the anterior region of his forearm like he'd been taught so long ago, and traipsed back out. The door swung to and fro behind him as he headed over to Booth Five. 

Though she wasn’t actually in the booth, Checkers was still right by her owner’s side, sitting in a way that could almost remind you of those lion statues guarding the entrance to a Chinese temple. She spotted Ness before Mason did. Her ears perked up, tail starting to wag. Her tongue lapped in and out of her mouth like a party favor as she smiled in that way only dogs could.

Mason, who’d been gazing through the window and fidgeting with his hoodie’s drawstrings, ever-so-slightly flinched as Ness began setting the plates down on the table with a chorus of small clunks. He blinked at the food, as if suddenly remembering the weekly tradition he’d made here.

“How do you always do that?” Mason asked as he turned his head toward Ness, a small smile etching its way across his features. 

“Magic,” Ness answered. “Careful, it’s hot.”

He carried the now empty tray back over to the counter. There, his hands became a blur as he snatched up the coffee pot and produced a trio of mugs. After stirring memorized amounts of cream and sugar into the fresh brew, he returned to the table, setting two of the beverages beside the plates.

Ness hovered, his own cup of smoldering caffeine in hand, and glanced around the restaurant. Aside from Mason and those two writers in the corner (who, as Ness had learned, took generous amounts of time with the shakes they always ordered), Sparky’s was empty tonight. 

With that in mind, Ness dragged a chair away from one of the other tables, positioning it at the end of the booth. Yeah, he could’ve just sat on the opposite side of Mason, but that part of the booth was typically reserved for another one of his friends.

Subtle relief washed over Ness’ knees as he took a seat; he’d been standing and walking pretty much all day.

Mason plucked a strip of bacon from one of the plates, checking to make sure that it was nice and warm without threatening to burn the palette. He then lightly tossed it over to Checkers, who snapped it out of the air almost like a frog catching flies. She lowered her head as the treat crunched between her teeth.

“How’ve things been?” Ness inquired, taking a sip of his coffee. “The theater’s gotten busy, yeah?”

Mason nodded as he took a fork and knife into his hands, cutting a piece off of one of the waffles and dipping it into the complimentary cup of syrup. “Yeah, it really has. Feels like whenever one movie runs its course and is taken off our roster, two more pop up in its place. Especially now that Scream 3 is finally on the market."

“. . .Oh, that’s right! It is!” Ness ever-so-slightly jumped in his seat. After enjoying the first two movies, he’d been meaning to give the latest installment a look. But so far, whether it was Sparky’s being slammed on the more favorable days or Royal Edgar’s Cinema being too crowded for his liking, things had just kept getting in the way.

Acting on instinct, Ness fished a pencil from one of his waist-apron’s pockets. At first, said pencil might not have seemed like anything special. But then you saw Fabio: a priceless treasure shaped like a rubber chicken’s head covering up the eraser. Ness started spinning the pencil between his fingers, causing Fabio to wiggle as though it was alive.

“Have you seen it already? Is it good? I have so many ideas about where the story could pick up from—”

“Hey, hey. Slow down," Mason remarked with some clear exasperation. “I haven't, but I am scheduled to project its last showing sometime next week. . .” He took a bite out of one of the chicken tenders, humming thoughtfully as he chewed. He must’ve seen the glint in Ness’ eyes, because he offered a sly smirk and lowered his voice as he continued.

“Tell you what: I’ll find a way to sneak you into the projection booth. That way, we can check it out together when the day comes.” 

“Really? You’d do that for me?” Ness asked, jokingly clutching his mug in both hands and bringing it close to his heart. 

“Sure. It’s really not too different from the customers smuggling their own snacks past the ticket desk,” Mason shrugged, though his mischievous demeanor briefly turned deadpan. “So long as you don’t play detective the entire time. My boss would rip me a new one if I just paused the movie every five minutes to let you brainstorm and talk.”

Ness scoffed, rolling his eyes. “It wouldn’t be every five minutes.”

Mason raised an eyebrow. “You’re right; it’d probably be every two minutes.” He forked up another bite of the waffles, firmly ignoring the offended waiter noises. 

“Oh, and don’t try to guilt-trip me out of my food, either. I’ve already got one moocher to deal with.” Mason scratched Checkers’ ears, to which she responded via tilting her head to the side, an undeniable trace of smugness in the warmth of her amber eyes.

“You drive a hard bargain,” Ness pronounced, his voice dripping with much more sarcasm than usual, “but fine. I can work with that.” 

“Uh-huh. You’d better,” Mason snorted, reaching over to shake hands with his friend as though the two of them were lawyers who’d just settled on some sleazy business arrangement. 

Mason was a complex person. Everyone had issues, and he was no exception to that. Not like he was at all open about said issues, but once you got to know him, you’d start to see them. (Plus, that just seemed a lot nicer than describing him as a swarm of issues shaped like a man.) He was the type to constantly shift in his seat, to give most people the side-eye, to get lost in his thoughts and grimace at nothing until he snapped himself out of it. 

At least he seemed content working at the theater. Even with the spark of horror that never seemed to leave his eyes, Mason was clearly a creative bastard. Sometimes he’d bring notebooks in and take breaks from his meal to fill their pages with paragraphs or sketches. He really did seem to have the potential for acting, maybe even directing. If his critiques and commentary on the movies he had to watch from the projection booth were anything to go by, then the projects he could possibly work on would be nothing short of awesome. 

He’d actually been one of Freddy’s past security guards. Ironically enough, he and Ness hadn’t met there. Not that Ness minded, since A. if that’d been the case, there probably would’ve been way more confused screaming than there usually was at Sparky’s, and B. considering the fact that Mason’s employment had apparently lasted a whopping one singular night. . . 

Ness still didn’t know the full story, and he could tell pressing Mason for info wouldn’t end well. But with the few snippets Jack had carefully enlightened him with. . .well—

Speak of the devil. 

The front door’s bell only had about half a second to chime yet again, almost drowned out by rapid footsteps.

“You’re late,” Ness jokingly chastised as he caught dark brown skin and black hair in his peripheral vision. He shifted in his chair, moving his legs to make some room under the table as another one of his regular-friends hurried over to claim Booth Five’s empty seat. 

“Yeah, yeah. Sue me,” Jack retorted, instantly propping his elbows on the table to knead at his forehead. It took a few long seconds for him to notice how one of his favorite dishes had apparently been waiting for him. He squinted at the food, then at Ness. “. . .I wasn’t sure I’d even be able to make it tonight?”

“And yet, here you are,” Ness replied, the definition of coy with how his shoulders popped up and down again. 

Jack might’ve wanted to ask more questions, but Mason cut him off. “Look, I don’t get it either. He doesn’t know, but he just knows.”

Jack considered this, then tilted his head to convey the type of acceptance that only came when you couldn’t really question things that probably should be questioned because you already had too many things to focus on. 

“Thanks, dude,” he murmured, nodding to Ness as he plucked one of the mozzarella sticks from his plate.

Ness nodded back, taking a few more gulps of coffee. “No problem.”

Jack paused mid-bite, eyes darting over to the brew that’d been poured for him. He scrutinized it, then raised the mug up and started chugging like a champ. 

The display made Ness glad that he’d taken the time to experiment with coffee so long ago. There was no doubting how he could now calculate exactly how much time it took for coffee to go cold. Yeah, this particular serving had been fresh out of the pot a few minutes ago, but by now it had to be at optimal temperature. Neither scalding nor tepid: just nice and warm. 

After about a moment, Jack pulled the now empty mug away from his face, taking a deep breath as he set it back down on the table.

“Rough day?” Ness inquired, specific parts of his brain starting to tick. 

Something seemed off. 

It wasn’t like he had any room to talk about slight bean juice addictions. And he certainly couldn’t blame Jack for a dependency (especially since he’d even shown some undeniable intrigue at Ness’ argument that coffee was a type of soup). Sure, Jack wasn’t narcoleptic, but when a day-and-night operating cabbie didn’t have access to some perks, things just wouldn’t go well for him or his passengers. 

But whenever Jack popped in for a bite and a chat, it was easy to assume that he’d be heading home and going to bed right after his meal. Right now, however, his demeanor was anything but tired. His shoulders were rigid. His eyes were more or less threatening to pop right out of their sockets. In fact, he almost seemed to be weighing the options of never sleeping again. 

Jack chewed his lip as he glanced in the waiter’s direction. He slowly nodded. “. . .You could say that.”

Ness exchanged glances with Mason, who had obviously seen the signs for himself. As did Checkers, since she quietly maneuvered around Ness’ chair to rest her head on Jack’s lap, peering up at him with an almost human-like air of understanding. Jack didn’t hesitate to pet the shiny fur along the dog’s neck, to which her tail started wagging but she otherwise remained still.

“What happened?” Mason asked, sitting up a little straighter. “If the vibes you’re giving off got her attention, then it must be something serious.”

Jack grimaced, closing his eyes with what seemed to be more force than necessary, taking a few long seconds to rub at their lids. 

“Did you see any rabbit-shaped things out by the dumpster? I think they only come around once a month or so, but I always feel strange if I look at them.” The words glided out of Ness’ mouth and into the air before he could think. 

Self-induced humiliation wrapped its awful, clammy hands around his ribcage as two confused glances were aimed in his direction.

“. . .What?” Jack and Mason blurted in near-perfect unison.

“What?” Ness echoed, blinking as his voice instantaneously grew a smidge louder than before. He rushed to plaster his typical, happy-go-lucky demeanor back onto his face, hoping that pretending he hadn’t spoken at all would convince his friends that he actually hadn’t. 

Not only did his latest sentence sound weird as all hell, but it’d also been downplayed as all hell. Because when Ness had said strange, what he’d really meant was the pounding, churning, pummeling agony that should only ever be present in your stomach after you’ve accidentally swallowed a few dozen live rats that just so happen to be whacked out on cocaine for whatever godforsaken reason. 

And while he wasn’t a perfect angel, Ness would never wish that particular pain on anyone else. So, the fewer people who knew about the floppy-eared cryptids (which Ness could’ve sworn looked like they’d been covered in mucus) that were apparently engrossed in  gang warfare with the local raccoons, the better. 

“Ah, did you get a bad passenger today?” Ness coughed. Jack had to deal with as many entitled idiots as Ness, if not even more. Hell, taking turns venting about that stuff was something they’d initially bonded over.

He peered through the window next to the booth—Jack’s cab was parked close enough to see that there wasn’t anything to indicate an accident. Not a life-threateningly serious one, at least. 

“Not exactly,” Jack replied, following his gaze. Where Ness’ eyes were curious, Jack’s were currently anxious and mistrusting. That was another red flag: Jack may not have treated his taxi like it was his baby, but he still took pretty good care of it. “Just a few more weirdos.” 

Mason hummed, tilting his head. “How weird specifically?” He’d heard plenty of Jack’s tales from the road; as he called on Jack for rides somewhat often, he’d even ended up being part of those tales. 

Jack knitted his brows, fidgeted in place. “You don't want to know."

“. . .Then why did you make it sound so damn vague?” Mason retorted, now dripping with incredulousness. “The less specific details are, then the more they’re gonna nag at someone’s brain.”

“He’s got a point,” Ness agreed, lightly tapping Fabio’s pencil against his mug. 

“Like that’s my fault,” Jack snorted. “Most people wouldn’t believe me if I told them.”

Ness offered an encouraging smile. “Good thing we’re not most people, then.”

Mason nodded. “Damn right. C’mon, Jack; are you really saying something could top the crackhead I had to share the backseat with last month?” 

“Yes, I am,” Jack whisper-shouted through gritted teeth, “because it was a bear!” 

Silence (save for the soft click-clack of keyboards from the corner of the diner, that is).

Jack pursed his lips, looking equal parts exasperated and worried. He sighed yet again, reaching up to press his fingers against his temples.

“. . .What kind of bear was it?” Ness eventually tried. 

Mason, who’d previously been squinting while his mouth opened and closed with no words coming out, turned his head to face Ness with such speed and force that he might’ve actually given himself whiplash. “That’s the first thing you focus on?!”

Ness made a shaky lame gesture. “It’s a fair question! What’re you focusing on?” (He wasn’t wrong. There was a lot of variety among bears, after all. And a bear that lived in the woods and had huge claws and could outeat, outrun, outswim, and probably even outdrink the average person would be a lot more to handle than one of the bears that had attended the latest local Pride parade.) 

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you,” Mason declared, returning his attention to Jack, “look significantly less mauled than most people who get close to bears! Seriously, how is your face still connected to your skull?!” 

“I didn’t mea—!” Jack was about to go on the defensive, but stopped short. “What, were you expecting me to get ripped to shreds tonight? So damn sorry if I didn’t get the memo!”

“No! Of course not!” Mason contended. “Look, you can’t just say you had a run-in with a bear and leave it at that!”

Jack threw his hands up. “Well, I told you you didn’t want to know!”

“How the hell can we not NEED to know now?” Ness pointed out. Though he was growing just as confused as Mason, he tried to keep his voice even.

Jack gave him an exhausted look before craning his neck to rest his head against the booth’s seat, staring at the ceiling. 

“It was a huge robot,” he finally clarified. “Looked like it’d been at the bottom of a scrap heap for years; I’d guess it was older than my dad. But its eye glowed blue like the machines inside it were still working. It made the car shake—I’m honestly surprised the back tires never gave out. And God damn, the smell. . .rust and blood and mucus, I swear!”

Now it was Mason’s turn to go rigid. A tidal wave of emotion seemed to sweep through his features; first surprise, then recognition, and then dread. He placed a hand on the nearest corner of the table as if to steady himself. 

“It was wearing a black top hat and bowtie, wasn’t it?” He murmured. It sounded much more like a statement than a question, and the way his tone had become so hollow didn’t help.

Jack lowered his head, clearly unsure whether or not to make eye-contact as he nodded. 

“Sounds like the way Freddy was designed. . .” Ness mused without quite meaning to. 

Memories of the huge sign that had been built to loom over the old pizzeria’s front entrance flooded into his head. The blinking lights that bordered the establishment’s title and seemed to chase each other around and around and around. The life-sized cutout of the one and only Freddy Fazbear himself, using one paw to adjust his bowtie and the other to wave, seemingly beckoning customers to wander inside. 

Those memories dissolved as Ness winced and glanced back at Mason, who was now reaching up with a shaking hand to grasp at his hoodie’s collar, tugging it to cover up the top of an old, deep scar that dragged along the skin of his neck. Ness shuffled in his seat, trying not to stare at how quickly the color drained from his friend’s face. 

Checkers was back by Mason’s side in an instant, bracing her paws against the seat as she licked at his face. Mason blinked, a huge shudder rippling through his chest as he hugged his pet.

A few minutes dragged by, feeling like an hour apiece and jeering at the trio as they went.

“So.” Mason finally announced, still keeping his gentle-yet-obviously-desperate hold on Checkers. “Let me get this straight: that. . .that thing got into your cab like it paid rent just a few hours ago?” 

Jack pursed his lips, nodding again. “There was a kid with it, too. A little girl. She didn’t even seem scared at all. The whole ride, she was smiling and hugging the bear’s arm—”

“Wait, you actually drove it somewhere?!” Mason demanded.

Jack sputtered. “What other choice did I have?!”

“I mean, that’s kind of literally his job,” Ness mentioned. 

True, he was grappling with the fact that he and his friends had apparently been transported into some cheap bizzarofiction novel. And yet, somehow, this wasn’t even the craziest story that’d been relayed to him from a customer. He peered down at Fabio as though it was about to start contributing to this conversation. “Where did you take them?”

Jack raised an eyebrow at Ness (which he guessed couldn’t be helped. Ness already had an idea, but it was rude to just assume, wasn’t it?). “Where else? That old pizza joint you’ve been trying to write an encyclopedia on.”

Mason was about to say something else, but stopped short in favor of turning his shock toward Ness.

Ness raised his hands in a defensive gesture. “Look, I know you don’t like that place, but just remember that I don’t question what you do with your free-time.”

“That’s right. And even if you did, you wouldn’t have to, because I don’t spend my free-time poking around the fourth Circle of Hell!” Mason snarked. 

“I won’t lie and say it’s not creepy,” Ness admitted, unable to stop a chill from racing down his spine at the memory of the restaurant’s grimy wall posters, the draft that always seemed to be in the air over there, the disturbingly sour tang of what he’d hoped was just ancient pizza sauce, “but that still seems pretty harsh.”

Mason gawked, fragments of words leaking through his teeth.

“If we’re looking at the bigger picture,” Jack coughed, probably attempting to steer Mason away from a potential stroke, “then nothing really happened tonight. The bear didn’t even make a peep the whole time. I didn’t get hurt, and that girl didn’t get hurt. She even left a handful of change when we got to the restaurant.”

Ness squinted and tilted his head at that. As far as he knew, the rules Jack applied to his cab were pretty lax and basic, but he’d always been firm on never taking money from lone child passengers.

Then again, if the child passenger in question was traveling with a huge robotic animal that apparently had enough sentience to use a taxi in the first place, it was probably best to just go along with whatever happened and leave the sanity-questioning session for later.

Jack fiddled with the zipper on his jacket. “. . .That actually wasn’t even the worst part of tonight’s shift.”

Mason leaned back against the leather seat, looking very much lightheaded. His eyes bulged from their sockets as he furiously motioned for his friend to elaborate. 

Jack hesitated before explaining, “Well, once the girl and the bear were out, I decided to just call it a day. After I got far enough away from the pizzeria, I parked by one of the downtown curbs and switched the car’s sign to Off Duty. I was trying to get a catnap in—”

“It’s a miracle you could even try to sleep after that damn bear basically held you hostage,” Mason interjected.

“—when someone knocked on the window. I told ‘em to read the sign and come find me later, but they opened up the door and got in anyway. So, I was about to kick them out and. . .” Jack trailed off, shaking his shoulders as though a few dozen cockroaches had spontaneously taken up nest in his jacket.  

“And. . .?” Ness echoed, the curiosity-concern cocktail in his mind getting stronger.

“And there was some tiny doll in my passenger seat,” Jack concluded. “Looked creepy as hell.”

Ness hummed in consideration. “Sounds like it could just be a weird prank? The teens in that area are always following strange trends.”

Jack nervously shook his head. “I couldn’t see anyone outside the cab. It only took a few seconds for me to look; there’s no way anyone could move fast enough to hide after they put the doll in.”

“A tiny doll. . ?” Mason’s brow furrowed in thought for a couple seconds, then promptly returned to its collision course for Mars. He leaned over the table. “Did it have bug-eyes and buck teeth? Was it wearing one of those stupid propeller hats and holding a red-and-yellow striped balloon?”

Jack’s face contorted in confusion as he nodded. “. . .That pretty much sums it up.”

Though his expression was still grim, Mason’s fear quickly metamorphosed into some good ol’ fashioned aggravation. “That’s the bastard,” he seethed, knuckles turning white. 

Jack blinked, perplexity slowly overtaking his latest case of heebie-jeebies. “Wait, you’ve seen that thing before?”

“I have, unfortunately.” Mason grimaced. An odd type of adrenaline etched its way across his face. “Is it still in the cab?”

Jack nodded again. “I didn’t want to risk touching it.”The words were barely out of his mouth when Mason rose from the booth and stalked outside through Sparky’s front entrance. Checkers trotted after him, the tiredness of an actual nurse flickering in her eyes.

Ness and Jack basically had frontrow seats to observe their friend approaching Jack’s cab, ripping the passenger-side door open and fishing something out before slamming it closed again.

With that, Mason raced to the edge of the parking lot and proceeded to dropkick what had to be the mysterious balloon-toting doll out of sight.

Despite his shock, part of Ness still felt relieved that Mason hadn’t simply deposited it into the dumpster. Just in case those awful rabbit-looking things happened to be paying a visit tonight. . .

@sammys-magical-au @that-bat @th3w00ds @bee-the-matpat-simp @touyubesposts @crazy-obsessed-enby @i-used-to-wear-the-fedora @holyawesomestitches @s-e-v-e-n-24 @sotogalmo @ciphershadow @deethedustyassdumbass @theechoingmadness @its-a-goddamn-ass-race @zam-witch @box-goat @redd-byrd @icantmakeupagoodname @pleasedontmind-the-emerald @transparentghosty @vegaslvrr @itzqueers-blog @wannabeavocaloidmystery @shivr0ygf @ciara-clycone @not-made-of-actual-rye @m0on-shro0m @imafruitbowl @azure-trash @il0v3mus1cals @v1r-x @kafkaisnotdead @junaslagoon @alicethemenace @ilovenikkisixx @m00nlight-mexican @w0rd3855 @head-without-a-fucking-brain. @unkn0wn-nys @not-made-of-actual-rye @101k-t101 @theonlykala @dividel @riff-is-on-a-fucking-crisis @roselily2006 @max-afton @abe-the-detective-blog @floating-above-sea-level @madhare051

[cheesy09]

[CN] Kiro's 6th Anniversary Event Story - Final Part (1)

🌸 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for content that hasn't been released on the EN server yet! 🌸

Originally, I hadn't planned on translating this event, but I'm making an exception for this part because it was just TOO CUTE!!! 😭💕

For context, this year's anniversary event is all about travelling to various spots in Loveland with your love and taking part in various couple activities. You can read the prologue here.

The following is the event's final plot for Kiro and MC.

Even though it is winter, due to the unique conditions of Clear-Spring Mountain, flowers still continue to bloom all over the mountains and plains.

Opening the convertible of the retro sports car, we drive towards the mountains, all the while enjoying the beautiful scenery.

I have made a reservation in advance at the Honey Farm located in a sea of flowers in the mountains. Many blogger couples have commented that the activities at this place are very sweet.

Kiro: The first step is to beat the eggs... separate the egg whites... then add the sugar... granulated sugar? lumps of sugar?

Seeing Kiro casually talk while driving, I smile and gently squeeze his shoulder.

MC: Pfft, if the baking teacher comes to know that there are students who have prepped in advance, they'll be very touched.

Kiro: Don't make fun of me. If the summer island kitchen bombing incident happens again, I really will go into a tree hole on the farm.

MC: Don't worry, with me here, our cake will only succeed, not fail.

MC: After all, we both want to draw a perfect end to our journey here~

Seems like my comfort is somewhat effective. Kiro smiles and squeezes my palm, then slightly speeds up the accelerator.

Kiro: Then I'll also study hard. So that when you want to eat cake in the future, I can make it for you with my own hands.

-

Teacher: Welcome both of you, to our sweet couple activities...

Teacher: ...We first need to beat the egg mixture with sugar into a thick, fluffy foam. Next...

After the teacher explains the steps to make the cake, it is our turn to practice them.

Kiro: Come, let me try it.

Kiro takes the egg beater from my hand and beats it carefully. Seeing the egg liquid beginning to turn white, I quickly speak in affirmation.

MC: That's right - stop!

Before I can finish speaking, I see him dig out a big spoonful of sugar and pouring it into the container. I quickly hold down his arm.

MC: Sugar was added before, no need to add more!

Kiro: Is it enough? But the amount that was added before seemed so small. Will it be sweet enough?

That extremely serious gaze makes me clearly realize at this moment why this person is known as a "kitchen killer".

Recipe books and instructional videos tell us the most accurate steps, sometimes even down to the grams.

But for a "feeler" like Kiro, instead of telling him what is right, it is better to let him adjust step by step based on his own feelings.

So, I gently let go of my hand.

MC: Hmm... Actually, I'm not sure if the previous proportion is the sweetness we prefer.

MC: So just follow your own ideas. If it's too sweet, we can just add less sugar next time~

Kiro: Mm, I think so too. We still gotta make a cake that suits us best.

He grows slightly excited and digs out two more spoons of sugar and adds them in. Seeing the sugar bag almost bottoming out, I can't help but "comfort" myself in my heart.

As long as Kiro is happy.

Then, he continues completing the honey cake embryos one after another under my "guidance" and then puts them in the oven.

Kiro: 160°, 40 minutes, done!

-

Once we are done, the staff takes us to a glass greenhouse to wait.

I look at the "sweet space" before me that is temporarily exclusive to us--

Lush branches, leaves and flowers sway in the wind, surrounding the entire area with spring, accompanied with bursts of fragrance.

There is a coffee table and sofa in the center of the greenhouse, and the bookshelf on the side lists various board games, providing a variety of entertainment options.

Kiro: "What do you and your significant other have in common?"

I follow the sound and turn around, finding Kiro standing in front of a wall, seemingly looking at something.

MC: What is that?

Kiro: Hmm... Two questions were asked above. It seems to be a small game to enhance feelings.

I walk over quickly and whisper another question.

MC: "What are the differences between you and your significant other?"

I pause and subconsciously look at Kiro, only to find him already gazing at me with a smile.

Kiro: Though the question seems to be simple... I'm still curious about Miss Chips' answer.

MC: That's quite the coincidence. I'm also curious about your answer.

We tacitly smile at each other, pick up the pen and paper on the table and sit down.

MC: So let's each write our own and then exchange them?

He responds with a smile and starts to write. I also unfold the white paper and think about the similarities between us.

The afternoon sun fills the table with warmth, and for a while, it becomes so quiet that I am only able to hear the scratching of the tips of our pens across the paper.

After a while, I stop writing, and the chair next to me makes a slight scraping sound.

MC: Seems like we've written everything. Let's start from the first question.

Kiro: Okay, I'll go first!

Kiro: You and I have a lot in common, the most similar thing being that we are each other's favorite people.

MC: --Pfft! Your answer is also the first common thing I wrote down~

Seeing me poking at my letter paper, Kiro's eyes show a satisfied smile.

Kiro: As expected of us.

Kiro: My next answer is that we are also the people who make each other the happiest.

MC: No matter how late the other person is working over time, we will always leave a light on in the living room.

Kiro: We both love small animals, but Cello and Apple Box are always first in our hearts.

MC: We always have a strong sense of curiosity, and any of our adventurous ideas can be achieved invariably.

The sun moves slowly, and those words spoken out finally turn into brighter smiles on our faces.

After answering the first question, I lower my eyes and look at my letter paper.

MC: Actually, we have a lot of differences, but they all seem to complement each other.

MC: Since you're a master gamer, no complex level is difficult enough to beat you.

MC: Without you there to teach me, I would have been forever stuck in one place, unable to enjoy the total fun.

I look at the person in front of me as if the past has arrived with its answer, embracing me like the bright sun.

Kiro: Then you are a master producer. No matter how complicated the set is, you can make it orderly.

MC: You always know what you want most and you never compromise.

Kiro: My Miss Chips is also very strong. Nothing can "defeat" you.

We look into each other's eyes and say those extremely sincere words.

Then, my eyes stop at the last line of the letter and I fold it with a smile.

MC: Although we have many similarities and differences, there is one thing that I'm very sure of.

MC: You have always been braver than me, and kinder than me.

MC: You always allow me to see the brightest and gentlest side of the world.

MC: Therefore, I can feel very clearly that every day, every minute and every second of these six years--

MC: Being with you has been such a fortunate and happy thing. I think the best thing that has ever happened to me in my life--

MC: Has been meeting you.

I quietly look at the person in front of me, the one who loves me the most, hoping that my sincerity can be conveyed to him a thousand times more through words.

Kiro: [inhaling a shaky breath and exhaling softly] .....

The sunlight outside the window seems to freeze in this moment, quietly falling into Kiro's blue eyes.

He stands up, walks over to me, squats down, encloses his palms on the back of my hands and smiles brightly.

Kiro: When you say that, I can't help but wonder how good I must seem in your eyes... to be worthy of your description.

MC: Then you can use all kinds of exaggerated imagination, because nothing can be as good as you are.

MC: The ordinary sunshine, and those flowers and sceneries all shine after you appear.

MC: You make me feel that this world is wonderful because you are in it.

I lower my head and gently hold his palm.

MC: So, even if this journey ends, can you continue to hold my hand like this every day from now on...?

MC: Walk with me through everything in the world, and never let go.

MC: Okay?

Before he can say anything, a "ding" sound comes from the door, which seems to indicate that the cake has been baked.

Footsteps come from outside, but right at that moment, Kiro picks me up by the waist and hides us among the lush green branches and leaves that were behind us.

The next second, he gently kisses me.

The green leaves covering the top of our heads sway gently in the wind, dancing with shadowy golden light spots.

Teacher: Guests, the cake you baked - hey, where have they gone?

The sound coming from the door has long since turned blurry. What is clear to me is his soft breathing.

For some reason, I keep feeling like I have tasted the sweetest bite even before eating the cake.

He seems to think so too as the honey-eating bear in front of me has already raised the corners of his lips.

Kiro: Before I answer your question, I don't want anyone interrupting us.

He presses close to my lips, his azure eyes more dazzling than anything else.

Kiro: But I have just told you with practical actions.

Kiro: No matter how many years pass, no matter how many sceneries and how much of happiness you will pass by with me in the future.

Kiro: The sweetest one will always be the one I give to you.

Kiro: So, look forward to it.

Part 2: Coming soon

[shrenvents]

The Bourne Identity

Chapter Nine of the Miracle Aligner series

...

Jennie's POV

It's been several days since our heated argument, and neither of us has reached out to reconcile, and I can't say I blame Alex.

Since he flew to London, lately, I've been imagining myself there, across the Atlantic. If only I had the balls to go. Instead, I'm in the middle of nowhere with Maggie, going along with her grand plan to get me to rethink my decisions. As if taking me to her family cottage by the coast, would make my situation any easier, or simpler

Sitting on her cottage deck, I view my swinging legs, kicking back and forth as I recline onto my elbows, aiming to unwind. Every so often, I quiver when my big toe grazes the frigid lake, flicking up droplets and sending steady ripples through the water.

"I brought you breakfast, " Maggie utters behind me. My torso contorts to see her cautious approach, holding out a plate of eggs, bacon, and avocado toast. I take a whiff and instantly salivate. "Thanks, but you didn't have to," I mutter lamely, undermining my real appreciation.

"If I didn't, you would've skipped breaky," she states, grinning dolefully. I grimace at her truth, hastily taking the plate from her grasp.

"Careful—" Maggie blurts, immediately silenced when I snatch the food from her. However, once the plate reaches my palm, the steaming ceramic burns its flesh, displaying what Maggie tried to warn.

"Hot!" I exclaim, crassly dropping the plate beside me, making it clamour loudly against the planks. Thankfully, the food remains unscathed.

"Watch it! That's my Gramy's china."

A beat of silence passes and we make eye contact, laughing at one another.

As our laughter disperses, a frown graces my features. "You didn't need to bring me out here, to tell me I'm an idiot," sighing, "I knew the second I walked out his door."

"Wow, I'm surprised you admitted it aloud," she huffs a moderate smirk then shadows my exasperation. "But you know what they say," I peer at her skeptically, "the coastal air helps a girl reflect," she muses as she lays back on the murky deck, hanging her legs off the edge, mirroring me.

"You come out here often?" I ask curiously, somewhat attempting to sway the direction of the conversation.

"Any chance I get really," Maggie closes her eyes, soaking in the scorching sun. "Should've brought you here sooner."

"I wish you did, it's beautiful," I comment, lying back again. "Then maybe I wouldn't have fucked up so bad," I quietly chuckle, clearly having difficulty not hinting at Turner.

"Yeah, you would," my head shifts at Mag's counter, and so does hers, connecting our gazes. "Eventually," she finishes. I smack her stomach making her wheeze slightly.

"Okay, love you too," sarcasm embellishes my tone. Maggie chuckles but doesn't say anything more. I pause, stammering, "What do ya mean?"

Maggie breaks away from my eyeline and sits up. I follow shortly after, straightening my spine. "Maggie," I mumble a plea.

"Do I have to spell it out for you?" She observes the still scenery. My silence gives her my answer. "You've been on the fence with this guy forever, with any guy really." I stay soundless, letting her continue. "Though, you lasted way longer with Alex." I flinch at his name.

"What are you getting at?" I grumble, growing more bashful by the second.

Maggie's head tilts. "You never give them a chance."

"A chance to what?" I deadpan.

"To hurt you," she looks at me, glumly. "You never give them a chance to hurt you, meaning you never give them a chance, period." She looks back to the water. "And you didn't give Alex a chance to prove you wrong."

Tears prick my eyes, and I swallow loudly, astonished by my unbeknownst grief. "What would he have proved 'wrong'?" I ask, trying to hang on to ignorance, dismissing the obvious reason.

"That not all men are like Chris," she suspires and I sniffle.

"I don't think that," I croak, heart plummeting at the mention of his name.

"No one would blame you if you did." Maggie places her hand on my shoulder, pulling me out from my retreat. "You knew him since you were kids, and still he went and hurt you." I stare at her through tearful eyes.

"You've created this cycle, because you've never addressed him." Maggie's voice grows louder as she gets angry for me. "There's a lot of shitty men out there, and Chris is the fucking poster boy for all of them," she groans, heaving a lengthy exhale. "But Alex, is not,him," she stresses.

"You don't know that," I choke, now fully crying. She shakes her head, but I continue before she can speak. "I knew Chris forever, but still, I didn't truly know him," my sobbing increases. "He had two sides to him, one that cheated and stole, while the other took the time to buy flowers." Maggie embraces my shaking frame. "He appeared as the perfect guy, but he wasn't," I weep lowly into the crook of her neck.

"I know, I know, " Maggie simply repeats, holding me tighter. I band my arms around her. "But not every guy, is Chris." She jerks away slightly to look at my face. "You'll never know what men are thinking, and you have to learn to live with that," tears fill her eyes now. "I can't guarantee anything for you, and I'm sorry."

Maggie shakes her head, "But I want to have faith in Alex, and I want you too as well." A few tears drip down her cheeks. "He makes you happy, and shit, of course you make him fucking happy."

We both snivel and Maggie whispers, "You have to try again, J."

Holding each other tightly for nearly thirty minutes, we remain entwined until the crying finally subsides. As I sluggishly pull back, peeling myself from the damp cotton of Maggie's top, I can't help but notice how it's soaked through, on account of my relentless weeping. With a sniffle, I manage to mumble, "Sorry, I ruined your shirt." My voice trembles slightly with the weight of my apology, going beyond just the state of her shirt, knowing that my eyes reflect the lingering sadness that has only just begun to ebb away.

"Sorry, I ruined yours too," she giggles, apparently looking at a wet patch on my blouse, lifting my mood instantaneously.

"You bitch," I quip in mock astonishment, joining in her prompt laughter.

Maggie's giggle shortly trails off. "Well then," she moves away entirely, running her hands along her thighs, collecting herself. She wordlessly watches the waves hit the deck, and I find tranquillity in the sound of the tide, crashing against the wooden raft, skimming my toes.

"Eat your damn food so we can go swimming," Maggie orders as she stands, leaving me to my thoughts.

...

After a long swim and surviving Maggie, basically trying to waterboard me, I sit on the stool of her kitchen island, watching her cook dinner.

"Faster woman, I'm starving," I joke, poking the bear.

Maggie snaps her head from the pasta, over to me, giving me her signature stank-eye. "Let, me, cook," she practically shouts and I guffaw, before standing to go to the bathroom. 

When I return, she's turned on the music, and I whine in protest at the song choices. It starts with "I will survive," then "I'm holding out for a hero," and once it hits "Independent Woman, Part 1," I withdraw her music privileges.

"Hey, no, one last song!" Maggie begs, outstretching her spare hand for her phone, a wooden spoon in the other.

"Fine," I cave, "but no more break-up songs." She raises a brow at me but says nothing, and I snort. But, my humour gets cut short when "Snap out of It" by the Arctic Monkeys blares, echoing through the tiny hut.

Of course...

Maggie takes a spin around the sunlit living room, motioning an invitation with her hands, charming me into joining.

My best friend, for the thousandth time, encourages a surge of hope to manifest inside me. Melodies permeate the atmosphere, matching the rhythm of my heart, that's beat finds itself, buoyed by a newfound spirit, that radiates a glow, transforming every movement and twirl into a celebration.

Equally swept up in the moment, I match her step for step, our laughter mingling with the music as we rotate harmoniously. Every step is lighter, and every sway is a testament to resilience, and the unwavering support Maggie always incites.

After an amicable display, I catch a sudden whiff of something in the air—a faint, slightly acrid scent that wasn't there moments ago. My senses sharpen as I glance back at the stovetop, perceiving a thin wisp of white smoke beginning to curl up from the edges of the pot. Initially, it's subtle, almost like a gentle warning sign, but it grows more pronounced with each passing second.

I roll my eyes, with a faint smirk tugging at my lips as I look at Maggie again, feeling almost sad that I have to deter her pleasant dance.

"The pasta M," I assert, reminding her.

"Crap!" She darts to the smoky stove, quickly turning down the heat and grabbing the wooden spoon to stir the pasta.

As she frantically fusses with the iron pot, I swivel outdoors towards her porch.

Getting comfortable on the leather couch outside, I slowly breathe in the pristine air. Closing my eyes, I feel that unfamiliar twinge of hope, as the music grows significantly louder, and my mind grows significantly clearer, hearing Alex himself inform me:

"I'll be here, waitin' ever so patiently for you to, snap out of it..."

A/N: Everyone ik has been breaking up recently and always, it's been cause the guy is actual caca, so this was for them 😙 need me an Alex Turner irl 🙏 I wish he was real

[girldragongizzard]

Epilogue 6: Molly

I am so much more calm now that I've laid my egg.

It sits in a chair in our living room, and I think Rhoda feels more obligated to watch it than it actually needs. I keep telling her this, that she needn't fret about it or keep an eye on it. It's secure in her apartment and will be fine. But I think that does go against everything her human instincts are telling her, and I can't exactly convince her to be a dragon about it.

I was going to leave it on the roof for everyone to see, but she would not hear of that.

The thing is, I need to surround it with a hoard, and there isn't really room in the apartment for that.

I'm trying to pretend that all her belongings are hoard enough, but I know that's wrong.

So, while I'm much more calm and centered, and back to my not-horny self, I'm still feeling tense and conflicted as I walk into the coffee shop to distract myself with people and sugar.

I've been practicing my shapeshifting in subtle ways. My favorite thing to do is reduce my size to where I was when I first experienced dracomorphosis. It's very convenient, I can fit through doors, and I still feel like myself. I also feel like I communicate best while being myself. However, I really only do this when I'm planning on going into a building somewhere. And I still can't hold it when I'm unconscious. I take up the whole kitchen now when I sleep. But, this is to say that I've shrunk myself down to a manageable size to visit my friends, but I haven't gone faerie princess or anything else.

It feels a little bit like making the whole world bigger. I've gotten that used to my recent growth.

"It's always wild when you do that where I can see you," Jill says as I enter the cafe. "It looks like you slide away from me for a moment. Or like when they do that thing in movies where they zoom out the lens but move the camera closer? My eyes don't like it much when it's not on a screen."

"Sorry," I say.

"I didn't say I didn't like it much," she smiles. "Oh! We've got a message for you. Like we're a post office or something. The outside of it is signed 'Molly's Parents, Tim and Adelle'."

Oh. Oh, shit. I hope it's not a restraining order or a sternly worded rebuke or something. But it's also been so many months since I encountered her. All of the ideas I can come up with for why they'd be trying to contact me now are Not Good.

But, I'm a dragon who has challenged, faced, and refused to back down from a clearly bigger dragon. And letters are flammable.

I tell myself this in order to approach the counter and slip into a form more suited to opening and reading letters without inadvertently ripping them to shreds, even though I'd rather Jill read it for me.

"That never stops being wild, either," Jill whispers. "Can I get you your yooj?"

"Yes. Please," I say. Then I pick up the envelope and tear it open with a claw-like fingernail, to pull out the letter itself.

Dear Meghan E. Draconis, Our daughter, Molly, has been speaking about you ever since she met you last September. You seem to have made quite the impression on her, and we'd like to thank you for treating her kindly. I have to admit, it has taken both my husband I a while to come to terms with the idea that she might also be a dragon, and that her games of make believe as a dragon were not a fanciful phase. It did not seem like the same kind of serious thing that being transgender is. Even with actual dragons like yourself walking this world, now, it was hard to take seriously. In any case, it seemed like you were very busy with dangerous things. So we have been avoiding your neighborhood ever since, despite how much Molly would like to talk to you some more. However, last month, we left the city to visit Molly's grandmother, Tim's Mom, out in the county. Suffice it to say, the next morning was a bit of a challenge, despite how much Molly had warned us it might happen. She has been paying more attention to the news regarding dragons than we have, much to our collective embarrassment. And she is, in fact, a beautiful little dragon. And we don't know what to do. Worried about the other dragons in the city, Molly has opted to stay with her grandmother for the time being, and we stay there to be with her as much as we can. And we've been following her lead, just as we have done with her earlier transition. However, I think we are all overwhelmed, and Molly is still very much interested in talking to you. Do you think you could pay her, and us, a visit, so that she can ask you her questions? Regards, Adelle & Tim.

The header of the letter includes the county street address, along with a phone number and a couple of email addresses, giving me a choice of ways to respond.

I feel a profound sense of relief that helps me ignore my itch to lavish my egg with riches I really can't afford.

I pull out my tablet and use it to tell Jill, "It's good news. Molly hatched. I'll answer this while I have my coffee."

Jill looks back at me and asks, "You still want it in your big bowl?"

I stare at her for a couple blinks, and say, "Yes."

"Okidoke! Just checking," she chirps, and continues making my drink. "How's the egg?"

"Rhoda is reading it Star Trek fanfiction," I report. "But the egg wants gold. Mounds and mounds of gold."

"Oh, that's gotta be rough. How about you compromise and read it the Hobbit?"

"The egg does not need to know about the Hobbit," I respond. "We do not need to give it an anxiety complex before it hatches."

Jill snorts a little snicker and says, "OK."

We have a bit more of a conversation where I ask her about her plans for school next year, and she tells me what Cerce has been up to since she moved to Seattle.

I hate when the staff has turnover, or when regulars move away. But I know it happens. Humans often have a nomadic inclination, even if I don't really understand it. They are persistence predators. They are used to following their prey into new territories to tire them out and eat them then. I'm an ambush predator. I stay near the shore in this nice little town so that I can dive bomb seagulls and slam steak like shots.

Later, I send an email to Molly's parents telling them that I would very much appreciate a visit. And I give them a list of online resources for newly out dragons, including an invitation for Molly to join my server. I tell them that it is the best way for her to negotiate travel through the city with the other dragons. And I ask them what times work best for Molly.

Then I relax back into my slightly smaller than true form and go about drinking my coffee the way nature intended me to.

—

"Now you've totally got to go meet her," Kimberly says, barely refraining herself from pounding the table and upsetting our tacos.

"Yes. I. Go," I say and then stuff my mouth with food and tilt my head up to swallow it.

"Good!" Kimberly says, then bites down on half a taco.

Nathan turns to Rhoda and asks, "Are you going as well?"

Rhoda shakes her head, "The bus doesn't go there, and Meghan's flying. Someone has to stay home with the child, anyway."

I glance at her, still working on my on my food.

"Mmm!" Kimberly exclaims though her mouthful.

"Didn't Meghan say dragon eggs are fairly independent?" Nathan asks. "I could drive you both."

"Nah. I never met Molly, and I don't really care what Meghan or the internet says about dragon eggs," Rhoda says. "That's my child, too, and I'll take care of it how I see fit." Then she adds, "No offense, Chapman."

Chapman shrugs and says, "No, I get it. I appreciate your lead, too."

Rhoda nods, then says, "Jacob always wanted a baby sibling, so I'm giving him one, and I'm doing it right. Even if that mostly means reading it stories for the time being. People made fun of me for doing that for Jacob, and he turned out hyperlexic, so I think I win."

"Yes," Kimberly says, swallowing. "But Spirk?"

"Listen, girl," Rhoda says. "No child of mine is going to go without their queer history. And it is every child's right to hatch already knowing everything there is about Our Lady Uhura."

"OK. Super fair and reasonable. Forget I questioned it."

"What are you going to tell Molly?" Nathan asks me.

I pick up my tablet and hit it with both thumbs, "'Welcome out.' Of course. Then I will answer questions. Whatever she wants to know."

—

She's literally trans pride colored. More or less. There's some gold and purple there, too, like in her eyes and claws and horns.

Imagine you have an even morph of a fox and a cougar, and then you give her bat wings, horns, and iridescent white fur with blue and pink striped diamonds along her back. Blue on the outside, pink on the next ring in, and white spots in the middle.

And I am not by any stretch the smallest dragon in the county anymore. She's not much bigger than a coyote.

And she bounces and rolls and prances about, whining and growling giddily, as I make my landing on her grandmother's blueberry farm. She can also make infrasonic noises. I think all dragons can.

She's basically saying, "Meghan, Meghan, Meghan, Meghan, look!" over and over again. Then, "We both have diamonds! See?"

I'm not the only one who can understand her, I'm sure. Her body language is pretty obvious. But I'm probably the only one that recognizes the combination of gestures and sounds as actual words.

It's not quite the season to start picking the blueberries, so the work on the farm is minimal, and there's only a couple of people watching from ladders or other farm equipment. The ladders are for a handful of pear and apple trees, and one of the barns.

And then there's her family, all human, as far as anyone knows. Her parents, her grandmother, and someone I'm told is her uncle.

"Hello," I greet her family with my syrinx. And then, I say in draconic, "Molly. Pay attention to me."

She stops her frantic gyrations and asks, "Yes? What?"

"You've grown," I tell her, even though it seems she physically shrank. "It looks like your shedding will be different than mine. Can you understand what I'm saying?"

She just tilts her head in confusion.

Ah, OK. So, she's instinctively shouting what's on her mind in draconic, but she doesn't know how to really read it yet. Simple commands from me might get her attention, but anything complex is maybe something I'll have to teach her somehow.

I'm not sure how to do that, honestly.

So, I turn into my princess self and reach to adjust my purse and pull out my tablet. And everyone's eyes get real big, including Molly's.

Oh, yeah. Not everyone has seen me do that. The news articles may have mentioned it, and I thought the rumor mill would have taken care of the knowledge for everyone else by now. But, seeing it is different than reading about it, probably.

Molly immediately starts dancing again, wanting to know if she can do it, too.

I sigh.

"How do you talk to your parents?" I type into my tablet, and let it speak for me.

Molly stops and holds up her racoon style hands. She has them on her hind legs as well. And now I can imagine her climbing all over everything, and carrying food home with all fours while flying.

And her mom holds up a large phone and smiles and Molly scampers over to her to receive it.

Then she quickly turns to me and swipes out, with a voice that sounds like an anime character, "I can't say words, so I have to use the phone. Thank you for coming! How do you change shape? Can I do it?"

"Hold up," I respond, hitting talk after each sentence, as usual. "First. Thank you, Molly, for allowing me to visit you in your territory. As a gift I bring you what I know. I will be happy to answer any of your questions. I'd also like to talk to your family as well. As for shapeshifting, it is one of my natural defenses. I was taught how to explore it by the Artist of Being a Dragon. They are long gone, touring the world. If you can do it, I can teach you what they taught me. But you might have to take the first step yourself. Perhaps I can try coaching you later." Then I look at her parents and grandmother.

"Thank you for seeing us, Meghan," her Mom, Adelle, says.

"What about moving back to town?" her Dad, Tim, asks.

"There isn't much room there," I tell them. "I believe this is her territory now. I don't think she will want to move."

"Yeah, no," Molly says with her phone.

Her parents get disappointed looks, and her uncle screws up his lips like he's thinking hard about it, but her grandmother appears delighted.

"Ah, we were hoping it could be negotiated," Tim admits.

"What if she learned how to shapeshift like you?" Adelle asks.

"There are always tells," I tell them. "Clues. And everyone who knows me recognizes me. No matter what shape I take. And every dragon recognizes me as a dragon."

"Oh."

"She might be different. We are all very different. But I don't want to mislead you," I say. "Also, I can only hold a shape that isn't mine for a couple hours, and revert if I sleep. If that is the same for her, even if she can truly hide, it will be a risk. But, that doesn't matter. This is her territory. This is where she belongs, and wants to be. It is part of who and what she is."

They both take deep breaths, while Molly looks more excited by my words.

"Have you been making your morning calls?" I ask her. "Have you heard your neighbors?"

"Yes," she responds, bouncing and rumbling a little in her excitement, incidentally repeating her word in draconic.

"When you do that, you're speaking in draconic," I tell her. "We have our own language, and you know some of it instinctively. Those calls tell you how big your neighbor's territories are and where their boundaries are. It's subtle. You are also telling them the same thing about yourself, especially if you know your territory. You unconsciously put it into your call."

She pulls her head up and swivels her ears toward me, saying without typing, "Tell me more."

I turn toward her Grandmother and ask, "Should we go where you can sit?"

"Oh, yes, please!" she says. "Come on inside! Do you like pie?"

"Do you have tea or coffee?" I ask.

"Folgers?" she asks.

"Tea, perhaps?" I try to smile like a human for her.

"Red rose!"

"That would be lovely, thank you." Then I turn to Molly as we start walking toward her house. "I can't teach you how to speak or read draconic. I was taught through magic. But, I think I can show you examples and tell you what I'm saying, and that might help."

—

It's been a long day of hard conversations with Molly's family. I came out in the morning, planning on being there all day, and so I have. I've had lunch and tea with them, and it looks like dinner is on the table for me, too.

It's late afternoon, and the two of us are playing in one of the dirt roads on the farm.

Technically, I'm training Molly while her uncle watches. But it feels like play to me, and I'm enjoying myself.

I'm wondering if I might get to enjoy this with my own child. It's not exactly what I imagined for draconic motherhood, but I want more of it.

It started with me showing her some simple phrases and individual words in draconic, then spelling them out on my tablet or saying them with my syrinx. And then repeating them.

And she took to that very fast. She seems primed to learn how to talk to other dragons. And maybe we all are. It does seem to be an instinctual language that just needs conscious verification that we're speaking and reading it. We do hear it, too, but since it's mostly expressive and gestural it feels like the word "reading" is more appropriate.

So then we started having simple conversations very quickly, which almost immediately turned into a game of chase, because the quickest, easiest things to say in draconic involve chasing, dodging, hiding, seeking, pouncing, and negotiating whether or not it's still a game.

I've shrunk myself down to her size, to make sure it's fair, and we check in on each other a lot. Which means repeating phrases and making them second nature for her.

And then, I throw in something tricky for her. I take the form of a snake and slither right under her, only to appear as a frighteningly huge dog when she turns around, startling her. Then I give her the play pose and wait.

"No fair!" she responds immediately.

"Yes, fair," I reply, bouncing and becoming a raccoon and clapping.

When she tries to pounce on me, I run under her as a rat.

The way this feels is hard to describe, and I expect harder for most people to imagine.

I've studied each of these shapes by watching examples of them, animals, in person, and visualizing what it would feel like to have their bodies. And then, I simply took their shapes, much the same way that I learn how to imitate various noises and calls of other things. My body just seems to know what to do.

And when Molly turns again to face me, I'm my full sized self, saying, "It's easy if you can do it. Hold on. Let me use my tablet."

I'm pretty sure she got the gist of that. So then I walk over to her uncle and hold out my claw for my purse. He seems relieved to give it to me.

And I pull out my tablet and drop it to the ground, to turn it on and knuckle out, "Try human. Visualize what human feel like. Fold yourself into shape. That what it feel to me."

She tilts her head, "How?"

"Do not know. Try," I respond.

Her ears go back flat on her head and she snarls, leaping forward a short distance, crouching at the end of her leap.

"Not like that," I say.

"Hard," she complains.

I think about this for a second.

It looked like she was saying, "no," in the most stringent of terms before attempting it. Maybe she really doesn't want to be human. So, I quickly consider some alternatives, and the quickest that comes to me is a trans girl stereotype and already partially present in her draconic form.

"Try a cat," I tell her.

And it comes so easily to her, she's startled by it and pops right back out to her natural self.

I give her a big draconic smile, and type, "Do fox."

She quirks her head to the side, ears tall, and suddenly she's a fox.

I'm taken aback and very pleased for her.

She's going to be better at this than I am, and she doesn't have any tells that I can see.

[acourtofantumbra]

Where Have All the Dragons Gone?

☆ All SJM spoilers: ACOTAR, CC, and TOG ☆

It's been quite a while since I put my SJM tin foil hat... I've got the attention span of a squirrel and moved onto other things.

Anyway, over the past 3-4 months I decided to start my first true re-read of all of SJM's books while a bunch of my friends were beginning the series for the first time. This week I finished Crescent City (just in time for my insanely beautiful Fairyloot editions to show up 1/2 a year later) and plan on moving onto TOG this week... but I have so, so, so many scenes that have been bothering me that I fully skimmed over in my first reads.

This scene above from HOSAB, chapter 46, with Ariadne has been fueling my intrusive thoughts lately. On my first read of CC2 I was so distracted by that insane ending that I could probably sum up my thoughts about Ariadne as "Well, that felt like a waste of time?" But upon further review (and now having read TOG in its entirety as well)... I'm starting to feel like she might be one of the most easter egg laden chess pieces placed on the board.

Per usual, I don't really have answers as much as I have some glaring parallels that feel important... But ultimately I think our "long, lost dragons" are not so lost and have been waiting patiently to enter the chat.

Ok, let's go back to the (extended) scene from HOSAB:

“Exactly,” Flynn said, as if the Fae lord weren’t taunting a dragon. A fucking dragon. A Lower, yes, but … fuck. They weren’t true shifters, switching between humanoid and animal bodies at will. They were more like the mer, if anything. There was a biological or magical difference to explain it—Ithan vaguely remembered learning about it in school, though he’d promptly forgotten the details.  It didn’t matter now, he supposed. The dragon could navigate two forms. He’d be a fool to underestimate her in this one.  The dragon stared Flynn down. He gave her a charming smile back. Her chin lifted. “Ariadne.” Flynn arched a brow. “A dragon named Ariadne?”  “I suppose you have a better name for me?” she shot back.  “Skull-Crusher, Winged Doom, Light-Eater.” Flynn ticked them off on his fingers.  She snorted, and the hint of amusement had Ithan realizing that the dragon was … beautiful. Utterly lethal and defiant, but—well, damn. From the gleam in Flynn’s eyes, Ithan could tell the Fae lord was thinking the same. Ariadne said, “Such names are for the old ones who dwell in their mountain caves and sleep the long slumber of true immortals.” “But you’re not one of them?” Ithan asked.   “My kin are more … modern.” Her gaze sharpened on Flynn. “Hence Ariadne.”  Flynn winked. She scowled.  “How did all of you”—Declan cut in, motioning to Ariadne, her body similar to that of a Fae female’s—“fit into that tiny ring?”  “We were bespelled by the Astronomer,” Sasa whispered. “He’s an ancient sorcerer—don’t let him deceive you with that feeble act. He bought us all, and shoved us into those rings to light the way when he descends into Hel. Though Ariadne got put into the ring by …” She trailed off when the dragon cut her a scathing, warning look. HOSAB, Chapter 46

It needs to be said, the difference between magical beings feels like it has only barely scraped the surface at the end of CC2 and I have not one clue how Sarah is finally gonna break all that shit down for us. But during my reread I finally got really into the Mer plot for this exact reason as well... clearly quite a bit going on there. Also... with the sprites magic not being first light-based??? Ok, back to the task at hand.

So Ariadne is identified as a dragon, which according to the front of both Crescent City books, is part of the House of Flame and Shadow. Perhaps our most controversial collection of beings in the CC world, our Slytherin house lol.

But, according to Ariadne herself, there is a difference between the kind of dragon shifter she is and a dragon that is a true immortal... and allegedly sleeping in a cave somewhere?! —> remember this. Ok, so what is a true immortal? Aren't the Vanir and fae immortal for the most part?

Well, we've been getting corrections through SJM's series that there is a difference between long-lived, which is what the fae and Vanir are, and true immortals.

Particularly in the ACOTAR series we've had Death Gods explain the difference between their true immortality aka "[they have] no death awaiting them." And suspiciously, the Bone Carver claims that his sister, the Weaver, is not only truly immortal, but she's found a way to "eat life itself" so that's remains youthful. Interesting... can think of around 6 folks allegedly able to do that in Crescent City, but I digress.

So true dragons — the ancient ones — seem to be true immortals as well. There is "no death waiting for them." Interesting considering we've had references in both TOG and CC that dragons are either no more or MIA. We actually get references at least once to dragons in each of SJM's series. Let's dig in a little more.

So TOG is our series with the most obvious inclusion of, at the very least, dragon-like creatures (we love you Abraxos) aka Wyverns. Wyverns we learn were made by the king - in a process Manon claims to not know much about... but happens in a mountain. But let's not skip ahead.

We've known since early on in TOG that dragons once existed in Erilea, but wyverns remain and are even the symbol represented on Ardalan's royal seal.

Celeana is surprised to see dragons depicted on the doors to the palace's library - because of course... libraries are at this point one of our most consistent, important, and often lost/destroyed, settings/plot points across worlds. Followed up with her feeling "a shot of lightning" about this dragon-adorned library... my spidey senses are tingling, how about you? Have dragons been associated with lightning in mythology? Yes. Yes they have.

First, what is the difference between a dragon and a wyvern? In fact lets take a look at all the varietals, some of the names might be familiar.

Who could forget the Wyrm from ACOTAR? Characters (amren) have been referred to as drakes, and I think we can argue that we've encountered a couple others from this list (perhaps sent from Hel?).

Anyway, what happened to the dragons of Erilea? It seems that they were defeated during a conflict and people largely believe them to be gone and whole societies (the mycenians) lost hope and fight once the last dragon disappeared/was killed.

But it's Maeve who gives us the clearest picture as to what happened to the dragons.

Glass is obviously significant in Throne of Glass and brings new meaning to the now destroyed glass castle, which I now assume was made from dragon glass.

But Maeve having "ensured" dragons were eradicated is particularly interesting knowing what we know about dragon fire from CC2 (we'll get to that). What this "ancient and bloody conflict" was we can guess at, but much like ACOTAR and CC we've got a wealth of wars to choose some and some we have more information about than others... anyone else suspicious about the sprite rebellion?

But Maeve mentioning Aelin's own "fire-breathing heritage" gave me pause... is she suggesting Aelin has any relation to dragons? Especially when Aelin starts to feel pangs of empathy for reasons she can't explain (a lightbulb moment in any SJM book - she uses this easter egg tactic a lot), her overwhelming sorrow while she's actively being tortured feels notable. Especially mentioning dragons "would never again been on this earth." Perhaps they can be found on another?

But Maeve destroying dragons is important because Bryce learns from Jesiba in CC2 that the strongest weapon against a Prince of Hel is in fact... dragon fire. Seems like an important tool to have in the arsenal... and why mention it if there are no dragons left anyway?

It contained an analysis of dragon fire, dating back five thousand years. It was in a language Bryce didn’t know, but a translation had been included. Jesiba had scribbled Good luck at the top. 

Well, now she knew why the Astronomer kept Ariadne in a ring. Not for light—but for protection. 

Among its many uses, the ancient scholar had written, dragon fire is one of the few substances proven to harm the Princes of Hel. It can burn even the Prince of the Pit’s dark hide. 

Yeah, Ariadne was valuable. And if Apollion was readying his armies … Bryce had no intention of letting the dragon return to the Astronomer’s clutches. HOSAB, Chapter 50

Granted, this alludes to there being a few substances that can harm a Prince of Hel, but with the introduction of Ariadne and "the ancient ones"... dragons have just shot to the top of my personal list of "things that are probably coming for us in CC3 and beyond" especially in this fight against the Big Bads.

Granted we learned when Bryce breaks into the Dawn room at the Crystal Palace (dragon glass too???) that the warring factions of Hel united to oust the Asteri and Thanatos is only now saying he doesn't give an f about his brothers' plans... maybe we don't want to roast Apollion, but just some of his brothers? And maybe dragon fire has some ability to take down an Asteri too? Who can say?

But that brings me back to Ariadne's conversation about the difference between the kind of dragon she is an the kind of dragons that have allegedly gone missing... she doesn't say they're gone.

“Skull-Crusher, Winged Doom, Light-Eater.” Flynn ticked them off on his fingers.  She snorted, and the hint of amusement had Ithan realizing that the dragon was … beautiful. Utterly lethal and defiant, but—well, damn. From the gleam in Flynn’s eyes, Ithan could tell the Fae lord was thinking the same. Ariadne said, “Such names are for the old ones who dwell in their mountain caves and sleep the long slumber of true immortals.”

Hm... sleeping in mountain caves? We've definitely had some not super subtle hints about some giant presence slumbering below mountains — in both TOG and ACOTAR. And while TOG has clearly mentioned their missing dragons... ACOTAR explicitly references dragons one time.

When Lucien gives Feyre a cloak UTM she notes Amarantha's coat of arms isn't just a dragon... but a sleeping dragon. Can I fully say I understand all the implications here? Certainly not. But it was an "oh damn" moment when I saw it. Especially considering how convinced I am that Hybern was possessed by a Valg. And if Maeve (Valg) and Princes of Hel (??) fear dragon fire... that... is an intriguing parallel.

But ok, so we've got a coat of arms with a sleeping dragon... what else has been referenced as a massive sleeping force?

Cassian wondered if his brother had ever told her what dwelled in these mountains. Most had been slain by the Illyrians, or sent fleeing to those Steppes. But the most cunning of them, the most ancient … they had found ways to hide. To emerge on moonless nights to feed. Even five centuries of training couldn’t stop the chill that skittered down his spine as Cassian surveyed the empty, quiet mountains below and wondered what slept beneath the snow...

Cassian soared toward it, unable to resist Ramiel’s ancient summons. Different—the mountain was so different from the barren, terrible presence of the lone peak in the center of Prythian. Ramiel had always felt alive, somehow. Awake and watchful....

Ramiel rose higher still, a shard of stone piercing the gray sky. Beautiful and lonely. Eternal and ageless.  ACOFAS, Chapter 3

Now I'm not saying I'm 100% confident a dragon is sleeping beneath Ramiel... but I am saying I feel confident we've gotta find dragons sleeping somewhere and the planet that's retained the most magic seems like an obvious first place to look.

I also wonder how much connection there could be between lost ancient dragons and the rare thunderbird line — a CC plot point that has been breaking my brain even more the second time around (all thoughts, no real conclusions). But with the inclusion of lightning + dragons (Aelin at the library, the Great Rite, etc.)... thunderbirds are looking even more suspicious in my eyes. Even more suspicious is our dear Hunt Athalar... lightning wielder of our dreams...

Her teeth shone, her canines long enough to shred flesh. “Did Bryce Quinlan tell you what occurred when she stood in this chamber twelve years ago?” His blood turned to ice. “That’s Quinlan’s business.” That smile didn’t falter. “You do not wish to know what I saw for her, either?” “No.” He spoke from his heart. “It’s her business,” he repeated. His lightning rose within him, rallying against a foe he could not slay. The Oracle blinked, a slow bob of those thick lashes. “You remind me of that which was lost long ago,” she said quietly. “I had not realized it might ever appear again.” HOEAB, Chapter 33

That's all I got for now... stay tuned for a potential descent into madness about Thunderbirds. We'll see.

[tobiasdrake]

To the Sacrosanct Spires now. We have our "key", so to speak.

Pareidolia is the phenomenon by which people see what appears to be a meaningful shape in a meaningless or random pattern. For example, seeing a religious figure's face in a piece of bread.

With that in mind, I realize your barrier is probably not actually scowling at me. But it looks like it's scowling at me. That is hurting my feelings. I have done nothing wrong.

Please destroy it with extreme prejudice.

Eh, that's not so impressive. Zale has a hammer that can do the same thing.

Though I am now curious to know what you might be able to teach our ship's band.

I've been wondering, actually. Resh'an created the multiverse, but the multiverse was made from the fracturing of a single reality into split timelines. Resh'an was just some guy living in the one reality when his and Aephorul's fables began.

So even though they're both out there doing shit to the multiverse, it stands to reason that there is a level of shared "old" in all timelines that predates the fracturing. I've been thinking that was probably the Ovates.

I don't disagree, Serai, but I still wanted to hear him out. A bit of foreknowledge about what we need to break is always useful. But sure, I guess we can go with our favorite plan: Go in blind and wing it.

Oh cool, they're birdfolk! We have molekin back in my world. I wonder if every world in the Sea of Stars has one designated type of anthropomorphic Wildlife Person?

There goes that theory.

Alright, team. This is easy pickings. It's a bit of a hike from here to Estrid but we've been making roast chicken out of these bird sentries. Literally, in Zale's case. So I'm pretty sure there's nothing to worry about.

However, before we go any further, there is one important consideration that we need to address, and I felt it would be best to put it to a vote.

Would you think less of me if I made actual roast chicken out of the birdfolk that attack us? The wall meat and wall eggs were a pleasant surprise but they're only going to last so long, and I'm not 100% sure how we go about hunting walls for more.

You'd think it would be simple. They don't move very fast. But no.

We were just passing through. Frankly, I have an axe to grind with a lot of people but I've never seen you before in my life.

Lot of names on my hit list right now but "Triumvirate of Eminence" isn't one of them. Right now, I'm willing to chalk this up as a misunderstanding. You can still lower the barrier and walk away with your life.

This is not an invasion. If you grant us safe passage to our destination then no further--

Well. I just want it on record that I gave diplomacy a chance.

Our crew has never destabilized a sovereign regime before so, hey, this will be a learning experience!

Do we want to break it? There's two options here: Either this guy's been jailed for political reasons or because he's too fucked up for the Bird Crew.

Political prisoner it is, then. Never mind. Maybe after we assassinate the regime's leadership, we can install him on the throne or something. I'm pretty sure that's the heroic way to carry out regime change as a foreign influence, right?

There seems to be a switch on the other side of the cage, though. If we can just get to that, then maybe we can--

WELL YOU COULD HAVE WARNED US

THANKS SERAI. Now I look like an idiot in front of the bird man. How am I supposed to convince him to respect me enough to become a puppet ruler in my name now!?

Wait a second, you have portals. Why were you pretending to be trapped with us in the first cage? And why can't you just portal us out now? SERAI!? PORTAL PLZ!!!

PRESS THE BLUE ONE. THE BLUE ONE, SERAI.

Wait, these are soundproof. Dammit, she didn't hear me admonish her a moment ago.

Thank you, Serai. You are a valuable member of this team and I respect and appreciate your skills.

Even if you're stingy about letting me use your portal.

Everybody and their codes, apparently. You'd get along well with him, Resh'an.

But this conversation is going super fast. Can we slow down a moment? Do you have a name or--

Uh, bye?

Well, I guess his name is Drumsticks now. If he doesn't like it, he should have said something before zipping away like a magnificent poof. I don't make the rules.

In any case, we're out of the dungeon. I didn't want to topple a bird empire. But I suppose we're toppling a bird empire now. It's on record that I attempted diplomacy so now we're free to do whatever we want. That's how foreign policy works, I think.

[viking-writing]

Hallo hallo!💕 HAPPY NEW YEARS/GODT NYTTÅR!🎉

I'm planning on getting the first fic in my Rammstein AU fic series done in 2024! Hopefully before the end of January as that is Rammsteins 30th anniversary-month (Or so I've been told?) but 2024 is their anniversary year anyway so I'll be done long before the end of this year with the first fic in the series! 😁

@marimayscarlett you need to help me with some of the german so you get to read all the chapters before everyone else! ^^

Here is a sneak peak on some of my OC's.

I've actually found at least one of them on "thispersondoesnotexist.com" and it was surreal how the looks matched so perfectly with how I visioned him in my head. Especially considering how the page just makes random AI persons every single time you refresh. I even ended up finding TWO pictures of him (the two fake men look nearly identical and it was beyond perfect for how I visioned him!)

I'll save the "realistic pictures" for some other time. Instead enjoy some piccrew avatars I made of some of my OC's (with some added facts. Warning; this is a long read so if you don't bother you can just look at the avatars instead)

Name: Cornelia Francesca (II/the 2nd.). However she prefers to only go by "Cornelia" or "Nelia" for short.

Gender: Cis woman

Pronouns: She/Her

Sexuality: Pansexual

Nationality: That depends on what you lay in the meaning "nationality" (She is mostly German by blood but she was born and grew up in France.)

Facial features: Very pale skin (her veins are mostly visible) and her face is heartshaped. She considers her chin to be "too long and sharp-pointed" and with her big dark- blue, doll-like eyes and blonde curly locks she is often underrestimated or "sweet-talked". Her brows are Blonde/white/nearly "invisible", and her upper lip is slightly bigger than her lower lip, which sometimes could be mistaken for a "frowning pout". Furthermore her lips has no cupids bow. Lastly she "wishes she could have had freckles or beauty marks" as she "finds such to be very unique and beautiful."

Body type: She is tall and has an Hour glass figure. She is naturally heavy chested while her waist is small both by birth and "by the aid of corsets."

Piercings and tattoos: None. Trying to pierce a hole into her would "be a waste of time."

Diet: Vegetarian (mostly). She doesn't mind eating eggs or drinking milk as long as its from trusted farms.

Musical taste: Her taste in music is vast and consist of any genre, from any decade. She doesn't have any favorite band or artist in particular as she doesn't like to place any artist or band "up on a pedestal" as they are "all to be considered talented and should therefore all be equally appreciated".

Fashion sense: Anything from disorted jeans to long ruffled lace skirts. Her most "outraged/scandalous" fashion statement are probably the times when she likes to adjust/modify her corsets so they would fit over jeans and t-shirts. However she doesn't like bold prints or too strong colors, except deep blue or deep red. She wish she could have earrings but as already mentioned: piercing her ears would be a waste of time. She likes wearing necklaces that are simple and not too flashy: anything from simple stone pendants to single colored heavy laced chokers though as for pearls, she has "always found them too mature looking."

Name: Bas (He thinks his mother gave him way too many names, so he prefers to only use the first one.)

Gender: Cis man

Pronouns: He/Him (but he won't correct you if you say they/them.)

Sexuality: Asexual & Aromantic He thinks Romance is ok in movies and books...but "in real life he is good with having family and friends!"

Nationality: The Republic of the Congo.

Skin color: Black "and beautiful" as he would usually say.

Facial features: A rounded face. Bald head he lost his hair due to "some hair...disease?" He doesn't remember what it was called, and "he doesn't really care. Without hair it's easier for him to get ready in the morning and then he can have plenty of time to do fun things!". His nose is wide and short with wide nostrils. He really likes his nose, and the rest of his face! His facial hair is usually scruffy or cleaned shaved. He "tried to grow a moustache, once....and it turned out all patchy so he never wants to do it again!". He has black/dark brown puppy- eyes which according to him means he can "get whatever he wants? No he is probably too old for that trick!" . His eyes have dark circles and a few wrinkles under them but he knows that "in his age being tired is a cool lifestyle, so the dark circles are matching great!".

Body Type: A little on the heavier side with a little portruding tummy, which is alright! He is "exactly how he wants to be and no one can tell him otherwise!"

Piercings and tattoos: Both of his ear lobes are pierced with a metal/silvery earring. He wish he could get tattoos but thinks he "probably wouldn't tolerate that much pain over such a long period of time."

Diet: "Anything goes." He thinks "pasta is boring unless you add some mushroom, a hearty meat sauce and spinach." He thinks "seafood is alright. Shrimps are very good" but to him "nothing beats a well done burger and salty fries!" He thinks that chickens tastes good but that "the source material looks messed up when it runs around and has feathers on it." Basically he thinks all birds are scary and that they "should stay as far away from him as possible!"

Favorite type of music: Bas likes most music but claims that Opera "is the worst." He also thinks that lyrical Jazz that is "too upbeat" sounds "weird and too loud/too confusing." Slow, Classical or electronic music is wonderful if he "wants to relax." He doesn't really appreciate Reggea music too much although "Mark" (Markus) has tried his best to show him "the beauty of it." Soul music is ok, but can get a bit too "screamy/naggy" after a while...

Fashion sense: He loves to wear colorful t- shirts, matched up with a well used, black suit jacket or black, wool coat jacket. Nearly all of his shirts has mostly either vibrant colors or has a cool pattern on them. But it has to be a pattern that is "repetitive and isn't too overwelming". According to himself he "probably doesn't own a single pair of suit pants." In addition to the colorful t-shirts and hoodies; dark or standard colored jeans, comfy shorts and sweatpants is what he "prefers to live in, depending on the season." A hat, preferably a cap worn the "correct way and not backwards" is a "must to protect his head from being burned". He loves colorful hoodies and brown or red scarfs. He doesn't like to wear beanies, because he thinks it "makes him look like the stereotypical black burglar/rapper guy". As for jewelry he doesn't bother to wear any except for the wrist watch he got from his dad, and his standard black or silvery gray earrings. He thinks goldchains are "super corny and he wouldn't be caught dead or alive wearing one! Not even if someone paid him!" As for shoes; regular short laced up leather boots are "easy to wear and they go with anything". Either that or he likes to wear black sneakers, as white sneakers, according to him "would again make him look too much of a rapper guy or some kid trying to impress someone".

Name: Markus E. Weiss and "please don't ever call him "Mark" or "Markie" or any other shortened nicknames as he doesn't appreciate that".

Gender: Male. He says he "doesn't understand the meaning or the need for the word cis. " He also says he "won't understand what 'being trans' means." Hopefully he can be thought otherwise.

Pronouns: He/Him

Sexuality: Straight

Nationality: West-German (the former GDR)

Skin color: White

Facial features: He thinks his face is pretty average and oval shaped, especially for "a man in his age". He has a slightly rounded, slightly pointed chin. His blue medium big, slightly down-turned eyes is for the most part behind a pair of silvery steel, squared shaped glasses. He has been told he has very "kind but sad looking eyes". His brown hair that has "gotten lighter with age", is sually sleeked back without any shaved sides. His hair tends to get very wavy the day after he has showered. His nose is slightly downturned with a slightly narrow- rounded tip and he thinks it looks "pretty average just like most of his face". He has pretty straight teeth except for one upper tooth off to the side that is a little shorter than the rest. His ears are a little portruding. His lips are thin, and it makes him look very mischeavious whenever he is lightly smiling.

Body type: "Asymmetrical" and he is "too embarrassed to tell you how/why". Although he believes he is "quite fit for a man of his age he "knows its only a question of time before he gets thinner or gets a belly/tummy just like most men his age if they don't regularly work out".

Piercings and tattoos: None. Because he thinks that "such things doesn't look right. Except for earrings", but for him earrings "belong in the past with his long hair and big sunglasses."

Diet: What he is being served, which is mostly vegetarian food now...unless "there is a special delivery that contains meat in it". He doesn't drink alcohol. He likes a good stew or "anything that is homemade with lots of love and tradition" but all in all he "isn't really picky on trying out new types of food".

Favorite type of music: He mostly listens to classic rock, or 80's rock, although "Soul and Reggea with a meaning has the sound that makes the world go around." He thinks Patti Smith, Pat Benatar and Annie Lennox are "very underrated." Some of his favorite artists includes Patti Smith, Queen, The Doors, David Bowie, The Ramones and The Rolling Stones. He "doesn't really care that much for hip hop, but they are talented in singing fast/rapping, but it just isn't what he would listen to".

Fashion sense: He mostly wears his uniform. Sometimes he wears the black turtle neck without the gray uniform jacket, and pairs this with the gray or navy blue uniform pants or black suit pants. He "probably doesn't own more than one pair of jeans but he swears that velvet bell-bottom pants were everything when he was younger!" He likes to sleep in black or dark gray sweat pants paired with old washed out band t-shirts or single colored (dark blue, white, dark gray or black) long-sleeves. When he is at work he has a silver pocket watch attached to his suitjacket or fastened by the hip at the belt of his suit/uniform pants. He thinks its "practical that the watch can be attached to the belt if it becomes too hot to wear the uniform jacket".)

___________________________________

That was some of the characters , but I'm also adding a little bonus. Richard Z Kay in a fancy halloween costume/sexy vampire bat-costume! I swear this character is always so extra. It's funny how real-life Richard Kruspe is one of my least favorite Rammstein member, but in my fic series he is actually one of my favorite characters and I am going to defend him at any cost! I honestly wish he was real and that we could hang out not just "in my head/imagination".

Name: Richard Zee Kay/ RZK/Richard Z. Kruspe/Richard Zven/Sven Kruspe Landers. (The list could be endless for a diva like him!)

Gender: male, bclaims that "sometimes he is a whole gender for himself that should NOT be messed with and always have his way or isn't "diva" considered a gender?"

Pronouns: He/him/"Katchen/Fab/Herr Fab/Frau Fab/Divalicious😘".

Sexuality: PAULsexual ❤ ("it's ok to be GAY"/fab-sexual)

Nationality: West Germany (former West-Berlin.)

Skin color: White or fake/real tan

Facial features: A very sharp jawline and a sharp chin, that he hates as it "looks way too masculine". He has ususally "neatly plucked brows". His eyes are big and blue but slightly downturned. His hair is naturally brown and thick/wavy but he used to have "awful blonde dreadlocks which wasn't his choice by the way". Nowadays (at the beginning of the story) he mostly keeps his hair short and dyes it black and "unlike your neighbour or your aunt he is a master colorist and knows EXACTLY what he is doing!" He has according to his husband Paul and his best friend Thalia a "charming, slightly boy-ish smile especially after he had his teeth properly cleaned and fixed". Another thing that Thalia and Paul has told him is that "his face is really expressive, especially when he disprooves/shows a disgust or confusion about something". He doesn't like his own nose as "it could have been a lot shorter" but his husband Paul has claimed that "that would probably make him look like Michael Jackson AFTER plastic surgery" so Richard slowly accepted the nose that "the universe gave him." He has thin lips, but according to him, his husband Paul "has never complained...if ya know what he means? 😉"

Body type: Richard "used to be a twink-teen in the 80's and early 90's (he was born in 1973 in my fic series) but has bulked up A LOT since then! 💪" He now (at the beginning of the story) has a strong v-shaped back with back-dimples something Paul seemingly "knows to take advantage of 😉" According to Paul, Richard's broad upper body is "both a turn on and an odd threat". Richard would now describe himself as "a friendly but bossy hunk with an ass that is bigger, more perfect and more plump than yours will ever be!". Further he claims that he "takes great pride in keeping his ass that way" and that "it's reserved for Paul H. Landers anygays so don't you even bother!". Richard describes his chest as "more amazing than whatever cleavage you will ever have." Further he says that "unfortunally he wasn't given a big dick that would match his big attitude", but he also tries to remind himself about how Paul always tells him that he "has a beautiful penis/Schwanz...just the way it is". In other words: Richard's below average dick size doesn't affect his self esteem "as much as it used to before he met Paul" and he claims "he owes this to his wonderful husband who loves him as him ❤".

Diet: "Anything goes as long as HE or any other professionally trained chef has prepared the food, because he used to be a chef before he became a hair stylist and master colorist". He claims that the reason for why he quit as a chef was "as much as he loved making food, it got too warm and stressful in the restaurant-kitchen and that just spiked his anxiety to the max!"). He prefers pasta or pizza and "didn't like soups at first but Paul convinced him and now he is hooked on all kinds of soups just as much as his husband!" He tries to eat as much proteins as he can "without chugging down on protein shakes, and actually if he can avoid having to drink those nasty shakes again and still get bulked up nicely, then that would be perfect!"

Piercings/tattoos: He "used to rock a belly button after he first started dating Paul but it rejected, and yes he is still upset by that." As for jewelry he first "shared one of Paul's silvery or black earrings and thought it was cute that they could wear one, each, until Paul began to nag on him to get it back for the sake of symmetry". Which "gave him the push to save money for another hole in the 2nd ear and finally buy his own earrings". Other than that he has been thinking about "getting a tongue piercing or a brow piercing" and although Paul seems to be "very supportive of the tongue piercing, he thinks Richard first needs to decide an actual SHAPE of his brow before he gets it pierced so sadly it never happened". As for tattoos, Richard doesn't have any but he claims that for a short time he "dead-seriously wanted to have 'Property of Paul L.' or 'Property of Heiko' (Paul's birth name.)" tattooed above his ass, but "Paul talked him out of it". He has also thought about getting a tattoo of a guitar on his wrist or shoulder that would "symbolize that his husband used to be a punk guitarist in a band in the 80's and early 90's". Another tattoo that Richard is still considering is "cool, diagonally aligned black stars on both of his hips."

Favorite type of music: "Paul's moans, laughter and guitar riffs🥰"... KISS. Scorpions. Firehouse "just to mention a few". He says he "loves to listen to any brutal Death Metal song, anything by Nine Inch Nails, Feeling B, Depeche Mode, The Ramones, The Sex Pistols or Danzig whenever he is jogging or lifting weights." He claims to have "always been a fan of 80's and 90's synth pop, goth, and punk and swears that his favorite punk band now is Feeling B" which was Paul's former band who disbanded sometime in the early 90's, but with a last concert in the early 00's. Some other of Richard's favorite bands/artists includes Sisters of Mercy. The Mission. London After Midnight. The Lords of The Church. Death. The Misfits. The Clash.Nick Cave & The Bad Seeds. Tool. Slayer. Kreator. DIO. Lamb of God. Accept. White Snake. Nazareth. Meshugga... but "the list could go on and on but it's mostly guys with deep and kinda depressive voices.. " After he started dating Paul, Richard got into David Bowie and the industrial metal band Hindenburg" (although in your universe/the real world, they are known as Rammstein) while Thalia got him into liking Eisbrecher and darker techno.

Fashion sense: "The best!💋" according to himself; no matter what Paul, Thalia or anyone else tells him.