#maybe when you finally remember i’m a broken toy

[livelaughlovesubs]

Sucking off a pretty bf with pretty expressions~

(Dom!gn!Reader x sub!male!character)

It didn’t really matter where or why you two would do it, since he’d always listen to you anyway. All because this love-starved little thing’s so eager for any shred of your affection on a daily basis, following you around like a lost animal. That makes him so fun to bully!

Just pin him against the nearest wall or make him sit down wherever possible. Hovering above the ground or spreading his pretty legs while you teasingly tap his bulge. Once, twice, maybe squeeze it a little or blow hot air against it, all to get a reaction out of him. Watch that bulge twitch all excited, so easy to understand compared to his broken words.

Oh, what’s this? He’s already hard for you~ take it a liiiittle further by kissing his clothes sex, looking up at him to see him on the verge of tearing up. Chest heaving as he throws his palm over his mouth. That’s is? He’s already feeling it so strongly? How was he going to handle you? Well, you don’t mind breaking your toy once in a while.

“H-hurry… please.” Look how naive he is, so unknowing. He’s so cute when he starts begging you with a muffled voice, so pretty and whorish when he hesitantly pulls down his pants and underwear with a trembling hand. Gosh, if you were to take it any further, won’t this pathetic little boy cry? Wouldn’t his mind turn to mush already?

And when you finally start teasing his tip, maybe even giving him loooong and intimate licks along his shaft, be prepared to hear the sweetest moans and whimpers ever! The blush on his cheeks are spreading to his ears and chest, and his sensitive dick is leaking so much pre already! You haven’t even began properly.

If you were to bless him with your mouth, he’d first melt due to your touch. The feeling of your hot mouth and wet tongue on his lewd cock is so erotic, so perverted! He can’t control his voice, it’s all leaking out, “ah- ohh, nghh, ahh-UhmM♡♥︎!!”

What a cute but pathetic thing, already screaming ‘cummin’ m’cummin’!!’ When all you did was suck him off a little. This won’t do, it doesn’t matter if you’re in public or not, this is simply too early for it to be fun. Pulling back just to tell him ‘not yet’. Now he’s crying and whining about how you are too cruel, how he desperately needs you :(

Poor boy, guess there’s no other way huh? He’s so helpless in situations like this, he needs your guidance! At this point you’ve taken pity on him and decided to let him cum, cooing at him, praising him, but since you are sucking him off he can only make out quiet humming sounds.

On the other hand, the vibrations of your voice is driving him crazy, it’s adding so much more pleasure to the already overwhelming batch, it’s so intense he was itching to grab your hair and feel more. Luckily he remembered not to, he knew the consequences, he didn’t want to disappoint you.

That sweet and obedient man is now moaning so loudly you can call him ‘your woman’. Head thrown back as he tried to warn you with broken sentences, “cu-mHMmiiinng!! I’m cu-cuuuu cumminnnng! ♡～”

Not long after he’s shooting his thick and disgusting cum into your mouth, squirming and withering. This won’t do though, you didn’t feel like swallowing it on that day. So instead, you commanded him to open his mouth all wide and to stick his tongue out. Yanking on his hair to make it easier, lining your lips adobe his, slowly letting it drip down from the tip of your tongue.

You don’t even have to order him to and he’s already gulped it all done. Such a good boy, right? Your good boy, your very best and most obscene boy toy. Just to make sure, he’d ask, “Did I do good? I hope I pleased you♡”

Your favourites!

[incognit0slut]

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3| PART 4

Behind Closed Doors 4

Your frustration over his broken promise melts away as soon as he calls, and you find yourself unexpectedly drawn to his voice, more than you anticipated.

Warnings: (18+, MDNI) Phone sex, mutual (and guided) masturbation, dirty talk ~4.7k words

A/n: this is just me wishing he was on quinn😔 anyway enjoy part 4, this mini series is not dead (i don’t even know how long it will be but let’s just celebrate that I’m finally updating)

All men do is lie, you thought as you flopped onto your bed.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t entirely his fault—but you weren’t in the mood to be reasonable. You remembered that car ride vividly. He had promised you more time together, a moment to finally be alone. Instead, what did you get? A new case, then another, and amidst all the chaos and dodging bullets (literally and metaphorically), you two somehow managed to drift apart.

The past few weeks had been the busiest since you started working at the BAU, and that was saying a lot, considering there was never really a moment of peace when you worked for the government. But this time was different, it seemed even more chaotic than usual. Every time you thought of bringing up the conversation with him—or maybe sneak in a little make-out session—something urgent would come up. 

There was never the right time, or the right moment. It felt as if the universe had other plans for you, and none of them involved the two of you getting a moment alone. And before you knew it, you were caught in this maddening cycle of missed opportunities, and the worst thing was, you were sexually frustrated.

This time, you had no one else to blame but him. Ever since he came into the picture, your carefully maintained self-control had started to slip, and now, despite your best efforts, you couldn’t ignore the growing need between your legs. It was aching, throbbing, and even the thought of him was making you hot and restless.

How did he manage to do that? He wasn’t even trying. There was nothing overtly seductive in the way he moved or spoke, and yet every glance, every accidental touch, seemed to affect you. Spencer. Just his name made your breath hitch, your body betraying you. You weren’t proud to admit this, but the mere thought of his fingers brushing your skin had you feeling that first rush of arousal slipping into your panties.

You huffed, considering digging out your pink silicone toy hidden somewhere in your drawer. And while you were contemplating this, knowing it had been a while since you last used it because nothing could compare to the feeling of his touch now, your phone on the bedside table rang.

Maybe the universe was really testing you, because his name flashed across the screen and it took a lot of self-control for you not to pick up on the first ring and demand him to fuck you right there and then, which sounded too crass when you weren’t in the middle of straddling his lap like the last time. So instead, you decided to wait until the sixth ring before you answered with a curt, “Hey.”

There was a pause, then a sigh. “You’re mad at me.”

Could he tell? Of course, he could. He always had an uncanny ability to read you, even over the phone. “Mad? Why would I be mad?”

“I can almost see you rolling your eyes.”

“I never roll my eyes,” you shot back.

“You rolled your eyes last week when Luke tried to tell us that his dog could sniff out bodies better than our trained ones.”

You suppressed a smile, surprised that he even noticed you giving Luke a once-over at that particular moment. “That was because his dog chases its tail more than it chases leads.”

"And I'm not worthy of an eye roll?"

“Honestly, you deserve more than an eye roll,” you blurted out before you could stop yourself.

"So you are mad,” he stated, growing quiet for a while. “I’m sorry.”

And now you felt bad. You ran a hand through your hair, trying to clear your thoughts. “It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but it doesn’t make me feel any less better.”

You felt a pang of guilt as you stared at the ceiling. It wasn’t exactly fair to blame him. Serial killers, unfortunately, didn’t come with a schedule, and now Spencer was already on his leave. You recalled the excitement in his voice when he told you about the seminars Emily had arranged for him to teach. He had spoken with an enthusiasm you hadn’t heard in a long time, his eyes practically lighting up every time he mentioned it.

How could you be upset about that?

"I'm not... mad.”

There was a slight teasing note in his voice as he replied, "Just annoyed then?"

You held back a smile. "Maybe a little."

“Anything I can do to help with that?” His voice softened through the phone. “Is there any way I can make it up to you?”

Your thoughts immediately went to the sticky situation between your legs, and you felt a flush of embarrassment. Technically, he could help with that. But could you say that? Should you? 

"I don’t know, depends on what you have in mind,” you replied, trying to steer your mind away from the direction it was heading. There was a pause, a silence that hung in the air as he carefully considered his next words.

"I could… start by telling you how much I miss you?”

Now that, you didn’t expect. Your heart fluttered wildly in your chest. Spencer had never really acknowledged his feelings with words when his actions spoke volumes, but hearing him say it out loud made the emotions between you feel undeniably real. It was as if his words shattered whatever platonic friendship the two of you had built over the past years.

Although you knew your friendship had fundamentally changed the moment he had you pinned on the desk that fine afternoon, it didn’t stop you from questioning about where you truly stood.

"You miss the idea of me," you corrected him, unable to resist yourself.

“You know that’s not true,” he replied gently.

“Do I?”

“Yes, you know me better than that,” he insisted. “You’re a great profiler, you can tell if I’m not being honest.”

A small smile tugged at the corners of your mouth, despite trying to stay mad at him. "You hate being profiled.”

"That was before I realized how useful your skills are in deciphering my feelings.”

“You know I’d rather you tell me how you feel.”

“I did, I miss you, and you chose not to believe me.”

Your cheeks actually ached from smiling too much. You couldn’t help but feel a warm, tingling sensation spread through you. “Fine,” you sighed, finally giving in. “I believe you.”

“And?”

You rolled onto your side. “And what?”

“Do you not miss my absence at work?”

“Well…”

“Well?” He prompted.

Now how could you tell him you missed more than just his presence? How could you admit that you missed the way he made you feel, the way his breath felt hot against your skin, without sounding obvious or too needy? Because you missed everything about him. His hands, his lips, his tongue—oh dear god, his tongue.

Spencer suddenly called out your name, and you forced yourself to focus, feeling your heartbeat quicken as you cleared your throat.

“Yes, I—I miss you,” you finally admitted.

There was a pause, then his voice came through, lighter, teasing. “Why do you sound like that?”

“…like what?”

“Like you’re out of breath.”

You gripped the sheets tightly, the fabric bunching under your fingers. How could you even begin to explain this to him now that he was onto you? You felt like you were on the verge of a full-blown emotional meltdown. God, if he knew how many times you’d replayed every kiss, every touch, in your mind, he’d never let you live it down.

It was almost laughable, really. Here you were, trying to keep it together, and failing miserably. “It’s just… I really, really miss you.”

“You really miss me? Are you trying to say something?”

You hesitated, your mind scrambling for the right words without revealing too much. “No…?”

“Mhm,” he replied, clearly unconvinced. “You’re not telling me everything.”

You gripped the phone tighter. “I’m just saying... It's hard without you here. You know, in every way.”

“In every way?”

You squeezed your eyes shut, feeling both embarrassed and mortified. “I just... I miss how you make me feel. Physically.”

“Physically?” he pressed. “Can you elaborate?”

“I’m... you know, I’ve been... missing certain things. Certain... activities.”

“Certain activities,” he repeated your words once again. It was then that you realized he was teasing you, clearly enjoying your discomfort a little too much. “You mean like... talking?”

“No. More like... the other stuff we do when we’re alone.”

"I don't understand."

At that point, your embarrassment was gnawing at you. You wanted to crawl into a hole and never come out. “God, Spencer, don’t make me say it,” you groaned, burying your face in your pillow.

“Come on, I need a little more than that.” He sounded both amused and curious. “I’m just making sure I understand you right.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about,” you muttered into the pillow, your voice muffled but still clear enough for him to hear.

“Actually, I don’t think I do. You could be missing so many things, you have to help me out here.”

You turned your head to the side, exasperation coloring your tone. “Spencer…”

"Yes?" he responded innocently.

"You’re really going to make me say it, aren’t you?”

"I find precise communication to be very important.”

You let out a groan, feeling the last of your restraint crumble. “Alright! Fine!” you snapped. “I’m horny, okay? And it’s all your fault!”

His laughter rang through the phone, and you could almost see the grin spreading across his face. “My fault?"

"Yes! I feel like a deprived, horny teenager here, and I just…”

You trailed off, hardly believing you had actually said that out loud. The realization hit you like a wave, and for a moment, you wished you could take it back. There was a pause that seemed to stretch on forever and you wondered if you had gone too far.

He finally broke the silence, breathing out your name in a way that made your skin tingle. "You could've told me from the start."

You could, but you’d rather not.

"I didn't want to sound desperate."

"You can be desperate with me,” he said softly. “Just say the word and I’ll give you anything you want.”

If there was one thing Spencer was good at, it was getting under your skin. He really shouldn’t be saying those words, not now, not when it was making you crave him even more. You swallowed, feeling a tightness in your chest, a knot in your stomach. The part of you that always played it safe wanted to retract, to laugh it off as a joke. But then there was that other part, the part that craved his attention, the part that was tired of holding back.

“Tell me, what do you want now?”

You took a deep breath and laid on your back, the words catching in your throat. You felt your pulse quicken.

“I want… you.”

“Tell me how you want me.”

Your fingers trailed over the sheets, your touch light as you imagined it was him beneath your fingertips. “Spencer…”

“Come on,” he pressed. “Tell me.”

You paused, your heart pounding in your chest. You could almost imagine him right in front of you, staring at you with those beautiful brown eyes that always managed to make you melt, coaxing words from you that you barely dared to think, let alone speak.

Just say it. He's waiting. He wants to hear it.

Your hand began to move.

“I… I want your hands on me.”

“Where do you want my hands?”

“Everywhere,” you whispered, your fingers grazing your body as if they were his. You closed your eyes.

“Everywhere?”

You found yourself nodding even though he couldn’t see you.

“On my hips…”

Your hand danced across your hips.

“My stomach…”

Your palm slipped under your shirt, moving slowly up your abdomen, feeling the warmth of your own touch and wishing it was his.

“Between my thighs…”

You paused at the hem of your panties, the only barrier beneath your shirt, hesitating as a flush of warmth spread through you. The line was silent for a moment, save for the sound of his breathing—a soft, heavy rhythm that matched the pounding of your own heart.

“Where else do you want me?”

Your fingers dipped inside the fabric. “I want you lower…”

“Tell me exactly where.”

“Where I’m most sensitive,” you confessed, the words slipping out before you could stop them.  Your thighs instinctively squeezed together, hips rolling gently as your free hand began to drift south. “Spencer… please…”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“I…”

“Are you?”

“No…”

“Do you want to touch yourself?”

You licked your lips, your breath coming faster. “Maybe.”

“Then do it, no one’s stopping you.”

You hesitated, the reality of the situation sinking in. You couldn’t believe this was happening, that you were having this conversation with him. "This feels so naughty.”

"Naughty can be nice, though, right?" he assured you. "Don't think about it too much. It’s just you and me.”

There really was something about his voice, the way it effortlessly wrapped around you—smooth, coaxing, almost hypnotic. Despite the hesitation that tugged at your mind, your hand began to move lower, and your legs parting involuntarily. A soft gasp escaped your lips when your hand flew right to your pussy, fingers quickly tracing the length of your folds. You were already wet, and you began to spread your arousal towards your clit.

“Spencer…” you whined, feeling the sudden rush of sensations.

“Keep going,” he urged. “Tell me what you feel.”

You closed your eyes. “It feels… good…”

“Describe it to me.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to find the words through the haze of pleasure. “It’s warm and wet… and…”

And you wished he was the one touching you.

You let your mind drift to your fantasy. You imagined it was his fingers circling your clit. You imagined his lips against yours, the way they would move together. You imagined him whispering these words right in front of you, his eyes locked on yours as you writhed beneath him. The fantasy felt so vivid that for a moment, you could almost feel his weight pressing down on you, his presence enveloping you completely.

Your imagination urged you to move faster, but you felt limited by the fabric in the way. You called out his name. “Can I… can I take my, um, underwear off?”

You could almost hear the smile in his voice as he replied, “Of course you can.”

You put your phone down, and with trembling fingers, you slid the fabric down your legs. You discarded them quickly and turned the call to speaker before you settled back on the bed. Your hand returned to your body, fingers brushing over your sensitive skin. You parted your legs even wider, and as your fingers found their rhythm, a moan escaped you.

“Better?”

You sighed in relief as you continued to rub your clit. “So much better.”

“Keep it slow, okay? We don’t want to rush.”

His voice was low and soothing, and you couldn’t believe how just by his voice he had gotten you so worked up.

“Now press a little harder.” You complied, applying a bit more pressure on your clit. "Right there. Do you feel that?"

"Yes," you gasped, your back slightly arching off the bed.

“I wish I could see you right now," he murmured. “I'd kiss you where you're touching.”

You let your imagination take over. You pictured him with his head right between your thighs, his eyes locked on yours with those intense, pretty eyes. You imagined his mouth moving over your clit, sucking gently while his fingers explored between your folds. The thought was so vivid, so real, that you could almost feel his warm breath against your skin.

The mental image of him looking up at you was almost too much to bear. “Spencer…”

"Keep going. Are your fingers wet?" You could simply moan back a reply, not trusting your own voice. “Now slowly slide in one. Can you do that for me?”

You did as he said, sliding a finger into your wetness. You could feel how tight you were, the slick warmth of your arousal enveloping your skin. You looked down between your legs and watched as you pleased yourself. It wasn’t exactly an unfamiliar sight. You had done this countless times before, but never with the voice of a man guiding you, especially Spencer—the last person you’d imagine doing this with.

Yet look at how much effect he had on you.

"You're quiet," his voice suddenly came through. "Are you still with me?"

"Yes," you managed to whisper. "It's just... a lot."

"In a good way, I hope?"

“Very good,” you assured him.

You could practically picture the corner of his lips twitching into a proud smile. “Good,” he recited. “Now try adding another finger.”

You couldn't help a moan escaping your lips as you pushed in your middle finger, the sound louder than you intended.

"How does that feel?"

"Full," you breathed out, adjusting to the sensation.

“Yeah? I bet you’re so tight.”

You were, awfully so. Your walls clenched around your fingers, almost swallowing them as you started to move them in a steady rhythm. The pleasure built in your lower stomach, a warm, coiling tension that made you desperate for more. You needed his voice, you craved his guidance, even from afar.

“Spence…” you whined. ���Keep talking, please.”

“You want me to describe how I’d touch you if I were there?”

You moaned in response, the sound escaping your lips involuntarily, urging him to continue.

“If I were there,” he began, his voice low, “I’d start by kissing you slowly.”

You could almost feel it, his lips on yours, his tongue probing inside your mouth.

“I’d move lower,” he continued. “Kiss your neck, your collarbone… while my fingers would move along your hips, your thighs, getting closer and closer to where you need me most.”

You whimpered, your fingers moving faster as you followed his vivid description, imagining his touch guiding you.

“I’d tease you, brush my fingers right at your entrance,” he whispered. “Then, I’d slip them inside you, just like you’re doing now.”

Your breaths came in short gasps.

“I’d spread your legs wide,” he continued again, and you heard a faint rustling noise in the background. “I’d move my fingers in… and… out...”

Your legs fell further apart.

“I’d curl my fingers the same way I did that day,” he went on. “Do you remember?”

How could you not? It never truly left your mind. You could picture that day clearly, the feeling of his fingers and mouth working on your sensitive spot seemed to linger in your memory.

“I’d do the same thing that you like,” he proceeded, and you focused on his voice. “I’d lean in close… licking you… sucking you.”

You moaned loudly as the image of his mouth on your clit flashed through your mind. You could almost feel the way he would sloppily lap at you, drinking in every drop of your arousal with each eager flick of his tongue.

“Go faster for me,” he urged. “I-I want to hear how wet you are.”

You followed his words, and the slick sounds of your arousal filled the quiet around you as you imagined him there, his fingers replacing yours. You could hear more noise through the line, the subtle rustle of clothes moving, the faint sound of his breathing growing heavier before he let out a low grunt.

“You make the prettiest sounds,” he breathed out. “Now add another finger.”

Your eyes narrowed into a frown, trying to slip a third finger in but the stretch was too intense for you to continue. “I-I can’t.”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he soothed. “Just take it slow. Try to relax.”

You took a deep breath, trying to follow his instructions. You slowly eased in another finger, feeling the awkward stretch but the initial discomfort quickly faded into a deeper pleasure, and you moaned softly.

“Oh, fuck.”

“There you go,” he encouraged. “Feel that? Feel how full you are?”

You hummed a reply.

“That’s how I want you to feel when I’m finally inside you.”

A whine left your lips. In your head, you saw him, his body poised above yours, his cock sliding smoothly into you. You imagined the slick, rhythmic motion, the way each thrust would fill you, stretching you, overwhelming you. You cried out a filthy moan at the thought, unabashed and desperate, as you began to pump your fingers inside your cunt.

“Push deeper for me… I know you can take it.”

You gasped, pushing your fingers as deep as they could go. “I can’t… I need… oh…”

“I know, I know,” he whispered. “You need more. You need me inside you, don’t you?”

“Spencer, please…” you begged, your voice breaking into desperate, choked sobs.

“You want that? You want to feel me stretch you?”

“Yes, yes…” you managed to moan out, your movements became more desperate.

“God, you’d be so tight around me… I’d have your legs spread wide so I… I-I could see how perfect you’d take me.”

You could almost feel his hands on your hips, his body pressing against yours, filling you completely. Your fingers moved frantically, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you felt the tension building to an unbearable peak.

“You’d pull me closer, wouldn’t you? You’d ask for more, like you always do, and I’d give it to you,” he promised. “I’d give it to you so hard… s-so deep…”

And that was when you heard it—the unmistakable sound of wetness, like skin sliding over slick, damp skin. The sound was filthy, making your pulse race as you wondered what he might be doing on the other end of the line. Your voice trembled as you slowly asked him, “Spence, are you…?”

There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end before he let out a soft, almost sheepish laugh, as if you had caught him red-handed. “I… yeah,” he admitted, his voice breathless and strained. "Do you know how hard it is not to when listening to your voice?"

Your fingers subconsciously quickened at his confession, their movements becoming more urgent as you imagined him laying on his own bed, hand wrapped around his cock. You bit your lip to stifle your moans as you whispered, “Tell me what you’re doing.”

His breathing grew ragged, his words coming in clipped bursts. “I’m… I’m touching myself…”

You tried to focus on his voice, but the sound of his sloppy strokes began to echo louder. “Tell me more.”

“I’m… I’m rubbing… my fingers over the head,” he gasped, and you curled your fingers deeper, using your palm to grind against your clit. The way he sounded so lost in his pleasure, unable to hold back, had you imagining him stroking himself. You pictured yourself doing it for him, remembering how it felt that day when you had his cock in your hand—the weight, the warmth, the way he looked at you through intense eyes.

Your breathing grew heavier, louder, and his voice cracked with a strained moan as he whispered, “Can you lower your phone?”

You fumbled with the device, bringing it closer to where your fingers worked tirelessly between your legs. “Like this?”

“God, yes,” he groaned, the sound of his strokes growing faster and more urgent. “You sound so perfect.”

You let out a soft cry, your fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt frantically as you imagined him watching you, listening to every sound you made. The wet, slick noises filled the room, so intense and filthy. You looked down to see your juices spilling over your fingers, soaking the sheets beneath you. The sheer sound of it was enough to drive him crazy.

“I—f-faster, please,” he panted into the phone. “I need you to go faster.”

Your eyes widened for a moment as the desperate plea slipped from his lips. But you didn’t have the mental space to think about it. Your focus was solely on reaching your release as you ultimately sped up your pace. Your body began to tighten up, feeling so much pressure and pleasure building up every time your fingertips hit that deep spot inside you.

"Oh—fuck!” You exhaled sharply as the familiar sensation took over you. “I’m cumming I’m cumming I’m cumming—”

With a cry that was both a sob and a shout, your pussy fluttered around your fingers. Your orgasm ripped through you without warning, sending shockwaves of intense pleasure through your body as you gasped and shuddered. Your voice escaped in broken moans and whines, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

“Spencer… oh, God, Spencer…”

The sound of your climax drove him to his own release. His breath hitched, his movements faltering as he let out a harsh sound from his throat. It was raw and unrestrained, downright filthy, and you listened intently, your fingers slipping out only to circle and rub your clit, drawing out the final waves of your orgasm.

Finally, when you couldn’t take it anymore, your hand fell away, and you lay there, breathing heavily, your body relaxing into the bed. Your room was quiet afterward, the only sound coming from was the sound of your own breathing. Then you heard him calling out your name, checking in. But through the post-orgasmic bliss, all you could manage in response was a giggle.

“You’re… laughing?” He mused. “Should I be concerned?”

“No, no,” you replied, still catching your breath, a satisfied smile spreading across your face. “It’s just… I can’t believe we did that.”

A gentle laugh escaped his lips, a warm, soothing sound that calmed your racing heart. "Did you like it?"

You liked it a lot. "Can’t say that I didn’t.”

"So I take it you're not mad at me anymore?"

You let out a soft, contented sigh. “I wasn’t even that mad to begin with. Just… frustrated,” you confessed. “But I think we handled that pretty well.”

“Maybe a little too well,” he agreed softly. “I can't believe I need to take a shower this late.”

You looked down between your legs at his words, and a wave of embarrassment washed over you as you noticed the patch of wetness on your bed. It wasn't small—it spread across the fabric in a noticeable, damp stain. “Uh, yeah,” you admitted with a nervous laugh. “I also need to change my sheets.”

Then you heard a low, almost pained groan from his end of the line.

“What?”

“It’s just…” He paused, and you could almost hear him struggling to find the right words. "I'm now picturing you on your bed."

"Isn't that what you've been doing?"

"Well, yes, but now it's… different."

You couldn't help the amused grin that spread across your face. "Different how?"

"Let's just say the image in my mind is a lot more detailed now and it's not helping me calm down."

A burst of laughter erupted from your chest as you gripped your phone closer to you. “Is this your way of blaming me because you still have a hard-on?” you taunted. “I mean, I’m simply stating the facts.”

“But you’re painting a picture in my head.”

“Of me drenching the sheets just by hearing your voice?”

He made a low, strained sound. “Stop.”

“I can send you a picture if you like,” you offered slyly. “Help you visualize it better.”

There was a moment of stunned silence on his end before he finally muttered, “You shouldn’t.”

“You’re right, I shouldn’t.”

“But if you insist…”

You laughed softly. “Good night, Spencer.”

“Wait—You’re hanging up?”

“Yep,” you said cheerfully. “I thought you needed a shower.”

He made another frustrated sound, somewhere between a groan and a sigh, before reluctantly agreeing. “Fine, fine. Good night.”

And that was it. You ended the call with a satisfied smile. But as you stared at your phone, a rush of thoughts began to swirl through your mind. You were well aware of the potential risks of what you were about to do—how it could be traced back to you. You could almost hear Penelope lecturing you about online security and the dangers of leaving a digital footprint.

But when your mind kept circling back to Spencer—Spencer’s breathless voice, Spencer’s prominent veins on his hands, Spencer with a freaking hard-on in his bed—it was hard to think rationally. Before you could stop yourself, you propped your phone on your pillow and posed for the camera. Legs spread wide, your nipples pressing against your shirt, a flirtatious smile playing on your lips. The shot looked like it came out of a porno movie. You quickly sent it to him.

It took exactly 7 seconds before your phone rang again.

“Yes, Spencer?” you answered, trying to sound innocent.

You heard shuffling and a muffled grunt, and then, faintly, the rustling of fabric. It sounded like he was fumbling with his phone, and you couldn’t help but bite your lip at the frustration in his voice.

“How do I turn this into video call again?”

[maxtermind]

my boy only breaks his favorite toys

★ : summary :: when he cheats on you ★ : feat :: max verstappen, lewis hamilton, carlos sainz, charles leclerc, lando norris ★ : genre :: angst ★ : word count :: 5k ★ : a/n :: please remember that all of this is fiction! anyway, enjoy the angst <3 cheating is not a slip up but a statement and i will not be writing a part 2 where they get back together :) as usual requests are open for other endings if you're interested (maybe she ends up with someone else on the grid to make it hurt more lol) ★ : gifs :: @\f1-stuff @\userhamilton @\slowestlap @\tyrannosaurus-maxy

Max Verstappen

Max and you had a pretty healthy work schedule. Thanks to your flexible remote work, you could travel with him and support him in person. But there were times when you were needed back at the home office but despite the distance, Max made sure to keep you in the loop.

From video calls, to texting whenever one was free, to random pictures shared, you were always pretty aware of what the other was doing. So imagine your shock when minutes after hanging up on a call after congratulating him on his win, you failed to get a hold of him before pictures of him started going viral.

But now, all of that seemed like a distant memory as you stared at the damning evidence on your phone. Pictures of Max, smiling and carefree, dancing with another woman in a crowded club, her arms wrapped around him possessively.

Your heart sank as you scrolled through the images, each one a painful reminder of the betrayal you never saw coming. And then, there it was, the blurry photo that confirmed your worst fears - Max and the other woman locked in a passionate kiss.

The world around you seemed to blur as well as tears welled up in your eyes, hot and bitter against your cheeks. Without thinking, you began to dial Max's number, your fingers trembling with a mixture of anger and desperation.

But each call went unanswered, each voicemail left unheard. With each unanswered ring, your heart broke a little more, until you could no longer bear the weight of your pain.

It was an hour later when you were in your bed, crying your eyes out when your phone finally lit up with Max's name, the screen casting a harsh glow in the dimness of your room.

As much as your head told you to hang up and let that be the final answer, you picked it up and whispered a low. ”Hi?” Your voice barely a whisper, choked with emotion.

”Y/N,” Max’s breathy voice came. It was enough to throw you off again and new tears gathered in your eyes.

”Where were you?” The words escaped your lips before you could stop them, raw with hurt and anguish.

”Baby…” Max's voice wavered, and you could hear the weight of his guilt in every syllable. It spoke volumes, you knew what had happened and he knew that. ”I’m so sorry, Y/N.”

Your chest tightened at his words, the pain of his deceit threatening to consume you whole. And then, without warning, a strangled sob escaped your lips, the sound echoing in the silence of the room.

You could hear Max's sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line, a sound that only served to intensify your grief. But you were beyond caring about appearances now, your heart laid bare for him to see.

”I trusted you,” you choked out between sobs, the words a bitter indictment of the love you had once shared. ”Why would you do this to me?”

How could the man that made you feel like the only girl in the world for him do this to you? Did he even love you or was he just a really good actor?

Your voice quivered with pain as you struggled to maintain your composure,”You've broken me in ways I didn't even know were possible.”

Max's voice wavered as he tried to find the right words to express his remorse,”I never meant to hurt you, it was the biggest mistake of my life.” 

The life he has made sure he spent with someone not you. His voice cracked further and you realized that he was also crying on the other end. ”I can't bear the thought of not having you in my life.”

There was a long pause, as if Max was searching for the right words to say. But what words could possibly undo the damage that had already been done, the trust that had been shattered beyond repair?

Your words cut through him, echoing the pain he had caused,”Did… did you even love me, Max?”

”Of course, I love you!” He spoke, his voice carrying a sense of hurt. As if questioning the audacity to even ask that and that angered you. It made you so mad because this was on him. He did this.

”I wish I could turn back time and make things right, I’m so sorry, Y/N.” Max's breath hitched as he spoke before you could. The wounds he had inflicted too deep to be healed with a simple apology. ”I never meant to make you doubt my love for you.”

And as you listened to his voice crack with emotion, you knew that there was only one thing left to do. ”I don't even recognize the person I fell in love with anymore.” You whispered with finality, your voice filled with a mixture of sadness and disbelief.

Was this really the man who had promised you a future filled with a family and laughter? The man who just made your heart bleed out?

Max caught on and rushed to get the words out,”Please, Y/N, don't hang up. I need you more than ever, I love y-”

You hung up because how dare he say that after what he did. He called you again and again after that and if you weren’t half dying in your apartment, maybe you could’ve scoffed at how the roles were switched.

However, all you could do was switch off your phone and wonder how the man who once kissed all your scars better, could leave deeper ones in their place. Leaving you to do the work to mend them all alone.

Lewis Hamilton

It had all started the day you had foolishly decided to set up lunch to have the two most important people in your life, your bestfriend and your boyfriend, meet.

Lewis seemed genuinely enthusiastic about finally meeting the person who had been such a solid support in your life. Little did you anticipate that this innocent gathering would unravel into a scene of deception.

The signs were subtle at first. A quick exchange of numbers, a glance shared behind your back– easy to dismiss as innocent. But why would you look for such signs? When it included your most trusted humans on the planet?

But then came the slips, the accidental mentions of knowing each other's whereabouts better than you did.

”I don't think she'll pick up, she said she had an afternoon meeti-” Lewis caught himself on time before shrugging and ending with a: ”She posted it on her instagram, did you miss it?”

You laughed it off though it irked you. You were just glad that they were close before...

After an especially tiring day, you finally entered your house. Surprised to see the sitting room empty, where Lewis waits for you every time he's home early.

You sighed, instinctively petting Roscoe before moving inside the house. Desperate for a shower and clean clothes to get the day's stench off of you.

So imagine your shock when you walked into your bedroom,to discover Lewis and Rachel entwined in your bed, their bodies exposed and vulnerable. In your bed.

It took a second for you to process it while they both scrambled to get their clothes on. You just stared in disbelief while Rachel cried on the bed under covers and Lewis frantically wore his clothes while saying… something?

You felt like you were underwater for a second because you saw his mouth moving before his words started registering and tears started to pool in your eyes. The pain felt tangible, like a weight pressing down on your chest, as you confronted the unthinkable reality of their infidelity.

”Baby, let me explain. Ple- Please, this isn't what it looks like... I-”

You tore your eyes away from him before looking over at Rachel who was crying because she probably understood exactly what was happening.

You wanted to ask what exactly Lewis thought was going on but decided not to because your throat was closing up. The image of them together was burned into your brain. You just shook your head as tears fell from your eyes before turning around and walking out of the room.

As Lewis desperately jumbled to dress himself, his hands fumbling with buttons and zippers, he pleaded with you, his voice cracking with desperation.

”Y/N, please, you have to listen to me. This isn't what it looks like, I swear,” he implored, his eyes wide with panic as he reached out to touch your arm, but you flinched away as if his touch burned. Feeling disgusted and deceived.

”What do you mean it's not what it looks like?!” you finally managed to choke out, your voice trembling with damage and betrayal. ”I come home to find you two... in our bed, na- naked!”

Lewis's face contorted in anguish, his mind racing for the right words to say, but nothing seemed adequate in the face of your devastation.

”It's... it's a misunderstanding, Y/N, I promise,” he stammered, his voice strained with emotion. ”Rachel and I... we didn't plan for this to happen. It's just... things got out of hand, and we never meant to do you wrong.”

You shook your head in disbelief because you didn’t know what else to do truly, feeling as if the ground had been pulled out from beneath you. ”How could you do this to me, Lewis? I thought you… that you loved me,” your voice turned in a whisper.

All the times he had discussed the future rushed through your mind. He wanted to retire and repeatedly told you how he wanted to marry you. Your hands trembled as you suddenly remembered asking Rachel to be your bridesmaid.

Suddenly, the pressure on your chest got worse.

Lewis's eyes pleaded with you, his voice barely a whisper as he struggled to find the right words. ”I don't know, Y/N. I don't know what came over me. I love you, you have to believe me. Please don't leave, we can work through this together.”

But his words fell on deaf ears as you turned away from him, the pain in your heart too raw to bear. ”I trusted you, Lewis. I trusted both of you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

As you moved towards the door, every step heavier than the last, Lewis's voice trembled with desperation, his hands reaching out to grasp yours, pleading for your attention.

”Y/N, please, don't leave,” he begged, his voice cracking with raw emotion. ”I messed up, I know I did, but I love you. Please, let me make it right.”

You paused, the weight of his words pressing down on you like a suffocating blanket. ”How can you say you love me after what you did?” you asked, your voice barely a whisper, thick with pain.

And with that, you turned away, leaving behind the shattered remains of the life you had once shared, the echoes of Lewis's pleas fading into the emptiness of the night. Swearing to never put your trust in anyone else ever again.

Carlos Sainz

You had sworn off of relationships for so long after your last one that it was honestly a miracle, as your friends and family put it, that you agreed to go out with Carlos. But he was the perfect gentleman to you. The person who gave you hope for a better future. Giving you hope that maybe all the ‘cheesy’ discourse was for you too.

He knew how you were hurt the last time and reassured you about how special you were to him and how you were always enough. Enough for him.

It slowly became a running joke once you guys hit the two year mark. You were finally at a stage where you had a loving partner that you could trust blindly.

So to say that you were blindsided would be an understatement…

Your fingers trembled as you scrolled through Carlos's phone, your heart racing with each new message that appeared on the screen.

You never thought you'd be the type to snoop, but the nagging feeling in the pit of your stomach had become too much to ignore. He was so distant lately and so secretive about his phone, it was slowly killing you.

There it was, undeniable proof staring back at you in blue and white. Messages from an unknown number, filled with suggestive language and promises of secrecy. Your breath got caught in your throat as you read through the damning evidence, your heart sinking with each word.

‘Hey babe, can't wait to see you tonight ;) xoxo’

The message hit you like a punch to the gut, your mind reeling with disbelief. How could Carlos do this to you? You thought you had something special, something worth fighting for. But now, all those hopes and dreams lay shattered at your feet.

You tried to push down the rising tide of emotion, to find some innocent explanation for what you were seeing. But deep down, you knew the truth – Carlos was cheating on you.

When he emerged from the bathroom, you were waiting for him, phone in hand and tears in your eyes. And as you looked into his eyes, you knew that nothing would ever be the same again.

”Carlos,” you whispered, the weight of your words heavy in the air as he stepped into the room, his tousled hair and relaxed demeanor a stark contrast to the turmoil raging inside you.

You weren’t really sure why you weren’t screaming and thrashing things around already. It was like you were frozen on the spot.

”What's wrong?” he asked, concern etched into his features as he took in your tear-streaked face and the phone clutched tightly in your hand. Though, when you looked at him, all you could see was how he was your everything. How you had given him your everything.

And you still weren’t enough.

You struggled to find the words, to articulate the emotions coursing through you. ”I found... I found something on your phone,” you finally managed, your voice trembling with emotion.

Carlos's expression faltered, his eyes flickering with uncertainty as he took a hesitant step closer. ”What do you mean?” he asked, his voice tinged with apprehension.

You took a shaky breath, steeling yourself for the confrontation to come. ”Messages,” you began, your voice barely audible as you held up the phone, displaying the incriminating evidence for him to see. ”From someone... someone you've been seeing behind my back.”

Carlos's eyes widened in shock as he stared at the screen, his hand instinctively reaching out to take the phone from you. ”Y/N, I swear, I can explain,” he stammered, his voice tinged with desperation. Why was he reaching for the phone and not your hand?

But the words fell on deaf ears as the full weight of his betrayal hit you like a ton of bricks. ”Explain?” you echoed, your voice trembling with disbelief. ”How can you even explain this, Carlos? How could you do this to me?”

He reached out to touch you, to offer comfort or reassurance, but you recoiled, the sting of his infidelity too raw and painful to bear. ”I trusted you,” you choked out, tears streaming down your face as you backed away from him. ”How could you-”

Can love like this be lost too? You’ve been on your knees begging the universe to grant you one love that wouldn’t be snatched from you. Thinking all your prayers had been heard only for him to do it too.

Carlos's expression crumbled as he watched you retreat, his own anguish mirroring yours. ”I never meant for this to happen,” he pleaded, his voice thick with emotion. ”Please, Y/N, give me a chance to make things right.”

As Carlos pleaded with you, his words heavy with desperation, you couldn't help but feel a pang of doubt. His promises of love and devotion clashed with the evidence on his phone, leaving you torn between the man you thought you knew and the painful truth staring back at you.

You met his gaze, seeing the desperation etched into his features as he struggled to make you believe him. ”Can you hear me?” he implored, desperation lacing his words. ”You are always enough for me. Please, you have to believe me. I love you more than anything, Y/N.”

His words pulled at your heartstrings, the sincerity in his voice almost convincing you to give him another chance. But deep down, you knew that trust once broken was not easily repaired.

You met his gaze, feeling the weight of his plea bearing down on you. ”I hear you,” you replied softly, nodding through your tears, your voice tinged with sadness. ”But it's not that simple, Carlos. I want to believe you, but...”

Carlos's grip on you tightened, his body pressing against yours as he sought solace in your embrace. ”Please, don't leave,” he whispered, his voice filled with desperation. ”I'll do anything to make this right, to prove to you that you're the only one for me.”

Tears welled in your eyes as you pulled away, the pain of betrayal still raw and agonizing. ”No,” you murmured, your voice barely audible above the sound of your breaking heart. ”You did to us. You made me believe… I'm leaving. This is goodbye.”

With that, you turned and walked away, leaving Carlos standing alone in the wreckage of your brutally murdered relationship.

Charles Leclerc

You had rushed back home because for the first time in what feels like forever, your boyfriend was back home. Charles was a man of many charms. Despite being with him for so long, he still had you blushing and getting butterflies every time he was around.

He was busy when you got home so you decided to wash up but as you paced back and forth in the living room, your heart racing with anxiety, you didn’t know what to do to figure out what exactly Charles was doing.

Charles had been on the phone for what felt like hours, his voice hushed but urgent as he spoke to someone on the other end of the line. Normally, you wouldn't think much of it, but something about his tone tonight had set off alarm bells in your mind.

You tried to focus on a book, anything to distract yourself from the gnawing feeling of unease in the pit of your stomach. But every word you read seemed to blur together, your mind consumed with worry.

Finally, you couldn't take it anymore. With trembling hands, you set the book aside and made your way to the kitchen, where Charles was still on the phone.

”...I can't risk it tonight,” you heard him say, his tone strained ”She's coming home soon, and I don't want to risk it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words. Who was he talking about? And why did he sound so nervous?

Curiosity getting the better of you, you crept closer, straining to hear the other end of the conversation.

”...I know, I know,” Charles continued, his voice growing even more frantic. ”But I can't keep doing this. It's not fair to her, and it's not fair to you.”

Your blood ran cold at his words. What did he mean, ‘not fair to her?’ And who the fuck was he talking to?

Before you could process it all, Charles abruptly ended the call and turned to find you standing in the doorway, your eyes wide with shock and hurt.

”Y/N,” he started, his voice wavering as he took in your expression. ”I... I didn't realize you were there.”

You struggled to find your voice, your mind racing with a thousand questions. ”Who were you talking to, Charles?” you managed to choke out, your voice barely above a whisper.

Charles' eyes flickered with guilt as he shifted uncomfortably under your gaze. ”It's... it's nothing, Y/N,” he stammered, but you could tell he was lying. ”Just a friend.”

But you weren't buying it. Not after what you had just heard. ”A friend?” you repeated, your voice rising with anger and hurt. ”Is that what you call my replacement?”

Charles' face paled at your accusation, his eyes widening in shock. ”Baby, it's not what you think,” he protested, but you could hear the desperation in his voice. He looked so scared, as if he knew he was gonna get caught up into lies.

”Then what is it, Charles?” you demanded, your voice trembling with emotion. ”Enlighten me.”

He hesitated, his gaze flickering away from yours as if unable to meet your eyes. ”It's... it's complicated,” he finally admitted, but his words offered little comfort.

”There's nothing complicated about cheating on someone you claim to love.” You were trying to compose yourself, not show him how deeply his words had cut you but your hands were trembling and your voice was cracking. Face pale and eyes glassy.

Charles winced at your words, his guilt written plainly across his face. ”You’re the only person I love,” he insisted, his voice barely above a whisper. ”It's just... things got out of hand.”

You felt like you had been punched in the gut. How could he stand there and try to justify his betrayal? How could he expect you to forgive him after this? Why the fuck was he the one looking distort?

”I trusted you, Charles,” you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. He shouldn’t be expecting you to treat him as a victim too when he was the one guilty. ”I thought we had something special.”

Charles' expression softened, his eyes brimming with remorse. ”We do, Y/N,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. ”I love you, more than anything. Please, you have to believe me.”

But love now felt like a distant memory, tarnished by his infidelity. ”How can I believe anything you say after this?” You scoffed bitterly. Angry at yourself for crying in front of the man who has probably been sleeping with someone else for months now.

Charles reached out to you, his hand trembling as he brushed a tear from your cheek. ”I'll do anything to make it up to you, Y/N,” he pleaded, his voice filled with desperation. ”Just give me a chance to prove it.”

You whispered, your voice heavy with resignation,”There are no second chances for cheaters.”

Lando Norris

Because of multiple torments inflicted by past lovers, you were always resistant to fall head first in any relationship. Hesitant to give your heart knowing recovering was going to be the absolute worst.

Comes in, Lando. The man who broke through all your barriers, took down the walls you put around yourself and had you love struck in a matter of time.

For a moment, everything was amazing. He was the best person you could've asked for. He looked at you as if you put the stars up in the sky.

Who could've thought?

Who could've thought that the same fucking man would have you breaking down at a family event in front of everyone.

The room buzzed with conversation as you sat at the dinner table, trying to ignore the growing tension in the air.

Lando's hand found yours under the table, his thumb tracing soothing circles on your palm. ”Are you okay?” he whispered, concern etched in his voice.

You forced a smile, nodding faintly. ”Yeah, just a bit overwhelmed,” you murmured, hoping to brush off your unease. Why was everyone looking at you with such pity?

But Lando's gaze remained fixed on you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of distress. ”You know you can talk to me, right?” he said softly, squeezing your hand gently.

Before you could respond, a sudden hush fell over the room, drawing your attention to the commotion across the room. You followed Lando's gaze, your heart sinking as you saw him make eye contact with one of your cousins, their faces morphing as if they were having a whispered conversation.

”What's going on?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as dread coiled in the pit of your stomach.

You have seen this scene before and you did not like where this was going. Feeling overwhelmed, you got up and excused yourself from the table. Slightly glad to have Lando do the same.

This was all a confusion. You repeated in your head before standing outside the venue, away from distressed eyes and hushed gossips.

Lando's grip on your hand tightened, his expression unreadable as he turned to face you. ”I... I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice strained with emotion.

Your heart plummeted as you watched him fidget, every step feeling like a weight bearing down on your chest. ”What is it?” you asked, your voice trembling with apprehension.

Lando hesitated, his eyes darting away from yours as if unable to meet your gaze. ”I... I don't know how to say this,” he began, his voice faltering.

Just then, your cousin appeared at his side, her expression a mix of guilt and defiance. ”Y/N, we need to talk,” she said, her voice tinged with remorse.

They exchanged another glance and something in your mind stopped working.

Your breath caught in your throat as the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, the truth hitting you like a sledgehammer to the chest. ”No...” you whispered, the word barely a breath as tears welled in your eyes.

Lando reached out to you as you took a step away from them, his voice a desperate plea. ”Please, let me explain,” he begged, his eyes brimming with regret.

But you pulled away, the sting of deceit too raw and painful to bear. ”Not you too,” you choked out, your voice breaking with emotion. ”How could you do this to me?”

There were no answers, no explanations that could erase the pain of their breach of trust. They both just watched as you started crying softly. Apparently everyone in your family knew too.

As tears welled in your eyes, Lando's pleading voice cut through the air. ”Y/N, please, just give me a chance to explain.” His hand reached out towards you, but you recoiled, his touch now feeling like a betrayal.

”Explain what?” you retorted, your voice laced with disbelief. ”That you cheated on me with my cousin?”

Lando's eyes widened in panic but instead your cousin's voice broke through the tension, filled with regret. ”Y/N, I'm so sorry. It was a mistake, it shouldn't have happened.”

Anger surged within you at her words. ”Sleeping with my fucking boyfriend was a mistake?” you shot back, incredulous at the audacity of her apology.

Lando stepped forward, his expression a mix of remorse and longing. ”I never meant to cause you any pain, Y/N. Please believe me,” he pleaded, his voice trembling with emotion.

Your trust had shattered along with your heart. 

His voice quivered as he spoke again, desperation lacing his words. ”I love you, Y/N. I made a stupid mistake, but it doesn't change how I feel about you.”

But love now felt like a distant memory, tarnished by their adultery.

”If this is love, I want no part of it,” you declared, your voice filled with anguish. Knowing deep down that you meant it.

Your cousin reached out to you, her eyes brimming with tears. ”Y/N, please, you have to understand...” But understanding felt beyond your reach, lost in a sea of pain and betrayal.

”Understand what?” you cried out, your voice breaking with emotion. ”That my own sister betrayed me with my… my boyfriend?”

Lando's plea echoed in the air, his voice thick with desperation. ”I'll do anything to make it up to you, Y/N. Just give me a chance.”

But the chance had already been squandered, lost in the wreckage of their infidelity.

”You had your chance, Lando, and you blew it.” You wish you could be angry and put them to their places but your chest was hurting so much that it was almost dizzy.

You felt sick and on the verge of passing out.

”I'll do anything to make things right, Y/N. Just tell me what to do.” But there was nothing they could do to undo the damage that had been done, no words or actions that could mend the broken pieces of your heart.

They have insulted you in front of your whole family.

”There's nothing you can do to fix this, Lando. You've ruined everything,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned away, the weight of their betrayal too heavy to bear.

As you walked away, their voices faded into the background, drowned out by the deafening roar of your own heartbreak. And as you stumbled out into the night, the stars above offering no solace, you vowed never to let anyone break you again.

( writing masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request ) ©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[1pepsiboy]

You do it all night and the other two overhear it - Matt Sturniolo Smut (request)

Matt Sturniolo x reader!

Word count: 1k

Warnings: idk if it's really THAT bad, but for sure cock sucking and his dick inside you lol

***

You and Matt lay in his bed, your head on his sprawled out arm, as a new movie plays on the TV. It was movie number three or four, you don’t remember. The time is not anything the two of you worry about. 

A sex scene sparks on the screen, and you start to think about pleasuring your boyfriend. That sounds much better than watching more of whatever movie this is. 

When you look at Matt, you find that he’s also looking at you. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” you ask. 

He laughs under his breath. “I don’t know. What’re you thinking?”

“Fucking you.”

“Yeah, we’re on the same page,” he states. 

You kiss him in the crook of his neck and then his lips. “Perfect.”

You crawl on top of Matt, then slowly move down, stopping at his gray sweats. You give his area a brush over with your hand, biting your lip in anticipation. You toy with his hardening friend through the sweatpants. 

You couldn’t help the giggle that escapes. “Should I keep going?” 

Matt’s lips are slightly broken apart and he nods. 

You lick your lips as you untie the strings and pull the sweats down. You’re pleased to see he wasn't wearing any boxers. His hard on is very apparent now. You smirk. You flick his tip with your tongue a couple times before looking up as you swallow him.

Matt slips a sweet groan as his head tilts back and his eyes close. You keep your up and down movement going. His hands tangle in your hair, a way of him telling you to stay there.

You deepthroat him for a few seconds, then go back to your previous motions. You use your hand to help with the work. His eyes are still closed as little moans left him. Now, he gazes at you.

"So good, (y/n). Keep going, baby," he whispers, untangling his fingers only to tangle them back up again as he brushes the hair out of your face. You can’t help the moan that leaves as you pulsate him; he's gonna come. You slip your other hand beneath your panties and start to pleasure yourself too.

You remove your mouth and only use your hand now. "I want you to cum all over me... Almost there, baby... Do it." He gets closer and closer, little moans escaping his plump lips. Then he cum shots, some of it going on your face as you pump him.

"Ah fuck, (y/n)," he grunts and his body twitches. You run your tongue up his cock, making sure to get a little cum that drips down. Matt pants in the silence, his chest rising slowly and you desperately wished his shirt had been off too to see it.

After he stops, he grabs you and flips both of you over so he’s on top. "Just a sec."

Matt reaches into his nightstand for a plastic. You bite your lip as you watch him slowly push himself into you; you’re already wet from making him come.

You kiss as Matt pushes himself harder this time. He keeps going, riveting against your G-spot. His body completely hovers over your body, his biceps there for you to hold on to. Your legs lightly wrap around his hips and thighs.

His dick stretches you so well. Matt’s small moans mix into your hair and skin, making you go even more wild. As you get closer to climax, Matt resumes his slower thrusts and looks you in the eyes as he uses a finger to rub your clit.

"Fuck... Yes, Matt, yes,” you say breathlessly.

"That's it... Come, baby girl."

With one final slap, you break into a screaming moan. “Oh god! Yes!”

Matt whimpers into a groan, “Fuck, baby.” He holds inside you for a few more seconds before slipping out and moving to lay next to you on his side. His fingers play circles on your clit and slip between your folds as you try to calm from the high. It only causes your body to scream for more. 

“Matt…”

“Hmph?” He gives you a bleary innocent smirk.

You brush back his messy hair. “I’m gonna scream again. Is that what you want?”

He actually giggles under his breath. “Maybe.”

You kiss him, slowly, your tongues touching a couple times, and hold his hand that doesn't stop. 

***

You and Matt emerge into the kitchen, ready for the day and not at all looking like you fucked almost all night. Nick’s eating a donut as Chris cooks eggs and sausages on the stove. They’re whispering about something but stop when you get closer. 

You reach into the cabinet for an empty glass and go over to the fridge to get your choice of drink. You cock a brow at them. “Please share the undying secrets. I could use comedy before work.”

Chris turns around and points the spatula at you and Matt. “Did you know we have thin walls around here?”

Matt shakes his head. “No we don’t, shut up Chris.”

“Oh god! Yes!” Chris mockingly moans. “Do it again.” 

“Y’all are disgusting,” Nick mutters. “Like how does one do it that many times in a row?”

Matt makes a move to hit both of them. “Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!”

Chris laughs like a maniac and continues to make orgasmic faces. You couldn’t stop the heat from rising in your cheeks. You’re not ashamed of having sex, but knowing they could hear it was a little embarrassing. 

“The bed was creaking SO LOUD. Matt, are you gonna have to get a new bed frame? Cause I will not be helping with that,” Nick says, finishing off the last of his donut in the living room. He was laughing. 

Without hesitation, “That’s okay, I’ll help him pick a better one,” slips out of your mouth. 

Matt stops in his tracks and looks at you bashfully. “Babe…”

Chris fake pouts, standing exactly like Matt, “Babe… My bed is just fine for our kinky, steamy sex.”

Now, Matt’s jaw sets again and he throws a punch at Chris’s arm.

*You can request others from this list or send me new ones!*

[mintmatcha]

The doorbell rings and you don’t think anything of it.

Why would you? It’s the doorbell.

In fact, you don’t even think to answer it until it rings again, then a third time.

You slide from your seat in the kitchen, eyes never leaving your phone as you pad over to the door. When you open it, it takes you a second to process that the man in front of you isn’t some underpaid delivery man, but a familiar face.

Gojo stands there, hands on his hips so nonchalantly that you almost believe he’s a ghost, a sign your misery and loneliness have finally broken you. He stands there like it hasn’t been months since he disappeared, like he belongs on your porch, a statue carved from snow white marble given to you like a gift, a blessing from a god that you don't deserve.

Neither of you move. He’s so still that you think maybe he is a ghost, come to haunt more than just your memories.

Finally, he jerks a chip towards you, eyeing your hands. “Did you make any coffee for me?”

You drop your mug and your phone. One of them shatters, liquid and glass exploding at your feet as you step towards him. He says something as he reaches for you with a creeping smile, but you can’t hear it; your ears are ringing from the shock.

When his hand’s cup around your cheeks, the only think you can think of is the wide spanse of his fingers. They are built long and lean, perfect for piano if he had lived a different life, yet they are still thick and strong, perfect for squishing the fat of your cheeks between his knuckles. The tighter he squeezes you, the more pulls you expression together, forcing your lips into a gentle pucker. He plays with your face like a toy, trying to work a smile out of you one way or another.

The pads of his palms are surprisingly calloused, a rare sign of wear on his otherwise untouched body. That’s new. That’s something you’ve never felt before.

“Now, why are you cryin’?” Gojo coos, the end of his sentence breaking into a laugh. Somehow, his eyes are brighter than you remember, shimmering and bright with every cliche ever written. They are oceans and gems and skies, the feeling of freedom and the color you tried to paint your front door months ago, but failed to find the perfect shade.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” Your voice breaks in your throat. This time, when he laughs, it’s sad.

“Come on now, snowball- you really doubted me?” His thumbs brush away the hot tears that have begun to spill down your cheeks,  “No need for tears. I’m right here.”

He presses his forehead into yours, the cartilage of his nose smushed into yours, and for the first time in weeks, in the doorway to your apartment, you feel at home.

“Of course I came back.”

[kidstemplatte]

broken by love

summary: uncle copi babysits you and terzo’s daughter.

message at the end of the post as usual. please enjoy. 🤍🐁

(this is gonna make me cry)

“Ciao, fratellino!” Terzo greeted his brother, standing in the doorway of the Cardinal’s quarters, holding his little girl, Violetta, in his arms.

“What a lovely surprise!” Copia replied with a grin.

“Sorry I threw this upon you with such short notice, I’m going out with (Y/N) - er- this one’s Mommy tonight.” He said, quickly correcting his mistake as he placed his toddler on the ground.

“Oh no, you are not throwing anything on me at all. I am always happy to see my niece.”

“Alright la mia stellina, your Mama and I will be back tonight. Have fun. Make sure he stays out of trouble.” Terzo said, as if he himself didn’t come out of the womb Satan’s greatest troublemaker.

“I will! Hi, Uncle Copi!” she beamed, jumping up and down in excitement. Violetta loved spending time with her uncle. He was funny and sweet and had lots of cool toys in his room. Not to mention apple juice.

“Alright tesoro, have fun, but do not forget about me. I love you, la mia stellina.” Terzo said, kneeling to the ground and planting kisses all over his daughter’s soft face.

“Bye-bye Papa! I love you!” she waved as her father left the room.

“So, what shall we do?” the Cardinal asked his niece, clapping his hands together and shifting them a bit.

“Can I see your toys?” she asked excitedly, looking up at him with her big round eyes, strikingly akin to yours.

“Eh… My toys?” He asked, a bit confused, until realizing what she was referring to. “Oh, of course!”

Copia was, to put it bluntly, a big fat nerd. The shelves in his office were lined with what he would describe as “artifacts”, figurines and merchandise from various games, films, and comics, which were now old enough to be considered “vintage.” Thinking about that sent a shiver down his spine. Typically, Copia was pained when someone referred to his collectibles as “toys”, but found it utterly adorable in this scenario.

“Right this way!” He announced, crouching down a bit to take her tiny hand in his and lead her towards his office.

Upon entering the room, Violetta gazed up at the various memorabilia in awe, mouth agape. The Cardinal couldn’t lie; it was nice that someone finally showed some appreciation for his collection.

“Can we play?” she asked politely, pointing at the shelves.

In this moment, the value of the figurines meant nothing to him. He would normally become frazzled when someone touched his things, waving his hands frantically while jumbling a plethora of words,

“Nononothesearespecialdonottouchpleaseyouseetheyareworthalotandeverythingisexactlywhereitneedstobeplacedand-“

But she was a well-mannered girl, and beyond that, was far more special than anything on his shelf. Besides, at the unlikely chance she were to break something, it would be a wonderful excuse for him to scroll through eBay and search for a replacement (as well as other trinkets) late into the depths of the night. And if anything were to be broken, it would be broken by love. The best thing to be broken by.

“Sure!” he responded cheerfully, gesturing towards his display and letting her decide which characters would join today’s cast of playtime.

Today’s storyline was rather enthralling. A young and beautiful woman named Collette (a Princess Leia doll) was secretly in love with “Señor Joe”, (a Boba Fett figurine) someone her parents told her she must never speak with. The story ended triumphantly with a beautiful marriage. Copia didn’t know how or when they got there- he remembers Violetta briefly mentioning flying to Brazil on a private jet- maybe a war at one point- but somehow the two figures wound up at a marvelous wedding ceremony on Mars in front of all the Storm Troopers, to which, Violetta triumphantly announced, “The End!”

The Cardinal couldn’t help but wonder what you and Terzo were watching on television that inspired this thrilling plot.

“Wow, that was quite the story!” he said, impressed with his niece’s imagination. “You are very creative, much like your Mama and Papa.”

“Thank you Uncle Copi!” she chirped, practicing the manners you and Terzo taught her.

“Of course.” Copia caught sight of the clock, shocked by how much time had flown by.

“Violetta, it is now a very important time of day.” He announced.

“I already had nap time, Uncle Copi!”

To this, he chuckled, and ruffled his niece’s hair.

“Not nap time, it is feeding time.”

“But I’m not hungry.” She replied.

“Not for you, but for my rats.”

“Rats? You have rats? I want to see! Pleasepleaspleasepleaseplease!” She squealed, shaking her little hands in excitement, a mannerism he observed she shared with you.

“Papa says they are foul creatures plagued with disease!” she said, her bright smile indicating that she clearly had no understanding what any of that meant. For all she knew, that could be a top-tier compliment.

“Do you want to help me feed them?” he asked.

“Yes! Yes!” she agreed as she followed him out the door and down the hall, singing a little song about rats on the way. He might have to write that down.

And there they stood, in all their glory, two little rats in a spacey, well-kept cage, their beady eyes and soft grey fur capturing the little girl’s attention.

“Uncle Copi, they are so cute!!!” Violetta squealed.

“Would you like to hold one?” He asked as he opened the cage, refilling their food bowl.

Violetta got a tad nervous after his proposal, fingers fidgeting with the sides of her dress and her expression shifting to an anxious one.

“They are very sweet. You do not have to hold them if you do not want to, but I promise if you are gentle to them, they will be gentle to you.”

“That makes sense.” Violetta replied after her uncle’s thoughtful explanation. “I want to hold one.” She concluded. “Please.” She added, remembering what she was taught.

Maybe Terzo could learn some manners from his four-year-old daughter.

The Cardinal thought to himself.

“Now, hold your hands out like this.” He explained, cupping his hands with his palms facing up. “Do you want to hold Pesto or Bean?”

The latter name made Violetta giggle.

“Is something funny?” he teased.

“Bean is a funny name.” she replied through giggles, pointing at Bean, the brown rat.

“Okie dokie, one Bean coming right up!”

Copia gently picked up his precious Bean and placed him in Violetta’s hands. She giggled as she looked down on the little rat, so small, so sweet. A little bit like her.

“He is nice.” She said, smiling. “His feet tickle.”

“He is very nice. And sí, they do tickle. One time I was in a very important meeting and I did not notice this little Bean was in my sleeve until I felt him pitter-pattering up my arm and started laughing in front of the entire Clergy. Your Papa was there.” He recalled.

“Really?” Violetta asked.

“As real as real can be.”

“I guess I can’t bring him to school.” she sighed.

“I suppose not. But Bean is highly educated already. Does not need any more schooling.”

“Oh. I see.” she replied.

After some bonding time with Bean, Copia scooped him up and placed him back in his penthouse of a cage.

Bye bye, Bean. Bye bye, Pesto. She said, waving to the little rats.

“Next time you will have to hold Pesto. My bestie, Pestie.”

“Your what?”

“My bestie, Pestie. Bestie Pestie.” he explained nonchalantly.

To this, Violetta did not just giggle. If “Bean” was funny, “Bestie Pestie” was downright hilarious. The little girl started laughing so hard her stomach hurt, rolling on the ground as she repeated “Bestie Pestie.” The sound of the young girl’s laughter brought a newfound lightness in his heart, one that left his heart full but a little bit broken simultaneously. The two of them laughed together on the carpet, sharing what would be a treasured memory even years later.

After recovering from the laughter, Violetta asked,

“Can we play a game? Please? The car one?”

❦ ❦ ❦

“That’s how my Papa drives.” Violetta stated bluntly as she sipped on a juice box, pointing at the television screen as she watched her uncle crash the pixelated car in his video game.

Copia chuckled.

“Maybe you can do a better job than me? Your turn again?” He asked, holding out the controller.

“I like to watch. It’s fun.”

“Okie dokie.” Copia said, starting a new round of his game.

But this round was a little bit quieter. There was an absence of conversation. Violetta, exhausted from an afternoon of playing and laughter, fought the urge to fall asleep as her eyes started fluttering shut.

“Copi?” she suddenly said.

“Sí?”

“Are you a Papa?” the girl questioned.

“No, cara mia, that’s your father’s job.” he explained, laughed softly.

“Are you a Papa?”

“I’m afraid I do not understand.”

“Are you somebody’s Papa?”

…

Such a simple question that dug up so many not-so-simple feelings.

“Are you asking if I am a father?”

“Yes.”

“Oh. No, I am not.” He clarified, heart sinking a tad.

“Why not?”

How was he to explain to a four year old that he didn’t have what was considered a prerequisite to a child: a partner? That he was never sure if he would fall in love or that even if he did, there would never be anyone in the world who would love him back? That he wanted to be a Papa more than anything, but his life had not led him to that point?

“I already have my rats, I suppose.”

“You should do it.” Violetta suggested, as if it was a simple thing to accomplish.

“Maybe one day.” he replied, smiling softly.

“You’d be a good Papa.” she sleepily uttered.

“Thank you, Violetta. My brother is very lucky to be your Papa.” He replied, sincerely.

And the sleepy young girl gathered all the energy she had into one final statement before dozing off:

“Love you, Uncle Copi.”

“I love you too, Violetta.”

And she was off to sleep.

Copia carefully stood up, trying not to wake the sleeping girl, and walked to the closet to grab a blanket. He picked up something else as well: a small rat plushie he had been saving for her birthday. He figured he would give it to her now, so she could have a Bestie Pestie of her own. After placing the large blanket over her, he tucked the stuffed animal snugly beside her.

Copia sat beside her on the couch, scrolling online to find a new birthday present for her. He settled on a Barbie airplane that would make a divine private jet for Señor Joe and Colette.

Just after he pressed “order”, he heard a knock on the door and its soft squeak as it opened.

“How cute.” You said quietly, entering his room and seeing your daughter sleeping peacefully on the couch.

Terzo, rather than commenting on the sheer adorableness of his baby girl as he normally would, decided to torment his brother.

“Ay ay ay, I trusted you, mio fratello, with my sweet and precious daughter, only for you to allow her to rot her mind in front of a screen.” Terzo said facetiously, gesturing to the paused television, placing his hand on his forehead with an exaggerated sigh.

Copia, although accustomed to his brother’s persistent sarcasm, was petrified at the idea of rotting his niece’s brain. His facial expression was one of terror, and he immediately began spewing out a plethora of apologies until you gently stepped in.

“Don’t worry about it, Copia.” you affirmed him. “He’s just being Terzo.” you continued, playfully slapping your husband lightly on his arm.

“Is that so bad?” Terzo continued, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“I never said that.” You responded, a smile and a soft blush creeping up on your face as your banter went back and forth, words slurring together.

Yeah, clearly it was a fun and not-so-sober night out. Good for you guys. Being a parent couldn’t be easy.

Noticing Copia awkwardly gazing around the room, you decided to spare your brother-in-law from your flirting, something your husband would never do.

“She always loves spending time with you.” you said, walking up to the couch and scooping your daughter into your arms.

“Aw, what’s this?” you asked, looking down at the cute little rat friend Copia had given to her, kneeling down and picking it up.

“Tell her she now has her own Bestie Pestie.”

“Huh?” Terzo said, raising an eyebrow.

“Pesto. The rat’s name is Pesto. Therefore he is my bestie, Pestie. Bestie Pestie.”

You actually had to pass Violetta over to your husband, still holding on to the stuffed rat, because “Bestie Pestie” on top of the alcohol might make you collapse.

“Bestie Pestie?” you wheezed out, trying desperately not to make too much noise, tears welling up in your eyes as you held onto the wall for support.

Terzo chuckled and rolled his eyes at his dorky little brother.

“Thank you for watching her, Copia.” Terzo said, giving his brother a warm smile.

“Of course. I hope you two had fun.” he replied.

You waved goodbye to the Cardinal, still holding onto the stuffed animal. You might have to share custody of this thing with your daughter.

“Tell Bestie Pestie I said hello.” You said, stumbling out the door, laughing.

As Copia said, Terzo was lucky to be a Papa. Beyond lucky.

But he was also lucky to be something else as well. A brother. Copia’s brother.

And even if Copia’s heart broke a little during his conversation with his niece, envious of his brother and the joy that came with being somebody’s Papa, that would mean it was broken by love.

The best thing to be broken by.

╚══ஓ๑♡๑ஓ══╝

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i wrote this in one day which is utterly insane for me.

ughhhhhhhhhhhhh i’m so in love with uncle copia, lowkey trying not to cry in public right now, violetta’s story is expanding and new characters are coming!!!

thank you so much for reading!!!

if you have sent me a request, it is coming!!!

<3, alice

[lost-girl-2021]

I need another fem Spider chapter please. That's so (I don't know what to call it exactly) "refreshing"? Fem Spider is such a rare topic in this fandom and an interesting topic for me, every time I see work with it I go crazy

Here's not a chapter, but I did write something with fem Spider in the canon universe, so here's that to tide you over XD.

Spider had always been an outsider. It didn’t matter if she was around humans or Na’vi, around the young or old. It didn’t matter, because her father was a monster. It didn’t matter, because although Spider couldn’t remember either of her parents, she was a reminder of all the bad they did.

Jake had said it once. He didn’t mean for her to hear it, probably. She’d gotten in a fight with Kiri, over a wooden Ikran that got broken when they were playing. It ended with Kiri pulling her hair and Spider pinching her arm, at which point the adults stepped in and seperated them. Neytiri had punished Kiri while Jake took Spider back to base camp early. She was six or seven, maybe, still too young to visit the Omaticaya without an adult accompanying her.

“You can’t fight with the others.” He told her as they flew, one arm wrapped around her front so she wouldn’t fall off. “They’re bigger than you and sometimes they don’t realize their own strength.”

The lecture wasn’t anything new. Spider was always and would always be the weakest link. Lo’ak was two years younger than her and even he was bigger than her already. She ‘hmphed’ a response, brow furrowing in annoyance.

Jake sighed. “How about I make you a brand-new toy? I’m sure it’ll be much better than Neteyem’s hand-me-downs, huh?”

She crossed her arms in front of her, digging her elbow into Jake’s arm. “I liked that one.”

It wasn’t really about the toy Ikran— if it was, then her mood would’ve been easily changed by a ride on a real Ikran, which can actually fly and take her with. It was about the fight, how Kiri got to stay at camp and Spider had to go back to the stupid lab and the extra-stupid scientists. There were only, like, two other kids there and they were both way younger than her. And they all thought she was weird. Norm would make her put on shoes and too many layers when she got back, Max would probably try to make her do more schoolwork. She hated the lab.

“You can come back in two days, okay?” Jake offered, seeming to sense her mood. “I’ll even come pick you up, so you don’t have to wait for the slow-pokes. How does that sound?”

“Two days?” She whined, turning to glare up at Jake. He was looking forward, too high up for her to be seen, so she tugged sharply on his hair.

“Hey, it’s not— “ He cut himself off as he finally peered down at her, eyes suddenly widening. She wondered if he saw something down below, behind her. But, no, he was staring at her like he’d never seen her before.

“Jake?” She asked, features morphing from angry to scared.

He seemingly snapped out of it as his Ikran jerked below him, startling him back from whatever had happened. Spider, as emotional as most six-maybe-seven year olds were, was already starting to cry, startled from whatever had come over the man.

“Are y— you mad at me?” She mumbled, tears starting to drip down her cheeks. “Are you gonna— are you gonna tell everyone I— I— I can’t go back to the forest?”

A big hand reached up, as if to brush away tears. Unable to breech the mask, Jake settled for pulling her closer, trusting his steed to keep them steady.

“No, I’m not mad.” He assured, cupping the back of her head with one hand. “It’s okay, I’m sorry, it’s okay.”

By the time they landed, Spider had mostly stopped crying. Jake carried the girl inside, peeling off the mask and setting her down once they’d been through the airlock. Max was waiting near the door, frowning at the tear tracks on the girl’s face. Eclipse was still hours away, meaning everyone expected Spider to be gone for hours to come.

“Is everything alright?” He asked, scanning the little human for injuries.

“I— “ Spider cut herself off, feeling like she was about to start crying again. Instead, she justs shook her head, running towards her room.

She ended up crying in bed for another few minutes until she felt better, sure that Jake was already gone by the time she got back up. But, she’d been wrong.

She hated the feel of the shoes trapping her toes, making her always quiet footsteps loud as she crept towards the lab. She hated socks and dresses and most of all, shoes. But, she also hated when people were angry at her and she really wanted to ask Max for a hug. And some food, ‘cause she hadn’t gotten lunch yet and she was too short to reach the rehydrator buttons.

As she neared the lab door, she heard voices echoing into the hallways. The door was always closed to the lab, but she must’ve left it open on accident when she’d ran away.

“I feel like such an asshole.” That was Jake’s voice.

“What even happened out there, man?” Max asked, voice quiet. “Spider barely even cried when she broke her arm.”

“She furrowed her brow and I swear, it was like I was staring at Him again.” Jake groaned. “The next thing I know, she’s crying and it’s her again. But, I . . . “

“Quaritch is dead. And Spider is nothing like— “

“I know that, Max. But, I just . . . it’s just hard, sometimes.”

Max sighed. “It’s hard for all of us. I mean, every day she looks more and more like . . . like both of them.” Spider had snuck back into her room before she could hear anything more. But, the words had stuck with her. It was the first time she’d heard anyone talk about her like that, but it wasn’t the last.

[kaymarie-bell]

Diasomnia Book, Chapter 2 Translations [7, 20-21]

as always, my own translation. I am learning as I go, I do this out of love for the game. There will be mistakes. 

DO NOT REPOST

Summary: Malleus receives an invitation, but at what cost.

 Also, tamagotchis’ mechanics as an analogy for life and death.

[7-20]

Diasomnia Dorm - Lounge

A few days later

Lilia: Malleus!

Malleus: Mhm? Ah, Lilia.

Lilia: I would like to request permission to use Diasomnia’s lounge this Saturday.

Malleus: I don’t mind. What are you planning?

Lilia: Silver and the dorm students are throwing me a farewell party before I leave.

Malleus: Farewell…party?

Lilia: Yes. You need permission from the Dorm Leader to reserve the lounge, right?

Malleus: It’s your farewell party, and you are the one asking for permission?

Lilia: The dorm members were at a loss on how to fill out the application form

Lilia: Since the request is coming directly from the vice-leader, there’s no way you would refuse. Isn’t that right, Dorm Leader Malleus?

Malleus: Oh…of course

Malleus: Are you inviting students from the other dorms?

Lilia: That’s right. I’m going to invite my classmates, my clubmates, my professors…everyone in the school

Malleus: There are many members of royal families and nobilities in this school. If we all are coming together, it’s going to be a very spectacular gathering.

Lilia: Well…then I’ll give this to you.

Malleus: What is this?

Lilia: Hehe. Open it.

~Invitation Letter~

Dear Malleus Draconia,

This Saturday, 7 p.m., at the Diasomnia Lounge, [Lilia Vanrouge’s farewell party] will be held.

Please join us.

*No gifts required. Please come empty handed.

Malleus: An invitation letter? Addressed to me?

Lilia: My Lord. Will you accept this invitation? Malleus.

Malleus:…..of course. I respectfully accept your invitation, Lilia.

Malleus: A farewell party…

*beeping sound*

Lilia: Huh? What’s that sound?

Malleus: I’m sorry. I forgot it was feeding time.

Malleus: You’re the only one who would dare to interrupt me and beg for my attention in such a way. What a rude fellow.

Lilia: Oh, it’s that toy I bought you as a souvenir one day.

Malleus: Yes. It’s “Gao Gao Dragon-kun.”

[7-21]

Lilia: I am sure I gave it to you some time ago

Lilia: It was about the time Silver finally began to stand on his own feet…you are still playing with it?

Malleus: I don’t know when to quit. I found myself making a habit out of it.

Malleus: It has broken down several times, but I’ve had it repaired every time.

Lilia: I see

Lilia: Electronic devices such as smartphones tend to be unusable due to the magic and thunderstorms of the owner…

Lilia: But Dragon-kun is a cheap toy with easily replaceable parts

Lilia: So, unlike them, it lasts for a long time.

*beep beep*

Malleus: What is this? I have to clean up your dung now? It can’t be helped…

Lilia: *laughs*

Malleus: What are you laughing at?

Lilia: I remembered that the first time Dragon-kun reached the end of his life

Lilia: Our Young Lord escaped from the castle and came to my house with a look of great dismay

Lilia: “Lilia, when this morning came, Dragon was gone and eggs were left behind. What shall I do?”

Lilia:…that’s all. Haha.

Malleus: That’s…I simply wasn’t aware that there was always a parting mechanism at first.

Malleus: I had never considered that toys could have a lifespan.

Malleus: No matter how much you make a fool of out yourself for his sake…Dragon will leave nothing but eggs behind in less than 30 days.

Malleus: I wonder why humans would make something like that.

Lilia: Hm. Is 30 days a short time?

Malleus: Whether long or short, Dragon is a fictional being…just like a fairy tale, isn’t it?

Malleus: Then it would be okay not to set a deadline for his life…that’s what I think.

Lilia: I see, indeed.

Lilia: Just like how fairy tales are made to comfort someone…

Lilia: Maybe it would be enough to keep him alive as long as he is taken care of.

Lilia: But isn’t it precisely because there’s an end to it that makes us think that we should cherish the time we have to spend together?

Lilia:…the longer one spends together, the harder it will be to part ways.

Malleus:…Lilia?

Lilia: Well then, since I have permission to use the lounge from the Dorm Leader, I have to hurry up and hand out the invitations to everyone around school.

Lilia: See you, Malleus.

Lilia: Saturday night will be my last celebration. It will surely be a spectacular gathering.

Lilia: Don’t forget to attend!

Malleus: The last…celebration…

Malleus:…?

[florserence]

Psyche Revived by Cupid’s Dagger

It was freshman year, first or second day of school, and we were in art class. We were doing the dreaded “introduce yourself and your art” and it had gotten to him. There was just. . . Something.

About him, I mean. He was timid presenting his work, forced by systemic school social pressure, and I was intrigued. His work glittered in my eyes and wrapped me within his world immediately. When we had become friends shortly after my persisting, his energy was addicting. I wanted to see what was behind his wall, his wall that was created to survive living in this world.

Later on, it was during the period of world-wide social isolation that I thought of him as my solution. I could feel myself falling further, whether it was love is something I’ll never be sure of. It was like the sculpture, where Psyche is revived by Cupid’s kiss. His timid person and art were my limerent obsession that lasted even long after we broke away from each other.

Loving him- or rather perhaps a better phrase- loving the idea of him had consumed me. It was disastrous, because once I had broken the wall it was a never ending black hole. He was a supernova. Who knows when he exploded though, because I only existed through his emptiness. Existing in a black hole is terrifying to say the least. You lose sense of yourself, time, reality, everything. He himself was even losing touch with that.

I do think that I loved him. Through his struggle of reality, there were moments when he would try to be kind and understanding, despite everything begging him not to be. I’m not always sure if he loved me, however, maybe I reflected his own instability. “And me, I am her dagger, too numb to feel her pain,” Slowdive sang and he repeated. He saw me as his angel, his sunshine girl.

He communicated through art instead of language. It was the only way I could ever see the light on his true self, a reflective surface. The problem he experienced was of his making, a reflection of others’ and never knowing what was behind it. But when art’s light shined upon him, he glittered beautifully. It didn’t matter his words, because he didn’t have to speak for me to understand. When he painted us together, it’s what kept me addicted to the pain. It was light of what we wished we could be. The light reflected his love back to me. But unfortunately, the light also reflected his pain.

Humans are not built for black holes. My guts were ripped out of me and I felt even my exterior stripping away. I had lost my insides by trying to morph myself into what would help his pain. All I ever wanted was to be able to help him in these moments, but losing your organs slowly decays your flesh. I was numb to the pain by this point, but my skin was decaying enough for my animatronic-like bones to give away hidden masochistic desperation. It was truly painful to be with him and I tried to just survive.

But there was one day where my attempts at bandaging with toy doll PVC material couldn’t sustain us any longer. It wasn’t until I was caught being broken to my last bits of bones in my car, when my curated malleable playtoy persona had been destroyed. He saw what had become of myself.

It was humiliating. To be so ripped apart by a black hole and then to see my limbs strewn about by string. He saw what had become of me. The greenery outside had turned to white when he called me, saying he saw me in the car and asked if I was okay. I don’t even remember what I said, but I knew it was too late. Our conversation blurred together, the only parts I remember being the feeling of my bones rattling through the crushing sobs erupting out of my broken voice box that was so used to playing scratched records.

He was comforting me for once! It was embarrassing, to finally be seen for how I truly was. Having concealed myself with gentle-spoken phrases when pulling my toy string attached to my spine for so long, I was mortified. There was nothing prepared for this moment from the voice box. I realized what had become but didn’t want to leave. I knew, funnily enough, that he would be the one to end it. It was painful because, now, after all this time of trying to love his pain, he couldn’t handle my own. He and I knew he couldn’t, not when it was this far, which is why he ended it.

I was crazy obsessed. I was a masochist in love with a masochist. They may attract for their shared love for pain, but there is only so much pain that one can endure before suicide. I think that’s why it was so wrong to me that he thought he was my dagger. For it was the opposite, I the Knife and him the Drug. He did teach me, however, that through all of the pain, I would rather be used for cooking than for stabbing.

[midwestmade29]

Little Moments 🩵

To Anonymous: Thank you for your request and for following along with my "Broken Promise" story! It means so much to me 🥺 I hope you enjoy what I came up with for your request 🖤 Original Anonymous Request: "Anyway we can get a continuation to “Broken Promises” maybe just moments of The Reader, Christian and the occasional Copeland Family in their married life?"

Disclaimers: None 🙂

Divider by: @saradika-graphics

Word count: 1,697

This is the FINAL part to my Broken Promise story! There will be no more continuations or parts/chapters written for it. Any further requests I receive for this story will be deleted. I truly appreciate all the love and support my little angsty number has gotten. It makes me so happy to know that so many of you have enjoyed it 🥰

Read the original story that inspired this request here 🙂

The prequel to Broken Promise can be read here

"Rekindled" is a continuation of Broken Promise and you can read it here

I incorporated some references in this story from the previous ones 🥺 If you’ve followed along so far, see if you can spot them! 🖤

You and Christian have known each other your whole lives and now you’re married. Here’s a little glimpse into the little moments you share together…

“What time are we supposed to be there for dinner again?” Christian asked as he wrapped his arms around you from behind. You leaned your head against his chest, reveling in the embrace while putting the finishing touches on your makeup. 

“6 o’clock, I believe. We can’t forget to bring their souvenirs from the honeymoon with us. I can’t wait to see everyone, especially the girls! I’ve missed them since we’ve been gone,” you explained before turning around and kissing Christian. 

The two of you had just gotten back a few days prior from your tropical honeymoon after having the most beautiful wedding. Your skin was still sun kissed and both of you were still glowing with happiness. If there was a way to stop time and remain in the newlywed phase you’re currently in, you would definitely do it! 

You sat next to your nieces at the dinner table catching up on all the latest and greatest going on in their world. They told you stories about school, the new toys they had gotten, and they made you promise that you and Uncle Christian wouldn’t go on another honeymoon and leave for a long time again! Christian and Adam were lost in conversation about hockey and wrestling while you helped Beth clear the table. 

“Marriage looks good on you and Christian. I’m so happy for the both of you! Now, tell me all about the honeymoon! Feel free to leave out the more intimate details,” Beth complimented. You couldn’t help but chuckle at her last remark!

Christian was running late getting home after his workout at the gym. It wasn’t like him to be so far behind, and it certainly wasn’t doing anything for your nerves. You pulled out your phone and sent your husband a text:

Wifey: Hey, just checking in and making sure you’re okay. I miss you…


•••
Hubby: I miss you too baby! Had to make a quick stop on my way home. Be there in a few.

“What’s in the bag?” you asked curiously as Christian sat it down on the kitchen counter. He playfully swatted your hand away when you tried to open it and you gave him your best pouty face. “Don’t give me that look,” he begged. 

“I wanted to surprise you with a little treat. I know you just started your period, so I thought some ice cream would help,” 

Christian pulled your sundae from the bag first making your eyes light up when you saw what it was! You could blame the sudden tears that pricked your eyes from the hormones that were out of whack due to your period, but really you were so moved by Christian and his attention to detail. 

“You remembered my favorite toppings! I figured you blocked them out after you nearly threw up over my choices as a kid,” you teased. 

“How could I forget? It’s not every day someone orders gummy bears, sprinkles, cookie pieces and chocolate syrup on their ice cream. You’ve always been a weirdo, you know that?” Christian teased back. 

“Yeah, but I’ve always been your weirdo, and this ring on my finger says you’re stuck with this weirdo forever!”

“Seriously, how old are you guys now? I feel like we’re kids back at mom’s house again! How do I keep finding myself in the middle of your stupid little arguments?” you sighed as you stood in between your brother and Christian. “Stop being dummies or else this time I’ll kick both of you in the shins!” 

The 3 of you broke out in laughter when the memory of you as a young girl said the same thing to Adam and Christian when you were kids. The tension between your brother and husband quickly dissipated and they ended up apologizing to each other after they talked through their disagreement. 

“You’ve always been wise beyond your years, sis. Thanks for keeping us knuckleheads in check all these years. I’m pretty sure you saved our friendship more than once since we’ve known each other,” Adam’s sentimental moment was cut short when you lightly kicked him in the shin even though him and Christian had already made up.


“Ow! What was that for?!” he asked while rubbing his leg. “Sorry big bro, Christian is my husband now. He gets automatic immunity from my shin kicks.” You chuckled to yourself as you walked out of the room, leaving the two boys behind. 

“She’s the most beautiful little spitfire, isn’t she?” Christian said admirably as he smiled and followed you.

It took several months of planning, but the big family vacation you had been looking forward to for so long was finally here! There was 7 of you traveling between Adam, Beth and your nieces, your mom, and you and Christian. You had rented a beach house big enough to fit all of you, complete with a game room and a private pool. The sound of the waves crashing onto the sand could be heard from every balcony or open window, and you knew the views were going to be stunning no matter the time of day. Once everyone was settled into their rooms, the 7 of you headed to the beach for a little stroll before going to dinner. You and Christian walked hand in hand along the shoreline, Adam and Beth had stopped to take a couple pictures, and your mom and nieces were ahead of all of you digging through the sand for seashells. When you looked up at Christian, you could tell he was lost in thought.

“What are you thinking about baby? Everything okay?” you asked softly. Christian shook his head as if it would snap him back into the present moment, and what he spoke next made your heart melt, “Everything is great, wonderful actually. I was just thinking about how grateful I am to be here with everyone. I hate that it took so long for you and I to make our way back to each other, but I’m just so damn lucky that you gave me another chance.”

The week at the beach went by all too fast, but you made memories with your family that will stay with you forever. Every day was filled with endless laughter and so much love! From chasing seagulls and playing in the sand with your nieces, to having a date night with Christian, Adam, and Beth while your mom watched the girls, to taking family pictures with everyone at sunset on the beach, this was one vacation for the history books!

You and Christian just had your first fight as a married couple. Sure, you’ve had arguments and little spats over the years, but this one felt different. You weren’t kids anymore and couldn’t tell him to “stop being a dummy” like you used to. Now you had to talk and apologize to move past it. Both of you took some time to cool off so neither of you would say something you would regret later on. You chose the bedroom and stayed in there for about an hour while Christian went to his office. As you thought over the things you were fighting about, your need to be right dissolved and you began to see things a little more clearly. During your time in the bedroom, you went to your closet and started to look for an old storage box and smiled once you found it. Inside the box held old mementos from your childhood. Pictures, trinkets, old cards, and other keepsakes that you had collected and held on to from Christian. You pulled his old Sting wrestling figure from the box and read over the note that was still taped to his chest that Christian wrote to you after you broke your wrist as a kid,

To Y/N,

You better be more careful next time! I’m letting you borrow Sting, but I want him back the minute your wrist is healed.

-Christian

P.S.- I’m glad you’re okay. Can’t wait to sign your cast.

You couldn’t help but to chuckle at how authentically Christian his words were in the note. Brash with a hint of sweetness! An idea came to mind about how you can break the ice with him and apologize for your part of the argument.

“Come in,” Christian called out after you knocked on his office door. You didn’t step inside, you only held out your arm as you stood behind the door with the Sting wrestling figure in your hand. When Christian didn’t notice your arm, he told you to come in again as he spun around in his chair. “Oh, what’s that?” he asked. When you finally stepped into the room fully, you handed the wrestling figure to him so he could get a better look. “Wow, I didn’t know you still had this! Weren’t you supposed to give this back to me once your wrist healed? I think it’s been healed for a while now,” he teased with a smile on his face. “You even have the note still!”

“Yes, I do but this one is different. Open it up and read it,” you suggested. With an eyebrow raised, Christian pulled the note off Sting’s chest and read over the words you wrote to him,

To Christian,

I’m sorry for earlier. Here’s a peace offering, your Sting wrestling figure. I want him back after we kiss and make up though.

-Your wife,

Y/N

P.S.- I’m glad you’re my husband. I love you so much!

Christian sat the wrestling figure and note on his desk and opened his arms to you. His embrace was warm and comforting and everything you needed in that moment. He kissed the top of your head and murmured against your hair, “I’m sorry too, baby. Forgive me?” You nodded your head yes and he squeezed you tighter. “So um, now that we made up, how about that kiss?”

“Not so fast, sir! We still need to talk about it, but I’ll allow a kiss on one condition,”

“And what’s that?” Christian asked curiously.

You snaked your arms around Christian and picked up the wrestling figure, “Give me back Sting!”

[musicfeedsmysoul12]

DabiDeku AU where they both get together as broken adults is just something that makes me feral.

Izuku, lost and broken because of his life, who got told he’d never be anything but a broken toy. Who clawed his way into the position he has as a Quirk Analyst, who constantly deals with people assuming things (No officer I’m not hurting myself. No ma’am I don’t need a minder. No, my mom isn’t telling the truth-) Who goes to a bar and meets a man just as broken as him.

Dabi who is jagged and bitter, who has pain in each joint of his body. Who snarls at pictures of heroes and sneers at the giggling fans. (Who deals with dreams of fire and pain when he isn’t drunk of high. Who remembers a crying child and tries to ignore the feeling of sadness.) Who goes to a bar and meets a cute man.

The two falling together because they’re broke and maybe out of spite. Dabi told he’d only break things and Izuku told no one would want to touch him.

Izuku becoming pregnant, and Dabi getting scared. Dabi running from Izuku while he figures things out. Izuku, already caring for a foster daughter who had to be put into a juvenile mental health centre, who except him to run.

And then Dabi comes back. And he’s honest, mostly, that he ran and people think he’s dead. And it’s unhealthy to want to be a good dad only out of spite but fuck you he will.

A broken Dabi whose broken the same way Izuku is, and the family they build together despite all the odds.

Dabi who puts himsef together piece by piece and learns to accept things. Who finally let’s go of his anger to those who didn’t deserve it. Who teaches his eldest daughter how to Hotwire a car and who helps his son learn to fight.

Izuku, who grew up with a mother who only ever smothered, letting his children grow. Who learns how to have a healthy adult life and who teaches his kids to be themselves.

Isn’t it just… beautiful?

[dancingwiththefae]

Love Be Brave

day 1 of @jaskierwhumpweek

Ship: Geraskefer (pre-relationship)

Prompt: Surrender

Tags: Graphic torture, angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 2.9k

Completed: yes

1/1

Summary: Jaskier is held captive and tortured for information on Geralt and Ciri. Geralt and Yennefer are on their way to rescue him, but not before his resolve finally breaks.

A/N: this probably would have worked for betrayal too but I have a different idea for that

Also on AO3

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

He couldn’t remember how long it had been since they brought him here. It couldn’t have been too long. A week maybe? More? He wasn’t sure. But in the never ending dark of the cell, it felt like forever. All the days blurred into one. Funny that, how quickly you lose your sense of time without the sun. He missed the sun. The light. The crisp air of a winter’s morning. It all felt so far away now. The door creaked open and the false light from the lamps crept in. Only to be blocked moments later by a man.

“Morning bard,” he greeted with cheer. It made him feel sick. “You know, I’m feeling generous today so, any requests?”

Jaskier pretended to ponder on the question a moment.

“A nap,” he ventured, “a jug of wine. And to fall into the arms of a beautiful woman.”

The man laughed an ugly laugh.

“Still full of jokes. Save it for Rience. He’s looking forward to your meeting today.”

“Oh, I’ve no doubt,” he whispered, staring down at the burns already decorating his skin. His hands were a lost cause. His fingers felt hot and tight, barely functional. The ropes around his wrists had rubbed the skin raw. And under his clothes, a litter of bruises and marks. They quickly learned that beatings got them nowhere. Jaskier had taken a punch from many angry spouses in his time. Now, they mostly did it for fun. They took what mattered most, his music. It would take a miracle for him to play again. Or, magic at least. Except the only magic user available was the one destroying him piece by piece. He hadn't broken. That was the most important thing. Though he was starting to lose sight of why it was so important.

The man hauled him up by his collar and dragged him out of the room. He pulled the bard through an all too familiar corridor and into a dark, empty room save for two chairs. Both were empty. Jaskier was shoved into the one in the centre of the room. He no longer fought back when they tied his hands and feet to it. He wasn't sure he had the strength to anyway. The man left and Jaskier was alone. He knew it wasn't going to be for long. It was the same every time. The door creaked open. Jaskier didn't need to look to know who it was.

“Hello, Jaskier,” Rience spoke in a soft voice, “are you ready to tell me where the witcher and the girl are?”

Jaskier let out a laugh that sounded more like a whimper.

“Where's the fun in that?”

His voice didn't match the confidence of his words. Rience chuckled at the sorry sight he must have made. Calmly he approached, not sparing another glance towards him. He took a seat in front of him, rested his chin in his hand and stared. The stillness of it unnerved him. The way he looked at him, like he was his favourite toy, brought him nothing but dread.

“Shall we get started?” Rience said after a while. Standing, he retrieved a poker from the edge of the room. Conjuring a flame, he ran his palm along it.

“Everytime you refuse to answer a question-” he pointed to hot end of the poker towards him with careless grace “-you will be punished. But I'm sure you know how it goes by now. So, where is the princess?”

The bard kept his mouth shut. In reality he wasn't sure where she was. He had never even met her. But he had a pretty good idea where Geralt would take her if he had her. Considering how desperate Rience and his company seemed for answers, Jaskier could only guess that that was the case. He didn't know everything, but he knew enough. The mage let the silence stretch on for a moment. When it continued too long he struck, pressing the poker against his side. The bard didn't hold back his cry. There was no shame in screaming. The poker was wrenched away with a cruel smile. The bard panted against the searing pain in his side.

“Where does the witcher go when they're not roaming the continent?”

More silence. Rience went for his shoulder this time. Pain lanced through him. More questions. More scars to add to his collection until he was drenched in sweat, gasping for air and praying to any god that would listen for a miracle. His will was only so strong. It was made all the worse by Rience's obvious enjoyment of his pain. The man knew how to cause pain, and he did it well. He took pleasure in it.

“Do you know why I do it this way,” he drawled, stepping in close to run his fingers through his hair in mock tenderness, “why I don’t just pull the answers I seek straight from your head?”

“Enlighten me,” he ground out.

Rience crouched down in front of him until they were face to face. Piercing eyes pinned his. When he spoke it was soft and with a smile.

“Because it’s more fun this way. Magic is too convenient. Yes, I could simply force my way into your mind and find everything I need. But what’s the fun in that? I don’t just want to complete my task. I want to watch you break”

Abruptly, he stood and stalked away, turning on his heel when he reached his usual place.

“Now, shall we try this again?”

It was the same as before. Jaskier held on with all the strength that he had left. Rience's resolve was breaking. After a few more attempts, the mage dropped the poker carelessly to the ground. His face twitched and he struggled to keep composure. He paced back and forth. Jaskier tried his best to keep his breathing even. It was getting harder to recover after his ‘meetings’ with Rience. It wouldn’t be long before he couldn’t at all, he knew. There was a part of him that wanted to give up. To just give them everything they want and pray to the gods that they would let him go. He pushed it down best he could.

Rience stopped. With an inquisitive hum he produced a white light from his hand. He looked back at the bard from over his shoulder. The fire in his eyes filled him with dread.

“Let’s make this more interesting.”

He strode across the room far too quickly. He knew it was futile and yet he still flinched back as if to get away.

Rience placed the palm on his hand on Jaskier’s forehead and suddenly he was struck with overwhelming pain. There was not a part of him it didn’t touch. Struggling against it was futile. It was everywhere. There was nothing he could do to stop it. He grit his teeth until they ached. Rience was going to kill him. He was sure of it. When he thought he couldn’t take it anymore it vanished.

The mage looked down at him with a smug grin as Jaskier tried to get air back into his lungs.

“You’re playing a losing game, bard,” Rience murmured, “I’m going to take what I want anyway.”

Panic began to set in. He couldn’t go through that again. He just couldn’t. But he couldn’t betray Geralt. If what Rience said was true - and he knew deep down that it was - he was going to betray him whether he wanted to or not. When he didn’t respond, the mage held his hand up once again. Tears stung his eyes. Jaskier opened his mouth and told him everything.

Shouting emerged from down the hall. The mage's eyes flitted towards the door. The commotion grew louder. With a huff, the mage stalked towards the door and left the room. With him gone, the adrenaline left Jaskier all at once. Slumping forwards in the chair, he suddenly felt exhausted. The world around him began to blur. He barely registered the pain anymore. His body felt heavy. He didn't want to fight the weight to keep himself up. Rushed footsteps echoed from down the hall, approaching closer. Rience reappeared through the door, heading straight towards him with fury. A ball of flame erupted from his hand. Jaskier didn't have time to panic. This was it. This was the end for him. The gravity of what he had just done settled in as soon as it happened.

The door burst open, startling them both. Geralt stood in the doorway, wild eyed and sword at the ready. The world seemed to stop for a moment as they locked eyes. He watched the witcher's face morph from shock to fury. Sword raised, he readied himself to fight. A portal opened before them and in a flash, Rience was gone. Jaskier stared at the space he had occupied in horror until white hair obscured it.

“Geralt,” he breathed. He couldn't quite believe it. Geralt was here. He had found him. He'd come to rescue him. But he didn't know. Oh gods, he didn't know. “I'm sorry, I'm so sorry,” he wept, “I'm sorry, I'm sorry.”

“Yen,” the witcher called, “he's in here.”

He cut through the ropes at his wrist with a knife.

“It's alright,” he soothed, “we're getting you out of here.”

“No, no. Stop,” Jaskier begged, “I- I told them everything. Rience, he knows. He knows where Ciri is. I'm so sorry.”

The witcher paused. His face was unreadable. Jaskier was sure – he was so sure – that Geralt would leave him. He wouldn't save him. Not after what he did. And he wouldn't blame him. Jaskier was an enemy now. He had betrayed his loyalty, his deepest trust. But then the witcher did something he didn't expect. He carried on.

“Doesn't matter. We can deal with it later.”

He bent down to cut through the ropes at his ankles. Jaskier wanted to ask what he was doing but the words wouldn't come. He could only watch, startled, as Geralt freed him. There was more crashing from outside and then Yennefer ran through the door, stopping in shock when she took in the sight in front of her.

“Fuck,” she swore.

“They know where Ciri is,” Geralt explained in a rush, “we have to get out of here.”

He held the bard from under his elbows and pulled him up to stand. Immediately, Jaskier's feet went from under him. The witcher's arms moved to encircle his middle. It was the only thing keeping him upright.

“Yen, open a portal. Now!”

He couldn't find the right way up. Everything was spinning. It was too much effort just to think. To try and move. He didn't want to fight it any more. He was done fighting. Letting himself drop into the weight that was holding him up, he surrendered to the darkness.

The world came back to him slowly. He was aware of aches throughout his body. Duller than they were before. He was covered by scratchy sheets. They brushed against his legs as he shifted. His eyelids felt heavy. He would drift back asleep if not for thirst making itself known. With immense effort he opened his eyes and blinked. The room was dark. Dark enough that he could almost be convinced he was back in his cell, if not for the bed he was currently occupying. A candle flickered alive on a table beside him and he flinched away.

“Sorry, sorry,” he heard a woman whisper. Her voice was familiar. Yennefer's face was illuminated in the candlelight. She moved it away from the bed and for that he was grateful.

“You're awake,” she said, “can I get you anything?”

“Water,” he whispered. Or tried to, at least. It was difficult to talk. She seemed to have understood anyway, and poured some out from a jug for him. With careful hands, she lifted his head enough to drink. She held the glass for him. He drank slowly until it was empty. Yennefer helped him back down and took the glass away.

“How are you feeling?” she asked him. How was he feeling? He wasn't sure. He hurt, his his limbs felt stiff. His hands were wrapped in bandages and basically useless. The guilt at what he had done ate away at him until there was a hollow in his chest. He was confused as to why he was here. Why Yennefer of all people was tending to him. It was so much all at once.

“Where are we?” he responded instead.

Yennefer chewed her lip. Her lack of response was deafening.

“Not Kaer Morhen,” he continued.

“No.”

Again, the silence stretched out.

“You won't tell me,” he concluded.

Her face screwed up in anguish or pity he couldn't tell.

“I'm sorry, Jaskier.”

“No,” he mumbled, “I understand.”

He really did, as much as it hurt. He had betrayed them. But, boy did it hurt. He had always prided himself on his loyalty. And now they couldn't trust him.

“Hey.” She cupped his cheek and tilted his head to look at her. “When you're healed, we're gonna move to another safe place. We'll stick together. All of us.”

“Why?” He felt tears sting his eyes. “I told him everything.”

“Jaskier, you were tortured. Nobody blames you for giving in.”

Confronted with everything that had happened, he couldn't hold back any more. Tears flowed freely. She held him silently while he wept. Once it had started, there was no stopping. Everything he had pent up since he had been taken by them. All the strength he had used to keep himself together. He let it go. Finally, he let it go. He cried and cried until there was no more left to give. Still, Yennefer held him. Kept him close while his breathing evened out. He pulled away first, wiping the tears from his face. That was when he noticed his sleeves were different to what they were before. He realised he was wearing different clothes and he was relatively clean, all things considering.

“Did you...bathe me?”

“You smelled worse than a sewer,” Yennefer laughed, “but don't worry. We were very gentle.”

Jaskier felt his cheeks flame at that. Any other time and he would have made a comment of fished for compliments. Or even openly expressed how he wished for their hands on him again. Quietly, he wished for it. It had been so long since he had felt a kind touch and he wasn't even conscious for it.

“What about...” He checked down his shirt at the marks Rience had left. They looked old, as if they had happened months ago.

“Do you underestimate my abilities?” she joked. There was an uneasy edge to it.

“And my hands? Are they-” he couldn't finish the sentence. The idea that there was permanent damage was too great to even contemplate. The sorceress sighed a weary sigh.

“They will... take time. But I'm working on it. Can't have a bard without his lute, can we?”

The thought almost made him cry again. He stared down at his bandaged hands. He couldn't do much like this. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to need taken care of. He didn't doubt Yennefer's abilities. Not for a second. He just hoped this was not one thing too many.

“You should try and get some more sleep.”

She pulled away from him and made to leave.

“Don't go.” He didn't mean to sound so desperate. A sudden wave of panic at the thought of being alone took over. He reached out with a bandaged hand to stop her until he remembered how useless they were now. The sorceress sighed and gently coaxed him into the middle of the bed. She lifted the covers and climbed in next to him. The bard didn't hesitate to curl up into her. He was so tired. A kind of tiredness that had settled into his bones. His body ached. If he were in a better frame of mind, he would probably have been embarrassed by his actions He buried his face into her neck. The scent of lilac and gooseberries was strongest here. He breathed deeply and relaxed into it.

He wanted to sleep. His body cried out for it. But when he closed his eyes, he was hit with images of Rience, of that place, of himself giving in. He was too exhausted to cry. Yennefer sensed his unease.

“You want Geralt, too?” she asked.

Jaskier nodded into her shoulder.

“I'll let him know,” she whispered.

A few moments later, the door opened and Geralt appeared a the foot of the bed. Jaskier buried his face back into Yennefer quickly. He didn't want to see if the witcher looked at him with pity. Before Geralt could speak, Yennefer held up a hand to stop him.

“We'll talk in the morning. For now-” she waved her hand towards the other side of the bed “-Jaskier needs us.”

The bed dipped behind him as Geralt cautiously climbed in behind him. He shuffled in further until he was pressed up against the bard's back. Though the witcher was being careful of Jaskier's injuries, the weight against his back settled him. He felt safe between then. Safe in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. He listened to the steady breathing between them, felt the soft rise and fall of their chests against him, and quietly slipped into sleep.

[kinocomix]

devlog 18: doo dads, inventories and recycling like responsible authors.

The script for TSTW is 17 scenes long so far, still in progress. I estimate it will be around 30 to 40, which is a welcome change given that my last comic was around 110. with that in mind…

would you believe me if i said i spent an entire day looking for an extremely specific book that i used to own- well two actually now that i think about it. I didn’t find them. One of them was a book with a bunch of electronic crafts for kids, the other was this book where you’re supposed to tear the pages to make everything from a chessboard to a cup. Not important, the point is Brandon Sanderson said something very insightful about writing characters that are smarter than you: being smart, often, is a matter of how much time you have to solve a problem. We consider someone as being smart when they very quickly have a good answer to a given question. The reason I was looking for two random ass books I owned as a kid is because I have the time to figure out how the kids are going to channel their inner bear grylls to improvise, adapt, overcome. they do not.

today, we’re going to be figuring out what we can realistically get away with as far as child inventions go, as well as talking about how as artists, reusing work is normal and shouldn’t be something to be ashamed of.

So first things first: what do the kids in our story have access to? this was the easiest to figure out because I know what living situations most of them experience, so here’s a list:

killouette: stationary and a camera. I’m still unsure which time period the story takes place in, so it’s unsure whether or not the camera is digital. It's objectively more fun if it’s a polaroid camera, because then all her pictures are physical. This is a plus because the only person with a computer in the group is talbas. On the other hand, setting the story in the mid 2000s means she probably has a small digital camera that she could connect to a bigger screen. alternatively, if i choose to set the story in the present, she could have both. unwanted old cameras left in a drawer somewhere.

bata tete: fun craft tools (paint, glue, string, ribbons, a big pile of magazines), a basket and a printer. you can’t go wrong with paint and pictures if you’re writing a story about kids, and this is also helpful because it introduces additional things to bata tete’s character: a more artsy side to complement the mission impossible stuff. instinctively i’m thinking the strings are definitely going to serve as trip wires at some point or another, and paper mache is definitely going to be involved in some way.

falefil: a po box, a piano and an electronic voice recorder. My current headcanon for falefil is that he doesn’t really like toys, so minus getting aluminum foil from his mom’s kitchen, he can probably lend his electronic voice recorder to accomplish something. maybe a makeshift MP3 player?

zmik: toys and objects intended to be used with other kids. all unused. I’ll admit this the saddest one by a longshot but it hits home a bit too hard to not include. I remember the piles of old board games, slingshots, marbles, even -the irony- a pair of walkie talkies I had that just… sat there. I like to imagine Zmik is finally in a place where he can share these things with people he likes.

motsik: broken knick knacks, pieces of mirror, detergents, bent spoons, a lot of wooden kabab skewers. It should come as no surprise that most of what Motsik has to offer is broken to some capacity, because of his violent household. the things he brings are broken because he effectively fishes them out of the trash, figuring his friends might have something they could do with them. note: motsik could also try to make stuff himself, but given his character this would be infrequent.

talbas: her uncle has an electronic equipment store, he teaches her stuff and low key is in on some of the shenanigans the kids do. despite the neglect from her parents, talbas loves spending time with her uncle whose store is nearby. he loves the fact that she’s interested in soldering and making fun doodads, so he has a budget set aside just for her. it’s pretty obvious that talbas’ uncle is the only person tethering her to a sense of purpose and a feeling of love. 

claude: a lot of organic things and the knowledge thereof. Claude has little in the way of possessions, but she has a lot of street smarts. Claude keeps track of inventory across the 6 kids’s houses and frequently is the first to suggest solutions to problems.

with that being figured out, all we need to do to try to combine what they have with what the problem is and we see what comes out the other end. for example:

let’s say they need all hands on deck for something but that means ignoring a hallway where someone could come see what they’re doing. we know they would have access to stuff like strings, empty spools, simple electrical components and tin foil, so they could for example make a small trip wire using one of several methods i thought up:

this one is a pressure pad you can hide under a carpet that sets off a small light or beeper.

this one is a single use tripwire that would not require miles of electrical wire lol.

two things to note: the actual schematics in the book are going to look much nicer but also i’m approaching writing this book with publishing in mind, so I’m steering clear of actually dangerous things like blades and anything stronger than a small battery. which is a shame- i have a very funny story about how i personally once nearly set my building on fire trying to make a lamp when i was like 11, but that’s not the kind of stuff that will get published for middle grade/early young adult readers. I hate having to squash my book into a category like this, but if i’m to have any hope of doing what i love for the rest of my life, this feels like a necessary sacrifice. 

now, as an aside, let’s talk about something I personally do that I think might be helpful to others and I’m going to illustrate my point by sharing spoilers for a project I won't get to for another couple of years. 

Around 2014 was my very first attempt at writing something. it was a story called “Last of the Predators��, a very angsty attempt at something serious written by a version of me with no connection to the subject matter whatsoever. it had no plot outline, end in mind or clearly defined characters. Everyone spoke in the same monotone calm way and every paragraph had way too much description of the person’s emotional state. I eventually lost interest and dropped it, even deleting the blog I had been using to document the updates on. 

shortly after I started making comics, i came up with the ice cream men: a story that follows two aliens kicked off their planet who arrive on earth. In their boredom, they decide to follow the recipe for something called ice cream, inevitably bringing up a million other topics along the way. This might sound fun, but when I came up with it at the time it didn’t feel enough to justify the commitment it would require. it initially focused too much on jokes and really didn’t have much to offer in the way of depth. so i shelved the idea for a while and this is the piece of advice i have:

don’t throw ideas away, just shelve them. 

around this time is where my studies got in the way. When you’re just starting out trying to make art, everything stops you dead in your tracks. It wasn't until I started working on illustrating almost home that the creative gears started turning again. I came up with a whole bunch of things, but some of what I did is revisit my folder of abandoned projects. Sometimes when a project feels dull, it can be helpful to merge it with another one. This doesn’t always work but when it does it can lead to very interesting results.  This is what I did with the ice cream men. I took the philosophical premise of the ice cream men which suffered from an underdeveloped plot and bad setting that didn’t suit the theme, and I combined it with the idea that survived after I cut all the slack out of Last of the predators which is the following:

The world LOTP is set in suffered a cataclysmic event that killed all the animals. Humans being how they are, they quickly built a religion around this and decided that some people have “predator souls” while others have “prey souls”, even going as far as to genetically engineer the way people look to introduce animalistic features to faces and bodies. The story is very political in nature and revolves around this role reversal that happens many many years after the cataclysm… and that’s where all the bullshit comes into play that I cut out. 

As a side note, what I just told you is the polished version of the lore I rewrote for this devlog- it’s not the one I decided to settle on for the ice cream men but I'm sharing it regardless for the sake of documentation. point is: the reason this felt relevant to me is because combining this with the ice cream men added a layer of intrigue to the story which i really liked:

two aliens are kicked off their planet and arrive on a deserted planet which the reader knows is earth. In their boredom, they decide to follow the recipe for something called ice cream, inevitably discovering more about this strange planet and its past… 

That past is the yet untold story of LOTP, with a less shitty name and more consideration given to the themes and mechanics of the things at play. so effectively we have several narrative layers at play:

the ice cream thing which could be a commentary on purpose or the creative process in addition to being a fun jumping off point for comedic relief

the past of the planet which could offer some mystery to the story, and maybe encourage some more serious topics to be brought up

and a third secret one, that i’m not willing to share just yet.

which i think is a story more worth telling. Here's another example more immediately relevant to our devlog. two years ago, I was thinking about how funny it would be to have unnecessarily complicated contraptions in the kitchen. the type of stuff you see unemployed engineers do for social media instead of benefiting mankind. I asked myself how would you go about making those contraptions useful: maybe someone could benefit from them if they were for example disabled, cool. too straightforward for my liking. What if they were small? like… as small as a bug? a very small chef. 

how to cook when you’re 2 inches tall. that sounds fun i like it. What if it was a cookbook where part of the instructions were these complicated instructions on how to build and solder electronics? fun! I need a chef and an engineer to do that. I am neither. 

don’t throw ideas away, just shelve them. 

I kept thinking about that for a while. I imagined our protagonist Claude, a small hercules beetle who loves to cook. I wrote three versions of the script of a comic and even discussed making it a short animation at some point, but it didn’t feel right. it’s not the vision. It needs to be a cookbook.

queue Killouette and the fact that I’m really annoyed at how the camera can see everything. I remembered the idea I had with the cookbook, so I thought why not borrow some of that and make it a diary?  Let’s add Claude in there as well for good measure. Maybe then how to cook when you’re 2 inches tall can be the one that comes after Killouette if I’m lucky enough to get funding. A grown Claude who made it big as a cook. By combining the two projects into two parts of the same series, I fixed the problem I had with the camera and added continuity to two otherwise one off projects. 

So maybe that’s something to keep in mind. don’t throw away ideas, shelve them instead. 

Next week we’ll be looking into the supplementary children’s book attached to killouette.

devlog updates on tuesdays. 

[averysexyleon]

excerpt; in which young Karl meets Miranda I

Excerpt from this work, which is on hiatus currently

(A Karl Heisenberg Backstory)

They heard the knock at the door, the servants all rushing to welcome in this special guest.  The boys barely feigned interest in the tin figures as the wind blew a strong gust of snow and biting cold into the well-insulated home.

Their father gave an angry, pointed look, and both boys dropped their toys to stand awkwardly in front of the recently-polished broken Victrola.  The servants spoke fluent Romanian, a language neither child understood well yet, so it was all babbling as the women walked in together.  

August Heisenberg stood, looking even more bored than he had at the potatoes during dinner.  

“Domnul Heisenberg,” came a singsong, new voice.  When the maid stepped away she was in clearer view; her clothes were traditional but seemed different than the others.  Maybe more expensive, Karl decided as he fidgeted, rooted to the spot by his father’s earlier glare.  “How wonderful to finally meet you.”  

More Romanian, and she even spoke some German—it was all small talk, and the children were both fidgeting by the time Miranda turned to them, her eyes sparkling.  Their father introduced them.  Miranda gave each a sharp handshake, a strange thing for a woman to do, and they each squeaked out a painful hello in Romanian, neither able to make eye contact with their tutors.  

Her hand was icy cold.  Karl remembered the snow, and then asked without thinking, “Where is your coat?”

“My what?” She looked like she wanted to laugh at his inquisitiveness.  

“It’s winter outside,” Jochen agreed, ever echoing his older sibling.  “It’s snowing.  And you only have a fur vest.”

“Boys,” came the growled warning in German, and both backed away slightly.  Miranda seemed slightly embarrassed by the question, but chose not to answer, turning back toward their father as though the boys were part of the room’s decor.  

“And—-“ Miranda turned expectantly, but August’s expression never wavered.  “My wife is still ill from her injury.  The journey has not helped.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to hear that.  I have a medical background, if you ever want a—-“

“That will not be necessary.”  

[hushbats]

forget everything (and I’m starting with you)

Read on AO3 (6,955 words)

As a kid, Steve Harrington had a wild imagination and a kind heart.

The first time little seven-year-old Steve met the boy in the woods, he was sure he’d found a real-life wolf child, like that kid he saw on an episode of “In Search of …” that had been abandoned in the jungles of India and raised as a pack animal. That kid had looked a lot like the one crouched on top of the big rock in front of him now; long, untamed hair, dirt-streaked face, and old, tattered clothing hanging from his thin frame. He was clearly in dire need of a home-cooked meal or two and a good, long soak in the bath. Steve briefly wondered where his parents were, before his childish imagination took hold. Maybe, if he could befriend the boy, they could become famous and have their own documentary on TV. Maybe, they could make enough money that the boy wouldn’t have to live like an animal in the woods anymore. Maybe, Steve could make a new friend that wouldn’t judge him or call him childish or stupid. Maybe, just maybe, Steve’s parents would be proud of him and his scientific discovery, and decide Steve was worth their time after all.

Much like he remembered the people in the documentary doing, he approached with caution. He slowly lowered his toy bow and arrow he had aimed at the kid from when his sudden appearance had startled him and gently placed it on the ground at his feet. He then proceeded to raise his hands in a placating manner so as not to scare the wild child away. He remembered how the boy in the documentary didn’t speak like most people, only possessing simple words leftover from his previous life and animalistic grunts. And so, Steve began talking to the boy in broken English and exaggerated gestures, just for good measure.

His fantasy of discovering Indiana’s first ever wolf-child and going on adventure around the world with his find was immediately shattered when the boy atop the rock laughed hysterically at Steve’s attempt to communicate, clutching his sides while simultaneously trying, unsuccessfully, to keep his balance. He tumbled to the ground with a thump into a scattering of fall leaves. In the time it took the kid to brush himself off, Steve’s initial shock and disappointment quickly turned to embarrassment at his own idiocy. Here he was, proving his dad right yet again. ‘Head in the clouds and nothing between the ears’, that’s what he always said of Steve.

“Oh my God, what the hell was that?” the kid finally squawked through his giggles, clearly having no trouble communicating. There were still leaves stuck haphazardly in his tangled dark hair.

Steve’s face flushed a further shade of red and he quickly averted his eyes from the other boy to the forest floor. Steve could feel the tell-tale sting of tears behind his eyes. He wasn’t sure if it was just the embarrassment of the situation or the fact that he’d stupidly allowed himself to hope that there was some way to escape his parent’s indifference. The other boy must have sensed his destress because the laughing suddenly ceased. When Steve peeked up tentatively through wet lashes, he saw the boy had edged closer; a look of concern etched behind the dirt of his face.

“Hey? Are you okay? I won’t hurt you, I promise,” the boy cajoled. He was only a step or two away from Steve now so he could make out the boy’s features more clearly. He looked to be about Steve’s age, just a little taller maybe with the most striking big, brown eyes Steve had ever seen now they were no longer crinkled with laughter. Something about them made Steve feel instantly more at ease and ignited a warm sensation in his stomach. He briefly thought the boy might be pretty underneath all the layers of dirt, before his father’s voice in his head began yelling at him that he’s not supposed to think boys are pretty. Steve made that mistake once, and his father made sure he never made it again. He took a deep breath and fought back the remaining tears, reminded that his father wouldn’t like that either. Crying was for girls and pansies, not for tough boys like Steve. So, he pushed it all down, buried it somewhere deep inside, and responded to the boy.

Steve sniffed, “S-sorry, I just thought…you know…you were-”

“Some jungle boy,” the boy interjected with an eyebrow raised, and Steve cringed at the accuracy, “like Mowgli or something?”

The boy was still smiling and didn’t look offended like Steve would have been if their rolls had been reversed. If anything, a twinkle of amusement shone in his eyes.

“I don’t know what a Mowgli is but, yeah, I guess,” Steve shyly admitted. There was no point in hiding it. Steve was a bad liar anyway; it’s why he got beat so often. “Sorry,” he added again.

“It’s fine, I get it,” the boy shrugged it off like it happened often. “I’m Eddie by the way. What’s your name?”

“I’m Steve, and I’m seven and a half,” he replied enthusiastically, forgetting himself now that Eddie had shown him what seemed to be genuine kindness and interest. He relaxed more into the conversation with his potential new friend; all apprehension quickly forgotten. Steve somehow felt like he’d known Eddie his whole life, at least that’s how Eddie looked at Steve, like they were already best friends.

“Wha’cha doing all the way out here by yourself, Stevie?”

Stevie? No one had ever called him Stevie before. It was strictly Steven at home, and Tommy and the others called him Steve for short, but never Stevie. He thought he kind of liked it if the increasing warmness in his stomach was anything to go by.

“Just playing. My house is just over there by the trees,” Steve pointed back over his shoulder to the way he came through. It occurred to Steve suddenly that he hadn’t seen Eddie at school before. Hawkins was a small enough town that it had a single elementary school. The school was big to little Steve but he was sure he would have spotted Eddie a mile away if he was there. He was kind of hard to miss. He looked nothing like the other kids at school. He decided to ask. “Are you in the same grade as me? How come I haven’t seen you in school?”

The boy, Eddie, suddenly looked a bit forlorn; the sparkle in his eyes clouded over and his smile dropped a little. He seemed uncomfortable.

“Actually, I just turned nine and I- I don’t go to school here,” he said vaguely before quickly regaining his sunny attitude again to compliment Steve. “I really like your costume. You look rad.”

Steve, a little caught off guard by the sudden change of topic, looked down at himself. That’s right, he was wearing an Indian costume. Recently, Steve had gotten really into watching old Westerns on TV and was delighted to find that when his father discovered his new hobby he was met with encouragement; a ruffle of his hair and a ‘That’s my boy. We’ll make a man out of you yet’, rather than the usual belt across his rear and sneer of distain over Steve’s prior interests. Steve had never been so happy to have his father’s attention like that, to have anything at all in common with him, something to share with him; he was ecstatic. He looked forward to Sunday afternoons when his father was home because there was usually an old John Wayne Western on the local channel that meant his father would watch it in his den, where he’d sit back in his recliner and nurse a brandy or two after a long week of business meetings and trips. When he realized Steve had an interest in Westerns, he began to allow Steve into the den to sit on the floor next to the recliner and watch with him as long as he stayed silent and didn’t touch anything. Those moments to Steve were like Christmas and his birthday all rolled into one, but they were becoming increasingly rare lately. When there weren’t any Westerns on TV, Steve spent his days after school entertaining himself in the woods behind his house by playing what he called ‘Cowboys and Indians’. Of course, his father made it known that he was not pleased when his aunt appeared a few weeks back with a Native American costume in tow for Steve instead of the preferred cowboy one, but he’d yet to take it away from Steve.

“Oh, thanks!” Steve replied, suddenly buzzing with excitement and bending to pick up the discarded bow and arrow and dusting it off. “My aunt Patricia bought it for me. She always brings me presents when she visits. She’s super nice, but she lives all the way in Chicago, you know, so I only see her, like, once a year. I like watching cowboys and Indians on TV with my dad so that’s how she knew I’d like it. Do you like playing ‘Cowboys and Indians’?”

He’d paused in his spiel to catch his breath and to listen for Eddie’s answer when noticed the look of surprise painted across the other boy’s face. You see, Steve was a chatty child by nature. Add to this the fact that he spent most of his time playing alone and staying out of his parent’s way, it made sense that he was easily excitable when someone directed their attention to him. But Steve was old enough to realize that this was exactly the kind of thing that drove his parents and the people around him to shun him, after all ‘Children should be seen and not heard, Steven’, and now he feared he’d lose his new friend because of it too.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” Steve rushed to apologize. He couldn’t help the sound of panic that seeped into his voice. “I know I’m not supposed to talk so much. I won’t do it again. I’ll shut up; I promise.”

The other boy’s eyebrows disappeared further into his messy bangs at Steve’s frantic apology, but it quickly morphed into something Steve couldn’t quite read. All he knew was that Eddie was watching him intently. It kind of felt like he was staring into Steve’s soul or trying to read his mind. Steve waited with baited breath for the strike that inevitably came when he spoke out of turn. It didn’t come.

“It’s okay. You don’t have to say sorry to me. I liked hearing about your aunt. She sounds great,” Eddie beamed at Steve, and it felt like being wrapped in a warm blanket with a hot cocoa on a cold day. “And I do like playing ‘Cowboys and Indians’. It can’t be much fun playing it on your own though. It’s getting kind of dark now, but how about I come back tomorrow and we can play together? I’ll be the cowboy and you can be the Indian.”

Steve’s eyes lit up. He couldn’t believe his luck! The boy still wanted to play with him, even after hearing him ramble excitedly. His friends at school laughed at him when he asked them to play ‘Cowboys and Indians’ with him and called him a baby. But now, finally, Steve had a playmate that was interested in the same things as him, and he was an older boy too! This moment, rivalled the Sunday afternoons spent with his father; fast becoming like Christmas and his birthday and Easter all at once.

“Wow! You have a cowboy costume?!” Steve asked in wonder at the chances.

“No,” he shrugged, turning back to grab a long stick laying against the rock Steve hadn’t noticed before. It was a really nice stick, the kind Steve or any child with an active imagination would have hours of fun with. “But, whatever, I’ll figure something out. See you here tomorrow then?” Eddie asked, swigging the stick over his bony shoulders.

Steve nodded; his smile wide.

“Cool! See ya later, Stevie!” Eddie called out as he walked deeper into the woods.

“See ya, Eddie!”

Steve watched as Eddie battled his way through the undergrowth, beating back the brush with his trusty stick until he disappeared into the evening gloom, and wished like crazy that it was tomorrow already.

***

As soon as school finished the next day, Steve rushed home, not stopping to chat with Tommy or the others when they called out to him. He wasn’t sure what time Eddie wanted to meet him and Steve didn’t want to accidentally miss him. He had a gift to give his new friend after all.

He carried the precious cargo in a box to their meeting place in the woods wearing his full costume with his bow and arrow slung over his shoulder. It wasn’t far to the big rock from his backyard, but it took longer than usual for Steve to maneuver his way through the overgrown path with the box obscuring his view, much to his annoyance.

The niggling part of his brain that had tormented him all day, telling him Eddie wasn’t going to come and hang out with a baby like Steve, was finally silenced when he spotted the boy lying on top of the rock with one arm behind his head and the other playing with something shiny in the other, glinting in the afternoon sun beating down on him through the gaps in the trees. Little Steve thought he looked less like the wolf-child he had mistakenly thought him, and more like a mystical forest fairy this way, almost ethereal in the way the light caught his pale skin. Steve’s heart leaped in his chest and he fumbled with the box, almost dropping it. The rustling grabbed Eddie’s attention. He sat up and peered over down from his perch at a flustered Steve.

“Hey! Stevie!” he greeted loudly, pocketing his shiny toy and quickly jumping from the rock to the ground. “Whaddya think?” he asked, spinning in a circle to show off his ‘cowboy’ outfit.

Eddie still wore his ripped and dirt-streaked black jeans from the day before with a toy gun shoved into his right front pocket, but up top he wore a white button-up shirt and what looked to be a black vest from a three-piece suit like the ones his father often wore, both of which were a number of sizes too big for Eddie’s scrawny frame. Steve also noticed that Eddie had at least attempted to clean up a bit since they last met. His face and hands were mostly free of dirt, but his clothes and hair remained largely in disarray. Steve still thought he looked great, like the real rugged cowboys he’d seen in the movies, all he was missing was the hat; which reminded Steve.

“Oh, you need a hat! All cowboys have to have a hat. Close your eyes and no peeking,” Steve instructed, setting the box down at his feet. Eddie hesitated a moment, eyes darting around the clearing before grimacing slightly and squeezing his eyes shut which Steve briefly thought was odd but was too caught up in excitement to really take notice.

Steve didn’t have a cowboy hat, but he remembered last night that his father had a big, black-rimmed hat that Steve had seen him wear once when his father and mother went to a formal ball for some big charity event. His father had never worn it again and it sat in a hat box in his parent’s closet gathering dust. Steve figured his father wouldn’t miss it, and with Steve’s boyish imagination, he could easily pretend it was a real cowboy hat. He moved towards Eddie and rose on his tippy-toes to place it on his new friend’s wild, dark curls. Eddie flinched slightly but didn’t open his eyes.

“Okay, you can look now,” Steve announced.

The other boy opened his eyes and felt for the object placed on his head, laughing when he realized it wasn’t a typical cowboy hat. Steve’s self-consciousness returned at hearing his new friend laugh at his childishness, prompting him to begin again with the apologies.

“I’m sorry. I know it’s stupid. I just thought we could pretend or something … I dunno,” he mumbled, knowing there was little point in explaining it to Eddie. It had never stopped his father or his friends from ridiculing him before; in fact, it often made it worse. “Sorry.”

“It’s perfect, Stevie. Thanks!” Eddie said, patting him on the shoulder lightly, surprising Steve with his kindness. Eddie was always surprising Steve with his reactions.

“So, you ready to play?”

***

Eddie was everything little Steve could have wished for in a friend, and then some. He never laughed at Steve, only with him; no matter how stupid Steve felt for not understanding something Eddie was passionately discussing with him and asking endless questions. Steve worried that Eddie would become quickly annoyed by him like everyone else in his life, but in fact the opposite was true. Eddie seemed to be delighted by it and enthusiastically explained it in more detail, his face lighting up and arms flailing in broad gestures as he did so, making Steve’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Thanks to Eddie, Steve learned more in his short friendship with him than the boy ever had from his parents or school friends, and now he had a pretty in-depth knowledge about all kinds of cool things. Eddie knew everything! He learned how to skip rocks so that they bounced more than twice. He learned the best way to catch frogs and bugs at the pond. He also learned the names of plants and animals from Eddie as he pointed them out. He even learned how to identify and avoid poison ivy and some other dangerous plants after Eddie saved him from walking straight through a thick patch of it. He learned how to find himself a cool stick to use as a sword or a staff while off on one of their adventures after he complimented Eddie on his; the older boy helping him choose one and whittle away the unwanted twigs with a small pocket knife. Steve always wished he could repay Eddie in some way, but Eddie was a big boy and there wasn’t anything Steve could teach him that Eddie wouldn’t already know.

They quickly became an inseparable duo; a team. Steve really looked-up to Eddie, until he wasn’t just Steve’s friend; he was his hero.

Never once, in the entire time he knew him, did Steve feel anything but welcome and cared for in Eddie’s presence. He felt like what Steve imagined a real home to feel like, a real family who were always looking out for one another, and he was addicted to it. He sought out Eddie every day after school, and hung around by the big rock from early morning on the weekends hoping that Eddie would show up. Sometimes he didn’t. On those days, Steve was left to play alone in the woods behind his house, afraid to go any deeper without Eddie there. Usually, he’d be back by the next day in his waist-coat and top hat ready to play ‘Cowboys and Indians’ with Steve again, but sometimes he was gone for a while and when he came back, he came back different; subdued and very un-Eddie-like. Sometimes, not often but sometimes, there were physical differences too; faded marks or bruises on his arms and face that looked suspiciously like the marks Steve was often left with a few days after his father gave him the belt. Whenever Steve asked if he was okay, Eddie blamed his lack of coordination and spatial awareness, dismissing it as a fall down the stairs or walking into a door. And Steve had no reason not to believe him. On days like that, the boys didn’t stray far from the big rock or play games really. Eddie usually sat there in silence while Steve saddled up right next to him and tried to fill it with jokes and stories from school. Eddie was the best story-teller ever, and nothing Steve told could compare, but he always tried his best to cheer Eddie up. It was a huge achievement for Steve anytime he manged to get him to crack a smile.

One afternoon, a couple of months into their friendship, Steve finally gathered the courage to ask Eddie outright about it after he came back after a particular long stint away sporting a couple of small, angry-looking, circular red marks on his right arm. Usually, whenever the topic of conversation came around to Eddie and his life in general, the boy would flip the conversation back on Steve. And Steve, who loved nothing more than to talk, was easily distracted. And so, Steve honestly knew very little about Eddie, whereas Eddie pretty much knew all there was to know about Steve. Now that Steve was on to Eddie’s tactics, he was determined to get to the bottom of it this time because if Eddie was hurt and sad, Steve was hurt and sad. Eddie always looked after Steve, and Steve really wanted to show Eddie the same kindness.

“Where were you? It’s been a whole week of school. You’ve never been gone that long before,” Steve commented, careful to keep his voice light. “Is everything okay?”

Eddie’s hand stilled where it was doodling with a twig in the dirt. His whole body tensed.

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just a- a family trip out of town is all,” Eddie answered, not meeting Steve’s eye. “Sorry I didn’t give you a heads up. It was kind of a last-minute thing.”

“What happened to your arm? It looks sore. Did your parents take you to get it checked?”

Eddie looked down at his arm where Steve was gesturing, brows drawn and mouth opening and closing in false starts. He seemed to be struggling to come up with a valid excuse and running out of time to make it sound natural, and so Eddie tried to laugh it off instead, though it sounded a little shakily to Steve’s ears.

“Oh, this? It’s nothing, really. I don’t even remember how I got it.”

That was probably the most blatant lie Eddie had ever told him in their short friendship. If Steve had an injury as raised and angry looking as that, he would absolutely remember how he got it. It would be seared into his brain, not just his arm. Steve thought this situation seemed awfully familiar. It wasn’t much different to how Steve acted at school that one time his teachers asked him about his sudden limp the next day after getting a note home about being disruptive in class. Eddie appeared to be afraid of something, or more likely, someone. Steve trusted Eddie with his life, and he wanted Eddie to trust him in return.

“You know, sometimes my dad gets really mad at me when I don’t do things exactly the way he wants me to or talk too much about things I like.”

Eddie’s eyes widen at Steve’s confession.

“Sometimes he just grabs me real hard and yells at me, but when I’ve been really bad, he takes off his belt,” Steve continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “You know you can tell me anything, Eddie. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

Eddie remained silent for a moment and swallowed hard.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” he said, pulling Steve to his side in a one-armed hug. Steve snuggled into the older boy’s side, always relishing in the affection Eddie gave so freely. “Your dad’s a piece of shit for doing that. I guess, both our dads are,” he chuckled humorlessly.

“Is he the one that did that to you?”

Eddie nodded solemnly, his expression slowly hardening. Steve had never seen Eddie angry before. It kind of scared him.

“Fuck!’ he yelled, releasing his hold on Steve. “I can’t fucking wait ‘til I’m bigger, ‘cause when I am, I’m going to make him wish he was- he was- ugh!” Eddie threw the stick he was holding and let out a sigh of frustration. “I didn’t do anything! It’s not fair. It’s just not fair!”

Steve always thought he’d deserved it when his father got angry. If he just behaved normally and kept his mouth shut it wouldn’t happen. ‘Why can’t you be more like the Hagans’ boy, huh? You’re an embarrassment, you know that?’ But maybe Eddie was on to something. Hurting people was bad. At least, that’s what his teachers always said, and the thought of hurting any of his classmates made Steve feel sick. Could his father have been wrong all along? Did Steve not deserve to be hit after all for sharing his thoughts and having the interests he had? Eddie definitely didn’t seem to think so, and Eddie is always right. Eddie always looked after Steve, and never laid a finger on him, even when he said something that would send his father into a rage. He felt safe with him, and would stay with Eddie forever if he could.

That gave him an idea.

“Maybe we could run away!” Steve said suddenly, his face lighting up in hope. “We could live out here in the woods and no one would ever find us! You know a lot about plants and fishing and stuff; I bet we could do it! We would be outlaws like real cowboys!”

Eddie chuckled fondly at Steve, but Steve’s optimism and excitement was absent in Eddie.

“Sounds great, Stevie. Maybe someday. After all, us outlaws gotta stick together, right?”

Deep down Steve knew it wasn’t really an option for them, but it didn’t stop them fantasizing and talking about it from that day on. On particularly difficult, lonely days, it was all that kept Steve going; that there would eventually come a time that he could escape the pressures inflicted on him by his father, and that Eddie would be there with him every step of the way.

Gradually, since that faithful conversation by the rock, Eddie opened up to Steve about his homelife, but only when outright asked and under the pretense that Steve promised never to tell a soul about anything Eddie said. Over time, he learned that Eddie was raised by his grandpa, his mama’s daddy, for the first few years of his life. His parents came and went during this time, and his grandpa was his best friend. It was from his grandpa that Eddie learned all the cool things he knew and passed on to Steve. It was also from his grandpa that Eddie received his most prized possession; a gold pocket watch that Steve had only caught glimpses of before then. He learned that after his grandpa died when Eddie was seven, his whole life came crashing down. His parents sold his grandpa’s house, pulled him from school and all his friends, and moved him to Hawkins to his father’s long abandoned family cabin in the woods.

His responses were still a little vague at times. At first, Steve was worried that Eddie didn’t trust him, but started to think that maybe there was something else going on, stuff happening that Eddie didn’t even understand himself to be able to tell Steve. He learned that Eddie’s parents were often sick, and when they were sick, they forgot Eddie existed, leaving him to fend for himself. When his father was well, he would take Eddie on trips out of town, usually to the city, and make Eddie do what Eddie called ‘bad things’ and beat him if he refused to do it. His parents usually became sick again after this, and Eddie would do his best to look after them and himself with the little resources they had. Steve was surprised to learn Eddie didn’t have hot water, or heating, or much food, or warm clothes. Steve couldn’t imagine a life like that, and his heart broke knowing that that was Eddie’s life; his bestest friend in the whole world Eddie.

As winter set in, and the first flurries of snow began to fall in Hawkins, Steve made it his mission to share with Eddie some of the things he took for granted. There wasn’t much little Steve could do about the lack of hot water and heating, but his house had an overabundance of food that his parents wouldn’t notice was missing, and Steve had an old winter coat that didn’t really fit him anymore that Eddie could use. Eddie had straight up refused to accept any food at first, but he gratefully took the coat that offered much better protection against the cold than a ratty t-shirt or thread-bare sweater; even if it was far too short in the arms for Eddie’s gangly limbs, it zipped up just fine. It meant they could play for longer, too. Steve tried a few times in vain to get Eddie to take food home with him; nothing fancy, just a few tin cans that were lying around the pantry within Steve’s reach and some bread or cereal, but he continued hard-headedly to refuse. So instead, Steve took to packing snacks and drinks in his bag for them to share while they played. Eddie seemed much more receptive to that, though he didn’t take much. As the weather turned colder, Steve became brave; spurred by the knowledge that he found a way to look after Eddie like Eddie did for him. He’d sometimes ask his mother to make him some sandwiches and hot cocoa to take with him for the afternoon. At first, she’d been suspicious about his request of two sandwiches and two cups, but Steve sadly knew the best way to appease his mother was to disappear, and so, he’d told her he would be outside playing longer so he needed an extra sandwich. It was enough of an incentive for her to drop the questions. It didn’t hurt as much as it used to now that he had Eddie, but it still made him a little misty-eyed. He wished his mother would dote on him like his classmate’s mothers did when they picked their kids up from school; ruffling their hair and asking how their day at school went. Some even went as far as to hug their kids at the school gate. Heck, Steve just wished his mother would look at him with a warm smile rather than the look of pure distain that seemed permanently etched on her pretty face anytime she was reminded of Steve’s existence.

A few months later, in early spring, Steve learned to view his mother’s indifference as a blessing rather than a curse. His father had returned to Hawkins for a week after a prolonged absence. His father was promoted yet again not too long ago and he had been transferred to the company’s main office in Chicago, meaning he spent the majority of his time there in a rented apartment and only returned for a few days every couple of months at his mother’s insistence. Steve hadn’t seen him since Christmas. Steve’s frequent ventures out into the woods immediately caught his father’s attention. His father only asked him once.

“Where do you keep running off to after school?”

“Nowhere. Just playing in the woods, sir,” Steve answered innocently, hoping his father would appreciate that he didn’t forget to be respectful, and decide to leave it at that. But unfortunately, that wasn’t the case.

“With who?”

The answer to this was what his father was most concerned with. He had always taken a keen interest in the type of people young Steve surrounded himself with. If they were not to the Harrington’s ridiculously high social standards, then they were quickly ousted from Steve’s friend group. Steve wasn’t sure what his father said or did to achieve this; all he knew was that his friend would suddenly start fearfully avoiding Steve at school. The friend group he had now was small and carefully selected by his father, and Steve found it difficult to connect with them. If his father knew of Eddie, then Steve knew their friendship would be over and Steve would lose the best friend he’d ever had; the only friend he had that was his.

“No one, sir.”

“Is that so?” his father replied dangerously. “Then who is this Eddie I’ve been hearing about, hm?”

Steve’s heart sank like a stone into the pit of his stomach, and his blood ran cold. How could he possibly know? Steve thought he was being so careful. He was panicking now.

“No, sir, I swear, I just play out there by myself.”

“Funny. I was over at the Hagan’s place the other day and little Tommy had a lot to say about your mysterious new friend. He said you don’t play with him much anymore after school.”

“No, there is no new friend. I- He-”

“Are you calling Tommy a liar?” his father cut in, a warning in his voice for Steve to tread carefully. “Are you calling me a liar? Because I saw you with my own two eyes, boy, out there fraternizing with the scum of Hawkins!” his father yelled, nostrils flared and a wild anger in his eyes. It was over. His father saw them together.

Steve knew it would make it worse but he couldn’t help the wracked sobs that escaped him, snot and tears trailing down his face.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Please,” Steve begged though his sobs. The ‘please don’t beat me’, and more importantly, ‘please don’t take Eddie away from me’, went unsaid.

A knock on the door saved Steve from being berated for crying.

“That’ll be the police. Steven, go to your room,” his father commanded as he went to answer the door.

The police!? A fresh wave of panic overtook Steve. He promised Eddie not to tell anyone about him and now the police were involved. On top of losing his friend, Eddie was going to be in big trouble, and it was all Steve’s fault.

“Officer Jim Hopper, Hawkins Police Department. What seems to be the problem, Mr. Harrington?”

His father moved away from the door to allow a burly man with a thick moustache enter their home.

“Yes. My son is being harassed by a no-good brat and I want you to tell that delinquent to leave my son alone.”

“Okay,” the officer replied carefully, his eyes quickly taking in the scene and lingering a moment longer on Steve, “and what is the nature of this harassment?”

“No, sir, please. He’s my friend-” Steve begged through his tears, stepping forward and pulling on his father’s suit jacket.

“Quiet, boy,” his father admonished sharply, swatting him away and turning back to the officer. “This delinquent is an older boy that has been hanging around my son and being a bad influence on him, perpetuating bad behavior at home. I want him away from my son.”

“That’s not true, sir, please. It’s not true. Eddie is my friend.” Steve was almost hysterical now and struggling to articulate himself clearly so his father and the officer won’t take Eddie away from him.

“Olivia, get your son upstairs and to his room,” his father barked.

His mother hurriedly snapped into action from her spot at the dining room door and grabbed Steve roughly around the arm.

“Come along, Steven,” she said with faux concern, dragging Steve toward the stairs as he struggled against her. Her long, manicured nails digging hard into his arm leaving blood-red marks in their wake.

“Mr. Harrington, I understand your concerns but it doesn’t sound like any crime was committed to me. Have you spoken to the parents of the child in question and tried coming to some agreement?” the officer sighed, sounding done with the conversation despite parroting the polite formalities required of his profession.

Steve struggled against his mother’s hold on the stairs, his free arm gripping the banister of as tightly as he could, and ignored her quiet coaxing. He was thankful in that moment that her fear of making a scene prevented her from yanking him too hard and yelling at him in front of the police. He tried his hardest to stifle his sobs so he could hear what was happening. Maybe he could somehow warn Eddie in time. Or maybe they could run away for real like they always talked about before Eddie could get in trouble.

“Look here, Officer Whatever-your-name-is. I don’t care what it sounds like to you. I pay my fair share of taxes just like any good law-abiding citizen. Those taxes keep you in donuts to protect us from trash like them,” his father spat, by now enraged. “So, you go over there this instant and tell those low-life Munson’s to keep their no-good spawn away from my impressionable son!”

The officer’s impassive face at his father’s rant suddenly morphed into confusion.

“Wait, wait, back up. Did you say Munson? The Munson’s have a kid?!”

“I followed that little shit back through the woods to the old Munson cabin last night. It doesn’t surprise me one bit that that filthy brat is one of them. Despicable, the lot of them.”

The officer’s face noticeably paled.

“Thank you, Mr. Harrington,” the officer said, schooling his expression and picking the formalities back up. “We’ll follow up your claim with the Munsons and ask them to keep their son away from yours. Have a good evening.”

The officer tipped his hat and left, speaking hurriedly into a radio on his shoulder as he briskly walked back to the patrol car.

It was over. There was nothing Steve could do as tears silently streaked down his face. The police would get Eddie before Steve could even try to escape. His mind began to spiral at all the possibility that he’d never see Eddie again.

His father stood affronted momentarily at the officer’s clipped tone and hasty departure. He slammed the door shut, shocking Steve back into his body. A loud, hiccupping sob escaped Steve and he started crying again.

“I thought I told you to take him upstairs,” his father snapped at his mother. “Put him to bed. I’ll be in the den.” And with that, his father walked away.

Steve allowed himself to be pulled harshly into his room and deposited on the bed where he was left to cry himself into a restless sleep plagued by nightmares of Eddie being taken away from him.

***

In the days and weeks following that night, Steve snuck out of the Harrington house and into the woods as often as he could. He waited by their rock for hours each time, hoping Eddie would appear with his boisterous laughter and wild hair, but he never did. And with each failed attempt at meeting, Steve silently cried himself to sleep - worrying about him; missing him. It hurt so much – too much; more than anything he’d felt in his seven years of life. More than that time he fell off his bike and broke his arm, and more than the beating he got from his father the day after his father confronted him about Eddie. He’d take any number of beatings if it meant he could see Eddie again and know he was alright.

As the weeks rolled into months, the hurt and hopelessness became too much to bear for little Steve. His memories of Eddie and the time he spent with him gradually became foggy. So much so, that Steve was having a hard time determining whether it was real or if Eddie had been a figment of Steve’s imagination – an imaginary friend he was growing out of. When he’d asked his mother for confirmation, she denied Steve ever knowing anyone called Eddie. He was too afraid to ask his father. He didn’t even have anything to remember Eddie by, so how could he possibly know for sure.

His father made sure to keep a closer eye on Steve and bullied his indifferent mother into doing the same, much to her reluctance. He was always under someone’s gaze; be it his parents, his teachers, his friends, or even his friend’s parents – every little thing Steve did was noted and reported on and if his father heard something he didn’t like when he was next in town, Steve would be punished, harshly. Any fight Steve had left in him to continue being himself was steadily being beaten out of him, both mentally and physically. He grew colder and uncaring – both about himself and others. Eventually, he sometimes joined in with Tommy when he started wailing on other kids in the playground after school. He started insidious rumors about his more quiet and vulnerable classmates, and slapped books from the hands of kids in the hallways as they walked to their classes if they happened to remind him too much of himself before he stopped caring. The friends pre-approved of by his father encouraged him, egging him on, giving him a celebratory thump on the back and a “nice one, Harrington”. Gradually, Steve began to fit in with those around him and all it took was for him to stop fighting, to stop caring – to adopt the same indifference his mother exuded when he was in the room with her.

In time, Steve forgot Eddie completely. He forgot the things he’d learned from him. He forgot imagination and warmth and happiness and kindness – everything Steve was.

He forgot himself.

And in the wake of losing himself, King Steve was born.

[ashesandhackles]

I've read Innocence again and would love some 'director's commentary' if you have some time? 🥺 It's one of those pieces of writing I could find new things every time I read it. Firstly, we both love a good dream sequence. Can you talk about Tonks' dream and how Sirius appears to be closer and more tangible to her than Lupin? I know it's her emotional state and would love to hear your thoughts behind it. Sirius also asks her: “I didn’t leave anything behind, did I?” - who or what is he referring to here? 👀 My instinct is Harry but he is looking at Lupin?

I am so flattered that you find new things every time 🥹

The scene opens with Tonks watching Remus walk away towards a coffin. I was playing with the idea of Tonks witnessing Remus struggle immensely after Sirius' death, to the point he is self destructive: choosing missions where he would come face to face with Fenrir Greyback. As Pottermore implied, Remus would rather walk to his death rather than face his feelings for her.

It actually follows the line you wrote for Toys in the Attic: "I’m the only one left.”

Remus wanted to follow them, disappear into the depths with his brothers, where even the memory of Peter was still pure and foolish.

And how this self destructiveness both makes her fearful (the image of Remus flickering in her consciousness, poised to disappear), helplessly angry (Tonks dug her fingers into her forearm, unable to move from the spot.The ground underneath her had grown a tender Devil’s Snare that formed knots around her boots), and makes her feel the immense guilt that she couldn't stop Bellatrix. She couldn't save Sirius. Of course, the detail of the Devil's Snare is to add surrealism to indicate to readers it's a dream.

So Sirius appears as a manifestation of her guilt, but he is also an active participant in the dream - a way for her consciousness to process her feelings about his death.

There are few things happening in the line you mentioned:

“I didn’t leave anything behind, did I?” Sirius smiled. Remus’ profile was shimmering under the white light. “I just went... Into the non-being, as they say. Vanished.”

He is talking about Remus! Sirius also introduces Tonks' main fear in this fic: the idea and the painful process of disappearing - of death. Her depression in HBP, her loss of powers are marked by loss of sense of selfhood, so I tied both Tonks' fear for herself and her feelings about Sirius' death (and fear for Remus, and fear of Bellatrix)

It's a very painful thing - Sirius' death, and how Remus (and Harry) don't even have a body to mourn. You and I wrote a impromptu scene about this - based on an angry Remus scene you are writing for your WIP, As Moments Do - where Remus snaps and tells his friend that he wants him alive and refuses to bury him. ( I'm taking the liberty to post these scene ideas because I am pretty sure it will look different when you get around to writing this)

And then...Sirius leaves no body to bury:

Tonks witnesses Remus' grief (in Ashes-Cat shared universe of Sirius-Remus-Tonks stories), and the idea of disappearance - hers, Sirius' and Remus are what Innocence plays with.

The other bit Sirius says is actually Tonks' memory of what her father used to say when healing her broken bones, what Andromeda reminds her of in the end. It's her mind showing the answer, the key to processing all these heavy feelings: "I just went...into the non-being, as they say. Vanished."

Dream Sirius pops intrusively into her waking life with the same concept. This is the interior monologue where Tonks is almost close to her answer:

D i s a p p e a r a n c e. Such a lingering word for absence. That it wasn’t gone - maybe it had changed shape. Like the bloom of her Patronus from the absence that festered. “Into the non-being, as they say,” Dream-Sirius reminded her.

And finally, Andromeda reminds her and Tonks remembers:

"It’s from the theory of vanishing spells, Transfiguration, Grade 5. What happens to vanished objects?”

“They go into the non-being,” Tonks responded.

“Which is, everything ,” Andromeda smiled.

The idea that death (in terms of Sirius' death, her own fear of her identity loss, Remus' loud absence) is not the end of something - the energy remains, and it simply changes shape. Of course, Tonks' ability to change shape is tied to her well being here, so it's thawing out the frozen state of her depression.