#nobody is allowed to ask why the fuck I suddenly drew toes

[thehelltingvilleclub]

May Osewai - Crippling Case of the Cringe

you better hope to god she isn't actually sadako, because she will judge you on your search history on her way through your browser--

Mayumi “May” Osewai [09/09/81] Secretary of Manga AOL / Online Users : [sadako_chan] Theme Songs: Living Dead Girl - Rob Zombie | She’s Out of Her Mind - blink-182 | FUNERAL GREY - Waterparks

Favorite Shit: Anime Adaptations, Visual novels, Horror / Gore, Battle Royale(s), Monster Movies, Slasher Flicks, Acrylic Stands, Hard Covers, Asian horror, Foreign Films, Evangelion : Neon Genesis, Ghost in the Shell, Corpse Party, Torrent Sites, The X-Men, Spawn, Teen Titans, Accurate Translations, Uncensored Doujins, Silent Hill, Serial Experiments : Lain

Dude get this girl a therapist and someone other than a rabid werewolf for a brain-worm weird fluttery thought friend GUEHAKL. please. please. With literally no other friends and no longer in an environment surrounded by.. "peers", she kind of has no choice but to keep putting up with Bill despite how much of a creep he gets sometimes. They're like a family.. A horrifically disfunctional family that should maybe only meet every other christmas, and yet they're glued together despite it all. It has to be karma punishing them, right?

We are the weirdos, Mister.

This poor girl has a really bad anxiety problem and is also horrifically oblivious to a lot of things which is not a good combo. She hates the thought of missing something or making someone upset by having to make them explain, but good god she cannot read a room sometimes--

She also maybe most definitely has autism. that might have something to do with it..

She masks well enough that she genuinely just thought she was "weird" and just kinda accepted it when she moved to the states. She didn't even start to think about it until Jerry started bringing up the shit he learned in therapy.

She honestly is just kinda.. Blunt? good or bad, though she does have enough forethought to keep the bad thoughts to herself most of the time. It's more in a quiet "wait, what did she just say?" kind of way.

She struggles to express actual internal monologue, her actual emotions and thoughts on the boys, but she shows it in.. other ways.

She genuinely cares about the boys, yes even bill, though he's like.. Like if Jane and Bill were closer in age and Bill actually wouldn't leave her the FUCK alone.

Though it's not like Pete's any better-- he always so weirdly macho and it's... kinda funny? Weirdly endearing? Like a little terrier going going absolutely ballistic on the screen door. Heh. cute.

May has designed entire pokemon decks and trainer teams for the boys. They'll get posted eventually I promise vuv

She absolutely tries to play card games with Jerry and Matt, though she really only likes the play Pokemon and Yu-Gi-Oh, but she'll happily watch the two smears duke it out.

its kinda funny seeing Matt lose every once in a while.

May and Josh argue about Evangelion ALL THE TIME and it's honestly annoying but it's also very funny to see Josh get flashbacks about asuka--

She is also one of the first people Josh goes to to hang out with, even if it's just over a phone call.. well, at least for a while. He likes to talk, so she just kinda doodled mindlessly or painted her figures while listening.

... she could tell he needed it.

ALso girls omg she is still the clumsiest woman I have ever seen. She might need a new prescription like seriously.

May got a job at the local family video, so you bet your ASS Pete harasses her at work whenever he can sneak out of his own work duties. He's lucky he's cute...

She may be oblivious to some emotions, but she's not stupid.

She collects stuffed animals, but mostly pokemon plushies and assorted horror mascots. She is still really embarrassed about having them, but literally can't sleep if she doesn't have at least one like it's a problem--

She is also like icy cold. All the time. like she just pulled her hands out of the freezer. Pete uses this as an excuse to hold her hands because he's a fucking smear I swear to god he needs to grow some BALLS

ALSO HI CAN I TALK ABOUT HER SHIRT FOR LIKE 10 SECONDS ITs an indie japanese-canadian band called "Rotten Cherries" and it does rock covers of japanese pop music and even some remakes of songs by The Cranberries and Boa

THanks guYs

Also I enjoy the reference pic for her pajama shorts LMAO

GUYH Have May.

Also sorry for repeat info at the top, it's to keep with the formatting fhdsjkafinfdsajhfkdlsfhl

[jjungkookislife]

Secret ||PJM || Pt. 5: I’ll Be Good (M)

pairing: sugar daddy!jimin x sugar baby!reader

genre: smut, angst, some fluff

wc: 5.1k

warnings: [not in order] cursing, mentions about mental health (depression and anxiety), loneliness, daddy!kink, pet names (baby, baby girl, babe, good girl, doll, love), alcohol use/mentions, spit kink, choking, nudes, oral sex, nipple play, marking (hickeys, bruising, biting), hair pulling, thigh riding mentions, unprotected sex, mention of birth control, jealousy, possessiveness, creampie

date: March 31, 2021

The last thing Jimin wanted to be was stuck in a meeting with men who still didn’t trust him with the company, despite his great efforts. He made sure to keep his demeanor hard— frigid— refusing to allow them to see him as weak. It took a toll on him, a large heavy weight on his mental health, but he wasn’t going to dwell on that now because he had you to help him carry the burden.

You.

You were wonderful in his eyes. Smart, beautiful, funny, but that mouth of yours often got you in trouble. You liked to push his buttons, liked to rile him up to see how far he’d go. You were a brat at heart, but a princess at any other time when it suited you. He lov—he liked that about you.

Ever since he had first met you, he’d been drawn to you. He wasn’t sure if it was your smile, your laugh, or the way your eyes caught his at the bar of some party he couldn’t even remember the occasion of. You smiled at him, excusing yourself from the man that had been chatting you up. Jimin paid him no mind as you strutted toward him, head held high and your drink clasped in your perfectly manicured hand.

You were stunning. A true vision in your red dress that hugged your body just right. Your makeup was spectacular and as he eyed you shamelessly, you giggled. He knew he was gone then, more so when you smiled brightly at him, hand held out for him to bring to his lips to kiss as you told him your name.

Jimin repeated it, as sweet as a lullaby. Your hand remained in his after introducing himself, not wanting to let you fall through his fingers. He was the envy of every man in attendance that night, but a quick romp in the sheets wasn’t what he was looking for, and frankly, neither were you.

After the night of the party, Jimin contacted you. He hadn’t been able to stop thinking of you, fantasizing about all the naughty things he’d like to do to you... if you’d let him. You were eager, a pawn in his hand, ready to bend at his whim… for compensation.

You were a sugar baby. And definitely not a new one. You knew your way around, knew your worth, and knew when someone just wasn’t going to pay up. But Jimin would. Of course he would. Companionship, sex, and a pretty face with a personality that drew him in, keeping him on his toes… what else could he want? 

Now, although Jimin didn’t date or had the time to, honestly. He got laid pretty often, if he so desired. He’d had his share of flings, some lasting longer than others, but they all took off when he wouldn’t commit. He had no desire to, not when he had first taken over the company and not in the present either.

Jimin liked his life easy. Liked to spend time with his friends, do his hobbies (tennis, skydiving, swimming, and fucking) whenever he damned well pleased. 

Loneliness did creep in. Lonely nights of tossing and turning in an empty penthouse with nobody to share it with. Those dark thoughts consuming him, calling him back to bed when there was work to be done.

He was tired of it. Tired of feeling lost and alone, carving a hole in him that his friends just couldn’t fill, despite their best efforts.

Easily, Jimin agreed to your terms. He’d spoil you rotten, absolutely rotten in exchange for your companionship and sex. He didn’t need a girlfriend, just someone who could act the part without the commitment; the jealousy. Someone to fill the hole in his chest.

Your affection and friendship came with a price tag and some other suitors, suitors Jimin paid you to disperse off. You had put a fight to keep them, but money talked and those other daddies walked.

Jimin had smirked, sitting beside you as you cut off all your other sugar daddies. Some confused, some enraged, and some asking if you were okay. 

When he was your only daddy left, you’d smiled smugly. You’d crossed one leg over the other, ignoring the way your dress rode up your thighs, a peek of your panties drawing Jimin’s eyes as you said, “I expect the same from you. No other babies, no other women, just me.”

“You can’t be serious?” Jimin had gasped, his pouty lips in a frown.

“How bad do you want me?” You’d asked, crossing your arms under your chest to draw his attention to your breasts. Jimin had gulped, eyes wide as he licked his lips. You were a temptress, a seductress who knew how to play the game, and Jimin was at your mercy. He was your pawn and with your hand reaching for his belt, he knew he was doomed.

And doomed he was from the very start. He fell into the role very easily, thrived in it and still did. You were wonderful. A ray of sunshine in his otherwise gloomy days. He wasn’t sure how he lived before you; he was sure he didn’t. You were everything he could have ever wanted in a person and so much more, and when his friends loved you as well, he was set.

His baby. 

You were his baby and he would take care of you in any way possible, not just financially. He had bought you cars, diamonds, vacations, clothes, iPads, cell phones. You named it; he bought it. All you had to do was send a link, a screenshot, or simply point to it before it was in your hands. The more he got to know you, the more he found caring about you, wanting nothing but your happiness. He didn’t understand what he was feeling, and he didn’t think he was ready to understand it, if he was honest. So, he suppressed his feelings and did what he did best; spoil you with materialistic items. If only he knew you wanted him, and not his gifts.

Jimin looked down at his shoes, concealing the smile that tugged on his lips at the thought of you. He carded a hand through his hair, forcing himself to pay attention as the dull voices wore on and on. Time couldn’t go fast enough as he daydreamed about you waiting in his bed when he eventually got home tonight. 

It was the weekend. Maybe he could have you stay the night without you rushing out the door tomorrow morning. He liked when you stayed over, liked having you in his arms all night and being buried between your thighs in the morning.

Why were you consuming his thoughts like this? What kind of spell did you have him under? Recently he’d begun feeling… different around you. 

Jimin hadn’t been jealous since you cut off your other sugar daddies. He wanted you for himself and only himself. Mostly because it would be safer (no condoms and you were on the pill), but also, he didn’t want to share you with anyone else. You felt the same way, although you’d never admit it to his face. You’d rather choke.

Lately, these feelings—whatever they were—had made his head spin. He didn’t want to feel more. The thought alone sent him into a panic. But… he also didn’t want to end things. Could he be lying to himself? Sure. Most definitely, as his friends constantly reminded him. 

Feelings were dangerous. Feelings—especially one-sided—could cause the beautiful relationship you both had to crumble into smithereens. And then what would he have? Nothing. Not a damn thing if you weren’t in his life. He’d be lonely again. Miserable. A shell of a man like he was before he met you. 

Jimin would not go back to that. Not ever. He refused! And so with that, he buried his feelings deep in his chest, under lock and key. And nobody, not even you, was going to let them out.

“Mr. Park? Are there any issues you’d like to address or perhaps some questions?” One of the board members asked. Jimin looked at his assistant, “did you get all that?”

At the nod of her head, Jimin responded, “No, we’re all done here. I’ll see you next week. Dismissed.”

Jimin rose from his seat at the head of the table, passing by everyone to go out the door before they even had a chance to blink. His assistant was hot on his heels, with barely an inch of distance between them.

“Marissa?” Jimin stopped, his assistant halting in her tracks just before an impact could occur.

“Yes, Mr. Park?”

“Is anything on my agenda time sensitive? I’m suddenly feeling ill and would like to go home.”

Marissa looks at her tablet, scrolling through the rest of the afternoon. The sun would set within the hour, and Jimin’s most pressing meetings and appointments had been conducted earlier in the day.

“You have a call scheduled with your father. He says it concerns your brother.” Marissa informs him. Jimin rolls his eyes.  He knew that phone call could drag on, and frankly, he didn’t care to know what his younger brother was up to.

“Reschedule for next week. I’m sure he can wait,” Jimin waves his hand, popping into his office to grab his belongings before announcing his departure. Marissa calls the driver, alerting him of Mr. Park’s departure, and Jimin smirks as the doors of his private elevator shut.

It felt good to be the boss.

Jimin sat back in his limo, growing more inpatient as the minutes ticked by. You’d already sent him some racy photos, each growing more and more risqué until you were down to just your panties, back arched and fingers dangerously close to slipping into your panties.

‘I’m waiting, daddy.’

Jimin cursed, biting his lip as his building finally came into view. He wanted to devour you in kisses, consume every bit of you until you were writhing beneath him, hands pinned above your head as your pretty eyes locked with his.

“We’ve arrived, sir.” The driver stares down at his boss, who is just staring down at his phone, finally noticing his door has been opened and his driver is waiting for him to get out. Jimin immediately locks his phone, stuffing it into the pocket of his jacket before getting out.

“Thank you,” he says as he walks past him and into his building, greeting the doorman as he gets into the elevator. He swears it’s dragging today, but it could be his eagerness to get to you, knowing you’re waiting for him in his bed in nothing but a pair of flimsy panties is torturous.

Jimin rushes inside his penthouse, “Baby, I’m home.”

“I’m in here,” you call back as Jimin heads down the hallway, a smirk on his lips as he opens his bedroom door.  

He bites his lip. You’re a vision. A true vision as you lie on his bed, a teasing smile on your lips.

“I missed you,” you say softly as Jimin walks further into his bedroom. His hand begins to loosen his tie as he kicks his shoes off, ignoring how they clatter on his bedroom floor.

“I’m sorry I kept you waiting, princess,” he apologizes as he climbs onto the bed and you get on your knees, crawling over to him.

“Really? Are you going to show me how sorry you are? I’ve been waiting such a long time, daddy. I almost had to take care of myself,” you pout, your hand tightening his tie, eyes hard. Jimin licks his lips, his hand wrapping around yours before he’s caressing your face.

“Is that so?” he asks, moving his hand to undo his tie. He holds the black silk in his hands, twining it as he looks at you, his eyes drawn to your bare breasts.

“Very. It’s not nice to keep me waiting,” you whisper as you inch closer, lips pressing a featherlight kiss to his neck. Jimin swallows thickly. You quickly work your way through the buttons of his shirt, untucking it from his black slacks. You push his jacket off his shoulders, letting it crumple on the floor.

Jimin raises a brow. You ignore it. Your lips are planting kisses on every inch of his neck, pushing his shirt down his arms. You feel his bicep, looking up at him with a grin before he’s pulling you to him. You gasp, your chest pressed against his as he threads his fingers in your hair to pull you into a deep passionate kiss that has you moaning into his lips.

“Jimin,” a sigh of his name has him grunting, eyes wild as he kisses you once again, pushing you onto your back. You giggle, loving how he sloppily kisses your face and neck.

“Jimin! Jimin!” you exclaim, giggles filling his bedroom as you look up at him. Jimin feels his heart skip a beat, cheeks tinted pink as he grins widely at you, “am I forgiven, princess?”

“If I say yes, will you stop slobbering on my face?” Jimin smirks, his hand wrapping around your throat, squeezing the sides. You gasp, moaning and melting under him. 

“Open,” you do as instructed, sticking your tongue out for him. So obedient. Such a good girl for him.

Jimin releases your throat, a mischievous gleam in his dark eyes as he squeezes your cheeks. He spits on your tongue, releasing you, “swallow.”

You do.

“Fuck,” Jimin curses, carding a hand through his hair. You stick your tongue out again for him, watching as he undoes his belt, tossing it to the floor carelessly. He straddles your hips, leaning in to kiss you, his tongue twining with yours. He grinds down on you, swallowing the dulcet moans that escape you as your hands weave in his hair, tugging at the locks. Your hips meet his, feeling his erection with every roll of your hips. Your panties are soaked, utterly ruined as you beg him to touch you… to fuck you.

Jimin smirks, pressing a kiss to your kiss-swollen lips to silence you. His lips trail downward to your jaw, down to your neck where he nips and suckles at the sensitive skin as his hands cup your breast, thumbs circling your pert nipples before it’s his tongue swirling around them. Teeth gently nipping your nipple, your back arched into him as he palms himself over his slacks.

“Tell me,” Jimin starts as he rises, one hand palming his dick, the other kneading your breast. “What did you do while I was gone, doll?”

“N-nothing,” you answer honestly. Your body is heated, sweat beading at your hairline, thighs pressed together as your panties stick to you obscenely.

Jimin looks into your eyes, his hand moving over your chest. He can tell when you’re lying, having figured it out right from the start. Simple little tells: lack of eye contact, biting your lip and a racing heart.

Grinning, Jimin brushes his lips against yours, “good baby.” You preen at the praise, smiling bashfully before his hand is unbuttoning his pants, tugging the zipper down as he climbs off of you to pull his pants down the rest of the way. He takes a second to remove his socks, knowing you don’t like them on during sex.

Jimin shoots you a knowing smile as you sit up on your elbow, hungrily admiring his body. He was sin incarnate. Perfectly sculpted from his strong shoulders and neck down to his thighs that you just loved to ride until you were nothing but a creamy mess. The thought makes you clench, licking your lips as you crawl toward him, getting off the bed. Jimin eyes you curiously, slightly amused when you drop to your knees in front of him.

You look up at him, resting your weight on your heels as you lean back. Jimin can’t resist you, running his thumb over your lips.

“So pretty,” he whispers, hand cupping your cheek. You lean into his touch, feeling soft and secure. Warmth overwhelms you as you maintain eye contact, swallowing thickly. “So, so pretty.”

“Jimin,” you whine, your hand resting on his. You look at his cock, licking your lips. It’s straining against his boxers, pre-cum staining the material; it makes your mouth water. “Please?”

Jimin knows he’s putty in your hands, that look alone is enough for him to buy you the world, hell maybe the universe. How can he ever say no to you, his princess?

“Sure, baby.” That’s all you need to hear as your tongue laps at his boxers. Jimin is surprised but his fingers thread in your hair regardless, tugging gently as a warning not to tease. He’s been hard since this afternoon and the last thing he wants to be is teased. He aches to feel the warmth of your mouth wrapped around him, your nose pressed to his pelvis. 

You tease the head of his cock through his boxers, earning a tug of your hair before you’re pulled back. Jimin’s heated gaze sends a tingle down your spine, “baby.”

A simple warning, one that has you pulsating as you lick your lips, hand reaching for the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down his muscular thighs before they pool at his feet and he kicks them away. 

A curse escapes him when your lips wrap around him, your tongue swirling around the head as your hand strokes him. Jimin groans at the feeling. He could never grow tired of you. 

Jimin caresses your face when you pause to look up at him, “so pretty.” You grow flustered, ignoring the way your cheek heat as you begin bobbing up and down instead, making him moan and groan instead of complimenting you. Your plan works, Jimin overcome by the pleasure your sweet lips provide as you suck harder, sloppier, gagging on his big thick cock, hoping your throat won’t get bruised once again. You didn’t want to go through that embarrassment at the dentist again.

“That’s it, baby. Fuck,” Jimin grunts, your name spilling from his lips as he tugs on your hair, guiding you and setting the pace. “You’re so pretty when you’re choking on my dick. So good for me.”

You deep throat him, loving the sinful sounds that tumble from his pretty lips. His head lolls back, eyes fluttering shut as utter bliss crosses his ethereal features. Moans of your name, curses, grunts, and praises escape his lips as he praises you to the high heavens as his cock sits heavy on your cock, lips sucking the soul out of him.

A whine falls from your lips when you’re tugged off his cock by your hair, your adorable confused gaze meeting his cocky one. 

“Up,” he commands as you rise to your feet. He kisses you, his tongue meeting yours as you grip his biceps to hold your balance as he kisses you passionately. Arousal pools deep in your abdomen, body fueled with lust.

“Daddy, please.” Jimin chuckles, kissing his way to the column of your throat, nipping at the skin. A moan of his name rolls off your tongue as he wraps your legs around his waist to take you to his bed. 

Jimin sets you down with care, having you lie back as he climbs over you. His lips brush against yours, a featherlight kiss that has butterflies fluttering in your tummy. His hand cups your face, saying nothing as he admires your body. You were aroused, panting and aching for him. Nobody else. Just Jimin. 

The soft look you give him is what sends him over the edge, kissing you roughly as he holds you tight. Maybe… just maybe, you could love him. Love him the way he’d deny loving you. You were everything for him, but was he to you? He didn’t want to think about it right now, not when you were wet, ready, and his cock was throbbing, leaking pre-cum.

“Jimin…” your hand cups his cheek, his dark eyes flitting to yours. 

God, he loved you.

“Please,” you whisper as your hand moves down to his neck and then his chest. Jimin swallows thickly, nodding as he takes your hand in his, fingers laced together as he pins it by your head, earning a gasp from your pretty lips.

With one last squeeze of your hand and fleeting kiss to your lips, he moves down your body. He wants to mark you as his, leave love-bites on your skin for the world to see but he resists if he wants to keep his plans for tomorrow.

Jimin’s fingers toy with the waistband of your panties, tugging them down to suck a tiny mark on your hip. You roll your eyes, but you love the slight possessiveness.

“I’m yours,” you assure him regardless. It works. Jimin presses a kiss on the mark, gently tugging your panties down your thighs, you lift your hips to aid him. He tosses them over his shoulder to be forgotten.

His hands immediately grab your thighs, spreading them.

“Fuck, so wet for me. All for me,” Jimin licks his lips, looking up at you. You resist the urge to cover your face as he kisses his way up your thigh until he’s pressing a gentle kiss to your clit. A sigh escapes you, making him smirk before he’s diving right in. Your hands seek purchase in his sheets, fisting them as he works wonders on your cunt.

“J-Jimin,” you stutter, hand embedded in his thick locks, hips rising from the bed to chase after his tongue. His hand pushes you back onto the mattress while he continues to feast on you, one leg thrown over his shoulder as his fingers slip right in, curling and scissoring inside you. His tongue flicks your clit, swirling in circles before his lips are suckling it. 

You arch, crying out for him over and over again. Sweat beads between your brows, a sheen of sweat appearing on your body as you writhe beneath Jimin, wanting to crush his head between your thighs. 

Jimin looks up at you, watching as pleasure overwhelms you, his fiery tongue the source of all your curses and pleas. Your hands cup your breasts, rolling your hard nipples between your fingertips as you cry out, “Jimin… Daddy… I can’t!”

Your body is overwhelmed with pleasure. Your skin is hot, flushed as you feel the knot in your stomach tighten before you cry out, “I’m coming! Fuck!”

Jimin doesn’t stop his ministrations, continuing as you fall over the edge. His name rolls off your tongue in a mantra, eyes squeezed shut and the sheets fisted in your hand once again as you arch your back. Jimin waits until you’ve fallen slack before he slips his fingers out of you, placing them in his mouth, tongue swirling around them as he sucks them clean.

“Feel good, princess?” Jimin asks, a smirk on his lips.

“Mmm,” you murmur, your eyes still closed as you try to regulate your breathing.

Jimin chuckles, “you good, love?”

“More than okay,” you answer, sitting up to crawl over to him until you’re straddling his lap. Jimin’s hands immediately grip your hips, your lips pressing against his. Your arms wrap around his neck, keeping him from going anywhere. 

Jimin buries his face into your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin as you line him up at your entrance, sinking on to him when he least expects it.

“Baby, fuck,” he grunts, his forehead falling onto your shoulder as you hold him close while he finally bottoms out. You bite your lip, groaning at the stretch that has your eyes fluttering shut, nails digging into his perfect muscular back.

Hesitantly, Jimin looks at you. Three words sit heavy on his tongue as you stroke his face, biting your lip as you roll your hips. Your eyes flutter shut, your hand falling to his shoulder, moans of his name filling the space between your bodies. 

“Y/n,” your name is a delicate whisper, his hold on you tightening, swallowing the heavy words instead. He kisses you, losing himself in you instead. Lust is easy, lust he can deal with. That’s all this is, he lies to himself once again as you ride him. 

You hold Jimin close, fingers threaded in his hair, tugging it to make him meet your gaze, “you always fuck me so good, baby. So, so good.”

“This tight cunt is all I can think about at work. You’re such a fucking distraction but coming home to you waiting on my bed wet and horny is so worth it,” Jimin kisses you, tongue pushing past your lips before he’s rolling you over so he’s on top.

“Jimin,” you moan, his thrusts hitting all the right spots. 

“On your knees, baby.��� You do as you’re told, getting on your knees and arching perfectly for him. Jimin smacks your ass, mesmerized by the way it jiggles. He smacks it harder, your cry of his name making his cock throb in his hand as he strokes it before lining himself up at your entrance, grunting when the thick head of his cock is welcomed into your cunt.

“Fuck,” you curse, face in the pillow, turning your head to the side. Jimin grabs your arms, putting them behind your back, wrists crossed together as he holds them with one hand while he fucks into you. His head is thrown back, saccharine moans escaping him as you fuck back into him, moaning when his fingers rub at your clit.

“That’s it, baby girl. Fuck, you feel so good..” Jimin bites his bottom lip, a poor effort to try to muffle the moan that threatens to escape his pretty lips. His eyes roll back, overwhelmed by the warmth and wetness of your cunt. Your sweet moans fuel him, consume him as he pistons in and out of you to coax more of those dulcet moans from your lips. His hand moves to raise you, wrapping around your throat. Your eyes flutter shut, melting into his touch as he squeezes. 

“Jimin,” you rasp, overcome with pleasure as he continues to rub at your clit. You shutter, your hand wrapping around his wrist, nails digging into his skin. Jimin grunts, kissing your cheek as he grinds his hips into you, slamming them when you cry out that you’re close.

“Come for me, princess. Please,” his angelic voice has you pulsating, doing as he’s asked as you grip his wrist and come. Jimin moans, lips planting kisses on your shoulder before he’s biting down and coming with you.

“Jimin… Jimin!”

“Oh, fuck. That’s it, love. Come for daddy,” Jimin moans, eyes shut and lips parted as he moans your name repeatedly, filling you with cum until you’re unable to hold yourself up. Jimin chuckles, lying you on your back on his bed before he lies beside you.

“Fuck,” you giggle, pushing your hair out of your eyes as Jimin takes the chance to kiss your sweat beaded forehead. You grimace, “gross, I’m sweaty.”

“I don’t care, princess.” Jimin covers your face in kisses, making you laugh until you’re pressing your palms on his chest to push him away. 

“Jimin!” You squeal, kissing his cheek before cuddling up to his side. He kisses your temple, holding you for a few minutes before he’s pulling away from you to get you some water and lead you to the bathroom to help you get cleaned up.

You end up taking a quick shower, exchanging kisses and lingering touches before you’re wrapped up in a towel in his bedroom. You’ve brought your own clothes to sleep in, but you take one of Jimin’s baggy shirts instead, climbing into his bed while he puts on a pair of boxers.

“Go to sleep, baby. We’ve got plans tomorrow,” he tells you as you snuggle into your side of the bed, pulling the comforter up to your chest.

“Goodnight, Jimin.”

“Goodnight, princess.” Jimin whispers, caressing your cheek before you close your eyes. He watches you until he’s sure you’re asleep, hoping you can’t hear how loud his heart beats.

The morning sunlight streams in through the cracks between the curtains, the light stirring Jimin awake. He sits up, rubbing at his eyes with his hands until all he can see is black dots before his eyesight settles once again. 

Beside him, you’re still sleeping, clutching the pillow to your chest. He sits up, admiring the serene look on your face as you snooze away beside him, so comfortable, stress free. 

Jimin’s heart thunders in his chest when you stir, rolling over and seeking out his hand with yours. He easily gives it to you, squeezing softly when you settle soundly. 

As the world outside begins to wake, he can’t help but want to stay in this bubble the two of you have created in his home. Nobody to bother you, nobody hounding you to do this or that. Nobody to disturb your utopia. 

Jimin caresses your face, his delicate touch makes you moan softly as his fingers push your hair out of your eyes. He stares at you freely, admiring your features. You were beautiful. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and it still baffled him how you’d agreed to this arrangement. He knew he couldn’t give you more, and on days like today, he desperately wished he could. But what would that get him? Get you? A broken heart and the loss of his best friend? He couldn’t risk it. Wouldn’t risk it. Money was easy. Money came and went, but you stayed regardless if money appeared in your account at the end of the day. That scared him.  Why would you stay?

“If we’re having a staring contest, you gotta wake me up first, Minie.” Your voice startles him, his hand hastily pulling away from your face as you sit up. He hopes you can’t see the pinkness in his cheeks or the embarrassed smile on his lips. 

“Way to ruin the moment,” he laughs, shaking his head, and your heart skips a beat when he gives you his radiant smile. 

“I didn’t know there was a moment to ruin, baby. I’ll close my eyes and you can keep staring at me,” you giggle, rolling over and shutting your eyes. Jimin settles behind you, draping his arm over your waist before you wiggle into him. 

“I hate you,” he jokes, kissing your temple. 

“Mhm, your cock is way too hard for you to lie about that,” you smirk, wiggling further into him. 

“Shh,” he chuckles deeply, kissing your cheek, moving your hair out of the way to kiss your neck. 

“Show me how much you hate me, Min,” you goad him, turning to face him. Your eyes lock on his and Jimin can’t help but fall for you even more. He wonders if it’s obvious to you like everyone else? He wouldn’t dare admit it out loud, not to himself and certainly not to you. You were destined to fail, and who was he to stand in the way of destiny?

“Lie back, princess. Let me get a taste of you.”

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[zoawrites]

Prompt: a concert. They can meet there, have already planned to go together, by a twist of fate end up there, anything! Lol but at least part of it has to take place at a music concert of any genre

Sorry it took me a little while to get this done! Loved the prompt and I had a lot of fun with it! Thank you! 

Story below the cut! (Rated T)

Also, here’s the AO3 link  

Enjoy!

Zoa ❤️

A Wrong Turn to the Right Place

Ben knew he shouldn’t have listened to the damn GPS. ‘Take a right’, it said. ‘Destination will be on your left’, it insisted.

Wrong.

And that was how Ben landed right in the middle of a fucking rock concert instead of at an isolated cabin in the woods where he could find some peace and quiet to finish his manuscript. Was it rock? There was a stage and guitars and a mosh pit so he assumed it was rock. Then again there was a guy with a banjo and another dude with a cello and the two singers had a country twang so probably not rock.

Was it Indie music? Were they hippies?

Ben didn’t know and didn’t care. He just needed to find someone who had a map of the area so he could find his cabin and get out of this loud, body-filled mess of a field. There was a fleet of food trucks lined up along the edge of the crowd, buzzing with customers.

Surely someone had a map. Ben approached the nearest truck and jumped ahead of the line, getting booed and jeered in the process but he ignored the voices. He wasn’t trying to buy anything.  

“Excuse me!” Ben had to shout to be heard over the music and the people. The man at the window glared at him.

“What’re you doing, man? Back of the line!”

Ben was not dissuaded. “I don't want to buy anything. Do you have a map?”

“If you’re not buying, fuck off! I got real customers!”

“Seriously?” Ben scoffed.

“Get the fuck out!”

Ben flipped him off as he backed away. “Asshole.”

He tried every other truck and a few people in line but no one could - or would - help him. After his final attempt, he stood and scowled at the ongoing concert, hands on his hips. How did he end up here? Fucking GPS… fucking food trucks… fucking loud music… can’t hear a damn thing…  

A tap on his shoulder pulled Ben from his angry contemplations and he turned to tell off the concert-goer with all the pent up rage he was currently nursing only for it to disappear in a puff of smoke.

She was in her early twenties, above average height, chestnut hair cut short so that it framed her face. Which was lovely and covered in adorable freckles to which he could devote a whole chapter of his book. Ben stole a moment to gather his thoughts as he took in her Daisy Duke shorts and black, long-sleeved crop-top that had the word ‘nobody’ emblazoned across the chest in white block letters.

“Excuse me, are you in line?”

“What?” Why was it so fucking loud? They weren’t even that close to the stage. “I can’t hear you!” He pointed at his ears and shook his head helplessly.

The girl - young woman - wrinkled her pert nose but then pointed to the food truck. “Are. You. In. Line?”

“Oh, no…” Ben shook his head. “I need a… help.”

“‘A help’?” She laughed and Ben more than ever wished the music wasn’t so loud so he could hear what he was sure was the clearest, loveliest laugh. Her eyes - green with a touch of gold, like the stalks of tall summer grass waving in the distance - looked him up and down, observing his dark blue henley and light jacket, probably realizing he wasn’t there for the concert.

“I’m lost!” He yelled forlornly. Well, as forlornly as a shout could sound. But she seemed to get the picture. His new friend took pity on him and grabbed his hand, guiding him toward the collection of Port-a-Potties lined up at the edge of the field. There were still plenty of people about, so they weren’t completely alone but the noise pollution was much improved. Although he could have done without the smell.

“You’re lost?” She asked and he heard her accent for the first time. British, soft, warm, like sunlight on a spring day. Ben blinked at her for a second before he nodded.

“Yeah. Lost. My, uh, my GPS told me to come here.”

“Where were you trying to go?”

“A cabin. I rented it. I thought I had the right address,” Ben sent a hand through his hair, ruffling it in exasperation. She seemed to watch the movement with interest. “I wanted…” he looked around and sighed, “I wanted a quiet place to write.”

His companion laughed again and yes, it was definitely as Ben imagined it. Better, in fact. “You’ve definitely come to the wrong place for that!”

“I know,” he managed a crooked smile and she pressed her lips into a tight line, as if repressing one of her own. “I don’t suppose you have a map of the area?”

“I don’t. Don’t you have a mobile? A cell phone you can use?”

“No. I don’t like them.”

“Oh, wow,” she grinned. “I didn’t think any of you actually existed.”

“Any of who?”

“Sasquatch.”

“Ha ha,” Ben rolled his eyes but wasn’t offended, not when her eyes were wrinkled and bright at her own joke. “Very funny.”

“I thought so. Here,” she reached into her shorts’ back pocket and drew out her own phone, “let’s see how far astray you’ve come.”

Turned out, he’d strayed quite a ways off his path. An entire state, in fact. The town his cabin was located at and the one he was currently in shared the same name and, unfortunately, Ben hadn’t double checked when he’d plugged in the address. Just selected the automatic suggestion that popped up on the screen like the idiot he was.

“Well, fuck.”

“I’m sorry.” The girl’s expression was honestly sympathetic.

The crowd behind them cheered as a new song began and Ben glanced mournfully over his shoulder. “Look, I don’t want to keep you. I appreciate your help, but I can manage from here. Go have fun.”

“I can still hear the music. I’m Rey, by the way,” she stuck out her hand and Ben stared at it for a second longer than necessary before he engulfed it with his own giant paw.

“Ben. Ben Solo.”

“Ben.” She said his name slowly, as if savoring how it rolled off her tongue. There was even a minuscule lift to the corner of her mouth, which Ben tried very hard not to stare at. “Solo… You’re a writer? Have I heard of you?”

“No,” he shook his head. When she tilted her head quizzically, he cleared his throat and elucidated. “I’m not published yet. This trip was supposed to be my attempt to finish my manuscript…”

“Not getting to a great start, are you.”

He laughed bitterly. “No, guess not.” Then he heaved a very heavy sigh. “I should get going. I have a long drive ahead of me, apparently.”  

“Why don’t you stay?”

The question came as a surprise and this time he allowed himself to stare at her. “What?”

A charming pink hue lit Rey's cheeks. “The sun’s going down, you see. Probably not a good idea to drive in the dark when you don’t have a map.”

“It wasn’t a good idea in daylight, either,” Ben said wryly and Rey laughed again. “But you’re right,” he added, unable to tear his gaze from her bright eyes. “Probably a good idea to stay. I can find a hotel…”

“You can hang out with my friends and I…”

They spoke at the same time. Her eyes darted away in obvious embarrassment but then peered at him from under lightly-mascaraed lashes. Ben swallowed.

“Really? You don’t even know me.”

Rey tilted her head and gave him a shy smile. “You seem fairly harmless to me. Although, you’re a bit short with food truckers, I’ll admit.”

So she’d seen that. Could his face get any hotter?

“Not my finest hour,” Ben admitted, running a hand through his hair again. Her offer was tempting, and the music wasn’t bad… in fact, Ben could see himself tapping a toe to it. “I won’t be intruding?”

“Of course not!”

Then she suddenly grabbed his hand and hauled him off toward the stage. Rey somehow managed to find all the gaps and passages through the dense collection of people, although, with Ben in tow she didn’t really need to because those passages were being bulldozed anyway. Unfazed by the scowls and middle-fingers flipped at them, Rey tugged him to a spot deep in the crowd where four others were bouncing around to the beat.

A short, dark-haired girl with round cheeks and a contagious smile caught sight of Rey, took one long - very long - look at Ben and smirked.

“That’s not what I meant when I said bring back a snack!” She yelled with a wink, earning an aghast and open-mouthed expression of shock from Rey.

That was Rose Tico’s charming self-introduction. Rey’s other friends, Finn, Jannah, and Kaydel were less free with their thoughts, albeit just as curious. They welcomed him warmly enough. While Ben felt out of place - and knew he was - he couldn’t find it in himself to part from the girl who’d rescued him. So he stood and bobbed his head to the music, enjoying watching the others’ antics and enthusiastic singing along.

Still, it wasn’t exactly his favorite activity, and somehow Rey must have sensed that because sometime later - as the horizon was lit by the pink and purple light of the setting sun - she tugged him back through the crowd and toward grassier areas where there were scattered groups sitting on blankets and lawn chairs.

They sat together in a soft patch of grass and Ben sighed, not trying to hide his relief. “Thanks.”

“I did have an ulterior motive,” she admitted, stretching her toned legs out and crossing them at the ankles.

Ben nodded in encouragement, pretty sure if she wanted to take over the world he’d help her. “What’s that?”

“I want you to tell me about your book.”

“My book?” His brows lifted straight up. “You really want to hear about it?”

She nodded and Ben, right in assuming he had little ability to resist any request she made, launched into a summary of his story: a hard-boiled detective investigating the deep, dirty secrets of a city’s nefarious mobster.

“Is there a love story?”

“There’s a woman,” Ben admitted. “I haven’t decided if he should fall in love with her.”

“I think he should.”

“Thing is, I’m not sure how to write her.”

“Maybe you need a muse.”

Ben lifted his gaze from the grass to focus on her face, on all the little freckles dotting her nose, the strange way the fading light of the sun seemed to worship her cheeks. She was beautiful here and now but he wanted to know how many other ways she was beautiful. How she ate toast in the morning. What her favorite movie was. If she squealed when she saw a bee. Everything. He wanted to know everything about her and write it all down.

“Maybe I already have.”

[lunaschild2016]

Close To You - [Eric/Devi] Part 2

Rated: M

Title and inspiration from Close To You by Maxi Priest

Summary: Devi and Eric’s story continues, but this time we see things from Eric’s eyes. It was her belief in him that sparked them finally coming together, but where did it really start for Eric? The life of a childhood sweetheart, conspiracies, and the fate of the city all hung over his head. He didn’t need to be wondering how to get close to the tiny amity with fire in her eyes and a mouth to match. He didn’t need to worry and wonder about how he could find a way to just be close to her.

@kenzieam  @pathybo  @jaihardy @every-jai @ericdauntless@beautifulramblingbrains @bookgirlthings @jojuarez26@oddsnendsfanfics @offroadinjandals @singingpeople@iammarylastar @irasancti @captstefanbrandt @clublulu333@fuckthatfeeling @tigpooh67 @ex-bookjunky  @jughead-wuz-here wuz-here @badassbaker @beanzjellly @beltz2016@meganbee15 @affabletimelady @scorpio2009 @gylisaa@geekybeyondallreason @violetsonthelam @kyloswarstars@emmysrandomthoughts @kgurew @beltzboys2015-blog@slytherin-princess-25273 @whatwouldbuffydo666@jaiboomer11 @holamor @wealwayskeepfighting @original46 @blakefc @xtheserpentx @artisthedgehog

Part 2

The buzzing of the tattoo gun is hypnotic. Combined with the sensation that the needle piercing my skin brings, I’m drifting into another zone. My head is laid back against the leather headrest and my eyes are half-closed. It’s a state of relaxation that seems ridiculous considering what’s being done to my skin at the moment. But that’s exactly what this is for me. 

Relaxing.

I hadn’t believed Ronin, a Dauntless-born that I’ve made friends with when he claimed that tattoos are addicting. His skin is already riddled with them and he seems to be the most tatted up guy among the bunch of Dauntless-born in our year. So, I just thought that particular opinion wasn’t common going by that information. 

I scoffed at my friend the same way I had at Jules when she teased me about being covered in ink from head to toe the next time she saw me. Now I’m not sure they weren’t right about that. 

The thing is, out of everything that Dauntless has on offer to help me unwind, this is the one place that I’ve truly been able to. 

Drinking is all well and good, but I don’t drink to get shit faced. Besides most of the crap they have here for mass consumption, and what us lowly initiates can afford, could strip paint it’s so strong. 

Hooking up seems to be another favorite way to pass the time here. I would’ve thought initiates would find slim pickings for that, but apparently, we’re all considered fresh meat. It’s not like my body isn’t all for it but my head is all kinds of messed up right now and getting involved with anything like that isn’t a priority for me.

The first couple of weeks here I had more difficulty with learning how to deal with this after my usual glares and silent treatment had no effect. Until Ronin came along and was happy to take any action off my hands that I didn’t want. I definitely got some shit from him about that, but I played it off as me being too focused on finishing initiation and getting first rank. I guess that was believable enough because he stopped giving me shit as much and seemed to pass the word around. I stopped having so many women coming onto me. 

The other forms of blowing off some steam were all found in the bars and entailed either dancing or fighting. One, I wouldn’t be caught dead doing, and the other isn’t something I’m allowed to do.

Entertainment fights are off-limits to all initiates from actually fighting in. I can watch them all I want, but what’s the fucking point of that? So, the only real kind of release I wanted at the moment is denied to me.

Which brings me to the tattoos. 

I hadn’t planned on getting anything done, tattoos or piercings, until I’m actually a member. I kept to that plan for the first month and a half that I’ve been here so far. But as of three weeks ago, that got shot to hell.

That’s all my little one’s fault. 

Devi.

Against all odds, predictions, and everything going against her, the girl’s still here. Still here tormenting me, but she doesn’t have a clue about that. Honestly, I doubt she even knows I exist. That fact still hasn’t stopped me from watching her. That’s how I knew that she now spends every day after training until just before lights out at the tattoo parlor. And that’s what also drew me here for the first time.

Really, I’m not sure when it started for her. Devi seems to be even better at slinking around unseen than fucking Four. While Four has at least has made friends with a Dauntless-born in our class named Zeke Pedrad, Devi talks to nobody and no one talks to her either, at least not in a pleasant kind of way.

The first week here she kept silent, even when the others started in on her, but as time went on her keeping silent went away. Now she doesn’t hesitate to give them back as good as they’re giving her. She might not win many physical fights, but I’ve seen her cut a few of the girls to pieces with her words before she storms away, looking like she’s barely able to hold herself back from getting physical. 

I know, since I know what’s really going on with her that some of her fight and loss of temper is from her withdrawal. A common side effect of detoxing is mood changes, but I’m guessing with what she was on and for how long she was on it, it’s even worse. Everything that I've been able to find out about that shit is bad news.

I got access to a tablet shortly after my brother letting me know what’s going on with her. I couldn’t help myself. 

Ronin’s got a brother who works in a high enough position that he’s given a tablet and managed to borrow it for me for a few days. Enough time for me to pull up any information I could find on the most commonly used serums in Amity. They have two main serums and several others that used but not as frequently. All of them are mood and behavior-altering, but Peace serum is the worst of the lot since it’s actually a combination of a few of them.

Out of all the substances that Erudite has come in contact with, peace serum has been the most damaging and dangerous to break a person from. Which is kind of fucking ironic considering that Amity is all about doing no harm and all that other hippie nonsense.

The serum is composed of several different serums in higher dosages and it forces the person to be calm and happy, as well as being very open to suggestions. Any negative thoughts or feelings are pushed away completely, and they don’t have to cope with those things either. Devi was on a lifetime of the shit. A lifetime of never having a bad or negative feeling means that she also never learned to cope with any of that. 

Things learned and experienced during puberty were completely suppressed and that can’t be a cakewalk for her to suddenly be feeling all at once. I don’t blame her one bit for keeping far away from anyone and everyone. It doesn’t help that the other initiates’ behavior has actually gotten worse when she does have to be around them. 

I think it pisses them off and offends them that she isn’t just hanging on by the skin of her teeth, but actually improving. Devi is a fighter, through and through even if physically she doesn’t look it. She’s shit at fights, there’s no doubt about that. More times than not she has to be helped or carried off the mat, bleeding and hurt. 

That’s been complete fucking hell to watch when it happens.

I still have a few more weeks of fights before the end of the first stage. Thank fuck we aren’t expected to fight every day. They do at least space them out and alternate activities to allow our bodies to recover a bit. But I’m counting down the days until the second stage starts and we won’t be expected to do much more than making sure we’re keeping up with workouts while we are doing whatever else they have planned for us.

So far, I haven’t had the match up I dread most, being put against Devi. Internally I’ve been hoping like hell that luck will hold out and I don’t get put against her. Based on a few things I overheard when Amar was talking with a couple of the leaders on the day they deigned to make an appearance and check on us, I think there’s a good chance I won’t have to. 

They were discussing fights and how everyone is doing. I heard one of them ask Amar about the Amity girl in a condescending tone, probably expecting to get a few laughs at how poorly she’s doing or at least some kind of smart-ass comment back from Amar in agreement of how unsuited she is for Dauntless. 

What he got instead was what I felt deep inside of me that night I carried her to the clinic.

‘If all of our people had as much fire as that girl does, then there would be nothing stopping our faction. That little girl might not look it, but I tell you she’s all Dauntless.’

She’s a true Dauntless and it shows, which is why I think the others are so hacked off at her. The tiny girl from the faction of peace lovers is making all of them look like fools with how they grumble and complain or try to worm their way out of their next match after being on the receiving end of a beating.

Not Devi though.

She leaves that mat a bloody mess and turns back up for her next fight with a fierce look on her face and little fists clenched at her sides. She doesn’t blink, no matter how unevenly matched the fights are, and she refuses to concede even when she’s being pulverized. 

I can’t count how many times I’ve watched her refuse to tap out and have to be knocked out instead, or a trainer call the match before some real or permanent damage can be done.

Amar let both Max and Oliver know this very fact. Then I heard them discussing future pairings. Max had been all for seeing how she would do against a higher-ranked fighter and would’ve pushed for that happening until Amar let him know that one of her previous matches was against Four. That satisfied their bloodlust but it only inflamed mine against the stiff. 

He was all apologies and reluctant looks before the fight, but once he got in there he didn’t seem to have any problem landing more than a few punches that made her bleed. Then there had been how he finished her off by locking her in a hold until she passed out all while she struggled and screamed her rage at him before finally the fire in her eyes dimmed and she was out.

That image fucking haunts me and I’ll never forgive either of them for it, but the stiff especially. I’ve just been waiting to get a little payback when my time comes to face off against him. 

For some reason, all of the leaders seem hesitant to make that happen right now. I’m not sure if it’s because there’s obvious enmity on my side or what, but it’s been pissing me off that the one match I’m looking forward to most isn’t happening.

“Let’s take a break. I need a smoke.” Bud, the tattoo artist currently working on me grumbles out drawing my attention back to what I’m in the middle of.

“Okay,” I say with a shrug and remain in the chair while Bud puts the gun up and clears a few things before moving off towards the back and behind a curtain that Tori, the other tattoo artist just disappeared behind in a hurry. 

I watch him for a second wondering why he’s going to the backroom for his smoke break when the other times he usually goes to stand outside of the parlor. With another shrug of dismissal, I look down and inspect the work done so far. 

I now have two tattoos and after Bud comes back it’ll be three. The first is the smallest and is about the size of my fist. The placement for that one is at the top of my spine and is a riff of the Erudite symbol combined with the Eye of Horus in an all-black tribal style of tattoo. 

The two I’m getting worked on right now cover the forearm on both of my arms and are a combination of black and rust color. I wanted something geometric and found a maze design on their wall of art so that is mainly what the design is made up of, broken only by the interjection of various symbols. 

The design for all of my tattoos have been me telling Bud and Tori what I wanted and then them coming up with something. Tori suggested I stick with using things that look like the Egyptian symbol from my first tattoo for the ones on my arms, so that’s what we did. Bud let me use his tablet and I spent a little bit of time searching the archives on the network. I eventually found some others I liked but from other old-world cultures. They all run along the same lines of meaning that the Eye of Horus has. Strength, Power, Health, and Wisdom. There are a few others that I put on there that are things I hope to work towards. I let my fingers trace the arm Bud has done so far, checking out how the reimagined design melds into the tribal style. 

Sounds from the back area distract me and pique my curiosity, especially when I clearly heard a particular name being mentioned. It has me easing out of the chair and sliding towards the curtained off area. I didn’t step through but I stayed close and pretended to be looking at some of the flash on the wall there.

“She should go get checked out in the clinic at the very least.” 

“She’s not going to do that anymore than she’s going to report the attack, Bud. I don’t blame her with the way shit’s been going around here. They're not going to do anything to the girls that did this and she says it would just make her more of a target with the other initiates.”

“Maybe I should go find them and have a few words with them then.”

“Don’t go doing anything stupid. Besides, Devi says she gave them as good as she got. You just go back out there and finish with that nose’s tattoo. I don’t feel comfortable having him in the shop longer than is needed. ”

“Still don’t trust him?” 

“I don’t trust anyone, Bud. Especially someone from that faction. Not after George.”

There is rustling behind the curtain and I know I won’t make it back to the chair, so I slide further down the wall and think about the shit I’ve just heard while I try to look like I’m just checking out the art on the wall.

Bud comes out just seconds later, looks at the chair and sees me not in it then swings his eyes around to find me. He narrows his eyes for just a second before he smirks and motions with his head towards the chair and turns to walk towards it himself.

I follow behind him casually and work to keep my composure. It’s a hard thing to do when I just want to leave here and go find whoever the cowards are that hurt Devi. Luckily, Bud doesn’t seem to realize where my mind is headed right now and he doesn’t press to talk.

He finishes my arm, seeming to work much faster than normal because before I know it, he’s wiping it clean and about to start smoothing the lotion that will prevent scabbing and heal the area.

“There you go, all finished.” He pronounces with a nod then turns to start cleaning up his gun.

I sit there inspecting the work and contemplating saying something or not to him but think better of it. I don’t know what I’m going to do when I find the girls and I don’t know Bud to trust him either.

I don’t spare another glance at him as I take care of paying for today’s session then walk out into the compound. 

                                                      ****************

Jocelyn and Portia.

I should have known it would be those two. They were complete bitches in Erudite and Dauntless just seems to have enhanced that. They’ve been the worst of the girls and relentless in their insults towards Devi. 

It took some investigating and me bribing Ronin to get access to the cameras but I was able to find out that Devi was attacked sometime after we were dismissed on Friday, which was shortly after lunch, and just after dinner. With there being no training scheduled for Saturday or Sunday, the initiates all scattered and it took scanning camera feeds to track everyone down. Not that the piss poor quality of most of the cameras made it easy but at least I was able to narrow down the likely suspects and eliminate them as I was able to pick them up. The only two I couldn’t find were Jocelyn and Portia. I was able to confirm with Candice in the clinic that they stumbled in late Friday evening.

Technically we aren’t supposed to be sleeping anywhere but the dorm. Leadership doesn’t really care enough to have anyone enforce that rule. So the Dauntless-born will generally go back to wherever they were living before initiation started or with friends. The transfers either found members to bunk in with or stumbled in for a few hours sleep before heading back out to party again.

I’ve had a lot of time to figure out what to do but what I decided on is nowhere near where I started at. Especially when Devi made an appearance at lunch yesterday, Saturday. 

Maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she hadn’t already been injured pretty badly from her last fight. With what she got during that fight and then the attack, I get why Bud was insisting she go to the clinic to get checked out. It took every bit of restraint and a few long hours of staring off into the Chasm to calm down instead of hunting them and throwing them into those raging waters. 

The entire time, I heard Eli and Jules in my head, cautioning me to play it smart and not lose my cool. Warning me not to do something that would put my position here at risk, to not put Devi at risk, any further than we already are.

It’s been two days since they attacked Devi and one since I found out it was them. I’ve been biding my time and last night, after those two were returning to the dorm from wherever they holed up at, I happened to run into them and shared a few words.

So, how did I get even with those two cowards? By promising to make their lives absolute fucking nightmares. By using every Erudite tactic to mess with their minds that I know. To have them jumping at shadows afraid to even breathe wrong around me for fear that the veiled threats I’ve made will be carried out. 

You see, those two were in Erudite with me and they at least know or suspect my involvement with Jeanine. Even if they don’t know about that, they at least know my personal reputation. I wasn’t known as a very nice guy to people that I found beneath me. I’ve made it clear that they are very beneath me and not fit to be at Dauntless, and one way or another, Dauntless will weed out the weak. 

Now, I wait. And I will reinforce that message as many times as it takes for them to cut their losses and get out while their ahead, before the little conscious I have fades altogether.  

This isn’t about Devi. This about what I can allow in my faction and what I can’t. 

At least, that’s what I’m telling myself.

                                                          ****************

“I know you did something to them.” The tone is low and is probably supposed to be threatening, but I just find it irritating and ridiculous.

I knew there was a reason the damn stiff has been sticking to my side for the last few days. I’ve been waiting for him to get the balls to actually confront me on it. I didn’t think he would, but of course, he picks just before we’re about to face off against each other in our fight to start something.

I don’t respond, instead, I just try and focus on what’s ahead of me. Besides, it seems like my tactic of ignoring him seems to be grating and riling him up a little.

Maybe I can get him unfocused enough.

It seems to work because I can tell Four is losing all that carefully bottled up anger he likes to pretend isn’t inside of him before he launches into his next accusations. 

That he saw how I was always hounding and sniffing around Jocelyn and Portia.

Hounding and sniffing? Really stiff? 

I barely ‘ran’ into them a few times while they were traveling along some fairly dark and unstable hallways. It’s not my fault they weren’t watching where they were running to, even if they were trying to avoid me at the time.

He saw all those looks I kept giving the two girls and knows I was up to something with them.

No shit Sherlock, you’ve already covered that, move along. 

At this point, I’m amused and probably doing a piss poor job keeping that from showing. Not so much at his words but how flustered he seems to be getting about it all.

He starts throwing out insults at me, calling me names that he thinks will offend me but honestly, how am I supposed to get offended at someone calling me a ruthless bastard? That’s a fucking compliment in my book. 

When that doesn’t work he changes things up and goes for an accusation that has me losing all my cool, all my amusement, and it just pisses me off even further that I’m letting him get to me. 

His accusation that assaulted them shreds the last of my restraint.

This was very fucking fortunate timing because it was about then that Amar called us both onto the mat. 

I think I hear Amar saying something low enough where just the two of us can hear as we both glared at each other hatefully. I think he might be trying to tell us to keep things clean but there so fucking chance of that. 

Number boy wanted to get dirty and I’m all too eager to oblige.

[sweetlangdon]

Reckoning: Part Four (Michael Langdon x Reader)

Notes: AU of the Outpost plot of Apocalypse. A Gray accidentally finds Michael while he’s performing the ritual. Things take an interesting turn.

Warnings: Blood. So much blood. There’s blood in every part of this fic so far. Swearing. Murder. Graphic violence/gore. Blood kink. Knife play. Things get heated, but there’s no smut…yet? (There might be in the future, if I’m feeling particularly brave.)

This fic is currently in progress.

Also available on AO3.

[Repost of a previously published fic from my main blog.]

Part One   Part Two   Part Three

She recoiled as if the mark had scorched her fingertips, as if her skin had blistered in an open flame. It might as well have—he’d been warm all over; she’d felt that warmth through her clothes, but the mark behind his ear was blazing hot. She stumbled away from him until her back slammed into the wall near the doorway, hysterical laughter numbing the pain that jolted up her spine and knocked her teeth together. Her hands were shaking again.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me,” she said at last. “That’s just—no. You know what? This game has gone on long enough. I don’t know what kind of shit you’re trying to pull here, but that…I’m not…no.”

“You asked for the truth.” Langdon eyed her with slightly disheveled hair and annoyance pulling at the smirk on his lips. It was a composed sense of annoyance, which seemed like an unbelievable concept to her. She felt such a weird mix of confusion and rage and attraction toward him that she was beginning to infuriate herself, and she was sure that he could see every single bit of it.

“I gave you nothing else.” He took slow, deliberate steps to eliminate the distance she’d put between them. “When you found me, a part of you knew.” Langdon inched closer, the pointed toe of one his shoes settling between her feet. “And when you said those words back to me…you felt them, didn’t you? The power of them—of my father. Suddenly, the world became clearer…every need, every desire, no matter how dark,” he planted his hands on either side of her shoulders, “…and the very thought of it frightened you.”

What little air that had been left between them seemed to crackle, the heat that flowed from him playing across her skin. Her palms were slick with sweat again, but she couldn’t take her eyes off Langdon. She didn’t know what she hated more—him, or her inability to resist the intense, prying look he’d leveled her with.

She definitely fucking hated that he was right.

Ave Satanas. The words she’d said against his mouth, so full of rage and want, her mind hazy with it. She’d said them before she understood the full weight of them; she’d needed him to feel the words on her own lips. What the fuck was wrong with her?

“You may not be a believer—not yet,” Langdon cocked his head to the side, just a little, “but you believe in things beyond this ruined world,” he continued. “I could see it in your eyes…just as you saw it in mine.”

Lightning appeared to streak across his face and illuminate another side of him that lay hidden beneath his impeccable jawline and silky blond hair. It lasted for a moment or two; eyes shining like onyx sunken into a pale, withered face. Something hellish. A monster.

The fucking Antichrist.

She felt dizzy again. Her spine pressed into the wall, her fingers cold and tingling as panic began to race through her bloodstream. “You’re going to kill me.”

“No,” he drawled. Langdon lifted one of his hands and she felt his soft, warm fingertips wander along her cheekbone. His blood had long since dried on her skin, staining her dark red, and the scent and feeling of it seemed to leach into her soul. “If I’d wanted to kill you, I would have done it already. You gave me more than enough opportunities.”

She slapped his hand away without thinking about the fact that he could strangle her or probably break her goddamn neck with it. Fear made her angry, and anger made her act entirely on impulse.

“Then why the hell are you here?” she demanded. Langdon dropped his hands to his sides, one eyebrow raised at her outburst in a show of amusement. “You’re the reason we’ve all been miserable for the past eighteen months. Youstarted all of this shit.” She huffed out a shallow, anxious breath. The fucking Antichrist. “It’s been a while since I’ve gone to Sunday school, but I recall the Book of Revelation being a huge fucking deal.”

“So death would’ve been preferable to you?” Langdon goaded. “Torn apart by the blasts or the agonizing effects of radiation? Compared to the rest of the world, eighteen months of loneliness and servitude seems a far better alternative.” He folded one arm behind his back; he’d stepped away from her, taking the warmth with him. His tone regained some of its sharpness. “The only reason this outpost is standing is because I helped make it possible. And I’m here, as I said before, at the interest of The Cooperative. I haven’t lied.”

“You destroyed the world.” She scoffed, but she still missed the heat he carried. The anxiety in her veins had made her cold and her chest tight. A small fragment of her realized that she was only fighting him and asking these questions because it seemed like the right thing to do. That nagging thread of morality left from the old world; an effort that had become futile, now. “If you ask me, deceptive doesn’t even begin to cover that one, Langdon.”

“Humanity has already been doing that for centuries,” Langdon countered, side-stepping the accusation she’d hurled at him. “It was never going to last. We wiped the slate clean, and now it’s time to decide who will make this new world flourish in my father’s image.”

His father. Satan. How the shit did I get here, again?

Goddamn it, she really, really fucking hated that he was right.

She was so exhausted and bewildered by this whole situation that it took her a moment to comprehend that he’d fixed her with one rather expectant look. Her own laughter, all sarcasm and disbelief—the traces of hysteria gone as if the two of them had finally reached some strange level of understanding—echoed in the cavernous bathroom. Was it her own fatigue that made her slightly more open to the possibilities, or had she sold her soul the moment she accepted his challenge?

“I’m nobody.”

The coolness of the tile against her back made her shiver, so she pushed off it to take a few wary steps in his direction. Once she settled in front of him, Langdon dropped the arm that had been folded behind his back and peered at her with a narrowed gaze. She had to stop the contented sigh that almost worked its way from her throat when she fell back into the orbit of his warmth.

“A worker ant.” Venable’s words made her cringe, even from her own mouth. “I’m surprised you haven’t crushed me underneath your very expensive heel yet.”

That earned her a grin. Her stomach did another one of those involuntary somersaults, and without thinking too much about it, she dared one step closer. The hem of her dress brushed against his pants and the toe of her drab shoe knocked into his, but he didn’t move.

He leaned forward so that his breath skirted her hair. “That’s just what this place has turned you into.” Langdon took her hand and brought up so that it was level with his chest, running his thumb along the dark stains on her knuckles. His curious gaze dropped to the coating of dried blood on her skin, which seemed almost like a reprieve from his endless pursuit of her soul. As he traced a gentle fingertip across her knuckles, she clenched her jaw shut tight.

“At least consider that you could be more.” His thumb traveled down the inside of her wrist, following the path where the ribbons of his blood had soaked into her flesh and the sleeve of her dress. His voice turned low and dangerous. “I think you were made for this new world—you showed me that when you freed yourself from the old rules. You’re not the same person you were when you walked into that room; you and I both know that. But the question is,” he drew out the syllables, ice blue eyes flickering up to her own, “will you allow yourself to accept who you could be?”

Langdon hummed, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. His words dropped into an almost whisper, warm breath ghosting across the tender flesh of her wrist. His lips now hovered just above the network of veins that had been concealed under a layer of dark blood, his head dipped toward her, hair cascading gracefully down his bare shoulder. She watched him inhale the remaining scent of iron.

“Chaos becomes you.”

A shudder wracked her body, and she knew he’d felt it as her fingers curled under his touch. She waited for him to press his lips to her wrist, to maybe taste the iron on her skin, but instead he dropped her hand.

Her eyebrows pulled together. “Or, I could tell everyone your dark secret.” She flexed her fingers at her side, the ghost of his touch and the warmth of him still lingering on her skin.

Langdon’s face was suddenly bright with a sarcastic grin that she wanted to loathe, but it only made her cheeks feel flushed. “As if they would believe you.”

He circled around her until he came to rest at her back, and she leaned, just a little, into the solid presence of his bare chest. She found him staring at their reflection in the mirror above the sink—Langdon, fucking perfect as always, despite the fact that he’d been stabbed in the past half hour, and there shewas…a fucking blood-stained travesty of a human being. She didn’t even look worthy enough to polish his shoes.

Maybe that was the exhaustion talking. This night had lasted for an eternity.

“So…” His words were low and rough in her ear. Heat prickled up the back of her neck. “While I’ve enjoyed the sight of you covered in my blood,” he swept a chunk of hair over her shoulder and one of his rings grazed the side of her throat, “I’m afraid I can’t let you walk around the outpost like that.”

Langdon moved away from her, and she stared at the muscles that rippled in his back as he retreated, this time without a sense of shame or a hint of rage.

“Take all the time you need.” And then he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him, the room so many degrees colder than she would’ve liked.

She let out a sigh. Well, shit.

In the end, she decided that taking a shower in the fucking Antichrist’s private en suite ranked very low on the list of unbelievable shit that had happened tonight. Exhaustion had made itself comfortable in her bones. And even though she thought of the blood on her as some kind of morbid trophy—she’d made the fucking Antichrist bleed and lived—all she wanted to do right now was clean herself up and sleep. Maybe for an eternity.

The cold air hit her skin, raising goosebumps as she let her dress pool around her ankles. Her bra and panties followed, and for a second she stood there in the soft yellow light of the candles, wondering what she’d do about the blood-stained clothes. Her vision went unfocused, tired and in a daze, her thoughts wandering off in too many directions. Thinking about Langdon just on the other side of that damned door and if she actually trusted him enough to make herself vulnerable with nothing but a rather thin wall between them.

And the knife.

She’d forgotten about it, honestly. It had been neglected on the floor by the shower, blood splattered on the tiles when Langdon had tossed it. The blade was more crimson than steel now. He’d been right, of course—to her deep, unwavering irritation, he always seemed to be right—she wasn’t the same. She didn’t feel the same. These past eighteen months had taken their toll, but this…it wasn’t anything she could explain. Had she always been like this? Had she always wanted to be like this? Or was it just what this strange, new world now demanded of her?

She kicked the knife under the pile of clothes.

The water ran dark red, the scent of whatever flowery soap that came standard in the outpost blossoming into the air. She watched the tendrils of red swirl in the soapy water around her feet until they vanished down the drain. The near scalding heat worked her tense, weary muscles loose.

Clouds of steam obscured the glass as she scrubbed at her skin until it was bright pink, eliminating every trace of Langdon’s blood. She melted into the warmth, eyes fluttering closed, trying to breathe after whatever the fuck had happened. When she realized she was actually falling asleep standing up, lulled into a gentle comfort by the water, she decided it was time to leave.

She shoved aside a few used towels on the floor with her foot, entirely cognizant of the fact that while she’d be one of the people washing them later, she’d used up all of Langdon’s clean towels out of spite. While towel-drying her hair, wandering around the bathroom in aimless circles, she noticed something folded over the chair in front of the vanity table. It definitely hadn’t been there before she’d hopped in the shower. Langdon’s en suite had been untouched except for the blood stains, devoid of anything personal.

Except for the coat that was now on the chair. The coat that he had somehow left in here while she’d been oblivious.

For…her?

Huh. That’s…something, all right.

She finished halfheartedly drying off her hair and then dropped the dampened towel into the pile with the rest. “Fuck it.”

After sliding her bra and panties back on, she considered the heap of blood-stained clothes and decided her shoes were the only thing worth saving. There was more identical, boring gray attire in her room; not as many as the Purples had in their wardrobes, but she could spare at least one set. She cleaned the blood off her shoes as best she could—she figured the bloodied towels were another problem for Langdon to solve—and then picked up the coat from the back of the chair.

Her stomach did another one of those obnoxious somersaults. It was an elegant coat, long and black and lined with buttons. She held it up, unfolding it to reveal the bright red lining on the inside. An equally obnoxious part of her brain remembered that Langdon had been wearing this coat when he’d first introduced himself to everyone in the outpost. She sunk into it, suddenly more alert than she’d been in the past half hour, her pulse speeding up its rhythm. It was the finest piece of clothing she’d worn in over a year, and probably the most expensive thing she’d ever worn in her life.

And it belonged to Langdon.

Was it possible that some part of him wasn’t complete hell spawn?

She pulled the coat closed and buttoned it—frustratingly aware that she was half-naked underneath it. Holy fuck, why. The fabric felt like silk against her bare skin, cool enough to provoke another round of goosebumps that broke through the lingering heat from her shower. The sleeves were too long, and her hands disappeared into them no matter how many times she pulled them back up. It smelled exquisite: rich and earthy like a rain-soaked forest with just a hint of wood smoke and something else, maybe warm spices and citrus. She breathed in deep, inhaling the intoxicating scent, recalling images of a world that hadn’t been nuked to hell. Is this what he smelled like all the time? She hadn’t had a chance to notice, what with all the blood. It was nice. Really nice.

Well. I’m fucked.

She suppressed a groan.

The knife had been left where she kicked it—there was no damn way Langdon didn’t know about it, either—and without a second thought, she wiped off the blood and stuffed it in an inside pocket. Once she gathered up her pile of stained clothes, she summoned whatever was left of her resolve in the mess of her own exhaustion and walked back into Langdon’s suite.

His attention had been pulled toward her at the sound of the bathroom door opening, half of his face caught in the pale white glow of a laptop screen. When did the outpost get WiFi?  He had one elbow propped up on the desk, his hand slowly curling into a loose fist. He was once again fully clothed in black. She didn’t miss the way his bright blue gaze took in the sight of her in his fucking coat. The way his lips curved into a smirk. The way his head tilted, and his chin rose as if in appreciation. Was it genuine, or was he just fucking with her? Maybe it was just her lustful, traitorous imagination. Maybe it was smugness, or fucking delight, because he’d helped put her in this situation.

She sighed. “Don’t.”

Langdon made an indifferent sort of gesture with his hand, but his smirk deepened. “I didn’t say a word.”

“You don’t have to.”  

He rose from the desk and crossed the room in several long strides to open the door. “I’ll need that back.”

“Obviously.” She made sure the corridor was empty before she stepped out. “No one will know about it.”

Langdon’s chin rose again, and this time she couldn’t read his expression. “Good night.”

The door clicked shut when she was halfway down the corridor. She moved as quickly as she could through the labyrinth of hallways—now more empty than they had been before; everyone had to have gone to bed by now. Not that time existed down here anymore, but she’d never felt the effects of such a weird, virtually lawless existence than she did walking through the outpost on this artificial night. She found herself both longing for the construct of time and thrilled that it no longer held any meaning. All she knew for sure was that she just wanted to fucking sleep. Langdon had drained whatever energy she’d had left.

She stopped once in her travels to burn her clothes in one of the large fireplaces; her eyes burned with fatigue while she watched the flames consume the last evidence of her bloody interview with Langdon. When she finally arrived at her room in the Gray quarters, her roommate was blissfully asleep, tucked away under the covers.

Slipping off her shoes, she padded across the room to her armoire under the dim light of the low burning candles. With a pang of reluctance that she did notwant to acknowledge in any way at all, she took off Langdon’s coat and stowed it among her comparatively dull wardrobe. It wouldn’t be in here long enough for her roommate to find it. The girl was gossipy to a fault, but she at least kept out of her belongings. Not that any of them had much to begin with.

She dressed in a plain, off-white linen nightgown that served no purpose other than to uphold Venable’s outdated aesthetic. And finally…finally, after this endless fucking night or whatever the hell it had been, she dragged her tired body to her bed and crawled under the blankets.

And she hid the Antichrist’s knife under her pillows.

@lastregasolitaria @mylippo @zeciex @lvngdvns @langdonsdemon @yourkingcodyfern @sojournmichael @gabnelson98 @rainbowrosesjas @antichristlangdxn @keavysmithxoxo @artistlunadrayne @codysfallenangels @batgirlbride @mileeyyowens @dead-witch-boy @boofy1998 @gentianea @cryptid-coalition @langdonsrapture @kinlovecody @yuriohoe04 @electricurie @marvel-rpdr-and-ahs @gallxntdean @langdonscurls @jcshadowkiss-blog @frozenhuntress67 @sebastianshoe @dixmond-taurus @bookobssesed99 @sassylangdon @queenie435 @holylangdon @weareallevilmotherfuckers-deact @langdonfern @angsty-otters-blog @denaexr @mr-langdonn @micheallangdons @lostin-fern @crazedcatcuddler @satansapostle @monsucre @ritualmichael @fernshorrorstory @queencocoakimmie @bluelancesredswords @theharvestgirloffire @punkysouls @sevenwondr  @zoebensvn @kylosbabe @sloppy-little-witch-bitch26

[preeshera]

If Love Be Blind

Chapter 4

Angsty multi-chapter love square monstrosity (you have been warned)

(Chapter 1) (read on AO3) (I owe my life and sanity to my lovely beta Bell! Special thanks to Tala who is a sweetheart and indulges my ML rants)

Summary:

‘Marinette’s life is slipping through her fingertips, all the dreams and plans she made for herself shattered, as she falls deeper and deeper into misery.

What happened to Ladybug’s famous luck?

And could there be a way to bring it back? … a certain black cat, perhaps? Only time will tell.’

It was his hand that turned her world to ashes, but he must never know

-----

   “Bullshit. Ever-fucking crap-covered hell!” Marinette exhaled heavily, her shoulders sagging in frustration. She was supposed to be happy to be home. Sure. She was in pain, completely blind,  treated like a ticking bomb by her parents, and couldn’t even make it to the bathroom without knocking something over, but she was home.

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes as she gripped at the piece of furniture she bumped into. See, all the blind people in movies somehow automatically knew where they were going, but that, she quickly learned, was some rotten Hollywood propaganda.

As if she were supposed to magically know the layout of her entire house by heart the second she lost sight. Well , Marinette thought bitterly, her brain must have not gotten the memo.

She sat down hard on the tile floor and let the tears run free. Crying-that’s the only thing she was good at anymore.

‘Cheer up, Marinette,’ Tikki spoke up softly from above her.

Yeah, right. Easier said than done.

The stupid bandages itched and her head still hurt in irregular intervals, but apparently, she was well enough not to be on the good drugs anymore.

Marinette sighed. She hated this, all of it. Hated how she was angry all the time. Hated the noise, the dark, the stabbing pain behind her eyelids anytime she tried to lie down to sleep. Chat’s visit the other day made her feel so much better. She wished she could just go out and...

“Tikki, say, are my parents busy right now?”

The kwami pursed her lips disapprovingly, but Marinette wouldn’t have cared even if she could see – which she couldn’t.

‘ Last I checked they were downstairs in the bakery, but I don’t think –” but the kwami never got to finish her sentence.

“Tikki, spots on!”

  Flying on her yo-yo through Parisian streets was an amazing feeling. Marinette felt that she hadn’t truly appreciated being Ladybug before.

Sure, there were the akumas and the danger; she knew that better than most. But even gray and cloudy, the vast expanse of the evening sky sang to her. She could finally see. Screw plain, boring, blind Marinette – she was Ladybug. She was a superhero. She could do anything.

Chat’s crimson eyes flashed in her mind, and she startled so badly she missed a step and twisted her ankle painfully, crashing down onto an empty roof. She shook as the memory took over. Distorted and unreal, it took a shape of her nightmares and  overtook her senses.

Chat Noir was walking towards her. His black suit looked different, darker somehow. It was bulkier in the shoulders and made him look imposing. Monster-like. He smirked at her, but his teeth looked too sharp. His eyes were all wrong. Not warm, not laughing, but red – like blood.

Marinette shook like a leaf.

Then she realized her shaking legs weren’t covered in the polka-dotted red and black of her suit. She wasn’t Ladybug, just herself. Just Marinette.

Chat let loose a cold, disturbing laugh.

“My Lady.” he crooned, faux-sweetness, like venom, dripping from the words.

“My Lady?”

“Buginette?! What happened? Are you okay?!”

The warm, familiar voice colored with so much fright and concern was what finally brought her out of the episode. This was her Chat   – this bright, warm, friendly presence. Not that horrible nightmare.

“Ladybug?”

Marinette shook off like a wet dog and tried to piece her confident Ladybug persona back together.

“Hey Chaton,” she said softly and met the familiar pair of bright green eyes after a beat of hesitation.

“Don’t just ‘Hey Chaton’ me! What happened LB? You looked totally terrified there...” He was drawing in a breath to continue on his rant, but stopped at the look on her face.

“I am sorry I worried you, Chat Noir. I am still a bit shaken by the last attack, that’s all.”

His expression turned somber.

“Have I told you that I am sorry?”

“No! Chat you know it wasn’t your fault!”

“I used my Cataclysm on you, you could have died!”

“And I didn’t. It wasn’t you, it was the akuma, and you know it – just like you knew it all those other times. I am fine, really.”

Suddenly, she didn’t feel like being Ladybug was helping her mood anymore. She swung her yo-yo around and pushed off the rooftop without a single look back.

“See you at patrol, Minou.”

  The moment she de-transformed she fell prone to the floor. Part of it was the banging headache caused by the meds Lady-bugging out of her system. Part was her general lack of will to attempt to get anywhere like this.

After a few beats, her head cleared a smidge, and she almost went to sit up, when she heard a strange noise from down below.

She realized where she landed must be directly above the kitchen, and straining her ears to focus as much as she could, she heard the whispered argument from downstairs.

“Sabine, you can’t mean to lie to her forever.” She covered her mouth. Daddy never argued with mom. It was always her chiding him for something or other.

“She is not ready for another set of bad news. Tom, she barely gets up in the morning. She doesn’t eat properly. What good would it do to tell her?”

There was a beat of silence, and Marinette could feel tears pricking her eyes underneath the bandage. Her parents, her loving, amazing, supportive parents were arguing because of her.

“False hope doesn’t help anyone. She needs to accept her condition and learn how to move on, Sabine. We all do.”

With a gasp Marinette realized her mom was crying.

Enough.

She shot up to her feet and after fumbling for a few steps she threw herself in the general direction of her bed.

Accept her condition? Move on? They had no idea, Marinette realized. Her parents thought she believed her blindness was only temporary. They thought she didn’t know!

Well, yes, it was easy to pretend with the bandages pressing heavy over her eyes, but Marinette wasn’t stupid. Cataclysm to the fucking face doesn’t just heal.

Not overnight. And probably not ever. If Tikki couldn’t heal her she doubted some conventional medicine had a shot.

But they thought she didn’t know. How could she have?

And they’re arguing about how to tell me... Marinette thought grimly. Her musings, however, were cut short by footsteps coming up the stairs towards her room.

Marinette focused on the footsteps, but she had honestly no idea. Seriously, popular culture gave her such unrealistic expectations for this. A soft knock on the door echoed around her quiet room.

“Come in!”

“Hello dear, how are you feeling?” Mom drew the short straw, then.

“Okay. Blind.” Marinette said dryly, then instantly regretted it.

“I am sorry mama, I don’t know what’s wrong with me these days – I feel so angry all the time.”

Warm arms wrapped around her and her mother’s comforting smell calmed her down.

“Here, it’s okay love, it’s okay. I am pretty sure you are not the first teenager to ever snap at her mom. Given the situation, I would say you have more reasons than most.”

Marinette nodded, lips pursed.

“Do you feel like coming down? Your father and I need to talk to you about some things. It can wait if you are tired, or –”

“No, mom, I’m fine. Help me down?”

Marinette let herself be led by the hand like a child and tried her best not to feel too bitter about it. She could just about make it into the kitchen on her own these days. She asked her parents not to move furniture around and leave things in her path so she could move around on her own. Sadly, they all forgot about it way too often for her to be sure she could make the longer trips through the house unscathed.

It was probably a good thing that Marinette couldn’t see her parents just then. Sabine’s blotchy red eyes and Tom’s worried, tired look wouldn’t have made the upcoming talk any easier.

“Marinette, your father and I,” her mom started, but her voice broke, “your father and I need to tell you something important.”

I know mama. I know, it’s okay, Marinette wanted to say, but she remained silent and still.

“We decided to move away from Paris.”

Wait. Rage bubbled inside her like hot lava.

“What? What do you mean move away?!” Marinette demanded angrily, “why would you do that? And what about the bakery? Mom you can’t be serious!”

“Calm down, Marinette,” her father pleaded.

“We found an amazing institute that could help you, and we decided it is worth moving for.”

“ You decided?! Well that’s just grand, isn’t it. None of you thought to ask the poor, blind Marinette what she thought about it, have you?!”

She was screaming now, but she didn’t care.

“Well if you think I will let you abandon all your dreams and hard work just because of me, you are wrong. I will stay in Paris alone if I have to. I am not going anywhere!”

Her father was about to say something, but she stood up, storming off into her room. If she knocked over a chair or two on her way, or stubbed her toe on the stairs, it really was nobody’s business but her own.

I will not let them do this , she seethed internally once she finally made it into her room.

I just won’t allow it! Her hands clenched into fists as she tried to restrain the angry tears threatening to spill.

You won’t allow it? How cute. A cruel little voice piped up inside her head. And what exactly do you think you can do about it?

Marinette bit her lip.

Arms extended in front of her she made her way towards her table, there she pawed at the smooth wood for a second before managing to locate her phone.

She unlocked it with her thumb and calmed her shaking voice to activate the voice recognition:

“Hey Cortana? Call Alya Cesaire, please!”

Three beeps later her best friend picked up with a wall of blabber.

“Marinette? Are you okay? Is everything alright? Are you hurt? Do I need to come over?!”

“ALYA!”

“Oh, yes, sorry,” her friend apologized sheepishly, “Chilling out. Sorry. No overcompensating – I remember what you said the last time.”

Marinette sighed.

“I need my awesome, smart, incredible best friend to work a miracle for me. Is she there, or is this my new helicopter mother talking?”

Alya grumbled.

“So, which one is it?”

“Your best friend, always.” she replied dutifully. “So what is it, Mari, you sound kinda, well, mad?”

“It’s my parents. They want us to move away from Paris - to some village that has this amazing institute for blind kids.”

There was a beat of silence.

“That sucks. But maybe the new school will be super great for you, and, and I can always come to visit, right? I’ll drag Nino, and Adrien with me! And Juleka, Rose and Alix will want to come too, I –”

“No!” Marinette stopped her resolutely.

“No? You don’t want us to visit?” Alya asked, her voice tiny.

“No, I don’t want to go. I don’t want to move away, and I don’t want to go to some super special school for blind kids. I want my old life back - okay? I know that I can’t see now, okay, I know! But plenty of people can’t, and they aren’t all locked away in some institutes in the countryside !”

Stunned silence followed suit.

“Mari, I...” Alya started gently, but Marinette interrupted her again.

“Alya – I don’t need your pity! God knows I have enough by myself. What I really need right now is my best friend to help me find some way around this. I know my parents don’t really want to leave. The bakery is their life Alya. And I don’t want to take that away, not because of this.”

“I get it, Mari, I do. I will go do some research – I promise I will find something!”

The new fire in Alya’s voice spread warmth of relief in Marinette’s belly. Finally. Her best friend was back.

They could do this.

   -----

[itispossibleihaveissues]

Another Perfect Catastrophe -5

AUTHOR: Mikimoo PAIRING: JayDick RATING: Mature

WARNINGS: Non Consensual drug use, Non Consensual touching, Non Consensual kissing, humour, slight mayhem

SUMMARY: Dick goes undercover as himself in order to catch a gang of international thieves. Jason reluctantly tags along as his long suffering bodyguard. During the ensuing mayhem they get to know each other again and build a few bridges.

Thank you to burkesl17 for the beta!

Notes: An embarrassingly long time ago, the amazing and very, very talented Pentapus invited me to do a reverse bang style exchange, and drew me an amazing prompt. I have no idea how this story was the one that emerged from the many options I had, but such is the creative process I guess! Anyhoo, many thanks to Pentapus for both encouragement and patience, and of course the incredible art! (which will be included at the end of the appropriate chapter)

Chapters: 1, 2, 3 4

GO HERE FOR THE AMAZING ART BY THE AWESOME PENTAPUS! 

He found them in the small sitting room. Dick was sprawled in a chair, glassy eyed and sweating while Sofia unbuttoned his shirt. He didn’t look like he minded, but he also looked completely wasted on whatever they had given him. 

Jason paused to assess, moving too soon might not be the best option, but waiting while they molested Dick was not an easy choice to make, and went against every instinct he had. He grit his teeth as Sofia tugged on Dick's hair, manoeuvring him for a kiss. The new position of his face meant Jason was now in his line of sight and he suddenly attempted to sit up, dislodging the girl with ease. “Jay! I’m on drugs!” he said, happily.

Thanks Dick. Who needs the element of surprise anyway? Unfortunately, Celia seemed to agree and she stepped forward and pressed the muzzle of a small but powerful handgun to Dick’s sweaty temple. His eyes crossed as he tried to look at it. The expression was daft and annoyingly adorable. Jason had clearly lost all control over his hormones on this trip.

“Don’t even think about it, Jase,” Celia said. “Hands on your head and step forward.”

Jason sighed and did as he was told. He could still gain the upper hand in a couple of moves, but he needed to play it carefully as Dick was clearly out of his mind and might accidentally stumble into a bullet if they started shooting. Better to play it safe.

“Listen, Ms Denbury. I don’t give a shit what you do, you want to rob him? Blackmail the old man? Go for it, I’m not going to stop you. We'll do what you say.”

“Your cooperation would benefit us both,” she said, pleased. “Put these cuffs on.” She chucked him a pair of simple handcuffs. They really were ridiculously sloppy. He cuffed his own wrists in front of himself and rested his hands casually in his lap. He could wait for the right moment.

“Hello, Jason!” Dick said, as Sofia slipped his shirt over his shoulders, revealing the myriad of scars across his torso.

“Whoa,” Jack said.

Sofia ran her fingers across a healed gash that bisected Dicks left nipple. Her brows creased in confusion.

“This shit isn’t normal, what the fuck?” Jack said, wide eyed.

Time for damage control, the last thing Jason needed was for them to get twitchy and trigger happy. “Don’t you people read the tabloids?” he said, scornfully. “He got kidnapped and tortured as a kid. Why do you think he drinks so damn much?”

“That’s why Wayne is so ruthless about kidnap attempts,” Celia added, knowingly, clearly pleased her previous research was being backed up.

“Yeah, although he might pay up for his golden boy – but then again he might also chase you to the ends of the earth.”

Jack looked uncertain, like he actually had a brain cell and realised that attacking the family of a billionaire with connections to both the police and access to mercenary types, might be a bit of a bad idea.

Then the door opened, Henry and Garner entered with a gust of sea air. The mood in the room shifted subtly, and Jason found himself tensing. This was the real predator in the group and his gaze was flicking between Dick and Jason like a cat torn between two weak and tasty looking mice.

“Wayne has other boys,” Garner said, by way of greeting. “He seems to like them younger.” He reached out and ran his fingers though Dick's damp hair, and the drugged up moron leaned into the touch. Garner looked over his scars with interest but not a great deal of surprise, his expression was almost reverent, like they just made Dick more attractive somehow.

“Yeah, but he is fond of Richard,” Jason said, managing to keep his voice even as he watched Garner trail his fingers over Dick’s skin.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Celia asked curiously.

Jason shrugged. “Not my business. He pays me to keep an eye on Richie here, and to try to keep him out of trouble and that’s it. What the old man does and with who is irrelevant.”

“Not doing such a good job, are you?” Garner said. He was watching Jason as he pressed his lips to Dick's jaw, hoping for a reaction. Dick turned into it, allowing the fucker to kiss him fully. It looked deep and wet and turned Jason's stomach. He clenched his fists and willed himself to remain calm. Celia still had her gun aimed at Dick’s head and Henry was watching Jason carefully, the only one who seemed to view him as a threat.

“Although,” Garner continued, as he pulled away. “I can see how you might let yourself get distracted. I met Richard and Wayne once, at a function in New York. He was about fourteen or fifteen, small for his age, ridiculously pretty. None of the usual awkwardness at that age. When I shook his hand I noticed faint bruises on his wrist, and at the juncture of his throat. I wanted him, I knew he would be perfect. Wayne wouldn’t let him out of his sight though.” He skimmed the scar over Dick’s nipple. “And I can see he wasn't gentle. The kid took a lot of damage it seems.”

Jason snorted, his anger levels were not far away from boiling over. “And now, years later you have your shot at him. How lovely. Of course you have to use drugs, rather than just force.” Jason couldn't keep the disgust from his voice, for some reason it seemed to get up Garners nose and he pulled away from Dick to get in Jason's face instead.

“You have a smart tongue for someone completely in my power,” he said. It might have been menacing to someone who wasn’t Jason.

“And you're a grandstanding creep,” Jason snapped, he’d been dealing with more frightening people when he was still in diapers.

Garner slapped him hard across the face. Jason rolled with the blow, it was barely a love tap, but it did help him get his mouth under control. He had to play by their rules for now.

Dick didn’t get that memo though, and he suddenly shot to his feet and pointed a finger, slurring loudly, “Stop! Don’t hit him, you fuck-face!” Then he fell over his own feet, face first onto the plush carpet.

“Is he okay?” Jason asked when Dick didn’t immediately get back up. He was oddly touched that his being smacked around by a Z list criminal inspired Dick’s protective instincts despite the amount of drugs in his system. Or because of them.

Garner nudged Dick onto his back using the toe of his expensive loafer.

Dick blinked blearily up at him. “Did someone hit me?” he asked. “My face hurts.”

“You fell on it,” Jason told him mildly. “Defending my honour.”

Dick smiled up at him from his position on the floor. “When did you get so big, Jaybird? And so hot? You were so scrawny, all gangly with giant hands and feet like a Great Dane puppy.”

“Just how long have you two known each other?” Celia asked, suspiciously.

“A long time,” Jason told her, with only the slightest hint of scorn.

“Oh? How do a rich bitch like Grayson and a nobody like you meet?”

“He wasn’t always a rich bitch. He was just another little orphan like me. Except prettier, so he got life with a billionaire and I got to stay in the group home,” Jason lied effortlessly.

“That's really sad,” Dick said, mournful. “I'm sorry, Jay.”

Jason resisted the urge to roll his eyes and kept his expression hard.

“Enough of this nonsense,” Garner said. “Let’s get the bank details off him and then get on with things.”

Things. That was one way to put it. Jason leaned forward slightly. “That sounds ominous. If all you want is access to his bank accounts, I can provide what you need. All I care about is keeping my hide in one piece and getting Richard back to Daddy so I get paid.”

“You’ll just give us the information?”

“Yeah, why not? Safeguarding the Wayne millions isn't my job. And this counts as under duress in any case. “

“We will check, and we will seriously hurt you both if you mess us about.”

Scary stuff. He was shivering in his boots. He managed to hold back the aggrieved sigh he desperately wanted to heave and gave them the information of the very convincing but very fake account they had set up in preparation for something like this happening. And Celia, Sofia and Jack took their leave, presumably to go though the info and transfer the cash.

That left them with Henry and Garner.

Henry had a slightly disgusted look on his face, he clearly found Garner’s sadistic games distasteful. “If you’re going to play with Richie Rich here, then I'll take Jason elsewhere,” he said.

Jason suspected 'elsewhere' meant: out back for a bullet to the brain. But either way he wasn't going to leave Dick alone with Garner in this state, not even for the five minutes it would take to dispose of Henry.

“No, I want him to watch,” Garner said. His particular perversions coming to the rescue, not often you could say sexual sadism saved the day.

Henry sneered. “As you please, I’m not going to though, so you best let me secure him a bit better.”

Garner nodded absently, he had Dick off the floor and back in the chair. Although Dick was no longer being compliant and was scowling like a pouty puppy. Probably still angry about Jason being slapped earlier, which was very endearing, despite the circumstances.

Henry approached and Jason kept himself still, ignoring what was happening across the room with some difficulty. “Why do you put up with this nasty ass shit?” he asked quietly, trying to get more of a measure of the man.

“Same reason you do. Money.” He held a gun to Jason's head and forced him to his feet, before leading him to the heavy side table. He undid Jason's cuffs and redid them behind him before using a second pair and attaching him to the solid oak table.

“I'll be just outside, Garner. Shout if you need assistance.”

It took Jason thirty seconds to get the cuffs off, about as long as it took Garner to fail get control of Dick, who was trying to shove him away with all the strength of a kitten – but he was a kitten with some serious training and Garner was bleeding from the mouth where he had been bitten or scratched. He smacked Dick open handed with a blow that wouldn't even have registered for Nightwing but sent drugged up Richie sprawling across the floor. It was at about that point that Jason decided Garner was going to have to die.

Dick seemed stunned by his fall to the carpet and was curled up, facing away when Jason struck, he snapped Garner’s neck with a powerful punch and twist - not an easy move, but a brutally effective one he’d learnt from teachers he’d later put down like the scum they were.

He carefully lowered Garner’s dead weight to the floor. The guy deserved to die, and Jason felt nothing about the action itself, only a fission of regret for the arguments and stupidity that were sure to follow. But he would deal with the Bat fallout later, he didn’t have time to fight with Dick right now.

Thankfully Dick hadn’t actually noticed and was still on the floor, he appeared to be rubbing his bruised cheek on the carpet, perhaps enjoying the sensation the drugs caused him to have at the action. “Come on, Dickie,” Jason said, pulling him to his feet. “We gotta run, okay?”

“Jay, I missed you when you were dead.”

Jason blinked at him. “That’s nice? Can we go?” he said at last and Dick allowed himself to be supported as he wobbled into motion. He swayed and caught hold of Jason's jacket, burying his face in the leather with a sigh.

Jason heaved a sigh of his own. They were a long way from being out of the woods yet, and he was going to have to get them there because being taken down by this bunch of incompetent morons was just too embarrassing to contemplate. Thankfully with the blueprints in mind he knew the location to the wine cellar – there was no knowing how long they would have until their absence was noticed, so the quicker they got there the better.

[safestplace]

She’d been late before.  Several times, really.  It was one of the side effects of her illness.  Would side effect be the correct word for such a thing?  She used to go months without a period – heavy exercising and low eating caused delays in her body that she’d never been able to explain.

But, that was a long time ago.  That was another lifetime ago, another Eliza ago.  That was sixteen and pinching the imaginary fat on her hip in her bedroom mirror, it was seventeen and using her lunch money on more plants for her bedroom, it was eighteen and begging out of the grad night trip to the waterpark.  It was nineteen and screaming at Olive for having the audacity to think she needed help.

The Eliza now, the Eliza who was pacing back and forth in her bedroom looking at the cycle app on her phone was twenty-five with shaking hands and a knot in her stomach.  Two months.  Two months?

She couldn’t be getting bad again.  She’d been so careful.  She was so careful.  Her doctor had her on a ridiculous diet of supplements and nutrition bars, she was practically bleeding out protein shakes at this point.  She was only allowed to exercise twice a week, no more than thirty minutes.  She ate three square meals.  She was careful.

Her phone lit up with a phone call, tearing her away from her calendar that was void of any pink date markers, and suddenly the name THAYER was staring back at her, accompanied by a picture of him that she had taken when he wasn’t looking – the aftermaths of an exploded confetti egg in his hand, eyes squeezed shut, laughing with a huge smile on his face.

Enough.  She could figure out what her body was doing to her this time later.

She had barely answered the call, not even with a greeting, before Thayer’s voice was filling her ear like honey.

“We need to do something this weekend that has nothing to do with family or dads or anything.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion.  “What do you mean?”

“Sunday, Thornberry.  Sunday is Father’s Day.  And I can’t put you through another Bell Family Dinner Theater.  One was bad enough.  One was enough for a lifetime.”

She thought back to that night, six months prior.  His parents had yelled at each other from across the table throughout the duration of the night, all waving arms and wagging fingers.  Thayer’s brother, Casper, had decided Christmas was the perfect time to come out of the closet, and Thayer had been drunk enough to loudly declare, “I LOVE MY GAY BROTHER,” as he knocked a candle over onto the table, leaving a charred hole in the center of the table cloth (“that’s an heirloom!” his mother had cried out as Eliza sipped her wine and silently prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her).

“Right.  Well.  I’m sure we can think of something to take your minds off things,” she hummed back at him.  “After all, I’m sure my dad would—”

“—if any of the next five words have the word golf in them I’m divorcing you.”

“You’d have to marry me first, dummy.”

“Ah, so now you’re trying to catch me on a technicality.”

“We’ll turn off our phones and stay in bed.”

“Now you’re speaking a language I’m fluid in,” Thayer breathed out.  “They actually opened the trail back up at Manatee Point, so I was thinking—”

“—the last time we went hiking you said I’d have to carry you back.”

“Which you didn’t do, by the way.  Pathetic.”  She could hear the smile in his voice, and she still wasn’t used to the way something like that could make her toes curl.  “But I’ve changed.  I’m a new me.  A me who is capable of climbing up a hill without crying about it.  Almost positive.  Besides, I think it might be good for Darwin to get some fresh air.”

Eliza bit back her smile, but only for a moment.  “It’s a date.”

He hung up with the promise of being home within the hour, and Eliza sat down on the edge of her tub, looking at the calendar on her phone for another moment or two before her stomach was twisting all over again and she was dropping to her knees.

You know, to throw up.

Not to pray.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The problem with this being what could only be safely assumed as the obvious answer in all of it was that her doctors had told her that wasn’t possible.  They had told her years ago, when she was still in the rehabilitation center, twenty and terrified, that it wasn’t going to be possible for her to bear children.

“Well,” the doctor had corrected herself after a beat, “I suppose we can’t just entirely rule out the possibility.  But, it would be difficult.  It would take a toll on your body, especially after the stress that your body has undergone over its formative years.”

Okay.  So, not impossible.  But, impossible.  Right?

There were too many variables that would have to align perfectly for that to be a possibility.  They would have had to not use protection, she would have had to have skipped the pill… You didn’t just get pregnant with a miracle baby.  Especially when you could hardly get pregnant in the first place.

She just needed to go to the doctor for a check-up.  She just needed to go for confirmation that nothing was happening.  That everything was fine and she wasn’t dying.  She needed some sort of concrete, marbled certification that she wasn’t getting bad again.

That was all.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

She called Olive on the way, she called Olive without even thinking about who she was calling in the first place.  It was strange, really.  She used to be her first call on everything.  She used to be who she reached out to without hesitation, without a single doubt or question in her mind.  Things had gotten muddier after Eliza’s treatment.  She’d kept her distance for a long time, stayed away from everyone she’d once been close to out of fear of hurting them.  She blamed herself for everything, hated herself for the way she’d treated the friends who she considered family.

Olive had taken the hint when maybe Eliza hadn’t really wanted her to.  Olive had found Drew – Drew, with his charming smile and his strange sense of humor.  He looked like the head of a fraternity but treated Olive like she was the single most marvelous thing on the planet.  Which she was.  God, she was.

“I wish I didn’t love him,” Olive had told her one night when she probably should have.  She was high, they both were.  They were laying in Teddy’s backyard, just the two of them.  It was the first time they’d properly hung out in what felt like years.  Teddy and her sister had wandered off to bed long ago, and then it was just the two of them.

“That’s not true.”

“Yes it is,” Olive argued.  “I wish I didn’t love him.  Because I love you.  I love you and I hate this, and… and I love him, and I hate that, too.”

Eliza had swallowed the lump forming in her throat.  She’d leaned in and kissed Olive, who tasted like smoke and buttercream frosting and coming home, and then she’d pulled away and told Olive to go home.

Somehow, after that night, it was easier to talk to Olive.  It was easier to act like they were just friends, like maybe they’d just always been friends.  When Thayer happened last year, Olive hated him.  Eliza was pretty sure Olive still hated him.  She’d probably always hate him, always resent him for kissing Eliza, for being the one who got her early morning teas and late night conspiracy theories.

And yet, she was who Eliza called.

“Eli, for the last time, if it’s not a Netflix marathon, it’s not a marathon I wanna be in.”

“I can’t be pregnant, right?”

“…you can’t be what?”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Eleven weeks, five days.

That was how old he was, or she was, or they were.  Whoever they were, the little creature growing inside of her belly – half Eliza Lange, half Thayer Bell.

She’d cried.  And then, for good measure, she’d cried some more.  She asked the doctor if they were sure approximately six times.  “It’s not possible,” she’d whispered.  But it was, it was, it was.  She had a little black and white photograph in her fingertips to prove just that.

When she got out of the clinic, Olive was pacing in front of Eliza’s Beetle.  Teddy was with her – her own belly ready to pop at any moment, but her hands steadily resting against it, wedding band twinkling in the sunlight peeking through the clouds.

“Well?” Olive’s hand dropped from her lips, and it occurred to Eliza that she had been biting her nails – a nervous habit Eliza had only been trying to get her to drop since middle school.

Eliza’s breath went in and out shakily, she held the ultrasound out to them.  “They’d said I couldn’t get pregnant.”

Teddy grabbed the photo, but Olive grabbed Eliza, arms closed around her like a vice.  “You’re gonna be so good,” she whispered into the crevice of her neck, and Eliza could feel her hair starting to stick to her skin from Olive’s tears already.  “You’re gonna be so fucking good.”

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

“Doolittle, you ready?” Thayer called out from the kitchen, and Eliza peeked from around the corner as he laced up his sneakers, bouncing from foot to foot.  “You got this,” he spoke softly to himself, “you’re gonna make that cliff beg for mercy today.”

Christ, he was hopeless.  She loved him so much she felt like she was going to throw up all over again.

She signed the card, tucking her photo into it and closing the envelope, making her way around the bend and into the kitchen.  She met him with a kiss, and he hummed into her mouth, pressing her back against the counter.  “See, we could just stay inside and do this, and nobody would have to die today.  And by nobody I mean me.”

“Oh, shut up, you’re going to do great,” Eliza mused, pressing the envelope square against his chest as they pulled away.  “Happy Father’s Day, dog-dad.”

God, could she even breathe right now?  Was she breathing?

“Why thank you,” he said with a little bow, looking at the envelope in surprise.  “Do they actually make dog-dad Father’s Day cards?”

“Please, I bought this at Target,” Eliza laughed and hoped to God that it was enough to cover up how much her voice was shaking.  This had been a horrible and terrible and stupid idea.  “They sell everything there.”

TO THE BEST DOG-DAD EVER… the front of the card read.

She watched as he opened it.  Somehow, his eyes registered on the words before they registered on everything else.

…AND THE BEST DAD EVER.

And there it was, tucked into the card.  All newly twelve weeks of a miniature Thayer Bell staring back at him.

“I…”

The tears were springing to his eyes, and he didn’t look away from the card.  But then he did, and his ocean blue eyes were glossy, twinkling madly.  “Are you serious?  Is this serious?”  His voice was soft, trembling, and he was sitting the card on the counter and swooping Eliza into his arms all in one breath.  “This is real?”

“Happy Father’s Day,” she whispered into his ear, and Thayer was lifting her off the ground, spinning her around their kitchen once and twice and again again again.  “This is real.”