#refused to go to bed until i finished drawing anything

[special-agent-goobs]

omg I love your art so much!! could I request a Doyle? I just know he's going to look so cute in your art style! (if your requests are open x] )

Doyle in the style™

Here take him, he is long and lanky like a cat because I said so

[villainbait]

Breaking Point

Pairing: Sylus x MC / fem!reader Rating: Explicit | 18+ Tags: angry sylus, playful struggling, teasing, dirty talk, smut, fingering, mc/reader is a brat, punishment, overstimulation if you squint Summary: You had almost cost Sylus something important tonight and for once, he's pissed. Word Count: 1.3k

The door to Onychinus’s base had barely clicked shut behind you before Sylus has you hoisted over his shoulder, his long strides taking you swiftly down the hallway towards his bedroom. Your heart flip flops uneasily in your stomach when you realize where he’s headed, and you start to struggle in earnest. His demeanor had completely changed the moment you arrived home, though the walk there had been more tense than usual.

“Wha- hey! Sylus, put me down!” You’re suddenly squirming in his grip, your fists drumming uselessly against his back and you lose a heel in the process; the forgotten ornament left behind on the floor. You only stop fighting when his hand slides under the slit in your dress to keep you from falling, and you forget how to breathe as you feel the heat of it between your thighs. Infuriatingly, Sylus hasn’t said a single word and it starts to sink in that you might have gone too far earlier tonight. 

It had started out as a simple game under the table at some business dinner he had made you go to. You were bored and he looked so good sitting across from you, but he wasn’t giving you any attention at all. Instead, he was talking to some other woman who kept touching him with increasingly lingering touches that made you reconsider what the definition of assault was. Worse, Sylus seemed to preen under her attention, his honeyed smile blinding in the soft ambience of the room. Jealousy had begun to eat at you and you were half-convinced he was doing it on purpose, but then you had the perfect idea of how to get back at him. 

It was time for you to play a little game of your own, kicking off your heel discreetly under the table and running your stocking covered foot underneath the tailored leg of his pants. He managed to keep his composure, his slight flinch of surprise only noticeable to you. When he turned to look at you you were already engaged in conversation with one of your own dinner mates, pretending to be oblivious. His eyes narrowed as your foot slid higher with every pass, coming dangerously close to a part of him that was quickly becoming uncooperative despite the ugly hag he was attempting to extract intel from. 

You had almost ruined it all and for once, Sylus was angry. 

He dumps you unceremoniously onto the bed and you try to scramble away but he’s on you faster than you can move. He captures and stretches your wrists over your head easily with one hand, his knee sliding between your thighs as he pushes you into the soft mattress. He slides between your thighs and his hips press against yours, trapping you. The warmth of his anger is radiating off him and you can feel how hot and hard he is despite how angry he looks. Had your antics earlier really affected him that much? 

You whine and futilely struggle against him until he looms over you and quells your struggles with a piercing gaze.

“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” His voice was low and dangerous, making you tense with anticipated dread. Oh, Sylus was furious. Still, you’d gone this far, you weren’t going to back down now. 

“Only that I didn’t finish the job.” You jut your lower lip out petulantly and his scoff is pure exasperation.

“Fiesty, kitten.” He almost smiles, but then he’s serious again.

“Did you really think I would enjoy the attention of that woman with you sitting across from me?” You refused to look at him and stared at the canopy above his bed, but nodded. “Really?” He murmured, a soft hint of incredulity creeping into his voice. The movement of him sliding against your core left you both gasping as the friction made you dizzy with need. 

“You’re the only one who does this to me.” He leans closer and draws your gaze to his, his lips inches from yours. “Only you.” 

He doesn’t kiss you. You haven’t earned that and Sylus won’t reward you for your bad behavior, so his lips skate along your jaw and down your throat, sending a shiver down your spine. Sylus will have you a begging, needy mess by the end of the night and you know it, suddenly a little nervous. 

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out quietly, but his derisive chuckle against your pulse told you it was too late for an apology–or too soon. His words confirmed it, his hot breath fanning across your skin. 

“Try being more sincere, and I might consider forgiving you sweetie.” The pet name drips condescension and you want to smack him, instantly regretting your words. You feel the punishing set of teeth against your throat with a sharp suddenness that leaves you gasping. Your back arches into him as your hands curl around the one that has you pinned, your nails digging into his skin. His mouth felt so good against your frantic pulse and you felt a little dizzy as he soothes the fresh imprint of his teeth with his lips. He peppers your throat in kisses and deliciously teasing love bites, taking his time until you’re writhing underneath him and softly pleading for him to touch you more.

He loves seeing you like this, flushed and wanting, eager for him to do whatever he wants to you. He’s ready to explode from all of the teasing from earlier and he grinds his hips roughly against yours, chuckling softly against your collarbone when you curse him between your gasps of pleasure. It’s been a long time since he's had you underneath him like this and Sylus isn’t known for being patient. But for you? He’d wait for a lifetime. In some lifetimes, he had.

However, tonight you need to be taught a lesson about what happens when you tease him too much and jeopardize his meeting. He almost lost valuable intel tonight, something important enough that if he had fumbled in obtaining it, a lot of people could’ve died; including you.  

His free hand slides between your bodies and he’s satisfied to find the front of your panties soaked. His fingers toy with the lacy edge and he has a thoughtful look on his face.

“Sylus, please.” You whine, brushing yourself against his knuckles shamelessly. It makes Sylus chuckle and he pushes them aside, his fingers gliding over your slick folds. One digit dips between them to glide over your clit and it’s agony. Before you can beg, Sylus slides two fingers deep inside of you and curls them over that sensitive spot he knows so well. He brings you to orgasm with a quickness that has your back bowed off the bed, his skillful fingers wringing the pleasure from your body. He does it again without letting you recover and you weakly ask him to wait, pushing against his hand that trapped your own. 

“Wait, please–” 

He withdraws his fingers and they glisten with proof of how much Sylus affected you, strands of your arousal clinging obscenely to them. His eyes never leave yours as he slides them into his mouth to taste you, his gaze heavy lidded with desire. He pulls them past his lips with a wet pop and his lips brush your ear, his breath fanning against your heated skin.

“Why? They went in so easily, kitten.” He purred into your ear. “Did you want it that much? I would’ve given it to you, you know.” He pushes a few strands of hair out sticking to your face and strokes soft fingertips along your temple and jaw. “All you had to do was ask, but you continue to insist on being stubborn.” He leans back and his lips twist into a sour expression. You know you’re in trouble and you want to take it back, but you also know conceding now will make the consequences worse. Sylus would prey on any weakness you showed now, and you could see it in the way he stared down at you. His smirk was dangerous and you whimpered.

“We’ll see how long that lasts.” 

[doodle-pops]

Spell Your Name with Your Tongue

Characters: Maglor, Celegorm, Finarfin, Finrod, Glorfindel, Egalmoth, Beleg

A/N: Basically headcanons on how they go down on you, not that any of you mind :). I had this in my drafts two years ago, and I need to get it out.

Warnings: smut, female reader, cunnilingus, mention of wanting to be impregnated, overstimulation, marathon sex, making you beg, facesitting

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જ⁀➴Maglor

He eats you out for his pleasure and for yours; gravitates towards his pleasure because he loves the sounds you make. It’s one of the other times you get to see him become aggressive, and he doesn’t mind having to tie you down to the bed to keep you from squirming about the place.

As much as he loves the feeling of your legs suffocating the life out of him, he doesn’t want to spend most of the time fighting you to keep your legs open for him to have a proper taste.

The times when he doesn’t stand much of a chance with tying your legs apart is when you’re sitting on his face, he’ll let you squeeze his head with your thighs. He does have an oral fixation and puts it to ultimate use.

Your legs were wide apart, bound to the bedpost with elven ropes along with your arms and your eyes blindfolded. The only noises heard were the faint shuffling of Maglor’s footsteps on the carpet before you felt two calloused hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wider and the hot breath fanning your cunt. It wasn’t long before you felt his tongue dipping into your heat, licking a bold stripe from bottom to top and then nipping at your clit.

“Ngh—Káno, fuck, fuck,” squealing into the bedroom air as his mouth wrapped itself around your clit and gave firm sucks, Káno hummed in delight at your taste. His tongue slithered effortlessly over your clit and flicked the delicate bud with excellency.

“My dear, if you do not cease your squirming, I’ll tie your legs to the headboard.” His chin and lips were coated in your arousal as he spoke while licking them. You knew that this was the start of a long night before he stole orgasm after orgasm from you and left you crying and shaking mess.  

જ⁀➴Celegorm

This ellon eats you out for his pleasure because he loves your taste and it’s his favourite taste in the entire world. He’s aggressive from start to finish he doesn’t care if he sends you into overstimulation.

If you aren’t crying from the pleasure, he isn’t doing his job right. He spreads your legs apart and buries his face into your heat like a savage animal and stains his face in your arousal.

Celegorm doesn’t have the time to tease you, he just dives right in to have his meal because he’s a messy eater.

“Tyelko, p-please, fuck—” You were biting your lips hard enough to draw blood and probably did already from the way your lover’s tongue was thrusting in and out of your cunt. The grip he had on your thighs prevented you from riding his face because he wanted to be the one delivering all your pleasure. The tears were already staining your face from the endless orgasms he took you through, you weren’t sure which round you were on.

“You have more in you kitten, I know you do, hmm.” The seductive grin he sent your way before dragging your cunt over his mouth, letting your clit bump against his nose force your body to convulse above him.

“P-Please, I-I can’t—no more…” Wailing and pleading for him to ease up because your body was growing tired, he ignored your words and continued to work his tongue deeper into your cunt, wiggling it around and collecting every drop of your essence, refusing to let anything go to waste.

“I’m far from finished, you’re not going away until I say you can.” All you could do was grip his silvery strands and tug them in hopes of lasting through the rest you were about to experience.

જ⁀➴Finarfin

Please, somebody, come get Finarfin life support because he decided he no longer wants to be King and wants to die being suffocated between your legs because it’s the best way to go out. Seriously, this man is tired and when he’s tired, he eats it.

He’ll allow you to ride his face to destress while wearing his crown to remind you that your King is here to serve his Lady. You’re the one person he would get on his knees to serve without question. You’re the one person who he’d forget he’s a King and worship.

Two options: when he’s tried, ride his face, and when he’s not tired, it’s because you’re tired and begging him to stop. It was probably something you did to rile him up and weren’t aware of how ravenous he already was. Poor little bunny getting devoured by a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The dominancy is thriving.

The throne room is empty but by the Gods, it’s loud and filled with the incessantly lewd slurping sounds of your pussy being eaten by your King who’s angelically lying underneath on the polished floor. The crown lopsided on his head and his fingers digging into your thighs, leaving behind marks only visible to his eyes when he undresses you tonight, he pushes his face deeper. Any moment now, someone, anyone would barge in demanding to treat with the High King to witness him being suffocated happily by your cunt.

Your attempts at rising off his face were shut down by a firm tug and a grunt. His blue eyes flashed upwards in annoyance, giving you the unspoken rule of thumb—denying your pleasure got you punished, plus, he was stressed, just let him indulge in bliss.

“My King,” you moaned and raked your fingers through his golden curls, pushing his crown completely off, “we’re going to be caught. We can continue this elsewhere…ngghh.”

Displeasure spirals across his face at your suggestion. He didn’t desire to move elsewhere when he was already enjoying his meal here in the comforts of this space. Fighting the urge to pull away, he dragged his lips off your clit and warned, “As much as you are my Queen and I’d do anything, you do not command me for something like this. I will finish when it pleases me.”

જ⁀➴Finrod

He looks so innocent when he smiles and tells you that he wants to be between your legs but oh my fucking god, when Finrod starts, he doesn’t like to stop. It’s almost as if he’s drunk off of your cunt.

Eating you out is by far his favourite sexual activity, and he spends a copious time self-indulging, though, he is generous about his mercies and ensures that you receive equal pleasure while praising you.

Finrod does have an oral fixation which makes his desire to have his face buried between your legs greater. He can spend an hour (because you almost passed out) giving you all the pleasure in the world.

The crown sat on your King’s head but crooked from the angle he positioned himself. Lying under you with your cunt hovering mere inches from his lips—already glistening with your arousal from earlier; his hot breath fanned your clit making you shiver in anticipation. There was an innocent, lopsided smirk on his face followed by a dazed look in his eyes as his finger trailed through your folds, collecting your arousal and slipped into his mouth.

“…come, sit yourself on your throne meleth, I’m far from finished with you,” he hummed as his hands tugged your cunt to rest against his mouth. Your cried permeated the room along with breathless sighs and pleads for him to not stop.

“Fuck, please, p-please, oh—humph.” Your King was on a mission to drain every last drop you had to offer him. He was craving you all day, thought of your taste on his mind and now he was fulfilling his wishes.

“Taste so good nîn loth, go ahead and cum all over my face, I still want more.” His firmness was heavy and firm as he ground your cunt over his mouth, loving the way your body just keep producing more juices for him to consume.

જ⁀➴Glorfindel

A fucking tease that shows no mercy and loves to hear you beg because it fuels his ego and eggs him on to bring you to another orgasm. With Glorfindel, it’s always ‘just one more love, can you do that for me please’ and then he makes you cum five times back-to-back with little to no remorse.

The fucking grin he sends your way as if you’re not on the verge of passing out makes you want to rub it off his face. When Glorfindel eats you out, it’s for his pleasure (your pleasure is always included) but he just wants to make you cum and squirt all over him to boost his pride.

The worst is when he forces you to look him in the eye and describe to him exactly how you want to be eaten out—it always leads to you having to beg him because you could never explain yourself.

Your face was already red from the sheer embarrassment of having your superior’s face between your legs, hovering over your most sacred place and now he wanted you to describe to him how you wished to be eaten out. His lips would ghost your folds whenever he was shifting his mouth off the inner of your thighs, placing butterfly kisses and waiting for you to respond. “I’m waiting little one, I know you want this, so might as well tell me,” his hot breath tickled your clit as he spoke directly above your cunt.

One finger was tracing your fold, lightly touching and keeping the pressure light. “Laurë, p-please, just p-please use your tongue…mouth,” your hands covered your face because you couldn’t bear to make eye contact. His eyes bore into your covered ones as he looked on before sighing and dipping his head to meet your cunt. You couldn’t shut your legs around his head like you wished to, instead, his large, calloused hands pushed them to meet your head while his tongue worked magic on your clit.

Spit-slicked and covered, his tongue rang circles making your head spin as the pressure built. Nipping and tugging at your bundle of nerves, he placed all his energy into getting you off and then pulled away at the last minute, “Ah, ah, ah. Not so fast. I haven’t forgotten you princess—you still haven’t told me how you wish to cum…so describe it or I’ll leave.”

જ⁀➴ Egalmoth

Between him Glorfindel and Celegorm I can’t tell who’s the worse because he’s sweet and aggressive at the same time. A fucking devil who means business when it’s time to get down.

He’ll let you do as you please because just wants to have his tongue buried between your legs. Egalmoth will sweet talk you into letting him eat you out and perform the craziest stunts. Always gives a kiss to your clit before he starts because “greetings are important”.

He loves to make you embarrassed and shy and will force you to keep eye contact or he will stop completely. Can and will stop in the middle of sex to eat you out despite your oversensitivity because that means you’ll be able to squirt for him.

Extremely prideful and expects that you praise him while he’s sucking the life out of you, once you do, you can kiss time goodbye because you lose track of it. What round are you on, 4? 5? 8?

The quick flip of your body on the bed and your face is planted into the sweaty sheets with your ass in the air. No warning was given, thinking that Egalmoth was going to take you from behind, but instead, you feel his hot tongue slithering over your cunt before dipping around your entrance to lazily thrust his tongue. You couldn’t escape his torture even when your body screamed at you to run, his hands were fastened to your hips, securing you still.

“Ngh—E-Egalmoth, please, god no more I can’t…” you hiccupped, and he couldn’t be bothered with your pleas. All that mattered was his tongue in your cunt, salvaging all your arousal.

With every jerk of your body away from his mouth, he would tighten his grip on your thighs and push your pussy into his face to be smothered in his as his tongue made figure eights on your clit. His calloused hand would come down to deliver quick rounds of pats to your clit as he pulled his moistened lips away, glistening with your cum. “Of course, you can give me another, I’m far from finished after all.”  

જ⁀➴ Beleg

There’s just something about the hunters and their dominance that just sends anyone crazy in both a good and bad way. Like don’t get me wrong, Beleg over here would let you lead the way until you are incapacitated.

Cradle his head as he kneels before his princess, run your fingers through his silvery hair, give them a few tugs, and guide his mouth to where you want it most. The only thing is that when he settles in and his mouth is attached, you can’t get him off until he decides when it’s right.

Don’t tug, pull or yank his head away; rub his head and cry out his name, that’s all. When he eats pussy, it’s for you, but he’s still in control. Feel me? He decides when enough is enough and if he wants to eat it for hours, deal with it. You can’t tell this man that he isn’t pleasuring you correctly—that’s a punishment right there with silent treatment.

He eats pussy when he’s stressed, happy, hungry, bored, etc. And he loves it when you sit on his face, riding him till thy kingdom come.

Flinging your head into the pillow to suppress another loud moan building in the pit of your throat, your devoted husband listened to your pleas of wanting to have another baby and was passionately at work. It seemed that you had forgotten how indulgent he became when he was serious about committing to an important act. Nothing was ever performed half-heartedly.

Fingers tugging on the gossamer locks buried between your legs and sucking on your clit like some pacifier, you squirmed at the oncoming wave of pleasure building in your hips. From where you lay, his silvery hair was all you would make out and his lips and tongue were feverishly at work. The way his large warrior hands gripped your thighs leaving behind secret imprints as they spread your legs apart wider to give him better access drove you to the brink of insanity.

“Fuck Beleg, are you trying to kill me?! Ease up, ease up…” whining in his ear was the most beautiful music and the only type he wanted to hear. After all, you asked for a baby, and as your husband, it was his duty to fulfil your wish. He needed to prepare your body for taking his release with ease.

Feeling guilty for the overwork he played on your tender cunt, he pulled away with lips coated in your arousal and glanced upwards to meet your closed eyes. “Forgive me, love, I do tend to get cared away. You do taste divine, perhaps I shall treat myself one day without a request.”

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[dilemmaontwolegs]

Dead Man Walking || LN4 {2}

Pairing: Lando Norris x fem!reader Summary: Christmas with the Norris’ is a long standing tradition but will that still be the case after this years? Warnings: 18+ only, angst and fluff WC: 3.5k F1 Masterlist || one || two

Flo’s old bedroom in her parent’s house hadn’t changed since she moved out. There were still glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling that you had helped her to stick up when you were fifteen. Lando had made fun of them and called them lame as walked past the doorway, but he had still come and held your chair stable when you were precariously close to tipping over.

“What are you staring at?” Flo asked as she walked in to find you lying on her bed, eyes on the roof. 

“Nothing, have you picked a dress yet?” She huffed at your question and opened her closet with a shake of her head. “You do realise the party has already started.”

There was no way to miss it with the christmas music drifting up the staircase and echoing along the hall. Every year was the same, it didn’t matter that all their children had left home - Adam and Cisca still held the annual event and attendance was non-negotiable, even for you. 

The bedroom door opposite Flo’s opened and Lando froze from tugging at the black tie as he caught sight of you. A slow smile grew on his face and he started to take a step forward until Flo appeared with a dress in hand. She held the floor length gown up to her body and swayed the metallic-finish material side to side. “What do you think?” 

“Didn’t disco balls go out of fashion in the 80’s?” Lando teased, drawing her attention to the doorway.

“Didn’t ask your opinion, noob,” she shot back as she grabbed the door and shut it in his face. “I can’t believe he’s staying all week too. Doesn’t he have anything better to do?”

“You should be thinking about your dress right now,” you reminded her as you got up and searched the rack for another option. “Here, this is perfect.”

You could hardly explain to her that you were the real reason Lando was staying local all week. For six months you had stolen nights together, not only avoiding the paparazzi and fans always trying to snap photos of him, but more importantly, Flo. The guilt was a constant fist squeezing your stomach but every time you thought about telling her the truth, the fear of her response kept your lips sealed. Then months had passed by and you thought it would be even worse to admit how long the secret had been kept.

“Babe! This is why you are my best friend,” Flo exclaimed as she dropped what she held to take the emerald green chiffon dress from your hands. “What would I do without you?”

Your smile was forced as you wondered the very same thing. Your mothers had joined the same playgroup before you could walk but you had crawled to Flo and face planted, accidentally headbutting her and making you both cry, but you had been inseparable ever since. Whenever you made a promise to each other it was sealed with the mantra from cradle to grave - ensuring the promise would be as strong and long lasting as your friendship.

You caught the empty hanger she tossed back and hooked it back onto the rack. “End up looking like a disco ball, apparently.”

“Not even,” she said with a roll of her eyes as she shimmied into the dress. “I refuse to take fashion advice from a man who has a hoodie for every occasion.”

You laughed at the completely true statement and pointed at the door. “Not tonight though.”

“That’s not by choice. Mum said he had to smarten up or he would be on dish duty after dinner.” She scoffed as she turned around for you to tie the lace back together. “I told her, wearing a suit won’t make him any smarter.“

You shook your head with a laugh. “If I could get away with wearing a hoodie tonight, I absolutely would too. It feels weird dressing up one day a year. I spent the whole morning here in sweatpants.”

“It’s tradition, and you look gorgeous.”

“I should for the effort I put in,” you giggled, offering your elbow as you opened the bedroom door. “Shall we?”

She looped her arm in yours with a nod as the music downstairs grew with each step. “Let’s do this.”

If you had to listen to another Christmas song you were going to scream, so you escaped the warmth of the Norris’ home and took a breath of wintery air on the balcony where it was less audible. Though there was a chill in the air the eggnog and brandy kept you from feeling the full brunt of the night and you could hardly believe there was snow forecast to fall. 

The only light that reached you was what slipped through the joins of the curtains but it was enough to see the paddocks beyond the grassy lawn. This late in the year the horses that usually grazed the paddocks would be holding up in the stables, away from the morning frosts that occurred daily, but you could still hear their neighs in the distance. 

“Still not a fan of Bublé?”

You smiled to the sky as a pair of cold hands settled on your waist and warm lips found the delicate spot behind your ear. 

“If he hasn’t grown on me by now, I don’t think he ever will.” You turned to face Lando and linked your arms around his neck. “Merry Christmas, my love.”

“Merry Christmas, baby.” His body started to sway, taking you with him as he hummed the stupid song in your ear, laughing when you narrowed your eyes at him. “What? All I want for Christmas is you.”

Your gaze softened and you smiled again as you tucked your head into his chest and buried your hands in his jacket to try steal some warmth. “Are you cold, love?” he asked, looking back at the warm house where all the log fires were lit.

“No, I’m not ready to go back yet,” you admitted as you cradled his cheek in your hand and guided his attention back to you. “Just a few more minutes together.”

He nodded before giving you a soft kiss and pulling away to shrug his wool suit jacket off and drape it over your shoulders. “Can’t have my girl getting sick for Christmas.”

One Year Earlier “I don’t buy it,” Flo muttered over her flute of champagne as she sat to your left at the dining table, waiting for dinner to be served. 

“Buy what?” you asked as your attention was pulled away from Max on your right, and the pictures of the new simulator he had just finished setting up in his room. 

“Them.” You followed her nod across the room to find Lando on the couch in front of the roaring log fire, his girlfriend sat on his lap as if there weren’t two other cushions available beside him. “There’s no chemistry.”

“Eh,” you shrugged as you grabbed your glass that Max had refilled for you, “since when do you need chemistry if you’re a model or whatever?” 

“You almost sound jealous,” he teased quietly, wary of Flo on the other side. 

“Am not,” you bit back a little too harshly, only making him chuckle more and take a sip of his beer before he said anything else. 

“Dinner will be a little late, I’m afraid,” Cisca announced with a sigh, muttering about the gravy catastrophe. “Adam, honey, turn the music up for a bit.”

“If you aren’t hung up on him, then come have a dance with me,” Max dared as Oliver and his pregnant wife joined Flo’s aunt and uncle dancing in front of the hearth, beneath the twinkling fairy lights. He wiggled his fingers as he waited for you and with a sigh you placed your hand in his and rose from your place setting. 

Flo grinned as you passed by, poking you in the ribs with a laugh and giving you the thumbs up - but Max was only a friend. He could only be a friend because the person you actually pined for was his best friend.

“I know,” he whispered in your ear as one hand rested on your waist and your feet followed his lead.

“Know what?” you asked innocently, but he had caught your eyes drifting to the couch as you circled your way around the room.

“I won’t say anything, I just thought you might want to talk to someone. God knows you can’t talk to Flo about it, she would smother him while he slept,” Max joked. “And I kind of like having my best friend.” His eyes looked at the couple before he sighed. “Most of the time at least.”

You weren’t the only one vying for his attention anymore since he got a girlfriend. “You’ve been drinking too much, Fewtrell. You’re seeing things with your beer goggles on, I have no interest in Lando.”

“Is that why he hasn’t stopped staring at you?” Your head snapped around but Lando’s attention was firmly on Luisa and the very deep kiss they were openly sharing. “Totally not interested in him, huh,” he chuckled as he tightened his hold on you when you tried to pull away. “I’m sorry, it sucks, wanting what you can’t have.”

“There are worse things,” you muttered under your breath but he heard and curled an eyebrow in question. “Wanting what you can’t have right in front of you.”

He had no response but a sad smile as the song changed and Michael Bublé’s Cold December Night crooned over the speakers. 

“The twinkling of the lights, The sound of carols fill the household, Old saint Nick has taken flight, With a heart on board so please be careful, Each year I ask for many different things, But now I know what my heart wants you to bring.”

“I fucking hate Bublé,” you sniffed as you pulled away from Max’s arms. “I’m just going to get some fresh air.”

“It’s bloody snowing out there,” he objected as he followed you to the backdoor. “You’re going to be sick for Christmas.”

The dinner bell rang out and you sighed as it shattered the bubble you had found yourself in and knew you would have to release Lando from your arms.

“Come to my room tonight,” you whispered against his lips before they shared one last kiss. ‘Your room’ was actually one of the guest rooms down the hall but you had spent so much time in it over the years that it was only ever referred to as yours now. It was so much yours that Cisca had even asked you for your opinion in the wallpaper when she renovated the house.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, baby,” he said with a smirk as he opened the backdoor for you. You reluctantly removed his jacket and missed the scent more than the warmth as you passed it back. Lando pulled it back on and dipped his head to steal one final kiss before stepping inside with a warning over his shoulder, “No dancing with Max this year.”

“It’s your turn to be jealous this year,” you said as you blew a kiss to him along the narrow corridor.

He paused and cast his arm out, planting his palm on the wall and blocking you from rejoining the party. “What makes you think I wasn’t jealous last year?”

“Maybe it was the tongue down Luisa’s throat, or the hand up her skirt?”

You tried to duck under his arm but he caught you around the waist and used his body to cage you against the wall. “I had to do something to distract myself,” he admitted lowly in your ear, hiding his face from your disbelieving eyes. “You were all I could think about, you and that sexy little dress.” You tilted your head back as you felt his lips on your neck as he continued his confession. “If I didn’t do something I would have gone crazy watching him hold you when I couldn’t.”

His kiss set your body on fire and you combed your fingers through his hair tugging the strands so you could capture his lips.

“What the fuck!”

Both of your heads snapped towards the outburst and your stomach dropped as you saw Flo standing at the end of the hall. Her arms were limp at her side, the blank look of shock bleeding into betrayal as her head started to shake before she turned away.

Your body reacted before your brain could, pushing Lando away as you chased after her despite his call to let her go. You couldn’t let that happen, she had always been a worrier and the longer she stewed on something the worse it got in her mind. You had to talk to her.

You raced up the stairs, apologising to Adam as you passed him in the hurry, the confusion of catching his daughter’s rush to escape clear on his face. Her door was shut and you tested the handle to find it was locked and your head thumped against the wood with defeat.

“Please, Flo, let me in,” you begged her. A quick no resounding from inside. Turning around, you took a seat on the floor and rested your back to the door. “I’m going to stay right here until you open the door.”

“You’re going to be there a very long time.”

You sat there in silence for a few minutes wondering where to begin, how to explain what happened, why, how long. Finally you decided on a simple apology. “I’m sorry, Flo. We didn’t intend to fall in love, didn’t intend on anything happening. I fought the feelings for years, because I knew what it meant to you.”

“Still didn’t stop you though, did it?” She spat, her voice closer than you expected. “I had one rule. One!”

Your make up was certainly ruined as tears spilled forth, eyeliner and mascara stealing down your cheeks. “I know.”

“They say they don’t have favourites but mum and dad have always put him first. They missed my events to go to his races,” she sobbed, a sense of déjà vu filling you as she retold the history you had consoled her through years ago. She had always felt second place to Lando. “I thought you would always be my best friend.”

Your gut wrenched as you realised what she was feeling. She thought you were choosing him over her - like there had to be an ultimatum. “I still am,” you promised, shaking the door handle again. “Please, unlock the door.” She made no move to turn the key.

“Do you remember when you got Summer and I thought you were going to forget all about me?” you asked, remembering the day the pony arrived at the house and Flo had been so excited she had run off to the stables without you. “You told me I was always going to be your best friend, from cradle to grave. She was your horse, and you could love us both, right?”

The door tugged open and you fell back, sprawled on the floor as she stood with her arms crossed. “Are you calling my brother a horse?”

“Depends, would it make you feel better?”

She rolled her eyes and offered a hand to pull you to your feet. “I don’t know yet, I’m too pissed off at you.”

“Fair enough.”

“Hey, you guys okay?” Lando asked as he jogged to the top of the stairs, his tie and jacket missing.

You screwed your eyes shut at the timing and pinched the bridge off your nose as you asked, “Can we just have a few minutes?”

He turned twice first to head back down the stairs before he changed his mind and went to his room. “You said I had changed,” he muttered to Flo as he stood in his doorway and held the door knob. “You said I looked happier than ever.”

“I’m going to vomit if you tell me she’s the reason.”

“Sorry.”

“For what? Stealing my best friend?”

You stepped into her line of vision and waved a hand behind your back hoping Lando would get the hint. “He hasn’t stolen me, Flo. Cradle to grave.” You held up your pinky and held your breath as she stared at the age old promise you had made. “I should have told you how I felt about him, but you can be really scary and I was a coward. It was still a shitty thing to do.”

“Really shitty.”

“I know.”

“I can’t believe it was you,” she said with a shake of her head. “I knew there had to be a girl. This is annoying, more than anything, because he’s not such a muppet anymore, but knowing it’s from you - I don’t know if that’s better or worse.”

“Surely being happy is what matters most, not the who or why.”

She fell silent and her eyes fell to the door that he had quietly shut. “What happens if he breaks your heart?”

You hoped it never came to that but you couldn’t see the future so you shrugged. “Then I will cry on my best friend’s shoulder like I always have.”

Her shoulders bounced once with a laugh before she caught herself and tried to appear nonchalant. “I suppose I would offer to key their car.”

“And I would say it isn’t worth it.” You reached for her hand and she let you hold it as you gave it a squeeze. “But…if he doesn’t then I might not just be your best friend, might be your sister in law too someday.”

“Too soon,” she said with a scrunch of her nose as she pulled her hand away and went to Lando’s door. “Hurt her and I’ll key your new car, noob.”

The door swung open and Lando leaned against the jamb. “You don’t have to worry, sis.”

“I love her more than you.”

Lando snorted, a sound so similar to Flo’s, and he shook his head. “It’s not a competition, you muppet.”

She appeared almost pleased, though also surprised as she nodded and stepped away, “good answer.”

“But,” Lando smirked and you sighed inwardly, “if it was I would win.”

Flo oddly didn’t respond as she started to make her way back to dinner, pausing only as she reached the stairs before looking back. “By the way, I’m dating Max.”

“What? No fucking way, I gonna kill him,” Lando growled as he took a step towards her before her head fell back with laughter.

“Of course I'm not, Lando, but now you know how it feels.”

Her laugh echoed down the hall as she descended the staircase and left the two of you alone. Facing Lando, you stared at him wondering if anything had changed but the moment of uncertainty was gone when he pulled you into his arms and kissed you without fear of being caught.

“I’m taking you to dinner tomorrow, it’s all I’ve wanted to do for so long,” he laughed as he pressed his forehead to yours and recovered from the almost blessing you had received from Flo. “We don’t have to hide anymore.”

“Tomorrow's Christmas,” you said with a smile.

“Shit, okay then, the next day. Hey!” He grinned as he pointed downstairs, his head bobbing along to the song that was playing again on the playlist. “Christmas came early for me,” he said as he dragged you to his bedroom and closed the door, silencing Bublé as he sang, ‘All I want for Christmas is you’.

“We are going to miss dinner,” you warned as he sat on his bed and pulled you onto his lap.

“There’s always plenty of leftovers, plus, what I want isn’t on the menu downstairs,” he teased as his hands brushed beneath your dress.

“Bob, what are you up to-oh!” Max covered his eyes as he busted into the room. “Bro, everyone is waiting for you two. Time and place, people.”

You stood up and pulled the dress back into place, sending Lando a look that said ‘I told you so’ before tapping Max on the shoulder as you passed him. “You can look now.”

“I think the damage is already done, the image is seared on my retina,” he said with a dramatic shake. “So you two finally…”

“Got caught,” Lando said with a chuckle, slipping his hand in yours as the three of you headed to the dining room. “No more hiding.”

Max grinned and clapped Lando on the shoulder. “About time!”

“Wait, you knew?”

“Uh…I have been in the middle of this situation for like five years. Of course I knew. I think I knew before the two of you knew.”

You frowned at the news and came to a stop halfway to the landing. “So last year?”

“Was my trying to get you two to see what was clearly right in front of you the whole bloody time. You’re welcome for that, you know. And I expect to be thanked as the best friend and wingman one can ask for in our next stream. Now can we please go and eat, I’m starving!”

Lando looked at you with a different look of hunger in his eyes as he kissed your hand. “Me too.”

Taglist {1}: @moonvr @copper-boom @yunnie-f1 @ophcelia @lightsoutletsgo @alwaysclassyeagle @neiich @omgsuperstarg @starwarssavy23 @fdl305 @faeb1tch42069 @sweetestrose569 @pleasantducktimetravel @dr3lover @writerscurse @christianpulisic10 @alexisquinnlee-bc @purplephantomwolf @belennasif @ryiamarie @mickslover @tyna-19 @destourtereaux @sunf1ower16 @octaviareina @laneyspaulding19 @booknerd2004-blog @mimimarvelingmarvel @chonkybonky @jpg3  @bangtanxberm @ohthemisssery @eviethetheatrefreak @kimi240302 @andydrysdalerogers @formula1mount @storyteller-le @dakotali @daddyslittlevillain @elijahslover

[angstbyangeline]

Hatred Within The Masterpiece

Reiner Braun x gn!reader

genre: angst

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Renier woke up from another nightmare. He reaches out for… nothing. Just a nightmare. Porco was sitting in a chair next to Renier’s bed.

“Sounded like you were having an extra sweet dream. So I’d thought I’d like you enjoy it.”

“You saved my life back there, thanks Galliard. I owe you.”

“Don’t want your thanks. If I had inherited the armored titan nine years ago, none of this would’ve happened. My brother would still be alive because he wouldn’t have gotten eaten trying to protect you. And I saw Ymir's memories. I saw you through her memories. You acted like the tough, reliable type. Not at all like yourself.. I also saw how close you got to a certain… devil.”

Renier’s eyes widened in realization. He jumps from the bed and quickly crawls over to Porco in the chair. He grabs the hem of Porco’s shirt.

Renier pleads, “Porco, please! I know you don’t owe me a thing. But please, I never would fall in love with a devil. It had been years- I- I was bored. I wanted comfort. Please don’t report me…”

Tears welled up in Renier’s eyes as he remembered you. He couldn’t let anyone on Marley know of you. It would be shameful for him to have fallen for an ‘island devil’.

“I don’t believe you. From the memories, you seemed pretty in love. So give me one hell of a reason why I shouldn’t report you?!” Porco’s word held so much hate for Renier and his devil.

“They were the only reason I didn’t go insane on that island. Yes, they’re a devil but not like the rest of them. They’re a good person but they mean little to me now…” First part was true, the last was a lie.

Porco scoffed, Reiner contradicted himself. He hated Reiner but decided to let him slide as he just came back to Marley.

Pieck then walked in on crunches. Reminding Porco to remain kind to Reiner. She’s too kind to him. The duo had a bit of small talk while Porco walked out of the room. Pieck left the room as well after some friendly chatter.

Reiner lays back down. He grips the pocket on his shirt tightly. Them he unbuttons it and pulls out a thick folded up paper. Unfolding it to reveal a beautiful portrait of you.

The portrait drawn by one of your best friends, Jean. Reiner had bribed Jean with extra food during their cadet training days. All Reiner wanted was a drawing of you. Jean found it cheesy, annoying but accepted anyway. There was also the condition that you shouldn’t know anything about the drawing and the situation.

To play this off, Jean pretended to have you, Sasha and Connie pose. You were pretty excited to be posing and to see the finished product. But you never saw it and neither did Connie or Sasha. You honestly forgot about it after a couple days but the pair whined to Jean unapologetically to see the drawing. Forcing Jean to pull them aside and explain the situation. Jean had to explain and emphasize that they are not to spill a word about this to you. They agreed but loosely joked about the situation to themselves no matter how nearby you were. Leaving you confused often as they wouldn’t explain what was so funny.

Reiner asked for the drawing a little after the two of you started seeing each other. He wanted something of you. Knowing it wrong to engage with ‘your kind’. Some days he would tell himself that you didn’t deserve the hate Marley had for you. Others he was distant and ignored you, remembering his mission and original ideologies of Eldians. Regardless of his switch ups, you love him endlessly.

He pulls the drawing out every time he misses you. Now that you knew his secret, his chest physically ached from the pain and betray he inflicted on you.

Reiner told Bertholdt that he wanted to bring you to Marley, by force if he had to. Berthold obviously told Reiner he was insane and Marley would never accept you into their nation. Reiner created every excuse he would use to have Marley let you in. He was very certain of going through with it.

That was until you refused. When Reiner and Bertholdt transformed on the wall, Reiner’s titan held you in its hand. You screamed for Reiner to let go of you. Yelling a string of profanities and how could he have lied and betrayed everyone, how he could betray you.

Reiner wasn’t going to let you go. Holding you so tightly, you swear he had broken your rib cage. No one would have saved you, if it weren’t for Mikasa who was on the side of the wall. With her gear, she swung up and sliced the armored titan’s hand.

You fell onto the top of the wall where you were blown away a second later due to the titan transformations happening around you. You used your ODM gear to stick to the wall. After the brutal wind of the transformations, you had a clear look at the armored titan. Who was looking right back at you. You gave it the most angry heartbroken expression.

“You make me sick!”

Those were the last words you ever told Renier. The same words still ring in his head every time he thinks of you. Words that will forever pierce his heart and mark the day he left you.

He looked at the drawing. It had been a couple years since he received it. It had many wrinkles, water droplets and small tears in the corners from how much it’s endured in his front pocket.

He knew the artist hated him but he was sure the artwork hated him so much more.

[theonceandfuturequeenoftarts]

Harry and Tom had been pushed together by circumstance ever since they’d both sorted Slytherin.

The students from other houses watched them distrustfully due to their house and having no one to really vouch for them. (Harry’s name didn’t hold much weight if he wasn’t in Gryffindor, it seemed. The professors who’d known his parents certainly brought it up often enough for him to draw that conclusion.) 

And, since all of the other Slytherin first-year boys were purebloods who’d known each other since birth, they all paired off with each other, leaving the two odd ones out as roommates.

They’d both been wary of the other at first, but after a few weeks of keeping to themselves and not trying to start anything, they fell into a quiet coexistence. When their housemates were bigoted arses, Harry would stand up for Tom; when they picked on Harry for refusing to go with the flow, Tom gave them several reasons to stop. 

It wasn’t a friendship, necessarily, but they had each other’s back. Neither had to be on guard in their shared room.

Even when Tom’s status began to rise, both in Slytherin and the school more broadly, he didn’t change how he interacted with Harry. 

Until halfway through sixth year, that is.

—

Tom turns seventeen over the winter holidays and Slughorn is suddenly much more liberal in sharing his liquor collection with his favourite student at the parties he hosts. Now, more often than not, Tom returns from these parties with a bit of a stumble in his step. 

And some confusion over which bed is his.

The first time it happens, Harry snaps awake in the night, tense and alert, to a weight landing beside him on the bed. He has his wand pointed at the lump before he realises it’s his dorm mate, passed out on his stomach and snoring lightly into Harry’s duvet. He shoves the sleeping boy, who mumbles something dire at him without waking. 

“Tom,” he hisses, poking the boy in the face. Nothing. No response whatsoever.

…Eh, whatever. Harry is tired and Tom isn’t in a state to do anything, and it’s just one night.

A few hours later, Harry wakes up alone. Tom corners him after breakfast and threatens him to keep silent. Like he’d go around sharing that he and Tom had slept together.

When he says as much, Tom’s cheeks take on a pink tinge as he looks at Harry with mild incredulity. But he ultimately accepts this and they ignore each other for a couple days before falling into their former manner of living together without really interacting.

And that’s how it remains until the second time Tom returns to their dorm intoxicated and slips into Harry’s bed. Harry, already occupying the bed and half-awake from the disruption, rolls over to see who’s trying to spoon him. Seeing Tom and not caring enough to make a fuss about it, he curls back up and drifts off immediately.

He wakes up first and has the unique joy of witnessing a hung-over, grouchy Tom Riddle curse the light, this morning, Slughorn, alcohol, and mornings in general, before opening his eyes to see Harry staring at him in amusement. 

Tom groans and buries his head under a pillow. “This doesn’t leave this room,” comes the muffled command.

“Obviously.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“I will spell all of your clothing to the appropriate size and make you wildly uncomfortable if you breathe one word.”

“Jesus, Riddle, I said I wouldn’t say anything,” Harry mutters. “Save the thumbscrews for your ‘social club.’”

“I simply want you to understand the seriousness of the situation.”

And that’s the end of that.

(Harry wonders if there should be more weirdness. Surely two teenage boys repeatedly sleeping together in the same bed would be weird to most people. Harry just finds it funny.

…And maybe he enjoys Tom’s warmth. But that’s it!)

By the third time, Harry’s ready. He knows Tom is attending one of Slughorn’s get-togethers tonight, and will likely imbibe and return tipsy. He’s prepared.

When Tom swans into their dorm room a little after midnight, Harry’s finishing up a twenty-four inch essay on the principles of re-materialisation due next week. (Hey, if he's staying up and can’t wander the castle, he has to do something.)

Tom stops short. “Why are you not in bed?” he asks, brow furrowed. “You should be in bed.”

Harry huffs a laugh. “I should be, shouldn’t I?” He stretches his hands above his head and turns in his chair to face Tom. “How was your night?”

“It was dull,” Tom says with a roll of his eyes. Drunk Tom is so much more expressive, Harry thinks gleefully. “No one new to meet, and Professor Slughorn kept trying to parade me around, like I’m some kind of show pony. Dreadful.”

And then he flops back onto Harry’s bed, staring with unfocused eyes at the ceiling. “...Horses should have fangs.”

...What?

“Excuse me?”

“I’m not a pony – I’m at least a stallion, if I have to be a horse,” Tom explains like this should be obvious. “But horses aren’t menacing enough; they don’t have sharp teeth or claws, either. I would only be a horse if I could have fangs.”

And, well, when he puts it like that, Harry finds himself agreeing. Madness is communicable, it seems.

“Oookay, let’s get you to bed,” he says, putting out the light on his desk.

“I am in bed.”

“Not quite.” He grabs the drinking glass he’d set aside earlier.

“Harry, come here,” Tom demands petulantly, swaying as he sits up on the edge of the bed.

Harry shakes his head and holds out a glass filled with water. “Nope, you have to drink this first.” 

He can hardly believe his eyes. Tom Riddle – perfect, untouchable, inscrutable Tom – is pouting at him like a child denied a sweet. He wishes he had a camera.

“C’mon, you’ll thank me in the morning,” he cajoles.

“If I drink the water, you’ll come to bed?” Tom asks, somehow achieving wary puppy dog eyes.

Harry bites his cheek to keep from smiling. This is adorable. “I will – it’s my bed, after all.”

“Very well,” Tom says with gravitas and a slight slur to his words. He accepts the glass and drains it in four gulps, then meets Harry’s eyes and raises his eyebrows.

“Congratulations, you did it,” Harry deadpans. Riddle scowls at him and pats the bed meaningfully, so he laughs and gets in on the other side.

(He left a couple paracetamol and another glass of water on the nightstand closest to Tom earlier, anyway. He is prepared.)

By the time he’s put out the lights and gotten situated under the covers, Tom has shucked most of his clothes, down to his undershirt and boxer shorts. When he reaches for the hem of his shirt, Harry scrambles to grab his hands and says, “Whoa, let’s just keep that on.”

Tom frowns at him but doesn’t argue. He does lay down and tug Harry closer, cuddling him like a stuffed animal.

“Tom…?” Harry says faintly.

Tom hums into the juncture between Harry’s neck and shoulder. “Good night, Harry.”

Harry stares ahead into the darkness. “...G’night.”

He expects it will take him a while to fall asleep like this, but the warmth of another body and the susurration of Tom’s breathing so close to his ear lulls him to sleep before he knows it.

—

When he wakes up the next morning, cosy and well-rested, Harry comes to a decision.

This is silly.

He feels Tom slowly returning to the waking world, laying half on top of Harry and looking much less green about the gills than he had last time. One of Tom’s eyes cracks open and he grumbles into Harry’s chest, curling closer and dropping more dead weight onto Harry.

(He knew Tom wasn’t a morning person, but he’d never before understood just how much.)

Harry says, “Before you start with the hostilities, I feel you should know that, for one, I wouldn’t tell anyone about your sleeping habits anyway. It’s none of their business.”

Tom grunts; Harry takes it as a request to continue.

“And secondly: You can sleep in my bed even if you aren’t drunk, you know. I don’t mind.”

Tom tenses.

“We don’t even have to talk about it, if it’s just sleeping.”

Tom doesn’t relax.

“If this is something more than that, then...”

Tom rolls so his face is completely hidden in Harry’s shoulder. “...Later,” he says, muffled and low.

Harry blinks. 

Huh.

“Yeah, later,” he says.

At this, Tom lets out a breath he’d been holding, slowly draping an arm over Harry’s waist. Harry pats at it with his hand and relaxes deeper into the mattress.

“Later’s just fine.”

[starrieshq]

Aftercare [Kitty]

here it is!!! What you all have been waiting for

Enjoy <3

TW: some swearing, mentions of s3x

The sun pierced through the windows of Ty’s room, the curtains were pushed back, and Kit could see the coastline from his spot on the bed.

Ty’s bare chest rose and fell, dark Marks twining up his arms as he pushed his hair out of his face. Kit tried not to stare, but he was, well…

Beautiful.

After several minutes, Kit managed to sit upright. His throat felt scratchy.

“We did use a silencing rune, right?” He asked Ty, who silently nodded and reached for him.

Kit scooted closer to him, and they sat together in silence for a moment.

“We should probably clean all of this up.” Ty motioned at the messy sheets, and Kit nodded, standing.

Pain shot through him, and he buckled against the bed. Ty was immediately next to him and hoisted him up into a bridal style.

“Bath or shower?” He asked.

Kit hated baths, but he could not stand to save his life.

“Bath.” He said reluctantly.

He placed him in the tub, and as Kit began filling it with water, Ty tossed in a bath bomb.

Kit fiddled with the hot water faucet. When he lived with his dad, he almost never had access to hot water. When he moved to the Institute, he became hooked on steamy showers. They felt…relaxing. He took one every day, and when he came out of the bathroom, the mirror was usually foggy.

He was so caught up in though that he didn’t notice that Ty had joined him in the tub until he said,

“Are you okay?”

Kit nodded, hands finding Ty’s and twining them together.

“Yeah.”

Ty began to lather soap across Kit’s back, which was really distracting.

“You know I can do that, right?” Kit asked.

He nodded. “I’d rather do it for you. You should relax.”

Kit settled in, sighing contently as Ty continued to rinse him off, as if any amount of soap would scrub away what had just happened between them.

After several minutes of content silence, Kit cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Did…did you like it?” He asked.

Ty stopped scrubbing him for a moment, considering.

“Yeah.” He said quietly. “It was…”

He trailed off, looking for the right word.

“Different.” Kit finished.

Ty nodded, and went back to rinsing him.

After getting out of the tub (with the assistance of Ty, of course), Kit pulled on a pair of sweats and one of Ty’s t-shirts.

Ty had taken the sheets down to the washer and was now at his desk, headphones on. Kit could faintly hear the classical music playing.

Kit was ever so slightly limping, and he prayed that the iratze he applied would kick in soon. If Dru, or God forbid, Helen or Julian saw him like this, there was not a shadow of a doubt in his mind that they would be having words.

Kit reached for his stele, but before he could apply another iratze, he felt Ty’s hand close around his, gently pulling it away from him.

“What are you doing?” Kit asked.

Ty nudged back the collar of his shirt, and began to draw the iratze.

“I’m the reason you’re limping, it just seems fair that I’m the one who takes care of you.”

Kit shook his head. “You know that I can take care of myself.”

Ty leaned down and gently pressed a kiss to Kit’s collarbone. “But have you considered that I want to?”

Kit’s head spun. Ty was skilled in dishing out compliments to him all the time, and he never had anything to say back to him.

“But why would you want to look after me?” He whispered.

Ty’s lips found his ear, and he said softly,

“Because you are what I want.” His hands curved around Kit’s waist, pulling him closer. “I am yours. Those years we spent apart, I learned that much.”

After a minute or two, they decided to inconspicuously go downstairs. They made their way to the kitchen, where Cristina and Mark stood, animatedly talking on the phone with who Kit presumed was Kieran.

“Julian’s looking for you two.” Mark said as Cristina nodded along to whatever Kieran was saying. “He’s been looking for you guys for a while, and Dru said that Ty’s room was locked, but she refused to open the door with a rune.”

Kit’s ears turned red, but Ty calmly said, “Where’s Julian, then?”

“Bye!” Cristina said, handing the phone to Mark.

“We’ll see you soon, love.” Mark said into the phone. “Make sure to talk to him when you can, ‘kay?” He paused. “Alright. Love you.”

He handed the phone back to Cristina.

“Julian should be at the beach. Emma’s with him.” She said, pocketing it.

Kit felt Cristina glance over him, a small knowing smile on her face.

“Don’t.” He warned her, his eyebrows raised.

“I won’t.” She replied, her smirk turning into the genuine smile it usually was. “It’s just great to see you two happy again.”

The pair headed out of the doors of the Institute, opting to go barefoot in the soft sand. Ty was slightly ahead of him, his silent footsteps refusing to stir up any dust.

He turned around, seeing Kit and smiling slightly. They grasped each other's hand, continuing to head alongside the coast.

Ty pointed in the distance. “I think I can see them.” He said.

A short distance away, Kit could see Emma and Julian heading towards them, along with a shorter figure that could only be Dru.

He tensed slightly. “What do you think they want us for?”

Ty shrugged. “Not sure. Maybe they were curious where we were?”

Kit doubted it was that. The fact that Dru had spottem them and was now eagerly skipping towards them did not give him any comfort.

“See?” She said to Emma and Julian, gesturing at Ty and Kit, “I told you that they were just making out in Ty’s room!”

Kit flushed.

“We weren’t making out.” He said.

“Alright then, Sherlock,” Emma said to Ty. “Explain what’s on Kit’s neck then for me.”

Shit.

Kit had attempted to cover up a hickey on his neck with concealer he found in Dru’s room. Apparently, it must’ve come off.

“We weren’t making out.” Ty confirmed, slightly squeezing Kit’s hand.

Emma did a once-over of Kit.

“I agree.” Emma said, smirking. “I think they had more than a make out session.”

Kit turned redder as Julian approached them.

“There you two are.” He said. “I was thinking that we’d have to get Magnus and imbed you with tracking devices.”

“Or you could just use a Tracking rune.” Ty pointed out.

“Tracking devices would be cooler.” Kit counterargued.

“Regardless,” Julian intervened, waving his arms. “I understand that both of you are 18…”

“Oh, absolutely not.” Kit moaned, covering his face. “You are not doing this in the middle of the beach! Or in front of Dru!”

“I find this entertaining.” Dru said, attempting to cover her laughter and failing miserably.

Julian continued. “And obviously, there’s nothing any of us can do about you two sneaking off and doing…things-”

“To be fair, we were doing things, too.” Emma pointed out. “And we weren’t 18 yet.”

“Regardless,” Julian stated. “You two need to be safe.”

Kit stared at him.

“You knew that we were already in Ty’s room with the door locked, proceeded to go down to the beach to ‘look for us’, and now you’re lecturing us about being safe?” He asked incredulously.

Julian nodded.

“You are ridiculous.” He declared after a moment.

“Don’t worry, we’re fine.” Ty assured Julian.

“This is fucking hilarious.” Dru cackled.

“I’m glad you think it’s funny, Dru.” Julian said. “I’m giving both you and Ash the same talk when you turn 18, too.”

[rebelliousstories]

What We Know

Relationship: Spencer Reid x Reader

Fandom: Criminal Minds

Request: No

Warnings: Angst, Fluff

Word Count: 1,357

Main Masterlist: Here

Criminal Minds Masterlist: Here

Part One: Did You Know?// Part Two: I Know Now// Part Three: Somebody Knows

Summary: Truth or Dare. Who learns the truth? And who takes a dare?

David Foster Wallace said, “The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you.”

“Spence. Oh, my God. Spencer!” She yelled, running through the mass of informs that were trying to keep her away. Her heart was racing a million miles an hour as she ran to her husband. He barely registered that she was there and felt like he was in a haze.

Spencer wrapped his arms around the woman, but could not say anything. He ran his hands over her back and through her hair. Pressing a kiss to her forehead, Spencer locked eyes with JJ who was getting checked out by some medics in the background of an ambulance. As soon as their eyes locked, they broke it immediately. The stress and pain of the last few hours were catching up.

“Let’s get you to checked out, honey.” She was ushering her husband over to an unoccupied EMT so that he could be taken care of. Reid let his wife fuss over him as much as she wanted to as he let his thoughts run wild. Words ran all through his mind, and he replayed the last few minutes.

“Thank you. I’ll drive him home,” came her voice, finally breaking through his fog. “Just need to see if he needs anything from his office and then I’ll make sure he gets plenty of rest at home.”

“Hey, hey, hey,” he whispered, drawing her attention again. “Where’s is she? Where’s Erin?” Spencer pleaded with his wife with big brown eyes staring up at her.

“It’s okay. She’s safe with Krystal. I wanted to make sure that she was going to be okay before coming to get you.” She reassured him, and got him to loosen his grip just a little bit. He settled back in to where he was sitting. Letting the medics work, Mrs. Reid noticed that far off look returning to Mr. Reid’s eyes again, but just let him be for now. Once he was given the all clear, she walked her husband to their car that was waiting behind the police tape. They sat in their seats for a moment in silence before she turned to the man next to her.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?” She asked, reaching a hand up to run through his hair gently. Spencer leaned into her hand when it reached his stubbly cheek.

“Let’s go get Erin. I’ll explain it later.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to her palm. Even though she was not convinced that her husband was alright, she put the car in drive and went to go get there daughter.

The drive to the Rossi estate was a silent one. Both of their thoughts were racing, but for very different reasons. She parked the car as soon as they got to the door and left Spencer in. Knocking on the door gave her the image of Krystal as she cradled their daughter.

“She’s been out like a light the whole time. Such a well behaved baby.” Krystal complimented. Mrs. Reid took her daughter from the woman with a grateful smile.

“I really appreciate you doing this for us. David’s okay by the way. And we got Spence and JJ out. We’re gonna head home now. I’m really glad you could watch her on such short notice.” Readjusting her hold on her daughter, she bid farewell to the older woman and went to get back in the car. She went to go put her in the backseat, but Spencer reached for her instead.

“Please?” He pleaded. Coming back to the front seat, she placed Erin in Spencer’s arms. She was still so little and they wanted to cherish the time they had left with her. Their daughter was just about to turn two years old, but she still slept well through the night. Whenever she could, she watched her husband cradle their daughter in the passenger seat.

Once they made it home, Spencer refused to let Erin go. Even when they made it into her room, he could not bring himself to put his daughter in her bed. He just made his way to the rocking chair in her room and held her close to his chest. Spencer switched her to one of his arms, and struggled to take his tie off with one of his hands. It was just a moment later when another set of hands came into help.

His wife was gently slipping the tie from around his throat. And once that was placed on Erin’s changing table, her hands unbuttoned his shirt. It was only a couple buttons, but the contact made Erin slip further into her sleep. Spencer still had not said much the entire evening, which was concerning to her. She did not know what went down in that store, but it could not have been good if I triggered this kind of response from her husband.

“Let’s go to bed, honey.” She gently tried to pry her husband from the chair, and he followed her soft hands wherever she led him. Spencer placed Erin down in her crib, and stood there for a minute. His wife made her way to the door and placed her hand on the knob to close it. He watched their daughter, and stroked her cheek softly. Spencer took a deep breath and walked out with his wife.

She rubbed his shoulder gently, and went to make her way to the bedroom but Spencer just went to go sit on the couch. Watching her husband with saddened eyes, she just went into the kitchen. Spencer was staring off into space when he finally realized that he was being joined again by his wife. She placed down a couple of mugs in front of them. There was nothing said as they sipped their warm beverages. Mrs. Reid was waiting until Spencer felt like he could speak to do so.

“JJ she, um, she said she was in love with me.” He finally blurted out. Setting her mug down, she sat there for a minute. She just looked to her husband with an indistinguishable expression on her face.

“The unsub, he made us play truth or dare. And he asked Jennifer to tell him something that she would never admit aloud. She said she was in love with me, and always had been.” Spencer explained, setting down his mug.

“And what did you say?” She asked.

“Nothing. I shot him with the gun from my ankle. He took my main firearm.” He replied, looking to his smirking wife.

“Wonder where you learned that from?” She teased with a smirk on her lips. Spencer finally let a smile crack across his face as he chuckled.

“How are you feeling about it, Spence? I know how you used to have a crush on her.” Husband leaned against wife and she ran her hand through his curls.

“I’m alright. I used to want her, but it’s been years since I’ve thought of her like that. I’m not sure what’s going to happen with us though.”

Spencer moved his head off of her shoulder and brought his hand up to her face. He cradled it as gently as he had cradled their daughter moments ago. There was nothing but love in his eyes as he gazed into her eyes.

“Anything else,” came her question. The man only shook his head and brought her in for a kiss. After all these years together, every time they kissed, it was still just as good as the first time.

“Let’s go to bed honey.” And with that, he pulled his wife to stand next to him. Leading her into the bedroom, Spencer made sure to completely change and secure his firearms before moving to the bed. Once his wife was in the bed as well, he pulled her under the covers and into his arms.

“I love you.” He whispered, pressing a kiss to her hair.

“I love you too.” She whispered back, pressing a kiss to her chest.

“Honesty is more than not lying. It is truth telling, truth speaking, truth living, and truth loving.” James E. Faust

[exorcqism]

❛ INFINITY — 無限大

choso x f!reader ﾉ MDNI

𑂻𑂴 summary. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓂃ㅤ choso’s recurring dream starts to bother him and makes him depressed. wc, 2.17K. dark mode recommended

𑂻𑂴 tags. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓂃ㅤ choso (non-curse), mid 90s AU, nsfw, female anatomy, stoner!choso, mentions of suicide, possible sexual content, canon/modern lore mixes, etc.

𑂻𑂴 a/n. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓂃ㅤ GOOD stuff will happen in the next part i promise. reblog to support meeee and enjoy :D (lmk if you wanna be tagged in the next part)

𑂻𑂴 misc. ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ𓂃ㅤ masterlist ,, AO3

same tree, same bright sun, pure silence.

choso was under by a large tree in the park. a familiar area he’s seen more than he could count on both his hands and feet. he wore a white robe and a pair of brown boots. to him, it was an odd combination of clothing but he could get used to it.

for the first time in a while, his hair was pinned up in his two spiky buns, leaving his little bangs to hang above his head. choso’s eyes scanned around the empty field that was accompanied by a single picnic table. his slim eyebrows drawing together at the simple sound of grass being stepped on.

“brother,” he heard a voice call and then there was another voice. they sounded excited about his presence. his cheeks flushed a pink color as salty tears formed in his eyes, threatening to fall once he seen his two younger brothers before him.

the male’s hands trembled as he watched the two hold their arms out to him, waiting for him to join them. he always refused this offer, shaking his head quickly while tears poured down his cheeks. there was a reason why he refused.

“i miss you both, more than anything.” choso finally gave in. his arms were wrapped tightly around the males in front of him while he cried and finally flashed a genuine smile. but there was nothing. choso was lying in the grass, crying and laughing, not even realizing what had happened.

until he opened his eyes.

he felt something lightly poking his side while he eyes stared into nothingness with disdain. his small purple irises would peer behind him, meeting his little brother, yuji’s brown eyes.

“choso, i’m hungry,” he whispered as if he were trying not to wake the male up. as bad as choso wanted to shout, he swallowed and sat up.

“okay, just…gimme a minute, okay?” choso rubbed his eyes and slowly got out of bed. his hair was disheveled and he looked like he hadn’t slept. usually, he’d take his time and go do his hygiene but the most he could do was shower and brush his teeth.

after that, the male would grab a cigarette and light it as he grabbed a bowl from the cabinet to make pancakes. he took a glance at yuji, lifting the cigarette.

“don’t smoke. it’s not good for you.” he advised before taking a drag from it. yuji decided not to ask anymore questions. he would nod and sit with his brother in the kitchen as his breakfast was being made.

“you look tired,” yuji started, “are you okay, did you sleep?”

“yeah, i slept.” choso rasped before clearing his throat. “it’s normal to—feel tired after you just wake up. i’m going back to sleep after you eat.”

once the pancakes were finished, he’d place the plate in front of yuji and then a cup of chocolate milk shortly after.

“make sure you eat all of it. if you don’t want it put it in the microwave….or give it to me, i don’t care. just don’t waste it.” choso said. yuji nodded quickly, thanking choso as he seen the dark haired male traveling to the couch and putting his cigarette in the ashtray before turning over to sleep.

“big brother,” choso heard a familiar voice whisper. it had been about ten minutes into his catnap until he was interrupted by the voice. he shot up from the cushions of the couch, where his face was buried, sweating and panting until he noticed yuji.

“oh….”

“choso, are you okay? i was about to ask if i could go see megumi today. i’ll climb the fence to get there so i don’t have to go through the front door.”

“i…” all the male could do was stare at yuji in a daze. he was staring as if his little brother was talking gibberish. “uh…yeah, go ahead, just don’t hurt yourself.”

yuji smiled and hugged choso before running upstairs, seemingly to go change into some new clothes and pack some things to take with him next door. choso just let out a loud sigh.

hours went by quicker than expected. the neighbors next door letting choso know that yuji would be staying for a few days, only if it was okay with him. choso was still in a bit of a daze and he was starting to feel sick after drinking beers and smoking cigarettes instead of eating.

as he laid still, curled up on the bed, blood was starting to seep from the bandage over his nose, staining his pillow and part of his blanket. the male was too drunk to care though.

upon hearing his phone ringing, he slowly reached for it and answered, not bothering to check who was calling. pushing the device against his ear, he spoke.

“what?” he slurred.

your heart skipped a beat when you heard the male’s deep voice reverberate over the phone and back to you. a smile appears on your face, followed by a light blush.

“hey, you good?” you ask as you place your phone down on the vanity and reach for some nail polish and beginning to paint your fingernails.

“i’m-” choso hiccuped, “i’m really dizzy. and i got blood everywhere and i keep hearing stuff…”

you paused, furrowing your eyebrows, “um…do i need to come over? you don’t sound okay.” there was a silence over the phone before a long sigh was heard.

“no. don’t come over. i don’t like other people in my house. i’m so scared of people.” he groaned, his words still slurring. you shake your head, obviously concerned about his situation.

“no, i’m coming over, send your address.” you insist. “you sound sick and tired. i’ll bring you something to eat too. did you eat?”

“i…” he went quiet. “no…”

“oh my goodness,” you mumbled. you would stand up from your vanity and begin to get dressed, putting the nail polish in your pocket since you decided that you’d finish your nails at his place.

“i’m sorry…” he continued softly, his voice sounding a bit weaker than before. “are you still coming? i’ll send you my address like you asked.”

“yes, choso, i’m still coming. just relax…and go wipe your face if you can.” you say, pulling a coat over your shoulder and grabbing your house keys.

“okay…” you heard choso groan before hanging up.

you sighed, putting your phone in your pocket as you were exposed to the cold weather outside. snowflakes were falling and ice was starting to cover the ground. you head to your car and drive to a nearby fast food restaurant, getting choso and yourself something to eat.

your phone vibrates and you check to see what it is as you sit in the parking lot of the restaurant, eating a bit of your own food as you did. it’s from choso. ‘here���s my address..’

you put the address into your navigation and start to drive in the direction to where choso lived, sighing at the weather conditions periodically.

the door opens slowly when you arrive to choso’s place. he peeks out, eyeing you drunkenly before pulling the door open a bit more. you can see the blood streaming down his face while his eyes drooped downward and the black rings around his eyes darkened.

“you look a mess,” you sigh, pushing yourself through the door because you still didn’t have that much space to get through. you place the food down onto the kotatsu table in the living room and take choso by the hand to take him to the bathroom.

you clean the dry blood and the new blood from his face and trashed the bandage that he always had over his nose.

“you need to give it some air. that’s probably why it bleeds so much.” you say. “come on, let’s go eat.”

when you both made it back to the living room, you would sit down at the table and give choso his food, to which he stared at for a short moment before snapping out of it.

“thank you,” he whispered before silently eating his food. while he’s eating, you notice that he was dozing off and you were about to wake him but his head shot up. you gave a concerned look.

“are you sure you’re okay?” you ask.

“i’m fine,” he yawned before getting up to grab another beer. “you know that dream-” choso pauses to hiccup. “that dream i was talking about? it’s bothering me.”

he lights another cigarette and sits down with you again. “so, i decided to drown myself in alcohol and cigarettes until i die….i wanna see my brothers so bad.”

you quickly take the can of beer from him just after he takes a sip and held it close to you. choso just made a face as if he weren’t very fazed by your action.

“i expected that…”

“talk to me,” you query, “what about the dream that’s bothering you, is it that it’s repeating over and over again?”

“it repeats so much in my head that it drives me insane.” choso replies. “earlier i almost screamed at yuji because i was thinking too much and it made me nervous and upset. it’s hard to go to sleep because i can hear my brothers calling my name.”

choso stops talking, seemingly expecting you to add your input on the situation but you’re completely stunned. hearing him basically say he wanted to kill himself was bothering you enough.

you throw your arms around choso, disregarding the smell of alcohol mixed with cigarettes on his body. choso was looking down at you with his hair covering his eyes. hesitantly, he put his arms around you.

“please don’t hurt yourself over this,” you whisper. “i know it’s tough and it bothers you so much but your brothers wouldn’t want you to end your life for them…especially while you’re drunk. they’d want you to keep going. and who would take care of yuji?”

“i trust you to take him…he really likes you.”

“i can’t replace his brother.” you softly combated, your hand now rubbing his lower back, trying your best to comfort him. “talk to me choso. how did the dream go?”

“do you want me to…sleep?” he asked. you were expecting him to just recite what he remembered but you could tell he needed some shut eye anyway. you nod and let him lay on the couch.

again. the same thing over and over. it’s so vivid choso could feel the environment. he could feel a change if there was one. the cold hands of his brothers touching his face and their wispy voices filling his ears.

it’s a beautiful day. but he hates this day. for some reason it makes him happy. maybe it’s so twisted because he’s so intoxicated.

it happens again. he’s lying in the grass, crying and smiling with nothing beneath him. not even his brothers to hold onto him like they used to.

but he felt something finally put their arms around him. it made his tears fall faster and his face was hot.

“i feel horrible,” choso mumbled. “i’ve done too many attempts to die but they don’t work. why won’t it work?”

“it’s not your turn. keep going.”

his eyes opened and he was teary eyed all over again. you hugged him again and when he hugged you back, it felt more secure and alive than before.

“did you figure anything out?”

“i can’t throw my life away. not yet.”

you smile softly and you kiss his cheek, wiping his tears away as you did.

“don’t cry, you’re okay.” you whispered to him. the way choso was holding onto you, it seemed like he didn’t wanna let go of you.

later on that night, choso finally sobered up a bit, being able to handle himself instead of you carrying him around, giving him assistance. the two of you were lying on the bed together, talking about whatever came to mind to remove the tension in the room.

topics switched consistently from movies to what would it be like to be living someone else’s life who’s got it all together.

“are we like…a thing now?” choso asked you, his head turning slightly into your direction after blowing cigarette smoke up towards the ceiling.

you smile, “do you wanna be a thing?”

“uh…i don’t know, i never had a girlfriend…or talked to a girl before besides my teachers back in high school.” he said quietly. you giggled.

“look, let’s try it out and see how it goes. if it doesn’t go well, we can always be friends, okay?” you said in a suggesting tone. choso looked nervous.

“what if you don’t like it right away, what if it goes bad?”

you kissed him on his lips, quickly taking his breath away. his cheeks were hot and flushed. when you moved away from him, he looked like he had just seen stars.

“can you do that again?”

ending notes. OKAY SO ….apparently the desire disease did pretty good for its first part so i’ll write another part and see how that goes. if ya wanna be tagged for that, lmk. i’ll have another part for this up soon. uhhh sorry for any mistakes if i made any. bye byeee and remember;; reblogs and comments are appreciated

tags. 🏷️ 𓂃 ࣪�� ִֶָ @sad-darksoul @aiyaaayei @a1-ic3 @exinqiu @sex4vivienne

© EXORSIIAN | © ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

[rickktish]

A list of mutable batfam headcanons that live inside my brain:

Steph deserves to be 6’ minimum, preferably 6’1” or 2”

Bruce is constantly trying to balance his need to be at the same eye level or above the people he’s intimidating vs his need to do his funky little gargoyle crouch. His favorite thing about the GCPD roof is that it has lots of surfaces he can crouch on and still meet or look down at Gordon’s eye level

Tim and Damian suffer from “too similar to get along” disease and must either become best friends or despise each other until the end of time

Babs prefers light, natural toned makeup. Steph prefers pops of color and decent amounts of jewelry when she can get away with it. Cass prefers jewelry and no makeup at all

Jason’s comfort meals are all variations on soup served with bread for dipping

Jason is of the opinion that Fitzwilliam Darcy is an ass at the beginning of the book and it’s a good thing he decided to change himself so he could take his place as Best Fictional Man Ever. Dick, who read the book in order to be able to connect with Jason better, is of the opinion that Fitzwilliam Darcy has done nothing wrong ever and only needed to work on his social skills, meaning that it’s his improved ability to communicate that makes him worthy of Elizabeth Bennet at the end. Neither of them wants to listen to Tim’s analysis of what this says about their relationships with Bruce

Duke has never engaged in non-Alfred approved chaos. This is not because Duke seeks Alfred’s approval, but rather because their senses of humor are in perfect alignment and Alfred is always pleased to discover that he approves of Duke’s particular instances of chaos even after the fact

Damian never had stuffed animals growing up, but after being corrupted by Dick’s influence he can no longer sleep without a minimum of one in his bed

Damian collects posters and articulable action figures. His favorite ones are the ones that can stand on their own, which he uses for posing practice in his drawings. His favorite figure is of one of the characters in Cheese Vikings who has a zuko-esque backstory and a secret propensity for gardening

Dick always buys the most beat up box of cereal at the grocery store because he feels bad for them

Cass loves not only ballet, but other works by classical composers as well. She will unironically listen to the local classical station, and can identify the Borodin String Quartet by the sound of their instruments alone

Tim and Bruce watch and read Gray Ghost media in all its various forms and discuss it together as a bonding activity

Alfred and Jason’s shared birthday is usually celebrated with them making each other cakes, meaning that everyone gets to enjoy not one but two cakes for the day

Jason specializes in cheesecake above all other cakes, though he did make Damian a black forest cake for his birthday once right after he’d finished playing Portal

Literally everyone is surprised when they learn that Damian plays video games. No one has ever once looked at him and thought “yeah, i bet that kid plays console games” and he’s actually really insecure about it, but he also refuses to wear any kind of merch outside the house. He owns dozens of gaming and anime T-shirts but refuses to be seen as anything but completely neutral outside his own territory

Most of the bats wear drug-detecting nail polish at all times, though the base and reactive colors vary by the bat in question

Bruce and Dick have both had therapists straightup quit on them and are therefore reluctant to go back to therapy ever again

Duke’s favorite book is Walden Pond

Alfred read Lord of the Rings aloud to Bruce when he was a kid

[tactically-cute]

too much of a good thing's still too much

Mostima x Fem!Lupo!Reader

Story Notes: A few days after too much of you is still not enough, you get the brilliant (incredibly stupid) idea to sneak into Mostima's room to find some way to get back at her. Naturally, this goes horribly right wrong.

CW: Gags, bondage, Dub-con, overstimulation, strong dom/sub dynamics, brat taming, time shenanigans, abandonment, mostima is a huge sadist

Author Note: This is the second third of my original set of Mostima ideas but its been sitting half finished for so long I had no idea how to end it. I highly doubt I'll get the last bit out unless it's a drabble, sorry about typos and whatnot. Most likely the next thing is not Mostima, probably something FE.

18+ NSFW UTC

Mostima watches you intently as you blink repeatedly, disoriented by the sudden change in scenery. Just moments ago you were snooping around in her room, looking for anything that would give you the upper hand on that devilish Sankta, only for your vision to flip without warning or explanation. It takes several seconds for you to react, glancing around nervously in a frantic attempt to get your bearings, several more to notice everything is upside down.

Perched in the corner of your vision just on the edge of the bed is Mostima casually dropping some small piece of fabric, her gaze fixed on you like a cat that's cornered the mouse. It's like she's weighing her options, deciding which of all the things she could do to you she'd enjoy the most. The moment she sees you clocking her, she breaks into a grin that sends shivers down your spine. Her eyes rake over your bare skin, glittering with something like anticipation. The tip of her tail flicks back and forth, her excitement clear as day. A second later and she steels her expression, feigning a glower that has your ears flatten in a mixture of guilt and tension.

"You shouldn't go poking around in other people's things," she hums, clicking her tongue in faux irritation. Mostima can't quite mask the satisfaction in her voice, nor the small curl of her lips into a knowing smirk. The admonishment is anything but disappointed, no, it's a formality at most. To let you know you were disobedient and now she gets to punish you. "Whatever shall I do with you, little wolf?"

The way you're positioned forces you to look up at her as she leans in, nearly close enough that her nose grazes your own. You feel small and vulnerable in such a submissive position, less by the way your legs are splayed and more the very act of lying on your back with your stomach exposed. Mostima's presence looms over you, her eyes almost seeming to glow in the shadow she casts. Your body reacts instinctively, struggling against ropes binding your wrists and ankles beneath you in a vain attempt to regain any semblance of control.

A flurry of Siracusan curses die on your tongue, swallowed by the gag Mostima slips past your lips the moment they part far enough. You're completely at her mercy, helpless to resist whatever punishment she has planned for your disobedient antics. Even still you squirm and growl in your restraints, tail puffed and thumping ominously at the bed beneath you, refusing to submit to her dominance without at least some hassle.

"No need to be frightened," she purrs, her index finger tracing up the valley of your breasts and along the contour of your jaw. "After all, I think you're going to enjoy this."

You feel her other hand in your hair, gently scratching at the base of your ears as she draws back to her full height. It's a soothing feeling, one that slightly calms your fraying nerves and gets you to relax, let your guard down. You don't notice the soft click or light hum until you feel the light buzzing pressure replacing her fingers. It feels so good, enough to make your thoughts grow fuzzy and your head tilt back as though chasing the sensation. Your thighs twitch ever so slightly like a puppy thumping their leg as they're pet, an involuntary reaction that gets caught by the ropes that keep you in place.

Mostima can't help but be amused by the sudden change, at how simply you were disarmed with just a single rotor it's utterly adorable. So is the satisfied hum she gets when she presses another one to the base of your other ear, a low rumble of contentment as a reward for her efforts. She keeps nudging them slightly, changing the pressure, yet she always seems to find just the right spots that get your tail to wag involuntarily. The constant adjustments keep you from getting used to it, from getting bored or realizing just how docile you're being. The way your eyes are gradually losing focus gives her a pretty good idea of how good you feel, it's just shy of overwhelming. She can practically see your mind go blank when she raises the intensity with the remotes, any thoughts that were running through your head turning to mush almost immediately.

"That good, hmm?" Your ears and tail twitch and flick happily as if to answer her question while you stretch as best you can, your back arching and chin tilting in a way that only leans further into the sensations bewitching you. The whine you make when she pulls the devices away is nothing short of pathetic, sending a spark of sadistic pride through Mostima. Her lips curl into a smirk as you come down from your high, your thoughts slowly reforming and yet that defiant glint starkly missing from your bleary eyes. Replacing it is something of a plaintive, bewildered look, one that doesn't understand what she did but seemingly begs her to keep going. "It's a trick I learned from watching Texas deal with Lappy, but I didn't expect it to be so effective… I'll have to keep these on hand more often."

Mostima's hands glide across your skin, lighting up your nerves with a blaze of warmth everywhere she touches. From your collarbone across your shoulders, then down to your breasts, admiring their size and shape as they mold to her hands. Her every movement coaxes out a soft moan or whimper, muffled by the gag yet able to reach her ears. She kneads and plays with your chest like she's giving you a massage as she circles around to get a better position. Her hands move like she knows your body better than you do, every squeeze of her fingers and every push of her palm sends a shiver down your spine and a pulse between your legs. You're certain she can tell just how hot you're beginning to get, like she can feel the burning arousal settling in the pit of your stomach and spreading under your skin.

You squeak in surprise when Mostima clicks one of the rotors back on, the cold and hard plastic trapped between her thumb and your nipple. It's a delightfully submissive sound, one she just adores, so sinfully enticing its almost maddening. Her eyes fill with a predatory hunger at the sight of you tied up and helpless beneath her, squirming at her every touch, so far removed from your regular difficult-to-manage confidence. She wants more. She wants to toy with you more, hear more of your debauched voice, to see you lost in mindless pleasure. She wants to make you hers so completely and thoroughly you'll come begging for her to ruin you. A light flush settles on Mostima's features as her mind runs wild, a dusting of pink painting her cheeks that only accentuates her devilish charm.

The pads of her fingers trail down your chest leaving lines of smoldering heat in their wake, burning embers of warmth just beneath the surface. They wander gracefully across the expanse of your stomach, tracing light patterns on your skin that slowly dip lower and lower yet always pulling back. They drag slowly down passed your waist before quickly sliding up across your side, feeling every flutter and twitch of your muscles from the ticklish sensations. Her fingers dance teasingly down your inner thigh, then up the outside of your hips before settling just below your navel, idling in a perpetual heart-shaped pattern as though enough repetitions would draw it onto your skin. She repeats the pattern twice, then again, slightly slower, and again and again until your hips buck with anticipation and her hand stops. You shudder as her fingers splay, her palm laying atop the heart she was tracing the tips of her fingers a hairs breath away from your core.

Her other hand gives your breast one more squeeze, applying a pressure to the vibrator that has you mewling in pleasure, only for it to be pulled away moments later. Your desperate whine of protest is cut off by your thighs trying to snap shut around Mostima's hand as she finally slides her fingers through your slick folds, only to be kept apart by the ropes around your ankles. Your legs quiver half-closed as she smugly appreciates just how wet you are, having practically fallen to pieces in anticipation. All the teasing and buildup has left you a sensitive mess, shivering in pleasure at the lightest touch. Every stroke of her fingers has your hips twitching, desperately chasing her touch.

Mostima smiles wickedly at the utterly filthy moan she gets when she pushes her middle finger inside you, a beautifully slutty sound that pulls at her baser instincts to ravage you. It's as if your trying to tempt her with the way your eyes fog over with lust and your spine curls in pleasure. She can't hide the way her pupils dilate and her tail flicks in excitement at the thought, nor the slight twitch of her fingers which only compounds the temptation with yet another moan. Despite the urge to ruin you bubbling up in her chest, Mostima slowly works her finger in to the second knuckle with deliberate motions, curling it with targeted precision to brush past your every sensitive spot.

Your breath hitches as that familiar buzz reaches your perky ears. All of her teasing ratcheted up your arousal and sensitivity, leaving you wholly unprepared for the flood of ecstasy as she presses the rotor to your clit. Pleasure courses through your veins like lightning, shifting your already frazzled senses into overdrive. Mostima's eyes flit across your body, watching every little reaction with rapt attention. Meanwhile your attention goes all fuzzy, eyes rolling back slightly leaving Mostima's lips the only thing in focus. Your thighs tremble, trying desperately to close around her hand. She can see how your muscles twitch with every movement she makes, sending spasms up your spine with a slight touch. Your toes curl and back bends as that burning heat in the pit of your stomach starts twisting itself into a knot. Her name slips your tongue in a pathetic whine, barely intelligible through the gag but dripping with arousal and adoration.

"You're much cuter like this, so needy and pliant. You want to be a good girl for me." Mostima's words are taunting, daring you to bite back or prove her wrong, to show any kind of defiance. Instead she gets a dumb little nod as your mind catches on the words cute and good girl, preening at the praise. That one small part of you that dares to still object finds itself drowned out by her voice, the sensation of her hot breath on your ears. The low rasp resonates deep in your chest, stoking the flames of arousal even further. She's so overwhelmingly dominant in a way you've never felt from anyone else, you want to be hers to hold. Hers to ruin. Hers to protect. Her good girl. "But you've been a bad girl, and your punishment is far from over."

Your heart sinks as she takes away the rotor and slowly withdraws her finger. The tension that had been building in your body begins to unwind, dissipating along with the climax you were oh so close to. The burning heat that had consumed you dwindles as tears prick at the corners of your eyes, flickering away to naught but embers under the surface. You pull at the restraints, trying so desperately to escape whatever punishment she has in store for you, the thought that it could possibly be worse that ripping away the climax she had pushed you towards for so long. All it takes is a little glare and a click of her tongue to bring you to heel, freezing up at her disapproving gaze. Your tail and ears flatten like a scolded puppy.

Mostima can't help but laugh darkly at how you whimper like you never thought for a moment she would be this cruel to you, no doubt you'd be begging her to continue if you weren't gagged. Oh the things she wants to do to you, she will do to you once you stop acting up. She trails a slender finger up your throat, watching the way your head tilts back submissively to give her better access. You let her do as she please, tilting your head this way and that with little more than implicit commands from the tip of her finger until she lets out a satisfied hum. Even that little sound is enough to get your tail wagging again.

She's got you wrapped around her finger, more figuratively than literally at the moment, though you both know it would be both had she desired it. All it takes is a tap of your inner thigh, centimeters away from where you want her most, and you obey without a second thought, spreading your legs as best you can in this awkward position. The light warmth of her fingers reignites the smouldering arousal that was slowly petering out, making you raise your hips a little higher and open your legs a little wider. You practically present yourself to her, an offering to the devil that holds your soul so callously, needy and defenseless and oh so temptingly sweet.

"Naughty little wolf, trying to tempt me like that," she scolds, watching the way you wiggle your hips as seductively as you can, as though this isn't exactly what she wanted. She's just a little short on breath, her voice tinged with lust and satisfaction. You purr with delight when she presses the vibrator to your entrance, watching with a half lidded gaze as her eyes glow dangerously, dilating like a predator finding it's prey. In that moment you realize… oh, she's going to devour you.

There's a slight pause, long enough only for a single flick of her tail. A single breath of anticipation before Mostima finally, finally pushes the little rotor into you. She gets it a knuckle deep before drawing her finger back, only to push it a little deeper with her next thrust. She gently works it further and further inside you, making sure the pads of her finger drag against that one spot with every pump, until her palm lies flat against your crotch. You squeal as the heel of her hand digs into your clit so she can press it just the slightest bit deeper, your body flexing against the restraints with they way you try and curl up from the pleasure. And then she turns it on, and your thoughts short-circuit.

There's no buildup, there's not even a scream, just a sudden, almost overwhelming wave of pleasure from deep in your core. Mostima flexes her finger as you clench and flutter around it, testing her movements only to be rewarded with your walls tightening further. You never noticed how long her fingers are, just how deeply she can reach inside you. Even as Mostima starts to pull her finger out as she helps you through that high, your body is already on its way to another orgasm. Your lupine ears can barely pick up the unyielding buzz of the vibrator buried deep in your pussy without giving you a chance to rest. You hardly have time to register it before your mind goes numb with pleasure.

"One more, little wolf," Mostima laughs, clicking on the second rotor. You're already such a quivering, overstimulated mess it's a tossup whether or not you can even handle it, but if you couldn't that wouldn't be so bad. The moment she tries to push the second one in you're already cumming again, clamping so hard around her fingers like you're trying to push the new toy out. It doesn't take long for her to try again, this time using your exhaustion and her extensive knowledge of your body to her advantage to place the rotor right against your most sensitive spot. Your hips buck weakly as she withdraws her hand, worn out from back to back orgasms but unable to stave off the unrelenting stimulation.

Your half-lidded gaze fixates hazily on her fingers, absolutely covered in your slick, dangling in front of your face as if to show off just how much of a mess you made them. She makes a show of licking them clean, savoring the way you taste as if you're her favourite snack in the world. Even with your lust-hazed mind you can't deny how erotic the sight of Mostima cleaning her fingers of your own slick is. And she can see the way it turns you on, how your thighs quiver and stomach tightens as your next orgasm builds in the background.

"Aww, does my good girl want a taste?" she teases, crawling off her bed. She's unable to stifle her laughter at how quickly you nod, finding her desperate sub so adorable. The constant vibrations keep your thoughts simple and submissive, driving away any complex thoughts like how her outfit suddenly changes or how you keep missing her movements. Her voice comes from just out of view along with a sudden jump in the rotor's speed that leaves you barely able to process her words through yet another orgasm. "Maybe when I get back, okay?"

As Mostima closes the door she watches your body tense and twitch, your hips shudder and snap forwards as far as they can move in your current restraints though whether you're chasing the pleasure or desperately trying to escape it she can't tell. Or maybe you're trying to beg her not to leave you here, tied up and subjected to endless pleasure. Your voice only comes out in broken moans and muffled whines, barely even audible from the doorway, certainly not when its closed. Her tail wraps around her own thigh while you shudder and go limp, squeezing just hard enough to stop her from turning back and pouncing on you. Just before the door clicks shut you manage to meet her gaze for a moment, the look in your eyes betraying just how utterly helpless you are. That cruel smile plays across her lips once more, only to disappear behind the door as she locks it behind her.

Mostima deftly unlocks her room a couple hours later, having finished her shopping trip and finally made it back to the Penguin Logistics dorms. It took a bit longer than she expected to find some of the places and items on her list, but it was well worth it given how uncommon they are. A couple bags dangle from her arms containing the spoils of her little excursion, each one carefully wrapped to avoid giving away what's inside. It wouldn't be nearly as fun if you knew what to expect the rest of the week.

The door to her room swings open with a light push, revealing the dark interior lit only by Lungmen's light pollution pouring in through the window and now the light spilling in behind her. Light enough to find her way, certainly, but too dark to make out any fine details. Mostima takes a few steps into the room anyway, using the limited light and her own muscle memory to easily navigate to the desk in the corner. It's practically empty, as is most of the room, save for a few knickknacks from her (and mostly Lemuel's) travels. After carefully depositing her bags, her hand flicks on the lamp beside the desk and starts sorting through the bags in search of something. It takes only a moment to find the right package, a beautifully crafted box lightly wrapped in tissue paper, by far the most expensive purchase of the day.

She finally turns around to find her room, unsurprisingly, almost exactly as she left it. Almost. She doesn't even bother glancing at anything else, instead her attention is entirely on the poor lupo tied up on the edge of her bed. Mostima can feel excitement and arousal thrum under her skin at the sight of you broken and bleary-eyed on the cusp of unconsciousness.

Her curious, predatory eyes rake over you, analyzing every detail and piecing together the past few hours. At some point you managed to roll over onto your stomach, though with how you're tied up that left you unable to generate any leverage to move. Your cheeks are marred with dried tears, being unable to escape what must have been torturous pleasure. Her sheets may as well be a lost cause, soaked through from orgasm after orgasm. You lay motionless, too exhausted from uncountable orgasms to move save for the faint movement of your eyes following her approach. You hardly even react to her freeing you from the unending torment by pulling the rotors out by the wire, only a single weak flick of your tail and the slightest, most pathetic whimper she's ever heard. She's certain that even if she freed your limbs you wouldn't be able to do much more than ragdoll into a slightly more comfortable position. It's impossible to tell if you're on the brink of passing out or if you're about to pass out again, though frankly she doubts even you know the answer to that one.

"All tuckered out I see," she comments. You can do little more than shift your gaze to her smug, blurry, annoyingly pretty face as Mostima runs a finger up your jaw and along the strap of the gag. You'd be forgiven for mistaking it as tender, the way her touch feels to your frayed nerves. It takes a little coaxing for you to let go, unable to muster the energy to spit it out without Mostima to help. Your limbs come free next, falling heavy as lead the moment they're free. An exhausted sigh slips from your lips, a mixture between pain and relief. It's endearing, she thinks, how completely willing and devoid of fight you are, letting her have full control over everything. You'll probably be embarrassed and grumpy and most undoubtedly sore tomorrow, perhaps even snippy, but right now you're completely and utterly hers. "I got something for you, for being such a good girl."

Mostima gently plucks something from the ornate box, the black leather collar she got custom ordered. It's a finely crafted thing, PROPERTY OF MOSTIMA displayed proudly all around it, perfect for her pretty little lupo trying so hard to keep their eyes open for her. Her hands are so warm as they fix it in place around your neck, you practically fall asleep then and there. You open you eyes little more than a crack at the sensation of being lifted in a princess carry, only to close them again with a soft hum, slumbering safely in her arms as she brings you both to your bed.

[shyday-ao3]

1000 scribbled words to nowhere, a Ripper Street mini sickfic offered up as brief distraction from the events of rl. apparently this is what i'm doing for novella november. hopefully someone enjoys it.

Jackson's not in the best mood when he gets to the crime scene, having been rousted rather rudely from his bed. Another body, the uniform had said, refusing any further detail. The kid was green in more than just experience, but he'd gotten his point across and stood firm behind it. The American was summoned. To decline an unacceptable option.

He greets Reid and Drake without really looking their way, not bothering to temper his annoyance. There's a headache lurking behind his eyes, the result of too much gin and not enough sleep. His focus is only on the body and how quickly he can get out of here. He crouches beside the dead man, already pretty damn sure of the cause of death. Drake wanders off into the adjoining room.

Reid clears his throat. "Strangulation, then? As with the others?"

"Yeah, and you didn't need me here to tell you that."

"Perhaps not. But, as you are here, I wonder if you might not do your job and see if he has anything new to share with us."

Jackson prickles under the tone. "Sure, Reid. Simple as that."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I need to get him to the deadroom where I can do a proper autopsy. Meaning I could've just as easily met you at the station in a couple of hours. Meaning I didn't need to be dragged from–" The litany is interrupted when he glances up to see that the inspector has a white-knuckled grip on one of the wooden chairs. "Reid?"

"Mmm?" The response is as distant as his gaze. Jackson frowns, gets to his feet.

"You feeling all right?" It's his first good look at the man since he got here, and he doesn't like what he sees. Pale yet sweating, eyes red-rimmed and shadowed. He touches the back of his wrist to Reid's forehead. "You're burning up."

"Irrelevant. We have work."

"Sit," Jackson says. Surprisingly, Reid obeys. "Your wife let you out of the house like this?"

"My wife… has other concerns." He stares through the body on the floor. It takes him a long moment to blink. "As do we." He makes no movement to get up.

"Symptoms, Reid."

"Irritation," he murmurs. "Impatience."

"Funny. Nausea? Cough? Dizziness?"

"Captain. It is a minor inconvience. Right now we have a murderer to catch; your talents would best be served toward that end."

"Lucky I can handle focusing on both. Why don't you let me and Drake finish up here, and you can head home?"

Reid shakes his head. "Impossible."

Jackson lights a cigarette. "Gonna take me at least a couple of hours for your autopsy. I can send someone with word when I get it done."

"No," Fingers rub at his forehead. "If this is indeed part of a pattern, we have seventy-two hours until the next victim is found. There is no time to waste."

"Ain't nobody suggesting we do so. Just a break, Reid."

Drake returns to the room; Reid pushes to his feet. "Unneccessary, Captain. Sergeant, report."

"A boot print in the outer room. Looks could be a match for the one found at the first scene."

"Show me." They exit the room together.

Jackson turns back to the body, resumes his superficial examination. Defensive wounds on the hands; a new development, and one that gives him hope he might find some evidence under the man's short fingernails. He's inspecting one of those hands in the light from the window when he hears the sounds of a scuffle in the next room.

"Reid? Drake?"

No answer. The room devoid of everything but the disturbed dust settling in striated sunbeams. The door is ajar, however; Jackson draws his pistol and pushes through. Out front he finds both of his colleagues. One empties his stomach onto the cobblestones beside the stairs.

"Christ, Reid. Go home."

"No." Bracing himself with an arm on the brick wall, he holds a handkerchief to his lips. "There's a killer stalking my streets."

Jackson shares a look with Drake. Shrugs. "Well I'm ready to get out of here whenever you are."

Pale as paper, Reid rests his head on his arm. "Very good," he exhales, as if his breakfast wasn't splattered on the ground in front of his feet. "We go to Lehman Street." He doesn't look particularly inclined to move.

"Sure, Reid. Whatever you say."

Two hours later, he's finished the autopsy; a scrub and a smoke and he's headed up the stairs to Reid's office. The blinds are closed, as is the door. With a perfunctory knock, the captain lets himself in. The inspector's head comes up from the desk so quickly that it rustles his papers.

"Jackson." It's rough, slowed. "You have news."

"Not really. Just that your killer might be sporting some fresh scratches courtesy of our man downstairs." He slumps into the chair on the other side of Reid's desk. Lights a new cigarette. "Not much use for finding him, but it should help if you do."

Reid groans, rubs his eyes. Two bright spots high on his cheekbones – the only color to his face – tell Jackson that he's still got the fever. "Nothing else?"

"Oily spot on his sleeve, near the elbow. I'm cooking it." Tugging at his tie, the inspector clears his throat. Swallows. "You gonna be sick again?" Jackson asks.

"No." As if he can simply will it to be so.

"If you don't plan on going home, why don't you make use of that cot you've got there." He nods toward the small bed. "I'll tell Artherton not to let anyone up."

Reid looks at the cot for so long that the captain thinks that he might give in. "No, I…"

"Any break in the case and I'll be right up here to get you," Jackson adds "You have my word."

A moment more and he nods heavily, a testament no doubt to what ails him over Jackson's persuasive skills. The American doesn't care.

He sees Reid settled. Closes the door.

[gvfgal]

10. Threes a Crowd

Barbarian. Biker!Jake

Strictly 18+.

A/n: I sure hope you guys are ready cause shit is about to get crazzyyyyyy 😉. I also wanna take the time so say thank you so much to all who read and interact with my stories! All the reactions and the praises and the sweet comments in my asks and messages really keep me going with this whole writing thing! I love you guys 🩷. As always, please read at your own discretion as this story has a lot of dark themes, but also enjoy the ride!

Content Warnings: vomiting (Emetophobia triggers), mentions of pregnancy (some negative elements attached to it, heavy angst… may be missing a few but I think I touched the big ones.

Word Count: 3k

Masterlist

Jake wasn’t beside you the next morning, but that wasn’t unusual. What was unusual was the wave of nausea that hit you the moment your eyes opened. Sitting upright only made it worse. Clutching a hand over your mouth, you scurried into the bathroom, barely making it to the toilet before vomiting violently.

You heaved until your stomach ached, your body convulsing with each retch. When you finally finished, you collapsed back on your heels with a shuddering sigh. Tilting your head back, you fought to keep tears at bay. Part of it was the sting of throwing up, but the real reason for the tears forming in your eyes was the gnawing suspicion of what this sudden sickness most likely meant.

The suspicion had been there, lingering in the back of your mind. You were about a week late. As much as you knew it to be true, you refused to believe it without solid proof. The reality was too grim, and you were determined to delay facing it for as long as possible.

Gathering your composure, you flushed the toilet and went to the sink to wash your hands and face. You looked at your reflection in the mirror, noticing the pallor of your skin and the worry etched across your features. After brushing your teeth thoroughly, you avoided mouthwash, fearing it might trigger another wave of nausea.

Once you felt physically better, you reentered the bedroom and picked up your phone, dialing Angela’s number. It was still early, and the phone rang several times before her groggy voice answered.

“Hey, Ange,” you said, trying to conceal the tremor in your voice, “can you come over? I need your help.”

There was a pause on the other end, then Angela’s voice softened with concern. “Of course. I’ll be there as soon as I can. Are you okay?”

You swallowed hard, the gravity of your situation pressing down on you. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “Just… please hurry.”

Hanging up, you sat on the edge of the bed, your mind racing. The minutes dragged by as you waited for Angela, each second amplifying your anxiety. You knew you had to face the truth, but the fear of what it would mean for your future—and for Jake—was unsettling.

The Barbarians stood around their usual meeting spot, waiting for Alejandro to arrive. They had agreed that the money would be delivered to him in three separate drop-offs, ensuring that if anything went wrong, not all of the money would be lost.

Jake was anxious. If Alejandro wasn’t pleased with how things were going, all the blame would fall on him, as it was his idea.

Ace sensed Jake’s unease but knew better than to draw attention to it. He had unwavering faith in Jake and his plan. If things went awry due to Alejandro’s dissatisfaction, he would back Jake to the end. This silent understanding allowed Jake to remain calm.

As always, thirty minutes past the planned meeting time, three black Escalades pulled up. Alejandro leapt out of the middle one as soon as its engine idled.

Two of his men walked past the group to the truck where Nicky stood. Nicky lifted the back of the truck, and the men retrieved several bags of cash before stepping aside to begin counting.

Jake felt the weight of Alejandro’s scrutinizing gaze as he stared down Jake and the rest of the Barbarians while his men counted the money.

After a stretch of silence, one of the men looked at his boss and gave a thumbs up. “Looks like it’s all here.”

Alejandro’s expression shifted to one of delight, and he let out a loud cackle. He strode over to Jake and shook his hand roughly. “You know, I knew when the Barbarian Prince had a plan, I wouldn’t be disappointed.”

Nicky rolled his eyes in disgust. He couldn’t understand why Jake was getting so much credit when he and his boys were the ones handling the money. Without him, Jake’s plan wouldn’t be succeeding.

Jake shook Alejandro’s hand, ignoring Nicky’s disapproving glare burning into his back. “I told you that you could count on us,” he said, concealing the nerves still coursing through his veins.

“I knew I could count on you,” Alejandro emphasized, his hazel eyes piercing into Jake’s, still not releasing his grip.

His men began moving the bags into their cars, giving Ace a sense of relief. With the first sum of money in Alejandro’s possession, they were one step closer to being done with this ordeal.

“But,” Alejandro lifted a finger, “I don’t want to celebrate too soon. You still have two more drops to prove that putting my faith in you and this club wasn’t a big waste of my time.”

Jake nodded. “I understand.”

Alejandro smiled again, patting Jake on the cheek. “I knew you would.”

He turned to Ace with a sly grin. “You’ve got a good one here, Acey boy. An excellent choice for your new club President, don’t you agree?”

Ace glanced at Jake, then quickly at Nicky, knowing he wouldn’t like the sound of that. “I guess he’s a pretty good choice,” he chuckled. “But it’ll be up to the guys to vote.”

Alejandro, clearly in an instigating mood, looked back at Nicky’s dissatisfied face. “I bet that will be an interesting ordeal. Am I allowed to cast a vote of my own?”

He laughed before anyone could answer, patting Ace on the arm. “Kidding, of course. I trust your men know what’s best for them. At least, I hope they do.”

With the cars now loaded up, Alejandro turned to make his exit. “Keep up the good work, Barbarian Prince. I’ll see you next time around.”

As Alejandro and his men drove off, the tension lingered. Jake knew the road ahead was fraught with challenges, but with Ace’s silent support and the stakes so high, failure was not an option.

You held your head in your hands as you sat on the toilet lid, overwhelmed. Angela sat across from you on the bathroom counter, the four positive pregnancy tests lined up beside her, taunting and mocking you.

It had been quiet for several minutes, Angela watching you process the reality laid out before you.

“What am I gonna do, Ange?” you finally sobbed, covering your face to stifle your cries. “I never planned on staying here this long. I never planned on this happening. I was just trying to save up enough money to get away, and now…” you paused to regain your composure, “I can’t just leave. Not like this. I just…”

Words failed you, and you continued to cry. This was the last situation you thought you’d find yourself in when you traveled to Genoa. It complicated things beyond measure, and you weren’t even sure where to start.

Both possible outcomes were terrifying.

Angela crossed over to you and rubbed a soothing hand down your back. She knew how desperately you wanted to leave, but this was a sticky situation.

“I can’t tell you what to do,” she sighed, trying her best to comfort you. “That’s a decision you have to make on your own. But can I tell you what I think you should do?”

You looked up at her with a sniffle, your face pale from crying so hard.

“You need to tell Jake. You need someone other than me to help support you and figure out what you want to do. Whatever choice you make, I’m sure he’ll support you.”

You shook your head. “What if he’s mad? Im sure this is just as much an inconvenience for him as it is for me.”

Angela offered a sympathetic smile. “Or, it could be the one thing both of you need. You’ll never know unless you talk to him.”

You seriously doubted that would be the case, but you knew you couldn’t keep something like this from Jake. Maybe if you got his perspective, you’d find some clarity on your next steps.

Angela comforted you while you cried for several more minutes until your tears finally ceased. She agreed to take your shift at the Tavern that evening, giving you time to work things out with yourself.

“Are you going to be alright?” she asked worriedly, standing at the front door of the trailer, hesitant to leave you alone so soon.

You shrugged, feeling detached from reality. “I’ve been alright so far. I’ll be alright now.”

Angela pulled you into a tight hug before descending the staircase. “Call me if you need anything.”

“I will,” you assured her, “thanks.”

You shut the door behind her and let out a heavy sigh. Entering the kitchen, you checked the time on the stove. Jake would be home in a few hours. If you were going to have this conversation with him, it would be better to do it over food.

Determined to make the most of the time you had, you started preparing dinner. As you chopped vegetables and set water to boil, your mind raced with possible scenarios of how Jake might react. You hoped for understanding but prepared yourself for disappointment.

Time did nothing to calm you. Each passing minute only heightened your anxiety, and you almost ruined dinner three separate times. You went back and forth on whether you even wanted to tell Jake the news, playing out different scenarios in your head. You could delay no longer, you heard the front door open, and dread surged through you. You couldn’t even look at Jake, pretending the pot you were stirring required your full attention.

A smile spread across his face at the aroma of a home-cooked meal greeted him.

“You know, Cherry, you’re starting to spoil me,” he joked, plopping down on the couch. “Coming home to home-cooked meals every day—I’m gonna start getting used to this.”

He waited for your usual sly remark, but when you didn’t even glance at him, he got up and walked into the kitchen to see what was wrong.

“Cherry? Everything alright?”

You froze, your back still to him, your hands beginning to tremble as you struggled to keep your composure.

“Cherry?” His voice was more worried now.

Slowly, you turned to face him, your eyes revealing the depth of your concern.

“Jake, I’m pregnant.”

Jake’s expression shifted from worry to shock. His mouth fell open slightly, and his eyes widened. You watched as his Adam’s apple bobbed with a hard swallow.

“What?”

You held his gaze for a moment longer before retreating to the bedroom. When you returned with the pregnancy test in hand, Jake was still rooted to the spot.

Handing it to him, you watched as he stared down at the two pink lines, trying to decipher his thoughts from his expressionless face.

Finally, he looked back up at you, seeing the tears you were trying to hold back.

He wished he could say something, but he knew nothing would come out right under the pressure he felt.

Jake turned, tossed the pregnancy test on the counter, and fled toward the front door, not even bothering to grab his helmet.

“Jake—” you called after him.

He flung the door open, stormed down the stairs, and brought his bike to life.

You stood in the doorway as he backed out of the driveway, then sped out of the trailer park.

The roar of his engine faded into the distance, leaving you in the thick silence of an uncertain future.

Jake rode around the isolated desert for hours. Though the landscape around him was peaceful, the turmoil inside him was a completely different story. The setting sun cast long shadows over the sand, but all he could see was the image of the positive pregnancy test, the two pink lines searing into his mind like a brand. Your face, pale and filled with worry, haunted him.

As he sped through the barren terrain, the wind whipped around him, doing little to cool the feverish thoughts that raced through his head. How could this have happened? He thought about the nights spent with you, the careless passion, the moments where everything seemed to fall away except for the two of you. Now, those moments had led to something neither of you had planned for, something that changed everything.

Fear gripped him. He had no idea how to be a father, no idea how to provide the stability a child needed. His own upbringing had been anything but stable, and the thought of repeating that cycle terrified him. Could he even be the kind of man who could handle this responsibility? Or was he destined to fail, like he always feared deep down?

He recalled the look in your eyes, the mixture of hope and fear. You had been so vulnerable, and he had fled. You didn’t deserve to be left standing there, alone and scared. He knew he had to face this, face you, but the weight of it all felt crushing.

Then there was the club. The Barbarians were his family, and regardless of how he felt about it, they were a big part of his life, but the idea of raising a child within that lifestyle was daunting. He couldn’t imagine bringing up a kid surrounded by the violence and uncertainty that came with being part of the club. What if he had a son? Would he want to follow in his father’s footsteps as Jake had, getting drawn into the same dangerous world? And what if things got ugly somewhere down the line? The thought of putting you and the child at risk because of his affiliations filled him with dread. He couldn’t bear the idea of his child living in fear, or worse, being harmed because of the choices he had made. The prospect of needing to shield his family from the darker parts of his life weighed heavily on him, adding another layer to his already overwhelming concerns.

Amid all these worries, the one that gnawed at him the most was how you were coping. He imagined you back at the trailer, trying to hold yourself together, and his heart ached. You had looked so scared, so fragile, and he had walked out. The thought of you feeling abandoned, dealing with this monumental change alone, made him feel like the lowest kind of coward.

A deeper fear, one he hadn’t dared to acknowledge, surfaced. What if you didn’t even want to keep the baby? The thought bruised him more than he expected. It hurt to think you might not see a future with this child, with him, but he also understood. This wasn’t the life you had planned. He couldn’t blame you if you decided this was too much, too soon. The uncertainty of it all weighed heavily on him, but he knew he had to be ready to support you, whatever decision you made.

As he rode further into the desert, the vast emptiness around him mirrored the confusion within. The stars began to emerge, one by one, in the twilight sky, each one a distant reminder of the unknown future ahead. He needed to figure this out, needed to find a way to be there for you and the baby. But how?

The questions swirled in his mind, each one without an answer. He rode harder, faster, as if he could outrun the reality of what lay ahead. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t. He had to go back, face the consequences, and figure out how to move forward.

Finally, he pulled to a stop atop a small hill, looking out over the desert expanse. The engine’s rumble faded, leaving him in a silence as vast as the horizon. In that stillness, he allowed himself a moment to breathe, to let the enormity of the situation settle over him.

He didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t know if he could be the man you needed, the father your child deserved. But he knew if that’s what you wanted, then he had to try. For you, for the baby, and for himself.

With a deep breath, he turned his bike around and started the long ride back. Back to you, back to the future he never saw coming but now had to face head-on.

It was the early hours of the next morning when Jake found his way back. When he saw you standing on the porch, anticipating his arrival, the guilt he had been wrestling with surged anew.

He dismounted his bike and approached you cautiously, your arms crossed tightly over your chest. The anger in your eyes pierced him, and he didn’t dare say a word, fully aware of his wrongdoing.

Unable to hold back any longer, you reached out and shoved him in the chest. He stumbled back slightly, but you weren’t satisfied. You shoved him again, harder, and again. Tears spilled down your face as your shoves turned into closed fists pounding against his chest. Jake stood still, allowing you to vent your fury, knowing he deserved every blow.

“Why did you leave?” you cried, continuing to strike him. “Why would you do that?”

He took hold of your wrists firmly, making you stop and look at him. “I’m sorry. I panicked, and I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know what I was thinking, baby.”

Your bottom lip quivered. You wanted so badly to berate him more, but all you needed in that moment was his comfort. You collapsed into his chest, sobbing uncontrollably, and he wrapped his arms around you tightly, letting you know he didn’t plan on letting go.

Jake couldn’t fathom why this was such a difficult thing for you to face. You wanted to tell him that your distress had nothing to do with him and everything to do with your own inner grievances. Had you met Jake under different circumstances, this pregnancy might have been the most joyous thing that ever happened to you. And who knew, it still might turn out that way. But right now, you couldn’t see past the fear that consumed you.

However, you didn’t need to voice any of this to Jake. His next words provided the reassurance you desperately needed.

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” he soothed, running a hand over the back of your head. “You’re okay, I’m okay. We’re going to figure this out. I promise.”

The two of you stood on the porch until the sun began to show it’s first light, casting a soft glow over Cactus Creek. Jake finally pulled away slightly so he could look you in the eyes. You appeared more beautiful to him than ever before, with the promise of new life growing inside you.

“Let’s go to bed,” he suggested gently.

You nodded, wiping the last remnants of tears from your face. “Okay.”

Taglist: @scoreofinfantryvines @takenbythemadness @gretasfallingsky @dannys-dream @josh-iamyour-mama @slut4lando @hollyco @wetkleenex-gvf @earthgrlsreasy @edgingthedarkness

[wordsofoleander]

🌸 answer me, my prince!

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

a suave prince with all he could ever ask for. a starry-eyed editor who longed for more. two unexpected penpals from vastly different worlds.

they were undoubtedly fated to meet, but never face-to-face.

❥ 735 words ❥ tags: au, fluff, slightly angsty if you blink, very very self-indulgent, no beta we die like chads, mentions of cove, qiu, and my ol2 mc! ❥ notes: the hyperfixation was so strong i emerged from inactivity. i finished the comic this fic shares a title with last weekend and refused to move on,,, made for #baxtermcweek (day 4 prompt: au), hosted by @minthe-drawings

▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀▀

He doesn’t realize how long he’s repeatedly been opening and closing the empty book chest until he slams it shut a little too loud, snapping him out of his reverie. His eyes dart left and right and his ears stay alert in case he accidentally woke anyone up.

He hears nothing, so hopefully the coast is clear. He opens the book chest again, and the letter he’s waited all night for sits perfectly inside, having appeared out of thin air. 

He needs not wait to carefully examine the envelope or admire its design (far more cleaner-cut and colorful than what he's received from others over the years) as he immediately gets to reading.

—

Prince Baxter Alexander.

You’re getting better at pressuring me to reply to you faster and faster. It scares me a little.

Regarding your story, I think what you did for their sake was quite admirable. I can’t even imagine going as far as to pretend to be Cove’s fiancée for his protection, let alone for 5 years! But back to you. Since you didn’t end up falling in love with each other, does this mean Lady Ysabel’s lover is much more good-looking than you are? Would you mind getting a portrait of the Laird Qiu for your friend?

—

Silly Iri.

(You’ve never asked me for my portrait. You wound me. Nonetheless, I forgive you.)

You of all people should be able to know that not every long-standing friendship necessarily has the potential to end in romance.

—

Like us?

—

We are a bit of a special case because I do not think of Ysabel every day.

—

(Oh, what am I going to do with you?)

Ever the type to give people the answers they want to hear now, are you? You’re surrounded by far more impressive people in your daily life, people you can actually talk to and see.  I highly doubt that you think of me every day.

(PS It’s way past midnight, so I should probably get ready for bed if I don’t want to be late for work. Sleep well, my prince.)

—

Irina Clarice, my sick twisted friend.

What? Is laying my entire self bare to you, heart and soul, in the written word last night not enough for you? After all the times I’ve spent my evenings waiting for your letters?

I specifically chose this time of year to get away from my parents under the guise of avoiding the heat and helping the monks at the scriptorium. Summer, after all, is the perfect time to do something crazy, pursue a new beauty, to start anew. I confess to you that I imagined nightly sneak-outs to rendezvous with someone who’s caught my eye, but all this time, I’ve been holed up in the scriptorium’s writing room, idly and politely waiting by the book chest on my desk in anticipation to see if you have replied to what I’ve written about my latest misadventures. Before I knew it, I’d already spent the entirety of my summer getting to know you. Now I do know you, and there is no one else like you anywhere else in the world. 

Tragically, we shall never have the chance to meet, so I don’t think whatever it is I’m feeling in my chest can be called love. My fate is sealed. 

Still, whenever the sight of someone so beautiful catches my eye, thoughts of you fill my head, and I become almost upset, complaining that no matter who I meet, they will never be anything like my Iri. So, my dear friend, do not tell me that I do not think of you every day. 

I do not recall you mentioning having felt this way towards your childhood companions, nor your devilishly handsome Xander from the antique shop,  so I shall regrettably but with dignity take this as a victory.

On a lonely night on the month of heat’s end, Your Baxter Alexander.

(PS Clarence and I are departing tomorrow at dawn for Golden Grove to attend Qiu’s wedding, just in time for the beginning of fall. Bringing the book chest with me would be far too bothersome for such a short trip. I expect to be away for about three to four days.

Even so, worry not your pretty little head and get a good night’s rest without my letters to bother you, Iri. I hope you do not miss me too much.)

[hannahssimblr]

After a freezing, wet trek along the Clontarf seafront I turn into Michelle’s estate. All the houses have warm, yellow light spilling out the windows onto the grey, rain beaten pavement, inviting, yet it only reminds me of how grim this damn country is in the winter. It's been eight years since we moved here now and yet I still don't understand how people are supposed to cope with the winter. I suppose they don’t. I suppose we just accept that we will be a little bit sad for a while. 

They always leave the door off the latch for me on Tuesdays, they know I’m coming, and I let myself into the warmth of their home. It always smells good here, tonight like seafood and lemongrass, and whatever is cooking sizzles enticingly on the pan. I won’t ask for food, I never dare to, but if they offer I have yet to refuse them.

Rahim Tengu peers into the hallway as I shut the door. He is cooking in a suit. He’s always wearing one, even when doing things like mowing the lawn in the heat of summer. 

“Jude,” he says, “Wet outside, eh?”

“Yeah,” I take my shoes off and leave them by the door, “Whatever you’re making smells good, like always.”

“Nasi Lemak,” He says, “I’ll leave a plate for you when you're finished”

“Oh, thank you.”

He hesitates, “So how are your studies?”

“Yeah, good. Trying to get back into the swing of it since the new year. Fifth year is tough, you know?”

“Yes,” Another pause. Rahim is the most awkward of all the dads, he never knows what to say to me, but I let him think on it for another moment, brows knitted, spoon halfway to the pan, before I decide to put him out of his misery. 

“Jen upstairs?”

“Yes, yes, in her room.”

“Cool, see you in a while then.”

She’s sprawled out of the duvet with her earphones in, laying still like a corpse with her hands clasped on her stomach and white socks stacked on the pillows.

“Oh, you’re here,” she drawls. She doesn't even have to open her eyes to know it.

“You sound thrilled.”

“Ugh,” She flips to her stomach, pulls at her iPod cable and tosses the whole thing towards the head of the bed, “Come on, then, make me feel like a dumb bitch.”

“I bet you say that to all the boys,” I dig my maths notes out of my school bag and join her on the bed, “You been practising your trig?”

“That the one with the protractors?” 

“I’ll take that as a no.”

She lays still for a long moment, just staring into the middle distance before gathering the energy to learn. She falls onto her back and pulls the book I have opened toward her. “‘In the diagram, [AB] and [DC] are two parallel roads, where [AB] = 800m and [DC] = 500m. By measurement, it is determined that [&lt;ABC] = 75° and that [BC] = 600m. Find [AC] to the nearest metre,’” She looks at me, eyes filled with hopeless despair, “How am I meant to know?”

“Well, do you remember what we went over before Christmas? The cosine rule?”

“Before Christmas? You might as well be talking a decade ago. I don’t remember anything that happened before last week. My brain is mush.”

I pull out my ruler, “Well, look, let’s start by drawing it out so we can visualise it, like this, then, we know that A² = B² + C² - 2BCcosA…”

“Do we know that? Are we sure?” 

“Jenny, yes. C’mon, we’ve done this.”

“I don’t think you understand how much I hate maths.”

“It’s not that bad, look, based on the cosine rule and the information we know already, we can write out the formula, right? x=(600)² + (800)² - 2(600)(800)cos 75°, so all you have to do is work that out.”

“Oh, is that all.”

“Yeah, so c’mere, hand me your calculator, it’s-” A shriek from the next room almost rattles my skeleton free from my flesh. 

“Why are you always like this?” It's Michelle. “I’m old enough! Just let me go!”

I glance awkwardly at Jen who is ignoring it, diligently punching the formula into her calculator and kicking her feet in the air. 

“When you demonstrate responsibility,” her mother screams back, “I will give you freedom, but until then…”

“Don’t look so shocked,” Jen says when she catches sight of my stricken expression, “You and Colette are like this.” 

“Not really. We don’t scream at each other.”

“This is just the volume they speak at here. It’s not as dramatic as it sounds. They're kind of just... having a conversation.” 

“Okay but you’re being such a bitch about it.” Michelle bites out, and I wince. 

“I don’t talk to my mom like that.”

Jen shrugs, “It’s not that serious, really, they don’t mean it. They'll be all lovey-dovey-happy-families again tomorrow. You get used to it.” she scribbles something onto her copy book and pushes it toward me “X equals 751533?”

I frown, “I don’t know, let me check.”

“Well you’re a nightmare of a daughter sometimes, do you hear me? I don’t want to be like this, I don’t want to be up here shouting at you, but you drive me to distraction with all of this carry on!”

“Um,” my fingers hesitate on the buttons of the calculator, “So… it was… (600)² which is…”

Something clatters to the floor and they start shouting even louder. The corners of Jen’s mouth curl up, “Let’s take a break, yeah? We can drown it out with some music.”

“Good idea.”

She scrambles to fetch her iPod again and hands me one earbud. We lie back on the pillows while she puts on some whiny emo track about a guy who is either dying or wishing he was dead. 

“Are you traumatised by Michelle and her mam because it reminds you of your parents?” She leans over me and sweeps my hair from my forehead. I laugh, “You trying to therapize me?” 

“You said they fought when you were small.”

“Yeah but I only heard it a handful of times, I wouldn’t say I am traumatised.” 

“Still, I think there’s something lodged in your psyche about it, it’s why you hate conflict.”

“Nobody likes conflict.”

“Yeah but most people don’t avoid it like you,” She pokes my arm because I've looked away, “Hey, would you say that you’d rather run away from your problems than face them?”

“Did you steal that question from your counsellor?”

She pretends to be shocked, “Um, no! Excuse me.”

“You’re excused. Hey, would you like it if my voice sounded like this guy’s?” I tilt the iPod screen to her and point to the album cover guy who has blood pouring down his face. 

“First of all, that’s not the guy singing, that’s a cartoon. Secondly, I don’t know what you even mean.”

I lean into her ear and put on the whiniest voice I can in imitation of him “Hhhhwhat’s the worst that I can say… hhhthings are better if I stay…”

She snorts and shoves me off her, “Go away, you freak.”

“hhhAND IF WE CARRY ON THIS HHHWWWHAYAH…”

Jen’s bedroom door opens and I jump. Michelle stands there frowning. I hadn’t even realised in the midst of my caterwauling and our hysterical giggles that the shouting had stopped.

Beginning // Prev // Next

[yourtouchismidas]

What about if Matty and RG got called into school for something, like one of the girls got in trouble for something, nothing major, maybe just typical high school stuff like smoking in the toilets ahaha. I can’t imagine Matty being any good at discipline, he loves his girls too much bless him

so i think most of the girls are well behaved at school, and keep most of their experimenting and stuff outside of it. there is one exception though. stevie matilda. stevie came out a little rule breaker. she was always crying til she was red in the face if she didnt get her way. she would draw on the walls and pinch her sisters when they were playing quietly and run off giggling.

you and matty pretty much try everything. the naughty step. early bedtimes. no pudding. but stevie sits on the naughty step and entertains herself by singing. she goes to bed early without a fuss, talking sweetly to matty as her lifts the cover for her, as if its a normal bedtime and not a punishment.

"she's happy at least," you say, as you and matty groan into your before-bed-tea at the kitchen table, after another day of trying to get her to do what you say.

"maybe it's just a phase," matty says, "a terrible seven? is that a thing?"

"no matty. but even if it was, stevie has a terrible six too. and five. and..."

"okay i got it," he says, placing a hand over yours and tapping. you look at him. his laughter lines. his crows feet. his greying hair. the warm light reflecting in his glasses.

"you're too soft on her," you tell him.

"i'm not."

"you are. she listens better to me. hell, she listens better to george."

"okay maybe i am. i just cant help it. i mean. have you seen her? the smile? the dimples? she's fucking adorable."

she keeps growing and you send her off to secondary hoping that the teachers are more equipped to dealing with naughty kids. your children have all gone to regular school their whole lives, despite matty earning enough to send them to private (the exception being valley once she hit eleven and needed more advanced classes).

"if public school was good enough for me. it's good enough for my girls," he said.

"stevie will probably get expelled if we sent her to private school anyway. apple doesnt fall far," you agreed.

so off stevie went to secondary and amazingly, you didnt hear anything. no phone calls. the occasional detention but nothing major. something odd happened with the twins early in their school journey. close as anything at home, they separated at school, made new friends, took different classes, became themselves, before returning to their shared bedroom at night to gossip until they fell asleep, sometimes in the same bed.

then the call came.

"hi is that stevie healy's mum?"

you'd just finished lunch and all the girls were at school . you were expecting a call from gigi at uni today and thought that's what this was. you beckon matty over from where he is stuffing crisps in his mouth and whisper "stevie." his eyes go wide. you hold the phone up to both your ears.

"unfortunately stevie has been sent to the headmistress today..."

they explain what has happened. stevie was caught on top of the gym hall roof with her friends. no one knows how she got up there and when asked to come down she refused, telling the teacher she didnt want to show other kids how to get up there, and he shouldn't want that either, or tomorrow everyone would be doing it. apparently there had been damages to school property. no one was hurt. you're asked to come and collect her. suspended for the rest of the day.

"stevie healy!" you yell at her when you see her, sitting outside the headmistresses office, head in her phone.

"hey mum," she says. like its regular pick up time.

"what do you think you were doing?" matty says, trying to put on a stern voice and failing. stevie smirks a little.

"i dunno. all the older kids take up all of the field and grounds to eat lunch. there was nowhere to go. this school should really provide more places for year sevens to eat if they want to stop this kind of behaviour from happening again."

"unbelievable," you say.

"when we get home we're going to have a massive talk about respect," matty says. the headmistress is behind him now. watching. he sounds stern enough for her. not for stevie.

"didn't you set fire to uncle george's trousers when you were my age?"

"thats... well... that's not relevant right now. come on. we're going home. we'll pay for the damages," matty assures the headmistress.

when you're leaving, matty hears a little voice.

"dad?"

it's lexie, staring at you all crossing the courtyard, frowning.

"what's happened? you okay stevie?"

"your sister has been in trouble."

"god sake steve," lexie says. "got all scared then. thought there was a problem."

"there is a problem. your sister," you say. while matty kisses lexie on the side of the head, making her blush and assures her not to worry.

"see you at home," he tells her.

at home you both sit stevie down at the table and tell her off. you tell her she needs to sort her act out. that authority is hard sometimes yes, but you have to get by and stop doing things that could harm others. matty is actually stern. and stevie looks shocked. she looks in her lap and almost cries. but then locks eyes with him again. willing to take the yelling, knowing she earned it, and also that she can take it.

there is a silence afterwards. stevie sits and the two of you lean against the counter.

"okay, shall we go to a movie or something then?" matty says.

"matthew!" you say.

he shrugs, "what? she's off school. may as well."

you sigh. "too fucking soft," you mutter, but you grab your bag anyway. may as well.