#she certainly fucked up enough stuff before she went..

[thehealthyfearofeverything]

The Kitchen Sink

SYNOPSIS: “ No surprise family members?” you asked Mama. She laughed, light and airy and filled with genuine mirth.

“Not while I'm alive.” She said before kissing your head.

Or 

You died and were reborn into the DC universe, simple enough.

Chapter One || The View From Halfway Down.

Warnings: Death, suicide, depression, child neglect, violence, murder, untreated postpartum depression. The first part of this details a suicide please do not read this if it’s triggering, prioritize your mental health. If you want to continue but don't want to read the first part, the next scene starts here: “Death is surprisingly peaceful.”

You're standing at the edge of an incomplete bridge, a construction project that must’ve been abandoned a few years ago. Nature has reclaimed the old metal construct. The ground is still dewy and slick, and you caught yourself before you tripped when your foot slid against a particularly wet patch of moss.

It’s ironic how you caught yourself from falling considering what you’re about to do. A bitter chuckle fell from your lips. You’ve walked way past the old weathered warning signs and rusty railing that were placed there to keep people from falling. 

Or jumping. 

Now here you are standing at the very edge with your feet half off of the ledge. You lean over to look down, and a pang of fear bounce your gut. 

Yeah, that’s a long way down. You’d probably die on impact, or get swallowed by the current and drown.

A gust of wind blows through your clothes and hair, whistling softly against the shells of your ears.

The air smells like rain and wet earth, and you can see and hear thunder clouds rolling in the distance. You breathe in a painful breath of air, filling your lungs until they ache and emptying them again. The cold evening air makes the hair on the back of your neck stand, and you still feel chilly despite the layers of clothes you’re wearing.

You swallowed thickly, peace was slowly falling over you, calming your racing heart and cooling the burning blood in your veins. The sound of the rushing river sounded a lot like white noise, or the thrum of static. It reminds you of your grandpa, that blind old man with a smoker’s voice and a failing body, of how he’d sit in front of the T.V. and just listen to it, refusing to turn it off even when the scene went white and nothing of use played. 

Grandpa died in front of the T.V. and it was Mom who found him. It was mom who mourned for him.

Who would report your body? Who would mourn for you?

You know that it probably will be a few days, maybe weeks until your body washes up on the riverbed and a bit longer until someone finds it and reports it. You probably would be found sooner if you offed yourself in your apartment, but it certainly wouldn’t be by your friends.

It’d be by neighbors complaining of some smell or your landlord serving an eviction notice. You've skipped rent a few too many times. Whatever. It’s not like it mattered.

You weren't meant to live anyways, something has always been wrong with you. You were born wrong and it’s only taken 22 years to realize that you don’t fit into this world. So of course it all comes down to two choices: Live and kill yourself later, or just fucking jump and get it overwith now. 

A slow breath leaves your lungs, a cloud of condensation swirling in the chilling air in front of you. The breeze carries your breath away and disburses the cloud into nothingness. You lean forward and look over the edge again, staring down into waters that you’ll be throwing yourself down. You hope it’s a long enough drop to kill you on impact.

It’d fucking suck if it didn’t.

It's probably better than going back to what you have… Maybe.

You have...had an okay job behind a counter at a local mom-and-pop store, your coworkers are kind enough and the pay isn’t so bad. You also write in your spare time and some of the stuff you make you’re proud of. You wanted to pursue a career in it, but it just didn't turn out that way. 

You used to go to college. You’re still technically enrolled, but it’s been a year since you’ve stepped foot on campus and your financial aid has dropped you. Somewhere along the way you just busied yourself with a 9-5 job just to not feel useless, but you still are.

You make barely enough money to cover rent, ramen packets, coffee and on occasion fast food. When you aren't working your life away, most of it is spent just sitting at your desk staring off into space as a blank word document stares back at you.

You used to love writing, but it’s slowly become a chore to you and you find little interest in it anymore. You know that’s by-the-book depression, but what else did you have to look forward to? All you do now is go to work, sit and stare into space for hours, and drag yourself back to bed. You’re so tired.  All. The. Fucking. Time.

You feel sad that you won’t be around to enjoy the things you used to, like reading or writing. But let’s be real here, the only thing you’ve written lately is the suicide letter tucked under one of the rails. 

You’re going to really miss all the little things in life that you enjoyed. Sadly there aren’t enough little things to make you want to keep breathing. You wish there was, it isn’t like you hate living. You love it when it’s enjoyable, but living is just too hard for you. You should feel angry that you don’t have the will to live in this world, and that there doesn’t seem to be a place for you here, but you don’t.

You don’t feel as angry as you used to be.

You used to be so, so angry at everything. You detested the ground you walked on, cursing the planet for making you this way. You were angry at your friends, jealous of their success and happiness. You were angry at yourself for not being enough to keep up in this world. You were angry at things that happened to you. Angry for the way you were born. Angry at what you were born with.

As time went on, that anger fizzled into contempt, and then indifference. Wherever that anger went, wherever had it gone, you only know that it was replaced by a deep sadness that sits in your chest everyday. It wasn’t only anger that left you, though. It was every fiery emotion. Passion, motivation, etc. It's all gone. 

That was probably the first step towards giving up. Whenever something does manage to piss you off, it doesn’t last long. It sizzles out just as fast as it happens and it leaves you feeling empty. You are used to it by now, but that doesn’t make it any less bearable.

And it’s not like you didn’t try to be happy. You did, you really did try to be happy. To make friends, to get a good job, and to finish college. You tried to fulfill the promise you made to mom, to live a good life and become something more than her, to do better.

You made a promise and you broke it.

At least it’s a nice day to let go. You always enjoyed dreary weather more so than sunshine and all that bullshit. Darker weather always felt like a break, like the world was slowed down for that day. Slow to match your pace for once. You take in a slow breath. The sky is dark with heavy rain clouds now, and the sound of wind blowing air into trees is almost as loud as the sound of your heart in your chest. 

Okay. Shit. 

Fuck.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Maybe you are more scared than you are letting on.

You loved the rain. You loved making a fresh pot of coffee. You loved reading a new book you found. You loved watching cheesy hallmark movies. You loved all the little things that life has to offer. But life can’t all be little things. 

You would love nothing more than to just write, and read all day, and enjoy the weather, and all of the small oddities that make you happy; but you’re too weak to work for them. You’ve tried. You've tried so fucking hard. 

The only thing that was keeping you going for a long while was your cat, Rukabella, and hanging out with your friends. But Rukabella passed away last December, and your friends stopped calling.

A bird flies past you and into the sky, as you watch it in peaceful silence. 

It soars into the sky, swaying with the pulses of wind before it nestles itself into a nearby tree. You wonder if it’s just taking shelter from the oncoming storm, or if it’s home is there.

You’d like to think that it’s going home to wait out the rain with other birds.

God, you're scared, though. You didn't think you'd be this fucking terrified. Dying is the hard, painful part that you’ve always chickened out of.

Until now

You stare down into the deep river, clear rushing water just waiting to sweep your body away. A thrum of anxiety buzzes in your gut, but your mind feels barren of emotion.

 You close your eyes and jump.

Death is surprisingly peaceful, It's warm and comforting and you never want to leave if this is the afterlife. You're free from pain and all of the nasty complex emotions that come with living.

‘It’s so hot. It hurts. It hurts so much. Why me? Why me? Why do I have to hurt? I hate this so much… mama please….’

A child’s voice cried out directly into Your head, weak, whimpering, and full of pain. What were you supposed to do about it? You were never good with distressed children, and you were out of touch with anything that had to do with empathy.

A warm darkness enveloped your body, and the child’s voice grew increasingly quiet. The child’s sobbing complaints faded into hushed pants. The moment when you realized you couldn’t hear the child’s voice anymore, the bubble-like  cocoon that had surrounded you disappeared with a pop.

You felt yourself waking up, and at the same time, a painful hot fever branched throughout your body, as if you had come down with the flu.

Your eyes snapped open and you shot upwards, the image of the ground rushing to meet you melting into the plain white walls. You groaned. Eyes screwing shut against the harsh light spilling through the room. You brushed your hand against your hair, leaning  forward over your legs.

The scratchy, heavy blanket that had been draped over you dropped to your lap. The fierce pounding in your head did not abate for a long minute, but as it slowly ebbed away into a dull ache, you released a deep sigh.

Your body was still hot, and there was a deep itch that made a home in your bones. You mindlessly scratched your arms.

You cracked your eyes open, mindful of the light, and stared at the room you're in.

“… A room?” You murmured, voice thick. It had been so vivid, so real. As if you had been the one to – your stomach clenched as more details from the dream solidified  in your mind. you shuddered, feeling the lingering  memory of ice cold water running over you. Brutal, frigid water that knew nothing of warmth. 

A hollow ping of disappointment  ricoshade through your body… It was only a dream.

A dream. 

You had only dreamt of jumping, of killing yourself.

Shaking your head, casting the dream from your mind, and moving to pull the blanket back. You froze when you caught sight of your hand properly for the first time.

Your eyes widened as you stared at the small callus-free limb, turning it over to see the same on the other side. You held the other one up, chest heaving when you saw that it too was wrong. Thin and frail, too small to belong to an adult, it was the hand of a small malnourished child. You took an unsteady breath, dropping  your arms and ripping  the blanket off. Your feet were the same, and the sight of them – not your own, what was going on? – had you springing from the bed in panic.

You had nearly collapsed under your weight, your knees shook as red-hot pain ebbed its way into your chest. You found it difficult to breathe. Your breath was coming out in short sharp huffs.

There was another bed, right beside the one you were in, an old stained blanket covered it, along with sad-looking  pillows. 

A nightstand  in between the two beds. Trunks were at the foot of the beds. The silence of the room was filled with white noise. You backed away, but you could not escape your own body. You knocked against the side table making the pitcher wobble, and then slammed into a wall, feeling something dig into your head.

You spun and realized that it was a door. You shoved it open and rushed inside, but came to an abrupt stop when you were confronted with a beautiful young woman. The woman set the tray she was holding on the ground, her eyebrows narrowed.

"what are you doing up?"

“Ah!” The moment the woman’s speech touched your ears, the mental dam burst open, and a flood of memories that wasn’t your own yet felt familiar  rushed through you. You fell to Your knees, the fever growing hotter. You were an inferno  burning from the inside out. The woman let out a concerned shriek. In a span of a few blinks, you were scooped up in the woman’s arms, your head pressed into her bosom.

The memories belonging to the girl, 'Birdie', crashed through your mind like a flood. You reflexively clasped the fabric of the woman’s shirt as you let out a weak whimper.

“Oh, Birdie...You’re  burning up.”

no, no, no! I’m not Birdie! You wanted to protest, but you couldn’t. Every time you opened your mouth to say something all that came out was a weak half-sob-half-cough. You were overwhelmed  by the sensations of the strange dirty room, the weak small hands that were becoming  yours, and goosebumps formed as the thrum of something buzz under your skin.

The flood of information sent you into a panic, as everything screamed one thing: you were no longer yourself anymore, you were this sickly five-year-old  girl.

“Birdie? Birdie?” The woman called out to you, aggressively stroking your back in her panic. Worried, she was worried, but she was a stranger. Or she would have been, but this body knew her. It even felt like you loved her.

The love felt gross and foreign. It wasn’t yours. You couldn’t accept that the woman holding you was your mother. Your body’s love and your mind’s repulsion  fought  against each other, the woman kept calling out the disgustingly comforting pet name.

“Mama”

When you looked up at the strange woman you never met before and called her ‘Mama,’ you fully became her Birdie.

“Shush, dear. All will be okay.” Her hands, warm and rough, smoothed down your hair. You didn’t want to touch your mother, who existed in your memories yet was someone you didn’t know. And so, when you were being placed down on the disgusting, hard bed, you threw yourself into the stinky pillows and rolled onto your side, closing your eyes.

“…My head hurts, I wanna sleep.”

“I’ll wake you when dinner's ready.”

You waited for Mama to leave the bedroom, and stiffened when you heard the door open again. Mama put something onto the nightstand  and left the room, this time for good. You licked your lips as you pulled yourself into a sitting position, getting up in stages and groaning as you did so. Your body was still hot, but it wasn’t the raging inferno it was earlier.

You glanced around the room again, on the nightstand was a wooden tray, with a cup of something in it. Nothing stood out, it was a bare-bones room that tried to look well-lived in.

You bowed your head as you laced your hands onto the back of your neck and tried to control your breathing. Big emotions in a small body were bound to end in a tantrum; you did not want to have a tantrum.

Calm down, calm down. There’s no way what I think happened, happened. Think, all you had to do was think, there was an explanation.

You slowed your breathing, and cast your mind back; The bridge, the river, the rush of wind in her ears.

“I jumped,” You announced,  astonishingly  to the empty bedroom. You actually killed yourself and were brought  back. Now isn’t that a cruel joke?

“Okay, no time to dwell on that. What’s next?” You muttered to yourself. This body still had memories; Mama or someone else would get suspicious if you didn’t use them to your advantage. You tried to look through your clearer second set of memories, going as far back as you could, but this body was that of a very young girl with a weak grasp of the language. She didn’t understand  everything  Mama had said.

Over half of these memories were useless.

“Oh God, what do I Do?”

You could determine a few things: One, your family consisted of you and your Mama, Rosetta. It seemed like you didn’t have a dad, and Mama worked as a waitress or something along those lines. Second, and the most shocking, this world isn’t your own. You were in the DCU, in Gotham 

“Haaah,” There were no mirrors in this residence. No matter how much you explored your memories you couldn’t find any details on your appearance.You tugged on a lock of your hair, thick, coarse, and dry— poorly maintained  Afro-textured  hair. You pulled the lock in front of your eyes, black. If Mama looked pretty then you must be too. Not that it mattered, you didn’t look amazing in your past life, you could live without being cute.

It’s the little victories and all that jazz. You pressed your hands on the hard mattress when they began shaking minutely, willing the tremors to stop. Your mind was flooded with noise and you bit your lip, pushing through the confusion, fear, and many other emotions, and focused on what was important. One thing at a time.

You looked down at your hands and clenched them repeatedly. They moved on your command, without  a hint of pain or any delay. You slowly started stretching, noting the lack of injuries. There was not even the slightest twinge.

You fell onto your side, what kind of isekai- reincarnation  bull shit was this?

You coughed. Your fever was subsiding.

“Birdie, are you awake?” As if to purposefully  interrupt  your thoughts  Mama stepped lightly into the room. You looked at the woman from over your shoulder. Mama looked out of breath and your lips twisted into a frown. 

“Dinner's done?” You asked, your voice sore and mouth dry.

“Yeah.” She whispered, and in the quickest moment, Mama sauntered over to your bedside and sat down.

Mama’s hands were rough and calloused, her nails were short and dirty, and she had the hands of a worker but she held your smaller hands with such tender care. Mama’s thumbs traced up the bone, curving over your little pointer fingers.

You stared in uncomfortable  breathless  wonder. You don’t remember… Has anyone treated you so gently?

Mama curled her much larger hands over your small frail ones. You pulled your hands away and tucked them under the filthy blanket. Mama frowned, the back of her hand now flushed against your forehead.

“Your fever’s gone down, that’s good.” She said softly. Mama was always gentle with you.

"Now, let's eat, I made a hearty soup that would kill the rest of that nasty fever of yours," Mama said, picking you up. You couldn't stop yourself from burying your face into the crook of her neck breathing in her earthy scent. 

Mama was nice and warm. You didn’t want to compare, but she was much more attentive than your previous mom was. Mom—not Mama—tried her best. You were aware that she never got over the ‘baby blues’, and it had gotten worse over the years. Being a single mom, working a dead-end job, and eventually taking care of her elderly smoker of a father, it was no surprise she did what she did.

And it was no surprise you followed her footsteps, despite promising not to.

Mama cradled you and kissed and hugged you without restraint, giving you affection as easily as she breathed. It took you two years to get used to the affection, you were touched starved and touched repulsed. Mama also noticed your aversion to physical contact, she didn’t force you to be affectionate, there was no manipulation  or guilt tripping. 

It was just you and Mama, like how it used to be just you and Mom.

You were poor in this life as well, living in the Narrows. It wasn’t much but it was enough, the rent was paid, and food was always on the table. You were twenty–two when you died, and now you were mentally twenty four, physically you were seven. You started school and now Mama could pick up more shifts, earn more money, just a little extra for holidays and emergencies.

It was fun having a mother that wouldn't lay in bed all day, or get mad when you got a little too loud. 

You bounced into the apartment throwing your backpack on the floor after saying bye to Toby, a brown haired second grader that started to walk you home after school. He lived down the hall from you, he was nice, cute too with big brown doe eyes and a face full of baby fat. You didn’t know why he started to hang around you, but you didn't mind it. You needed friends and Mama was starting to worry.

A win-win so to say.

“Mama! I'm back!” You yelled, taking off your shoes and jacket. The apartment was warm, so Mama was home early. Mama was in the bedroom, sitting on her bed. Music played from the bluetooth speaker on her nightstand. She looked up from the book she was reading with a soft smile on her face.

“Hey, Birdie, how's school?” she asked. You hummed in response before climbing onto her bed and snuggling against her side. Mama let out an amused huff before tapping your nose with her index finger.

“ School’s fine, I have to do a family tree thing for class… And I'll need my birth certificate.” You muttered, picking at a loose thread of her sweater, a wordless jazz song drifted from the speaker.

“Why do you need your birth certificate? Aren't these assignments done with crayons and paper?” You could hear the teasing tone in her voice. Mama was acting like she was reading her book, but you knew she was watching you. Wanting to catch every little emotion.

So fucking attentive.

“It's only me and you, I don't need to make a family tree.” Mama hummed, and finally stopped pretending to read her book. She placed it on the nightstand and pulled you onto her lap. Straddling Mama you gripped the slides of her sweater and looked Mama in her eyes, warm, soft and searching. 

Ever since you became Birdie Mama began to look at you differently, looking for remnants of her real daughter. It was to be expected you were mentally twenty four stuck in the body of a first grader. Of course she’d notice that her daughter had changed and would on some level miss the real Birdie.

It’s why you tried so hard to be good, to accept her affection and not draw too much attention to your little family. So far you managed to keep your depression at bay, and sure you had your bad days. Where you could barely get out of bed, barely had the energy to eat and had little to no tolerance for physical touch. And Mama handled it the best she could, accepted your mood swings with little to no questions.

A part of you thinks she might know that you're depressed, but she didn’t have the money for a diagnosis, therapy or medication. So Mama is just trying her best and you are too.

You don’t want to kill yourself, not again. You want to fulfill the promise you made to Mom, live a good life and be better than her. You want to learn to be happy again, to learn to love writing again, and find that fiery passion and motivation you had so long ago. 

So you’ll try to be better for both Mom and Mama.

“ Huh, I guess I never did tell you about our family. They're all dead but I think they still  deserve to be on our family tree.” Mama said before nuzzling her face against your neck, you let out a high pitched squeal. Mama blew raspberries against your skin and still giggling with laughter you wiggled out of her hold. 

You rolled onto the floor before pulling yourself up and leaning against the bed frame of your bed. The rush of energy makes you feel lighter. It took a moment for you to regain your breath.

“ Who were they?” You asked. In your first life Mom never mentioned that she had any living family, you had assumed that they were all dead. It surprised you when Grandpa came to live with you. One moment it was just you and Mom the next it was you Mom and Grandpa.

“ Well there was granny May, she was my dad’s mom, but she died four months after you were born, and… How about we take this to the living room, so you can write and I can talk.” Mama asked. You nodded and moved to get up. It was only when the both of you were in the hallway that the question popped into your head.

“ No surprise family members?” You asked Mama. She laughed; it was a light and airy thing filled with genuine mirth.

“Not while I'm alive.” She said before kissing your head.

You had convinced Mama to let you have a photocopy of your birth certificate. Next, her name was Batman—not Bruce Wayne, but Batman. You had asked her if Batman was really your dad, but she just shook her head.

Batman wasn’t your dad. Thank fucking god. You had read too many fics where the reader insert was neglected by the batfam then they become obsessive and possessive. The Batman thing was something that some single mothers do, they put Batman on their child's birth certificate for their child to feel special later on in life or as a joke.

Mama however put Batman as your father because she was delirious and embarrassed that she didn’t know who your father was. You could forgive her for that, it's not like you faulted her to begin with anyways. You were a happy accident.

As it turns out two other kids in your class had Batman as a father as well, a boy and a girl. They started to say that they were siblings and you guess you were an older sister now. 

Anessa and Jamie were fun, high energy and loud, but that could be forgiven since they were children. Mama was happy that you made more friends. And as Children they kept you busy, from your depression and other troubles with being an adult in the body of a child.

Birdie’s birthday is arriving soon, physically you’ll be eight, mentally you would be twenty five.

And that was fine. You’ll have Mama invite Tobey, Anessa, and Jamie, you’ll eat cake and ice cream, and then life will continue.

The Batfam isn't in this chapter but they will be in the next

HERE — Part 2

[trippinsorrows]

dreamland: yacht it up

authors note: this is essentially a part 2 to the tiktok live oneshot, except way longer with some other stuff sprinkled in that is lore and backstory.

also, if that scene feels a lil' off and different for them, they been together damn near 17 years atp. that part of their life has definitely evolved. lmao.

warnings: fluff and smut

words: 10k

It’s the slow, steady, and quiet rise and fall of Aroha’s chest that lets Roman know she’s fallen asleep. He looks down, soaking in the peaceful expression of her little face as she clutches one of her stuffed animals, soft breaths leaving her partially open mouth, turned into Roman’s body where she was only minutes prior engaged in the book he was reading her. 

He waits a good minute or two, wanting to ensure she’s entered that deep REM of sleep before carefully separating her, adjusting the blankets over her body. Roman lays the book on the nightstand and leans down to kiss her forehead, a gentle caress of her temple, his parting gesture before he quietly exits the cabin. 

A careful closing of the door as Roman walks over to the other side of the hall, lightly knocking on the door before opening. He’s met with the unsurprising sight of his twin boys sitting on either side of the king size bed, headsets on as they focus on the TV before them. 

“Ya’ll good?” A simple question. The most that’s required for the inarguably easiest of The Tribal Chief’s seven children. 

Koa is the one to answer, never taking his focus off the television. “Yup.”

Roman chuckles, crossing her arms and leaning against the doorframe. “Ya’ll sure you don’t want to come up?”

“Is it time to eat?”

Roman rolls his eyes. “You already know the answer to that.” They just had lunch approximately an hour ago.

“We’ll come up when it’s time for dinner,” Koa takes over, quietly cursing at some obvious mishap with the game they’re playing. “Our social batteries need to be recharged.”

If there was ever a statement that Roman related to with his entirety, it’s that one. Granted, he often finds himself not struggling with socialization when it comes to his family, his kids, but he also understands Koa and Kai have a different, sometimes shorter fuse.

He also vividly recalls the argument they got into with Aroha earlier over who the fuck knows earlier, and arguments between the Littles often take a lot out of all three. Partially why Aroha went down so easily for her nap.

“Alright,” Roman kicks off the door, hand on the knob. “No hacking shit, either.” Grumbling requires him to double down. “You heard what I said.” 

“Fine,” Simultaneous expressions of forced, reluctant agreement. Roman shuts the door. 

That’s good enough for him.

Last, but certainly not least, he moves to the door of the last cabin in this section of the yacht. Three light knocks to the door, followed up with a quiet, “baby, you good?” 

The only response given is the somewhat loud sound of snoring from the other side. A small smile falls on his face. If there’s one thing he can always count on, it’s not only his middle daughter being able to fall asleep with the most ease but also staying asleep for what’s probably an abnormal amount of time. 

Rain, sleet, snow, hurricane, tornado, even being on a whole ass yacht, Samaria Reigns will always make time for her naps. 

Expected, as well, given they left relatively early, and she’d complained for almost fifteen minutes straight on the ride to the dock about him and Solana “rudely” interrupting her “mandatory beauty sleep.”

Whatever the fuck that meant. 

Satisfied with the younger of his kids being set and settled, Roman makes his way through the interior to the custom designed Hermes staircase that provides entrance to five separate decks, the fifth being the one where he’ll find the remainder of his family. 

And, he does.

Roman's' greeted by the sound of Spanish music blaring and the intense sunshine beaming down against his body, prompting him to lower his sunglasses from the top of his head, sitting them on the bridge of his nose. 

The sound of laughter is mixed in with the music, the small smile on Roman’s face growing ever so slightly at seeing his eldest children, Lina and Leya dancing along playfully with Solana. All wear broad, happy smiles, their laughter the chorus of his favorite song. 

The sound of whooping and a semi deep voice drags Roman’s focus to his firstborn son, Tama, who holds up a phone, recording himself, arm lifted and extended, clearly intending and succeeding in getting his sisters and mother in frame of said video.

Roman rolls his eyes, seeing the way Tama smirks and flexes for the camera. Let no one ever say that boy isn’t confident, borderline arrogant, but with many things he sees in his son, he can’t complain. 

Tama is every bit of him, in most ways, when he was fifteen. 

Like father, like son. 

The only difference being Roman has always been more subtle and somewhat quiet with his arrogance. Tama has never, and probably will never, be afraid to outwardly show and tell everyone exactly why he's exactly who he says he is.

Roman respects that in some ways. A lot of ways, maybe.

Recognizing that while his son is capturing the moment, his footage is more likely to have him as the star versus a shared showing of his siblings and mom, hence Roman walking over to the bar area where his camera sits. 

He grabs it, quickly adjusting the settings and swapping out the lens, opting for something better suited for the setting. And, the first snapped photo shows Solana laughing as she dances what he’s pretty sure is called bachata with Leya, Lina also now with her phone to record as well. Similar to her brother, she’s the star of her own film. 

Roman continues to snap photo after photo, stealing and cementing these moments of happiness, of bliss, with his family. It’s one of the reasons he enjoys taking them all out on the $200 million dollar superyacht he and Solana designed years prior. Nine cabins, multiple pools, fireplaces, a spa, a gym, and entertainment areas like an outdoor cinema and a dance floor. All designed solely for this purpose. To have these wholesome moments with their family. Just them, and the required crew, out on the beautiful waters, away from all the hustle and bustle of the land.

Peaceful.

It’s peaceful. 

And, in the life Roman Reigns lives, he’ll savor any and all semblance of peace.

Eventually, he’s spotted, first by his sweet Leya, her cheeks tinged with pink as she nervously laughs, hiding her face. “Daddy.”

It causes three sets of eyes to land on him, Tama smiling and the first to say, “make sure you get my good side, old man.”

“Get a good side, and then I’ll capture it.”

Lina whoops, making a sound, laughing, “Dad-1. Tama-0. Damn, bro, how you letting our old man clown you like that?”

Tama scoffs, lowering his arm, looking down at his phone. Probably to stop the recording. “Cause I respect my ancient elders.”

“Stop it,” Solana playfully scolds, slapping him on his arm. She shakes her head, lifting her hand to her forehead, a makeshift shield of sorts to obscure some of the sun’s rays. 

Lowering his camera, it’s only then Roman finds himself truly distracted by his fine ass wife as she walks in his direction. Her striped bikini leaves little to the imagination in a lot of ways. Appropriate to wear around the kids, but that naturally voluptuous body still manages to push the material to its max while leaving little to the imagination. 

Big, full breasts bouncing with each step, thick thighs rubbing together, hips swaying as he recalls the jiggle of her ass when she was dancing with their teenagers only minutes prior. Solana has always been absolutely stunning to him, but seven children later, her curves continue to tempt him in the best and worst ways.

Hence why they have seven children.

Approaching, she grabs a hold of his forearm. “Are they good?”

Roman nods, using the viewfinder to peruse some of the photos, including the ones Solana took of him and the kids earlier in the day. “She went down almost immediately. The boys are gaming, and Aria—”

“Out like a light?” Solana finishes and giggles. “At least we know she gets her proper amount of sleep.”

“Baby, she gets too much sleep. That shit can’t be normal.” Even without looking up from the camera, Roman knows his son well, prematurely interrupting what’s bound to be a smartass comment. “Say nothing.”

The sound of snickering from his twin girls confirms his suspicions. Another giggle from his wife, who he moves his arm around, pulling her against his solid body. “Look.”

She does so, smile broadening as he scrolls through the captured pictures. Solana gasps in awe, moving her arms around his waist. “You’re so good.” An appreciated compliment, but he’s more focused on the subjects versus the photo quality. “Sometimes, I wish….”

Her trailing off prompts him to look down. “What?”

Something flashes in her eyes as her smile shifts into something a little more subtle. “Nothing.” He’s visibly ready to push back, prompting her to lift her hand to his face. She says something in Spanish, leaning up on her toes to kiss his cheek. “Come on.” 

Solana takes his hand and leads him over to the seating area where the kids are already sitting, sharing phone screens with one another. 

Roman feels Solana grab his hand, squeezing gently when he moves quickly to lower her onto his lap as he sits down on one of the chairs. Solana squeals when he places the camera down next to them in exchange for his hand moving down the small of her back to grasp at her ass.

“Damn,” he murmurs. This boat trip today might have to be cut short, or he’ll have to take advantage of the younger kids being occupied and his oldest able to keep themselves busy.

As if reading his thoughts, Solana glares playfully. “Stop it.”

“Yeah, not in front of us, please.” Lina scowls, shaking her head. She then looks at Solana while gesturing to Leya. “Hey, mommy. Sissy and I need to go shopping sometime in the next two weeks.” Lina’s scowl deepens, as does her voice that’s now filled with irritation. “I think we need to go up a cup size again.”

At that, Roman finds himself frowning and confused. “Ain’t we got enough cups at the damn house?” A bit of an unnecessary question, as he already knows the answer. With such a big family, they have two separate pantries. One for snacks, and one specifically for dishes and pots, also due to his wife’s passion for cooking and impressive collection of only the finest cookware.

“Yeah, a lot of them big ones, too,” Tama agrees, clearly just as innocently lost as his dad. Solana shakes her head, as Leya’s blush deepens, Lina being the one to answer in only a way Lina would answer. 

“We’re talking about boob cup sizes.” And if that wasn’t a horrific enough clarification, Lina just has to take it to the next level, grabbing her chest and gently shaking her breast. “Ya know, titties.”

“Jesus Christ, Lina” Roman is convinced these damn kids are trying to kill him. He just hasn’t been able to prove it yet. “I fucking get it, okay? Why you gotta talk about this shit now anyway?”

“Seriously,” Tama is now scowling, hand over his mouth like he’s about to throw up. Roman can relate. “I don’t wanna hear about that with my sisters.”

Leya is the one to giggle, partially amused by the whole thing as she shifts on the seat, tucking her legs under her bottom. “Why? It’s just human anatomy.”

“Just change the subject, please.” Roman is readying to rub his temples when Solana instead soothes him with a kiss to the bridge of his nose and finishing up said conversation.

“Of course, we’ll go next weekend. Samaria was asking the same, so she can come with us.”

“Mama!”

“Solana.”

Shared disgust and borderline contempt from father and son, neither of them wanting to think about the second youngest Reigns girl in that capacity. Especially Roman. He hates thinking about any of his kids growing up, especially his daughters. Truth be told, it still hasn’t really set in that they’re already sixteen years-old.

Sixteen.

Roman still feels like it was only yesterday he and Solana took them home from the hospital for the first time. And now, in just two years, they’ll be leaving for college. 

Fuck. 

“Fine.” Solana sucks her teeth, moving her arms around his neck as she successfully changes the subject. “Do you guys wanna do it now?”

Roman’s attention snaps to his wife. “Do what?”

“Oh yeah,” Leya agrees, her dad looking over at her now with transferred confusion. “We can? Since Roro and Aria are asleep.”

“And, we know the boys won’t interrupt,” Lina snorts.

“Do what?” Roman asks once more. It’s always irritated him to no end to be kept out of the loop of things. 

Tama smiles that shit eating grin, very similar to Roman’s smile, a rarity, but something that makes appearances every so often. “Part 2 of the Q and A for our TikTok page.”

And, right away, Roman is wishing he hadn’t even asked. “Shit, you still wanna do that?”

Lina nods, smiling with excitement, fidgeting on her seat while laying out the stats. “Daddy, that video with you and mommy is our most watched one on our whole channel. Over 5 million views, like 20 thousand comments. Add in sissy, and you won’t even have to pay for our college.”

“Speak for yourself,” Tama scoffs, muttering something about wanting his “full inheritance.”

Roman doesn’t even have time to address his son. That’s a later problem. “Ya’ll really wanna do that now?” He scowls, just now really taking in and realizing his fine ass wife isn’t the only one dressed in a barely there bikini. Both his daughters, his minor daughters are wearing bikinis, which is fine, because it’s only them. But, going Live or whatever on their TikTok shit will mean they’re exposed to thousands, maybe more, seeing them so…indecent. 

And, that’s the shit he really dislikes. 

“You should change first.”

Lina, not to his surprise whatsoever, is the one to push back. She motions around. “Why? We’re outside on a yacht, wearing bathing suits, what’s the issue?” And, because she’s every bit his daughter, she can’t not point out, “just because you’re dressed like it’s winter doesn’t mean we have to be, too.”

Roman rolls his eyes. Never mind the fact Solana herself made a comment about his black long sleeved shirt earlier. Fact of the matter is he’ll take his shirt off if and when he wants to, and he doesn’t want to, so they can deal. 

Back to Lina’s initial question, he answers without much thought and all honesty, “cause I don’t want the internet people seeing ya’ll half dressed.” 

Tama snorts. “Internet people.” The fifteen year-old shakes his head, texting on his phone. “Dad is low key the funniest person ever.”

Lina, however, remains committed to her stance. “Daddy, have you not seen my Instagram?”

Roman frowns. “I thought you deleted it.” 

Lina’s attitude is dampened by the realization she’s talked too much, evident when Leya subtly elbows her and Tama shoots her a ‘shut up’ look. All of which is not missed upon The Tribal Chief.

“Why can’t I find your account anymore, Catalina?” Roman asks, all three of his teens looking away. “So, none of ya’ll know how to speak?” Still, silence. “I asked ya’ll a question.” Because while he addressed it to his oldest, anyone able to provide him with an answer is eligible to answer, and it's plain as day each holds the capability of doing just that.

“Honey, you were….” Solana moves her hand to the back of his head, stroking the hair on the nape of his neck, an act often done when she’s trying to comfort or calm him down. “You were threatening people in their comments.”

Roman scowls, practically offended. Not really. Only slightly. “Only the people who deserved it.”

Leya’s eyes widen. “Our classmates, daddy?”

God forbid, Roman takes some accountability for earning, what he’s sure now, is a block from all three of his kids that are on social media, as it also dawns on him he hasn't seen Leya or Tama's posts in some time, either. “Those fuckers looked too damn old to be in high school. How do I even know they go to ya’ll school? Especially that ugly ass lil' boy who needs Proactive.”

Tama and Leya share a look of confusion over a reference far beyond their time as their sister and father go back and forth with each other like a tennis match between Serena and Venus Williams. “Jared is my lab partner, daddy," she answers, throwing her hands up. “And, he’s gay.” 

“Allegedly.”

“Oh my goodness,” Solana groans, grabbing him by his beard, stroking his grayed out hair. “Roman, it’s fine. I still monitor their pages—”

“Wait,” he frowns. “They didn’t block you, too?”

“We could never block, mama,” Tama refutes, as if Roman even suggesting as such was an insult.

A look of unabashed incredulity. “But, you can block me?”

“Well, yes,” Lina answers as if it’s the most simplest thing in the world. “You were doing too much.”

“Damn kids get on my fucking nerves,” he grumbles, his pride more insulted than anything. How come Solana gets to see their pages but he can’t? Fucking unfair, biased ass children.

He makes a mental note to ask Koa and Kai help him regain access. He'll just buy them more computer equipment or some shit in exchange.

“We love you, too, daddy,” Leya smiles, making a heart with her hands. He won’t outwardly show it, but it helps. None of his kids have the level of hold that Leya does over him. Not even Aroha, in some instances. It’s always been something about her that can make him feel even just slightly better on the worst of days.

A gift she inherited from her mother, clearly. 

As with most things, Roman groans and complains but still ends up agreeing to do this part 2 his kids have been hounding him about since the last Live apparently “blew up.” Though, he makes it clear this is his last, something that doesn’t seem to be believed by, well, any of them.

Not even his wife.

Traitor. 

Less than twenty minutes later, some repositioning of where everyone was sitting so Solana is next to her husband, with Lina and Ley also still sitting together but the gap closed so they’ll be in frame of the backup phone Tama is using to go live.

“Alright, we are live from—well, a yacht,” is his introduction as he stands with his arms spread, smile still just as wide, the wind whipping against the loose strands of his long black hair that escaped the bun he usually keeps it in, similar to his dad. “You know, that rich boy shit.”

“Tama.” A name drop from his parents, both for different reasons. Solana, for his language. For Roman, a reason he explains in no unclear terms.

“I’m rich. You’re poor. Don't get it twisted.”

Snickering from his sisters, Tama’s scowl faltering as he easily redirects focus. “As ya’ll can see, we got the biggest hater alive and first long-term nursing home escapee with us today.” He sucks his teeth, feigning annoyance only to smile happily. “But, also our beautiful mama, and…” He trails off, allowing Lina to do the honors.

“My sissy,” she squeals, holding and hugging Leya who offers a small wave adjoined with her usual shy smile. “Hi,” Leya greets, laughing nervously, shifting on the seat. 

OMG MY SHOW IS ON!

Waitttt, not an unexpected Q and A!

Awww, that’s so sweet ya’ll do family stuff like that. 🥰

I’ve literally never seen an entire family be so damn fine. Lawd. 

Stop, I’ve been waitinggg for this like you don’t even knowwww.

“Okay.” Tama claps, gesturing around and offering explanation. “So, we’re having a family boat day, and since our little siblings are off doing them, we figure why not do the part 2 ya’ll been hounding us for since the first video.”

“And since we didn’t get to some of the frequently asked questions, we’ll try to answer those as well as some of the other questions specifically for Leya,” Lina offers, looking at her parents and twin for some type of confirmation that they’re ready.

“Let’s just get this shit over with.”

“Daddy,” Leya and Lina scold in synch, the younger of the twins serving as a mini Solana as she warns him, “be nice.” 

Stop. Cause Roman is so damn funny! 😂

Now why ya’ll keep making this man do this shit? 🥲

Solana is soooo pretty. Geesh.

This might sound stupid, but I never realized just how different Lina and Leya look. Like, they’re twins, but they look different? Does that make any sense?

Lina, reading some of the comments, catches one and uses it as a starting point. “That’s actually something I get asked a lot. If sissy and I are identical or fraternal twins, and we are….” She looks over at Leya, letting her answer.

“Identical,” Leya smiles and giggles, nervously pushing a ringlet behind her ear. “But, I think because we are so different, that makes it seem like we’re fraternal.”

A statement that no one disagrees with. One look at the girls, and it’s obvious they’re twins, but a few minutes into conversation, one can see the stark differences. Even with assessing their apparel, Leya dressing in more traditional “girly” outfits. Lots of pink and dresses. Lina, if wearing a dress, bound to show an amount of skin that has her dad reaching for his medication.

“And, I guess since we’re on it, one of the things ya’ll ask a lot about, too, is what it’s like being a twin,” Lina recites the question she’s seen pop up at least a hundred times, offering the initial answer. “I won’t speak for my sissy, but I can say for me, Leya is my absolute best friend. Like, familial soulmate. I could never do life without her. I know you guys are so used to seeing me with Tama all the time, and that’s my partner in crime for life, but sissy?” She shakes her head. “My other half.”

Solana and Leya are both pouting, clearly choked up from Lina’s rare display of vulnerability. “Catalina.” Leya whines, hugging her sister from the side. “I love you.” 

“Love you too, sissy,” Lina blows her sister a kiss, looking over at her brother, signaling him to take over once more.

“Alright, sappy stuff out the way, let’s get into more of these questions.” Tama has his phone out now, the list of questions in front of him. “Oooh, this one’s good.” He looks over at his parents. “How many tattoos do ya’ll have?”

Solana makes a face at the same time Roman scoffs. She’s the first to answer, frowning almost. “I don’t even know, to be honest.” She lifts her arms just enough, turning them inward to expose her inner forearms, providing an unobscured view of her inked skin. “I have butterfly tattoos for all my kids, my husband, and our late dog.” She gestures to her side. “I have a matching tattoo with some of my best girlfriends who are like sisters.” Her hand hovers over her clavicle. “Another tattoo for my husband.” Solana gestures to the space below the back of her neck. “Another one back there.” She stops, having to think. “One that my sister-in-law and I got together. Another shared one with girlfriends.” Solana looks over at Roman, somewhat asking, “I think that’s it.”

He nods, agreeing, offering a much simpler explanation. “Full sleeve on both arms. Chest. Back. And all of my tattoos are almost entirely tribal along with my family’s names included in various parts.” Nothing beyond that, which is expected. Roman is a man of few words when more is not required, and participating in a Q an A for his teenagers’ social media platform isn’t an exception for that.

Solana laughs quietly, apologizing, “sorry, that wasn’t a number, but we have a lot, I suppose.”

“Close enough, mama,” Tama shrugs, asking the latter portion. “And, the other part was if you would be okay with us getting tattoos someday?”

Roman tackles that one. “As long as you let us know, so you can use our tattooist and not some random incompetent person, we don’t care.”

Solana nods, offering while speaking more to the viewers. “Yeah, I mean, it would feel a bit hypocritical if we wouldn’t approve of them having tattoos when we ourselves have them, you know?”

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is how you do good parenting. 👆🏽

I genuinely love and appreciate how fair your parents are. 

I love how their tattoos all have meaning. 🥺

Wish more parents could be like ya’ll’s tbh. 

“We’ve all talked about it actually,” Leya partially surprises the group by speaking up, nervously fiddling with the strap of her bikini top. “The three of us getting a matching tattoo once we’re all 18.”

“What are ya’ll gonna get?” Roman asks, clearly intrigued, Solana beside him emoting the same interest. 

“Haven’t decided yet,” Lina answers. “But, we’ll run it by you before we do so.”

“I want lips on my neck,” Tama smirks, earning an eye roll from his father and a scowl from his mom.

“Don’t come up in my house with that shit,” Roman warns, making his son laugh.

Tama’s grin is shit-eating. “Come on, OTC, you not gon’ support me?”

“Not when you’re doing stupid shit like that.” 

“Honey, please,” Solana scolds lightly, moving her hand to Roman’s knee. “Be nice.”

“Naw, mommy, he’s right. We can’t have Tama out here embarrassing our family like that,” Lina backs up her dad, shaking her head. “It’s bad enough he’s the family hoe.”

“You really wanna—never mind,” Tama stops himself. As much as they all like to joke around each other, he recognizes not everything needs to be put online. And even hinting at something like his sister liking to date around could invite all kinds of hateful comments. He doesn’t want to put her through that and won’t. “Anyway, moving on.”

Lmaooo this whole family is so funny, I swear. 😂😂😂

This deadass is better than cable. 😭

Getting a tattoo of lips on your neck is so tacky, I’m sorry. 🙄

It’s always so cute how Solana is trying to reign in that mean ass husband of hers. 

“Leya, what sports, if any, do you play?” Tama reads off the question, looking over at his sister who is once again visibly nervous at having the attention on herself. 

“I’m on the dance team at school, but that’s it,” she answers, smiling shyly while gesturing to her nearby siblings. “Sissy and Tama have always been the sporty ones.”

“Our younger brothers also play sports, but Leya, our middle sister, and our baby sister aren't really into sports like that.”

Roman chuckles. “Especially the middle one.”

“We tried.” The faintest hint of an amused smile on Solana’s face as she looks up at her husband. “Our youngest and middle just don’t like sports.” 

That one sentence evokes laughter from the teens, Tama being the one to share bits and pieces of what they’re all thinking of.

“Dad tried to get our middle sister to give at least one sport a chance last year, so she picked soccer, and it was the funniest thing ever,” Tama runs his hand over his face, vividly recalling that iconic and hilarious day.

“At the one and only game she played in, she was literally just standing there posing for the photographer, ran in the opposite direction when the ball was coming towards her, was picking daisies.” Lina wipes at her eyes, tears forming from the comedy of it all. “It was honestly the best day ever.”

Leya giggles. “Didn’t she ask when the next game was?”

“Never,” Roman answers, shaking his head. “I told her never. Had us all up there early to watch her literally do nothing.”

“Not true, daddy, she was serving in them photos,” Lina counters with a snort. If there’s one thing her little sister will have, it’s sass. She sees a lot of herself in Aria sometimes, especially as she gets older.

LMAO not the baby picking flowers during a whole ass game! 😂

Oooh, I know Roman was irritated as hell. 😫

It’s giving ya’ll should have just left lil ma’am alone.’ 

Ya’ll need to start recording shit or something. This is comedy GOLD. 🤣

Where are ya’ll? 👀

“On our family's yacht,” Tama answers, gesturing around with his arms. “On top of the world.”

Perusing the comments, he's met with mostly playful comments of jealousy and questions about his parents openness towards adoption. But, as always with the internet, there’s the few sour patches that seek to only spew negativity and hatred.

I heard that their mom was an escort who got pregnant to trap the dad, and he just got stuck with her.

@/user???? What the hell? Where did you even hear that?

Saw it on a gossip website. 

@/user I believe it. The mom looks the type. Shame the daughters will probably go down the same route. Look at how they’re all dressed. Like sluts.

Lina is too preoccupied, going through her list of questions, sharing it with Leya to see what she wants to answer next, that she doesn’t see the hateful, libelous, judgmental conversation. But, he does, and that’s more than enough.

The complete shift in Tama’s voice and expression draws the attention of his family. If there was any doubt about how much he's like his father, it's squashed as anger overtakes his features. Straight up Roman. “Hey, look, ya’ll can miss me with that disrespectful shit. Say what you want about me, but keep my sisters’ and mama’s name out ya’ fucking mouths.” 

The profanity isn’t something that earns a warning comment from Solana, as she knows her son well enough to know Tama only really curses in front of her when something’s really irked him or he’s extremely upset, the latter of which seems to be the case.

And, Lina, true to Lina nature, doesn’t even need to know the context to back her brother up. “Cause the tea is ya’ll would never say it to our faces. Period.”

Never. That’s what helps both the hotheaded teens maintain their composure when it comes to the online bullshit that comes with having their platform sometimes. People only say the shit they do, because they can hide behind keyboards and burner accounts. Never would they be bold enough to spew such vitriol in front of them.

Not without getting they ass beat, of course. 

and that is how you shut shit down. 👆🏽

I love how Tama doesn’t play about his mom and sisters. You can tell Roman taught him right.

Idk wtf that other user is talking about. Just looking for attention.🥴 I live in the same city as them, and it’s a known fact their parents' marriage was a business arrangement, and they ended up falling in love. 

@/user Oooh anything else you can share?

@/user What you see on here is pretty much what you get. Roman doesn’t play about his family, and everyone around town knows Lina and Tama are just mini him’s. Messing with them has never turned out well for anyone…

“What did they say?” Come’s Roman’s deep voice. Similar to his son, all business. 

Solana moves her hand to his biceps, subtly moving it up and down to comfort him, murmuring something indecipherable for the viewers.

“It’s not worth it,” Leya’s comment is aimed towards both her siblings and her dad, a small nod shared between herself and her mom, the calmer of the five. “Let’s just keep going.” 

A heavy sigh from both the men, followed by a quiet ‘okay’ from Tama. Nothing from Roman. He’ll most likely follow up when the Live ends or when they get home in the evening. 

He’s never been the best with letting things lie.

Not when it comes to his kids. 

“What about this one,” Lina starts, reading off the question aimed towards her parents. “What’s it like having so many kids with such different ages?”

Solana looks at Roman, partially wondering if he wants to tackle a chunk of this one while also speaking aloud. “I don’t know if I agree that you all have such different ages.”

“Yeah, the gaps aren't excessively wide,” Roman nods, somewhat surprising his wife and kids at his willingness to answer. "And, it’s always a lot in some way, but we make it work.” 

“I think what also helps is how the kids naturally group up,” Solana adds, gesturing to her eldest set. “These three have always been close, but also, even with that, there's still our baby child who’s so much younger than the rest of the kids, so it can be a little difficult with her sometimes.”

Solana shifts on the seat, speaking more directly to the viewers, her discomfort waning by the minute. 

“I have to remind my older kids sometimes, even Roman if he’s not very happy about her having more than one playdate a week, Lina, Leya, and Tama all have each other. Our twin boys are two peas in a pod, best friends. Our middle daughter bounces back and forth between them and the OG’s. But, our baby child doesn’t have that.” She shakes her head, continuing to clarify. “She doesn’t really have a sibling that she has that best friend type bond with because she’s so much younger than everyone else, so yes, there are definitely times I’m sure they’d love for her to leave them alone, but we can’t have her friends at our house all the time, so there are occasions where somebody has to play with her.” The smallest smile and little shrug. “My husband and I do what we can, but it’s not uncommon for her to want to play with her brothers and sisters.”

“Us. Not our little brothers,” Tama points out, earning a small groan from Lina.

“No, life is so much easier when our parents don’t try to force them to interact.”

Leya pouts, lightly protesting. “Mommy and daddy don’t force them.”

Wait, what’s the story there? 🥲

Random, but Solana calling ya’ll little sister the baby child is so cute. 🥹

How old is the youngest?

@/user 6, I think.  

God forgive me, but I been focused this whole Live on how damn fine ya’ll mama and daddy is. LAWD. 😪

I know it’s big, too. I just know it.

YA’LL PLEASE. 😭😭😭

Lol is there a story there?

Tama chuckles, catching the last comment. “The Littles—that’s what we call our youngest three siblings—have never gotten along. They’re always going at it.”

Solana nods, unable to disagree. 

“We talk about this a lot, actually.” She motions to Roman who shakes his head, clearly recalling one of several shouting matches between his youngest set of kids. “We don’t know what happened, because these three have always been so close. Always.” She sighs. “Our youngest three, though? I feel like they’ve been at odds since they were old enough to talk.”

“Because they were,” Roman grunts, running a hand over his face. “I think it’s their different personalities as well as the age difference.”

Leya frowns, offering agreement. “The Littles go at it a lot, sadly.”

“Definitely what dad said. Our baby sister is rainbows and sunshine, but our little brothers are just like our dad. Mean as hell.”

“Tamasa.”

“Sorry, mama.”

“But, they can be mean sometimes, mommy,” Lina moans, shrugging. “So can daddy, and we still love him.” She sucks her teeth, glancing at the time in the corner of her phone, knowing it’s only a matter of time before Samaria or Aroha wake up. “Okay, let’s do a few more.”

And, they do, a mixture of questions for Roman and Solana, Leya, the family as a whole, even requests for videos down the road. 

Roman wasn’t with that last part.

“How do you guys manage such good parenting?” Tama reads the question, no trace of humor in voice, as he honestly and vulnerably shares, “I’d say best instead of good.”

Solana smiles warmly. “Thank you, baby.” She takes a breath, looking once again at Roman. “I can take this one?” He nods, hand on the small of her back, rubbing small circles. “Umm…we just really do our best to keep an open door, non-judgmental policy with all of our kids. We’ve always strived to make sure they know there’s nothing they can’t talk to us about. Nothing at all.” Something felt and shared by every Reigns' kid, from the youngest to the oldest. “But, mostly, Roman and I agreed, back when I was still pregnant with Lina and Leya, that we weren’t going to be like our parents.” She motions to herself with one hand and her husband with the other. “I won’t speak for him, but I had a very.…traumatic childhood, with a lot of abuse, so I essentially worked to give them everything that I didn’t get, and I’d like to think it’s worked so far.”

“It has, mommy,” Leya murmurs, offering a warm smile. “It really has.”

“You guys really are the best.” A sentiment shared by Tama as well who nods in agreement. 

“Thanks, ya’ll,” Roman’s deep voice sounds. Appreciative. Content. Moved. 

Awwww. You can see how much the kids love their parents. 

It’s obvious RoSo have the best parenting style, cause look how great and close they all are.

Noooo, who was hurting on our mom, guys? 😭

More parents should utilize similar approaches. Listening to your kids is so important.

Wish they were my parents…. 

Tama clears his throat. “Alright, enough of all the sentiment stuff.” Roman chuckles, as the women shake their heads. “Now for the final and most important question.” A dramatic pause that makes sense for the dramatic teen. “Who are your favorites of all the kids?”

A shared eye roll between mother and father, Roman announcing, “yeah, we’re done with this shit.”

“We gotta give the people what they want!”

“I don’t give a fuck about the people.”

“Daddy,” Leya lightly scolds, Lina with a small, knowing smile on her face. 

The eldest looks towards the viewers. “And, this is why we don’t do this sort of thing more often.” 

That man really don’t be giving a fuck lmaooo

Ya’ll omg Roman really is a real life Squidward. 🥴

He’s such a damn mood.

Nooo, we gotta do it again soon. These Lives are always so much fun!

“Your sisters will probably be up soon anyway, guys,” Solana reminds, and she’s not wrong. It’s about time not only for the boys to be pulled from their self-imposed isolation, their sisters to arise from their slumber, but Solana to get started on dinner as well. And, she’ll most likely need some sort of help, even if she won’t ask for it. 

It’s only when she stands up and stretches, readying to leave, Roman standing with her, his hands moving down to grasp and squeeze her ass, Solana giggling and playfully slapping his chest that the comments take yet another turn. 

Goddamn! Ya’ll mama got some ass on her!!!! 👀👀👀👀

@/user some? She got ALL the ass. 🤯

To say she’s had seven kids, that body is TEA.

Someone said it on the last Live, but it must be jam, cause jelly don’t shake like that. 😩

Alexa, play “Thick” by 2 Chainz. 🍑

Not to be that person, but does anyone know how she got those scars? We obviously see the one on her face, but I had no idea they were all over her body as well….

@/user to my knowledge, they’ve never commented on it, but given she just mentioned abuse during her childhood, my guess would be from that 🥺

Roman and Solana engage in brief, quiet conversation, the Tribal Chief nodding as he lowers his sunglasses and nods, stepping aside so Solana can walk past him. She looks back once more, waving and offering a cheerful, “bye” to the viewers only to be cut off by her husband slapping her ass. “Roman!”

He says nothing, nor does he offer any sort of parting term, instead walking behind his wife as they head towards the staircase, clearly aiming to go check on the other kids.

Stopppp. That lil interaction between them. 🥹

He might be a dick, but it’s plain as day that man love the hell out of his wife. 🤷🏽‍♀️

That height difference omggg. Either she’s super little, or he’s big asf.

@/user both. Been in the same room as both. She’s short asf, and he’s even bigger in person.

Wait, cause he even walks like it’s heavy. 😶

@/user that’s cause it is. 

But, checking on the kids only provides the same situation Roman left them in, Aria and Roro still knocked out and the boys gaming. Nothing new to see. However, instead of rejoining the teens, or even leading her to the kitchen to get started on dinner, Roman takes her hand, guiding her to their cabin.

A small smile sets on her face. 

Solana knows as soon as he shuts, and locks, the door exactly what he wants. 

The smallest smile on her face, taking in his big frame as he moves towards her. “The kids—”

“Littles are occupied,” is his easy counter. Standing in front of her, his hand lifts, finger trailing down the exposed skin of her shoulder. “So are the big ones.”

She makes a sound. “You sure?”

He, too, makes a sound, accompanied by him stepping closer, vanishing that distance between them. Roman’s hands move behind her, landing on her ass. “Very.”

Her palms rest on his chest, fingers crumpling the material of his black shirt. “So, what should we do?”

A deep chuckle as he squeezes her ass, Solana hissing in response. He smirks. “I think you know exactly what we should do.”

Her smile widens, and she wastes no time sliding her hands up and behind his neck, pulling down, smashing her lips onto his. Hungry, needy, desperate almost, kissing is always an art, a song and dance of sorts. Lips moving with equal fervor, hands grasping and exploring, groping. A moan into his mouth makes Roman’s dick jerk in his shorts. 

Backing and guiding her against the bed, he only allows a brief respite in their passionate makeup for Solana to push his shirt up his body, forcing him to rid himself of it entirely. Hazy, lustful eyes take in his shirtless frame, Solana’s short nails raking across his six pack. 

Roman’s jaw clenches as his wife starts to trail her lips down his chest, starting with his throat, moving downward. His eyes shut, head lolled back, only to stop when her fingers move to his waistband. He looks down, their eyes locking, his own lip darting out to wet his bottom lip.

Roman gently shakes his head, instead guiding her back up, his gaze darkening. “Need to taste you…”

Receiving is never an unpleasant time, but giving…giving is more for him than anything, and two days without any sort of sexual contact has Roman craving and borderline yearning. 

He needs her.

Solana steps back, mouth parted, eyes never leaving his. An undisturbed moment of locked eye contact, or it would be, but not for the fact that she reaches behind her back with both hands, his dick twitching once more watching the thin straps of her bikini top tumbling down, eventually falling to the floor. 

Salivation is the result of her breast, heavy, big, perfect, exposed to him. No time is wasted in Roman quickly pronouncing onto her, mouth latching onto her chocolate nipples. 

“Ro….” Solana’s moan is accompanied by her hand at the back of his neck, fingers undoing the hair tie, freeing his silky mane as he sucks on her breast. Her hand rakes through his hair, massaging his scalp the same way his free hand massages and kneads her other breast.

Roman has always been an attentive and appreciative lover, but her breasts have always seemed to sit high at the top of his adoration list. Feeling that building throbbing between her legs, she tugs his head back, her lips back on his as he hikes her up on his waist and leads them to the king size bed.

He lowers them both down at the same time, never once breaking their kiss even as his hands maneuver down her body, thick fingers peeling back the top of her bikini bottoms and dipping into that sacred space.

“Shit, baby,” he curses, fingers toying and playing with her slick. “Barely touched you…”

“It doesn’t take much,” is her sheepish reply, kissing the bridge of his nose as he teases a knuckle near her gushy, sensitive opening. “Ro…”

His gaze and voice deepen, fingers continuing to collect her arousal. Arousal that practically drips from that same finger he pulls from inside her and dips into his mouth. Her throat dries at the same time he asks, almost pained, “you gon’ let me eat it?”

Her answer is pushing his head down and inching up the bed to remove her bottoms. Roman’s smirk is hidden as he steals another opportunity to leave a trail of wet, open mouthed kisses down her warm body, hands squeezing the pudge of her stomach, path detoured only slightly as he kisses across the horizontal line of her C-Section scar. 

Solana licks her lips, reaching for the pillow behind her, her body lifted by those same strong hands as he tugs her bottoms off, ridding him of the only thing keeping him from his destination. 

And, finally, arrival. 

Solana learned a long time ago that Roman’s consistent, constant, overt willingness to go down on her is always about her pleasure, yes, but also, his as well. Countless sexual encounters marked by her literally having, or trying at least, to push him away as he continues to suck on her clit even as her body practically shakes from the intensity of her orgasm serving as all the data to support the undeniable truth. 

He’s a pleaser through and through, and even after so many years together, that hasn't changed.

“Baby…” Her head is thrusted back into the pillow, her fingers raking through his scalp, his hand placed on her stomach keeping her steady as he sucks, laps, and feasts on her like a man starved. 

And, in many ways, he most certainly is.

Solana struggles to keep her volume down, just the thought of any of her children knowing what’s happening between their parents a thing of parental nightmares. But, it’s difficult with how good he’s making her feel. How he always makes her feel.

“Roman, please—” She groans, body writhing and snaking, that same feeling bubbling and escalating. Overwhelming, tears pooling in her eyes as pulling him toward her shifts into her trying to inch away from him. A fruitless act. He only tugs her closer, the space between his mouth and her pussy nonexistent. If he’s drowning, it’s self-induced. 

Self harm. Or, self love.

Solana has to reach for one of the pillows behind her, using it as a barrier and holding space for the groan—and moan—that escapes her mouth as he evokes a soul snatching orgasm from her. The black and stars and kaleidoscope of colors is her only visible sight as she keeps that pillow over her face until she trusts herself enough to remove it. Until she’s certain her sounds of unadulterated pleasure remain within the safe confines of their probably-should-be-soundproofed-at-some-point bedroom.  

“Could never get tired of that.” Clearly. Solana lifts the pillow from her face just in time to feel his wet lips reversing his previous trail, another detour taken as he presses her big breast together, eyes lighting up like one of their children on Christmas morning. “So damn fine…”

Solana silences him by kissing him once more, moaning at the taste of herself on his full, swollen lips. She tugs his body against hers, fingers scrambling down to his waistband.

She gasps, his mouth moving from her mouth to that delicious, sensitive spot on her neck, sucking, leaving his mark, a reminder to all just who she belongs to.

Who she’ll always belong to.

His boxers are the next to go, Solana unsurprised at how he springs free with equal need. She palms him, pussy clenching at the feeling of him hot, heavy, and rock hard in her hand.

She strokes him, thumb ghosting over the tip of his thick dickhead, collecting the pre-cum already spilling over. He jerks in her palm as gentle caressing transitions into her jerking him. “Fuck, baby….”

“Exactly,” she breathes. Solana lifts her hand from him, feeling him against her inner thigh, to cup his face. Eyes locked, determined, unwavering, a simple request. “Fuck me, papi.”

It’s such a stark difference that she too struggles with processing. Just how once upon a time, so long ago, sex was a thing they constantly had to navigate together. Starting with working up to him touching her body to the constant requests for consent as they made love to doing so without the need for Solana to provide approval every step along the way. 

Over the years, their sex life has continued to evolve, grown stronger, somehow even better despite them not being as young as they used to be. And, that’s included the different type of sexual interactions. For the most part, Solana enjoys making love with her husband, missionary a position she could never tire of, that intimate, consistent eye contact as they become one. 

But, sometimes….sometimes, she doesn’t want that. Doesn’t necessarily need that. Sometimes….sometimes, she just wants to be fucked.

And, right now, that’s exactly what she wants. 

It’s something her husband doesn’t need to be told twice.

One minute he’s on top of her, the next, she’s on her hands and knees, Roman working to position her. 

His deep groan sounds from behind as he slaps her ass, Solana moaning and head lolling once more. “Look at all this ass.” Yet another moan from the feel of him jiggling her ass cheeks and dragging his massive dick up and down her slick opening. “How wet you are for me.” She gasps, the tip of him teasing her tight hole. “This all for me, pretty girl?”

“Always,” she whimpers, wiggling her ass against him. “Ro, please—”

Solana groans, fingers digging into the crumpled, wet, messy sheets underneath her as he gradually inches inside of her. “You want papi to fuck you?” 

“Yes, papi, please.” She’s not beyond begging, never will be when it comes to this. It’s too good. She spent too long being deprived of a happy, healthy sex life and to now have one with her better half means she’ll never be above anything that will keep and sustain that.

“Whatever makes my pretty girl happy.” Roman’s deep voice is tinged with desire and a hint of humor as he continues to work his big dick inside of her. “Shit,” he curses. “All these years, and you’re still so tight for me, sweetheart.”

Her response is to continue to push her ass back against him, wanting, needing all of him. It’s a stretch that will probably never go away but one she typically tends to crave when they go too long without this. Without being with him in this way. A sort of intimacy she once thought never attainable and now something that’s a regular.

“That’s it, baby,” he encourages, fully sheathed inside her. “So fucking beautiful…”

Praise and affirmation. A constant. Roman is many things with her, but it's especially in the bedroom where he always prioritizes her. Makes her feel special, cherished, wanted, and loved in a way that she can’t explain. Just knows it feels amazing. 

Just like the way he’s fucking into her.

“Just like that, Roman,” she moans, face into the pillow, a loud groan falling out her mouth. “Oh my God.”

His big hands remain planted on her hips as he drives into her. “Too much, baby?” A question that doesn’t require an answer, Roman intentionally slowing his thrusts. “Naw….I know exactly what my pretty girl can take, don’t I?”

She nods, already knowing almost immediately what’s gonna come. Roman jerks her up, her back against his chest, his dick digging deeper in her, prompting her jaw to slack, her pleasure extrapolating. 

Solana looks over her shoulder, holding onto his forearms, as her husband presses kisses alongside the side of her face. “You gotta talk to me, baby. Let me hear that sweet voice while I fuck this sweet pussy.” 

“I love it,” she moans, eyes fluttering, breathing against him. “I love you.” 

Because, she does. Because her life is exactly what it is now because of him. It’s all because of him, and there’s nothing she wouldn’t do for him, no depth of love that hasn’t been scaled or explored. It’s all there, every inch of it venturedand claimed. She loves him in every possible sense of the word, and nothing could ever change that. 

Ever.

A shared sentiment as he kisses her, sloppy, wet, perfect. “I love you, too, Sol. Always.”

They’d go longer if they could. One round was something that seemed inconceivable to her husband who’s always had the highest sex drive a person could have, but with several children, many of which still needing a lot of their attention, both Roman and Solana know it unwise to risk it.

They’ve already scarred their oldest children being exposed to adult time and would rather not add to the victim tally. It’s why afterwards, Solana is in her favorite non-sexually intimate position, her naked body sprawled across her husband’s, his hand moving up and down her back, soothing and comforting. 

His fingers occasionally brush atop the bottom of her lotus tattoo inked at the top of her back.. She still remembers the day she got it, the emotions that accompanied, before, after, and during. She also remembers the ambivalence experienced by her husband. Such a specific and impactful thing. His difficulty in fucking her from behind, a position they worked so hard to achieve, and seeing that tattoo. For her, a reminder of her perseverance. For him, a reminder of her violation.

It took time, but like most of the challenges they’ve encountered over many years of being together, it was something they worked through.

At this point in her life, Solana isn’t sure there’s not much they can’t work through. 

“You okay?” His deep voice breaks her from her thoughts. Solana lifts her head, continuing to trace the outlines of his tattooed chest. 

“Yeah,” she answers, kissing his pectoral muscle. “I’m good.” 

Better than that. Life has continued, for the most part, to be on the upward path for her, and it all started with the man underneath her. Her marriage to him ended up being the best thing ever for the both of them, opening the door and carving the path to the life they have and the beautiful family they’ve created. 

Family…

Solana would never tell him. She knows her dramatic ass husband would go onto a whole long rant, pacing across the floor, hand on his hip, demanding her to take a test to relieve him of his nerves. 

But, sometimes, especially near the end of the act, when he’s finishing inside her, as he always does, she thinks about it. Wonders. Imagines what it would be like if maybe, just maybe, they had another baby.

If Aroha had a sibling “closer” in age to her, a thought that’s almost immediately shot down by a variety of strong, logical reasons. The main being that that would only create yet another situation of their baby child having an age gap with the other siblings. Another baby would mean at least a seven year age difference between Aroha and her younger sibling. The smallest distance in ages compared to the other children.

Not to mention the selfishness that comes with that thought. Solana and Roman aren’t as young as they used to be. Far from it. Welcoming another baby in their forties and fifties just feels selfish, especially considering Roman’s borderline midlife crisis and that situation last year. It would be wrong to do that to him. 

Then there’s lunacy that is having another another child when they already have seven.

Seven.

But ultimately, the fact that almost seven years have passed without a pregnancy, Solana spending almost her entire thirties being pregnant and having the bulk of her children is confirmation enough that even if she did want to actually try for one last baby, her biological clock won’t allow it.

That time has come and passed.

Hence why it just remains a thought, a fleeting, maybe even silly little thought.

“Baby….” Pulled from her thoughts once more, she frowns seeing his partial scowl, the crinkle near his eyes, all telltales for when he’s deep in thought. “What were you going to say earl—”

“Move out my way big back!”

“Better than having them big ass ears like daddy!”

And just like that, the mood is entirely shifted with the sound of Aria and Lina from outside the safe confines of their bedroom. A small, amused smile on Solana’s face as Roman throws his head back against the pillow and pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Every single time.”

Leya’s shocked, disapproving gasp. “Sissy!”

Tama trying to play peacemaker, de-escalating what is a rarity. For the most part, Samaria gets along fine with her sisters, but when issues do arise, they’re typically between herself and Catalina. Mostly over Aria wanting to borrow Lina’s, well, anything. Solana would bet any money that’s what started the bickering. Aria asked to use something, and Lina said no. “Aye, ya’ll stop talking to each other like that, alright?”

Aroha’s sweet voice, partially muffled, most likely because she’s being held by Leya, face buried in her shoulder as she holds onto her big sister, still partially sleepy. “You’re gonna wake up mommy and daddy.”

Kai scoffs. “Like they’re sleep.”

“What else would they be doing?” Aria’s innocent question is met with silence followed by a set of mortified sounds.

Koa scoffs, audibly disgusted. “That’s so gross!”

Kai expresses agreement, her baby boy probably scowling, looking just like his daddy. “Aren’t there enough of us already?”

It’s almost comical to Solana how she can so clearly visualize the entire humorous scene without even seeing it unfold. Also, ironic words coming from her theatrical daughter. “You guys are so dramatic. Mommy and daddy are too old to have any more children.”

“But, not too old to fuck apparently—”

“Tamasa!” The sound of grunting, most likely from Lina punching him on his arm. 

And, then the worst thing ever, sweet Aroha asking with unalloyed innocence. “What does ‘fuck’ mean?”

At that, Roman snaps, breaking his silence, loud voice projecting past the barrier of the locked door. “Didn’t I tell ya’ll to stop cussing in front of your damn sister?” Solana presses her face into his chest, hiding her smile. An ironic statement.

A grumbled apology followed by snickering from her other kids.

“We’ll be out in a couple minutes, okay?” Solana also breaks her silence, offering what she knows is what has brought all of their children to their room. “And, yes, I’ll get started on dinner.”

Grumbling instantly shifts into sounds of relief and excitement, making her giggle.

Her kids are a hoot. 

But, she wouldn't have it any other way. She wouldn't have any of it any other way.

As the children start to disperse, the sound of Tama murmuring, most likely to Lina and Leya. “I thought sex drives were typically low in old people.”

"Tama!"

[lucidfairies]

ride it [a.a]

pairing: gymrat!abby x pilates princess!reader

synopsis: abby normally enjoys going to the gym alone, but on the rare occasion that you ask to come, she never passes it up. (based on a tiktok I reposted!!)

warnings: heavily self indulgent on the reader part and my gym experiences, poc friendly, not exactly smut but SUGGESTIVE, subby abby

"y/n, I'm going to the gym, be home later." abby yelled up the stairs, trying to get your attention from whatever you were working on up there.

"baby, can I come? I haven't gone in a while." you yelled back, hopping up from your spot on your guy's shared bed, quickly grabbing a workout set and stripping to get it on.

"if you change fast enough." she joked. the set was pink, just a bra and shorts, but it fit what you normally did at the gym, which was yoga or a pilates workout. it was nothing compared to abby, who did extensive lifting.

when you got downstairs, abby was leaning against the wall in a muscle tee and shorts, but her shirt happened to be pink as well. "we're matching." you grinned, pulling her attention from her phone as you gently pressed your hand to her chest, pushing up on your toes to kiss her softly.

the ride to the gym was relaxed; abby's hand gripping to your thigh as you hummed along to the songs on the radio and tried to find a good workout video.

the gym wasn't packed, which was good. you hated working out in front of other people, and you especially hated when other people looked at abby when you guys were working out together. "what are you working today?" you asked her as you walked in.

"legs. worst fucking day of the week." you rolled your eyes. "you should try some of the stuff I do. it could be fun, y'know?" you looked back at her as you opened the door to the locker room.

"abs... have you looked at your quads recently? I don't think I could do half the shit you do." abby grinned, like it was funny how much bigger she was compared to you.

"not with the same weight, dumbass. just the same exercise. please sweetheart, I promise it'll be fun." she tossed her bag in a locker with yours and locked it. you sighed.

"fine. but if I don't like it, I'm going back to what I had planned." abby grinned, grabbing your waist as you left the locker room.

you both warmed up on the treadmill, then she took you to various machines –the leg press, leg extension, hip abduction– and explained how to use them, then showed you while she did it. it was embarrassing how much weight you could do compared to her, but you couldn't quit now. you were almost having fun.

she brought you to the weight side of the gym, where most of the intense lifters went. that portion of the gym scared the shit out of you. she set up a bench and grabbed a bar, loading an obscene amount of weight onto it.

"these are called KAS hip thrusts, they work your glutes and stuff, I think." you stopped listening after that, consumed in the way she pulled the bar over her lap, held it in place, then thrust her hips up.

she did this every time she was at the gym? regardless of who was watching?

you couldn't tell how much weight was on each side, but that hardly mattered. you were spitting out words before you could even think of what you were saying. "you should do it with me on your lap." she set the weight down and looked up at you, cheeks rosey.

"baby.. I- uh, what if people watch?" she was a stuttering mess, at the thought of doing that to you in public. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad, but it would certainly get her worked up, that's for sure.

"what if?" you shrugged. abby complied, obviously, who is she to say no to you, and pushed the bar off of her lap, letting it roll forward.

you straddled her, legs on each side as she pressed her hands behind her head. "you got it, baby." your voice was low, attempting to throw her off her game. it did. she forgot for a moment what she was supposed to be doing until you raised your eyebrow, expediently.

abby's hips rose in the air, bringing you up with them, then slowly dropped, controlled. every time she lifted her hips, your ass pressed perfectly against her clit, and she was getting wetter by the rep. "shit, baby." abby groaned, keeping her hands locked behind her head so she didn't take you right now.

"c'mon abs, just a few more for me." you didn't know how many reps she did for this particular exercise, but four was hardly enough. you placed your hands gingerly under her shirt, just tracing lightly with your nail.

her hips stuttered, surely almost dropping you, but she kept going. when she finally got to her max raps, her hips fell roughly, and she panted, head in the crook of your neck and she tried to calm herself.. and her clit. "put your things away and meet me in the locker room shower." you smirked and stood up, leaving her wet and bothered.

safe to say she fucked you good after that.

tag list: @baumbii @tlouadditc @abbysvictim

[plotsignificanthaircut555]

Bereavement I Widow!reader x Nanami

Part One of six: Clock In.

Handling your late husband's estate leaves you little time to grieve. As does the six month back log of evidence you had compiled of his affair with his assistant. Six months ago you had lost him to the arms of another, one month ago you lost him to the hands of death. Both losses weigh your scales back and forth in a turbulent, nauseating haze. In your haze you find yourself across the table from Kento Nanami, his financial planner, sorting out the sizable estate left behind.

WC: 8.9k Masterlist ao3 Ko.fi

Warnings-- discussions of loss and grief, depressive tendancies, signs of obsessive tendancies, infidelity, grief/mourning, minor manga spoilers, pre-shibuya, eventual smut, kissing, masturbation, fingering, mentioned Yu Haibara, Satoru Gojo, Hiromi Higuruma, body worship, oral, weird girl behavior, grief makes you do weird stuff, so does depression, monotony in general is painful.

Nanami had a first meeting with a new client today. Despite how much he hated his job, he knew it was important to make a good first impression. He needed the clients to trust him, believe that their money was going to be taken care of, and their future was in capable hands. He considered his hands to be immensely capable, beyond them being trained specifically to protect the general public at one time, he simply didn’t care enough to screw over clients for the sake of company profit. He wore his nicest suit, clean and pressed to perfection himself that morning, a crispy white button up and red tie. He stepped out of the elevator, onto the office floor, and found his boss grinning, leaning against Nanami’s cubicle desk. 

“Big meeting today, Nanami!” He chattered, while Nanami set his things in their waiting, open spots he had left the night before. Briefcase to the left of his chair, laptop placed center, even with the edge of the desk but two inches back, office phone on the right, lamp on the left. 

His boss was still talking, “it may seem a little simple for a guy of your talents, but the client’s a bit---

Nanami’s eyes flicked upward. 

“-- of a piece of work.” 

Nanami’s jaw clicked, how disrespectful. 

He had read over the file last night before he went home. It was a bereavement portfolio, a combination of life insurance, dissolving and reallocating a trust in the name of the deceased as well as the substantial results of a wrongful death lawsuit, or well, the out of court settlement garnered after threatening to sue for wrongful death. Apparently the deceased had recently started a new medication that ended up not working as intended and gave the estate enough leverage to scare the manufacturers, the doctor, and the pharmacy.  Nanami had read the letter from the attorney’s office, it had been brutal, they had left nothing to chance. This lawyer, Higiruma, was a real shark. 

To call a grieving widow a piece of work was deplorable, but exactly the type of behavior he had come to expect from his floor manager. Who was apparently still talking:

“Talk to her about the stock options, okay. Start little and see if she takes the bait. I’m sure hubby handled most of their finances, she won’t know what’s up or down. It’s a, forgive my language, a fuck load of money were talking about. You play this right and not only does the company profit, but you could be in talks to join the big dogs.” He grabbed the back of Nanami’s neck in some kind of gesture of man-to-man camaraderie that he never truly understood and certainly didn’t value.

It was twenty two steps to the bathroom, thankfully he hadn’t gotten his hands on his jacket collar, so all he would have to do was clean the back of his neck. 

“Handsome guy like you, she won’t even be paying attention.” He let go of Nanami’s neck, “I’m counting on you!”

Finally the floor manager passed into his own office. Nanami cringed and cocked his neck, still feeling the disgusting touch of that man’s fingers on his skin. It was 8:07, he had exactly twenty-three minutes until the meeting was set to begin. He had booked the smallest conference room, it only had one window on the dividing wall, and the rest was enclosed. He wanted the space to feel private, where the widow could feel enabled to both grieve and discuss the logistics frankly without feeling as though she was on display.

 The crawling feeling at his neck was becoming overwhelming, he made his way to the mens room, wet a paper towel and swiped at his neck, the cool water soothing his growing rage. Water had always been soothing to him, the shower, the bath, a cool rag over his screen exhausted eyes, a warm rag on his head when he was sick, the ocean. He sighs in the sterile restroom, the ocean. The smell of salt and sun, the feeling of salt binding and crusting in his hair, the sun on his face and shoulders. Suits didn’t do well in the sun, he would have to leave them behind. Opting for more colorful, free form styling, something loose and flowy that would catch the coastal breeze and tickle the sides of his hips. He opened his eyes and met the stare of his reflection. 

Not yet. 

By every metric he had made plenty of money, but not enough to never work again. For a while last year he was toying with the idea of opening a bar or bookshop in whatever beach town he would find himself in, but even the thought of the processes necessary to open and run a business brought hives to his neck. One more swipe of the towel across the memory inflamed skin and then over his face, folded again so as to keep the contaminate off. He took a deep breath and steeled himself to rejoin his peers in the office halls. 

He had taken to preparing the room at 8:20, setting his computer, the printed copies of the to be accrued assets both liquid and non; a few dossiers of the stock option offered by the company, their individual projected investment gains, the prospective retail prices of property etc. He went back and forth a few times in his own mind but opted to bring in a box of tissues placed on the other side of the paperwork. Close enough to be available but not an assertion that emotion is expected. He hoped it would be thoughtful. Or at least benign and easy to ignore if it wasn’t useful. He pulled out his own and the chair caddy-corner to his, an open invitation to sit down. The room was set, he had a few minutes left until the client was set to arrive, so he took a short walk over to the break area’s kitchenette to make a coffee. He poured his own, letting the sound of draining liquid fill his ears before adding a half packet of sugar and stirring it. The numbers from the settlement  ran through his mind. It was a bizarre amount of money, even without the settlement there would have been more than enough money to live the rest of any human lifetime in absolute decadence. Wasting away on a beach, or in the mountains, secluded and isolated. Expensive meals, the finest linens, endless books for a never ending vacation. A life of relaxation. He sighed away the envy, the coffee’s steam giving a tangible symbol through which to watch the fantasy leave him.  That life would never be his. 

He left the kitchenette and made his way back to the conference room, only to see a figure seated inside. He was well acquainted with the silhouette of everyone who worked on his office floor, which ones to avoid, which ones would be innocuous in his periphery working alongside them, which ones had children they just begged to tell him about, which ones were on projects he worked on as well. But this one. He knew he had never seen this particular silhouette before. The hair neatly styled up into a sleek classic style, showcasing the back of their neck, shapely and long. A clean, well tailored blazer, dark in color as was most appropriate for the circumstances. The chair underneath covered the rest of the mirage before him, his throat felt parched, the coffee in his hand felt cold and absent. Or maybe he had gone numb. He pulled himself together in a snap, lamenting his momentary loss of composure. He cleared his throat, took a deep breath and entered the conference room. 

You stood as he entered, offering a respectful bow. 

“Mrs. Kubota, it is nice to make your acquaintance. I am Kento Nanami, I was your husband’s financial planner. I am sorry for your loss, and I do regret the circumstances which have brought you here.” Nanami extended his hand for a formal shake. 

Which you obliged, taking his hand before sitting down once again, “My maiden name is fine, thank you. I have more condolences than I know what to do with, yours are appreciated but unnecessary.”

He nodded, appreciative of your pragmatism. It had been a few days over a month and a half since your husband had passed, and your candor towards not wanting to be fretted over was admirable. But there was an undercurrent of something. Kento took his seat across from you, and could see the dark shadows under your eyes. He wondered if you were sleeping properly. If you still slept in the bed you once shared, relegated to the side that had been yours, not yet taking the realestate now opened to you. He saw the end of your nose was raw, a slight sniffle twitching it every once in a while. He wondered when the tears had fallen. In the elevator, in the car ride over, in the mirror this morning?

“We have quite a lot to go over, can I get you a water or a coffee?” He offered, gesturing to his own beverage. 

“A coffee, thank you.” You seemed to relax in your chair a bit, your reed straight posture not faltering but taking on a feeling of ease. 

He stood again, a bit too fast, his knee almost hitting the table’s edge, “Cream?”

“No, thank you.” You were observing him so closely, he felt caught somehow, “Just one sugar please.” 

He nodded and excused himself out of the room and back to the kitchenette. Once he was gone, you sighed into the chair. Resting your head back against the cushioned edge. You didn’t want to be here. No one wants to be here. When you had gotten married twelve years ago, you never could have anticipated the drab, clinically modern interior of this office, the mountains of logistical work that followed your husband’s death. The endless phone calls with family members, friends, acquaintances, coworkers, and grief counselors. Family members offering to come and ‘help keep the house while you are distracted’, were all declined. They had all been from his family, who had never been particularly fond of you, and were now trying to save face or, more likely, make sure you weren’t planning something catastrophic with his inheritance. No, your inheritance now. You had to remember that this money was yours now, you were entitled to it, and you had to feel that ownership, or the sharks around you would smell the blood before you touched even a cent.

Fuck, this was so much harder than you thought. You weren’t a cold, clinical woman, you were emotional and romantic and you had loved him. You had loved him, right? Even at the end, with the lying and the staying out too late and finding those charges, you loved him. Right?

The bookkeeper entered the room again, setting a ceramic mug of coffee, still steaming in front of you. His own had been in a paper cup, it was odd--maybe generous--that yours was presented differently. 

“I wasn’t sure which kind of sugar you liked so I brought one of each.” He had placed each pastel colored packet along the lip of the saucer that held the mug. 

You selected your favorite and tore it open, the rip splitting the silence in the small, dark room. You stirred it with the provided spoon and took a sip, the best an office can offer, which was less than you were used to, but the warm liquid chased the chill from your arms. 

“Mrs. Kubota--er, Sorry.” He corrected himself as you set the cup down, “You are more than well aware I am sure of the substantial inheritance both from the life insurance and from the wrongful death settlement. Your lawyer has done great work to insure that all of you and your husband’s assets will be absorbed under your name. You will be inheriting quite an impressive sum.” 

You nodded, “Yes, were it not for the loss of my husband, I would be tempted to call myself fortunate.” 

You didn’t care for the implication that people’s voices carried when they spoke to you about his death these days. Perhaps it was just because these logistical types could barely speak past the drool in their mouths when they scanned over the numbers on the page. It was true his family had been exorbitantly wealthy, and his own work had garnered more and more success for their business. But you had borne the burden of that your whole relationship with him. Coming from a regular working class family, the expectation was that you were some gold digging black widow that was only with him to secure your financial future of being a lavish layabout trophy wife. You had spent the last decade working to change your family's perception of you, and the untimely death of your husband, completely out of the blue, only made everyone more suspicious of you. You hadn’t yet confided in anyone about your trouble fitting in among them, or how fruitless it all felt toward the end. 

“I didn’t mean to imply. I’m sorry for my poor choice of words.” Nanami’s voice clipped through your spiral, “With a sum of money this size, it could be wise to invest. There would be very little risk to your financial future, and you could earn even more passively. Allowing you to continue whatever endeavors you saw fit, Travel, art collection, you could start your own business.”

“As you say it is substantial, I would rather not continue the expansion of my family’s wealth if I can help it.” 

“Well, it would be your wealth to…expand. The money in his possession was his own, not the money tied up in the company, that of course, returns to the company. But the will was very clear, all assets in his name will be redistributed to you and any of your children. Seeing as there are no children, this money is completely yours, to do whatever you like with.” 

You nodded, “Right.”

You weren’t interested in whatever commission earning this company may be after. Your husband had chosen this financial advisement team with the instruction influence of your mother in law. You didn’t care about investing, you knew exactly why you were here, and it was burning through the lining of your jacket pocket at the moment. Finally, you couldn’t wait any longer. 

“Mr. Nanami, I am not interested in investment. You were my husband’s financial advisor, were you not?” 

Kento’s eyebrows twitched inward for just a moment before he remembered himself. 

“Yes. One of them.” 

“And he sought your guidance on managing his personal expenses?” 

“To a certain degree.” He nodded, feeling himself becoming confused. “Our firm primarily handles the building of trusts and acquisitions of real estate or businesses.” 

Finally you retrieved the trifolded credit card statements for the last six months of your husband’s life that you had put safely in your purse as you left your apartment this morning. The ones you had been collecting, highlighting, photocopying, agonizing over since the first one came in. You carefully unfolded, gently unstacked, and set out in perfectly aligned order along the length of the table. 

June had been the dinner for two at the Michelin star restaurant you had tried to get him to make a reservation for for the previous Valentine’s day. 

And the bottle of champagne you hadn’t seen any sign of. 

July had been the necklace

A jeweler you recognized but wasn’t one of your favorites, but he happened to be fond of. 

Invoices from florists. 

Chunks of money, sizable enough for either dates, shopping trips, whatever they had been, you never saw. 

August had been the tickets to Macau, for a ‘business trip’ of course. 

It was normal, expected even, for personal assistants to stay in the adjoining room. How else would she have been able to keep him on schedule? 

And the car he had bought for her that same month was a company expense, it was allegedly easier than compensating her mileage, and he couldn’t rely on the train to get her to work on time. 

And of course his brother didn’t know anything about the meeting because he oversees a completely different department.

He started sleeping in the guest room.  

September had been slower. You suspected this was him laying low after his missteps in August. 

There was only the lingerie. Upon finding this charge you were motivated to find the order specifics through his email. It was a beautiful set. Part of you wanted to believe this could be an apology, but it hadn’t even been your size.  

October had another trip, this time he at least had the good sense to recruit some people you would have called friends to make it feel believable. 

Those same colleagues would later speak so highly of him at the funeral. Lauding his loyalty and reliability, and his unending dedication. 

November was busy, dinner dates, the opera, luxury goods masquerading as potential incoming christmas presents. 

He slept in your room a few nights as a trial run. 

Until you found the open credit line only accessible through a number you didn't recognize. 

He would never move back into the bedroom you shared together. The room stood untouched since he left it last.The door remained closed, the last hands to touch the knob his own. 

You couldn’t go inside. 

He died in December. Leaving an apartment building you had never been to, the last person to see him was his assistant. Who conveniently lived right upstairs. 

She hadn’t attended the funeral but whispers of her name echoed and were hushed away whenever you approached the huddled mourners. 

You weren’t a stupid woman, you knew what infidelity looked like.  When he started coming home later and later you praised his dedication to work. Especially when he would tell you he was working through the night and would try and catch a few weary hours of shut eye in his office. You still believed your marital vows were intact, despite how scripted every excuse filled phone call felt. It wasn’t until Macau that you even spoke to anyone about your suspicions. After their his plane had taken off, not so much as an invitation extended your way, you called his younger brother. Who hadn’t apparently known anything about a company merger occurring with a synonymous firm overseas. 

You hadn’t thought you married a stupid man, you had expected him to cover his tracks better. To his credit, the two occasions you had peeked at his phone, his call history had been unsuspicious and his messages to his assistant were professional, and even a little boring. In his absence, left to speculate in your once shared apartment for hours on end, you came to realize he likely had a second phone. One that would make itself known in a small fee each month until you found it and shut it down. 

Whatever, let the plan lapse, the money wouldn’t be noticed anyway. 

Laying the bank statements across the table, with your thorough annotations, the table looked like a conspiracy board. If there were any room in your heart alongside the bubbling betrayal and rage, you could have felt embarrassed. You watched Nanami scan over the documents as a whole. You watched his eyes look up to meet yours, his mouth open to say something that never emerged, before taking the left-most statement, June, in his hand and bringing it closer to read. You didn't sit, your knees trembled but never buckled. You weren’t afraid, you were energized. Vibrating with a bizarre amalgam of relief and sorrow. You never confide in anyone about your husband's infidelity. No family of your own, anymore, no friends you thought would support you through the divorce process, and the overbearing weight of betrayal and grief had poisoned you steadily over the course of this last year. 

Kento read each one carefully, taking special interest in your handwritten marginalia detailing the dates and citing the staple attached references to order pages and invoices. You had been incredibly meticulous with your record keeping. Every questionable charge back tracked to the origin of purchase and to its equally salacious delivery. Addresses not in your or his name. PO boxes, hotel rooms, short lived open and shut credit lines. It was…flagrant. 

As he finished the November statement, Kento set it down just where you had originally, as though it was magnetized to the exact spot. It felt like touching an artifact in a museum, the outline of dust waiting to be covered once again by the shadow of history and story that the papers held. 

“This is…” His throat was hoarse as he struggled to find the right word, “glaring.”

You, still standing, nodded, “Did you know?” 

He looked up to you, feeling suddenly small in his office chair, swallowed by the dark office around him, “No.” 

You looked for any sign of doubt, “At least that makes me no longer the last one to find out.” 

You finally took your seat again, the burden of truth taken from your weary shoulders. You had expected some sign of recognition, some familiarity to betray itself across the stony face of the man in front of you, but there had been nothing. Watching his expressions page after page, there was no tell of pre-existing knowledge. 

“Had you spoken to him about these?” Nanami asked, eyes still scanning over the table strewn with dirty laundry. 

“Yes, we had an infidelity clause in our prenuptial agreement. He knew that if I could prove it, I would get half of everything. The company, the houses, the inheritance, even the trusts. He told me it was over in August, but he admitted to the affair. He promised me that was the end of it, that we could go to counseling. That he would change, that he…” Your voice tipped you off to the tears welling in your eyes before you felt their sting, “I knew he was lying. And when he left again in October, with his friends, I knew. I tried to call her at the office and they said she was on leave due to a death in her family. How convenient. And ironic, looking back.” 

A sick chuckle left you before you could catch yourself. Nanami couldn’t find it in himself to blame you. Your lawyer had copies of everything, filed cleanly in a manilla folder marked with your married name. A folder that had been added to while your husband was still alive, a back up plan if things progressed more.

“There is a certain expectation of confidentiality that is appealing to our clients here. Non disclosure agreements, privacy laws, it's all very…bureaucratic. Many clients have similar discrepancies in their financial portfolios that, if they were catalogued, I imagine would bring about the same conclusions. I won't pretend that this is uncommon, or that your trepidation in bringing them forward is unwarranted. But,” He leaned across the table, “I find myself at times struggling to hold my tongue, when spouses come to me directly.” 

You looked at him a moment, trying to figure out what inside of him motivated this admission of knowing passivity. As though him admitting that this is something that happens, would be any boone to your opinion of him. 

“Do you tell them?” You didn’t want to play office drama anymore, a headache was beginning to bloom behind your eyes.  

“No, the closest I have come is flagging purchases as potential fraud enough times that they can put it together themselves and can keep them on hand, just as you have. But, it’s never…come to fruition, at least that I have seen .” He felt guilty that he couldn’t say he had done more. 

He should have done more. 

Part of the reason he hated this job so much was the type of people that he had to service. Liars, gluttons, cheaters, lecherous fat cats that cared only for their own whims. His boss had been conducting an affair for over five years, one that Nanami had turned a blind eye to. One of many, that he had decided were not his place, despite any personal disgust he allowed. The shame of those choices burned his throat sitting before you. 

The parallel burn in your throat was not shame, it was disgust. Disgust at the seemingly endless system of men who would protect each other through anything, no matter the costs. Even this phallic building standing tall and at attention served as a perfect symbol of the passive patriarchal assertion that men will keep their secrets for each other, weighing them out perfectly against their own sins and finding the scales too level to intervene. Were they all so callus, so loyal to their sex that they couldn't break for even a moment? For even the sanctity of marital vows? 

Pathetic. 

“Is that supposed to make you better than them?” You cocked your head, “Because you know about it, and how wrong it is? You still do nothing. You still don’t care about the wives. You think flagging a few missed anniversaries or ill-given gifts makes you some kind of hero?”

“I didn’t mean to--”

“ I’m sure you didn’t. Because you are a coward just like the rest of them. If anything, you’re worse. Clearly you have some kind of conscience that you choose to ignore, to what? Work here? Pay for your own affair? Excuse your own greed?” 

You sat silently, eyebrows raised in waiting to see if more excuses could be roused to fill the space you let open. But he said nothing. He would say nothing more. 

“Dissolve the trust, reallocate it into a savings account under my name alone.” You stood and began to collect the annotated bank statements from the desk, “From there I will redistribute to various humanitarian organizations that I see fit, with no influence from this company or the Kubota family. Or from you, whatever bankroll you were on from my husband died with him, do you understand?” 

This disdain in your voice was palpable, filling the room with an invisible sludge of hate for every foot that crossed this wretched building's threshold. Still, you continued:

“All I require from you will be a comprehensive breakdown of the remaining assets, and acknowledgement  that when the dissolution is complete, the partnership between the remaining Kubota’s and myself will be nullified and my personal involvement with your services will be over. I see no reason this should take more than the remaining days of this week, but from what I understand to be your pay cycles and commission earning spots are, I will give you until the thirty-first of March to complete the severance of assets. Any contact or input you require from me will be conducted through my attorney, with whom you are already acquainted.”

You stacked your brought papers neatly, edges aligned, corners met, before folding them along the tri-folded seams and sliding them carefully back into your pocket. 

“Wait, please.” Nanami stood, trying to preserve…something…do something to…atone, maybe, “Mrs.—er Miss—“

Without thinking he reached for your hand, his fingers barely brushed the joint of your wrist before you pulled it away. 

“I don’t think it's necessary for us to continue speaking. Surely if you have held your tongue this long, you won't mind continuing.” the look in your eyes was haunting, embers of fury trapped behind the iris, Nanami felt himself still, “Am I understood, Mr. Nanami?”

Wordlessly, he nodded. 

You turned and left the conference room, the cup of coffee nearly completely full sat no longer steaming where you had left it. 

You hadn’t raised your voice at anyone since he died. He was the last person you had fought with. Every day since his death your voice felt like it no longer belonged to you. Or at least could no longer be swayed by your emotions. When you were sad enough to feel your body was made of cement, your voice never wavered. When you spoke at the funeral, although briefly, your voice remained steady. You began to wonder if you could emote at all anymore. All your emotions and attempts at explaining them felt the same, this bizarre numbness that filled you completely had coated your vocal cords and now operated them for you like hammers in one of those self-playing pianos. Programmed to emulate the sound of human speech, over and over, but holding no real feeling.

 In the office you had felt more emotion than you had in nearly two months. Confusing swirls of frustration and nausea that all covered something more brutal. The sorrow, the crushing, aching, never ending sorrow. Your heart was lead, it barely beat. Your feet could barely be moved, they were too structural, it would risk collapse to step. Your eyes were boulders moving only when demanded. Even your hair pulled your neck down, be it onto the pillow, the car headrest, or the surface of the dining room table.  

Exactly the position you were in now. One cheek pressed onto the once cool surface of the hard mahogany table in your dining room, back slouched over its dark grain, hands falling limply at your sides, eyes locked on the venetian plaster walls. At one point you had thought they looked dynamic and expressive. But now it looked splotchy and unfinished. Dirty even.

You hated this room. But you couldn’t leave it. You hated this apartment. But where would you go?

Technically in a month’s time you would have more than enough resources to start over. You could go anywhere in the world, you could spend the rest of your life traveling with no responsibilities or ties anywhere. 

God that sounded lonely. 

But maybe that was what the rest of your life would be. It was part of marrying young, you knew it when you did it. You spent less time socializing, which meant you didn’t have a lot of chances to make new friends. And it became harder and harder to socialize outside of the pair of you.You had once thought of yourself as so lucky to have found the person you wanted to be with forever so young. But over the years you began to feel like an extension of him rather than a person yourself. You began to dread attending events alongside him, feeling the glaring lack of personage with which you were met draining. So eventually in the last ten years you had stopped trying. And now here you are, alone. No husband to be identified as an accessory of, no family to emphasize the marital status which landed you among them. Still your once marital status would follow you in its place. 

 Widowed. 

You are a widow now. You would never not be a widow ever again. You had felt an inverse sublime feeling when you had been married. Although those days it felt best expressed through the phrase “you’re married now! And you’ll never have to be alone again.” And now the phrase “you’ll never not have been married, ever again” felt more earnest. 

What time is it? 

The sun had probably set, the room was dark, but it had always been pretty moody. Thick curtains drawn to give it a dramatic, intimate feel. Your headache from this morning was still mumbling behind your forehead. A rolling thunder above the diamond enough to bring caution to the umpire, but not enough to cancel the game. Your aching back pulled your body forward, arching and straining like an overloaded fishing rod. You sat up, checking your thin banded watch. 

7:27 PM.

You groaned, dissappointed by it still being a time in which saying fuck it and just going to bed felt pathetic. If it had been even one hour later you would have done exactly that. Instead you felt the hot, acrid gurgle of shame rise in your throat. Your husband's infidelity had not been the fault of the man who sat across from you today in the conference room. He said himself that he didn’t know anything about it. From what he had said his involvement in your finances had been primarily investment, not day to day. And yet you had launched more anger at him than anyone else. You knew it wasn’t right, per say, but, you couldn’t deny that there had been something intoxicating about yelling at him. It felt cathartic to blame someone for something as unpredictable as a spontaneous death, timed in cruel serendipity around the revelation of adultery. Something so brutal and random and intangible, something where you couldn’t blame him for dying, because it was completely by chance, but you couldn’t be angry with him for cheating either, because he died. 

That bastard really got off easy. Fuck. 

You had been stuck in the loop for so long now the anger had nowhere to go. You didn’t have any interest in directing it toward the mistress. While she knew, obviously, he was married and she should have known better. She was too young to really understand, fresh out of university and painfully, frustratingly naive. You certainly didn’t feel bad for her, losing her lecherous boyfriend and all, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do any of the rom-com revenge movie antics that you sometimes wondered about. It didn’t seem worth the energy. You would be more than fine to just pretend she, specifically, didn’t even exist and that the adultery had occurred in some kind of vacuum. 

You didn’t care to confront his brothers, either, the ones who had begrudgingly embraced you, then lied to your face. The ones who knew everything and stayed quiet. You had wanted to scream at them, make them feel how you felt. But you knew it wouldn’t have worked. You can’t instill this numbness in another person. It’s far too organic. 

Mr. Nanami had become the perfect target for the anger that could go nowhere else. Despite his lack of involvement, earlier this afternoon in a millisecond decision you made him into the sole inheritor of your own misery. It wasn’t fair. But you couldn’t quite come to regret it entirely, there was something so good about releasing all of this frustration. The gratingly monotonous logistical proceedings, the meetings with Hiromi, the funeral arrangements, the calls from doctors detailing the genetic components of what had taken his life as if you had any children to make aware of it, the financiers, the property managers calling to see about their contracts, endless fucking pedantic organization had robbed you of space to grieve properly. You wanted to yell at every single one of them, but you didn’t. 

So you had just yelled at him. And he…took it. He didn’t seem perturbed at being spoken to so informally and cruelly, just…concerned, maybe? You had felt the most this afternoon than you had in months. You had already been mourning when the emergency services called you that night, you had been mourning for half a year. The relationship you once had, the marriage that you had once been so grateful for. But the grief, the grief was still waiting in the wings for room to consume you. The numbness and the anger were taking up too much space inside of you, it couldn’t find the room.

It was wrong, nonetheless. You can’t use other people as catharsis, it isn’t fair. Especially not with something so personal. Mr. Nanami was not your husband, nor was he one of his brothers, or the doctors, or your mother in law, or the friends who called or friends who didn't, or the flowers that were delivered regularly but now dispensed their saccharine sweet rot into the air of your kitchen. He was just a man. A man you were now scapegoating to relieve yourself of the pain you would have forever, even if just for a moment. He didn’t deserve it. You didn’t know him from Adam but you were sure he was a fine enough man who just wanted to do his job. 

You pulled your laptop to you from the side of the table, opening it and logging in. Your email opened automatically, the blue-white light straining your aching eyes. You should take one of those sleeping pills the doctor gave you. It had been a big day already. The email open on your screen was the confirmation email sent to you by Mr. Nanami yesterday morning, confirming the time of your meeting, the address of the office, and your parking validation. You read it over again, it was incredibly traditional. Likely some template that he had made to fill in for appointment confirmations, but your eyes wandered to the little circle icon next to the subject line. You clicked. It expanded. There he was. 

You had been laser focused this morning, well, as focused as you could manage to be in the foggy state you were often in these days. Let's call it, fine mist diffuser focus, one with one of those nozzles you can make bigger or smaller depending on room size. You had been so diffuser-focused on the bank statements that you hadn’t taken much time to really look at him. Beyond when he was reading them, waiting for a tell of recognition to reveal itself. Studying his micro expressions as he read over the papers you should have noticed the fine, angular lines of his face. The sharp line of his nose, the high cheek bones hollowed to meet a strong, square jaw. He was an incredibly proportionate man, thin, shapely lips, the color a bit too close to the skin, betraying how well defined they really were. But his eyes struck you. His expression was completely neutral in what you assumed was a work ID photo, but his eyes seemed to be looking right into you. A light, suede brown, like a perfectly risen, deliciously proofed loaf of sourdough bread. Dark bags hung under them, the ones you had seen in person were worse. But the shadows contrasted the golden brown making them appear to shine. He was handsome, very handsome. 

On reflex your heart pulled and your brain kicked you for even thinking so. The loop of shame and confusion starts again, pulling you along. 

You are a married woman. No. You were a married woman. You are a grieving woman. You are someone’s wife. No. You were someone’s wife. You are--. You…

You are-------fuck----You…fuck you. 

Who are you even supposed to be now? You crumbled against the table in a pile of arms. Hot tears burned your eyes and fell freely. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. Everything felt wrong, you didn’t know what mattered anymore. None of the titles you once held so close fit anymore. You didn’t know what promises to keep, which ones to allow to fall away, what--if any--expectations stood before you. When you looked up from the table and back at your computer, you met Mr. Nanami’s eyes again. A flash of today in the office came to you, the same eyes but blown wide, reading over what had been done to your marriage. You should at least apologize. You looked at the clock on your computer screen. 

7:37 PM

He would surely be out of the office by now, but he would see a message tomorrow morning. You typed out an email quickly, read it over and hit send before your better judgement could kick in. 

Mr. Nanami, 

I would like to extend an apology for the way I spoke to you this morning. My behavior was inappropriate and frankly it was unfair. I did not mean to implicate you in my husband’s infidelity, and I regret doing so. I hope you can understand how it feels, losing your grasp on grief at what seems like the worst moment. But, that does not make what I did okay. 

 Thank you for your work over the years and your continued work for the remainder of the settlement. 

If possible, I would like a chance to apologize in person. Could I treat you to lunch tomorrow? I understand it is unorthodox, but my behavior this morning was unorthodox as well. I find unusual problems can sometimes require unusual solutions. 

You sighed out once it was sent. The inside of your cheek was swollen where you held it between tight molars as you typed. The pulse in your head, adrenaline temporarily lifted, returned and had now become a drumline. The bottle of sleeping medication was calling to you from your nightstand drawer. It didn’t matter that the clock had just barely passed the hour, you were going to bed. Unshowered, unceremoniously, it was time. It didn’t matter anyway, you hadn’t regularly shared a bed in months. The only filth on your sheets would be your own.

 You stood on sore, fatigued legs, pushing back your chair, not caring to realign it with the table’s edge as you once would have. It no longer mattered if the place was nice or put together. The team of cleaners would come and fix it. You had once been uncomfortable hiring people to clean up your messes, but now it didn’t matter at all. None of that life mattered anymore. Turning away to cross out of the room, you hear a faint chime. You stopped, turning back to the still lit screen. A new email. You huddled over the screen, reading too many words in the wrong order at once. Eyes jumping all over the response in search of confirmation. 

Please do not feel as though an apology is necessary. You have not wronged me in any way, nor have you hurt any feelings. I understood, and continue to understand the position you are in. I won't pretend to know how it must feel, but any empathetic mind can surmise the amount of strain you are under. For that I am sorry. 

While an in person apology is not needed, I accept your invitation. There are a few more questions that were left unanswered this morning that I would like to circle back to. I would be willing to extend my work into my lunch time hour if it would not be too much of an imposition to you. 

How is 12:30? There is a patisserie and deli I enjoy near to the office, if you wouldn’t mind coming back to this side of town? 

Awaiting your answer, 

Kento Nanami. 

You read it again. And again. You looked at the sender’s email, then back at the message. You read it one more time. 

You hadn’t expected this so quickly. And so thoughtfully. You had been so rude to him and he returned with nothing but understanding. Who the hell was this guy? What was his problem? You had spent the last month talking to similarly imposing job titled men, all of whom had to actively fight their fear that you would cry in front of them, only to then struggle to hide their confusion when you didn’t. You hadn’t anticipated this level of compassion, especially not from the previous email exchanges you had had. They were brief and deeply professional. No personality or attempts to be jovial, just purely informational. Perhaps after meeting him, being able to hear the voice writing the email made it clearer to you, giving way to his stoicism and sensitivity to feel balanced and apparent, without being forced. 

You pictured him sitting in a dark office, the light of his computer screen highlighting the sharp angles of his face. Blonde hair falling from its neat style, chunky silver watch, you didn’t realize you had noticed, ticking away far from the end of the work day. Feeling sad for him still working, you typed out a quick reply. 

You’re working late. I hope they pay you overtime. Thank you for your understanding. 12:30 is great, feel free to bill me for working you outside of your hours. 

I’ll see you then. 

You hesitated briefly, pinky finger hovering above the enter key. Was this message too casual? It was late, so maybe there was no reason to be as formal as you would be? However the lateness of the hour could require more care on your end to avoid seeming overly casual. 

Whatever. He said he was “awaiting an answer”, you didn’t want to hold him up any longer. You hit send. 

You let out a huff, excitement and guilt swirling together in your chest, making you remember your aching head. It was time to go to bed, you shut your laptop, pulled yourself through the central room of the apartment and into your bedroom. You were too tired to think about the guest room, you passed the door without stopping in front of it and wondering if you could push yourself to enter. You stripped your clothes off and let them fall at your feet, not bothering with pajamas, climbing into your large, empty bed. Finding the prescription in your nightstand you took one and swallowed it down with the stale water beside your bed. 

Did you put it there last night? Or the night before? 

It didn’t matter. Surely it was psychosomatic but feeling the pill descend your throat, you began to feel the sleep take you. 

Kento sat in the conference room after you left for a while. Weighing out what he should have done, what he did do, what you said, and how it all leveled on an elaborate mental scale, trying to figure out exactly how badly he screwed up. He felt so much sadness in his chest, it pulled his sternum down toward his pelvis, he had to fight to stay sitting straight. He hadn’t seen someone so destroyed since high school. And he always expected that to be a unique kind of grief. But he saw it in your eyes, the waver of your voice, the way your hands clenched, the dangerous calm that filled your kinesphere. He could recognize misplaced anger. He just had to look in the mirror. 

He barely registered the lecture his boss had given him for losing them one of their biggest clients. Something about expectations, something about the ‘guys upstairs not being happy with him’, something about being on thin ice. He didn’t enjoy being told his work performance was poor, but he also didn’t enjoy his work, so it was hard to dwell on it for too long. And there was still the meeting’s itinerary that hadn't been completed, along with your demands. He considered contacting your attorney to see if he could pass along a message about the work that had been superseded by your outburst. He still needed your personal information to create this savings account you requested, his work previously had been in your late husband’s name, so in order for him to create a separate portfolio for just you he needed a lot more of your input. Then there were the concerns he had about holding so much money in a single personal account, it could be dangerous to have too many eggs in one basket, it left too much to chance. Kento wanted to help you create a diverse and protected financial set up for your future, and he couldn’t if he just followed your requested course of action. 

But the work day had still only just begun, so he opted to set it aside for the time being and try to work elsewhere. But still your words hung in the space of his cubicle. The switch in your face from collection to fury. The careful way you had stacked and folded your papers, the careful swirling lines of your handwriting in the margins of those vicious forms. The level of care you exhibited in not just the presentation of evidence, but in the way you had sipped your coffee, the way your hair had been pulled up. You must be an incredibly thoughtful woman. 

After lunch he found his dwelling had migrated. The shape of your hands, the soft skin against his own when he had shaken it in introduction. The strong line of your shoulders and neck. The fullness of your cheeks, the shape of your lips, the shade of lipstick you had chosen complimented your coloring perfectly. He wondered if it had a flavor, not even an artificially added one, but the round, mineral taste that most quality lipsticks carried. Kento wasn’t sure why he had become so conscious of your charms. It was incredibly inappropriate for him to be replaying the events of a bereavement settlement and finding he can only think about how your lips would feel against his. You were mourning for Christ's sake. Mourning your husband. He was disgusted with himself.  Hours ticked by, the boss left promptly at five, others began to trickle out. He usually would have been in the elevator and out to the train station promptly, but he found that he was stuck to his desk, your file open before him, lingering over the contact for your lawyer, wrestling with how to proceed.  

That was when your email had arrived. His laptop was permanently set to silent, but he watched as an unshadowed line in his inbox appeared, signalling an unread email. Your name and email along the left side, no subject line attached. It opened itself in an instant, he didn’t even feel his fingers click over the trackpad. He read it closely, and when he finished he found his eyebrows had netted themselves together at the center of his face. An apology? Your husband was a lech and worse, a dead one, and you were apologizing to him? Guilt sunk his already deflated heart further. He didn’t deserve your sorrys, no one in this office, or any office like it deserved any kindness from you. You could have done worse, thrown the coffee in his face or shattered the glass windows, you could have told him to go fuck himself and he would have taken it. The horrid id in the back of his mind wonders if he might have done it. He typed out a response before the voice could speak again. Wanting to release you of any lingering guilt that he may have caused you. You had more than enough to deal with without him making it worse. But the voice didn’t like being ignored. 

She wants to see you outside of the office.

He closed his eyes, trying to regain control of the flash of fantasy that struck him. How perverse, how disgusting. Your kindness was not some kind of veiled invitation into your life. You were his client, he was the manager of the acquisition of your late husband’s estate, there were plenty of things that needed to be discussed. Professionally, and without distraction. He needed to get himself together before tomorrow. And he would. This was his chance to make this right, to do his job and do it well. He had begun packing up his stuff when your final response came in. 

You’re working late. I hope they pay you overtime. Thank you for your understanding. 12:30 is great, feel free to bill me for working you outside of your hours. 

I’ll see you then. 

A smile creeped along the lower half of his face, but he controlled it and set it aside. A professional work lunch, out of the office, to plan out the next steps of the acquisition, how mutually beneficial. Nothing to be alarmed by, nothing to prepare excessively for, certainly nothing to feel this strange giddy hum in his chest about. He slide his laptop into the center most pocket of his briefcase, organizing the interior of your file into a clean stack and folding it safely inside, turning out his desk lamp, and returning the pens he had used into the pencil cup on the top left corner of his desk, cap side down to allow for easy retrieval, capped securely protecting the ink inside. He pushed his chair in once he stood up, making sure the back was even with the edge of the desk and turned out the break room light as he made his way to the elevator. 

Normally Nanami would have taken a moment to relish the feeling of being the only body in the elevator. He wasn’t a small man, tall and broad, sharing an elevator made him feel like an imposition, as though he took up too much space by default. His neatness and cleanliness had stemmed from that same feeling of existing in a world that he felt he didn’t quite belong in. Trying to be as orderly and unimposing as possible, to make up for the characteristics that could be deemed rude or inconsiderate. On the average day there would have been immense relief upon finding the elevator empty, but tonight there was nothing to relieve. His routine executed to perfection, a clear plan for the next day, an assurance that your work together wasn’t yet finished. This feeling of weightless ease carried him into his apartment, into the shower, to his kitchen island, through the cooking of the same dinner he always had on midweek nights, to the half bottle of wine that sat in his fridge, and eventually to bed. Laying in the cool, clean sheets he wondered what tomorrow would bring. The uncharacteristic lightness carried him to sleep, and he did not push it away. 

PART TWO

Thank you so much for reading my angels!!!!!! This really does feel like the best thing i have ever written. Four months of an absolute labor of love, I really, really, really hope you guys enjoy it. As always, I love to hear y'all's thoughts if you have them. We will all meet back here next thursday night!! I LOVE YOU THANK YOU BYE. ---Doodle xx <3 <3

[cultofdixon]

Oddly Fascinating

Daryl Dixon • She/Her Pronouns • Can you imagine a human fucking pretzel? Well you certainly like to freak the others out unexpectedly • SFW/NSFW - Implied Sex

Requested by: Anon

It’s…fascinating. The things Y/N can do with JUST her body. Keep that noggin out of the gutter for a minute.

Y/N joined the group a little after the Woodbury infusion to the prison. She didn’t have a group and sort of ended up in Virginia because she simply didn’t stop walking from where she originated.

One day Daryl, Michonne, and Glenn were out on a run in the closest outdoor mall, which is a few hours away from the prison—so they were going to have to camp. Daryl went to check the store that looked like a miniature Home Depot thinking he could find some camping supplies but when he entered the store…said camping supplies were in use but no person.

“If anybody is here, I ain’t gonna hurt yea,” Daryl stated knowing that wouldn’t go far but to his surprise one of the storage boxes’s lids flung open. Soon a woman’s upper half popped out like a jack in the box and it was a bit unsettling to the archer.

“I had to see who I’m working with and what makes yea think I’ll trust “I ain’t gonna hurt yea” with muscles like those”

“You think I’d hit a woman?”

“It’s the apocalypse. If laws don’t exist, neither does moral code. I follow them still…but still”

“I don’t hit women.” Daryl scoffs. “How do yea fit in there?”

“I don’t know you well enough to share my skills. But I do feel a little better knowing you’re not gonna throw a left hook at my face” the woman began to fully pull herself out of the container and when she stepped out, she locked eyes with the archer’s confused yet curious ones. “Okay I trust you about not killing me but why haven’t you left?”

“Gonna ask yea a few things if that’s okay with you”

“Sure I guess” She put the lid back on the box before taking a seat and crossing her arms.

“How many walkers have you killed?”

“Lost count a long time ago”

“How many people have you killed?”

“Four”

“Why?”

The woman went silent for a moment and avoided eye contact as she held herself. “They were my friends, and brother who were about to turn. They didn’t want to be taken out as a walker and didn’t want to become one so. You know…”

“I do” Daryl leaned against one of the shelves. “It’s hard to take someone you care about out after they’ve changed”

“Getting deep with me and we don’t even know each other’s name”

“Daryl”

“Y/N”

Then she joined their group right then and there. The others that came with Daryl liked her, didn’t trust her right away but given her attitude immediately when it came to them asking the same questions Daryl asked—-both Glenn and Michonne knew that they will grow to trust her. Same with the others. Returning back to the prison with a lot more than they had expected helped the initial image of the new comer. Y/N hoarded a lot of stuff so thinking that she would survive alone in there.

Some part of Daryl wanted Y/N to take the empty cell in their cellblock but given he didn’t speak up and Rick showed her one of the others, that wasn’t happening.

But she was very involved with helping around the prison.

“You good up there Y/N?” Rick calls out to her receiving a thumbs up while she continued to work with fixing part of the fence that disconnected from the gate.

The retired sheriff watches his brother pull in on his bike but stop to watch Y/N a moment. She dropped her wire cutters and as it hit the grass, Daryl hopped off his bike about to grab it when he quickly took a step back when Y/N jumped down somersaulting in the dirt.

“The hell is wrong with you?!” Daryl shouted as Y/N stood up immediately, stretching her back after her action. “Yea could’ve cracked your head open!”

“I’ve done it a million times before. Don’t worry your pretty little head”

“A million times? What, in the circus?”

“How did you know?” Y/N smiles catching him off guard at first and even more when she broke out in laughter. “I wasn’t in the circus dumbass. I’ve done a lot of risky stuff and…gymnastics. But what just happened is nothing compared to other stuff” she states while throwing herself back so she was then in a bridged position and Daryl watched her upper half lay flat on its stomach showing her crawl between her legs and hold her ankles. Exorcist shit.

“Now I think you’re an alien”

“Rude” Y/N scoffs as such action was a bit uncomfortable given her twisted position. “It definitely impressed and freaked out a few hook ups”

Now that led Rick to leave from overhearing their conversation, both knowing damn well he was there. He opened the gate once Y/N was back in the upright position and Daryl was still left appalled somewhat.

Y/N was definitely making a good impression on most. Has been on every run that was planned and no one opposed, she’s especially useful in tight situations.

“Alright, so I was thinking we break down the door and then—-“ Tyreese cut himself off when Y/N gestured for Maggie’s help to hoist her up and she happily obliged.

Next thing the group knew, Y/N was pushing herself through the small window above the locked door landing on the other side and unlocking it.

“Or that” Sasha chimes in with a laugh and smile, impressed by the woman. “Now we don’t have to almost break ourselves to get into places” she walked past her as Y/N brushes off some of the dirt checking her person carefully. Said actions didn’t go unnoticed by Daryl.

After a couple hours passed, the four returned to the prison and dispersed but as Daryl stuck by his bike a moment he noticed Y/N straggling a bit. She stood for a while glancing around and turned to Daryl with a questioning look before turning away.

“If yea need something, you can ask” He didn’t hesitate as Y/N slumped in defeat before turning around and approaching him.

“Crack my back”

“What?” Daryl scoffs confused as he wiped the grime off his hands with his rag. “How am I supposed to do that?”

“Imma turn around cross my arms and you’re going to wrap your arms around me then lean back until a crack is heard.” Y/N explained in the most layman terms she could think of and it clicked instantly to Daryl but he hesitated a moment.

“Is that what yea want?”

“Yes, well. What I really want is someone to step on my back but all of y’all aren’t trained to do that and back in the day I had a friend who was a masseuse.”

“Well, I’ll do my best” Daryl grunts bringing himself over after tossing his rag on his bike watching her turn around and do what she had to do before he wrapped his arms around her. “Just lean back holding yea?”

“Yup” Y/N felt a sudden warmth rise in her chest when she was being lifted and the heat came clear in her cheeks expressing more of a red hue.

She heard the crack a bit ago but they both just. Stood there and it went from Daryl holding her to them both holding each other. Still Y/N’s back against his chest but her arms held onto his. Daryl relaxed setting her down but the way he held her for much longer and Y/N didn’t show any sign of letting go.

There was something

When the illness washed through the prison and a few were sent to get the medicine, Y/N found herself in the doorway watching Bob shove alcohol into his bag. He turned toward her realizing she was there and instead of talking first, he quickly took a bottle and threw it in her direction watching her quickly fall back then swing her body back forward.

“Jesus fucking Christ what are you? One of those inflatable car sales string cheese looking things?!”

“That’s very descriptive. Are you gonna be the same way when telling me why you have a goddamn bag of alcohol and not medicine to save our people”

“Oh for fucks sake! You and I are the newest people at the prison and you’re willing to bend over backwards—-even literally—-for people you barely know”

“So?!”

“SO?!” Bob shouted which caught another’s attention, Michonne as the conversation ended the second she joined. Bob brushed past her as she quickly gave a concerned look to Y/N.

I’m fine. Was all Y/N gave her as she stepped out.

Of course the booze was found out by Daryl and that was a more explosive mess to address than when Y/N first confronted him. But it all stopped mattering when they finally got their medicine into their people.

After getting their medicine in, Daryl went in search for Y/N who disappeared after they did such. It didn’t take long to find her because she was in her cell but she was alone in the old Woodbury cell block. Because of the outbreak.

“You alright?” Daryl asks Y/N even if she was currently hiding under her deconstructed bunk.

“Yeah”

“Don’t look like it”

A few seconds of silence. “Yeah…” she sounded defeated and pulls her entire self out from under bringing herself to sit on her bed. Daryl bringing himself to sit with her leaning his back against the wall.

“You can trust me, with whatever is on your mind”

“It’s strange…how easily it was for Bob to just. Not care about the others in the heat of the moment”

“Some people are just like that. Somethin’ or someone has to change them”

“I used to be like that. Not a warm caring person when this thing first started. I just. Had moments that changed me”

“Yeah?” Daryl gave her a questioning look that she noticed in the corner of her eye. “What changed yea?”

“Having to end the lives of people I cared for, the ones who got bit. When…” Y/N hesitated a second before looking at Daryl. “When I met you”

She’s full of surprises isn’t she? Daryl could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he never felt that feeling before.

But this moment was short lived like the many that followed after.

Until they found themselves alone weeks later…in a new place, with strange new people. Y/N stuck by Daryl’s side since they first entered Alexandria and given how the archer was feeling from all the loss, he would find himself following her if she were to stray or disappear from his side for too long.

“Can you hand me the socket wrench?” Daryl asks while under the car Aaron drives for recruiting as he was asked to check something out for the man. Y/N being there to help in any way even if it is just handing tools to the archer.

Y/N was currently repairing one of the angel wings on Daryl’s vest which led her to using her leg to reach toward the bench then her foot hooked onto the handle of the tool box. She then carefully bent so that she could grasp the box with her hands and go through the kit for what he asked for.

“Damn”

The annoyingly familiar voice caught both of their attentions as Daryl pushes out on the skateboard sitting up to look at Spencer confused. Y/N equally confused on the matter while handing the tool over.

“You know I saw you the other day doing your…morning stretches or whatever. Didn’t think you’d be THAT flexible…and limber…” Spencer was starting, or continuing to make Y/N uncomfortable as he starts to check her out making her cover herself with Daryl’s vest in her lap.

Daryl quickly taking note of the reaction and glaring at the man. “Beat it”

“I wasn’t talking to you” Spencer brushed him off keeping his attention on Y/N. “I bet you’re even more flexible in more intimate situations”

Y/N scoffs instantly but before she could bite the guy’s head off. She felt herself being pulled toward Daryl’s direction. Daryl having grabbed the blanket she was seated on pulling it closer to him so he could protectively wrap his arm around her shoulders as she instinctively leaned into him.

“She’s taken. Now I’d fuck off and bother somebody else before your mommy sees her little boy’s face smashed the fuck in” Daryl threats and didn’t let his guard down but it got Spencer to storm off defeated. “What a tool”

“He’s not wrong about something”

“Huh?”

“I am very flexible when we’re intimate” Y/N laughs slightly catching her own boyfriend off guard resulting in the red hue rising in his cheeks.

[theobjectofmyobsession055]

Boothill x SingleParent!Reader: Lassos and Lullabies Chpt. 8

Heyyyy y'all! Hope you have fun with this extra long chapter! I didn't initially intend for it to be this long, but I was on a roll and I just went with it lol. This might be my favorite chapter I've written thus far!

I probably could have gotten this out sooner, but there's been an actual fuckton of chaos going on in my personal life these past few weeks, including my brother and I losing access to our previous living situation (everything's okay now, but it was really scary for a second there). To be completely honest, this fic has been one of the only things keeping me emotionally afloat throughout all this. It's been hard for me to find joy lately, but writing this fic brings me so much of it.

Anyways, enough about me. Hope y'all enjoy the chapter!

Previous part

Boothill paced back and forth, wearing a hole into the cheap carpet of his motel room. What was he thinking, asking Y/N on a date??? This was a horrible idea! He hadn’t been on a date in years, even before he became a cyborg! Did he even remember what to do on a date? What kinds of things he should do, what he should say, what he should expect? Honest answer? No. He didn’t even have a clue. But he was supposed to go meet her in less than an hour, so he��d better figure it out real quick.

Fuck, did he even have any clothes that would be date-appropriate??? He didn’t really bother much with fashion—so long as he was comfortable and wasn’t so covered up that his systems started overheating, he usually just called it a day. He didn’t want her to think he didn’t care, or that he wasn’t taking their date seriously! Oh, but he also didn’t want to put too much extra effort into his appearance, make her think he was trying too hard. He needed to seem cool, suave, charming—but not so much so that he came across as a douchebag or something.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Uuuuuugh, why’s all this shit gotta be so complicated!” he exclaimed, flopping down onto the bed. Fuck, his head was pounding, probably remnants of his concussion mixed with stress. He began to massage his temples.

Maybe he could just tell her he couldn’t make it, say that an urgent job came up or something. It’d definitely be a hell of a lot easier than going through all this anxiety and stress. He did have a pretty unpredictable schedule, she’d almost certainly believe him without question.

He sighed heavily. No, no, he wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t that kind of man—it’d be far too pathetic of him to chicken out last minute. And Y/N didn’t deserve that. Knowing her, she probably hadn’t been on a date in years either, which was a damn shame. She deserved to have a good time, even if it was with a hunk of scrap metal like him. He’d given her his word, and he was going to keep it.

Even if he did have a giant knot in his stomach the entire time.

In the end, he just ended up wearing his regular clothes, though he did attempt to comb through his hair a bit more than usual. There was a little festival happening in town—some sort of art market or something—and it seemed like the perfect place for their date (Aeons, even just thinking that word made him feel all sorts of things). Casual, laid-back, low expectations. Plus, he figured all that artsy-fartsy stuff would be something she might enjoy, she seemed like that sort of type.

When he arrived at the market, he moseyed on over to the pavilion they agreed to meet at, trying very hard to appear as though he hadn’t planned out his route beforehand for him to get there at exactly eleven a.m. sharp. But when he got there, he was surprised to see Y/N had beat him to it, sitting on a stone bench and fidgeting with her hands in her lap. She was wearing this pretty yellow sundress that made his mouth feel a little drier than he’d care for it to be. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. ‘Okay, showtime.’

He approached her, raising his hand in a wave. “Hey there, doll. Hope I didn’t keep ya waitin’ long.”

She jumped a bit, her head snapping up at the sound of his voice. She had a shy little smile on her lips and a pretty flush on her cheeks—'Cute.’ “Oh, Boothill!” She stood up and dusted off her dress. “It’s okay, I just got here a little early, is all.” She laced her hands together behind her back as she looked him up and down. Her stare made him feel uncharacteristically self-conscious. “…You look nice,” she added. “I like what you did with your hair.”

He fought the urge to run his hand through it. “Thanks. You, uh… you too.” He cleared his throat. Aeons, he hated how nervous he felt. “I mean, uh, you look real nice today too. Better than nice, purdy as a peach. Ya didn’t haveta go an’ get all dolled up just fer me.”

She chuckled good-naturedly. “Well, I wanted to. God knows it’s been ages since I’ve been on a proper date. I thought I oughta make the occasion special.”

“Aw shucks, sugar, yer already makin’ it special just by bein’ here.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could think about them, but he found he didn’t regret it, not with the way Y/N seemed to softly glow under the compliment. He offered her his arm gallantly. “Whaddaya say we get this show on the road? I hear there’s lotsa nifty stuff to look at, an’ we can get ourselves some grub over at one a them food stalls once we start getting’ hungry.”

She hesitated for just a moment, but then she took his arm with that sweet little smirk playing at her lips. He hoped the cold metal didn’t bother her too much—especially since the gentle warmth of her hand in the crook of his elbow felt so nice for him. “Sounds good” she said.

As they began to stroll through the market, Boothill noticed a slight bounce in Y/N’s step, her initial nervousness giving way to excitement as they browsed all the wares. He found himself beginning to relax some too, her enthusiasm infectious. If nothing else, he at least got to see her happy today, and that was more than enough for him to call it a success.

As they perused a stand of homemade plushies, Y/N laughed softly. “You know, it’s kind of weird not having Lottie here. I’d never really thought about it before, but we’ve never done something with just the two of us before, have we?”

Boothill shook his head, watching her comb through the plushies with a fond smile on his lips. “Nah, I reckon we haven’t. S’why I thought it was ‘bout time we did.”

She looked away from the display for a moment to give him a damn-near radiant grin that almost made his mechanical heart feel like it was about to pop out of his chest. “I couldn’t agree more.” She turned back to the wares with a fondly exasperated sigh. “I just hope she’s being good for my brother today. You know firsthand how much of a handful she can be when she sets her mind to it.”

He chuckled. “Don’t I know it. But I’m sure ya don’t gotta worry too much. She’s a real good kid, I’m sure she’s bein’ a perfect angel.”

“You sure we’re talking about the same kid here?’ she quipped with a playful smirk. “But in all seriousness, you’re probably right. She doesn’t usually cause too much trouble. Though who knows?” She shrugged. “Maybe she’s acting out because she has to spend the day with her uncle instead of her favorite babysitter. She was pretty bummed that she couldn’t come along.”

Why, if that didn’t just melt his heart. “Well shoot, I s’pose I’ll haveta find a way to make it up to her somehow.” Among the rows of stuffed animals, he spotted a chocolate brown horse toy. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, admiring the softness of it. “Ya think she’d accept this as an apology? Y’know how much she loves ponies.”

Y/N looked at him with an unreadable expression for a moment, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a grin. “I think that might suffice.”

He briefly wondered what that look she had given him had been about, but he chose not to think too hard about it. The woman running the stall had her back turned to them as she restocked some product, so he called out to get her attention. “S’cuse me, ma’am. I’d like to buy this, if you’ve got a minute.”

“Oh yes of course! That’ll be—” The woman turned around, but her voice fizzled out once her eyes landed on Boothill. She fumbled with the stack of price tags she was holding, nearly dropping them all over the ground, and her face went a little pale.

“Ma’am? Everythin’ alright?” he asked when she didn’t finish her sentence. What was her deal? Did he have something—

Oh.

It clicked in his mind. He’d been so wrapped up in the amazing time he’d been having with Y/N that… that he almost forgot. It shouldn’t still come as a shock to him how people reacted when they saw all the metal and machinery that made up the majority of his body, and it didn’t, usually. Y/N just treated him so… normally, it slipped his mind for a second, was all. But the look on the shopkeeper’s face served as a sharp reminder.

The woman recovered relatively quickly, to her credit. “S-sorry. That’ll be…”

He didn’t even really register how much she said the toy cost, his body just pulling the credits out of his wallet on autopilot. It made sense for her to be afraid of him—hell, that was exactly why he gave up his human body in the first place, in part, so people would be afraid of him. He knew he didn’t exactly look approachable, all sharp teeth and glinting metal edges. It had never been something that bothered him before, but now… well, all he could say was it left his chest feeling more hollow than usual for some reason.

A subtle warmth against his palm pulled him out of his reverie. As he and Y/N continued through the market, he suddenly realized she had grabbed his hand. Her fingers curled against his own, her thumb gently running over the gaps between the mechanical joints of his knuckles. Heat creeped up the back of his neck, climbing its way up to his ears. Holy shit she was holding his hand. He felt a little pathetic getting so worked up over something so small, but the way her touch felt almost… tender sent his internal fans into overdrive. The warmth that now filled his chest far outweighed and embarrassment he might have felt from his reaction.

Y/N looked back at him with a gentle, comforting smile. “C’mon, why don’t we go get some food? That coney dog stand over there looks really good, want to try it?”

He almost didn’t register what she’d said, still reeling from the sudden influx of emotions that accompanied the realization that they were now holding hands in the park for all to see. He nodded, only half-aware of what he was agreeing to. But it didn’t matter to him too much, he’d go along with just about anything she wanted. “Sounds like a plan, sugar.”

They got their food and sat down at a nearby picnic table. He swore, before he met Y/N, hadn’t eaten this much in years. He didn’t necessarily need to, so it became one of the many comforts that had gone by the wayside once he set out on his path of revenge. But Y/N was insistent on feeding him every time he saw her, and Charlotte got this kicked puppy look on her face if he ever refused. He had to admit, it did make him feel just a little more human. Just a little bit, though.

They chatted while they ate, the air between them surprisingly comfortable. There was a brief lull in the conversation, and Y/N began to twirl her straw around in her soft drink, staring down at it intently. Just as soon as her silence became worrying, she murmured, “…You know, I almost didn’t show up today. Had a whole text typed out explaining that I’d come down with something and wouldn’t be able to make it.” She laughed quietly, shaking her head. In any other circumstance he might have felt offended, were it not for the fact that he’d been contemplating the exact same thing before he’d left. Her gaze flickered back up to meet his, her eyes dewy and warm, like a sunrise after freshly fallen rain. “I’m glad I did, though. This has been… nice. More than nice, actually, it’s been…” Her face scrunched up for a second as she searched for words. She sighed. “…I know it’s probably nothing to you, but… this has meant a lot to me.”

“It ain’t nothin’ to me,” he said, softer than he’d expected to. He glanced down at her free hand lying on the table. Before he could think better of it, he reached out and tentatively took it in his, letting his fingers curl around hers once again. “I think I know what yer assumin’, but the truth might not be what you’d expect.” She gave him a curious look, so he continued, slightly sheepish, “I’ve, uh… not exactly been goin’ out much lately neither. I’m just as rusty as you are, I’d reckon.” He gave her hand a squeeze, and his lips twitched up in a little smile. “But for the record, I’m glad ya decided to come too.”

She squeezed his hand back, and he could’ve sworn he felt his fans whir a little faster just from that simple act alone.

There wasn’t much time left before the sun started to set and the market closed up, but they continued to take their time browsing the booths. Y/N still hadn’t let go of his hand, but then again, he hadn’t let go of hers either. Not that he minded, far from it. It just surprised him a little that she seemed so perfectly comfortable hanging onto it when it was made entirely out of cold metal.

As they neared the end of the street hosting the art market, a flash of yellow caught his eye. He turned his head to find it came from a bucket of sunflowers propped up on a cart advertising fresh flowers. There were a whole bunch of different kinds too, lilies and daisies and roses and all that jazz, along with dozens of others he didn’t know the names of. He gently tugged on Y/N’s hand, guiding her towards the cart even as heat began to creep up the back of his neck. “Lookee here, ain’t these real purdy?”

A soft smile spread across her lips as she followed him over to the flower cart. “Oh you’re right, these’re beautiful!” Using her free hand, she traced a gentle finger over the petals of a peony. “Such pretty colors…”

That look on her face nearly made his breath catch. Should he, would that be too much…? Oh, what was he thinking, he couldn’t not. He released her hand for just a moment as he sneaked over to the florist, handing him a stack of cash while Y/N was distracted. With a knowing glint in his eyes, the florist immediately began collecting various flowers before wrapping them all up in a bouquet and handing them back to Boothill. He shot him a wink that only served to make Boothill’s face feel even hotter, but he whispered a quick, “Thank you,” regardless. A little smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he admired the finished bouquet. He was hoping there’d be those sunflowers in it, they just fit her too perfectly.

To his own chagrin, Boothill felt a little nervous as he cleared his throat to get her attention. She turned to him curiously, but her eyes immediately widened and a quiet gasp fell out of her mouth as she laid eyes on the bouquet he held out towards her. “…Fer you,” he said, tugging down the brim of his hat with his free hand to partially shield his eyes from her gaze. “S’not much but, I, uh… thought ya might like ‘em.”

She blinked, her gaze flickering between him and the bouquet. Aeons, that stare of hers could really make a man squirm. “Boothill, you… You didn’t have to do that.” But even as she said that, she gently took the bouquet from him, turning it around in her hands to look at it from different angles.

He gave her a toothy grin despite how flustered he felt. “Good thing I wanted to, then,” he replied, mimicking her statement from earlier. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if willing the heat there to go away. “…You deserve something’ nice. Least I could do.”

Her lips drew into a tight line, and for a moment he thought he saw the beginning of tears shining in her eyes. She blinked rapidly and took a deep breath. “Well then, in that case… thank you. That’s very sweet of you.”

Lord have mercy, just a couple flowers and she was already getting teary-eyed? How badly had her ex treated her? It made him a little sad almost, that the bear minimum had her so happy. But only a little bit, seeing as he was also riding off the high of being the one to make her so happy.

Shortly after that, the sun began to set and the vendors started to tear down their booths. After only a minor amount of fussing, Y/N agreed to let Boothill walk her home. Somewhere between the flower cart and the market’s exit, their hands found themselves intertwined again.

Once they were only about a block away from Y/N’s apartment, an excited gasp from her stopped Boothill in his tracks. Before he could ask what was up, she tugged him over to a lamppost that was practically covered in posters and stickers. “Oh my god, Raven Death Scream?!?! I haven’t seen them in years!”

Boothill raised an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder at the poster. In letters so elaborate they were barely legible, it advertised what he assumed to be the aforementioned band, Raven Death Scream. Under the band name, the rest of the text was easier to read, stating that they had a show coming up in about a month. He side-eyed Y/N, confused yet intrigued. “You like that kinda stuff? Never woulda pegged you as much of a thrasher.”

She turned back to him with the widest, brightest grin on her face he’d ever seen from her. “Heck yeah! I used to be a total metalhead back in college and high school, I even had my own band! God, this brings back memories.” She looked back down at the poster, her eyes filled with nostalgia. She sighed wistfully. “Those were the days. I had so much fun at those concerts. One time, my friend and I tried sneaking backstage at one of their shows so she could flirt with the bassist, and I ended up getting shoved up against a speaker so hard I almost broke my nose! She never did end up getting her number though…” Despite how unpleasant that sounded, that grin remained on her face. Then, a light pink flush bloomed across her cheeks, and she chuckled sheepishly. “’Course, that was before I became a mom and all! Had to settle down a bit after Lottie came around, I couldn’t very well be running off to shows with a baby at home, you know? But damn, those were some good times.” She shook her head, smiling down at the poster for another few seconds before they started heading back to her apartment again.

Boothill’s mind was reeling. Y/N, a metalhead??? He wouldn’t have believed it had it not come directly from her mouth, and even then he wasn’t fully convinced she wasn’t pulling his leg. He could scarcely even imagine it, it was so antithetical to the image of her he had built in his head. But at the same time, the information made him feel almost greedy, like he’d been given only a sip of the finest aged whiskey he’d ever tasted, but nothing more. What else did he not know about her? Probably a lot, he realized, considering they hadn’t spent all that much time alone together before today. But instead of feeling disgruntled like he might have, that realization excited him. He wasn’t known for being a very patient man, but for Y/N, the thought of slowly getting to know her better bit by bit wasn’t frustrating, it was thrilling.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if maybe she might feel that way about him, too.

He helped her up the stairs leading to her apartment once they arrived, letting her hold onto his arm. All too soon, they found themselves on the landing, right outside her door. Boothill’s heart sank a bit. He didn’t want it to be over just yet, but they both had responsibilities to attend to in the morning. Y/N let go of his arm and turned to look up at him with a slightly shy smile on her lips. “Thank you for today. It was… the most fun I’ve had in a while, honestly.” She let out a little laugh.

“No worries, sugar. I had a real good time too.”

Silence fell between them. They just stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Y/N fumbled with the large bouquet still in her hands, almost like she was hiding behind it. A few petals brushed against Boothill’s arm as she shifted it from one hand to another. Since when was he standing so close to her? But now he was keenly aware of the lack of distance between them. It made his circuits thrum, the excess electricity that coursed through them almost audible.

As he took in the sight of her pretty flushed cheeks, he noticed a stray petal had gotten stuck in her hair. “Wait a sec, doll, ya got somethin’ right… there.” He instinctively reached to pluck it out before he could think about it. But once his brain caught up to his body, his systems screeched to a halt.

Oh. Oh. Her hair was really soft, softer than he had imagined (not that he’d imagined it before). His hand remained long after the petal had fallen away, and he couldn’t resist the urge to tuck a lock behind her ear. His fingers just barely brushed against the curve of her cheekbone at the motion.

Her eyes widened slightly at first, but then they grew soft, following the path of his hand. “Oh…” she murmured breathlessly. “Thanks.”

“No worries...” he replied, his voice suddenly much lower and huskier than he’d anticipated.

His internal fans spun fast as he followed her lidded gaze, noticing how it flickered from his eyes down to his lips. The next thing he knew, her eyes were closing, his free hand was landing on her waist, they both were leaning in, and then…

A muffled crash sounded from behind the door, followed by a non-explicit curse. They both jumped back, suddenly a respectable distance away from each other. Previously just a light pink, Y/N’s face was now scarlet. She looked away, a high, nervous laugh leaving her lips. “I-I should, uh… probably go check on that. Sounds like my brother is ready to head home, haha…”

Boothill cleared his throat, suddenly finding the ground riveting. Damn, his face was hot. “Y-yeah, that’d, uh… probably be a good idea…”

Neither of them made any move to leave.

Boothill coughed awkwardly into his fist, attempting to dislodge the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “You, uh… you take care now. Tell Lottie hi for me. I’ll… see ya around.”

Y/N’s lips drew up into a tight smile. If he examined it closely, he almost thought he could make out a twinge of disappointment in her voice. “You too. I, um… I’ll text you, okay?”

He wished he could deny the way his stomach flipped. He still couldn’t find it in him to meet her eyes, too busy tugging the brim of his hat over his face. “Sounds like a plan.” His voice lowered ever-so slightly, something just a bit more exposed peeking through as he added, “…Goodnight, Y/N.”

Her smile softened, becoming more genuine. “Goodnight, Boothill.”

And with that, she turned around and disappeared inside her apartment. He let out a long, long sigh and ran his hand through his hair. What the hell had that been? Or, well, what had that almost been?

But even as he warred with himself internally on his way back to his motel, he couldn’t fight the soft warmth that seemed to glow from within his chest, lighting up the street for him even as the sun dipped well below the horizon.

[bellysoupset]

The Fun Police

For @probablychasingdragons who requested a sick Bella and Max as unusual caretaker combo!

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

Max blinked, dizzily, rolling on his bed as much as the casted foot allowed him and trying to make sense of which way was up or down. He was consistently sleeping past his alarm these past 3 days, since he had gotten full 10 days off work and Vince was there around the clock, before class and afterwards.

He had never been more well fed in his whole life.

His phone beeped and Max drowsily sat up, wincing as it caused a jolt of pain to go up to his knee, and reached for the device. It was around 2 PM, great. There was movement outside his room and Max stumbled up, grabbing the crutch and wobbling out of the bedroom.

He fully expected to see Vince there or maybe even Wendy, what he did not expect was to see a full head of curly auburn hair. Max blinked several times, frozen on the doorway of his tiny kitchen, trying to figure out if he was still dreaming or not.

Bella turned around, she was crouched down under his sink, searching the cabinet and her eyebrows jumped up, "oh hi!" her voice was a whole octave higher and softer than the last time they had seen each other, when Max had made a fool out of himself in the cabin, "you're up!"

"Hi..." Max frowned, not entirely convinced this was real, and jumped on one leg to the stool that separated the counter from the living room, "uh... What-"

"Vince had to go over to Boston today so he wouldn't be able to come after class," Bella answered, standing up straight and holding the sponge and dish soap, "and Wen's still recovering from the flu..."

Max's cheeks burned at the implication he was some sort of toddler who needed constant supervision. He let out a scoff, "I appreciate their concern, but I'm an adult, you really don't-"

"I don't wanna stay home," Bella blurted out, shutting him up. Her cheeks turned pink and she looked away from him, turning her back around as she washed the few dishes inside his sink, "I had a day off and staying home is driving me crazy and I- You can barely walk around, I figured you'd be bored."

Max's eyebrows went up all the way to his hairline. He had the sensation he had just been told something big, but he couldn't quite pin point what it was. There was a beat, then he shrugged, "sure... Suit yourself. But if that troglodyte of your husband appears here to accuse me of kidnapping you, we're gonna have proble-EMHEY!" He squealed, as Bella threw the soap soaked sponge directly at his forehead.

He nearly fell from the stool, staring at her wide eyed, "what the fuck, dude?!"

"Don't call Luke that," Bella glared at him, before circling the island in order to retrieve the sponge, "anyway, I figured we could go for a walk or do something? What do you do for fun?"

Max grumbled over his breath, Bella had some fucking nerve. Still, he couldn't bring himself to be mad at her. She was there, when she certainly didn't need to be, willing to keep him company and get all the stuff he wanted from across the room, and really... It was quite refreshing.

"I'm getting a little stir crazy," he admitted, "Vince brought me over to the community sport's center a couple times and it was a lot of fun, we could go over? I guess I'm out of hiking for an indefinite amount of time."

Bella snorted at that, "yeah, but hey, you apparently suck at it, so that's a good thing," she said smugly, then pointed at his bedroom door, "you need to change if we're gonna go out. Unless you want your students' parents to see you in boxers."

Max rolled his eyes, stumbling up and waving her away as she followed him towards the bedroom, apparently unaware of privacy just like Wendy was, "sorry, ginger, I really can't afford to get my teeth punched in right now, you'll need a permission slip in order to see me naked."

"You're such a prick," Bella wrinkled her nose, flicking at his ear since he couldn't pull back fast enough, "I'm going to wait in the living room, just yell when you fall."

Changing was always more than a little bit of a struggle. The shirt was easy, but his closet was made up of mostly jeans, ripped jeans and getting that past his cast foot was nearly impossible.

He hadn't gone out of the house yet, so he had been wearing sweatpants, specifically one pair Vince had brought over that was very oversized, but now he had no choice...

"HEY Bell!"

"I was joking about you falling-" she burst into his room immediately, then paused, "you're not fallen."

Max snorted, "no, I'm not," he pointed the jeans. He had put on one leg, the other was sitting on his lap, "I need the scissors from the kitchen, please. First drawer."

"On it," Bella didn't even question, coming back in less than a minute, "here you go."

Without hesitating, he grabbed the right leg of his jeans and cut a vertical line on the side, making bell bottom. Next to him, Bella let out a whistle.

"You rebel," she teased, "very punk."

Max rolled his eyes, before sliding the jeans on now seamlessly... Wasn't it for the fact now the ends of it fell like flaps, "uh..."

"Hold on," Bella moved around his room, grabbing one of his boots and removing its cords, "let's actually make it punk," she sat down on the carpet by his bed, grabbing the scissors and making small holes on each flap of the pants, tying them together like a corset around the cast, "hell yeah."

Max was smiling from ear to ear now, he couldn't help it. He thought of how horrified Wendy would've been if she saw him getting out of the house with those pants.

Bella grabbed his arm, pulling him up and Max stumbled, "alright, let's go?"

The community Sport's center wasn't the best option of activity when one could barely walk around, but they didn't just have field sports. There were foosball tables, as well as a ping pong and an air hockey table, so they headed straight to those.

Bella was competitive, something Max sorta had already guessed by watching her with the group in the cabin and the fact that Lucas certainly was very competitive. She had to have a strong personality to handle that asshole, Max decided, grinning as he patted the side of the foosball table and said, "prepare to get fucked over, Bella."

He hadn't expected her to suck, Max was fully prepared for Bell to be competent at everything she decided to do, so it was much to his amusement that she lost three matches in a row, her whole face turning red as she stomped like a toddler, "What the fuck, Max?!"

He chuckled at her expense, "how can you suck so bad at this!?" he said in a gleeful way and Bella flipped him off, looking around the place. There was a small smile tugging at the corner of her lip.

"I guess this town isn't that bad," she grumbled, then gestured to the vending machine, "oh they have White Claw, do you want one?"

Bella didn't wait for his answer as she jogged away and Max let out a happy sigh, rolling his eyes and leaning against the table. His foot was starting to throb, but it wasn't that bad, he just needed to get off of it soon. Maybe they could play cards?

Bell returned with the two cans, handing him one and leaning against the table as she drank, "so what else do you do around here for fun?"

"Get drunk at Stache's," Max leaned in to tell her, "it's a shady bar, at the corner of my street."

Bella snorted, grinning, "sounds great," she said, continuing to drink, "anything else? Because that's sad."

"Well, I hiked, but I clearly can't," he gestured to his foot, "I date around, too, I've been to one million first dates."

"Voluntarily?" The ginger frowned at him, "why'd anyone go to a million first dates by choice?"

"Spoken like a married woman," Max rolled his eyes, "first dates are fun, good food, fun chat-"

"No connection," Bella pointed out, "good sex, no emotional responsibility. I see you, Daniels."

Now his face turned red and Max shook his head quickly. Not that Bella was wrong, but he didn't... He couldn't even deny it, so he slammed his mouth shut and glared at her smug smile.

In all truth, he wasn't expecting the wave of shame that overcame him, as if he was doing something wrong for being single and hooking up around.

As if reading his mind, Bella frowned and poked his ribs, "hey, nothing wrong with sleeping around," she shrugged, "I just can't imagine willingly wanting to meet so many strangers."

He chuckled at her sour tone, then pointed at the air hockey table, "do you suck at that too?"

"You're such an asshole," Bella shoved his arm, hard, causing him to stumble and almost fall.

It wasn't a surprise that she was pleasant to be around, Max had already figured that out back in the cabin. He didn't expect it to be so much fun, though, truth be told.

They were both drunk, playing cards now, although the throbbing of his ankle was long forgotten due to the alcohol.

Bella's cheeks were red and she was muffling little burps against her fist as Max mopped the floor with her at UNO. How she was so incredibly bad at literally every game in existence was beyond him.

"Do you wanna end this? It's getting sad to watch you lose over and over," Max teased her, chuckling, and also because his stomach growled and his head was swimming. He had woken up late, so they had missed lunch and it was certainly catching up with him.

There were dark clouds in the sky, ready for a thunderstorm to start and the temperature was dropping quickly, and Max was not looking forward to limping through the parking lot- Oh no, Bella had driven to the community center. Ugh.

"Uhmmm, maybe," she slurred, planting an elbow on the table and cupping her forehead, "I don't feel so good."

Well, duh. Max rolled his eyes, he felt woozy and he was taller and bigger than Bella and hadn't drank as much as she did. In fact, if he didn't know know any better, he'd think she was drowning out feelings.

"Yeah, I can imagine," Max fished out his phone, "let's go outside and I'll try getting us an Uber."

He could count in one hand the amount of times he had successfully caught an Uber, there weren't many in Doveport and they always cancelled for some bloody reason.

Bella was blinking quickly, swaying on her feet as she got up and tried to help him with the crutch, "a ride? I drove here..."

"And you intend on driving us back, ginger?" Max winced as he didn't have a good handle of the crutch and it caused his foot to hit the ground, "so you can kill us?"

"You're so dramatic," Bella scoffed.

As soon as they were outside, Max leaned against the wall, taking deep breaths against the pain and steadying Bella by putting a hand on her elbow, "don't fall," he instructed, "so are you going to fess up on why you're here or...?"

"I told you," Bella frowned, her words sticking together. She let out another burp, wrinkling her nose and not seeming even the slightest bit embarrassed, "out of work... Bored."

"Why are you out of work?" Max asked, glancing back down at his phone and sighing heavily as the purple dot went from one side to the other in search of a driver. Bella stumbled next to him.

"Had a doctor's appointment in the morning, Luke insisted I take the whole day off," she scoffed, pressing her forehead to the wall and taking slow breaths, "mental health break."

Uh.

Max frowned, eyeing her up and down. She didn't look depressed or sick. But then if his years of teaching had taught him anything was that there was no "depressed" look, but less a "sick" look either.

"Do you need a mental health break?" Max asked, letting out a long suffering sigh as the app cancelled their trip.

Bella scoffed, shrugging, "Lucas certainly thinks I do," she said sourly, then her eyes lit up and suddenly she was straightening up, "Mr. Monacelli!"

Although they looked nothing alike, Max couldn't help but for a split second think it was Vince. Not only because Mr. Monacelli was how his students called Vin, but because Giuseppe was just as tall as his son was. However he had light brown hair, silver at the roots and with a bunch of grey strands peppered around, a grey beard and sparkly blue eyes.

"Isabella," he walked closer, with a soft smile, but a wrinkle between his brows. Again, nothing like Vince, but exactly like him too, Max thought, "what are you doing here, sweetheart?"

Bella gestured in Max's general direction, swaying a little on her feet, and Max immediately knew this didn't look good at all in the older man's eyes. Him, with a married woman, clearly drunk, all alone, in the middle of the week.

"Oh hi Max," Giuseppe offered a tight smile, planting a hand on Bella's shoulder and steadying her, "what's going on?"

Yeah, he was fucked.

"Vince sent her to babysit me and Bella's doing a poor job of it," Max said sardonically, deciding his best option was to rope in the man's son in case Giuseppe wanted to fact check this.

Bella let out a scoff, "I'm not babysitting," she grumbled, stumbling once more, "I'm visiting."

"Yes, alright, Isabella," Giuseppe's voice was soft, but his grip around Bella's shoulder tightened, he moved his arm to wrap around her waist, "you're drunk, bambina."

"It's Max's fault," Bella argued, easily falling into the older man's arms.

"OI?!" Max shrieked, "she's the one who got me drunk!"

Giuseppe pinched his nose bridge, "Max, zitto," he closed a hand in a shut up manner and the blonde scoffed, snapping his mouth shut and crossing his arms as the older man turned to Bella, "is Lucas here too, sweetheart?"

Bella shook her head, vehemently and stumbling as it caused the world to twirl. Max jumped to grab her before she collapsed, which was a bad move as he slammed his cast foot on the ground and his vision went white with the pain.

When he managed to get his senses back, now dizzy from the pain, Giuseppe was staring at him in a worried manner, holding Bella up with one arm, his free hand on Max's shoulder.

"Max?"

"I'm fine..." He rasped out, whole face burning from embarrassment. He didn't need Vince's dad babying him...

"Uh-hu," Giuseppe rolled his eyes, "I'm driving you home," he decided, turning to Bella with a frown on as she squirmed in his hold, "Isabella, quit it."

As if he was her father, Bella's face blushed and she immediately stopped struggling, mumbling an embarrassed, "sorry, Mr. Monacelli..."

Max sat in the front, while Mr. Monacelli put Bell in the back of his car and she collapsed immediately, curling up. The older man had a big frown on, lips pressed in a thin line, but he didn't say a word.

Only when ten minutes passed did Max realize that the older man was not driving back to his place, but back to the Monacelli's house. He let out a groan, "Mr. Monacelli, I need to go home-"

"Shut it, Max," the man snapped at him, "you're staying for dinner and then you can explain to Lucas what happened."

Oh. Great.

"It was not my fault! She's a grown woman-" Max started to defend himself, only for Bella to let out a little groan in the backseat at the loud noise.

"M'dizzy..." She slurred and Giuseppe's hold on the steering wheel tightened as he threw a worried look back.

"Are you going to be sick, bambina?"

Bella shook her head, forcing herself to sit up and promptly nearly smacking her head against the window.

"No..." She leaned forward, so she was sitting directly behind the driver's seat and pressing her forehead to it. A hiccup shook her, "don't think so..."

Max cringed, he didn't believe her for a second.

"She's absolutely gonna hurl," he said and Giuseppe let out a scoff.

He parked in front of his house, rushing to help Bella out of the car, but she wasn't sick. Instead, her knees gave up on her and the older man let out a Oof as he caught her, picking Bella up bridal style and huffing.

"Max, can you get the door?"

He could, although it was a struggle to limp ahead with the crutches and the nauseating pain that was starting to wrap all the way from his foot to his knee. Max was ready for this day to be over.

Instead of trying the keys, since his hands were sweaty and shaky, he simply pressed the doorbell. There was movement inside and then the door opened, to Livia's face.

"BABBO- Ah," she jumped back, spooked, "you're not babbo..."

"LIVIA HOW MANY TIMES HAVE I TOLD YOU NOT TO GET THE DOOR-" Ma yelled, rushing to the front door just as Giuseppe caught up with them. Her eyebrows jumped up and she mouthed around nothing, before asking, flabbergasted, "che cazzo è questo?!"

Giuseppe responded also in Italian, his voice strained, and Bella let out a little groan as they entered further the house and she was deposited on the couch.

Livia made a movement to follow her parents into the living room, but Max planted a hand on her shoulder, "hey kiddo," he said softly, "aren't you supposed to be in class?"

Her face lit up at being directly addressed and she shook her head, "babbo said I could skip," she wrinkled her nose, "Soph did, to go on a trip with Vinny."

Max snorted, rolling his eyes and pushing the front door closed, ushering the little girl inside, "you wanted to tag along?"

She was a Monacelli through and through, because Livia didn't need any incentive to start blabbing, taking him by the hand and guiding him around, unbothered by Max's limping.

"You, sit down," Giuseppe said roughly, moving a chair from the dining room with his foot and scooping up his youngest child, pointing at Max.

He obeyed, whole body collapsing as the pain made his head swim, and Max gulped down the nausea prickling all over him. He wasn't sure if this was due to the White Claw wanting revenge or just the constant throbbing pain.

"I called Luke," Ma announced, walking into the dining room, "and she's sleeping- You look sick, sweetheart," her dark brows connected as she took in Max, "are you drunk as well?"

Livia let out a gasp, pulling back so she could look at her father, "Bella's drunk?"

Max cringed, then shook his head and gestured at his cast, "just need to let it rest."

"And he's also drunk," Giuseppe rolled his eyes, while Ma planted her hands on her hips. Max wanted to vanish, he couldn't remember a single instance in his whole life where his parents had cared this much and he had no idea of how act around the Monacellis. Besides that, there was the undercurrent of shame, over the fact Bella had drank herself into passing out.

"She's fine," Ma said as if she could read his mind, walking out of the room and returning a second later holding a tiny plastic chair so Max could rest his leg up.

He leaned back his head, trying to wipe the clamminess off and then felt Ma's hand coming to cup his cheek, "are you alright?" she sounded very soft, but Max didn't buy that for a second. She was hot blooded, he knew from all the parent-teacher meetings and from how Vince talked about her.

"I'm fine," he nodded, only for Ma to squint at him.

"I'll get you some water," she decided, buzzing around.

Max craned his neck, letting out a sigh, so he could see Bella curled up and asleep. What a day.

It was way later at night when Luke pulled up.

They had just finished dinner and Max no longer felt like he was intruding, or like he was going to be sick. His ankle was still killing him, but neither Ma nor Giuseppe let him get up at all, so that helped.

Bell had woken up just thirty minutes before and she looked beyond embarrassed. It was clear she wished the ground would open up and swallow her as she whispered with Mr. Monacelli, repeating herself in what Max could tell was a chanting apology, even from afar.

She refused to meet Luke's eyes as he walked in the house and hugged Ma, planting a kiss on her temple.

"Thank you, ma," Max overheard his deep voice and curiosity got the best of him as he used the table to pull himself up, pain be damned, and limped to the living room.

Lucas' eyes sparkled as they saw him, clearly furious, but he didn't say a thing, waiting patiently for his wife.

"And her car?" Max asked, taking a sip of his cool water, leaning heavily against the wall, "it's at my place."

"I'll get it this weekend," Luke's didn't even look at him, grinding his teeth, "Isabella?"

"I'm going," she finished putting her shoes back on and then hugged Ma, apologizing once more... Then stood in front of Max and he raised his eyebrows, surprised. He fully expected her to leave without saying goodbye.

"I'm sorry I put you in this situation," Bella's cheeks were red, her voice small and embarrassed, "but we had a great day today... So thank you, for helping me take my mind off."

"No problem," Max shrugged, "too bad the fun police got here so soon," the words were out of his mouth before he could think them through and from the corner of his eye he saw Luke's face blanching, fists rolling up.

Bella scoffed, "don't say that," she grumbled, before leaning in and kissing his cheek, "I'll see you around, Daniels."

Then she stepped closer to Luke, who didn't put his arm around her at all, only waved to the older couple and stepped back so Bell could step out of the house and into the car.

Max let out a breath he didn't realize he was holding and felt a pat to his back, Giuseppe squeezing his shoulder, "come sit back down, son."

---------

Bella knew Luke was pissed.

And that he had every right to be, so she didn't even try to say a word as they got in the car and drove off of Doveport. His shoulders were so tense, they were up to his ears and Luke was squeezing the steering wheel, looking straight ahead.

Her head was still swimming, even though she had eaten some crackers at the Monacellis, and Bella felt grossly hungover. Morally and physically.

She had acted like a teenager and the embarrassment was killing her.

It was only when they crossed the limits of Welton, three hours later since Luke had been speeding, that Bella dared to speak up. She was feeling beyond carsick, head spinning and stomach sour, but there was a much more pressing issue at hand, which was apologizing.

"Luke-"

"Uhm?" He grumbled, not looking her way, and Bella gulped down the knot in her throat.

"I'm sorry," she said, turning on her seat in order to squeeze his arm, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to make a total fool out of myself, I didn't-" she swallowed the saliva pooling in her mouth and Luke let out a scoff.

"I'm not pissed because you're drunk," he shrugged her hand off his arm as if it was burning him and Bella's eyes prickled, "we'll talk tomorrow-"

"No," she shook her head quickly, "I don't want to talk tomorrow, I want- I'm sorry, Luke, I really am-"

"You didn't leave me a fucking note, Isabella!" Lucas whisper yelled, as they stopped at a red light, "you just up and left!? Do you have any idea how worried I was!? All I knew is you had the doctor's appointment and then I come home and you're not here, hours later, was I not supposed to be terrified!?"

Bella let out a sniffle, "I didn't think- I was going to call you, I just- I lost track of the hour and Max wasn't looking at me all worried like you are recently and it felt nice-"

"So it's my fault?" Luke echoed, shocked, "don't you fucking try to-"

"I'm not saying that!" Bella snapped, hitting the glovebox to shut him up, "I'm saying- I'm saying I'm sorry! Okay? I'm really sorry I worried you and I'm sorry I acted like a drunk teenager and I'm sorry I'm putting you through this right after everything, I- I'm sorry!"

Behind them a car honked, causing the couple to jump and Luke to curse silently at the green light.

He didn't say anything and Bella curled up even more on her seat, feeling a pang on her chest. She wanted to comforted by him, but guilt was eating at her.

"Luke... Please say something..."

"How was the doctor's appointment?" his voice was hoarse and Bella flinched at the sound, mentally beating herself up for making him so sad.

"It- It was fine..."

He leveled her with a glare and Bella tried to gulp down the knot in her throat once more, but couldn't.

"It was scary," she said in a tiny voice, avoiding his eyes, "it was scary and she did an ultrasound and a- a pelvic exam..." and she deeply regretted not asking Luke to tag along, as Bella had not at all be prepared for the emotional impact of having the pregnancy loss confirmed, the invasiveness of the follow up exams and the questioning about her family history, as if it was her fault. She shook with a little hiccup and pressed her knuckles to her mouth, looking out of the window, "and it sucked."

Luke stopped the car, pressing his hands to his face and letting out a frustrated groan, clearly thorn between being caring and being hurt, "is that why you left?"

Bella did a little nod, "a day off was not a good idea," she explained, carefully keeping any accusation from her words, although it had been him who pressed her to take the whole day off, "I couldn't stay home, I was driving myself insane... And you were at work, so was everyone else, and- And then Vince sent a text about being worried that Max was alone and I figured-"

"He texted you about Max?" Lucas sounded dumbfounded and Bella let out a watery chuckle as he choose this to latch on, out of all things.

"We have a group chat without you," she mumbled and her voice wavered. Bella looked out of the window, they were in front of their house. Her stomach churned once again and she threw her door open, but didn't get out fully, only turned on her seat so she was facing the grass, trying to breath through the nausea.

"Oh baby..." She heard Luke whisper, then felt his hand on her back and the guilt bubbling inside of her stomach spilled over, causing Bella to lurch forward as she retched up the foamy White Claw.

She shrugged his hand off her back, coughing up another rush of burning liquid, "go inside-"

"Bell-"

"Please," Bella sniffled, muffling a burp against her hand and groaning as she wiped the liquid off her chin, "please, go inside."

He hesitated, but then she heard the noise of the driver's door opening and closing, followed by Luke's footsteps disappearing as he entered their house.

Bella let out a groan, using her free hand to grab at her hair, before shoving two fingers inside her mouth and forcing up the rest of the alcohol still burning inside her stomach. It took two more retches, before she started to empty heave, the tears she refused to drop burning her eyes.

Bella sniffled, wiping her hands on her jeans and using the car to steady herself as she got out, walking back home. The front door was not only unlocked, obviously, but open wide and Bella sighed as she leaned on it to close it.

Luke was nowhere in sight, so she walked upstairs, straight to the bathroom to take a shower and get rid of the alcohol smell and the shame.

Lucas was sitting on their bed when she walked out of the bathroom, wearing his shirt and some loose shorts, and he opened his arms for her to come closer, despite the frown he sported.

Bella didn't need any further invitation, crawling on the bed and throwing herself over him, wrapping her arms around his neck, "I'm really sorry," she mumbled against his shirt, "I didn't mean to hurt you..."

She felt him nod, pressing a kiss to her forehead, "I know... I'm sorry I forced you to take the day off," Lucas wrapped his arms tightly around her, "I didn't think you'd be all alone here, stewing on it..."

Bella sighed, clutching his shirt, "doesn't justify my behavior, Lucas."

"Yeah, I know, I'm pissed," he scoffed, but his hand rubbing up and down her back disproved that, "I love you, okay? Even if I'm pissed."

Bella's whole body melted, all the tension vanishing as she curled up against him, "I love you too. Even when I'm an idiot."

"Uhm," he chuckled, vibrating deep in his chest, "but you'll deal with Ma when she calls for the rest of the gossip."

"Yeah, alright. Deal," Bella opened a little smile, pressing a kiss over his shirt.

[gayhoediaz]

nieeeee. i literally cannot stop thinking about of solace and amelioration. like. i've read it three times and i always skip to the end and cry because buck and tommy are. so full of love for each other, it literally makes me Ache. and. the little details you wove in there about tommy's backstory? just.. annihilate me. do you have any more tommy/bucktommy headcanons to share pls 🤲🏾🥺

jaaaack my loveee 🥺🥺🥺 yess of course anything for you!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

tommy spent a lot of time alone growing up so he can solve a rubik’s cube in like absolute record time. for some reason buck finds this just… so hot. he loves it when his man is capable and confident. (and he loves his hands.)

tommy doesn’t necessarily mind being alone because he is so used to it - spending christmas alone, watching love actually and cooking just for himself doesn’t make him sad. he’s certainly not someone who feels sorry for himself. but when he does have people around him? oh god he loves it so much. he loves taking care of people he loves loving people and he loves it when he gets the same right back.

buck is not a huge fan of muay thai either but he still learns a little bit - mostly because he likes seeing tommy all hot and sweaty (and capable) in as many situations as possible (and yes it always ends in sex, in fact i think eventually “muay thai” stops meaning muay thai altogether. it’s just code for dicking each other down.)

buck loves running his fingers through tommy’s hair and tommy loves it when he does it. after a bad day, he’ll just walk in through the door and drop himself on the couch with his head in buck’s lap.

a few years ago tommy went to the animal shelter to maybe get a cat cause he was a little lonely, but he came home with an irish wolfhound and he named her keira because bonus hc: keira knightley is his favorite actress. (buck and keira take to each other immediately, and since buck does more cardio than tommy, he takes up a habit of running with her whenever he has time - usually in the morning, dropping a kiss to a half-asleep tommy’s temple as he tells him he’ll be back in a bit.)

tommy loves buck’s ass (what he sees, i don’t know, there is literally nothing there) but by the time they’ve been together for a few months, he’s comfortable enough to stop holding back, and he’ll just fucking live down there. often it’s sexual but sometimes it’s also not - sometimes they’re having a sick or lazy day, watching the tv in tommy’s bedroom, and buck is fully dressed in sweatpants and a hoodie, and he always ends up on his stomach so tommy can use his non-existent ass as a pillow.

they shut keira out of the room when they fuck, but when they’re done they always let her back in to sleep in bed and she takes up 85% of the space but that’s okay ❤️

tommy meditates and buck tries too but his brain moves too quickly it doesn’t really work for him. when meditation doesn’t work for tommy either - he smokes. it’s a terrible habit left over from rebellious teenage years and stressful time in the closet, and he’s done a good job kicking it, but sometimes buck kisses him, and he can smell it on his breath and he just. sighs. and runs a hand through his hair and asks if he wants to talk abt it.

the longer they’re together the more “cracks” start to show in tommy, i think he’s a lot better at hiding it than buck is - but he struggles not only with ptsd, but with depression and anxiety and he has worked on himself and continues to do so, but he still keeps a lot of that stuff to himself - it takes a while but when buck starts opening up more, tommy slowly starts to do the same, and evan is the first person he feels he can truly rely on and trust, and he’s never really had that before, never felt as if he can be all of himself with someone - not like this.

tommy is plant dad. he has so many plants and he takes such good care of them, and of course, since buck loves learning things, it quickly becomes a shared hobby. their monstera is their pride and joy.

tommy drinks his coffee with so many extra shots of espresso that buck usually makes a little bit of a face when he kisses him right afterwards.

tommy has a lot of small skills he’s kinda good at but not really but kind of (usually, again, born out of boredom and/or loneliness) painting, baking bread, playing the harmonica. he knows how to do these things, but whether or not his own results will be great is… a toss up. however combined with buck’s love of learning and adhd brain, they learn a lot more small skills together. kind of. for a while. until they drop it and move onto the next thing.

tommy is really good at playing the guitar and the first morning buck wakes up in his bed, he asks him about it, and he plays for him. until buck wrestles it out of his hands and puts it to the side because his boyfriend is even hotter now and he needs to get dicked down again thanks. (when they’re done, buck asks tommy to teach him and they end up doing the classic “hands over hands” move and it’s very cute but tommy keeps pressing soft little kisses to bucks shoulder and telling him he’s doing so good and it’s hngggggg… very distracting.)

tommy used to be on the swim team in high school.

tommy is indeed abby’s tommy cause i think it’s funny. it throws them both off a little bit but then tommy says something so smooth that buck forgets all about it. it doesn’t matter. they are each other’s now, fuck her. (i think tommy ended things w her amicably probably cause he was figuring out he’s gay and doesn’t have any negative nor positive feelings abt her, but when buck eventually tells him how she ended (or didn’t) things w him, tommy decides that he does have decidedly negative feelings about her actually.)

[suzukiblu]

Guessing game: Farm

Context: a familial soulmates AU is happening to newly-decanted baby clone "Superman" and Ma and Pa "it's free alien baby" Kent.

The waitress comes back with the drinks and asks if they're ready to order, and then they have to actually read the menu. She leaves them to it. The Zesti does taste really good, but Superman has a hard time concentrating on the menu and barely resists the urge to glance up at Jonathan and Martha every five seconds.

"Oh, wait–can you read yet, kiddo, or do you need some help with that?" Jonathan asks with a faint frown as he glances up at him himself, and somehow the question doesn't sound judgmental at all.

Weird, Superman thinks again.

"Yeah," he says. "Um–Cadmus was educating me with information uploads. I didn't finish them, but I can read and write and do, like . . . well, some math, anyway. I got through trig and precalc, mostly. Uh, and some chemistry and biology. And, like, I can speak English and Spanish and a little Mandarin, and I know basic ASL. I don't think I'm actually as smart as they thought I was gonna be, though, some of it's kinda . . . confusing, to be honest? And they only ever showed me stuff once, I think they just thought I'd . . . you know, get it."

"You're two weeks old!" Martha says with an exasperated huff. "Those damn morons, you're gonna need a lot more than two weeks' worth of yellow sun before you're going to get the eidetic memory or the enhanced intelligence."

"The–what?" Superman blinks. Jonathan and Martha glance at each other, oddly, and then back to him.

"Superman had perfect recall," Jonathan says. "Hyperthymesia. A photographic memory, you might call it."

"Oh," Superman says, blinking again. "Uh–I didn't know that."

"I don't know how much most people ever thought about it, so far as his powers went," Jonathan says with a shrug. "Not quite as flashy as the heat vision or the flying. Actually it's a surprise you can fly this quick, come to think."

"I'm sort of . . . cheating," Superman mutters, ducking his head. "My Kryptonian physiology isn't developed enough to give me the real powers yet and they didn't know how long it might take for them to come in, so they sort of . . . there's like this . . . field, kind of, that the original Superman put off? Subconscious telekinesis, I guess. Skin-tight force field, basically. It's why bullets weren't ripping up his suit all the time and why he could, like, pick up a whole freaking bus or whatever one-handed and it wouldn't just break in half from the fucked-up–uh, the messed-up support. The field would just wrap around whatever he was touching and reflexively keep it together. So Cadmus just kinda . . . copied that and cranked it up to eleven, for me. So I'm telekinetic, kind of?"

"Huh," Martha says, looking a little puzzled. "You know, that never even occurred to me, but it certainly explains a few things."

"It only works when I'm touching something," Superman says, fidgeting uncomfortably and feeling kind of like . . . well, he guesses his powers not being the same as the original Superman's were yet isn't gonna disappoint the Kents, right? Like, why would they care? "It's tactile-based. But I can always use it on myself. So I can fly and pick up real heavy shit and hit like I've got super-strength and make it look like I'm invulnerable. No heat vision or ice breath or X-ray vision or, uh, eidetic memory, though. Or super-speed or super-senses."

And definitely, definitely no enhanced intelligence.

"So you mean you're going to be stronger than Superman was?" Martha asks with a little frown, and Superman . . . blinks.

"Uh . . . I don't think so?" he says uncertainly, not sure where she got that idea. "I don't know how the hybridization of my DNA will affect, like . . . any of the Kryptonian powers. They might turn out weaker than his were, since my genes are sort of already adapted for a yellow sun."

"I don't know, being primed to process yellow sunlight might make your powers end up stronger, on that logic," Jonathan points out reasonably. "Once you grow into them a bit, anyway. And either way you'll have the telekinesis enhancing your strength and invulnerability, and that might get stronger too. And, well, at least some hybrids have a tendency to turn out bigger and stronger than their parent species."

Superman tilts his head. Blinks a couple times.

"Huh," he says.

Well, there's a really freaking cool and absolutely fucking terrifying thought.

"How do you know all that?" he asks. "Are you a biologist or something?"

"I'm a farmer, son," Jonathan says wryly. "I'm talking about mules and wolfdogs."

"You're a farmer?" Superman repeats in absolute bemusement.

"We both are, dear," Martha says. "All our lives. We live out in Smallville, actually, we're just here visiting . . . well. Clark's fiancée. Her name is Lois."

"Where's Smallville?" Superman asks, still bemused.

"Kansas," Martha says. "We have a little farm out there. And . . . well, we'd very much like to take you in, obviously, though I don't know where you're staying right now."

"Just, like–wherever, right now," Superman says awkwardly, trying not to sound as pathetic as he's pretty sure he does even as he wonders how that's supposed to be "obvious". He's not, like, a little kid or anything. It's not like he can't take care of himself. "Like, it's not really . . . just wherever."

Jonathan and Martha glance at each other. Superman feels embarrassed. It's not like it matters where he's staying, and like, he'll find a place, eventually, just . . . he hasn't quite figured out how to do that yet. That's all.

Cadmus, unfortunately, did not prepare him to ever live . . . well. Outside of Cadmus.

"Would you like to visit, at least? Take a look around?" Jonathan offers. "It's not too far a flight from Metropolis."

"Um . . . maybe," Superman says, really not sure what he'd ever do on a farm of all places. Like, in what way is a farm a "Superman" kind of place to be?

Though he guesses it'd be politer than making Jonathan and Martha come to Metropolis. And if they actually . . . if they really want to see him . . .

He could swing by sometimes, that's all. He guesses he'd have to be careful about doing it because probably the Kents aren't gonna want anybody to know they're his soulmates, given the whole "being civilians" thing. Maybe he can just . . . just pretend to be . . . he doesn't know, exactly? Just–maybe some random distant relative or something. Maybe they have some cousins or whatever. Or just . . . something.

Superman actually has no idea how many people hang out with their extended family members like that, to be honest, but it's the best idea he's coming up with right now.

[kitthepurplepotato]

Chapter 10 (2/2) - Kirishima’s “roomies forever” party!

Summary: Is it gay to sleep in the same bed as your bro? What about getting married to him?

Warnings: Swear words, KiriBaku centered chapter (NOT platonic)

First Chapter Master List

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

“Did you fuck before coming here?!” Katsuki yells right as you two stumble through the door. You thought you did a good job at putting Izuku together after your shenanigans but it’s not like you can magically make his swollen lips disappear.

“Kacchan! No! Uhm… we just… kissed a little bit, that’s all.” Izuku’s face is red as the tomato in your little garden thanks to the fact that Katsuki’s yelling made every single person in the room look towards you two.

“Oh my god, is it finally official? You and Y/N?” Mina perks up right away.

“Took them fucking long enough.” Katsuki rolls his eyes and you can’t help but notice that these guys have their own version of “smart casual” because… well…

Katsuki’s dress shirt is messy and his shirt is only half buttoned. Eijirou’s shirt is literally used as a cape. Kaminari looks like a mafia boss. He even has a fancy fedora. Shinsou didn’t even bother to put a dress shirt on he’s just chilling in his hero suit, clearly still on the call. Momo went all out and she looks absolutely stunning in her black dress, Todoroki is wearing the same style as her. He looks like a prince from another era. You don’t need to ask how their first date went after the camp to know those two are a thing now. Those are just a few examples.

“Let them be, Katsuki.” Eijirou puts his hand on Katsuki’s shoulder to calm him down. “Now that everyone is here, let’s start the celebration!” Kirishima yells and the whole gang sits down on the massive sofa.

Okay, let’s stop here for a second. Let’s talk about Katsuki and Eijirou’s place a little bit.

First of all, this place looks absolutely amazing and you can certainly tell who was in charge for decorating the different rooms because the open kitchen is minimalistic and super clean while the living room is full of pictures, knick knacks and colorful little things. There are pictures about their friends, their family but it’s mostly about the two living here; there are Polaroids all over the place, probably taken by Izuku on their camping trips then there is one long strip of them, probably from a Photo Booth - Eijirou is kissing Katsuki’s cheek while the other rolls his eyes annoyedly.

Wait…

“Ahh, you haven’t been here before! Let me give you a tour.” Eijirou literally pulls you away from the picture with his cheeks tinted pink. He puts a glass of champagne in your hand and ushers you to the other end of the room. “So this this is the living room and the kitchen, obviously. The door in front of you leads to the garden and the sauna which is a separate little building on the side. Then you have the gym room here, guest room here…”

“Wait, that’s Kacchan’s bedroom.” Izuku jumps into Eijirou’s sentence, utterly confused.

“Oh, we made it into a gym a few months ago, I was out of space in my bedroom.” The redhead retorts like it’s no biggie.

“Where does Kacchan sleep then?”

“In my room or the guest room. Depends if he’s grumpy or not.”

You can barely conceal your shit eating grin as you look at your boyfriends defeated face.

“Oh, so you… redid your room with two beds and stuff? Is Kacchan okay with sharing his personal space like that?” Izuku tries to save himself but by the confused look on Eijirou’s face, he’s not gonna win.

“Uhm, no, he kinda slept in my bed all the time anyway so his room was never really used…”

“Okay, stop gossiping.” Katsuki takes over as Eijirou starts to stumble over his own words out of embarrassment. “Yes, I sleep in the same bed as Ei. Then what? That room was fucking cold.”

“Oh, that’s why you cuddle me so much?”

Izuku almost chokes on his drink. This is the best day of your life.

“Duh. You are a fucking furnace. Perfect for my needs.”

“You okay, man?” Eijirou pats Deku’s back a few times to help him with out.

“Yeah, uhm… I just didn’t realize you have such a… close relationship… uhm, do you mind if I have a moment with Sweet Pea in the garden? I think I need some fresh air.” Izuku literally runs out the door before even waiting for an answer.

~•🥦•~

“Okay, did you guys talk about this behind my back? Is this a prank? And if not, how did I miss this? Actually, why did they not tell me? Am I not Kacchan’s friend? Am I not important enough to…” Izuku starts to mutter right away.

“Izuku, calm down.” You giggle as you pull him closer. “No, I did not tell them anything and I swear I have nothing to do with this even if it is actually a prank. I’m just as surprised as you are. Not about then sleeping in the same bed but about the fact that they admit it.”

“Oh my god, I feel like my whole world just turned upside down, Sweets. They are my best friends…”

“Calm your pretty tits, maybe they just sleep in the same bed to save some space. Don’t think too much about it for now.”

It’s so hard not to yell “I WAS RIGHT”. So fucking hard.

“Did you really need to comment on my tits? I know this shirt is a little bit too tight…”

“I had to. I like it. Now let’s get back, it looks like Eijirou is about to make a speech.”

~•🥦•~

“I’m so glad so many of you managed to get the night off. I know Hitoshi, Ochako and Iida has to go soon so I’ll do this now instead of waiting until the end of the night.” Eijirou starts his speech in his now buttoned shirt. He even managed to get a tie from somewhere. He looks weirdly anxious compared to his usual, bubbly self. “Katsuki and I have been through a lot together… hell, we’ve all been. We fought a war, we got hurt, we lost people who were close to us, we cried, we smiled, we re-learned how to live a normal life together.” The whole team nods at that, their faces already teary as Eijirou goes on. “Katsuki saved me from myself. I hated who I was, I hated my quirk but Katsuki slapped me in the face and made me believe that even I can achieve big things if I try hard enough. Uhm… how was it again?” Eijirou pulls out a little paper from his pocket to take a look and the whole gang laughs. “Duh, of course I had to memorize this, I ain’t a fucking Coelho. So back to what I was about to say… yeah, so… it has been 7 years since we moved in together and I still remember the day Katsuki told me that I have no choice but to move in with him after graduation. I was terrified but also so fucking happy because while I was extremely excited to be a hero and love my own life I just couldn’t see myself without him by my side. I was afraid that I’ll loose contact with all of you. But here we are, the Bakusquad, still together. But… Kats, can you come over here?”

Katsuki looks like a deer in the headlights as Mina ushers him to stand up and go over with a knowing smile on her face. Katsuki stands right next to Eijirou who looks at him like he’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen.

“Uhm… I fucking forgot what I was about to say but you know what, fuck it.” Eijirou mutters with tears in his eyes. Izuku looks mortified. “I feel like I have everything I wanted as a teen; I have a beautiful flat I’m sharing with my best friend, I have the greatest friends and the greatest job. But there is one thing I don’t have; a partner who I know will be with me until death pulls us apart.”

The whole gang goes silent. Izuku chokes on his drink again.

“The fuck are you…” Katsuki is about to yell at him, offended, but Kirishima stops him by putting his palm on his mouth.

“Katsuki. We’ve been living together for 7 years and while I know I’m being selfish right now but…” Eijirou GOES DOWN ON ONE FUCKING KNEE. “Can you promise me you’ll be my roommate forever?”

Mina cries like a baby while the rest of the gang gawks at the two bozos, completely dumbfounded. You have no idea how to react. Izuku.exe has stopped working completely next to you.

“Eijirou, what the actual fuck are you doing right now?!” Katsuki mumbles with a red face.

“I’m asking you to be my roommate forever? Is that weird? I thought it’s really manly…”

“Eijirou, you just went down and one knee and proposed to me. Look at Iida’s confused fucking face! Deku is having a stroke!” Katsuki yells at the puppy eyed redhead who looks so gobsmacked you kinda want to hug him.

“That wasn’t my intention, but like… I do have a ring too…”

“You have a what.”

Momo gaps dramatically in the background. You try your best not to laugh.

“A ring. A roomies forever ring.” Eijirou takes out a really expensive ring box from his pocket with a sad face. Katsuki is about to explode. So is Deku.

“Well, first of all, fuck you.” Katsuki yells at the poor guy again. “Because I also have a fucking ring. So now we have two.”

Well, that’s a fucking plotwist, innit?!

“What…?!”

“… And it’s not like I’m gonna get a fucking boyfriend or a girlfriend if I sleep in your fucking bed so we might as well just get fucking married.”

“OHMYFUCKINGGODIMHYPERVENTILLATINGIFUCKINGKNEWIT”

Uhm, that was Mina. You didn’t really understand a single world but she’s clearly fucking excited.

Katsuki fucking Bakugou gets down on one knee too. He takes out an even more expensive ring and he doesn’t even wait for Eijirou to get out of his stupor before he shoves the ring on Eijirou’s finger. “You are stuck with me now. For fucking ever just how you wanted. I hate you for doing this right in front of everyone by the way, I wanted to do this after everyone leaves.”

“Kats…”

This is when Izuku absolutely loses his shit. You can see it in his eyes.

Because the next moment, Eijirou jumps into Katsuki’s arms and kisses him on the lips right in front of everyone. And the kiss doesn’t look like it’s the first one they’ve ever shared.

You don’t have the heart to be giddy about being right because Izuku looks absolutely heartbroken by the sight.

“Let’s go home.” Izuku stands up abruptly. You try to pull him back on the sofa but he’s relentless.

“Don’t make a scene. I know you are mad, but don’t ruin this for them.”

Katsuki, being the perceptive guy he is, looks up at you two right away. He doesn’t need to say anything to Eijirou because just as he takes a look at you two he lets Katsuki go, probably knowing this conversation is a must.

“Izuku, come with me. You too.” Katsuki sighs while the others make their ways to congratulate Eijirou for staying alive after all the shit he just pulled.

You really want to congratulate the two and tell them you shipped them before they went official but seeing Izuku’s face right now, half a second from crying, you decide to just go after Katsuki, pulling the frozen greenhead after you. You two end up in the garden and Katsuki sits down on the bench with a frown on his face; he’s clearly trying his best to choose his words properly and not make the situation worse.

“Look, I’m sorry.” Katsuki murmurs with his hands deep in his hair, clearly just as frustrated as Izuku himself. “You know I’m not into the whole… love thing and this… this is new. Well, almost… ah fuck, this is so awkward.” He sighs. “5 years ago… We… did some stuff. I was telling Eijirou about me not understanding what’s the big deal about kissing. I was twenty and still a virgin and I was just… fed up. And it escalated. Then we never talked about it ever again… until you called us, crying about how you don’t want to loose your Sweet Pea and then Eijirou told you the whole story and said he… he loves me and honestly, I was feeling the same or whatever so we… decided to… just be together and stop pretending that we are not… attracted to each other. Honestly, not a lot of things has changed since then, I used to sleep in his bed for years anyway. We were… a couple without even realizing it.”

“I didn’t even know you are gay, Katsuki.” Izuku mutters with tears in his eyes. You really want to hug him.

“Don’t fucking call me Katsuki! And it’s no one’s business! I haven’t told the hag either. I didn’t think I’ll ever be in a situation when it matters. Also, I don’t think I’m gay. I’ve never cared about anyone this way except for him. Never. I already said sorry so stop looking at me like I pulled Auntie Inko’s hair and be my best fucking man when this shit escalates.”

“Oh my god.” You mumble in a high pitched voice. Oh my god, this is happening. Oh my…

“Me?” Izuku freezes, for the third time today.

“What the fuck? Who the fuck else? You are my fucking nerdy, annoying brother from another mother, of course it needs to be you.”

Izuku cries a river. Literally. You decide to leave these two alone after seeing Deku moving into Katsuki’s personal space and hugging him, because even though you know the two don’t mind your presence when it comes to emotional stuff, hell, Katsuki literally opened up to you on the first day, but somehow, this felt so intimate you started to feel like an intruder.

You make your way back inside and Eijirou clocks you right away; he smiles from the other side of the room, his face so happy it makes your heart melt just from looking at him.

“Talk about surprises, right?” He scratches the back of his head self-deprecatingly.

“Don’t flatter yourself, I knew this the first moment I’ve met you two. I’ve been teasing Izu with it for ages.” You give him a cheeky grin back.

“Will he be okay?” The conversation is suddenly turning serious; Kirishima’s smile disappears for a second, worry etched all over his face as he waits for your answer. Katsuki not telling Izuku is one thing but Eijirou? You have no idea how the guy managed to keep this a secret for so long. It must have been terrible, Eijirou is all about gossip on a usual day and he wears his heart on his sleeves every single second.

“I’m not going to lie, he was really upset, but Katsuki just asked him to be his best man, and now he’s crying like a baby in his arms, so…”

For your surprise, Eijirou starts ugly crying just as you finish your sentence.

“That’s so manly, goddamnit!” It only takes him half a second to crush into you, suffocating you with his massive body, absolutely not bothered by your terrified yelp as you try to breathe and fail.

Well… today was full of surprises, that’s for sure, but you are so happy to be able to live such a wonderful and exciting life, a life full of surprises and love and oh fuck, how did you get so lucky?

It’s really hard not to start stressing about what comes next; life has been way too kind to you and everything is so perfect but… life can’t be this is easy, can it? Something must be on the way, something bad, something dark and menacing but you decide to hide this terrible thought under the hypothetical rug in your mind palace for now, knowing that whatever comes your way, if these people are still by your side, it can’t be that bad.

… this is what you thought back then. That it can’t be that bad… but life had other plans for you two.

The pink clouds shattered with the static of the TV, with the constant buzz of your phone. With Eijirou’s trembling voice, trying to stay strong for you.

You didn’t know there is a New Era coming your way, one that will probably be called a horrific name in the history books, something dramatic, something easy to remember, but terrible nonetheless.

Something like… the falling of the Number One.

… Next Chapter!

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~

Potato ramble:

- Mina was wearing an extremely short skirt and a tank top that barely hid anything. In case you wondered. She’s cool like that.

- Why did they remake Katsuki’s room into the gym and not the guest room? Because they literally came up with that idea after they officially got together so they knew that room won’t be used anymore. There is an extra I have half-written if you guys want to know the full story behind those two so please leave a comment if you want me to post it in the future!

- In the original script they didn’t actually engage in this chapter, or at least not in front of everyone. Katsuki was supposed to pull Eijirou into his room and yell at him about his “easy to misinterpret” actions but he would’ve said yes to the proposal anyway but play dumb through the whole night and deny it, making the whole gang confused about what the fuck is going on but then as you know, my characters have a mind of their own and this happened. I remember making a dramatic gasp when Katsuki pulled out another ring because I genuinely didn’t know that’s gonna happen lol should I see a doctor? I probably should. 😂

- While I have the next chapter written already it might be a bit late and the reason is that I want to have the next one ready so you guys don’t need to wait for longer than a week for it because uhm… it ends with a massive cliffhanger. So get tissues and book an appointment with your therapist if you have one. If not, find one. Or don’t read it until the next one is out. That’s probably cheaper. I’m sorry in advance. My bestie @porusuniverse already read the chapter and I’m quite sure she almost had a meltdown by the end of it. 😂😇

If you like this story, please leave a comment! Likes and reblogs are also appreciated! 🥦

TL: @garfieldthomas @porusuniverse @stickygumchewer @sixxze @mily-moo @aei-sedai-moiraine @aymasakusa @katsuari @kenzie-deadly @shiviwrites07 @lukerycyja-reblogs @cloroxisadelectabletreat @coffeent @kisskissshutmydoor @bobcar1 @yazminetrahan @cringefan @ronimacaroni77 @thekookiecorner @dangerousluv1 @emperatris-rinaka @shotos-angelic-whore @angelsdemonsmonsters @norvacaine @rei165 @unofficialmuilover @yao-ai @happydragonfrog @eeerreehhh @vinivave

[latimeria-fell-from-heaven]

#𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍 𝐀𝐃𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐒𝐇𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓.

𓆩♡𓆪 being a workaholic is going to kill you one of these days. thankfully, lee comes in with quite a helpful solution. or so it seems. MINORS DNI!!

cw. afab!reader, reader is the doctor, double dragon dicks, slight dub-con, hypnosis (reader is into it but makes fun of lee lmao), dilf, age difference, scent kink, deepthroating, cumming untouched, sensory overload & genital slit/retractable dicks.

lati. thank you so much to the very lovely person who commissioned me for this!! they wished to remain anonymous but i hope you read this and are satisfied with this yummy fic bc i had a helluva time writing it :D

wc. 5325

Your head is going to explode—you're so god-awfully exhausted and stressed that death might as well be imminent. You're going to die from overworking and the endless stacks of papers would be your tomb. Oh god, you're too young to die from work; you haven't even really done all the stuff you've always wanted to do—actually, wait, how old are you again? You don't know.

Kal'tsit and Amiya never really went into any specific details about the kind of person you were before you awoke in Chernobog (well, you think you have a good enough idea of who you once were, but thinking about it makes your head hurt), and they most certainly did not inform you of your age. Well, Amiya did bake you a cake for your birthday and sang happy birthday, but had placed a small handful of colorful candles across the cake that did not indicate your age. And if Kal'tsit knew, then she certainly was in no rush to tell you just how long you'd been around.

But anyway, that's not the point. The point is that you're gonna die. And if you don't die from work, then Kal'tsit would most certainly hang you from the rafters if you didn't finish your work.

It feels like no matter how many recruitment permits you sent off or battle records you reviewed, the pile of documents on your desk was never-ending. It was already so late into the night, and judging by a glance at the clock, most of Rhodes Island should be asleep in their dorms, in the comfort of their beds. Fuck, just thinking about a bed is making you sleepy.

You leaned back in your chair, for a quick breather, and totally not because you're trying to keep yourself from passing out on the spot. Wincing at the sound your back makes in the process—a consequence of having been hunched over for so long. 

Man...looks like an all-nighter at this rate. You can feel your sanity shrivel up at that realization. If you could have a stress cry session, then you absolutely would, but even you know that crying won't get you anywhere.

Your oh woe is me! thoughts are interrupted by the sound of your office door opening. Huh? Who else would be awake at this god-forsaken hour other than yourself—?

"Why are the lights all on at this hour... oh?" There stood at your doorway, was no other than Lee. Wait, why was he awake at this time? Was he unable to sleep and decided to go for a stroll around the landship?

He looks a little surprised to see you still perched behind your desk, but his expression quickly shifts to his usual playful and lax demeanor. "Ah, (name). Are you still processing battle records? Well, I never thought you were such a workaholic. I'm impressed," he whistles, sauntering towards your desk and leaning over to peek at what you'd been working on.

After his quick inspection, he exclaims, "But! You'd better turn in sooner. It's not worth it to break your body doing it."

"While the concern is greatly appreciated Lee, I still need to get this all done or Kal'tsit will have my head," you huff out a tired laugh in response. "Cause... she said she could do that and I believe her."

"Why not ask your assistants for help? I'm sure they'd be glad to be of aid to the esteemed Doctor. I could even be of assistance to you (name), I'm rather good with paperwork." At that last remark, you visibly deadpanned—Lee was the last guy you'd ever ask for help on paperwork. You were all too familiar with his many attempts to avoid doing too much work.

"The last time I tried to ask you for help, you coincidentally got a headache and told me I could handle it by myself."

"But I still help around the office, don't I? I'm quite handy during missions even if I'm no good in a fight." Lee seems quite proud to prattle on about how he's such an excellent little helper at your side, but you're not buying any of it. He may be a smooth talker and, you're not ashamed to admit, have quite the attractive face and demeanor, but you're not exactly keen on letting him boost up his ego.

"Lee, in the last mission I didn't see you anywhere in the fight and when I asked, you said you were the moral support," you groan, lips turned downward in feigned annoyance.

"I sense some hostility towards me, (name)," his tail swishes behind his tall frame vigorously as he pouts almost childishly, but you can tell that he's anything but offended. Knowing the old fish, he was amused by your little jabs and didn't mind entertaining you to alleviate your stress levels.

"Good, feel the hostility you old carp," you were trying to appear annoyed, but the second you made eye contact with the titular old carp, you started snickering and even let out a few laughs, with Lee joining in with chuckles of his own. God, it feels good to throw harmless jabs and just laugh without a care in the world. "Sorry Lee, but even if you lend me a hand, we'd have to be multitasking like nobody's business."

"At least take a break if that is the case, (name). It's no good to keep an engine running on fumes," Lee hums, circling behind your chair to place his hands on your shoulders, applying the most welcomed pressure on your sore muscles. "Why not take a step away from this battlefield of a desk, and relax a little on the couch while I go and make us some tea."

"After all, it would be a shame to let those good tea leaves you keep go to waste."

"Ugh, fine," you whine, making a point of dramatically dragging yourself off of your chair before dragging your feet as slowly as you can. Lee places a hand on your lower back and hurries you along to the couch, to which he takes it upon himself to sit you down with hands that weigh down on your shoulders. You're almost a bit embarrassed to feel how swiftly and easily you sink into the sleek leather, sighing in relief as your tense muscles ease up.

"See, not that hard to relax, now is it? Now sit tight while I go make us some tea." He makes a point of patting your head, and you whine in defeat, unable to bring yourself to swat away his hand.

"Mmm."

Satisfied, he saunters off to the mini-kitchen, humming a song that you find somewhat familiar. You don't remember the words, but you certainly find the melody to be familiar. Maybe it was playing on the radio when you'd paid a visit to Aak in his little lab, and Lee might've just heard it playing on a loop everywhere.

Even though you're supposed to be relaxing and thinking about anything that isn't work-related, the workaholic in you is screaming and wailing like a banshee. You're practically having an internal war, and the workaholic is currently winning the bloody conquest. Figures, you could never put away your duties until you were freed by your own passing out from exhaustion or an operator forcing you to take a step back.

The internal struggle is just too much for you to bear any longer. Just...one little signature wouldn't hurt, right? It wouldn't kill you just to sign one measly little signature. Besides, Lee isn't paying any attention right now and if you were quick enough, then he wouldn't know. That's how that old saying goes right? What you don't know can't hurt you. It totally applies to this situation right now!

Having made up your mind, and taking a quick glance at Lee to make sure he wasn't looking, you scurry to your desk like a subway rat. As quietly and quickly as you can, you snatch the pen you'd left on a small stack of papers, and with a sharp click that makes you wince at how much more resounding it is, you scribble your name onto the blank space. It's a sloppy signature, but it looks decent enough to pass by without raising any eyebrows. Yeah, that's—

"Doctor."

Shit.

When you nervously lift your head, there stands Lee. Except he's no longer smirking. He looks almost, impatient. No, he looks pretty mad. Or is it disappointment? You seriously can't tell, but whatever he's feeling, it's clear that he's not happy.

"Heeyy Lee. What a nice night it is, am I right? Say, why don't we drink the tea now, yeah? Haha..." Crap, he's not answering. Trying to bullshit your way out of this one wasn't going to work, but it was worth a shot, right? "Y, you're not mad are you?"

"No." Yep, he's mad. Ugh, if someone says that they're not mad in that tone, then they're seriously mad! And it's even scarier because you've never seen Lee mad before! "Why would I be mad?"

"That's exactly what a person who's mad would say," you nervously quip, fiddling with your fingers and scratching at your skin. You always do that whenever you get anxious, it’s a really bad nervous habit of yours, even if you always end up peeling back skin right from the corners of your nails and have to snip the small peel of flesh off with your nail clippers.

"I worry that you don't take things to heart, (name). It's like you don't consider others' opinions.." he sighs, sounding more like a parent scolding their boisterous teen for the nth time. Fuck, you're seriously feeling super guilty right now; guess Lee had a bit of practice with three certain operators on the wonders of parental guilt-tripping. "And for that, I fear that you'll need more than just a stern talking to."

"Wait wha--"

Ignoring your confusion, Lee fumbles around the hidden pockets of his coat as he searches for... something? You're tempted to just sidestep him and just lie down on the couch and feign exhaustion. Yet something inside of you wanted to see where this would go, keeping you rooted to the ground. And because Lee would see through your bullshit immediately (curse his keen detective skills).

He mutters an 'ah, there it is,' before quickly yanking his hand out and holding some circular object by a mere thread that you suspect may give out at any moment. You may have only seen the device for a few seconds, but you'd recognize that black-and-white spiral pattern anywhere. Anyone would, given that it was always on those weird hypnosis videos you'd come across on the Internet.

"..Hypnosis? Seriously? What kinda scams are you getting into, my dude..?" While hypnosis and mind control weren't exactly sensational news for you, given what Amiya had experienced with Mephisto and his undead herd, it feels rather silly for it to be used in a situation like this. But seeing Lee's impatient posture and the way his tail restlessly swishes behind, you figure that you might as well humor him.

As Lee raises the circular device to your eye level, you can't resist the urge for an eye roll at the absurdity of this situation. He doesn't need to really tell you what to do, you know that you're supposed to look in the center and let the spiral do its magic or whatever. Like, make your head empty and have no thoughts, right?

"Lee, if this doesn't work and I'm not some bread-dead zombie or whatever, I'll--"

Lee snaps his fingers.

Your body relaxes.

All the racing thoughts in your mind cease.

—Ah..?

"There we go. Just focus on my voice, (name). Don't think about anything or anyone else, alright?" His crooning voice echoes in your head, and it suddenly feels like your brain is being physically rearranged. At the same time, it was as if your brain was melting, being numbed with a strange fog that left you feeling empty——No...no, empty wasn't enough to describe this strange mental hollowness that dominated every cell in your body.

"Just relax. Once I snap my fingers, you'll go back to normal. Okay?" Vacuously, you nod your head, the motion akin to that of a rag doll being shaken about. A little unnerving, yes, but it's a rather humorous sight nonetheless. "Good, good. Not so hard to just kick back and relax is it?"

Lee ruffles your hair, inwardly chuckling as he notices more stray hairs begin to stick up from the mass. It truly completes the workaholic and sleep-deprived image that he’s heard so much about from passing conversation he just so happened to overhear. Though, now that he has you like this, he isn’t all too sure what he really wants to do to you. Or perhaps he does know, but he’s just too accustomed to pushing those thoughts to the back burner.

As his hand trails south before resting against your cheek, his thumb comes to rest against your chapped lips—that was no surprise since he’d seen you lick them so much—and he absentmindedly rubs along the uneven surface.

Lee swallows hard and mutters a small ‘pardon me.’

He dips his thumb past your lips experimentally, circling the thick digit around and coating it in your spit. The warmth of your mouth, the wetness of your tongue, and the titillating tension of this situation chip away at something deep inside Lee. Yes, he was quite the trusted comrade whom you'd seek out whenever he made his visits to the landship. But he knew quite well that there was always a bit of tension between the two of you. It wasn't bad, heavens no, but Lee would have to be a fool to not pick up on the playful smiles, the suggestive remarks thrown his way, how you so teasingly expose the more sensuous parts of your body by bending over...Those were just a few he could list off the top of his head right now.

He could name a couple more, but he's getting distracted by the minuscule whines you produce as he continues to probe your tiny mouth. A part of him wonders if you're responding this way simply because it's him touching you. 

He's decided. Why waste an opportunity as good as this? He grabs your shoulder and guides you to the couch, which he eagerly plops down upon—yeah, he’s pumped full of excitement, who wouldn’t be? Lee makes sure to spread his legs nice and wide; he’s at least kind enough to not make you spread them apart yourself.

"On your knees." Lee winces a bit at how suddenly you drop to the floor, and he's rather inclined to stop and check for any bruising or irritation. But you don't even so much as flinch, hardly showing any sort of reflexive response to the discomfort. Hesitantly satisfied, the detective relaxes the tension in his body. Well, at least you'd simply have to suffer through some scuffed kneecaps, but nothing too serious that would require the attention of a medic.

"Undress me. Waist down," Lee blinks hard as if thinking over his command, watching as you sluggishly fumble with his belt and attempt to push away the countless accessories that adorn his lower half. Somehow, you manage to undo the leather strap and pull the zipper down, revealing grey boxers. Upon noticing you attempting to pull his pants down even further, he seems to realize something. "Actually, scratch that. Just.. just pull my pants low enough. It'll make clean-up easier..."

He mumbles that last part to himself, but thankfully you pay no heed and instead hook a few fingers into the waistband of his underwear to pull it down. What awaits you is a thin slit, though two pink tips of sorts have begun to slowly slide out.

"Well go on. They won't come out if you just keep staring. Make sure you really use your tongue, okay?" You duck your head dangerously close to the protruding tips and swipe a tiny lick that has Lee's hips jolt ever so slightly. Your blunt little tongue teases him relentlessly, easily covering the tips from view and even occasionally dipping into his slit. The detective groans at that, swallowing down the urge to cum right then and there.

"Oh yeah, I don't want to see you touching yourself in any way. This is your punishment Doctor," he ordered, eyeing your hands just in case you got a bit too into this and decided to get yourself off. He couldn't allow that, now could he?

But you remain obedient, latching onto his slit and coating it in your spit in a bid to ease out his cocks. Lee has to admit that you look adorable with your mouth so lovingly devoted to him, and he's almost tempted to order you to touch yourself, to see you satisfying your own base desires without any shame. Almost.

You should be scared. You should terrified out of your mind, feeling your own body acting your will and unable to do anything about it. But, you’re not. Okay, maybe you’re a bit nervous, but it’s the kind of nervousness that borders on feeling good. Normally, you'd be waayy too scared and end up fumbling over yourself in these kinds of situations, but that's not the case here. Your head is all fuzzy, but it feels, like, good? Your entire body feels warm and relaxed, and while that might've been a bit scary to others, all you can feel is a strange pleasure that induces heat to pool into your belly.

Maybe it’s the hypnosis making your brain feel all funny, or maybe it’s because you just like Lee so much, but you find that following Lee’s orders comes rather easy. Then again, it’s just the hypnosis scrambling your brain, right?

With a sudden pop! that sounds perversely wet, the two tips push forward and expose the rest of his manhood in all its glory. You don't react, don't pull your head back out of surprise, and as a result, his cocks push right up against your face. It'd be comical if you'd reacted with any sort of surprise or nervousness, but there were no such expressions on your face.

He's..he's really big...♡ He has two cocks, both shaped like elongated teardrops, and have a sort of pinkish-red color to them. They look really smooth, save for a few prominent veins that pulse rapidly. Even despite your relaxed body, you can't help the small pang of anxiety at the thought of those... going inside of you. Would they even fit..? Your cunt clenches up just thinking about taking his cocks all the way inside. He'd... he'd really break you if he was gonna fuck your cunt with them...♡

"Suck." Lee watches quietly, his face expressionless as he awaits your obedience. Sluggishly, you nod, and slowly press your lips against the left one—well, your left. Your earlier guessed observation of his shaft's texture proves correct, as the almost unnaturally smooth surface seamlessly slides against your lips, and dribbles of precum stick to your skin. You open up your mouth and begin to suckle on the tip, the sleek texture of his cock allowing it to slide into your mouth more easily. 

Lee jolts, clearly being rather sensitive right there. “Fuck, that’s--shit!”

His cocks have a really funny smell; it's all musky and thick and it makes your head spin every time you breathe. It's the kind of smell that you can't help but get addicted to, wanting to breathe it in more even if you're supposed to find it off-putting. Acting on your desires with nothing to stop you, you inhale an extra bit of air as you bob your head up and down on his shaft. Who knew that just the smell of his shafts would turn you on even more? Lee doesn’t seem to notice your strange scent obsession, and if he does, he gives no sign of stopping you anytime soon.

"Excited are we?" He breathed out, hitching a noise that suspiciously bordered on a sensual moan as you pushed your head down to the base. When you repeat that motion, this time Lee moans, a husky and rumbled noise that strikes straight into your core. "Q...Quite gifted with your mouth, aren't you? I wonder where you learned to be so skilled?"

He sounds a bit mocking as if the possible scenario of you on your knees before another man really grates on his nerves. His jealousy wasn’t really rooted in much plausibility, though, since you had often spent countless daydreams conjuring up scenarios like these with Lee in mind. Maybe that’s why you’re so enthusiastically sucking him off even with the hypnosis supposedly making you more robotic—it simply allowed you to act on what you’ve always wanted to do.

Thanks to Lee's little hypnosis trick, your gag reflex is practically nonexistent, evidenced when the pointed tip of his cock hits the back of your throat and all you react with is a muffled moan. Though you’d be ashamed to admit that you’d secretly been testing your gag reflex with a banana whenever you were alone in the break room. It was for science, you swear! And you can get away with saying that because you technically were a neurologist! When scientists do this, it’s an area of interest, not a fetish.

He’s beginning to leak a lot more, salty and oozing pre-cum starting to dribble out in thicker amounts, both inside the confines of your throat and his other cock dripping on your clothes. It even tastes funny too, all salty and bitter and thick—was this even really his pre-cum, or is Lee just really pent-up to the point where he’s leaking out so much? The wise Mr. Lee really was just a perverted old man in the end.

Well, you’d be a hypocrite at this point since you aren’t exactly faring much better either. Your cunt’s been practically melting, slick juices rapidly pooling down and drenching your panties to the point where it’s already started to ooze through. On reflex, you start rubbing your thighs together the best you can, but with how your legs are spread, it comes off as an awkward little butt wiggle. It’s barely enough to even really stimulate you, much less properly get you off, but what little friction you can work up soothes that aching heat, if only barely.

Lee’s moaning a bit louder now, your tongue rubbing the underside of his dick with the kind of pleasurable tickle that makes him want to cum already. But it’s not enough for the detective. He needs more than this. His other shaft is just awkwardly rubbing against your face, with hardly any stimulation other than the feel of your skin. And that couldn’t have possibly been enough, now could it?

“Hey, d-don’t leave this one all alone,” he mumbled, jutting his hips forward in an attempt to get your attention on his other cock, all lonely and unattended to. Though all he succeeds in is shoving his dick further down your throat. “Give it some attention too. Use your hand.”

Giving him a moan of obedience, you clumsily raise a hand to wrap around his poor ignored cock and begin to pump. After barely even a few pumps, when your hand comes back up to enclose the pointy tip, your palm, and fingers are coated in thick globs of pre-cum. They make the motions of your hands easier, the wet glide allowing you to better pleasure him and give the tip that soft squeeze that makes Lee ooze more juices. You can feel a few veins that add a texture to the smooth wet surface, and when your fingers rub against them, Lee shivers a bit.

It’s still a bit difficult to comprehend that he’d be this pent-up to be leaking so much—maybe it was a Lungmenite thing, they were technically dragons after all. But another whiff of that addictive, musky smell and you stop thinking about it.

Clearly, the double stimulation was proving to be too much for Lee, because he orders you to “stop” with a shaky voice, completely different from how smug and charismatic he usually was. You obey, with his dick still stuffed down your throat and his other dick being gently held at the base. He has to take a few moments to breathe in deeply before he gives you his next order.

“P…put both of the tips in your mouth and jerk both of them off at the same time until I cum.”

Your compliance is immediate, and you have to pull his dick out from the depths of your throat (which makes Lee jolt and groan at the loss of heat) and pull at his other dick so it’s angled towards your mouth. He winces at the tugging on his cocks, but as soon as your tiny mouth simultaneously licks on both tips and your hands begin to jerk off both lengths, he forgets all about the discomfort. He’s more focused on your frantic movements and the building crescendo of muffled moans as if you’re moving in tune with his reactions and approaching orgasm.

But in reality, you’re on the verge of bursting yourself; that burning hot coil in your lower belly has become unbearably tight and even if your brain is all fuzzy and feeling weird, you still feel of pang of desperation to reach your climax as well. Your body acts on those desires for you; sucking harder, jerking faster, licking all the sensitive spots—

“Dammit, you—(name),” he panted, expression all scrunched up,” make sure you drink it all up. Don’t… spill!”

He shuddered and dug his fingers so hard into your skull that he’s probably leaving imprints behind on your scalp, but that’s the last thing on his mind right now. From the way he pulls down, your teeth grazing against his tips—he wants to keep them in there as he finishes in your mouth, grimacing hard enough to reveal sharp canines and wheezing your name, the sensation clearly is a lot for him. It’s enough that you gag a little, greedily gulping down the gooey release as best you can to keep up with the excessive amount that floods into your mouth.

There’s just so much; would he fill your belly with lots of thick cum when he fucked your pussy?♡ If he came this much from a simple blowjob and handjob, then how would there be when he finally worked his way to your cunt. You… you’d definitely get knocked up with his babies if he came inside...♡ Just the mere thought of Lee possibly impregnating you with his potent seed is all it took, and you were coming for him, seizing up and sobbing with a few selective moans—incoherent and sweet.

It takes a bit longer for Lee to come down from his climax, your warm mouth milking his dick for a few more spurts of his release, but he practically collapses against the couch once it’s over. It was most certainly the strongest orgasm he’s had in quite a long time, so he just needed a minute to calm down, that’s all. So he sucks in a nice deep breath from his stomach (diaphragmatic breathing was certainly beneficial for the lungs!) and breathes out heavily—

The audible sound of gulping quickly snaps him out of his stupor, and when he glances at you, he catches a glimpse of your cute stubby tongue swiping at the excess release on your skin.

"Did you—?" Lee jolts forward like he's been hit by a lightning bolt and for a moment he looks flustered, his thumb pressing your jaw down without any resistance as he scans your slack mouth. He'd been so focused on the high of his orgasm that he forgot that he was going to order you to spit it out. "Hah, you really swallowed it all, huh?"

You don't answer him, hazy eyes staring up at him blankly as he thumbs away the small streaks of his release on the corner of your lips. It felt rather strange to see you so quiet, considering that it was commonplace for you to be throwing teasing remarks his way. Well, if he ignored the fact that you were hypnotized—

"Oh right, forgot you're still hypnotized. Sorry about that," he murmured, mostly to himself. Heh, look at him, forgetting that he'd hypnotized you and had to snap you out of that trance. He really is getting old if he can't keep track of that. With a graceful flick of his wrist, Lee finally snaps his fingers, the sound as crisp as the crunch of an autumn leaf that resounds in the empty room.

Like a switch, the haziness in your eyes fades away, and the familiar twinkle returns. You blink. Once. Twice. Your eyes dart around the room, seemingly a bit nervously before they land on him. Realization seems to hit you and—

"You are such a horny fuck, y'know that?" Yeah, there you are. You're certainly back to normal, with no repercussions whatsoever. Well, except for him getting a bit of an earful from you, though Lee can just smile as your words go in one ear and out the other.

"Ugh, you dirty old man, my underwear's all sticky now," you hiss, shifting your thighs and grimacing at how slick your inner thighs are now. Lee breathlessly chuckles, flashing you a lazy smile as his body sinks into the couch. When you attempt to lift yourself up, you huff once the familiar pins and needles feeling makes itself apparent in your legs. "And I can't feel my damn legs, and—ow, my fuckin' knees..."

Hearing the metal clink of his belt, you realize he's attempting to slip on his pants in a somewhat presentable fashion. Oh, you thought he would touch you even more, and—wait, were you seriously disappointed by him not going further? Geez, what's wrong with you?! This wasn't like all those hentai stories where the girl becomes a slut for the guy's cock—everyone knows that hentai has the worst logic imaginable when it came to sexual happenings!

Besides, Lee would have to at least take you out to dinner and wine and dine you before you can officially admit that you'd be a willing slut for his cocks. You have standards!

"Now now, no need to fuss (name)," Lee hums, paying no mind to your rather cute attempt at a threat, having long gotten used to your little quips. "Have some tea, it's still warm; it'll soothe your nerves."

"You seriously think a cup of tea is gonna calm me down?" You gawk at him incredulously, grunting as you force yourself to stand up. Grumbling a quiet thank you as he places a steady hand on your hip, you plop down unceremoniously on the couch next to him. "Because you're right. Gimme that."

You hold out your hand like a child asking for a cookie, and Lee places the cup in your open palm, but not before shaking his head and snorting at your childish mannerisms. After pouring himself a cup and inhaling the rich aroma of the tea, he finally takes a sip and sighs in contentment.

As you sip at the lukewarm tea and bask in the atmosphere, you ponder whether these late-night relaxation sessions will occur regularly. Heh, you suppose that you're a bit of a masochist if you find this stern admonishment enjoyable and something to look forward to. Perhaps next time, Lee will go even further than what he did this time. A delicious shiver runs up your spine at the thought of all the ways the laid-back detective could toy with your body.

If that was the case, you were looking forward to next time.

© latimeriafellfromheaven

[noses-in-winter]

Hey, She Has To Wake Up, Anyway (18+)(F sneeze, F/M, tickling into sneezing awake, foreplay)

These characters are Lor Sheldon, awkward nonbinary guy who is terminally horny, especially about noses and everything they can do! He has a hard time not feeling shy about that. He's extremely bisexual and gives off that energy, don't worry. I've written about him here and here. Feat. his total soulmate Piper (who I just wrote about here!) who is also terminally horny and is SO pumped about getting Lor to explore his kinks. They're both mid-30s in this which is when they're peak obsessed with each other.

In this fic, Lor wakes Piper up from a nap by making her sneeze (it's cool, they've talked about this, she's into it). Lot of detail about how he's touching her nostrils and stuff. Went kinda wild there.

please don't reblog to non-sneeze blogs, minors do not follow or interact THANKS

She had encouraged him more than enough times for Lor to believe that Piper meant it when she said she would be happy to…indulge him, with anything he wanted to do regarding her nose, and the fantasies he had associated with it. Christ, he had a lot of fantasies. Thank fuck he hadn’t divulged them all the last time they were stoned together. Even so, Lor still cringed at the fuzzy memory of spilling such an intimate detail of his life. Willingly! No gun to his temple or anything! 

God, he told her so…so…so much about it. “It” being sneezing. How it made him feel…something. Especially about her…something. And sometimes his…something, if he was being honest, but that was not a something that Lawrence Sheldon was willing to face. 

 Her positive response to his confession was damn near intoxicating, though. Piper had been so…supportive. Happy, even. Cradling his face with one hand and using the other to lace her fingers with his. 

She’d made a few changes since then that would seem uneventful to the man who found these actions completely vanilla. Lor didn’t have the courage to comment yet but, Jesus, did he notice. He noticed how she evidently skipped her bottle of daily antihistamines once or two mornings a week. Piper’s allergies didn’t knock her down the way Lor’s could unmedicated, but she still sneezed more often with heightened intensity. She also started to let her voice go a little high as she was gearing up for a sneeze in a way that made his dick so fucking hard--

Shit, shit, he needed to cool it. Piper still slept soundly with her head in his lap. The last thing he needed was for his needy cock to stir her. 

They’d had a few conversations on the topic since then. None that lasted long, before Lor felt too shy to continue. Piper never rushed him. She simply made sure he always knew that she was 100% ready whenever he wanted to explore this fascination together. 

“Surprise me, Sheldon. I’m up for anything. You’re in charge.” 

Woah, fuck, why did that turn him on so much every time he remembered it? 

Piper would answer favorably if he were able to ask her permission. No doubt in his mind about it. There would be zero hesitation. So it would be…okay, right? To just do it? 

He swallowed, the light of the television casting shadows around the room. He had to get Piper’s head out of his lap, anyway, right? She never wanted to stay on the couch too long after falling asleep. They both always seemed to sleep better when they drifted off in each other’s arms in bed. They woke up apart, reliably, but that much-needed intimacy while fading into sleep was…also intoxicating. Still foreign to the both of them, certainly, but also welcoming and comfortable. Safe. Loving. Home.

Yeah. Yeah, she’d want him to make a move. 

Lor took a deep breath before beginning.

He started by lightly setting an index finger on her pointed nose. Piper simply continued to breathe in and out steadily as she lay facing the television. With a little more pressure, her nose started to scrunch. Piper sniffed once, nestling her temple into his thigh. Fuck, she was cute.

Lor swallowed, watching to see if she was stirring awake. Weed typically turned her into a pretty deep sleeper, but he was too paranoid not to check. Once Lor was satisfied with the low rumble of her snore, he continued. 

He rubbed the tip of her nose in small, slow circles. Fuck, okay, he was already sweaty just watching the way her nostrils moved with the teasing little pushes. He added a touch more pressure when Piper seemed unbothered. Hmm. Okay. Rubbing wasn’t all that effective, was it? Maybe…something else? External?

Lor glanced around at his surroundings before his eyes settled on the down blanket draped over Piper’s sleeping form. Perfect. He already saw the quill of a feather waiting to be pulled out of one slight snag in the fabric.

Lor pinched the quill and eased it out of the pillow. Ohhhkay, it was lengthy and perfectly fluffy. His stomach gave a flustered little flip at the sheer mental image of each delicate little tuft brushing against the equally delicate inner walls of Piper’s--

Hoooooo, fuck. Focus on the mission, Sheldon.

 After tracing around Piper’s nostrils a few times, Lor watched carefully to gauge a reaction. Again, she mostly sniffled and scrunched her nose. It wasn’t until he took a deep breath and managed to ease the feather into her nose that Piper’s nostrils flared in response to the stroke of afterfeather. Oh. Not only did her nostrils flare, they goddamn quivered. 

Piper sniffled sharply. Made a little noise in the back of her throat. Her hand moved. Lor pulled the feather out of her nose just before Piper could knuckle at her nostrils. He supposed the way the feather brushed the walls of her nose on the way out wasn’t helping things, judging by the little snag of her breath. 

She grumbled, now half-asleep as she rubbed at her nose. It didn’t seem like Piper was aware of Lor’s intervention, but he held his breath, anyway. 

Piper’s lashes fluttered, but she didn’t fully open her eyes in the light of the television. She stopped scrubbing so aggressively at her nose, but the back of her hand now lingered a few inches before her face. She sniffled with mounting congestion, nostrils now a quivering pink. She breathed in slow, sleepy pants. 

He tried again. Piper reacted sooner this time, almost the exact moment that the tender feather stroked at her septum. One nostril scrunched with a snort as she murmured wordlessly. Piper pressed the back of her hand to the underside of her nose, scrubbing and scrubbing until Lor heard a truly shiver-worthy squelch. When she lowered her arm, there was a streak of dampness on the back of her hand. Lor fought an eager little squirm at the very vision. 

Gauging how far he could go this time, Lor once more considered his options as Piper settled again. Even as she rested comfortably beneath the quilt, her nostrils still scrunched and spasmed with sniffly breaths. 

….Huh. 

He moved slowly, carefully, to give Piper’s nostrils a light pinch with his thumb and index finger. Lor’s stomach dropped pleasantly, as if he were on the best roller coaster of his life, when Piper’s nostrils fought to flare against his fingertips. He didn’t budge. She took in a truly nostril-quaking sniffle in response, eyebrows beginning to knit together.

Nostril-quaking. Jesus, he was going to have to incorporate that one into his internal Horny Lexicon. 

Piper’s breath finally started to snag, now that her nostrils weren’t allowed to squirm out of her control. That tickle progressed rapidly before his eyes.

This was the greatest idea of his life. 

Lor eased his fingers off of Piper’s reddened nostrils. They immediately widened, taking up as much space as they could. Though her nostrils had as much freedom to quiver as possible, the damage had been done. Lor watched for several beats, waiting until the perfect moment to give the underside of Piper’s nose one slooooow stroke with the feather.

That pushed her over the edge. She convulsed with a sneeze covered by nothing but the back of her hand at a distance. Piper’s head bounced slightly in Lor’s lap as her whole body shuddered, buckling into itself. “Hed’DTSCHH’ooh!!”

Lor’s stomach flipped at the vision of a fine mist bursting from her urged nose. Jesus, he could write an entire thesis on the way the sheer strength of that sneeze was increased by her nose’s initial resistance alone. Piper took in one gulping breath before sneezing again, completely uncovered this time, nostrils shuddering out another expulsion of mist. 

Piper let out the littlest moan of relief after that second sneeze tumbled out of her. She fanned lazily beneath her nose, using the same hand that she had just sneezed against. Piper sniffled and finally opened her eyes. Her gaze was fixed on the television for several moments before she sneezed again, taunted by the glow of the screen. “Addh’DTSHH! Hh…hh! HuhHHD’schoo!”

“Bless you…” Lor said quietly, cheeks burning. He could lean over to the end table to grab the box of tissues, but the thought didn’t even occur to him. At the moment, he was nothing but thoroughly enchanted with the way Piper’s nose just…moved. When she sneezed. When she was gearing up for or recovering from a sneeze. When she was just relaxed enough with him to be so comfortable with letting her nose control her for a moment. 

Piper didn’t say anything straight away. She started to ease up from her place on the couch, letting out one uncovered sneeze halfway through the process. F-Fuck, the mist of that sneeze in the light of the television was mesmerizing, wasn’t it? 

Piper took in two rapid, gambling hitches as another sneeze crept up on her. Oh. Oh, she just wasn’t stopping. This time, Piper was able to yank the collar of her shirt over her nose. She kept herself steady with one arm on the couch, but was promptly knocked off-kilter when she sneezed damply into her shirt. Lor wrapped both arms around Piper’s torso, keeping her as steady as possible. He leaned back into the couch, bringing Piper with him. 

“Bless you,” Lor breathed, blinking at Piper in a lovestruck gaze. Feelings of affection and attraction flooded him as Lor dipped his head to set a kiss in Piper’s hair. “A lot. You okay, babe?”

“Mmm..sdf! Fuck, sorry…” she exhaled, finally managing to sit up fully on the couch. Lor dutifully let her go. Piper started to blink slowly, adjusting her eyes to the light. “Didn’t mean to sneeze like a spray bottle there. Jesus, I really needed that, though. My nose f-feels---sdf, ugh, I dunno…itchy….”

“I-It’s okay,” he answered too quickly. Lor gulped and fumbled for the tissue box on the table. “I don’t mind. I mean, you know I don’t, but…y’know.” 

Piper nodded, rubbing lazily beneath her nose. She seemed to be flaring her nostrils consciously, as if testing if there was another sneeze hidden anywhere. “Yeah, I do. I dunno, I dreamed something was…in my nose? And it tickled like a motherfuck, like a-...” 

She trailed off. Lor followed Piper’s gaze until it reached the feather that sat in his lap. Lor was quiet for several seconds before a low chuckle rumbled in Piper’s chest. She gave him a knowing little smirk as she reached for him. 

“Shel. You beautiful slut. Did you…?”

He felt like he was shrinking beneath her gaze. Lor gulped and glanced away, shame flooding every inch of him. “Um. I-I’m sorry. It was…”

“Hey, hey. Don’t be,” Piper hummed, reaching for him with ease. “That’s hot. Seriously. No idea you had it in you, Sheldon.” She snorted with laughter. This, apparently, stirred another tickle in her. Piper sniffled sharply, reaching to pinch at the freckled bridge of her nose. She massaged up and down. “Hoh, fuck. It’s right there.” Piper eased her free hand down to his thigh, delivering a squeeze to it. Her other hand continued to rub up and down the side of her nose with steady care.  

“...C-Can I help you?” Lor asked on a nervous breath. 

She gave him a slow, sexy bat of her eyelashes before her expression crumbled with a shaky hitch. The sneeze seemed to back off almost immediately, allowing Piper to scoot closer to him. Oh, fuck. Okay. Yeah. He could do this. Piper tilted her head back as she faced him, nostrils exposed perfectly to Lor. She moved closer to him on the couch, hand still in contact with his leg. He swallowed fiercely, enchanted with the way her nostrils squirmed and flared with each breath she took. Was she doing this on purpose? Or was this just naturally happening to her body? Both were incredibly sexy explanations. 

Lor set one hand on the small of Piper’s back before easing the feather back into her nostril. This just sent her nostrils quivering further. Her chest started to rise and fall at a faster pace than a moment ago. 

Lor didn’t stop. He continued to steadily twist it around in her right nostril. Her breath snagged as Piper gave her head a shallow nod. Okay. He could see it in her face. That tickled. He was--he was going to make her sneeze. And she was helping him do it. And she was okay with that. 

Piper let her head loll lazily to one side. Lor followed her motions with his hand, feather still held tight between his fingers. He carefully stroked down the inner walls of her nose before Piper let out a stuffy little chuckle. “Th-That feels kinda good, Lor...” 

“Y-Yeah?” Lor clarified, a smile starting to twitch at his lips. “Think I can…make it better?” 

Piper could only nod, jaw slack and nostrils squirming with an impending sneeze. He continued to give the inner walls of her right nostril taunting little strokes with the feather. It wasn’t until he started to ease the feather out of her nostril did she react with one heady, desperate hitch. Lor quickly released the feather, allowing it to linger in her full, damp nose. He then watched Piper shudder out a…truly unprecedented sneezing fit. 

The feather wasn’t completely expelled with her first sneeze. It was powerful, sure, and misted the front of Lor’s sweater, but the feather remained lodged in her overactive nose. In fact, the fourth sneeze of the fit was what finally expelled the feather from her nostril. It lay, damp and useless on Lor’s thigh. 

Piper let out a quivered little breath, nose scrunching with a much-needed sniffle.

“Bless you,” Lor said on a weak exhale as Piper started to clean up the underside of her nose with a group of hastily grabbed tissues. She tossed them carelessly to the floor without a second thought once her nose was somewhat tidier. 

Her nose, clearly, wasn’t quite finished with her yet. She sneezed again, disastrously, as soon as she threw the tissues aside. Piper gave one stuffy groan. She gazed at him through eyelashes heavy in maroon glitter from the day. “Hey, Sheldon,” she breathed, nostrils flaring with a lazy inhale. “You….sdf! You still wanna shower before bed?” 

Lor didn’t even question her motivation for this seemingly unrelated question. He just nodded, eyes fixated on her nostrils. 

 “Good.” Without looking away from Lor, she drew the bottom of his sweater up until it lingered just before her nose. He shivered, both at the sudden chill on his abdomen as well as the vision of Piper’s nose hovering desperately above the fabric of his turtleneck. That he was wearing. Right now. 

Again, Piper’s nostrils fluttered. Her chest rose and fell with taunting hitches. Fuck, she had to sneeze. She had to sneeze so badly, didn’t she? He wanted her more than anything.

Piper buckled into his sweater with a sneeze. Oh--and then another. She let out this lasting moan of a hitch that Lor knew was added dramatics. He didn’t mind. He liked that she was adding dramatics for him. That kinda made this even better, right? That she was so excited to tease him? Jesus, and tease she did.

She took in a slow, testing breath through her nose. When she didn’t immediately sneeze, Piper rutted her nose into his sweater, rubbing with quiet desperation. After several seconds of this, Piper groaned and dropped his sweater. Instead, she leaned forward to trail her nose along his jawline. Fuck, the tip of it was still damp.

“I still have to sneeze…” she murmured, starting to kiss at his neck. Almost instantly after, she leaned back with a gasping snag to her breath. “Hh! Hhh--!” He’d have to take this sweater off in a moment, right? 

Folding the sleeve of the oversized sweater over his hand, Lor pressed it right beneath Piper’s nose. There was no hesitation on Piper’s part as she clamped his hand firmly over his. She shuddered out a muffled sneeze. 

Yeah, he was hard. He was very, very hard. 

A moment later, Piper left out three more rapid sneezes into the fabric. They all sounded absolutely desperate, even while being quieted by his sleeve. Lor’s breath was stuck in his lungs the entire time. The warmth of those productive sneezes met his palm through his sleeve almost immediately. 

After one final sneeze that was particularly cushion-shaking--”AhHYD’SCHuhh!”--Piper exhaled through parted lips. Her knitted brows slowly began to relax, now only twitching slightly. “That’s better…” she murmured, using Lor’s covered hand to rub beneath her nose. Lor was expecting her to realize that his hand was, in fact, attached to this convenient fabric that she had turned into a tissue, but…Piper met his eyes, teary though hers were. She knew exactly how he would feel about this. 

She started to move his hand, up and down against her nose. Lor watched in absolute awe as Piper’s jaw started to slacken again. Was it possible that he could feel her nostrils flaring from beneath his sleeve?

When it seemed like Piper was just about to sneeze, she let his hand go. Lor blinked as she leaned back from him, her activated nose continuing to scrunch and twitch. She reached for the damp bottom of his sweater, beginning to pull it up. Lor could think of nothing he wanted more in that moment than to comply.  “C’mon…” Piper said with a damp sniffle. “L-Let m-hh!--me sneeze on more of you.” 

“Fuck, I love you,” Lor exhaled with adoration in every syllable as he carefully removed his sweater. He tossed it aside without fanfare. There were barely a few beats before Piper leaned forward, nestling her nose against his bare shoulder. Her nostrils were damp and squirming and right. There. 

“I love you, too,” Piper said quietly, sniffing congestedly along his collarbone. 

Lor shuddered and gulped, placing his hands on her shoulders. Despite everything in his body screaming at him to stay just like this, he gently pushed Piper back so they could meet eyes. 

“I--I want this,” he said on a shaky gasp. “I really, really want this. I just--I’d feel better if I could go, I-I dunno, shower, and get myself kinda ready for--for everything this is gonna lead to? I-I just prefer those kinds of…experiences to be, um. Clean. Me, clean. Y-You clean, too, actually. If that’s okay.” 

Piper leaned back from him at Lor’s prompting. She sniffled, knuckling one nostril as she offered him a teary smile. “Me, clean, too, don’t worry. I could use a shower, now, anyway. Helps to…unstuffify me. Add that to your horny lexicon.” 

She knew him so well!

Lor nodded. “You can go first, if you want.” 

Piper snorted, her lips pulling upward into a smirk before the expression crumpled again. She sneezed down towards Lor’s now-bare chest, making him shiver at the feeling of the uncontained sneeze making direct contact with what felt like every inch of him. 

She sniffled lazily and finally completed that smile, taking both of Lor’s hands. “I mean that I could use a shower with you.” 

Oh. “Oh!” Lor gasped, a snaggly smile immediately spreading across his face. Lor started to stand, offering his hands to help Piper up as well. “Okay! Let’s--yeah! Let’s go!” 

Piper laughed, starting to pull off her own T-shirt as she followed Lor. “Hold your horses, buckaroo. Take a breath. You’ll be able to rob me of my treasured virginity in a sec. Lemme at least blow my nose first…”

[stromuprisahat]

I love your takes on the grishaverse so I was wondering what you thoughts was on the theory/headcanon that Alina didn’t really lose her powers but unknowingly locked them as she did before the books’ beginning? Maybe there was a period where she couldn’t summon light bcs she was too exhausted and stressed out by the whole ‘final battle’ thing – banishing thee Fold, Mal’s ‘death’, Darkling’s death – so she assumed she had lost it. And then it was easier to unknowingly continue like that bcs it allowed her to remove herself from ruling and making any decisions and just have her simple co-depended life with Mal as she always wanted.

Personally, I don’t think that’s what happened in canon (certainly not what Bardugo meant) but I find it feasible as fanon interpretation, considering how depressed and deluded Alina appears post-RAR.

I'm more leaning into the explanation, that she intentionally, yet subconsciously rid herself of them (and maybe revived Malyen, when we're at it, since the second life bullshit is just that- bullshit that doesn't make sense, since no other amplifier's running around the same way. But then again- I'm very skeptical, when it comes to Malyen actually being one- he has no properties others do.).

Alina recognizes that as long as she's Grisha, she won't be able to be only with Malyen, and she already admitted she's trying to mould herself into whatever he seems to want from her.

Merzost doesn't seem to be random- it's driven by intention. Ilya "upgraded" mythical animals to have certain properties, Aleksander fucked up first, but then managed to find a way to actively protect his people, when in situation his powers weren't enough. Alina lost what made her special, but since her goal wasn't finished yet, other Sun Summoners sprang into existence and fucked up destruction of the Fold, because it's merzost-made, therefore logic tells us ordinary Small Science shouldn't be enough to vanquish it.

It's true the previous time Alina worked with merzost, her powers "disappeared" for a while, but the "magic" also isn't working from nothing. No matter what we're told, there is a cost, some input. It's not "pure creation". We can see it, when Sasha makes nichevo'ya- he's using his own essence, his life force or whatever want you to call it, to draw them into existence, so Alina would need ~something~ to distribute her powers among others, and the amplifiers are just that- they amplify, wider one's range, not give a new ability.

Besides- there's the question of what grandpa Ilya wanted. If he aimed at Grisha being accepted, instead of othered, why would he take away from one the give to more. It might look pragmatic, but the range is too limited and even if he created such "tools" over and over- he'd only make a new caste of "once-Grisha", instead of levelling the playing field.

One of my fellow fans also pointed out that if merzost is magic, perhaps Alina used it to become an ordinary otkazat'sya. I don't believe so. She might've made herself to appear as one, but after all those books spent reading how is being Grisha integral part of their being, something that makes them themselves... looking at post R&R Chapter 17 Alina isn't looking at slightly more traumatized Alina that can't summon the Light because it's not a part of her. It's looking at a husk of the girl, just like the ends of previous books, when she was suffering due to missing her powers on physical level.

And her lack of skill, when using merzost previous time would support it. She locked away her powers and her hair went white the first time. She got rid of her Light, but her body "remembers" it's missing something.

edit: Also- thank you for (positive) feedback, I'm not being rude, I'm just an social idiot with totally not ADHD, so I get focused on "the point", and forget the social stuff like greeting and replying to nice words, which ARE very motivating for me, but HERE'S THE STUFF I'm thinking about and my brain's coming up with coherent answers- LOOK!

[aku-soul]

Another person post baebee! This time, my thoughts so far and what I think of the confidants I've unlocked!

Ren Amamiya: It's me! I'm the dude! I feel bad for him during the interrogations though...

Ryuji Sakamoto: Boyfriend #1, absolute malewife. I love this dude and his "FOR REAL?!" so much. Such a crime that he's not romanceable LET ME ROMANCE THE GUYS. Also the first confidant I maxed out after only like 3 months

Ann Takamaki: She sure exists. Definitely a character. On a more serious note, I hope her stuff works out for her.

Morgana: Catboy. I like how (english) he's voiced by sothis from Fire Emblem 3 Houses. I seriously do wonder what's up with him though, especially with the dreams he's been having recently...

Sojiro Sakura: Coffee dad and best dad. I love him so much. Currently grinding out my kindness just so I can get to level 7 and beyond for his confidant stat. (on 4 out of 5, wish me luck)

Igor: Long nose man, very mysterious. I'm like 75% sure he's dad from FE3H which is kinda weird but cool that I recognize the voice.

Yusuke Kitagawa: Boyfriend #2. God I love him so much. He's also voiced by Kuroh from K which is so freaking cool. Again, why can't we romance the guys. As an artist myself, I feel so bad for him being manipulated most of his life by someone he trusted...

Makoto Niijima: LETS GO MAKOTO GOOD JOB ON STEALING THE DATA YOU GO GIRL!! Girlboss, absolute girlboss. Screw the principal using her

Chihaya Mifune: Thanks for letting me up my kindess stat to level up easier. That's really all she's good for though. Before I got the game I had no clue she even existed. Screw her for costing 100k yen to start her confidant though.

The twins: SILENCE, INMATE! They're cool, I like the dynamic they have with them. I definitely feel like their babysitter whenever I take them places. Loved how they also got their own toy when we went to big bang burger.

Futaba Sakura: Gamer girl, also my sister. I haven't gotten far into her confidant line but I like how it ties into her mother. Once again, major sister vibes

Tae Takemi: Thanks for the medicine, but really that's about all I see her for. I do hope she gets to prove herself in the medical community though.

Sadayo Kawakami: SHUT THE FUCK UP STOP CALLING ME MASTER EW EW EW EW I REGRET STARTING YOUR CONFIDANT LINE SO MUCH TF YOU MEAN I CAN ROMANCE MY *TEACHER* BUT NOT THE GUYS??? SCREW YOU KAWAKAMI

Ichiko Ohya: You certainly exist. Uh huh, you definitely do. Honestly her confidant perks are kinda useless since I keep my palace security levels around 0% more often than not. Plus she just reads as a constantly drunk aunt.

Shinya Oda: Also never knew about him before starting this game. Gamer boy. Reads as a nephew who you sometimes hang out with. Other than that, not much thoughts

Hifumi Togo. Another one I never knew about before playing the game. I feel so bad about her mother using her... I wonder if we can change her mothers heart further into the storyline?

Yuuki Mishima: Definite little brother vibes. I like how we didn't change his heart, just let him change on his own. Also I hope his future book plans turn out well for him, he definitely deserves it.

Toranosuke Yoshida: Another one who exists. Not much opinion on him since I'm only on rank one since I don't care enough to level him up.

Sae Niijima: Mixed feelings about her, one on hand I think she's trying to help me, but on the other she threatened coffee dad, called makoto a burden... I probably hate her more than I like her honestly.

Kasumi Yoshizawa: Gymanstics girly. It's sad that her summer meets didn't go well, I hope she improves for the future. Also really sad news about her sister...

Takuto Maruki: Super good buffs, especially for the sp one. Reads as a shy uncle who really cares about his nephews and nieces. It sucks that he's a limited time only, but thankfully I'm at level 9. Hopefully I can reach level 10 on him soon.

Munehisa Iwai: Voiced by Jinshi from apothecary diaries, super cool. Reads as an uncle who pretends he doesn't care about his nieces and nephews, but in reality shows his affection through secretly taking them places, giving them stuff to do, and gifts. Kinda like "Hey, give this to your mom and then I'll take you out to the range". Very good uncle

Goro Akechi: Soon to be boyfriend #3, once Ryuji and Yusuke gain favorability of him. Also god why isn't he playable, I want Akechi on my team so bad so I can complete my guy harem.

This has been all my opinions on the confidants I've unlocked, have a good day everybody.

[postal-ech]

Alright no, I need to go into detail on this shit cause I swear to god, it lives rent free in my head. I'll split the post off here cause there's gonna be some spoilers for Lisa the Undone as well as a few other Lisa Fan Games that are on my mind

I'm also giving a CW here, cause Lisa covers some dark topics, and I want to unload it a bit here, especially given what I've seen out of Lisa the Undone.

Buckle up, it's gonna be a long, very autistically hyperfixated post.

So

I initially never really got into Lisa when it first came out. I was a shitlord that saw the fan content first, especially this project known as Interlopers - essentially, a Lisa-Undertale crossover featuring Buddy Armstrong and Chara Dreemur.

It piqued my interest a bit, but I never realized how one sided it was in exploring this stuff, especially given it was this crossover AU. It focused mainly on the Undertale fandom and some of the things that were popular at the time. It WAS going to explore its own version of Olathe on a sequel series but that was canceled later on, and the idea has become dormant since.

Later on, my curiosity grew and I looked into the Lisa side of things more. I discovered Lisa the Pointless, Lisa the Hopeful, and then I started looking into other fan projects here too.

Why this pretext? Because that was the gateway into Lisa proper.

I only got Lisa the Painful and Lisa the Joyful after its definitive edition released. At this point, I was pretty well versed in Brad's story - his trauma and pain, the struggles he faces after, the Joy abuse to numb the pain - so when I saw the campfire scenes between Brad and the other party members, especially with members like Terry or Queen Rodger, Bo and Olan, it sparked something there that's for fucking sure.

And then I got to the secret boss.

I'm a dude thar enjoys reading into shit, looking deep at the meaning of written projects be it games, movies, books, etc - Lore is my god damn drug, to put it in a TL:DR.

Seeing this huge call back to Lisa the First, Seeing the symbolism of joy spiders worshipping a Blue Eclipse above Brad's childhood home, fighting the manifestation of Marty Armstrong and reading the deeper, personal stuff that's said afterwards

That song, too, towards the very end of the sequence, with the music that's reminiscent of s church choir singing as Brad's childhood self descends into the darkness

That's what truly sold me on Lisa.

I know everyone has mixed feelings on Lisa the Joyful of course, especially in the way it handled Buddy - Some people were fine with it, and others didn't like the way she became this bloodthirsty girl out to murder shit indiscriminately

I say fair enough honestly, Joyful was a bit of a slog to get through compared to Painful

HOWEVER

There were two things I still enjoyed about it:

One, Dustin. Dustin was and still is the goddest boy despite his own flaws, and I was upset it wasn't explored more before his untimely death. Buddy actually starting to care about him before it all went downhill was tragic in its own right

Two, the DE content. Again, a lot of people were still mixed on it, but personally I saw it as a better expansion into Buddy healing from her trauma, understanding that- while Brad certainly was in the wrong in the way he raised her, he still tried his best in a world that definitely wanted to exploit her in the most horrific ways imaginable.

I'm fine with her even mentioning Lisa cause let's all be real here, she's definitely at least heard of her through Brad in some way, shape or form, and the ending bit where he explains the dead flower to her only reinforces that for me.

The more supernatural side of things feel interesting too, cause maybe it's just me, but reading into things, The Flash always had this sort of supernatural spin to it - how Olathe got so fucked up, how time doesn't seem to be entirely right in some areas or how everything got all mountainous and the likes. Probably just headcanon stuff but fuck it, I enjoy the speculation.

AND NOW, THE MOMENT YOU'VE BEEN WAITING FOR: LISA THE UNDONE.

So, with that context out of the way, I'll get into my proper thoughts with Lisa: The Undone.

Firstly, again I know not everyone will really agree with the ideas the Definitive Edition put out, especially in the case of Joyful with its Lisa the First callback and Buddy just slamming on Buzzo the way she does. That being said, I love the way Lisa the Undone tackles these ideas Joyful initially set our and explores them more.

The idea of Buddy being less hateful at first, just wanting to genuinely explore the weird and wacky world of Olathe despite its darkness is very welcome. With Dustin especially, this is only amplified.

A lot of the headcanoned and original stuff feel like they can fit right into the base Lisa games too honestly, and that's another thing I really appreciate about this fan gams

But the most important thing to me is the found family relationship between Dustin and Buddy, as well as the two other companions you can recruit.

Dustin is by no means perfect. This is undeniable enough given his actions in Painful and Joyful - He wants to do good, but it becomes a bit of a messiah complex especially for Buddy - who mind you, is only a pubescent kid during all of this shit. This is still translated well in this fan game, just less of a prominent character point - He still wants Buddy to have a good life and to be safe, but there's a clear struggle with seeing her as the Future of Olathe

And seeing her as just Buddy. Just Her.

And the fact that over the time, throughout the chapters, you see Dustin refer to her less as this important figure for the world and more as like a sibling, or just straight up family, that right there is what sells me on this.

Especially towards the end, where depending on your choices in the game, Buddy does eventually admit she can't help but care about people like Dustin.

That hits. That hits a good fucking bit.

And that's what I love to see in this. Sure, it may end with one of the two dying in part 2 of Undone, or depending on your actions it may end with tragedy for either of them

But the fact it works this found family dynamic so God damn well here, with how Buddy and Dustin care for each other AS that family despite Brad's own fuck-ups between the both of them.

Fuck man. It's good, and I hope this fandom explores it more here - especially with DE putting things into an interesting context too.

On a side note, God I also hope it explores DE's Warlord skills mechanics in the future, it's some god damn martial arts shit I love. Sure it may be Mega Man-esque bur god dammit the idea of Buddy learning and incorporating some ideas given from how each Warlord fights is SUCH a good idea and if there's ever a fan game that had Buddy exploring the greater world of Olathe, meeting the likes of Alex Churchland or Beltboy and shit like that, I wanna see her develop her own form of martial arts with or without the katana she's grown accustomed with god dammit.

God, I love Lisa. I love these games as much ad Undertale and Deltarune, and I need to write out some more shit for this series.

Thanks Austin Jorgensen you god damn mad man, and thanks to the Fandom for putting out such genuine bangers.

[lemon-natalia]

Nona the Ninth Reaction - John 1:20

i honestly hadn’t considered that John would have access to a bunch of other info, like the FTL planning to leave everyone behind, via the politician he’s puppeting around. he’s practically running the government of this unspecified country at this point. i mean i guess it was good practice for everything he’d later end up doing as Emperor 

‘I’ve got plans for that arm’ um. what. y'know what i really really don’t want to even know

for a guy who keeps saying he didn’t want to nuke anything he’s reallyyy leaning into the nukes every chance he gets

something i find very interesting is that John possibly also has powers besides necromancy that he’s seemingly glossed over a lot? even though they’re very toothy, he can apparently grow roses, and earlier C— talks about him potentially stabilising the North Glacier like that’s something he could definitely do. i wonder if it is actually possible to use thalergy, the life energy stuff, which really never gets mentioned that much tbh, in a similar way to thanergy?

ok how on earth is ‘Cows exhibit mourning behaviour for other cows’ such a goddamn impactful line. like its a really chilling moment of John confirming that he’s willing to start a nuclear war rather than let the ships leave. and it’s also objectively fucking ridiculous

John’s reflection here on his friends doubting him, and how ‘People don’t forgive, not really’ is very interesting considering his actions at the end of HtN, where he asks Augustine if they can have a ‘fresh slate’ in the wake of him killing Mercy. idk really what i’m trying to say here, but i do wonder how much John really meant what he was offering there 

well what with Ianthe, Harrow, and Kiriona, John certainly took M—’s remark about recruiting teenage girls in the next cult to heart

what i’m personally choosing to take away from this chapter is that multitasking is the true villain of the Locked Tomb universe. get some sleep and stop trying to do six things at once kids, or you might just end up nuking the entire earth

‘I can’t Sister. It’s too big’ i’m quite frankly a little disappointed that John didn’t take the opportunity to make a ‘that’s what she said’ joke here

holy crap, the nun shooting herself is certainly a moment. this is really leaning into the eldritch horror of what it would be like to be a human and aware of the Earth literally screaming at you

there’s such a tragic contrast between M— literally begging in her last moments for them not to shoot John vs Mercy being the one to kill him & John killing her so horrifically in return

John’s been essentially levelling up in necromancy as all of these chapters have progressed, but it’s a truly horrifying level of power he displays here. it’s not even the nukes that end up killing a lot of people, because John points out that he was able to just straight up snap the necks of about half of the entire world population

so much about this chapter is just walking the line between absurdist comedy and abject horror, but there is something just so … viscerally disturbing about the mental image of John literally just eating dirt as he consumes the soul of the Earth 

THIS is where the Barbie comparison comes in??? this?! John modelled a body for the remains of the soul of the partially-absorbed soul of the earth after BARBIE?!! talk about taking Barbieheimer to a whole new level

‘I drank them in, and it wasn’t enough’ someone better at comedy than me has probably made a very Hungry Caterpillar joke about this chapter 

‘You and I went full fucking Hungry Caterpillar’ DUDE. ok i stg i made the Hungry Caterpillar annotation immediately before i read like the next page and saw this 

‘I picked you to change [...] I still love you’ well, there’s some form of answer about how John actually got his necromancy in the first place. there’s something so awful about being a human being given powers you just straight up can’t really comprehend by a being so much bigger than you out of love 

the message reads ‘THE/TOWER/HAS/REACTIVAT’. at this point i can’t really think of anything else it could say other than ‘reactivated’. and given this is the chapter where John describes himself as becoming God, there’s something very poetic about the chapter heading being John 1:20, in which John the Baptist confesses that he isn’t the Messiah