#they’re always like ‘it’s a good idea to get tested’ to my face

[cosmicdahlias]

Can Bill Come Out To Play?

a ford x reader fic

MINORS DNI

warnings: smut, possession, masochism, consensual torture, knife play, blood play, blood as lube, oral, spanking, choking, bruising, fainting, slapping, dubcon impreg, putting cigarettes out on you

okay y’all this one is supremely fucked up, i know i’ve written my share of dark fics but this one takes the cake if the warnings are any indication. it was a request by @thegrovesheart but i probably went way more overboard than what they were asking for. i’m sorry y’all are about to see how bad my kinks are, hopefully you’ll still enjoy the ride 🤞

It was late at night, you and Ford had just finished a long day of working on the portal. You were cuddled up in bed, him pressed up against you as the big spoon. He was lazily tracing his fingers over the curves of your body. You had been about to fall asleep, but the sensation of his hands on you was too arousing. You rolled over, facing him and slipped your hand to his cock.

You stroked him and he let out a soft moan, his eyes closed in pleasure. You kissed him deeply, when you pulled back he opened his eyes, they were different, wild and yellow with reptilian slits for pupils.

“Ford?”

He laughed, even his voice was off, higher, more sinister. He smiled wide, almost like the corners of his mouth were about to split open.

“I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced. The name’s Bill Cipher, I’m your good old boyfriend here’s muse. I figured if I’m gonna be in his mind I might as well get acquainted the little minx that occupies his thoughts when they’re not about me. That’s right, kid, the man’s absolutely obsessed with you, well, not more than me, but you’re a close second.”

“So what do you want with me?”

“Well, dollface, I’ve been taking a peek into your dreams and I gotta say, you are quite the freak. I’m honestly impressed, most humans don’t enjoy pain nearly as much as you do. Have you told Fordsy? I doubt it, honestly he’d be too much of a pussy to do any of the shit you think about. And that’s where I come in, you love fucking Ford, but he’ll never truly satisfy you in the way you want. I have no hangups about causing pain, hell I love it! If you agree, I’ll give you everything you want and more. What do you say?”

After your time researching things like demonic possession the idea of being fucked by a demon always excited you. And the fact that he’d hurt you in ways that Ford never would? Fuck the hell yes. You should have been terrified, but when you looked into those yellow eyes you only felt desire.

“Deal.”

“Ahahaha, perfect. Let’s get started.”

Ford’s hands traveled down your body, his grip rougher than normal. He put a hand to your neck and sank his teeth into your throat. You yelped as he drew blood, it seeped down your neck and Ford dragged his tongue over the crimson liquid.

“Fuck, I forgot how good that tastes.”

He got up, searching for something.

“I know sixer keeps one around here somewh- aha!” He said, pulling out a large hunting knife.

He walked back over to the bed, getting on top of you. He dragged the flat end of the blade against your skin, every so often testing the waters by poking you with the tip light enough to not slice into your flesh, not yet. Goosebumps formed from the sensation, no one had ever done anything to you like this, you were on cloud nine.

“I think you’ll like this.” He smiled.

He let the knife travel to your inner thigh and begin to cut the soft skin. You winced and moaned. Bill let out a cold laugh.

“God you’re fucked up, kid.”

He took his time carving the words “Bill’s slut” into your thigh, pearls of blood forming at the surface. Satisfied with his work he gathered your blood on his fingertips.

“Open that pretty mouth.”

You did so and his fingers entered, the metallic taste hitting your tongue. He pulled his fingers out and replaced them with his lips aggressively to yours, tongue shoving its way into your mouth, searching for the taste of blood.

He pulled away. His wide smile hadn’t left his face since he took hold of Ford. He reversed his hold of the knife, gripping the sharp blade in his hand. He teased the entrance of your pussy with the hilt. You were dripping at the idea, inching yourself closer.

He shoved the handle aggressively inside you, fucking you with it. He didn’t let up on his grip, the knife sinking into Ford’s palm, blood trickled down the knife.

“Whoops, might as well make the best of it.”

He pulled the handle out of you and covered Ford’s blood in it before resuming fucking you with the hilt.

“Bet you never used blood as lube before have you? And judging by how wet you are I’d say you’re enjoying this.”

You whimpered, bucking your hips. Blood continued to drip from Ford’s hand, staining the sheets. He pulled the knife out and dragged you headfirst to the edge of the bed, tilting your head back back. He stroked his cock and thumbed your tongue.

“I’m gonna fuck your mouth and I’m not gonna stop even when you choke and gag on Fordsy’s cock, sound good?”

You nodded.

“Good, just try not to puke on his dick, I don’t think he’d appreciate that.”

He lined the tip up with your open lips before violently forcing his way into your mouth, holding a hand to your throat the entire time.

He thrusted relentlessly and you began to gag, saliva pooling on the floor. He pinched your nipples hard, you let out a muffled moan.

“That’s right, moan on his cock.”

He carried on fucking your mouth. Savoring your desperate attempts to breathe. He debated on covering your nose just to make things harder, he loved to see you struggle.

He pulled out, you coughed and gasped for air. He picked you up and flipped you over on your stomach, shoving your face down into the pillow and raising your ass. Ford bent over and picked up his belt. He came up behind you and brought it down hard on your ass. You moaned as a welt began to form. He continued lashing you until your legs began to shake.

“Man you really can take a beating.”

He flipped you over again, this time on your back and slipped the belt around your neck then climbed on top of you, hand tugging on the leather.

“I’ve always wanted to know what pussy feels like, Fordsy makes it sound even better than pain with the way he describes it”

He didn’t waste any time preparing you, brutally shoving his full length inside you, pumping rapidly. He moaned loudly.

“Ah ahahaha, fuck, now I see why sixer fantasizes about this all the time. It feels fucking incredible.”

He pulled hard on the belt, choking you. You tightened around his cock. Capillaries in your neck started to break, you were going to be left with one hell of a bruise. He was ruthless, fucking you with cruel intensity.

He pulled the belt even tighter, you began to asphyxiate. Finding this insanely hot, but still valuing your life you tried to tell Ford to loosen his grip, but your windpipe was being crushed. All you could manage out was a guttural choking noise as you clawed at the belt.

“I’m sorry, what was that? I can’t quite make it out.” He said, ignoring your obvious attempts to breathe. He pulled as tight as he could, you couldn’t even gasp. “Oh well, must not be important.” He shrugged, continuing to fuck you.

Despite what felt like a threat to your life you found yourself incredibly turned on. Your vision started to go black. The last thing you heard was a maniacal laugh.

-

When you came to Ford was still fucking you.

“Whoa hey you’re back, thought we lost you for a second there.” He said with his twisted smile.

His hands found your hips, he gripped them, nails digging into your flesh hard enough to break the skin.

“Say my name, slut.” He demaned.

“Nnngh, Ford.” You moaned.

He backhanded you. “I SAID SAY MY NAME, YOU STUPID CUNT!” He shouted.

“B-Bill.” You whimpered.

“That’s better. Remember who’s really in control here, sixer will never fuck you like this.”

He pounded you into the mattress. He felt himself close to cumming.

“So you’re gonna find this hilarious, I’ve been having sixer switch out your birth control with sugar pills. That’s right, they do jack shit. I’ve always been fascinated by human pregnancy and I mean hey, you’re young and fertile. And it’s too late to stop me now. Ahahahaha!”

Before you could even think to push him off you he pinned you down by the wrists, cumming deep inside you. He bucked rapidly, ropes of hot cum shooting inside you. He grunted, refusing to stop even when his cock began hurt. God he loved causing Ford pain. He didn’t know how humans got anything done or why they didn’t just fuck 24/7.

Ford took your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Well this was fun, but it’s probably time for me to give old Fordsy his body back, don’t yo- oh wait, one last parting gift.”

He reached over to the bedside table and grabbed a lighter and pack of cigarettes. He took one out and lit it up, taking a long drag and puffing the smoke in your face. He grinned wildly, turning your head to expose your neck and putting it out on your skin. You screwed your eyes shut and moaned loudly. He bent down and licked the burn.

“Oooh wee, you sure are fun. I’m definitely coming back for more, but I think I’m satisfied for now. Okay byeeeeeeeee.”

Ford’s head snapped back. He shook his head, blinking rapidly, his eyes returning to normal.

“Ugh, wh- what happened? Did I black ou- “ He looked down at you and gasped in horror, backing away from you to the foot of the bed.

You were a shaking mess, you honestly looked like you’d been through a bear attack.

“Y/N! WHAT HAPPENED? WHO DID THIS TO YOU?” He started to hyperventilate.

You sat up and took his face in your hands. “Hey hey, it’s alright, I wanted this.”

“OH MY GOD ARE YOU OKAY? SHOULD I TAKE YOU TO THE HOSPITAL? SHOULD I FILE A POLICE REPORT? DID I DO THIS? WHY AREN’T YOU SAYING ANYTHI-“ he froze. “D- did you say you wanted this?”

You kissed him.

“Look, I have been having some… fantasies and Bill and I both agreed that you wouldn’t be able to do them to me on your own.”

“You met Bill?”

“He was possessing you, but yeah I met him.”

He stared at you, looking terrified before attempting to fix his face to a more neutral expression, almost like he was afraid he would be punished for showing fear.

“That’s- that’s wonderful. I always hoped he’d let you meet him someda-“ now that the adrenaline had settled he got a good look at you. “Oh baby your neck.” He looked down. “Y- your thigh.”

Blood was trickling from both wounds. He looked at you with great concern.

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Like I said, I wanted this.”

Without saying a word he got off the bed and left the room, he returned with a first aid kit. He sat next to you.

“Come here.” He whispered softly.

You leaned into him as he saturated a cotton ball in disinfectant.

“Now this is going to sting quite a bit.”

He applied the soaked cotton ball to your neck wound, you drew in a sharp breath at the sensation.

“I know, I’m sorry baby.”

“No it’s okay, I like the pain.”

He gave small chuckle. “So I’ve heard.”

He took a second cotton ball, wetting it with disinfectant, pressing it to the branding that Bill had left you. You winced.

Ford kissed your cheek. “Almost done, stardust. You’re doing so good.”

He pulled gauze and medical tape out of the first aid kit. He started with the bite, lining up the gauze to cover it and securing it in place with the tape. He then turned his attention to the words carved into your thigh, doing the same.

He got up and inspected you carefully from every angle until he noticed the cigarette burn.

“Ah, hold on.”

He left the room again, coming back this time with a soapy wet rag. He sat down next to you again and gently cleaned the wound.

“You can’t use disinfectant on a burn, slows the healing.”

He then dressed the burn the same way he had for your other injuries.

He had always secretly liked treating and bandaging your wounds, he found it to be quite intimate, not even in a sexual way, just that it allowed him to be close to you.

He cupped your cheek in his hand and went to kiss you when he realized he’d gotten blood on your face. He looked down at his hand and shook his head.

“Guess Bill got me too.”

“Don’t worry, I got it.” You smiled.

You took his hand, treating and dressing it just as he had done for you. As you finished wrapping is hand in tape you kissed his knuckles.

He laid back in bed and patted the space in front of him. You crawled up next to him, returning to spooning position. He buried his nose in the crook of your neck and sighed deeply. You were seconds from falling asleep when your eyes snapped open, remembering what Bill had done to your birth control.

“Oh yeah, so uh… Bill might’ve made you knock me up.”

“WHAT???”

-

In the morning Ford would make you stay in bed, insisting you needed rest. For the next few weeks he watched you like a hawk, secretly recording any possible pregnancy symptoms. He pretended to be nonchalant about you being knocked up, only entertaining the idea if you did, but deep down the thought of you pregnant excited him.

He had always imagined continuing his legacy, teaching his child everything he knew. One day he was going to be gone and someone was going to have to continue his work, and he wanted to keep it in the family. He spent his nights after working on the portal holding you, rubbing your stomach after you fell asleep, hoping, praying even that Bill had given him a miracle.

[victorckk]

I’ve questioned having ADHD and being autistic ever since I was like 11-14 but I never told my mom about it because I KNEW that it would result in her being all like “there’s no way because you were the smartest out of all my kids” or some other bullshit excuse like that and it’s like

The only reason that I was the “smart and gifted sibling” is because I was hyperlexic. I had a college reading level in second grade and you all were SO jealous about it for literally no reason???? Also the selective mutism at school???? You literally never questioned that despite my teachers bringing it up and telling you that it was CONCERNING???? How about the maladaptive daydreaming? The obvious executive dysfunction? The RSD? The aversion to denim and tight/restrictive clothing that resulted in meltdowns when yall forced me to wear those things? The load of childhood symptoms I have typed out in my Google Doc?

There’s the favoritism with my other obviously ND siblings that definitely plays a role in all this but we aren’t going to get into all that right now 😔

[luveline]

can we see more of kbd after everyone agreed another baby would be a good idea? 🥹

KBD —just another day at home with Steve and your kids. mom!reader, 1k

Baby five shows quickly. You smile at your body in the mirror, the roundness that’s taken your stomach, a proud baby bump for a small baby. 

It looks super solid today. Unmistakably pregnant, though you suppose you could just be super bloated. Good thing you have the tests to prove your case. 

“Steve?” you ask. 

He’s in the closet looking for a clean shirt. “Yeah?” 

“Wanna see my tummy?” 

“Always, but why?” 

“The bump is out.” You turn to the side, cupping the underside of your stomach to emphasise it. 

You didn’t plan on five babies. Four felt like enough for the time being, perhaps forever, and so baby five was a shock you loved. You weren’t trying but your protection clearly failed, as is the risk, and you love your family and the life you’ve made. You weren’t sure a fifth child would hurt that or not, but the moment you saw your positive test you knew what you wanted. And Steve’ll do pretty much anything he needs to give you what you want. It doesn’t hurt that he’s always wanted as many babies as he can have. 

“The bump is out,” Steve repeats, screwing his mouth up to hide how excited he is unsuccessfully. 

He comes up behind you in the mirror and looks down over your shoulder. He covers your hand on your stomach, his hair tickling your cheek. 

“Bump number five,” he says softly. 

“I was just thinking that.” 

“Girl or boy?” 

“Boy.” You turn your face to meet his eyes, warm brown and as dreamy as the day you met. You still remember your first kiss, how he’d touched your neck gently to guide you. It was more loving than you’d imagined. You had no idea before you met him how much affection could be shared in just one kiss. “I think it’s a boy, this time.” 

“You don’t usually guess,” he says, your faces incredibly close. 

“Four girls already. I like our chances.” 

“You’d love another girl.”

“Of course I would.” 

“It would be nice, though…” 

You hum. You close your eyes, and wait for whatever it is he’s going to do, content to be kissed or cuddled or simply leaned on. “I love you, honey,” he whispers. 

“I love you, too. What’s on the list today?” 

“I don’t think there’s much,” he says. You smile as his nose traces your cheek. “The only thing I can think of is finding Avery’s sweatpants for dance.”

His hand moves to your hip, turning you toward him, holding you.

“They’re in the dryer. Saw them earlier,” you say.

“It’s just the same as usual, then.” 

“Ave wants to make those brownies,” you remind him. 

“Yeah. Maybe we can go to the store? Dove needs a couple of new t-shirts, I think, and the pantry is pathetic. We’re a day away from running out of fruit slices. We can get brownie mix at the same time.” 

The girls will riot if you run out of fruit slices. They’re obsessed with them, warm pastries with fruit jelly in the middle that cause all sorts of arguments. 

He straightens your shirt out over your new bump and holds you by the hips. You expect it as he kisses you, and while his kisses don’t make you nervous anymore, you still love the feeling of his lips against yours, and the smoothness with which he turns his face and your lips part against his. Warm, sweet kissing. You hook an arm behind his neck and give in. 

When you’ve kissed one another dizzy, turned yourselves into gauzy flushed caricatures of a couple in love, you reluctantly part to finish getting dressed. You savour how it feels to put on your own socks, knowing that in just a few months you’ll lose the ability all over again. 

You’re checking you look presentable in the mirror when Bethie lets herself in. 

“Hello,” she says. 

“Hi, baby.” You wipe lint from your cheek. 

“Dad?” 

Steve again returns from the closet, but now he’s dressed, and looking for some hair mousse. “Hey, baby, what’s up?” 

“Are we going out?” she asks. 

“To the store.” Steve grabs her under the arms and puts her standing on your bed. “Wow, you got taller?” 

Beth laughs. Steve chucks her under the chin and returns to his mousse search. On the vanity, the baby monitor crackles, and then a cry gurgles from the speakers, echoing up the stairs. 

“Mommy!” Avery calls. “Wren is awake!” 

You laugh to yourself. “I’m coming! Thank you, Ave!” 

“She has a snot bubble!” 

“Oh no!” 

You ditch Steve. Beth decides to come with you, sliding off of the bed and saying, “Mom, mom, mom,” until you hold her hand. You make your way downstairs together, where Avery and Dove are eating chocolate covered popcorn at the plastic play bench in front of the TV, their colouring books open and brightly decorated. Wren cries weakly in her rocker to be picked up, nearly eleven months old and agitated. 

You wipe her snotty nose with a wet wipe stashed under the rocker. “Don’t cry, sweetheart, it’s okay, it’s okay, I’m getting you out.” You lift her up and sit down on the couch, holding her to your front. “That was a good nap.”

“Mama,” she says. 

You smile. “That’s me, sweetheart. Mama-ma.” 

“Mama,” she says, her tears quickly smoothed away. She grins at you. She doesn’t seem like she’s just been napping. 

“Hello,” you murmur softly. “Did you have a good sleep?” You stroke along her face and under her chin. 

“Mom, can we go to the store, too?” Avery asks.

“How did you know I was going?”

“You’re in jeans and it’s Saturday.”

“My little detective,” you croon, to Wren’s delight. She crawls up your chest to kiss you. You laugh under her, and more when Avery climbs onto the couch to hug your arm. Beth follows.

“Can I come?” Dove asks. 

“Of course you can!” you say through kisses. “Come up here and cuddle me. Come on, Dove. I’m putting all my love in my tummy for the baby, so I need extra.” 

It’s a cheap shot, but it encourages Dove into the couch, where she presses a kiss to your cheek. “I wanna push the cart,” she says. 

It’s so nice to hear her voice that you agree on impulse. “You can push, baby, dad’s gonna help you.” 

Speaking of her dad, Steve appears again with arms full of dresses, socks, underclothes and cardigans. “Who’s going first?” he asks.

It’s easier than it looks. Avery’s a big girl who doesn’t need help but gets it anyways. Beth stands still as a doll, and Dove likes when Steve buttons up her cardigan because he gives her one kiss for each button. 

He leans down to kiss you gently and take the baby. Always gentle, your husband. 

[maysileeewrites]

Don’t Want You Like A Best Friend

17+ content; mdni!

Part I | series masterlist | my Coryo masterlist

summary: You and Coriolanus have been best friends ever since you can remember. You've always thought of him as the protective older brother you’ve never had, but lately, your feelings towards him have changed - not quite so pure and innocent anymore ...

chapter tags/warnings: some best friends to lovers angst and emotional confusion, lots of fluff, slightly ooc Coryo (don't worry, the possessive jealousy borderline crazy obsessive behavior will come in later parts!), a lil smutty treat at the end of the chapter

word count: 5,7k (it’s worth it, I promise!!)

You and Coriolanus have been best friends ever since you can remember. 

You’ve grown up together, experienced everything together, with your family living just across the street from Coroy’s family’s apartment. 

You’ve been there for each other during the dark days of the war, when both his parents and your father died. You’ve attended the academy together for years. 

You’re planning on going to University together as well, though that is still in the future, seeing as it will be a few more months until you’ll both finally graduate the academy. 

Really, Coriolanus is such a constant, important aspect in your life, you can’t imagine life without him. 

He’s always there for you - whether it be to laugh over a silly joke one of you two made or to hug and console you after a bad day or to look out for you and protect you. 

You’re inseparable, really, spending almost every moment together. 

Before, you’ve always thought of him as the protective older brother you’ve never had, but lately, your feelings towards him have changed - they’re not quite so pure and innocent anymore.

Lately, you’ve caught yourself staring at Coriolanus more and more often, gaze lingering on his bright blue eyes, his mischievous smirk, his blond curls or his toned, muscled arms or chest. 

When he hugs you, you can’t help but notice how good it feels to be pressed against his toned chest, feeling his heartbeat against your skin. 

When he reaches out a hand to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, you have to fight the urge to close your eyes and lean into his warm, comforting touch. 

When he reaches out to draw you closer, his hand settling possessively on your waist, the first thought in your head is that this - this feels right. You and Coryo together, as close as possible. 

And you can’t help but want, no, crave, more of it. 

More of Coryo, more of you two together, more of that dizzying, heady feeling you get whenever he touches you that sends your thoughts spiraling and makes your heartbeat go haywire. 

You’ve started to crave his touch more and more, always trying to come up with ways to inconspicuously touch him - letting your hand brush against his, laying a hand on his arm to steady yourself or reaching out a hand to brush a stray curl from his forehead. 

You feel yourself starting to get addicted to him more and more - and you have no idea how to stop it. 

Though, if you’re honest with yourself- you don’t want to stop it. 

You want to get lost in this snow storm of feelings. 

“Let’s go through this one more time”, Coryo says from his place at your desk, prompting a sigh from you. 

“Coryo”, you say, whining, “we’ve been going through this this whole afternoon. I think you’ve got it. Besides, the test is not until next Monday, you’ve got the whole weekend to continue studying - not that you need it.” 

“You know that I can’t afford to get anything other than an A on this test, right?”, Coryo replies, sighing. 

“And you know that you’ll get an A, even without studying, Coryo”, you reply, finally sitting up from your sprawled-out position on your bed. 

You can see Coryo shaking his head, about to say something else, so you hastily add: “Please, Coryo. I know how much you worry about your grades - I get it, I really do. But, you’ve slowly been driving me insane this afternoon, I can’t go through this stuff yet again, at least not right now.” 

When Coryo doesn’t reply immediately, you nervously bite down on your lower lip. You didn’t want to sound so mean, but the truth is that he has been driving you crazy this afternoon. You’ve already gone through all your notes of ancient history three times and you really don’t want to go all through 18 pages - front and back, in Coryo’s small, neat handwriting no less - of notes yet again. 

Coryo sighs frustratedly. 

You look up, only to find his intense gaze fixed on you, his blue eyes boring into yours. “I’m sorry, you’re right”, he says, sighing again and running a hand through his blond curls. “Maybe I just need to take a break-“ 

“That sounds wonderful”, you say, cutting him off before he has the chance to add a but to his suggestion. 

You get up from your bed, walking over to your desk and grab both of Coryo’s hands, trying to get him to get up, but Coryo doesn’t cooperate, becoming a dead weight to you. 

“Coryo, come on”, you plead, huffing a sigh of frustration, when he still makes no move to get up. 

You take another step closer to him, putting even more strength into the motion of your arms - just when Coryo smirks up at you, before tugging hard on your hands, causing you to stumble forward; right into his lap. 

“Asshole!”, you exclaim, pushing against his chest with your hands, but Coryo doesn’t budge. 

He just looks up at you with a triumphant smirk, a daring expression in his blue eyes. Daring you to do what exactly, you’re not quite sure. You just know that you’re trapped in his gaze, unable to do anything but look at him and get lost in his blue, blue eyes. 

And - this isn’t the first time that something like this has happened lately. In fact, lately you’ve found Coryo’s eyes lingering on you more and more often, his intense gaze seemingly burning you. 

And it should frighten you, how much you’ve come to crave the feeling of his eyes on you. And it does, but there’s something else there as well - a yearning for his attention that hasn’t been there before. 

The soft sound of Coryo chuckling at your scowling expression draws you out of your thoughts. 

“Need some help?”, he asks you, smirking. 

You huff a sigh of frustration, trying to push against his chest again - at the same time that Coryo tugs on your arms again, causing you to shift even more forward in his lap, until you’re pressed flush against his strong, muscular chest. 

Flustered, you feel your cheeks warming, your heartbeat quickening. Coryo is so, so close to you, you can feel his breath on your skin, his heartbeat under your hands. 

And - well, you’re sitting right in his lap, and once you’ve worked through your initial confusion at his sudden closeness, you can feel something else as well. Something hard pressed against your stomach- 

Coryo clears his throat then, gently pushing you away. You stumble, disoriented from the sudden motion, but then Coryo’s hand is there on your waist, steadying you. 

He leans in even closer towards you, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. He smiles softly, as if nothing has just happened. “You were saying something about taking a break?” 

You swallow, trying to calm your still erratic heartbeat and forcing a smile onto your face. “Sure. How about a snack and some hot chocolate?” 

“Finally satisfied with all the torture you’ve put me through today?”, you say, yawning, when you see Coriolanus finally closing his folder - you feel like you’ve been studying for ages and you never want to see his ancient history notes ever again. 

He laughs softly, the sound reverberating against your back. You don’t quite know how you’ve ended up in this position - both of you on your bed, Coryo sitting behind you, you sitting between his legs, your head leaning against his chest. 

It shouldn’t feel so good, being this close to him, especially after that incident earlier this afternoon- that still has your mind reeling and your cheeks heating up whenever you think about it -, but it does. 

In fact, now that you’ve got a taste of it, you don’t ever want it to stop. 

You bite down hard on your lip, trying - and failing - to stop this dangerous line of thinking. Because allowing yourself to let your thoughts spiral like this, allowing yourself to feel this nervous, heated energy that’s coursing through your veins, instead of suppressing it, like you’ve done until now - is dangerous. 

It will only lead you down a road of heartbreak. Yet you can’t seem to find it in you to hit the brakes and stop. 

„Torture?“, Coryo now says, drawing you out of your thoughts. „You seem to be in an awfully good mood for suffering through a whole afternoon of torture.“

You can’t help but smile at his words, though you’re glad that Coryo isn’t able to see it - he’d just call you out and tease you for smiling like an idiot to yourself. 

„Yes, well, going through eighteen pages of notes - front and back - four times is torture-“, your words are cut off by a surprised, startled yelp, when suddenly, Coryo starts tickling you. 

„No - Coryo, please!“, you manage to get out, but he’s unrelenting, only tickling you harder despite your protests. 

Both his hands are wrapped around your waist and your back is pressed flush against his broad chest. And even though you’re still giggling, trying to fight him off, you can also feel that nervous, heady feeling that sends your thoughts and heartbeat haywire again. 

You give up trying to fight him off, then, which Coryo immediately notices. He laughs softly, before finally ending his tickling attack and resting his head on the crook of your neck. „Enough torture for today?“, he asks and you can hear the smirk in his voice. 

You try to turn around to face him then, but both his hands are still on your waist, trapping you in place. „You’re a jerk, you know that, right?“, you say, though your voice doesn’t sound quite as steady and dry as you’d intended it to. 

Coriolanus just laughs, the sensation of his warm breath ghosting over your skin causing you to shiver involuntarily. „You’ve never complained before.“ 

You huff, rolling your eyes. „Well, you’ve never bothered to acknowledge it.“ 

„Mhm, that’s probably for the best …“ 

You roll your eyes again - his answer is just so typically Coryo. 

„What, no witty retort?“, Coriolanus asks, but you only shake your head, yawning.

„We both know that you can be quite the jerk, ’s nothing new … besides, it’s late …“, you mumble, trying to suppress another yawn and leaning back against his chest again. It is late - already way past eleven, the street outside your window already dark, safe for the streetlights. 

You close your eyes, wishing that you could just stay like this, wrapped in Coryo’s comforting embrace, if only for a short moment longer.

„You’re right, it’s late“, Coriolanus now says. „I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have held you up so long, I should get going …“ 

„Or you could stay.“ 

The words are out of your mouth before you’ve thought them through and you can feel yourself flushing again. Now, you’re really glad that you’re still facing away from Coriolanus - you feel like you’d die from embarrassment if he could see your face going beet-red. 

„I could …“, he says, his voice uncertain. 

„Yes … you, uh, could …“, you say, feeling your cheeks heat up. You’re glad that Coriolanus isn’t able to see it - really, you’re just glad that he hasn’t noticed how weird you’ve been acting around him lately, your heartbeat picking up, your cheeks flushing, your hands getting sweaty when being around him; sometimes just from a single touch or a lingering look from Coryo. 

It’s not like you’ve never done this before, like this has never happened before. This wouldn’t be the first time that Coriolanus sleeps over at your place. In fact, he used to do so a lot when you were younger, right after his parents died and he was plagued with nightmares. It stopped happening as often when you both got older, and now, it hasn’t happened in years. 

And somehow him sleeping over at your place now seems to be something totally different than him sleeping over at your place when you were both little kids. 

You’re not little kids anymore - you’ve changed. You both have. Your friendship has changed, evolved as well. 

Coriolanus is still your best friend, the one person you wouldn’t want to live without; but somehow, he’s not just that. He means something more to you as well, something else, something much less innocent than friendship-

„Yes, I could - I mean, only if that’s alright with you and your mother-“

„Sure“, you interrupt him, your voice sounding incredibly high and nervous. Fuck, you think, running a hand through your hair, and trying to calm your erratic heartbeat. „I mean, it’s no big deal …“ 

Lie. 

It is a big deal, but it’s probably for the best that Coriolanus doesn’t know that the thought of falling asleep right next to him excites you way more than it probably should. 

Coriolanus laughs softly. „Great … Should we get ready for bed then? It’s quite late and you always take ages getting ready for bed-“

„Just admit that you need your beauty sleep“, you interrupt him, teasing him back. You don’t need to turn around to know that he’s rolling his eyes at your remark. 

„Exactly“, he says, dryly, before gently losing his embrace and getting up. 

You follow him to the bathroom, your mind still spiraling. Just minutes earlier, you were complaining about going through Coryo’s ancient history notes four times; now, you’re following your best friend to the bathroom that’s connected to your room, to get ready for bed - with your best friend who’s sleeping over. 

In your bathroom, you hand Coriolanus a spare toothbrush, a comb and a towel, trying to ignore the tingly feeling in your fingertips when your hands brush against his. But then, he draws you closer with one hand, his hand resting on your waist for just a moment too long and you’re blushing again, the thought that you shouldn’t feel so excited and nervous about your best friend sleeping over already forgotten again. 

It takes you quite some time to get ready for bed. Not, as Coriolanus keeps insisting, because of your way too long and time consuming evening routine; but because of him distracting you with his lingering touches and stolen glances - messing your hair up again right after you’ve combed through it; catching your gaze in the mirror over the sink again and again while you’re brushing your teeth; drawing you closer just when you’re about to reach for your night cream. 

It’s way past midnight when you’re finally laying down in bed - right next to Coriolanus, who turns to look at you with a soft smile on his face after you’ve reached for the bedsheets, drawing them over you both. 

He scoots closer to you, before wrapping an arm around your waist, bringing you even closer to him, your back flush against his chest - the gesture so casual and natural, as if it doesn’t make your heartbeat go haywire. 

„Good night“, he whispers, before resting his head on the crook of your neck. 

Your heart skips a beat then. 

„Good- good night, Coryo“, you manage to get out, your voice wobbly. 

You close your eyes, though you already know that actually falling asleep will be almost impossible - how are you supposed to just fall asleep with Coriolanus right there, your back pressed against his chest, his hand on your waist, his head resting on the crook of your neck? 

No - you probably won’t even catch a single second of sleep this night. 

But somehow, that doesn’t sound too bad. (Not when you get to spend the night like this, with your best friend wrapped around you.) 

The next morning, you’re the first one awake. 

Coriolanus is still soundly asleep, his even breath ghosting over your skin, causing you to shiver. You’re in almost the same position as you were when you fell asleep, with Coriolanus’s hand on your stomach, his head resting on your shoulder. 

You were right, you think, yawning, you didn’t get much sleep. It took you ages to fall asleep, your mind still reeling from Coriolanus’s overwhelming closeness. You must have fallen asleep at some point though, because you distinctly remember waking from Coriolanus tightening his hold on you and muttering some unintelligible. 

You yawn again, carefully turning around to face Coriolanus. 

He’s still asleep. 

You can’t help but let your gaze linger on him, study his face - as if you haven’t already memorized every single one of his features. He looks so calm and peaceful when he sleeps, his expression soft and open. 

Without thinking, you reach up with one hand and brush a stray blond curl from his forehead. The motion seems to wake Coriolanus though, because his eyes flutter open, and then he’s looking at you - his blue gaze still a bit disoriented, but you feel caught up in his gaze nonetheless. 

„Hey“, he says, his voice still a bit sleepy, „sleep well?“ 

You quickly withdraw your hand, forcing a smile onto your face. „Well, could’ve been better if you hadn’t snored so loudly“, you say, trying to sound nonchalant. 

Coriolanus just scoffs. „I do not snore“, he says, indignant. 

No, you think, but you still kept me awake all night long, just by having your hand splayed across my stomach, your head resting on my shoulder. 

Still, you force yourself to shrug. „Easy for you to say.“ 

Coriolanus just scoffs again. But even though he’s annoyed by your comment, shooting you another indignant look, you can’t help but think that you want to spend every single morning just like this. 

You want to wake up right next to Coriolanus every morning - something you shouldn’t even be thinking about, but something that you still desperately crave nonetheless.  

It becomes a habit, then - Coryo sleeping over at your place.

At first, he only does it after one of your study sessions, once or twice a week. But then, it starts happening more and more often - him sleeping over after a movie night (considering that it took you a lot of convincing to get him to finally agree to a movie night, he seems to be enjoying himself quite a lot, cuddling up to you on your living room couch, resting his head on the crook of your neck, sending your heartbeat haywire) or after an evening of cooking together or after a long evening spent together at the Academy’s library, finishing an assignment for Professor Sickle.

At first, you don’t really think anything of it. 

But then, one Sunday morning you’re going through your clothes (for once, Coryo didn’t sleep over at your place, because he and Tigris promised the Grandm’am an early breakfast before helping her out with her roses) and suddenly,  you realize that there’s a whole stack of Coryo’s clothes in your closet. Dress shirts, plain shirts, pants, even one of his favorite shirts - it’s all here, in your closet. 

Without allowing yourself to think too much about it, you grab a simple long-sleeved grey shirt from the stack with Coryo’s clothes and put it on. (It’s oversized, the sleeves way too long, but you don’t care, the shirt is so soft and comfortable. And besides - it still smells like Coryo, like roses and powder and something else, something that’s entirely him.) 

After throwing on some simple, comfortable pants as well, you walk over to your bathroom - and startle when you see the box with Coryo’s things on one side of the big, marble sink. A toothbrush, a comb, even a small tube of Tigris’s face cream that he secretly uses - you’re the only one who knows and he’d made you swear not to tell a single living soul that fact. 

You smile at the memory, absentmindedly running a hand through your hair and letting your eyes wander through the bathroom. 

But everywhere you look, you see Coriolanus. Everything seems to somehow remind you of him. 

That towel on the sink, which is lying neatly folded right next to the box with Coryo’s stuff. It’s one of your own towels, nothing special in your opinion - you’ve got lot of other towels and really, a towel is just a towel - but Coryo insists that it’s softer than your other towels and feels better on his skin. 

That old butterfly-shaped hairpin of yours, lying abandoned on the windowsill. You only have to look at it to be taken back to Thursday night when you were getting ready for bed, brushing your hair in front of the great mirror over the sink, when suddenly Coryo walked into your bathroom, your old hairpin in hand. 

„That’s the hairpin you got for your tenth birthday, isn’t it?“, he asked, smiling to himself. 

You nodded. „Yes, I thought about giving it away, maybe gifting it to my little cousin, because I don’t really think that it suits me anymore.“ 

Coryo’s smile seemed to freeze at your words. „Really? I still think it looks great, look“, he said, drawing you closer with one hand whilst reaching up with his other hand to place to pin in your hair. 

„See?“, he said, smiling. 

You laughed, shaking your head. „I mean, yes, it’s beautiful, but I’m not ten anymore, Coryo.“ 

You wanted to put the hairpin away, but Coriolanus insisted on you keeping it just a little longer - maybe you’d change your mind about it. 

You reach for that hairpin now, absentmindedly running your fingers over it. Coriolanus is right, the pin is beautiful, even though it looks a bit worn down after years of usage. 

You decide to keep the pin, then. Not because you think that you’ll wear it again, but as another reminder of Coryo. 

It is in this moment that you realize that your feelings towards your best friend have changed - you no longer view him as just your best friend. 

You no longer want him like a best friend. 

You don’t want to be just his best friend anymore - you want so much more than that. You want - no need - his attention, want his lingering eyes on you, want his warm, comforting touch before falling asleep, want to wake up next to him, want to feel his lips on yours. 

You tighten your grip on the hairpin, until you feel it starting to dig uncomfortably in your skin, but the pain still can’t distract you from your thoughts and the heavy, crushing feeling in your chest. 

Because no matter how much you might want to be more than Coryo’s best friend - to him, you’ll never be anything else. He’ll never see you as anything other than his best friend. 

It somehow becomes both easier and harder to be around Coryo after your realization. 

Easier, because it means that you still get to be around him, get to talk with him, fall asleep with him at your side, ly next to on your bed while he’s motivating you to study. 

Harder, because it means that you still get to be around him - all the time. Looking at him, laughing with him, touching him; fantasizing about him in ways that you definitely shouldn’t think about your best friend. 

His presence is almost like a drug to you; addicting and intoxicating, leaving you craving more of it, even though you know that it’s not good for you - in the end it’ll be your heart that’ll be broken. 

„Something on your mind?“, Coryo’s soft voice draws you out of your thoughts, his hand absentmindedly drawing circles on your back. 

It’s already late evening and you’re lying together in your bed - you wearing one of his shirts, which he noticed with a satisfied smirk earlier, over your nightdress. 

You shake your head, thankful that Coriolanus can’t see your face, seeing as he’s spooning you from behind. „Not really, no … just all these papers we’ll have to hand in during the next two weeks …“ 

„Well, if it’s nothing else …“, Coriolanus says, laughing softly, his warm breath tickling against your skin, but something tells you that he doesn’t quite believe your words. 

„Nope“, you say, trying to sound nonchalant, before freeing yourself from Coriolanus’s grip, taking off his shirt, so that you’re left in only your lacy, red nightdress. 

The distraction works - Coriolanus’s swallows, the expression in his eyes darkening. „Won’t you - uhm, freeze? If you’re only sleeping in that, I mean, it doesn’t look very warm …“, he stutters - actually stutters. 

„Freeze?“, you ask, grinning, „with you right next to me?“ 

Coriolanus just scoffs, rolling his eyes. It’s a discussion you’ve had quite often these last few weeks - with you convinced that his body temperature is too high, and him convinced that yours is running too low. 

Though maybe Coryo does have a point and you always feeling so hot when you’re being embraced by him has more to do with your heartbeat quickening and your palms turning sweaty from being so near to him and less with his body temperature. 

Suddenly, Coriolanus sits up, leaning in towards you, before closing both his arms around you, caging you in his embrace. Both of his hands are splayed possessively over your stomach, though one feels dangerously close to your chest. 

Though - maybe that is just your imagination running wild with you again.  

„Warm enough for you?“, Coriolanus asks, resting his head on the crook of your neck, his warm breath tickling your skin. 

You laugh, trying not to squirm - you’re insanely ticklish, something Coriolanus very much know. „Yes, Coryo, more than enough …“ 

„Hm …“, he laughs softly. „Can’t have you freezing now, can I?“, he adds, reaching for your blanket and draping it around you both. 

„Hm ...“, you hum, closing your eyes and leaning your head back against his chest. You feel so warm and content, being so close to Coryo. It’s so easy to get lost in your imagination like that, to pretend that you can actually have this with him, to pretend that this is not just your best friend messing around with you - to pretend that he feels the same way you do. 

You stay like that for a moment - Coryo holding you in his arms, bodies pressed flush together. 

Then, after a while - you can’t tell whether it’s been only a few minutes or a few hours; time always seems to either stop or pass you by in a blur whenever you’re with Coriolanus - he clears his throat, breaking his embrace. 

„It’s late, we should probably try to get some sleep …“, he says, trying to suppress a yawn. 

You nod, forcing a smile onto your face. „Sure … can’t have your mind in a foggy, exhausted state when you want to make a good impression in Sickle’s class tomorrow morning …“ 

Coriolanus scoffs, laying down on your bed. 

The moment you’ve lain down as well, he scoots closer to you, enclosing you in his arms. Something he does every night when he sleeps over, though your heart still skips a beat at the action. 

This is dangerous, you think. You can’t keep thinking about your best friend like that, can’t keep falling and falling for him- 

„Good night“, Coriolanus says - and then he does something he’s never done before: he leans in closer towards you, pressing a gentle, soft kiss to your hairline. 

Your heartbeat quickens and you can only hope that Coryo won’t be able to pick up on it. 

„Good - good night, Coryo“, you say, your voice shaky, barely being able to get the words out. 

Coriolanus laughs, before resting his head on the crook of your neck again. 

You swallow, trying not to shiver. 

This night, it takes you a long time to fall asleep. 

When you wake up, Coriolanus has wrapped himself around you, caging you in between his arms, one of his hands splayed possessively across your stomach, his other hand dangerously close to the hem of your admittedly quite short night dress. (You may have decided on deliberately wearing this particular lacy red night dress, seeing as it has made Coriolanus look at you with a dark expression in his eyes when he’d seen you wearing it once before.)

His strong, muscled chest is pressed flush against your back - though that’s not the only thing pressed against your back. 

You feel your cheeks heat up when you realize what this means. This has only happened two times before, and both times Coriolanus was quick to embarresedly scoot away from you when he woke up, realizing that his erection had been pressed against your back. 

Now, though, Coriolanus seems to be asleep and in no hurry to move away from you. In fact, he suddenly makes a low muffled noise, his grip on you tightening, his hand at the hem of your night dress moving up even higher until you can feel his fingertips brush over the soft skin of your inner thighs. 

You can’t help the surprised noise that escapes you then - even though all of this should feel so wrong; it doesn’t. 

It doesn’t feel wrong at all. In fact, you want - no, crave even more of this, of you and Coryo pressed so closely together that not even a single leaf could fit between you, Coriolanus’s hands on you, his face pressed into the crook of your neck. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts when Coriolanus suddenly says your name, his lips brushing against your skin, causing you to shiver. 

„Cory?“, you ask, trying to turn around, but his grip on you is too tight, keeping you in place. 

Then - your name falling from his lips again, followed by a loud, coarse moan. 

„Yes, right there - fuck, so good, so good“, Coriolanus moans, one hand suddenly finding its way under the skirt of your night dress, his fingers moving up higher and higher on your thighs, coming dangerously close to the hem of your panties-

„Fuck!“ Another loud moan, followed by Coriolanus’s hips moving against yours, his erection pressing against you. 

Oh, you think, cheeks impossibly warm, biting down hard on your lip to keep yourself from making any sound. 

Besides your imagination running wild these last few weeks, one dirty fantasy of you and your best friend chasing the other, this has never happened to you. You thought that it never would happen to you - at least not with Coryo. 

Though he’s only caught up in a dream of his own, you try to remind yourself, when his hips move against yours again. 

It’s only a dream. But why is it your name that he’s moaning then, not any other? But maybe it’s just a coincide-

Every single thought is wiped from your head, when Coriolanus’s fingers brush over your panties, teasing your clit though the thin fabric. 

You can’t help the moan that escapes you then - not when this feels so good, Coriolanus’s fingers teasing over your clit, his hips moving against yours, his lips pressed to the skin of your neck, his other hand still splayed across your stomach. 

Coriolanus moans your name again then, his fingers cupping your cunt through the thin fabric of your panties, and you find yourself moving your hips against his, driven by pure instinct. 

The low, coarse groan that escapes Coriolanus then has you wanting to squeeze your thighs together, but his fingers are still there, still teasing over your clit. 

Suddenly, his fingers start to move, drawing teasing circles over your clit, and it’s all too much for you. Overwhelmed by all the different emotions coursing through you, you tear yourself away from his grip, getting up on shaky feet and walking over to the bathroom that’s connected to your bedroom. 

Your head is still spinning when you find yourself leaning against the cold, marble walls of the bathroom, your core still aching, yearning for Coriolanus’s touch. 

You shiver, even though you feel too hot, your skin feeling like it’s been set on fire. Coriolanus touched you. Your best friend’s fingers were almost inside you and- 

Fuck. 

Fuck, you’ll never able to look your best friend in the eyes again, even though all you want is to be as close to him as you were moments ago. 

Acting on pure instinct, you shimmy out of your nightdress, letting it fall to the floor, before stepping inside the shower. Maybe a good, cold shower, will help, you think, turning on the shower. 

You step back, letting the cold water hit your body. But even though the cold water feels like needles prickling against your skin, you still feel as if your entire body was set on fire, your core still aching and empty. 

Almost on their own accord, your fingers find their way to your clit. You bite down hard on your lip, trying to blink back the tears in your eyes that are suddenly threatening to spill. 

Still, you can’t help the low moan that escapes you when your fingers find their way between your folds. 

You close your eyes, letting your head fall back - letting pure instinct take over, as you fuck yourself on your fingers, wishing that it were Coryo’s fingers filling you up instead. 

When you come, it’s with a desperate, breathless cry and images of Coriolanus pressed against you playing over and over again in your mind.

What you don’t know, though, is that Coriolanus has been awake all this time - every single touch was a deliberate, strategic move on his part and you’d reacted even better than he could have imagined. He followed you to the bathroom when you got up from bed, and now he’s watching you come undone from his position behind the door that you forgot to properly lock in your haste.

He feels like he’s going crazy, crawling out of his skin as he watches you screw your eyes shut, throwing your head back. Your breathless whimpers and moans are all that he can hear, echoing through his mind. 

Wracked with shame, guilt and desire coursing through him, he shoves one hand into his pants, his eyes still fixated on you. 

It only takes a few strokes over his already achingly hard length until he comes undone as well. 

And when he unravels, it is with your breathless moans echoing through his mind, his eyes on you, and your name like a bittersweet, deadly poison that he just can’t get enough of on his lips. 

sooo ...? please, please lmk what you think, I'm so excited to hear your thoughts!

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[halcyone-of-the-sea]

ooh im glad!!! so, expanding on that then..

how about price with a civvi wife/gf, and when they’re talking over the phone while he’s gone, she’s being kinda cagey and definitely omitting something, but he doesn’t know what. so when he gets back home she tells him she’s pregnant? really just a lot of fluff (and maybe angst? 👀 like about how his job is super dangerous and he might not come home, so he has fears about it?? bc your angst is so good it makes me sob violently /pos)

ive never sent a request before, so if this is too specific or something, feel free to whittle it down or toss it, i don’t wanna bug you lol

have a good day hal, love u!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our Remains

Pairing: John Price x F!Reader

Synopsis: You disliked hiding things from John. Certainly something as big as this.

Word Count: 4.8k

Warnings: Pregnancy, allusions to breeding kink & unprotected seggsy time, morning sickness, angst, major fluff at the end

A/N: This was an adorable request, Anon!! Thanks so much for sending it in.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You disliked hiding things from John. It not only felt like a betrayal of his unlimited trust in you but also a slap in the face for what you had built with each other. The both of you were always honest to a fault when it came to your relationship—like how a bird was loyal to the sky. It was an unselfish principle; a promise of pure love and devotion that transcended touch or given gifts.

You told each other things. Everything. Down to how much you had spent on groceries that day just because it was something to talk about and share; something that made you closer to one another even when you were apart. You told the Brit what you planted in the back garden—what shirt you were wearing!

But now you hold the ringing phone in your hand and for the first time in your entire relationship, you consider lying. 

Your eyes bore into the icon of John’s smiling face, head covered by a black beanie and beard tilted up softly. Affectionately, his name on the device had been changed to ‘Grumpy St. Bernard,’ but now the title made your lips go thin instead of the usual giggling reaction. No heat spreads over your cheeks; no excitement.

Just an overwhelming sense of dread.

The week had started just as the last three had. A special form of hell. At nearly six o’clock you would whip back the covers with all the fervor of a terrified rabbit being chased by a hawk; the taste of bile immediately snapping you to attention as the toilet acts as your commanding officer. 

You imagined John would get a chuckle out of that comparison, but when you’re hurling up your guts in nothing more than a pair of your boyfriend’s boxers and a tank top it’s hard to think about all that. The taste of bile was still lickable from your lips as the bathroom tile digs into your knees, ringing phone still in your palm. 

The idea of a pregnancy test slid into your subconscious in the first week of John’s two-month deployment, the tantalizing thought that was like a hook to a fish. You had pulled on the string, of course, and had instantly drowned in air. But you hadn’t taken one until now. Too nervous, perhaps. Hesitant. 

In your other hand, opposite of the buzzing phone, you held three positive pregnancy tests in a shaking grip. Pink and white plastic mock you from the corner of your vision; two double lines. 

John’s icon dims. 

You press the green circle in your panic, mouth opening and closing yet no sounds escaping. Would you tell him now? Later? Was it right to tell him about this now—when he was halfway across the continent? Fear overtakes your heart for no apparent reason. You didn’t want him to act rashly, especially when John could act so stubborn when he wanted to. 

He was always so concerned about you when he was away but you were concerned just the same. That man was the one who was getting shot at constantly, not you.

“Took you a while to answer. Trying to give me the slip, then, Sweetheart?” John’s gravelly voice helped slightly, making your heart still, even if for a short moment. You close your eyes and tilt your head down, lips quivering at the soft chuckle over the line.

God, you loved him so much.

Blue eyes furrowed in confusion at the silence on the line, the chilled Switzerland air sneaking inside John’s compression shirt as he stood on the hotel balcony. The sounds of gentle conversation twitch his ears from inside the room—the voices of the One-Four-One a dull mumble behind the half-closed sliding door. They had been playing cards before the Captain had easily slipped away to check up on you. 

He tried to call as often as he could. 

John’s hips shift, one arm crossed over his chest as the other presses the phone harder to his ear. Lips pull to a frown, beard bristles going with them, before the lines on the Brit’s forehead grow larger.

“...Love?” Naturally, a sliver of concern wedges itself into his ribs but it subsides when your calming voice spreads honey over the call. John’s shoulders fall back down. 

You breathe deeply, hands dropping the tests onto the bathroom counter with a small clack of plastic. 

“John,” forcing away the hitch to your words, you stare at yourself in the mirror, free hand sliding up to lightly rest over your collarbone as a soothing method. Your eyes are so filled with shock that it throws you off. “I…I wasn’t expecting a call so soon.” 

“Hm, been up since 0500.” the man grunts, looking out over the city and seeing the rising sun before asking softly with a deep-set brow. There was something about your tone…lids narrow at nothing. “Did I wake you?” 

“No, no,” You force a chuckle, having to take a deep breath before ripping your sights from your own reflection. The disgust was settling at you trying to avoid this. But if your own brain could barely process this right now, what gave you the right to tell John when he wasn’t here? “I’ve been up for a few hours.”

Licking your lips, you run a hand over your hair, glancing out of the ajar door into the master bedroom, pushing out bland answers for only the fact that you couldn’t think clearly right now.

Jesus, this was actually happening. 

You study the thrown covers from your morning rush to the bathroom, seeing the pictures on the nightstand and feeling the delicate atmosphere that was sparking—electricity between atoms. A silent moment of realization that everything down to the bare bones of your relationship was about to change. Blinking back to the tests, you dwell in the strange fuzz that took residence in the back of your mind. 

“What’s been going on?” Your voice isn’t right. Too tight. Too…nervous. Why were you nervous? “Everyone good?” 

The Brit frowns stiffly, shifting his feet again and sending a look back into the hotel. Hunching forward, John’s large fingers fix the position of the phone as his voice lowers, ignoring your question entirely. He doesn't want to jump to conclusions, but there were pros and cons to his line of work. 

Above all, he knew when something was up with you.

“Are you alright over there, Sweetheart?” Blue eyes rove the street below, “Feelin’ okay? You sound a bit stuffed up.”

Your heart lurches, quickly stuttering through an explanation of, “O-oh, I think I just came down with something.” The irony wasn’t lost on you. “A stomach bug,” you cringe, “I’m sorry, was it that obvious?”

The laugh that exits is less convincing than you thought it would be, but it does the trick. John sighs in relief, chuckling as he shakes his head.

“No need to apologize, Love…anything bad, then? I can bring some meds from Base when I’m back if you need me to.” He was still concerned for you, but knowing that you’d never lied or withheld the truth from him before there was really no reason to believe that anything else was going on. John trusted you to the end of the earth. 

The Captain rubbed at the back of his neck, cracking his spine as he bent back. It was still early and waking up on a hotel bed without you beside him was torture. John longed for home. Longed for you.

Back at the house, your face scrunches together. 

Bad? You wonder, saying absentmindedly that some medication would be lovely. Was this…bad? 

John had always wanted to have a kid—or, at least, he’d told you as much when he was above you, filling you to the brim and then doing it again a second and third time. Thighs quivering and eyes fighting to stay open through layered bliss as sharp pants rung in your ears. 

“Gonna get you pregnant…watch you swell up…c’mon sweet thing, you can handle another one, can’t you? Need to watch it take.” 

…But was that a true feeling or just a kink? You blank and realize you’d never asked him. More than that, though, was this what you wanted? 

“When do you think you’ll be home, John?” You speak softly, palm flattening over your stomach as you exit the bathroom and sit on the end of the bed, gut swirling but not in a nauseous sort of way. “I…I really miss you, y’know? It would all be better if you were home.”

The brunette blinks softly, lids peeling back in shock for a moment before a thin thread of guilt worms its way into him. 

“Kate said two months, Love,” John speaks slowly, the grumble in his voice trying to convey his unease at your strange behavior, “You know that.”

He’d explained his job when you both had gotten serious, how he would be gone for long periods of time, and the somewhat uncomfortable situations you’d be put in because of it. You’d agreed and never brought it up when John would have to leave in the small hours of the morning and disappear for months on end. It shocked him, really, with how well you adjusted but that was just how you were. One of a kind. 

There was no one else with whom John could see himself building a life—being buried beside in some nice meadow grave plot and turning to dust together. Growing a family with. 

John cleared his throat, tilting his head down slightly before pulling himself back to the present. 

“It’s bothering you that much, eh?” His brows furrow, “Are you sure you’re alright? I can call hospital and—”

“No!” You slap a hand to your mouth, halting your outburst as blue eyes go somewhat wide, jaw slackening. Taking a breath over the shocked silence over the line, you dig your fingers into your cheek before letting your limb drop. “No, John…I-I’m sorry I just…” 

Your voice quivers.

Don’t cry, don’t cry, don’t cry…

Eyes burning and nose twitching, you breathe heavily, mouth closing shut because you knew that if you say another word you’ll explode. You were shivering with cold sweat, scared and confused, and wanting John to hold you in his arms; whispering that it would all be okay into the shell of your ear. 

You force through a sob, “I’m just really scared.”

John tenses, one hand going to grasp the balcony with white knuckles. His mind goes into overdrive. “Scared?” the Brit prods, muscles going stiff and mind running, “What in the hell is going on?” 

Authority leaks into his tone, serious and deep. It made him nervous that he couldn’t see you right now—couldn’t stop the sounds coming from your mouth. Why were you crying? Has something horrible happened to you? Were you in trouble but were unable to tell him? John runs over your conversation again, every word and sound, as his heart races. He was wound up like a spring. 

From behind him, the conversation in the hotel room halts. 

You force your eyes closed, now up on your feet and pacing. Tears lightly patter to the floor. 

“John, I can’t tell you over the phone,” you admit, shaking, “that wouldn’t be…wouldn’t be fair to you.” Swiping at your eyes, you spread the salty liquid away from your lashes, sniffling; praying that he would understand. “But I really need you home as soon as you’re able. I don’t want to break up what's going on over there, it’s just really important. I don’t think I can wait two months by myself. You know I would never ask this if I didn’t need to.”

John’s jaw clenches, legs unable to stay still as your anxiety leaks to him. He’s nodding before he realizes you can’t see him, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs. 

“...I’ll see what I can do, then.” The brunette runs his hand over his beard pulling at the strands aggressively. What was so crucial that you can’t tell him over the phone? It was a secure line, John always made sure it was; yet, at the same time, that fact didn’t matter at all. If you needed him home so fervently—then he was coming home. That was that. “How long can you wait for me, Love?” He spares a glance inside. “There are a few loose ends that need to be taken care of here. Might complicate things.” 

You blink around the bedroom, hand wrapped around your middle and trying to run soothing circles into your skin. 

“I…I don’t…��� John’s face softens, closing his eyes.

“Breathe, Sweetheart,” he whispers, “I’m comin’ home to you. We’ll get whatever this is sorted, yeah? I need you to be brave for me until then.”

Listening, you let the words calm you down, sniffling one last time like a kid who had fallen off the monkey bars before you let out a chuckle. John instantly follows his own advice when that sound wafts over the line. His shoulders fall back once more, silent sigh exiting.

“You said that exact same thing to me when I ended up burning that loaf of bread I was making—two years ago, was it? ‘Breathe, Sweetheart.’” Blue glimmers with love, cheeky tone growing. 

“Hm, nearly set the kitchen on fire, didn’t you? So much smoke I swore someone had set off a charge in the oven.” John doesn’t push you to answer him, though he’s more questions than anything else at this point. You’d said you would tell him when he’s home and he believes you. “Please, Love, at least promise me you didn’t burn the bloody house down, yeah?” 

A laugh strikes his chest, and he’s chuckling slowly in retaliation. 

“I promise, John.”

“Good.” You’re smiling for the first in what seems like ages, tears drying as the flood down your chin stops. You lick away the water stuck in the corner of your mouth when John grunts lowly, “I’ll tell the boys and inform Laswell. But I can’t say it’ll be less than two weeks.”

Nodding to yourself, you say, quietly, “Okay.” Your eyes fall to the framed picture on the nightstand—the image of John and you smiling brightly on your third anniversary. You’d gone hiking, both sweaty and dirt marks on your cheeks, but happy…always happy. Your veins pump blood faster. “I love you, John.” 

The final comment is tender; the words are more silk and soft furs than vibrating vocal cords. 

He blinks away the blush that lights his pale cheeks. John huffs, an infectious smile flickering over his face as his chest wells with affection. Acting like a bird preening itself, he smirks and says, “Well, you’re lucky then…I love you too, Sweetheart.” An exhalation echoes over the call as his tone drops, “Keep safe for me, eh? I’ll call to update tomorrow.” 

“I’ll be waiting.” 

When the phone is set down on the bed, tossed down carefully, you try to think over this situation more rationally. You wouldn’t say you were against this—building a family with John. In fact, if not him, then you don’t believe it would be anyone else. 

The Brit was the only man for you. You both knew the risks of having unprotected sex and in reality, you think neither one of you cared about the consequences. 

Nodding to yourself, you wonder how to explain this to him when he comes home as you get to fixing the sheets, one hand always drifting back to your stomach with a growing appreciation.

—

John jogged to his car in the underground parking garage, unlocking it with his fob as his bags are slung over his shoulders. He wastes no time chucking his belongings into the back seat, swiftly sliding into the driver's seat and slamming the door shut as the engine starts. His dog tags bounce on his chest, but he’s half convinced they move from the rate that his heart is going alone.

All through traffic his fingers are tapping against the wheel, grunting stiffly at red lights and shifting his hips. 

It had been three and a half weeks of fixing loose ends. 

“Fuckin’ hell, c’mon,” John huffs, one elbow on the car frame as his hand flattens over his lower jaw. The light slowly snaps back to green after a long minute. 

Pressing on the gas, the vehicle moves forward and continues until the familiar home comes into view on that quiet street nearly twenty minutes later. 

John barely parks the car before he hops out, leaving his bags in the back, and rushes to the door. Taking the key from under the doormat, his mind is focused on only you. He had been unable to stop his worry about you and your unnamed fear, watching the phone with every free instance he could. It had only grown as the days got longer, and no matter how much you assured him that you would be okay until he got back, deep-seated apprehension grew. He didn’t like living under a shroud, especially when it came to your health.

The key in his hand was inserted with a firm wrist and twisted, shoving open the door with a heavy shoulder like there was a cloud over his head.

“Love?!” He calls, not bothering to shuck off his boots before looking around the visible living room and foyer. “Where are you?” 

Long legs move swiftly as an utterance calls from the kitchen, barely taking the time to close the door behind him in his anxiety, “John?” 

The Brit immediately backtracks, skidding to a stop and turning with blinking eyes. His ears twitch at the sounds of dishes being dropped back into water, as his heart steadily slows at the sound of your beautiful voice calling his name. 

He rushes around the doorframe, feet stomping and hand catching the wall as you come into view, staring wide-eyed. 

Your digits are around the fabric of a dish towel, fingers dripping as John finally presents himself to you. You hadn’t heard him until he had called out, too preoccupied with your own thoughts to hear the lock click. 

But now it was like every worry you had was wiped clean at the sight of that gruff face; the hitch in his large chest. A smile slashes your lips after a moment of shocked silence.

“John!” You laugh, rushing forward, and the man lets his face soften—bringing you close to him as you draw near and trapping you in his arms. 

His breath spread out over the top of your head in a great sigh, grumbled chuckles accented by the way John’s great hands wrap around your shoulders. Fingers press you into a solid chest, digging through hair to let your ear twitch at the sound of his heartbeat. 

John doesn't speak until he has held you in his arms for at least three minutes, just pressing his face into your scalp and feeling your warmth against him. You don’t pull away either, breathing in his musk as it instinctually leads to your muscles loosening. 

Minutes later, the Brit pulls back slowly, gripping you by the shoulders and looking down into your eyes. His gaze filters over yours, taking you in before his lips meet yours in a brief yet deep kiss. You melt into it, hands going to grip his cheeks and spread throughout his beard hair, soft strands leaving you shivering when John’s thumbs rub circles into your flesh. 

He pulls back and you fight the tears in your eyes as he connects his forehead with yours. His optics shine with love, bleeding out like trapped stars; silver flecks of devotion and a blue the color of sea storms.

“What’s going on, Love?” John whispers, concern alight and raving as his grip goes to your waist, squeezing comfortingly. “I’m here. Tell me.” 

You blink slowly, lips going thin with tight brows. Swallowing through a tight throat, you nod. 

“Can you go sit in the living room, please?” Speaking carefully, you tilt your head and watch John get confused—his nose scrunching and moving his lips together. You run your thumbs over his cheeks and smile slightly, obviously nervous again. “Trust me.”

Though it wasn’t a question, John replies under his breath, “Always.” 

But still, he holds you, studying your expression and the whites of your eyes with stiff lungs. You were making him fear that something horrible was coming—something he couldn’t control. His heart begins to hurt, but he backs away from you, brows tight as he exits the kitchen and disappears into the living room. 

Taking down a swift breath when he’s out of sight, you fiddle with your fingers above your abdomen, looking down at your still-flat stomach. You knew it was stupid to worry, but how could you not? It wasn’t every day you just told your Lover you were pregnant with his child…

“John loves me,” you mutter to yourself, nodding and getting ready to go through with the plan you’d formed over the three weeks you’d been alone. “And he’ll love the both of us. I know he will.” 

Hand flattening over your stomach, you open a drawer with the other, pulling out a small cardboard box no bigger than a book. Fingers shaking, you lick your lips and feel the slight pull of a nervous, yet giddy, smile. Turning, you exit the kitchen and see John sitting with his nose resting above the clench of his fists, foot tapping. His head immediately snaps over when you come into view, hands falling to hang off his legs as the couch under him dips from his weight. 

You steel yourself and raise the box. 

“Here.” Placing it on the coffee table, you sit across from John in an armchair. 

He blinks slowly, eyes going small with curiosity. The man sends you glances through his lashes as he stares down at the object but he says nothing. Rubbing his beard with one hand, he reaches and grabs it carefully. 

Testing the weight, John is genuinely confused, clenching his jaw and feeling the material in his palm. 

“...What’s this, then?” He asks lowly, glancing at you with a raised brow and lines on his forehead. 

You put your intertwined hands in your lap, prompting with a tilt of your shoulders. 

“Open it.” Off put by your cryptic answers, John nods firmly, grasping the top of the box and pulling lightly, careful not to disturb the contents. It was strange to think, but he was honestly quite perturbed. 

What exactly was inside this box, and why had he been called home for it? He loved being here, no doubt, but the circumstances….

Blue eyes glimmer. You didn’t look overly afraid as you shifted in your seat, just plain timid—like the inside object would change something fundamental about his and yours relationship. 

John pops the top off and looks as you start talking before your throat threatens to shut you up. “I…I know it’s not a life-threatening thing to call you home for,” the man stills as if he was made of stone; a statue as non-breathing and pulse-less as anything, “But I didn’t want to tell you over the phone because that seemed so—!” 

Your voice is drowned out as John’s shaking fingers delve into the box, ears ringing. His fingers flinch off of three positive pregnancy tests and the soft fabric of the plain army green baby onesie that surrounds them; skimming slowly. 

“I found out the day you called and I said I had come down with something.” Your laugh is strained when it exits you, and you stare at the Brit hard, seeing his features utterly halt all expression. Thumbs digging into your skin, your tone drops, speaking slowly, “...John? A-are you okay? Say something to me, Love.” 

It’s only in that long minute of nothingness that you really start to get an all-consuming tenseness to your bones like a rabbit. 

Why isn’t he saying anything? 

John clears his stiff throat, blinking rapidly as he brings out one of the tests, dropping the box lightly to the coffee table with a dull thump. The twin red lines are ingrained into the softness of his retinas as the sun would be if you were to stare directly at it. 

Pregnant. 

His heart swells to an almost painful degree, blue eyes moving to look at you across the table and then dipping to your stomach. The Brit stands up slowly. 

Your lungs are tight, lids moving quickly with wetness growing in your tear ducts. 

“Please, John, what are you thinking—?” Large hands capture your arms, bringing you up as lips meet yours in a passionate and heart-stopping kiss. 

John’s limbs wrap around your hips, bringing you up into the air as gently as a bird, face parting from yours with a series of loud and genuine laughs. You snap your arms around his neck, shocked but not at all complaining as he holds you up with ease, twirling you around in a firm but ever-gentle hold. 

“You’re pregnant?” His whispers meet you, airy and deep with awe. It was like he was in his teens again, running around Herefordshire with his mates—his eyes shone with happiness; pure unabashed love. “Oh, truly, Sweetheart?”

Tears dribble down your cheeks at the sight of him glowing, beard peeled back in a large smile with wet eyes. Hiccuped giggles leave your lips as you nuzzle your face into his neck, the sight of him like this overwhelming. All stress leaves you in a millisecond when your feet hit the ground again. 

“Yes, John,” you sob, overjoyed, pulling back so you both can stare into each other's teary eyes as the Brits’ fingers go to shakily wipe the waterworks from your under eyes. His orbs flicker quickly, looking you over in an entirely different light. “You’re going to be a father.” 

He fights through a scratchy voice, “Me?” The tone is amused, but he can’t articulate how exalted he feels to hear that. A father…him? It was more than he could have ever asked for, and, even better—John whispers out, “You’re going to be a mum.” 

You kiss him, multiple quick pecks that he returns through shared joyous chuckles.

“I didn’t want to tell you over the phone,” the confession meets the air as one of John’s hands travels to cup your flat abdomen, fingers flinching over the fabric of your shirt to sneak under. You laugh and shiver at his calluses, as his blue eyes are so soft they could be compared to butter. “And I couldn’t wait two months.”

“Christ, Love,” John lays a kiss on your forehead, needing to be as close to you as possible. You can feel his heart through his chest, and you know yours isn’t any better. This was far more than you could have hoped for. He mutters against your skin, “I’m so glad you didn’t. This is bloody amazing news—I want to be here for all of it.” 

Sea storms lock onto your face with a grunt, “You’re so lovely. Perfect, yeah?”

His warm hand still rests under your shirt, and you doubt it’s going to leave anytime soon.

You feel your cheeks heat and you smile bashfully, heart about to explode.

“You are.” John reiterates. “You’re so fuckin’ perfect, Sweetheart. I’m so happy.” 

The air is ripe with tenderness, a soft state of being that just keeps getting better. John had silent tears dripping down his face, blinking to clear them and not letting you leave his hold for a second. 

“Oh, John,” you whisper, digging your fingers into the back of his shirt, looking up. “Me too, Love.” 

While the glee is nearly physical enough to grab, there is a moment of hesitancy in the Brit. He was gone more times than not for work; put into situations that could leave him going through bodily harm. You didn’t deserve that stress—didn’t deserve to sit at home with a swelling stomach just watching the door and wondering if you’d have to become a single mother. You had a child in your womb. His child. Both of yours’ child. 

A family that you both had made.

John swallows and says to you seriously, without an ounce of hesitation in his blood, “I’m telling Laswell to pull me out,” you blink up and listen, letting him continue as his press on your flesh gets even more prominent, nodding to you, “I’m not missing this—not putting you through that worry. Two years, then I’ll head back in. We have enough saved, I give you my word you’ll want for nothing.” 

Blue eyes flicker down, and a small mumble so tiny it nearly disappears hits your ears. You almost start sobbing again. “This is more important. You both are more important.” 

There were few moments in your life that you think you’ll remember when you are old, weathered and wrinkled, but this you tell yourself is one that you will carry to your grave. John and yours’ grave. 

What remains behind, you ask? Simple.

White bones entangled with an eternity of deathless worship, and the generations that will come to lay flowers on the headstone.

TAGS:

@blueoorchid, @jxvipike, @revrse, @shuttlelauncher81, @bruhhvv, @kittiowolf210, @aerangi, @spikespiegell, @ghost-with-a-teacup, @1234ilikecowsthanyoumore, @uberraschungg, @neelehksttr, @shoe1412,@jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet​, @pukbadger, @omeganixtra, @nanialis, @gills-lounge, @voidinfernal, @sukunas-left-nut-sack, @untoldshortsofthefandoms, @batmanunicorns523, @icepancakes, @copiasratscheese, @besas-stuff, @marytvirgin, @misfne, @halfmoth-halfman, @lothiriel9, @anna-banana27, @jade-jax, @cl0wncxre, @emerald-valkyrie, @michirulol, @330bpm-whiplash, @lora21, @bespectacledhuman, @wolfyland07, @dilfsaremyfavourite, @astronaunt2009, @shmaptin, @levietc, @kk19pls, @semieitabby, @thriving-n-jiving, @cringe-kats, @n1choles, @gaychaosgremlin, @johnpricesprincess, @haleypearce,

[heegyukeluv]

tangled (enha's hyung line)

enha's hyung line when... the reader has curly hair.

pairing: hyung line x reader (i THINK i did a gender neutral reader)

my's note: had this idea on my mind for a while. hope you like it! <3

warnings: skinship, kissing, fluff, reader has curly hair (type of curls not specified). i think that's all!!

wc (total): 1k

NOT PROOFREAD.

Heeseung

Heeseung would learn how to help you to style your hair. 

Heeseung always loved to watch you working on your hair. Your focused expression on the mirror singing along to the music playing while using your fingers to curl one by one of your strands, then throwing all forward to scrunch it in order to make it loosen up. So gorgeous.

The smell of your hair products mixed with your own inebriated his senses for good, making him want to kiss all your pretty face. However, he knew that you hadn't finished yet. 

Noticing you wiggling your shoulders and arms as if it was hurting, Heeseung stepped up quickly before you could continue.

“Darling, let me help you with that,” he said, approaching you and taking the dryer out of your hands. “Tell me if I do something wrong, yeah?”

And then he proceeded to help you to blow dry your hair, doing all the work for you with you guiding him, giggles filling the room because of how cute he looked, all concentrated on not burning your scalp. By seeing you doing it all the time, he tried his best to learn how to give you the assist you needed, so you felt really glad to have him.

“Thank you so much, Hee. You’re so sweet,” you said with a small pout, turning at him to kiss his lips. 

“And you’re so cute,” he squished your cheeks to peck your lips, fonder eyes blinking lovingly at you. “Please, let me always help you, ok?”

. ✦ .   ⁺    . ☽ ∙ ☾ .   ⁺     . ✦ .

Jay

Jay would buy you every curly hair product.

Anywhere he went, if he spotted a specific curly hair product he would facetime to ask you if you wanted it. Most of the time you would decline because he already brought you tons of products – to the point where your vanity was full and you had not finished testing everything yet.

“But it’s said here that it's good for nutrition. You don’t have one for nutrition, do you, angel?” He asked with genuine concern in his voice. 

“Actually I do, Jay,” you giggled, loving how committed your boyfriend was with your hair care. “You got me one last month.”

“Should I get you another, then? It’s been a month alrea–”

“Jay. No. I have too much product in my house, please,” you pleaded with a gentle voice. 

“Are you su–”

“Totally, my love. Now, hurry home so we can cuddle.”

And he hung up almost instantly – of course, after saying that he loves you with all his heart –, because how would he deny such a sweet order?

However, when Jay showed up at your front door with an awkward smile you immediately squinted. 

“Park Jongseong.” Your tone was serious in total disbelief, looking at the bag he handed you, full of products. Expensive products. 

“I know, I know,” Jay said with a soft voice, hugging you by the waist to pull you closer. “You already have a lot. But it’s not like they’re going to expire, right? Also, you deserve it.” 

You rolled your eyes, not really annoyed by his actions, just thinking they were unnecessary. But that was pretty much your boyfriend, spoiling you to the brim.

“Now, let’s go eat. I grabbed your favorite on my way here.”

. ✦ .   ⁺    . ☽ ∙ ☾ .   ⁺     . ✦ .

Jake

Jake would always compliment and understand you.

You once shared with him how you hated your looks when styling your hair, because in your opinion you only looked good after drying it.

But Jake managed to find you pretty at any time. 

Whenever you two woke up together, your hair all messy, curls flattened and lifeless, or when you busied yourself working on a hairstyle to hide your “bad hair day”, or the moments you got off the shower, hair all slicked down still wet, Jake would always be giving you heart eyes. 

You were sitting in your vanity chair, finishing braiding one piece of your hair for the new hairstyle you saw on tiktok and decided to try. Jake was laying down on the bed watching you with soft eyes, waiting for you to finish.

“You look so beautiful,” you heard him saying after you made a sound of frustration for not being able to do what was being taught in the video.

“I haven’t finished it, though,” you murmured, switching your attention from your phone to the mirror. You felt Jake’s hands on your shoulders, giving you a gentle massage. 

“You’re always looking beautiful, sugar,” Jake smirked through the mirror. You blushed, frustration feeling long gone.

“I’m sorry for taking so long, I swear I’m already finishing!” You hurried to say, afraid of losing track of time and ruining Jake’s plan of taking you on a movie date. 

“You’re fine, love,” he kissed your cheek, warm lips making you shiver a bit, reassuring you. “You have all the time in the world. The movies can wait. And I want you to feel as beautiful as you already are,” he offered you a tender, caring smile. “Take your time.”

. ✦ .   ⁺    . ☽ ∙ ☾ .   ⁺     . ✦ .

Sunghoon 

Sunghoon would play with your curls, but with all the care in the world.

He knows how hard you work to keep your curls all pretty like that – and you also voiced out once about how annoying it is when people touch your hair without permission or caring if it’s making it messy. 

So whenever you lay on Sunghoon's chest he would ask you if it was okay to touch you. Your hair tickling his face, your smell intoxicating his airlines, your soft breath on his skin, everything sending him into heaven. 

His hand would always find comfort on your curls by gently patting it, sometimes scratching your scalp with the same delicacy, worrying about not making it frizzy, and even playing with the bigger curls that he could fit his finger on. From time to time, Sunghoon would also plant a tender kiss on the top of your head, complimenting how silky your hair feels.

“Babe, it’s so soft,” he said. You smiled, lids feeling heavy.

“If you keep doing that, I might actually fall asleep,” your voice sounded muffled against his neck, and then you heard him chuckling, his heartbeats calming you down even more.

“Go ahead. I’ll carry you to the bed after,” you were about to complain when he interrupted you. “And don’t worry, I’m capable of putting your sleep-hair-thingy on you.”

[heliads]

Hellloooo!!! I don’t wanna add to your workload so if this just piles on, please delete it! 😅😊 I just had an idea for a newt x reader fic where they’re in an established relationship in the Glade and during a bonfire one night the boys all ask newt questions about what it’s like to date reader and how it feels and newt just answers with the upmost sweetness. Reader overhears and fluff ensues!!!!

fluff ensues has got to be one of my favorite plot descriptions. like yeah it absolutely will do that (and no worries, nothing will stop the workload from being! newt just helps make it better <3)

masterlist

Newt is aware that he is a little bit luckier than most. This is a sentiment that he never thought he’d be caught dead believing. Not in the Glade. Not in the Maze. Not anywhere in this surreal mess of a place. Yet it’s on repeat in his head on a day to day basis nonetheless, ticking off the hours like an alarm clock consisting solely of his blessings. 

Newt didn’t think he’d have that much to brag about. No memories means no history he can mention to his equally luckless friends. Still, he’s got one important victory in his life that no one else can even dream of, and that’s the fact that he’s dating Y/N. Yeah, that certainly sets him apart in the world of good things given to kids who can’t quite convince themselves they deserve them. 

Some would say that Newt is being a little dramatic. He would argue that his response is perfectly within reason. One girl has been sent up in all the months that anyone’s been in the Glade, one girl and one girl alone, and she just happened to choose him. Around here, that’s grounds for being nominated for sainthood. 

Newt isn’t going to act like he’s not just over the moon every time he thinks about the whole situation. Against all odds, Y/N fell in love with him. That’s so unreal that Newt has to pinch himself every hour on the hour just to make sure it isn’t a dream. He never tries too hard, though. Just in case. 

He didn’t have many thoughts on love before she came up. There wasn’t really time now, was there? It was just him and the scores of other stragglers making do in their bloody terrible world. You don’t spend much time lingering over potential sweethearts when the closest thing to a Romeo is Gally yelling at everyone in the Glade except his friends.

Not great dating material, to say the least. Even when Y/N came up that one month, though, he still hadn’t fallen for her from the start. He liked her, obviously, she was nice and didn’t test his patience, but he was perfectly content to keep her as a friend, just that. Great expectations have a way of letting you down. Newt’s learned that if you keep your eyes on the ground, stop looking up at the sun and stars, you’ll be able to deal with it a little easier when all your brightest aspirations go away.

He’d done that before and he planned on doing it again. Even as time passed and he realized that his heart had a funny way of speeding up whenever she was nearby, when it occurred to him that his daily routines always had a way of working in chances to see her, Newt forced himself to ignore everything. Maybe he liked the way the morning sunlight always played on Y/N’s face, maybe he could have spent hours wondering over the way her eyes sparkle when she laughs. It was nothing that he could ever commit to treasuring above anything else.

It took several rounds of self-talk and about a dozen different interventions staged by his friends for Newt to get up the courage to tell Y/N how he felt. Hell, it took at least half of those interventions for him to even admit how he felt to himself. Newt had been internalizing for so long that bringing some of those emotions to the forefront of his attention was damned near impossible. Minho, Alby, and a few others, however, were so sick of seeing him ‘mope around like a lovesick fool,’ to quote them specifically, that they were dedicated to the task of getting him in order.

It worked, too. Newt had run through what could have been a hundred speech variations in his head, all mentioning her character or her sense of humor or any one of the millions of things he liked about her best. In the end, he didn’t choose a single one. The second Newt pulled Y/N away from a crowd of their friends for ‘something he needed to say in private,’ every single whirlwind of thoughts storming through his head came to an abrupt stop. He totally blanked out. 

Newt wouldn’t even know that he managed to force any words out at all were it not for the fact that the effects of that interaction are quite obvious. Somehow, Y/N ended up returning his affections, and they’ve been doing pretty well ever since. Newt doesn’t like counting his eggs before they hatch and all that, but he’d go so far as to say that he doesn’t see it ever breaking down for quite some time, if ever. They’re alright. They’re great, and they’re happy, and in a place like this, you take that and run with it for as long as you can. Maybe it’ll ruin itself someday, but Newt plans on pushing that off to the distant future for forever and a day.

In the meantime, Newt gets to think about how lucky he is. Despite the fact that Y/N’s apparently been crushing on him for just as long as he started liking her, and despite the fact that Frypan proclaims on a daily basis that he’s never seen two shanks more alike, Newt still feels like all of this is just one great coincidence. Maybe it was never supposed to happen, but it did, and he’s going to love that and her for as long as he can.

She’s waiting for him now, he thinks. Work is over for the day, and there’s a Bonfire Night happening this evening too, courtesy of the shivering Greenie fresh out of the Box who still can’t seem to keep his shock from showing. The fool to whom this celebration is owed looks like he’s going to keel over, what from the way he keeps half doing a backbend from continually craning his neck up to stare at the Walls, but the rest of them can get drunk and fuck around and generally have a good time. 

Greenies never appreciate their Bonfire Nights enough anyway. It’s up to the rest of the Gladers to show them what it’s like to have fun. Who knows the next time they’ll be able to stop stressing over the ruins of their lives anyway? Newt’s heard half a dozen Gladers proclaim that they only live bonfire to bonfire anyway. They might as well prove it tonight.

Newt meets Y/N on the outskirts of the bonfire just as the dark starts to fall. Dusk kicks up its heels, keeping watch over the revels and hiding the sun, which can never bear to see whatever mistakes they’re going to make next. Y/N holds out a hand to him, one Newt gladly accepts.

“I can’t believe it’s been six months now since I first showed up,” she grins, gesturing towards the Box with her free hand, “Feels like just yesterday.”

Newt snorts. “Time flies when you’re having fun, huh? Trust me, the Greenie Days get faster and faster. I swear I just finished touring the last kid, and now we’ve got another one to keep pestering us with questions.”

Y/N shakes her head, considering this. “Nah, I think this one will be better. He’s too scared to speak above a whisper. If you try, you can just ignore him.”

Newt chuckles. “I’m not supposed to be bullying the Greenies. Alby says I’m meant to set a good example.”

“I saw Alby telling Minho to trip the new kid to see if he’d finally make a sound if he bit the dirt,” Y/N comments, “I don’t think kindness is really in our books.”

Newt arches a brow. “I could see that happening. Did it work?”

“No,” Y/N says, disappointed, “Kid was so scared to move a muscle that he didn’t fall at all. Just kind of stopped walking like he’d hit a wall instead of Minho’s ankle.”

Newt tries to bite back a smile. He’s only half successful. “Shame. That would have been fun to see.”

Y/N laughs. “That’s what I said. Anyways, they’re all over there, near the fire. I think the next strategy is to give the kid some of Gally’s brew in the hopes that it’ll coax something out of him other than his dinner.”

Newt shudders. “Best of luck to him.”

“And to me,” Y/N replies, “I think I’m going to get a glass of my own. See you in a second.”

Newt waves a casual hand in goodbye, watching as his girlfriend weaves through the steadily forming crowds of Gladers in an attempt to track down a drink. He takes a seat near an overturned log, staring into the fire as it disappears into sparks. Six months since Y/N appeared in the Box, so it’s been indeed.

Newt can’t decide whether that feels like a long time or not nearly long enough. Y/N’s changed him in almost every way, that much is obvious. Sometimes, in meeting someone you know will impact you forever, you almost want them to have been around for much longer. Strangers aren’t meant to become your best friends, not until you’ve known them for years and you have scores of memories to share. You want to give them decades in your mind, centuries, as a sign that they’ve been so important to you. Mere months aren’t enough. Surely it should be more.

It isn’t, and maybe that’s for the best. Newt has no memories save for when he came up his own share of months ago. All his friends are new, all his enemies still more recent. Maybe the girl he loves has only been in his life for a short time, but his recorded life is short indeed. Everything is modern. That’s just how it is.

Newt becomes aware of eyes on him and realizes that he might not be the only one reminiscing about when Y/N came up in the maze. A few Gladers have come up by Newt’s side, steadily appearing out of the gloom and smoke to stare at him.

Newt glances at them questioningly, and a few moments later the bravest of them dares to voice their collective thoughts. “What’s it like dating Y/N?” The boy asks, “you know, since she’s the only girl?”

Newt smiles to himself. “It’s great,” he says.

This clearly isn’t the response the other boy wants. “Yeah,” he repeats, “but what’s it like? It’s not like the rest of us have our own girlfriends to compare it with.”

Newt bites back a laugh. “Well,” he begins, noticing out of the corner of his eyes that the other boys draw closer to him expectantly, “it’s like having a best friend, but even better. She’s someone I can talk to at any time, but I don’t have to worry about seeming uncool or weird around her. Y/N knows exactly who I am, the good and the bad, but she’s chosen to be with me anyway. It makes you feel like you can do anything.”

The boy nods, accepting this. “Are you ever worried that she’s going to get tired of you and leave you for someone else?”

“If you’re asking me if I’m worried about competition,” Newt says slowly, “I’d say, don’t think you even have a chance. She’s my girlfriend, you bloody shank, not some object you can steal away. Anyway, obviously I’d like it if she stayed with me a while longer, but I’m not scared, no. I know that we’re happy, and that’s enough.”

The boy’s face flushes scarlet when Newt calls him out, but he seems to have made his peace with it at the end. Newt’s half expecting more questions, but all of a sudden they scatter to the corners of the celebration. A few moments later, the cause of the disturbance becomes obvious:  Y/N herself takes a seat next to him, glass in hand.

“It seems like you had a score of admirers,” she says, lips twitching up into a smile.

Newt groans. “More like your admirers, trust me. They wanted to ask about what it was like to date you. Not something I thought I’d be discussing with the Slicers-in-training, but why not?”

Y/N laughs. “Oh, I know. I have to say, though, it was very sweet. Being with me makes you feel like you can do anything?”

Newt feels his entire face heat up, and he briefly ponders launching himself into the fire to escape it. “I didn’t realize you were eavesdropping. That’s rude, you know.”

Y/N just grins. “I do apologize. It was very sweet, though. I appreciated it.”

Newt rolls his eyes, but he can’t keep a smile off of his face for long. “Does that mean you won’t leave me for some random boy who showed up a few months ago?”

“I’ll consider it,” she assures him, “like you said, though, I wouldn’t worry much. I happen to like being with you quite a bit as well.”

Newt reaches over, wrapping an arm around her shoulders to pull her close. Y/N leans her head on his shoulder, and they stay there for quite some time, watching the embers of the fire curl into ribbons of smoke up in the darkest reaches of the sky. The bonfire dances, their friends shout and clap and laugh all around them, and through it, they keep going. All is well.

tmr tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @thatfangirl42, @hiya-its-amber, @gods-fools-heroes, @hope92100, @23victoria, @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope, @fadedver

[hannie-dul-set]

THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF.

p — CHOI BEOMGYU x gn! reader. g — humor, fluff. w — swearing, beomgyu is embarrassing but that's nothing new with my recent works. 1.6k words.

note — inspired by this post. i'm supposed to be studying rn.

everyone in your department knows that choi beomgyu is not to be trusted.

no, it’s not like he scams people with overpriced products on the university buy and sell forum. he doesn’t give you wrong answers during tests to fuck you over. he isn’t seeing multiple people at once behind their backs like a shitty fuckboy, either.

but when choi beomgyu tells you that there’s a buy one take one promo at the coffee shop near campus, you should probably think twice before rallying your friends over because of your shared coffee addiction. it’s the reason why hueningkai showed up to a department party last month wearing a penguin costume when the theme was business-casual. it’s the reason why choi yeonjun sends a string of curses to the group chat bi-weekly because he’s told that there’s a quiz today, only to arrive at an empty classroom.

it’s all harmless. it’s all fun and games and for a good laugh— but nevertheless, everyone knows to think twice before listening to the honeyed words that fall from choi beomgyu’s mouth. the problem is, the bastard is charismatic and he knows it. “he’s weaponizing his pretty face like a motherfucking gun,” you mentioned to soobin one time. so even if people are ware that he’s slimy little bitch that likes to fuck around a lot, they still listen to what he says. even when in doubt.

well, they’re all fucking stupid.

“hey, let’s compare hand sizes!”

and you refuse to be branded as a gullible idiot, too.

“what?”

the sandwich you’re having for lunch suddenly feels dry on your tongue. “gimme your hand,” he insists, and you narrow your eyes at him. what...what the fuck is this bastard trying to do? “i wanna know whose is bigger.”

now, that’s a familiar line. it almost made your heart flutter when he’s batting his eyes at you so expectantly with that pretty face of his from across the cafeteria table, the fingers of his right palm outstretched and ready to catch yours upon your consent.

almost. but there’s no way in hell you’re humoring his dumb ass.

“sure,” you respond. and, after wiping your lips with a napkin, offer out your open palm for him in the air.

his face brightens— a tiny smile pulling at his lips.

beomgyu reaches out for your hand. before he can press his palms against yours, you quickly fold it into a middle finger.

it’s almost funny how his expression quickly tumbles into despair.

“eat shit, motherfucker.”

you clean up your tray and leave your dumbfounded friend behind. you have no idea what his intentions with that was, but you aren’t risking making a fool out of yourself at the suggestion that beomgyu might be trying to (pathetically) hit on you. he’s probably just concocting some more mischief— especially since you’re one of the people he has yet to victimize with his dumb jokes.

so you’re not surprised when he makes another attempt. but what you don’t understand is why he keeps trying to hold your hand.

“booooring. this class is so boring.”

he’s sitting next to you inside the lecture hall. so far, not that out of the ordinary. you do your best to catch up with your professor’s discussion, but from the corner of your eyes you see beomgyu finally giving up and melting his head into the desk, burying his face into his arms. “this sucks,” he muffles, before craning his head and you can feel him staring at you from below. “aren’t you bored?”

“i’m trying to pay attention, beomgyu.”

“pay attention to me,” he whines. “i’m bored. let me scribble on your hand to pass—”

“please shut the fuck up.”

at some point, it’s starting to confuse you more than annoy you. all signs lead to a boy simply trying to get the attention of his crush, but this is choi beomgyu you’re talking about. you just can’t trust him. not even when he always tries to follow you around in the hallways. not even when he drops a warm latte at your desk every 7AM class.

“i know how to do palm reading. do you wanna—”

“i’m not superstitious,” you immediately put up your shield to his spear. “thanks for the coffee.”

you really don’t understand him.

“there was a hit and run incident yesterday. you should hold onto me just to be—”

“red light. let’s go.”

you seriously don’t fucking get him.

“aaaah! i’m falling! grab my hand, i’m falling to my death!”

what the hell is he trying to do?!

“beomgyu, it’s a four-foot deep pool,” you deadpan, face flushed and it’s definitely not just from the heat of the sun. he perishes into the water with a splash. my god, what’s going on with him? you shake your head, trying to ward off an incoming headache. 

really. if this wasn’t beomgyu doing this shit, you’d be a hundred-percent convinced that he’s trying to make a move on you. that he likes you and is trying his stupidest to catch your attention. but it is beomgyu, and everyone knows he can’t be trusted unless you want to be laughed at. being this week’s joke isn’t on your bucket list. so no matter how many more attempts he’s going to make, you will be impenetrable. you will not be fooled.

“hey.”

that is until he shows up all serious in front of your classroom the next week. 

students are pouring out from the door, and you’re a heavy obstacle from their rush to go home because for some reason, choi beomgyu is there— also obstructing the traffic flow in the hallway. 

“what is it now?” you cross your arms, narrowing your eyes at the worryingly large bouquet he has in his arms. “are your hands cold? do you want me to hold them to keep you warm?”

“that would be nice,” he replies. you seriously want to hit him. “but, no. that’s not what i’m here for. i decided that it might be best to stop asking for your hand because you might actually punch me this time.” this is a public area, you’d like to remind him. and that dangerously constructed statement of his is eliciting murmurs from the passersby surrounding you. you feel your face flush. 

“if you phrase it like that, people are going to get the wrong idea.”

“let them misunderstand, i don’t really care,” he shrugs. “what i care about is clearing up the misunderstanding between you and me. i don’t think we’ve been on the same page for the past few weeks.”

you furrow your brows. “what are you getting at?”

“taehyun told me that you think i’ve just been fucking around with you,” he says. “and i have to admit that i definitely have nothing to blame but myself and my reputation. but i want to tell you that i have been seriously, seriously serious about you.”

“sure,” you snort. “i definitely trust you, beomgyu.”

he frowns. “dammit, taehyun was right. you really don’t trust me.”

what did he expect? for the past year and a half that you’ve known him, he’s been nothing but unserious and troublesome. beomgyu brings mischief wherever he goes and you don’t want to make a misstep and be caught in that shitstorm— not even when your heart is racing a little too fast for comfort at the moment. not even when those flowers actually look really pretty.

“but i expected this. i’ve come prepared,” beomgyu tells you. what is it this time? you exhale. had he been normal, you might’ve trusted him at his first attempt to shoot his shot with you. “i’ve come to the conclusion that in order to get your trust, i need to stop messing around with everyone. and that begins with being completely, absolutely, unapologetically honest.”

again, this is a public area. people are staring and you’re starting to get a bad feeling.

“i’m in love with you.”

holy shit.

“i’ve been in love with you ever since taehyun introduced us to each other, i think.”

there’s fire somewhere. 

“that was over a year ago!”

that somewhere is your face.

“yeah, and?” he raises a brow. “that means i’ve liked you for over a year. i can do the math. i’m not stupid.” you want to throw yourself into a ditch and die.

“beomgyu, tell me you’re kidding.” not even your hands can fan out the inferno overtaking your face right now. somehow, there’s a lot more people around you than you remember, and while you’re suffering from a sudden onslaught of unprovoked feelings, beomgyu looks relatively unfazed. “you can’t be serious. if you’ve liked me for that long, then why haven’t you done anything until recently?!”

“funny story,” he starts. there is nothing funny about this at all. “i didn’t think i had a chance until soobin hyung told me you thought i was pretty the other week.”

soobin, that fucking rat. 

the context wasn’t even a positive one! you said he was using his pretty face for evil!

“i—” 

like what he’s doing now.

the words get stuck in your throat when you notice that beomgyu actually looks earnest. he’s not smiling or laughing— but patiently waiting for you to say something in response. your mouth is dry. your ribcage is shaking. it doesn’t fucking help that there’s three dozen people watching the scene unfold. couldn’t he have chosen a more appropriate place to pour his fucking heart out?

“you know what, let’s go.”

it’s an act of impulse. you quickly grab him by the hand and lead him away from the crowded hallway with hurried steps. “damn,” he says, trailing from behind you. “i didn’t have to try and convince you this time.”

what’s ironic is that this is the most honest you’ve ever felt of him. his palms are clammy and slipping through your fingers. he’s making jokes, but his desperate squeeze is telling you more than what he’s actually saying. “everyone knows to think twice before listening to me. but everyone also now knows that i’m pretty much in love with you, so that’s a win for me.”

THE BOY WHO CRIED WOLF. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[hayakawalove]

Test of Love (Chapter One)

Chapter One

Summary: Day in and day out, your routine has been exactly the same as a jujutsu sorcerer. You can't complain, honestly. You just wish things were a little more interesting. When you get propositioned by two men, you have no choice but to see what they have going on. Joining a relationship would spice things up, wouldn't it?

A/N: I've had this idea loosely floating around my brain for a bit. Fret not, my short fics will continue but I wanted to write this too. I hope you enjoy it! Thank you!

CW: Slight blood, there's no smut this chapter W/C: 5,560

Credit to @benkeibear for the banner

‘The clouds part, a ray of sunlight shining down on the pair.’

Your eyes glide over the page, fingers strumming the back of the book. 

“What’re you reading?” Gojo’s voice startles you from the scene you had built in your head based on the words in front of you. 

You jump in your seat, turning to see him leaning against your desk. It was no surprise he was here, he often came and went whenever he pleased. But he could have at least knocked. 

“A Trial of Lovers.” You respond, bringing your eyes back to the words in front of you. 

“Sounds boring.” 

You hum, intent on not paying him any mind. Gojo could be a handful, but he wasn’t that hard to manage once you got to know him. You just learned to tune him out. 

“Why aren’t you paying attention to your students? Reckless of you.” He continues. 

Maybe you wouldn’t be able to ignore him. 

“They’re just studying today.” You say, turning the page. 

The room is quiet besides the two of you, the four students either glued to their textbooks or watching the interaction unfold in front of them. 

“A book can be a weapon. And you have a very talented weapon user in case you were unaware.” 

“Salmon.” Inumaki agrees. He always did like stirring up trouble. 

“What if she tries to kill Yuuta with it?” Gojo says, clearly trying to get a rouse out of you. 

“Maki, are you gonna try killing Yuuta with your textbook?” You ask, keeping your eyes trained down. 

“Not unless he pisses me off.” 

“What?” Yuuta responds. 

You look up at Gojo and smile. 

“Yuuta’s harmless, he wouldn’t piss her off so I think we’re good.” 

“Harmless? I wouldn’t call him that.” Gojo responds. 

“Where are your students?” You accuse. 

He was much more lax with his, often leaving them to fend for themselves when he went on missions. You couldn’t say you blamed him. It wasn’t like he had much of a choice, but still. 

“I sent them out to take care of a second grade. They’ll be fine, Megumi is with them.” 

You clear your throat, eyes focused on the book in front of you even though you were no longer reading. 

“He’s still a child.” Even as you speak, your nerves feel more at ease. If you were to trust any of the students, it would be Megumi. Even if that was the case, you still thought they shouldn’t be left alone. Gojo trusted Megumi which was good, but it bugged you that he may have trusted him a bit too much. Even the greatest sorcerers make mistakes, much less ones that were under 18. 

“And Nobara is just as, if not more violent than Maki. What if she kills Yuuji?” You knew she wouldn’t. 

“She wouldn’t do that.” Gojo responds slyly. 

You slap your book closed and set it on the desk in front of you. 

“What do you want, Gojo?” 

Your eyes flick across his body. His blindfold was on like usual, his ensemble completely put together as it always was. You would pay to see him look unprepared. 

“Are you busy after school?” He smiles, his body relaxed as he stares down at you. 

This was something he always did. Flirt with you, while you ignored his advances. It was the nature of your friendship, it didn’t bother you so much as it might bother someone else. 

“Class, you guys can leave early.” You announce, smiling as you watch them hop out of the room. 

You stand up and face Gojo again. He was wearing a cocky grin, no doubt waiting for your response. He thought you would say yes, even though you denied him every time. You weren’t opposed to going out with him, there were just other factors in the mix. 

“Gojo, in case you forgot you have a boyfriend.” 

Gojo huffs and leans back even more, seemingly prepared for your rejection. 

“I didn’t forget. We’re trying something new. Open relationship. He gets to see who he wants and I can see who I want.” 

The response stuns you a bit. He had never mentioned that before. The offer seemed more appealing at his revelation. You had fun with Gojo, and he was good looking. You just didn’t want to be the reason he was kicked on the streets. 

It seems he knows that he’s wearing you down, his grin showing back up. 

“Come on, let’s just go for a walk around the park. Promise I don’t bite. Unless you’re into that, of course.” 

An image conjures up in your mind before you can stop it. One where he’s on top of you, mouth open as he nibbles on your neck. You shake your head, trying to rid the naughty thought as best as you could. You awkwardly chuckle and grab your things, following him out the door. A walk would be harmless, wouldn’t it? 

The weather graced you today it seems, as clear skies shine above you and an acceptable temperature wraps around your body. You were at a park near the school, one that had lots of families and several street vendors. 

You actually were hungry. And Gojo being Gojo decided to jump at the opportunity to buy something sweet, assuring you that he would buy your food as well. 

While you wait, you find a lonely bench sitting in the middle of the park. It’s surrounded by large trees, trees much older than you. It’s refreshing to be out of the school for once. You can’t remember the last time you spent a normal day out in society. 

You loved your job, but it could be exhausting at times. 

“Order up!” Gojo’s cheery voice interrupts your thoughts. 

He’s holding two crepes. One with fruit, the other with chocolate. 

“We can share if you want.” He says, holding the fruit one out to you, mouth darting out to bite into his. 

You smile up at him and grab the treat, eyes flicking over the colors that lit up the food. When you take a bite you taste berries melting with whip cream, the flavor swirling around your mouth. 

“This is really good Gojo, thank you.” 

He offers a serene smile as he takes another bite of his crepe while sitting next to you. Chocolate decorates his lip and you giggle in response. He almost looked childish. It suited him, in a way. People might say he was immature, which wouldn’t really be wrong, but a part of you knew he grew up too fast. 

You make idle chatter as you watch families fill in the park. You spent so much time around sorcerers, you often forgot what it was like to be near normal people. Their carefree attitudes lit up your heart, putting your mind at ease. 

This is what you’re doing it for, this is why you fight. You remind yourself as you watch a toddler topple over before getting right back up, a grin across his face. 

“It’s weird, right?” You find yourself saying. 

You haven’t finished your crepe yet, but Gojo has been done with his for awhile; focusing on the brown syrup that muddled his fingers. 

He hums as he licks his finger, looking up in front of him. 

“The families. The smiles. The people.” 

You don’t have to elaborate, Gojo knows exactly what you mean. Sorcerers rarely have families and rarely smile. Their lifestyles were much different than yours. Your stomach turns as you wait for his response. 

“Yeah, I mean I guess so. It’s not much weirder than sorcerers.” 

You didn’t really expect him to feel the same way as you. He may look like an average man, but he wasn’t. While you couldn’t relate to average people, he couldn’t relate to anyone. Not people or sorcerers. 

Lonely, you thought. You wonder if the feeling keeps him up late at night. 

“Thank you for taking me out. This is nice.” You settle, attempting to divert your attention from the macabre. 

Gojo leans back, kicking his long legs out in front of him. His arms spread out on the bench, head facing the sky. He always took up so much space, not that you minded. You figured the world was too small for him, so you didn’t mind making more room. 

“It is, isn’t it?” 

You offer up a bite of your crepe which he gladly accepts, swallowing before saying he preferred his more. 

“I actually had something I wanted to bring up. You’ll learn about it later in the next meeting, but I figured I’d tell you now.” 

Your head perks up in interest, your attention completely on him. 

“There’s been a slew of random attacks at the school.” 

The words sink in your chest, creating a pool in your stomach. The school? That was your sacred place. Your home. It was all you had. 

“The school? I haven’t heard anything.” 

“Not really at the school, more so around it. They’ve been happening at frequent intervals the past week all within 5 miles of the school. It’s all been small attacks. But it definitely is something. One wouldn’t be a big deal, but with the amount that’s been happening… someone is definitely targeting Jujutsu High. Not enough to actually destroy it but enough to peak our interest.” 

As much as you hated to admit it, he was right. It wouldn’t have mattered if it only happened a couple of times, but there was a pattern. Someone was clearly focusing on the school. 

“What does it mean?” 

Gojo taps his foot, his head in the clouds. If anyone knew what it was about, it would be him. 

“I’m not sure. It’s been relatively easy to handle so far. I’m just worried about the fact it draws our attention away. The more people we send out to watch the border means the less available sorcerers we’ll have. I don’t like it.” 

He rarely sounds serious, but you’re able to pick up on the dark underlying tone in the way he’s talking right now. He didn’t seem too stressed out, maybe inconvenienced at best. It wasn’t like there was much you could do at the current moment anyway. 

You finish your crepe, the mood dramatically shifting after the conversation. You hate to see Gojo like this, his mind swarmed with thoughts and unable to focus on anything else. 

“So, tell me about your boyfriend.” 

Gojo raises his head and looks at you, one of his eyebrows shooting up. 

“Weird thing to bring up on a date.” 

You scoff and nudge your foot against his. 

“If I’m gonna be apart of this I wanna know more about you.” 

Gojo’s eyes flick up as if in deep thought. You didn’t know much about his boyfriend. He and Gojo were longtime friends, having gone to Jujutsu High together. Over the years you learned he was the more responsible of the two. You also learned about his cursed technique. Rare and strong, curse manipulation. You were intrigued by the idea. Using what you fight against to help you, it was nothing short of incredible. 

“He’s nice. Almost too nice. He understands people more than me. Really strong too. A bit stern.” 

You keep your gaze focused on the side of Gojo’s face. You don’t spend much time looking at him normally, so you take advantage of the closeness you have right now to appreciate him. His white eyelashes flutter as he looks at the sky, bright pink lips parted as he speaks. 

Handsome, he was so very handsome. 

As the two of you were in public he decided to forego his blindfold and instead use a pair of sunglasses. His hair lay messy atop his head, but it still looked good. 

He cracks a grin as he notices you staring. 

“See something you like?” 

You quickly turn forward, the act of being caught embarrassing you. The only thing worse than an attractive man was a man who was attractive and knew it. 

“He sounds nice. Nicer than you.” You say, hoping to annoy him. 

Instead, Gojo lets out a quiet sigh. 

“He is.” 

It was odd to see him like this. Gojo cared for people, he wasn’t a robot, but he rarely admired them. With the few conversations you had with him you were able to tell he admired his boyfriend, he really loved him. 

Your lips part as you start to ask Gojo what his boyfriend's name was, but his phone cuts you off. 

Gojo clicks his tongue and looks down, noting a text from Yaga. 

“Can’t even leave for a few hours.” He complains under his breath. 

You know he’s trying to put on a show, but you can’t help but feel bad. He was right. He never had time to himself, always being forced into doing something or the other for the higher ups. His life wasn’t truly his own. 

Your relationship with Gojo was complicated. You liked to tease him, but deep down you knew he always got the shit end of the stick. 

You stand up, swiping your hands on your pants. It was starting to get hot out, your hair sticking to your neck.  You reach a hand out to Gojo, wordlessly offering help. 

He smirks at your hand, looking over the top of his glasses. 

“Cute.” 

You tear your hand away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction if he was just going to tease you. 

“Hey! What if I need help getting up?” 

“Stand up yourself, worlds strongest sorcerer.” You mumur, stepping away to start walking towards the school. 

Gojo whines behind you before jumping up, jogging towards you. The rest of the walk goes by fast, the both of you teasing each other back and forth. One of the good things about Gojo, although there were many (not that you would admit it), was that he was incredibly fun to talk to. As long as you were in the mood, of course. 

Your body chills when you step inside the school. The air conditioning soothes your skin the second you get inside. 

“You’re back.” Yaga says, looking down, shuffling papers back and forth. 

“Sadly.” Gojo responds. 

“What were you two up to?” 

“A date.” Gojo says confidently. 

You train your face to say neutral but you feel your blood simmer. You weren’t exactly planning on telling Yaga, but of course Gojo wouldn’t keep it to himself. 

“And Geto?” Yaga asks. 

Geto. That was Gojo’s boyfriend's name. His last name anyway. You wanted to know what his first name was, that’s what you were planning on asking before Yaga texted. 

“He’s aware.” 

Yaga heaves out a breath, used to Gojos antics by now. Anything that could be weird by someone else’s standards was considered normal if Gojo was the one doing it. 

“I need you to finish this paperwork before going home tonight. And don’t make someone else do it for you.” Yaga hands you both a stack of papers, aiming the last half of the sentence to Gojo. 

You knew it wouldn’t take you long, as long as Gojo didn’t attempt to get you to do his for him. Even if he asked nicely you were going to refuse. You had plans tonight. You needed to go to the book store to get the second book to the one you were reading this morning. 

It takes you two hours and your fingers are sore by the time you’re done, but you manage to finish all your paperwork. Halfway through you had to lock Gojo out so you could focus. You had fun on your date, but tonight was your night. A man wasn’t going to get in the way of that. 

~~~

You weren’t sure what happened to the weather. This morning when you were with Gojo it was bright and sunny, but now the sky was littered with clouds. You didn’t mind it, in fact you preferred it. When you were reading you much preferred for it to rain, finding it way more soothing. 

The bookstore was empty today, except for a couple of people that hid out in the shelves. You liked it here. It made you feel somewhat normal. There were no sorcerers, curses, or villains here. Just books. 

You had no plans for the rest of the night, besides having you time, so you decide to find the book you’re looking for to read there. There were chairs littered throughout the building, each soft and worn down after years of use. 

Curling up on a chair, you open your book and dive into it. The words capture all your attention as you grip the front and back of the book. It’s much better than the first, you think. The author has such a way with words. You’re so engrossed you don’t notice a man approaching you. 

He sits on the chair in front of yours, his own book nestled in his lap.

“That’s a good book,” he says. 

You look up to find a man sitting in front of you. He looked perfect. There wasn’t flaw on his body. 

Long black hair that was pulled up in a bun, caramel eyes trained on you as he wore a small smile. 

Normally, you would be pissed off that someone was breaking the bookstore code ‘no talking’, but you weren’t. You were drawn in. 

“It is.” You respond, trying to look away from him but finding yourself incapable. 

“I love the author, I finished all his books so I was here looking for something else.” 

You think you could listen to him speak forever, the way his voice rolls out from his lips causes your body to relax. 

“Me too, once I finish this then I’ll be done.” 

His smile spreads wider. Your stomach turns under his gaze. 

“I’m afraid I haven’t found any stories as interesting as his.” He continues. “I really liked his use of butterflies in that book though. Very beautiful.” 

You bite your lip and tear your eyes away if only for a second to gain control. 

“Me too.” 

He watches the way you fiddle with the book in your lap. 

“My name is Suguru, what’s yours?” 

You take a deep breath before telling him your name. Normal girls would be scared of a stranger talking to them, but you weren’t normal. You were sure if it came down to it you would be able to take care of him. After all, there were very few people stronger than you, and you were on a date with one of them earlier. 

You weren’t scared of Suguru, you were captivated by him. 

His smile morphs into something more calming after you speak. It sends fireworks off in your stomach. 

“You have a lovely name.” 

You clear your throat before darting your eyes away, unable to look at him any longer. 

“Thank you.” You murmur, fiddling with your outfit. 

After work you had gone home to switch clothes, wanting something more comfortable. You were glad you did, as the clothes you wore now were much more flattering. A loose sweater with yoga pants, perfect for lounging about while you read. 

“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, I apologize. I just saw what you were reading.” 

“It’s okay, is this your first time here? I’ve never seen you before.” 

Suguru wets his bottom lip, and you have to pry your eyes away from it. 

“It is. Normally I go to a bookstore in the next town over, but it’s under renovations so I decided to come here. It’s not far from my boyfriends work.” 

Ah. 

There it is. 

You don’t know why you expected anything different. Part of you was hoping he might be hitting on you. You did go on a date with Gojo earlier, but it wasn’t anything serious. 

“What do you do for work?” You ask. 

“I’m a freelancer.” 

Vague, you think. 

“And you?” 

There’s no way you can tell him you’re a jujutsu sorcerer so you settle on something close enough. 

“I’m a teacher.” 

“Noble, I like it.” 

The rain beats down on the roof of the book store, water running down the windows making it hard to see outside. It’s calming, Suguru is calming. You keep your gaze focused on him as the two of you talk. At first you were almost intimidated, but you were slowly getting used to the heat of his gaze. 

“I enjoyed the butterflies as well. It’s a shame we don’t have them around here. I’d love to watch them like they did in the book.” You say. 

“It’s probably because of all the people. There are places you can go to see them, would you be interested?” 

You pause and stare at him. Was that… A date invitation? 

It wasn’t, there was no way. 

Maybe he meant it in a friendly way. 

“What about your boyfriend? I would love to, but I just want to make sure before I agree.” 

You’d hate to get the wrong idea. 

“He’ll be okay with it. I can ask though if you want me to.” 

You fiddle with your shirt and watch as he pulls out his phone. Suguru types a quick message, not even a second later his phone vibrates with an answer. 

He turns the screen towards you, letting you read the words. 

Suguru: I’m gonna go on a date with this girl from the book store

Asshole: Alright

Asshole: Is she hot? 

Suguru: She’s beautiful 

Your heart stutters at the compliment, your curiosity slightly piqued at the name in his phone. Asshole? Maybe that wasn’t that weird. 

“Would you be free tomorrow?” He asks while sliding his phone away.

“Yeah, as long as it’s after I get off.”

“Nice, I can pick you up or we can meet here?” 

You trusted him, but you wanted to get to know him more before bringing him back to your house. 

“Let’s meet here?” 

“Okay. What’s your number?” 

You give him your number and he shares his. It’s close to closing time once you finish so you decide to head home, the encounter with Suguru still fresh on your mind. 

He seemed normal. Not in a bad way, but normal nonetheless. You mostly interacted with sorcerers, so going on a date with someone who wasn’t one felt weird. You wouldn’t have to be worried about work or anything else. You would be able to have average conversations. 

You couldn’t wait. 

~~~

You feel giddy when you wake up the next day. Your date would be later in the afternoon and you were having a hard time containing yourself. All you had to do was get by the day, which wouldn’t be hard. There was a small mission you had to take Inumaki and Panda on, but after that you would be free. 

As you stood there you watched the two of them work, paying attention to their form so you could give pointers after. It donned on you how odd it really was. 

If Suguru asked you what you did today were you supposed to tell him you fought monsters with a personified panda? 

Yeah, you would have to keep that to yourself. 

You would have been able to keep it all to yourself, that is until Panda accidentally scratches you with his paw, causing blood to leak from your cheek. You lecture him to pay attention to his surroundings as the red liquid pours from your face. It takes the rest of the ride home for it to stop bleeding, and the throbbing pain doesn’t go away. You were gonna have to figure out how to explain that to Suguru. 

The second the work day is done, you’re rushing home to put together your outfit. Suguru didn’t tell you really what to wear, only advising that it should be something light as you would be spending time outside. You settle on a flowy dress that cut off above your knees, you actually felt cute. 

You leave your house early, intent on arriving before Suguru to make a good impression. Unfortunately for you, it seems Suguru had the same plan. 

You check your phone, you had arrived ten minutes early and Suguru was already leaning against the bookstore, looking comfortable as he slouches. 

“I’m sorry! Were you waiting long?” 

Suguru looks up from his phone at the sound of your voice. His eyes drag across your figure, the action making the hair on your neck stand on edge. Those eyes. Were you ever going to get used to them? 

His lips quirk up in a small smile, putting his phone away. He was wearing a black shirt with black sweatpants, his hair half up, the top pinned behind his head. 

“No, I just got here,” 

You find that hard to believe. 

“You look amazing.” He finishes. 

You try to stave off the embarrassment, waving your hand. When Suguru walks up to you, you finally notice how huge he is. He was tall, with a structure that took your breath away. 

You wonder what he did to stay in shape. 

“What happened to your cheek?” His voice is dripping with concern, brows furrowed as he raises his hand up. His thumb brushes on the skin below your cut. 

“Oh! Um, one of my students was a bit reckless today. It didn’t hurt all that much.” 

His eyes dance across your face, digesting your answer before dropping his hand. He looked genuinely concerned. It was cute. He must’ve been the protective type. 

“I see. I’m sorry that happened.” He sounds remorseful even though he wasn’t the one to cause it. “Are you ready?” 

And with that the two of you set off. Suguru told you he was showing you a place with butterflies, and you weren’t quite sure what he meant by that. Excitement bubbles in your veins as you walk. 

The entire time he spoke you couldn’t help but put all your undivided attention on him. He was magnetizing. A natural born speaker, you thought. 

Suguru must notice your silence as he stops himself from talking. 

“My bad, I’m rambling.” 

“No! Not at all. I like listening, you have a soothing voice.” 

“Well thank you.” Pink dust settles on his cheeks. 

As you inch closer to your destination, your fingers brush against his, the movement causing your heart to race. 

Would it be weird to ask him if you could hold his hand? 

“We’re here.” Suguru stops in front of a building. It was a bit unassuming, grey concrete walls and few windows. 

There were butterflies here? 

Suguru notices your expression and chuckles. 

“Trust me.” 

You can’t find it in your heart to doubt him. 

He leads you inside, walking up to the front desk where a middle aged woman is standing by a computer. Her eyes are kind, hands weathered as she types. 

“Can we get two tickets for the observatory?” 

You fidget behind Suguru, appreciating the length of his hair cascading down his back. 

You kind of wanted to touch it. 

“Of course! Here you go sweetheart.” The lady digs around, grabbing two tickets while Suguru pulls out cash. 

The exchange is over as soon as it started, and Suguru is leading you down a long hallway. When he pushes the doors open at the end of it, you’re greeted by fresh air, a short path leading to a giant glass dome. It’s hard to see on the inside of it, but it looks like it’s filled with plants. 

“Let’s go.” He says with a grin, reaching his hand out towards you. 

Your heart skips a beat at the gesture. You grab his hand, interlacing your fingers together. He’s warm. His palm the perfect mix between soft and calloused. His long fingers don’t get past your attention either. Suguru pulls you along to the dome, holding the door open for you. 

When you step inside you’re hit with an overwhelming fragrance. It smelled like a mix between soil and flowers, the sweet scent covering you completely. 

It’s nothing short of amazing. There’s plants everywhere, you had never been to a jungle before but you were sure this is what it would look like. 

“Suguru, this is…” 

“Look!” He urges, pointing up. 

You snap your head up, following the direction of his finger. Above you was a small colony of monarch butterflies, maybe twenty of them flying around. They were low enough that you were able to appreciate the brightness of their wings, orange hues darting around as they flew. 

Your lips part in amazement and you’re unable to tear your gaze away. You were sure you had never seen anything this beautiful before. 

“Amazing, right?”

Suguru’s smooth voice floats over to you, snapping you back to him. When you turn around to look at him, his eyes are already on you. His mouth is spread in a soft grin, eyes twinkling as he looks down at you. 

“This is perfect, Suguru. How did you find this place?”

“After I read the book we were talking about I just had to know what it felt like to be surrounded by butterflies so I did some digging and found it. I come here every so often, although it’s been awhile since I have. I figured it would be more fun if I brought someone with me. I was right.” His eyes are glued on your smile as you look away, following the butterflies with your eyes. 

You find a walkway and set a slow pace, stopping every so often to read the metal plaques that were placed about, explaining the different types of flora and butterflies. You weren’t entirely sure what you were expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. Your chest swelled with joy as you went on, listening as Suguru read you the plaques. 

“It really is magical, just like it was in the book. Thank you.” You can’t hide the vulnerability from your voice. 

Suguru’s eyes crinkle when he smiles, a cute habit you noticed, and he squeezes your hand. 

“Of course, thank you for joining me.” 

The two of you spend several hours there, a leisurely pace set between you. It was hard to want to go home when you knew the world outside was this beautiful. You wonder if colors will seem dull compared to this place. You were betting on it. 

When families begin to filter in you both decide to head out. You were glad kids were gonna experience the same joy you had, but you wanted more privacy with Suguru, even if you had to go home soon. If you could spend more time with him, you would. Unfortunately duty calls and you had work early in the morning, effectively cutting your date much shorter than you would have liked. 

Much like yesterday's date. 

You agree to let him walk you back home, if only to spend as much time together as possible. He never let go of your hand ever since the observatory, and you were grateful for it. His large palm provided some sense of protection, relief you didn’t know you needed. 

Your apartment comes into view far quicker than you were hoping. You could have lived on campus, but you instead opted to find a place elsewhere. Jujutsu High was your home, but you wanted to be able to separate yourself from it occasionally. You were able to find an apartment for a decent price, only staying there to sleep and change. Every so often when it was too late, you crashed in a dorm at the school, but you made sure to keep those occurrences low. 

“This is it.” You sigh out, turning to face Suguru. 

“I had fun today.” He stops and looks down at you, his body relaxed as he addresses you. 

“I did too! Maybe we can hang out again sometime?” 

Kiss me, kiss me, you internally beg. 

Your eyes focus on the way his lips morph as he talks. 

“I’d love that.” 

Please, kiss me. 

Suguru keeps your hand in his as he leans down, placing his lips gently on your forehead. 

Oh. 

That was different, yet it made your heart beat faster than a normal kiss would have. The intimacy of it all struck you like a freight train. No one had given you a forehead kiss before. His lips linger for a moment, before he’s pulling away all too soon. 

“I’ll call you?” 

Your throat squeezes as you try to force words out, but you’re all too flustered. 

“I’ll be waiting.” You say, trying to seem cool. 

Suguru chuckles softly before letting go of your hand. Your palm feels chilly the second he lets go. You’ll see him again, you remind yourself. Hopefully. 

You force yourself to make your way to your door, body trembling in excitement. It felt like you took all the butterflies home with you, their wings fluttering inside your chest as you close the door behind you. After a couple of deep breaths you’re able to cool down, although you still felt a tingle on your forehead where his lips were. 

Two dates in two days, not too bad. 

Hopefully the momentum will stay strong.

As you get ready for bed, you replay the events of the past two days over in your head, your heart swelling with exhilaration. When you drift off to sleep, your dreams are filled with crepes and butterflies. 

Tag List: @tojislittleprincesss, @dinolvrrr, @kimi01985, @constawrites

If you want to be added to the taglist just let me know, please specify if you want to be added for all my works or just this fic

[da-rulah]

The Mayor's Daughter - Mary Goore x f!Reader [Part 4]

Summary: Mary can't think straight; at least, not about anything but you. He's angry, and he's hurt - rightly so - but he can't help the feeling that he's missing something. His spider senses are tingling, and his saviour complex is nagging in his head...

Meanwhile, you're dragged to a formal dinner at the Town Hall with your father's sleazy political associates. What could possibly go wrong?

Rating: Explicit, 18+

Word Count: 13.6k

Warnings: Angst, childhood memories/trauma, alcoholism, addiction, minor drug use, creepy men being creepy, unwanted physical touch/harassment, abandonment, panic attacks

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

ALSO AVAILABLE ON AO3 | MASTERLIST | TIP JAR

A/N: Once again, a huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles & @angellayercake for workshopping and beta reading this fic with me! I live for their reactions every time I sent them an idea or a draft... 🤭 This chapter got away from me, as so many do, and ending up pretty damn long... Enjoy!

He had to be quick. Any longer, and he might be chased out. But he couldn’t help himself... he wanted to look, to touch...  

“HEY!” A gruff male voice shouted from somewhere behind him. Mary startled, stumbling back and shoving his hands in his pockets. “These are for people who know what they’re doing, not little hooligans!”  

The store clerk came rushing over, coming in between Mary and the beautiful Gibson Les Paul on display, hung up on the wall amongst the others. The body shone in a stunning hue of deep red wood, orange bursting from the fret board. He’d always dreamt of owning a guitar like this – or any at all. He just wanted to pick one up, to learn, to play.  

“S-sorry mister... I didn’t mean to-” 

“Go on, out with you! Comin’ in here every damn day, gettin’ in the way of my customers. Go on, get!” The old man shooed a 10-year-old Mary out of the store, shutting the door in his face and folding his arms behind the glass, watching until Mary finally sagged his little shoulders and sighed to himself, trudging down the sidewalk with his head hung low.  

Other people were allowed in to look at the guitars, to touch them, test them; why wasn’t he? Sure, he knew he was a kid but he wasn’t a bad kid... He knew he could never afford a guitar like that Les Paul, but oh how he dreamed of owning his own guitar. Just a little acoustic thing to practise on. He'd put in the work, he’d swear it. He just wanted to learn.  

Still, Mary headed home with his hands in his pockets and his head hung low, avoiding the eyes of the adults around town who looked down on him with looks of either disgust or pity; he was never sure which was worse.  

“Mom?” he called out as he walked into the small and run-down little apartment block on the edge of town. They’d had to move in here almost a six months ago after his father left, unable to afford much else on his mother’s salary; her job at the local diner didn’t pay well. 

Music from the radio filtered through the hall, along with the smell of yesterday’s spaghetti being reheated on the stove. “In here, baby,” a weak shout came from the kitchen. She sounded weaker with each week that passed, barely eating and drinking far too much to be considered healthy at all. Mary had spotted that, not totally understanding the ramifications of it at his tender age but he was wiser beyond most 10-year-old’s years. That’s the thing about a shitty childhood; you grow up quick. 

Still, he was grateful his father was out of the picture now. Honestly? The lesser of two evils. It was better him gone than be here still, hurting everybody around him. 

Mary headed into the kitchen, sitting down at the small table for the two of them and waiting patiently as his mum stirred the pot over the stove, her back to him. He watched as her left hand lifted a glass from beside the stove; a wine glass, half-filled with the cheapest red on the market. 

“Good day?” she asked, looking briefly over her shoulder. Mary just shrugged; he hadn’t paid much attention in school, and he didn’t want to tell her about being chased out of the music store. Although he wasn’t sure what he’d done to get kicked out, he still lived under the assumption it was somehow his fault.  

His mother hummed along to the radio as she heated their food, taking gulps of the wine to her left and refilling it before plating up two small bowls of food – hers noticeably smaller – and sitting opposite Mary as she placed them down. 

“Thank you,” he smiled at her shyly, never forgetting his manners as he tucked into his meal. His mother smiled fondly at her boy, twirling her fork in the pasta noodles as she sipped her wine. The radio played to fill the silence, songs from another decade that had his mother reminiscing over happier years. 

As he chewed, he thought back to that guitar, how he’d do anything to have one like that. But he’d settle for a smaller, cheaper, second-hand one. He’d be delighted with one. He just wanted to learn how to play, and then maybe one day, his mom could hum along to his songs on her radio.  

“Ma, I think I know what I want for my birthday...” 

“Oh? Well good! I was wondering when you’d give me some ideas,” she smiled. Mary hesitated, chewing his lip. Was he asking for too much? Perhaps, but he had to try at least. “Come on, baby, what is it?”  

“Well... can I get a guitar? Not like, an expensive one or anything... Just second-hand or something. I wanna learn to play, Ma. I think I’d get real good at it!” he rambled, his excitement barely contained as he thought about how people might change how they saw him if he could prove he was good at something, that he could work hard and prove himself.  

His mother’s smile faltered, fading as she dropped her fork against her bowl and grabbed her wine glass, finishing the rest of it off and pouring herself another hefty glass.  

“Baby, guitars aren’t cheap, even the second-hand ones...” she began, her voice quiet and full of regret. 

“No, I know, but I thought, maybe if I could get a job somewhere, I could mow lawns or something, maybe help Mr Rogers at the carpenters or get a paper route, then maybe I could-” 

“Baby you’re ten years old, you should just be a kid as long as you can,” she smiled sadly, her eyes betraying her as they glassed over with tears. It broke her heart to see her little boy so desperate to be a man, to help her, to help pay for his own damn birthday present.  

“I... I can still be a kid, I just thought I could help?” he questioned. 

“I just don’t think I can afford it baby...” Mary’s shoulders slumped, his own fork dropping into his bowl as he sat back against the chair in defeat.  

“Could you stop buying wine for a little, Ma? I just really want a guitar... And then you can get more again. Just for a bit, I promise!”  

If her heart wasn’t already breaking for her little boy, it did then. The guilt rose like bile in her throat, her eyes staring at the bottle on the table, her glass emptied again and the taste lingering on her tongue. She’d had her own selfishness reflected back at her, a mirror held up to the truth; the truth being that her lips were stained with the red of her addiction, paired with her sunken eyes, bearing the weight of her sorrow. 

She should try, she thought to herself. For him, for her little Mary. He never asked her for anything, and the one thing he wants in the world for his birthday was a crummy little second-hand guitar? She should be able to give him that; as a mother, she wanted to give him the world. He certainly deserved it after all he’d been through.  

“I-I’ll... I’ll try, Mary. I’ll really try,” her voice cracked, swallowing the guilt down and forcing the tears to recede. Mary nodded to himself, looking down into his bowl and back to hers that even untouched, still had less in than his half-eaten leftovers.  

He stood up, the bowl in his hands and placed it down in front of her. She needed to eat more, he thought.  

“Oh, baby no, it’s okay. You should ea-” 

“I’m not that hungry, Ma. Please take it.” 

She stopped protesting, nodding as she held a shaking hand out to hold his cheek, stroking her thumb over the pudge he was yet to grow out of with a gentle smile.  

“Thank you, angel,” she told him, pressing a wine-stained kiss to his forehead. “I promise, I’ll try harder.” 

Deft fingers plucked at the strings of a battered old acoustic guitar. The wood was splintering where the neck met the body, the varnish worn down in places that hands would dance over as it had been played to within an inch of its life. Stickers littered the body, hiding nicks and damages from over the years but they too were beginning to wear down to white patches of nothing.  

Still, she sang like a dream the way she always had. Mary’s skilled hands worked her strings mindlessly, drifting from riffs he’d learned of his favourite bands over the years to riffs of his own he’d written – the most recent sounding much more melancholy than he’d anticipated.  

Sitting in his dimly lit studio apartment, he reclined against the wall at the head of his bed with his first guitar in his lap. His intention had been to drift off into his own world, to write some riffs for songs he could present to the guys and form into tracks for upcoming shows, but he’d been unable to focus, his fingers working on muscle memory alone as his head drifted to the same thing he’d thought of for the last few days.  

He’d had time to calm down, for the fog of anger to dissipate and now he’d entered the reflection stage. The anger morphed into hurt, reminded once again that no matter if you wanted him or not, you still were ashamed to be seen with him. He didn’t fit your image, his mere existence in your life was inconvenient and a black stain on your pristine white image.  

He wondered if cleaning himself up was an option for a brief moment. What if he didn’t paint his face? What if he wore a shirt instead of his cut off band tees? What if he styled his hair different? All the ‘what if’s swam around his head, but they’d be lies. Mary was many things, but never a phony. He refused to bow down to public opinion and become one of the masses if it meant sacrificing everything that was genuinely him.  

He decided he’d rather be hated for who he was, than adored for something he wasn’t. Which is exactly the life you were living. 

You’d chosen a world where people loved you, fell at your feet to be known by you and yet somewhere along the way, you’d sacrificed whoever you truly were, covered it up with bows and frills and shiny trinkets. He almost felt sorry for you.  

Still, he couldn’t swallow the nagging feeling that he’d done something wrong, that he was letting you slip through his fingers. He wasn’t dumb; Mary knew there was more to you than this image. He’d seen glimpses of it, this vulnerable yet feisty woman clawing at you from inside. Frankly, you drove him crazy. He'd never wanted anything for himself so badly in his life, except maybe the guitar in his hands. He couldn’t lay his eyes on you without wanting you; perhaps up until recently, he thought that was simply physical attraction, a need to take you and have you both coming undone together.  

But the way you plagued his mind, how he thought of you during the smallest moments of peace to himself... he was beginning to understand he’d formed a kind of connection with you he couldn’t begin to explain. But he was starting to recognise a feeling within himself that stung like rubbing alcohol on a wound, a feeling that shot him right back to his childhood, to a place so painful he’d shoved it down and ignored it for years.  

Before he could go down that route, his shook his head to rid the memories and lay his guitar gently beside him, reaching for his smokes on his nightstand. Lighting one up with his zippo lighter, he rested himself back against the wall, swiping a hand down his face in exasperation. He’d spent too long on this, too many moments infiltrated by thoughts of you.  

If Mary was being honest with himself, he only had to ask himself one simple question; were you worth compromising everything he knew about himself? Were you worth him changing himself, becoming something he wasn’t so he could be ‘acceptable’ in your world? 

No.  

Because that was a world that would only ever see him as a delinquent. They had when he was a child, a teenager and now into adulthood. The second they’d known who his father was, who his mother was, they’d judged him. That would never change, so why should he? 

The town hall ballroom was the last fucking place you wanted to be at any given moment, let alone when it was filled with governors, police chiefs, politicians and seedy businessmen. If you’d had your way, you’d have stayed tucked up in bed, like you’d spent most of your spare time in the last week or so since the Bicentennial fair. Facing reality was something you’d tried to avoid, but that wasn’t going to be possible for Daddy’s big dinner party for all the town’s biggest officials. 

No, you were to be paraded like a shiny trophy daughter tonight, mingling with the rich and seedy underbelly of your father’s political career. These people made your stomach turn and your skin crawl. You observed them from the corner of the room, a glass of prosecco in a hand covered by white satin gloves to the elbow, in a fancy, floor-length, glittered evening dress of the same pale peach colouring as the bubbly. Your mother had picked the outfit, “elegance with a touch of sparkle” she had said. 

Watching them mingle and chatter away, you could barely help the expression on your face turning to one of vague disgust. Your father made his way around the room, shaking hands and rubbing shoulders with the elite while your mother followed in tow, laughing at all the jokes she must have heard a thousand times over the years and nattering with the wives in the room about the latest gossip.  

Shallow; all of this was so fucking shallow. But the worst part? This was your future. Your mother... her life was the future your father had paved for you, expected you to walk. You couldn’t think of anything worse.  

“Pumpkin! Come and say hello to Mr. Nelson,” you father flagged you down from your inner monologue of disapproval, notably stood with an old man you recognised as the town’s previous Mayor. Mr. Nelson had handed the title over to your dad when you were little, staying a consistent advisor in the governing of the town’s affairs ever since his retirement six years ago.  

You’d never liked him. There was something untoward about him, sleazy and manipulative; but that’s politicians for you.  

You knocked back the rest of your prosecco glass for a bit of liquid encouragement and walked towards them with your prettiest fake smile on.  

“Good evening, Mr. Nelson,” you said, taking his outstretched hand to shake. 

“Good evening, my dear!” He didn’t let go of your hand like you’d expected, instead tightening his grip and pulling you to lean forwards so he could press a whiskered kiss to your cheek – or what was actually closer to the corner of your lips. When he leaned back, he winked at you, still keeping hold of your hand to lift it, unashamedly scanning his eyes over your body in your dress and twirling you like a doll on a music box. “My, my... how you’ve grown, hm?” 

Your eyes locked onto your father, who was smiling at you fondly as if there wasn’t a problem. You, however, were exceedingly uncomfortable. You looked back to Mr. Nelson, smiling and acting the part. Honestly, you’d always wondered if acting would be a good career for you; you did it often enough.  

“Quite the beautiful young lady these days,” Mr. Nelson commented, letting go of your hand and coming to stand beside you, a hand resting on the small of your back as he turned to speak to your father.  

“She gets all that from her mother, of course,” he smiled proudly, squeezing the shoulders of your mother beside him, who swatted him with her own gloved hand.  

“Oh, stop it, you charmer,” she laughed. You recoiled from the interaction, uncomfortable that there was still a hand on you at all, let alone on the small of your back. 

“Your father was telling us about your college days; quite impressive, my dear!” Mr. Nelson said, his hand patting just above the curve of your behind.  

“Y-yeah... I mean, thank you, sir,” you smiled graciously. How could you get out of this?  

“Now, if only we could find her a nice man to settle down with,” your father joked, your mother smiling along with him as Mr. Nelson chuckled.  

“I’m sure that won’t be difficult, hm? Plenty of fine men about town. Any catch your eye?” he asked, looking down at you with a raised white eyebrow.  

Instantly, your mind flew to Mary. Certainly, he was not the kind of ‘fine man’ Mr. Nelson or your father would envision for you; in fact, you’re sure they would recoil in horror, but you couldn’t help but think of him. Any opportunity for your brain to remind you of how painfully you’d fucked that up, it would take.  

You took too long to answer, head full of Mary as it so often was.  

“Pumpkin, Mr. Nelson asked you a question,” he insisted with an expectant nod of his head.  

“Oh, not to worry. She clearly has somebody in mind, if the mere mention of a man has her daydreaming about him, hm?” he chortled, his hand now slipping lower to pat at the curve of your backside. Instinctively you jumped forward half a step to get away from the unwanted contact, head whipping to your father in the hope he’d seen that, that he’d step in and defend you. But of course, he didn’t.  

“Pumpkin? What’s gotten into you, hm?” His glare was disapproving, his eyebrow quirking as he waited for your answer, but an awkward silence fell on the four of you instead.  

“I, um... I’m so sorry, I think I lost my balance. These, uh, damn heels, that’s all,” you laughed nervously, averting the eyes of everyone around you.  

“Perhaps a little too much bubbly,” Mr. Nelson accused, tipping his head towards your empty flute in your hand.  

“Y-yes, maybe... Perhaps I need some air. Would you excuse me?”  

You were turning and leaving before your father could stop you, shoving the glass in your hand onto the tray of a waiter on your way to the door, ignoring the calls of “pumpkin!” behind you, sounding aggravated and embarrassed. Heads turned to watch you leave but you couldn’t look at them, overwhelmed and uncomfortable. You just had to get out.  

You headed directly for your father’s office, a small and private space to collect yourself before inevitably having to go back to the ballroom sooner rather than later, lest your father come looking for you.  

Finally alone and in a quiet spot, you slumped into your father’s chair behind his desk, spinning absentmindedly from side to side guided by your stiletto on the ground. You focussed on breathing, helping to subside the panic that had risen in you. Bad enough you’d been forced to come to this thing, let alone subjected to the wandering hands of a man who’d known you since you were barely out of diapers. This evening was the nightmare you’d expected it to be.  

Looking around your father’s office, it hadn’t changed much. The American flag stuck in his pen cup, the portrait of President George Washington on the wall, the photo frame on his desk that housed a very official looking family portrait taken when you were still in middle school. 

This was your life. This façade of pomp and circumstance, governed by sleazy men and dodgy business deals... this was all you could see for yourself. No wonder you were clinging onto Mary by your perfectly manicured fingernails, allowing him back in so easily whenever there was room in your mind. He was the antithesis of that horrendous life already mapped out for you. He was the embodiment of freedom to you, someone that lived their life governed by them and them alone.  

He liked dark things, heavy music, grungy clothes. He didn’t restrict himself, lived freely, chasing the dreams he so obviously strived for. He didn’t care what people thought of him, he lived his truth.  

You wished you could live like that. 

Lost to your musings and memories of brief encounters with Mary, you startled at the sound of the door to your father’s office slamming shut, with him stood before it. He’d come alone, his arms folded over his chest in his crisp tuxedo, and a hardened look of fury in his features.  

Your stomach dropped and you sat upright immediately; this wasn’t going to be pretty. 

“What the hell was that?” he asked, his voice just above a whisper and yet spat through clenched teeth. 

“Daddy, I just... Mr. Nelson, he-” 

“Don’t you ‘daddy’ me. Do you realise how embarrassing that was for your mother and I?” he scolded. You swallowed your words, thrown right back to being told off as a child. “Mr. Nelson thinks you were drunk. Are you?” 

“No, daddy, I swear!” you protested, having only drank two glasses... on an empty stomach and faster than a shot of your favourite flavour schnapps.  

“Then explain why you were so damn rude to him, hm?” he raised his voice, stepping towards you and leaning down on his own desk by his palms.  

“He put his hands on me! He’s a creep, dad!” you matched his volume, defending yourself. Your dad just scoffed at you, shaking his head in disbelief.  

“He’s a respected member of this community. One bad word from him, and this could all be over for us. My career, our way of life, everything! Do you understand that?” he shouted. How silly of you to think your own father might take your side when one of his creep associates lay a finger on you.  

“It was a knee-jerk reaction, he touched my ass dad, like some fucking pervert!” you yelled back, standing from his chair and finding the guts to finally answer back, to fight for what was right instead of pander to him. Mary would be proud. 

“You watch your mouth, young lady. I am your father-” 

“YES! YOU ARE! And as my father, I thought you might stand up for me, oh, I don’t know, maybe be disgusted when some old man lays a hand on your daughter’s ass!”  

Your father lifted an accusatory finger at you, wagging it in your face as if scolding a bad dog. “He was talking to you about your future. A future that he can take away with a snap of his fingers.” He demonstrated with the hand he waved wildly in front of you. “You’re lucky your mother has such a way with words...” 

“You mean she’s a good liar,” you laughed humourlessly. “Suppose you have to be in this kind of life...” His face paled, his eyes darkening and appearing to sink further into his skull as he stood up straight, his brow furrowing. 

“I have worked for over two decades to build us ‘this life’,” his voice deepened, darkening considerably as he loomed over you. “Look around you. Do you think this just happens? I have done nothing but provide for you, you ungrateful little girl.” 

“This is the problem... I’m not a little girl anymore, and you still treat me like I can’t think for myself. I’ve got my own mind, things that I want to do. Do you give a shit about that at all?” The anger inside you you’d caged up for too long was surfacing, the heat on that simmering pot turning up with every word out of your father’s mouth. Already you were too far gone to reel it back in. Whether he liked it or not, he was going to hear this. 

“I give a shit about this family!” he screamed. “I will not allow you to tear it all down in some childish tantrum!” 

“Tear what down?!” you protested, “I just want to be able to do something for myself for a change, to start my life! It’s got nothing to do with your prestige as Mayor, I just want to be able to finally crawl out from under your shadow!" 

Your father ignored you completely, still only seeing the pigtailed little girl from the portrait on his desk standing in front of him. He had no idea she’d grown up before his very eyes. He’d blinked and missed it, too damn focussed on his own career and image to notice.  

“You selfish little brat. You don’t get it, do you?” he sneered, “This is MY TOWN! MY LEGACY! You will live by MY RULES!” 

And truthfully, that was all it was ever going to boil down to. His fucking legacy.  

You sagged your shoulders in defeat, tears begging to fall out of anger. Everything you thought your dad still believed, he’d proven to you in just a few minutes; you were still a child to him, and his legacy was more important than your own happiness. Nothing you could say would win this fight. Nothing would make him see how badly he was hurting you.  

You took a deep breath, composing yourself to speak a little calmer, more collected. With emotions heightened, it was easy to yell and scream back at him, to get carried away but you were determined to show him this was not some ‘tantrum’. You meant this.  

“What if I don’t want to do that anymore?” you asked, staring him straight in the eye. The air seemed to thicken around you as you waited for it to soak in, for him to hear you, process, and respond. The silence was suffocating.  

“I’m sorry?” he asked, turning his head to present his ear as if he hadn’t heard you, but he most certainly had. He just wanted you to repeat yourself, testing you, warning you; did you have the balls to say it again? 

“What if... I don’t want to live by your rules anymore?” You spoke calmly, methodically. You will listen, you thought to yourself. 

Your father straightened up again, his head twitching as he tidied up his cuff links, straightened his bow tie and slicked back his hair before he gave you the time of day. This was just a part of his intimidation, his macho technique, reminding you he was a distinguished man, one with power. When he finally looked you in the eye again, his face was set in stone.  

“Then you can get the hell out of my office.” 

Like a punch to the gut, it knocked the wind right out of you. He wanted you to leave.  

“F-fine...” you stuttered, walking around the desk as if to head for the door, pulling your cell phone out of your clutch, “I’ll get one of your lap dogs to take me home, and we’ll talk about this in the morning,” you told him, trying to keep a modicum of dignity, prove to him you were an adult and taking the moral high ground. But your father laughed... 

“I don’t think you heard me. Perhaps you didn’t understand...” he turned around to face you, now stood by the door to his office. “This is my town, Pumpkin. This whole town is my office.” 

The weight of what he was saying fell like a barrel of hot tar over you, the scorching, searing pain radiating through you. You stared in disbelief, waiting for him to laugh, to tell you he was kidding, just pushing your buttons to see your reaction but nothing... He just stared at you, as you stared at him, like a deer in headlights. 

“Y-you’re not serious...?” you dared to whisper, shaking your head in denial. 

“Deadly. Get out,” he growled, “or do I have to call security?” 

Those angry tears turned into streams now falling down your cheeks silently while you were unable to blink, processing his command until your body moved of its own accord, reaching for the doorknob and opening it behind you.  

“I’m sure your precious town will love to hear about this,” you threatened, wiping the tears away with the back of your hand. He just smirked and folded his arms over his chest again.  

“Careful, Pumpkin. Daddy’s got one hell of a legal team; and they’re all eating out of his palm in that ballroom tonight.” 

He had you beat. Checkmate. Every credible lawyer – and the seedy ones – were on his damn payroll. You couldn’t win this no matter what you did. You just had to walk away...  

And so, you did. Quietly, you slipped out from the opulent town hall and found yourself stood on a street corner a couple of blocks away, out of the sight of not only your father and his invitees behind the huge windows of the ballroom, but out of sight of his cronies, already given the instruction to make sure you left quietly, and didn’t attempt to come back in. 

You were alone, as you had become so accustomed to being. 

Every riff felt wrong. For over a week now, Mary tried to write something new, something fresh that he’d never heard before, that excited him and inspired him but... nothing. He was beginning to think he’d lost his touch. He knew he couldn’t force inspiration to come, but this was a longer, drier spell than even he was used to... 

He reached for his pack of smokes on the nightstand where they usually sat, only to discover he was fresh out – that last cigarette had truly been his last.  

“Shit,” he cursed to himself, crushing the empty box in his palm and throwing it in the general direction of the trash can, hitting the rim and bouncing off to the floor beside two or three other crumpled cigarette boxes from the last few days.  

Whew, he thought to himself, smokin’ more now, too. Awesome. Still, ignoring the mess he’d neglected to tidy, he stood up from his bed with a stretch, abandoning his tattered acoustic on his bed. His leather jacket that he’d slung over the back of his couch still held his keys, wallet and cell phone from his last outing to the gas station, and so he slithered his arms into the sleeves and headed for the door.  

He knew he didn’t need to take the van to travel the four blocks to the gas station on the edge of town just for cigarettes, but there was something about a late-night drive that calmed Mary. It always felt like one of those rare moments where he got to be himself; a decent band on the stereo and some open road to clear his head.  

He also knew he didn’t need to go all the way to the gas station for smokes; the convenience store on the corner would do just fine. Except, Forrest usually worked the late-night shifts at the gas station, and he’d get to take advantage of his staff discount. 

“Hey man!” Mary called out as he walked into the store, the bell dinging above his head. Forrest looked up from the magazine he was reading, slumped over the counter. 

“Well, look what the dogs dragged in...” Forrest smirked, “where’d you fuck off to the other night?” 

Ah. He’d never explained where he’d disappeared to the night of the fair, nor had he seen any of his friends since. He hadn’t realised he’d shut himself off for that long, but seemingly, he had. 

“Oh, uh...” he stammered, thinking up an excuse.  

“Some chick got your attention, huh?” he stood upright and folded his arms, leaning against the edge of the counter. “I don’t know how you do it, man. You got ‘em lining up out the door. You shoot strawberry milkshake outta that dick, or what?” Mary relaxed instantly, his alibi already created for him.  

“Why, you wanna taste?” he mocked, shooting a flying kiss at him as he stepped up to the counter in an overly camp, seductive walk to make the other laugh. 

“I’ll stick to the slurpie machine, thanks,” he joked, pretending to gag at the thought of Mary’s strawberry milkshake. “You need somethin’, or you just here to entertain me?” 

“Outta smokes,” Mary shrugged. “I’ll grab the usual.” 

Forrest nodded, turning his back to fish through the cigarettes that lined the wall behind the counter, coming to the brand Mary would usually purchase. Mary looked to his left, seeing a special offer on party size bags of Takis and an array of candy bars. He chucked a bag up on the counter with some candy and fished inside his jacket for his wallet as Forrest rung him up.  

“Big plans tonight, huh?” 

“Oh yeah, big night in with my favourite girl, Mary Jane,” Mary waggled his eyebrows suggestively. 

“Explains the snacks, you always did get munchies worse than any of us...” he laughed, punching his employee code into the register to add his discount; something he did without thinking these days. Mary was always grateful. “$15.75” 

“Thanks, man,” Mary handed over a twenty, shoving the change back in his wallet just as his phone started to buzz in his other pocket. He whipped it from his jacket, checking the caller ID when his chest tightened.  

You. 

Mary sneered at the phone in his hand, shoving it back into his pocket with a scowl on his face. If Forrest noticed, he didn’t question it, probably assuming it were a telemarketing scam.  

“We should get a practise in before Saturday,” Forrest suggested, “I think Davey’s free on Tuesday? And I'm off too.” Mary hadn’t forgotten; they had a show to play in the city, some new goth club were having a metal night, and word of Mary’s band was starting to spread beyond the scene they’d been playing for the last two years. 

“Uh yeah.” His phone stopped buzzing in his pocket. He ignored the feeling of disappointment in him, that gnawing voice in the back of his head that told him he should have answered it. “Yeah, I think I’m free. You wanna see if Jed’s about?”  

Forrest made a noise that sounded vaguely like an affirmative as Mary picked up the bag with his purchases inside.  

“Alright, uh...” Mary’s phone began vibrating in his pocket again, barely any respite since the last call. He ignored it, trying to claw himself back to reality instead of letting his mind drift to whatever you could possibly be calling him for. He was sure it was only one thing, anyway. “Let me know, man!” 

“Yeah, see ya!” Forrest grinned, shutting the register with a ping and picking up his discarded magazine as Mary turned and left, the bell dinging above the door again. He stood outside for a moment, fishing his phone out of his pocket and seeing that it was indeed your name that flashed on his screen.  

Once again, he ignored it, shoving it this time into the back pocket of his jeans and skulking back over to his van, parked in a bay near the door. It stopped just as he wrenched the door open with a rusty creak, throwing his bag into the passenger seat. He climbed in behind it, slamming the door shut and settling into the seat as he shoved the keys into the ignition. As he turned them and the engine roared to life with his stereo, he took a deep breath, leaning back against the head rest and desperately willing the thoughts of you to leave him be. 

He’d wasted too much time on you already, and he meant what he’d said last time. He was tired of being everybody’s dirty little secret, and he wasn’t about to answer your fucking booty call. Not again.  

Reaching into the plastic bag beside him, he pulled out his carton of cigarettes and ravaged the packaging until he could pry one from the box and shove it between his lips, pushing the lighter button in on his dashboard and waiting patiently for it to heat. Closing his eyes, he waited for the telltale click, reclining into his seat, when his phone began to buzz in his back pocket once again.  

Mary’s eyes shot open, anger coursing through his veins. Were you that desperate to get laid? It wasn’t fair. He thought he’d made it clear where he stood, that he wasn’t interested in being picked up and dropped whenever someone felt like it anymore. He had to start thinking less with his dick and more with his head – and his heart. 

But you were not getting the message – ignoring your calls wasn’t working. Maye he just needed to say it in black and fucking white.  

Muttering curses to himself, he fished his phone from his back pocket where he sat, seeing that the caller ID did indeed read “Doll” again. He turned the volume of his stereo way down, took a deep breath, and answered the call.  

“Look, I’m really not interested in being your booty call, Barbie,” he spat down the microphone, “so you might wanna just give it up now before you embarrass yourself.” 

He was met with silence. He almost wanted to laugh, picturing the look of sheer shock on your face as you sat surrounded by your pink frills and stuffed animals in that ivory tower of yours. But instead, he waited. Would you dare speak? Argue with him? He’d managed to rile himself up enough by this point that maybe a fight was exactly what he needed to expel the rage.  

The silence continued for a beat too long, and confusion set in. His brow furrowed, checking his phone screen to see if you’d hung up but no, you were still connected. He lifted the phone to his ear again, waiting... and then he heard it. 

A sob.  

A sob so small and timid, he thought maybe he wasn’t supposed to have heard it. But instantly, his face paled, and his chest hollowed. Every muscle in his shoulders that had tensed in his anger when he picked up the phone instantly turned to jelly. He’d expected resistance, maybe a “fuck you, Goore” or something to that effect. He’d expected an argument, rage, denial or defence.  

He waited again, clicking the side button on his phone to turn the volume up in case he’d missed it. Now, he heard the sniffles too, along with the shuddering breath from an inhale that sounded uncontrollable. And then another small, suppressed sob. 

He panicked, sitting bolt upright in his seat and pulling the cigarette from his lips as he looked around his surroundings as if there was something, someone who could help. Of course, there was nothing.  

He didn’t expect you to react that way... Perhaps he’d been too harsh, maybe yelling at you wasn’t the right way to go about this, to cut his ties with you before they were truly bonded, but he hadn’t even thought it through. Mary just thought severing it with a quick, clean blow would do the trick... 

“I-I... d-didn't... know who... to call,” you wept down the phone, breathing irregular as if you were suffering a panic attack. “I’m s-s... sorry.” 

Instantly, Mary knew he’d fucked up. You weren’t calling him for a hook up, this was something different. Something had happened. You had already been in this state. And you’d turned to him for help. Mary swallowed a gulp of nothing, now realising his mouth and throat had gone dry whilst his jaw had hung open in bewilderment and panic. 

“What’s going on?” he asked, frenzied. He waited for a response, only hearing more sobs; ones that you clearly were unable to hold back as you tried to speak, to tell him what had happened. Whatever it was, it was bad enough that you couldn’t say it without losing the small semblance of composure you had. You were in no fit state to talk about this on the phone. 

The hand holding the phone dropped to his lap for a moment as he muttered a “shit” to himself, slamming his head back against the headrest. He was really going to do this, wasn’t he? He was going to run right to you, to go and fucking save you with some twisted sense of duty towards you. But then, yes, of course he was; Mary’s saviour complex had kicked in the second he heard that first tiny, frail sob. 

He held the phone to his ear again. 

“Look just... fuck, just breathe alright? Slowly, if you can. I’m coming, just make sure your window’s unlocked,” he instructed you, pressing his foot down on the clutch and shoving the gear stick into reverse.  

“’m not... home...” you sobbed. Mary paused, confused.  

“Well... where are you?” he asked, now more concerned as to what the hell had happened. If someone had laid a fucking finger on you...  

“R-Raynor... street...”  

Dead centre of town; anything could have happened, anybody could have been around.  

“Alone?” he asked, incredibly uncomfortable with the idea of you being alone at this hour in the middle of town.  

“M-mhm...” Mary cursed to himself again, holding the phone to his ear with his shoulder while he used both hands to spin the wheel of his van, quickly looking in his mirrors to reverse out of his parking spot before he could speed off into the night to come and find you. 

“I’m coming, alright? Stay there. Keep your phone close, stay on the line. You keep off the street ‘til you hear me coming, you understand?” His instructions were clear, almost military-like. He needed you to hear him plainly.  

“Oh...kay,” you sobbed, trying to quieten your sobs and regain control.  

“Keep breathing, I’m on my way.” 

Mary picked the phone from between his ear and shoulder and hit the loud-speaker button, throwing it onto his dash so he could drive easier through the streets as he headed into town. Thankfully the roads had been somewhat empty, most traffic lights turning green on the approach and no one to get in his way or flag him down for speeding at this hour. He just needed to get to you, as fast as possible. 

Turning onto Raynor street, he slowed right down and got a good look; you were nowhere to be seen. He prayed to a god he didn’t believe in that you’d just followed his advice, hiding down an alleyway off the main street to keep out of sight of any passersby with bad intentions. He turned his stereo back up, a clear indication that it was him who was driving slowly down the street, watching and waiting for you to pop your head out of somewhere. 

“C’mon, doll... where are you?” he muttered anxiously to himself, looking down every nook and cranny between buildings.  

The music you heard edging closer down the street echoed what you could hear from your phone speaker, telling you that the vehicle approaching was him. A wave of relief washed over you, and you stepped out from between a hair salon and an apartment block near the end of the street. Mary's headlights caught on your dress, the sparkle catching his eye immediately and he sped up until he could break suddenly right next to you, jumping out of his van and running around it to get to you as quickly as he could. 

His hands gripped onto your biceps and he held you out at arm's reach to get a good look at you; carefully placed make up had streaked from your tears, black rings forming around your eyes where your mascara had run. Your eyes themselves were bloodshot; how long had you been out here like this before you’d called him? You shivered in his hands, the cold of the night getting to you in this dress that left your arms and shoulders exposed, doing nothing to warm you at this late hour. He didn’t even think, shucking himself out of his jacket and wrapping it around your shoulders where his body heat had already warmed it.  

“Are you hurt?” he asked, cupping your face in his hands and swiping the tear tracks away with his thumbs. You shook your head no, another sob rising in your throat now that he was here. You weren’t sure what you had been expecting, his initial reaction to your phone call clearly indicating he was still very much mad at you; not that you could blame him. But it didn’t escape your notice that he had come anyway, and the expression on his face was almost one of terror before his eyes had fallen on you, and softened considerably. 

Something in him cared.  

“Alright, come on... get in,” he settled a hand between your shoulder blades, guiding you gently and quickly to the passenger side of his van where he opened the door for you, helping you up. You settled into the seat, curling in on yourself and hugging Mary’s jacket closer to you for the warmth the night had stripped from you as he climbed in the driver’s side. He turned the stereo right down, the music now only to fill a silence rather than to alert you to his arrival.  

“Is there... somewhere you want me to take you?” he asked, an awkwardness coming over him. He had no idea how to react in this situation, no clue what had happened or why you’d called him of all people when you had an entire security team on your side. 

You seemed to think about it for a moment, a fresh wave of tears trickling from your eyes and dripping to your lap when you looked down in an attempt to hide your face.  

“I... don’t have anywhere...” you sobbed, your fists tightening around the edges of Mary’s jacket to have something to ground you while your shoulders shook.  

Mary watched on helplessly, his heart pounding in his chest. He wanted to reach over, to pull you into him and hold you so you could let out the much more violent sobs you were so obviously holding back. He was so used to the feistier side of you; your smart mouth, your confidence... It’s what drew him in, what attracted him to you like a moth to a flame. This wasn’t you. 

It stirred up a need in him to help, to sacrifice his own discomfort in favour of your comfort. Instantly, he put you first, forgetting any resignations he had about ever seeing you again. That anger he harboured at how out-of-touch he thought you were? It dissipated the second he’d heard the first sob. He’d been triggered like a sleeper cell, instantly needing to patch up whatever wound you’d suffered. 

“You don’t wanna go home?” he asked, figuring he already knew the answer. It didn’t take a genius to put two and two together. When you shook your head violently, he got the confirmation he needed. “Alright, well...” He was going to regret this, wasn’t he? But he’d said it before he could stop himself. “You could stop at my place for a bit.” Yep, he regretted it. “If it’s not too weird, or anything... I mean, I live alone, if you’re worried about my friends being ther-” 

“Okay...” you sniffled.  

Mary stopped rambling, instead reaching for the cigarette he’d never lit and thrown on his dash with his phone. Once again, he pushed the cigarette lighter in to heat up, adjusting the heating in the van to a warmer temperature too to warm you up. 

“Alright um, sure...” He held the cigarette between his lips, shoving the van into gear and continuing down the street. “There’s a carton of cigs in the bag by your feet, if you want one,” he offered – more to fill the silence between you than anything. The quiet stereo could only do so much. 

You sniffled and reached down to the bag, fishing through the plastic until you found the carton he’d mentioned and pulling one out for yourself hoping it might help to calm you. With a pop, the lighter signalled it was ready, and Mary held it out to you first as he focussed on the road. You lit it carefully with a small ‘thank you’ and settled back into your seat. The first drag helped settle your nerves, the heating in the van calming the shakes you’d had too, although you weren’t sure if that had been the panic or the cold of the night. 

A few streets into the journey back to his place, you couldn’t take the quiet any longer. The awkward air between you felt so stale, icy in comparison to the warmth the van generated. As much as you wanted to relax in his presence – as he up until now had always been able to make you do – you just couldn’t. Not with the elephant in the back of the van, so to speak... 

“I’m sorry... for calling,” you mumbled, still too full of shame to be able to look at him directly, only stealing a glance from the corner of your eye. Mary took a long drag of his cigarette, flicking the ash out of the crack he’d opened in his window. He looked between you and the road, as if thinking through his response a few times.  

“You don’t have to apologise for that. I’m not one to leave a lady out in the cold...” he shrugged. He certainly wasn’t; literally or metaphorically.  

“Thank you for coming, Mary. I didn’t know where to go...” Every time you thought back to the fight with your father, fresh and hot tears would well up in your eyes. It didn’t escape Mary’s notice, and he wanted nothing more than to reach over and squeeze your hand with reassurance. Instead, he settled on trying to lighten the mood a little. Comedy always had been his defence mechanism, after all... 

“Dressed like that? I’d have said... Cinderella’s ball?” 

You scoffed, the first genuine smile he’d seen from you as you shook your head. “Shut up,” you told him.  

“You couldn’t call on the creatures of the forest to come help?” he continued, smirking when he saw your shoulders shaking in silent laughter, elbow propped up on the edge of your window. “Tinkerbell not got any pixie dust left for ya?” 

You reached over and playfully slapped his chest, earning you an ‘ouch’ and an act of feigned pain as he recoiled. But you giggled to yourself, the absurdity of it all finally hitting you. Here you were sat in your sparkly peach gown with your satin elbow gloves, high heels and fancy hairdo, cradled by Mary’s leather jacket in a beat-up van that was old enough to still have a damn cigarette lighter in the dash. Perhaps you were Cinderella... Did that make Mary your Prince Charming, or your fairy God mother? 

Now he’d heard you giggle – something he always loved hearing out of you – Mary could relax a little. There was still an awkwardness between you both, neither one of you could deny that, but the first layer of ice had been broken. For now, that would be enough. If you wanted to talk to him about what had happened when you got to his, then fine. If not, he figured that was okay too. At least he’d know you were safe and had someone by your side who cared about you; and yes, Mary could admit to himself now that he did care about you... 

Just, maybe not to you – not yet. But it wasn’t something he could exactly deny either, when he’d dropped his ‘big plans’ of getting high and demolishing a bag of snacks alone with his guitar the second he’d heard your despair. And all of that in spite of his lingering anger towards you. How quickly he’d flipped that, from wanting nothing to do with you to racing to your rescue. 

Mary’s apartment was small, as you’d expected. As you followed him inside, you looked around. The kitchen sat directly to your left cut off by a half wall to corner it in, a couch that looked like it had seen better days backed up against that half wall and pointed at an old television. Mary’s bed was unmade and pushed up against the far-right corner, facing the bathroom that took up as much space as his kitchen did but was the only room closed off. In the way of bedroom furniture, all he had was a small nightstand and a chest of drawers that had been knocked about some...  

It seemed cosy, lived in. It wasn’t particularly tidy; a blanket strewn over the tatty couch, vinyls laying on top of his little coffee table and around his record player in the corner of his living space, guitars laying up against the wall here and there, an acoustic on his bed, pots and pans stacked up on the draining board in his kitchen – clean, but not yet put away.  

Had Mary known he was having royalty stop by, he might have tidied up a little, but this was how it looked most of the time. He didn’t spend much time at home, especially now that his band were starting to take off a little. But truthfully, he avoided being alone at all costs. He got too much thinking done alone, hence why he had his distraction methods of weed and song-writing.  

Mary scratched the back of his neck awkwardly and went to flick on a lamp by the couch. He quickly whipped around the space, picking up the strewn vinyls, straightening up the blankets. “Sorry about the mess,” he set as he jetted past you towards his bed to pick up his guitar and straighten out the blankets and pillows. You stood awkwardly in the entryway, his jacket still hanging off your shoulders as you picked at your gloves.  

“No, it’s fine, it’s not that bad,” you told him, noting the few personal belongings Mary had too; most notably the little picture frame on a windowsill by the couch. A strikingly beautiful woman, and a goofy little boy snuggled tightly in her lap. Both were grinning into the camera, the boy’s front teeth missing. You guessed that was Mary, and the woman, his mother.  

“Can I get you anything? I don’t know, a drink maybe? Or, uh...” He stood awkwardly, nervously wringing his hands and fiddling with his rings. It was so out of character for him, usually cocky and confident in everything he said or did. In a way, it was quite endearing...  

“Maybe some water, if you don’t mind...” You winced at your own request, feeling like you’d already asked for too much tonight.  

“Yeah... yeah, sure!” He jumped into action, rushing into the kitchen to fetch a clean glass from the cabinet. “Make yourself at home,” he told you, nodding towards the couch he’d just tidied. You walked towards it, draping his jacket over the arm and sitting on the edge of it, playing with your gloves until he came and sat opposite you, handing you a cold glass of water. 

You took it with a thank you, downing a third of the glass once the water hit your tongue – you hadn’t realised just how thirsty the tears and panic had made you.  

“So, um... you wanna tell me why you’re dressed like that?” Mary nodded at your dress, getting himself comfortable and ready to listen. You looked down at yourself, feeling utterly ridiculous now. This was your world... glitter, glam, sparkles; and you despised it.  

“Fancy dinner at the town hall – pompous twats and vile politicians. Mom picked this out,” you scoffed. 

“Huh,” he mused, “I mean, if it helps, you do look pretty...” he shrugged. A warmth rose to your cheeks at his compliment. “The mascara smudges are a nice touch, I think.” You laughed at that, wiping your fingertips along the underneath of your eyes and seeing the black collecting on the white satin. “So... what happened?” 

He asked you so gently, and instantly you felt safe. His gaze wasn’t judgemental, just soft. In fact, it had taken you this long to mentally note that Mary wasn’t made up with his usual faded skull paint and fake blood. His face was clean, you could see every detail. You could see every emotive line, every twitch of his expressions and a vulnerability in him that the face paint usually masked. He had a kinder face than people gave him credit for. Suddenly, you got it. He was putting on a mask every day, just like you.  

And so, you told him. You told him how you’d felt in that ballroom, looking around and seeing the real scumbags of this town. You told him about Mr. Nelson; what he’d said, what he’d done. Mary’s face hardened at that, an anger and protectiveness washing over him that had his fists balling up tightly. You told him how you’d excused yourself, and how your father had followed you to his office. Throughout, he stayed quiet, letting you speak and listening to everything you said. He’d react every so often, fetched you some tissues when the tears had started again. You told him everything, including how your father had screamed at you to follow his rules to not damage his “legacy”.  

“And I told him I didn’t want to do that anymore... I wanted to do my own thing and live for me.”  

Mary’s eyebrows raised in surprise, and he leaned forward, elbows on his knees.  

“Shit... What did he say?” he asked, obviously knowing it hadn’t ended well.  

“Told me to get out of his office,” the tears came again, your voice raising in pitch as you tried to hold back the sobs, “that this whole town was his office. Threatened me with lawyers if I tried anything. So... I just left.” 

“He kicked you out into the street, alone, dressed like that, in the middle of the fucking night?” Mary’s anger was clear, spitting venom between clenched teeth. He couldn’t understand the nerve of your father, how he could be so damn stupid putting you in danger like that. “Fucking arrogant asshole...” 

It was clearer to him more now than ever that he’d been so wrong about you...  

He shuffled closer to you on the couch, cautiously wrapping an arm around your shoulders to comfort you in some way. Truthfully, he wanted to completely envelope you, to hold you and rock you and let you cry and sob and scream if you needed it. But it wasn’t until you lay your head on his shoulder that he felt okay to do so, finally pulling you into him to wrap his arms around you and let you cry into his chest.  

He felt so warm beneath you, his heart rate a little elevated but the thumping kept you grounded as you held onto his shirt, curling into a sparkly little ball in his side. Mary cradled your head to him, stroking your hair and whispering to you about letting go, that you were safe here. 

If he was being honest with himself, he knew how shitty he’d been to you. He’d become far too defensive too quickly, unable to see past his own injustices in his world to understand that your world came with them too. There had been signs of your confinement, of the tight leash you were kept on, but he’d wilfully ignored them, striking them off as privilege. Your bedroom alone should have been a giant red flag; how was a grown woman still sleeping in a child’s bedroom?  

“I’m sorry, doll...” he told you, muttering into your hair as his lips gently pressed to the top of your head.  

“Not on you, Mare. This has been coming for a while...” you sniffled, wiping your tears with your gloves as you snuggled into him a little further, utterly comfortable in his hold. 

“No, I mean...” Mary sighed to himself, “I’ve been an asshole. I got too defensive, thought you were just being a brat or something, y’know? I judged you and I shouldn’t have.” 

Slowly, you sat upright, turning to look at him as his arms fell to his sides.  

“You don’t have to apologise, I get it... I wasn’t exactly good to you either,” you admitted, looking down at his shirt now stained with tears to avoid his eyes. “You were right, I was treating you like I was ashamed of you.” 

Mary sat up straight, clasping his hands together as he nodded in understanding. “We’ve all got our shit, doll.” His eyes drifted to the picture on his windowsill, and you couldn’t help but follow his gaze. You saw how he clenched his jaw, fiddling with the rings on his fingers as sadness crept into his eyes. 

“Who was she?” The question slipped out before you got the chance to stop yourself. From the way Mary tensed up beside you, you could tell it was a sore spot.  

“That’s my mom,” he looked back to you, a sad smile on his face.  

“Is she...?” 

“Dead? No...” he laughed awkwardly. “But she is in a care facility. That’s just the only photo of us I’ve got.”  

You nodded in understanding, not wanting to push the matter. But Mary felt like sharing... You’d been vulnerable with him, shared your shit. Maybe he should share his too, or at least some of it. Maybe you were the only person he could be honest with. You were certainly the only person he’d wanted to get to know him in a long time.  

“She was a drinker. It got worse when my dad left, but he was a waste of fucking space anyway. We, uh, didn’t have a lot...” his eyes flickered to the battered old guitar that now leaned against the wall by his bed, “but eventually her liver kind of gave up, so she’s on dialysis for the rest of her life. She needs constant care, but she’s still with us.” 

“I’m so sorry... no wonder you thought I was just being a brat,” you laughed awkwardly, feeling a little pathetic now. 

“Like I said, we all got our shit. It's not a contest, I just... realised I wanted you to know something real about me.” 

Silence descended over you along with the weight of what he’d just admitted. Mary wanted you to know him. He wasn’t running or hiding himself from you. He’d shared something so personal to him, and you felt that it was something not a lot of people might know about him, if any. Something about you made him feel just as safe as a part of him did for you.  

You looked at him; really looked at him. There was a sadness in his eyes, something you could notice now that you were sat merely inches apart from him with his mask firmly ripped away and laying in pieces on the floor. Whatever wall he usually put up, he’d let down just for you. You felt close to him, unbelievably so. You felt an urge to protect him, defend him. You felt a pull towards him, undistinguished in its meaning but so strong you couldn’t ignore it anymore.  

And as Mary stared back at you, his wounds exposed, he too felt that same pull. Who was he kidding? He’d felt it for a while. How else would he explain being unable to go barely minutes without thinking of you over the last few weeks?  

His eyes flicked down to your lips, heart racing and mind spinning out of control. He’d never felt so exposed. He wanted to kiss you, to show you what he felt in that moment, but it scared him. He already had shared so much, feeling just as vulnerable as he had as a child.  

In your corner, the silence got heavier with every second that passed. If he was going to kiss you, you would let him. You couldn't think of a better way to show him just how much you cared, how close you felt to him; that you truly wanted him.  

Just as you thought he might lean in, he snapped out of his trance, sucking in a breath between his teeth.  

“Well, hey... you can stop here tonight. I can find you something to wear, I’m pretty sure I got something in the back,” he joked, wiggling his eyebrows, “I can take you from riches to rags!”  

He slapped his thighs and stood up from the couch, marching over to the dresser by his bed and rifling through his drawers. You stayed put, thrown off by his sudden escape. From such an emotional, tender moment to him throwing that wall back up, closing up shop... You almost got whiplash from the speed at which he put the brakes on. Disappointment lay heavy in your chest.  

He came back over with a folded t-shirt and some plaid pyjama pants you could tie up to keep them on. “There’s clean cloths in the bathroom under the sink if you wanna wash up, towels if you wanna shower,” he handed you the clothes where you sat. “I’ll take the couch, you got the bed and we’ll figure out a plan in the morning.”  

“O-okay...” you stammered, standing up with the folded clothes. Frankly, you felt a little dazed from his shift in demeanour, but you could hardly blame him either. Sharing that had to have been harder than you first thought. 

You walked past him into the bathroom, locking the door and pulling on the string light to awaken the fluorescent bulb above you. Now catching a glimpse of yourself in his mirrored medicine cabinet, you saw the state of yourself. Make up smeared all over your face, streaks of black running from your eyes to halfway down your neck. They looked bloodshot and tired, staring lifelessly back at you. Your hair had fallen out of place from its fancy updo, and you looked as if you’d been dragged through a cornfield by your ankles. 

Deciding against a shower, you settled for wiping the make-up from your face and taking your hair down, attempting to detangle it with the comb you found in the medicine cabinet. You’d found a bottle of cologne in there too, which when you sniffed, smelled exactly like Mary had smelled the night he’d climbed through your bedroom window. You smiled fondly at the memory, noting how the bottle was largely untouched, still having the price tag on it which only confirmed that he’d bought it and worn it just for you. 

By the time you were done and changed into the clothes Mary had found you, Mary had made himself a makeshift bed from the blanket he’d previously folded on the couch and one of the pillows from his bed. He was already laying under it, having changed into some old shorts and removed his shirt.  

“You can put your dress on the dresser, and I can run out and grab you something to wear tomorrow so you’ve got something other than this to wear,” he called from the couch, sitting up so he could speak directly to you.  

“Thank you. I’ll get out of your hair tomorrow, I’m sure my dad just needs to calm down...” you told him. Mary couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed, but also, protective. He wasn’t about to send you home to that, and he didn’t want you to feel like a burden on him either.  

“Sure, if that’s what you wanna do...” he muttered, his lips straightening into a line as he nodded. “Well... get some rest.” 

“Yeah, I will... thank you, Mary,” you told him. 

“Don’t sweat it,” he smiled, laying down on the couch and pulling the blanket over his bare shoulders. Without another word, you placed your clothes on the dresser and crawled into his bed, notably cold without him in it. Mary flicked off the lamp by the couch, plunging the apartment into mostly darkness save for the moonlight and the nearest streetlamp shining through his window. 

The same window where the picture of him and his mother sat.  

He could see it where he lay. In fact, he couldn’t look away. That smile on both of their faces reminded him of a time that was so rare. He could still hear her laughter mixing with his giggles as she’d hugged and tickled him, his grandmother who was long since gone snapping the picture on a whim.  

That little boy didn’t have many memories like that to come. He’d grown up far too soon, knowing how desperately his mother needed the help. His childhood was the two of them stuck out at sea, a hole in their boat – and Mary was the only one fishing the water out with a bucket. Eventually, it was bound to go under, so he worked harder, did everything he could to keep them afloat and yet... it wasn’t enough.  

The world had got him all wrong. When they thought he was bunking off school, he was working for a dollar an hour. When he’d been caught shoplifting, it was for a gift for his mother’s birthday. When he’d dropped out of school, it was to work every hour God sent to keep them from going hungry. When he finally did go off the rails in his late teens, it was after his mother’s liver failed. This poor, grown-up little boy had no one to look after anymore, and he’d spiralled. He was his only responsibility, but he’d never learned to care for himself – just the people around him. He always had to save them.  

Mary wiped the stray tear from his cheek, rolling over to face the back of the couch and will himself to sleep. He couldn’t tell if it was an hour or mere minutes that passed as he lay there, huddled under his old blanket on a couch that poked at his ribs under the cushions.  

“Mary...?” you whispered into the night, testing and hoping that he’d still been awake enough to hear. When he looked up, he saw you sat up in his bed, surrounded by emptiness, hugging your knees to your chest. In the dim streetlight, tear tracks sparkled on your face just like your dress.  

Before he knew what he was doing, his feet had carried him across the room. Tentatively, he sat at the edge of his bed, close enough that he could reach out and tuck your fallen hair behind your ear. Neither of you spoke; there was no need. It was obvious you needed the proximity, both vulnerable and in need of comfort.  

Mary’s eyes flicked between yours and your lips again, hesitating as his mind raced with conflicting arguments for and against giving in. He still wasn’t sure you truly wanted him. Maybe all you wanted in him was a friend, the sex having been a distraction or way to rebel. All Mary knew for sure was that you’d trusted him enough to be the one you called when you were in trouble. He didn’t want to break that trust now...  

But it was like you could see the cogs turning in his brain, the inner argument going on inside him. The battle wouldn’t be won by him alone; you were going to have to prove to him that you wanted him, that he wasn’t just your dirty little secret or some booty call. 

Slowly, you shuffled yourself closer to him, unwrapping your arms from around yourself and instead, pushing his floppy hair from in front of his face, getting a good look at him. That gorgeous face of his sat bathed in the dim light, caught between distant sadness and childlike wonder. With one last flicker down to your lips and back up to your eyes, he caught you smiling softly at him, your fingertips dancing across his jawline.  

And then finally, you leaned into him and pressed your lips gently to his. His eyes fluttered shut just as yours did, and he relaxed under your touch as if his limbs had melted. Mary, now feeling marginally more confident in where he stood, tilted his head to better sculpt his lips against yours. He was so gentle with you, his hands lifting to hold yours against his cheeks by the wrists. As the seconds passed, your lips moved together in tandem, both of you leaning into each other until he was able to wrap a hand around your waist and hold you against him, cradling each other in such a tender moment.  

This was undeniably different to any other kiss you’d shared. There was no move to advance, no desperation, no frantic arousal or rushed passion. This time, you simply held each other, seeking comfort in the affection you had for each other.  

As you parted, you rested your forehead against his, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as he held you still so close to him, not yet willing to let go.  

“Stay with me tonight...?” you requested, hoping he’d have no problem with the idea. Mary just nodded dumbly, overcome with a warm desire to never let you sleep alone again. You reached around you, pulling the blankets off of your lap to welcome him into them. He climbed in beside you, resting his head on the pillows as you, without a second thought, curled into his chest and let his arms envelope you. Neither one of you wanted to be alone tonight after sharing pieces of your soul with one another.  

Exhausted from the outpouring of emotion, you were soon lulled into a deep sleep by his rhythmic heartbeat and natural warmth. Mary, although exhausted himself, was still barely awake when he felt your body go limp against him. He smiled to himself, satisfied in the knowledge that he’d given up a part of himself he was sure he’d never trust anybody with.  

And yet, the wound was still open; spinning with memories, his mind lingered on one in particular, triggered when his tired eyes had fallen on that battered and beat up old guitar against the wall. That thing served as a reminder that Mary had only ever had Mary looking out for him, and that given a choice between himself and somebody else, he would always save anybody but himself... 

Mary waited patiently on the couch, his attention span null and void as the after-school cartoons blared on the TV set in front of him. He sat on the edge of his seat, quite literally, his feet kicking back and forth as he watched the clock. 

With the big hand on the 2, and the little hand on the 6, she’d be home any minute now. So, Mary waited as patiently as he could. 

Except, it wasn’t until the big hand had done a full circle, and the little hand was on the 7, that he heard the keys fumbling in the lock of the front door, followed by a telltale creak, and the slam of it behind footsteps.  

Mary jumped up, already on edge and over-excited. He ran into the hallway, to find his mother leaning against the wall with her eyes shut, head back against the plaster. She looked sick, her skin paled more than usual and her lips tainted with a familiar red stain.  

“Ma?” he asked, placing his little hand on her arm. Her eyes shot open, and she looked down at Mary next to her.  

“There’s my boy!” she slurred, leaning down to smother a sloppy kiss to his cheek. He wiped his cheek in childlike disgust, giggling to himself. “Happy birthday, baby!”  

She stood as upright as she could manage, bringing her purse with her while she stumbled into the living room, into the armchair Mary’s dad used to occupy that faced the TV set. Mary followed, bouncing on his feet with excitement. He’d waited all day for his mom to come home, hadn’t been able to focus in school for even a second. He stood and waited in front of her as she settled into the chair, dropping her purse in her lap.  

“Would you like your present baby?” she asked, smiling through hooded eyes that could barely focus. Mary nodded frantically, his heart pounding in his chest.  

It had been weeks since he’d spoken to his mother about the guitar he so desperately wanted. He’d spent most of his weekends at Mr. Rogers’ workshop, sweeping up wood shavings and running errands for a little bit of pocket money to help his mother save for this exact moment. He couldn’t wait any longer... 

His mother giggled, reaching into her purse and pulling out a small, square-shaped gift wrapped in balloon wrapping paper.  

For a moment, Mary was confused... But this had to be just a decoy. He remembered seeing these CDs in the music store; ‘Guitar Basics for Beginners’, audio instructive lessons that would be far cheaper than real in-person lessons.  

He tore into the paper, throwing the trash to the side and flipped the CD around to look at the front. It was an album; State of Euphoria by Anthrax. Mary’s eyebrows knitted together in confusion, surprised to find it wasn’t what he’d thought.  

“That’s the band you like, right? Or... One of them,” his mother hiccupped, leaning on her elbows with a grin. 

“Y-yeah... thanks, ma.” His tone was unmistakably disappointed.  

“What’s wrong?” she asked, swiping her thumb across his cheek and pinching it lightly. Mary chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if he should say anything. He wasn’t one to be ungrateful, this was still a pretty great gift. Anthrax were one of the bands he had found he really loved recently. 

“No it’s great, ma, really. Thank you... It’s just,” he paused for a moment, choosing his words carefully, “could I get my guitar now? I read this book that teaches you about the frets and the notes of the strings, and stuff!” His words were rushed in that way over-excited children speed up the longer their sentence becomes. 

If his mother’s skin could pale any more, it did then.  

“Well, I... I couldn’t get the guitar, baby,” she told him, trying to let him down gently.  

“But... I helped Mr. Rogers? I thought we had enough?” he asked, his cheeks heating as if he were about to cry, but he didn’t want to make his mother feel bad by letting them spill.  

“I-I’m sorry, Mary... I needed to use that money...” she shrank back within herself, shame and guilt weighing on her shoulders.  

“For what?” he asked, genuinely confused, his tears building in his eyes. He was devastated... He worked so hard to get the guitar, to prove his mind was made up and he wouldn’t give up on learning it. But his mother just stared at him, her lip trembling as she saw her little boy so heartbroken. 

She knew exactly what she had spent it on; the very thing she promised she’d try and give up. 

“I... I’m s-sorry, b-baby,” she sobbed, tears spilling down her pale cheeks and her chest tightening around her breaths. She broke down, sobbing into her hands and hiding her face from the son she’d just disappointed so tragically. 

Mary wanted to be angry. It wasn’t fair... It was him who worked for that money, him who had tried so hard to help her. She was supposed to be the one adult he could count on, they were a team, weren’t they? He never asked for anything, ever. But just once, he wanted this. But she’d put her wine and God only knows what other alcohol before him again.  

He wanted to be angry. He tried to be. But his mother was hurting, she was crying, sobbing in front of him. She needed help. She was broken. She hadn’t meant to do this... right?  

Of course not. Her alcoholism had just gotten out of control, and unfortunately, addiction is a lonely and selfish ailment. Sober, her mind wouldn’t even think of doing something so selfish. But these days, she was rarely sober.  

Mary looked at his mother, crumpled up and sickly looking, weeping into her palms, and he just wanted to save her. He always wanted to save her.  

“Ma, it’s okay...” he told her, trying too hard for an 11-year-old not to cry. “Ma, don’t cry... I can keep working for one, it’s okay. I like the CD, I really do.” he squished himself between her and the arm of the chair, wrapping his arms around her and cuddling into her. She was inconsolable, sobbing so loudly she drowned out the cartoons on the TV set. She’d lost control of herself, and Mary was the only one around to pick up the pieces.  

“Shh, ma, it’s okay. It’ll be okay!” he told her, squeezing her as tightly as he could. “I’m here, don’t cry.” 

She’d screwed up big time, and whether Mary had chosen to forgive her or not, she wouldn’t be able to forgive herself for this. If she wasn’t already buried up to the neck in a pit of self-loathing, this was the last shovel full of cement to trap her in. 

But Mary had already decided that he’d do what he could to dig her out. She was his mother, she did everything for him that she could... why wouldn’t he help her too? 

A guitar could wait a little while longer. For now, his mother needed him – and he’d work as hard as he needed to save her.  

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8

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[katzkinder]

I just thought about how Tsuna would have to learn how to put his “seal” on official documents. The guy who still hasn’t figured out “not ending up in his underwear” and only remains clothed thanks to some very generous handmade clothing from Reborn and Leon.

Which at least tells me he’s got some subconscious idea of how to not turn his clothes to ashes

Using test papers doesn’t work, and using identical duplicates of actual important items doesn’t work because of Tsuna’s stupid intuition, and using real important papers is out of the question

So Reborn asks the kids to draw something for Tsuna

It’s fine if it’s burned but Tsuna really will not want to. There aren’t any “real” consequences if he fails… Except for the ones Tsuna gives to himself

“You’re so evil…” Tsuna mutters, staring hard at the crayon drawings in front of him. Out of all three, I-pin shows the most talent, though Lambo has the most. Interesting. Interpretations. Is that supposed to be a grasshopper or the couch?

“I could have made you use your birth certificate y’know.” Reborn says it so casually Tsuna almost doesn’t register it at first. “That’s what I did to Dino”

Tsuna gapes at him, “You’re really super evil?! That’s dangerous!”

Reborn shrugs. “It also failed.”

“HUH”

“So I tried it with Romario’s next. Perfect score.”

A long, drawn out sigh. Really… Reborn’s methods always produced so much misery. “I really don’t want to burn this…”

“And why not?”

“Because the kids made it for me!”

“Don’t you think they’d be happy to have your mark on it?”

Tsuna blinks, lips parting slightly in question. “My…?”

“The flame seal is something that cannot be copied, replicated, or forged.” It’s easy to tell, now that they’ve known each other for long enough, that Reborn is just the slightest bit relieved by Tsuna’s interest. “It’s more unique than even a fingerprint. A truly, one of a kind signature.”

Tsuna mulls those words over, and his eyes slide sideways. Contemplative, and just a little bit shifty. Something about it is reminiscent of Gokudera. “Can I see yours? Like. Really look at it. You showed me but I didn’t get to observe it much…”

“Observing isn’t going to do you much good.”

“Please?” Tsuna’s voice pitches with the plea, verging on whining. “Just… One more time. Let me look at how your Flame acts when you do it.”

Reborn sighs. “Sun and Sky—“

“I know! I know they behave differently. Still… I think I’ll get something out of it!”

“… Fine.” Lately, it feels like Reborn has been giving in to Tsuna more and more. It makes him happy. It also gives him the courage to reach out and stop Reborn before he can apply the seal to a random scrap of paper, instead looking carefully at the way his Flame appears when still on his finger, face pinched with concentration.

He knows what sun flames look like usually, but this is a tighter control than that. Even if they're different, he's noticed that Sky and Sun are the most similar when it comes to their "resting" states. So, logically, this should help give him an idea of how his own should look when it’s ready. Shouldn’t it?

“What happens if you try and apply it to a person…?”

Reborn stares at him. And stares. And stares. "Tsuna,” he starts, slow, incredulous. “You happen.”

Tsuna blinks back at him. “I was born?”

“The seal, you idiot. The one from when you were a toddler.”

“They’re the same thing?!”

“I dearly wish I could have started with you earlier. Much, much earlier.”

Despite the earlier acid, Reborn sounds fond when he speaks of the prospect. Tsuna thinks that’s worth something.

“Now that you’ve had your fill of looking.”

“Uuuugh.”

He manages not to turn the drawings he’s been given to cinders.

It really is all about having the right material to work with.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

hii wifey!!! okay it's currently super late where i am right now and i can't sleep 😭 but ever since my post on @dirty-little-mind33 i- i haven't been able to stop thinking of dbf!tangerine 😫

like like JDJSJDDJHFFJ

it's giving your dad's hired hitman and they're friends or whatever (don't ask for the specifics, I'm half asleep) and he takes a liking to you and he treats you like a princess FR

keeps you in check so you stay out of trouble, little touches, "love", "princess", "sweetness", "SWEET GIRL" ANRJRNENDN like it's giving the same vibes as bodyguard!tan.

can just imagine him sitting in an armchair of your living room, legs spread bc he's a man and it's sometimes super hot (don't sue me), and he asks you for a lighter and so you hand him one and he blows smoke in your face as he thanks you and calls you his good girl 🥵

okay sorryyyyyyyyyy this is so long i just needed to share and hear your thoughts 🫶

on another note, dbf!logan is also sooo hot but that's for another ask 💖

my wife!! hi wifey! so this will be like im talking to you directly, like im typing everything my brain is thinking in real time. it makes it personal and intimate, I love it. enjoy 💞💞💞💞(also sorry only just got round to this)

no bc you’re so onto something EURRRGGHHHH!!!!

and like okay right so! he’s been working for your dad for a few years and bc it’s only been a few years he’s not known you long (meaning he didn’t see you grow up etc bc that’ll be😃🤮) and like when you visit ur parents or idk you live with them (pick what you fancy) you see him at the dining table with your dad and got all the papers out and laptops etc and they’re chatting about work stuff/ plan

idea time. you go past them and into the kitchen and your dad is none the wiser looking at the papers and maybe questioning the prices but tans looking at you in the kitchen. and tans like “do us a couple teas would ya darling” (ew tan, why would you say that? have you no respect? no shame?) and he’s being all cheeky bc of the darling. but your dad doesn’t think anything of it, like it’s a common petname kinda thing. and it makes your ears prick and turn to look at him and he’s all smug????? and nodding at you????

this is really getting away from me but im not done, you’ve got me going 😭😭😭

tan definitely tests the waters, pushes the boat out LOADS. like he’s so teasing and cheeky in how he does it. def touches your back when ur dads in the same room, looks at you during dinners, sits opposite you during said dinners and touches you with his foot (but not in an gross way bc feet are disgusting) or sits beside you during said dinners and spreads his legs so his thigh bumps yours AND AHHAAHHAGAHA OMG THIS IS KILLING ME has his elbows wide on the table so he takes up more space and feels your arm up with his

and if you’re in the garden after dinner getting some air bc of what happened at the table. he’d come out and join you. but not properly. you might be at the end of the garden sitting at the patio table or something and he’s on the steps by the back door having a fag. like he’s keeping an eye on you but not making it obvious for your family inside

he’s also always offering lifts! so like if you don’t have a car or it’s in the shop or idk blah blah you ask your dad for a lift and tans there and he offers to drive you. and you’re like “no it’s fine” bc sitting in a car with him will make you like idk but like yk GO CRAZY. and tans all like “it’s no fuss. gotta pick something up that way anyway” and your dad is still oblivious so he’s agreeing to it like “tan’ll take you” and tan grabs his keys and he’s nodding you along like (okay don’t hate me for this. I don’t have a daddy kink but this idea is sending me and I need to say it) he’s all like “what daddy said goes” 😫😃😫😀🫠👍😉😔😖😱😰🫣🤭🤔AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAASAAAAAHHHH!!! and it has a double meaning!!!!!!!!!!!! bc he means your dad but also him!!!!!!! and the ‘take you’ bit!!!!! he also means that he’ll take you. like fuck you. so it’s all a huge double entendre

GOD THIS IS KILLING ME!!!!!!!!! making me wanna do something with dbf tan now

but he’s such a gentleman about it. like he’s teasing and smug and cocky but he’s still very charming and charismatic about it!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

and when he drops you off he’s looking at your ass getting out and then opens the window to talk to you through the car and he’s like “call me if you need me”

and you’re like “why would I call you?” like shouldn’t he be saying to call your dad????

and he’s all like “you know why”

and you’re like “huh?” looking at him all weird

AND YHEN HE SAYS “he don’t pay attention to you like I do” GOOD DUCKING GOD SJJABSJDBS

im gonna have to stop there bc I know I never will. plus I have rice cooking and the timer went off 5 mins ago so I really gotta run😭😭😭😭

but you’re so right about him being the same as bodyguard tangerine!!!

[torchship-rpg]

Dev Diary 17 - Complex Dice Tests

We lied! Today was going to be about the meta-campaign mechanics, but we did a really cool system overhaul instead and we simply have to tell you about it.

Basically, we overhauled a part of our dice system in a pretty major way. It’s involved some fairly dramatic changes to how rolls are done, though all the other systems we’ve created plug pretty seamlessly into it (and as we’ve integrated it, it’s actually let us effectively cut systems now that they’re covered automatically by the new system). It’s one of the deftest bits of game design we’ve ever done and we gotta brag about it.

Development of the Previous System

One of the things that has been a problem for Torchship for a long while is that it wanted to be a dice pool system (roll X dice, looking for Y amount of Z+ results), which doesn’t just have binary pass-failure outcomes. We wanted players to feel competent in their fields, but we also needed there to be interesting difficulties and complications so that stories aren’t just a stateful progression of experts effortlessly performing the tasks they’re experts in.

This is surprisingly difficult!

Nailing down exactly how it would work has gone through about a half-a-dozen iterations, all of which always felt like hacky temporary solutions. The version we came up with before this, which the game has been using for about a year, involved two thresholds on each roll; a “Difficulty” to do the thing, and a “Complexity” tacked onto it that you had to reach to do it without any extra problems.

This served the purpose, but its various incarnations slowed the game down a lot more than it should have, and put too much stress on the GM to work out what these two targets would be and how complications would emerge from it. It was a clunky solution which required a lot of experience to use properly, functioning just well enough to build systems around without ever being stellar on its own.

It Must be Tuesday

While working on Must be Tuesday: Revived Edition, which uses a similar dice pool system, my wonderful editor Lexie came up with a really clever system while we were working out the dice odds. In that game, you have a “Skill” target from 6+ to 3+ with a variable dice pool and a number of Successes needed. 

Our partial successes there comes from a concept of ‘Scrapes’; dice which are 4+, but don’t meet your Skill target. If you reach the number of Successes you need when you add your Scrapes to your rolls meeting your Skill, you get a partial success! Brilliant, isn’t it? That means everyone has a chance to get by on even hard checks using their worst skills, but it’s never easy.

When we poked at Torchship stuff after testing that system out, we found ourselves wondering if something similar wouldn’t fit here as well. It wouldn’t translate 1-1; Must be Tuesday is about teenagers fighting monsters in a horror/comedy setup, where nobody is doing anything really complicated, and even the people who are the best at things are still only as good at it as, you know, teenagers. It’s not a good tone fit, but it inspired the system we used.

Complexity Certs & Complications

The solution we came up with, which we are so proud of we bumped a whole dev diary for it, is the idea of Complexity Certs.

Basically, we’ve ditched the previous Complexity target from before. Your dice Test just has a single, easily determined Difficulty. In ideal circumstances, you roll a number of dice determined by the tool you’re using, needing to get results over your Cert target. Get as many of those as the Difficulty, you succeed, otherwise you fail. Simple binary outcome to a simple problem.

But you’re playing cosmonauts. You know, you boldly go places you probably shouldn’t. You don’t face simple problems.

When the GM calls for a roll, they can tack on Complexity Certs in accordance to the situation you’re facing. Essentially, they’re saying this roll is a test not just of the ‘Primary Cert’ that determines if you pass or fail, but it’s also a test of some extra skills that have come up because of the number of moving parts involved in the situation.

So while you still only have one Difficulty, you need to meet that difficulty using multiple dice targets to succeed without qualifiers. If you just meet the difficulty on your Primary Cert, but not the Complexity Certs, then the GM can hit you with a Complication that can emerge naturally from the Cert in question. Conversely, you could end up in a situation where you have a better value on your Complexity Cert than the primary, so you could fail, but avert other disasters.

Or you could fail at both, and now you have two problems!

This system elegantly compresses a bunch of things the system needed to do into one quick judgement call by the GM in the moment. We don’t need to have specific penalties for working remotely through a robot, working in a spacesuit, or doing things in low gravity; the GM can just add the Drone Operator, EVA, or Cosmonaut Certs to the Test as Complexity Certs. There’s no limit to the number of Complexity Certs that can get added either, so you can sum up really complex situations with a single roll.

It also made the game’s group test mechanics much simpler and more impactful. Helping can be a complex game design challenge; you want people to be able to give each other a hand, but you need to make sure people can’t simply do it on every single roll to avoid slowdown and the trivialization of gameplay challenges. The way Help works now is allowing you to lend a friend one of your Certs to take on a Complexity Cert, basically monitoring a potential problem for them while they focus on the main task. 

As you get XP for Helping or being Helped on Checks where somebody is rolling with a higher Cert than you, you might want to point out potential problems with people’s plans that relate to your expertise as they come up so you can be the one to solve them. It also means that the presence of a Complexity Cert acts as a prompt for characters to step in and help one another out, and rewards a properly multi-disciplinary crew working together to tackle complex problems. 

You know. Like… like a Star Trek.

Examples

The example we use in the game rules is as follows.

Let’s say you are at a shooting range with your laser pistol, and you want to shoot a target. That’s a straightforward Sharpshooter Cert test. You either hit the target or you don’t. Easy!

But let’s say you’re doing the same thing but in a combat situation where you might get hit in return. The GM can (and is encouraged to) add the Soldier Cert as a Complexity Cert to the roll; Soldier is the Cert that covers tactics, movements, and the use of cover, so if your dice meet the difficulty using your Sharpshooter target, but don’t from your Soldier target, then you probably hit the target but exposed yourself to danger in the process.

Suddenly, we can see the difference between an Olympic target shooter and an infantryman.

Or let’s say you’re a guard posted in a reactor room; if you are doing some shooting there, the GM could throw in Damage Controller as a Complexity Cert to represent the chances of you breaking something vital in the antimatter reactor by throwing lasers everywhere. Suddenly, you have a really good reason to cross-train your guards in engineering skills, at least enough that they know not to shoot the matter/antimatter exchangers.

Or maybe you’re trying to incapacitate an unfamiliar alien creature without killing it; the GM could add Life Scientist. What if you’re doing it in a spacesuit? Add EVA. Knocking out a piece of machinery? Add Technician. Aiming a remote turret instead of doing it yourself? Drone Operator.

Which means you could, conceivably, be in a spacesuit operating a tablet controlling a gun drone non-lethally shooting a strange device on a strange alien in a combat situation inside an engine room… and it all happens with one roll and no need for infinitely stacking penalties.

Knock-On Changes

The biggest knock-on change this has caused is a need for finer gradation between Certs so that the differences come up more often and are less severe. For that reason, we moved the game to d10 pools from d6s; yes, this was an enormously annoying change to make through our draft, and we’re still working out how to rebalance advancement through it. It also means we have to do yet another pass through the Traits, which we were midway through… oh well! 

(We have a cool new lever that’s come out of, actually; we can have Traits just make Complexity Certs just not count in appropriate circumstances. Freefaller characters get to ignore 0g penalties, for example, which includes adding Cosmonaut as a Complexity Cert to a lot of rolls). 

I’ve submitted Torchship to Metatopia again this year, and I’m really looking forward to running it on the other side of a year of rewrites and de-heartbreakerification. I’m confident it’ll go much better this time around. 

Anyway, next Dev Diary will be about the Zinovians, and then we’ll do the meta-campaign mechanics. Unless something even cooler comes up.

[its-time-to-write]

Hi,

Just discovered your page and I am obsessed! I was wondering if you could do something about Jamie getting hurt and the reader meeting him in the treatment room and comforting him? Or something along those lines, I trust you!

Thanks!

Dang, you’re putting my angst skills to the test! I wrote this instead of doing homework. Probs won’t post again till the weekend, but who knows? Not me, that’s for sure. Thanks for requesting!

feeling fragile, can’t you tell

Football matches are always tense. It’s all about squeezing Keeley’s hand when Richmond gets the ball, booing when they miss and screaming when they score. You never know how they’re going to end until they’re done, and god it kills you. Especially when Jamie has the ball. You feel like you can’t breathe until you see it swoosh into the net, after which your chest loosens up.

You love it. Mostly.

The part you don’t love is the part that results in the medics being called onto the field. Some injuries are accidental, some are on purpose. You hate those. You’ve watched more players kick, shove, and punch each other than you would care to count. Your least favorite injury so far was when a burly player broke Sam’s foot “on accident.” You thought Roy and Isaac were going to commit murder.

Jamie told you the next morning that the whole team egged the man’s house that night. That’s why he had been late coming over. He wouldn’t tell you who’s idea it was, but you have a vague recollection of Jamie telling childhood stories about egging houses with his friends.

Injuries are truly awful.

Which is why you’re standing stock-still in the owner’s box, clutching Keeley’s arm and willing Jamie to get up.

He’d done this thing where he kicked the ball away from the opposing team, but landed on his back funny. Rebecca whispers, “Oh god, it’s Roy all over again,” and you remember being told about Roy’s injury. The one that took him out of the game for good.

Jamie’s only twenty-five, you reason to yourself, he has to be ok. 

He still hasn’t gotten up. The medical team are rushing onto the field, and you’re pushing past Rebecca, running downstairs to go find him.

Keeley is hot on your heels, running as best she can in her heels which, honestly, is actually pretty good.

You’re not quite sure where you’re going, feeling blinded by worry. Keeley grabs your arm and tugs you toward the treatment room.

You burst through the doors right behind Keeley, who has almost run smack into Roy. He looks grim, more grim than usual.

“What’s wrong with him?” you whisper, mindful of the atmosphere in the treatment room. Jamie is on a table on his back, face white.

“Passed out,” Roy responds gruffly. “Fucked his leg and back pretty bad, but doesn’t explain why he’s fucking unconscious.”

Tears are beginning to form, and Keeley wraps her arms around your waist. 

You move out of the doorway so the medics can pick up Jamie in a stretcher and move him to the ambulance.

You get a closer look at him as he passes by, features slack.

You feel like you’re choking.

—

The ride to the hospital is a blur. You’re not even sure how you ended up in Roy’s car, but you’re there, sitting in the back seat with Keeley’s comforting presence the only thing keeping you loosely tethered to reality.

Your mind is running through every possible scenario as to why he passed out. None of them are good. He’s messed up his back and leg before, but never to this point. And his face.

You can’t stop thinking about his face.

To be honest, he looked dead.

Panic starts to hit again, and it takes every ounce of control you have to force yourself to breathe.

—

You’re outside Jamie’s hospital room now. His doctor said he pulled some muscles, and passed out from a combination of too little water, food, and sleep. The pain must have been enough to trigger his body into finally catching up with itself. 

You sigh, and push open the door, Roy and Keeley promising to wait for you outside.

Jamie is propped up in the bed, IVs in his arms for hydration.

At the sight of you, he says a soft, “hey, babe.”

He’s still so pale, and the tears you’d been holding in start streaming out.

“What happened, Jamie?” you ask, sitting on the chair next to his bed. You take his hand in yours. “How did I not know you weren’t eating?”

Jamie’s quiet for a moment, and you can see a glimmer of a tear in his left eye.

“I dunno,” he replies softly.

He doesn’t say anything after that, so you’re just left sitting there, hand-in-hand, in silence. He’s staring at the end of his bed, you’re staring at his face.

When it becomes clear he has no intention of speaking up you say, “Jamie.”

He turns to you, eyes hollow. “Saw me dad last week.”

You blink. 

Oh.

“Oh,” you say out loud.

Jamie is silent for a beat, then says, “Didn’t tell ya because I didn’t want you to worry. He’s a piece of shit and my fuckin problem, not yours.”

You shake your head and bring his hand up to your lips. “Jaim. I’m so sorry. I am so, so sorry,” because you know exactly what he’s saying.

You had assumed you hadn’t seen Jamie due to all his extra training. 

You had assumed that he was taking care of himself in preparation for the game, like he always did.

You had assumed too much, because his dad was an unknown variable that threw a wrench in every place he found himself in. 

The last time his dad had shown up, Jamie had tried to stop eating. You say tried because you basically force-fed him after the first day. He also couldn’t sleep. You could feel him tossing and turning, getting up to pace around, just restless. You’d rub his shoulders, hold him close, but nothing worked. He didn’t sleep well for two weeks when he was finally so tired that his body pretty much just shut down.

So. His passing out makes sense now.

Jamie is gripping your hand, knuckles white, tears beginning to roll down his face. His face, which he is trying to keep stoic, and is beginning to return to its normal color.

“Jamie,” you say. “Jamie, you don’t have to keep all this in.”

He shrugs. 

“No, I’m serious,” you continue, “You shouldn’t keep this all in. We’re a team, you know? We’re supposed to share this kind of thing with each other, and if you think I don’t want to hear it or can’t handle it, then that’s a problem.”

Jamie whips his head around from his blank stare at the wall to your face. He whispers, “Are we breaking up?” fear evident in his expression.

“No,” you reply. “No. We’re just- we’re just figuring it out. I don’t want you to feel like you have to keep things from me.”

You’re beginning to lose feeling in your hand. Jamie is looking somewhat relieved, but still not great. 

“How long are you in here?” you ask.

“Doctor wants to keep me overnight. Make sure I’m hydrated or some shit.”

You hesitate. “Do you- do you want me to stay with you? I don’t have to, if you want to be alone I can just-” 

“Yes.” 

Jamie’s color is really coming back now, and he looks like someone’s removed a huge weight from his chest. “Yes, I would really fucking like it if you stayed. I can move over so you don’t have to sleep on that fucking shitty plastic couch.”

You crack a smile at that as he gingerly scoots over. You climb into the bed, mindful of his leg and the IVs. He throws an arm around you with less care than you think he should have, but you’re not going to worry about that right now so you just snuggle into his side. He’s warm, and you didn’t realize how cold you were until this exact moment.

There’s a knock on the door, and Keeley pokes her head in. 

“Everything alright, babes?” she asks.

“All good here, Keels,” Jamie responds. You give her a small smile, which she returns.

“Alright then, Roy and I are gonna go. We’ll be back to pick you up tomorrow, yeah?” She points to you. “Text me if you need anything. Won’t be getting much sleep tonight.”

You’re not sure if she means she isn’t sleeping due to the excitement of the night or because she’s going home with Roy, but she’s gone before you can ask.

You sigh and put your head on Jamie’s shoulder.

You say, “Don’t ever fucking do that again, ok?” but it comes out as a plea, voice on the edge of breaking.

He replies, “I won’t,” in such a soft, sincere tone that you believe him. 

You breath deeply for the first time that night, just glad that he’s ok and you’re together. You are a team, after all.

[sseniita]

breaking generational trauma*

*pls give me a better name for this, im going insane

“She’s like me.” 

The villain stared at the child bouncing in the hero’s arms. The hero’s expression wasn’t unlike one she had when she begged for mercy on behalf of a civilian. Simpler, it was similar to when she had begged the villain to take care of her dog while she was away on a mission or when she wanted the last slice of pizza. Overall, the helplessly hopeful demeanor on the hero's face was one villain had become not only familiar with, but also weak against. 

“Hero, where did that come from? Put it back.” urged the villain, gesturing towards the bundle of blankets in her arms. 

“I can’t! I won’t!” The hero held the child closer, protectively, as if the villain was the one being irresponsible here. 

“Like you?” The villain asked, intrigued. “There is no one like you, Hero.” 

The hero readjusted the child on her hip, freeing one arm to grab paperwork rolled up in her back pocket. “That’s what I thought! Look!” She hastily handed over the crumpled up letters to the villain. It didn’t take more than reading the title for everything to click. 

“Experiment 02? You mean-?” 

“She’s from the same tests! We came from the same lab! They were going to do exactly what they did to me- to her-”

“Because of the success you were. I get it.” There was a pause between them for a second. 

The hero was godlike in some ways and machine-like in less important ways. A literal biological weapon, forged since birth. It was an experiment, you could go so far as to call it an accident. Purposeful or not, the hero was the result of a successful lab sourced super-power. It had taken many years for the hero to come to terms with how she became the hero she was, and even longer to investigate and ultimately discover who was behind all of it. Evidently, she had. 

“I can’t let them do it again.” She whispered, holding the child closely to her chest.

It was six months into knowing each other that hero confessed she didn't like being a hero. It was eight months later the villain found out why.

The villain sighed, motioning for her to walk into his apartment. Once they were comfortable on the villain’s couch, he began to ask a million questions. 

Where? A hidden lab. Why? She couldn't leave her there. Her answers we stable and much too clear of mind considering the hero had just stolen a child.

“How old is it?” He finally asked, skimming through the lab documents. 

“It's her. And about 4 months, I think. I just don’t get why they’re starting now. I never found any evidence to show they were doing anything before.” She restlessly bounced the baby. “I just don’t get it.”  

The villain raised a brow at her, she raised one back. “What do you know?” she scooted closer to the villain. 

“Superheroes are either decommissioned or retire around 50. But most lose relevance and popularity by 30. Whether it be they can’t keep their figure, or a newer, shinier thing comes around.” He scoffed. “Never ceases to amaze me” he said half-heartedly, staring down at the documents. The hero’s mouth dropped. 

“I just celebrated my 25th birthday?! You’re saying I’m old and ugly?!” The villain rolled their eyes. 

“Don’t be ridiculous, you’re perfect and probably always will be." He realized what he had just said, he quickly interrupted the hero as she was about to open her mouth. "It’s just how it goes. Once you reach 30, people aren’t as interested. It’s fucked.” The hero quickly caught on. 

“So, she’s my replacement?” 

“Seems like it. Nova, she’ll be called once she turns 15. Thankfully, tests hadn't started on her. They had her on weird ass diet to prepare her, though. You caught her in time.”

The hero was sitting close enough that the villain could peek at the baby’s sleeping face. She was so serene and had no idea what had already been laid out for her, all the pain and suffering, in the name of good. She’ll have no choice. Just like the hero. The villain often stared at the hero in the domestic settings they sometimes found themselves in. He’d imagine her on a lunch break from some normal, boring office job when they got late night coffees during the hero’s night shifts. Or at a dinner party whenever they teamed up and went undercover at some fancy party. God- he would have given anything to save his hero from the fate that was chosen for her.  The little girl had chubby cheeks and looked so dreadfully soft. Just like the hero.

Shit. The villain thought, looking at the baby. I have a chance to save you. 

  The villain sighed and leaned back, done reading the crumpled pages, discarding the documents on the coffee table, defeated, just like that. It only took 10 minutes. Maybe he had gone soft.

“Eloise. Her name is Eloise.” He exasperated.  It was heart wrenching to hear the hero start to coo at the baby. “No living family.” He hammered the last nail on his coffin. 

“Hello, little Lulu. Is that your name? Lulu? You’re so cute! Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you” She baby-talked, pecking kisses all over Eloise's forehead, evidently disturbing her sleep. “Oh sorry- sorry!” she whispered to the baby. 

She turned to the villain, eyes twinkling with hope. “I can keep her? Right?” The villain crossed his arms. 

“Hero, I’m not going to tell you what to do.” 

“Haha- that’s your way of saying you unconditionally support me.” She said as she cuddled the baby even closer. 

“Please let that child breathe, hero. You can’t hold her too close.” He reached a hand to push the baby a little further away from the hero’s chest. She beamed. “You’d be a great dad! Already keeping me in line!”

Please don’t start. 

 Despite himself, he looked for the best way to act disinterested and yet not fully close the window on that chance. 

“No hero. I know how much this means to you, but I’m not taking care of a baby. I’m not sure if you’ve forgotten- I’m a villain. This is no environment for a child- even if I wanted one. You have my approval if that’s what you’re looking for, but that’s it.” 

The hero ignored that, making a show of looking around the villain’s extremely cosy and expensive flat. Dark green wallpaper with flowers, a white brick fireplace with old books on the mantel. The place was decorated with the plushiest of carpets, and liveliest of plants. Each curtain hid a beautifully ornate window overlooking one of the safest areas in the inner city. The hero could see the hero offices which she resided in from here. Finally, her stare landed on the large spare bedroom where not only did the hero have a drawer of her things but had also spent countless nights in, recovering and playing patient to a medically trained villain. She raised her eyebrows at the villain. 

“No.” 

“Please.” 

“Hero. You are always the one saying you wanted a family. This might be your only chance- ok, I get it. But she can’t stay here. 

“I live in the dorms of the Hero Offices with 20 other heroes! I don’t and can’t have my own place! I’ll be found out for sure! There are probably a million people looking for her right now!”

“Hero-” 

“Villain please. I can’t let them find her. I need you.” She placed a hand on his thigh, seemingly not noticing the villain’s twitch. 

“Hero. I’m not a good person, you seem to forget. You cannot have that much trust in me-” 

“You are the only person I can trust. Please.” She begged. 

Perhaps the villain wasn’t the only one to blame, perhaps both of them had let this get too far. It started off normally, the fights, the one-liners, and bruises. And out of nowhere, the subtle flirting, the late night talks, the absolutely vulgar displays of emotions they’d never shared with anyone else, hit them like a brick. The hero had changed the villain’s life for the better. He no longer felt unbearably lonely and burdened, haunted by the constant terror and forcefulness of his occupation.

Villain had fallen in love months ago. And he had gotten far in distancing himself and learning to un-love. Now he had to take care of a baby with her that just happened to look like a perfect combination of both of them? His dark hair and tanned skin, her warm brown eyes and button nose. Just perfect. 

“Fine.” He squeezed his eyes shut as the hero leaned against him, setting her head right under his neck, thankfully she didn’t hurl the baby to give him a hug. Maybe I deserve kisses on my forehead for Gods’ sake. He quickly hurled that thought away. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you!” She beamed, kicking her feet. “This means so much, you have no idea!” 

“Hero, this is temporary. If anyone finds out about this-” 

“Ya, ya, I know. Don’t worry. Everything will be ok! I’ll make sure of it!” 

The villain’s only hope was believing her. She was an atom bomb inside a 25 year old woman after all. Maybe he shouldn’t underestimate her. As she moved in towards the guestroom with Eloise, the villain watched intently, she set her down for a nap on the bed, and once she finally came out she looked determined and extremely excited. She plopped down on the couch making sure they were touching side by side so the villain could look at what she was seeing on her phone. Her fingers scrolled down a website titled ‘what to buy when you're expecting’ the villain groaned.

After an hour of the hero paraphrasing a multitude of blogs and villain jotting down notes, they had completed a list of things they needed to raise a child. The hero deflated when she mentioned how they’d have to skimp out on baby toys and clothes, but she quickly recovered after the villain reassured her money wouldn’t be an issue. Apparently villainy had its perks. 

“So what are you going to do about the corporation? Can you really make sure this won’t happen again?” The villain asked the hero from the entrance way. The hero walked over, baby in arms, the villain helped the hero get her coat back on. 

“Uh well. I maybe, sort of, accidentally, may have burned the place down…? Timidly she made eye contact with the villain who only chuckled. 

“I may have also stolen any hard drive I could have found and threw it in the river.” The villain’s laugh only continued as he put a hand on the small of her back and led her out the door. 

As they were walking to get a car seat- the first of many things on their list- the hero had asked the villain to hold Eloise while she used the lady’s room. She had been asleep when the villain got her but quickly after, she woke up. The villain immediately felt a panic and he feared she might start crying, he held her close, bouncing and hushing her to get her back to sleep. Eloise stared up at the villain for a long time before breaking into giggles, reaching her tiny arms up to touch his nose, getting the attention of the shoppers who started cooing at the handsome man rocking the baby with the loudest giggles ever.  

Right then and there, as he felt the tiniest, softest hands grab his nose, the villain knew he was completely and utterly wrapped around, not only the hero’s finger, but of these tiny fingers as well.

pt 2

[nexysworld]

Hello!

I hope it’s ok for me to request this (and sorry if my English is not well)😭👉👈

Can I request for Leon and his girlfriend/wife being on a mission together (maybe during re4r, vendetta or re6) and during the mission reader finds out she’s pregnant with Leon’s kid. She’s maybe reluctant on telling him because it might jeopardize the mission or put more weight on Leon’s shoulders, but eventually tells him.

Leon is truly over the moon with the news but at the same time worried since they’re on the mission and was about to call Hunnigan to get her to safety. but girlfriend/wife refuses to abort the mission and leave Leon.

the angst and overprotective and soon to be father leon >u< pls

Thanks so much for the request! The plot for this one actually got away from me more than expected so it's not quite as angsty as I had planned. I had most of it written already so I didn't want to scrap it tho. I hope you like it anyway - I might just redo this one in the future because I like the prompt so much and think I could do it more justice - especially expanding more on Leon's internal feelings. ~ Expectations to Keep Going ~ Read on AO3 🖤 Requests are Open 🖤 Masterlist Pairing: Fem!Reader x Vendetta!Leon Tags: Fluff, Angst, Comfort, Unplanned Pregnancy Word Count: 2.2k

You paced back and forth in the living room of your once-shared apartment. 60 seconds felt like 60 minutes as you watched the timer slowing ticking down, heart racing. With a shaky hand you picked up the stick and to your dismay saw the little + indicating it was positive. “For fuck’s sake, this can’t be happening right now.” Ever have one of those moments where you say ‘at least it can’t get worse.’ Well, this was the universe’s way of reminding you that things can always get worse. 

Leon had walked out on you. He didn’t explicitly say the relationship was over, but he didn’t really need to. He’d shown up drunk, shoving everything he owned into a suitcase, and disappeared on what he called his ‘vacation.’ Except that vacation had lasted weeks now, with not so much as a phone call home. When you attempted to contact him, same thing, radio silence.

You tried remaining calm, knowing what had happened on his most recent mission. You just told yourself he needed time, but with each passing week the feeling that things were over kept washing over you. 

You weren’t one to wallow, freak out, or really deal with your feelings in general. So you did the only thing you knew to cope, you threw yourself into work. Mission after mission, clearing them as fast as you could – that was until weird stuff began happening. Fatigue was the first thing you noticed. You were always tired no matter how much sleep you got. Then came the nausea. Your skin had even begun to break out, your breasts were sore. It was like PMS cranked up to the max – except no period. That in of itself hadn’t been alarming since you didn’t really get one on birth control, the other symptoms though? They had freaked you out, leading you to this moment right now, standing alone in your apartment, positive pregnancy test in hand. 

“I can’t deal with this.” You said to yourself, slumping back onto the couch. Luckily for you, your phone rang. “Redfield? Yeah…yeah…No, I don’t know where he is…yeah, I can help.” 

A mission. Relief flooded through you. Was it a good idea to accept it considering your current condition? Probably not. But a mission would make a great distraction right about now. Besides, with enough willpower, you were sure you could overcome any symptoms for at least a few days, especially if the fate of the world was at stake, right?

That’s the plan. Save the world again and afterward, you’d figure out what to do. 

Your heart stopped when you saw him at the table chugging down another glass of alcohol. He didn’t look great, and he didn’t look happy to see you or the two companions who’d followed. His normally clean-shaven face was now scruffy, the bags under his eyes intensifying the steely blue even more - his hair was dark and greasy. This wasn’t your Leon. You would’ve been happier to not have seen him like this, but Chris and Rebecca insisted on locating him. “Cancel that!” Chris shouted when Leon attempted to order another glass. Leon instantly pulled out a flask from his back pocket with a smirk – of course, he had a backup. It honestly would’ve been funny and so very Leon if the context of the situation didn’t have you feeling so awful. Leon hadn’t acknowledged you once, and you hadn’t tried to speak. What could you possibly say? Now wasn’t the time to talk about your broken relationship or the other elephant in the room - he looked so broken down. “I never plan that far ahead anymore.” He slurred to Chris. “There’s no point. There’s always some new bad guy to fight. My life is just a vicious loop. So what’s the point in thinking about the future?”

Ouch .

Those words definitely stung, adding to the growing barrier between the two of you. Now a new worry bubbled in you that if you did tell him, it would be too much. That would be the thing that sent him spiraling over the edge he was already teetering - you couldn’t do that. Not to him, not to yourself. No. This was something you would need to deal with alone . 

This was a mission. You were a professional. That’s all that mattered right now – let everything else go. Following through on that was hard. Much harder than expected, especially now that you’d found yourself alone with Leon, separated from Chris, and Rebecca abducted.

Nausea had come back in full force, this was the third time you found yourself making him stop his bike so you could lurch behind a dumpster to spill stomach acid and spit. 

“Are you sure you’re alright?” “I’m fine.” You assured standing up. You knew he wasn’t buying it, even a half-sober Leon still remained a great agent, sharp as ever. Moodier than usual - even if you hardly spoke. Slower than usual - almost getting mowed down by the Gatling gun in the hotel. You almost never got sick - now you’d spilled your guts several times. Something was definitely up, and he didn’t need to accuse you for you to see the suspicion on his face. Not to mention how he’d been hovering over you like an overprotective guard dog ever since the attack at the hotel.

Guilt. Guilt is what you felt when he looked at you. He was worried about you and you had the truth of what was wrong kept caged behind closed lips. You took in a few deep breaths to help ease your sour stomach - it doesn’t work and you’re in tears now as more gagged coughs are ripped from your throat. A comforting hand rubs your back as a bottle of water is placed in front of you, not bothering to question where he’d gotten it. Greedily you downed the entire thing, using the last sip to swish the terrible flavor from your mouth. “Were you bitten?” 

You shot him a glance of horror. “No! Of course not.” “Then tell me what’s really going on.” “I’m fine.” “You’re obviously not fine.” “Well of course I’m not fine. I’m stuck alone on a mission with the guy who walked out on me after 10 years together. Now can we go?” You don’t know why you said that, your mood just kept ping-ponging through different emotions. You guessed this time it just landed on anger. When his hand was on your back you wanted to cry from the comforting touch, but now that you had to stand and look at his face you were annoyed. This wasn’t the time or place. You knew that, you’d reminded yourself of it several times, and yet emotions were getting the better of you. Damn these stupid hormones. His brows came together in thought and confusion, you really weren’t acting like yourself. “That’s not what I’m talking about.” He finally responded. “I know. I’m sorry I shouldn’t have – “ “No, I deserved that. I’m surprised you didn’t come into the hotel swinging, honestly, I wouldn’t have blamed you. It was shitty how I left.” It wasn’t an apology, but the acknowledgment definitely helped a little. 

The two of you stood there awkwardly for a while. Leon had radioed Chris for a status report, his team had breached the building and were on a steady path of clearing out the enemy. It bought you and Leon a little more time to continue your awkward stand-off. He brought his gaze to meet yours again. “Look, I know I don’t deserve to know what’s going on with you. I get it. But at least for the sake of the mission, tell me what’s wrong physically. If we need a medic–” “I’m pregnant.” You didn’t know what possessed you to say it after you’d spent the entire time telling yourself that you couldn’t - no - shouldn’t. It was probably the fact you couldn’t stand the way he was looking at you anymore. But there it was, the truth slipped right out.

“What.” “I’m pregnant.” “I don’t understand.” You’d never seen such a stupefied look on him before. It was like you had just spoken in tongues, for some reason that irritated you. You finally confess your big secret in the middle of a super important mission, and that’s all he had to say? “What don’t you understand? I’m pregnant and it’s yours. You got me pregnant. I am pregnant with your baby. You put your –” You were cut off by your own crying, feeling every emotion simultaneously, the tears continued to spill against your will. Damn. Damn. DAMN these stupid hormones. 

“Ok. Ok. I get it, calm down.” He put his hands out defensively as he walked towards you, caging you against the wall. “I can’t!” You shouted. Leon pressed your foreheads together, snaking his arms behind you into a hug. He didn’t say anything, just held you tightly for a few moments letting you sob it out. Once the waterfall of tears was reduced to some hiccups and sniffling, he began to rub soothing circles into your lower back. You dared to glance up at him through wet lashes, there was an unmistakable smile plastered to his face. “It would be just like you to distract yourself from huge news with work. But you shouldn’t be here if you’re pregnant. Let me call Hunnigan, we can have a ‘copter sent in to pick you up.” “No!” You brought your hands up to push him away from you, shaking your head. “No, I am not abandoning this mission. Chris needed my help to unlock the building’s computer systems so they can collect the virus’ information. I’m not going anywhere - wait - why are you smiling like that?” His gleeful look didn’t waver. “Sweetheart…you’re asking me why I’m smiling? Obviously, because I’m happy.” “What?” “I’m happy? You told me I’m going to be a father. There’s going to be a little ankle-biting Kennedy running around. I’m happy! Not quite as happy you knew and came here anyway. I guess that’s my own fault though.” “I don’t understand. You left me. You literally said there was no point in planning for a future.” It was your turn to look absolutely stunned, it was so far from the reaction you had expected it almost gave you whiplash. He reached out and grabbed your hand, squeezing it assuringly. “Yeah, I was wallowing in some deep self-pity. But seeing you almost get killed in the hotel was a sobering reminder of what I can’t afford to lose. Hearing that I’m going to be a father? That doubles it for me. I realized I was looking at things the wrong way. I know I’ll always be running headfirst into danger, but maybe having a future to look forward to is the motivation I need to stay alive while I do it. Wait are you seriously –oh, come on Honey don’t start crying again.” He sighed pulling you close. “I’m calling Hunnigan and getting you out of here.” “No! I have to complete the mission. Just give me a minute.” Your words lacked the bite you intended. “Look, I think I’d already flop at this whole fatherhood thing if I let the mother of my baby get hurt or killed on day 1.” Leon pressed a few soft kisses on your forehead and wet cheeks before finally connecting your lips together. He tasted like alcohol masked with mint and the short hairs on his face scratched you, but it was still comforting. “Let’s negotiate then.” You offered. “This isn’t the time for that. You’re jeopardizing the mission and you could get killed, it’s not safe.” His tone was caring, but stern now. “Look. I know it was stupid of me to take this on while pregnant. You’re right it was a distraction and I thought I could handle it better. That doesn’t change the fact that I’m the only one who can get into those systems.” You managed to finally get the tears to stop, rubbing your eyes dry and raw. You could see he still wasn’t fully convinced. “Leon, there isn’t going to be a future for our baby if we can’t stop this. Please.” “Fine. But only if you promise to stay on the defensive and avoid action as much as possible. Do as I tell you to and let me handle any enemies that his team may have missed.” “Come on Leon, I can handle–” “No. We do things my way or I’m calling Hunnigan and you’re leaving.” You were annoyed despite knowing he was right. You would’ve argued further but the look of worry on his face shut you up instantly. “Alright. Alright. I’ll follow your lead, promise.” 

“Good, and Baby?” “Yeah?” “No more missions for a while. Got it?” “Deal.” You shook his hand as if it were a business meeting, rewarding you with a laugh on his part. He captured you in one more quick kiss before leading you over to his bike, both steeling yourselves back into your professional personas. You hopped onto the back, wrapping your arms around him tightly as he took off in the direction of the building to get the remainder of the mission over with.