#things happen in them but it feels like nothing happened at all

[girl-lostconnection]

Concept of a concept time:

Reader who goes through the whole relationship with Ghoap or the whole 141 believing that they would always come second place, because of course Simon would burn the world down if Soap was taken out of it. Of course, Price would do everything and anything to save Simon. Of course, Simon would turn into monster if it meant keeping his family safe, keeping his TaskForce safe.

Of course, Kyle would go mad with grief if he was to lose Johnny. Of course, Kyle would become a shell of himself if he lost Price.

Of course they would all shatter without each other alive and well. It was obvious. It was a fact.

Reader who sees it and places themselves on the outside of it, because these men were already something before they came along. These men were already tight knit and close to each other.

These men were already family when Reader got dropped into their laps. It’s only natural they don’t really slot fully. There’s just no more space.

Reader who takes every bit and crumb of an affection they are given. Reader who gives away everything. All of them. Every kiss and confession, every hug, every bit of love and care they have. They give it all, because yeah, maybe they will never be a part of these 4. But they can be near and maybe…maybe that’s enough?

Reader, who dies. Not instead of Soap, not instead of anyone. They just don’t come back from the job one day, their foot locker was supposed to be shipped out to the family. But there is no family.

So 141 takes it. Who, if not them, right?

Reader, who dies and haunts the narrative from that point on. Reader who leaves a hole the size of a person and no one can fill it. It’s impossible.

Reader, whose warmth was seeping through them all for so long, the absence of it feels like a whiplash. The absence of it feels in their bones and it’s cold-cold-cold now. Their hearth dies and there is nothing to do about it but keep going.

Soldiers die every day, this one shouldn’t have been special. But they were.

Kyle who takes their personal things before someone else can come and toss them out, sleeping with their T-shirts and hoodies. Part of him dies with Reader. Part of him is getting buried with them. He’s sitting at their funeral until Price leads him away.

Simon who takes their photos and books, hiding them, keeping them safe. He needs to have it, because memory is traitorous and one day he might not be able to put a face to the name and he’s terrified of it to the point of feeling sick.

Soap who takes mementoes — keychains and magnets from all of the deployments, he takes every knick knack they found in the foot locker and Reader’s room, he stores them next to his. There are new keychains on every set of his keys. He’s fumbling with them every time he feels like there’s knot in his throat and he can’t speak.

Price gets the notebooks. Just a few of those were in a footlocker, filled with scribbles and meal plans and random quotes and games Reader played with Kyle during boring briefings. But it feels like them. It smells like them. Reader never wrote a consistent diary, too little time and too much going on, but they notated the places and times and that Soap coughs like a sick Victorian child and that Kyle has the most perfect beauty marks on his thighs and that Price sneezes like dad and that Simon sleeps with lamp on.

It is everything there was of them. Everything there’s left of their love and John isn’t sure he’d be able to part with it. It isn’t fair that it happened like that. It isn’t fair that he feels like destroying his whole office when he reads the “im not sure i fit in. on the bright side I reckon if something was to happen to me, no one would mourn too long. they have each other, I should be happy it is like that. I should be grateful” because it’s not fair-not fair-not fair-not fair.

John doesn’t show these diaries to anyone. John guards them like his most prized possession, reading it over and over because you, silly perfect thing, why haven’t you said anything. Why haven’t they noticed anything.

John doesn’t show it to anyone because he’s not sure if they won’t crumble under the notion. He’s not sure they won’t shatter when the rest find out that Reader died thinking they weren’t part of the family.

John sobs so hard, bile rises to his throat, world swimming in his eyes and it hurts, and he’s so fucking angry and it’s so unfair. Because it’s not true, because of course you were part of them, of course you matter, of course they mourn.

Because you die never finding out how much you were loved. Because there’s nothing he can do.

And it’s not fair.

[pangur-and-grim]

wrote another short story, but as per usual I'll delete this soon! very temporary!

On my 26th birthday, the curse spread to my neck.

I heard it as a hissing gurgle at the base of my skull. Where my head pressed into the pillow, it throbbed, beating against the drum of my ear. 

“Eugh,” I said, and rolled over. A crunching accompanied this motion. Still cocooned in my sheets, I repositioned my head again, experimentally. Crunch, crunch, crunch. “Euughh.” 

Getting out of bed always hurt a little. I couldn’t sit up anymore, not without my pelvic bones grating against my spine, so instead I scooted until my feet fell off the bed and met the floor. With that leverage, I maneuvered into standing.

Now, walking was manageable. Ignoring the jolt of my hips and spine was old hat. The burbling and crunching at the back of my skull did, however, bother me.

“Euugh.” I stumbled into the kitchen that I shared with three other young professionals. Sahara looked up from the stove, where two eggs bubbled in a pan. Her boyfriend leaned across her shoulders, fixated on the developing textures. His opinions came readily, and it looked as though a new one was almost ready for harvest. 

“Happy birthday,” said Sahara. “See, I remembered! What’s your plan for the day?”

“Nothing. No plans.” I opened my cupboard to reveal a stacked double-layer of protein drinks. Tapping my fingers down them, I selected a brown bottle: chocolate flavoured. Cooking took too much energy, especially given the competition for space.

“Oh, come on, you only turn 26 once.”

“Yeah, but the curse, Sahara.”

Gordon broke his eye contact with the eggs to frown at me. “You have a curse?”

I took a swig from my protein drink before answering. “When I was young, I wandered into a forest and a witch spat into my eye.” Fairly normal thing to happen, but unfortunately, it happened to me.

“Shoot, yeah, that happened to my cousin. His legs turned into plants. Is yours a plant one?”

I shook the dregs of the protein drink onto my tongue. Tilting my head back to this degree produced an alarming crunch. “Nah. Gemstones. My bones are turning into rock, but like, expensive rock.”

“Oh cool. Do you think they’ll be like, sold for profit after you die?”

Savannah smacked him in the head, and he yelped. 

I shrugged, unoffended, but also unsure of who I’d leave them to. My biggest supporter was probably my memory foam mattress, and jewels wouldn’t help it much.

My phone buzzed from the other room, cutting off any further talk. I ambled over, hunching slightly as my spine complained, and opened the message.

GINGER LOTUS. BOOKED FOR 8. HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

I groaned.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to see my family. I just knew how it’d go. We’d have a nice, cheerful dinner over warm, pricey food. Then halfway through, the last of my reserves would drain, and I’d begin to feel dizzy. A ringing would sound in my ears. The chair would enforce a crushing pressure against my hips and back until I squirmed from the pain. I would stop being able to contribute anything but snappy, one-line retorts. At the end of the night, I’d stagger home lightheaded and mute. And my family would gossip about what an ungrateful ass I was.

Typically, it took four days to physically recover, after these exertions. Four days of sleeping until noon and prying myself out of sticky sheets, and four days of reduced functionality as a programmer. 

Hesitating, I dialed my mom’s number and brought the phone to my ear. 

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!”

“Yeah, thanks mom, I –”

“Did you get my text?”

“Yeah, 8pm. About that.” I took a deep breath. “So, you know the curse –”

“The curse,” my mom interrupted, her voice flat. “This curse again.”

 “Mom, I went through an MRI. They can see the changes in my bones.”

“I’m having bone changes, too. I have osteoporosis.”

“Yeah, cause you’re old. I’m not supposed to be like this.” Another deep breath. “A witch did spit in my eye, you know.”

“Uh huh. So, is 8pm alright then? We’re all looking forward so much to seeing you.”

“Yeah, sure mom. 8pm is fine. Thanks.” I thumbed the end button, before either of us could say more. My next breath whistled around the sudden blockage in my throat. I’d always thought she believed me.

In the bathroom, I slipped out of the baggy racecar shirt I slept in and thumbed the pale knobs of my spine. The mirror showed me nothing. My skin had that white-green tinge that signals ill health, and it lumped and hung in a manner that betrayed my lack of musculature, but nothing dramatic jumped out. No maroon bruises, no weeping sores, no gashes through my flesh. Nothing you’d wince with pity to see. 

I bit my lip in furious envy of Gordon’s cousin. Imagine if beneath my thin, transparent skin, you could see the bulging of leaves and roots. Imagine if red holes dotted my spine, with flowers peeking out their buds to taste the air like maggots. 

My neck crunched, and I fought the urge to howl. I’d be so beautiful with vines wrapped around my limbs. And how politely thin I’d be, with parasitic brambles sapping my nutrients. What a better way to be cursed.

That, at least, gave me a plan for the day.

I filled a reusable Walmart bag with my wallet, my phone, and a bottle of Perrier from Savannah’s fridge shelf, and then pulled on shorts and a baggy shirt that were entirely distinct from my sleeping shorts and sleeping shirt. Then, I plugged the destination into google maps and set off.

I hopped on a bus to start. It took twenty minutes to reach the woods, and the entire way my neck hissed like a cobra. I used this time to look it up on my phone: crepitus, the popping and sizzling of air bubbles between worn-away joints. This fresh discomfort, so close to the seat of my consciousness, was harder to ignore. And next year, it would spread. Next year, it might reach my jaw.

When the bus stopped, I was the only one to get off. I continued past the sidewalk, into the woods, and then put away my phone. From here, I could follow my memory. I’d galloped through the break in these trees, down this foot-worn path, on little coltish legs. Now, I stumbled, the degradation of my lower back pressing on the sciatic nerve that wound through my left leg. Every step produced a fresh jolt; not unbearable, but it would be, if I continued.

The leaves scattered the light like a disco ball. Summer sweat dampened my armpits, but the shade offered a cool relief. My memory self skipped along beside me, stopping to swing on a branch or scrabble at a trunk. I’d found so much pleasure in my body, then. . . in the elastic strength of my limbs, the burn as I challenged myself to climb higher and higher, and the hot panting of my overstrained lungs. 

I travelled at about the same speed as an adult, because I did not stop. The hare had become the tortoise.

Signs of the witch appeared, intermittently. Carvings on a tree trunk, shaped like giant eyes. The dangling bones of a bird, braided with dried reeds. Red yarn that wove through branches to form a gargantuan spiderweb. 

Occasionally, the path disappeared. A small stream cut across it, forcing me to pace back and forth along the shore until I spotted an unnatural flattening of bulrushes on the other side. I stepped carefully across the running water, but still slipped. The wet skin of my feet collected dirt and plant matter as I continued. 

At last, I found the witch. 

A black shape nestled in a tree ahead, looking like a garbage bag blown by the wind and caught. She was about the size of a toddler, or an over-large raccoon. 

“Witch?” I called, my voice pitched high with politeness. 

She yawned and curled deeper into herself.

“Witch!” I said, in a deeper voice.

This time, she scratched at her whitened muzzle. Her middle finger protruded far longer than its compatriots; the rumour was, she used it to dig for bugs. 

I cleared my throat. The witch blinked bulging yellow eyes, and then turned to regard me. “What.”

“Do you remember me, witch?”

“Sure.”

My throat had gone dry from all the walking. I took the Perrier from my Walmart bag and cracked the top, holding it at arm’s length so that the explosion of fizz showered safely onto the dirt. That done, I took a long guzzle, and then spoke with a freshly wettened voice. “Witch. I want a better curse. One where I look beautiful and sad and everyone loves me.”

The witch waggled her claw-tipped fingers. “Jeweled bones are beautiful! Once you die, your rotting flesh will slip away to reveal zircons and opals, shining and glittering. Your tarsals will be topaz. Your cheekbones will be amethyst. Your skullcap will be aquamarine!”

I fought to keep the heat confined to my chest, but it rose, filling my cheeks with blood. “Who cares what happens after I die! I won’t be here. If they only pity me in retrospect, then what’s the point? I’ll just hate them even more.”

“You honk a lot.” The witch sniffed. “I could turn you into a duck.”

“Oh my god. I didn’t even know that was an option. Yeah, let’s do that. Yeah, turn me into a duck.”

The witch bared her yellow fangs, tugged at her satellite-dish ears, and waggled her thick tail like a cat about to pounce. Then she babbled out her curse language and spat in my eye.

And after that. . .

After that, everything was beautiful.

On my 27th birthday, I woke to the laughing call of a loon. Sunrise painted the world in pink, the light dancing in a glitter across the surface of the lake. I stretched my wings, baring a flash of iridescence, and then slipped without a ripple into the cool water.

If you spend one year as an animal, the curse becomes irremovable. 

My plan for the day, as I paddled out to a flock of my fellows, was to dive for snails and dragonfly naiads, and to make damn sure that I was not caught.

[will-0-w]

Sticky Situation

Summary: After your relationship with Sylus has reached a more shared bond, he allows you to visit him anytime in the N109 Zone, even giving you a spare key to his home. So what happens when you turn up unexpectedly after his mission had gone slightly against his favours and an aphrodisiac was slipped into his drink? One night will change it all between you two.

Warnings: smut! 18+ mdni, male masturbation, unprotected pinv, desperate and needy Sylus, aphrodisiacs, pet names, he is lowkey feral, face sitting, riding, lowkey this whole thing feels like word vomit, word count: 1.6k, not proof read

author’s note: apologies for the super late post on this fic, motivation has been down the drain lately and i wrote this while half awake :’) but i hope you lovelies enjoy<3

Sylus was at yet, another boring weapons auction but this time he had decided to go alone on a mission to retrieve a pair of black market revolvers for his ever growing collection back home. The whole auction was smooth sailing from the moment he entered the place. What seemed like endless hours of conversations and mingling was only three hours. And also the point where it all began to go downhill for him.

That exact point was where Sylus had taken some time to check out the bar, nursing some bourbon. His guard was slightly down, a mistake he only realised later when an old time friend had approached him for a long overdue conversation. In fact his guard was lowered so much during that conversation, glass abandoned on the counter that he failed to notice the shady man slowly moving unto his location.

The man had left a respectable amount of distance between himself and Sylus, swiftly and discreetly pouring something into his drink and disappearing as quickly as he had previously arrived.

Which is how he had ended up stumbling through his bedroom door an hour later, his skin on fire, flushed and warm. His dark, crimson eyes glowing more intensely than usual, pupils dilated. Sylus fumbled with his tie, grasping at it, pulling at it until it finally came off. The first few buttons undone on his shirt as he collapsed onto the silk sheets of the large bed. A primal need for release was rooted into his veins and he cursed himself for being so careless at the auction.

Sylus’s breathing was heavy and laboured with each intake of air he took, chest rising and falling rapidly. After a couple seconds of toying with his belt and zipper he managed to undo them and slip his trousers, along with his boxers down just enough to free his aching, hard cock. Pre cum already oozing down from his tip and down the pulsating length, trailing along a deliciously prominent vein.

Griping the base of his length with his large hand, the warmth from his palm felt like a heater against the skin. Slowly, he began to jerk himself, hand squeezing his cock-head every time his hand went up causing him to pant and groan shamelessly like some animal in heat, which is how he felt right now. With his head thrown back against the headboard, eyes squeezed tightly shut continuing his ministrations. His hips lifting occasionally to match the pace of his hand.

So lost in pleasure and failing to notice your presence standing by the doorway, Sylus let out more moans which bordered on pornographic. You were frozen on the spot, eyes drinking in the sight of him. The room suddenly felt so hot and your throat was as dry as a desert, heat started in pool in your lower belly and you subconsciously squeezed your thighs together. A soft plea of your name fell from his lips, so tantalising and sinful making the apples of your cheeks warm up and flush a soft pink.

As if right on cue, Sylus’s gaze fell upon you and everything in his brain was screaming at him to half his actions but nothing could bring him to stop. Sure, your unexpected drop in was a surprise but the raw and primal need coursing through his entire being was consuming every moral thought. His mind was fuzzy, a complete blur and then—there was you. Looking like a deer caught in headlights and he thought how cute you looked, so flushed, fiddling with your hands, trying to avert his hot gaze.

“Kitten, I wasn’t expecting you tonight.” He all but purred that sentence causing you to stutter slightly.

Clearing your throat, “Luke and Kieran had informed me that you were at an auction today.” That simple statement earned a soft hum followed by a nod from Sylus. “So you thought you could just drop by? Perhaps snoop through my things?” He was teasing you, obviously enjoying the reactions that he could get out of you.

Before you could even reply Sylus had risen from the bed and swiftly made his way over to you, moving like a panther stalking its prey. Once in front of you, you could now very clearly see that his breathing was heavy and laboured, skin flushed and emanating warmth. “Well anyways how did the auction go?”

“Swimmingly.” He all but scoffed, red eyes piercing into your very soul. As you reached a hand to inspect his forehead Sylus flinched slightly and let out a soft hiss. “Are you ill? Did you catch something while you were gone?” The concern was evident in your tone, expression softening .

“Does it look like I’m ill, sweetie?” Sylus still managed to keep up his smug facade even while going through the effects of the aphrodisiac. “Well you just look—“

Your words were cut short as he leaned forward, caging you in against the now closed door of the bedroom. It was like something snapped within him as your perfume filled his nose, the scent so intoxicating and strong. “mm, your scent..i want it, i want you..” Sylus nuzzled his face into the softness of your neck.

‘He’s clearly lost it.’ You thought to yourself, begrudgingly.

“We should get you to bed, you need to sleep this off.” You mumbled against his ear as his warm breath fanned against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“No.” Was the response that immediately followed.

Sylus' hands found yours, pinning them up against the wall on either side of your head. He pressed down against you, his body moulding against yours. You could feel the hard lines and unyielding planes of his lean physique, the heat of his skin against yours setting your body aflame. "I don't want to sleep," he whispered into your ear, his voice a ragged murmur. Trying to talk some sense into him was practically impossible at this moment, his mind clouded with only the thoughts of your body against his.

That’s how you both ended up on his bed in a tangle of limbs, clawing off each other’s clothes desperately. Lips attached with one another in a messy kiss of teeth and tongues. Easily gripping your hips, fingers digging eagerly into your skin as Sylus manoeuvred you onto his lap above his aching member, begging to be buried inside your warm walls.

As the kiss broke a single strand of saliva that connected your mouths was enough evidence of the atmosphere and tension between the both of you. As you straddled his lap, hovering just above the leaking tip you slowly eased yourself down his impressively large length, greedy pussy sucking him in just begging for more.

A soft, breathy andbarely audible “fuuuckk” fell from his soft, plump lips. His head falling back against the headboard as you settled comfortably down on his lap, his cock snuggly buried inside your wet cunt. You stayed like that for a few moments, hands resting against his broad shoulders. The way he looked at you almost made you shy away, Sylus’s gaze was full of desire and need, the need for you to start moving as he was slowly loosing sanity.

The moment your hips started to move, rising and falling again and again was the moment Sylus finally lost himself. Down right pornographic moans spilling from his mouth with absolutely no shame whatsoever. Large hands roaming your body as he reached the mounds of your breasts, giving them a firm squeeze and occasionally pinching the hardened buds causing a few mewls of your own to slip out.

As you continued bouncing on his cock, Sylus felt like he was on cloud nine. Leaning forward he captured one of your nipples in his mouth, warm and wet. Tongue circling, teeth scraping against the sensitive bud which encouraged you to move faster, to chase that high you both so dearly ached for. With a couple more sloppy movements and occasional jerky snaps of Sylus’s hips, you felt the impending waves of your orgasm crash over you, eyes rolling back and mouth falling into an ‘O’ shape as you came down. The feel of your juices gushing and coating his length was enough for Sylus to also let go, warm ropes of his sticky cum shooting up into your pussy.

The effects of the aphrodisiac had seemed to lessen but Sylus wasn’t fully satisfied yet. And just as you were about to collapse against his solid, comforting chest Sylus had other plans in mind and swiftly lifted you off of his softening cock, pulling you up near his face as he laid back. “Sylus.. what are you doing? I’m still—“

“I know sweetie, but just let me clean you up, yeah?” Seeming as you didn’t protest any further he managed to make you hover above his face, your pussy all on display for him.

“Wait Sylus are you sure that—“ You moaned softly as your pussy made contact with his tongue, hands reaching down to tangle in his silky strands of hair. His tongue was merciless as it lapped up your shared release, the taste of himself filled his mouth causing a soft groan sending small vibrations to your core.

You were so overstimulated and felt another wave of release crashing over you, releasing that sweet nectar for Sylus to greedily lap up, not daring to waste a drop. With a final suck, he let you collapse next to him on the sheets. Your body was so sore and tired as you curled up against him.

As gently and softly as he could, Sylus brought the covers up to shield both your bodies, wrapping his strong arms in a protective embrace. Slumber taking over your minds.

taglist: @whimsiecat @luxmere @madam8 @fava-boi @sylus-crow @ikesimpleton @coldhologramcrown @holdmyravioli @babygirl-panda19 @mianeryh @sinsodom @caramelizedpopcirn @ineffableperception @amywright @chillycheem @lowkeyabby2229 @goddexxluv @alyyylog @depressedbearblogs @for-hearthand-home

unfortunately it wouldn’t let me tag some of you, so apologies for that!

[f1lovr]

SILLY SUPERSTITIONS | LN4

pairing: lando norris x fem!reader

summary: the one where she doesn't believe in superstitions or otherwise known as he can't get into the car without his pre-race kiss

warnings: none!

Y/N didn't believe in superstitions, rather she thought they were stupid, lando on the other hand, he was a firm believer.

it had started as a joke between you both.

"kiss in exchange for a podium?" you had told him in a teasing manner, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek before the race.

"guess we'll figure that out soon enough," he had said in response, a smirk dawning his face as you could feel the confidence coming from him.

he finished in second that race, he had insisted it was your kiss and from there he refused to get into the car until he got a kiss from you, saying he wouldn't do well or he couldn't drive without it, as if it would make him a better driver.

that led to here, minutes away from lando having to get into the car, you nowhere in sight.

the mechanics and engineers were rushing around him, last minute checks on the car, making sure everything was good before the race. the cheer of the fans from the stands as they wait for the impending race.

but lando couldn't focus, not on the race ahead of him, not even on the sounds around him, because you weren't there and he needed you to be because he hadn't gotten his kiss yet.

lando's leg was bouncing up and down nervously as his head scanned the surrounding area looking for any sign of you. his mind being consumed with thoughts about where you could be, about the fact that he might have to go into today's race without you, without his good luck kiss.

his mutters to himself broke his silence, "where is she?"

jon, his trainer, who was next to him turned and looked at him with furrowed brows as he heard the muttering coming from the driver, "who?"

lando's head turned to jon, a look being shot at his trainer as if his answer was obvious, "Y/N, i need her here but i don't know where she is."

jon smirked at lando's answer, "ah, so you mean you need your lucky charm?"

lando didn't deny jon's comment, his eyes only rolling in response, "she should be here by now, she's never this late," he mutters nervously.

jon's eyes fall to the watch at his wrist checking the time, "you've got three minutes mate."

he had three minutes. three minutes to somehow find you in the chaos that is the race or he'd have to go get in the car and race without the one thing that kept him from botching it turn one.

he was about to get up and leave when his ears perked up at a voice, not just a voice, but your voice.

"looking for me pretty boy?"

he could have gotten whiplash with how fast he had turned his head, watching as you walk up to, nothing but a casual nature in your step as if you didn't know the chaos you had caused with your absence.

"baby where the hell have you been?" he all but demanded.

"easy tiger, i got stuck, security guards and journalists kept harping on me. all of them acting like i was infiltrating the FIA instead of just trying to get to my boyfriend," you giggle with a grin, his reaction to your disappearance amusing.

lando didn't care, he could care less about why you weren't here actually, it was all just excuses to him. but you were here now and that was all that mattered to him as his hand grabbed your wrist pulling you close to him, the glances that were being thrown his way being ignored.

"i almost had to go into the race without you," he mutters, a tone so low that only you were able to pick it up.

"you wouldn't have let that happen," your hands coming to his shoulders as you smirk.

lando huffed as his lips twitched, the smile he was trying to hold back failing to stay hidden, "you have never been more right about something love."

next thing you know he was pulling you into a kiss, the kiss being soft and gentle but still firm. he didn't rush his kiss, taking the reassurance it provided as he let himself calm down from the storm of not having you.

he pulled away with a grin on his face, "now i won't crash turn one," he said with a chuckle.

your head shook as you laughed, "whatever makes you sleep at night pretty boy," you giggle out.

your moment was broken by the call of lando's engineer, letting lando know it was time to get in the car.

you watched as he let go of your hand with a sigh after giving it one last parting squeeze, reluctantly stepping back from you as he moved to climb into his car.

you were leaned against the garage watching as he settled. you could tell he was focused, he was ready, and you would never let him live it down if he got on the podium, reminding him over and over that it was your kiss that got him there.

did you actually believe that? no, definitely not, but if it meant more pre-race kisses and it helped him, then you'd remind him over and over.

[theminecraftbee]

"You let me think you were dead, you know."

Jimmy winces, but he doesn't turn around to look at Grian, or Cuteguy, or whatever he's going by right now. He considers just walking away. He considers a lot of things, but he doesn't expect he'll be able to, because--

"Don't walk away from me, Jimmy."

When Jimmy turns around, Grian's only half-dressed as Cuteguy, wearing no goggles, the paints he uses to disguise his wings slowly bleeding out, streaks of bold pink and black dripping down otherwise dull brown patterns. Jimmy takes a moment to stare. He's not quite sure which name he's supposed to be calling the man in front of him. On the one hand, he's not wearing the goggles, his dark eyes fully visible to the world. On the other hand, he's still wearing most of the clothes, and there's escrima sticks still hanging from his belt, and while the paint is fading it's still right there, hiding the patterns that make the wings identifiable as Grian.

Jimmy shifts uncomfortably. "I did," he says, finally.

"You let me think you were shot in the head in front of me," Cuteguy says.

"That, uh, did happen," Jimmy says. Cuteguy gestures at Jimmy. Jimmy swallows. "Look, uh, it's not like it was super fun for me to wake up in the morgue either."

"You could have said something!" Cuteguy says. "You could have--you could have just, just rung me up and, and said--"

"Sorry man, it turns out that you getting me killed got undone?" Jimmy says, equally quietly, and Grian reels back in the same way that Jimmy imagines he must have when he was shot, too.

"Timmy," Grian says.

"I mean, I don't actually really blame you that much at this point," Jimmy says. "I don't really--it's not exactly your fault someone else shot us. I'm--I mean, I'm not happy with--you call him Forgery. Not so happy he didn't know that--yeah. But it's still a little... I did die, you know."

"You should have said something," Cuteguy says.

"I'm still kinda dead," Jimmy says.

"Timmy, I--I thought you were dead. I thought I wasn't ever--I'm sorry," Grian says.

"Oh," Jimmy says, because he's not sure what else to say. He both did and didn't expect an apology. It is, after all, Grian; it is, after all, Grian.

"I'm sorry, I'm--I was just, just yelling at you again because I was scared, because, because you're one of my best friends, and, and you were dead, Timmy. You were dead."

Jimmy's not sure what to say, or which of the person in front of him said that. He's fairly certain it's Grian. He's also fairly certain the world is grey and blurry again, and he has to take deep breaths, digging his fingers into his palms and trying very hard to remember that it's not really Cuteguy's fault, or even really Forgery's; until then, neither of them had understood how dangerous it was, either.

But it's not them that faced the consequences, is it?

Joel says it's fair to be angry. It's fair to blame them. Jimmy doesn't know that it is.

"I was dead," agrees Jimmy.

"Not going to say anything else?" Grian asks.

"No," Jimmy says.

Grian stares, and then it is most certainly Cuteguy who pulls himself together, shakes his wings until his feathers are straighter, and puts on a face that betrays nothing of the heartbreak or confusion or hurt he's feeling. Jimmy does, absolutely, hate it.

"Actually, I just wish... I don't know, man. Never mind," Jimmy says.

(He hates the way he doesn't recognize his own best friend some days nearly as much as he hates the way he doesn't recognize himself.)

Cuteguy stares for a long moment.

"Yeah, me too," he says. "Do... do you wanna come get sushi at that one weird place you like? Where you have the weird rivalry with that one server?"

"He insists salmon is the best sushi fish, and is absolutely wrong," Jimmy says primly, and then he nods, and even Cuteguy can't help but betray his relief.

They walk side-by-side, together. It doesn't really matter who they are now.

[reidrum]

let it once be me | the prophecy part 3

note: hey ,,, remember her ,,,,,,,,, ! feeling hashtag nervous to post this but pls tell me ur thoughts this went through !!! so many drafts !!! almost lost my mind like thirty times lol but thank u for reading <3 (reading prior parts may be helpful in having context for this part but im not really sure it's necessary, they're way shorter than this part either way)

summary: you and spencer are faced with yet another wedge in your relationship, and you're not sure if it'll survive this time

cw: heavy spoilers for everett lynch arc (15.10), we're ignoring the cm tl and time doesn't exist, maeve flashback, hurt/comfort, angst, happy ending !

wc: 8k (wtf)

part 1 part 2

Spencer feels he’s lived many lives, and that his lived experiences have thoroughly prepared him to navigate novel situations with a small familiarity. A cushion really, to allow him the comfort of seeing the path before he has to walk it blind. It almost acts as a sense of pride for him, a testament to what he’s overcome and capable of facing.

There’s nothing prideful about how awful things have been going with you.

It’s been weeks since your talk with him. Weeks since he vowed to prove to you that you were it for him, and he’s made so little progress he finds it embarrassing for someone with his caliber of intellect.

He’s toeing a fine line between being in your presence enough for you to see that he’s trying, and giving you  space so that you don’t feel smothered. It was harder in the immediate days after your talk, when you couldn’t even stand to stay in the same room as him for more than five minutes. You had come home to his apartment the day after having decided Penelope had enough of your moping. Once you got in you immediately went to settle into the guest room.

It was near radio silent between you both those first few days. He didn’t want to force you, but it didn’t feel great when you would leave a room as soon as he’d enter. As the days went on, Spencer started getting resourceful. He’d make you breakfast in the morning and leave it on the table for you, your coffee next to it made exactly how you take it. Then it was little notes left in the most random places, all written with different things he loved about you. He never saw your reaction when you read them, but they’d always disappear from its spot the next day. Little things to remind you he’s there for you.

More days passed and it finally felt like the ice was starting to melt away. You’d started lingering longer in the living room if he was sat at the table still. One time you even made breakfast for the both of you, and although you weren’t there to eat it with him Spencer had never felt more hopeful.

In the field your dynamics changed even more. Normally, he would make sure to be paired up with you in the field to personally ensure that you were being safe. Since the fallout however, he didn’t want to be an unwelcome presence that only left you more tense in high stake situations. So he’d do things like privately tell Emily to double check your bulletproof vest, or make sure Luke was at your 6 if he couldn’t do it himself.

The last thing he wanted was for your current circumstance with each other, one that he knows he created, to distract you in the field and god forbid cause something to happen to you. He would never forgive himself if you got hurt because of him, but Spencer remembers he’s already done the worst hurt he can fathom to you, and what he really means is that he can’t afford to hurt you any further. As much as it worried him to do so, he had reluctantly learned to place some trust in his teammates to keep you safe. It was a balance he’d learned to adapt to.

It worked fine until it didn’t.

The silent car ride from the jet back to your apartment was so thick with tension, but not the one you’ve both become accustomed to over the weeks. No this was a different strain of anger, one that descended down to the primal nature of your relationship—you endangering yourself.

Spencer opens the door, barely waiting for you to enter behind him before slamming it shut. “That, what you did today, was fucking reckless.”

The anger flares through your widened eyes, “Reckless? I saved the hostages, Spencer. He would have killed them!”

“And what about you?”

“What about me, I had it handled.” you huff.

He raises his hands in exasperation, “He had a gun to your head!” he yells, “You have no idea what it’s like to see that.”

“This isn’t the first time someone drew a weapon on me, and there’s definitely more times than I can count when they’ve drawn one on you,” you pause, “Or is it different right now because you got deja vu?”

“What’s that supposed to mean—” Spencer’s face pales in recognition, “That’s not fair.”

“The hell do you mean it’s not fair? You expect me to believe otherwise?”

“He was going to shoot you!” he loudly repeats, “You don’t think I care about your safety?”

“I think you only give a shit right now because you thought another girl you loved was about to get her brains blown out in front of you. Again.”

He’s stunned into silence. Your words feel like a paralytic to Spencer. Like venom slowly traveling down his veins seizing any chance for his body to save himself. All the progress he thinks you both have made just unraveled itself into nothing. It’s paradoxical that his mind is quiet. You’re usually the reason his mind can relax, but somehow you’ve achieved the same outcome by metaphorically stabbing him square in the face.

He can’t understand when you developed the idea that he could care less about you. He can’t understand how you can even think he would be capable of 

of not being with you entirely. He can’t understand where along the line you started believing that he stopped loving you.

It may not be a sentiment you actually hold, but he prides himself on being a good profiler, and more so knowing you better than himself. He knows that’s what you’re thinking, and there’s nothing he can do to fix it.

He speaks under his breath after a couple of minutes,  “How long are we going to keep doing this?”

“Doing what—“

“This!” He gestures wildly with his hands. “This back and forth where you’ve convinced yourself you’re able to move past this but clearly can’t!”

You stare at him, “Look, I’m trying.”

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

The familiar sting burns the backs of your eyes, the first sign of your resolve crumbling. “That’s not fair.”

He sighs and moves closer, your head hanging low and finding the wooden floor patterns deeply interesting. “You won’t even look at me.” he whispers, “Do you still love me?”

You look up at him stunned, “Spencer…I—I do…It’s just…”

He feels his heart breaking in a new way, “That’s not convincing.”

“Can you blame me?”

“No, I guess I can't,” he shakes his head defeatedly. “I don’t know what else I can do, baby.”

“…I want to forgive you.”

Spencer’s eyes blur from tears, “But you can’t.”

“I don’t know how,” you whisper before a sardonic chuckle leaves you, “You know me, memory like an elephant.”

Spencer refrains from telling you that dolphins are actually the species with the longest memory capacity, and that the reason for possessing such a feature is to maintain the social dynamics and relationships that come with survival in the ocean. A dolphin’s memory is what keeps them rooted back to where they belong, being able to remember individuals and behaviors even after being apart for so long. That no matter how far they stray, they’ll always come home. 

He settles for a soft agreement, “Yeah, I do know you.”

You make the mistake of meeting his eyes, equally and tragically as broken as yours, puffy and red rimmed.

“I don’t know what to do.” you whisper brokenly.

“I don’t either.”

The silence weighs heavy in the living room. The metronomic tick of the clock becomes louder, the birds and the wind outside whistle louder. You’re cornered, forced to come to face the results. And like a prey backed into the corner you do what the prey do best—You run.

“I have to go.” you grab the keys and put your shoes on.

“What?” he steps closer, “You can’t just leave, we just got home.”

“I can’t be here right now,” your voice cracks, “I just…need some time to think.”l

Spencer’s heart falls straight through the floor. Time to think about what? Is this when the foundation beneath you both finally buckles under the immense pressure it’s been on for weeks, and you’re left to scavenge the ruins?

As much as it pains him to let you walk out the door, he knows that nothing would be accomplished at home and it would only hurt you more to stay.

“Okay.” he whispers.

“Okay.”

“Be safe.” I love you.

You look back, “I will. You too.” I love you too.

The door shuts gentler this time, as if careful not to disturb the few pieces of Spencer still left standing behind the door. It doesn’t matter, they’ve already fallen over. Any resolve he had left is slipping away with every step you take further away, never feeling more defeated in his life than this moment.

He trudges over to the study, hoping he can at least bury himself in work to distract himself from the turmoil of his reality. The desk is strewn across with files and papers, mentally making a list of the tasks he has to do. At the top of his to-do list is the Everett Lynch case, having just closed the case a few days back meaning the paperwork would be due to the brass soon.

Spencer glances over the open file and reviews the details of the final moments of the case, recalling the stark change in Lynch’s MO that still left him puzzled. The victimology and the profile just didn’t add up to what actually happened, why he ended up dying with his mother in the house. That wasn’t supposed to happen, Spencer wasn’t supposed to send five SWAT agent in not knowing their fate only seconds later. How the case simply ended anticlimactically after nearly a year long chase. A dull ache begins to form in his head as he thinks, the bureau is going to have a field day processing this case.

He rubs his forehead with his hand to soothe the pain building up, making a note to get painkillers after he finishes. As he continues to read the file he starts to see his confusion take a basis as the initial profile doesn’t add up at all to what actually happened, in fact for as long as he evaded the FBI he really shouldn’t have just, died.

Spencer freezes. Did he die?

Lynch wouldn’t just commit suicide, that was too easy. He watched the house blow up with him and his mother inside, not even including the agents the explosion took out with it. The pain in his head is too much to bear at this point and he decides that getting Advil can’t wait until he’s done. He stands up and immediately wobbles as he grips the desk for support. Through the blurred vision and spinning room Spencer tries to makes sense of Lynch’s discrepancy. 

Everett Lynch wouldn’t commit suicide, because he didn’t. 

“He’s still alive.” he realizes gravely. Then it all goes black.

———

You get in your car and drive off to god knows where, just not there. It’s sheer autopilot driving you to the other side of town, which is more than welcomed as the tears threaten to blur your vision coming down in hot trails. You end up pulling into the parking lot of your favorite donut shop, one that you discovered with Spencer a little before you started dating. There was time to kill after being paired up to visit the unsub’s  dump site and you were so insistent about needing a sweet treat, Spencer thought it was clinical.

“You’re acting like you’ll die if we don’t stop for a, what did you call it? A sweet treat?”

“I will!” you whine, “Don’t you know that girls, specifically me, are mandated to have at least one sweet treat per day?”

He pulls into the parking lot of the donut shop he’d spotted on the way there. “Oh yeah? What happens if you don’t?” he teases.

“You’ll see me as the unsub in the next case.”

Spencer can’t help the laugh that leaves him, loud and earnest. “Alright, c’mon. We already have enough criminals to last us till retirement.”

You and Spencer are definitely not together at this moment in time, but the little old lady owner of the shop really can’t believe otherwise as she watches you both bicker about which flavors you’re getting for the half dozen box. She’s almost certain you’re together as she watches Spencer end up getting all the flavors you wanted despite putting up a fight for others. And she’s fully convinced, with no room for sway, that you are together as Spencer pulls his card out before you can even protest and watches as you miss the look he gives you as you dramatically sigh in content after the first bite.

Spencer would later tell you after a few months together, that the donut shop was the first time he realized he was in love with you. You recall how the same half dozen would appear on your desk every Friday since that first visit, with one chocolate sprinkled donut missing but placed on a napkin on Spencer’s desk. You would joke that he pavloved his way into your heart with donuts, but wouldn’t reveal your true cards that you fell in love with Spencer after a month on the job. The donut shop happened the week after.

“You alright, hon?” the little old lady owner breaks your thoughts.

You look around and realize you’ve walked yourself into the shop. You wipe at your eyes quickly, “I’m okay, Dolores. Can I just get the usual half dozen please?”

She’s not convinced but it seems she knows better than to ask and pry. She gathers the usual six donuts for the box, slipping in an extra one just for good measure, and rings you up at the register.

“Seven right?” you mumble as you file through your bag for the loose ten.

Dolores smiles, “It’s on the house today, hon. Don’t worry.”

You look up at her, knowing she’s only doing that because you showed up with tear streaks on your face, “Oh, no it’s okay you don’t have to do that let me just—“

She pushes the box towards you, “You both tip enough to cover the box anyway, please just take it. Hope you feel better soon, hon.”

Her kind gesture thaws your heart out a little and you give her a small smile. “Thanks, Dolores.”

You walk back to your car, locking the doors once you get in. You don’t move to turn the car on, opting to allow your emotions to overflow again in solitude with the comfort of a bavarian kreme donut. The tears prick your eyes on instinct thinking of the current state of your life, of your relationship.

Spencer was right, have you convinced yourself you’re capable of moving past this? You do still love Spencer, you knew that much. But you are hurt, you are tired, and you just want to stop feeling like you’ll always come in second place even when there’s no one to occupy first place. You’ve waited so long to feel chosen, like someone has waited all their life for someone like you to come around. Meeting Spencer felt like finding the little daisies that grew in between the cracks of concrete, proof that despite your stone hard exterior you were still worthy of being loved.

The sound of your phone ringing jolts you up, almost dropping your donut. With your free hand you look at the caller and press accept.

“Hi, Emily.” you try to make your voice sound even.

“Hey we’ve got a—wait are you okay?”

You clear your throat, “Yeah, totally fine don’t worry. What’s up?”

It’s clear she doesn’t believe you but Emily really doesn’t have time right now, “Listen, Lynch is still alive.”

You almost choke. “What?”

“The casualty report doesn’t include Lynch and they couldn’t find his body anywhere. While they were searching the house they found tunnels. He escaped.”

“Fuck, okay what do you need me to do?”

“There’s a gas station clerk who thinks he saw him and his car, I need you and Matt to go check it out and see what he knows.”

You scramble to put your donut down and wipe your hands on the napkin, “Yeah, of course I’m on my way.”

“Okay, Matt will meet you there,” she pauses, “I…Is Spencer with you?”

Your heart clenched again, “No, he’s not. He’s at the apartment.”

Emily hums, “He didn’t pick up when I called, it’s okay I’ll send JJ and Penelope to go get him. Reconvene at the bureau in a couple hours?”

“Sounds good.” you hang up and immediately start driving over to the gas station. Something doesn’t feel right, you can feel it in your gut. You quickly check Spencer’s location just to be safe, and relax when you see he’s still at home. He’s probably just taking a nap.

What Emily decides you can’t ever know about is the call she gets twenty minutes later from a hysterically crying Penelope, who in between sobs tells her that they’re on the way to George Washington Hospital. That when JJ and Penelope opened the door to Spencer’s apartment he was passed out on the floor, blood dripping from his nose. How when JJ went to start CPR he entered a seizure and coded in the ambulance.

No, you can’t know this, because Emily knows that the call alone that she has to give you is going to shatter your broken pieces even further.

—

You pull out your phone to call Emily and see an incoming call from her, “Hey, I was just about to call you. The guy said he drove a red ford pickup, we were able to get the license plate from the security cameras but it came up as a stolen plate—“ 

Emily says your name in a tone you’ve never heard her use. It makes you stop in your tracks, an icy chill shooting down your spine, “What?”

“Something’s happened.”

You step outside of the gas station shop holding your breath, “What do you mean?”

Emily pinches the bridge of her nose, “It’s about Spencer, he’s…”

She pauses for too long. The panic rises fast. “Emily.”

“They found him passed out on the floor of his apartment. Penelope called 911 and they’re on the way to the hospital right now.”

No. 

No, no, no.

The color drains from your face as fast as your heart plunges to the ground. “Wh—what?”

She’s lying, she has to be right? You just saw Spencer literally a few hours ago and he was fine. No signs of distress or anything, she has to be lying. She has to be lying.

“The EMT thinks he has a brain bleed, it um…caused him to have a seizure when JJ and Penelope found him.”

The nausea rises before you can anticipate it, scanning your surroundings for a trash can and immediately hurling up the contents of your stomach. Wiping your mouth with your sleeve you put the phone back to your ear, “Which hospital?”

“George Washington Memorial, they should already be there by now.”

“Okay, I’m on the way.” you sniffle.

Emily doesn’t know what other encouraging words she can provide you, she doesn’t think any words exist to comfort herself even let alone you. “Keep me updated please.”

The call ends and you have to steady yourself on the nearby wall, head reeling with mountainous emotions and unable to make sense of any of them. 

You look around through blurred eyes for Matt calling out to him, “Matt, Matt give me the keys I need to go to the hospital.” you hold a shaky hand out.

He looks at you confused and concerned, “What? Are you okay, why do you need to go—“

“Sp—“ you stutter, unable to even speak the words into existence, “Spencer’s in the hospital.”

Matt’s face pales, “I’ll drive you, come on.”

—

“They said it’s a brain bleed.” you mumble after a few minutes of silence in the car.

“A brain bleed? How could that have…” he trails off in realization.

“What?” you ask nervously.

He grips the steering wheel harder, “The bomb, at the Lynch house.”

Fuck. The EMTs who checked him out that day said he only had a mild concussion, nothing else to be concerned about. A few cuts and scratches but nothing that wouldn’t heal. This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to happen to him.

You sniffle and hastily wipe at your face again, your skin growing red with irritation with every contact.

Matt looks at you with a look he wouldn’t call pity, but certainly close, “It’s going to be okay, he’ll pull through. He always does.”

Your eyes squeeze shut as if it could prevent the fresh wave of tears from falling, “You don’t know that.”

He sighs deeply and turns into the hospital parking lot, stopping in front of the entrance, “Go in, I’ll park the car.”

You open the car door and rush inside the lobby, finding the receptionist immediately. She looks up at you and her face softens in empathy, “Who are you here for?”

“Um, Spencer Reid. He should have just gotten in.” you strain.

The receptionist clacks a few buttons on her keyboard before speaking again, “It looks like he’s in the ICU, are you blood related?”

“Are we…what?” you ask confused.

“Well honey, because he’s in the ICU we can only let in blood related family or spouses to stay with them.”

You outwardly deflate, “Oh…I—“

“She’s his fiancée!”

You look to the source of the new voice and are met with Penelope, donning matching red rimmed eyes and puffy cheeks. Her eyes look at you in silent communication and you turn back to the desk, “Y—Yeah, I’m his fiancée.”

If the receptionist isn’t convinced she doesn’t show it, willing to turn a blind eye in pure understanding of the situation. “Room 204.”

“Thank you.” You duck down the hall scanning the numbers before coming up on 204, the door cracked open slightly. Your hand hovers over the handle in hesitation, scared of what you’ll find on the other side. Penelope comes up behind you and rests her hand on yours and helps you open the door.

The sight hits you like a truck. All the wires hooked up to his limbs pumping IV fluids and the heart monitor beeping steadily. He’s paler than you’ve ever seen him. His skin is clammy, the hair sticking to his forehead. You can see that from across the room and all you can think about is how uncomfortable he must feel from the sweat coating him. You used to tease him once upon a time when he’d sometimes take multiple showers a day because of how much it bothered him.

“Another shower? Spence, our water bill is about to be crazy.”

He laughs and waves you off, “Don’t worry about that, I can charge the water bill as bureau compensation.”

“Okay, one that sounds illegal. Two, the more time you spend in the shower, the less time you spend with me.” you moan with fake petulance.

You yelp as he suddenly sneaks up behind you, caging you to his chest with his arms, “So join me.”

“Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of getting clean?” you giggle, leaning your head back into the crevice of his neck.

He presses a soft kiss to your temple, “You do know what showers are for, right?”

You nod, “To get clean! It would get even dirtier before it got cleaner.”

“I think that’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make.”

The smile on your face grows the widest it can before you break off into a sprint down the hallway towards the bathroom, Spencer trailing behind with your laughs mixing in the light air.

You don’t know why you’re thinking so deeply about the state of his perspiration, maybe a convoluted defense mechanism your brain conjured up so you don’t have to come to terms with Spencer lying near comatose a few feet away.

Your feet hesitantly carry you closer to the bed, feeling somewhat calmed by the slow rise and fall of his chest. You lean down and look him over, as if you could see the damaged inflicted on him even though it’s nestled deep in his brain. Spencer always said his brain would lead to his demise, and you hope all those times you played it off as a joke that it cemented itself as one, a joke. That you would be able to see his hazel eyes open again and they’d fill you with reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere, that all he needed in this world was you, and that he loved you.

You will and wish and hope to have his eyes open. You try not to think about if you’ll ever get to see them again.

A choked sob escapes your throat before you can help it, your hand coming over your mouth to muffle the impact. Spencer is hurt. Spencer is fighting for his life, and you were fighting him not even a few hours ago.

“Oh, honey,” Penelope reaches for your shoulders and pulls you into a hug, “He’s gonna be okay, the doctors said the surgery went well. Just waiting for him to wake up now.”

You cry even harder and Penelope tightens her grip on you, determined to not let you fall further down the slope.

“W—We got into a fight,” you sniffle, “before I left. It was bad, Penny. He was so mad, and then I was so mad. And then I just left.”

“You didn’t know this would happen, honey. None of us did.”

“I didn’t even say I love you. Th—The last conversation we had was a fucking fight a—and now…” you cry, “He can’t die, Pen. He can’t die I didn’t even get to tell him—“

Penelope grabs your face with both of her hands, “Hey. No, we’re not doing that. We are not spiraling, not when there’s no reason to. Okay?”

Whatever response you had falls dead on your lips when you take another look at Spencer’s motionless body on the bed. The calmness on his face is a stark difference from the Spencer you saw only a few hours ago.

She was right, there’s nothing you can do right now but wait. You’d just have to trust that Spencer would pull through.

You almost chuckle dryly through the tears. Trust and Spencer? The irony of it all laughs in your face.

—

Spencer’s eyes blink open and adjust to the bright light blinding him. He takes in his surroundings and realizes he’s standing in the middle of the bullpen. That’s weird, he thinks, I thought I was in the study.

“Reid, you sure you don’t want to join me and Elle in Jamaica?” Derek sings, “My guy can swing you a great deal.”

Derek? Elle?

He snaps his head in the direction of the voice, seeing Derek not even looking in his direction but still looking towards Spencer. Just, a different and much younger Spencer.

“Have a great two weeks off everyone, you all deserve it. Don’t call me at my cabin.” Gideon rushes out as he beelines to the door right past Spencer. “Seriously, don’t call me.”

Gideon? But Gideon…died. Where is he?

The scene changes with a snap and suddenly he’s back in his apartment, his old apartment. The one he lived in before he moved in with you. He is definitely in a dream, though with the vividity and theme of important people in his past he’s not entirely sure he’s only sleeping. A head of blonde hair on his couch catches his eye. He slowly walks around and his breath hitches at who he sees.

“Maeve?”

She smiles softly, “Hi Spencer.”

He slowly walks around the couch and kneels in front of her. The tears prick his eyes before he can help it, “I didn’t think I’d get to see you again. I—I’m so sorry for—“

Maeve holds a hand up, “What happened to me wasn’t your fault, I promise. You did what you could. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“It’s not?”

She shakes her head. “You’re dying, Spence.”

His face falls, “I am?”

“Collateral from the explosion, you have a brain bleed.”

It takes a few minutes for him to comprehend what she said, and he can feel his head spinning fast in his head. He can’t actually be dying right? The explosion happened days ago and yet now is when his brain decides to tap out, that can’t be right.

It simply cannot be right because that’s when he remembers you and the last conversation he had with you, and he has to clutch his heart at the prospect of his fate.

He won’t know if you’ll ever forgive him, if you’ll ever learn to trust him again, if you even still love him. He won’t know anything if he dies. He cannot die.

“M—Maeve, I can’t be here I—“

She places her hand atop of his own and he feels her. He can feel her hand on his, like she’s real and here.  It’s alarming, and warm. “I know, it’s okay. C’mon, let’s go for a walk.”

Maeve gestures for him to follow her and before his eyes the scene changes again to a nearby park, one that looks a little too familiar to him.

She starts walking through the park, “We’re all okay up here you know? I get to read a lot more now, there’s so much time to read and postulate. Sometimes I get lucky and I can meet the authors. I got to meet Kant and Dostoevsky a while ago, very interesting people. Gideon plays with this nice little octopus friend. I know he’s having the best time.” she laughs, “But you, Spencer Reid, are not okay down there.”

He looks up at her and swallows, “I know.”

She turns onto the fork in the trail, “What’s holding you back?”

“I don’t know,” he sighs.

“I think you do know.”

A few silent minutes pass. “I…I’m scared to let myself be happy again,” he admits.

Maeve looks at him with a saddened smile, “And why’s that?”

Because everything he loves leaves him. Because when he laughs just a little too hard, he’s already scanning the surroundings waiting for the other shoe to fall. Because when Spencer feels he’s trekked up the mountain with long and winding breaths, something always seems to be waiting at the top ready to knock him down.

“Don’t think I deserve it, to be honest.” he admits, “I keep…messing up everytime.”

Maeve stops walking, “You love so deeply, Spencer. It’s a blessing and a curse.”

“Emphasis on the curse.” he deprecates.

“It’s only a curse because you don’t let yourself feel wholly. I know given everything that’s happened it’s hard but,” she pauses, “You’re not a clipped bird, Spence. You just…lost a few feathers. Nothing you can’t get back.”

It’s easier said than done when it feels like his mere existence causes you pain as of late.

“I feel like I have to hold parts of me back so I can protect her…from myself.”

Maeve turns to him, “She deserves all of you, Spence. It is a privilege to be loved by you, but it’s a greater privilege to be loved. And you deserve to feel loved.”

“What if I ruin it?” More accurately, what if he’s already ruined it, is what he means.

“You are not destined for sorrow and misery, despite what your life has made you think. She loves you. She would not have stayed this long if she didn’t. But there is one thing I think she could use from you.”

Spencer looks at her expectantly waiting for her to continue.

“She wants to feel chosen, Spencer. And I know you think you choose her everyday just by loving her. But the reality is, you can’t fully choose her without choosing yourself first. That means allowing yourself to be happy.”

A few stray tears streak down his face and he haphazardly wipes them away. For the entirety of Spencer’s life his purpose was to be of service to others. With his intelligence, his kindness, his courage. His needs always came second because the few times he thought to put himself first, disaster struck. 

When he met you this notion only reinforced itself, wanting to ensure he could make you as happy as he could. You became his priority and he didn’t mind that at all. It was easy being with you, you made life feel easy. So when Spencer started to let his guard down piece by piece, allowing himself the little bits of your happiness to seep into his being, he wasn’t thinking about the abyss that had always loomed over him his whole life.

He couldn’t, not when you managed to infiltrate his entire existence by wrapping and tethering yourself to him with strings of gold. How could he? You made things so easy.

But then prison happened. Then Cat, again. Then Maeve, again. Three strikes. It should have been game over by now. He broke your trust, betrayed your love and he wasn’t sure if you would even stay long enough to see the damage unfold. But you did, and he still can’t really figure out why.

So here he is in limbo? Purgatory? Some figment of his mind in the wake of near death that is giving him the opportunity to make amends. Not with Maeve or Gideon or you or any other grudge he has yet to settle in his life. No, he has the chance to make amends with himself and forgive himself for standing in the way of what he really deserves.

A faint beeping in the distance reels him back to the present moment, Maeve’s face coming into focus again. The dull ache in his eyes coming forward again with how many tears are falling.

“Love is our true destiny, we do not find the meaning of it alone, we find it with another.”

He smiles with a watery chuckle, “Thomas Merton.”

“Spencer, I promise you, you will be happy again. And forever. Just keep the door open when it comes knocking.”

The beeping starts to get louder, like it’s approaching him fast. A warm glow begins to build around him, then light. He looks around the park again and sees the trees and benches begin to blur. He looks at Maeve as she stands with a fond smile, her figure slowly fading as well.

“Take care, Spencer.” and with a blink Maeve is gone.

In the silence he is left in, he looks to the epitaph of Jason Gideon in front of him and back to the spot where Maeve was standing, whispering a soft, “You too.” before closing his eyes and succumbing to the beeping.

—

It’s been 4 hours since you’ve been sat next to his bed. You’d be a lot more concerned than you were, which is already a lot, if it wasn’t for his heartbeat monitor beeping steadily throughout the hours. A sign of life, as morbid as it sounds, but it’s hard to be rational given the circumstances.

It had taken all of 3.5 hours for you to braven up and hold his hand in comfort. Hour one you simply stared at his hand, as if it would regain mobility and reach out for you. Hour two you were able to place your hand on the bed, not anywhere near his obviously. But enough to feel close, satiated. By hour three you had your fingers mere millimeters from his own, feeling like a magnetic force of the same poles was repelling you.

The 3.5 hour mark is when the exhaustion of the day caught up to you, and finally allowed yourself to relax in his hand.

At hour 4.5 is when you felt the twitch.

You look up and whisper, “Spencer?”

He slowly opens his eyes, revealing his hazel brown irises with gold flecks on the insides that meet yours sitting right beside him. You can see the recognition begin to flood his face, but is stopped momentarily when he starts to panic realizing the breathing tube is still in his throat. You hit the call button besides his bed and watch the doctors rush in to help stabilize him back down.

It’s another two hours of testing and scans before the three of you are left alone again, with the nurse promising to check on him in a few hours.

You’re stiff next to him, unsure what to do now that he’s awake and perceiving you again. With a small voice you speak, “They said they found you in the study.”

Spencer racks his brain for memories of before his fall, only able to remember bits and pieces. He remembers fighting with you and when you left. He remembers walking to the study. And he remembers reading…”Lynch! Did you get him? He’s still alive, you have to call Emily—“

“Hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” you shush. “We know he’s still alive, they’ve almost got him right now. It’s okay.”

That seems to make him visibly relax knowing the immediate stressor was almost resolved. Now there’s just the matter of the other elephant in the room.

“You’re here.”

Your eyes soften as your brows raise in shock, “Of course I’m here, Spence.”

He stares at you and takes in your features—your puffy cheeks and red eyes, the skin around your nails picked to death, your lip nearly split in half from the bites and bleeding. He needs to apologize again, he knows that. But the second he opens his mouth you cut him off.

“Penny, can you give us a minute please?”

She smiles and stands, “Sure hon, I’ll be right outside.”

Once she leaves you turn back to Spencer, “We don’t have to talk about all of that anymore, it’s okay. You’re hurt and that’s more important right now.”

He should have expected that you would do this, selflessly push your discomfort and feelings down because someone you cared about was hurting. It was one of the few things he didn’t like that you did, and he’s not going to let it go again.

“Angel, you can’t forgive me just because you thought I was going to die.” he says sadly.

You’re taken aback. “I—I know.”

He swallows, “I really want you to.”

Your eyes blur again, “I know.” Another pause. “I’m trying really hard.”

A gentle squeeze, “I know.”

“I…I still love you, Spence. I don’t think that will ever change, but I’m nervous if one day it won’t be enough…that I won’t be enough.” you trail off.

Again, he shouldn’t be surprised that’s what you’re thinking. He hasn’t done a very good job at convincing you yet. It still hurts knowing that you feel that way.

“Do you know what I thought about everyday when I was in Millburn?”

You shake your head as he continues, “I thought about how when you eat cupcakes you tear the bottom half and stick it on top to make a cupcake sandwich. When we’re watching Doctor Who and you’re singing along to the theme song with only syllables. How you let me eat the olives on your plate and I give you the pickles on mine.”

“Why would you be thinking about that?” you ask confused.

“Because I don’t think I would have survived if I didn’t.”

The lump forms in your throat, “But…you took me off the visiting list after the first time I came to see you.”

“I couldn’t let you keep seeing me like that, honey.” he strains, “The way they were looking at you, what they did to me. I had to protect you.”a

You swallow hard, a few tears falling down your face, “Th—That’s not fair, Spence. I understand why you did it, but then when all the other shit happened… I don’t know what I was supposed to believe. I couldn’t stop wondering if I ever was enough for you.”

Spencer can feel his heart splintering.

“You will always be enough, because it is always you. God, sweetheart it’s not even a question of how much, it just is. I see you in everything I do—you’re the tangled headphones we use to listen to music flying back on the jet. You’re the annotations I make when I read something that reminds me of you, or if I think you’d enjoy it. You’re the smell of bavarian kreme donuts from Dolores’ even though the chocolate sprinkle ones are far superior.”

His heart blooms hearing a soft giggle from you, an earnest smile forming on your face.

“You are entangled in the things that make me happy, and you make them too good to be true. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I meant it when I said I would spend all of time making it up to you. You are my Catalina comet, and I love you.”

You can’t help the sob that leaves you as you remember the memory.

“I’m cold Spence, are you sure we’ll be able to see it?”

He tugs you closer under his arm as he keeps trekking to find the perfect spot, a chaste kiss to your temple, “I promise it’ll be worth it. Come on, I think it's a good spot over there.”

You help Spencer set out the blanket on the ground and use the extra one to wrap around you both, huddling closer together as you wait for the celestial body to make its appearance.

“The first time they did the calculations they used old observational data that led to some incorrect results, and they thought the orbit was only four years.”

“They just got it wrong?”

“Not everyone gets it right on the first try, sweet girl.” he says softly, “But then they did the math again, made sure all the factors and numbers were correct. And you know what they found?”

You ponder for a moment, “Did they realize the orbit was longer?”

Spencer beams down at you, “My smart girl. That’s exactly what they found. So when they did the calculations again, they found out that the Catalina comet is even more special than anyone thought. It’s even more of a rare sighting to get to see it, once in a lifetime really.”

You hang onto his every word, captivated by the story, “Do people wish on comets?” you ask doe eyed.

His hand smooths your hair back, “They do, some say the rarer comets have extra special energy to aid their wishes.”

You look at him skeptically, “Do you really believe that?”

“Do you?”

You look back to the sky, “I think I do.”

Spencer doesn’t look away from you, “Then I do too.”

You giggle and lightly shove him, “Cheesy…” He smiles fondly and pulls you closer into his chest, his arms warming you up before you gasp, “Look!”

There across the night sky streaks the Catalina Comet in all her glory, Spencer watches the comet track through Ursa Major and before he can start telling you about why it goes that path, you’ve already clamped your eyes shut and squeezed his hand, silently gesturing for him to do the same.

He complies, obviously. You open your eyes again after making your wish, “Did you make yours?”

Spencer opens his eyes and admiringly looks at you, “Yeah, I did angel.” 

He didn’t need to make any wishes.

“Spence…” you whine through sobs.

His hand comes up shakily to wipe the tears from your cheeks, “Didn’t mean to make you cry, honey.”

“Well, what did you expect by bringing that story up?” you laugh with fake anger.

“To be fair, you were already crying.” he chuckles.

You scoff, “Mean.” You look at his eyes, and really look at him and see nothing but love and adoration staring back at you. You take a deep breath, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“I believe you.” his eyes soften, you continue, “I love you.”

He brings your hand up to his lips and gently kisses it, “I love you so much. I’m sorry again, sweet girl.”

You lean up to him on the bed and press a soft kiss to his lips, and Spencer can feel his wounds start to hurt less and less. “You should get some rest, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

You make yourself as comfy as you can whilst sat on the armchair, bent over to be able to rest your head next to Spencer. It feels okay for a bit, and then he tangles his hand in your hair gently moving back and forth and suddenly you’re satisfied with never moving ever again.

The quiet air between you both is enough to lull you to sleep, before a thought runs through your mind.

“You know something funny,” you mumble, “Pen told the receptionist I was your fiancée so they’d let me see you.”

And poor Spencer, in between his sleepy haze and the dull ache of pain from his injuries, only hears the word fiancée.

“You found the ring?” he sighs, “I thought I hid it well.”

You still under his hand.

“…There’s a ring?”

His eyes shoot open, realizing he misheard you and tries to play it off, “So…Penelope lied to staff. Tsk Tsk.”

“There’s a ring.” you say pointedly, the corners of your lips upturned to reach a smile.

Spencer thinks he can try and get out of this but decides it’s better to come clean, “Fine, okay. Of course there’s a ring.”

“Of course?”

The surprise on your face honestly stuns Spencer, and he feels a little saddened that you were in disbelief of the possibility.

“Yeah baby, of course.”

Your bottom lip wobbles with a creeping suspicion of his answer, “How long have you had it?”

“Got it after our six month.”

You shakily exhale. There is no ounce of doubt in your body that he loves you, and that you really are all he needs. “ ‘M sorry I ruined the surprise.”

He grins, “It’s okay, you won’t know when I’m going to do it. It’ll knock you off your feet, I promise.”

You definitely aren’t expecting it during a Planetarium date months later where he got the museum people to show the Catalina Comet passing over you both as he got down on one knee. You are expecting the endless stream of tears from the both of you, the aching cheeks from smiling too much, and the multiple missed attempts at sliding the ring on from how much you both were shaking.

[katisconfused]

Putting the whole thread under a readmore because against all odds, it looks like tumblr might outlast twitter:

Tweet thread by The Tweedy Mutant:

One of the cruelest things about Autistic/ADHD masking is that you learn to treat positive emotions as a warning sign that you're about to do something "wrong" and that it is therefore "safest for everyone" if you maintain a constant, low-key negative internal emotional state.

To feel joy, you have to be in yourself and in the moment. You're not worried about how you appear to others. You can't be both hypercritical of your existence while also reveling in it.

Joy means that the mechanism for monitoring/policing yourself for the comfort of others no longer takes priority.

And when being yourself is so often a "wrong" way to be, being yourself without surveilling/"mitigating" yourself can feel perilous.

In fact, we've often been told it *is*perilous - to others. We're told that we're "rude", "weird", "extra", "unthinking", "impulsive", "over-the-top", "self-absorbed", "oblivious", "annoying", etc.

We don't hear those messages when we're already over-analyzing our behaviours from the point of view of everyone else and adapting them accordingly.

We hear those messages when the connection with that normativity-focused inner critic drops and family, bosses, educators, colleagues, etc. step in to play that role.

That might come from a meltdown or shut down, but it also happens in moments of true unselfconscious joy.

So joy feels dangerous. Joy becomes associated with alienating others, and eventually we come to feel alienated from joy itself.

I realized today that whenever I feel truly immersed in positive emotions (heck, even plain uncomplicated contentment), I am immediately fearful of who or what I must be irritating, neglecting, overstepping, steamrolling, etc.

I have received the message that my joy comes at a cost to everyone else. My happiness is something I do to others.

So I have learned to always keep my emotional barometer just slightly inside of the depressed range.

I can have a little mirth, as a treat.

CW: suicide/self harm

This is deadly. There is nothing surprising at all about the suicide and self-harm statistics of ADHD and Autistic folks once you understand that we are conditioned in this way. Training people to be depressed is deadly.

Sometimes I say that I am happiest when I am by myself, but I wonder if maybe I am just only actually "allowed to feel happy like truly happy without that lingering soupçon of impending indecorum and fuckuppery -- when I am by myself.

(Well not completely by myself. Usually also with my cats. Because they're always game for a little indecorum and fuckuppery.)

Oof I'm sorry this is all resonating with folks.

Another reason why I find myself trying to "manage my emotional expectations" is bc of the whiplash you get from being kneecapped when only moments before you were truly, neurodivergently happy.

It's like the physical feeling of getting the wind knocked out of you but on an existential level.

0/10 would not recommend

This thread was brought to you by one of those "find words for your feelings"

charts and the jarring realization that I view every emotion listed under "happy with suspicion and try to limit how much of it I experience.

Original post was made unrebloggable so I'm reposting the link. Click through for the whole thread.

[ceilidho]

fear of god

There's someone outside the spacecraft. You don't remember them being part of the crew. Part 11 masterlist

-

The ship is big enough to get lost in, just like your mind.

You open your eyes and you’re back in your room. The lights are off. You feel around the wall for the light switch and when it comes on, it temporarily blinds you; you wince against the burning light. The faint remnants of a dream on the verge of slipping away lingers on the edges of your conscious mind. 

A man stands at the end of a long corridor, shrouded in darkness.

You are powerless to stop him unless he wants to be stopped.

Shaking. When you look down at yourself, you realize you’re shaking, your pinkie trembling independently of the rest of your hand though the tremor soon spreads to your other fingers. 

How did I get here? You want to ask but there’s no one around to receive the question. The door to your room is sealed shut. Looking around the room reveals nothing amiss or out of place. Even your clothes are neatly folded on your desk, and you’re clad in your pajamas as if you’d already gone through your whole nighttime routine. 

The sheets are rumpled and warm from your body, meaning that you’ve been in bed for some time. The problem is that you don’t remember returning to your room or tucking yourself into bed. The last thing you remember is Gaz taking your face in hand and promising you—

Your brows knit together as you rack your brain.

—promising you something. 

You rack your brain harder, searching for a memory that slips further and further away with each passing second. You remember Farah and doubles and your ship hurtling through empty space, and then a sickle slices through your memories and lops it off. 

Your lips tingle when you press your fingers to them. Something here too, but it slips from you when you try to fit your hands around it. 

Sleep knocks at the door of your mind though, putting off anymore thoughts of what you’re forgetting. Maybe in the morning it’ll come back to you.

In your dreams, he appears again, hovering over you this time, thick thighs on either side of your hips. Skin darker under the cloak of darkness. His plush lips part when you touch your fingers to them and he kisses each pad delicately, reverently. 

Your body feels warm and weightless; sticky between your legs. A pulsing pleasure like nothing you’ve ever experienced, desperate for him to tuck his hands under your back and draw you up into his chest. 

I’ve been waiting a very long time for something like you, he whispers against your fingertips. 

And you want to whisper back, what will you do now that you’ve found me? But when you open your mouth, all that comes out is ash and dust.

By the following morning, Hadir is sick.

You find out in the middle of brushing your teeth when Graves summons you to the medbay over the intercom, giving you only the briefest of explanations before his voice cuts out with a crackle. A line of toothpaste and drool drips down your chin as you stare up at the speaker in the corner of your room, dread pooling in your belly. Even from the outset, you know this can’t be any good. 

That feeling follows you all the way to the medical unit, shoving your arms into your lab coat sleeves while speed walking down the hall and wondering what you’ll find waiting for you. That’s where you find the three of them—Farah and Graves flanking the examination table where Hadir is laid out, the flush and sweat on his face visible from across the room. 

“What happened?” you ask, hurrying over to his side. You drag the computer over with you, the arm it’s attached to gliding over to the exam table. 

“He’s been like this all morning,” Farah explains in a terse voice, not meeting your eyes. “I went to check on him when he didn’t show up for breakfast.”

“Hadir?” Speaking directly to him now, you soften your voice, trying to gauge his mental state. Pupils of uneven size lazily roam around until they land on you. “Hadir, how’re you feeling?”  

His lips are dry when he parts them, and though he stares at you uncomprehendingly for long enough to worry you, he eventually responds with a raspy, “…Bad.”

That gets a shallow laugh out of you. “Yeah, I figured.”

The fever is obvious. What’s less obvious is the cause of his fever. You run through your usual preliminary tests, but nothing seems to stick. There’s a waxy sheen to his skin and boils under his arms that make you think bacterial infection, but coupled with his other symptoms—the fever and nausea—you err on the side of caution and take a few blood samples, plugging in the command for a CT scan. 

“I can page you when his results are in if you’d like” you let Farah and Graves know, looking at them from over your shoulder, the two of them still standing by Hadir’s bedside and watching you intently. “You don’t have to stay for this. It’ll be a little while until I know what’s going on.”

“Farah will stay,” Graves states. The look he sends her feels pointed and you don’t know if you like it. 

Something unsaid passes between their eyes. Excluded from their exchange, all you can do is focus on your work to quell the anxiety brewing in you. 

“Alright,” you assent, practically mumbling the word under your breath. 

Graves leans over Hadir’s prone form to whisper something into his ear before straightening and leaving without another word, not issuing you so much as a glance.

A tense silence fills the room. You try not to let it get to you at first, concentrating more on putting the blood samples into the centrifuge and setting up the scanner. After yesterday though, your tolerance for bullshit is low, almost nonexistent. You can only take Farah’s gaze boring into your back for so long before you snap. 

“What?” you finally ask, your voice cutting through the tension like a knife.

Farah doesn’t answer for a moment, considering whether or not to broach the subject.

“You ran away yesterday,” she finally says. A statement rather than a question.  

You’d been bracing yourself for this exact moment, but when it arrives, you flounder a bit. Tongue heavy and nerves electric. Rooting around in your brain for an answer that doesn’t make you come off as paranoid and crazy when you’ve already revealed your hand to her. 

“I wasn’t feeling well.” You keep it simple. Tell her nothing that she doesn’t already know. 

“You went back to your room then?”

“Yeah. I just needed to rest.”

She lets the silence hang in the air, long enough for you to worry that you’ve miscalculated in lying to her. There’s no sense in telling her the truth though. Even now, you can’t be sure of who you’re speaking to. 

That thought sits like a stone in your belly. 

“We still need to have that conversation.”

She dislocates himself from your peripheral vision when she takes a step away, forcing you to turn your head to find her. “There’s more to talk about?”

“Yes.”

“Like what?”

“You’re going around saying Gaz isn’t human and that we had conversations that I don’t remember ever having with you, and now my brother’s sick. I’d say there’s more to talk about.” 

“I made a mistake,” you lie, hoping that you can put on a convincing enough face. “The other day, I mean, when I said that to Hadir about Gaz. Obviously Gaz is a human. Maybe I was getting sick too.”

“That would be awfully convenient,” she responds blandly. 

“Convenient?” you repeat, frowning.

A sudden antagonistic turn to the conversation. Real or not, it’s been in the air for weeks now, maybe months. Your blood goes hot beneath your collar. Not once has she given you any semblance of grace or leeway. Like you can only do wrong; like she expects treachery or disappointment or worse from you. 

Then someone breaks the tension by coughing. 

“Can…you two…stop arguing?” Hadir rasps, dragging your attention back down to him on the exam table. 

“Sorry,” Farah murmurs to her brother. She slips her hand into his and gives it a squeeze.

You apologize under your breath to him as well, shedding the last of your annoyance. There’ll be a time for that later. Now, you have a patient to tend to. 

The day does not improve from that point on. 

Though you spend hours pouring over Hadir’s blood samples and the cross-sectional images from his CT scan, you can’t figure out what’s wrong with him, all of his results coming back ostensibly normal even though his condition continues to visibly deteriorate. By mid afternoon, his skin is abnormally hot and you sponge his skin with lukewarm water to try and keep him cool while running more tests. His fever holds steady.

You order an MRI on top of his other tests, waiting impatiently for his results only for those images to come back normal as well. Test after test comes back with the same answer. Though Hadir’s white blood cell count is higher than normal, his body doesn’t appear to be fighting anything in particular. 

He becomes less responsive around lunchtime, which doesn’t worry you until it gets harder and harder to get him to open his eyes and grumble out more than a couple words at a time. 

You can feel Farah’s frustration and worry rise as the hours pass. For a time, she’s called away by Nikolai to help work on something else, but she comes back as soon as her work is done, the soft whoosh of the door behind you alerting you to her presence. 

“How’s he doing?” she asks quietly on her return. 

You breathe out heavily, your mask making your breath blow down over your chin. “He’s still running a fever. I have him on an IV to make sure he’s still getting fluids in his system in the meantime.”

Farah idles closer to Hadir’s bedside, gazing down at him almost tenderly. You can almost see the effort it takes her to keep her face neutral. “Is he…in any pain?”

That question is hard to answer. Though all of Hadir’s tests have come back fairly positive—no sign of infection or internal bleeding or anything that could account for his outward symptoms—you haven’t been able to elicit a response from him in hours, not since he was first admitted into your care. Every so often, he grumbles out a couple words, but that’s hardly enough to alleviate your worry. The only comfort you can offer her is that you haven’t been able to detect anything that would be causing him any pain. 

You’re not sure if that comes as much of a relief to Farah when Hadir’s brow quivers and sweat beads on his upper lip.

The situation bleeds from one day into the next. You sleep on a cot in the medical unit instead of returning to your room, setting multiple alarms in order to check on Hadir periodically throughout the night. You try to convince Farah to go back to her room to get some sleep, but when she doesn’t make any indication of leaving, you relent and pull out a cot for her as well. 

Hadir is no better in the early hours of dawn when you check his temperature and vitals again, but he’s not any worse either. Stable doesn’t mean good though. 

It’s only when Graves joins the two of you around midafternoon that the situation turns dire. 

“Well, doc?” he asks after returning from speaking quietly with Farah outside the medbay. “What’s wrong with him?”

His and Farah’s continued presence shouldn’t bother you as much as it is. You know it’s only natural considering this is the first time anyone on board has been sick since you departed Earth. It’s cause for some concern. 

“No prognosis yet,” you sigh. “I’ve done every single test I could possibly think of but there doesn’t seem to be anything actually causing his fever.”

Graves looks unimpressed with your answer. “How long’s Hadir been here—ten hours? And you still don’t have a single clue what might be wrong with him?”

You should’ve assumed his question wouldn’t be in good faith from the way he initially ignored you to call Farah into the hall for a chat. You bristle at his words though, stomach roiling. 

“It may not be a simple answer,” you say through grit teeth. “I’ll keep looking until I can figure out what’s causing this, but in the meantime, he’s getting fluids and rest and I’m making sure he stays stable.”

“Where are all of his test results anyway? Any x-rays I can look at?” Graves asks, meandering over to the counter running along the wall. 

There’s a stack of papers on the counter nearest him that he flips through. You bite your tongue to keep from asking him if he even knows what he’s looking at, choosing instead to just silently hand him Hadir’s scans. He inspects each scan for barely a few seconds before shuffling it to the back of the pile. 

He shuffles through the pile twice before slapping them back down on the counter. “Okay, maybe this’ll be easier if you just explain it to us.”

You’d laugh but it’s hard to find humour in the situation with the two of them staring at you with such obvious disaffection. Instead, you walk them through the tests you’ve ordered and all of Hadir’s results, taking the time to ensure that they understand the purpose of each test and your thought process behind it. 

Graves’ face says he still doesn’t get it. “Well, if Hadir’s fine, why isn’t he getting better? Not to point out the obvious, doctor, but he looks like shit.”

“…I’d tell you if I knew, but as you can see from his scans—”

“Which I’m still waiting for you to explain.”

“—as you can see from his scans, I haven’t been able to find anything actually wrong with him. Apart from his white blood cell count, which is a bit high—which could mean an infection somewhere, but I haven’t been able to find anything yet.”

“You know,” Graves starts, drawing out each word. “Back on Earth, they really sold me on your skills when I was picking through resumes for our staff media, but I gotta say, doc…I’m not seeing much to be impressed with now.”

You balk at his words, struggling at first to form a coherent response. “I’m…sorry to hear that, sir. I’m doing my best.”

“And none of this has anything to do with the other day?”

Your blood goes cold. “What exactly are you trying to say?”

“I’m just trying to figure out if something might be impacting your judgment.”

“Like what?”

Your raised voices must be audible from the hall because Alex enters a few minutes later, followed by Nikolai and Gaz, the latter of which you studiously avoid making eye contact with. 

Ever the blunt one, Nikolai is the first to speak. “Why all the yelling? We heard you from practically down the hall. Hadir is not dying, no?”

It’s so much worse to do this in front of a crowd; it’s like something out of your worst nightmare, all of them gathered on one side of the room and you on the other, divided even physically. 

“I’m just trying to figure out if there’s something the doctor isn’t sharing with us,” Graves says, eyes still locked on you. 

Your jaw hangs loose at the implication. “You’re not serious. Are you implying that I did something to Hadir? I didn’t make him sick,” you say, emphasizing the absurdity of the claim being levied against you.

“But you’re also not helping him get better. And that’s what we’re concerned about.”

“I can’t just snap my fingers and fix someone! It takes time—”

“You’ve had over twenty-four hours—”

Gaz takes a step forward, placing a hand on Graves’ shoulder to calm him down. “Commander, I know tensions are high but…you know she wouldn’t do something like that.”

You have a momentary lapse of gratitude in being defended before the anger rushes back up at the thought that Graves would hold Gaz’s words with more weight than your own. That Gaz would need to defend you in the first place when you half suspect that Graves’ distrust is by his own design. 

Graves’ nostrils flare as he exhales, no longer hurtling accusations at you but still deeply suspicious. 

“Can all of you just leave?” you blurt out, at the end of your rope. “I can’t keep arguing with you while I’m trying to take care of my patient. And it might seem like Hadir can’t hear us, but he’s still very much conscious and all of this is just going to put undue stress on him.”

The five of them stare at you with varying degrees of uncertainty, only Gaz’s expression remaining neutral. 

“I’m not leaving my brother,” Farah states, her distrust unambiguous. It stings. 

“You either have to trust me enough to let me do my job or lock me up if you’re going to keep second guessing me,” you snap. Probably unwise to plant that seed, but anger keeps your common sense at bay. 

“It’s probably not good for you to be here. It won’t make you feel any better,” Alex murmurs. Though it’s mostly hidden from view, you can almost make out the way his hand flutters over her low back.

“I’m not leaving him alone.” Even speaking softly, Farah’s voice reaches your ears from across the room. 

 Your hands clench into fists at your sides. Indignation like you’ve never felt before bubbles up, anger at being treated like the threat in the room. Your eyes cut to Gaz, whose stare hasn’t wavered since he arrived. Waiting for him to say something, to indict you like the rest of them. 

His brows bend in sympathy, but he doesn’t open his mouth. 

It’s Graves who eventually breaks the standoff. “Gaz, I want you to stay here until the doctor’s able to give us a better answer on Hadir’s condition.”

“Commander, I don’t know if that’s necessary—” Gaz interjects, but your fury drowns out his voice.

“You’re leaving me with a guard?” you ask in disbelief. “You can’t seriously think I’m keeping Hadir sick? That’s fucking insane, Graves—I’m a doctor. And moreover, Gaz isn’t even part of the crew—”

“First of all,” Graves cuts you off, a hair from shouting his words. “I won’t have anyone questioning my decisions on this ship. I’m the one who’s in charge around here. Second, Gaz has earned his place on this ship just as much as you have. Maybe more so because at least he’s actually done his fucking job!” 

His outburst stuns you into silence. Stock-still. Your bones creak when you rock back on your heels

Maybe because all this time, they’ve never said it in so many words, though you’ve felt the sentiment creep through the pipes and vents, the metal clanging with the sound of it hidden just behind a wall, just out of reach from you. 

For a second, you can see yourself the way they see you. A feckless, ineffectual crew member who hasn’t been able to pull her own weight. An extra bit of cargo for them to carry to Jupiter. Someone who, for some time now, they haven’t seen as equal to the rest of them.

The edges of goodness curl away from you. You’ve felt isolation before but never to this extent.

And not one of them comes to your defence. You stand there under the scour of their judgment and wait for someone to speak up and say that this has all been blown out of proportion, only for silence to reign supreme. 

“I’ll stay,” Gaz finally says, taking a step towards you and turning to face Graves. Physically putting himself on your side, though his words still align him with the commander. You try not to look as pulverized as you feel—you shouldn’t feel that way anywhere. You know he’s never been on anyone’s side but his own. 

The urge to say or do something you’ll regret is strong. Almost overwhelming. All you can imagine is grabbing a scalpel from the drawer near your hip and driving it right through your commander’s throat, revelling in the soft gurgles and flesh giving under the steel blade. The thought turns over your head until it’s nearly unbearable to keep your hand from trembling. Even the room seems to darken with your thoughts. 

Hadir breathes out shallowly from the exam table behind you. You blink and bite the inside of your cheek. This isn't right; this isn't you. Violence won't do anything out in space.

You know no answer will satisfy them, so you don’t even try, turning your back to Graves and his crew and focusing on your patient instead.

“Let me know if anything comes up,” Graves says, speaking to Gaz instead of you. Humiliation burns like bile at the back of your throat.

You hear Alex whisper c’mon to Farah before the whoosh of the door signals their departure. One by one they leave until only you and Gaz remain, and Hadir, still unconscious on the exam table. 

And all around you, the ship hums as it hurtles farther away from Earth.

[dyingswanpavlova]

"Your girl" - Part 16 | The Salesman x Reader

Summary: You get lucky and you get to go out. And then you're not so lucky anymore.

Warnings: dead dove do not eat, kidnapping, mentions of sexual abuse and other traumatic events in the past, numbness, helplessness, violence, threatening, mentions of blood, mentions of murder and rape, body issues, trauma talk, stockholm syndrome, forced relationship, unhealthy relationship, depression, manipulation, mentions of sexual activities and desires, oral sex, rough sex, choking, face slapping, biting, breeding kink, degradation kink, not beta-read, if I've missed any please tell me! mdni 18+!

"Your girl" - The Salesman x Reader Masterlist

The darkness wasn’t the worst part. It wasn’t even the uncertainty.

The worst part was, that after everything that had happened, you were back in here.

Back in the closet.

Back in the small, cramped space of the empty closet, where you had spent quite a few days so far. Back then it had always been to discipline you, to break you, to turn you into someone you were not – or someone you knew you were, deep down.

Whatever it was, it was in the past. You had really thought it had been the last time back then, but there you were. On your knees, breathing heavily and leaning against the wall for support.

The dizziness was so apparent that you felt you might lose the ground beneath your feet any second. Something was off.

You had often felt sick in your life, but this was different. You were different.

You weren’t supposed to be there. No matter the reason. Not like this, not anymore, not-

How did it get to this point yet again?

You kept your eyes closed and tried to breathe calmly, shutting the darkness out. In your head, you recalled everything that had happened that day. It had started so good. Almost like you were in a movie. And now you were here again.

In and out. In. And out.

You remembered the water. Soft and warm, as he slowly poured it over your head. God, it had felt heavenly. His ministrations, his kisses on your neck and the warm water which glided down your skin in a way that made you melt. Nothing was sexual about it, it was simply…warm. And safe.

With your back pressed against his chest, you leaned back against him in the bathtub. It wasn’t all too spacious, but it was enough. It was all the better, actually. You felt him so close without really feeling him. Without the sensation of having his hands reach for the sensitive parts of your body. Instead he ran them up your back and gently massaged your shoulders, easing every knot and tense muscle until you felt like a new person.

You kept your eyes closed and sighed softly, reveling in the way the warm water hugged your lower body. The callouses on his hands sent shivers down your spine, while he kept gently massaging you. He went from massaging, to soaping and cleansing with a fresh bit of lukewarm water. The thing you loved most was when he slowly poured it over your head and gently massaged your scalp with his fingertips.

“Oh God, that feels so good.” You heard yourself whisper, followed by a soft sigh. You heard the way he smirked behind you, before he rested his chin on your shoulder and pressed a soft kiss against your cheek. That made you smile in return.

“Are you feeling any better?” He murmured.

You had spent the previous night tossing and turning, feeling rather dizzy, despite the fact that you lay down flat and had your eyes shut. That happened sometimes, it had always been like that. There were some nights when you simply felt sick and the only thing that helped was fresh air and a cool cloth on your forehead. Both things he had done for you. He hadn’t hesitated to pull out his chip and open the window. Then he went to the bathroom and came back with a damp cloth. He had placed it over your forehead and eyes and spent half the night sitting beside you, occasionally dampening the cloth anew. You had never seen him like that. So soft, so concerned. So…everything you loved about him.

Of course you loved his darkness all the same. Probably not all of it. You didn’t quite appreciate when he got angry and cut your hair. But that hadn’t happened ever since that one time.

He hadn’t dared to lay down or even think about sleeping, until you were firmly asleep.

The next morning he waited for you, when you woke up, a buttered piece of bread and a cup of tea by your bedside. You had somehow choked it down, because you didn’t quite feel like yourself yet, but it had helped. And now you were here, in his gentle embrace, enjoying his warmth and care.

“Very much.” You whispered back. “Thank you.”

He hummed in response and picked up a soapy cloth, with which he began to gently rub your back.

You closed your eyes and suppressed a content moan. “You’re spoiling me.”

“Someone has to.”

That made you chuckle. “And that someone has to be you?”

He briefly stopped with his ministrations and you could practically hear the way he raised his brows. “Don’t even joke about that.”

That gave you a warm smile. “Silly old man.” You murmured.

He laughed at that and pinched your side, causing you to shriek out a laugh and nearly flood the whole bathroom floor. “Who are you calling old?”

You chuckled and looked over your shoulder. “I won’t take it back.”

He cocked a brow and pinched your side again.

“Okay, okay!” You laughed breathlessly. “You win.”

He smirked and pulled you flush against his chest again, wrapping his arms around your torso. You gently circled his wrists and pressed a soft kiss against one of them. “I’m really happy.” You said quietly.

He was quiet for a moment, obviously caught off-guard by your words. It was like a part of him still expected you to try and flee if you got the chance, just like a part of you always expected his hand to twitch when you teased him too much.

“Why?”

Your brows shot up in surprise. “Can’t you ever just leave things be?”

He hummed and shook his head. “Why?”

You shot him a cocky grin. “Because the most handsome man in South-Korea decided to abduct me.”

“Abduct? Oh, please. It’s not my fault you got no sense of self-preservation.” He shrugged. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to get into strangers cars?”

“If I refused you back then, don’t you think you would have found another way to get me? After all, you did some pretty sketchy shit long before.”

He smirked. “Do we have to go on about this every day now?”

Now it was you who hummed and smirked right back at him. “After all, you went and stole my underwear. How original.”

“Don’t make me tickle you again.”

“No, no, no, no, no – ah!” You laughed and splashed some water in his face. He responded in kind, so you had to squeeze your eyes shut.

Low laughter rumbled in his chest, until eventually he fell quiet again and gently caught your chin between two fingers. “I’m happy that you’re happy.”

You smiled warmly. You had no response for that.

You leaned back against him and closed your eyes. Everything was perfect. This was far better than anything you had ever read in any book, seen in any movie or imagined in your head. He was your dark prince, your savior. You were indeed made for each other. You saw it now. He was twisted, it was no secret and he had hurt you in more than one way. But none of them were irreparable. He had hurt you, locked you away, humiliated you, played with your life – but he had also freed you. He had shown you what love meant. What passion was. That you were indeed someone. Someone worthy of love and care. You were his.

And he was yours.

“Would you like to go out to eat today?”

Your eyes snapped open in a cartoonish way and you sat up straight faster than intended. You spun around and stared at him like a fool.

His lips twitched at the corners and his eyes twinkled in amusement. “So, is that a yes?”

You kept staring at him. A part of you expected it to be either a test or a joke, but despite his amusement, he seemed rather serious about it.

“Really?” You whispered in a voice that was barely audible. You wanted to be happy about it, but a part of you held back. Your mind was ready to, but you body braced itself for a fit of disappointment.

But his expression didn’t waver and instead, he nodded softly.

“I trust you.” He said gently. His words, combined with his soft voice, sent a pleasant shiver down your spine. “I trust you not to deceive me.”

Of course you heard the subtle threat behind his words. It was barely noticeable, but it was there. You were quite good when it came to reading his intentions. His emotions. They were there. Even when he tried to make it appear like there were none.

“I won’t.” You whispered further. “I’d never.”

Two hours later you stood in front of the bathroom mirror, nervously fidgeting with your ponytail. You couldn’t tell what it was exactly that made you so nervous. Was it the fact that you hadn’t been properly outside in months? Had the world changed in the time being?

No.

No, it was something else.

You were afraid. Terrified, even. You were terrified of making a mistake and destroying the lovely cloud that had built around you. The safe space that you felt whenever you were around him, taking a bath together or cooking, while he stood behind you, a hand on your hip as he watched what you were doing over your shoulder.

“Take as much time as you need.” You heard him call out from the living room. “I’ll be waiting for you.”

You took a deep breath to calm yourself. You looked good. You wore the dark green dress and you felt as confident in it as you possibly could. It still felt kind of foreign for you to go out, looking like this, being on his arm. But you knew you would manage it. He would help you through it. Talk you through it. Hold you and guide you, the same way he always did.

And so you finally made your way out.

He sat on the couch, his ankle over his knee and he stared down at his hands, while he waited. He wore a suit and a tie, his hair slicked back casually like it normally was. He looked so effortlessly perfect.

Once he noticed you, he looked up and his entire face lit up at the sight of you.

“Look at that.” He murmured and you smiled.

“Can we?”

He got up and held out his hand to you. Your fingers intertwined with his, you slowly made your way towards the door.

“Don’t be nervous.” He whispered in your ear as he slowly reached for the chip in his chest pocket. “I’m right here.”

You nodded and nibbled on your lower lip, when you heard the soft click of the door. And it opened. Just like that. It was open, open for you. You trembled when you stepped over the threshold. For the first time in how many months? You were outside. Outside. In the real world. But you weren’t the same woman you were when you first came here. The timid mouse who knew nothing but the reality she made for herself. No, now you were here and you were his.

His girl.

You took the elevator to the first floor and took a long glance around. So many things you hadn’t noticed the first time. The black wall that was such a big contrast to the other, white ones. The ceiling fan.

The letter box.

The letter box – it had to have his name on it. It had to. He lived here, right? He had to be there, there had to be some kind of record of him. He was someone, he was holding your hand for God’s sake, he had to-

He followed your gaze and his hold on your hand tightened subtly.

He leaned down, so his lips grazed your earlobe and he whispered: “Go ahead. Take a look.”

It sounded almost challenging, but you were sure, he wouldn’t punish you. Not even if it was a test. Not here, at least. Not outside. Not now.

So, you took a shaky step forward and your gaze followed the rows of names.

48, Apartment 7c belonged to…Blank.

A frown pulled at your lips and he smirked down at you.

“Silly girl.” He mused. “I thought you understood that I’m a ghost. Now, come. You must feel famished.”

You swallowed down your disappointment and followed him.

The moment you felt the warmth of the sun on your skin, the soft breeze of the wind, you stopped walking for a moment. All you could do was freeze on the spot and close your eyes, relishing in the way that it all made you feel. How could you ever before have taken this for granted?

It was perfect. It was Heaven.

You hardly even recognized his gaze on you as all you could focus on was the fact that you were alive.

Alive.

And well. As well as possible, at least.

He smiled at the sight of you and stood back, his hands clasped together in front of his lower body.

“How do you feel now?”

You inhaled deeply and tilted your head back, enjoying the warmth, the love you felt.

It was a single word, but it was hardly enough to capture the way you truly felt.

“Perfect.”

The way to the restaurant went without any further incidents. You decided to walk, because it wasn’t that far and because you had practically begged him to. You wanted to revel in the feeling of this freedom for as long as you could. It didn’t take much to convince him, but he kept his hand on the small of your back possessively the whole way. You didn’t mind that though, not one bit. It was the perfect addition to this wonderful day actually. You belonged to him and he didn’t let you forget it.

When you finally reached the restaurant – a cozy, little Italian place – he led you inside and your heart skipped a beat. The place was filled with all kinds of people, all of them going on about their day and barely acknowledging you. You felt his gaze on you the entire time, obviously trying to gauge your intentions, trying to make sure you stayed in your place and didn’t try to play any tricks on him. But nothing could have been further from your intentions. All you could think about was how you were here, how you kept asking yourself if all of this was real.

Your eyes sparkled in the intimate light of the afternoon sun that shone through the windows as you kept glancing at everything as if you saw it for the first time.

It was like that of course, but it wasn’t your first time going to a restaurant. But it was your first time going out as the woman you now were.

As his.

His eyes followed you with a mixture of amusement and adoration.

The waiter came and he ordered something to drink for the both of you, as well as pizza, pasta and a salad. You hardly even recognized any of it, because you were lost in your own world. Once the waiter left, he reached for your hand and gently squeezed it, capturing your attention.

“How do you feel?”

You smiled brightly. “Thank you.”

He cocked a brow and leaned back. “That’s how you feel, hm?”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, I just…I feel so…” You sighed deeply and gently ran your thumb over the back of his hand. “I love it here. And I love you.”

His lips curved into a slow smile. “Looks like I’ll be forced to take you out more often then.”

Soon the food and the drinks arrived and you stared down at everything with wide, nearly wild, eyes.

“Dig in, darling.”

You took a bite of the Carbonara pasta and you immediatelyhad to bite back a groan. “Oh God, this is good.”

He smirked as he watched you eat in silence.

“Why aren’t you eating?”

“Give me a moment.” He murmured. “I’m appreciating the sight.”

That made you smirk. “Stop buttering me up and eat something. I feel like a caveman compared to you.”

That made him laugh. A warm, rich sound. A sound you adored and you wished to hear for the rest of your life, actually.

“Don’t be silly.”

“I’m not the silly one. Open up.” You picked up the spoon and looked at him with a mischievous gleam in your eyes. Despite his reservations, he obeyed and parted his lips, allowing you to feed him a spoonful Spaghetti Carbonara. He hummed in response and licked his lips in a way that made your own mouth run dry.

“Delicious.” He purred.

You looked at him with the same mischievousness and slowly lifted the spoon to your lips, the same spoon he had just lapped at, and it disappeared inside your mouth.

His eyes darkened as he watched you with a playful gleam. “Tease.”

You smiled innocently and took a bite of the pizza. It tasted warm and rich, the cheese was practically melting on your tongue. “Me? A tease? Never.”

He grinned and playfully flicked your earlobe.

You laughed and swatted his hand away.

“Hey!” You bit your lip and tilted your head to the side. “I’ll show you what a tease can do.”

Before he even had the time to react, you placed your hand on his knee, sliding it up the tiniest bit on his thigh. His eyes widened and he nearly choked on his tea. Poor him. It was probably hot.

“Don’t you dare.” He murmured.

Your fingertips wandered up further, while you kept your eyes fixed on his. All the while you used your free hand to take another bite of the pizza.

“Don’t I dare what?” You murmured in feigned innocence.

He exhaled slowly through his nose as he watched you through his darkened eyes.

“You know exactly what I mean.” He said lowly.

Your hand just barely skimmed over the growing bulge in his pants, but you caught the way he closed his eyes and held himself back from making any sounds.

“You-“

You began to gently massage his hardness through the fabric of his pants and now you clearly heard the way his breathing sped up.

You had no idea what on earth was going on with you. This wasn’t like you, not at all actually. But the day had started off so wonderful and it only ever got better. He was so sweet and considerate, though he was always on guard. You just wanted to make him melt a little, like he always did you.

“You were saying?” You whispered softly.

He finally looked up at you through half-lidded eyes.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

You looked deeply into his eyes and a new sort of heat covered your cheeks and inside your chest. You wanted nothing more than to see him crumble, to bring him to the edge of ecstasy.

“But I can.”

You glanced around and before he knew it, you were already under the table. The table cloth was so long that it covered you completely and kept you from prying eyes.

His own eyes widened and he nearly let out a startled breath. He glanced around as well, before his eyes settled on your form under the table. His gaze was as incredulous as it was hungry.

“Are you insane?” He hissed while you were already on your best way to free him from the confinement of his slacks.

You smirked devilishly and didn’t make any sound, you just focused on the task at hand. A second later he was free and yet another second later, your mouth enveloped him.

He tensed beneath your touch and his hand instantly tangled in your hair. You observed the way his eyes fell shut and he didn’t even try to keep a straight face.

“Oh God, you’re such a fucking idiot.” He breathed out and tightened his hand in your hair. “Oh God, yes, like that. Don’t stop.”

You gently sucked on the tip before you took him in completely again, causing him to bite back a groan.

You heard someone passing by and he quickly straightened up, schooling his expression, but the look in his eyes was wild.

You made a point of sucking slightly harder whenever someone passed by your table and he tugged on your ponytail warningly.

You smirked against his skin and flicked your tongue against his tip, before you slowly pulled back.

“Tell me that you love me.”

His head snapped up and he looked at you with a frown. “What?”

You nearly brushed your lips against him, but pulled back the last moment, leaving him aching and bucking his hips against the place where your mouth had just been.

“Tell me that you love me.” You whispered again.

He stiffened and glanced around, as if that was the most scandalous part about this.

He grunted and shot you a dark look.

“Stop this.”

You made a point of almost kissing him, before you pulled back again.

He let out a soft sigh, but didn’t try to guide your movements. He just stared at you with growing impatience.

“Come on-“

“It’s true, isn’t it? So, say it.”

You licked along his shaft, but missed the tip on purpose. His eyes fluttered shut and he cupped your cheek in his hand. His touch was surprisingly gentle. You had actually expected him to be beyond livid.

“I love you.” He breathed out and ran his thumb along your temple.

Your heart skipped a beat and you swallowed. He still had trouble saying it and you were well aware that it wasn’t the most elegant way to tickle it out of him like that, but sometimes you just needed it. You needed to feel like you were in control of something. And he needed to learn it, right?

After all you had learned so many things for him.

Dresses. Sex. Trust.

Pain.

And love.

“I love you, too.” You whispered back. But you didn’t give him time to think about your words or the fact that he had said them, because you quickly went back to pleasuring him and this time, you weren’t being teasing about it.

Instead you worked your mouth on him in a way that had him writhing and trembling in his seat. His grip on your hair was tight, but not in the way it usually was. He didn’t hold onto you to guide your movements. This was your show. You were the one in control. He just kept his tight hold on you to keep himself from making any sounds.

When you felt him spill himself into your mouth, his body was shaking so hard, it was probably obvious for everyone close-by. But you didn’t care and he obviously didn’t either, because he buried his face in his free hand and tried to breathe out as quietly as he could. The pleasure nearly sent him spiraling off his chair. After a long, tense moment his breathing slowly slowed down and his grip on you became gentle again. He looked down at you with a soft vulnerability in his eyes that you didn’t get to see often. You had caught him off-guard, while also making him feel like he was indeed the one in control.

And his eyes were soft.

He glanced around to make sure there was no one watching, before he swiftly pulled you back up onto the chair beside his. His draped one arm around your waist and used the other one to quickly get himself decent again.

“You’re such a minx.” He breathed out, still trying to normalize his breathing.

Your lips felt swollen and sore, but you didn’t regret it one bit. You had come to love doing this to him. Nothing turned you on as much as the way his eyes darkened in pleasure.

He cleared his throat and tugged at his tie. His perfect appearance seemed rather disheveled now and the sight made you smile. You loved being reminded of the fact that he was human. That under the whole act of being stern and angry, cold and emotionless, he was indeed a man with flaws, a man with a past, a man with a name.

He gently tipped your chin up, before he picked up his tea cup and lifted it to your lips, tilting your head back. The hot liquid burned down your throat, but you appreciated the way he always took care of you.

He never allowed you to feel used afterwards. Never. Not even when he was angry with you.

“You’re so beautiful like that, you know that?” He murmured as he set the cup back down.

“How?”

He smiled at you. “When you let go and you’re just being yourself.”

That made you laugh. “You think that was me being myself?”

“Mhm.” He purred. “It might be hard for you to believe, but I think exactly that. Under all that sadness and that silence of yours, there’s actually a girl, hungry for life.”

Your eyes softened as you stared up at him.

He licked his lips and released a slow breath.

“And I, darling, I am dying to be the one to satisfy that hunger.”

The rest of the meal went by without any further outbursts – and it was wonderful. You spent your time laughing and talking about all kinds of things. You learned more and more about him and he learned the things he didn’t already know about you. His family and his childhood were still a taboo topic, but you didn’t mind that. You were sure, once the time was right, he would let you in about that part of his life as well. Just like his job…and maybe, just maybe, even his name.

More than one and a half hours later, you were back outside, slowly making your way through the streets which became more and more crowded the closer you got to the city.

Since everything went on so smoothly, he decided to take you out for a small shopping trip as well. You still felt rather lightheaded after the short night you had, but you couldn’t bring yourself to protest. Every moment outside felt like a little piece of Heaven to you.

So, you walked in silence, his hand on your back and his gaze flicked to you every now and then.

He seemed to be rather deep in thought and you caught yourself wanting to ask him what was on his mind, but you didn’t. You were quite caught up in your own mind.

A few minutes later you reached the mall, a rather crowded space, something that made you feel a bit uneasy. You didn’t like places like this one, so you normally avoided them. But this time you weren’t alone. His hand on your back gave you a great measure of comfort. You curled into his side and took his arm, ready to walk the halls like a normal couple.

It felt surprisingly normal.

You still felt his slightly suspicious gaze. He couldn’t relax, couldn’t relax entirely. Not even the fact that you had just been on your knees for him, when you were normally so closed-off. He had a hard time trusting, something you understood well. But a part of you still wished he would finally try and trust you fully.

As if to reassure him, you shot him a soft smile. He returned it, surprisingly, and his grip on your back eased slightly.

“Where would you like to go?” He murmured into your ear.

You smirked and glanced around.

“The bookstore?”

That made him laugh. “Such an odd girl. The bookstore it is.”

You made your way through countless rows of books, reading and dreaming yourself into the stories, while he stayed firmly by your side and kept his gaze on you. Whichever book you picked up and held in your hand longer than fifteen seconds, he gathered it and propped it under his arm. By the time he scooped up the fifth book, you frowned at him.

“What are you doing?”

He frowned right back. “I’m buying them?”

Surprise flashed over your features, before you suddenly felt like laughing. “What? But I put them back.”

He shrugged. “You seemed to like them.”

You tried to hide the flutter in your chest. “But-“

“Shut up and keep looking, okay?”

You smiled down at your hands, before you set the book you had just held back down and made your way to the cash register.

Of course he picked up that book as well. You held it for a solid twenty seconds.

A few minutes later, you were back to wandering the mall. He had the bag with the books firmly in his hand and he had somehow convinced you to make a stop at Victoria’s Secret as well.

So far, your style had consisted of whatever fast fashion you found that was rather comfortable and didn’t bring you any fuss. But he insisted.

He insisted that you deserved more than that. That you deserved to feel like a princess.

And so he led you down the hallway until you made your way to the lingerie store.

And to your surprise, everything there was beautiful. You had expected to find it rather cliché, but no. Every piece you touched felt like a soft caress.

He made you try on at least seven pieces. A silky, red robe, lingerie of all kinds, a black negligee, a white corsage. And everything looked good on you.

You had half expected him to creep up on you in the changing room and retaliate for what you made him go through in the restaurant, but he waited in front of it patiently, eying every new fit with curiosity and awe. You felt rather relieved, because you still felt the tiniest bit dizzy and the thick air in there didn’t make it any better.

His eyes widened and he tugged at his tie, regarding you with a long look every time, making you turn around from every angle. And eventually, he bought them all for you.

What else did you expect?

He carried all the bags through the great halls of the mall and you couldn’t help but find yourself smiling softly. It felt too perfect. He was too perfect.

When you glanced up at him that time, something felt strange and odd.

He didn’t immediately glance back at you. He wasn’t keeping his focus on you in a way that threatened to suffocate you. Instead, he walked beside you with the firm belief that you wouldn’t slip through his fingers. The thought sent a shiver down your spine. Was he finally growing more comfortable? Was he finally trusting you?

You kept staring at him for a moment, feeling caught up in your thoughts, unable to speak. You stared at him and the way his handsome features were tugged into a thoughtful, yet soft expression.

You loved him. And suddenly you wanted to tell him.

You opened your mouth, ready to say the words, when someone bumped into you from the side. It was an elderly couple and the woman quickly regarded you with an apologetic smile. You returned smile and looked back at him, just as quick, only to realize he wasn’t right next to you. Instead there was a group of about seven women, walking around with pink dresses and crowns on their heads. One of them wore a white dress instead and you realized it was most likely her bachelorette party. You caught sight of her face and she glanced right back at you. You smiled softly with a whole lot of fondness in your eyes and she immediately returned the smile.

What a wonderful thought. To have friends and well…A fiancé.

Was that something you could ever anticipate? Was that something you could allow yourself to dream about? Or were you destined to feel nothing but disappointment, whenever that topic came up in your mind?

The moment was fleeting and you quickly looked up to match his pace again, but you suddenly realized he wasn’t anywhere close by. He was a few steps ahead of you. It wouldn’t have been dramatic, if it wasn’t for the crowd of people that slowly built between you.

You saw him come to a halt and check the crowd between you. The softness in his expression immediately turned into something darker. The thoughtfulness turned into anger. And beneath the gentleness of his eyes, which had been there up until then, you saw it.

Panic.

You opened your mouth and raised your hand, waving and trying to make your way back to him, when suddenly-

You gasped out loud when someone suddenly squeezed your elbow. You yanked your arm back forcefully and shot the man a dark look, but he quickly held up his hands in a placating gesture.

“Forgive me, miss.” He said in a British accent. “You looked like you speak English. Am I right?”

You frowned slowly and looked up again to catch sight of-

“I just wanted to know – Can you tell me where to find the…uh…” He fumbled with a piece of paper in his hands.

“I’m not from here.” You said, panic rising within yourself. If he thought you had left him? Oh God, of course he would think that.

“Yes, I could tell as much.” The stranger with the dark blonde hair smiled apologetically. “May I ask where you are from?”

“What did you want to know?” You nearly snapped.

You weren’t normally as uncivil, but you couldn’t help yourself. Your patience was wearing thin and you had long but lost sight of the man you loved and who would undoubtedly punish you for this, if you got really unlucky.

“Of course. Pardon. I was asking myself, do you know where I can find the market square?” He smiled hopefully.

“No.” You said shortly. “I told you I’m not from here.” In a softer tone, you added: “I’m sorry.”

“Oh, please, don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll make it somehow. Pardon me, I really don’t mean to pry, but is it possible you’re from England? Your accent-“

“I really need to find my husband.” Husband. The word sounded equally as ridiculous as it felt thrilling on your tongue.

He held up his hands again and took a step back. “Forgive me.” He smiled. “I got the hint.”

“No, I’m not making this up.” You suddenly felt guilty. “I mean, I was just-“

In that moment you felt a hand on your shoulder, squeezing possessively and you knew it was him, without having to look. When you did meet his gaze, his eyes were blazing and wide, a small stutter to his breath. Your own eyes widened and you opened your mouth helplessly.

“I’m sorry.” You said gently. “There were those women and then this man asked me for-“

When you looked back to introduce him to the mysterious stranger, you suddenly realized he wasn’t there anymore.

“I know.” He hissed lowly in your ear. “I saw him. Now, move.”

He didn’t say a single word all the way home. His eyes were narrowed and he carried all of the bags in one hand, so he kept his other hand on your arm. He held you by your wrist, tighter than before. His tight grip and the tension is body gave away how he truly felt.

Furious.

You swallowed and tried to keep up with his pace as you silently stumbled alongside him. You knew the dynamic had shifted and you were probably in trouble. It felt like that one time he caught you by the open door, only that now you had the great hope that he wouldn’t cut your hair for it.

Or try to choke you to death.

He pushed you into the elevator and pressed the button, only for another woman to enter. He shot you a dark, warning look. It made you sad if you were honest to yourself. Just when you thought that maybe he trusted you, he suddenly didn’t anymore.

You forced a smile when the woman glanced your way. She returned the smile and a few floors later, you made your way back towards the apartment. Somehow, you had a feeling this would be the last time you felt any freedom, for a long time.

Still, you followed him quietly when he held the door open for you. He stepped inside right after you. The sound of the door clicking shut announced the end of your short-lived dream of love and freedom. You closed your eyes to brace yourself, but you hardly had any time to.

He let go of the bags and pushed you against the wall, keeping a firm grip on your shoulders.

Oh, no.

“Do you want him, huh?”

“What?”

“Did he touch you?” He growled without any concern for what you had to say. “Did he get his fucking hands on you, huh? Did you like having his dirty fucking hands on you?”

You knew you were probably supposed to be afraid. But what you felt rather than that was surprised.

Surprised and offended.

And also a tiny bit relieved.

You had expected him to be furious because you got lost in the crowd. Because he’d probably think that you tried to leave.

But he…he was angry, because of the guy?

Was he…

“Are you jealous?”

He slammed your wrists against the wall and gritted his teeth in fury. “Damn right I am.” He hissed. “Did you enjoy the way he ogled you? Did you fucking enjoy it?”

His hands were shaking with barely suppressed anger, but he was somehow holding himself back. For your sake, most likely.

Your chest heaved rapidly.

“He didn’t touch me.” You breathed out.

“Are you sure?” He spat out. “Are you sure you’re not lying to me? You’re such a-“ He stopped himself and closed his eyes.

“I’m such a what?” You said quietly.

His eyes snapped open and he glared at you. “You don’t get to give me an attitude. You better keep your mouth shut or else-“

“I’m such a what?!” You snapped back. “Say it! Say it, what am I?!”

He pondered with himself, it was obviously on the tip of his tongue.

His self from a few months ago would have had no trouble to say the word.

But not only you had changed. He had, too.

And now he seemed rather careful when it came to  harsh insults which he had no right to throw your way.

“What am I?” You gritted out. “Say it.”

He took a long breath, trying to calm himself down.

“Did he touch you?”

“He touched my elbow to stop me. But I didn’t let him.”

He bristled and clenched his jaw so hard, you feared he might break his teeth.

“Did you enjoy it?” He spat out. “Did you enjoy his fucking hands on you? Do you wish he was here to fuck you, huh? Do you want him to fucking fuck you?!”

“No!” You took a shaky breath. “No. No.” You then whispered. “I told him I need to find my husband.”

For a second he froze and stared at you with an intensity that was almost painful.

Husband.

You saw the way his eyes flashed and his heartbeat faltered.

“That…that means nothing.” He forced over his lips. “You still let him touch you.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but he slammed his hand down over your mouth and pressed tightly against it. You gasped in surprise, but held still otherwise.

“Do you know him? Huh? Is he some bastard from work, who tried to get in your pants while you were there?”

Your eyes widened in horror and you quickly shook your head.

“Yes, I’m sure he is.” He gritted out and pressed his whole body against you, pinning you against the wall. “Or maybe he did. Maybe he did get in your pants, huh? Maybe the whole virgin thing was just made up to mess with my mind.”

A pang of hurt made your stomach churn, but you tried to suppress it. He didn’t mean this. He was just angry. And whenever he got angry, he said things he didn’t mean.

“Did he fuck you?”  He spat out. “Did he fuck you? Did he push his goddamn, tiny cock inside you? Did you enjoy it? Did you enjoy him?” His voice slowly turned into a whisper. His anger was still there, simmering beneath the surface, but that was not what you heard when he spat out his words. You heard desperation.

“Do you want him? Do you want him more than me?” His eyes held the same desperate, near-pleading look and you felt your heart soften.

You shook your head again and the look in your eyes mirrored his. Quietly pleading with him to believe you.

When he slowly pulled his hand back, you took a shaky breath.

“I’m yours.” You whispered breathlessly. “I’m only yours.”

The look in his eyes didn’t change, but he loosened his grip ever so slightly.

One of his hands slid down to cup your cheek.

“Say it again.”

“I’m yours.”

“Again.”

“Yours. I belong to you. Only you.”

“Again…”

“I…”

Your eyes fluttered shut when he captured your lips in a bruising kiss. Nothing about it was gentle. The softness of the last few days, weeks even – it disappeared. He kissed you like a man starved, desperate to claim what was his and remind you of that fact.

He pushed his tongue into your mouth and slid his hand further down, wrapping his fingers around your throat. You tilted your chin up and allowed him to. Something about it felt so incredibly thrilling. The way he controlled you, controlled even the fact if and when you were allowed to breathe – you trusted him with your life. And it turned you on like crazy.

You stumbled back to the bedroom, discarding your clothes on the way without ever taking your hands off each other. It was such an intense feeling, the overwhelming passion of being so angry and yet…wanting him.

Wanting him with every fiber of your being.

And he seemed to feel the same way, because he dragged you along and pushed you onto the bed with a low growl. He pressed down against you and moved his leg between your own, while he quickly unclasped your bra and threw it aside. He was only left in his slacks, which you undid with now rather practiced ease, after doing it nearly every day for weeks.

You wrapped your legs around his waist and he responded with another deep growl, before he pushed his tongue back into your mouth. His hands ran down your body, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He began to trace kisses down your jaw and neck, over the curve of your breast and back up, until you writhed underneath him, begging and arching your back.

“Stupid girl.” He grunted and bit your lip hard enough to draw blood. You moaned and pushed him back, which he didn’t take all too kindly. He hissed and pushed you further down, biting your lip again and now you felt the soft, metallic taste of your own blood on your tongue. You whimpered in response and before you could stop yourself, your hand cracked against his cheek. It wasn’t a hard slap, but enough to catch him off-guard; enough for his head to snap to the side.

Your eyes widened and you let out a startled gasp. He stayed like that for a moment, before he slowly turned his head and looked at you with an unreadable expression.

A part of you was almost sure, oh God, you were going to die.

All of you, actually.

He kept staring at you for a long moment, his lip twitching in what could only be anger. And eventually he crashed his lips against yours again, soothing the bite with his tongue.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you swallowed your relieved sigh, the moment when you felt his hand wrap around your throat again.

“I’m the only one who’ll ever get to fuck you.” He hissed out, one second before he pushed himself inside you and left you gasping for air.

“Fuck, wait-“

“No, baby, no. I’m going to fuck you and you will take it. Aren’t you my good girl? Aren’t you daddy’s good girl?”

He began to fuck you in a punishing pace, not giving you any time to adjust to the sensation of having him inside you at all. You moaned in a mixture of pain and undeniable pleasure, because the feeling of giving up control like that, it did all kinds of things to you. He hadn’t had you like this in weeks, you couldn’t tell how many it had been. And somehow, you missed it.

Fuck, you missed it.

As if on cue he tightened his grip on your throat and you gasped in surprise.

“Do you like this? Huh? My naughty girl. My little whore. Aren’t you my little whore? Huh? My personal little fucktoy?” He grunted while he kept fucking you in a way that made you feel like you were being ripped apart. He kept hitting your sweet spot with such a ferocity that you were sure you were going to burst any second.

“Answer me.” He growled. “Are you my whore?”

Your eyes rolled back in your head, but you forced yourself to nod.

“Good girl.” He breathed out. He suddenly shifted so that he was no longer holding you by your throat with his hand. Instead he pushed his arm behind your head and wrapped it around your neck, pressing his biceps against your throat, while he kept fucking you furiously.

He cut off most of your air supply and you felt a sense of panic rise within you.

He was so strong, too strong for you, so fucking hard and…

You couldn’t breathe, so you clawed at his arm like a cornered animal.

He smirked. The fucking bastard smirked.

“What was that? I didn’t hear you.” He mocked.

You tried to choke out a response, but all that came out was a strangled sound. You were nothing more than his toy to use, his to torment, but suddenly-

Ah, fuck.

You came with an intensity you had probably never felt before. Your eyes rolled back so far, you were afraid they might stay that way and your hips lifted off the mattress, pressing against his. You couldn’t speak, but that didn’t mean you were quiet. The strangled sound of your moans reached his ears and he moaned in response. Your walls clenched around him and it never seemed to stop.

It went on and on and on…Until the feeling finally passed.

He immediately pulled his arm back and you collapsed on the bed, hungrily gasping for air. You hadn’t even realized how you clawed at his skin so hard that you broke it.

He bit his lip and looked down at you with a soft frown. “Are you okay?”

“Fucking bastard.” You breathed out and now it was you, who silenced him with a kiss. He was still moving his hips, moving in and out of you, but with gentler movements now, so he didn’t cause your body to go into overdrive.

He smirked against your lips. “Bastard? That’s new.”

“Shut the fuck up.” You whispered and buried your hand in his hair, tugging on it. You weren’t exactly gentle about it.

“Feisty.” He groaned into the kiss.

“You have no idea.” You murmured.

With a swift movement, that seemed to kick all the air out of his lungs, you pushed him back and shifted so that you straddled him instead.

“What are you-“

“I said”, you said lowly, “shut up. You nearly killed me. You don’t get to speak.”

The idiot had the audacity to smile.

“You seemed to like it.” He teased.

Your face flushed red in embarrassment and you glared down at him. “I’m not…denying that. But still. It’s my turn.”

His brows rose in surprise, but before he could say anything, you lowered your hips down against his and guided his hardness back inside you. He groaned and his head fell back against the mattress.

“Fuck, there’ll be nothing of me left tomorrow.” He breathed out.

“Makes two of us.” You whispered. Your throat felt sore, but you didn’t care. You wanted to ride the hell, the life out of him. You wanted to see him broken, battered, bruised and satisfied to death.

You began to move your hips, moaning every time you felt him so incredibly deep.

“Are you sure you can handle this? Aren’t you maybe biting off more than you can chew?” He murmured, but it sounded strained.

“Do…you…ever…shut up?” You breathed and squeezed his face in one hand. A particularly hard thrust later, his façade finally crumbled and his eyes fell shut. You did that pelvic floor exercise thing on him you had read about, squeezing him in, taking him in, making him feel you even closer and something suddenly snapped inside of him.

“Fuck-“ He gripped your hips so hard, you were sure you’d have new bruises in the morning.

You kept grinding against him, once, twice, thrice…

And then you stopped. You pulled back and hovered in the air, holding yourself up against his shoulders.

The sound he made was pathetic.

Since it was him, it was a mixture of pathetic and furious, though.

“What are you doing?! Get back-“

“No.”

His eyes widened and he lifted his hips, but you pulled back even further.

“No? What do you mean No?!”

“I’m not in the mood anymore.” You said flatly. His eyes were so wide, he looked insane.

More so than usual.

“You’re- Not-“

That was his weak spot. No matter how terribly he yearned, ached for you, he wouldn’t fuck you when you weren’t in the mood. Right?

It was one of the things you loved so much about him. Sure, in the beginning he told you he’d fuck you whenever. But you quickly realized that wasn’t entirely true.

He did love to push your boundaries and make you take far more than you could, but he didn’t ever try to have you when you didn’t want him to.

“Unless you beg me.” You smirked down at him.

He narrowed his eyes. “Excuse me?”

“Mhm.” You purred. “Beg me and I might consider it.”

His eyes slowly closed and you saw the way he throbbed and twitched.

“No.” He murmured. “I’m not going to beg you.”

You rocked your hips down in a gentle movement, running your warm, slick core along his throbbing hardness and he moaned.

He moaned.

“Fuck- You’re so-“

“Come on.” You whispered as you teasingly rubbed yourself against his tip. “No one’s here. Just you and me. You’re the man.” You leaned down and kissed the spot below his ear, causing him to moan again. “You’re the man.” You repeated softly. “You’re in charge. You’re my everything.”

“Damn right I am.” He groaned out.

“My whole world.” You breathed out and pressed yourself against him again, which caused him to throb even more.

“Please.” He finally breathed out, barely loud enough to be audible.

You closed your eyes and lowered yourself down enough for his tip to be pressed against your entrance.

“What?” You whispered breathlessly.

He bit his lip almost hard enough to draw blood. “Fucking hell.” He grumbled. “Please. Please. Don’t be a fucking demon. I taught you everything you know.” He swallowed and bit the inside of his cheek. His forehead and his eye brows twitched in a way that showed off his internal struggle, his anger, his desperate need for control.

And you didn’t want him to feel like that.

Never.

So you breathed out a gentle “Thank you”, before you slowly pressed yourself down against him, letting him enter you carefully. He closed his eyes shut and moaned again.

“I fucking hate you, you know that?”

“Oh, I hate you far more.” You whispered and slowly kissed a path along his neck. You ground your hips down against his, causing him to let out a ragged moan.

“Fucking devil.” He groaned.

“I’m yours.” You buried your face in his neck and began to ride him slowly, sensually. Gently. But deeply.

He moaned and moaned, the sound making blood rush to your head. “Again.”

“I’m yours. Only yours. I’m…your…”

His release exploded over him like a wildfire, because you felt the way he gripped your hips painfully and held you down against him. You felt the way he came deep inside you, filling you with the promise of being his, being his forever.

“God, I- I-“ He moaned again and ran his hands up your back, causing you to shiver while he rode out his release. You had never seen him like this, so lost in his pleasure that nothing else existed.

It took him a full minute to catch his breath and regain the ability to open his eyes and look at you. The look on his face was nothing short of reverence.

“I love you.” He whispered.

His words surprised you. So far he hadn’t been able to say it without some kind of trigger, without some greater power than his own mind. But now he said it and you knew he meant it.

“I love you more.” You breathed out.

He scoffed breathlessly. “Impossible.”

You smiled exhaustedly and rested your chin on his chest. You loved the feeling of having him inside you until your bodies decided it was time to disconnect. That always took a few minutes.

“Totally not impossible.”

“Absolutely impossible.” He murmured. “I painted the fucking walls apricot for you.”

Your eyes widened and your lips twitched into an incredulous smile. “You did what?”

He smirked and averted his gaze. “Yeah. That’s the most remarkable thing I’ve done for you so far.” He murmured sarcastically.

That made you laugh. “Shut up, you know what I-“

There was a sound that interrupted you. At first you couldn’t tell what it was for it was so unfamiliar. But then you suddenly understood. The doorbell.

His doorbell.

He frowned, obviously equally confused. No one had had tried to visit him so far. He was a ghost. There was no fucking name on his mailbox. Who would possibly-

The thought of it being an ex-girlfriend of his suddenly sent a fresh wave of nausea down your body. You stared at him with a frown and he raised his brows in curiosity. But instead of asking you, he could probably tell what you were thinking. So, he did something else instead. He fumbled for his shirt, which he barely reached across the floor and pulled out the chip.

“Here. Go get it.”

Your brows shot up comically. “What? Me?”

A test. It had to be. A last test.

“Yes. Go on. I trust you.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you took the chip with shaky fingers. Really? He trusted you?

Trusted you with the key?

You stared down at it and then back at his face. It meant so much to you.

“Are you sure?”

He smiled slowly and pulled you down to press a soft kiss to your forehead.

“Yes, you silly girl. Go.”

A minute later you had wrapped yourself back into your dress and slowly made your way towards the door. You were already about to press the buzzer, to let whoever it was into the building.

Who could it be? Most likely some housekeeper service again. The thought of the janitor still made your stomach churn, but you pushed it down for now. You had never even asked what he did to the body. The truth was you actually didn’t want to know.

You were about to press the button, when you heard something. Someone cleared their throat. Your eyes widened when you realized that whoever it was, stood right in front of the door.

Your paranoid self didn’t trust people easily, especially after the last person you trusted abducted you – no matter the final outcome.

You decided to give a brief look through the peephole before you opened it. You most likely wouldn’t know the person anyway, but your inner child wanted to be sure it wasn’t an axe murderer.

So, you stood on your tiptoes and glanced outside only for your eyes to settle on…

You stumbled backwards as if you’d been struck. The nausea you had felt all day suddenly seemed to have a reason and you immediately felt incredibly sick.

Thank God you stumbled into him, because you suddenly felt like you couldn’t hold yourself upright.

“Hey.” He gently held you in his arms and frowned down at you in concern. “What is it? Who was it?”

“That guy.” You gasped out. “The one who asked me for directions.”

His expression immediately darkened. “What?”

You nodded quickly. “It’s the same guy. I’m sure.”

His frown deepened and his lip twitched again, not in amusement, but lust for murder.

He gently pushed you behind him, before he took a step closer himself and looked outside as well. For a short moment he didn’t seem too alarmed. It was odd, yes, he had probably followed you. A freak, a stalker. Not of the good kind.

But then he suddenly stiffened. And you knew something was wrong.

“What-“

He grabbed you with a bruising grip and dragged you along until you reached your bedroom. You gasped when he ushered you inside and pushed you into the closet with renewed ferocity.

“What-“

“Stay in here.” He hissed. “Don’t you dare come out until I tell you to.”

He slammed the door shut and you slumped against the wall. Your legs felt like jelly and your heart was pounding wildly in your chest. There was a ringing sound in your ears, loud enough to almost make you go deaf.

You buried your hands in your hair and stared at the spot in the darkness where he had been only a second ago.

You closed your eyes and tried to focus. Voices. You heard voices.

Quiet at first. And suddenly louder.

Tears stung your eyes and you pressed a hand against your mouth to stop yourself from making any sounds.

It wasn’t all that-

A loud crash made you flinch so hard, you immediately got a headache.

And then the dizziness came back. The darkness around you felt like a rollercoaster and you slowly sunk down to your knees, while you tried to breathe calmly.

In and out. In. And out.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

What could it have been about it that he panicked? That he felt he had to lock you back in here?

By the time the door finally opened – you couldn’t tell if it had been minutes or hours – everything was messy cloud of loud, bloodied frenzy.

The blood. The blood. So much blood.

He spoke and spoke, but he was too far away. His voice wasn’t real, his twitching eyes weren’t.

His words weren’t. Oh God. Oh no.

Oh God, mother.

And then everything went black.

_____________________________

Tag list 1:@mitsuki-dreamfree@kpopsmutty69@heroine-chique@vkeyy@mizuwki@blu-brrys@z0mbi345@yourpointbreak@ayieayee@freddyzeppsworld@lola11111111@indifitel6661@salesmanlover08@laurenbenoit70@lalalaa2210@lila-marshal@auspicious-lilana@0-aubrie0@lovelyaegyo@theredvelvetbitch@violentbluess@muriels-lover@dorayakissu@eviebuggg@muchwita@ririgy@strxlemon@obsessedwthdilfs@kiwilov3@misty-q

Author's note: GUYS WTF My brain is made of pudding right now, so please forgive me if I made any mistakes or talked shit at some point :(

I'm sorry that it took me so long!!! I had NO idea how to start this chapter, but now I finally made it. I started this at around ten in the morning and now it's ten pm omg. With breaks of course!

I'll try to mention every request/suggestion, if I forget something, please let me know!!!

Also, the requests that didn't/won't make it into the story, I'm planning a sequel and probably a few oneshots concering these two!

@sleepingkittiesworld : her riding him

Anon : her being sick and him caring about her

Anon : the choking during smut

Anon : dinner date outside / another Anon : him taking her to a place she likes (in this case Italian food)

@tommydarlings : innocently taking a bath together

A few people had similar or different suggestions about him getting jealous, so I'll just sum that up under jealousy: @dilfismz , @kidswhoneedhugs , @c3ce , @moondustfairies

Thanks to @babyscilence for "Did he paint the walls apricot for her?" that stuck with me so bad because that JUST MAKES SENSE

Going out in general : @hayakamis-blog , @mswannadiesworld

Going out and getting lost in a crowd : @ririgy

I hope these were all, if I forgot someone, please let me know!

Also great thanks to each and everyone of you! Sometimes I find myself wanting to thank someone in particular for being cute or being a great motivation/inspiration, but somehow, that's all of you!!! I love you, guys!

[sugarplum217]

Essence Of Loyalty (Pt.1)

Pairing: Terry Richmond X Black Plus Size Female Reader

Warnings: MDNI (18+) contains sexual explicit content, heavy smut, spit play, oral sex, A VERY HEAVY USE OF “daddy” and “mama”, unprotected sex, cursing, major dirty talk, creampie, mentions of murder, lots of heavy sexual flirtation, detailed sexual acts , fluff

AuthorsNote: Please excuse any mistakes or grammatical errors. I hope you enjoy the story and remember to be kind and if you want to be tagged in the next part let me know.

Summary: Everyone and their mama has been trying to either set you up on a date with someone or continuously remind you that your clock is ticking away. That you weren’t getting any younger and your looks would eventually fade. What they didn’t know is that you already had your special someone. In fact you’ve had him a while. You know how that saying goes, “Good things come to those who wait” and for you in this instance. It was nothing but the waiting game for your special someone to finally walk into your life. The question is .. would it be acceptable for everyone else?

You never expected to fall in love with a man behind bars. It started as nothing more than a random click—some late-night curiosity fueled by boredom and an ad that popped up between Facebook posts. Find love where you least expect it. Meet single men looking for companionship. You damn near scrolled past it, but something made you stop. Maybe it was the way the words “love” and “companionship” stood out, teasing something you didn’t realize you were craving. Maybe it was just the boredom, the same mundane routine of work, home, sleep, repeat, stretching on like a treadmill you couldn’t step off. Either way, you clicked. Scrolling through the profiles felt like flipping through a catalog you had no business browsing. Men of all ages and backgrounds, some looking for friendship, others for love. But none of them caught your attention. That is—until you saw him. Inmate 07541, Terrance Richmond. Baby, that mugshot stopped you cold. Rich buttery light caramel skin, sharp jawline, and full lips that looked like they could whisper secrets straight into your soul. His nose was strong, his features chiseled, but it was those damn piercing uniquely colored eyes that did it. Deep-set, hooded, with a stare so intense you could feel it through the screen. Something about them made your heart stutter—like he was looking at you, past you, into you. There was no forced smile, no tough-guy posturing. Just that stare. You hesitated, hovering over the message button. What the hell were you doing? Messaging a man serving time? A man who, according to his bio, had been locked up since he was 18? Still, curiosity won. You typed out a casual introduction—something light, something safe—and hit send. Then you pushed it to the back of your mind, fully expecting no response, but he wrote back. And not just some half-assed, one-line reply. He wrote you back.

That first message turned into another. And another. Emails became long letters, paragraphs bleeding into pages, until you found yourself rushing home from work just to see his name in your inbox. You learned everything about him—the way he used to play football before his life changed, the music he listened to, the books he read to escape the four walls of his cell. He told you about his past, the pain, the betrayal, the night everything changed. And you told him about yours—how life felt like it was happening at you instead of for you. How you wanted more, but you didn’t know what more even looked like. Then came the sweet video calls. The first time you saw him move, saw that sharp jaw flex when he smiled, heard that deep, velvety voice rumble straight through the screen—you were done. Hooked. Gone. Two years later, here you were. In a relationship—a real one, even if nobody knew. And in a few days, he’d be free. And that? That scared you more than anything.

“You always got an excuse, girl. What is tea?”Sonya’s voice snapped you back to the present, and you blinked, realizing your fork had been hovering over your plate for way too long. It was lunchtime at Taste Of The South Cafe, your usual Friday spot with the girls. The table was cluttered with half-empty margarita glasses, plates of fried catfish and mac and cheese, and the scent of honey butter croissants floating in the air. Normally, this was your escape from the monotony of work. But today? You were ready to go.

“I just wanna relax,” You half way lied, pushing your food around. Sonya wasn’t buying it. Neither was Deja.

“Girl, please,” Deja scoffed. “Every time we plan a girls’ night, your ass come up with something. What’s up? You sneakin’ around with somebody?”

“Ain’t nobody sneakin’.” You forced a laugh, shaking your head. 

“Then why you always rushin’ home like you got a man waitin’ on you?” Sonya arched a brow, swirling her margarita.

“Because I do.” You thought to yourself. But you didn’t say that. Instead, you shrugged, hoping they’d let it go. They didn’t.

“You sure it ain’t that new dude in accounting?” Deja pressed. “The one with the Audi and the beard? Girl, he is fine.”

“Not my type,” You said quickly.

Sonya snorted. “And what is your type? Because last time I checked, you were single as hell.”

You just smiled, keeping your real thoughts locked up tight. Because your type wasn’t something you could explain to them. Your type wasn’t sitting in an office, making six figures, and posting gym selfies on Instagram. Your type was locked behind bars. A man who had spent more of his life inside than out. A man whose voice alone made your thighs clench, whose absence felt like a missing limb. But they wouldn’t get that. So you just laughed it off, switched the subject, and counted down the hours until you could talk to him. The day dragged. By the time you made it to your car, your feet were aching, your patience was shot, and you were tired. But none of that mattered. Because in just a few minutes, he’d be calling. The drive home was full of bumper-to-bumper traffic and the usual call from your mama.

“Hey ma” You greeted, honking the car in front of you to move their ass. 

“Hey my baby. You comin’ to dinner this weekend?” She asked.

“Yeah, I’ll be there.” You make a face, thanking god she can’t see you.

“Good. Your sister’s bringing her fiancé.” She said, her tone laced with excitement. Of course, she was. Your older sister had the picture-perfect life—a man, a ring, a timeline that fit neatly into the family’s expectations.

“And he’s bringing his brother,” You mother added casually.

You sighed. “Ma—”

“Just be open-minded! You’re a beautiful girl, and you ain’t gettin’ any younger.” She reminded for the hundredth time. You gritted your teeth, gripping the steering wheel. If only she knew. But you decided to let it go. 

“I’ll see you Saturday.” You shook your head, hanging up.By the time you got home, it was 6:59pm. You barely had time to drop your purse before your phone lit up with that Incoming Call from your ‘Big Daddy’. You squealed, feeling your heart flip. 

You snatched it up, answering with a smile. “Hey, baby.”

“Damn, I needed to hear your voice.” A low chuckle rumbled through the speaker, deep enough to send heat pooling between your thighs. 

You melted instantly. “Long day?”

“Long as hell,” He sighed. “But I knew I’d be hearin’ from you, so I got through it.”

Your chest tightened. “I missed you.”

“Yeah? I missed you more baby” He smirked. You could hear it in his voice. “Tell me about your day, baby.”

So you did. You told him everything—lunch with your nosy-ass friends, your mama trying to set you up. And he listened quietly like always when it came to your day and what crazy ass story you had ready for him. That was one of the many things you loved about Terry, how he could just listen and never get tired of you talking. 

“Don’t sweat that shit, baby. You got a man.” He chuckled, low and smooth. That possessiveness made your toes curl.

“Yeah?” you teased. “I got a man?”

“Hell yeah,” He murmured. “And in a few days, you gon’ have me in every way possible.”

Your breath hitched and your body got hot. Because in just a few days, Terry Richmond would be free. And you would finally be his.  You adjusted the phone against your ear, stretching out on the couch, letting his voice roll over you like thick honey.

“You talkin’ real reckless, Mr. Terrance,” you teased, biting your lip. “What makes you think you gettin’ all this good good so easy?”

A deep, knowing chuckle rumbled through the receiver, sending shivers down your spine. “Baby,” He drawled, voice rich and slow like he was savoring every syllable. “Don’t play wit’ me. You and I both know the second I touch down, I’ma have you laid out for me, just how I like it.”

“Oh yeah?” Your thighs pressed together at the promise in his tone.

“Hell yeah. First thing I’m doin’ is spreadin’ them thighs, makin’ up for lost time. You know I been starvin’ for you. Ain’t had a taste of sweet pussy in years. I need my plate, ma.” He stated, making your breath hitch and heat coil in your lower belly. 

“Terry…” You breathed, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Say my name just like that when I’m between them legs,” He murmured. “Matter fact, scream it. I’ma put my mouth on every inch of you. Them thighs? Mine. Them hips? Mine. That spot you say makes you weak right under your belly button? I’m kissin’ it first. And you already know where I’m endin’ up.”

Your body responded to his words instantly, your nipples tightening against the fabric of your blouse. The ache between your thighs grew unbearable. You were so tempted to rub on your clit as he talked to you, but you knew big daddy’s rules. You weren’t allowed to touch yourself at all unless he gave the permission and could listen to you without any interruptions. 

“You talkin’ crazy,” You whispered, your voice thick with need.

“Nah, baby, I’m talkin’ facts. You gon’ see. Soon as I get out, you ain’t leavin’ that bed for at least three days.” He chuckled. 

“Oh, so I’m just gonna be held hostage?” You let out a shaky laugh, your fingers toying with the hem of your skirt.

“Damn right,” He said without hesitation. “Ain’t no way I been locked up this long just to finally get my hands on you and let you go. Shit, you gon’ be beggin’ me to let you breathe.”

Your stomach flipped. You wanted that. Needed that. But then, reality settled back in. The system didn’t make things easy.

“Speaking of that…What did your lawyer say about your release date? Will you be out on my birthday like we want?” You exhaled, shifting the phone closer to your ear. It was silence for a moment. The weight of it pressed heavy between you, thick and uncertain. You held your breath preparing for the worst case scenario possible. 

“They still pushin’ for my original release date, but you know how this shit go. Paperwork, red tape, all that. My lawyer confident, though. He say if everything lines up, I should be out right on time. Maybe even a couple days before.” Terry let out a slow breath.

“For real?” Your chest tightened with cautious hope. 

“For real, baby. But…” He hesitated. “You know they been tryin’ to trip me up in here. COs, some of these jealous-ass inmates. They know I’m close to freedom, and they hate that shit. I gotta keep my head low, stay out the way, but it’s hard sometimes. Real hard.”

“They still on that bullshit?” Your jaw clenched.

“Yeah,” He muttered. “They hate a nigga like me gettin’ a second chance. And these lame ass inmates tryna set me up don’t help either.”

“Terry, I swear to God if they—”You closed your eyes, frustration bubbling inside you.

“Relax, mama,” He said, voice dropping into that deep, soothing register that always made you weak. “Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ me from comin’ home to you. I promise you that. I done made it through too much to let these motherfuckers take my freedom again.”

“Baby, please promise me you won’t do nothin’ to mess this up. I need you here. I need you home.” You frowned, Terry remained silent allowing you to vent because he knew this was becoming harder everyday for you to cope with. You swallowed hard, throat tight.

“I just…” You hesitated, then admitted softly, “I just need you here. I don’t want anything messin’ this up. My 28th birthday… Terry, all I want is you.”

“I know, ma. Trust me, I know.” His voice softened, turning serious. “You the only thing keepin’ me sane in here. The only thing keepin’ me goin’. I promise you, I ain’t lettin’ nothin’ get in the way of me comin’ home to you.”

“Okay,” you whispered. “I trust you.” You inhaled deeply, letting his words settle over you. 

“You got me for life baby,” He said assuring you, voice thick with emotion. “I swear to you, baby. If I gotta fight every damn day until that judge signs my release, I’ma do it. ‘Cause you worth it. We worth it.”

“You better mean that,” You whispered. Tears pricked your eyes, but you blinked them away.

“I do. And when I’m finally out, when I got you in my arms, I’ma make sure you never question that again.”

“I love you so much.” You exhaled shakily.

“I love you more, baby.” He bit his lip, feeling his heart speed up. 

“You swear you gonna come home to me, Terry?” You exhaled, stretching your legs out on the couch, your free hand absently trailing over your bare thigh. 

“Baby, listen to me.” His voice came through the receiver, deep and unwavering. “I need you to hear me when I say this. Ain’t nothin’ stoppin’ me from comin’ home to you. I done wasted enough years locked up, dreamin’ about what it feel like to be free, to wake up next to a woman who actually give a damn about me. I ain’t lettin’ no CO, no hating-ass inmate, no system take that from me.”

You closed your eyes, soaking in his words. A small tear escaped your eyes as you just let him talk and calm all of your fears. 

“And you really think I’m about to let you be out here spendin’ another birthday without me? Nah, ma. That ain’t happenin’.” He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Matter fact, you should start gettin’ ready now, ‘cause soon as I step through that door, I’m givin’ you somethin’ to celebrate.”

“Oh yeah? What you givin’ me, Terry?” A slow smile spread across your lips. 

“Ain’t it obvious? My last name, first of all.” He stated matter of factly. 

“Boy, stop playin’.” Your breath caught in your throat.

“Who playin’?” He challenged. “You really think I been doin’ all this talkin’, dreamin’ about you, makin’ plans, just to be out here on some casual shit? Nah, baby. You my woman. And when I get home, I’m puttin’ a ring on that pretty lil’ finger. You ain’t gon’ be nobody else’s but mine.”

Heat spread through your chest, settling deep in your belly. He always had a way of making you feel claimed, but this? This was different. This felt all too real and that he was promising you the moon and the stars and would actually reach up in the damn sky and get it for you. 

“Terry…” You purred slightly. 

“Say it again,” He murmured, voice dropping to that low, dangerous octave that always did something to you. “Say my name just like that.”

“Terry.” Your lips parted, slowing your words down for him. 

“Mmm,” He groaned. “That’s what I wanna hear every morning, every night. That’s what I wanna hear when I’m makin’ love to you, when I’m in it so deep you forget how to say anything else.”

“You tryna kill me, huh?” You sucked in a breath, your thighs pressing together instinctively. 

“Nah, ma. Just tryna remind you who you belong to.” He smirked, licking his lips. 

You chewed your lip, heart pounding against your ribs. The thought of him finally being here, of feeling him, touching him, owning him in the flesh—it was almost too much.

“Terry…” You started, voice soft, hesitant.

“What’s wrong, baby?” He adjusted the phone on his ear, eyebrows furrowing. You hesitated a moment afraid to tell him what’s really been on your mind. Afraid he wouldn’t understand but truth was Terry was more than understanding when it came to you. 

“I just… I keep thinking about what’s gonna happen once you’re really here. Like, when it’s not just phone calls and emails. When it’s real. When it’s us.” You honestly confessed, sighing. You heard a brief pause making your stomach tighten out of angst. You held your breath afraid he’d be upset but after a few seconds, he then spoke gently. 

”That’s what you scared of?” He asked, voice soft. 

You swallowed. “Not scared, just… it’s gonna be different. You been inside since you were 18, Terry. That’s—” You did the math in your head, stomach twisting. “Seventeen years. That’s a long time.”

“I know,” He said simply. “You think I don’t know that? Every damn day, I been countin’ down to this moment. I know it’s gon’ be an adjustment. I ain’t naive to that, baby. But what I do know is that I want this. You. I ain’t spent two years fallin’ in love with you for nothin’. And I damn sure ain’t finna let somethin’ as small as a transition period shake me.”

You exhaled, nodding even though he couldn’t see you. “I just want you to be happy, Terry.”

“I am happy, ma. You make me happy.” He professed from his heart, making your heart squeeze and stomach flutter. 

“Now,” He continued, voice laced with that familiar hunger. “Can we get back to what I was sayin’? ‘Cause I still got a whole list of things I plan to do to you soon as I get out.”

“Oh yeah? Go ‘head then, baby. I’m listenin’.” Your stomach flipped.

Terry exhaled through the receiver, the sound slow and deliberate. “Aight, so… First thing I’m doin’ soon as I step through that door? I’m droppin’ my bag, pullin’ you close, and kissin’ you like I been starvin’ for it.”

“Mmmm.” You bit your lip, already picturing the scene.

“Ain’t gon’ be no soft, sweet shit neither. Nah,” He rumbled. “I’m talkin’ about deep, wet, tongue all in your mouth, my hands locked around that waist, pullin’ you so tight you feel my dick pressin’ up against you.”

“Damn, Big Daddy. Can I at least take my heels off first?” You let out a breathy laugh.

“Hell nah,” He said smoothly. “Matter fact, leave ‘em on. I want you just like that. Fresh off work, tight lil’ skirt ridin’ up, them pretty ass legs wrapped ‘round my waist while I pin you up against the door.”

“Oh shit..” Your entire body heated at the image. You had to fan yourself, and cross your legs to avoid any wetness seeping out. 

“You know how long I been dreamin’ about that, baby?” His voice dropped an octave, turning into something dark, possessive. “Seventeen years. Seventeen years I been locked in this hellhole, surrounded by nothin’ but concrete and steel, knowin’ I ain’t got a real woman to touch, to taste, to claim. And then you came along…”

“B-Baby..” A soft gasp slipped from your lips. You squeezed your thighs shut tighter, already soaking your panties. 

“And now all I can think about is how you gon’ feel underneath me. How soft your skin is. How good you smell. How sweet you taste.” He growled lowly in your ear. 

“Shit.” You cursed, shifting on the couch, thighs pressing together.

“Mmm,” He hummed knowingly. “You wet for me, ain’t you?”

“Terry—” You swallowed.

“Nah, don’t try to play it off now,” He interrupted. “I know you, ma. I know you sittin’ there, grippin’ that phone tight, breathin’ all heavy, body heatin’ up just listenin’ to me talk. I don’t even need to be there to know how bad you want me.”

“You lucky you locked up.” You let out a shaky breath, tilting your head back against the couch. 

“Lucky? Nah, baby. Unlucky. ‘Cause if I was home right now, I’d have you laid out, ass up, back arched, moanin’ my name so loud the neighbors call the cops.”He chuckled, voice dripping with amusement.

“Boy, stop!” You laughed, shaking your head. “You talk all that shit, I hope you got the stamina to back it up.”

Terry clicked his tongue. “Oh, you doubtin’ me? That’s crazy. Lemme find out my baby think I ain’t gon’ put in work.”

“I mean, it has been a long time, Big Papa,” You teased.

“Aight,” He drawled, tone dangerous. “Keep playin’ with me. You gon’ be beggin’ me to let you breathe when I’m done with you.”

Your stomach flipped at the way he said it, so smooth and confident like he had zero doubt in his ability to back up every single word. The next few hours passed in a blur, the two of you tangled in conversation like it was your own little world. Terry told you about the meals he was craving—real food, not that processed mess they served on metal trays. He wanted collard greens, mac and cheese, cornbread, fried chicken, all made by you. “I need a home-cooked meal, baby. Something made with love,” He said, his voice full of longing. You laughed and promised to have a whole spread waiting for him. Then the conversation shifted to the small things—how he couldn’t wait to sleep in a real bed, how he wanted to go outside at night just to feel the wind on his face without fences in the way, how he wanted to sit on the couch with you and watch a movie with your legs draped over his lap. “Shit like that, ma,” He murmured. “The simple stuff. That’s what I miss the most.”

And you listened, hanging onto his every word, feeling your heart swell with each confession. The world had taken so much from him, stripped him of so many years, but somehow, he still had softness in him. He still had love to give. You found yourself telling him about all the things you wanted to do together, too—how you wanted to take him out to eat at a real restaurant, go on a drive late at night just because, lay up with him on a Sunday morning while the smell of breakfast filled the apartment. The more you talked, the more the reality of him coming home settled deep inside you. “You really gon’ take care of me, huh?” he asked, his voice low and full of something tender. “You damn right,” you whispered. “Somebody gotta make up for all that time you lost.”

If someone had told you years ago that you’d fall in love with a man behind bars, you would’ve laughed in their face. You always wanted love, prayed for it even, but you never imagined it would come in the form of Terry Richmond—a man with a past heavier than most, a man who had seen the worst parts of life and still found a way to hold onto his soul. He was the most fascinating, most alluring man you’d ever known, and you had never been more open with anyone in your life. You craved him in ways that scared you sometimes. You wanted to be the one to feed him, to run him a hot bath and wash years of struggle off his skin. You wanted to rub his shoulders, his chest, his back, to remind him that he was human, that he was home. And the way he talked to you, the way he poured into you, made you feel like you were already his sanctuary.

After you finally got off the phone, you moved into your nighttime routine, taking your time washing your face, patting your skin dry, smoothing your serums in like a ritual. You stared at yourself in the mirror, thinking about how your life was about to change. In just a few days, he’d be here, in your space, in your bed, in your life outside of those prison walls. As you reached for your bonnet and wrapped it securely around your head, your phone buzzed on the counter. FaceTime. Mama. You sighed, knowing she’d scold you if you didn’t answer, so you slid your thumb across the screen and propped the phone up.

“Hey, Mama,” You greeted, already bracing yourself.

“Hey, baby,” She said, peering at you through the screen. “Just callin’ to say goodnight and check on you before you went to bed.”  

“I’m alright , Mama. Just gettin’ ready for bed. Doing my usual routine.” You smiled. 

“Mm-hmm,” She hummed, then her face lit up. “Oh! Guess who I ran into today? You remember Kiana Perkins from high school?”

You frowned, digging through your memory. “Kiana Perkins… oh yeah, the one who used to run track?”

“Yes, her! Baby, she married now, got two babies, livin’ all happy with her husband. She showed me pictures and everything. And I just… I don’t know, baby, it got me thinkin’.” She started in on you. 

“Mama—” You groaned internally.

She held up a hand. “I know what you ‘bout to say, but hear me out. You not gettin’ any younger, baby. I just want you to have somebody. You always been my dumplin’, my soft-hearted baby, and I just—” She sighed. “I just want you to be loved, baby. I want somebody to take care of you for once.”

You bit your lip, heart squeezing at her words, but she didn’t know. She didn’t know that you did have somebody. That you had Terry. That soon, you wouldn’t be coming home to an empty bed anymore. You leaned back against the bathroom counter, swallowing the lump in your throat as your mother continued, her voice full of concern. 

“You know, I just don’t want you to end up like me, raising a family all on your own. You’ve got so much to offer, baby, don’t let it go to waste.” She paused, waiting for you to respond, but you were caught in a whirlwind of emotions. You wanted to tell her the truth, but you couldn’t—not yet. Terry was still behind those walls, and the world wasn’t ready for your truth. Not yet.

“I hear you, Mama,” You said softly, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. “But I’m good. I’m happy with how things are right now.”

She eyed you, her brow furrowing, but she didn’t push it. “Alright,” she finally said, her tone softening. “Just don’t wait too long, baby. Time don’t wait for nobody.”

“I won’t, Mama. Promise,” You replied, though you knew the promise wasn’t to her. It was to yourself. You weren’t going to waste any more time. The conversation moved on, and you couldn’t help but feel a little guilty for not telling her about Terry. She didn’t know that every night, you fell asleep with thoughts of him, that his voice had become the lullaby you never knew you needed. You thought about his touch, his words, the way he made you feel like you were the only woman in the world. But for now, it was a secret. Your secret. You wrapped up the call with your mother, promising to be at Sunday dinner over the weekend, and hung up. The air felt thick now, like the weight of your own desires had settled in your chest. You finished getting ready for bed, your mind racing with thoughts of Terry, wondering if he was thinking about you too, wondering how much longer you’d have to wait before he was finally home. As you slipped under the

covers, your mind drifted to your happy place and that was Terry. Eventually after saying a quick silent prayer for him and his safety like you did every night, you finally went to sleep. 

The morning light seeped through the blinds, casting long golden streaks across your bedroom. You lay there for a moment, tangled in your silk sheets, staring at the ceiling with a heavy mind. The anticipation sat on your chest like a weight. Today could be the day you got answers—real answers—about Terry’s release. No more guesswork, no more waiting in limbo. Either he’d be home in time for your birthday, or he wouldn’t. And if it was up to you, there wouldn’t be a wouldn’t. Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, shaking you from your thoughts. The number was unfamiliar, but you knew who it had to be before you even swiped to answer.

“Hello?” Your voice was groggy, thick with sleep, but there was an urgency beneath it.

“Good morning, this is Michael Walker, Terry Richmond’s attorney.” The voice on the other end was smooth, professional, but you caught that slight edge—like he was bracing himself for a conversation you might not want to have. “I wanted to give you an update on his case. Do you have a moment?”

“Of course. What’s the update?” You pushed yourself upright, resting your back against the headboard.

Michael exhaled. “So here’s where we are. We’re still waiting on the judge’s final decision regarding his release. As you know, we’ve been pushing hard for full release instead of parole, but the system moves at its own pace. Right now, it’s looking like one of two things will happen—either the judge will sign off on his release, and he’ll be free to come home, or he’ll be granted parole with conditions.”

Your stomach twisted at the word “conditions.” That could mean anything. A curfew. Mandatory check-ins. Restrictions on where he could go, what he could do. You wanted Terry free—not still tangled in the system’s web.

“Is there a chance he’ll be home by my birthday?” You asked, your voice smaller than you intended.

Michael hesitated. That damn hesitation. You hated it. “That’s what we’re aiming for,” He said finally. “But it’s all in the judge’s hands. We’re doing everything we can to make it happen, but we need to be realistic.”

Your fingers tightened around the phone. “I just… I need him home.” The words left you before you could stop them, more vulnerable than you wanted to sound.

“I get it,” Michael said, and for the first time, there was something softer in his tone. “But here’s the thing—you need to make sure Terry understands how important it is for him to stay in line right now. He’s close. So damn close. But if he gets into it with the COs, if he so much as breathes wrong in there, it could delay everything. Or worse.”

A lump formed in your throat. Terry had been through hell in that prison. You knew how hard it was for him to bite his tongue, to play the game when the guards disrespected him just for breathing. You also knew how much some of those inmates hated to see another Black man about to touch freedom. Envy was a dangerous thing.

“I’ll talk to him,” You said firmly. “I’ll make sure he knows.”

“Good,” Michael replied. “I’ll keep you posted on any updates. Until then, just keep him focused on what’s waiting for him on the outside.”

And that’s exactly what you planned to do. Because he was coming home. To you. To the life y’all had spent two years dreaming up. And you weren’t about to let anything or anyone take that away. The weight of everything that needed to be done before Terry came home sat on your shoulders like a mix of excitement and pressure. There was so much to prepare, so much to buy, so much to perfect before your man walked through that door and took his rightful place in your life. Clothes, toiletries, shoes, cologne—he was stepping into a world he hadn’t been a part of since he was barely legal, and you were determined to make sure he had everything he needed to start fresh. And then there was you. Your own upkeep was just as important. You wanted to look good good for him. A fresh Brazilian wax so your skin was baby smooth, eyebrows snatched, lashes full and fluttery, and your hair? Oh, that had to be flawless—not just for your birthday but because you already knew he was going to have it all over the place by the end of the night. You could already hear the headboard knocking, already feel his breath on your skin, already picture the way he’d grip you like he was making up for lost time. The thought alone made your stomach tighten with anticipation.

But beyond all the surface-level preparation, there was a deeper feeling swirling inside you. Letting a man you’d only seen through a screen and heard through a receiver move into your home was a huge step. Some would call it crazy. Hell, a part of you knew it was risky, but love had never been about playing it safe. And with Terry? It had never felt like a risk. It felt right. He was your soulmate—plain and simple. The man you wanted to

wake up to, fall asleep with, build a family with. You’d spent two years loving him from a distance, and now, you were stepping into a reality where he was yours in every way. You weren’t naive to the adjustments that would come with it, but you also weren’t afraid. He was worth it.

With a stretch and a soft sigh, you finally pulled yourself out of bed, the silk of your nightgown clinging to your curves as you padded across your bedroom. It barely covered your ass, the hem rising with each step, and you lazily reached for your robe, wrapping it around you before making your way into the kitchen. The house was still, quiet, but soon, it would be filled with his presence. Him walking around shirtless, his deep voice filling up every room, his scent lingering on the furniture. You couldn’t wait. As you reached for the fridge, your eyes landed on the Polaroid photo of him taped to the door—one of the few glimpses of him outside of a call or a video chat. He had sent it during one of the rare inmate photo days, his expression serious but his eyes still burning with something that made your stomach flip. Damn, you fine. You ran a finger over the image, smiling to yourself before pulling out the eggs and milk.

The one thing people probably wouldn’t understand was why you had never visited him in prison. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to. God knew you had begged to. But Terry? Terry was territorial to his core. It had taken months of back-and-forth, of pleading and arguing, before you finally accepted that he wasn’t going to let you step foot in that visiting room. He didn’t want no prison guards or inmates looking at his woman—studying you, lusting after you, imagining things about you that only he was allowed to. You belonged to him, and the thought of other men—especially those locked up with him—laying their eyes on you sent him into a rage he didn’t even try to hide. It wasn’t just possessiveness; it was protection. He had seen too many things go left in that place, and the last thing he wanted was for you to be a part of any of it. So, you let it go, trusting that the day would come when you wouldn’t have to love him from a distance. That day was almost here.

You were in the middle of whisking the batter for your waffles when your phone vibrated on the counter. Without hesitation, you snatched it up, already knowing who it was.

“Good morning, beautiful,” Terry’s deep, raspy voice sent a warmth down your spine. His morning voice was dangerous.

“Mmm, good morning, baby,” You hummed, tucking the phone between your ear and shoulder as you continued mixing. “How’d you sleep?”

“Would’ve slept better with you underneath me,” He murmured, the smirk in his tone evident. “What my baby got planned for today?”

You bit your lip, smiling. “Just a quick Target and BJ’s run to stock the house up for you, then I gotta get my nails done. Oh, and I gotta swing by the post office to pick up my bundles that came in.”

He chuckled, low and knowing. “Mmm, you tryna get fine for Big Daddy?”

“Mmhmm.” You giggled, rolling your eyes even though he couldn’t see you.

“Damn, girl…” His voice dropped a little lower, and you could almost see him licking his lips on the other end. “Ima eat that pussy like crazy, baby girl.”

Your breath hitched, a heat sparking between your thighs. “Terry!” You squealed, laughing. “Stop being nasty!”

“Nah, I’m deadass serious.” His tone was dark, full of hunger. “You don’t even know what you got coming.”

You took a steadying breath, trying to shake off the goosebumps crawling up your skin. “Listen, nasty man, we need to talk.” Your tone shifted, getting serious. “Your attorney called me this morning. We need to discuss what he told me.”

“What he say?” There was a pause before he answered with a serious tone. 

You exhaled. “Baby…” You gripped the phone tighter, staring at the batter as if it had the answers. “It’s about your release.”

Terry was silent for a moment, and you could feel the shift in his energy through the phone. That easy, teasing tone from before was gone, replaced by something heavier—something cautious.

“What about it?” His voice was lower now, tight with restraint.

You sighed, setting the whisk down and gripping the edge of the counter. “He said they’re still waiting on the judge to sign off, and it could go either way. Either parole or full release.” You paused, running your tongue over your lips. “I asked if you’d be home by my birthday, and he said that’s what they’re pushing for, but the judge has to approve it first and it appears the judge is taking their sweet ass time. Same shit you told me last night.” 

“Man… I been waiting years for this moment. If they try to stall this shit…” Terry sucked his teeth, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“Baby, don’t even put that energy in the air,” You cut in quickly, gripping the phone. “It’s gonna happen. You just gotta hold tight.”

“I’m tryna hold tight, ma, but you don’t understand. I been locked down since I was eighteen. Half my life. I done played by they rules, kept my nose clean, did everything I was supposed to do. And now, when it’s finally my time to touch down, they wanna drag they feet?” His frustration was raw, and you didn’t blame him one bit.

“That’s why we gotta be smart about this,” You soothed, lowering your voice. “Your attorney said you need to walk a fine line, Terry. These COs and some of them inmates? They don’t want to see you win, baby. You getting out means they lose power over you. And if you let ‘em get under your skin, if you give them any reason to stall this—”

“I know, baby,” He gritted, cutting you off. “I ain’t stupid.”

“I never said you were,” You softened, biting your lip. “But you know they’ll do anything to keep a black man locked up. You know that. You can’t afford to slip.”

Another deep sigh. “I just wanna be with you, ma,” He admitted, his voice quieter now, the vulnerability cutting through all the frustration. “That’s all I been holding on to. You. Us. The life we ‘bout to have.”

“And you will be with me, Terry. Soon. I promise.” Your heart clenched, and you closed your eyes for a second.

“You the only thing keeping me sane right now, baby,” He muttered. “You really are.”

“And you the only man I want. Ain’t nothing gon’ change that.” You swallowed hard, that warmth creeping back into your chest.

He went quiet for a beat, then, “Damn, you really love me, huh?”

“Boy, you already know.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Say it,” He murmured.

“I love you, Terrance Richmond.” You bit your lip, smiling. 

A deep exhale came through the line, like those words alone were enough to ground him. “I love you too, ma. More than you even know.”

“You better love me with your fine self.” You giggled, continuing to whisk the batter. He chuckled lowly, the sound making your ears perk up at the nostalgic sound.

“You know I want a baby soon as possible, right? Just like we talked about.” Terry’s voice dipped even lower, that familiar edge of possession curling around his words. 

“I know, baby.” You bit your lip, warmth spreading through your belly at the certainty in his tone.

“Nah,” He pressed. “I mean, soon as I get home, I’m filling you up. I ain’t playing.”

A giggle bubbled out of you. “Well, that’s good to know,”  You teased, twisting a strand of hair between your fingers. “Because I already got off my birth control, and I’m ovulating real soon.”

Silence. Then a sharp inhale from Terry. “You serious?”

“Mmhmm.” A smirk played on your lips 

“Good,” He growled. “‘Cause I ain’t pulling out. I want you pregnant, mama. You carrying my son or my baby girl. I already see it.”

A deep shudder rolled through you at the sheer conviction in his voice. There was no hesitation, no doubt—he wanted this, just like you did. Now you knew having a baby before a ring wasn’t the most conventional thing. You were raised better than that, taught that marriage first was the way to go, that being someone’s “baby mama” wasn’t the move. But Terry? He wasn’t that type of man. This wasn’t some half-thought-out, heat-of-the-moment decision. You knew exactly what you were signing up for. From the moment you told him you wanted his baby, he made it crystal clear—both you and that child would have his last name. There would be no question, no hesitation. You weren’t about to be just someone’s BM. You were his woman, his future wife.

The plan was already in motion—soon as he got out, y’all were hitting the courthouse and making it official. No long engagement, no drawn-out wedding planning stress. He wanted to be your husband immediately. And once he was settled, once he was back on his feet, working and bringing in real money, then he’d give you that big wedding, the

one with the flowers, the dress, the family all gathered to watch you walk down the aisle. But for now? The paper, the commitment, you—that’s what mattered most to him.

It wasn’t like you weren’t set up already. You made damn good money, and your degree in business administration had you sitting pretty in a high-paying corporate consulting job, helping multi-million-dollar firms streamline their operations. Your salary was more than enough to hold things down while Terry got back on his feet, and you’d already mapped out a business plan to help him reintegrate. Finding a job after doing seventeen years inside wasn’t easy, but you had resources, connections, a plan. You weren’t just bringing him home—you were making sure he stayed home. You were building a life with this man, and every step of it felt right.

“You think your family gon’ like me?” Terry exhaled through the phone, his deep voice softening just a little. Your smile, bright and easy just seconds ago, slowly faded. It was a fair question. A real one. But it wasn’t an easy one to answer. You knew your mama. Sweet, nurturing, and warm when she wanted to be, but judgmental as hell. A devout Christian woman—saved, sanctified, and filled with the Holy Ghost. She wasn’t fond of anything remotely sinful, and Terry… well, Terry was the walking definition of sinful.

There was no denying he was a fine-ass man. That wasn’t the issue. Standing tall at 6’3”, with those piercing hazel eyes that seemed to shift between ocean-gray and a stormy blue-green depending on the light. Rich, light caramel skin that deepened into a golden bronze in the summer but softened into a fairer hue in the colder months. A strong, chiseled jawline that made him look both dangerous and regal. His lips? Plump, full, always looking like they were ready to be kissed—or used for something far nastier. His short-cropped curly fro was just long enough to grab, and those thick, corded muscles? Yeah. His time behind bars didn’t just sculpt his body—it turned him into a damn statue, cut from flesh instead of marble. His tattoos, inked along his thick arms, added to his edge. Especially that sleeve—his latest one, a masterpiece he got done while inside.

He was the kind of man that turned heads when he walked into a room. The kind that made women cross their legs and bite their lip. But he wasn’t the “good, God-fearing man” your mother had envisioned for you. Terry was the complete opposite. And yet, his heart was the purest thing about him. Despite his past, despite the anger and the hurt buried deep in his soul, he was a good man. A gentle soul trapped in an exterior so hard, so intimidating, most people never got to see the real him.

You inhaled sharply, trying to find the right words. “Baby, I gotta be honest with you.”

“Mmhmm?” His voice was calm. 

You sighed. “I don’t know. My mama… she can be a bit much. And the fact that I’ve been hiding this—hiding us—for the past two years? Oh, she gon’ have a fit. And my sister? Whew, she gon’ have a mouth full too. You’d probably have better luck with my aunties than my own mama.”

Terry chuckled, a deep, warm sound that made your stomach flutter. “I get it, baby. I do.” His voice was soft, understanding. “But I ain’t going nowhere. She can side-eye me, throw oil on me, pray over me ‘til she blue in the face—I’m still gon’ be here. And I’ma do whatever I can to make her love me. To make her see I ain’t some monster. ‘Cause I want this, ma. I want us. I want your family to be my family, too.”

That made you smile. A big one. The kind that deepened your dimples and warmed you from the inside out. But there was something else weighing on you. Something heavy. Something you knew Terry wouldn’t want to talk about, but you had to ask.

You hesitated before carefully pushing forward. “Baby… you gon’ reach out to your mama once you’re free?”

“Nah, Y/N. I’m not.” He answered, his voice, tight and clipped. 

You swallowed. “Baby—”

“Ain’t like she gave a fuck about me in the first place,” he cut you off, his voice colder now. “I’m in here ‘cause of her. You know that.”

“I know. I do. But, baby… you gotta forgive. Not for her. For you. You need peace, Terry. You deserve that.” You exhaled slowly. His breathing was heavier now, like he was trying to keep himself from slipping into that dark place. You hated when he went there. When the bitterness and resentment started to eat away at him.

“I got peace, baby. I got you.” His voice softened just a little, but you could still hear the hurt beneath it. “That’s all I need.”

“I hear you baby.” You softly replied. You decided to respect his wishes and let the conversation about his mother rest. He had been through enough, and you weren’t about to push him into something he wasn’t ready for. Instead, you brightened up, shifting the energy as you let out a little squeal.

“Oh! Baby, my birthday dress came!” You announced excitedly, twirling a loose curl around your finger. “I can’t wait for you to see me in it.”

Terry’s smirk was damn near audible through the phone. “Oh yeah?” His voice dropped an octave, turning rich and smooth like warm honey. “That’s cool, baby… ‘cause I can’t wait to take that shit off you.”

“It is literally nine in the morning, and you already on go.” You chuckled, shaking your head.

“Because I got this pretty, brown-eyed woman waiting on me,” He murmured. “And I can’t stop staring at her picture, picturing our life together beyond these walls. I just need my woman bad.” He let out a breath, voice thick with longing. “I wanna turn your body inside out, have you laid up exhausted, and then make you breakfast in the morning while you recover, boo.”

“Leave the cooking to me, Richmond. Don’t need you burning our house up.” You smirked, scratching your head. You hadn’t even realized you said it like that—our house—until the words left your lips. But Terry caught it instantly. His heart swelled, warmth spreading through his chest like wildfire.

“Our,” He repeated, grinning through the phone. “I like the sound of that. And don’t worry, baby. I could never destroy anything of ours.” His words settled over you like a warm embrace, making your stomach flutter.

Terry cleared his throat after a beat. “So, your girls still takin’ you out for your birthday?”

“Mmhmm,” You confirmed, stretching lazily. “We’re hitting this grown and sexy lounge. Got a section, a table, should be real nice. I just wanted something low-key. Nothing too crazy.”

Terry hummed in approval. “That’s what’s up. You think your girls gon’ accept me?”

You snorted. “They’re gonna love you. Especially Deja. Sonya, though… she might take a minute. She’s Miss Fake Bougie, swearing she a real housewife of Atlanta. But deep down, she’s chill. Just real protective of me.”

Terry let out a low chuckle. “Aight, sounds like a plan, baby girl. Long as they ain’t plotting to run me off, we cool.”

“Never that.” You smiled, resting your chin in your hand, leaning on the countertop.

“Mm. Aight, tell me this, then—what’s the first meal I’m getting when I come home?” He inquired, with a devious smirk. 

“Well, I was thinking… me.” Your voice became real seductive, tilting your head. 

Terry’s laughter rumbled through the phone, low and sinful. “Ain’t no thinking, that’s a guarantee. But just to be safe, cook us something for after, ‘cause we gon’ need the strength.”

“Terry, you so damn silly.” You burst out laughing, shaking your head at him.

“You love it,” He teased, and he wasn’t wrong. Because behind all that reserved, stoic energy, Terry Richmond was a damn goofball at heart. And he was your goofball. The conversation between you and Terry continued, the two of you just vibing, killing time before you had to finally pull yourself away and get in the shower. He told you about a wild dream he had last night—some crazy mix of old memories and future fantasies of the two of you together.

“Man, I swear, I had the realest dream, baby,” He said, voice lazy and deep. “We was laid up in this big-ass house, had the baby in the crib next to us… you was wearin’ my T-shirt, lookin’ all sexy with your lil’ bonnet on, and I just kept pullin’ you closer, not even tryna let you sleep.”

“So you gon’ keep me up even in your dreams?” You laughed, rolling onto your side, twirling the bedsheets between your fingers. 

“Hell yeah,” He said without hesitation. “I been starvin’, baby. Soon as I touch down, I’m eatin’ you up, kissin’ on you, makin’ love to you every chance I get. You gon’ be sick of me.”

“Never that daddy,” You murmured, feeling warmth spread through your body at just the thought of how it would feel to finally have him home.

“Bet,” He chuckled, then let out a deep sigh. “I just be sittin’ in this cell picturing it, picturing us—you in the tub, all soaped up, candles lit, slow jams playin’… me right behind you, holdin’ you close, runnin’ my hands all over that soft ass skin, kissing up your neck… licking on your nipples..”

Your breath hitched, already envisioning the exact same thing. You had put together a playlist for his arrival—nothing but the smoothest 90s and early 2000s R&B, songs that made you wanna melt into somebody’s arms.

“You wanna know what I was thinking about?” You asked, biting your lip.

“What, baby?”  He feigned innocence.

“How you gon’ be sneakin’ into the shower while I’m tryna get ready for work,” you giggled. “Talkin’ about, ‘lemme wake you up the right way’—like I don’t have places to be!”

Terry laughed but then hummed in approval. “Shit, I am waking you up the right way. Gon’ have you walkin’ into work with a smile so big, they gon’ know somebody put it there.”

Your stomach flipped at the thought, heat rising to your cheeks. You were so gone for this man. “You just wait, Richmond,”You teased, sighing dramatically. “You about to be a full-time distraction.”

“That’s my plan, baby.” He grinned through the phone. 

After a few more minutes of sweet talk, you finally sighed. “Alright, I need to get in the shower before I lay here and talk to you all day.”

“I ain’t stoppin’ you,” Terry teased. “I just wanna hear the water runnin’. Let me close my eyes and imagine it.”

“Boy, bye!” You laughed, shaking your head before reluctantly hanging up.

—

The hot water cascaded over your skin as you leaned against the shower wall, letting the warmth soak into your muscles. Your mind was racing with all the intimate moments you’d been daydreaming about since Terry’s release date became a real possibility. Late nights soaking in the tub together, his strong arms wrapped around you, his lips trailing along your shoulder. Waking up to him pulling you into his body, whispering in your ear before making love to you first thing in the morning. The idea of sharing a home, a bed, a life with him made your stomach flip with anticipation. You had been living alone for so long, moving on your own schedule, answering to no one. But now, there would be him. His things mixed with yours, his scent lingering in your sheets, his presence filling the empty spaces. And you couldn’t wait.

Once you finished luxuriating, you stepped out, wrapping yourself in a plush towel. You took your time getting dressed—pulling on a pair of black leggings that hugged your curves and a Nike sports bra, slipping into your most comfortable sneakers. You tied your hair into a sleek bun, then grabbed a baseball cap to shield your eyes from the Georgia sun. After grabbing your Louis Vuitton Speedy 30, you were just about to head out the door when your phone rang and you saw it was Sonya.

You sighed before answering, already bracing yourself. “What’s up, girl?”

“Mm, what you got going on today?” She asked, her tone full of suspicion, like she knew you were up to something.

“Just about to make a quick Target and BJ’s run,” You said casually, hoping she’d just let it go.

“Oh, perfect! I need to hit Target anyway! I’ll meet you there.” She stated. You internally cringed. Sonya didn’t know about Terry yet. And you definitely didn’t need her up in your cart asking a hundred questions about all the men’s products you were grabbing.

“Girl, I’m moving quick today,” You abruptly said, trying to throw her off. “Gotta be in and out, no time for browsing.”

“Please, you never just ‘run in’ anywhere,” Sonya scoffed. “I’ll keep up.”

“Sonya…” You huffed, rubbing your temple. 

“What?” She laughed. “Why you sound so stressed? You tryna move funny or somethin’?”

“You know I move funny, that ain’t new.”You let out a dry laugh. 

“Mhm, and that’s exactly why I’m coming.” She snickered. 

You sighed dramatically, knowing there was no way out of this now. “Fine, I’ll see you there,” You relented, already planning how you were going to strategically avoid letting her see all the things you were picking up for Terry. You hurried up and grabbed your car keys and your Stanley cup from your kitchen counter before heading right out the door to your car. You hit the unlock button on your key fob and heard the chirp. Sliding into the plush leather seat of your Mercedes-Benz, you place your Stanley cup in the cupholder before pressing the push-to-start button. The engine purrs to life, and before you can even adjust the air, the CarPlay screen lights up, immediately blasting the smooth, honeyed vocals of Maxwell’s “Fortunate” through the speakers.

Your heart leaps in excitement. “SING IT, MAXWELL!” You squeal, gripping the steering wheel and swaying your shoulders as if you’re right there on stage with him. 

This is your song. Terry’s song. The one he always sings to you over the phone—completely off-key but with so much passion, like he’s pouring every piece of himself into it. You can still hear him now—“I never sang a song with all my might…”—his deep, rough voice twisting the lyrics into something that sounds nothing like Maxwell, but you never cared. It was him. It was you. It was love. You pull out of the driveway, easing onto the streets of Atlanta, the sun gleaming against the hood of your Benz. The beat of the song wraps around you, filling every inch of the car with warmth. With one hand on the wheel and the other tapping rhythmically against your thigh, you let the city move around you, the skyline stretching high above as you feel the music, feel the love behind every lyric. Terry is coming home. Soon. And as Maxwell’s voice croons through the speakers, you let yourself dream—of slow dances in the living room, of his arms pulling you close as you sway to this very song, of him pressing soft kisses along your shoulder while mumbling the lyrics into your ear.You exhale, your lips curling into a soft, knowing smile. It’s only a matter of time.

Pulling into the Target parking lot, you let out a long, heavy sigh, gripping the wheel as you mentally prepared yourself for Sonya. You loved your girl—no doubt about it. Sonya was one of those ride-or-die friends who would cut up with you on a Saturday night and pray with you on Sunday morning. But she was also the kind of woman who didn’t know the meaning of boundaries. She always had to be up in the mix, tasting the flavor, giving unsolicited advice even when it wasn’t needed. And it wasn’t that you didn’t want to share Terry with your girls—because you did. He was your man, and you were proud of him.

But you wanted to make sure this was real. That this was happening. That he was actually going to be home before you started bragging and boasting about him to your family and friends. You couldn’t count how many times you’d gotten excited about a brotha, only for him to turn out to be a disappointment. And every time, you had to do the walk of shame, explaining to everyone that it didn’t work out. You hated the look of disappointment on your mother’s face, the I told you so smirk on your sister’s lips, and God forbid Sonya’s infamous, “I knew that nigga wasn’t shit.” speeches. And then there was Deja, who always chimed in with, “Girl, want me to get my cousin to kill him?”

You loved your girls, but the last two years had been a sacred kind of peace. You had cultivated this private, intense, deeply intimate relationship with Terry while he was behind bars, and there was something pure about keeping it just between the two of you. You knew that sometimes, outside influence could ruin a good thing, and you weren’t ready to share your world just yet. But if things aligned perfectly—if the odds were in your favor, if the judge signed off, and if God was looking out for you—then they would meet him the night of your birthday outing. You just hoped everything would fall into place. You hopped out of the car, grabbing your Louis Vuitton Speedy 30 from the passenger seat and slinging it over your arm. Just as you shut the door, you spotted Sonya standing near the entrance, her arms crossed, her stance already radiating irritation. You took a deep inhale, bracing yourself, then walked over, greeting her with a quick hug.

“Girl, what’s wrong with you?” You asked, noticing her sour expression.

“Chile, my damn hairstylist just sent me that infamous ‘Hey boo’ text, and I just know it’s about to be some bullshit.” Sonya sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes.

“That’s why I told you to stop going to her, Sonya. She’s unprofessional as hell and always canceling on you at the last minute.” You snorted and shook your head. 

“I know, I know,” She whined dramatically, throwing her hands up. “But girl, she know how to lay my damn wigs. She makes that lace look like scalp! I do not wanna go to nobody else!”

You laughed, grabbing a cart and rolling into the store with her. You weren’t even five steps inside before you gave her a knowing look and smirked. “I don’t even know why you waste your time getting them wigs laid, knowing Omar gon’ pull that shit right off your head and have your lace looking crazy by the end of the night.”

“You ain’t lying, girl. You really ain’t lying.” Sonya stuck her tongue out at you before giggling, clearly thinking about how wild her and her man got. 

You shook your head, laughing as you made your way toward the laundry aisle, grabbing detergent, fabric softener, and some cleaning products. You wanted the house to be

perfect for Terry’s homecoming—fresh sheets, the scent of lavender and vanilla in the air, everything spotless for his arrival.

As you reached for a bottle of Febreze, Sonya nudged you. “So… you excited for your birthday?”

“Yeah… I really am.” You smiled, biting your lip as you nodded. Truth be told you were more excited for Terry’s arrival than your own birthday. For as long as you could remember you weren’t the most excited to celebrate your birthday. To you, it was just another day and another reminder that you were leaving your glorious twenties and getting closer to hitting your dirty thirties. That is until Terry came into your life and shifted your perspective on life itself. He taught you that every birthday should be celebrated and that life is too short to not celebrate the breath in your lungs and waking up everyday. Especially with his circumstances and how his life got snatched from him because he chose to do the right thing and defend his mother’s honor against her abuser, but in the end it wasn’t so honorable and his dreams and young life got cut short with the snap of a finger. So this year you chose to have a better outlook on your birthday, thanks to your baby Terry. 

 You continued to move swiftly through Target, pushing your cart with concentration, mentally checking off everything Terry will need once he’s home. You start with the Dove Men+Care bar soap, grabbing a few packs because you know the fresh, clean scent will suit him. Next is the Old Spice body wash—the deep, rich, masculine fragrance makes you weak in the knees, so you know it’ll be perfect for him. You toss it in the cart, followed by men’s deodorant, mouthwash, and toothpaste—because even though you’ve never stood close enough to breathe him in, you already decided that your man will smell fresh, clean, and irresistible.

You head down the haircare aisle, running your fingers over the different bottles before settling on a moisturizing shampoo and conditioner. You know prison air is dry as hell, and you’re not about to have your man coming home with his hair brittle and neglected. A large jar of Palmer’s whipped cocoa butter goes into the cart next—you love how smooth and rich it feels against your skin, and you can already picture yourself rubbing it into his arms, his shoulders, his hands… making sure he’s soft and well taken care of. Just as you’re reaching for a pack of Dude Wipes, Sonya turns from the next aisle, glancing over at your cart. She tilts her head, her perfectly arched brows raising as she takes in all the men’s products sitting inside.

“Uh-uh. Who’s all this for?” She asks, crossing her arms. Your heart skips a beat.

“Oh!” You force out a laugh, thinking quick. “My sister’s in town with her fiancé, and they’re staying at my mom’s house. She needed some stuff to keep there for him.”

Sonya narrows her eyes for a second, then shrugs. “Oh okay, that makes sense. I was about to say, girl, you got a whole grown man’s starter kit in there.”

You laugh nervously, nodding as you grip the handle of your cart, pushing forward. Just when you think you’re in the clear, your phone buzzes in your purse. You glance down and see the caller ID: Terry’s lawyer. Your stomach instantly tightens. He already called earlier—so why is he calling again?

“Hey, hold on,” You tell Sonya, trying to keep your voice light. “I gotta take this real quick.”

“Cool, I’ll meet you at checkout.” Sonya waves you off, already distracted by something on the next shelf. Stepping out of the aisle, you answer, pressing the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” You answer, voice low. 

“We’ve got a problem,” His lawyer says, his voice urgent.Your body stiffens.

“What? What happened?” You held your breath. 

“There’s been an incident in the prison yard. Terry was involved.” He deeply sighs. Your heart  plummets straight to your ass because you told this nigga—.

“WHAT?!” You shout, loud enough that people around you turn their heads. You clamp a hand over your mouth, forcing yourself to breathe, to stay calm.

“I’m still gathering details,” His lawyer continues, “ But from what I’m hearing, there was some kind of altercation. If the judge catches wind of this, his release could be revoked… or at the very least, stalled.”

The words ring in your ears, drowning out the noise of the store. Revoked?! Stalled?!Your hands start to tremble on the cart handle, your vision blurring with tears. Just when you thought you were so close to having him home—just when everything was falling into place—here comes some bullshit.

“Please… just tell me he’s okay,” you whisper, your voice cracking. You swallow hard, gripping the phone tighter.

“I really don’t know. I’m working on it. I’ll call you back when I know more.” He sighed again, sounding defeated. Then the line goes dead, making you tear up. You stood frozen in the middle of Target, your world spinning, your stomach in knots. And just like that, everything you had been dreaming of, praying for, feels like it’s slipping right through your fingers.

This couldn't be happening right now, not right now....

@captainwithoutmakingitlove

@naughtynolly-blog

@theglamclosetsl

@nahimjustfeelingit-writes

@fakxmbj

@solunaseira

@noir-lullaby

@kirayuki22

@blyffe

@planetblaque

@blackchickinthedesert

@megamindsecretlair

@teeresaresa

@kaylaahisthebestest-

@hotebonynearby

@lavaniiii

@cardi-bre91

[baronfulmen]

Okay "sometimes you need to hit your kid, as a treat" is a terrifying take even if they're trolling honestly.

My actual unwelcome nuance / hot take on this topic:

Wanting to hit your kids is a stress response VERY similar to road rage, in that it shows up for some people more than others and may show up for you even if other situations don't stress you at all. This means the urge to hit your kid can absolutely catch you off guard, and we need to be able to talk about this and help people find healthy ways to avoid and cope with that stress rather than demonizing the initial urge.

This isn't me saying it's okay to ACTUALLY hit your kid, it's me saying that you having the URGE to hit your kid does not make you a bad person - it's a maladaptive stress response that many many many people have, and society has fucked up by either saying it's fine and you should do it (yikes) or saying that it's evil and you're evil for even having the thought regardless of if you ever do it (also yikes).

I have always been a very chill person, and certain parenting situations have caused me stress in ways nothing else in the world has for some reason. I have yelled at my kids in a way that I absolutely should not have and I still feel bad about it. While I haven't hit them, the yelling was already a related thing and there have been one or two times where I did feel like hitting or breaking *something* was needed, like there was an urge to throw a plate or whatever. I didn't, but man did part of my brain want to.

And I wish someone had warned me, said "hey a lot of people have this really bad response to parenting stress, if you feel that happening here's some things you can do to calm down so you don't yell or - god forbid - hit your kids".

this site is so funny you sound evil

[destinedfordiapers]

Dancing Through Life

This is Part Two of the series I’m writing with @paci-papa, catch up on Part One here!

One thing is crystal clear as you lay there in a soggy diaper, waiting for your babysitters to change you:

It’s going to be a long weekend.

For the last few months, Papa had been your whole world. He made you feel so safe, so secure you never thought twice about becoming his babygirl.

You didn’t mind the wet and messy diapers you wore all day. Or how your adult clothes were swapped for your current infantile wardrobe. You didn’t even mind that your adulthood was a thing of the past, never to return.

Papa was always there to make everything better. To assure you that you were right where you belonged.

It was like the outside world ceased to exist.

“You were so right, babe. She really is better off like this! It’s hard to believe it’s her. No more attitude, no more sass. Just a well-behaved pamper packer!”

Not anymore.

Papa didn’t leave you with just any babysitters. No, you had a history with the two babysitters smiling down at you.

“Well, I wish I could take credit for the docile little thing waiting so patiently for a diaper change! But her Papa deserves all the credit. All I did was put her back in diapers where she belongs!”

Two years ago, before your new life as Papa’s poopy pamper princess, Trevor was your boyfriend. But he could only handle your attitude and immaturity for so long. Especially when your drunken escapades ended with a soaked bed.

“Well, judging by how fast she tinkled through this diaper, it was the right decision!”

You foolishly look up and make eye contact with Liv. Pee trickles into your diaper as you see her condescending grin.

Ugh, you hated Liv.

The woman who stole Trevor from you.

You remember that same condescending grin on her face when Trevor put your nighttime diaper on you before she ran off to bed with him. Or how she’d always check your diaper in her lingerie first thing in the morning.

And the horrible way she’d loudly comment that you made an “oopsie daisy in her diaper” whenever you woke up wet.

Liv stops Trevor as he walks to you with a new diaper and changing supplies.

“Babe, I’m a little concerned about Erica’s tummy. Her Papa says she usually makes a boom boom before lunch, but it’s already afternoon, and she’s only tinkled, poor thing.”

Your face turns a shade of red so bright a tomato would be jealous.

“Honey,” Trevor says, “Are you holding your poopoo?”

You cover your face in shame. “I…I…”

Liv jumps in with a sickeningly sweet voice, “Little one, you have nothing to be embarrassed about, okay? We’re your babysitters! Our job is to change poopy diapers!”

You whimper, dreading what’s about to happen. “I…don’t have to…”

“Hmm. Why don’t we help make things easy, sweetie?” Liv says, grabbing your feet, “Let’s do bicycle kicks until you fill your diaper?”

“B-bicycle kicks?” you whimper.

“Yes, little one. They always work on my little niece!”

Before you can react, Liv starts moving your legs back and forth, slowly pushing them towards you before pulling back, cycling each leg.

“Mmmm,” you whimper, doing your best not to mess your diaper in front of Liv like an actual baby.

For a minute or two, the only sounds are your diaper crinkles and Liv's humming. A loud, foreboding gurgle erupts from your tummy.

You whimper, feeling your control dwindling. Every time Liv pushes your legs, you feel your control slipping. You desperately try to fight the inevitable.

Without warning, a loud toot trumpets into the room.

“Good girl, Erica! Get all your toot-toots out!” Liv coos.

It happens slowly, then all at once.

Your eyes go wide as you feel your mess sliding slowly, inevitably, into your diaper, which crackles as you fill it. Nothing you do makes any difference.

Trevor laughs, “Wow, you were right, Liv! Works like a charm!”

You have no control, like the baby you’ve become.

Each time Liv pushes, more mess slides into your diaper. She pushes on and on, your diaper struggling to contain your onslaught.

“Almost done, honey?” Liv asks, inspecting your diaper, “Anymore poopoo and we might have a blowout!”

All you can do is nod your head, too mortified to answer.

“Awwww, what did I say about being ashamed of your stinkies, baby? They’re part of life for you now. Besides, it’s not like waiting would’ve changed anything! Diapers are your potty now, silly!”

You cower as the smell engulfs you, a constant reminder of your new place in life.

Liv pats your diaper playfully. “Such a big mess, too! You musta felt so icky holding all that in!”

“No wonder Papa needs a break!” Trevor adds, “Diaper duty for little Erica here is no easy task.”

“Oh, stop, Trev. Don’t make baby Erica feel bad, she can’t help it. She’s just a baby!”

You look up at Liv with a feminine rage that fizzles out immediately. Liv meets your glance.

She’s taunting you. She knows you’re no longer a woman—you’re a silly baby in a poopy diaper.

“Yeah, you’re right. I’m sorry, honey. Besides, I like you so much better this way! It was a mistake potty training you, but Papa is fixing that mistake! Your attitude is so much better when you’re pampered.”

Hearing that, you whimper, kicking your feet in shame. But too embarrassed to throw an actual tantrum.

As you kick, your bulging diaper sways heavily, threatening to burst.

“Awwwww, you can say that again,” Liv giggles, “Look at her go! Big girl things like drinking, sex, and work were much too big a responsibility for you. Papa was right taking them away from you.”

Trevor nods in agreement.

“Now all you have to worry about is being Papa’s pretty princess! It’s hard to have a bad attitude when you’re in a loaded diaper, isn’t it?”

Liv tickles your sides, cooing you. “Come on, lil stinker. Let’s get that diaper changed. You’re not getting diaper rash on our watch!”

As Liv changes your diaper, you can’t help but think about your new life—and what it means to be Papa’s pamper packer.

It was so easy to get lost in the silliness of being his princess when it was just the two of you. Papa made everything so perfect, so comfortable, you couldn’t help but want to be his diapered little princess.

But you forgot that you don’t get to stay home all day. There’s a whole world outside your cozy crib and comfy changing table.

And now you know exactly where you fit in.

Pamper packers like you may be cute and adorable, but nobody will ever take you seriously again. Not as an adult. To everyone, you’re nothing but an oversized baby in need of a caregiver.

You used to think of yourself as a beautiful, sexy woman. As Liv grabs another wipe to clean your poopy princess parts, you know those days are long gone.

Pamper packers don’t have sex. They get their princess parts wiped clean before being safely secured in another diaper before being sent off to play.

Later that night, the reality of your new life carries into the guest room. The sounds of Liv’s pleasure breaks the silence of the night.

You listen, imagining that it was you moaning. Getting lost in your fantasy, crinkles erupt from your bed as you desperately hump your pillow to the rhythm of the moans.

A crinkle symphony nobody will ever hear.

[cruel-seduction]

Beyond Fears 

Summary - With the biggest exam of your life coming up, stress is eating you alive—but Mattheo refuses to let it win. He’ll do whatever it takes to pull you out of your own head, even if it means causing a little chaos. But when the truth behind your fear comes out, he’s ready to remind you of one thing—no matter what happens, he’s not going anywhere.

Content Warning - Suggestive theme and Curse words. 

Glimpse - “And as for your stupid little fear that I’ll find someone else—ugh, babe, do you think I’m insane? That my brain is rotting?” His lips twitched into a smirk before softening again. “Do you think I’d willingly trade you—the love of my fucking life, the only person who actually laughs at my dumb jokes, the only one who knows exactly how I like my coffee, the only soul on this godforsaken planet who makes me feel like I belong—for anyone else?” His voice was raw now, honest in a way that made your chest ache.

His forehead pressed against yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered, “Baby, there is no one else. There never will be.”

a/n - Credit goes to @bernardsbendystraws. And also I wrote this based of on a scene from my fav show. Cause I needed to do crying reader over valid reason and this seem like best. And she does portrays that she is strong. but Mattheo is Mattheo bro.

Requested by @jarjarbinks-har-har

Mattheo could feel the tension rolling off you from a mile away—thick, restless, electric. Anxiety coiled around your frame like an iron grip, tightening with every breath you took. The upcoming exam loomed over you like a storm cloud, its weight pressing down on you with an unbearable force. If you passed, you’d be the youngest woman in history to earn a seat at one of the most prestigious higher education institutions for witches and wizards. The pressure was suffocating, an invisible noose tightening around your throat.

You weren’t the only one feeling it. Mattheo was tense too, but not because of the exam. No, he was wound up because of you—because your stress became his stress, your suffering bled into him like an open wound. He’d tried everything to ease your nerves. He took you to your favorite coffee shop, bought you anything you wanted, even tried distracting you with jokes and stolen kisses—but nothing worked. You were drowning in books, lost in your relentless pursuit of perfection, and no amount of comfort could pull you out.

Eighteen hours. That’s how long you had gone without sleep. Maybe more. You were running purely on caffeine and raw determination, your veins practically humming with exhaustion. Dark circles didn’t just shadow your eyes—they owned your face, carved into your skin like permanent bruises. At night, you sang old traditional songs in a hollow, eerie voice, studying by torchlight like some deranged scholar possessed by ancient magic. Your roommates had given up on you, groaning in frustration as your muttered revisions carried into the early hours. Even when Mattheo convinced you to crash in his dorm, you never truly rested. You just laid there beside him, whispering formulas, theories, and incantations under your breath, your fingers tracing invisible notes on his skin. It was getting out of hand.

Mattheo watched you now, his jaw clenched as he took in the sight before him—you, hunched over a book in the Great Hall, a cup of coffee gripped in one trembling hand, barely picking at your food with the other. Students all around were suffering through exam stress, but Mattheo didn’t give a damn about any of them. You were the only one who mattered. And watching you unravel like this was killing him.

Sitting beside him, Theodore Nott let out a low whistle. “Mate, what the hell is wrong with her?” he muttered, following Mattheo’s gaze.

Mattheo exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That stupid exam is next week. She’s pushing herself too hard. If she doesn’t pass, she won’t be able to retake it for another four years. That would completely screw up her entire life plan.” His voice was tight, frustration laced beneath the concern.

Theodore huffed a laugh, lips curling in amusement. “Please, it can’t be that serious. No one plans their life around one exam.” Mattheo’s eyes darkened as he turned toward his friend. “It’s her wallpaper.” Theodore’s brow furrowed. “What?”

Mattheo ran a hand through his hair. “The life plan. It hangs over her bed.” Theodore’s mouth formed a small ‘O’ of realization, his amusement fading into something more thoughtful.

Mattheo knew this couldn’t go on. He couldn’t just sit back and watch you self-destruct. No, he had to do something.

And he knew exactly what to do.

Later that day, Mattheo found you exactly where he expected—in the library, buried under an avalanche of books, your fingers gripping a quill like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality. Without a word, he sank into the chair beside you, drumming his fingers against the wooden surface.

You didn’t even glance up, just exhaled a frustrated sigh before whispering, “Don’t waste my time. Just say what you wanna say.”

Mattheo smirked, leaning back in his chair with that signature arrogance, the kind that both infuriated and charmed you in equal measure. “Babe, don’t worry. You’re gonna crush it. You could take this exam with one eye closed and still beat half these idiots. And most importantly—” he paused, his voice softening slightly, “—even if you don’t, it’s fine. You got this.”

Your eyes snapped to his, narrowing. “You don’t know what you’re saying,” you scoffed. “You’re only saying this because you love me. Love has made you dumber.”

Mattheo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “No, I don’t think so. If anything, love has made me smarter. See, I haven’t picked a single fight this whole month.”

Your lips twitched despite yourself, a ghost of a proud smile appearing. “Yes, I am very proud of you for that. But if you don’t get the hell out in ten seconds, I will personally break your nose.”

Mattheo grinned like he’d been waiting for exactly that response. In a single, swift motion, he grabbed your wrist, yanking you to your feet before you could protest.

“What the hell, Mattheo?!” You struggled against his grip, your chair scraping noisily against the floor as he dragged you out of the library. Heads turned. You scowled. “Stop! I swear to Merlin, if this is another one of your—”

He didn’t stop. He didn’t even slow down, only coming to a halt when he shoved open the door to an abandoned classroom and pulled you inside.

You shot him a glare as you yanked your arm free. “This better be good, Riddle, or I’m hexing your balls into oblivion.”

Mattheo’s smirk widened as he leaned casually against a desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Since you’re so stressed, I figured—why not give you a test?”

Your eyes darkened, your irritation sharpening into a glare. “Are you serious? You dragged me here for a fake test? These things are useless, Mattheo. They don’t have the same pressure, the same distractions. It’s all too damn quiet and perfect, like the walls themselves are whispering the answers.”

Mattheo tilted his head, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Yeah, I figured you’d say that.” He clapped his hands together once, and suddenly, the door swung open.

In walked Abby and Scully from Ravenclaw, each lugging twenty-five bags of chips. As they sat down, they immediately started munching—loudly. Crunching, smacking, licking their fingers like they were trying to break a world record for obnoxious eating.

Your eye twitched.

But that wasn’t all. Right behind them, a group of students filed in—loud ones. The kind who couldn’t stay quiet if their lives depended on it. They bickered, they whispered, they tapped their quills against the desks, they fidgeted like caffeinated squirrels.

Mattheo leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as he whispered, “Better prepare yourself, Y/L/N. This is your battlefield.” Then, with a wicked grin, he added, “And I know you wanna rip my clothes off right now, but you’re gonna have to wait and ace this test first.”

You stepped closer, so close that he sucked in a breath, his smirk faltering just slightly. Your voice dropped to a sultry whisper, just for him.

“I am so fucking turned on by you right now.” You smirked. “Give me five minutes to destroy this test. Then? You.”

Mattheo’s mouth fell open slightly, like he’d just been hit by a Confundus Charm.

You winked, snatching up the test from his hands, and took your seat, utterly unbothered by the chaos around you.

Mattheo, still standing there, watching you with something dark and heated in his gaze, let out a quiet, disbelieving chuckle.

“Fucking hell,” he muttered. “I think I just made studying sexy.”

Mattheo sat outside on the Quidditch field, staring up at the darkening sky, the cool breeze doing nothing to temper the frustration simmering in his chest. His fingers fidgeted with a stray blade of grass as he replayed the events of the day over and over in his head. He was about to go find you himself when he noticed Abby and Scully trudging toward him, looking particularly sheepish.

“We’re out of chips,” they said in perfect unison.

Mattheo blinked. Then scowled. “What the hell? I gave you fifty packets. And I told you to stay in that damn room.”

Scully shifted uncomfortably before muttering, “About that… Y/N kinda… vanished.”

Mattheo’s stomach dropped. His jaw clenched. “Vanished?” His voice was eerily calm, but his eyes—oh, his eyes had darkened into something deadly.

Abby nodded. “Yeah, she just—poof. One second she was there, the next, gone. No idea where.”

Mattheo shot to his feet, his entire body thrumming with tension. “I asked you to do one thing,” he snapped, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “One fucking thing—and you couldn’t even do that?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Move aside.”

It was almost nightfall, and Mattheo, along with his friends, had been searching for you for over an hour. You were nowhere to be found. His mind churned with possibilities—were you upset? Were you hiding? Had something happened? And then, like a punch to the gut, it hit him.

Today’s date.

Mattheo stopped in his tracks, exhaling as realization settled over him. “I know where she is,” he muttered. “Go back to the dorms—I got this.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned on his heel and headed toward the Potions classroom.

And there you were.

Curled up in a ball, tucked into the shadows, your arms wrapped around your knees as if holding yourself together. The dim candlelight flickered against your face, casting soft, golden hues over your tear-streaked cheeks. His chest tightened at the sight.

Mattheo said nothing as he stepped inside. He didn’t need to. Instead, he lowered himself to the floor beside you, his presence warm and steady.

You glanced up, your voice barely above a whisper. “How did you find me?”

His expression remained neutral, but his eyes—his eyes—were soft as they met yours. “15th of March.”

A humorless laugh escaped your lips, and despite yourself, a small, sad smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. “Of course.”

Mattheo’s lips curled into one of those rare smiles—the kind he didn’t give just anyone. “A year ago, today, we had detention together.” His tone turned teasing. “You spent the whole night pretending to be annoyed while secretly staring at me like I was the hottest thing you’d ever seen, and by the end of it, you were completely infatuated with me.”

You gave him a side-eye. “Mattheo.”

He rolled his eyes. “Fine. You flirted with me for fifteen seconds, and I became obsessed.”

You let out a soft chuckle, shaking your head. “Sounds more accurate.”

A comfortable silence settled between you both.

And then, softly, Mattheo asked, “Babe, can you tell me the real reason why you’re scared?”

You hesitated for a moment before shifting closer, resting your head against his shoulder. His warmth seeped into you, grounding you, anchoring you.

“I didn’t even know why I was so tense before,” you admitted. “But when I was in that classroom, giving that practice test… I realized.” Your throat tightened. “Passing this test means going away from you. And I—I don’t know how to handle that.”

Mattheo stayed quiet, letting you speak.

“All these days, I’ve been drowning myself in books, trying to avoid thinking about it. But in that classroom, it hit me.” Your voice cracked. “Everything between us is so good right now. But what if leaving ruins that? What if we can’t make long distance work? What if me being gone changes everything?” A tear slid down your cheek, soaking into Mattheo’s shirt. “And what if—” your voice broke entirely, and you inhaled shakily, “—what if you realize that you deserve better? What if you find someone else, someone closer? Someone who isn’t a whole country away?”

Mattheo was quiet for a beat. Then, with a slow exhale, he shook his head and lifted his hands to your face, cradling your cheeks between his palms. He wiped your tears away gently, then—because he was still Mattheo—he wiped his hands off on your shirt, making you let out a watery laugh.

And then, in a voice barely above a whisper, he said, “Babe, listen to me—no, actually, shut up and listen, because I know that pretty little overthinking brain of yours is already running marathons.” His thumbs stroked your cheekbones, his touch featherlight. His gaze—intense, unwavering, filled with nothing but love—held you in place, made you feel every word before he even said them.

“Darling, if you don’t go—if you give up your dream for me—I swear I will throw myself into the nearest trash can and live there forever because that’s exactly where I belong if I let you do that.” His voice was steady, firm, convincing. “Baby, I want you to go. I need you to go. Not because I want to be away from you—hell no, I’m already dreading the distance—but because you’ve been dreaming about this since you were a kid, and the only thing worse than missing you would be watching you resent me for holding you back.”

You sniffled, lips trembling.

“And as for your stupid little fear that I’ll find someone else—ugh, babe, do you think I’m insane? That my brain is rotting?” His lips twitched into a smirk before softening again. “Do you think I’d willingly trade you—the love of my fucking life, the only person who actually laughs at my dumb jokes, the only one who knows exactly how I like my coffee, the only soul on this godforsaken planet who makes me feel like I belong—for anyone else?” His voice was raw now, honest in a way that made your chest ache.

His forehead pressed against yours, his nose brushing yours as he whispered, “Baby, there is no one else. There never will be.”

Tears slipped silently down your cheeks.

“So go. Conquer. Be brilliant.” He swallowed thickly. “And when you come back, I’ll be right here, still stupidly in love with you, probably crying into your hoodie and talking to your pictures like a lunatic.” He gave you a small, wry smile. “But I’ll be yours. Always.”

Your lips trembled. Your fingers clutched at the fabric of his shirt.

And then, with no warning, you surged forward, crashing your lips against his in a kiss so deep, so desperate, it stole the breath from both your lungs.

Mattheo exhaled into your mouth, his arms winding around you like he never wanted to let go.

And maybe, just maybe—he never would.

[wobster109]

First, a specific note. The study mentioned that birth city was randomly generated on the randomized charts, but could happen to match the person’s actual birth city. I believe that this could be a giveaway. If I saw 5 charts to choose from, and the cities were Chicago, Chicago, NYC, LA, and SF… could Chicago have been rolled twice on 2 decoy charts by chance? Sure, but my feeling is, it’s more likely that Chicago showed up twice due to one of them being the real person’s birthplace. So I’d pick one of the Chicago charts. (Haven’t done the math on this.) edit: have since done the math on this. I was mistaken. Assuming pool of 100 cities: 1*(4C1*1*99*98*97) ways to get Chicago, Chicago, X, Y, Z from the person being from Chicago. 99*(4C2*1*1*98*97) ways to get that list from the person being from one of the other 99 cities. Works out to 2/5 chance of being from Chicago, or 1/5 for each multiple choice option. Math is only for the case of AABCD (one city is repeated twice and the other 3 options are unique).

On that note, could I do better than random chance just by picking the most populous city out of the 5 chart options? For example if 98 people came from NYC and 2 people came from Juneau, I’d guess NYC for everyone and be 98% accurate.

This probably didn’t come up with only 12 people’s charts. But with more charts, better make sure any birth city is equally likely in the test data set. For example if you have 100 charts, don’t make 50 of them be from NYC.

-

This is interesting. I read the whole thing and one of the things they pointed out is, while 152 is a solid sample size for participants, 12 is a small sample size for questions.

In other words, for some people their personality is nothing like what astrology would predict. And for other people it happens to match up by chance. The example the write-up uses is “people born in February are more empathetic” (this is not something astrologers actually believe, just a made-up example).

So let’s pretend that “February births are empathetic” is a widespread belief. Say you grab 12 people’s charts, and 2 of them were born in February. You might get lucky or unlucky, and both of them happen to be empathetic just by chance. So going off that belief, you get those 2 correct, and 2 out of 12 is a big deal. That alone could be enough to push the astrologers to be more accurate than random guessing would be.

But if you grabbed 1200 charts, you’d get about 100 February ones, and they wouldn’t all be empathetic people by chance. They’d be more representative of the population. And then, choosing based on “Feb births are empathetic” wouldn’t help.

I realize that making a participant answer 1200 questions would be ridiculous and unreasonable. How about choosing 12 charts randomly, and anyone who gets over half or so correct goes in for a larger test of 100 charts? Then the 12-chart version is like a screening. If you get a low score, you are definitely not a “real” astrologer. If you get a high score, you may be a real astrologer or you may have gotten lucky on the screening, so you go in for a more comprehensive test.

I do believe there should be a small better-than-randomness result. I don’t think astrology is real, but I think a lot of people are aware of it, or believe in it, or do it for fun. I think that hearing “Feb births are empathetic” may affect how you see yourself, especially if you believe in astrology. Or someone who believes in it may repeat it to their Feb-born child.

I also think there may be a small correlation between birth city and personality or mannerisms/wording used in answering the survey questions. For example if you were born in NYC, maybe you lived there for at least part of your life, and that may show up in how you answered the survey questions. Making the survey multiple-choice would help some but not completely. I do believe that your environment/culture affects your outlook and personality, and if you got very large samples, I’d expect this to show up!

Astrology doesn't seem to work.

[lipglossanon]

Until the End

Real son!Leon S. Kennedy x real mom!reader (one shot)

Warnings: incest, dead dove, mom/son, simp Leon, cnc (reader’s “not” into it at first 😉), kissing, dirty talk, teasing, oral (f receiving), just the tip 😩, unprotected sex, creampie, mommy kink to the extreme

not proofread ✍️ it’s been a while since I’ve worked on anything so hopefully this doesn’t suck lmao the ending is just kinda meh

shoutout to the discord; I posted some of this WIP and they gave me the inspo to finish 🤭

title from the Breaking Benjamin song

It’s a quiet affair when you sign the divorce papers. Your husband—of twenty four years—deciding that he’d rather live overseas with his secretary instead of sticking it out; it’s not something you would have foreseen, but as they say hindsight’s always 20/20. It upset you at first but once the indignation died down, you realize you feel more relief than anything. Things have been strained for years and then in the last five, he’s barely been home long enough to chat about your days. 

The one who took it the hardest out of anyone is Leon. Your husband offered him a place to stay, but he chose to live with you (being a mama’s boy through and through). After his father left, Leon angrily refused to speak with him anymore and instead focused on his work and trying to pick up any slack around the house. Not that you hadn’t already been doing that for years, but it’s sweet of him to want to take care of you. 

He dotes on you now, making sure you’re eating and drinking and taking care of yourself. His friends tease him about it or rib him about having a milf (which you had the unfortunate chance to overhear as you walked into the living room). Meeting Leon’s mortified gaze, you smile tightly and walk through to the kitchen. He kicks them out and apologizes profusely to you, face buried in the crook of your neck, lips brushing your skin as he murmurs how sorry he is and promises it won’t happen again. 

Things go back to normal for a while. The absence of your husband is something you don’t even notice anymore. Leon is more than capable of moving out and living on his own, but he says it’s closer to work and easier to keep an eye on you if he lives at home. Besides, he told you with a serious face, he doesn’t have a girlfriend to make things awkward so for now you just need to chill out and let him take care of things. 

He gets a promotion at work, no longer relegated to being just a traffic cop, and you couldn’t be more proud! Your offer to take him out to a nice dinner gets turned down; in its place is an evening of take out and drinking. Since it’s the weekend, neither of you are worried about being hungover the next day, so you both end up drinking more than you usually would. 

Later, Leon walks with you from the dining room to the living room, each of you laughing at some silly joke that you can’t even remember. 

Settling together on the couch, he tucks into your side, face nuzzling against your neck like he used to do as a little boy. You giggle and run your hand through his hair. 

“You’re so sweet, Leon,” you murmur, “but aren’t you a little too old to be cuddling your mom?”

“Uh uh,” he whines, making you laugh harder, “always need you, mama.”

“Okay, okay,” you pat his head, slumping further into the couch, the alcohol buzzing through your veins, “my little boy’s all grown up.”

Feeling maudlin now at remembering that the passage of time waits for no one, you sniffle and it draws Leon’s attention.  

“What’s a’matter?” He mumbles, hazy blue eyes sharpening to see your tears, “mom?”

You smile and cup his cheek. Neither of you have shied away from physical affection; however, you remember on more than one occasion you thought Leon went overboard with cuddling and snuggling with you. Now that seems like a silly thought, he just missed you during his long hours on duty. 

“Nothing, just so proud of you,” you smile, dropping your hand to rub his shoulder. 

He kisses your cheek and you coo softly. Moving closer, he lands another soft kiss to the corner of your lips. Blaming it on the alcohol, a warm thrum of heat sings through your stomach. 

“Mama,” he whimpers, lips clumsily landing on yours. 

You freeze, body heavy and thoughts slow. Leon presses his mouth more firmly against yours and you gasp, lips parting under his and he eagerly kisses you harder. Whining, you try to tug your head away but he follows you, kisses becoming rougher while pressing you deeper against the couch. 

Your hands come up and tangle in his hair, but instead of pulling him back they scrape against his scalp, making him groan deliciously. He shifts, pulling away to tilt his head at a better angle before pressing another hot kiss against your lips. You sink into it, clit pulsing in arousal, mouth tingling from each sloppy kiss from your son.

Finally, you twist away, panting heavily while Leon rests his forehead against your jaw. 

“Mama, why’d you stop?” He presses a soft kiss under your ear, making you shiver.

“Leon, this—this isn’t right,” you plead, eyelashes fluttering as he nips and sucks your neck.

“Just this once,” he murmurs, lips dragging against your skin and sending chills down your body. “Let me show you how much I appreciate you, mommy.”

His words and actions are muddling your mind… and you’ve been lonely for so long. Swallowing, you breath out a shaky breath, mind made up.

“O-okay,” your body feels hot, muttering that out loud.

Moaning, he bites your jaw then kisses your cheek. “Thank you.”

He shows his appreciation by kissing the breath from your lungs; your son’s excitement ramps up your own, cunt pulsing with need as slick fills your panties. Wet, drugging kisses pass between you until you completely lose yourself to the feeling, making out with Leon until your lips are swollen. 

You jump, feeling his fingers trail along your thigh, slipping under your skirt and brushing against your panties.

“God, you’re so wet. Wanna bury my face in your pussy.”

You moan, and he teases your cunt through the soppy fabric.

“You can’t,” your hips grind down into his hand.

“Okay, promise I’ll behave,” he chuckles.

Without another word, he flips your skirt up and slips your panties down your legs to bunch at your ankles.

“Oh mommy,” he moans, fingers tracing your slit up and down before circling your clit, “your pussy’s so soft. Fuck me.”

Your hips buck and he bites his bottom lip, fingers rubbing up and down your pussy lips. 

“So, so soft,” he whispers, eyes glued to where his fingers are touching, “my stubble’s gonna feel so rough when I kiss her, mama.”

You whine high and reedy but shake your head, “No, no, this is all I’m allowing, Leon. You promised.”

“Just a kiss or two,” he murmurs, voice low and smoky, “she needs it, look how soft and sweet she is, just begging for my mouth. C’mon, mama, just let me have a couple of kisses.”

Your resolve cracks at his pleading. 

“Just a couple, then we stop,” you try to sound firm but your voice comes out breathier than you’d like. 

“Mmhmm, thank you, mama,” he kisses the side of your cheek then the corner of your lips.

You feel a little disappointed that he stops to kneel between your legs. He brings his hands up to spread apart your cunt, slick dripping from your hole as his mouth hovers over your mound. 

“Oh fuck, mom,” Leon whines, tongue lapping at your clit, “so fucking wet. Am I making you this wet? God, your pussy’s so fucking sexy.”

Another groan and he’s fluttering his tongue across your pudgy bud before sucking it gently into his mouth. He pulls back and kisses the hood of your clit. You moan softly and cant your hips up. 

“W-we shouldn’t, baby,” you plead, fingers tangling in his hair again, but not pushing him away. 

“Been wanting to do this forever, dreaming about how I wanna lick your pretty pussy til you cream all over my face,” he pants, dilated eyes watching your face, “gonna make you cum over and over tonight.”

“Fuck,” you gasp as he thrusts his tongue into your pussy, walls clamping around the slippery muscle, “Leon! 

He hums and grinds his nose against your clit as his tongue fucks in and out of your hole, spit dripping down your ass onto the couch cushions. Your eyes flutter as your orgasm winds tight in your abdomen. 

“Need to eat you out everyday, mama,�� he pulls back, slick shining across his lips and chin, “treat this pussy like she deserves. Don’t you wanna feel good?”

He sucks your clit back into his mouth, hot tongue flicking against the sensitive bud. It only takes a few more teasing licks before your climax breaks over your body like a tidal wave. Toes curling, your hands tug on his hair making him moan, tonguing at your fluttering cunt until he finally pulls away with one last sucking kiss. 

He crowds you on the couch, thick forearms hooking under your knees to keep you spread open. He nods down to his jeans; your eyes flit from his face to the bulge pressing obscenely against his zipper. 

“Pull it out,” he murmurs, blue eyes nearly black. “Take my cock out so I can stuff your cunt, mommy.”

Shaking your head, your voice cracks, “No, baby. That’s going too far.”

He whines, “But it hurts, mama. You’re being so mean. At least jerk me off.”

Biting your lip, his pouty mouth has you reaching forward, undoing his pants and tugging them down his thighs. You gently ease his dick from his briefs, uncut head sticky with precum. You both moan when you grip his stiff cock, the blood hot skin against your palm turning you on more than you ever thought. Thumb pressing against the slit, you smear the pearlescent sheen across his tip until he’s whimpering. 

“Mommy,” his hips thrust forward, “it’s sensitive.” 

He sags forward, and your legs slide up his arms until your calves press against his biceps. This new position has his dick grinding against your swollen cunt, the head grazing across your pudgy clit. Your fingers loosely circle the base of his cock, the backs of your knuckles brushing against his balls. 

“So good, fuck,” he chokes out, humping your pussy. “Just let me cum like this, let me mark you up, mama. Yeah, just coat this sexy fucking pussy with my cum.”

Keening, you let go of his cock to feather your fingers against his heavy balls. “You can, you can cum all over me.”

“Yes, yes, yes,” he chants, pink lips parted and eyebrows furrowed as he watches his cock slip between your pussy lips to rub against your hole. “Mommy, just let me put the tip in, please? Promise it’ll just be the tip. Please.”

You know you should say no, but then again you should’ve put a stop to this before it even started. Just the tip wouldn’t be so bad, you think, eyes greedily taking in his fat, drippy tip. It wouldn’t hurt to let him try it out.

“Just the tip, Leon,” you murmur, flicking up to meet his blown out gaze. “But only this once.”

“Thank you,” he groans, “love you so much, mama.”

Moving one hand from his hold on your leg, he grips his cock and guides the head to your clenching hole. His thumb presses down on the head as he rocks forward, slipping the tip into your wet cunt. You suck in a deep breath at the same time he grunts. The other hand gripping your thigh tightens, fingertips tightly digging into the soft skin. 

Leon blows out a breath, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip. “You feel so good.”

He ruts the head of his cock in and out of your pussy, the wet schlick loud in the otherwise quiet living room. Your hands move over your head to drape over the back of the couch, fingers grasping at the cushions. 

“Can I—,” he cuts himself off, eyes squeezing shut. “Can I go a little deeper, mommy?”

Your slick hole clenches down on him and he whimpers. 

“H-how much deeper?” You hear yourself say, mouth running away from you. 

“Just an inch or two,” he gasps, feeling overwhelmed by the heat of your cunt. “Pretty please, mommy.”

You nod, eyes unable to look away from where he’s splitting you open, dick driving deeper and deeper—going so much farther than a few inches—into your pussy until he’s completely buried in your pulsing walls. 

“Leon!” You cry out, head falling back as your cunt stretches around the fat girth of his cock.

“Sorry, mama,” he practically slurs, pussy drunk already. “Didn’t mean to, it just slipped.”

You whimper at the pleasure pain of his tip kissing your cervix as he grinds himself against your cunt. Clit rubbing against his pelvis makes you squeeze and clench around his dick, in turn making him groan from deep in his chest. He barely pulls out before fucking back into your sopping wet hole. 

“So perfect,” his face pinches in pleasure. “God, mom, your pussy—gonna make me cum so fast.”

You dig your hands into the couch and roll your hips down into his thrusts, “You need to pull out, baby. It’s bad to cum inside. You’ve gotta pull out of mommy’s cunt.”

He makes a broken sound from the back of his throat and drives his cock into you with harsh, pounding thrusts. 

“No, I’m gonna cum in you, make you nice and full,” he bites out, sweat dripping from the straight line of his nose onto you. “Stuff you so full, mama.”

You can’t hide how his words make your pussy clamp down on his cock, his own hips stuttering as your cunt tries to milk his cock. 

“Yeah, mommy, squeezing me so good, so fucking good,” he pants. “Fuck, ‘m gonna cum.”

He reaches down, hot palm a brand across your mound as his thumb teases your clit. You thrash against him, but it’s no use as he strums your swollen bud in rough little circles that makes your thighs tremble. 

“Leon,” you moan, a second orgasm quickly building in your core. “Oh god, I’m so close.”

He doesn’t stop the frantic pumping of his hips, fucking his cock into your squelching heat while he rubs your clit—his blue eyes jumping between your face and your pussy. Mouth dropping open, he groans, mumbling praises and promises under his breath. Pinching your clit between the knuckles of his first and middle finger, he gives pulsing squeezes to the sensitive bundle of nerves until you’re cumming loudly. 

Your back bows, fireworks going off in your brain, dimly realizing that Leon’s gripping your hips as he wildly fucks your cunt. 

“Fuck, fuck, mom,” he chokes on the word, burying himself balls deep in your soft, wet walls and spilling his thick cum as deep as possible. 

You whimper, squeezing down on him as the hot splash of his spend fills your cunt. He eventually stills, hips still snugly pressed against you as close as possible. Slick and jizz begin to slowly leak out from around his softening cock. He hisses when he pulls out, then immediately whimpers, fingers playing with his cum dripping from your hole.

“Leon, stop, it’s sensitive,” you gasp, eyes slipping closed when his fingers slide up to rub across your fat clit. 

“Sorry, mama,” he pulls back only to drop to his knees, eyes dark, mouth hovering tantalizingly close to your sloppy cunt. “Let me kiss it better.”

[ultravi0lence14]

HIGH TIDE

DEAN WINCHESTER X MERMAID!READER

WARNINGS: hurt/comfort, reader being a baddie

SUMMARY: back at the bunker, sam and dean learn that their fishy friend is more well versed than they assumed.

WORD COUNT: 1.3k

the sound of a whirling air conditioner and freezing cold air was the first thing you felt when you woke up. you were more than groggy; more or less feeling like you’d been hit by a bus none the less.

everything was a blur. you remembered saving that kid, watching as that man stared at you from his place in the ocean, but you couldn’t pin point what happened afterward. it was all blurs of pain, anguish, and a weird comfort followed by the feeling of smooth leather under your skin.

your eyes had yet to peel open, the throws of darkness keeping you company as you laid limp on a cold surface. as your senses started to come back, you could faintly hear voices arguing; two, to be exact.

“what are we going to do with her?” voice number one asked, voice lilted in that of slight anger. “we’ve never dealt with a problem like this before.”

“i don’t know, dean,” voice number two said, addressing voice number one as dean. “i’ve been researching the best i can, and nothing is coming up about mermaids losing their ‘magic’ or whatever you want to call it.”

dean, what a beautiful name — wait. losing magic?

at the exact time when the second voices words registered in your head, you felt yourself try and flap your tail. all that resulted was you smacking your leg against the table and searing pain to shoot up your body.

“ow.” you groaned, peeling your eyes open and then throwing your arm over them when the bright lights blinded you. you were so confused. yet slowly, everything was coming back to you in pieces.

the pain in your tail. the sea urchin attacking you. the words these two strangers were spewing. your magic had been ripped away from you, making you a mermaid no longer.

everything you’ve ever known had been ripped away from you. the liberation of the sea, your fishy friends. you didn’t have a family, not remembering ever having one, but the feeling of being torn away from your only home made salty tears leak from your eyes.

somehow, the salt from your sadness brought a semblance of comfort. a reminder of home.

“oh jesus. is she crying?” the voice that you recognized as dean had tore through your reins of sadness and made you slowly peel your arm away from your face. “sam, what the fuck do we do with a crying mermaid?”

not being able to lie to yourself, you couldn’t help but admire the attractive man standing above you. with wild green eyes, and golden skin like that of a sun god, you couldn’t help but stare at his stubbly jaw and attractive features as who you assumed to be sam also leaned over you.

his hair haloed around his face, and you wondered if these two were related from the similarities they bore.

“why are you crying?” sam asked, shifting an arm around your back as you tried to rise on your elbows into a sitting position.

“we’re not going to hurt you, i swear.” sam’s words did nothing to calm your racing heart, and you couldn’t help but glower at the man has he helped you sit at the edge of a wooden table.

“i’m crying because i just got my home and birthright ripped away from me jackass, not because i think you’re going to hurt me.” your words had sam’s eyebrows shooting up, and a snort leaving dean’s lips.

“i like her, sammy, she’s got spunk.” dean smirked over at you, and you couldn’t help but turn your cold glare onto him. pointing a finger at you, dean gave an incredulous look in your direction as he spoke with a hint of sarcasm in his tone. “don’t go all ursula on me, princess, i’m the one who saved you from being six feet under.”

a small shred of gratitude shone through your chest at his statement. for if it wasn’t for him, you’d be dead.

though you couldn’t help but narrow your eyes at him, jutting your chin in sam’s direction as you spoke to his companion. “thanks, i guess. but could you tell your friend over there to stop asking stupid questions like a total seaweed brain? i’m trying to grasp onto everything that just happened.”

with his hands in the air, sam took a step back from you and watched nervously as you kicked your feet back and forth, an expression of interest on your face. the flannel around your shoulders and the pair of boxer shorts on your hips had you staring in confusion, yet you decided not to dwell on one of these two changing you and focus on your new found legs.

you always had a tail, never becoming accustomed to legs in general. this was all new to you, and you realized then that you would need these two dopes help if you wanted to make it in the real world.

sighing, you scrubbed a hand down your face before turning to both of the men in front of you. “so sam and dean. . .”

“winchester,” sam replied, crossing his arms over his chest when he assumed you didn’t want to throttle him anymore. “we’re brothers.”

“thought so,” you shrugged, grimacing at the ugliness of the brown coloured shirt on your shoulders. “anyway, i’m very grateful that you two saved me, yet i can’t help but assume i’m not going to be turning back into a mermaid anytime soon. correct?”

sam sheepishly nodded, and dean couldn’t help but marvel at the pair of balls this assumedly innocent mermaid had on her.

“so, i thought maybe you two could help me.” your words left no room for questions, and dean couldn’t help but quirk a brow at your somewhat ridiculous statement.”

“help you?” he inquired, scratching at the stubble on his jaw as he stared at you with a smirk on his face. “i saved you from becoming sea food, isn’t that good enough?”

shrugging, you started combing your fingers through your hair. “in my books, no.” dean’s eyebrows shot up, and you held out a finger to him when he opened his mouth to speak. “i just need a bit of help getting on my feet; literally.” dean smirked at your joke, and you found it fair enough to continue.

“we could work together. maybe find something that could turn me back into a mermaid, maybe not. either way, help me become human for the time being, and i’ll try not to be annoying. deal?”

you spoke to the two brothers like you were making a gang negotiation, and both sam and dean wondered where you got this type of personality from living under the water all your life.

“i know what you’re thinking, and to answer your question, i am a very perceptive person. i see how you humans act and i create my own personality.” nudging sam’s knee with your foot, you grinned at the two men. “how am i doing so far?”

dean smirked at you, eyes racking up and down your frame as he watched you try and get down from the library table. “you’ve got yourself a deal, princess.” arm shooting out as you stumbled on your new found feet, dean steadied you into his chest so you wouldn’t completely fall on your ass. “first thing: try not to fall and break your neck before we could start though.”

“shut up.” you groaned, hands clutching dean’s shoulders as you stared into his sea foam eyes. “now, the first thing i want to deal with is this hideous thing you call clothes.”

“hey!” sam protested, speaking up for the first time in a couple of minutes. “that’s mine!”

“yeah, and it’s ugly.” you shot back, making dean snort and sam to drop his mouth like a gaping fish. “you guys got any dresses? i always saw the pretty girls on the beach wearing them.”

dean made eye contact with sam, silently giving each other an ‘oh dear lord’ look as dean slung his arm over your shoulder and helped you sit down in one of the library chairs.

‘yeah,’ dean thought, rubbing his brow slowly. ‘this is going to be a handful.’

TAGS: @starzify @whisperingdaze @titsout4jackles @daylighted @deansbeer @bluemerakis @gibson-g1rl @deanangel @sunsbaby @haunteres @honeyryewhiskey @florchids @figthoughts @misatxox @a-lil-pr1ncess @flow33didontsmoke @ilovedeanwinchester4 @whump-loverz @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @djudy99 @ryngzmn

NAT BABBLES: i wanted to make our girl whimsical but also a total princess and slight pain in the ass to both sam and dean (mostly dean)