#wanted to wait until the whole thing was posted before i made a post on tumblr

[eldrith]

˗ˏˋ A Golden Cage ˎˊ˗ Jacaerys Velaryon

jacaerys velaryon x aunt/targ!fem!reader words: 8.6k synopsis: "The butterfly escapes the web, but the dragon’s breath will singe its wings." notes: hi my bbs! thank you sm for the love on my first fic - here's a smut that i just wrote this morning and didn't want to wait to post. follows a non-canon timeline/events (just stretched out for the sake of the story), and involves time skips; characters aged-up to 20/21. Jace is a tits man i will die on this hill lol warnings: canon-typical mentions of war/violence, canon-typical incest, brief mention of blood, angst/grieving, Jace has a distinct way of grieving, surprisingly dom!Jace lol, mommy&daddy issues, mentions of virginity/experience, smut, oral(f!receiving), fingering, arguing (fr enemies to lovers), improper use of High Valyrian (and obviously idk if its correct nor do i care tbh), fluff at the end but they fight the whole rest of the time lol. feedback is appreciated <3 requests open. masterlist

THE LAST TIME YOU SAW YOUR BETROTHED, YOUR FATHER WAS STILL ALIVE.

It was your mother’s strict words and the gleaming glint of her seven-pointed necklace that had forced you out of your chambers, that night: after that disastrous dinner, when Aemond and Aegon had teased and tortured Rhaenyra’s sons; in which your sweet sister toasted to you, insisting your marriage to your nephew Jacaerys would not be too bad – that he’d just ignore you until he’d had too much to drink. 

Now, they were to leave in just an hour; you, to remain in the Red Keep to prepare for your betrothal, before returning with your half-sister after her visit next week. 

You’d been betrothed to Jacaerys Velaryon when you were ten and two; some effort to save the stringent bond between your sister and mother - and though you and Jacaerys are two of the same age, carrying the ancient Valyrian bloodlines, it was still a shock to your young mind.

Growing up, you’d always assumed you’d marry your brother, Aegon - just a few years older than you, it made sense. Though when your younger sister Helaena and Aegon became betrothed, it left a shudder of shock through you; not particularly in disappointment, as you’d grown to rather detest the boy, but a shudder of confusion: It was the first true act of betrayal, small as it was, that you would come to understand from your mother and grandsire. 

The second you were soon to experience, after the death of your father and the usurping of your sister’s throne - but before then, you’d allowed yourself to be pleased; Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. Wife of Jacaerys Valeryon - noble, growing to be very handsome, and though you did spend a lot of your childhood watching him with interested eyes and bright cheeks, that soon tapered out once you were all young adults.

Your brothers accusing them of bastardization can taint such a thing. 

At the time, you’d simply played with your fingers to calm your nerves; you must do it. Your mother had held back her tongue, you could tell - she was disappointed in you, in the way you’d spat a snide comment at dinner, when you’d struck your own brother in front of everyone after he’d insulted your honor. As if you weren't a grown woman of eight and ten, but a mere child. You must do it, lest you drive me crazy- 

You didn’t care to hear much more; you’ve always had trouble with your tongue, pressing buttons and dancing around the shadows just to be seen. A sad desire, yes - but one that came naturally when you landed yourself in the middle of a loveless family who seemed to care more about the weather than yourself. She's so much like Rhaenyra, you father had said in your youth - perhaps that is why your mother rejected you so.

But as you’d protested against the task of apology one last time, your mother had snapped. 

She’d muttered something under her breath -You’re nothing like Helaena. It was true, and she’d finally spoken it. Your Queen mother’s regret had rippled through her face, but you were already on your feet, already down the hallway to find your betrothed and his mother, to issue them all an apology - an apology that should be coming from your mother’s other children who caused the scene at that horrendous dinner; yet you, cursed to deliver it, ever the branch of olives. 

The echo of your footsteps was almost silent in the dimly lit halls as you made your way toward their family quarters; The weight of your impending betrothal to Jacaerys pressed heavily on your mind, as this impending discussion with your half sister and uncle drew a pit of dread in your stomach. 

As you approached the open chamber, the flickering torchlight cast dancing shadows on the stone walls; be it nerves or hesitance, you slowed your pace to a slow few steps. 

 The voices inside were low but distinct, and you recognized Rhaenyra and Daemon immediately. “You used to enjoy her company as a child,” Daemon remarks, a hint of amusement laced through his words. “Always following her around, trying to keep up with her mischief.”

“Jace, you were once quite taken with her.” His mother’s voice, “You danced with her tonight, did you not?” 

Your breath hitches, registering the memory of Jace’s palm in yours; avoiding your eyes, even as you danced - moments before he asked your dear sister Helaena to dance and your brother melted with irritation.

"As was my duty." His voice retorts.

You leaned closer, desperate to hear more. Rhaenyra’s voice grew softer, almost wistful. “It’s a good thing, you know. Even if your feelings seem mixed up now, there’s a strong bond beneath it all. It may take time to realize it.”

“Nothing is mixed up, mother.” Jacaerys’ voice is defensive, “She’s just as much of a nuisance as her brothers.”

There is a pang of offense, of hurt, within your stomach at his words, yet you’re rooted to the spot. 

“Must she always be annoying someone?” He bemoans; a boil of anger in your stomach at the childish complaints from a man of ten-and-eight. The heir to the throne, whining like a child. 

You ignore the true pain of rejection, the embarrassment of your residual harbored crush, and let your anger curdle instead. 

“She is to be your wife, Jace,” Daemon added, his tone stern - but his sentence is cut off by a thud and then Jace’s voice, once again. 

“It’s like she opens her mouth and her mother speaks through it,” Jace continued, his voice laced with bitterness, “She doesn’t have a brain between her ears-” 

“Jacaerys!” Rhaenyra’s voice cuts through the air, sharp and authoritative as you hide a gasp, heart freezing as your eyes sting. “-You will speak of your betrothed with respect.”

Jace’s response was muffled, but you caught the frustration in his tone; your heartbeat pounds in your ears as you swallow your embarrassment. 

“You will make it work,” Rhaenyra interrupted firmly. “This is not just about you. It is about our families, our legacy. You owe her, and yourself, more respect.”

The reality of your situation - detested by your betrothed, unloved by your mother - it all washed over you like a suffocating shroud, the pain and humiliation too much to bear. Unable to listen any longer, you turned and fled, steps quickening as you hurried away from the open chamber.

As you rushed down the hall, you heard the voices behind you falter, and you grew even more embarrassed knowing they realized they’d been overheard. The sting of tears threatened, but you refused to let them fall until you were back in your chambers, eyes stinging with regret.  Not here. Not now.

YOU FLED THE RED KEEP SOON AFTER LUCERYS’ DEATH.

The roar of your dragon echoed off the jagged cliffs of Dragonstone when you landed, the bitter wind whipping your hair and stinging your cheeks. Your one and twentieth birthday passed last week; the ring you received from your mother is thrown into the tumultuous sea with a scream of pain. 

The journey had not been nearly as perilous as your escape; nicked down the arm in a similar wound your own sister had once bore from your mother, you and your dragon barely escaped the Kingsguard once they realized you were fleeing. 

As you dismounted, the weight of everything; your nephew’s death, the cruelty of your brother, of your own mother - heavier than any burden you had ever borne. Perhaps, you considered as you entered the throne room of Dragonstone, you have always bore this burden. Fated, in a way, to lose and lose and lose. 

A tremendous effort, truly, to grasp at who you’d always known, always revered, always idolized: Your sister. 

Her charm, the sharpness of her wit, the fierce love of all her children; something you envied quite often in your youth, something you’d come to recognize as jealousy of Lucerys and Jacaerys and their brothers. Something you’d been told to hate and scorn - by the very woman who saw you completely indifferently.

It was two weeks after Lucerys was killed that you found yourself entering the hall to Dragonstone, hands shaking and in a panic. 

Your younger sister’s words; they echo still in your head, as alive and distant as they’d been the first time she’d murmured them those weeks ago, after Rhaenys had broken from King’s Landing. The butterfly escapes the web, but the dragon’s breath will singe its wings.

The great hall was thickened with grief; it seemed to drip from the obsidian slates, trail behind your cloak as you’d staggered, ragged and panicked. 

Your Queen sister Rhaenyra stood at the head of the room, her commanding presence shadowed by sorrow - the faces of those gathered were similar, and you quickly found the eyes of Jacaerys, standing beside his mother. 

It was years ago you last saw him, and he had grown quite more than you’d expected. His own grief was worn like a cloak - eyes hollow with the recent loss of his brother, a fury swirling within. You had to fight not to look away - though it’s been two-and-half years, he looks much different; hair, longer and curled around his jaw - eyes angry, shoulders full and tall. Lips that part slightly in a sharp inhale of shock when he registers your own figure - whom he likely assumed he’d never see again. 

There was a moment, suspended in air; a breath, the fluttering of lashes, in which you remembered the fond times of your adolescence with the boy. Picking apples in an orchard; stumbling from your dragons with wind-stained cheeks and small laughter; tickling his younger brother until he screamed, Jace and you laughing yourselves sick. It was as if an entire lifetime had passed in their faint memory, tainted by the embarrassment of growing up and the humiliation by your brothers. You're not sure you've seen Jacaerys laugh since you were four and ten.

Jacaerys’ eyes snapped away from you as they grew full of some kind of emotion; you were too exhausted to decipher, instead, taking weak steps forward. 

You'd wondered what they saw when you stepped forward, kneeling before Rhaenyra, your voice clear and unwavering. “I proclaim Rhaenyra Targaryen as the true heir to the Iron Throne. I bend the knee and swear my allegiance to her.”

There had been many things said - murmurs, rippling; to send you to the cells, to feed you to the dragons. Rhaenyra’s voice was sharp.  “Why should we believe you?”

You’d met the pain in his eyes with some of your own, exhausted by the journey, hand streaked in blood from your wounds. “I am no loved daughter of Alicent’s,” you’d protested, your voice trembling with emotion. “I have never been trusted by any of them besides my father, least of all my grandsire Hightower nor my mother. I was a pawn, I-”

It was Jacaerys’ voice you remember most, sharp and accusing. “You expect us to believe you, now, when Lucerys is dead?” 

Your heart ached at the mention of Luke, but you'd pressed on. “I was left behind in a pit of snakes.” You’d turned to your half-sister Rhaenyra, your voice breaking as you continued, “Betrayed by my own family after my brother usurped your throne. I watched them tear us apart for their ambitions.”

Rhaenys - the vision of her, nearly burning you all to death in the Sept after the coronation of your brother; she had stepped forward, discussed with the Queen and Daemon and the others. You, swallowing as your boots made to swipe over the blood pooling from your arm to the stone floor. 

Rhaenyra had not believed you - none of them truly did, and you expected as such. Somehow in the sorrow of her gaze, there was something, a softening - memories of all the court whispers about you as a youth. Unfair and dishonorable as they were, it is all in the past now.

Your Queen would not betray you the way your mother had. 

  “We will listen to what you have to say,” she said, her voice resolute. “For now, let us have your wounds attended to.”

You’d rose, eyes wide with the mercy your sister showed you; the room around you had buzzed with cautious acceptance. Jacaerys was gone before you even rose to your feet. 

IT WAS MORE THAN A WEEK BEFORE HE SPOKE TO YOU.

It was a week of loneliness; in the cells below the Dragonstone keep, the only company dripping walls and spare rats. 

Even in the days following your proved devotion, in which you’d laid out plainly to the Queen’s council a recount of how you’d escaped and what the Greens were plotting; though you’ve proven not to be a spy, just one phantom limb remains of your sister’s humming musings through the Red Keep of your mind: The butterfly escapes the web, but the dragon’s breath will singe its wings.

It was more than a week until you chose to seek Jacaerys out; he, as you well understand, has taken the worst to your presence, avoiding you and missing each supper you happen to attend after being appointed your own quarters and freed from your prisoner status. 

And even in the sparse interactions you find, you can see the concern, the sorrow in his mother’s eyes; Jacaerys is grieving. He hovers away from people, avoiding eye contact - quick to anger, lost of that level-headedness he’d grown into as a young man. 

All that seems to remain is fire.  

It becomes too much one day, at a council you were asked to speak in - Jacaerys walking in, taking one look; turning around and leaving with no more than a glare and a clench of the jaw. 

You find him later, sparring against a dummy; sword freshly polished, you allow yourself a moment to gather your thoughts. It is with anxious eyes that you prepare your emotions, trying to curb the part of you that wishes to build up that same armor your older brother has; That slimy urge, that desire under your mother’s loathing glare, to poke and prod until you were noticed, even if for the worst. 

“Jacaerys.” You say, hoping your voice curls out less than deriding as you make your way towards him. A flicker of anger, but he does not stop. 

“Would you leave me be?” Jacaerys snaps, throwing back a gaze like a dagger. You clear your throat, the hatred in his voice curdling any semblance of calm you have and replacing it with that beastly panic; the one which makes you act foolish. 

You trace the dummy behind him with the tip of your finger, tensing your jaw. 

“Well,” you start quietly, avoiding the casual sting of memory with your facade, “I must always be somebody’s problem, yes?”

He freezes for a moment - recognition, perhaps, of that night; that it was you, who’d overheard their discussion. He turns slightly, not fully giving you his full attention, before he turns back to his sparring dummy, striking it with a ferocity that reveals the depth of his grief. “You always were a thorn in my side,” he mutters, his voice thick with emotion.

You wish it didn’t still hurt, after all the years. 

“And you were always a self-righteous Prince,” you retort, your own anger simmering beneath the surface. “But here we are, fighting for the same cause.” You sigh, determined to let him vent his anger if it means he might find some measure of peace. “Isn’t that something?”

This indeed garners attention. “Do not try to relate to me. You have no idea what it’s like to lose a brother.” Jacaerys growls, his strikes becoming more erratic. 

“You’re right,” you say quietly, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance, wary of the greatsword he yields with surprising strength. “I don’t. But I know what it’s like to lose everything else.”

He pauses, his chest heaving with exertion and emotion, as he turns to you. “You think you can just waltz here, switch sides, and everything will be forgiven?” His voice is thick with emotion; jaw clenched, chest heaving, the wind whips his hair and nips at the red of his cheeks. You nearly mention that his mother the Queen had been the one to decide your fate, to show mercy - but then, he opens his mouth again and it stings more than a wound in the ocean. 

“That you can replace my brother?”

It hurts. You’ve seen how things have changed - there is no light in the castle, no smiles; downtrodden, solemn; you ache for their pain, for the loss of your sweet nephew. Lucerys took with him the hearts of everyone. 

You shake your head. “I don’t want to replace anyone,” you snap, your façade cracking. “I came here to help, to do what’s right. I’ve lost too, Jace-” The nickname from your childhood - back when the extent of your adversary was when he pulled your hair or you tripped him in the hall - slips from your lips without trying. It feels wrong, though - foreign. Cold. “My family, my home...” You add. 

“Your family?” he interrupts, his voice rising. “The same family that killed my brother?”

The truth stings, and you feel your own anger rising to meet him. “Do you think I chose to be born into that vipers’ nest? I risked everything to be here, to stand with you. To stand with my sister.”

“Stand with us.” He scoffs, shaking his head as anger boils; he takes a step towards you as you feel a speck of rain hit your nose. “You’re nothing but a traitor. Scorned because you couldn’t marry your brother the Usurper. A snake in dragon’s clothing.”

Your teeth clench. “A golden cage is still a cage.” You defend, the air cooling as the night dawns; a few tears fall upon your shoulders, splattering Jacaerys’ armor with rain from the heavens. 

This only makes him shake his head, sighing. “You’re nothing but a puppet, dancing on strings pulled by whoever promises you a bit of power.” He snaps. Fury flashes through you, blinding you to his obvious pain. 

“And you’re a fool, Jacaerys.” 

A mistake, surely. Somewhere in the back of your head, you know that in another world, your mother would have struck you across the face for saying such a thing to anybody.

Before you can react, a sword is staring down your nose, pointing at you with a shaking hand. “Say that again,” Jacaerys dares you, his voice trembling with barely restrained fury. You swallow thickly, heartbeat thundering though you know there is no real danger. 

You stare at the blade, then back at him, your own fear overridden by a surge of defiance. “You won’t hurt me, Jace-” you say softly, stepping closer. 

“-Don’t call me that.” He snaps, eyes rimmed with simmering tears. 

You hold your hands up, nodding, “Nephew.” You mend, tilting your head. 

His jaw ticks but you sully on, concerned this may be the only way to break through to him. He doesn’t move, his eyes locked on yours. Slowly, you reach out and grab the blade with your bare hand, the sharp edge slicing into your skin. 

It stings and you try not to wince; Blood drips down your fingers slowly, crimson tears over your veins. The rain picks up; its soft whispers against the tumultuous waters of the ocean. 

“Do it,” you whisper, your voice fierce. “Prove to me that you’re nothing more than your anger and grief. Show me that you’re just as lost as the rest of us.”

Tears well up in Jacaerys’ eyes, his grip on the sword faltering. Eyes flickering between your face and the blood that trickles from your hand, you can see the weight of his guilt and sorrow becomes too much to bear.

“I cannot understand your grief,” You whisper, “But I can help avenge him.” 

Something snaps; with a choked gasp, he lets his grip go slack - your hand falls from the blade with a release of a breath you didn’t know you’d held. 

“I’m sorry.” 

EVENTUALLY, YOU COULD NOT HIDE FROM EACH OTHER.

There came a night - after a simmer of stalemate in the edges of war, where your Queen and council at Dragonstone finally found yourselves at the hall’s long dining table. 

Adorned with flickering torches and banners bearing the sigil of House Targaryen, the wide walls cast a warm, flickering glow over the assembled company. Flanked by her sons and Daemon, Queen Rhaenyra sits at the head. You, sitting across from Baela and regrettably besides Jacaerys, find yourself rather out of place and uncomfortable - the buzzing anger seems to rove off the man beside you in waves, these days. You nearly feel the searing gaze that burns a hole through your head. 

For the first course, things remain; you, alight with the story Baela recounts of her cat chasing a rat through the kitchens, nearly forget where you are. Clinking of glassware and silver; though nobody seems to eat much these days, the hearth is full and there is more life than there has been on Dragonstone in weeks. 

A burning sensation permeates you by the second course; silent unless spoken to, Jacaerys remains on your right, near his mother and across from Daemon. He throws daggers concealed as glances to you, but by the time you become fully aware, it is too late. 

The heat of his silence, directed just a bit lower than your visage, makes your stomach turn. 

You dare spare a glance and nearly startle at the snap of caught eyes; a low, hidden beast that stirs within your abdomen at having caught him. His eyes flicker away from where they’d perched - centered near the neckline of your dress - you could laugh in disbelief. 

Lest he find accompaniment elsewere; the castle is large enough, he handsome and kind enough - there would surely be no shortage of women ready to entertain his sights. Your jaw sets - you know why. The Prince, despite his cold disposition towards you, is too honorable.

Huffing gently, you allow a quick roll of your eyes, telling yourself that when you cross your arms, it is in vexation. Certainly not to see if his eyes will land upon the subtle line of your cleavage again, and ignoring the creatures in your stomach that certainly aren’t butterflies.

It is only minutes before attention is called to Jace from someone down the table - a question you neither heard nor much cared to have repeated; yet he stirs, startled at the voice, and as you turn you meet his guilty eyes again. 

His cheeks are pink; yours heat with something you tell yourself is anger, schooling the desire that begins to leak through the chinks in your armor. 

“Unbelievable.” You hiss, wary that his ears pick up on your word - that nobody else does. 

There is nothing wrong, objectively, to feel flattered when a handsome man admires your beauty, you tell yourself. Even if it’s the stare of a man who refuses to speak to you. You spend several minutes trying to convince yourself of your own words. 

You dine on meat and vegetables; a cup of wine that you sip on while listening to Rhaenys discuss politely with the Queen, until falling into your own soft conversation, halted and unsure. 

Jacaerys’ eyes roam you again - it is only then that you finally sigh, dropping your fork gently to your side. “Kostilus lua aōha laesi naejot aōla, Dārilaros?” You snap smally, hiding your voice; it is only partially effective, as the eyes of Daemon and his daughters catch on your glare. Would you keep your eyes to yourself, my Prince?

When his eyes flicker to yours, there is an embarrassment; good, you think. But his lips quirk in some small cruel smile as he shakes his head, looking elsewhere. 

It leaves you unsettled and with a flicker of curiosity, of hunger, within you. 

“That gown is stunning.” Rhaena compliments, eyes wide as she takes in your new dress; an entire new wardrobe has been commissioned for you, of course - you’ve been borrowing garments and getting by with the few dresses the servants found in the dredges of the castle as to avoid any reminder of your previous prison. 

It is indeed a stunning gown; you wish to be the one who boasts the skills of the beautiful needlepoint, but it was one of the sweet handmaids assigned to you who created it- a silver dragon inlaid with silver chains; clasps to the front with a pleasant black satin beneath. 

“That is very kind, Rhaena,” You smile gently, pleased to have heard such complimentary words. Small conversations around the table on either side of you; though you can feel Jacaerys’ stare upon you like the heat of a dragon’s breath once more. 

You think you can ignore the scrutiny, and you do for several seconds: until Jacaerys leans forward slightly, his voice carrying just enough to reach your ears.

"Tell me, aunt," he begins, a smirk playing at his lips that leaves you on edge, "is it true that your taste in fashion matches your taste in allegiances?” His head tilts, unkind eyes burning with the blood you share behind them, “A bit confused, I presume."

His words land like a slap; mostly as they draw a momentary hush from the table, quiet as they were. Embarrassed, you find a rise of indignation and annoyance within you, stung by the jab at your attire and loyalty. “Funny, I didn’t notice you paying much attention to my fashion until tonight, nephew.” You jab back, raising a brow. 

He is only momentarily thrown off; always just as quick to fire as you. Two sides of the same mad coin, perhaps. “Oh, I noticed,” he says, tone dripping with sarcasm, “It’s hard to miss when someone dresses as if they’re trying to hide the stains of betrayal with a new cloak-”

Queen Rhaenyra’s voice cuts through the air, firm and commanding as a bolt of electricity. “Jacaerys, enough,” she commands, gaze hardening. “We are here to enjoy a meal, not to indulge in petty squabbles.” 

Jacaerys’ stare is hard at his mother, his cheeks aflame. You focus yourself on the empty plate in front of you that awaits dessert; you are no longer hungry. A soft brush of a foot under the table has your eyes glancing up against the anger and humiliation - Baela sends a gentle smile, some kind of apology. You send a soft nod back, grateful. 

“A word outside, Jace.” His mother demands, rising from the table; all of you follow suit, but the Queen waves you down, nodding regally. “Do not hold up, we’ll just be a minute.” 

Jacaerys follows; jaw set, eyes sharp as he stalks out of the room with his mother, leaving a tense silence in their wake. 

YOU COULD NOT BEAR TO STAY FOR DESSERT. 

Excusing yourself, you’re tearing out the hall, gasping as panic and humiliation threatens to choke you. Some sick twist of survivor’s guilt echoes in your heart - The butterfly escapes the web, but the dragon’s breath will singe its wings.

You almost snap at Helaena’s voice in your mind to shut up - catching yourself, you lean against the hallway, taking a deep breath. Anger and hurt war within you, a storm of emotions that threaten to spill over. 

And you will not allow anybody to witness such weakness. 

Not moments later the doors to the hall open and slam shut; one pair of footsteps echo in the hall, exiting the dining room - you dare to crane your head and see which other guest is tired of the meal. 

Jacaerys storms towards his quarters - revenge swirls within you as you push yourself up from the stone pillar, smoothing your hair before stalking after him. You follow him through the winding halls - nearly to his chambers, you’re unable to hold back any longer. 

“Jacaerys.”

 He halts abruptly, turning to face you with a mixture of irritation and surprise. “You didn’t need to follow me,” he snaps, edged with anger and something else you couldn’t quite place.

“I wanted to,” you replied evenly, your voice tinged with irritation as you carry yourself closer, until you can see the heaving of his chest under that dark doublet, the clenched jaw just below the dark curls of hair. “To see if you had more kind words to say about my attire. You seemed to be enjoying it earlier.” You snap. 

The glare he gives you nearly turns your heart into a gallop; in the flickering light, he has never looked more handsome, and it makes you all the more angry. 

He does not say anything; turning, his pace picks up as he stalks to the door of his quarters. You follow him in a blind desire to show him what he’s done. 

You wish your voice wasn’t so laced with hurt as you call to him in the dark once more:

 “Do you enjoy humiliating me in front of everyone?”

He stops abruptly just as his hand reaches for the iron knob to his chambers, turning to face you with a mixture of anger and defensiveness. “Humiliating you?” he repeats incredulously. “I asked a simple question.”

You can see the obvious lie within his eyes - of course he does not believe his own words. 

“You are a child,” you snap, the anger boiling over. “Hiding behind your jests because you’re too afraid to confront your own feelings.”

Jacaerys’s jaw clenches, his expression hardening at the words. “It’s not my fault you can’t take a little teasing.”

You scoff, incredulous. “You’ve always had a talent for belittling me, even when we were betrothed.”

“We’re not betrothed—” Jacaerys starts, but you cannot bear to hear it. You cannot bear to hear anybody else affirm what you’ve felt your whole life. “-and I thank the Gods every day for it,” you snarl back, cutting off his sentence with a sharp retort.

Jacaerys’s jaw tightens, his eyes flashing with a mix of anger and something deeper, more conflicted. He takes a step closer, his voice low and strained as he slides away from his doorway. “You drive me mad, do you know that?” His voice is a strained whisper, barely containing the storm of emotions within him.

You’re faced with his full height - taller still than the last time you saw him years ago, chest out like a soldier, chin up like the heir he is; your throat dries at the smell of his soap. 

“Good,” you retort, your breath hitching. “At least then you know how I’ve felt all these years.”

There’s a charged silence, the air between you thick with tension - Jacaerys’ gaze drops to your lips, lingering there for a moment too long before snapping back to your eyes and you feel it; that pull, that angry heat that makes you unsure if you’d rather strike him or taste him against your lips. 

You’re not betrothed, you remind yourself. Why does the sentiment not comfort you, but instead strike a deep longing within you? 

He recovers; a dusting of a heated flush over his cheeks as he shakes his head.  “You have no idea how I feel.” He snaps, eyes searching you. When you hesitate, he steps even closer, breath warm against your face. You’re suddenly incredibly aware of your proximity - the heat of his body nearly pressed against yours, the arousal that drips from you and pools under your skirts; evidence of your traitorous heart. You’re supposed to be mad. Angry. 

You laugh incredulously, “You think I don’t feel anything every time you look at me like that?” You hiss, gesturing with your chin to his eyes, molten with some poorly concealed desire - a heat, a craving. The way his eyes dip, lower - to your chest, heaving with the exertion of your boiled over desire, to your lips, chewed and ripe. 

He swallows hard; you watch the apple of his throat move and subconsciously, your tongue moves to swipe over your bottom lip. 

His eyes dance with the motion; a muscle ticks in his jaw. “Why must you make me feel these things?” he growls, his voice low; it stirs the dangerous desiring beast that remains low in your abdomen. Arousal, its fierce and wanting claws, gnaw at your ribcage. “I hate that you have this power over me.” He says, voice quieter - the stare of a Prince, begging for something. 

Power over him? Your heart races against your ribcage and you are forced to blink in confusion. 

“I’m sorry.” You breathe, “I did not choose this. Betrayed by a loveless family and fighting constantly with the man I was one day betrothed to marry."

Jacaerys’s eyes burn bright, “Do you think it was any easier for me? Watching you, wanting you, and knowing that you were always just out of reach?”

You sneer at his audacity, the bitterness rising in your throat. “Out of reach? You pushed me away every chance you got. We were betrothed at two and ten, Jacaerys, and are nearly twice that age now and yet you still refuse to speak to me without raising your voice.”

His chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, mirroring your own. “We were children. I did not know what I wanted.”

“And what is it you want now, Jace?” you challenge, your voice dropping to a whisper.  

Your hand seems to have a mind of its own, raising - but Jace’s hand snaps out to clutch your wrist, holding it tight in the suspended thick air. His brows raise - in a teasing manner, one that has your heartbeat thrumming through your veins. “You know what I want.” 

The hand gripping your wrist pulls you closer as you utter the words, his eyes darkened in the empty hall. "Then stop fighting me." You hiss. 

His grip on your wrist tightens, and for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you, the heat between you almost unbearable. He looks into your eyes, his gaze searching, desperate -  for a heartbeat, you think he might push you away. 

Instead, his lips crash against yours in a sharp intake of breath, the slope of his nose bumping against yours, teeth clashing; all you feel is the fire of his touch, the slight shudder in his chest as your hands snake to the nape of his neck, threading through the locks of curls which lie above his doublet. 

His teeth nip against your lip; a mistake, unintentional as you feel the pent-up frustration and anger within him - nevertheless it sparks a rove of desire through you, keening towards his touch as you press up into his embrace.

He’s pushed you against the door to his chambers; the wood, digging into your back, is suddenly gone as his hand struggles against the doorknob and your balance is fully thrown. 

Stumbling back, robbed from Jace’s fiery grasp, you yelp - into his chambers, he takes you in his hands again, catching you before you stumble. In your peripherals, you see his foot shove the door shut, a resounding echo down the halls, swallowing up the short burst of desire you’d both shown. 

His cheeks are nearly as red as the doublet he wears; hands pulling you closer by your neck and back. Slowly grows a satisfaction in your gaze - you let yourself smirk. “Flustered, dear nephew?” 

His eyes search you for a moment, and the teasing look on your face melts under his stare. A hand reaches out, grasping your jaw - a surprising action, one that dries your throat as his chest heaves, watching you with some new ire. “You are quite beautiful like this.” He observes, as if he’s just read it in one of his lessons; like it has always been known. 

The heat that floods to your face and chest causes you to squirm - standing, still, under his watchful gaze and soft grip on your face. A small smile, one that teases a trace of dimples in the firelight. A smile that makes your stomach flip and your heat pulse. 

“It seems quite easy to have you flustered too, Muña.” Aunt. You resist a shiver - High Valyrian drips from his lips like the rolling of waves on a rocky shore; it ignites desire heavily, coating you in a sense of need. 

You dare not let him speak any longer. 

Stumbling, your lips catch his once more - you, experienced only in the base pleasures you’d found in days sneaking off with young men in the shadows of the Red Keep; his own lips, somewhere similarly between confident and unsure. It is a comfort to you.  

It does not seem, as Jacaerys presses you against the post of his bed, that he is wholly inexperienced as your brother implied those years ago; The thought flares you with some kind of envious bitter sigh as his hands dare to trail lower. 

A gasp is pulled from you when the fingers of his right hand tug your thigh up, hooking it over his hip - a bold move, one that presses the lines of your body impossibly close, and you feel a distinct hardness to his own desire between his hips. You wish he does not hear the hitch in your breath as his own hips slide against your heat; as your legs tremble with the ache of need. 

Blunt nails trace the bare of your thigh as he slips a palm under your dress skirts, raising a wake of shivering want from your body. One hand tugs his hair; a hiss from between his teeth as his head tilts back, glancing up to the Gods as if to thank them and curse them in the same breath. His hips buck against yours in pleasure and you bite back a moan at the friction. 

In the flickering of the hearth, Jacaerys’ throat is smooth, freshly shaven; on display for you. Your lips find the skin of him before your teeth do, soothing over the bites you leave in their wake. 

He groans your name - it is like a song, a praise, a prayer. 

You swallow your burning desire when his fingers, climbing up the inside of your trembling thigh, graze your cunt tentatively. “Jace,” You gasp, keening sharply, throbbing though the touch was light and forgetting. 

He drinks up the attention, the power - as if he was born for it. 

Humming, the man before you tilts his head, waves of hair glinting as you pull back from his jaw. “Iksos konīr mirros ao jaelagon?” He whispers innocently, lips nearly pouting as he watches you.  Is there something you want? 

Your throat dries at the timber of his voice, tongue curling deliciously as your ancestral language tumbles, still wobbly and half sure, from his lips. You understand it all the same. 

In a heated attempt to save your dignity, you push your hips against his, feeling the length of his cock against your lower abdomen, a low whine from your lips. 

He lets his fingers brush against your cunt again, gathering a moisture that coaxes a smug grin on his face. You’re unsure if the flicker of pleasure is from the stare he gives you, or his touch. “Ivestragon issa.” He demands, voice so commanding and honorable; tell me. 

Your breath is regretfully shaky when you catch his stare, your own hand sliding out from his hair, clutching him close by the red doublet. “Renigon issa,” You whisper in reply, cheeks aflame with his sudden commanding presence. Touch me. 

This seems to please the Prince; in a flash of pleasure within his eyes, you catch a boyish relief - as if concerned that your actions leading up to this moment were somehow tainted. As if you did not live half your life expecting to be his forever. 

He shows you a quick mercy as he presses against you again, a moan swallowed by him as you exhale onto his lips, tugging him close by the curl of his hair. Long, slender fingers press against your mound, sliding down lower to where you ache for him, your thigh closing in on him to pull yourselves closer. 

“I crave you,” You whisper against his lips. A short groan before he whispers against you, “Lie on the bed.” 

You do, heart in your throat; still fully dressed, you lie and stutter your inhale at the sudden scent of Jace within the sheets; an intoxicating presence more strong than any wine you’ve ever tasted. 

Your pleasure is curbed, however, as you watch Jacaerys instead drop to his knees, holding your stare. 

You swallow as you pull up onto elbows, buzzing in excitement, confusion. “What are you doing?” 

He chooses to ignore you; palms calloused from sword wielding slide once again, ruching your skirts until they gather at your hips. Flushed, your cunt is exposed to the air of the room and to the gaze of your nephew, knelt just before you. 

“My cousin was right,” He chooses to mutter instead, barely audible over the pounding of your heart. His eyes break away from yours to roam over every inch of your body before him - the curve of your breasts, heaving in the firelight. “This dress is quite something.” 

 You’re unsure how to handle yet another compliment - just as you begin to respond, “Th-thank-” 

You let out a sharp moan, jolting against the mattress below you and arching your spine.

His lips have pressed a chaste kiss against your womanhood, sending jolts of pleasure through you. Hands, trembling, find his hair as he presses another kiss against you, palms moving to tug your thighs. You gasp as he lifts them until he is firmly settled between your legs, thighs resting upon broad shoulders.

You nearly smack his head when his tongue, hungry and curious, licks a fat stripe through your seam, gathering your nectar against him and nudging your pearl with the tip. “Gods, Jace-” You tug harshly instead, hips unable to cease as they move against him. 

It is nothing you have ever felt in your miserable life. Streaks of hot pleasure, of ecstasy, desire- they flood you, tensing your muscles and shaking your legs. 

A swirl of his tongue over your bundle of nerves and you gasp, head thrown back onto the mattress. You resist the urge of pleasure that coaxes your eyes to roll back, instead forcing yourself to look - look, at the lewd way Jacaerys eats your cunt, eyes dark and watching for the signs of your pleasure. 

The sound of you against his mouth has your face burning; a pleasure you cannot control as his tongue circles your entrance - clenching around nothing, begging for him. “How did you-” Your gasp is ragged, tugging at the strands of hair between your fingers as your hips buck. “Learn of this?” 

A gasp, a raspy moan of his own as you tug his hair tight; the sound you wish to keep for yourself forever in your lewdest, darkest fantasies. “The North,” he utters, barely bringing his lips away from your glistening heat as if he can barely stand to stop. Though there is a low burning sense within you, one that you’ve felt just a few times before, you have to fight the jealousy from reaching your lips. “Have you a sweetheart up there, my Prince?” You ask, curbing the envy that curls green and dangerously in your voice. 

You can feel the smirk of Jace’s grin against your cunt; it sends a rove of shivers through you. “You ought to learn to hide your jealousy better.” He mutters, lips brushing against your pearl and sending your back arching; forearms hold your thighs, tongue delving deeper to spread your leaking desire, sliding within you as his nose presses your sensitive bud. You near the very edge of some ecstatic revelation - unable to voice it, you instead maintain the short clips of conversation that feel much too casual. 

“I had thought you would have more honor, dear nephew.” You’re sure it is supposed to come out as an insult - instead it falls with a small type of sadness, a melancholy despite the pleasure he delivers. 

Jacaerys’ tongue slows as he pulls away, lips shining in such a vulgar way you nearly cast your glance aside. His breath hits you and sends your eyes rolling in pleasure. 

“I’ve been with others,” he admits, his eyes not quite meeting yours either. “But never… fully.”

His cheeks are once again that sweet rose pink; pursing his lips, he looks up at you from his position between your thighs, hair mussed and curls wild from your hands. It is a sight so endearing you nearly look away once more. 

“It is the honorable thing to do, to save myself for-” He stops the thought, though, his eyes laced with that same pain you have come to know. 

Your face warms - was he about to say you? Or to his future betrothed, whomever she may be? 

Swallowing thickly, you nod, letting your head fall back. “I’ve never... I’ve been waiting too.” You admit to his ceiling, trying hard not to breathe in the deep scent of his soaps and cologne that lie within the bed’s sheets. 

He seems to be forgiving this evening; with a breath of air that stirs a shiver of pleasure over your molten core, he hums. “Enough.” He utters, “If you can still talk, my job is not yet finished.” 

And so he resumes; with a gasp of air, you whimper his name, thighs closing in around his head. Lips, full and wanting, mouth at you; moving again to your entrance, he pulls away just enough for you to jolt as one long finger gathers up the mix of your essence and his own saliva. 

He will not tear his eyes away as he watches his own digit prod against you; you whimper, clenching in need, as he shushes you against your sensitive pearl. The vibrations make you jolt, and it is with a sweet, low moan that you feel his finger slide deep into your heat. He hums a low sound into you that sends your toes curling, nails dragging against his scalp as you push him further against you. 

He slides another finger into you after just a few seconds - no more patience, perhaps, or he can tell the way you squeeze him that you will not last much longer. Your head thrashes against the sheets as two long fingers curl deep inside you; hitting that sweet spot that makes your breath hitch and your ankles kick against his clothed back. Arms pulling tighter, he pins you to the mattress, eyes fluttering shut as he grazes his teeth against your pearl

Any semblance of propriety or honor is gone; out into the quiet of the halls, as Jacaerys takes you apart with his tongue and fingers. 

It is near minutes before you’re kicking, bucking your hips as a slight fear of the impending feeling roves through your abdomen. Heat licks through you as his nose nudges your sensitive nub; you shake your head slightly, “It’s- I’m going to-” 

“Good,” He affirms, barely looking up from his ministrations, his cadence just as desperate as your own. You let out a low moan of his name, tugging his hair until he looks up at you; you shake your head, the ecstasy nearly too much, right on the precipice- 

But he instead chooses to mock you, nodding yes as you shake your head furiously - the feeling is nearly about to make you burst; with a gasp, you whimper, “Jace-” 

His voice is low, speaking into you as his thumb rubs against your sensitive cunt, “Gaomagon daor vīlībagon ziry, Muña.” His words evoke the emotions from before: Desire, heat, hunger, some kind of anger. Do not fight it, aunt. 

So you don’t. 

Instead, you let out a sharp cry of ecstasy as you begin to tremor, desire pulsing from you more than you’ve ever known. Jace mutters against your clammy thigh, nipping at the soft plush of your thighs, “Fuck,” He utters. If you were any more composed you might find yourself shocked at his swear; always more than composed until provoked to action, it is unlike Prince Jacaerys - though, as you release your vice-grip on his curls, heaving a sigh as you ride out your pleasure, you’re not truly surprised at all. 

You still shake slightly, unable to stop your body in the aftermath of such a high; even as you lean forward, crashing your lips against his own, tasting your essence upon his lips, his chin. 

YOU LEAVE HIS CHAMBERS WITH SHAKY LEGS AND HIS ARM BRUSHING YOUR OWN. 

You’d insisted, despite whatever foolish trysts you’d allowed yourselves in the heat of anger, that you could make your way back to your own quarters fine on your own.

Though, after he’d wiped his face and brushed a hand through his curls, he’d melted back into that Prince, the kind, chivalrous one who shook his head, eyes still alight with something like bashfulness.

How you wished to pay back the favor as he’d risen from between your legs, his arousal more than evident through his trousers; he’d denied, mentioning it would only be so long before your handmaids sent the guards to find you. 

And so you walk in the eerie silence, ignoring the heat in your cheeks or the brushing of your knuckles against his. 

When you arrive in front of your quarters, Jacaerys’ hand catches your arm gently. You look at him, unsure whether to expect mercy or anger. 

"I owe you an apology," He begins, voice tinged with a rare vulnerability. "For the way I've treated you, especially in these trying times. My grief... it clouded my judgment."

You meet his gaze, watching as guilt and sincerity etch themselves in his brow. "I understand," you reply softly, your voice laced with empathy, "I know the pain runs deep, and I'm forever regretful, forever sorry for the role my family played in all of this." You purse your lips, gathering the courage to continue, "And I, too, have harbored resentment," you confess, your voice catching slightly. "For the misunderstandings, the hurt I had not realized I inflicted."

He nods solemnly, the lines of tension in his face softening marginally. "I do believe I let anger cloud my perception of you."

You can only lift one shoulder, your skin glowing in the light of the moon as you offer him a small smile. His face - soft, pale, regal - watches you.

 "I never… planned for..” His face is soon pink, a soft grin hidden away. You swallow, shaking your head with a faint, nostalgic smile at the thought of past wounds. 

 "Nor I," you admit softly, your gaze drifting to the moonlit courtyard beyond the arched windows; beyond, a roaring sea. "But perhaps it was inevitable, given our history."

A flicker of something in his face before he turns back to you, sending a soft smile. Dimples grow shyly in the moonlight, “Maybe so.” 

Requests open. Taglist open.

[requiemforthepoets]

turning page.

PAIRINGS: carlos sainz x female!reader

SUMMARY: you never knew that you’ll find love at the least place where you’d likely go to.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: i posted this before, but deleted it heh so thought i’ll post it again. this fic was inspired by ‘crazy rich asians’, if you haven’t watched it, go and try to watch it. this whole fic is 7.4k long, so i decided to split it lol 7.4k is already long for me. did not proofread, so sorry for the typos and enjoy!

*** ik sg gp happened first from the aus gp, but just for the plot, ok? 😭

REMINDER: this is purely fiction, the way how the character is portrayed in my story does not reflect to the person that is portraying my character in real life. always separate fiction from reality, and do not respost or copy my work in any way.

WORD COUNT: 3.7k

WARNINGS: none, only fluff

You and Carlos met in London. You had decided to move to London to be more independent, and entered Cambridge University to pursue your career in law. You had met him in one of his many races, during the British Grand Prix in Silverstone, where your best friend had managed to drag you in, and being one of the VIPs in the event, since your best friend’s father is one of the big names in the Formula One. Your best friend actually knows Carlos personally, so when she introduced you to Carlos, you had no idea of who he is, except that he drives fast cars.

The knowledge that you have with him nor about F1 is completely zero, plus it was your first time of hearing his name, and you don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of him, especially that he is very good looking. But when you had honestly told him that you don’t really know him at all nor have any idea of what F1 is, he was really chill about him. Carlos doesn’t mind that you don’t know him, it even made him feel better because at least someone treated him normal for once, for him, you are a breath of fresh air from his hectic life. From that interaction, you two had unexpectedly clicked.

It was months of texts and calls, back and forth. Carlos was always away since it’s racing season, and he would always go from one country to another, and at the same time, you are also busy attending your classes, making it impossible for you to attend his races. But you would spend off season together, spending time with friends and families. It was after your graduation in law school that he had finally asked you to be his girlfriend. For you, Carlos asking you to be his girlfriend is already the best graduation present that you had ever received.

Carlos is a well known figure, so it is mutually decided that you would keep your relationship under the wraps for the meantime, doing the best to keep your relationship private, though everyone knows that Carlos is officially off the market, it’s not a secret. It’s just people never really caught the two of you in public—that is until a year into your relationship, you had been spotted attending one of his races, during the Australian Grand Prix, to support him, and when he finished the race in P1, you were there waiting by the parc fermé for him, with Ferrari’s whole team.

He rushed towards you as soon as he can, removing his helmet, engulfing you in a hug and kissing you deeply. That action from him is what had solidified your relationship, and you both had received nothing but incredible amount of support from his fans, you couldn’t really care less about some of the negative comments that was being thrown around. As long as you both love each other, that is only what truly matters the most.

Here’s the thing, Carlos had already introduced you to his family, and his mother, Reyes, had never been thrilled that his son is dating a very gorgeous, amazing, and successful woman. But it made Carlos think, how come he has never met your family or know something about your family? He has seen a few pictures of them in your apartment, but you rarely talk about your family with him. He knew nothing of your family’s background, but that was until he was scrolling one time on his twitter account, and saw a post of a photo of him and you that was taken from his instagram, in a thread explaining on how the both of you are a powerful couple.

In the thread, it was cited that he is not dating an average person. In fact, he is dating a socialite, an icon, and an heir that is set to inherit a fortune on both sides of your parents. Carlos had brought up this up with you, and you explained it to him—he was a bit sad that you hid it from him, but fully understand it afterwards. So the very next day, you two found yourself on a plane ride back to Singapore, and had arranged a schedule for him to meet your family, officially. He was a nervous wreck. Even if you both came from the same background—grew up in wealth, it is different for Carlos since he was brought up in a European way, while you in an Asian way, and in Carlos’ scale, it is both seated at the opposite ends of the scale. But you assured him plenty of times that everything will be alright. Not missing on teasing him about how nervous he is meeting your family.

“Amor, it is not funny! I can’t believe you’re making fun of my suffering. I’m about to meet your family, who wouldn’t be nervous?” He whined while nuzzling his face on your neck, pressing soft kisses.

“Carlos, you have nothing to be nervous about! My family are nice, okay? Yes, they would intimidate you a little bit, but what they don’t know is they don’t have anything against your incredible charms!” You smiled.

Lifting his head from your neck and looking at you directly in your eyes, “what if they don’t want me for you? And gave a million dollars just to break up with you?”

“Love,” you laughed, “stop with the nonsense! You’ve been watching too much dramas.”

“Fine,” he groveled, “but please hold my hand.” You giggled, and softly grabbed his hand and kissing the back of it, squeezing it tightly in assurance.

When you had introduced Carlos to your family, they had mixed opinions about him. Though your brothers find it cool that you’re able to bag the Carlos Sainz Jr., a famous F1 driver, considering that your brothers are a big fan of formula one, and had attended different grand prix in the past. When you told them in a straight face that you don’t know anything about F1 other than it’s a race, they had educated you about the whole formula one shebang—in which had been a lot for you to digest everything, but thank god for Carlos! Still, some parts are still confusing for you. They had questioned Carlos’ intensions with you, like the big brothers that they are, but when they realize that he’s a nice and down to earth guy, a few drinks and bonding over golf, your brothers knew that he’s a keeper, and have their full blessing and support.

When it was time for your parent’s judgment. Just like your brothers, they are skeptical of him. You had been through a long list of relationships, and each relationships that you had back then never ends in a good way, it’s either a messy breakup where you would need all of your brothers or breakup through texts. Some guys only dated you to benefit from your family’s connections, though it’s most not likely to happen since they know that Carlos came from money, just like you.

You were privileged enough in life, and you acknowledge that, being born with a golden spoon in your mouth, and being born into one of the wealthiest and influential family in Asia, you can say that you’re quite well known—a name that is very well known in the upper echelons of society, though you never really flaunt it like typical wealthy people do, and not to mention that you are basically the darling sweetheart of Singapore. Some people would say that you no longer need to lift a finger because everything would be handed to you in one snap or to work a day in your life, since you’re already set for life, but that’s not how you see it.

You are the only woman, among the sibling of four, so it makes sense how your family is very protective of you, they want their daughter to be with someone who is deserving of their princess. People had always expected you ending up marrying a person who came from the same ethnicity, since it was how it goes in your family, but your parents had already thrown that traditional way of thinking out of the window, and had decided that their children are free to love any person of their choosing. Eventually, they warmed up to Carlos, your father had bonded with him through golf, just like your brothers. They can clearly see it, bright as a day, that Carlos is a really good match for you, and that he makes you very happy.

Carlos knew that you’ll be flying back home to Singapore to visit and spend time with your family for a week, and he was okay with it. It was off season, and he apologized that he won’t be able to come with you since he wanted to spend time with his family. But what you didn’t know, Carlos didn’t tell you that he will be going to Singapore to surprise you, and to ask your parent’s approval to a million dollar question that would seal the deal.

He was a nervous wreck, again. Carlos had been a nervous wreck in the whole duration of his flight. It was like meeting your parents all over again, but this time, for a different reason. He nervously fidgeted with his watch as he stood outside of the main entrance of your family’s mansion. He’s been there for a minute or two now, silently practicing his speech on how he would approach your parents and ask them the blessing for your hand in marriage, which he had been planning for a month now. Taking a deep breath, Carlos finally rang the doorbell, he just stood there and was waiting anxiously for the door to open.

When the door opened, Carlos was greeted by your mother, who welcomed him with a warm smile and hugging him tightly. She then quickly ushered Carlos inside, as he stepped inside of your family home, and no matter how many time he had been in your family home, he will always be struck by grandeur of your home whenever you both visit your family. Walls that are adorned with beautiful artworks, a big framed picture of your parents, brothers, and you, furnitures are always plush and comfortable.

Your mother led him into the living room, where he was greeted by your brothers and other family members—aunties and uncles, which are present for their friday night mahjong. Carlos did not expect it at all, well in his defense, he forgot that it’s friday, and that your relatives would always come over on fridays to play mahjong. Everyone had exchanged pleasantries, and your grandparents as well who had just joined everyone in the living room, coming from their afternoon tea by the garden.

“Henry, Carlos is here!” Your mother had called out for your father.

“Carlos my boy! What brings you here today?” Your father asked as he descended from the stairs, “(y/n) is still out with her friends right now, but she’ll be back by dinner. She told us that you’re back in Spain, spending some time with your family.”

“And you’re timing couldn’t gotten even more better! We are cooking your favourite dish for dinner!” Your mother beamed excitedly.

“Mamá y papá,” Your parents had insisted on Carlos calling them mom and dad, because that’s how they love Carlos so much, “I didn’t tell her that I will be coming to Singapore, because it’s a surprise.”

Your mother, who’s dramatic as ever, let out a gasp and squealed. Your mother is the biggest supporter of your relationship, well all of your families are biggest supporter of both of your relationship, but when it comes to your mom…well you can say that she’s the president of the carlos and (y/n) fanclub. She always post photos and silly videos of you and carlos on her instagram during family vacations. Basically providing the fans some contents they want to see.

“I also wanted to talk to you about something, before she gets back.” Your mother nodded.

“Come, sit!” She motioned Carlos to sit.

All of them sat down on the couch at the same time, Carlos sitting in front, facing your parents. He took a deep breath and straightened his posture.

“I came here today to surprise (y/n), and to ask for your blessing,” your mother covered her mouth in shock, “a blessing for me to marry (y/n).”

Both of your parents have different reactions, and your grandparents just smiled widely at Carlos. Your mother let out a squeal again, while your father was serious and carefully listened. He motioned Carlos to continue.

“(Y/N) means everything to me, and I can’t imagine spending the rest of my life without her, I can’t see myself with anyone other than her, and I would be honored if you would allow me to marry her.” Carlos smiled softly.

Your grandmother turned to your grandfather, who then turned to your parents, began speaking about something in your native language. Carlos felt his heart beating faster as he waited for their response. They then turned now to Carlos and nodded at him happily. Your grandparents approves of him marrying you, while your father directly made an eye contact with Carlos.

“Carlos, throughout the years of your relationship with our (y/n), we watched your relationship with each other grow. We have seen how happy you make each other, how you make our daughter very happy. She had never experienced genuine happiness in her past relationships, and you pretty much know why. We love her so much, she’s our baby girl, our one and only princess. Seeing her being happy and well taken care of the man she loves the most, it’s enough for us.”

“You are already a part of our family, been with us through every family celebrations and vacations. So it’s a yes, we give you our full blessing for you to marry our daughter.” Your father smiled.

They gave Carlos a tight hug, and he felt the weight has been finally lifted off of his shoulders, as he smiled with gratitude, feeling sense of excitement and joy. Carlos knows that both of your future together would be bright and full of love. Now, he couldn’t wait to propose to you.

“Thank you so much. I promise to take care of (y/n).”

“I know you will, son. I know you will. I trust you with my daughter.” Your father smiled, and hugged him, patting his back.

Your mother squealed again in happiness, calling out everyone, telling them the great news. They had rushed out to the living room and abandoned their mahjong session for a while and gathered in the living room.

“(Y/N) and Carlos are getting married!”

There was series of cheering, some are shouting and jumping of happiness. Your brothers rushed to Carlos and squeezed him in a tight hug. In the midst of the exciting festivities that are happening, your family did not notice you coming home. You just stared at the scene that is happening in front of you. Your parents, grandparents, aunties and uncles, cheering, and your brothers jumping up and down while hugging Carlos, chanting like they’ve just won a game.

Wait…Carlos?!

“Uh, what exactly is happening here? I just got home and then I returned to a party, without me?” You chuckled.

“(Y/N)!” Your brothers yelled, and came barreling towards you, engulfing you in a hug.

“What? Why are you all acting like I just came home from war?”

“Oh honey, you don’t know what’s coming.”

“Mom, shush!” Your oldest brother, Collin, silenced your mom, raising both of her hands in surrender.

“My Carlito, what are your doing here? I thought you’re back in Spain.” You smiled at him.

Carlos slowly made his way towards you. He hugged you, arms wrapping tightly around your waist, as you gave him a soft kiss on the lips. Your hands gently caressing his nape.

“Surprise,” he whispered and smiled softly at you, “I didn’t tell you that I will be flying here because I wanted to surprise you, mi amor. It has been way too long and I’m already (y/n) deprived. You do know that I need some loving and kisses from you, it is a main Carlos necessity, and you can’t give me that when I’m in Spain. So here I am.”

“Well, you did surprise me.” You giggled in between kisses.

“I’m glad, cariño, because we’re gonna be heading off soon to the swiss alps for our honeymoon.”

You laughed at his reply, “honeymoon? You gotta marry me first, Mr. Sainz!”

“And I will be going to, soon.” He smirked.

“Better do it fast, we don’t have forever.” You joked, causing both of you to laugh.

At that moment, it felt like it was just the two of you in the room, forgetting about your family in the background. You still can’t believe it, that you’re so in love with this man, and he’s so in love with you. You wouldn’t trade it for the whole world, you can’t see yourself loving another man that is not Carlos. Making a mental note to thank your friend for dragging you to the race and introducing you to Carlos.

It was during the Singaporean Grand Prix that he proposed to you. Carlos couldn’t think what is even more perfect than the idea he has right now, and he plans on proposing after the race. Both of your families are in attendance during the race, and they all have an idea of what is about to happen, except you. He had managed to coaxed the other drivers into his plan, and they had never been more excited for it, to be a part of the proposal.

Carlos had finished the race in P1, and you had never been more proud of him. Just like years ago, you were waiting for him at the parc fermé with the whole team, and soon as he saw you, he ran towards you, removing his helmet and kissing you deeply. You were beyond proud of him, words cannot simply express how proud you are of him. Your interaction was short lived when he was pulled for an interview, but he was able to tell you to meet him at his driver’s room after.

As soon as everything died down and the world is already quiet, Carlos softly took your hand and lead you down the circuit, a little bit far so the area that you were in is peaceful and quiet. Once you reached the spot he planned on doing the proposal, he turns to face you, and as he look deeply into your eyes, you can feel the wave of love, gratitude, and pure adoration washing over you. You are the person Carlos wants to spend the rest of his life with, and he knows that he have to make his proposal perfect.

Unbeknownst to you, the rest of the guys are just around the area, even your families. They are just waiting for Carlos to pop the million dollar question to you. He took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Mi amor,” he began, “ever since we first met, I know that you are the one for me. I know it’s a bit cliche, but it was love at first sight to me. You don’t know how much joy and happiness you had brought into my life, and I can’t imagine my future without you in it or loving someone that is not you.” You already have an idea of what is going on, and you are trying your best to hold your tears.

“I know that we have had our ups and downs, a continuous roller coaster rides of emotions, but I do believe that together we can overcome any obstacles that the world would throw at us. I want to spend the rest of my life with you, amor. Making you happy, supporting you with every decision you make, and cherishing every moment that we have together.”

Carlos reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. Your eyes widened because you know that velvet box so well. It was a possession that your mother owns, and ever since you were a child, you had already been begging your mother to give it to you, but she would always tell you that that you’ll have it when the time is right—and right now, you can’t believe it. Carlos opened the box, revealing a beautiful emerald ring. The emerald sparkling against the soft lights around you.

“So, what do you say, cariño? Will you do the honor of making me the happiest man alive and marry me?” Carlos smiled widely.

You noticed Charles and Lando at the distance, right at the back of Carlos holding a poster that says “will you marry me?” and your oldest brother, Collin, holding the phone and taking so many pictures, and your two other brothers, Nick and Philip, taking a video, recording the beautiful moment.

Carlos hold out the ring to you, and you can’t hold it any longer. You let your tears of happiness fall, and nodded your head rapidly, throwing your arms around Carlos’ shoulders, kissing him deeply. Both of you smiling at the kiss you had shared, and slipped the ring on your finger. You don’t know how Carlos managed to pull off everything, but there were fireworks display lighting up the night sky so beautifully.

“Yes. Yes, I will marry you, Carlos Sainz Jr.” you giggled, and kissed him lovingly.

As soon as Carlos broke the kiss, he shouted, “Everyone! She said yes!” There were series of cheers.

Everyone rushed towards you and Carlos, sharing a one big hug, while congratulations are being thrown around. The circuits of Marina Bay being a witness of yours and Carlos’ love and lifelong commitment to each other. It will always be a special place that you will hold dearly in your heart, and a reminder of the love that you will always share with Carlos.

[kamii-2]

accidentally posted it, please tell me if this isn’t want you wanted but anyway i hope you enjoy!! (this fic is NOT based off of any recent lives, it’s completely made up!)

warning(s): cussing, smoking/getting high, kissing

genre: fluff & slight suggestiveness

pairing(s): jana el alfy x reader

==================================

it was 4:00 pm and you were super bored, all of your apps were dry as fuck. the last app on your phone was instagram, so you got on it and looked at the story section. it said kk was live so you decided to join to see what she was up to and to see if your crush of 2 months was with her. when you joined kk was sitting on the couch with aubrey, reading comments and being dumb. “oh my gosh y/n is here, hi y/n!” she gasped out while catching a glimpse of your username while reading comments. “i didn’t even say anything yet.” you typed out in the chat, everyone was saying your name by now. people knew you because you’re friends with the entire uconn team so you were really shocked when everyone was happy to see you. “hi y/n!” aubrey said while waving at the phone, “hiiiii” you typed in the chat.

you listened to kk and aubrey talk about random stuff and a few oreja tema members say hi to the live for a good 10 minutes before you requested to join. “kk add me” you repeated in the chat until she finally added you. “hi guys.” you said with a wave, “hi y/n!” kk yelled, dragging the last part of your name. you, kk, and aubrey talked about a bunch of random stuff. you talked about school, sports, eachother, and more. when you guys were in the middle of a conversation, kk yelled really loud “HI JANA!” causing you to look at her like she was crazy (and wait for jana to show herself), aubrey to side eye her, and jana to say ‘hi’ the same way kk did.

“who are you guys talking to?” jana asked from behind the phone, “y/n.” aubrey answered while reading the live comments. you and the viewers couldn’t see but jana started to blush at the mention of your name. kk snd aubrey gave eachother a knowing look, “jana come sit down with us.” kk said while patting the empty spot in between her and aubrey while smiling. “okay wait.” she said as she ran to the bathroom to make sure she looked good for you. when she came back you and aubrey were yelling at eachother and being loud, jana came and sat down in the middle and the live started to go crazy.

@user6234: JANAAAAAA

@user1032: WHERES PAIGE?

@user4: why is jana so red

@user87: HI JANA

@user153: does jana have a crush on y/n?

jana was reading the comments and replying to some of them, ignoring he ones about you and her. as you and kk talked, jana admired you and thought about how pretty you were. this obviously didn’t go unnoticed by the viewers and aubrey, kk wasn’t paying much attention to jana. the ask thing was happening to you, you were searching jana every time you weren’t being talked to, fans talking about it in the comments but everyone chose to ignore them. kk and aubrey noticed everything that was happening during the live and were definitely going to concoct a plan after the live ended. at some point you and jana had a conversation and the whole time you guys flirted and she was blushing and you were clearly flustered by the way you were talking to her. fans were talking about it in the comments and you knew for a fact that there was gonna be edits and other videos about the two of you.

at 6:34 pm kk’s phone died so the live ended. “jana you need to ask y/n out or something, you both clearly like the other and you two were flirting like crazy the entire time. even the comments know you two like the other.” kk said the moment she came back from her room after plugging her phone in, aubrey agreeing with kk. “i want her but we don’t talk enough. i want to get to know her before i date her.” jana admitted whike looking down at her hands. “okay, just wait.” kk said while walking back into her room. “what is that supposed to mean?” jana said as her head shot up, “dude what does that mean.” jana yelled to kk, confused on what she meant. “you’ll find out eventually, just give me a couple weeks or so.” kk yelled back.

you were sitting in your bed watching tiktok when you got a text from kk basically saying the same thing she said to jana. you sighed and replied the same was jana did, you obviously knew jana but you guys weren’t friends, you two were just acquaintances, and kk was determined to change it.

-

it was about a week after the live and you and jana had been talking a lot more than before. texting almost ever day, calling every so often, coming over to hang out with her, one day you guys even got high together. the only reason you two got closer was because of kk, she would encourage both of you to talk and she was so happy when she seen you guys hanging out by yourselves with no one else around. while you were getting ready to go over to jana’s dorm you got a notification that kk was live so you decided to join as you put on your shoes. when you joined you seen paige and kk with the phone set up on the kitchen counter while they were in the living room messing around. you seen jana sitting on the couch next to kayla and they were on jana’s phone watching tiktok and laughing. you left the live and got all of your belongings, heading out of the apartment complex to their dorm.

you parked your car and made your way up to the dorm. as you got closer to the door you heard a lot of yelling, you texted jana and told her you were walking down the hallway to the dorm and she replied immediately, goign to the door and opening it for you. “hi y/n.” she did and she hugged you, “hi.” you replied back while hugging her back. yoi guys went and sat on the couch, jana in between you and kayla. “what you you guys doing?” you asked jana and kayla as you leaned over her shoulder and looked at her phone. “watching kk edits.” jana said as she kept scrolling, you sat back on the couch and scrolled on your phone when you heard kayla gasp, you looked over and jana was slightly blushing looking at her phone. you couldn’t see what it said but it was a screenshot of you and jana smiling at each other on live. you were confused but decided to just ignore it.

as the night went on everyone was messing around and being loud, they were dancing, singing, bullying each other, and fake fighting. jana leaned over and whispered in your ear, “wanna go get high?” she asked as you immediately nodded, jana stood up and grabbed your hand and took you to her bed room. the live seen this and started to got crazy. the team also seen this, paige muted the live and laid it down so it was facing the ceiling. “are they really about to fuck?” kk asked in disbelief, “i don’t know about fucking but probably something close to it.” kayla said while giggling. “i don’t know what’s going on but the live definitely seen and tiktok is gonna go crazy.” morgan said as ayanna agreed, “i guess we’ll find out soon.” ice laughed and she sat the phone back up and unmuted the mic.

-

you two were passing the blunt back and forth while talking about life, telling random stories and reminiscing about school. her led lights were on purple, the fan was on, and sativa by jhené aiko was on, volume low enough for nobody else but you two to hear. “i wish i could get high every day.” you said while passing the blunt back to her. “me too.” she agreed while taking a long hit, “i mean who said we can’t?” she smiled while passing it back. “do you want to die at 25?” you joked while putting the roach in the ashtray, “edibles.” she replied with a smug tone. “true.” you replied as the rook went silent. the only thing you could hear was the blowing of the fan and the faint sound of the song playing.

you were looking down at your hands while jana was staring at you, “what?” you looked uo and asked the taller girl, “you’re so pretty.” she admitted while staring at you still, you smiled at her words, “thank you, you’re pretty too.” you told her while leaning back a little, resting on your elbows. “y’know y/n, i’ve thought you were pretty for a long ass time but i was too scared to admit it. i’ve wanted you since i first seen you but we didn’t really talk until kk basically forced me to talk to you.” she told you as she scanned your facial expressions and body language to see how you felt. “i feel the same way and the reason we are even talking eight now is because of kk.” you told her as you slowing leaned in, jana realized what was going on and immediately closed the gap, your hands flew to her face as her hands went down to your waist, pulling you onto her lap to straddle her.

-

moans was the only thing the rest of the team heard, you and jana were too high to try and hide what you two were doing. the live ended the moment you moaned the first time, kk screamed so loud to attempt to cover it up then abruptly ended the live. “oh. my. God.” was the first thing azzi said as she walked in the dorm and heard you moaning. “i come back and that’s the first thing i hear.” she said with wide eyes, “i was on live and y/n moaned really loud and i think the live heard.” kk says while cracking the fuck up. “never in my life did i think that they would be the type to fuck that loud with a bunch of people home and when people are on live.” ayanna said while still in shock at the fact that you guys were really doing it.

about 5 minutes later you and jana were sitting on her bed, looking rough. “damn jana.” is all you could say while you were still kind of catching your breath, “are you ready to get bullied?” jana asked as she stood up from the bed. “yep.” you unenthusiastically replied, standing up with her. the moment the door opened you heard kk laughing, “damn were yall smoking too?” aubrey said as she looked at your eyes and the smell of weed came from the room, “what do you think?” jana replied while walking to the bathroom, leaving you alone with the rest of the team and kayla, “so.. what’s new?” you asked as you went and sat on the couch. “we should be asking you that question.” ice replied.

as the night went on you guys just kept messing around and you and jana kept getting bullied. at around 10 at night you went home, when you walked into your apartment you immediately got ready for bed. by now your highness was barely there but you were still in the clouds, you couldn’t sleep because you were too busy thinking about jana and what happened earlier. you were thinking about ways to ask her out but you weren’t sure when or how so instead of sleeping you stayed up until 11:30 texting kk on how to ask out jana. when you woke up you had a few messages from jana, one saying that you two needed to talk and another telling you that she was coming over soon. you got up from your bed and changed and fixed yourself up a bit, you would take a shower later.

10 minutes later there was a knock on your door so you opened it and jana walked right in and shut the door. “y/n i’ve liked you since i first seen you, and last night made me realize that i need to ask you out like now, so that’s what i’m doing. y/n will you please be my girlfriend?” jana asked, very clearly nervous. “yes jana i will.” you replied fast as ever and gave her a hug. “can i kiss you?” she asked while hugging you tightly, “yes, please do.” you answered as she pulled away and gave you a long and loving kiss.

==================================

yall i really don’t know how to write asking out scenes, anyway i hope you enjoyed and i hope you have a good day/night, love you 💋💋

[stormsandfoes]

Thomas Hewitt/ Reader

𝔚𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔦𝔰 𝔩𝔬𝔳𝔢, 𝔱𝔬 𝔰𝔬𝔪𝔢𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔴𝔥𝔬 𝔥𝔞𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔥𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱? 𝔑𝔢𝔳𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔰𝔴𝔢𝔢𝔱𝔫𝔢𝔰𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔦𝔱𝔰 𝔫𝔢𝔠𝔱𝔞𝔯?

Written in third-person limited POV, focusing on Thomas. Content tags: Neurodivergence, Cannibalism, mentions of rape, Canon typical violence, self harm, Mommy issues, child abuse (mentioned), good vs. evil with nothing in between, religious trauma. Author notes: I honestly intended this to be short and to the point- but here we are. I read a lot of Thomas/Reader stories where Thomas is portrayed as neurotypical and I don't know why it bothers me so much- it's just fanfiction after all, but I wanted to write a short "love" story where Thomas is violent and scared and lonely. He's nonverbal, he's mentally disturbed but not 'slow'. His world is very black and white and full of violence, so that got me wondering- what would love look like for him? What would happen if this man, who has only ever known darkness, met someone who was nice to him? Fair warning, lots of rambling ahead. I also just want to say that I am Autistic and that influenced a lot of this story- from the way that I write, to how I portray characters, to certain interactions. So if anything seems weird to you, I apologize- my mind works in weird ways. If I need to clarify anything, just shoot me a message. I would love to talk about the writing process and why I included certain things. Important: This is about 15k words and NOT even half of it. I had to cut it into pieces, will update the rest in another post.

Thomas brings the axe above his head, his breath ragged as he swings it down and cuts the piece of firewood in half with a low grunt. He’s hot, even though it’s the middle of winter- the weather low even with the sun that hid behind the clouds- and his shirt is sticking to him uncomfortably, the sweat doing nothing to cool him down.

He lodges the axe into the tree stump, grabbing the two pieces of wood and throwing them in the wheelbarrow before he wipes his forehead with dirt covered hands. It was the last chore of the day, and he was tired and sore- a tightness in his shoulders that seemed to spread all the way down to lower back and made him want to get in bed. His mask is damp and tight against his face, the skin underneath irritated. He wants to go inside and change, the thought of taking a shower was frustrating but he knew that he needed one. He could smell himself- bitter with sweat and the slightly suffocating scent that seemed to stick to chickens now clinging to him from when he had cleaned out the chicken coop. His nails were lined with dirt- hands and arms caked in grime. It made him feel heavy and slow.

Uncle Hoyt would drag him to the back and hose him off if he saw him, and he hated that more than he hated cleaning himself off- the feeling of water on his skin something he had never got around to liking. He could handle other things- blood never seemed to churn his stomach, or when Momma or Uncle Hoyt used to ask him to go clean out the pig pen- back when they could afford to have pigs, they were empty now, the whole farm seemed to get emptier and emptier as the months passed- he hadn’t thought that shoveling pig shit into a bucket was all that bad. But he had trouble smelling sometimes, especially with the leather pressed so tight against the place his nose had once been.

He takes the handles of the wheelbarrow, filled with enough dried out wood for the weekend- maybe Monday, if the weather stayed where it was at- and began to haul it towards the house. Momma would need some in the kitchen, to boil water and heat the ovens for Supper when she got back from town. He’d have to check the fireplace on the main floor- sometimes even on the coldest days of winter that room stayed warm enough that if they were to turn on the fireplace it’d be too uncomfortable to sit in. He would wait until Uncle Monty asked for more- he didn’t like it when any of them made decisions for him, more so now that he was stuck in that wheelchair.

There were no fireplaces upstairs, just piles of blankets to layer and hope they did enough to keep them warm. Sometimes it would be enough for him, but there were nights that even with two or three of the ones Momma sewed together for him; he would still lay awake, teeth chattering from the cold. It’s why he hated the cold- he could manage the heat, but winter was unpredictable even in the deep south of Texas.

Uncle Monty is in the living room, asleep in his chair as the TV keeps playing, almost as loud as his snoring. He walks past him, noticing the almost empty fireplace. His footsteps are heavy and loud from the metal on his shoes as he carries an armful of wood into the kitchen. He sets it down on the dining table, right on the white plastic cloth momma had set out before she had left, dirt falls onto the floor and he makes a low, grumbling noise of frustration, hoping that she didn’t see it when she got home.

He had forgotten the plastic mat last time and gotten her favorite tablecloth dirty -the mud staining the light blue cotton forever. He didn’t see why it was such a big deal, Momma had once told him that life was messy, that’s how one knew that they were living it, but she had been so angry at him then- sending him out with the bucket and soap, shouting about the mud he had tracked inside their house. Supper had come late that night- Hoyt growing angry at him. He liked it when it was ready and waiting for him when he got home- shouting at momma that working men weren’t supposed to wait for food.

He had gotten into an argument with him that night- he didn’t like it when people were mean to momma. Uncle Hoyt had called him a bad name- making his blood boil.

He didn’t want that to happen again. He didn’t like how badly he had wanted to hurt Uncle Hoyt at that moment. Momma said that family fought all the time, but he had to be careful not to do anything that he would regret. Maybe he would regret it when his blood stained his clothes, but part of him wasn’t so sure. He liked him better when he was Uncle Charlie. Uncle Hoyt reminded him of the bad men.

He tries not to think about it anymore when he heads back outside to grab a few more pieces of wood for the living room. He didn’t like thinking back on the things that made him angry, sometimes he couldn’t come back from them, and he’d end up doing something bad.

By the time he’s pushing past the double front doors, Momma’s car is pulling into the dirt path off to the side of the house. It’s an old one- rusting from the heat of too many summers, but momma didn’t mind it.

 The car comes to a stop as he picks up another armful of wood and takes it inside.

Ever since Hoyt became Sheriff of the town, things had gotten better for them. There were never days where they went to bed hungry, the meat freezer down in the basement always seemed to have enough for them. If it ever ran low, a Hoyt always seemed to find a way to get it restocked. Momma had taken over the shop in town after the owner had passed away and Hoyt made sure that his son- one of the bad men- went right along with him. He had filled the bellies of those who still stayed in town, too hungry to care enough to question them. Sometimes she brought back what didn’t sell that day and they’d have themselves a little feast. There were days Uncle Hoyt brought a guest with him- always a woman-, other times he’d ask momma to bring his food up to his room- the muffled screaming drowned out by Monty’s TV show.

He liked to stay in the basement on those days. It was harder to hear the pleading and begging as Hoyt played too rough with them. He would always get stuck with getting rid of them afterwards and he was starting to dislike the chore.

By the time he finishes stacking the wood, Momma is calling out for him, the front door swinging open. He freezes- his shoulders squaring and his breath suddenly heavy as he looks up at the hall, hidden between a wall and the fireplace. There was someone with Momma. He could hear the footsteps- Momma walked with a purpose, heavy and loud like him. She said that she did it so God would hear her better, but he wasn’t so sure that God was with them anymore. The ones that came after her were lighter, nervous.

He didn’t like guests. Didn’t like that Momma and uncle Hoyt had developed a habit of taking in strays that would just end up in the basement with him later. They would scream when they saw him- call him those names that made the anger come. Some of them liked to hurt him, momma taking him to the bathroom afterwards and stitching him up.

“You’re going to love my Tommy. He’s a little bit shy but he’s got the sweetest heart.” Momma says and he hears the other person laugh. It’s a soft noise- gentle in a way that manages to make his heart race faster as he tries to crawl deeper into the tiny space. “He’s here around somewhere… but let’s get you set up in your room then you can come down and help me with supper, okay?”

Another laugh, his heart racing uncomfortably in his chest. He didn’t want Momma to find him, he was already so tired.

“Of course,” the stranger says, and she- the thought of a woman in the house irritates him- doesn’t talk like Momma or Hoyt or Monty. Her voice is quiet, it doesn’t drawl out. He’s heard it before- she must be from out of town. “I would love to!”

For a moment, he feels bad for the woman as he hears them go up the stairs. He always feels bad for them at first. Momma said that his heart was too kind. Hoyt called him a pansy boy, in need of toughening up. He doesn’t know why he feels bad, the guests were never good people- he’d always come to learn that, but it never seems to do anything to make the twitch of guilt go away from his heart. The steps grow quieter the farther up they go- until he hears Momma’s muffled voice and then her footsteps coming back down.

She spots him, curled into himself in that tiny, dark space and she sucks her teeth, shaking her head. “Thomas Hewitt, what in the lords name are you doing there?”

He feels embarrassed all of a sudden, getting caught like this. He makes a low noise in his chest, pointing to the firewood.

“Come on and get on out of there if you’re done then, we’ve got company.” She comes down the rest of the steps and makes her way towards him. When she holds out her hand he takes it, a comfort that has his heart slowing down.

 “I need you to go and grab the rest of her stuff from the car- poor girl don’t got no power in her home.” She says with a shake of her head as she pulls and helps him to his feet. “She’ll be staying with us until her electricity gets put back up.”

He shakes his head, this time the noise he makes is in protest, a deep groan of anger. He didn’t want to. He didn’t want her in his house.

Momma frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. “Now listen here Thomas, not everyone is as lucky as we are. Sometimes we have to help those in need.”

He wants to believe her- Momma wasn’t one for lying, after all- but this isn’t anything new. He knew how this would end; with the woman in their bellies and her screams in his head, keeping him awake at night. She would make a mistake and then she’d end up in the basement, begging for her life.

It was like Momma had set her up to fail, like a game that promised a prize that would never come, and Thomas didn’t want to play. Not this time. He shakes his head again, his way of telling her no.

Momma and Uncle Hoyt have a lot in common, no matter how sweet and gentle Momma tried to be, her anger was almost as bad as his. He doesn’t like it when she gets angry at him- everyone was always angry at him- and he can see it in her eyes, making him bend his chin against his chest as he let out a whine, glancing down at the ground. She never hit him, but she would ignore him and that hurt a lot more.

“Then you go on upstairs and tell the poor girl that she’s got to leave. I won’t be the one to break the bad news.” Momma huffs, stomping over to the kitchen. “Tell her you would rather see her freeze than offer a small kindness.”

There it is, that harshness in her voice that makes him tremble, his heart picking up its pace until he feels like he can’t breathe. He shakes his head again, digging his fingers into his arm. He didn’t want to have anything to do with the woman. Didn’t want to be forced to deal with her later but if this is what Momma wanted, then he would do it. He would make her happy.

He lets out another noise, smaller this time and turns towards the door. Part of him is angry- angry that he wasn’t allowed to be angry without being punished. Angry that sometimes it seemed like he wasn’t allowed to have a say when it came to things. He felt as if momma sometimes liked to hurt him on purpose- pushing and pushing until he snapped.

As soon as the thought crosses his mind, he feels the guilt settle in his stomach, hot and suffocating. Momma wasn’t like the bad people. She wouldn’t hurt him. Sometimes he just made her so angry- he knew that. He knew that he was difficult and stubborn and sometimes she got tired of dealing with him.

It wouldn’t be long before the woman disappeared anyways- Hoyt will see her at supper and he’d take her upstairs. The screaming will start, and everyone will act like they couldn’t hear it; Momma would knit, and Monty would turn the volume on the TV up until it was too much. He’d end up sleeping in the basement again, picking at his skin until it was raw and bleeding- the crying twisting his stomach and threatening to swallow him whole.

He just had to wait until then. He would be good until then.

The trunk of the car was left open for him, and he finds the woman’s things waiting for him. It’s not much- a simple backpack, filled with so many things that it ballooned uncomfortably. He grabs it, grunting at the fact that it was heavier than he thought, and slams the trunk close. The car shakes and squeaks at his aggression as he carries the bag inside. He doesn’t like the fact that he’s touching the stranger’s things.

He’s dirty- his fingers staining the bag- but he’s also dirty inside. Rotten from the anger, the bad he’s done. The bad he was going to do. He can feel himself soiling the items inside- turning them just as dirty as him as he walks into the kitchen and sets the bag down on the floor. Momma had taken the firewood he had left and put away the mat. He could feel the warmth of the fire even from where he stood across the oven- filling the room with the scent of smoke. He grunts, wanting Momma to turn around and see that he had done what she asked. He wanted her to smile at him- to ease the way his heart still hammered in frustration.

She turns, but the softness in her eyes isn’t directed at him- she barely looks at him and his heart sinks further down into his stomach, tension building in the back of his neck. He can hear her footsteps now- the creaking of the staircase as she came downstairs. He’s standing in front of a wall, the staircase on the other side. For now, he was hidden- but it wouldn’t be long until she stepped into the kitchen, and he couldn’t hide anymore.

“We’re in here dear,” Momma calls out to her. “Tommy here’s got your bag for you.”

He sees her for the first time out of the corner of his eye- spotting her before she spots him, her eyes on Momma. She’s short- shorter than momma by a bit, and clean and well dressed. Her sweater is thick and colorful, the cuffs of her sleeves neatly folded against her wrists. Something there catches the soft yellow light of the kitchen- a thin golden bracelet halfway hidden beneath the fabric. Her jeans look like they’ve been around for a long time- a different shade of fabric stitched into one of the knees. Her boots are old and worn out, reminding him of his own.

He doesn’t like this. He doesn’t like this feeling that runs through him as he inspects her.

“I really like your house!” she says- voice light and full of excitement that made his mood worsen. “Its-” whatever she was about to say dies in her throat as she turns her head to the left and spots him for the first time.

He doesn’t let her look at his face- turning his head to the side as he folds into himself, chin against chest. He doesn’t like this- doesn’t like that she stares at him without saying anything. He can feel her eyes on him- inspecting him- an animal on display. His chest rises and falls painfully, his breathing hard and loud in the silence. He can feel his hands twitch- his thumb nail grazing along the length of his finger.

“This is my son,” Momma’s voice is tight as she talks. “Tommy this here is our guest. Don’t you want to say hello?”

He shakes his head, his hands trembling. Something wet lands inside the sink and he startles. He hears Momma suck her teeth and he can see her in his mind- shaking her head like she does whenever he does something she doesn’t like.

He doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like that Momma is getting mad at him, that the woman still stands there, watching him tremble in fear. He could already hear it- her laughing as she called him an idiot. They always called him something. They always laughed at him.

“It’s okay,” her voice shakes a bit as she breaks the silence, and she coughs and clears her voice. “I, um, I’m a little shy myself so I know how hard it can be sometimes.” She speaks slowly, her voice almost a low whisper. She tells him her name. Tells him that it’s nice to meet him.

He doesn’t say anything- not that he can, he’s never spoken a single word- but he nods his head, his eyes quickly glancing over at her. She’s still looking at him and his heart almost beats through his ribs. He expects her to be looking at him like they always look at him- filled with disgust and hatred, looking for any excuse to leave, to get as far away as possible from him- but he doesn’t find that in her face.

He finds her mouth twisted downwards and her eyebrows pushed together just a tiny little bit, her eyes gentle and wide. She looked at him as if he was a dog out by the side of the road on a hot summer afternoon refusing help and she had been chasing him with a bowl of water.

She looks at him like there was nothing scary about him. Like he was a man, dirty from a long day at work and not a freak- poor and disfigured- a monster. He had never seen that look from anyone who didn’t live in this house, and it scared him. It terrified him that someone would decide to look at him like that.

But as soon as he met her eyes she looked away, towards Momma- a smile in her voice.

“What are we making for dinner?” she asks, stepping farther into the kitchen and pushing her sleeves up towards her elbows- ready for whatever Momma tells her to do.

The tension disappears just like that, Momma laughing lightly as she places her hand on the woman’s back and pulls her close. “You’re such a darling, helping me out like this. How about you start getting out the pots and pans? They’re over there by the pantry.” She pointed to the cupboards by the fridge and the woman nodded and went straight towards them.

With her back to them- Momma turned and looked at him finally. He could still feel his heart hammering away at his chest, but this was more manageable. He was still waiting for the names to come, for the screaming and the disgust to appear in her eyes. Sometimes when Momma was around people hid it a bit better, but he knew that it wouldn’t be long until they couldn’t hide it anymore.

He expects Momma to still be mad at him- blue eyes dark with anger- but instead she sighs and puts her hand on his shoulder, a silent apology that has his muscles relaxing. The woman pays them no mind- bending down to inspect the cupboard down there.

“Go on and take her bag up to her room and get yourself cleaned up, okay?” She tugs on the collar of his shirt before fixing his hair out of his face. It’s damp from his sweat, but she doesn’t flinch. “She’s a good girl- try to handle her with care, alright?” Her voice is a low whisper- something the woman wasn’t supposed to hear. It unsettles him as he nods along with Momma- not quite understanding what she meant. He doesn’t know if he’s supposed to nod along with her or shake his head, but Momma doesn't wait for an answer, patting him on the cheek before she turns her head and calls out to the woman.

“Honey, Tommy is going to take your bag up to your room- is that alright?”

The woman rises from the ground, two pots neatly stacked in each other in her hands. “Yes,” she says softly- her eyes meeting his. “Thank you, Tommy.”

She smiles at him shyly and his heart begins to hammer against his ribs again. He feels his skin begin to burn- his flesh raw and exposed to her. Even underneath his mask he can feel himself heating up as he looks away, scrambling to grab the bag.

He needed to get away from her- from Momma and her words that he couldn’t understand. He felt like he couldn’t breathe with her here. He stumbles up the steps- feet so heavy against the wood that he swears he can feel the house tremble underneath him.

Momma gave her the room across his- the empty one where she liked to keep the extra bed sheets and towels. But it’s cleaner now as he turns the knob and goes inside, the curtains pulled open to let in the bit of light that still shone from outside- the sun close to setting. The piles of blankets that were on the bed are gone- the sheets neatly tucked into the space between the mattress and the boxspring. There’s a jacket thrown on top- red and faded, the cuffs ripped up on one arm.

He sits the bag right next to it- on the floor, wiping his hands on his jeans. It topples over and he lets out a grunt- fixing it so it sat upright again. He decided that he would stay up here until Momma called him for supper. He wouldn’t go down to the basement while the woman was here- he was worried that she would be stupid enough to follow him down there. That would be the end of her. Blood and flesh and sinew torn from her bones for them to feast on.

He’s careful when he’s leaving the room- closing the door gently so that it doesn’t slam before he hurries off into his own- locking the door behind himself.

Here it’s dark, his windows covered in greased up newspapers. He didn’t like it when it got too bright- when the sun shone through and reminded him of the mess around him. His room is small and cramped and full of things that he had hauled up from the furnace room so that he wasn’t stuck going up and down all the time. Uncle Monty said that he sounded like a ‘goddamned bulldozer,’ stomping around the house when he was trying to sleep. So, it was better this way- even though sometimes he got irritated that there were too many things. But it meant not being bothersome, so he tried not to mind much.

He checks the door again- making sure that he had really locked it, pulling and twisting at the doorknob just to be safe. He knew that no one would come up here and go into his room- Monty was stuck on the first floor, Momma was with the girl in the kitchen preparing supper and Uncle Hoyt wasn’t home yet. But he was always a little paranoid, just the tiniest bit afraid that someone would knock down his door and see everything about him that he had tried so hard to hide. Not even Momma was allowed in here. This was his- the only place where he could hide from everyone, where he didn’t have to worry about anyone disturbing him.

He takes his mask off and it’s not quite the relief he was expecting- the leather inside has gone stiff, his face raw and tender and aching from all the sweat and dirt that had managed to get in. He can feel it as he runs his fingers across his face, a cut on the corner of his lips that wasn’t there last time. It blends into the sores and scarred tissue already there, his skin long ruined. It shouldn’t bother him- but as he opens his mouth and feels the skin stretch and crack, a drop of blood welling up and rolling down his chin- he gets upset, grunting in frustration. He had wanted to clean the mask and add some petroleum to try and soften it up so it wouldn’t bite at his skin anymore- pinching and scratching and making the pain worse. It would have been something to do, something to keep him busy and distracted until he had to face the inevitable, but now it was something that he no longer wanted to do. Why would he? What would it change?

It was never this bad- but ever since his nose began to fall away, it only ever seemed to get worse- no matter what he did or how hard he pleaded for it to just stop and go away- nothing ever changed. There was no one there to listen to his pleas.

With a low groan of frustration, he tears his hand from his face, wiping the blood on the front of his shirt. He hates himself. Hates everything about himself. Momma liked to say that the bad people were liars, that people who were hurting only ever knew how to hurt others- but he knew that wasn’t true. He was a monster. He saw it, looking back at him in the mirror- wild and ugly and evil, everything that he did not want to be. He hated taking his mask off- hated knowing that the man that existed underneath it was the same man that he was trying to escape from.

Coming here was a mistake. He should have stayed downstairs, should have gone out back to the barn- there he would have found something, anything, to do.

He takes a breath like Momma showed him, trying to push the anger away- down, down, down, until he couldn’t feel it slithering through his veins and pounding in the back of his head. He just had to focus on something else-he liked it when he had chores, things to do that kept him busy and away from the bad thoughts. He takes another deep breath through his mouth- dirt and salt on his lips as he picks up the mask and tries to clean it off on his clothing. It does nothing but lift the dust off into the air as he places it on his face, tightening it too much across his head, leather digging into tender skin. He would take a bath, change his clothes, then sit in bed and wait. Uncle Hoyt would come an hour after the sun disappeared and then he would have to go downstairs. He didn’t want to go downstairs.

He didn’t want to feel the bad feelings anymore. The fear, the anger. The woman would look at him and his throat would tighten, and his heart would beat painfully. He hadn’t liked that feeling- trapped in his own skin, unable to get away. Yet at the same time, he wanted her to look at him. No one ever looked at him.

He could still feel her eyes- soft and warm on his skin, simultaneously calming and worsening his anger. He was half embarrassed- covered in dirt and sweat stains, his clothing old and faded- Did she think that he was disgusting? He was always messy in everything that he did- always having to teach himself how to do things. Filth had never been a stranger. Had never bothered him. But he finds himself wanting to wash the grime and sweat from himself- even if he was just going to put the same clothes back on.

His stomach growls, empty and needy as he unlocks the door and roughly pushes it open- he finds the woman outside of it.

The door swings open, the gust of wind pushing her hair around as the door barely manages to miss her. She’s looking up at him, eyes wide and mouth slightly open- her arms up by her chest. It scares him, seeing her there and he makes a messy, garbled noise of surprise.

“Sorry!” she speaks fast, her words all pushed together. “I was just trying to find the bathroom!”

He feels his heart beating in his throat, muscles tense and solid as he stares down at her. She’s so much shorter than he thought- he could reach out and crush her throat in his hand and it wouldn’t take much force to do so. He’s almost tempted to, his fingers twitching at his sides. Momma would get mad at him when he dragged her body downstairs- but she would forget eventually.

“I’m in your way- I,” she takes a step back, her eyes finally releasing his. “I’m sorry, I’m just-”

He grunts. Low and short- his way of telling her to stop talking. Nothing she says is making any sense to him and the sound of her voice makes his heart hammer at his chest. Thunderous and loud and painful. It scares him how easily she does that to him. Such a small thing like her, carelessly walking into a house where God was nowhere to be found without a single ounce of caution. He could take her to his room, and no one would hear her scream. He could scare her more than she scared him.

She squirms in the silence like a rat stuck in a trap. She tugs at her sleeve, at her collar- his breathing loud as he watches her- watches her chest rise and fall with every breath, her eyes on the space between them.

 Another grunt and she startles backwards, looking up at him. This time, when her eyes meet his own, he doesn’t cower even though his body tenses and he can already feel her pulse beneath his hand.

 His body is stiff as he steps out of his room and moves out of the way of the door- he has to turn his back to her and for a split-second, panic runs cold and fast through his veins as he remembers the woman who had stabbed him. The door slams close as he turns around quickly, eyes wide and wild as he looks down at her hands.

He expects to see a knife pointed at him- the scar on his shoulder aching from the memory of being sliced apart, the pain still there even after all the months that have passed since. He hadn’t done anything to deserve that pain- the woman and her friends had attacked first, had tried to hurt his family. Uncle Hoyt had told him, so had Momma with tears in her eyes and blood splatters on her dress. They were bad people who wanted to do bad things to them, and it was his responsibility to protect them- to keep them safe. It hadn’t mattered that his hands shook so hard with fear, and he could taste vomit at the back of his throat, vile and burning, he had to protect them. They were all that he had. He couldn’t- wouldn’t- lose them.

He was panting as he searched the woman and finds nothing in her hands, her eyes widening as she takes another step away from him.

 Was she scared?

Did she finally see it? The evil that radiated off of him that others seemed to see- always scared of getting too close to him- He was a disease on this town. A burden. Did he finally scare her?

Would she scream?

Was she going to hurt him- just like everyone else? Drive a knife into his flesh- a pain that would only last for so long before it faded into a memory that he refused to think of. A pain that wouldn’t be so bad compared to the shame that churned his stomach whenever a stranger screamed when they saw him.

He waited- teeth clamped together as he stared her down in the heavy silence.

He watched as her lips part, lower lip trembling slightly. If she screamed, he would hurt her before she could hurt him. If she screamed, she would be nothing but a pile of bones, tossed into the fire by the time the sun rose tomorrow.

Scream, he thought, fingers twitching at his sides. Scream already and let this end already.

“You’re scared of me, aren’t you?” she whispers and her voice trembles even as she keeps talking. “I can tell- you’re looking at me like I just pulled out a gun on you or something.” She lifts her hands towards him and moves them back and forth, as if she was showing him that he had nothing to worry about. “But my hands are empty-”

She lifts her hands, palms facing him, and wiggles her fingers. “If it makes you feel better, apart from a kitchen knife I don’t think I’ve ever held a weapon.” She smiles oddly at him- as if she wasn’t sure how to do so, her eyes still wide and unblinking. As if she was worried that he would lunge at her at any second.

He doesn’t like how his body seems to let go of its worries and fears so fast, his shoulders drooping and his heartbeat slowing down until it’s no longer pounding against his ears as the ringing slowly starts to disappear. He unclenches his teeth, the pain still lingering in his jaw and neck, and suddenly, he’s no longer thinking of hurting the woman- of how easy he would have snapped her neck. He still could, part of him even ached and begged for him to do it. To get it over with.

But he doesn’t listen to that part of him that never truly seemed to go away- always begging for blood, for a voice that would finally be heard. He’s staring at her hands instead, focusing on the tips of her fingers that are flushed pink. He notices the birthmark on her left middle finger- a tiny dot right underneath the crease of her knuckle. He notices all the tiny little lines that make up her palms and the way her thumb trembles lightly.

He did not like her.

He did not like the way something as simple as her hands was enough to draw his attention- his eyes seeking out the tiny little patterns between her fingers. He did not like how her voice could soothe him so easily when he wanted nothing but to crush her- to take her, to taste her flesh on his tongue and her blood on his lips.

He did not like how she called out to him as he just stared at her- stared through her, voice gentle with his name. It wasn’t the same as when Momma said it though. This felt like a spell, a bad omen- Satan’s own voice whispering temptation in his ear. Sweet and gentle and unfamiliar.

She made him feel the same way he had felt that one night he had snuck upstairs to watch Uncle Hoyt and his new friend. He had pushed the door open just enough so that he could see but still stay hidden from the light. He hadn’t made a single noise as he watched Hoyt undo his pants and pull the woman’s legs apart. He hadn’t been able to see much from his hiding place, but what he heard had sent a shock of electricity through his body- blood boiling with need as he listened to the crying and the begging and the sound of something slick being hit over and over again. His stomach churned the same it had that night- tight and hot and restless for something that he could not give it.

He lets out a whine- deep and guttural and full of frustration. Go away, he wants to yell at her. Go away before you ruin everything.

“Tommy…?” she asks again, not understanding his plea.

He whines again and it takes him a second to realize that he’s scratching at his arm- digging his fingers into the old scars there and agitating the skin. It hurts. But that pain is familiar and calming and helps him focus on something other than the panic rising in his throat.

She was messing it all up.

 It’s supposed to just be the four of them- Momma, Hoyt, Monty and him. It’s always been just the four of them. There wasn’t enough space here for her. She was too much of a change to get used to- too loud, too much. Even if he went and hid in the basement until Momma got tired of her, he knew that he would still be able to feel her through the walls, a choking weight in the air that would only poison him until he forgot what it was like to be ignored and cautious even in his own home. He’d be able to hear her- hear her laugh, her steps, the tiny little noises she would come to make the more time went on. She would fill this house with her until she soaked the walls and filled in the foundation. Until everyone forgot that she had a stranger at one point- a spontaneous good dead in all the bad they dealt in.

And even then- what would stop Hoyt from taking her to the room where almost all of the women ended up in? From the emptiness of their bellies that might make them remember that she wasn’t one of them- that she was the answer to their starvation?

He's sinking his nails in harder- the thin skin underneath breaks and he itches at the spot as if there was something alive and buzzing under the flesh. He doesn’t feel the pain as the blood begins to gather underneath his dirty nails. He can see it, even in the dim light- but he can’t feel it. Can’t stop. He digs and digs and digs, hoping for the thoughts to stop- for the voices to stop telling him that he had to kill her. That if he didn’t, he had to make sure that she never left- that this house swallowed her whole and kept her from running, from leaving them. Leaving him. If she tried to run, he could keep her in the furnace room; could tie her up and warn her that if she wasn’t good, she wouldn’t be able to stay.

He could be good to her. He would learn if he had to, would ask Momma to teach him to be gentle and kind. He would not make her angry, would not make her cry or scare her away as long as she listened to him. As long as she stayed with him.

He’s lost, stuck in the farthest corner of his mind, in a future that would stop existing if he simply reached out and touched her. All he had to do was cover her face with his hand, she would be too surprised to fight him off when he pressed her against the wall and kept her there-the weight of him against her back. He could already feel her as she squirmed against him- her body unable to stand still as her lungs began to burn. He could already feel her warmth through his clothes, feel the way his heart would race as she sank her fingers into his skin, drawing blood from fear and desperation. His fear would seep into her flesh, make her lash out more. Her pain would become his and they would be inseparable in that moment.

 It’s when he feels her- fingers cold and desperate as she prods and pulls at his arms, forcing them apart that he returns to reality- to the dimly lit hall, the heat of the fireplace already seeping through the cracks in the foundation. He can feel the way her arms tremble, her fingertips burning holes into his skin.

The woman’s eyes are wild when he looks at her, all wet and round- something in them, in the way she looks at him, makes his heart fill with lead- knocking against his ribs painfully.

“It’s okay!” she says, her voice panicked as she keeps repeating it over and over again, almost as if she’s trying to convince herself- or maybe she thinks that if she says it enough times it’d become true.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” she repeats, her eyes on his as she pulls his arms towards her. “We just have to get this cleaned up and it’ll be okay.”

He doesn’t budge when she tries to pull him towards the staircase- instead, he watches as she stumbles over her own feet, her hands sliding down his arms.

“We need to get this clean,” she’s pleading now, tugging at him to get him to move. “It’s going to get infected if we don’t and there’s no doctor in town anymore-” the more she talks, the more hysterical she begins to sound, her voice growing higher. “I don’t know where the bathroom is, but we can go down to the kitchen, Luda M-”

He doesn’t let her finish, easily pulling his uninjured arm free from her. He didn’t want Momma to know. To see the mess that he made of himself. She would yell at him if he was lucky- tell him that he was sick in the head, hurting himself like a damn fool again.  But he knew that Momma wouldn’t be kind like that- she would take one look at him, dripping blood on the floor and she would blame the woman for his pain.

He could already hear her yelling, the shrill sound bouncing through his head. Momma wouldn’t care to listen, to see anything other than what she wanted. Momma was like that- kind and sweet and quiet until someone was stupid enough to go after the family. He was like her in a way, protective of them all. He liked to think that he got it from her- that he couldn’t possibly be bad when Momma’s blood ran through him, sweet and caring.

He couldn’t let Momma find out. Not now- not when he had decided that the woman standing in front of him was worth more to him alive than chopped up into pieces that would fit into the deep freezer.

 With a grunt that shuts the woman up from her rambling, he grabs her arm. She’s soft and small under his touch- her sweater itching at his palm as he begins to pull her deeper into the hallway, into the darkness. Away from Momma. Away from a future he wanted no part in.

“No, Tommy we have to go downstairs. I don’t know what to do.” Her voice is shaky as she takes a couple steps forward before planting her feet and refusing to keep going. “Your mom might me better at this than me, please.” She pleads even as she begins to walk again when he refuses to stop.

He tries to tell her that Momma couldn’t find out. That if she did then he wouldn’t be able to protect her- to keep her safe. Momma would tell him to get rid of her and he always did what Momma wanted, even if sometimes he didn’t want to.

He loves Momma. Loves her more than Uncle Hoyt or Monty. He loves her more than anything or anyone- even himself. He could suffer through any pain as long as Momma was with him- as long as she was happy with him.

He tries to tell her that he knows exactly what he’s doing, but all his words come out as a garbled mess of a groan, the muscles in his throat too weak to form any actual words. It frustrates him- hearing himself talk in a way that no one would ever understand.

He lets out a low howl, that frustration growing when she stops walking again. He has to be careful not to hurt her- he didn’t want to accidentally pull her arm too hard if she was going to make this a habit. He just needed to get her to the bathroom. She had to wash off the blood on her hands before she went back downstairs. He could take care of his injuries himself- Momma had taught him how to clean and bandage cuts and bruises. Though he wasn’t concerned with the open wound dripping blood down his arm.

Right now, he needed to get the woman to understand that Momma couldn’t find out about this. That if she went down those steps, stained with his blood, then there was nothing he could do to keep Momma from lashing out. Facing her, he points to himself- finger beating against his chest twice before he points at her.

He’s watching her- his eyes on her as she watches him repeat the action two more times. Her face is flushed, her eyebrows pushed together, and he begins to worry that she’s not understanding him, that now that he’s let go of her, she was going to be stupid and try to push him back towards the stairs.

Letting out a small whimper, he grabs at her wrist. She’s pliant under his touch- her skin cool and soft. Touching her reminds him of the Cattle fences that were used back when the Slaughterhouse had been open. He had touched one by accident, not fully understanding why they had so many warnings signs- and just like back then, something hot and quick ran through him. Back then, the muscles in his fingers and arms had tensed and burned, taking away all his strength. But touching her, feeling the way his scarred thumb slid against the thin skin on her wrist- felt like a shockwave of warmth had run through him- intense and disorienting and addictive.

It scared him, but he didn’t let go of her even though his brain was yelling at him to stop touching her. He couldn’t. He had to keep her safe. Slowly, he began to raise her hand towards him, his mouth opening as he made a noise from the bottom of his throat.

He looked at her face as he pressed the back of her hand against his chest. She was already staring at him, her lips twisted into a frown. He couldn’t look into her eyes for too long, something in him ached when he did, so he kept his eyes on her mouth as he tapped her hand against his chest. That same warmth that was spreading through his arm poisoned his chest. He could feel it in his throat, in the depth of his belly- It knocked around in his head until he was dizzy.

For a moment, with her hand on him and his eyes still glued to her lips, he forgets about the bad people who called him all those bad words. He forgets all of the evil that he’s done, all the screams that haunt him, all the blood that he can never wash off.

He finds the confidence to raise his eyes to her own and part of him is scared that in them he would find disgust at having to touch something like him. A smaller, quieter, part wonders if she feels it too- the electricity that flows out of her and through him. He wants her to tell him that she feels him in her- that he’s also warm and electric through her veins. He wants her to tell him that a real monster wouldn’t feel the way he did- that if he really was a monster, the softness in her eyes wouldn’t be affecting him so much.

Dropping his eyes, he taps his chest with her hand twice before pointing it towards him. He does it one more time before he lets go of her. He expects her to pull her hand away, but instead she lets it linger on his shirt, the dirt and stains not bothering her. He wonders if she can feel the way his heart knocks against his ribs.

“You want me to follow you?” her voice cracks a bit as she takes her hand away.

He nods, grunting as he motions to a door off to the side behind him before he lifts his bloodied arm and runs his hand over the scratches- they’ve stopped bleeding already, his arm a mess of blood stains and dirt. Pointing behind here, towards the staircase he shakes his head, bringing his hand back towards his arm and covering the mess he made.

She doesn’t say anything as she tries to piece everything together- her face twisting into itself as she thinks. He repeats the movement, groaning when he points at the staircase and once more when he covers the cuts. ‘Not safe,’ he tries to tell her, ‘Take care of it here.’

Realization makes her eyes brighten, her features smoothing out. “You don’t want Luda Mae to find out?”

It’s not exactly what he was trying to say but he lets it be, seeing as it was close enough. She could have thought that he wanted her to go down and grab Momma- and he was worried that with how small she was she would take off running before he could stop her. In trying to help she would run straight into her end.

The thought made his stomach drop- a sudden chill rocking through him.

“Tommy- I don’t know if I can do anything about that…” she pauses, and he watches as she reaches for him, taking his arm in both of her hands. Her touch burns him again, and this time he can’t stop the small whine of delight from escaping his lips. Her mouth twists down as she inspects his arm- and he tenses, waiting for her to start yelling at him, for the bad names to come. But they don’t- she stays silent, her eyes glued to his arm.

The damage isn’t bad- compared to the collection of scars that line both of his arms, this was nothing. He had scratched a small hole in his forearm- breaking the skin and tearing apart the bit of muscle and fat there. He was lucky that he hadn’t hit anything vital- that he had stopped when he did.

When he was younger, he had taken to cutting- tearing flesh from his body and slicing himself open as a punishment for his mistakes, for his bad thoughts. He had done a good job of keeping it from Momma until the night he had cut too deep, and the blood wouldn’t stop. He had ran to her, howling in fear- bloody arm pressed against his chest. She had made Uncle Monty hold him down while she stitched him together, only a glass of whiskey to keep the pain away. She had yelled at him the entire time-first with tears in her eyes then when they had dried up and she had finished sewing his skin together- she had taken the belt and beaten him raw. When she got tired of beating him, she had told him that this was all Satan’s fault- that she had no choice but to beat the devil out of him. God was gonna soothe his pain, his fears, his anguish. He would see, Momma liked to say. She had kissed him on the forehead, and he swore he had seen the devil on her shoulder, laughing at him.

The pain hadn’t convinced him to stop- he simply learned how to hide it better, how to keep things clean, how to stitch himself together on those nights that he fantasized about finding peace in death. He learned where to cut and how deep to dig- and eventually, Momma made herself forget it ever happened at all. Sometimes, he thought that she was afraid of God- of making him angry, of him turning his back on her. It’s why he didn’t tell her that every once in a while, he could feel the devil itself pumping through his veins. Taunting him.

The woman gently turns his arm, and he pulls himself from the memories, watching as her fingers caress his skin. She’s too trusting- doesn’t she see the danger that she’s in? How easily he could overpower her? This was a Godless house, no matter what Momma and Hoyt thought- he knew the truth. He knew that they were all rotten, inside and out. She would be ruined by them all if she stayed. He would ruin her with his sins-but his guilt wasn’t strong enough to stop his desires.

“It looks a lot worse than it is, doesn’t it?” she asks him, but he doesn’t answer- too busy watching the way she touches him- her touch making his breath deepen.

He likes the way she doesn’t mind that his blood is on her hands- twisted into the tiny cracks of her bracelet. She’s careful and slow as she traces the tip of her index finger above the crater he had created in his flesh. He’s almost tempted to push her hand down- to feel her flesh against the inside of his own, to have her hurt him before he could hurt her- but she moves her hand away before he can make up his mind.

“Okay…” she sighs, not letting go of him. “Show me what to do.”

He grunts in satisfaction, the weight of Momma finding out and the woman being punished lifting from his shoulders. Slowly, he turns the arm she cradled in her hands so that he was grabbing her instead- his hand swallowing hers.

He tries not to think about it too much as he tugs gently and finds no resistance in her steps. He almost smiles- lip twitching against the leather on his face as he leads her to the bathroom. Inside him, the devil starts to dance in glee.

The room is cold as he pushes open the door and pulls her inside before he follows. He can feel the cold seep into his thin shirt, see it with every exhale when he turns on the light and shuts the door, dropping the woman’s hand. She shivers and he wants to know if it’s from the cold or the fact that he’s no longer touching her.

The light flickers and dies for a couple seconds, leaving them in darkness before it turns back on- low and yellow like all the others in the house. It makes the woman’s skin look sickly- washing her out as she blinks and tries to get used to the light.

“We have to clean it,” she’s already walking around him, towards the sink. It’s a small one, too low for him to reach without having to bend his knees uncomfortably. Maybe that’s why she pauses mid-sentence- was she trying to picture him, hunched over as he scrubbed the dirt and blood and sweat from his arms?

The thought of her thinking about him- caring about him- splits him in two, a feeling that he’s never experienced before.

“Where are the towels?” she asks, turning around to face him. “If we lay some down on the floor it should keep the mess down a bit, right?”

He doesn’t tell her that it’s not a good idea- that a pile of soaking towels would raise questions that need to stay buried instead. So, he shakes his head, already closing the small distance between them.

The bathroom is small- all of them are. The tiles on the walls are a faded green color, some of them cracked- some of them are separated by mold- the caulk so old and weathered by age and neglect. He hopes that she doesn’t see them- his blood warming in embarrassment as he tells himself that he would fix them later, before she realized that this house was falling apart right under their feet.

The toilet and sink and the bathtub are old- not quite as stained, but still the same faded shade as the tiles that surrounded them. Under the harsh yellow light, it all looked a mess. At least it wasn’t like Hoyt’s bathroom- with too many colors and carpet all over the floors that trapped the smell of tobacco and sweat and soap, the steam that seemed to linger and stick to the walls doing nothing to lessen the stench.

He’s careful as he walks around her- suddenly aware of just how close they were. In here, with the door closed, being near to her seemed almost intimate in a way that he could not quite grasp.

He was used to being alone with people- usually they were screaming and begging, or already half-dead, delirious and confused from the pain and the blood loss. He was used to them thrashing and running and fighting back- hitting him with their fists, kicking him, throwing whatever they managed to get ahold of. They would always scare him when they did that- the pain eventually making him mad until he lashed out and hurt them on purpose.

They didn’t seem to understand that he didn’t want to make them suffer- that he was being kind- taking their lives quickly so that they didn’t have to be so afraid.

He was used to the screaming, the name calling- no matter how scared or afraid he got, he always knew how it would end.

With the woman, he had touched her- she had touched him- without screaming, without her begging or flinching or trying to run away. Out in the hall there had been enough space for him if he needed to get away, but here it was just the two of them- existing in a space that no one else seemed to belong in.

It terrified him just as much as it thrilled him. It made him feel the same way as when he had to chased down someone that had slipped out of his hold- but this time his mind wasn’t telling him to kill. This time, as he stood besides the woman, her eyes on him as he turned on the faucet and waited for the water to warm, something inside of him was telling him to chase her down in a completely different way- to keep her at his side.

Even if he had to chain her and train her- he did not want her to leave. He would not let her leave.

He remembers when he had first started at the Slaughterhouse, when he had been put to work with the cows- separating the babies from the mothers as soon as they were born. He would take them- carefully scooping them up in his arms, a child at the time, not knowing better, not knowing what it was that he was doing- and carry them to another part of the barn where he would drop them into cages so small that even he couldn’t fit inside.

They would cry and shake, unable to stand, unable to realize what lay ahead of them. He would feed them scraps he had stolen from the feeding center- oats or barley or even handfuls of grass from outside- shoving his hand through and letting them eat from his hand. They would calm down, even though they could not stand fully- their heads hunched over and pressed against the metal. He would show them that even if they weren’t going to live long- even if the world around them didn’t seem to care for them- they weren’t alone.

She did not have to be caged like them- though if he had to, he would keep her locked up if it meant keeping her beside him. Down in the basement where no one would hear her- where no one would disturb them, he would get her to see that he was a kind man, that he only wanted what was best for her.

She was already so much like the calves from back then- stupid and small and too trusting of him. It wouldn’t be hard to break her, to convince her that it was all her fault- that there was nothing left for her outside this home.

When the water heats up- steam rising and filling his lungs- he runs his fingers under the stream. Dirt and blood stain the sink, the hot water turning his fingers pink. It hurts, but not enough for him to stop. He rubs his hands together, the water turning pink as it drains. He can feel her eyes on him as he scrubs the grains of dirt from his skin.

For some reason, it embarrasses him- having her watch him do something so mundane and ordinary. He almost swore that he could feel the warmth from her eyes on his skin- hotter than the water. It makes the simple task suddenly seem foolish, makes him feel as if this was the first time he was doing it and he wasn’t sure if it was right or wrong.

With a grunt he tries to push the thoughts from his mind- cupping his hand and filling it with water before he splashes it onto his arm, onto the wound he had given himself. It makes a mess- water splashing onto his rolled sleeve and onto the floor, the sink too small to prevent the mess.

“Can I?” she says- and she’s suddenly closer than he had thought, her body pressed against his side. He can feel her through his shirt, through the thick fabric of her sweater. He swears that he can feel the softness of her body, the beating of her heart, the blood rushing through her veins on his very skin. It makes his heart leap into his throat- the sudden touch making him want to push her head into the glass of the medicine cabinet or pull her closer- he wasn’t sure which one he wanted to do most.

He stands still, body tense as she reaches for him, grabbing his arm and lifting it closer. She must have found the linen closet- an old, red washcloth in her other hand which she places underneath the running water. She hisses, pulling her hand away and opens the cold water.

“Doesn’t that hurt you?” she asks- and there’s no anger in her voice, no underlying judgement that has him tensing up, muscles rippling with dread that he had done something wrong. Momma liked to talk to him like that sometimes. She liked to ask questions that made him feel bad, that made him regret coming to her- guilty that he had bothered her. Hurt that she saw him as something bothersome.

He shakes his head, his way of telling her that no, it wasn’t hurting him. If he had a voice, he would tell her that his skin is so damaged that he could barely feel it, that some days he even preferred it- he liked the way his skin turned red and pulsed in a way that was almost comfortable, soothing.

“This will feel much better,” she holds her fingers under the water, and once it’s at a comfortable temperature she lets it run over the washcloth. “Tell me if I’m hurting you, okay?”

He nods sharply and she smiles at him- the corners of her mouth lifting. He expects her to rub the wound directly, desperate to clean it off before infection sets in. Instead, to his surprise, she wipes around the length of it- scrubbing gently at the blood matting the hair on his arm. The hand holding his arm is gentle, her fingers sinking into his soft flesh and holding him still.

He watches her- watches the concentration on her face that has her eyebrows knitted together as she wipes and rinses, repeating those two motions over and over and over again until his skin is cleaner- until the dirt is gone and there’s nothing left to hide the many sins he carried on his skin.

She pauses- and he can almost read her mind at that moment. He can see it in the tension in her wrist, feel it in the way her fingers tremble just a fraction of a second before they dig a little deeper into his arm. The feeling of her nails scratching at him isn’t painful, but it startles him just the same as if it were- a warmth growing in his chest that travels down to his belly and pools there- filling him with a different sort of sin.

He expects her to say something about the hundreds of tiny little cuts and bruises that she’s unearthed- he can feel it hang heavy in the air- his lips tingling from anticipation. From the worry that she would open her mouth and ruin it all.

It would either be disgust or pity- and he wanted neither. The scars were his to carry- his own punishment for his terrible deeds. Uncle Hoyt always cringed and acted like he didn’t see them- even though his mouth and face twisted as if he had eaten something sour. The pity always came from Momma- her hands on his as she prayed to God to take away whatever burdens he seemed to be carrying around in his heart. She wouldn’t touch them- maybe out of fear, or anger, or maybe just like Uncle Hoyt, she was disgusted as well- scared that if she touched the scars, they would somehow ruin her as well.

The corners of the woman’s mouth are still twisted down when she glances up at him- her eyes too dark to read. He wonders what he looks like in her eyes- what is it that she sees in him that no one else seems to see?

He waits for her to talk- to break the tense silence that’s choking him- but she doesn’t say a word, dropping her eyes as she picks up the bar of soap that’s been there for months. It almost slips out of her hand, and she lets go of him completely- his arm frozen in place, his body already missing hers. The tension disappears, as if nothing had ever happened, as if it had never been there to begin with. It rolls from the points of pressure that she had left behind on his flesh and up his arms. It moves in his veins, thick and syrupy- coating all of him in a feeling that’s doesn’t sit right.

Maybe he did want her to speak- to pity him after all. But the moment is gone, and he doesn’t have a voice to bring it back- to tell her what he was feeling, so he lets the discomfort drown him just a bit as he watches her act like nothing wrong had happened.

She rubs the bar between her hands, underneath the stream of water and his heart sinks at the thought of her cleaning all traces of him from her skin- he wanted to coat her in all that he was- his scent, his hatred, the bitter taste in his mouth that never seemed to go away- he wanted her to have it all, to carry him even if they were apart for a split second. An extension of him- equally as fearsome.

“Come here,” she motions for him to bring his arm towards her hands, letting the bar fall into the sink. Her hands are covered in soap as she takes his arm in between them- gently scrubbing from his wrist to the inside of his elbow, where his rolled-up sleeve sat. At first, she doesn’t touch the wound- and he can feel the hesitation in her fingers as she scrubs at his arm, circling around it. She scrubs at his skin, at the spaces between his fingers, taking his hand in her own and gently massaging it.

It's the first time anyone has done something like that to him- and while he can’t understand why she was being so thorough when it would have been easier to just hand him the soap and let him do it, he has no intention of stopping her.

He simply watches and enjoys- his mouth twisted into the closest thing of a smile that he could manage underneath his mask.

“Tell me if I hurt you, okay?” she says quietly, and it takes him a second to understand her words, his mind lost even to himself- her fingers lightly press against the cut as she speaks, drawing him back into reality. He tenses as she begins to clean it out, rubbing soapy water into it. It doesn’t hurt- not with how light and slow she moves her hand, her finger dipping into the hole he had scratched open. He expects it to hurt or sting or startle him- but pain doesn’t come. Instead, he groans in delight- enjoying the way her finger seems to be tearing into him, stretching his skin open. It’s like she’s making space for herself inside of him- forcing herself into the parts of him that held him together, sinew and muscle and blood- now poisoned with whatever sickness the woman had inflicted in his heart.

“Sorry!” she says quickly, pulling her hand away from him. The once white bubbles between her fingers are now a soft shade of pink, mixed with his blood. It all disappears down the drain as she rinses her hand, drying them on the front of her jeans.

He grows frustrated at the fact that there’s no way to tell her that she hadn’t hurt him- that he wanted her to do it again. That the pain she caused him was almost addictive- sweeter than the whiskey Uncle Monty sometimes let him have whenever he was in a good enough mood to share.

The woman motions for him to rinse his arm, already cupping her hands together under the faucet and letting the cool water pool between her hands. He angles his arm awkwardly into the sink and she lets the water trickle from between her fingers over his arm slowly. He watches as she repeats the motion, rinsing his arm- it’s so trivial and boring, yet he’s in awe as she takes care of him.

Without a second thought, the woman is already devoting herself to the mundanity of life with him. He could see it as she turns the water off and tells him to wait- as if he would leave her side, as if he could do something so absolutely stupid- subjecting himself to an agony he had no intention of experiencing firsthand.

He hears the closet door open behind him, making him turn around and look at the woman as she rummages through old fitted blankets, washcloths and towels until she finds what she needs. With one hand pressed against the pile of folded towels she pulls one free, tossing it over her arm. “I don’t know how long this has been here for-” as she talks, she moves onto her toes, stretching her arm out as she reaches for something on one of the top shelves.

He almost moves to help her, his body already swaying in place, eager to move, to make himself useful to the woman. But he spends too long trying to decide- her hand closing around whatever it was that she had seen earlier. She lets out a small noise of delight as she drops down to the balls of her feet, and it wracks through him, sending a shiver of warmth up his spine that spreads across his chest- tightening the muscles in his lower belly.

“Expired medicine and antibiotics are better than nothing, right?” She asks as he turns and faces him- lips curved up into a smile and he almost finds himself mimicking it- the corners of his lips twitching. He catches himself, hot embarrassment forcing his eyes to drop from her face- down to the small plastic medicine bin in her hands. It did not matter that he had his mask to hide behind, the way she looked at him made him feel as if she could somehow see through it- his face exposed for whatever ridicule and insults she would eventually throw at him.

 There are bottles of pills stacked on top of one another- the type that Momma used to give him when he was feverish. It would take his sickness as well as his hunger- leaving him too heavy to do anything but lay in bed until the heat of his body burned through the drug. There are other things as well- gauze and bandages, silver packages of pills he couldn’t identify, the label worn off a long time ago- a bottle of Vaseline, faded from the years sits next to a glass jar of Vapor-Rub. Looking at it, he swears that he can smell it even with how far away from the jar he was- even though his nose hasn’t worked properly for months, he feels the ghost of it wrinkle as he cringes from the offensive smell his mind reminds him of.

Momma used to slather him with it when he had first started working at the Slaughterhouse. He hadn’t been used to the smell of it back then and every day he went back had been miserable. The scent of death and blood and shit had soured his stomach until he had gone and thrown up the oatmeal Momma had made for breakfast all over his worktable. All over the slab of meat he had been told to break down. He can still remember the taste of animal blood on his tongue after he had wiped his mouth- forgetting that his hands and arms and chest had been covered in chunks of offal. His boss had called him every bad word under the sun-some were words that he had never heard before, now fully engrained in his mind, tearing at his heart once Monty had told him what they meant.

When he had gone home that night, after scrubbing his station clean- the blood mixing with his waste underneath his nails, in the strands of his hair and in between the cracks of his boots, Momma had slapped him. She had been waiting for him on the porch, her face twisted down in anger, the blue of her eyes dark and cold behind her glasses.

She had called him a great big idiot- uncaring of how dirty he had been, of how hard he had silently prayed to God for the day to hurry up and end so that he could leave and go home. At one point, when the bell for Lunch had rung and he was forced to stay and catch up to everyone else- his boss throwing what Momma had packed for him in the garbage before spitting on it with a laugh- he had wanted to die, his chest burning every single time he brought the cleaver down. He had wanted to die right then and there- to stop existing all together. To be nothing but the air around him- free from the bad people, from the stares, from feeling like all that he did was somehow inherently wrong. No matter if it was an accident or not, no one ever seemed to care enough to listen to him.

Momma had gotten a call from the Slaughterhouse- telling her that because of his careless mistake he would have to be let go. Momma had told him, as she dragged him to the hose out back, that she had begged and begged and begged for them to give him a second chance. They couldn’t lose his income, not with Uncle Monty getting less hours at his job and the Government cutting Uncle Hoyt’s veteran checks so suddenly. They were barely making ends meet as it was- this would ruin them.

She had yelled and shouted, spraying him with cold water until he was a shivering mess, the blood no longer crusted over on his skin. He could feel the cold water pooling in his boots, making his socks stick to his toes. It hadn’t even mattered to him then, his heart hammering away at his chest at the thought of never having to go back. Of not having to wake up so early to walk all the way to the other side of town in a place that he hated.

He didn’t even mind when Momma had beat him, welts forming on his wet skin from the belt she kept exclusively for punishments. The pain was nothing in comparison to when Momma had told him that she had made sure that he had kept his job.

They were going to cut his pay, a little every check, until he paid off the cost of the half cow he had puked all over. But he still had a job, he was still able to help the family out- wasn’t that good? Momma asked him, smiling at him like she hadn’t just beat him tired.

 Momma warned him that he couldn’t mess this up again. That there were no more chances after this- sending him up to his room with no dinner, his stomach already empty and rubbing against itself.

The morning after, when she had woken him up- his body sore from all the walking that he had done and the bruises forming on his back and legs- Momma had twisted open the jar of Vapor-rub for the first time, filling his room with the slightly sweet- minty smell.

She had bought it last night, right before the shop closed- with the bit of lose change she had managed to scrap together. It’s gonna help you from making another mistake she said right before she shoved a finger full of it into his nose. It was thick, and cold, burning the inside of his nose as he moaned in pain, trying to push Momma away before she shoved more into the other nostril. She had smacked his hand away, telling him that this was for his own good. That this was only until he got used to it.

He had moaned as tears began to form, shaking his head- trying to empty his nose, the burning crawling up into his head and making his eyes water painfully. Every inhale he took through his mouth burned its way to his lungs. Momma only slapped him again- telling him that this was his fault. That he had to do this for the family.

“You’re so selfish Thomas!” she shouted at him, holding his jaw and shoving another finger into his empty nostril. “There’s no room for useless boys in this house, do you understand?”

He couldn’t remember anything after that. His memories about that day lost to the pain he had put himself through. He remembers bits and pieces- the hunger. The burning. The anger.

He always seemed to remember the anger. Flashing through him- hot and cold, boiling his blood.

Something outside of his thoughts rattle and he’s once more standing in the bathroom, a man three times the size of the child that he had once been. Beside him, the woman had set the medicine bin on top of the toilet tank and was rummaging through it- the source of the noise that had brought him back.

He’s tense, the muscles in his neck thick and tight. He doesn’t like how he seemed to live more in his memories- constantly remembering all the things that he just wanted to forget. He didn’t want to remember, to be reminded of the pain he carried.

The woman glances at him, holding a small yellow squeeze tube and a roll of self-adhesive medical tape in one hand. Their eyes meet and she smiles at him, even though he can feel the way his face is twisted down into a scowl- his eyebrows heavy over his eyes.

He doesn’t mean to glare at her- to make her smile falter slightly as her eyes widen just a fraction. He could almost see himself in her eyes and he doesn’t like the him that he imagines. Large and imposing- a thing that only knows how to hurt, how to cause fear. He waits for the woman to realize her mistake- to realize that she was trapped in a small room with a monster.

“Give me your arm?” she asks him, holding out her right hand. “Let’s get you all wrapped up, okay?” her smile is still small, and he can see the wariness in her eyes, but when he places his arm in her hand she doesn’t flinch, she doesn’t rush him- wanting to get this over with.

She pulls him towards her instead, slender fingers wrapping around his forearm as much as possible. She tugs, and he moves- lightweight in her hold.

He’s aware of the muscles in his face- of how, even if he’s partially hidden behind his mask, his face sits. He makes himself relax- something that comes easy with the warmth of her hand on his body, easing the tension that he still carried from his memories. Her touch burned into him, filled him until he swore that he could feel her in his blood- pumping through his heart.

Her eyes don’t leave his as she pulls him closer, and motions with her head for him to sit down on the toilet. “It’ll be easier, that way you don’t have to keep your arm in the air.” She explains, shuffling out of the way to make space for him.

Underneath his weight, the toilet squeaks and shifts as he does as told, awkwardly sitting down. She’s taller than him like this, his head at the same level with her chest, making him have to tilt his head back just a bit to meet her eyes.

Her smile had grown in the time he had looked away- and he can’t help the heat that spreads across his face, his ears growing hot. Could she feel it? The warmth that she caused him? The uneasiness thrumming through him that had the tips of his fingers aching to touch her? To hold her like she held him?

“Can you hold this?” she asks, already dropping something into his expecting hand. It had been resting on his lap, calloused covered palm open and waiting- a beggar’s pose. The ointment and tape weren’t what he had been waiting for, but he takes them, closing his thick fingers around them.

What he didn’t expect was for her to lean over him with a mumbled “sorry”, her hand falling onto his shoulder as she reached for something behind him- inside of the medicine bin.

He doesn’t know what to do- his body freezing underneath hers as her neck grazes his mask covered face. It doesn’t last long- maybe a fraction of a second before she’s pulling away and dropping the hand from his shoulder, but it was enough.

Enough for him to inhale the light scent of her- woodsy and sweet and nutty- just the smallest hint of sweat underneath that. It reminded him of the baked goods Momma used to make for him on his birthday when he was small. It was comforting in the same way that it twisted his stomach with the pain of remembering something that used to make him so happy, something that had been taken from him so abruptly once Momma decided that he was too big to celebrate his birthday. Too old to be cared for.

The woman had been so close that he swore that he could almost hear the blood pounding through her veins. He had almost been tempted to turn his head and feel its pulse with his lips. To scratch her skin with his mask- the scent of her tainting it the same way it has already ruined his senses.

He could picture it- his teeth sinking into the warm and thin flesh she had so stupidly given him access to. It was almost scary- the way his mouth began to water at the thought of her blood on his tongue, raw flesh between his teeth. He wanted to fill his belly with it- to make her a part of him in a way that no one could take from him.

Would she taste as sweet as she smelled?

He swallowed down saliva, clearing the bad thoughts from his mind- scared that if he kept focusing on them, he would do something that he didn’t really want to do.  Something that he wouldn’t be able to take back, no matter how hard he begged and prayed and tried to undo.

He didn’t want to hurt her right now. No matter how hard his mind was telling him to do it- replaying all of the times that he could have done so. Showing him all of the ways that he still could.

He feels ashamed of his thoughts, of the temptation that he was barely keeping at bay- and finds himself unable to look at the woman as she rips open a piece of plastic, tossing it in the garbage can between the toilet and the sink. He keeps his eyes on the space between his legs, on her beat-up boots as she stands in front of him- sweet and unaware of what a horrible person he truly was. Of all that he was struggling to not do to her.

“Do you think Luda Mae is getting suspicious?”

The question startles him, reminding him of the world outside of the bathroom, outside of the woman in front of him.

“She’s probably thinking I ran away; don’t you think?” the woman’s laugh is small, feathery light. He doesn’t know how to answer- not knowing how long they had been up here. There was a possibility that Momma had grown suspicious, or maybe she thought that he had snapped and taken care of her in the only way that he knew how.

Vaguely, he shakes his head. Whether it’s to disagree with her or to tell her that he wasn’t sure- he let’s her decide on which one he’s trying to communicate. If Momma had been concerned, she would have come upstairs to check on her already, so he wasn’t too worried. He shrugs, and her laughter fills his ears again.

“Right. If you’re not worried, then I won’t be either. I just don’t want her to think that I’ve been a horrible guest- running off in the middle of helping her with dinner.”

He shakes his head again and this time its to reassure her that Momma wouldn’t think that. At least he hoped that she wouldn’t. The thought of Momma angry at the woman made his chest burn uncomfortably. An ache that slithered in the tight spaces between his ribs- hot and uneasy in its slickness.

“Well, what’s done is done, lets just get your arm bandaged. I might need your help facing her again.” The woman likes to talk with a smile, he’s noticed. It was as if her mouth had no other way to rest- the corners turned up towards the heavens, towards her eyes that liked to seek him out- unafraid of what she saw, of what others liked to look away from.

He wondered if she was joking- if she was just talking in order to fill the silence. He knew people who did that- people like Hoyt and his old boss at the Slaughterhouse, who had to keep their mouths moving or they would stop existing all together. He liked to think that if he had a voice, he would be like that too- not quite as annoying, but loud enough that people were forced to look at him, to listen to what he had to say.

He would tell the woman that he would keep her safe. That he wanted to go down with her and show Momma that she had done nothing wrong. That if anyone was to blame, it was him. It was his fault that she had stayed away for so long. He would hide her away from Momma’s anger- keep her tucked behind him- safe.

If he was being honest, he wasn’t sure that he wanted her to leave just yet. They could stay here a little longer- everything behind that door non-existent. He could make believe that Momma was still at work, busy with too many customers- outsiders who were just passing by, headed for more than the meat hooks in the basement of this house. That for a bit his uncle’s Monty and Hoyt didn’t exist. That the world was just for him and her.

That would be enough for him. He was almost tempted to ask God- to check and see if he was still paying attention to him after all that he had done.

The woman moves from in front of him and takes a seat on the edge of the tub, her knees rubbing against the outside of his thigh as she grabs his arm and places it on her lap. He can feel the buckle of her belt against his knuckles- his arm suddenly a solid weight as he feels the warmth that radiates from the space between her thighs.

 It crawls along his skin- up to his shoulder and through the space in his chest. It reminds him of the times that he’s stayed in one spot for too long, his limbs falling asleep. Though there was no uncomfortable pain this time- Instead it felt like a million little bugs were crawling around inside of him- a buzzing under his skin that he was unused to, but not disgusted by. It was something that maybe he could get used to.

It settles in his belly- thick and heavy and hot, stirring awake thoughts that felt too uncomfortable to focus on. Shamefully, he raises his eyes from the woman’s lap, trying to think of something other than the way her jeans clung to her thighs or how close his fingers were to the space between her legs- somehow hotter than the rest of her, the back of his hand burning pleasantly. He wanted to keep it there- to soak all of himself in her warmth until he knew nothing more.

He pushes the indecent thoughts from his mind, suddenly growing paranoid that the woman would find out what he was thinking about her. He didn’t want her to think that he was disgusting. Rotten just like Uncle Hoyt, who was obsessed with playing with their food.

“Is this uncomfortable for you, Tommy?” maybe it was because the silence had gone on for too long, but the woman whispers her question- her voice only for him, distracting him slightly as she reaches for the things she had given him, plucking them from his hand before he even had a chance to register the movement- her hand too fast that he barely feels the way her fingers skim his palm.

She’s already twisted open the bottle of ointment by the time he shakes his head- the cap balancing on the edge of her knee. With a hum she nods- her eyes focused on her own hands even though he wants her to look at him again. He wanted her to ask him more questions- her voice tender and sweet whenever she spoke to him. He wanted her to distract him for his thoughts that liked to pull him away from her- and right now he wanted to stay right here, to not miss a single moment.

The ointment is cold against his skin- the woman squeezing a light amount right above the wound. He can feel it cleansing away all of his wickedness- her finger swiping at it until it’s in the deepest layer of his flesh, leaving nothing behind but an oily residue that coated her thumb. Without a pause she sticks a piece of gauze on top- taping it up until the gauze is well hidden under flesh colored medical tape.

He had found it in the pocket of one of the first of Uncle Hoyt’s guests- setting it aside for Momma along all of the jewelry he had collected. Maybe it was for a reason that he had second guessed his decision to throw it away. Maybe that had been a sign from above that you were on your way- that God hadn’t abandoned them after all.

The woman is gentle as she pats the covered wound and leans back a bit to meet his expectant eyes. What does she see in them- in him- that makes her look at him so sweetly?

“You’re all set. How’s it feeling? It’s not too tight, is it?”

[scififettuccine]

A Wild Fix: Part 2

Pairing: Frenchie x Reader

Summary: The day of the dreaded Supe Convention is finally here. After being paired with Frenchie for your part of the mission, you run into some unexpected conspiracies with some unexpected people.

Word Count: 2.7k

Warnings: Homelander, mentions of suicide, mentions of suffocation, Supes being Supes, not proofread (they never are)

Notes: Omg guys look at me being fancy and trendy and cool with the photo header >:)....(Please don't make fun of me I'm a writer not an editor, I tried my best okay?) Anyway here's part 2! Finally posting it after a lot of deliberation, but I hope it was worth the wait! Lots of description in this one, I'm proud of myself 💪 Here's Part 1.5 if you missed it. Big plans for part three, enjoy <3

The day of the Supe convention approached fairly quickly. You would be lying if you said that you hadn't been losing sleep over it. The whole situation was sort of a tightrope walk. If you went to the convention with The Boys, it was bound to end badly. Like you had mentioned to Butcher, it was a suicide mission. But if you told Butcher no, there was a possibility of losing the group as a whole. For better or for worse, they had been the only people in your corner since you joined The Seven…the only thing keeping you stable. As much as you hated that basement…it had become more of a home to you than the tower, even with Frenchie’s irritating presence. You had lost a lot of things in life. A lot of important things. You knew, even if you didn't want to admit it, that you were not stable enough to lose anything else. The outcome of the convention, at least in your mind, would be grim regardless of whether you worried or not. But you couldn't risk losing them, not when they were the only thing close to family that you’d had since…well since you could remember. Calling them family seemed stupid, as you’d only known them for about a month and a half. But truthfully? You didn't know what else to call them. No word seemed good enough.

Butcher had informed Annie of the plan, and the three of you had gotten together to discuss how dangerous the whole ordeal was. Butcher, of course, didn’t care. So, like clockwork, when the day arrived, everyone was informed of the base plan, and ready to go. You and Annie had shuttled into the casino turned convention center with the rest of The Seven, as was planned. The ride was tense and awkward, as it usually was when all of you were together. No one except for you and Annie were really friends, but of course Homelander tried to make it seem like you were. Unfortunately, you got the privilege of sitting across from him on the way there. He tried to create conversation, and you played into it, scared of what would happen if you didn’t. You two hadn’t gotten off to a great start, due to the fact that you had talked back, and he had choked the fear of his every movement into you. And ever since Butcher had info dumped about all the things he had done? You were even more careful around him. The conversation was bland small talk, not exactly focused on anything. You were honestly sort of drifting into space until he mentioned something that caught your attention.

“You’re young, right? You like music?” He asked, his sickeningly white smile on full display. You tried your best not to make a face, unsure of where he was going with it.

“I’m 27… and yeah. Yeah, I like music.” You responded, your fingers moving idly to crack your knuckles one by one. Homelander tilted his head ever so slightly before his gaze shot down to your hands. But as quickly as he had looked, he made eye contact with you once again.

“You know that guy, Mixer? He’s performing at the convention. Feisty little thing, I’ve met him on a few occasions. I remember the day he was signed on to the company.” Homelander paused, chuckling. “He was nothing, then. Fresh out of highschool. The kid could barely look me in the eyes…Now he’s dominating the music industry, with shitty pop but…Still dominating. Funny how those things work out, huh?” He asked. You nodded, glancing over at Annie for support. You didn’t have a clue how any of this was relevant, and you honestly didn’t know how to respond. Annie looked back at you and gave an encouraging smile. What a help she is, you thought.

“I met him at this convention a few years ago, right before he joined Residency.” You informed. Homelander audibly scoffed when you mentioned the team.

“Residency? They’re a PR nightmare in the making. It’s such a strange mix of people, too. I never understood where the inspiration came from.” He chuckled.

“Weren't they kinda supposed to mimic Payback to an extent?” You asked, genuinely curious. He waved a dismissive hand.

“Payback was a PR nightmare too. Come on! I mean, one death and the whole team dispands? Where's the strength in that? This is America! Keep fighting until you can't fight anymore. That’s what I always say.” His disgusting, distorted sense of patriotism always made you nauseous. The man was a blatant white supremacist, and saw the country like it was some holy land. The ideals itself weren't the most sickening part…it was the fact that he wholeheartedly believed them., to the point of influencing others to do the same.

“Yeah…Yeah.” You chuckled awkwardly, putting your hand over your heart, and shaking the other fist in the air. “Land of the free.” With that cringeworthy comment, the conversation sort of died off, ironically just in time for you all to head into the convention center. You and Annie had a few things to handle first, but you had already given The Boys their passes, so they could get an early start.

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It was around lunch time when you and Annie met up with the rest of the group. You had decided to grab a bite to eat at one of the restaurants in the casino. Everything was open and being paid for by Vought, which was honestly one of the nicer parts of the convention.

“Oi. Listen up.” Butcher started, cutting through the small talk once he finally finished his food. “I say we split up into groups, yeh? Divide and conquer. There’s an even number of us, which makes it an easy split.” He scanned the group with his eyes. “MM and Annie, you take the arcade floor, all levels.” He pointed to Hughie. “Hughie and meself will take the shopping center…” His eyes fell on you, and he chuckled ever so slightly. You weren't even paying attention, too engrossed in the pasta you were eating. “Oi, marinara face.” He called, trying to get you attention. You instinctively looked up and wiped your face, figuring you were being messy.

“Sorry…” You grumbled.

“You and Frenchie take the theaters. Go sit in on as many presentations as possible, and bring back anything of interest.” You almost groaned when he paired you with Frenchie. There were four other people for fucks sake, and he knew for a fact that you two didn’t get along. You looked over at Frenchie, narrowing your eyes ever so slightly. He didn't look too happy about it, either, rolling his eyes as he pushed his plate away from him. He muttered to himself in French when he stood up. From what you had gathered over hearing it often, it wasn’t the most accurate.

“Right. That settles it. You know your tasks. Meet back here around…” Butcher looks down to his watch. “3:30-4:00 yeh?” Everyone exchanged one last ‘good luck’ before splitting up, leaving you with Frenchie. The two of you stood in awkward silence for a good minute, before you reluctantly broke it. 

“Of course he would task us with sitting through the boring stuff.” You joked weakly, hoping he’d laugh. He did, but it wasn’t genuine, strained too. Neither of you really had a reason to be nice to the other, in all honesty. All you ever did was insult each other. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jackets before speaking. 

“Oui. Let’s get it over with, then?” He asked, finally meeting your gaze. He was glaring daggers at you. That pissed you off. You were trying to be civil, at least long enough to get through the night. But when he looked at you like that? Like he wasn’t even trying? You glared daggers right back at him. The tension between the two was frustrating, partly because you couldn't figure out what type of tension it was.

“Lets.” You responded, your tone unreadable. The sooner this was over, the sooner you could get away from him.

Upon inspection of the schedule that had been sent to you on your phone, the first event happening in the theater on the first floor was a presentation of Vought’s assets, given by one of the higher ups from the company. Not much info would come from that, you figured, but you wouldn't know unless you sat through it. You turned your head in Frenchie’s direction as the two of you walked out of the restaurant and towards the theater.

“The first presentation starts in forty minutes. It's nothing exciting but it wouldn’t hurt to sit in and listen.” As you waited for Frenchie to respond, you realized your inside hand was a little too close to his. You pulled it away ever so slightly and moved to put your hand in your pocket. Frenchie nodded in response, not seeming too interested. You shouldn’t have let that tick you off…but you did.

“Listen dude. If you’re gonna be an asshole all day you can go do something else. I can handle this myself.” You said, your tone sharper than intended. Frenchie scoffed and rolled his eyes, looking over at you.

“I did not say anything!” Frenchie protested. “Did my nodding offend you that much?”

“It was the inflection.” You huffed, rolling your eyes in return.

“Mmm…Oui. The inflection.” He said mockingly. At that point? It was no use fighting with him, so instead of coming up with a witty retort, you looked around the casino. The line outside the door to the theater was already a bit long, and very colorful. Most Supes wore their uniform suits to the convention, so you could pick out almost everyone, at least those who were signed with Vought. Your eyes fell on a few old friends you had gone through the scouting process with, some people you had met at the last convention, and then an extremely familiar color scheme to a certain Supe’s suit that stuck out like a sore thumb. A bright white ensemble that stood out in a sea of colors…one that belonged to the Supe, Laugh Track, one of the Supes you had mentioned to Butcher.

Laugh Track was another member of Residency, one you were not particularly fond of. You had never personally met the guy, but something about him was just…unsettling. He was rather tall, not as tall as Playback, but almost a head above Mixer. Build wise, he was lanky, at least from what you could see. His Supe suit mainly consisted of a white jacket that resembled those worn in asylums on television, almost a straight jacket, but with control of his arms. There was no visible zipper, and the jacket’s collar went all the way up his neck. His mannerisms were always strange, which was sort of on brand for him. His powers were described as “weaponized hysteria.” It was just a fancy way of saying that his contagious laughter made people go absolutely insane, or at least laugh until they turned blue and suffocated. Laugh Track always stood very stiffly, and usually had a very blank expression on his face, his eyes wide and observant. You’d heard him speak in commercials before, and his voice didn't necessarily ease the feeling of dread you felt when you saw him. He had a strange accent, almost British, but not quite. It was very breathy and weirdly persuasive. He wasn’t unattractive by any means. He had neatly kept bleach blonde hair, bright blue eyes, pale skin…Something was just off.

Laugh Track was standing towards the end of the line, eerily still, his hands, which were covered in little bandages, twitching ever so slightly at his sides. You couldn’t see his eyes, but you could only assume that they were darting around the room. You looked over at Frenchie, who was coincidentally already looking in your direction, his mouth slightly open, as if he was about to say something. You shook off the strange feeling that filled your chest and gestured to Laugh Track.

“Do you see the way his hands are twitching?” You asked, purposefully going out of your way to not look directly at Frenchie. Why the hell was he already looking at you? Was he staring or something? Frenchie looked over to the Supe, his eyes narrowing.

“Maybe he has a tremor. Rude to judge him for it, non?” You huffed and looked back to Frenchie, a less than amused expression on your face. You went to go say something else, but your ears perked up when you heard a familiar voice.

“Roman! There you are. I was looking all over for you.” The voice belonged to the man who was arguably the talk of the whole convention, Mixer. Frenchie followed your gaze and looked over at him too. Mixer originally had a Supe suit as well, but ever since he got popular and became more of a poster child than a Supe, he sort of just wore the stylish shit he wore on stage. On that particular day, the outfit consisted of a sleeveless black t-shirt with his logo on it, and ripped black cargo pants with a bunch of adornments hanging off of them. You had to admit, he knew how to dress. The shirt showed off his tattooed arms, and was tight enough that you could see the outline of his chest. After the slight shock of Mixer just appearing in front of you, you added his comment to your mental index. He called Laugh Track “Roman.” That must have been his legal name.

“I haven’t moved since the last time you saw me.” Laugh Track responded, his breathy voice mixed with the accent making you slightly nauseous. Mixer laughed and playfully nudged Laugh Track’s shoulder.

“I figured you would have gone to get a drink or something.” Mixer smirked and nudged his knee with a bottle of Dr Pepper. Laugh Track turned his head towards Mixer, which gave you a moment to catch a glimpse of his smile. It was…unsettling. Disturbing, even, he looked almost manic. But Mixer? He just tilted his head, and smiled sweetly back at him.

“I told you that I wasn’t thirsty.” The taller man let out a chuckle that honestly made you want to walk away. It was so unnerving, yet Mixer didn't seem affected at all. You and Frenchie made eye contact for a moment, before looking back to the two Supes. Frenchie looked just as uncomfortable as you.

“I know you did, but this thing is going to be long. And if we intend to get the info that he wants us to get, you can't be running on nothing.”

You played that sentence back in your head for a moment. The info that he wanted them to get? Who was “He”? And why were other people at this convention also digging for information? Especially people like Mixer. He had it made in the shade, what else would he need to know?

“You are being very loud about this. Hush.” Laugh Track said, taking the bottle of soda from Mixer’s hand. Mixer laughed softly and nodded.

“Right, right. My bad.” Before Laugh Track could respond, the doors to the theater opened, and the line started to move. “Remember, seats closest to the under-stage door on the left side of the theater. He said they should be reserved.” Mixer reminded as the two started walking, their shoulders practically glued together.

“Yes. Under-stage door on the left side of the theater, stage right in perspective of the presenter, reserved seats.” Laugh Track responded. You and Frenchie exchanged a look as the Supe’s in front of you had their lanyard passes scanned, and walked into the theater. As your own passes were scanned, Frenchie leaned over to you.

“Let's follow them and try to sit as close as we can get, oui?” He suggested. You nodded. That actually wasn’t a half bad idea.

“Good idea.” You responded. You could have sworn that you saw Frenchie smirk. The two of you kept a safe distance away from Laugh Track and Mixer as you made your way into the theater, but made sure you didn't lose sight of them. The flow of the crowd pushed you and Frenchie closer together, but in the heat of the task, you didn't really notice.

Maybe this presentation wouldn't be so useless after all.

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

Sorta kinda leaving you on a cliff hanger there if ya squint. I really like where this is headed and I'm very excited to start writing part 3. Lemme know what you think! Full disclosure I laughed harder than I should have at the “Land of the free” comment so I hope it made you chuckle. Adieu!

teeny tiny taglist: @llynx7 @stinkysam @xcryptk33p3rx

[peachhcs]

sharks development camp

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will)

a blurb of macklin talking to will about samy and their breakup while at the sharks development camp.

i got inspired from that one post i saw where will and macklin are roommates at the dev camp, so i produced this short little snippet. it's actually kind of cutie because will's being like an older brother in a way :)

au masterlist

the two boys practically collapsed onto their beds as soon as they were back in the room. the few days they'd been in san jose were extremely fun, but also very exhausting. they were on the ice from sun up to sun down basically, so breaks were far and few between.

at least it was good for getting a full night's sleep because all the boys were out by the time the day finished. will rolled onto his side, reaching for his phone he stuffed into his backpack that was a little bit more than an arm's length away from him at the moment. he stretched a little bit farther and was able to wrap his fingers around the device in the side pocket.

he scanned down the list of notifications for anything important. there were a few texts from his mom and the family group chat, but other than that, things were pretty quiet on will's phone. it'd become a lot quieter now that there was no multiple messages from samy.

will didn't want to admit to himself that he missed seeing her name on his screen with about 10 different messages from her in the time he was at practice.

"can i ask you a bit of a..personal question?" macklin's voice broke will from his thoughts. the older boy rolled to the side macklin was on who stared up at the ceiling.

"what?"

"you're not a virgin, are you?" well, that definitely was a personal question. will's expression twisted for a second before shaking his head.

"uh..yeah, no. i'm not," shit. every. single. conversation. led will right back to samy. at least he didn't spiral this time unlike last time back at the combine where he pretty much made himself look super pathetic.

"okay, sorry. that was like..weird and personal. i don't know. i feel like every person i've talked to isn't and it makes me feel weird sometimes because like..i haven't done.." macklin trailed off realizing this was a weird conversation topic.

"no, it's fine. i get it. i was the same too for a long time," the blonde said and he felt like he was being some older brother right now.

"really?"

"yeah, i didn't like..actually do anything until i was 18," will said almost in embarrassment, but he knew that wasn't anything to be embarrassed about.

"oh. wow. was it like..a hookup or like.." macklin kept asking which will didn't mind. he kind of wished he had someone like himself when he was 16, 17, 18 to talk about all of this. none of his friends really talked about it a whole lot, or they did but it was always in a weird, gross way.

"no, it was with my ex girlfriend," will flinched saying ex girlfriend. it felt so weird calling samy that.

"wait, ex girlfriend?" macklin sat up, confusion on his features.

the blonde's face flushed a little, "oh, i guess we haven't really told people. uh, samy and i broke up."

he watched the brunette's eyes widen in shock, "you broke up? when?"

"like..early june?"

"wait, why? i thought you two were like..oh my god, is that why samy like avoided you when you came over and talked to us at the draft?" macklin's eyes widened in realization.

"yeah..basically. i don't know. i..i kind of realize it was a shitty decision on my part, but i don't really know how to fix it," the older boy admitted, sitting up some.

"did something happen? like what happened?"

"nothing bad..i just..i freaked a bit when i signed on last month. i think i got into my head a little too much and i made the decision without talking it out before i did. she won't talk to me really, though so i can't talk to her," will shrugged, a frown on his lips.

"oh, wow. i'm sorry. i didn't know," the brunette frowned too.

"don't worry. it's my fault and i kind of deserve being avoided."

"maybe i can talk to her? she kind of took beckett and i under her wing at the draft, so maybe we can talk her up," macklin laughed a little.

"no, it's fine. i'll see her anyway at our family vacation, so maybe i can..talk to her or something," will waved the boy off.

"well, if it's any consolation, i think she'd take you back if she heard you out. from what i knew, you guys really cared about each other," macklin shrugged a bit.

"thanks, i appreciate that," will managed a small smile.

the two started getting into talking about something else, but samy lingered on will's mind for the rest of the night. when macklin fell asleep will seriously thought about reaching out to her. his finger hovered above the send button and he deleted and retyped a bunch of messages, but he ultimately decided he shouldn't because why would she even want hear from him anyway?

[barrenclan]

ok so for the next music post, two things:

1. i was thinking of “moon song” by phoebe bridgers for unrelated reasons & the very last lyric of the song jumped out at me for rainhaze. the rest of the song isn’t very fitting for him but the last two lines are so fucking perfect:

when you saw the dead little bird, you started crying

but you know the killer doesn’t understand

2. so this next song is actually by a friend of mine! she’s a local musician & the other night i got to see her perform at my favorite bar for the last time before she moves to another state. this is my favorite song off of her debut album that came out last year (which she did perform at the show; i had chills the whole time), & i started thinking about it after the latest issue (& after going back & rereading the whole story just for funsies) & lowkey wanting to make an animatic about defiance with it:

https://youtu.be/I882BJu2bTo?si=W94BMnB6SjMM2sSK

Honestly, I could kind of see the rest of the lyrics of "Moon Song" for Rainhaze too, of him talking about his one-sided relationship to Ranger. Though I still don't really see his feeling as romantic rather than just trusting.

And, it's so sweet to recommend a song your friend made! I really like it. If you ever made an animatic, I'd be thrilled to see it.

Oh, yeah, I like the line "heartbreak was never so loud" for representing the weight of Slugpelt's revelation.

Everything, waiting, shaking as it drops I tried for you and I, for too hard, for too long Gave it all and everything for more time, but I lost

… Ooh, I'm breaking down Whispers would deafen me now You don't make a sound Heartbreak was never so loud

Defiance is always great for screamy, angry song about bones and blood and stuff.

I think it could fit for Rainhaze's early days and induction in Defiance, coping with this new environment.

Look at this poor boy All dressed up in white Now how can he smile With a face of all eyes?

These creatures are vampires They're killing by the night They're falling from the dead trees To silhouette your life

It doesn't seem like anyone has! I like the lines about him traveling past reason, because he did move past any real ideology into just fear and desperation.

I will travel far beyond the path of reason Take me back to Eden, take me back to Eden

I guess it goes to show, does it not? That we've no idea what we've got until we lose it And no amount of love will keep it around If we don't choose it And I don't know what's got its teeth in me But I'm about to bite back in anger No amount of self-sought fury Will bring back the glory of innocence <- shit yeah dude that's him

I like all songs that talk about the Devil as a smooth-talking, friendly charismatic guy because they all remind me of Deepdark.

Turn on the television Don't gotta think for nothing I pay the cable bill monthly, so they can do it for me

They say the Devil looks like you I hear the Devil's an American They say, they say he's a real smooth talker Real put together

I LOVE this song! Super good with him.

You're no good, you're no good You could kill me and you should I'm an idiot for thinking This was anything but blood

On the wall, on the couch On the corner of my mouth You must like being the victim You've done nothing to get out Of this pattern of pain Washed away by the rain You'll forgive me if I promise And do nothing but the same <- like this is just the first verse

Oh I think I have been suggested this one before! I still like it.

Gritty underground rock bands are great for this comic.

No rest for the sinner Hypnos refused me my sleep This was the last night of my life With wine, I pondered on my deeds

Ring brother, ring for me Ring the bells of hope and faith Ring for my damnation I am at the gallow's end

[lock-my-feelings-in-a-jar]

me: wakes up and uses my entire photo upload limit immediately

[caesarclowningaround]

Fandom(s): Bloedlink, Trust, A Dangerous Fortune Rating: E Chapter(s): 3 Ship(s): Mickey Miranda/Rico, Primo Nizzuto/Rico Summary: The Lighthouse AU! Primo and Rico have come to the little island in the middle of nowhere to tend to the lighthouse, but as Primo continuously refuses to teach the new wickie in his charge, the more Rico finds his grip on reality beginning to slip. There's something Primo isn't telling him. Rico is determined to find out what it is or lose himself in the process.

Note(s): For the @marwan-simposium‘s Year of Marwan Event, for the May prompts: “Mermaid AU,” “Dub Con,” and “What did you just say?”

Thank you @pigsinablanketfort for being my beta for this!!! <33

PLEASE HEED THE TAGS!! and enjoy ;)

[louisa-gc]

how to start reading again

from someone who was a voracious reader until high school and is now getting back into it in her twenties.

start with an old favourite. even though it felt a little silly, i re-read the harry potter series one christmas and it wiped away my worry that i wasn't capable of reading anymore. they are long books, but i was still able to get completely immersed and to read just as fast as i had years and years ago.

don't be afraid of "easier" books. before high school i was reading the french existentialists, but when getting back into reading, i picked up lucinda riley and sally rooney. not my favourite authors by far, but easier to read while not being totally terrible. i needed to remind myself that only choosing classics would not make me a better or smarter person. if a book requires a slower pace of reading to be understood, it's easier to just drop it, which is exactly what i wanted to avoid at first.

go for essays and short stories. no need to explain this one: the shorter the whole, the less daunting it is. i definitely avoided all books over 350 pages at first and stuck to essay collections until i suddenly devoured donna tartt's goldfinch.

remember it's okay not to finish. i was one of those people who finished every book they started, but not anymore! if i pick up a book at the library and after a few chapters realise i'd rather not read it, i just return it. (another good reason to use your local library! no money spent on books you might end up disliking.)

analyse — or don't. some people enjoy reading more when they take notes or really stop to think about the contents. for me, at first, it was more important to build the habit of reading, and the thought of analysing what i read felt daunting. once i let go of that expectation, i realised i naturally analyse and process what i read anyway.

read when you would usually use your phone. just as i did when i was a child, i try to read when eating, in the bathroom, on public transport, right before sleeping. i even read when i walk, because that's normally a time i stare at my screen anyway. those few pages you read when you brush your teeth and wait for a friend very quickly stack up.

finish the chapter. if you have time, try to finish the part you're reading before closing the book. usually i find i actually don't want to stop reading once i get to the end of a chapter — and if i do, it feels like a good place to pick up again later.

try different languages. i was quickly approaching a reading slump towards the end of my exchange year, until i realised i had only had access to books in english and that, despite my fluency, i was tired of the language. so as soon as i got back home i started picking up books in my native tongue, which made reading feel much easier and more fun again! after some nine months, i'm starting to read in english again without it feeling like a huge task.

forget what's popular. i thought social media would be a fun way to find interesting books to read, but i quickly grew frustrated after hating every single book i picked up on some influencer's recommendation. it's certainly more time-consuming to find new books on your own, but this way i don't despise every novel i pick up.

remember it isn't about quantity. the online book community's endless posts about reading 150 books each year or 6 books in a single day easily make us feel like we're slow, bad readers, but here's the thing: it does not matter at all how many books you read or what your reading pace is. we all lead different lives, just be proud of yourself for reading at all!

stop stressing about it. we all know why reading is important, and since the pandemic reading has become an even more popular hobby than it was before (which is wonderful!). however, there's no need to force yourself to be "a reader". pick up a book every now and then and keep reading if you enjoy it, but not reading regularly doesn't make you any less of a good person. i find the pressure to become "a person who reads" or to rediscover my inner bookworm only distances me from the very act of reading.

[lovsome]

venting :-) sorry

[odinsblog]

“I first started noticing the journalists dying on Instagram. I'm a journalist, I'm Arab, and I've reported on war. A big part of my community is other Arab journalists who do the same thing.

And when someone dies, news travels fast. Recently, I pulled up the list that the Committee to Protect Journalists has been keeping and looked at it for the first time. There are 95 journalists and media workers on it as of today.

Almost everyone on it is Palestinian. Scrolling through, I started to get angry. These were the people carrying the burden of documenting this whole war.

Israel is not allowing foreign journalists into Gaza, except on rare occasions with military escorts. These people's names are being buried in a giant list that keeps growing. What I want to do is lift some of them off the list for a moment and give you a glimpse of who they were and the work they made.

I'll start with Sadi Mansour. Sadi was the director of Al-Quds News Network, and he posted a 22-second video on November 18. That was a report from the war, but it also gave me a picture into his marriage.

Sadi's wearing his press vest and looks exhausted. He's explaining that cell service and the Internet keep getting cut off, and it's often impossible to text or call anyone, including his wife. So they've resorted to using handwritten letters to communicate while he's out reporting, sending them back and forth with neighbors or colleagues.

He ends the video with a picture of one of these letters from his wife. In it, she writes,

‘Me and the kids stayed up waiting for you until the morning, and you didn't come home. We were really sad.

I kept telling the kids, Look, he's coming. But you didn't show up. May God forgive you.

Come home tomorrow and eat with us. Do you want me to make you kebab or maybe kapse? Bring your friends with you, it's okay.

And give Azeez the battery to charge. What do you think about me sending you handwritten letters with messenger pigeons from now on? Ha ha ha.

I'm just kidding. I want to curse at you, but we're living in a war. Too bad.

Okay, I love you. Bye.’

A few hours after he shared that letter, Sadie and his co-worker Hassouna Saleem were at Sadie's home, when they were killed by an Israeli air strike that hit his house.

His wife and kids, who weren't there, survived.

Gaza is tiny, and the journalist community is really close. Reading the list, you can see all the connections between people. Like with Brahim Lafi.

Brahim was a photojournalist, one of the first journalists to die. He was killed while reporting on October 7. He was just 21, still new to journalism.

On his Instagram, you can see that in his posts just a few years ago, he was still practicing his photography, taking pictures of coffee cups and flowers. Then he started doing beautiful portraits and action shots. You can really feel him starting to become a journalist.

Clicking around on Instagram, I found a tribute post about Brahim from his co-worker Rushdie Sarraj. In this photo, Brahim staring intently at the back of a camera, his face lit up by the light from the viewfinder. He looks so young.

The caption reads, My assistant is gone. Brahim is gone. Rushdie himself was a beloved journalist and filmmaker.

And I know that because he's also on the list. He was killed just two weeks after Brahim. I read the tribute post to him too.

I saw this over and over again. Journalists posting tributes, who were then killed themselves soon after. And a tribute goes up for them.

And then the pattern continues.

Thank you.

Something else I saw over and over on the list, journalists later in the war who had become aware that they could be making their last reports. They'd say it at the beginning of their videos. And those were the hardest to watch, especially when it was true.

One video like that was posted by Ayat Hadduro. Ayat was a freelance journalist and video blogger. Her videos before the war covered a wide range from what I can tell, interviews about women in politics.

She even appeared in a commercial for ketchup-flavored chips. She clearly liked being in front of the camera. Once the war started, Ayat's pivoted to covering bombings and food shortages.

On November 20, she posted a video report from her home. You can hear the airstrikes hitting very close to where she is. It's scary.

‘This is likely my last video. Today, the occupation forces dropped phosphorus bombs on Beit Lahya area and frightening sound bombs. They dropped letters from the sky, ordering everyone to evacuate.

Everyone ran into the streets in the craziest way. No one knows where to go.

But everyone else has evacuated. They don't know where they're going. The situation is so scary.

What's happening is so tough, and may God have mercy on us.’

She was killed later that day.

Targeting journalists, in case you didn't know, is a war crime. So far, the Committee to Protect Journalists has found that three of the journalists on the list were explicitly targeted by the IDF, the Israeli military. Investigations by the Washington Post and Reuters, Human Rights Watch and the United Nations have also raised serious questions in these three cases.

And the Committee to Protect Journalists is investigating 10 other killings. When we reached out to the IDF for comments, they said, quote, the IDF has never, and will never, deliberately target journalists. That's the answer they always give in these situations.

Meanwhile, dozens of seasoned reporters have fled Gaza. Journalists who worked for Al Jazeera, the BBC, the New York Times, the Washington Post, Reuters, Agence France-Presse. So many media offices were demolished in Israeli airstrikes that the Committee to Protect Journalists stopped counting.

It's not just individual lives that have been destroyed. It's an entire infrastructure.

Thank you.

The name on the list that was hardest for me to look at was Issam Abdullah, because I'd crossed paths with him once. Issam was a Lebanese journalist, a video journalist for Reuters for many, many years. He had just won an award for coverage of Ukraine.

I'm Lebanese and still report there sometimes, and I'd worked with Issam a couple of summers ago. He helped me film a sort of random story in Beirut. I was interviewing this entrepreneur who had started a sperm freezing company after an accident where he spilled a tray of hot coffee on his private area, burning himself.

I know, ridiculous. It was a really silly shoot. Right after we said cut and started to rap, Issam started this whole bit about being in his late 30s, reconsidering his own sperm quality and everything he now realized he was doing to hurt it, and no one could stop laughing.

It was a really good day that felt good to remember and to remember him that way. Issam was killed by the IDF on October 13. His death was one of the three that the Committee to Protect Journalists has identified as a targeted killing.

He was fired upon by an Israeli tank while standing in an empty field on the Lebanon-Israel border with a small group of other journalists. Everyone was wearing press vests with cameras out. They were covering the Hezbollah part of this war.

A few other journalists were injured in the attack, which was captured on video. The IDF says they were responding to firing from Hezbollah, not targeting the journalists. But multiple investigations, including by Reuters, the United Nations, Amnesty International and the AFP, found no evidence of any firing from the location of the journalists before the IDF shot at them.

The journalists in the group and video footage confirmed that there was no military activity near them. I had only met Issam once, barely knew him, but it affected me so much when he died. I know that he understood the risks of his job, but somehow it still felt so random and unfair that he would be struck down like that, following the rules, wearing his press vest and helmet, and a pack of reporters on a sunny day in an open field.

I find myself thinking about him all the time. His last Instagram post was commemorating another journalist, this iconic reporter Shereen Abou Aql who had been killed by the IDF. When I first saw that post in October, I thought how ironic because a week later, Isam also was killed by the IDF.

But then, after spending time reading the list, I realized how common this had become. I still haven't finished going through the list and looking up the people on it. I keep finding things that stick with me, like the funny way this one radio host would cut off a caller who was rambling on for too long.

A tweet from reporter Al-Abdallah that quoted Sylvia Plath. It read, What ceremony of wars can patch the havoc? I'm going to keep going down the list, even though this story is over now.

Just for myself. My own way of bearing witness. Which is, in the end, all that these journalists were trying to do.”

—DANA BALLOUT, The 95. Dana sifts through a very long list—the list of journalists killed in the Israel-Hamas war, and comes back with five small fragments of the lives of the people on it. Dana is a Lebanese-American, Emmy-nominated documentary producer.

[tojikai]

SUNDERED

Pairing: Gojo x reader

• Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Alt. Ending

Sundered+ (COMMISSION)

Genre: Angst

tags/cw: angst, mean!gojo(kinda), babydaddy!gojo, babymomma!reader, motherhood, insecurities, arguments

word count: 3.2k

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo intentionally runs into you when you’re buying groceries just to show you his girlfriend. The woman was your classmate from high school. At the first meeting, she was shy and tried avoiding your gaze but Satoru just had to call you and ask something about your daughter. Completely unnecessary but he’s just that much of a jerk. Once was considered an accident. But when it happened two, then three times, you already know that you have to change your shopping schedule.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo picks up his daughter from your house an hour late, rubbing on your face that he overslept because he spent “some time” with his girlfriend last night. Distasteful and disrespectful, but you let it slide cause he seems happy. You don’t want to be a killjoy, right? You were never his girlfriend, to begin with. Just someone he got pregnant from a one-night stand. 

❧ babydaddy!Gojo posts pictures of his day out with his daughter online. His girlfriend carrying your kid as the three of them wear matching Mickey and Minnie Mouse headbands. You could only scroll past and continue your work to busy yourself. Maybe you should stop lurking around social media and just use your phone for important messages. Maybe you should also lose feelings for someone who never harbored genuine ones for you in the first place.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo always lets his girlfriend open the door for you when you’re picking up your daughter from his house on weekends. He leans back on the couch, watching you grab your daughter’s things, opening his arms to cuddle with his girlfriend before you even get to walk out the door. It made you feel pathetic and small but what can you do? There’s simply no place for you in that house.

❧ babydaddy!Gojo insists that you spend more time together for the sake of your daughter. You agreed to it and now, you had to sit in the back of the car with your daughter as he drives his girlfriend to work. It made you feel sick and nauseous that you were only able to spend half a day with them before you decided to go home and sleep the day away. Maybe when you wake up, you’ll find it in you to hate him.

“Mommy? Call her, love.” Gojo used a higher voice to encourage his daughter to call you. He knows that he was foul for what happened earlier. But what is he gonna do? He can’t reject his girlfriend’s request, plus it was only a ride. It’s not like she was with you for the whole day. Still, he doesn’t think it’s the reason why you left early. You might be feeling…tired. Even if it was Saturday yesterday and you have no work. You might still feel fatigued on Sunday, right?

“Mama!” The little girl mimicked pointing upstairs. Satoru sighed placing her little bag on a nearby chair as he made his way upstairs. He figured that if you’re still asleep, he could just wait for you to wake up and just look after his daughter here. You’re a single mother for 4 days a week, and on top of that, you also have work. You literally don’t have time to rest. He told himself that he needs to stop messing around just to get a reaction from you. 

Reaching your room, Satoru knocked on the door three times, calling out your name when you didn’t answer. “Wait a second.” You voiced out from the other side, “I’m just gonna call my mom, can you wait for her?” You suppressed a cough at the end of the sentence but it didn’t go unnoticed by Satoru. “Are you sick? I could take her back to my house, we’ll look after her until you feel better. ” The suggestion made your stomach churn. They get to play house with your kid and here you are, being miserable.

You shook your head, realizing how bitter you sounded. She wasn’t unkind in any way to your baby but something in you hurts when you think of them giving your daughter the family experience that you cannot provide. You and Satoru tried to work things out but you just can’t get on the same page. Instead of trying to be better for you and your daughter, he decided to fuck around and date someone else instead. 

You wouldn’t say that your name was clean. What with a couple of threats such as finding someone who could act right. You just didn’t think that he’d really leave. It hurt but now you’re getting yourself used to the feeling. Maybe he just couldn’t act right with you. Because why is he so good with his girlfriend now? She tamed him, as he once boasted to you during a fight.

“I’m stuck with a child that I have with you, but not with you.” He pointed out, leaving a searing pain in your chest. “There’s no way I’m letting that happen.” Tears were starting to form in your eyes as the words come out of his mouth. How could he say something so cruel to you, the mother of his child? All you did was tell him that his girlfriend was getting kind of too much after she told you what to do with your child. And now he’s making you the villain.

“I just told her that—” You tried to explain, voice starting to shake. “If that’s all you did, she wouldn’t come to me crying, Y/N.” You just can’t believe that you’re fighting over this. You already have so much to think about and now this, you also have to be cautious about his girl. “She told you herself, I just didn’t want her telling me how to raise my child!” 

“Of course, she wouldn’t tell me that you’re being harsh to her. Unlike you, she’s actually kind and considerate of other people’s feelings.” You looked down, letting out a strangled sob escape your throat before quickly wiping away the forming tears in your eyes as you turn away from him. Why was he never this defensive of you? He didn’t even try to fight for you when his girlfriend convinced him to take your daughter with them on a trip. Without your permission.

And now he’s talking as if you’ve been nothing but a disturbance in his relationship with her. Everything's just unfair. Yet, you just let it slide because you wanted nothing but peace for your baby. “I don’t want to have this conversation with you anymore, Satoru. You’ve said enough.” You sniffed, walking to your daughter’s room to check if the noises woke her up. Satoru was left standing there, processing all the things that he said.

He watched you disappear into the dark hallway of your apartment, shoulders shaking with your head hung low. Even if he can’t see your face, he can tell that you’re crying and it made him feel like shit. He went overboard, didn’t he? “Fuck.” He threw his keys on the couch, running his fingers through his hair. He wanted to apologize but at the same time, he wanted to prove his point. His girlfriend was only trying to help and you took it the wrong way.

At that time, Satoru thought that maybe she was right. You’re just getting kinda jealous that she could spend time with your daughter and Satoru more and now you’re being too sensitive, letting out your irritation on her. She said that it was a natural feeling for a mother to feel that way but Satoru can’t let you treat his girlfriend like shit just because of your pettiness and jealousy. You have to learn to adjust and accept that some things are gonna be the way they are because of your setup. 

As for you, you felt hurt. Neglected even when you know that you’re not supposed to receive as much attention, much less protection from him. His priority is your child, but not you. You have no choice but to talk and work everything out with them for the sake of your daughter. You know that you could start dating someone of your choice but you wished that it would be that easy. You just want to focus on your daughter and if you’re gonna find someone, you want them to love her as much as you do. 

You wonder what you lacked that couldn’t soften him the way he did to her. You started to think that you’re the problem and that is why you couldn’t fix him as easily as she did. 

You stood up, opening the door for him seeing your two-year-old reach out to you. “Mama’s sick, love, sorry.” You covered your mouth, blinking away the heaviness in your eyes. Satoru watched you pack your daughter’s things. “If you’re gonna be busy, just tell me. I’ll just contact Mom. She can be with you for a few days, just until my cold is gone.” You murmured, counting the diapers to put in her baby bag. 

You don’t want to be away from her, but letting her stay with you when you’re like this puts her at risk and that’s the last thing you want. You can’t stand seeing your daughter through pain and you’re pretty sure it’s the same for his dad. Begrudgingly, you placed the bag in front of Satoru before reaching over for her favorite toy. You smiled at how she squealed when she saw it.

“You know we’re never too busy to take care of her. Just rest, so you’ll get better soon.” You swallowed, nodding your head slowly as you thought of what else they should take. “Yeah, I’ll be picking her up.” You kept your distance from her, sitting down as you felt your head spinning a bit. “Do you...do you have medicine, though? I could get some if you want,” Satoru can tell that you’re really sick and despite his situation with you, he can’t just let you be when you’re like this. You’re still the mother of his child. 

“No, it’s fine. I have some here. Just take care of her.” Your voice was hoarse and your daughter was starting to reach out for you again as if sensing that something was wrong so you urged Satoru to get going. “Be good, okay?” You waved as she watched you with her curious eyes but waved back, nonetheless. You wouldn’t admit it but you feel envious that they could be happy together with her. You’re afraid that one day she’ll prefer being with them over you.

As for your feelings for Satoru, you hated thinking or talking about it. You’re obviously in love with him, but you wouldn’t acknowledge that yourself, either. You fought too much, you hurt each other too much. Other than that, there’s no point for your feelings now that he has someone he really loves and truly cares about. 

You never experienced the boyfriend-girlfriend stage with Satoru. It’s like one day, you just woke up and you’re already parents. You can’t blame him for not having real feelings for you. You do your best to be as civil to them as you can be but sometimes his girlfriend’s just out of bounds. And after a couple of painful fights with Satoru regarding her, it just became too much for you. 

You’re just tired of feeling like a wedge to someone’s healthy relationship. That’s how Satoru makes you feel and you just can’t take any ache from that. 

Another thing that you deny to yourself is the hope that you might fix this all. There are always what-ifs in your mind, and you would never tell Satoru about them. He’ll probably laugh at you and your threats that you’re gonna be with someone who truly makes you happy. You would never destroy his relationship just because yours didn’t work. If you have to cover your eyes, look away and pretend to be deaf every time they’re around you, you would. 

You often think about what it would be like if he settled down with his girl; if they decided to get married and have a family of their own. You don’t want your daughter to feel left out. You don’t want her to feel like she doesn’t have her own family in the middle of them. You also wondered if you’d have moved on by then. You hope so. You don’t want to be this pitiful and heartbroken forever.

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

After a couple of days, you’re finally feeling well. You got up early and sent Satoru a text that you’ll be picking up your baby in a few hours. You missed her and her giggles so much. The house was clean during the past days but you very much prefer it to be messy, as long a she’s there. You’ll never mind getting up in the middle of the night or waking up extra early for her. 

Arriving at Satoru’s residence, you rang the doorbell as you waited patiently for someone to open the gate for you. You were hoping that it would be your baby girl, extending her short, chubby arms to you but instead, it was Satoru’s girlfriend. “Come in, she’s still playing inside.” She smiled at you, opening the metal door wider. “Thanks, I messaged Satoru that I was coming to pick her up. Is she ready?” You asked her as you walked to their front door.

“She is, but she’s kinda fussy about it. Satoru bought her a huge playpen and she just wouldn’t get out of it. She’s enjoying a lot.” She tucked a hair behind her ear and you can’t help but feel conscious of how you look. Opening the door, you were welcomed by the sight of Satoru lying down with his daughter in the said enclosure. She was fiddling with a toy as they watched on the big screen. 

Her favorite toy was at the corner, and for some reason, it left a pang in your chest.

“Sweetie, someone’s here for you.” You hated the way she phrased it but you know that she doesn’t mean for it to be offensive or rude to you. The little girl looked up with her binky in her mouth, blinking before smiling at you. “Oh, you’re already here. She wouldn’t let me out of the playpen.” Satoru explained, probably thinking that you didn’t appreciate that it had to be his girlfriend opening the door for you. 

“It’s alright. I don’t mind.” This place always made you feel like you’re an outsider. Probably because you are and it didn’t help that they’re making you feel like it. “Mama!” She waved at you, pointing at the screen as she sat down. “That’s a nice show, love. Maybe we could just continue watching it at home?” You know that she doesn’t have a big playpen there. The screen isn’t that big, either. She suddenly lied back down, whimpering as she kicked her tiny feet. You felt like telling her that you’d work hard to buy her that too.

She doesn’t want to go home yet and that’s what you feared. 

“Baby, mom’s here. She missed you.” Satoru called out but to no avail. He came to lift her up, trying to see if she was just being too lazy to get up. Her eyes were glued to the television as she sucked on her pacifier. She was too into it, pointing the show to everyone before smiling at you. Oh, how you missed that smile. “Let’s go, now.” You cooed at her, softly clapping your hands.

When you tried to reach for her as Satoru leans her close to you, she started wiggling around. “Down, Mama! Wait.” Her cute language never ceases to make your heart swell with joy despite the fact that she’s trying to get away from you. She runs away, stopping to look around before going to Satoru’s girlfriend and hugging her leg. She was in awe when she picked up your daughter. 

So… she’s who your daughter’s referring to by…Mama. You could almost hear your heart shatter at the realization. Since when did she start calling her Mama?

“You don’t wanna go home yet? But Mom’s here.” She talked in her baby voice and you don’t know if you’re gonna be happy that she treats your daughter really well or jealous that she came running to her when she don’t want to do something. Satoru went up to them, leaving you standing a few meters away. You don’t like what you’re seeing aside from your daughter.

“It’s not good to ignore Mama.” Satoru tapped her nose with his finger which she cutely swatted away, eliciting a chuckle from him. “Y/N, I was thinking… maybe I could just, uh, take her home later in the day. This playpen just arrived yesterday and you know how kids are…” He laughed nervously, struggling to find a nice way to say that your daughter won’t be coming home yet.

“Yesterday, I was joking about giving her playmates and she was so excited, she was running around.” His girlfriend giggled as she shared. It was a simple story yet it was a thorn to your heart. Why does it seem like your every nightmare is coming to life? You just smiled at her, understanding that she was talking about giving your daughter siblings. Satoru was silent, but you didn’t dare look at his face. You know that it’s in their future plans and you don’t have to see him smiling about it too. 

“That’s adorable..” You don’t know what else to say, so you just nodded your head slowly, blinking quickly so as to bring yourself back to reality. His place was huge compared to your apartment. The playpen looks so much more comfortable than the crib she has at your place. She has new toys and a mom and dad by her side. So, now she doesn’t want to leave. Suddenly, you can feel the weakness in your knees from when you were sick starting to come back. You cleared your throat as you straightened yourself.

“J-just take her home later. I, uh, bought something for her.” You lied, knowing that you still have to go looking for something you can buy for your lovely child. You wanted to snatch her away from Satoru’s girlfriend, her other mom, but the giggle flowing out of her lips are too precious for you to ruin; the smile on her face as she tickled her tummy was too priceless. Look at them, you told yourself as you started to feel farther and farther away from their little world. They’re a picture of a happy family. 

“I’ll see you later, honey…” You whispered, giving her head a pat as she looked up at you with her big, cerulean eyes. You didn’t wait for any of them to walk you out, you just let your feet take you out of their home, not daring to look back for the fear of breaking down. Your fingers tremble along with your lips and the tiny droplets of rain felt like acid on your skin. Maybe what they say was true. We experience people differently.

One woman’s life lesson is another woman’s better man.

NEXT

[hispg]

Love can't wait

Pairings: r2! Leon X Fem! Reader

Summary: Someone's horny in the middle of the night, and you'll have to take care of his 'problem'.

Wc: 2.2k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex, p in v, making out, oral (f receiving), sloppy sex, whiny Leon.

An: Last week was a real mess. My birthday, I ended up being sick all week, I'm slowly recovering. And to make matters worse, I'm in my exam week💀

My brain is melting😭 Tomorrow I promise to answer the comments and asks🤝

I've only just managed to post, I had this draft ready and thought I should post it so I wouldn't run out of things to post. I didn't read it, so sorry for any mistakes.

"Baby, please..." Leon whimpered in your ear, hugging you from behind, leaving a trail of wet kisses on your neck.

He was grabbing you by the hips, his erection bumping against your ass as you tried to sleep, which was impossible with you being humped by the man behind you.

He'd been awake for a while, desperate to fuck you, who knows why he woke up with his cock hard in the middle of the night. Jerking off wasn't enough, he needed you.

"Leon.... Tomorrow..." You mumble, trying to bury your head in the pillow.

You heard him protest in a whimper, pressing his erection hard against you, making you moan softly into the pillow, and he grunted at the contact. He wasn't taking no for an answer.

"Love...." He pleaded, giving your jaw a light bite, not wasting a second and promptly sliding his hand under your clothes, caressing your belly, feeling your skin slide under his fingers.

His other hand went behind your neck, up to the back of your head where he began to massage, bringing his lips to your cheeks, giving wet kisses all over your face.

"Please..." He whispered, not caring if he sounded desperate or not, he just wanted you, it was the only thing on his mind.

You didn't even have time to answer, he was quick enough to move his hand down to your ass, opening your ass cheeks and pressing his erection in the middle, rubbing back and forth.

He was so needy that you could already feel him leaking through his underwear, his hoarse, whimpering voice echoing in your ears. Just by the state he was in, you were already starting to feel wet.

"You feel so good..." He whispered, moving against you harder, eliciting several low moans from you.

You could feel his nails digging into your soft flesh, holding your ass open for him to rub against you.

He was drooling on you, his kisses on your neck becoming more and more desperate, his tongue coming out of his mouth to lick the whole length of your skin, his body shaking with precipitation.

If you didn't let him do what he wanted to you, he'd certainly be able to cum in his pants.

"I need you so much..." He whispers, bringing his hand up to your breasts, gently caressing them up until then.

"Leon... Mhm..." You murmured in a somewhat sleepy voice, shifting a little in bed.

He whimpered in your ear, pushing you down a little further, grinding against you with a little more vigor, and it wasn't long before he had your nipple between his fingers, rolling it between his digits.

"I need to fuck you... I want it so bad it hurts." He purred, giving your nipple a vicious tug, and the unexpected action made you gasp.

Seeing that he wouldn't get any response from you at this point, he quickly turned you over on the bed, laying you on your back.

Before you could protest, he captured your lips in a languid kiss, his lips crashing against yours in a primal way, as if he couldn't help himself.

He kissed you so hard that at one point you could feel his teeth chattering against yours, he kissed you in such a sloppy, desperate way. Just as he began to press his erection into the mattress, wanting to relieve himself in some way.

You were so trapped at this point that at some point you just started moaning against each other, as if the kissing session was all you needed to go over the edge.

Almost painfully, the two of you broke apart, breathing heavily and quickly, almost out of breath from the intensity of your kisses.

When he looked at you, seeing your cheeks so red, the way your chest rose and fell with every heavy breath you took. Oh, and those lips, the way you looked at him so slyly like that.

At the same moment he felt his cock throbbing inside the confines of his pants. As if it were a last desperate act, he stuck his face between your breasts, sticking his tongue out in a clumsy way, sucking on your nipple as if it were the last thing he was going to do.

You moaned against the pillow, pushing his head against your breast. He grunted at the sudden contact, sucking on you desperately.

Despite not wanting it at first, you found yourself soaking wet now, grinding your pussy against his thigh that was between your legs, and he grinned like a bastard when he saw the state you were in.

"Mhm.... I want to fuck you..." He whispers, taking his mouth off your breast, searching for air, and he could already see the imprint of his lips around your breast.

You smiled slyly, rubbing your wetness against him hard, and in response he put a wide palm on your chest, lowering his face so that he could kiss you, leaving no part of your face untouched.

"Can I taste you? Please, please." He pleaded in a sly voice, tugging on your nipples once more, his mouth kissing you wetly and incessantly all over your face.

Fuck, how could you say no when he was asking so nicely?

When he saw you nod, Leon gave you a sly smile, turning you over so that you lay on your back properly, lifting your clothes to gain access to your thighs.

Once he had your legs open, he licked his lips, looking at your pussy which was already wet and waiting for him. In the blink of an eye he buried his face in your folds, sticking his tongue out and licking the entire length of your flesh, lapping at your skin like a hungry man, making loud, impure slurping sounds.

You could feel his nose hitting your clit every time he stuck his tongue into your needy hole, his hot muscle moving in and out in an incessant manner. His hands gripped your thighs in a firm way, leaving red marks from his fingers, from how hard he was holding you.

"So good, mhmm, you're so hot..." He murmurs against your slit, giving you an awkward smile, then going back to licking you all over again.

You were so red, your cheeks burning as you squirmed on the bed, your lips parted as you moaned, your hips moving back and forth, searching for more friction. Leon groaned when he felt your hand on his blond strands, which you took advantage of to push him against you, making him sink into your heat.

"Fuck-" You whimper, tugging at his hair, and he lets out a low murmur in response, giving your clit a hard suck, then sinking his tongue into your hole once more.

His cock was aching and throbbing in his pants, and he couldn't help himself, unconsciously humping the bed, eating you out desperately, wanting to taste your sweetness again and again.

You soon began to feel that warm sensation forming in the pit of your stomach, your mind becoming more and more blurred with each caress of his tongue. Your furrows running down his chin, his mouth completely moist from the result of your arousal.

"Cum, cum, baby, cum on my tongue." He whispers, working tirelessly on your cunt, with no intention of stopping.

And there you went, unable to hold back the orgasm that washed over you when he licked and caressed you like that. You gushed out your juices, your eyes rolling into the back of your head once you felt the hot liquid being squirted out of you.

"Fuck Leon!" You let out a moan mixed with a sigh, your face all red with pleasure.

Faced with the scene, Leon didn't have much to do, his cock, which was throbbing painfully in the constraints of his pants, no longer hurt, he just felt the warmth forming in his body. Only to feel the thick ropes of cum spilling out, staining all his clothes. He didn't even realize it, he couldn't even hold back his own urges.

Leon couldn't even hide the blush that appeared fiercely on his cheeks, he felt so ashamed that he hadn't been able to hold back. But you couldn't blame him, every time he stared at your wet folds he couldn't help it, he felt all his blood pulsing to his lower body.

"I love the taste of you." He says in a sweet voice, as if he hadn't just eaten you out like a starving man.

When you regained your senses, you focused your gaze on him, and watched as he licked up all the rest of your fluids, licking his lips when he'd finished, then getting down on his knees.

"I promise I'll make it up to you. I promise." He says in a purr, soon putting his pants down, along with his underpants.

You saw a part of his cock, the pink tip that was dripping, not only that, but it was all sticky with his cum. At that moment you felt your pussy get even wetter.

Your legs remained open as you watched him, his hand wrapped firmly around his cock.

When he started masturbating, dirty, erotic moans came out of his mouth, whimpers so sly that you could spend the night watching him.

Leon could feel his cock getting harder and harder in his hand, with every movement, a little trail of pre-cum running down his pink tip.

"Mhm.... I'm going to fuck you. You're going to feel so good." He said, so sweetly, but at the same time looking at you in such a naughty way.

Once again he positioned himself on top of you, his tip resting lightly against your entrance. His cum mixing with yours, your fluids mixing with his, making a slippery mess.

You gripped the sheets tightly, biting your lower lip, your body moving involuntarily against him, begging for any other movement.

"You're so beautiful..." Leon purrs, giving you a little distraction, because right after that line he thrust hard against you.

He entered you at once, completely, without even letting you breathe. You went to heaven when you felt all that stretching once again, your walls stretching to accommodate him, your tight pussy wrapping itself tightly around him, making him grunt in response.

"Fucking tight-" he growls, placing his hands on your hips, letting his fingers sink into your skin.

He slowly put his body up against yours, letting his weight rest on you a little. His hips jerked against yours, his fingers leaving red marks on your hips.

Your mouth opened to let out a silent whimper, while your eyes closed tightly as he thrust all the way in and hit that spongy spot that made you see stars every time.

You swore you couldn't even hear yourself anymore, or know whatever inarticulate sounds you were letting out. The only sensation that was in your body was the sloppy thrusts, his tip reaching deep points, touching your cervix from time to time.

" Tight little pussy, so fucking good." Leon purrs, his hips moving against yours in an almost involuntary way, as if he no longer had any control.

Just as he could no longer hold back all the noises he let out every time you squeezed around him, your walls wrapped around his cock so tightly that he was trying not to roll his eyes every time it happened.

You could already feel your body heating up once again, you could even see the bodily signs that it wouldn't be long before you went over the edge once more. And Leon would be lying if he didn't say the same thing.

In a failed and desperate attempt to drown out his sounds, he put his mouth on yours, kissing you passionately and hotly, increasing the speed with which he thrust into you. In and out, in sync with the roll of your hips.

You felt your body shiver when he put his tongue inside your mouth, exploring everything he could, wanting to feel everything you could offer him.

It was the last straw for you to come, creaming all over his cock, making another mess of the sheets. The sensation of you moaning against his mouth, or the way he felt you cumming for him so easily, was a spark of electricity in his body.

All you understood was some cursing that came out of him, then his hot cum inside you. He was going to pull out, hell, he knew he shouldn't cum inside you. But how could he take his cock out of you when you nestled so perfectly?

The two of you were a mess, barely able to breathe, his forehead resting under yours as he tried to catch his breath.

And then he smiled innocently, whispering, "Round two?"

You rolled your eyes, he wasn't serious.

"No, it's two in the morning. We should be asleep." You retorted, and he nodded with a displeased pout.

He promptly got off you, rolling onto his side and hugging you from behind once again, keeping you close. He seemed quite relaxed now.

It's a long night, although he's satisfied now, maybe he just needs a little more love throughout the evening.

[aethelwyneleigh27]

Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley Drabble

Hi lovelies! Lia here again, I've been quite busy with school so I hope you guys can be a little patient with content since I've been stuck on a slump and there's a lot of things I'm currently busy with at the moment because of school despite posting so much last week. Here's the weekly content and I hope you all enjoy :)

Also how do you all feel if I write works inspired by old gacha songs? And yes I used to be a gacha girly, it was some wild phase AHAHAHA

My CoD Masterlist

Taglist: @wishesforyou @puff0o0 @simping4konig @simp4konig @blingblong55 @azereus @rustic-guitar-notes @shadofireshinobi @thesnowurzikdjinn @09maruchan @anonymuslydumb @skeletalgoats @icarustypicalfall @ghosts-cyphera @cutenote @connorsui @capuccino192 @miss-gms-and-the-rotten-womb @celestialhole @the-second-sage @starryylies @everlastingmoonlightsworld @keiva1000

Brainrot, Ex-husband!Simon "Ghost" Riley who decided he wanted to get a divorce with you because things weren't working out between the both of you, so you had to share custody of your daughter.

You managed to get yourself together, having no time to grieve that part of you that he took with him because you had a little one depending on you. You loved that girl for all she was, however she brings you and Simon together.

Not that you resent her for it, god no, it wasn't her fault you and your husband couldn't see eye to eye.. that he refused to retire after everything, maybe it was just your paranoia getting to you. You couldn't stand the fear anymore, the fear of one day he's not the one you'll see when you open the front door but Price.

You forgot how difficult it was doing this on your own until now, you could barely get up, your head was actually killing you. You pushed through, making your daughter breakfast.

You felt like you were about to throw up, ears started to ring and everything else felt numb. The next thing you know was your eyes rolling back and everything going black, the last thing you heard was your toddler panicking, calling you over and over on the verge of crying.

All while you were unconscious, your little one runs to your room to look for your phone to call her dad.

"Listen I know we—" Simon said expecting you on the phone before getting cut off by his daughter..

"Dada! Momma's dead, dada. Momma's not breathing!" In a panic, she cried it out like a mantra. Simon was in a panic, he got up from where he was and was speeding towards what used to be your shared home.

The next thing you know, you were hearing the beeps of a heart monitor. All your senses were working, all except sight.. you didn't have enough energy to open them, in the coldness of your whole body from the well ventilated room, you felt warmth on your hand.

It was all too familiar, calloused but so gentle and warm. Simon.. it was Simon. All while processing this situation, all that's going through Simon's head are the what ifs.

"Fucking hell, help her.. My wife, she's been unconscious for thirty minutes. She's breathing but it's faint and she's burning" Simon almost yelled in a full panic, he was doing his best not to snap at the hospital staff but how couldn't he? Hadn't even realized that he called you something you weren't anymore, the title he took with him.

Your little one holding her dad's hand in the waiting room, she was observant, an emotionally intelligent little girl who holds her dad's hand. Simon keeps reminding himself to calm down, how much his bumblebee must be terrified, far more than he was so he takes her in his arms.

Sooner or later they were allowed to enter, doctor said you were stabilized and only collapsed from a horrid fever and so much fatigue. Thinking of losing you, just like that with no warning would be the second time Simon would lose you.

Now watching you unconscious, IV tube connected to you because of course you haven't been eating well either. It made him rethink everything, was it a mistake to give you those papers? Was it worth it losing the one person in his life who he would give his life for with no hesitation?

All he could do for now was sit next to you, no matter how long it takes for you to wake up because he doesn't have the strength to leave, maybe in a day or two but not now..

Part 2 anyone?

[packsvlog]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ ✎ ° 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐈 𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐓𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑 ! ࣪₊ 𐙚

✶ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: being a kindergarten teacher is something you excel at, you even have two students you treat as if they were your own. not that they mind your endless devotion, much less do their dad, 𝐧𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐢 𝐤𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐨, if you could spare some attention to him as well.

✶ 𝐚. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: papamin!!!!!!! honestly i love papamin so much, i wish i could make that man a daddy. while on the topic, nanami is girl dad code, but for the plot he is sukuna’s and yuuji’s dad. also i loved writing sukuna as a baby, he is such a menace, he definitely was that kid who bite everyone. just posting this because i can’t wait till i post the series i’m making, i had to do something before. divider by: @cafekitsune

✶ 𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐛𝐮𝐬: pure fluff / ooc!sukuna / reader has no gender / no curse!au / modern!au / mention of death and grief (minor character)

✶ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.7k

Yuuji thinks you are his princess, and you let him play with the wood horses and gallops around your desk, sometimes you even play pretend with him, accepting the roses he plucks from the school’s garden and sharing your sandwiches with him. He loves you very dearly, it’s not a secret he keeps that you are his favorite teacher, but it is yours that he is one of your favorites as well.

Now Sukuna, his twin brother, is a whole story. The two and a half years old siblings can be perceived as the perfect opposites, because Yuuji is adorable and expressive in good ways, and Sukuna tries to bite your ankles whenever you move near him sitting on the floor. His sharp teeth are always on showcase by his little smirk, he is a menace.

You know Sukuna might sometimes dislike you, not because you have done him terrible wrong, au contrarie, you have been a good teacher, a good human! He tries to grab your hair with his tiny fists and you put him in your lap quickly, staring at him with a cute smile, he thinks you are encouraging him to leave you bald but he ends up not caring anymore, and decides to snuggle against you and sleep. Only to wake up later with a bite on your wrist.

It’s love for your profession and for the children that you don’t report any of this to the superiors or his parent, you think hopefully that you can change his ways, make him better. It does work, credits be given, he used to be worse! He used to bite the other students, now his teeth are all over your and, unfortunately, his twin.

It’s something you try your best to control, gods be good, Yuuji only whines before slapping his brother’s head, and then Sukuna cries and comes to you. You open your arms and again, he is biting you.

“Ow, Kuna!” You move his head away from your skin. “What do you eat to have such sharp teeth, hm?”

He doesn’t answer you, his big eyes are filled with tears and he is wiggling towards any skin of yours to sink his canines.

“C’mere.” You grab him and adjust the baby in your hips, before moving towards the box filled with toys and grabbing a plastic one, you take it to the class bathroom and wash it, while Sukuna sits on the balcony, staring at you with his sad puppy eyes. “You are so cute, y’know that, right?” He nods, which takes you by surprise. “You can not keep biting me anymore, Sukuna, you get this?”

As expected, Sukuna doesn’t answer this time. He only gets what he wants.

“But let’s make a deal, you don’t bite me or Yuuji, you bite this whenever you feel like it, hm?”

Sukuna is not supposed to be with pacifiers anymore, something requested by his parent and passed to you through your boss. So it’s a little secret to let him have the blue whale in his mouth, he bites the thing so deeply that by the end of the week, you have to change it for a red rubber duck.

It’s keeps going like this for a couple more days until you notice the progress being made, Sukuna always has the toy by his gripping hands or in his pockets, and whenever he falls to the ground or gets pushed by a classmate, his little eyebrows crunch into an angry face. You think he is going to jump the kid or run at you and be a little vampire, but instead he grabs his toy and starts to violently munch on it.

It’s adorable, it makes you want to eat him.

But you noticed, obviously you did, how Sukuna has anger issues, and being a baby he has no idea how to control the anger but to externalize it with violence, and you gave him a escape plan. Now, he isn’t so angry anymore, sometimes he just squeezes the little toy, he also doesn’t spend his time with only you or his brother, he makes some new friends such as little Uraume, who follows Sukuna around and both keep sharing their lunches.

You do find one more problem arising, anytime Ijichi, who you learn is their butler, comes to pick the boys, Sukuna cries desperate for having to return his toy. You tried to let him have but the man refuses and your superior reprimanded you once, after catching you trying to give it. The next day, you notice quickly that Yuuji and Sukuna both have little red teeth marks on their arms.

You sigh desperate.

After class is over, few days later, Ijichi is late for the pickup, so you sat both Sukuna (sucking his little toy) and Yuuji (talking your ear off) down. They stop what both were doing and stare at you, one with pure sparkling eyes and the other with a raising eyebrow. You laugh at that.

“My darling cherubs, we need to talk.” You sit on the floor. “Kuna, you are not allowed to keep biting your brother, you know that. And you can’t bite him as well, Yuuji. You have to go to your papa, okay?”

The little one nods at you.

“Sukuna, honey, you can’t bring the duck home, we tried. But you can find another one to bite, hm?” He doesn’t answer, of course, he is two years he is not going on a quest for a rubber toy. “I’ll talk to Ijichi-san, for you, okay buddy?”

It takes you by surprise when Sukuna gets up and moves to sit on your lap, snuggling his face to your chest. When your arms go to close, Yuuji follows his twin and sits on you as well.

“Thank you, sensei.” Kuna’s little voice melts your heart even more, you hug them back instantly.

“I’ll do anything for the both of you.”

You don’t notice the presence behind you, or the fact that it’s been there since you sat down, and payed attention to everything you said, but mostly by how Sukuna went for you instantly and thanked you. The little bundle of angriness has his eyes closed, but his brother stares behind your shoulder and gasp, wiggling out of your touch and running towards the door.

“PAPA!” Yuuji screams making your heart jump. You turn back, staring at the scene. A tall blonde man, with formal clothes, kneels to the floor before opening his arms and grabbing Yuuji on his arms, kissing the pink hair of his baby.

You have heard the gossips towards the twins’s father, how exceptionally good looking he is, most charming and polite man anyone has ever seen or meet. And that he is single.

Of course, because of Ijichi being the one to bring and get the boys and the first teacher-parents’s meeting of the year being in just a few weeks, you haven’t met the man yet, but he here is, Nanami Kento, in all his glory.

You get up with Sukuna at the same time Nanami get up with Yuuji, and you notice right away that in his other hand he holds a bouquet of purple tulips.

“Look, Kuna, your papa is here.” You bounce the sleepy head on your lap, he opens his eyes before smiling a bit, and closing it again. “I think he got pretty tired after the playground today.” You laugh quietly before staring at the man, his eyes on his baby, a small smile on his face as well.

“Pleasure to meet you, Y/n-sensei.” It’s the first thing he says to you, his voice shaking your smile for a bit. “I’m sorry about being so late, the driver got busy with some stuff, so I had to come. I got you this, for the inconvenience.” He presents you the flowers, in your mind, he was going on a date, never in millions thoughts you would expect this.

“Oh, oh! Thank you, they are beautiful.” With your spare hand, you grab the flowers and smell them, smiling sweetly.

“I told papa you like those, sensei.” Yuuji says, with his eyes closed and large smile.

“Thank you, Yuuji, my charming knight.” You put the flowers on your desk before giving a pat to his head. “And thank you again, Mr. Nanami.”

“Again, I’m very sorry. But now, I think it’s time we go, right boys? Your sensei deserves to rest after the two of you.” Nanami grabs Sukuna from your arms, the boy open his eyes again for a second before falling into slumber. You help the male grabbing the twins backpacks and both of you move towards the parking lot.

When Nanami puts the babies in their seats, he turns to you grabbing the bags.

“Thank you for being their teacher, is not an easy job, but they both really like you.”

“It’s my pleasure, really. Sukuna and Yuuji make this job really worth it.” You answer sincerely, the door to the car is closed and the boys can’t hear you.

“I heard what you said to them, about the bites. I’ll get the toys for Sukuna, thank you for caring for him.“ Before Nanami gets into his car, he stops and turns back at you. “Would you need a ride? After all we did kept you here for longer than anticipated.”

You stare at the sky, dark clouds already reaching the sunset orange and pink, even the moon hangs more brightly than ever. You are inclined to accept, but you hold yourself.

“I would, any other day, but there is so much I have to do in the classroom and to grade the kid’s exercises, but thank you for the offer, Mr. Nanami.” You both exchange a smile before you wave at the awake Yuuji, staring at you by the window.

The next day and the others after, surprising everyone, Nanami is the one picking his sons up. His back is always tainted with the sunset from the corridor’s widows whenever he stays at the door, and a dozens of mothers and staff keep staring at him, searching for any opening to create a conversation. You are putting Yuuji’s bear beanie on, when you hear your boss asking Nanami for coffee with the excuse of talking about the boys, you laugh silently before grabbing the twins’s hands and moving towards their dad, giving an scape for him to move away from the woman.

“No need for the coffee ‘date’, the parents reunion with the teachers is this saturday, we all can talk there.” You say a bit loud, enough to send the message across, and all those people ready to jump at the blonde male move away.

“Thank you.” He whispers before grabbing the boys in his arms. “No ride today?”

Every once in a while, after the first time meeting Nanami, he has been asking you if you need a ride, and with a strength you don’t know where came from, you refuse nicely. It’s not that you don’t want, would be stupid to, it’s more for the fact that he is dreamily, you wouldn’t be any better than those who salivate at the sight of him. You could be worse.

“Not today, Mr. Nanami, these two made a mess in the bathroom, although I think Sukuna has a talent for arts, he painted the walls really well.”

“God, you’re joking.” You sign no with your head and the man sighs. “I’ll ask for the price of repair, please don’t worry about it, it’s my kids, I’ll fix it.”

“No need! Seriously, I believe just water and soap and it’ll be fine.” You grab Sukuna’s cheeks and he hides his face in his dad’s chest. “But if not, it’ll be a cute memory in the future, when they move classes or school.”

“I’m not going anywhere.” Yuuji squirms. “We’re staying with you forever, right Papa?”

Oh.

“C’mon, buddy, time to go home.” Nanami laughs his answer, and you move with them, holding their backpacks. It’s a little ritual now, you could say.

You wave them goodbye and return home that day with a slight tremble in your fingers, after this year most likely you wouldn’t see them ever again, and that fact made you terribly sad. You would miss pealing the fruits for Yuuji and being gifted half of it, would miss even the mark bites of Sukuna little mouth, even though he hadn’t been a menace in a long time now.

Admitting, you would miss Nanami and his lovely smile, the way he would ask you for a ride anytime. You should accept it, you know, but could you move on from this little crush you’ve been harboring, if you are meant to never see him again? Doubt it, no one can get over the Nanami Kento.

You sleep with those thoughts, these little moments you had with him and the sweet and gentle and chaotic memories you had with the twins. It’s a bittersweet feeling teachers have, you should be used to it by now, dealing with the fact that the babies don’t stay babies forever, only in your heart and memories. But there is something in that little family that shakes your core, that moves your mind and warms your heart, something that scares you.

Saturday comes but your anxiety stays. You decorate your classroom with a large table filled with charcuterie boards and juices, there is also paintings of the kids hanging by the walls, presents to give to their parents. All of them are on the corridor, you call for one couple after the other, for the intimacy of talking about their children.

You notice how each kid can resemble their parents in a comical and adorable way. Megumi, for example, who has his mom messy hair but his dad scowl, Nobara is energetic like her mom, and sensitive like her daddy who cries when gifted her painting.

You also see how they can be with their babies. Toge’s parents who are elated with your hand signs, and how you explain that you learned it in two months for the boy and has been using and teaching it in your class, for the other students to communicate with the him. Maki’s and Mai’s parents are stiff and bored, and you take notice of that to pay more attention to the girls, help if needed anything.

You do your job perfectly, but your eyes always go searching for a blonde man whenever you go call the next parents. He is not there yet, and you wonder if he won’t come. Maybe job related, maybe he forgot, you try to not be sad.

When you are taking Nanako’s and Mimiko’s fathers to the door, waving them goodbye, you catch sight of a man with beige suit and blue shirt, in his hands another bouquet of purple tulips.

“I told you we should have given something.” Mr. Geto whispers while staring at Nanami.

“Love, that’s not a ‘Thank you for being my kid’s teacher’ bouquet.” Mr. Satoru answers with a smirk your way.

“I miss when you would give me flowers.” Geto answers, his voice low because they are already by the end of the corridor.

“Huh? I gave your flowers last week?!”

Nanami and you are staring at the couple, until their figures disappear and both of you stare at each-other, smiling fondly at first and then laughing a second later.

“I’m guessing these are for me?” You ask when you move inside the classroom, Nanami following behind. You turn to him, and he nods, giving you the bouquet, perfumed perfectly. “Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I was late, the boys wanted to come as well but I had to keep them occupied and tired.” You nod laughing, before pointing at the table in front of your desk, putting your flowers there, he sits and you move towards the wall, grabbing two drawings.

“These are for you.” You sit by his side instead of in front of the man and give him the papers, he has a sweet smile while admiring the drawings. “I asked the class to draw their family, hasn’t had the time to check yet, but I hope it’s better than the one I saw earlier: the girl draw only her sister and their cats.”

“It’s perfect, don’t worry.” Nanami has his eyes on both drawings, side by side. You can tell which is which by the colors and traces, but none other, the art is basically the same. “This is Ijichi in the car, how cute.” Nanami points at the figure in a black suit driving a car besides the house in both paintings. You stares confused at the fifth stick person, besides Nanami and the twins. “Is that…?”

“I think so…” Your hands move to your mouth, hiding your growing smile when you notice characteristics in it that resembles you, specially a rubber duck in your hands, in Sukuna’s drawing. “I’m flattered they consider me family.”

“They are not wrong.” Nanami stares at you now. “That day we meet, you were helping them with one thing I had no idea how.” He moves the drawing to your desk. “I’m not their biological father, don’t know if you know that.” You don’t, so you keep yourself quiet and let him speak. “I was their godfather, been friends with their dad ever since we were little. Itadori Jin, great guy, that’s where they inherited that beautiful pink hair.” Nanami has a sad smile in his lips that break your heart. “He and his wife died in a car crash, first date since the birth of the babies, just two months old. Their grandfather was adamant on keeping them, but he realized he needed my help, so he let me adopt them officially.”

He sighs before grabbing his thighs.

“Recently I told them about their parents, that’s why Sukuna started the biting, his sorrow is physically showing. I tried to help but didn’t knew how, but you did, you handled it better than I could.”

“You are still a great father, they might not have come from you, but they are yours. And you did helped them, Sukuna might have received some slaps from Yuuji, but Yuu always hugged him whenever it became too much, and he listened to me instead of throwing a tantrum.” You hold his arm for a second before removing your hand. “You are raising them very well, Mr. Nanami, it’s not easy to be a parent, but you are doing fine.”

“Thank you, and please call me Kento.” It’s not professional, but you nod.

“Okay… Kento.” You whisper his name like a secret, and you wonder if you feel right, but it tastes like honey in your tongue. It’s just a second of both of you staring at each-other for his eyes to move to your lips. You should move back, but you don’t, nor you can. Instead, your eyes go to his pink lips as well. “We should wrap this up, it’s late, right?”

“Yeah, we should.” But none of you move, eyes moving to eyes and lips, over and over, you wet your lips, he groans and lunges at you. You accept him easily, moving your hands to circle his broad shoulders and touch his neck, while his large hands take your waist.

You shouldn’t be doing this, but it feels wrong to not be doing it. So you allow yourself to be kissed hungrily by Kento.

There is three knocks on the door before you both jump apart, your boss, the principal, makes her way in, eyes shinning at seeing Nanami.

“Mr. Nanami, so good to see you here! Would you like to come and have that coffee we were taking about some days ago?”

Kento looks at you, his hair is a little messy and his mouth is red, he looks even more ravishing than before. You cough awkward, grabbing your flowers, bag and the twins’s drawing before moving to his side.

“I’m so sorry, Principal, but Mr. Nanami is giving me a ride home.” The man has his hands on your back in an instant, moving both of you out of the class. “I see you monday.”

The two of you leave the baffled woman behind, Nanami has an eternal perfect smile charming his face, making you want to kiss him even more. Which you do, when he closes the door he opened for you, and enters the car you kiss him, when you both stop at a red light you kiss him. And when he let you at your house, his hands again in your back, he kisses you.

You are too tempted to bring him inside, even more to have your way with him, but he beats you to it, asking you to go out with him the next day.

It’s just the beginning of your blooming relationship, flowers every week, restaurant dates, kisses at every opportunity. You both keep yourselves occupied and yet reserved. He gives you rides home after most staff and students are gone, the boys happily talking with you all the way to your house, and he leaves you at your door with a peck the babies don’t see.

It’s at your last day of the year, all your students glued to you, crying red faces you promise them to always be there when needed, giving the parents your personal number, they happily accept it. Yuuji and Sukuna are the most devasted, their little hands keep you from moving far away from them, and when Nanami comes to pick them up, Sukuna cries together with his brother, taking you by surprise.

You tell them bye and run to your apartment, where you prepare a whole meal and dress nicely, soon you hear the door knocking. When you open, it takes three stunned seconds before two little babies are running to your arms, screaming happily to see you.

“Now it’s a good time to say, Y/n is staying in our lives.” Nanami says while hugging you, both boys in your arms holding you as well.

“Forever?” Sukuna asks, Yuuji stares at you waiting for the answer.

“Yes, my cherubs, forever.”