#yes i am trying to self soothe with evidence i can do this

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Conference tomorrow and for some reason the ol' anxiety is kicking me in the nuts. Better lift some weights about it.

[hxzxrdous]

The School for Good and Evil

Platonic Lady Lesso x Never!reader

TW: Anxiety attack, skin picking, OCD

Note: This one is for me, because I suffer from anxiety and a skin picking disorder. Also stream Hold My Hand by Lady Gaga, tee hee !! </33

HOLD MY HAND

You woke up drenched in sweat, the lingering scent of copper from your nightmares permeating the air around your bed. The aged wooden frame creaked as you sat up, your feet hovering above the cold stone floor. Casting a gaze around the dormitory, a realization struck you like a lightning bolt - you had unknowingly slept over your first-class History of Villainy. The mere thought of entering the classroom with all eyes fixed upon you filled you with overwhelming anxiety. The prospect was too dreadful, too mortifying.

Frustration etched across your face, and in a moment of despair, you began absentmindedly picking at your skin, as if trying to alleviate the tension. With a heavy sigh, you realized the state of disarray you had left your hair in. There was no way you could attend class in such a disheveled state. Not like that. You knew that the dean's Doom Room was awaiting for you which made you anxious even more. The possibilities of what she would do to you for skipping class.

Retreating to the bed, you pulled your legs back up and crossed them, continuing to mindlessly pick at your skin. Suddenly, a knock interrupted the silence, causing your head to snap toward the door.

"Y/L/N," Lady Lesso's voice echoed sternly. A lump formed in your throat as you tried to muster a response, but nothing came out. Lowering your gaze, you averted your eyes to the ground, ignoring her calling for you. Growing impatient with your silence, Lady Lesso forcefully swung open the door with her cane, the clicking of her heels drawing nearer and nearer, still unable to meet her piercing stare. That was it. You were convinced you were about to get killed.

"M-ma'am, I-," you whispered, your voice barely audible, while nervously scratching your scalp.

"Speak," the redhead commanded, her arms folded on her hips, her cane firmly in hand. "You got something to say, say it." She spat out.

"I... I can't stop picking at my skin," you replied softly, frustration evident as you ran your fingers through your hair.

Concern flickered across the dean's face as she noticed the wounds on your scalp. "Y/L/N, why do you engage in this behavior? Is there a particular reason behind it?" Her head tilted slightly as she studied you intently.

"I dunno- I get a feeling like I have to smooth out my skin by picking it- C-can't stop," you confessed, your quiet voice barely heard.

"What do you mean by 'a feeling'? Is it akin to an itch or a compulsive urge?" Lady Lesso inquired, her gaze unwavering. "As if you simply have to do it regardless of the consequences?"

"Yes... like a compulsion," you murmured, scratching your scalp in frustration. "Please... I need help."

"I will do my best to help you, but you must also be willing to put in effort, Y/N," the dean stated firmly, crossing her arms. "Now, do you believe you can resist the urge to pick your skin, or is it more of a coping mechanism, a way for you to regain a sense of control?"

You shrugged your shoulders, contemplating the question. "The second one," you replied. "It somehow calms me down, even though I always regret it afterwards." You gestured toward your messy scalp. "It's not about the pain, but like self-soothing, I guess," you tried explaining.

"Alright, I am here to help you," Lady Lesso's voice softened as she moved closer, kneeling in front of you. "Can I hold your hands?"

Sniffling, you glanced at the dean, a hint of confusion in your eyes. However, you extended your hands towards her, allowing her to take hold of them.

"I... I want to do it again so badly..." you cried out, tears welling in your eyes.

"Please don't. It will only cause you harm, and I don't want to see you hurt," the dean implored firmly, holding your hands tightly in hers. "Just take a deep breath and focus on your breath. Can you feel the warmth of my hand? Is it helping you stay calm?"

"I... I guess," you nodded, trying to focus on the sensation of the dean's hands. Your trembling persisted as you fought against the urge to retract your hands and resume your destructive habit.

"Breathe. You're okay," Lady Lesso reassured you, gently stroking your hands with her thumbs, doing what she could do to get you to relax and prevent any further picking. "You are safe here, Y/N. I won't allow anyone to harm you. I promise, you're safe."

"I just... I want to smooth it out," you whimpered, shaking your head in frustration, still holding onto the woman's hands tightly.

"It's alright. We'll work through this together," Lady Lesso spoke softly, her voice brimming with empathy. "I want to help you overcome this, and you're a strong person, I know you can do it. If you start to panic, just remember you are safe here and no one can hurt you, okay?" She continued to gently stroke your hands.

"'S hard... So hard... Wanna do it-" you started trembling even more, Lady Lesso's grip on your hands tightened.

"No, you musn't." the dean's voice grew stern as she held your hands with one hand and lifted your chin with the other. "Look at me, Y/N. Look into my eyes." You locked eyes with Lady Lesso, her unwavering gaze filled with determination and belief. "You are stronger than this, you are beautiful. I know you're trying SO hard not to do it, but you are stronger than you know. I believe in you."

"I... I can't breathe," you mumbled, your words strained as your breathing became rapid and shallow. Your cheeks flushed with heat, visibly turning red, as your breathing quickened.

"Slow down, you're breathing too quickly," Lady Lesso gently picked you up and settled you on her lap, her voice a blend of firmness and tenderness, laced with concern and reassurance. "Take slow, deep breaths. Can you do that for me?" You nodded, attempting to mimic the woman's breathing pattern. "Nice and slow, Y/N. Inhale... and exhale."

"I... I'm trying, ma'am," you managed to utter between breaths, your palms becoming increasingly clammy to the touch.

"Keep trying, I've got you, little one," Lady Lesso cooed, cradling you in her arms as if you were a small child, offering comfort despite your teenage years. "Your breathing is improving. Keep it up for me, just a little longer," she soothed, gently stroking your hair. "You're going to be alright, Y/N. Remember, you are safe here."

"I'm... I'm sorry... I didn't mean to," you attempted to pull away, but Lady Lesso held you closer, refusing to let you go.

"Y/N, there's no need to apologize. You haven't done anything wrong," she whispered, continuing to rock you back and forth. "I'm not angry with you, I promise. Not at all." Her voice radiated understanding and love, ensuring that you knew you were safe and accepted. The warmth from her touch spread through your body as she tenderly stroked your hair.

"I'm... I'm so tired," you murmured, your body growing limp as you nestled into the dean's embrace, your eyes fluttering shut.

The redhead sighed softly, continuing to sway you gently. "Rest now, my dear," Lady Lesso spoke softly. "You've done well. I'm proud of you." She placed a gentle kiss on the top of your head. "We'll talk more when you've had a chance to relax, alright?"

[lains-reality]

the hardest i keep trying to remain uninterested towards my thoughts and reaffirm that im awareness only and not the ego the more i feel angry that absolutely nothing is happening, not even feeling peace or fulfillment or anything, probably because i went into nd thinking its the same thing as loa and just wanting to get things but rn im done trying to convince myself that i dont care what my thoughts or my reality is, i dont know what to do about any of this anymore because ive read so much information (including the books ada shared) and now my brain feels fried and cant process shit i have no idea of where to go from here

firstly. take a break.

honestly, i've been thinking about honesty lol. i've realised that a lot of what i've been doing is to see a manifestation or feel love. but i never wanted to admit it. i might not ever have any """evidence""" for why i am pure awareness - my ego wants to understand. but i've moved on from trying to make it understand or convincing it. its perfectly fine as it is. it can walk, it can intelectualise (something that i actually want to stop doing with nd!), it can talk. thats okay with me. i don't want to demand or force anything more of it. i know what happens when i force my mind to do something, its a complete mess. i know that for the manifestations i want, that it requires me not to be a body-mind. it require something more. something timeless, boundless, etc. i cannot demand that from my body or mind. so i've decided to move past them, work with them when needed and soothe them when needed.

doing the inner work, depending on your ego, might be a thing you need to do (in fact i'd say that everyone needs to do it). its hard to just force yourself to disbelieve and detach. especially when forcing is not what you're supposed to do.

if you're in my inbox then you've read my posts, right?

so you see that i've recommended self inquiry before yes? and that i've put up books? you sound like you haven't read my posts? i've been reblogging so much and talked several times about no forcing!!

give yourself a chance. calm down. you're putting so much pressure on the body-mind to see your Self, BUT IT CAN'T, you are not that which you can observe!! you can't observe Self, THATS WHY THE MIND WILL NEVER GET IT! stop trying to force yourself to see your divinity, just appriciate the divinity you see now (you're literally ALIVE, breathing!! look at the world, you as Self created for YOU. Self fell in love with the character so much it forgot it was not it!!)

you're looking for some woo-woo magical experience that forever changes you - these ideas about enlightenment are not it. whatever ideas about enlightenment the mind had, throw it in the bin.

before enlightenment - chop wood, carry water. after enlightenment - chop wood, carry water!! you'll be going through the world the same, except in how you see the world.

enlightenment is a destruction. its a destruction in how you see the world and yourself. that's it. in the end, you'll feel peace (as others have said so) but you're not there, are you? you're trying to get rid of ego through ego. stop.

you'll never know Self, until you see it yourself. this is through experiments and practise.

stop reading if its frying you're brain. you're entire ask can be solved by "ok i'm gonna take a break this is too much". please the answer to your questions is not some magical shit! this is why i've said before KEEP IT SIMPLE.

this goes to all anons now (not just you anon!) LEARN HOW TO EMOTIONALLY REGULATE YOURSELF. i might just make a big post on this or something.

reading

starting the journey

i've shared this too many times now

another regular article i share

disbelieve

how to let go of vanessa

i'm sorry more ada posts

another one

read this one

LEAVE VANESSA ALONE

[whattraintracks]

30. Wrestling - TMNT 1990s

"You are unique among your brothers, for you choose to face this enemy alone. But as you face it, do not forget them, and do not forget me. I am here, my son."

Splinter breathes deeply, allowing the flow of air to guide the outside world to the forefront of his awareness. Stale subterranean scent, cushioned armchair beneath him, dim candlelight, footsteps. Someone has drawn him out of meditation. Perhaps his sons are home earlier than expected.

"You may enter, Raphael," he offers to the hovering shadow. The turtle creeps inside, halting but a moment before bowing deeply.

He smiles warmly, "Have you and your brothers returned?"

"The guys are still out." Raphael's shoulders hunch; from what emotion, he cannot tell. "I, I didn't go with them."

The scattered candles flicker. A great darkness seems to cross Raphael, and he glimpses someone very much unlike his passionate son. Someone exhausted, worn down, nearing the brink of collapse.

Raphael's voice brittles, "Can I stay with you?"

Splinter's not sure what is more alarming, that Raphael has declined an opportunity to go to the surface—with his brothers, no less—or this weariness so evident in him.

"What troubles you?" He implores.

Raphael shakes his head mutely.

He insists, trying to keep his disquiet at bay, "I cannot help you if you do not tell me what is wrong."

A coarse whisper, "It's nothing."

"This is not nothing," he creaks to his feet, "You must—"

"Dad."

The sudden plea stills them both.

"Master Splinter." His heart wrenches at the self-conscious amendment. It is not one he needs to make. Not about this. Not ever.

"Please, can I just," Raphael cuts himself off, breathing shallowly. Another flicker of candlelight and Splinter catches the sheen of tears in his eyes.

"Oh," he breathes. What a fool he is. His son has come seeking comfort and company, not interrogation.

"Yes. Yes, come." He beckons, reseating himself. "Sit with me."

Raphael shuffles deeper into the train car, kneeling stiffly. Splinter clucks softly, reaching for his arm to pull him against the chair. He curls forward without resistance, breath hitching.

"My son," he says, soothing with hands and words. "I am sorry. You may always come to me. You need not tell me what is on your mind to do so."

He is unsurprised but nevertheless heartbroken as Raphael releases a heavy sob, giving in to whatever weight he has been carrying. Tears prick in his own eyes at the openly hurting sound. He internally chides the parts of himself that demand answers over acceptance with open arms. Wrapping them now around as much of Raphael as he can, he mourns with his son so clearly wrestling with a great burden. He sends a prayer of gratitude to his Master Yoshi for guiding Raphael to him when that weight grew too large to bear alone.

Much time passes before the rest of his sons return. Long after Raphael cries himself past exhaustion into sleep. At some point, concerned at the angle of his son's neck, Splinter maneuvers out of his chair to rest them more comfortably on the floor. His ears prick at a whisper of movement. Ah, three movements.

Michelangelo peers into the train car, his brothers close behind. "Oh," he blinks, "he really did stay here."

Protectiveness flares within Splinter. "We should not begrudge Raphael's need for comfort or rest," he reproves.

Michelangelo's eyes widen in dismay, "Of course not!"

Donatello shakes his head, "No, we're not— We don't think Raph—" His eyes dart as they do when he's searching for the most precise explanation. "We're just worried about him."

"He's been having a rough week," Leonardo murmurs.

Oh, his sweet sons. He should not have been so quick to assume they meant anything uncharitable when they are but concerned brothers. As with Raphael, he wishes they had come sooner instead of struggling and worrying alone. He can be grateful they are here now.

"Tell me," he invites, resting a muffling hand on Raphael's tympanum.

They glance between themselves as they kneel, silently urging one another to speak first. He is careful to display only calm patience despite his inner turmoil.

Michelangelo finally bursts, "He's not eating." The other two look at him, befuddled.

"Okay, he's not, not eating," he revises, "but he didn't even finish a whole pizza at April's on Monday!"

Splinter trusts this is a remarkable incident, given their identically serious nods.

"I think he's having nightmares," Donatello contributes. "At the very least, he's not sleeping well. I keep finding him awake at odd hours, and sometimes he's pretty freaked."

Splinter huffs fondly. "Should I ask what you are doing awake at 'odd hours', Donatello?" The turtle shrugs cheekily.

He ponders these insights, soothing Raphael as he twitches. Do dreams haunt him now, even surrounded by loved ones?

"Leonardo?" he prompts, drawing his final son from deep thought.

Leonardo begins slowly as if unsure, "He's been more focused during training." As they all have. With their many hardships, each of his sons has increased their dedication to learning ninja, whether they realise it or not.

He listens keenly as Leonardo continues, "But when we're out, he hesitates. I've never seen so much slip past his defense."

He hums, "You are concerned he is a danger to himself and your brothers?"

"Never," Leonardo swears.

He tilts his head, not unkindly.

"Well, yeah, I guess," Leonardo concedes. "But not like that. Raph usually loves fighting." His eyes resonate with confusion and grief and fear. "He doesn't seem to enjoy it much lately. And he's always so tired, Master Splinter. It has to be more than him not sleeping."

"Maybe they're connected," Donatello suggests, "Maybe whatever's going on is affecting his sleep, and improper sleep is exacerbating the symptoms, on and on in a vicious cycle of—"

Michelangelo groans, "We get it, Donnie."

"Shh, quiet," Leonardo hisses.

They shush each other back and forth as Splinter watches Raphael slumber with a heavy heart. Holding up a paw, they fall silent. "You are right, my sons. Raphael is wrestling with something very grave indeed."

He reaches out to them. "My turtles, you have been through so much in your young lives." They lean in, allowing him to rest a hand on them, one by one.

"How do we help him?" Michelangelo asks.

Moved as he always is by Michelangelo's generous spirit, he is loath to admit he has no answer. He is stopped before he can.

"By following Master Splinter's teachings," Leonardo pronounces, looking at him eagerly. "Ultimate mastery comes not of the body but of the mind. Through mindfulness and unity, we draw each other up."

He is humbled to hear his own words in his son's voice. Warm with pride, he inclines his head.

"A break certainly couldn't hurt," Donatello rubs his chin, "A little downtime to focus on rest and healing together."

Michelangelo brightens. "Like family time!"

Donatello and Leonardo share a fond glance. "Yeah, Mikey," Leonardo says, tucking the turtle under his arm, "like family time."

"You guys are the sappiest suckers I've ever known." Splinter chuckles as Leonardo and Michelangelo startle at Raphael's sudden utterance.

Donatello laughs, "Please, you know like seven people."

"Yeah, an' the other three are normal," Raphael grumbles. Yet he unabashedly proves himself equally "sappy" as he shifts to nuzzle Splinter's hand.

Recovering from their shock, Michelangelo exclaims, "Raph!" as Leonardo yelps, "You're awake!?"

Raphael yawns widely, opening one eye briefly to check the room. "Hard to sleep with the lot of you yappin'." He appears, if only for this moment, at ease. It is a gift to see him comfortable and unguarded. More so, Splinter acknowledges, because these things have been absent in him for too long.

"I won't say no to a break," he mumbles. He lifts a hand to swat at Leonardo blindly, "But I refuse to participate in anything called 'family time'."

Leonardo evades the wild arm, a mischievous spark in his eye, "Fine then, we'll call it team building."

Raphael scoffs, "No. That's worse."

And as the four bicker good-naturedly Splinter knows they will find peace, as surely as he knows the love that binds them. However much healing Raphael needs, he will not do it alone. His family would not let him if he tried.

[jefarawol]

Ah, Jefara, there is something I would fain discuss.  I must ask you to recall the events which unfolded at the peace conference, though I daresay you would sooner forget them. Not that which occured after, but what we all bore witness too.

In what way?

My mind returns again and again to the moment when Nidhogg appeared before the crowd in the guise of Estinien. It was a sight to chill the soul─but one which gave me reason to hope that our friend might not be beyond salvation. When you described his fateful transformation at Azys Lla, I feared him lost forever, but the mere fact that some semblance of his former self endures must surely count for something. Alas, I have no evidence to support this impression... Thus did I turn to Y'shtola and Krile for a more empirical appraisal─and full glad am I that I did, for it would seem they have some observations of their own to share.

The ladies have saved us a table at the Forgotten Knight. Shall we go?

Excellent. Let us not keep our honored colleagues waiting.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·  

We have kept you waiting overlong, I fear...

Not to worry, Alphinaud. We had some rather fine mulled wine to keep us company. Truth be told, you could have delayed your arrival a few moments more...

Gibrillont got the spicing just right this time. His latest batch is not only delicious and warming, but soothing to the humours!

Indeed. But 'twas not to soothe our humours that we gathered here.

Ah, no─quite right. The matter of that poor dragoon...

You have discovered something─a means to save him?

Let us not jump to conclusions, shall we? Assess the facts presented, then make an educated analysis, as you were taught.

Pray cast your mind back to the moment of Estinien's transformation. Do you recall how you described it to us?

Yes...

You spoke of the sudden pangs which racked his body when he took up both of Nidhogg's eyes─and of how his form was twisted thereafter into a shadowy semblance of the great wyrm.

I felt them myself.

When he appeared at Falcon's Nest, the wyrm's eyes were fused to his mail.

Would that only his armor had been corrupted... Snaking forth from the eyes, I descried dark tendrils which entangled his very being. His aether has been all but smothered.

Then he is lost to us forever?

What did I just say about jumping to conclusions!? Y'shtola clearly stated “all but smothered.” As I later discovered, her impression matched my own. Though Nidhogg's presence filled my mind's eye, beneath his seething aura, I sensed the merest hint of something else. And after listening to Y'shtola's observations, I became more certain of my suspicion: that the “something else” I had sensed was, in fact, the trace of a different will, submerged in the sea of Nidhogg's rage.

You mean...

Yes. 'Tis like that Estinien's spirit yet lingers.

It is... Nidhogg... For a brief moment... Let him speak to me...

You heard him? You heard Estinien?

Only because Nidhogg let him through. He snuffed him out like he was nothing... But he was there... He was weak...

Can we not wrest him from Nidhogg's grasp, then!? Tear the eyes from the armor!?

We know not if that would serve to separate wyrm's soul from man's. None have ever attempted such a feat.

Should it offer even the faintest hope of success, then by the gods, I shall be the first to try

Alphinaud... By all means, hold fast to your hope. But be mindful of the dangers. Even should you succeed in excising the eyes from the dragoon's mail, we have no way of knowing if your friend's soul would survive so violent a separation. And that is to say nothing of the possibility that his would-be savior might become Nidhogg's next host.

But what other choice remains to us? Should the opportunity present itself, I will tear those foul orbs from Estinien's armor and trust in the resilience of his soul─even at the risk of mine own!

[cartoonfanaticmonsterrobotalien]

Solar Opposites: Unleashed Episode #11: “Life at The Party Pt. 2”

The family stood in horror as Sonya starts snarling at them.

Human Terry: Okay, easy honey. It’s us! Your family

Sonya kept snarling but then Human Korvo comes up to her and soothes her face as she finally calms down and whimpers.

Human Korvo: Don’t worry Sonya! I’m sure we’ll find a way to help you control this new side of you! But right now, we have to stop O’Finscales

Sonya calms down.

Human Korvo: Okay now here is our plan!

The scene cuts to the Sea Kingdom, where tourists starts doing shooting photos and growing amazed by Amy and Monica W., whose side effects got worst because they have fins behind their backs and their hairs have turn fish gills and fins.

Amy: Well, what do you think? Is this what you wanted? Tourist attraction

Monica W.: Sadly not really…

Amy: Exactly. What? So, this your chance to be more popular….

Monica W.: I don’t really like this. I mean my parents are sometime busy and I always feel like I am all alone I mean I haven’t been making friends lately. Which fucking sucks…

Amy: Oh… sorry to hear that…

Monica W.: No…

Mr. O’Finscales: comes in Okay folks! This attraction is now closed. Please leave! tourists leave Okay girls, get ready because today we’re taking you places. And you girls are gonna make me millions

Monica W.: No!

Later, the Solars made it to the bus where Jesse has finished making costumes for her family, except for Sonya.

Human Korvo: Okay Phoebe, keep an eye Sonya so no one can see here! Got it?

Phoebe: Got it!

The family then does a huddle with Sonya is prowling like an animal.

Human Korvo: Okay fam! Here is our plan!

The scene cuts Jesse, back to her Shlorpian self disguised as a mermaid.

Korvo: voicover Jesse, you turn off the lights and camera so no one can see us snooping around it can help distract security guards!

Jesse pulls the switch that turns off the light. The guards got distracted and starts searching.

Jesse: Yes!

Then, it cuts to Yumyulack wearing a glow fish outfit searching and looking around the aquarium.

Korvo: voiceover Yumyulack! You look for Amy and Monica in each part of the aquarium, but just be careful to stay low!

Yumyulack: Aw shit, where could they be?!

Then it cuts to Korvo and Terry, putting on sea monkey mascot suits as they head inside the office where O’Finscales reside in

Korvo: voiceover As for Terry and I, we will find a way to prove evidence that Mr. O’Finscales took the girls before he gets away with it, or worse!

Terry starts digging for a clue, until he sees a photo of a swimmer, that looks like Maureen.

Terry: voiceover And then afterwards, we can make out?

Korvo: voiceover Hmmm… not a bad idea!

Terry gasp upon seeing the photo.

Korvo: What is it?! What’s wrong, darling?!

Terry shows him the photo. Korvo gasps

Korvo: looks closely while holding his contact glasses Maureen?

Suddenly, two guards caught the two alien husbands as they scream and tie them once Mr. O’Finscales came in.

Mr. O’Finscales: Well well well. Look who it is.

Terry and Korvo struggles to break free because of their hands being tied by the ropes. Later, it cuts to Yumyulack hiding underneath a truck. He then began to smell something.

Yumyulack: Oh God. What is that smell?

Yumyulack sniffs closely as he began to recognize it.

Yumyulack: sniffs Fish water? That’s gotta be them!

Then it cuts to Amy feeling something in her head as she screams in pain.

Amy: My mind is going crazy!

Monica W.: Amy?!

Then Monica W. felt the same thing.

Monica W.: So is mine! Amy! I’m scared!

Amy: Me too! We gotta get out of here! Help!

Amy and Monica W.: Help! Anybody! Help us!

Yumyulack hears the two screaming. But as the girls counted to cry for help, their voices have been replaced with sounds dolphins make. Yumyulack then hears them and gasp.

Yumyulack: turns on his communication watch Guys! I think I hear them! cuts back to Terry and Korvo trying to break free Guys! Terry! Korvo!

Terry: Let those girls go O’Finscales!

Mr. O’Finscales: Why would I wanna do that?

Korvo: This fucking bullshit! You’re endangering children!

Jesse sees her dads and hide underneath and tries to think of a plan.

Jesse: Think, Jesse, think!

Jesse then comes up with a good as she grins

Jesse: HEY! THERE’S A REAL KRAKEN OVER THERE!

Mr. O’Finscales: WHAT?! OH MY GOD! YES! I NEED IT!

As Mr. O’Finscales ran out of the office, Jesse knocks out the guards with a huge fake shell and helps untie her dads as they smile at her with proud eyes.

Korvo: That’s my girl.

Terry: hugs Jesse Come here, I’m proud of my sweet little Jesse-bear!

Jesse: blushes Terry…

Terry: Now let’s get the fuck outta here before Amy and Monica get hurt! Oh, but first! grabs the photo Come on!

Korvo: Right behind you, darling!

As the three aliens head out of the office, a human female hand opens a cabinet and grabs the photo of Amy and Monica on the day they got captured last night and then injects a right her right arm. Later, Yumyulack comes out underneath the truck as he prepares to free the girls. Until, Mr. O’Finscales caught him.

Mr. O’Finscales: HEY! What are you doing here?!

Yumyulack: Uh nothing! Laughs nervously

Mr. O’Finscales grabs Yumyulack by the neck

Yumyulack: Aaaah!

Mr. O’Finscales: I wonder how long it will take until I break you?

Jesse: sees Yumyulack Oh no! Bro!

Korvo sees Yumyulack and gasps and starts growling. Mr. O’Finscales sees Korvo, Terry and Jesse coming over and drops Yumyulack as he heads into the truck Amy and Monica are in and drives off.

Korvo: That does it!

Mr. O’Finscales sees Korvo, Terry and Jesse coming over and drops Yumyulack as he heads into the truck Amy and Monica W. are in and drives off. Korvo grabs his family and they drive off in their car to follow him.

Phoebe: Whoa! What’s up with you Korvo? You look so determined when driving!

Terry: Korvo, calm down-

Korvo: Oh I am so not gonna like prick endanger the life of two teenage girls! Be ready for anything, okay guys!

All: Got it!

Back with Amy and Monica W., they screech as the truck drives off. Suddenly, something appears on the truck which made O’Finscales scream in horror. Then, an orange fish scale hand with blue patterns appears and breaks the window into pieces and then throws O’Finscales out as he screams.

Mr. O’Finscales: WHAT THE FUCK?!

Then, something opens the door as Amy and Monica W., didn’t look at her because they were screeching for help, then the hand drops a monstrous vile into the water that made Amy and Monica W. shock. They suddenly starts growing bigger and muscular as their voices started to deepen. The scene then cuts back to the Solar and they gasp to see the truck destroyed with a giant hole.

Jesse: What happened?!

Korvo: I don’t know but-

Suddenly, something appears out of the water, and to their horror, it was Amy and Monica W.! Now as were-mermaids!

Korvo: What the fuck?!

Were-Mermaid Monica W.: YOU ABANDONED US!

Were-Mermaid Amy: Now behold our new master!

Terry: Oh shit! We gotta-

Korvo’s eyes suddenly turn aquamarine.

Korvo: Not in my watch!

Korvo begins to transform while moaning in pleasure. Korvo’s skin turns black as he grows bigger and muscular and rips apart his robe as he roars.

Super Shlorpian Korvo: Oh yeah! I feeling fucking great!

Terry blushes as Super Shlorpian Korvo smirks and seduces him. Then his horns and wings pop as Super Shlorpian Korvo roars to relieve the pain as he bang his chest. He then breaths in and out.

Terry: blushes Uh…

Then, Terry sees something glowing the water as he head out the bus. He then something big appearing out the water, a now were-mermaid Maureen!

Super Shlorpian Korvo: MAUREEN?!

Maureen laughs like a maniac.

Were-Mermaid Maureen: That’s right! I am a flipping mermaid!

Super Shlorpian Korvo: Oh shit!

Terry: Okay. I admit. I did not see that coming and hey wait… looks at the photo and realized the connection Oh my God! Korvo! Maureen is a former sea park swimmer!

Super Shlorpian Korvo: She is?!

Terry: Yeah. Look at this!

Super Shlorpian Korvo looks at the photo and gasp.

Terry: I knew she is upto! I saw her medals and the same logo of the park on her purse! She must’ve gotten kicked out!

Yumyulack: But how?!

Were-Mermaid Maureen: I’ll tell you why! After O’Finass fired me for newcomers, I had to plan my revenge! All I got is a stupid as Goodfellow’s assistant, which fucking sucks! So, I decided to take matter into my own hands! I found an elixir of kraken and mermaid DNA but I lost one of them, the kraken! But I choose to be a mermaid because of the grace and beauty! So I became a were-mermaid then once I heard about teenagers turned into mermaid, I decided to make them my soldiers! To take back my old job and ruin lives of those who push me away after my career was ruined!

Super Shlorpian Korvo starts crying a little. But he pulls himself together and prepares to get ready, until he notice Sonya growling and kneeling down as she turns into colors of mermaid sparkles ice cream.

Super Shlorpian Korvo: S-Sonya?

Sonya begins to transform. Sonya starts growing bigger and muscular as her feet turns into three kraken tentacles.

Terry: Holy shit!

Then, her clothes rip apart into pieces and her turns into a kraken-tentacles for hair *like Ruby Gillman* her voice then deepens as her headband breaks apart and her necklace falls off her neck as she growls. Now a Were-kraken, Sonya roars which can be heard throughout the whole town. Super Shlorpian Korvo gasps.

Terry: SONYA!

Yumyulack: Oh shit! Sonya has become a were-kraken!

Jesse: Sonya! No!

Phoebe: Look stay calm Sonya and-

Were-Kraken Sonya roars and bust out off the bus and heads into the ocean. Sonya roars again.

Super Shlorpian Korvo: SONYA! Hang on!

Super Shlorpian Korvo flies out of the bus and tries to look for Were-kraken Sonya as he begin to worry about his daughter Super Shlorpian Korvo suddenly gets cyan marks all over his body.

Super Shlorpian Korvo: Wait a minute! That’s it! Terry! You sure you can dive in?!

Terry: Hell yeah!

Terry dives into the water. He searches around the ocean, until he sees something glowing in the caves

Terry: Sonya?

Terry swims closer and sees… A mega were-kraken Sonya roaring and swimming out of the cave. Terry gasps as he follows her. As he watches Mega Were-kraken Sonya swimming up to the surface, Terry follows her and reaches the surface gasp for air Then, Were-kraken Sonya pops out of the surface and roars at Were-Mermaid Maureen as “Burning” from Yeah Yeah Yeahs plays in the background.

The battle begins inspired by this clip:

Were-Mermaid Maureen: Sonya Opposites?

Jesse: gasps Pause. Rewind. Sonya?!

Were-Mermaid Maureen: Well you look different! Nice scales! jumps in to attack her with her trident

Were-Kraken Sonya growls. Terry gasp as his eyes turn orange and he grins as his skin turns black and he starts growing bigger and muscular while his clothes rip apart

Mundane Terry: Let’s fucking GOOOOOOOOOOOOO!!!

Now a Mundane, Terry roars as he lands on the pier and then sees Were-Kraken Sonya trying to get Maureen’s trident.

Mundane Terry: growls STAY AWAY FROM MY DAUGHTER!

Then, he sees Were-Kraken Sonya using body armor when Were-Mermaid Maureen tries to wing her trident at her, which blocks it, much to his and Super Shlorpian Korvo’s surprise.

Mundane Terry: No way. Sonya?!

Super Shlorpian Korvo: Sonya! Daddy’s coming!

Were-Mermaid Maureen: Grrr! Enough with these chidlish games!

Everyone starts to see it grow amazed by Were-Kraken Sonya fighting back. Human Janiz sees what is happening and runs off to help her family.

Human Janiz: Korvo! Over here!

Super Shlorpian Korvo sees her and whistles for Yumyulack. Yumyulack heard him and his eyes starts glowing purple. Then, it cuts to Were-Mermaid Amy and Were-Mermaid Monica W. heading down there to harm civilians, until a rock hits them. It was from Aqrabuamelu Phoebe as she smirks

Mundane Terry: Alright, Phoebe!

Were-Mermaid Amy: Why you little-

Then, rock was thrown at them as they groan. It was revealed to by Mega Super Shlorpian Janiz as she holds a wrist of two antidote in needles.

Mega Super Shlorpian Janiz: NOW YUMYULACK!

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack swoops in.

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack: YO AMY! MONICA! grabs the two needles HAVE A TEST OF YOUR OWN MEDICINE!

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack throws the needles to Amy and Monica W., which made the two unconscious and turn back into their normal selves as they fall asleep.

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack: Yes!

Super Shlorpian Korvo looks at Mega Super Shlorpian Janiz and is shocked she has a mega form

Super Shlorpian Korvo: Wow! I had no idea you can do that too!

Mega Super Shlorpian Janiz: laughs It always run in our family, lil bro!

Suddenly, they heard Were-Kraken Sonya roaring and sees her punching Were-Mermaid Maureen in the face.

Were-Mermaid Maureen: ENOUGH tries to drown Sonya with her trident You’re just a dumb teenager! Nobody would ever love a monster like you, you little fucking brat!

Were-Kraken Sonya starts shedding a few tears. Then, Were-Kraken Sonya starts seeing red and roars as she lose complete of her sanity and shoots her laser eyes at Were-Mermaid Maureen, who growls and heads up towards the city.

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack: Oh shit! She’s heading towards town!

Super Shlorpian Korvo: Terry and I will handle this!

Suddenly, Were-Kraken Sonya roars and swings Super Shlorpian Korvo to the cliff as he groans but gasp upon seeing his daughter losing his sanity while a thunder storm happens.

Super Shlorpian Janiz: Korvo! You got this! You just need to turn into your Mega form!

Super Shlorpian Korvo: You got it! But we can’t hurt Sonya! She is still in there somewhere!

Then, Mundane Terry comes up to him and knows what to do

Mega Super Shlorpian Janiz: offscreen Good point!

Mundane Terry: Don’t worry babe! I know how!

Super Shlorpian Korvo nods and grabs Mundane Terry and throws him into the ocean. Mundane Terry then jumps out of the ocean and lands on Were-Kraken Sonya’s face as she snarls but he starts soothing her face to calm her down

Mundane Terry: Sssh. Ssh. I’m here.

Were-Kraken Sonya growls but then stops upon seeing her dad.

Were-Kraken Sonya: T-Terry?

Mundane Terry: Yeah. It’s me.

Mega Were-Kraken Sonya then starts whimpering and breaks down crying as she returns to her normal size while Mundane Terry catches her and lands into the ocean. The two monsters then swim up to the surface while Mundane Terry continues to comfort Were-Kraken Sonya by soothing her with a cooldown hug. Suddenly, Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo arrives.

Mundane Terry: Korvy! Nice job turning into Mega! I got Sonya! But she is feeling scared right now!

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: Oh, Terry. Thank God. I’m so proud of my hunky mundane.

But then he notice Were-Kraken Sonya crying and comes up with comfort and calm her down.

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: Oh Sonya…

Were-Kraken Sonya looks up at Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo tearfully while Super Shlorpian Yumyulack and Mega Super Shlorpian Janiz arrives

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: Shh… there there… daddy’s here… shh… I know I hurts…

Were-Kraken Sonya: I hate myself…

Mundane Terry: What do you mean?

Were-Kraken Sonya: Guys, look at me. I lost control. I acted like a total monster…. crying

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo starts crying. Mega Super Shlorpain Korvo then wipes his tears away and hugs Were-Kraken Sonya while comforting her

Mundane Terry: Hey, Korv. Tell ya what, you look more muscular than you were before.

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: Shh… it’s okay Sonya… daddy’s here….

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo then realized what Terry said to him and blushes. Then, the five monsters heard people screaming as they see a now Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen attacking the town

Mundane Terry: Oh shit!

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: Sonya! You must come with us! You can stop her! We’ve seen your fighting skills! They are amazing

Were-Kraken Sonya: sniffling But I can’t… Maureen is right… I am just a dumb teenager… I’m sorry guys… I really let you down… I acted like a total monster…

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo starts weeping and hugs his daughter.

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: tearfully No… you are not a dumb teenager… you are brave independent teenage girl! You know the right stuff, you are very smart and you care about other people. Especially the ones you love! I seen you fight Maureen, you were very brave! I am so proud of you Sonya! I am so happy you’ve always been part of our family, ever since the day we adopted you! You are one the bravest people I have ever met! Terry and I are so happy to call you one of your four lucky children! I love you…

Were-Kraken Sonya smiles.

Mundane Terry: We all do sweetie. We are so proud of you… our brave teenage kraken…

Were-Kraken Sonya giggles.

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: Now come here hugs Were-Kraken Sonya

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack, Mundane Terry and Mega Super Shlorpian Janiz joins in on the group hug. Then, they heard people screaming and sees a Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen attacking people and trying to make a flood as thunder cracks.

Mega Super Shlorpian Janiz: Oh that's not good.

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack: I know. We gotta stop her before she drowns the town!

Were-Kraken Sonya looks determined. Were-Kraken Sonya then gains courage on her face as she looks at the ocean and knows what to do while raindrops fell like cats and dogs as she growls

Mundane Terry: So what do you say Sonya? Join us into fighting and stopping Maureen and kick fucking ass?

Were-Kraken Sonya: Hell yeah!

Mega Super Sholrpian Korvo: Solars, let’s go kick some fucking mermaid ass!

Were-Kraken Sonya nods as she dives back in the ocean. Back with Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen, she laughs evilly as she wrecks havoc by creating foods and using her trident to blast people, who luckily duck. Suddenly, a glow appears in the ocean as she gasp. Then, Were-Kraken Sonya, who has turn back into her mega form goes up to her in determination.

Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen: gasp and growls YOU?!

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo laughs.

Mega Were-Kraken Sonya: That’s right! I’m back bi-atch! Stay away from our town or else!

Mega Shlorpian Janiz then appears while carrying Super Shlorpian Yumyulack and Mundane Terry as Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen growls.

Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen: You'll never stop me! And that goes for your Super Shlorpian father too!

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo growls and uses his ice breath that blast Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen to the ground. She roars as she swings her trident around to attack Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo, but luckily Mega Were-Kraken Sonya uses her laser eyes to help her father while rain keeps pouring down and lightning was seen. Mundane Terry roars.

Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen: Oh so you must be the Super Shlorpian’s dear old sweetheart! Here let me take care of you! grabs Mundane Terry with her trident and tries to drown him

The other monsters gasp as Mundane Terry tries to reach up for the surface as he growls. Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo blushes and feels horny just by looking at his husband.

Mega Were-Kraken Sonya and Super Shlorpian Yumyulack: TERRY!

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: Come on baby you got this! Don’t give up!

Mundane Terry feels his get bigger and more muscular as he moans.

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack: No way..

Mega Were-Kraken Sonya: Terry?

Mundane Terry: feels his muscles tighten Fuck yes! I feel good! moans

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: shed tears of joy Terry…

Mundane Terry: moans Fuck...I need more!

As he rises to the surface, while growing more bigger and muscular, orange marks appears around his body as he made Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen fall down as she growls. Now a Mega Mundane, Terry roars as his family approach him. Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo cries with happiness and embraces his husband as the two embrace in a kiss

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: I am so happy you're okay.

Mega Mundane Terry: Me too… suddenly notices purple marks on Super Shlorpian Yumyulack’s body looks like we’re not the only ones

Then, Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen rises as she growls.

Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen: Why you fucking-

Suddenly, Super Shlorpian Yumyulack starts moaning in pain as he starts growing even more bigger and muscular.

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack: growing even more bigger and muscular as he feels his chest in pain Fuck...

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: tears of joy That’s my boy… then notice the pain Yumyulack is feeling It’s okay Yumyulack just take deep breathes. You’re finally turning into your mega form!

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack: growing even more bigger and muscular as a purple mark appears on his back I know! And it fucking hurts!

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: I know it does. But you got this! Breathe and let go of this pain! For me… for you family… you got this…

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack takes a deep breath. Then, he continues growing bigger and muscular, until he finishes it and roars as he finally becomes a Mega Super Shlorpian. Mega Super Shlorpian Yumyulack then collapse into Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo as he breaks down in tears because of the pain

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: You did great...

Mega Super Shlorpian Yumyulack: moaning in pain tearfully Korvo… is the pain over…

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: Yeah, it's over. You're so brave.

Mega Super Shlorpian Yumyulack smiles tearfully, then the family looks back at Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen as they bravely approached her

Mega Were-Kraken Sonya: It doesn’t have to be like this! Give up the trident!

Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen growls.

Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen: Never! You’ll never get this away from me, you kraken fuck!

Mega Were-Kraken Sonya: Maybe I can’t get this trident away from you, but we can!

Mega Super Shlorpian Yumyulack: Yeah!

Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen: What the fuck are you talking about-

Suddenly, Mega Were-Kraken Sonya shoots from her eyes at the trident, which Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen uses to shield herself. Then, Mega Mundane Terry uses his lava powers to create a powerful force Then, Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo, Mega Super Shlorpian Yumyulack and Mega Super Shlorpian Janiz combine their ice breath to help their husband/father/brother-in-law and daughter/sister/niece as it creates a powerful blast while the trident starts to shatter.

Mega Were-Mermaid Maureen: No no no no!

Mega Super Shlorpian Korvo: It's over, Maureen.

And with a powerful blast, the trident explodes into the light. Everyone shield their eyes, and as the fog clears it shows the five monsters standing in triumph. Maureen, now back to normal, screams as she falls to the sand into unconscious as the paramedics and asylum takes her away. Then, Mega Were-Kraken Sonya smiles once she sees her reflection and finally accepts her form as she and her family shrink backs to their normal monster size. Were-Kraken Sonya giggles.

Super Shlorpian Korvo: We’re so proud of you Sonya.

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack: You were very brave sis.

Mundane Terry: Such a brave girl

Were-Kraken Sonya: Thank you for believing in me.

Mundane Terry: Of course. We love you Sonya and always will.

Jesse: runs down there with Phoebe, who is back tor normal and Pupa Guys!

Super Shlorpian Yumyulack: Jesse!

The family then gets into a group hug. Then, the screen shows the Solars, who are back to their normal selves and in their human forms talking to the police as they take O’Finscales.

Human Terry: And he told us not to call the police, I mean we could we do

Human Korvo: I guess he wanted a new publicity! Just get more attraction! Even if he had to make a fake!

Human Pupa: Yeah!

Mr. O’Finscales: Hey! They were real mermaids I swear! They had fins, and scales and - forced into the police car

Police Officer: Yeah yeah. Tell it to the judge…

Police Officer: Thank you for telling us sir. Alright boys. Take him away.

As the police cars drive away, the family sighs in relief.

Human Korvo: You think they bought it?

Human Yumyulack: Either that or believe in the crazy sea park guy! But thank God that’s over.

As Maureen is driven away, Human Terry slaps Human Korvo's ass.

Human Korvo: smitten Oh ho ho!

Mrs. Goodfellow is then seen having her fundings taken away to the laboratories as she gasp. The family grin in joy.

Human Jesse: Well, that outta teach her to treat other people fairly.

Mrs. Goodfellow: How this...

Human Korvo: Sorry. But you already canceled our deal Mrs. Goodfellow. See you not some other time.

Back with Amy and Monica W., the girls are seen in robes while drinking hot cocoa.

Monica W.: Ugh! I can’t even get the taste of squid out of my mouth.

Amy: Monica. I’m sorry. This is all my fault. I was just trying to be more popular like you, but I endanger us and a nice family. I was a total jackass. I’m sorry…

Monica W.: I’m sorry too…

Amy: to Human Jesse J…

Monica W.: Hey Sonya

Human Jesse smiles.

Sonya: Hmm?

Amy: We owe you an apology. We acted like jerks and rope into our big feud. And I should’ve never blackmail you. Korey was right. We did took advantage of you… and we’re sorry…

Monica W.: Can you forgive us?

Sonya smiles.

Sonya: Of course.

Amy and Monica W. smile and they get taken home by their parents while Sonya approaches her family.

Sonya: I’m sorry for how I acted lately…

Human Jesse: It’s okay sis. You weren’t being yourself.

Human Yumyulack: You were pretty brave today

Sonya giggles.

Human Korvo: Come here you brave kraken!

Then, cues another group family hug as the family smiles. Later at nightime, the whole family are seen fast asleep in their perspective bedrooms. Until, Sonya hears a the sound devil whale as she growls. She then got of her room and shuts the door quietly. Terry, who is sleeping with Korvo, hears Sonya turning into a were-kraken as she roars. Terry then opens the window quietly as he gasp and sees Were-Kraken Sonya on the roof, with determination on her face

Terry: That’s my girl…

Were-Kraken Sonya roars as she heads off to stop the Devil whale. Terry watches her go and smiles with a single tear streaming down.

THE END

Special thanks to @themagicwolf6677, @avaveevo and others for ideas and support.

[nokingsonlyfooles]

Blaming apathetic voters for voter apathy is like blaming homeless people for homelessness. I know it's scary, but please do not fall into the pit trap of blaming the individual.

National vote-by-mail and mandatory voting. If we're going to have a real representative democracy like we say we do, where everybody votes - just the baseline! - we need that. We don't have that. And saying "We don't have that because people didn't vote for it" when the vote is being actively suppressed is... self-soothing at best and more likely a malicious smoke screen. Don't buy it.

Now, if we really wanted to swing for the fences, we'd also get some campaign finance reform, total transparency, overturn Citizens United and all the super PACs, and do national ranked-choice voting. We'd also stop using the goddamn dodgy electronic voting machines, that's just tempting fate. We're not doing that either.

We can't even keep states from passing laws that make it illegal to hand someone standing in line to vote a bottle of water. And if you really want to scare yourself, google "democracy desert." I can't blame someone for not wanting to get heatstroke in order to cast a ballot that might by some miracle enact some change... only to see it get overturned or just plain not-enforced.

Protest and direct action are the only thing left to us, but I can't blame you if you'd rather not get arrested or killed trying to fix a broke-ass system you didn't break, either. It is not my right to demand that of you, I can only try to remind you to support those who are willing to take the risk for all of us.

I got lucky. I managed to get out of the States. I no longer support concentration camps with my tax dollars, and maybe I'll get me some genuine citizenship in a few years. But I also helped get Biden into office before I left, like I must assume folks like you wanted. He didn't get rid of the camps. Those tents and cages will hold trans people they don't want just as well as they're holding immigrants they don't want. Oh, yes, and they will kill you. Not all at once in a gas chamber with clear photographic evidence, but you may suffer a tragic accident. Even without Trump calling the shots.

All we can do is slow it down and give more people a chance to get safe, but it's not slowing down much anymore. It's just speeding up a little less.

If you can get out there, if your body isn't so damaged and broken that you're liable to pass out and inconvenience the volunteer medics (I am so sorry, you guys. I should've known my limits. But at least I brought you some water, I guess. Even if someone threw water at a cop later and they retaliated by shooting a child with a pepperball) then you gotta get out there.

Voting isn't gonna save us (and I do mean us, I'm trans and nonbinary and a descendent of immigrants, one of whom may have come up from Mexico without that coveted paperwork and authorization, but Ronald fucking Reagan gave everyone in his generation amnesty), so what more* are WE ALL going to do?

*I promise, even if it's not direct action, there is something more you can do. Find it and do it.

Forever thinking about how, on election day in 2016, I wore a shirt with an American flag on it because it was what was clean. And the 20-ish year old bagging my groceries made a snide remark about it, followed by 'I didn't vote, they're all the same anyways.' And a fellow grocery worker chimed in agreement that he wasn't voting for the same reason.

And now I can't go to a local drag event without having to walk through a gauntlet of nazis.

I realize that the election is a year and a half away, but please don't fall for the 'they're the same' rhetoric this time around. Both candidates will suck, but they'll suck in different ways and one of them wants my community dead.

[luveline]

honeybody | tasm!peter parker x fem!reader

summary something about music makes you desperate to feel it. something about Peter, pretty and magnetic and light, multiplies this immeasurably. or, you and Peter want to try everything [wc: 12k]

warnings fluff, friendship, idiots in love, falling in love, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, intimacy, the intangible breadth of the human experience or something similar, mentioned/implied past self-harm (nothing graphic)

the honeybody playlist

<3

You perch on the edge of a yellowing cushion, nose tickled by the sweet sick smell of pot and cheap beer, and worry about being by yourself. Are you overstaying your welcome? The room is crowded to the point of awkwardness, two girls crammed onto the sofa besides you having a lovers quarrel, perfect noses turned up at each other. 

You look down at your covered thighs and rub your thumb over the smooth material, thinking. If I go home, I can sleep. But, if I go home, my life remains the size of my room. 

"They're nice pants, I agree," a voice says. 

You look up, mostly worried to be laughed at. And he does look like he's laughing, Peter something. 

"Hi," you say, shy and not knowing if that's what you were supposed to say. 

The perpetual amusement on his face wanes ever so slightly, replaced by something soft. "Hi," he says back, and then, glancing at the arguing couple next to you, "Do you want a drink?"

You say yes, eager to escape from the unpleasant smells and tensions of the main body. Peter something from Biology 102 juts his chin, a gesture to follow. He leads you into a kitchen similarly crowded but smelling more of salt and cocktail mix than smoke. Your shoes stick to the floor as you follow him to the drinks. 

"What a terrible assortment," he says, groaning at the countertop of booze, unimpressed. 

You can't think of something to say back. He turns to you with his eyebrows pinched, guilt evident in his face. 

"We have classes together, right?" 

"We did. Biology. You're Peter." You cringe as you say it. 

He only smiles. "I am Peter. You're…" 

You tell him. He winces and nods like he remembers, and maybe he does, patting his thigh. "I remember. You changed classes?" 

Your turn to wince. "I dropped out." 

He looks shocked for a moment, kind brown eyes wide like a child's. He's the type of handsome to give you chills if you think about it. 

"Well, that's something exciting to drink too." 

Exciting is not the right word. However, he's pretty and giving you attention. You let him make you a lukewarm mix of things and drink it like it's water, leaning against the cool front of the refrigerator. Peter towers above you, chin basically flat with his neck to see your face, too close for comfort because of the rowdy nature of the party. Still, as he speaks, you decide you like his closeness more and more. He has a nice voice, soothing, and when he chuckles halfway through his own joke you decide he has the most attractive laugh any boy could ever hope to have. 

"I mean, I'm sorry you dropped out but I envy you for never having to see Professor Müller again. She's twice as scary as she's ever been." 

"Has she divorced her husband yet?" Your words are careful, concise, likely too soft for the volume of the room. 

He hears each one perfectly and his laugh is a riot of butterflies in your stomach. 

"No, they're hanging in there." 

Small talk is tricky. There are intricacies you likely haven't learned. He's looking down, and you're looking up, but meeting his eyes is hard. You glance at his broad chest again and again to the point where you could likely draw the Bruce Springsteen shirt he's wearing with your eyes blindfolded. 

You find he isn't put off by your quietness. He fills any awkward gaps with chatter without steamrolling you. He listens. He smiles. 

"I came with Avery," you say, bending the plastic cup in your hand. It crunches. 

"I like Avery," he says agreeably. "I mean. I don't like her. Like like her." He clears his throat. "She's nice." 

"I'm surprised she's put up with me this long. Um, you know, she told me you sell photos. To the Bugle. You're a photographer?" 

He scratches the back of his neck. You push your lips together all lopsided as he smiles like he hadn't wanted you say that, and you go to correct yourself. 

"I mean, I'm sorry, was that-" 

He leans in a little closer and drops his hand. You're close enough to kiss, and that realisation makes your heart skip. "Don't be sorry," he says quickly. He's almost whispering. "Only, it's a secret. I don't know how Avery knows." 

"It was in the-" you get distracted by his eyes, unflinching, and look down at his stupid shirt for salvation, "-girls chemistry group chat. Apparently." 

He sighs and leans back. Why he's stressed over this is not apparent to you. When he straightens quickly you pretend you hadn't been staring at his jawline.  

"Are you in this chat?" he asks. 

You shake your head.. 

"I can't imagine how they would know," he says mostly to himself. 

His lips perk up from their thoughtful frown, a beatific smile taking its place. It's an image you're sure to replay in your head for weeks, this normal conversation, this interaction with somebody who's talking to you just to talk to you. You can't believe how pretty he is.

"Isn't it a good thing, to be credited?" you ask gently. 

"Have you seen the photographs?" he asks without a hint of sarcasm. 

You shake your head, a palpable wave of relief washes over him. You pretend not to notice. 

"It's a good thing," he agrees. His hands drift to his stomach. "Are you hungry?" 

You're not. "Yeah." 

"Wanna go get something? Ditch this popsicle stand. Smells like an ashtray in here." 

You think it might be a really bad idea to disappear into the night with a guy you've just met properly. Still, you're lonely, and stupid, and somebody lovely wants to go get food with you. 

You find yourself elbow to elbow with him in a greasy McDonald's, illuminated by neon and laughing harder than you have in a really long time. It's the first meal you've eaten in months that isn't a microwave meal in bed. It's nice. You like it. You like him. 

"Oh, gross." 

"What?" he asks, a milkshake covered fry an inch from his open mouth. 

"That's weird." 

"It's 'weird'?" he asks, extremely amused by you. There's a fondness to his disbelief. "Have you ever tried it?" 

"No," you admit, watching in disgust as he eats it.

Your mumbling amuses him tenfold. He giggles to himself as he plucks a fry from the bottom of his carton, translucent with grease. He dips it generously in his open milkshake and offers it to you. 

You don't reach for it. He shakes his head, bewildered, and moves his hand slowly to your mouth.

"Try it! You might like it. It might be your new favourite flavour on the entire planet, and you'll have me to thank for it." 

You doubt that. 

Honestly, you think you might lick the tables if he asked you to and the shame of it makes you flush white hot as you take the fry from him and eat it. 

"Do you like it?" Peter asks eagerly.

You wrinkle your nose. "Can't tell." 

He picks up a second fry, dips it in his thick shake and passes it to you fast. His fingers shine with grease. You take it from him.

"Atta girl," he praises. 

You melt under his watch. You're embarrassed that he's looking at you like he is - attentive, soft - though there's a thrumming pleasure that comes with his company. 

You chew the hybrid food in your mouth and find it isn't half as bad as you worried it would be. 

"Yeah?" he asks smugly, nodding until you nod with him. 

"Yeah," you say, laughing, eyes shying away from his. "It's nice." 

"I knew it! Knew you'd like it." 

"How did you know?" 

"I can tell. I've got amazing intuition." 

You dip one of your own fries in his shake and tilt your head back to avoid spilling it down your shirt, smiling so hard it makes it difficult to chew. 

"Your photos in the Bugle, what are they? Like, nature shots?" 

The smile slips off of his face. He thinks for a moment, tapping the table with his fingertips, staccato. 

"Do you want to be friends?" he asks you, brown waves falling into his eyes as his head inches to one side. 

You bite your bottom lip and start to smile, then lose it, worried he's pulling a prank on you. 

"You're fun. We mesh. And if you agree to be my friend, I'll tell you who I take photos of," he sells at your hesitance.  

"Yeah," you say. It comes out weird. You clear your throat. "Yeah, I wanna be your friend." 

His smile flashes, soft then contagious, ridiculously bright. He brings his phone out of his pocket, his screen smashed to pieces and held together with clear scotch tape, and clicks in the code, bringing up a small folder of pictures. 

"I take photos of Spider-Man." 

You blink. You look between the phone and your new friend, letting out an excited gasp that startles him. 

"You've met Spider-Man?" you ask, louder than you've spoken all night. 

He gawps at you. "Well," he says bashfully, seeming in two minds from your attention. "I mean… you could say that." 

"No fucking way," you mutter happily. Then, before you can stop yourself, "What's he like? Is he nice? Is he funny? People always say he tells good jokes." 

His cheeks are pinking. "I'd say he's pretty funny." 

"Wow. Peter, this is awesome," you tell him truthfully. 

"Oh," he says, eyes hard to read. "Thank you." 

You pass the phone back to him. "Of course. Wow, Spider-Man. Hey, you don't take them on your phone, do you? They're so crisp." 

"Crisp," he repeats. 

"You know, high definition," you sing-song. 

"I have a camera. A few cameras. I fix them." 

"You fix cameras?" 

He tells you all about it, and he doesn't stop at cameras. He can fix everything. Laptops and TVs, video game consoles and fancy mechanical keyboards. You listen in awe. 

"Well, what do you do? For fun?" he asks.

You waver. "I'm a waitress." 

He raises his eyebrows. "For fun?" 

"I mean, no. It's my job. I just, I don't know what I do for fun." You bring your hands together and run your wrist with the pad of your thumb, suddenly unhappy with yourself. "I guess lately I work and then I come home and, you know, do all the things you have to do." 

You cringe at yourself. Peter starts collecting the rubbish and mess you've made on the table, slipping everything inside the beaten paper bag, eyes flitting in your direction as he says, "Hey, that's alright. Life gets really busy. Having a full time job must be pretty hard, yeah?" 

You nod mindlessly, grateful for his rescue. "Yeah." 

"Before your job, what did you do for fun?" 

You don't expect the question. "Anything. I would do whatever," you say eventually.

"Skydiving?" he challenges. 

"Well, no." 

"Paintballing?" 

"No, but-" 

"Go karting?" 

"You asked me for my hobbies, not my bucket list," you complain with no real heat. 

His laugh echoes through the entire restaurant. You look around to see if anyone cares and he doesn't, reaching out to grasp your wrist lightly, a friendly clasp that makes your skin burn. 

"Maybe we should try doing some of these things. Get you your hobbies back. Hobbies make everything worth it. What's the point in working so hard if you never have time to slow down?" he asks earnestly. 

You beam, staring at his hand. There's no sign that he's just touched you, no mark, no burn, nothing. It doesn't make any sense. 

He finishes off his drink and shoves that in the paper bag too, turning to you with a question already on his lips. 

"How about skateboarding?"

-

"You're overthinking it," Peter says, watching you hesitate in front of his skateboard. 

The sun shines like sticky hot toffee in the sky, piercing the autumn cold. The skatepark complex is busy, more busy than you expected, kids and teens and twenties like you and Peter fighting for space. You and Peter stand off to one side, away from the bowls and congregation.

"I don't want to fall," you confess.

"I won't let you," he says firmly. "Get on." 

He offers his hand. You bite your lip, feel the sun warm the back of your head as you stall. 

"I'll help you on. It's easy, I swear." 

You put one converse-heavy foot on the board. Peter had texted you to wear shoes you didn't mind getting all dinged up and you'd realised that was every pair of shoes, besides your flats for work. He also insisted on bringing knee pads and a helmet. You feel like an idiot. He obviously doesn't mind how you look considering he's tightened the helmet so much your hair is crushed and messy. 

"Is this really necessary?" you'd asked. 

He'd rolled his eyes. "Yes." 

"Look," he says now, "move your foot back a little bit." 

"It's gonna move."

He puts his foot behind the wheels. "There, now it won't. Angle your foot, like this," he shows you with his own, though it's the inverse foot and you get confused. He's patient. "Good job. Now this one, straight on the curved part." 

You wobble and grasp his wrist too tight in your fingers. He moves a little closer. "Alright. You'll push with this one," he says, pointing at your foot on the back of the board, "from this side. But don't worry, I'll show you. For now, let's just practice standing." 

You giggle breathily, nervous at being so close to him. "Not something I thought I'd ever have to practice doing." 

He laughs with you. 

"I know. As soon as you can balance, everything will feel a lot less scary." 

You wobble again. He sighs sympathetically, a half smile on his lips. "Want me to hold you up?" he asks. 

"Yes. Please," you agree. 

You can't help the tiny gasp of fright that leaves you when he lets go of your hand, though he's quick to wrap his both hands around your waist, steadying you on the board. He moves his foot from behind the truck and you're suddenly aware of the boards freedom to fly out from under you. 

You grab onto his arms unthinkingly, feeling the unmistakable curve of defined muscle. It only furthers your dizziness. 

"You're good," he murmurs, fingers flexing on your waist. You can feel his touch in your ribs. "How do you feel?" 

"Fine." 

"I'm gonna move you back and forth, okay?"

He does. It's odd. You sway forwards and backwards, barely moving. It's not as scary as you think it is. 

"You can use your hands for balance if you want but most people get away with having them loose at your sides," he tells you. His instructions are slow, said with a melodic cadence. 

His words click. "Oh, right. Sorry," you rush to say. 

You pull your hands away from him quickly and almost topplez ending up with your hands right back where they'd been moments before, scared at the change in your balance.

"Hey, you're good to hold onto me. Whatever you want to do," he reassures you.

He moves you for a few minutes. You're distracted by his touch and his proximity, of his smell and trying to work out what it is, and then worried about your own smell and how you look, and if you're making a good impression in his head. This is the first time you've seen him since the night you'd gone for food, though he'd texted you every now and then, friendly things, between the waiting days. The weekend had approached quickly. You offered the scarcity of your spare time to him in an uncharacteristic display of courage, texting him: 

I don't have work tomorrow if youre still okay to teach me how to skateboard 

Omg yes I've been looking forward to this all week!! You know where Maloof skatepark is? 

Yeh. Do I need to bring anything?? 

Just yourself and a pair of shoes u don't mind ruining, I'll bring everything else :D

"Okay, climb off." 

"Which-?" 

"This foot first." 

You clamber clumsily off of the board and his hands linger on your waist for a warm second. He climbs on the skateboard swiftly, movement smooth as honey. He's agile. 

"I'm gonna push with my leg," he lifts it up to show you. Impressed isn't the right word. "It's really easy, I promise you. You're gonna get this in no time." 

"Do you want the helmet?" you ask him. 

"No, sweetheart, you keep it." 

It's almost like being struck. He demonstrates how to push off, how to put your foot back behind you. You're too busy buzzing with something unfamiliar to pay attention. 

"See how I'm bending my knees a little bit?" he asks. 

You nod with no clue. He comes to a controlled stop and kicks the board up with his shoe, something that in consideration is mildly impressive but has you squeezing your palms closed tight. He braces it against his leg.

"Are you thirsty? I've got drinks," Peter says. 

You sit with your backs to a cold metal wrought fence sipping Sunny-D, the climbing sun cutting through the afternoons chilly weather until you're basking in it, lifting your face with your eyes closed. 

It's not quite peaceful, the childish hubbub and the sound of wheels, blades and metal screeching loud in your ears, but it could be. You can imagine how it might get to be white noise. 

Peter nudges you with his elbow. "You're like a cornflower." 

"A weed?" you murmur, bemused. 

"No!" he scrambles at your teasing tone. "They love the sun." 

"Like sunflowers." 

"Sunflowers aren't really flowers, either. The part that looks like a flower is a capitulum of florests. That's why the middle is weirdly big. It grows like the wood of a tree." 

"So the sunflower isn't a flower," you say, tilting your head towards his. "It's just a plant of- what did you say? Florests?"

"It's a plant covered in lots of little flowers, basically," he sums up for you.

"A plant made of flowers." 

"Exactly." 

"I'd know this if I hadn't dropped out, I assume." 

"That and a handful of other tiny useless facts."

Useless or not, he's hot when he talks, when he explains. You might think he was glaring at you, his eyebrows pinched, his mouth almost pouting like he's mad with himself for needing to concentrate. Whatever it is, it's pretty. He looks like a painting, you think. The Fallen Angel. 

He stops thinking so hard and lifts his head to drink. You watch him swallow and wonder after what kind of friend he wants you to be. 

"Flower or not, all I meant was that you look like you're enjoying the weather," he says after a moment. 

"It's nice. I like the warmth." 

"You're not too hot?" 

You look down at your hoodie. You are warm, but you won't take it off. "Nah," you say, smiling peaceably. 

He takes a second to digest this. His own hoodie is tucked away in his backpack, bare arms on show and a sight. You trace the small arm hairs with your eyes, then his veins, then a scar so silver it would be invisible without the sun's exposure. 

"You wanna try again?" 

You get up reluctantly and he sets his board back out and tucks his foot in front of the wheels. You step on, wobble, find your balance. He's more gentle with you than you think he should be. It's like he's known you for years. 

"Can I move my foot?" 

You nod. 

"Just stay steady. You have your knee pads, but I'll catch you if you fall anyway. All you wanna do for now is stand on the board." 

You trust him to do what he says he will and catch you. You take in a deep breath as he moves his foot, knees slightly bent, arms at your sides, trying your best to be steady. 

"Hey, amazing! Alright! Look at you!" Peter cheers, ecstatic.

"Should I be moving?" you ask through a small smile. 

He shrugs and moves backwards, close enough to grab you but far enough away that you have space to get comfortable on the skateboard by yourself.

"Do what feels right," he advises. 

The sun hits him, turns his hair alight. He's the prettiest boy you've ever met, his eyes dark in the halo of light, eyebrows darker. Light kisses the hills of his cheeks and taper, carving deep shadows under his jaw. You falter on the board, distracted again, and his jaw clenches, his hands reaching out to scoop you up before you can fall flat on your face. 

You're one foot touches down and the other slides out under you, skateboard rolling. Peter laughs straight away and you follow his example, giggling as his fingers hook under your arms. You barely feel them. He smells nice. Vanilla, you think, mixed with something aromatic. Amber, maybe. Whatever it is, it's warm. He smells warm. 

You remember to pull your foot off of his board and feel like you're made of jelly. He pulls his hands off of you but doesn't move away, peering down at you in question. 

"Did something surprise you?" he asks curiously. 

"I- yeah. I don't know." 

"Wanna go again?" 

You get up on the board again. It takes time and mishaps. Peter doesn't ever let you hit the ground. 

The sun edges further and further into the sky. By the time it's begun its descent you can push off by yourself, able to traverse a few slow feet without falling. Peter throws his arm over your shoulder when you dismount by yourself and shakes you gently. 

"Amazing. You're a real Tony Hawk," he compliments. "Next time we'll see if I can get you turning. You don't have anywhere to be, do you?" 

"Nowhere." 

"Wanna get something to eat? There's a place nearby that does Pão de Queijo, you'll love those." 

"Is it like the whole milkshake thing? 'Cos there's only so many stamps on my freak-of-nature card left." 

"Very funny. They're just cheese puffs, swear. Maybe we can get milkshakes on the way for a completely unrelated reason," he says, a vexing smugness behind his joke. 

"Ew, Peter." 

"Ew," he agrees.

-

Do you want to go to a painting class with me

Yeah it's like a Bob Ross rip off at the creative arts centre . They have all the stuff there we just have to pay like 49 dollars 

? 

a painting class? 

Which is on me if u say yes obviously 

You want me to go paint with you ? 

Yeah it'll be fun

I don't own anything  

Peter we can do all that stuff for free at my house if u want to 

wait 

is painting one of your pre job hobbies???

oh awesome. if that's OK with u then sure we might as well. also a relief cos its 49 each so that's like 98 dollars for us to paint waterfalls :0

yeh lol. i have the stuff

You stare down at your phone. Your answer blinks but you can't make yourself press send. You know you don't have to organise these big things to spend time with me, it says. Only, what if he does? What if your friendship doesn't work without something to do? You've known Peter for three weeks now and gone skating every weekend, though last time you'd given up early and insisted he impress you with tricks. He had delivered, and your mouth had been bone dry by the end of it. He'd barely broken a sweat. 

You delete your draft and start anew. 

Do you have a tarp or a big sheet we can lay down on the floor? I have carpet and I rent 

I'll get you a tarp, sweetheart

You scream to yourself and push your phone deep into the sofa cushions beneath you. It chirps and you leave it. It chirps again and you scrounge for it. 

look at this video https://youtu.be/A5L8bdYY9FY

he's eating a tomato

You laugh to yourself, giddy with the pleasure of having a friend. Giddy that it's Peter. 

-

A rattling knock at the door. 

A text before you can get up. 

I'm outside maybe

You open the door in your painting clothes with your hair intricately done to look messy-pretty. Peter is wearing his usual nice clothes, thigh hugging jeans and his brown jacket, but under it is a shirt that smells like burning. 

"S'my soldering shirt," he says quickly, apologetic. 

You smile and hope he reads it for what it is; It smells like it. Also, I'm happy you're here. 

He shrugs off his backpack. 

"I brought sandwiches," he announces. "Like, thanks for inviting me, no I'm not going to murder you sandwiches." 

"Peter, I never thought you were going to murder me." 

"Good. May says hi." He pulls a plate from the bag, cookies covered in saran wrap. 

"Oh my god. Why don't you say hi this way?" you tease, accepting the plate from his hands. The cookies are still warm. You could scream. "Is it rude if I eat one now?" you ask him. 

"It would be rude if you didn't. I sw- rushed here so they'd stay warm." 

"Thank you." 

Beforeyou can psych yourself up, you step forward and hug him with one arm. You'd argued with yourself for hours this morning while cleaning if this was an acceptable thing to do. Friends hug, don't they? 

You do it quickly, reasoning that if he finds it weird then at least it's short. You pull away before his arms are even properly around you. Peter looks mildly confused but is ever a boy of endless generosity and so has the kindness to pretend you're not acting socially inept, instead setting his sights on your apartment. 

"It's bright," he says. 

You read it as a comment on lack of decor. 

"White," you agree. "Can't mess up if it's all the same colour." 

The walls, the rug, the cabinets. Though they're all a dull offwhite. It's horrible, you think, really horrible, but you're so afraid to try and to mess up that you've never bothered. 

Peter stretches the plastic tarp he's acquired out over your floor as you eat one of May's cookies, sighing at the taste of sugar and chocolate chips. You hold the cookie in one hand and use the other to weigh the tarp edges down with four worn paperback books. 

"You read a lot?" Peter asks, beaming. You can't understand it. 

You nod and finish up the cookie. 

"That's a nice hobby to have, sweetheart." Again with sweetheart, so warm it makes your fingers tremble. "What kind of stuff do you like to read?" 

You tell him the bare bones of your reading habit as you spread your freshly-dusted art supplies out onto the trap. You'd bought fresh turps and canvas and laid them out already. 

"What are we painting?" you ask him. 

He nods to himself and opens up his laptop from his rucksack, moving it so you have a good view with YouTube already paused. 

"That's not a waterfall," you say. 

"It looks pretty, though, don't you think?" 

It's an aurora borealis tutorial. "It might be above my skill level." 

"Not mine. Don't worry, I'll get us through it." 

You'd primed the medium canvases with a thick layer of white gesso. Peter rubs his fingertips over the smooth surface deliberately and turns to you. 

"I thought we'd take our time. I know the idea is to paint along with him but we aren't in any hurry. I watched it twice last night and I really think we can manage it," he says, confident. 

First, three stripes of a turquoise-green. Mixing that colour is a struggle that you both giggle through. You add white, Peter adds green, you add too much blue and he adds too much yellow. Eventually you get something right, the both of you already smattered in flecks of oily colour that transfers onto the pristine canvas, marring them. You look at each other with wide eyes. 

"We can just do the stripes across them," Peter says. 

"The background is dark," you agree. "It'll cover it up." 

You paint big green stripes. Peter tips linseed oil on his jeans and you have to take a break to clean it up, kneeling knee to knee with him and dabbing his leg with a rag. 

"I'm really sorry I don't have anything for you to change into," you apologise. 

"It's not your fault," he says, quiet, so close you can feel the heat of his breath on your forehead. 

When he's mostly dry you, in what is the most arduous and quite frankly terrifying step, fill in the gaps with a blue so dark it's almost black. 

"The wine-dark sea," you murmur. 

Peter looks at you in a way you can't decipher.

"You know, Homer?" you ask. 

"I don't know," he says, shaking his head. His voice is cloudy with something as he asks, "Explain it to me?" 

You look down at your painting and make small, careful strokes, working to cover the last corner. "I don't really know everything, but; they didn't have a word for blue, or maybe they didn't have a perception of the colour blue, back then. Culturally."

You go silent with concentration as you fill in the last stroke of dark paint, attempting to be as neat as you can be. 

"So they were all colourblind?" he asks. 

"Maybe," you murmur. "I don't know, I don't think so? I think it might've been about language and how they used it rather than just not seeing it at all. Homer once described Zeus' eyebrow as 'blue', like a synonym for 'dark'." 

It feels weird to disagree with him. You're worried about being pedantic, looking out your peripherals at him. He's leaning over his canvas with a stripe of paint up his arm like a turquoise vein, his shirt sleeve, soft with age, curling up. You can see a chest-aching silver of his muscled bicep. He doesn't seem annoyed at all. In fact, he seems pleased. 

"That's awesome, in a way. Don't you think so? And what, blue was just dark or dark red?" 

"I'm not sure. I don't really remember. I read about it a long time ago," you say hesitantly, afraid of sounding stupid.

"Maybe we can have a look after we're done painting. I'm sure you're right," he says lightly, sitting back on his calves with a pleased smile. "We are literally modern Picasso's." 

Well, they did look quite abstract. 

You paint gentle lines of purple atop the black, taking it straight from the tube with your brushes, waiting your turn like little kids. It becomes invisible as it blends, lying in wait for the white paint meant to go on top.

You clean off your brushes in the turpentine and squeeze out a big dollop of titanium white. 

"This is the tricky part," Peter informs you over the instructor on screen. "We have to use a lot of white, keep the lines really skinny and blobby but also try not to mix it with the blue underneath too much. Think you have the chops?" he asks, voice low, like a formidable opponent from some texas ranger movie. 

You don't. 

"Yeah, we can do it. Looks easy," you say, eyes on the screen. 

It's finicky. The white smudges and gets dirty fast. You don't suppose it will matter when you do the final brush strokes, but still. Peter's perfectionism begins to show and he grows quiet with concentration, white stripes arcing over his canvas in delicate hand. 

"The fun part," he declares when he's done. "You have a big brush, right?" 

"Only the one," you say, sorry. 

"That's okay, I like sharing with you." 

Peter goes first, slowly and then with more confidence when the beginning stroke goes well. He drags the dry brush from the bottom to the top over still wet paint. Where the white spread upwards it lightens the turquoise green and purple, and the aurora borealis is born on his canvas. 

You both look at it in shock. 

By the time he's finished you're beaming. It's so pretty, so simple. 

"I can't believe I made that," he says, then flushes pink. 

He clears his throat and cleans the brush off in turps, wipes it dry on the painting rag. He hands it to you and you take it impulsively, but after a moment you pass it back. 

"Will you do mine for me? Please?" 

"What? You don't want to do it?" he asks, incredulous.

"I'll mess it up." 

Peter takes the brush from you though he looks like it's the last thing he would ever want to do. His shoulders relax, down in fashion with the corner of his mouth. 

"Why would you think that?" he asks. 

You shift uncomfortably. "I just would." 

His face goes stony, and he looks like he did at the skatepark, that flash of fallen angel. His eyebrows furrow and there's a particular sullen quality to his pout. It's gone as quick as it came, overwhelmed by something like determination. 

"You try it. If you mess it up I'll finish it off for you. Final offer." 

"That's the only offer you've given me." 

"Exactly." 

It goes without a hitch. Peter squeezes your forearm gently, says, "I knew you could," and leaves a white-lilac fingerprint behind. Later, when he's left for the night and you're lying in bed with your arm still phantom tingling, you look at the paint mark and figure that it makes sense. A physical mark of how you feel. A soft colour of a soft touch. 

-

Peter waits for you outside the hotel restaurant where you waitress on Friday, 5PM, and looks exceedingly happy when he spots you like he hadn't expected you, despite your being his one reason for standing there. 

He has a bag hanging from the crook of his elbow and his earphones wired in. He pulls them out when he sees you. 

"Watcha listening to?" you ask. 

"Aw, look at you, sweetheart," he cooes instead of answering. 

You don't understand, looking down at your waitress skirt and tights, your white blouse and black overcoat. Your name tag is shining silver in the lamp light. 

"What?" 

"Aren't you cold?" he asks, handing you the drinks tray.

Before you can answer he's shrugging out of his jacket, transferring his bag from one hand then the other. 

"Here." He takes the drinks back and passes you the jacket. "Let's swap." 

"Peter, I can't wear your jacket." 

"I've got this hoodie on," he says, gesturing to his dark blue hoodie with a grin. 

Your cheeks burn. You pretend it's from the cold breeze, pushing your arms into his jacket quickly, shy but thankful for the warmth. It's thick and warm from his wear, corduroy with a puffier inner lining than you were expecting. Chills line your arms as his heat sinks in.

"Where's your jacket?" Peter asks. 

"It put it in my locker and then I lost the key, and the super isn't here on Fridays. So." 

"Typical." 

"Of me?" 

"Of the super. Four day work week! The nerve of that guy." 

You laugh and start to walk, prompting Peter into motion. He wraps your stiff fingers around a warm cardboard cup unnecessarily. You almost question him aloud. You bring the cup to your nose and sniff, quickly forgetting your question as it's replaced by another. 

"Pete, what is this?" 

"It's a honeycomb latte from Tim Hortons. You've been trying so many new things, I thought you'd like it. I'll get you something else, though, if you hate it."

You sip. It's nice. "This is grim," you lie, and it's so obvious it shocks a laugh from him. You're gifted a peek at the underside of his perfect jaw, his lovely neck as he tilts his head back. 

"How will I sleep tonight?" you ask after another burning sip.

"It's decaf, bug." 

"Bug! Like an insect." 

"Exactly." He grins. You take a big mouthful of latte and feel it heat you up inside out. 

He tucks his phone in his pocket but pulls the wired headphones through and offers an earbud to you. You plug it in your ear and listen to his music as you walk mostly in silence. It's nice to decompress after work, nice to enjoy his company without having to talk. There's so much talking, all day, and it's a comfort you can't believe you're privileged enough to have for him to be by your side, hands swinging, almost touching, between you. 

"What song was that?" 

"Raspberry. By Grouplove."

"And what song is this one?" you ask. 

"Honeybody." 

You smile to yourself. 

"What?" he asks, grinning, words all soft and warped with humour. 

"I've never heard any of your songs before." 

"You hate them?" 

"I really don't. They suit you." 

He grins and starts to sway, his drink sloshing, the bag hanging from his wrist rustling with his movement. You step around a mysterious mark on the sidewalk and when you return to his side Peter holds his hand out. You take it and he's suddenly pulling you in, your face by his face, giggles bubbling out of you when you realise he's serenading you in a falsetto. 

"Oh, honeybody, whatcha doing Sunday? Maybe sippin' a coca cola with me, babe?" he begins. 

It's ridiculous, and it makes you laugh, the beat of the song easy to fall into as he stretches your joined hands between you, his shoulders moving in dance. 

"Hands down on the ground, I'm begging you to please - honeybody, please me?" 

He laughs as he sings, words off kilter and high pitched. You smile so wide it hurts your cheeks and try not to spill your drink as his eyes flare wide and he spins you around. People must be looking at you, they have to be, the streets are quiet but not abandoned, and no one can hear the music but you - it must be something awful. And, as someone who is always so paranoid of what people think, you realise you don't care. This is fun. Your heart is racing as you dance, you skirt flaring in the breeze as you almost skip into dance moves, head bobbing left to right. 

Honeybody, want ya body.

You dance through an instrumental pause like idiots, and then hum along to the words you don't know when they start again, Peter moving your hand in his back and forth over the empty air in time with the music.  

It's magnetic in its awkwardness. Why do people dance? Because something about music makes you desperate to feel it, and something about Peter's pretty face open with the simple joy of singing in the street multiplies that. You're not sure you could've kept still if you wanted to, a vestibule of immeasurable slap dap joy. 

The song slows, swells, and you and Peter calm yourselves down now that the pop-y baseline is fading. You turn to each other and smile and laugh breathily, embarrassed and so disgusting stupid happy it hurts your cheeks. You let yourself look into his eyes, their amber flecked, sunwarmed-honey brown, ink black pupils blown wide. He drops your joined hands back down but doesn't let your fingers go, swinging them forwards and back between you. You don't just let him, you help, and you find that you love the weight of his palm in yours. 

The new song is slower but still jumpy. The singer has a deeper voice, a very deep voice, and you can't make out what he's saying until the bridge. 

I'm just a lover boy. I'm not cut out to be cruel. 

You look at Peter and reckon it of him. You can't imagine he's ever been cruel in his life. 

"What is this one called?" you ask, tightening your fingers around his. 

"Low beam," he tells you smoothly, an impersonation, grasping your hand back with a similar pressure. 

"I can't tell what he's saying," you confess. 

He tilts his head and listens to the song, humming and then singing, his voice steady and deep but without the passionate inflection of the singer, whose voice has climbed into a higher pitch for the next two lines. It sounds nice, and Peter's voice sounds nicer. 

"I know what you're all about, I know what you're on. Baby let me down, I just don't belong." 

You barely have time to think about how much you relate to the singer's words before Peter drops his voice down all sticky-deep and croaky. 

"I know what you're thinking, you can take me for a ride. Baby let me have it, 'cos I'm never gonna hide, you can keep on running-" 

He tries to keep singing his dramatic rendition and can't, your roaring laughter too infectious to ignore. 

How could you not laugh? He sounds so ridiculous, his impression of the singer so outlandish and yet spot on. You laugh hard enough that you have to bend over in the street and press your thighs together, gasping for air. You know it's the euphoria of dancing with him making you dizzy, know that this giddiness is a collection of all the ways he's made you feel high with the pleasure of being cared about. 

Peter's own laughter fades before yours, though he's not immune to each fresh wave, each shiny giggle. You wheeze and he snorts in response, pulling his hand from yours to pat your back sympathetically. 

"Alright, bub, laugh it up. We have places to be. Get it all out of your system." 

Get it out of your system! You laugh until tears well in your eyes. 

"If you don't stop laughing I won't heat your grilled cheese up. You'll have to eat it cold." 

You gasp, half mocking as the giggles taper. "Not my artisan-style grilled cheese! The horror!" 

You're not blind enough to miss the fondness on his face as he looks down at you. "Exactly: the horror."

"May won't let you do that to me. It's, like, a human rights violation." 

It's his turn to laugh. You stand giggling in the street with his hand buried in the fabric of your borrowed jacket, clinging to you for dear life. You only manage to sober up when his drink tips over the lip of the cup and miraculously drips into the opening of the plastic bag suspended from the crook of his elbow, ruining your sandwiches. 

-

"There's a phone call for you at the front desk," someone tells you. 

You rush to the desk and accept the phone from the secretary, leaning over the top, and raise it your ear. Nobody ever calls you, really, and it's unlikely they'd know you were here: you're picking up someone else's shift, a night shift.

"Hello?" 

Peter's voice, without greeting. "'In the 1980s a theory gained prominence that after Greeks mixed their wine with hard, alkaline water typical for the Peloponnesus, it became darker and more of a blue-ish color. Approximately at the same time P. G. Maxwell-Stuart argued that "wine-eyed" may simply denote 'drunk, unpeaceful'.'"

"Where'd you read that?" you ask quietly, peeking out the corner of your eye at the secretary. She seems to be uncaring. 

"Wikipedia." 

"So the wine-dark sea isn't red?" 

"I think it's up for interpretation still. Wikipedia isn't exactly the best source. But certainly not red in our context," he says. You can hear how tired he is from the slight monotony of his voice. 

"So it's not red to them, because they saw blue as a dark red," you say, not really arguing so much as thinking out loud. "It's 'cos their wine was blue?" You confuse yourself. 

"That's what I thought at first, too, but if you look at other languages from the same time period, it's very common for their syntax to also lack any mention or translation of the word blue." 

"I'm too stupid for all of this, Pete. You'll have to work it out for me." 

"You're not stupid," he says hotly. 

"I'm not not stupid." 

"You're not stupid. Don't say mean things about my friend." 

You laugh at the seriousness of his tone. "You got it, boss. Anything else? I gotta get back." 

"Right! Sorry, I called you to ask you out, not to theorise dead languages with you."

Your heart stutters. "Ask me out?" 

"There's a rerun tomorrow morning of Big Eden at the movies near your place." 

"What time?" 

"Like, 8AM." 

You check your watch. It's already 10PM. "Will you be okay with waking up early? You sound really tired." 

He laughs nervously. "What?" he asks, voice pitched up. "I'm fine. Of course I will be. So that's a yes?" 

"You're all scratchy… but yes, that sounds fun." 

"Is it ugly? My voice?" 

"It's nice," you say, too honest. 

His answering silence makes you want to slam the phone back into its receiver. A sound like fast wind statics the line. 

"What was that?" 

"What was what? You finish soon, don't you?" he asks. 

You sigh. "Yes, thank you God. Fifteen minutes." 

"You'll text me when you're home?" 

"Sure thing. Catch you later?" 

"Catch you later," he repeats, voice edged with lightness. You put the phone back and slink off to finish up your duties before clocking out and retrieving your things from your locker. 

It's cold and dark. You pin the feeling of being followed on plain paranoia. You hear the strangest sound, a thwip like wet paper towels hitting the floor, and it freaks you out badly. You rush home. 

Peter's timing is impeccable, your phone pinging as soon as you've locked the front door. 

Home?

Yes sir

Plans tonight? 

Calm down my racing heart and then knock out for moveis tomorrow :33 

Racing heart??? Everything OK? 

Yeah, just scary sometimes walking home. I felt like someone was following me 

His reply takes a little while. 

Fuck. Next time I'll meet you there? Even if we don't have plans, I'll walk you home whenever you want. 

You smile to yourself. 

Yeah. that would be nice. Thank you Peter 

-

You're so tired in the morning that your eyes burn. You don't care. You haven't seen Peter all week and there's a hole the size of him in your palm. You meet him outside the movie theatre and instantly narrow your eyes at him. 

"Peter! What the fuck?" 

"What?" he asks, sluggish, dressed briskly in a white shirt and olive green pants. His rucksack bulges on his back, hopefully full of contraband. 

"Your eye!" you say, furious. "What do you mean, 'what'? You have a shiner!" 

You catch his face in your hands, less gentle than you mean to be. You breathe out and try to be careful, tilting his head down and to one side to get a good look, gasping at the extent of it, a horrible wine stain of purple red on his cheek. 

"Peter, did you go to the hospital?" you murmur, chewing your lip. 

You brush your thumb over the very edge of his eye. He wraps his hand around your forearm and strokes down, a little bit of the worry you're feeling dripping away with it. You can't get over how messy it is, how his eye is squinting shut with it. 

"May looked at it. It's ugly but it's fine." 

"How did you do this?" you ask, and maybe he can hear how weirdly close you are to tears, because he tightens his grip on you and meets your eyes. 

"I'm alright," he says emphatically. "I- I ate shit on the rails. Everything's fine." 

You hadn't expected seeing him hurt to evoke such a visceral reaction. You clear your throat and tuck it away, blinking rapidly to push any wetness from your eyes. 

"Jesus Christmas, Peter," you whisper.

"Jesus Christmas," he repeats dryly. 

You drop your hand from his face and ball it into a fist, faux annoyed with him. His hand remains on your arm, slowly climbing up, and the press of his fingertips is a small heaven. Your annoyance doesn't last long; you're too concerned about his face to hide it. 

"Are you really okay? Maybe you should go home." 

"Are you kidding? I missed you all week, I'm not going home. I would've come with a stab wound." 

You might have smiled if his bruise wasn't as awful as it was. 

"Peter…" 

"Come on, it's Big Eden. I guarantee you'll cry and I already bought the tickets," he says this with a mischievous, self-satisfied grin. 

You look at the white t-shirt he's wearing with a little goblin man riding a skateboard, want to laugh at it, want to cry about his face and kiss it better or at the very least hold a tincture to it for a few hours. He's injured and it must hurt like a bitch, and yet he wants to watch a movie with you. That softens your resolve. You're quickly finding that Peter Parker is hard to say no to. 

"Well," you say, rolling the words around in your mouth, "if you already bought the tickets…" 

He cheers and readjusts the strap of his Jansport on one shoulder before leaning down to kiss your cheek. "Yes! Alright, let's do this thing. I have a ridiculous amount of snacks in this bad boy." 

You sit smack dab in the middle of the theatre. Peter is at first a pillar of strength, whispering jokes and forcing snacks not suitable for your early morning appetite into your hands. He grows less talkative as the movie continues and soon, with a struggle and a half, he's lightly dozing, his head thrown back. 

You can't decide whether to be enraptured by the movie or the sleeping boy besides you. Again, you're overtaken by this want to kiss his aching contusion like it might help.

The movie plays and all you can do is look at Peter's face. 

"Listen, you know what they say when you get lost in the woods? If you stay put, stay in one place and don't wander, they'll find you."

You reach out your fingers an inch from his face, half an inch. 

"And I was just hoping you'd let yourself be found this time. I was hoping you'd let us find you. But you keep wandering and-"

You touch his face. He stirs and you can't pull your hand back in time. You're not smart enough to lie, find you don't really want to, and he sees your hand and presses his own overtop without saying anything. 

You twist in the padded velvet seat. Peter slides your hand up his face, towards his eye, leans into your touch like a cushion. 

You worry he's fallen asleep again when his mouth ticks up into a small smile. 

"Was I asleep for long?" he whispers. 

You shake your head. He drops your hands from his face and pulls them into his lap and they stay there for the rest of the movie, catching teardrops. 

You cry too. A lot more. 

"This was the first movie I saw as a kid where I realised it was okay," he says quietly over wide shots of the town, "for me to love boys the same way I loved girls." 

That prompts a fresh wave. You sniff them away, squeezing his hand in his lap and feeling that overwhelming fondness for him that you always feel these days, as well as the pleasure and thankfulness that comes with being trusted brazenly. 

"Yeah?" you ask, eyes shiny. 

"Yeah." 

The lights come up as the credits begin rolling. Peter, despite his obvious fatigue, gets up quickly. He pulls his rucksack on and wipes his eyes, wincing when he brushes against his awful bruise.

"Maybe not the best movie to watch with a black eye," he says self-deprecatingly. 

You're busy trying to think of how to say what you want to say. 

"Thank you. For bringing me to see the movie with you. And for telling me," you say, looking down at the red carpeted floor, it's sprinkling of popcorn, descending the steps to the doors.

He nudges you with his elbow. "Thanks for coming with me. And waking me up before the best part." 

You blush at the memory. If he thinks you woke him on purpose you won't correct him. You don't want to make a big deal of his coming out to you if he doesn't and so you follow him quietly out of the theatre and into the bright day. His eye looks better in the light. 

He sees you looking. "Hm?" 

"Your eye looks less awful now." 

"Must've been the cloud cover this morning, enhanced my shadow," he says offhandedly. 

It really must've been. You feel sore from all the crying and can't imagine how he feels. 

"You could've warned me about the movie, Pete." 

"No! The best part about Big Eden is watching it for the first time and having it destroy and rebuild your heart." 

And don't you just feel yourself falling for him a little bit more? 

You bump his thigh with your hip. "You're evil, Parker." 

He laughs loudly. 

You try to keep too much hopefulness out of your voice when you ask, "So you're busy today?" 

His smile turns disappointed. He explains how much studying he has to do for an exam on Monday and apologises for bringing you out just to ditch you. "I'm really sorry. I love that movie and I was selfish enough to want to see it with you but if I don't study for this I'm gonna flunk the class." 

You wave your hand at him. 

"It's really okay. I'm glad we had the morning together. No hard feelings," you say breezily. 

He walks you home and tells you to text him and promises to try and reply, dropping a kiss in the centre of your hairline, hands braced on the top of your head. His smile tugs at his bruise as he walks away backwards, waving at you and nearly mowing down an old man and his dog. You pretend to shut your door, stand there listening to his panicked apologies through the crack, hungry for those extra seconds of his voice. 

-

Peter's room is busy. A million photos, a surprising amount of them featuring you, decorate the walls, the side of his wardrobe, wherever he can fit them. Some are Polaroids, some are 4×6s on Walmart paper, some you're not sure about. There's the ones he's obviously taken on his phone - you painting, you walking towards him outside the movie theatre, you on his skatebaord, determined. Photos he'd taken with his F2 from your escapades - bowling, go karting, air hockey. You hold your puck in your hand, hair a mess from the fierceness of your competition, wearing the usual glee that comes with his company. You stand outside the 7/11 with a slurpee in a bucket on for bring your own cup, cherry and blue raspberry and piña colada all mixed together in a rainbow mess, pink and blue sticky syrup down the front of your shirt. Peter, having encouraged you to try the F2, with his own slurpee, his inside a heavy casserole dish. So heavy you'd thought there was no way he could carry it - you'd struggled with the bucket, it's flimsy plastic handle untrustworthy - and yet he'd marched it home. A second picture, Peter on the floor in his living room with your slurpees and two comically long straws made of normal sized straws and sellotape for the occasion, Constantine playing on the TV. A third, you cross-legged on the floor watching the screen, half your slurpee gone and the movie now changed to chicken little. That always made you laugh to remember, how he'd demanded something fun after Constantine's hellish nightmare. 

Slightly aside form the photos is your aurora borealis painting. 

"We'll swap. I'll have yours and you'll have mind. That way we can't look at them and pick out all the mistakes we made," Peter had suggested. 

He was right. Having his painting propped on your dresser is nice, and you don't ever look at it and think about its flaws. Your own is a different story.

You turn your face from it. Where you lie flat on your back in Peter's bed he sits at his desk, head down, finishing up some practice questions. His allowance of your company is a win, you think. He'd been reluctant at first, unusual for him, as he let you do most everything you asked to do. 

"Please? I'm so bored here. I won't make any noise." 

"It's not about noise, it's about FOMO." 

"FOMO." 

"If I know you're there I'll want to know what you're doing and then I'll want to do it with you."

"I won't do anything. I'll just sit on your bed silently. Please? At least let me be bored somewhere interesting. Please." 

You watch him work, his earphones singing their bumpy song, dark head of hair bobbing as he goes. In the perfect life, you stand up and pull his hair from his face and he pulls his desk chair out and sets you in his lap, and everything is soft and lilac forever, his fingertips colouring every inch of your body, every centimetre of your hands and your arms and your chest and your neck. 

You feel awful for thinking it of him and quickly bring your hands up to hide, covering your eyes with your palms. Your heart beats so loudly you worry he can hear it from where he's sitting.

The squeal of his desk chair's wheels. His music, louder as he pulls out his earphones. 

"Are you okay? I'm getting distressed vibes," Peter says loudly. 

You rubs your hands down your face and hold them to your cheeks. "Leave me alone." 

"Don't be like that," he says, standing from the chair. Your watch his arms bulge as he does, how the muscles move and contract with his weight. 

"Budge up," he demands. 

You stare at him. 

"Come on." 

"You're not done." 

"I am now. Move over, heathen, it's my bed." 

"I had to plead with you to let me visit because I'm a 'distraction', but when I tell you to work I'm a heathen." 

You move over until your arm is pressed into the cool wall. He sits down with his back to your knees, pulling his sweatshirt over his head in that infuriating way that boys do, flashing his naked back at you. He sheds the sweatshirt on the floor to your shock-horror and looks over his shoulder, hair disheveled. 

"I was always gonna let you come over," he says, like it's obvious, "just had to mess with you a bit first."

"That's mean," you bemoan. 

He raises his eyebrows and lies back, his spine pushing into the soft swell of your tummy. You hear it click. 

"Peter, oh my god." 

He sighs as he stretches, using you like a roller. You blush at the sound he makes as he readjusts, your brain labelling it as a moan even when you begin it not to. You try not to breath weird as he curls up on your abdomen, a touch, face pressed above your naval, eyes on your eyes. Peter can't be comfortable in his position but he looks like there's nowhere he'd rather be. It makes you nauseous. 

You turn your face into his pillow and decide you can't deal with this right now, and you won't. Peter's hands are clasped together, knuckle of his thumb pressed into your ribs. Your own hands lie at either side of you, itching to move, to touch, to hold. 

You ball them into fists. 

"What should we have for lunch?" he asks. 

"What do you want?" you ask, a poor imitation of a normal person.  

He hums to himself in thought and you still as you feel his hand traverse the curve of your ribs. He traces the pattern of your shirt gently, fingertips touching you so slightly you might convince yourself you'd imagined it if you couldn't see his arm moving out of the corner of your eye. 

"The sandwhich house outside the 71 station had signs up for po' boys," he suggests, almost murmuring. 

You squeeze your eyes shut. "You like shrimp?" you ask, slightly wheezy. 

He flattens his hand with a laugh. "I like po' boys." 

You can't help it, you hate yourself for it, but the heat of his hand as he slides it lightly over your ribs makes you tremble. He doesn't say anything, but his hand quickens, as if to soothe, trailing back and forth over your rising abdomen. If he moves his hand up a few inches- 

"Or I can make mac and cheese," his hand pauses as he turns it over in his head, "I can make breadcrumbs. Oh, there's imitation lobster in the freezer. We could have lobster mac and cheese." He raises his head off of your tummy and smiles at you. "Right?" 

You force yourself to speak, scared to move, "I'm not sure I'm very hungry." 

He nods and lays back down, rubbing his face gently against the material of your shirt. It catches on the beginnings of his stubble. Your entire body flushes, a too hot feeling blossoming in your chest. 

"PB and J?" he offers.

Your hand shakes as you raise it behind him, warring with yourself. He's rubbing my chest. I'd hardly be the weird one if I stroked his hair, you think. Would I? 

You touch first single strand, then the outline of a curl. Peter turns his head before you can, crushing his curls, face to his ceiling with a dispirited grumble. 

"It's no use," he says, hands scrubbing his face. "Too many options." 

Then, as if remembering himself, "Oh, sorry. I'm crushing you," he says, sitting up. 

"N-" you physically stop yourself from protesting his departure and instead pull yourself up before he can try anything heartstopping again. 

A pointless exercise, you realise, when he moves to fix your hair for you, flattening your bedhead. He pauses with his hand over your ear and smiles triumphantly.

"Cereal," he says. 

You grin, appeasing. "Cookie crisp?" 

"Yes! Absolutely. Cookie crisp. And Apple Jack's." 

"Not at the same time, though." 

Peter's silent. He stands up and makes for the door, refusing to look at you. 

"Not at the same time, though, Peter. Right?" 

"You don't have to eat it!" he complains, rolling his eyes. 

You follow him down the stairs. Your socks are new and slippery. He's quick, and in your scramble to catch up with him and prevent any atrocity you mist the last step and gasp. 

Peter doubles back. "What?" 

You laugh, forcing mouthfuls of air into your lungs in relief. 

"I missed the last step," you admit, waiting for his judgement. 

He smirks like you knew he would. "Aw, doll, can't even get down the stairs by herself." 

"I can." You hate yourself for how his words make you stammer. "It's your fault, I was chasing you." 

"You were chasing me?" he asks, something evil in his eyes. 

You take a step back that you don't have and fall onto the stairs as he takes a step forward. You want to laugh but Peter doesn't, and so you don't, sitting on his wooden stairs with your hand wrapped around the banister, looking up at him worriedly. 

"No," you say. 

He takes your face into his hands. His black eye is healed. The only colour on his face is the beauty mark just below his nose.

His hands are hot. They cradle your cheeks, fingers pushed under your ears, tilting you up. He's playing a game of intimidation with you, you know, and you swallow, his touch calming but his proximity nerve-wracking. 

"You think you could catch me?" he asks, amusement written clear as day on his pretty face. 

"For cereal," you clarify, bargaining for your life. 

"Right, and if you caught me? Then what?" 

"I would have stopped you." 

"Yeah?" 

You stop with your lips parted. He strokes your cheek with his thumb. You feel suddenly overwhelmed and he must see that, because he pulls his hands from your face with enough gentleness to turn your stomach. 

"Hey," he says. "I'm kidding. I wouldn't hurt you, you know that?" 

And your eyes widen. "Of course I know that," you tell him quickly. You drop your head into your hands and feel your skin where his hands had been. "I didn't think that." 

"You looked pretty freaked out," he mumbles. 

You hold your hand out and he takes it, pulling you back onto your feet, chest touching his chest. He shuffles back. His fingers move down your hand to squeeze your wrist. Weeks and weeks of this. He's more familiar to you than anyone has ever been before, yet you have so much left to learn. 

You want to reassure him. No, Peter, you didn't make me uncomfortable or anything. It's just your hands feel like they were meant to be held to my face. I want to hold them there. 

You wrap your arms around his waist like a coward. Your face disappears into the strength of his chest. He wraps his arms around you without a word.

"I know you wouldn't," is all you can say. 

-

The picnic blanket is a kaleidoscope of colours against the rich green swatch of grass where you lie. Peter sits with one leg up in the opposite corner, your game of uno between you. 

"I think you're slipping cards," Peter accuses. 

"How could I? I don't have sleeves. Or pants." 

"I know what you're like," he says. 

He's right, you are slipping cards. A wad of them are sticky under your sweaty thigh. Peter gives the handheld fan he's propped up across from you both a good wack to get it going again. 

"I thought you were an engineer," you say. "Uno." 

He lays down a +4 and you sigh, picking up an extra four cards. 

"It's fixed. It's fixed, it's just temperamental. It has personality." He sounds personality out. Per-suh-nah-li-ty. 

"Uh-huh," you say. 

"Uno." 

Fuck. You put down a yellow and he sighs, picking up another card.

"It's actually offensive to me that you think I'm slipping." 

"It's offensive to me that you think I wouldn't notice." 

Another card, another. 

"Uno." 

He puts one down. "Uno." 

You pick up. He picks up. 

"You notice nothing." 

"So your leg, it's flat to the blanket for no particular reason?" 

"Uno," you say, your one card wavering in your hand. You refuse to lie to him but won't tell the truth, either. 

"Uno. You have a bad poker face." 

You place your last card. "I win." 

He puts his last card down on the blanket and steadies his gaze on your. His eyes flit to your leg. He throws himself at you. 

His weight pushes your back flat to the picnic blanket and his hand pushes under your thigh. His fingertips dig into your leg and he scoops up a handful of your cheating cards, moving off of you and brandishing them. 

You giggle and stay lying down. He drops them on your chest, red cards stark against your short white summer dress. 

"I knew it. You lose." 

"I won!" 

"You forfeit for cheating!" 

You concede, simpering. He kneels between your legs, looking only at your face, and then he catches sight of your legs and he stops smiling. You know he sees them. 

He looks at your face, as if to say, argue with me about them.  

"It's okay," you murmur. 

He follows a white, raised line once. His hands are steady and kind. His fingertips feel like the kiss of a soft mouth. 

You bring your legs up and push your knees together, folding them to the side and away from his view. He straightens your dress to hide your underwear and you can barely bring yourself to be embarrassed. His fingers linger, pinched in the white of your skirt.

"Are you sure?" he asks. 

"I promise." 

His relief is palpable. 

He crawls backwards on his knees to clean up the mess of cards. You listen to his movements, his breathing, the shuffling of cards as he puts them back in their cardboard box and the zipper of his bag. You think about the mess of scars on your body and how he's seen them, too inattentive to notice his creeping approach. 

He dangles a daisy picked from the surrounding grass in front of your eyes. 

"You're my best friend," he says, love sewed into the seams of each syllable. "The best friend I have ever had. Nothing will change that." 

You accept the flower and sit up, passing him the last red card from under your ribs. 

-

"Why did we agree to come here?" Peter asks into your ear, leaning over the sofa where you're sitting. 

"You didn't miss the smell?" you ask him innocently. 

"Or the taste," he informs you, arms hanging either side of your head. 

He rests his chin in your hair and you poke your tongue towards his cup until he gets what you're saying and holds it to your mouth. 

"Me neither," you say after you've swallowed. "Yuck." 

"Shall we go home?" he asks. 

You tilt your head backwards and watch the underside of his jaw move. He raises his head to look down at you. It's weird, like he's upside down. 

"We shall," you declare. 

Peter pulls you off the couch side through the apartment, down flights of stairs and onto the street, which smells better than the stuffy tang of beer that had lingered at the party by a small, almost invisible margin. 

The sky is split by our star's descent, a brilliant mix of orange and pink and white and blue, clouds dancing across it like lovers, unhurried. 

You and Peter walk much the same, crossing streets and ducking through cold alleyways until the road to his aunt's house appears in the distance, hands brushing against hands, dancing around each other.   

A car drives past playing sweet classical music. Another blares heavy rock. A dog sticks his head out of the window and wags his tail, tongue heaving. You and Peter wave at him excitedly. 

The sun sinks further through its rainbow sky like the fat yolk of an egg having escaped its shell, almost bobbing against the honey yellow horizon, a wave of light. 

There's no music to be heard as Peter knits his fingers through yours, pulling you towards him. You spin into him like it's a game, the edges of your skirt flaring out, the petals of a baby blue tulip over your thighs. 

You spin out for the simple pleasure of watching it. Peter digs through his pocket for his phone and sets his music to shuffle. The first song to come on is all you need. 

You spin out, spin in, arms joined and high in the air. Away again, in, you trip over your own feet and drop your head into his chest, something akin to peace wrapping itself around you like sheer ribbon as you laugh breathlessly.

Peter says your name. You lift your head from his chest and see reflected on his face how you're feeling now - light, pure light. 

"I think you're my honeybody," you tell him, beaming. 

He raises his hands to your neck, moves them up in synchrony to your face. He ebbs like a wave, hands falling down, pushing under your arms as he pulls you into a hug, leaning backwards. Your shoes leave the ground, Peter hugging you so tightly it aches, face buried in your hair. He sets you down on sure footing and kisses you, misses your mouth by an inch. You both giggle incessantly, fingers on faces and pulling each other in until you get it right. 

By the time you make it home the sky is dark as wine. 

<3

𝗆𝖺𝗌𝗍𝖾𝗋𝗅𝗂𝗌𝗍

thanks for reading ❤️

tasm taglist @pomminine @isabelleonabicycle @decafcoffew @runawaywithmyghost @joebobisachickenfart

[notanotherreidgirl]

I just had an idea based on my recent health experience: What if Spence had to wear a Holter for 24 or 72 hours to measure his heart's activity (maybe as part of the FBIs health checks) ? And he has to take notes of everything he does so that they can match it with the information collected so he cannot have sex or masturbate unless he's willing to justify his increased heart activity to a team of doctors. So, reader being reader, decides to drive him nuts, teasing him again and again because she knows he can't do anything about it. (Does he end up cumming in his pants because he's trying so hard not to touch himself and increase his heart rate?) ☺️🥰

Love ya! Have a great day!

Let's Get Physical

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: 18+, edging, blowjob, grinding, coming in pants

Word Count: 1380 (i'm inclined to just call this a full fic)

A/N: First, an apology. This has been in my inbox for quite a while and I am very sorry about the wait. Secondly, I made this entire scenario up after doing some minimal research on Holter monitors so it might not make sense.

Spencer gave Hotch’s door a light tap before taking a deep breath and then giving two sharp knocks. “Come in”

The door swung open and Derek patted him on the shoulder with a smile as he exited, no doubt having just received a glowing report regarding his physical health. Spencer dropped into the seat, casting a quick glance at the team of health professionals on Hotch’s couch and immediately regretting it. They were very clinical looking - pressed white lab coats, hair combed and gelled back, clipboards piled with papers, already scribbling away and speaking among themselves in hushed voices. “Ok Dr. Reid, we just have a few questions to ask you regarding your health practices and then we’ll take a look at the results from the Holter Monitor. Is that alright?”

“Um yeah. Yeah, that’s fine” he glanced over at Hotch who was leafing through Spencer’s notes with a raised eyebrow. The first few questions about his diet and lifestyle practices were easy but then came the dreaded evaluation of the Holter measurements. “Now we just have a few questions about some of the readings from the Holter. I see there was a bit of a spike right after you put it on that you attributed to nerves?”

“O-oh uh yeah, I was just a little nervous about having it on. That was it.” But that wasn’t the exact truth.

---

You had Spencer sit cross-legged on the bed without his shirt when he came home with the Holter. He was explaining how it worked as you studied the diagram detailing how to put it on. You slipped the wearable recording device over his head and climbed into his lap, surreptitiously rocking your hips into his as you untangled the wires. His hands encircled your waist, adjusting your angle so your clothed core ran against his entire length. You attached the electrodes carefully, kissing each patch of skin before covering it. His breath came out in soft pants as his release mounted and he squeezed his eyes shut. Just as he was about to come, you clicked the machine on and his eyes flew open.

“Wait, Y/N! I can’t - I’m supposed to keep my heart rate down.” The panic in his voice was evident and you smirked. If there was one thing you knew about Spencer it was that he liked succeeding. One might even say he liked winning - 3 Ph.Ds, prolific poker player, unsubs behind bars - so it didn’t come as a surprise to you that he was keen on passing his health evaluation. You trailed a hand down his chest, feeling the pounding heart he was trying to calm with deep breaths. “If you say so, doc”

---

The evaluator’s next question snapped him from his reverie. “That sounds fine but there was a concerning increase in your heart activity at 2 AM. It says here that you were exercising, specifically sprinting?”

Spencer dropped the pen he had been twirling and dove under his chair to get it. “Ah yes, I - uh - those are my nightly sprints.”

If Hotch’s eyebrows went up any farther they’d disappear in his hairline. He leaned back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his face in exasperation when he spotted your face peeking out through an opening in his office blinds. You darted away quickly, sprinting back to your desk. Meanwhile, Spencer mentally chastised himself for his lack of self-restraint, saying that he was doing sprints at 2 AM was stupid but it was the only thing he could think of that could somewhat explain his elevated heart rate without revealing his actual activities.

---

He couldn’t sleep with the monitor on, tossing and turning in your arms until he rolled onto his back and let out a frustrated huff. You sleepily propped yourself up on your elbow. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

He scooted in closer, curling his body into yours and burying his face into your tits. He whined, “Can’t sleep with this thing on me”

“Oh, poor baby. Do you need me to make you feel better?” You dipped a hand down the front of his pajama pants and he automatically pressed his hips forward, used to you soothing him in this way after nightmares. He was already half-hard and you stroked him softly before sliding down the bed. His whimpers at the loss of your breasts exploded into loud moans as you swallowed his length, running your tongue up the underside of his cock and sucking at the tip before taking him back into your throat. Usually, you would take your time but you were feeling particularly wicked tonight, bringing a hand up to cradle his balls as the other forced his wild hips down onto the bed. Once again you pulled away just as his orgasm began to materialize and he threw his head back against the pillows, whines devolving into a choked sob. “We wouldn’t want to mess up your Holter results, now would we?”

Needless to say, he didn’t get any sleep that night.

---

“Well Dr. Reid, this kind of activity is most unusual and frankly quite concerning. Your heart rate even shot up right before you returned the monitor which you again attributed to nerves.” Spencer’s face reddened as he recalled the events that transpired that morning.

---

He was pacing down a vacant hallway in the basement of the Bureau, willing his nerves away. He was sure he would fail. Could you even fail one of these evaluations? Probably. If anyone could fail it would be Spencer. Between the events of the last 24 hours and the fact that Derek was going right before him, he knew he was screwed. And then as if the universe were conspiring against him there you were coming out of the printer room, heels clicking against the floor, hips swaying, a form-fitting blouse leaving just enough to the imagination. And Spencer had a very vivid imagination. Watching you float towards him was really all it took to have him standing at attention, heart rate skyrocketing. But you were ever the overachiever, threading his tie between your fingers and pulling him in for a kiss. Your knee came up between his legs and he automatically rocked into you, still worked up from your relentless denial. You ran your tongue over his bottom lip, deepening the kiss and applying even more pressure. “You’ve been so good, sweetheart. Trying your very hardest to control yourself. It’s adorable.”

It didn’t even occur to Spencer that he had to return the monitor along with his notes in less than 10 minutes, he was cumming in his pants as soon as the praise left your lips, whining into your mouth as he finally attained his long-awaited release. He looked down at you in shock as you stepped back. “Shit, Y/N! What do I do? They’re gonna call me up in 5 minutes!”

You gave him a mocking look of sympathy as you smoothed the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “Guess you better get cleaned up then”

---

“Dr. Reid, I’d like to see you again for a follow-up.” The doctor on the left scribbled their name on the bottom of a form and handed it to Spencer. He gave the paper a quick glance before looking over at Hotch with wide eyes. Help me.

Hotch sighed, taking the form from Spencer and giving it a quick scan before returning it to the evaluation team. “As we know, Dr. Reid has had a tumultuous history with these physical assessments. However, he is an invaluable member of this team and has proven himself in the field time and time again. I don’t see any reason to prolong this evaluation. Now if you’ll excuse us, I believe Dr. Reid was your last appointment of the day”

They protested but Hotch fixed them with his trademark stare and they stood up to leave. “Very well, but Dr. Reid will not be exempt from his yearly fitness test this time.”

Spencer gulped, watching them file out the room. He turned to Hotch thanking him as he took his file and turned to leave, glad it was over. But before he could leave, Hotch cleared his throat. “I take it Y/N will be helping you train for your fitness test”

[starryhyuck]

thin walls. (m)

pairing: softdom!jaemin x sub!reader

words: 1.8k+

summary: you try your best to keep quiet since you know jaemin’s room is right next to yours. turns out you’re not as quiet as you think.

genre: fluff, smut

warnings: dom!jaemin, bestfriend!jaemin, roommate!jaemin, oral sex, daddy kink, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie

“Isn’t it weird?”

“Is what weird?”

You’re having your weekly video call with Donghyuck and Renjun, the latter actually paying attention to your conversation while the former furiously clicks away on his keyboard.

“We’ve been quarantining for almost a year now. You haven’t gotten any dick in months and your roommate is like the hottest guy we know,” Renjun clarifies, raising an eyebrow. You both ignore the sound of Donghyuck grumbling loudly as he loses another game.

You roll your eyes. “And you’re so concerned about my sex life because?”

“Because clearly, neither me or Donghyuck have one. I’m living vicariously through you.”

That gets Donghyuck’s attention. “For your information, I am supporting many lovely women through OnlyFans. It’s only Renjun that has difficulties with sexual partners.”

Renjun scoffs. “I could have anyone on their knees for me, and we all know it.”

There’s a knock on your door and you take an earbud out when Jaemin pops his head in. He looks like a mess — his hair springing up in different places and eyes puffy. You frown at his disheveled state.

“Hey, are you still busy?”

Your fingers move at the speed of lightning, barely registering Renjun’s protest when you quickly leave the meeting. You toss your laptop and earbuds aside to give your best friend your full attention.

He chuckles and scratches the back of his neck. “If you’re busy, I can come back later.”

“Nope, not busy anymore. Are you okay, Jaem?”

He fully enters the room and shuts the door behind him. He smiles softly at you as he takes a seat on your bed.

“Not feeling too great. Just wanted to see you.”

You ignore the swell in your chest at his confession, worriedly stroking his cheek when you realize how red his eyes are. His hand comes up to play with your fingers, eyes moving in and out of focus.

“What’s wrong?” You finally ask.

He shrugs. “Didn’t do so well on my test today. Feeling a little hopeless.”

Your frown grows deeper. You move closer to him, wanting to soothe his pain.

“Don’t say that. It’s just one test, you’ll do better on the next one. I’ll help you! We can make flash cards and create some trivia games to help you remember.”

He chuckles, eyes still staring down at your connected hands.

“You always know what to say. How is that?”

You giggle. “I earned the title of your best friend for a reason.”

“I suppose you did.” His eyes move upwards to lock on you. “Can I stay here? Just for tonight.”

You freeze. You haven’t slept next to Jaemin in months, the two of you only doing so when you were really drunk or really sad. You don’t even remember what it’s like to fall asleep in your best friend’s arms.

“Sure.”

And you two fall into a quiet rhythm, Jaemin’s arms circling around you as he brings your back to his chest. Your eyes flutter shut, focusing on his steady breaths as you try to fall asleep.

You’re startled when you suddenly feel a pair of lips ghost over your neck, pressing a small kiss to your collarbone.

“J-Jaem?”

He hums in response, not showing any signs of stopping while he continues to pepper kisses on your shoulder.

“Jaem, w-what are you d-doing?”

“I heard you last night.”

You pause. You try to register what he’s saying, which you find is incredibly hard to do when his tongue darts out, licking a stripe up your neck. You backtrack to last night, when you were feeling so drowsy but struggled to get to sleep. You don’t remember much, except for the fact that you reached to your nightstand to grab your vibrator-

Oh. Oh fuck.

“Y-You heard that?”

He hums again, moving to suck your neck with vigor. When he finally parts from his masterpiece, he chuckles.

“How could I not? The walls aren’t exactly thin, you know. I hear everything — all your silly commentary when you rewatch your favorite dramas, your weekly conversations with Renjun and Donghyuck, the pretty little noises you make when you turn your vibrator on, and the unmistakable sound of porn you watch when you’re really aroused.”

You feel more than embarrassed, stuttering as you try to offer an explanation. Jaemin chuckles against your ear, biting softly down on the lobe. A whimper tumbles out of your mouth before you realize it.

“I couldn’t sleep last night after listening to you. You made me fail my test, baby.”

“I’m s-sorry.”

“If you’re really sorry, you’ll let me eat you out.”

You swear your heart stops. “W-What?”

“I’m hungry. You wouldn’t want me to go to bed on an empty stomach, would you?”

“U-Um, no.”

Before you know it, you’re on your back with Jaemin between your legs. His fingers thumb over the fabric of your pajama shorts and he looks up at you, his eyes glimmering with a question.

You nod. “It’s okay, Jaem.”

With your permission, he slides your shorts down your legs and throws them haphazardly across the room. His gaze darkens at the sight of your lacy panties, which you honestly wore unintentionally today. You’re glad you picked them this morning though, because Jaemin looked like he was about to go insane at the sight.

“You’re so fucking perfect.”

And then his tongue licks a stripe up your clothed core and you yelp. He’s almost predatory, shoving your underwear aside and diving into your sopping pussy. You moan when his tongue furiously licks your folds, curling in on yourself while he holds you down.

“Jaemin!”

He parts from you briefly and raises an eyebrow. “I think you have another name to call me.”

You’re confused yet again. “W-What?”

He snickers. “Forgot already? I listened to all those dirty videos you were watching, baby. I know all your cute little kinks. Now, I know you have a different name to address me as.”

“J-Jaemin, I-“

He clicks his tongue. “That’s not right.”

You gather all the courage you have inside of you, ignoring the clear embarrassment on your face by the fact that Jaemin has discovered all of your secret fantasies.

“Daddy, please eat me out.”

He smiles mischievously. “Good girl.”

You have no time to dwell on your self-consciousness before he’s sinking a finger inside of you, tongue lapping at your clit. You feel like a dog in heat, warmth spreading throughout your body as you struggle to comprehend the fact that your best friend is currently eating you out like his life depends on it.

“D-Daddy, daddy!” You scream when he slips another finger inside, curling them upwards while he sucks on your clit furiously. “I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“

You cry out when your orgasm sweeps over you in waves, thrashing and whimpering under Jaemin’s hold. He uses his other hand to hold your hips down when the oversensitivity crashes into you, desperately trying to push away from him.

“D-Daddy, no, I-I’m sensitive-“

Jaemin growls and holds you tighter, fingers still drilling into your pussy and mouth wrapped around your sensitive bud. You don’t have time to warn him when your second orgasm comes just as quickly as the first, convulsing around him. You try to gain a sense of strength to push him away before he can launch you into a third, and Jaemin gets the message as he parts from you.

His chin glimmers with evidence of your arousal, fingers slipping into his mouth while he tastes the remnants of your two orgasms.

He pounces on you, lips crashing into yours and you moan. You can taste yourself on his tongue, and the fact shoots another spike of arousal to your core.

“What else did they do in that video, baby?” He whispers breathily. “Tell me.”

Your brain is a little fuzzy as you try to remember.

“H-He fucked the girl until she was crying and she took it. Anything to please her d-daddy.”

He smirks. “Is that what I should do to you? Fuck you until you’re crying? Will you do anything to please me?”

You know you trusted Jaemin with your life, so you nod.

“Anything for you, daddy.”

He grins. He quickly pulls down his sweatpants and his cock springs up, already half hard. You gulp at his size, and you’re suddenly reminded of why Renjun calls Jaemin the hottest guy you know. Jaemin’s girth wasn’t exactly a secret in your friend group, many rumors spreading around after Donghyuck discovered how well endowed your roommate actually was.

His fingers grip his base, slowly pumping himself while keeping his eyes locked on you.

“Like what you see, baby? Do you think your pussy is ready to take daddy’s fat cock?”

“Y-Yes, d-daddy. I c-can take your c-cock.”

He chuckles at your response, brushing strands of hair away from your face to fully look at you. His look is almost endearing, and you would swoon any other day if he wasn’t about to fuck you.

He lines himself up to your entrance, pausing for a second.

“Do I need to get a condom?”

You shake your head. “I’m on birth control. We’re fine.”

He doesn’t hesitate any longer, pushing into you slowly. You whine at the stretch. You haven’t been taken like this in months, and your vibrator is no match for his huge cock. He coaxes you through the pain, whispering softly in your ear and kissing your neck again to help ease you up.

Once he bottoms out, he waits patiently for your go ahead before moving. You can tell it’s killing him on the inside, brows pushed together as he tries his best not to pound you deep into the mattress.

“P-Please, daddy.”

Jaemin builds a steady pace inside of you, groaning and grunting into your ear as he sinks deeper and deeper. Your mind draws a blank when you struggle to form any coherent words, babbling while he impales you with his cock.

“You’re such a good girl for me. Always so good. Been waiting for this forever, baby. Dreamed so long of having you underneath me like this.”

“Daddy,” you gasp at his unexpected confession, hissing lowly when his fingers circle around your clit. Tears spring up in your eyes from the pleasure.

“Especially all those mornings when you were wearing practically nothing in front of me, you don’t even know how many times I wanted to take you on the kitchen counter.”

You cry when his cock hits you harder and faster.

“But you’re so good for me now, aren’t you, baby? So pretty and perfect for her daddy.”

“Y-Yes, daddy,” you whimper. “I’m all yours. All good for daddy.”

Jaemin groans loudly. “Cum for me, baby. Cum for daddy.”

Your orgasm is blinding, your nails digging into his shoulders as you ride out your high. He follows shortly after you, grunting when he shoots his cum deep inside your waiting womb.

You both lay in silence before you suddenly burst out in laughter. Jaemin eyes you.

“What?”

“We just fucked. I just fucked my best friend and called him daddy. This is so surreal.”

He chuckles, leaning down to press a kiss against your lips.

“Better get used to it. Who knows how long we’ll be stuck in quarantine together.”

You smile. “Doesn’t sound so bad to me.”

[tender-rosiey]

hi hi <3 it’s my first time requesting so i’m excited ! I was wondering if you could possibly do a comfort headcanon for gojo, megumi, and Itadori... like their s/o has been really down lately but they didn’t mention anything and continue smiling... until they get caught crying (you don’t have to include this part if you don’t want to !)

the characters knew it was a fake smile and crying made that clear so they try to like comfort/reassure them!

female s/o pls ^ !!

- mya :)

❥ JJK characters comforting s/o

❥— Includes Megumi, Itadori and Gojo

ᴀ/ɴ: I LOVE COMFORT SCENARIOS ALSO HI BBY <3 ; I am honored that you requested something from me, and I hope you like this 🥺💘

Gojo Satoru:

Gojo is observant

But he wanted to wait until you came to him and told him that you are bothered

It would show that you trusted him

However there are limits

If you are feeling down and acting like everything is alright

Then he will, with no hesitation, comfort you and make you smile once again.

He knew from the beginning there was something wrong. It was pretty obvious to him, those eyes that shined brighter than the sun when happy are hiding the rain it wanted to let out.

He wanted to see when and if you will come to him for comfort like you both do with each other, but you never did. In contrast, you actually went on with your day with fake smiles and reassurance. He had to confront you about it.

He never liked seeing you down.

So at the end of the day when you are both free with no distractions and no one to stop him from ditching his work for you, he approached your room and knocked on your door.

He heard sniffles and sobs that broke his heart, and that indicated that he had to talk to you now or you will sleep with grey clouds covering the sky of your mind. He opened the door and said your name unusually quiet “Y/N?..”

You slowly looked up to him with puffy eyes and quivering lips to which he neared towards your figure and cupped your cheek. “Angel, what has got you so sad?” He gently spoke and shifted you to be on his lap.

After explaining what has been troubling you to your lover, you watched him rubbing his chin in a thinking way then smirking. That smirk was then followed by you being tickled by him until you cried from laughter, not the sadness.

He peppered your face with kisses then asked with a smile “Feeling better?” He nuzzled your noses together and reminded you “you know you can always come to me when you are sad, right?” You nodded looking away.

But then you asked, “Satoru, how did you even know I was sad?” To which he straightened his posture proudly and took his blindfold off “Oh Y/N! My dear royal, my eyes see through anything-“ “so the great Gojo Satoru had to use superpowers to know that his lover is upset?”

“WHAT NO I CAN DO IT WITHOUT ANYTHING; WE BOTH KNOW I AM WONDERFUL AND AMAZING BOYFRIEND >:(“

By the end of his defense, you were laughing while he looked at you with love and adoration in his eyes. He swore before to protect you and this smile. For they have been some of the main things that made it easier for him.

Itadori Yuuji:

Itadori notices quickly when you are down

He will try to cheer you up before anything

And will ask if you are alright or not with concern swimming in his eyes

When you brush it off, he will be beside you the whole time as support

And when you can’t hold it anymore, he will still be there

Both of you are usually pretty energetic, or at least mix together well and can have lots of fun and smiles. Another reason to why he notices when you are down quite fast, to which he decided to try and cheer you up until you are comfortable with telling him.

He quoted movies, jokes and made a fool out of himself for the sake of your smile, for yes it came but still the blue in your eyes was evident. He got you what you liked of food and gifts and asked you if you are well only to be met by a ‘it’s nothing’.

“Well, I will stay by your side until you feel alright with telling me and even if you don’t, I will still be here for you.”

And he was true to his words, he kept by your side and whenever he had the chance to do something funny he did with no hesitation.

He figured maybe your favorite food would help as well as sometime alone so he kissed your forehead before going on his merry way to get you something that will fill your tummy with a luscious feeling.

Just as he was re-entering your room once again with a big smile, he was met by your shaking figure and your broken sobs that cause his heart to break. He despised seeing you sad; he put the food down slowly and made his way towards you.

He sat beside you hugging you slowly and rubbing your back. He helped you lay down on him and started whispering sweet nothings into your ear; “calm down babe, it will be alright, I promise.”

As well as reassuring you once again that he will be here for you always, some time passes by and he is still trying to sooth your troubled self and calm down your breathing and then he was met with soft snores coming from you and a peaceful look on your face.

Life has been overwhelming, you just needed to let out all what you have been bottling inside. Thankfully, he was there for you when you decided your breaking point and let your tears flow. He was always going to be there.

He never was letting you be vulnerable alone.

Fushiguro Megumi:

Another observant one, but silent with judgements

He is aware of your moods and when you are faking it or not

He will let you to sort things alone first, thinking you don’t want anyone to talk to you about it

But when he sees it’s gradually getting worst then he will check up on you as fast as he could

You balanced out the silence that he brought with himself, it made his day better every time he saw your smile and heard your voice. But today there was a difference in them, a difference that apparently only he took notice of.

Your smiles seemed forced, your voice was quivering or cracked mid-sentence, he didn’t like how you were barely holding yourself back from breaking down right then and there. Yet as much as he loathed it, he wanted you to try and solve the matters yourself.

He didn’t want you to think that he saw you as someone who can’t deal with their emotions and needed others for comfort. But no one said comfort from others is taboo, he just thought that you would prefer solving it alone.

Not to mention that you already were at your limit, if anyone were to talk to you about it you were to reach the pit point and he didn’t want others to see you in your weakness. However, his plan was foiled as your state kept getting worst and no positive changes were visible.

Right after his errand, he rushed to your room but his steps flattered as he was near your door in order not to jump scare you. He slowly opened it and went to you crouching in front of you, you were hugging your knees with tears falling like a never ending waterfall.

He held your hand tenderly then squeezed it softly. He wanted you to know you are not going through this alone, that he is there for you now and forever. He stroked your hair lovingly and said your name like a lullaby to make his presence known.

Perhaps his voice will be the one to defeat the monsters raiding your mind.

You snaked your arms around his torso and he pulled you closer to your chest and pressed a kiss to the top of your head, his hand never stopping it’s caress. He rocked your body against his own own gently until your sobs died out.

It was only you and him now.

“Color?”

It was a simple question, while yes most used it as a lewd question, you two used it to indicate your moods. When you muttered a soft ‘yellow..’ his heart rested assured, you were alright now.

Yes he was awkward with affection but if it was to make you feel better then all this awkwardness was all thrown out of the window. You are his priority at all times, he promised to protect you from everything.

Even if it was the wicked monsters of your mind.

copyright © 2020 tender-rosiey

do not copy or plagiarize or you will be reported

[stolen-pen-name23]

hiii idk if u still take prompts but "i’m never going to let [her/him/them] hurt you again" for Obitine?

Ahhh thank you for the prompt! This is actually the last prompt in my inbox! I'll open up prompts again soon, but for now, I'm going to try and focus on a few bigger projects.

This one got away from me, so you can read the whole thing under the cut, or read on Ao3!

---

When he is brought to her, it is like he isn’t even there.

“What’s wrong with him?” Satine asks when Anakin stumbles down the ramp of his ship, Obi-Wan slung over his shoulders. His eyes are open but vacant, almost as though in death.

“He was drugged,” Anakin growls.

“What did they give him?” she asks.

Anakin’s eyes are dark with rage. “I don’t know. But I can assure you, Duchess, that the ones who did this to him are dead.”

Satine bristles.

“Self-defense, my lady,” Anakin says before she can say anything about fair trials or neutral zones.

“Uh-huh,” Satine accepts mildly, paying more attention to Obi-Wan and his current state.

“Is there a medical facility here?” Anakin asks.

“I sent for healers as soon as you called,” Satine says. “They’re awaiting him in my quarters.”

“Thank you, Duchess,” Anakin says, the tight line of his jaw softening ever so slightly. “Lead the way.”

Satine leads Anakin through the palace entrance and down the long and winding corridors that lead to her quarters. Guards flank them on either side, though Satine thinks their presence to be unnecessary with Anakin there — even if he is carrying another Jedi with him.

By the time they reach her rooms, Anakin is panting. Despite his obvious exhaustion, he sets Obi-Wan down with gentle care.

Obi-Wan is fully unconscious now — a fact Satine is grateful for. The vacant staring was unsettling, especially coming from Obi-Wan whose eyes were always so full of life and curiosity. Conversely, a wild look still lingers in Anakin’s eyes, and it flashes as healers descend upon them.

“Can you tell us what happened?” one of the healers asks Anakin.

“He was captured by some Separatist scum. I found him, but he was drugged. I… I can barely feel him,” Anakin says, panic finding its way back into his voice.

The healer whips her head up and looks at him more closely. “Are you okay? Were you drugged too?”

“What?” Anakin asks. “No, I was never—”

“These two are Jedi,” Satine interrupts. “They share a mental bond. They can sense each other through it.”

“Ah,” the healer says. Whether the healer feels any ill-will towards the Jedi, as many Mandalorians do, she does not give it away. She continues to work dutifully on her charge.

“What are you doing to him?” Anakin asks as the healer begins drawing blood and waving scanners over Obi-Wan’s body.

“We’re just running some tests. We need to figure out what he was drugged with. I don’t want to give him anything that might mix poorly with what he was given.”

Anakin nods, but Satine can still see the way he clenches his fist and jaw.

“We need you two to give us some room,” the healer says, before she seemingly remembers who she is speaking to. “Respectfully, Duchess,” she adds.

“Of course,” Satine says graciously. She takes a step back, but sees Anakin frozen in place. Gently, she grabs his elbow and nudges him along. He follows her to the edge of the room, where they wait for the healers to help Obi-Wan.

Satine doesn’t know how long they stand there, hovering awkwardly from afar, when a scanner goes off.

The healer picks up the scanner and examines it. “Good,” she says to herself.

“What was that? Anakin asks.

“The results from his blood test. The drug they gave him was a pretty heavy-duty sedative. Not the type we use in med centers and certainly not comfortable, but it won’t kill him. He’s going to be groggy and confused when he wakes up, but he’ll be fine.”

Satine and Anakin let out a breath at the same time.

“You two can stay here with him if you wish. We’ll check up on him in a few hours, but do send for us if he wakes up or appears to need medical attention.

“Thank you,” Satine says, bowing her head.

Satine sits on a chair beside the bed and Anakin paces around.

“Anakin,” Satine says calmly. “You heard the healer as well as I did. He’s going to be alright.”

Anakin pauses in his pacing and moves to stand next to where Satine is sitting. “I know. I just… I can barely feel him,” he repeats. “I was… when they first drugged him, I thought…”

“I’m sorry, Anakin,” Satine said sympathetically, standing to meet his gaze. “But he’s alright.”

Anakin offers a small nod and takes a shaky breath. Satine notices the dark circles under his eyes and the unusual pallor of his skin. “You should rest.”

“I’m not leaving him,” Anakin says stubbornly.

“He’ll be just fine right here. Anakin, you’re exhausted. I don’t need to be bonded to you to see that,” Satine says.

“Why are you…”

She nods her head at Obi-Wan. “He would want me to make sure you’re okay. And I care about your well-being too.”

Anakin blinks his eyes a few times. Whether he’s trying to wake himself up or fight back tears, Satine isn’t sure.

“But, I—”

“Go, Anakin,” she says softly. “You are dead on your feet. Go get something to eat and a couple of hours of sleep. I’ll watch over him while you’re gone, alright?”

Satine watches Anakin’s reluctant gaze fall on Obi-Wan.

“You’ve done enough for him, Anakin,” she insists.

Anakin stares at Obi-Wan for a moment longer.

“You’ll send for me if he wakes up? Or if anything changes?”

“Of course,” Satine says. She turns to a guard. “Take him to the guest quarters, please. Make sure some food is brought to him.”

“Yes, Duchess,” the guard says.

Anakin looks taken aback by the accommodations—unused to such opulence—but he goes along with it easily enough. A guard leads him away, but another guard remains in the room.

“You may leave us,” Satine says.

“Yes, Duchess,” the guard says, though she can see the hesitation in his eyes.

She sits on the bed and leans back against the headboard. She looks down at Obi-Wan where he lays, still asleep.

“What am I going to do with you,” she murmurs, running a hand through his hair.

The hours march on like so many dutiful soldiers and Satine feels them weighing heavily on her. She is about to submit to sleep when Obi-Wan stirs beside her.

“Obi?” she whispers hopefully.

He lets out a quiet whimper, and it is then that Satine notices the sweat coating his brow.

“Hey,” she says quietly. “Obi, wake up.”

If Obi-Wan hears her, he is ignoring her. He tosses his head to the side and a sliver of light from the high windows rests on his face, revealing a tear track. His chest rises and falls rapidly.

“Wake up, Obi-Wan,” she says again, more forcefully this time. His eyes flash open and he blinks at her.

“Are you with me?” Satine asks.

Cloudy eyes look right through her, unfocused and unsure. I guess not, then.

“Come on, snap out of it,” Satine says. “You’re okay.”

“No,” he murmurs weakly. “Stop, stop.”

Satine yanks her hands away from him.

“Obi, please,” Satine says. “Obi-Wan, it’s me.”

Obi-Wan turns his head to her. The fog lifts from his eyes. “Satine?” Obi-Wan asks, confusion still evident in his tone.

“It’s alright now,” Satine soothes. “It was just a nightmare, you’re safe.”

“No, I—”

“Yes. You’re safe,” she reaffirms.

“Where…?”

“You’re in the palace,” she says.

“Palace?”

“My palace. On Mandalore.”

“Why…?”

“You and Anakin were far from Coruscant and you needed medical attention. Mandalore was the closest stopping point to your location. Anakin called me in a bit of a panic. I told him to come.”

“I was with the Separatists,” Obi-Wan says, his fingers clenching around the blankets. “They had me, they…”

“Shhh. It’s alright now. I’m never going to let them hurt you again,” she murmurs, knowing she has no real power to actually keep him safe from the Separatists, but she is willing to say anything to calm the Jedi lying in her bed. “Besides, if I can’t keep you safe, Anakin will surely protect you from them.”

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan says, his eyes flashing with a mix of concern and fondness. “Anakin was here. Where…?”

“I sent him to the guest quarters to get some sleep. He asked me to wake him if you woke up, but I’ll give you a few more minutes to wake up.”

Obi-Wan shakes his head and looks at her incredulously. “You asked him to sleep and he just went?”

“I don’t know what to tell you, my dear. People have a hard time saying no to me. Even your supposedly bull-headed Padawan.”

“There is nothing ‘supposed’ about it,” Obi-Wan says in indignation, becoming more coherent by the minute. “He is bull-headed.”

“Oh, so he does take after you then,” Satine smirks.

Obi-Wan scoffs. “Hardly.”

“Mmhmm.”

Obi-Wan glares at her but tilts his head back, his energy fading once more.

“You should get some more rest.”

“I don’t want to. I’ve been resting.”

“You’ve been drugged. That is not the same as resting.”

“Ah yes,” Obi-Wan says quietly, rubbing his eyes. “That explains a few things.”

Dust dances in the beams of light cascading through the windows. The sweet melody of a bird welcoming the morning permeates the silence that stretches between the Jedi and the Mandalorian. Satine grabs Obi-Wan’s hand and caresses his knuckles with her thumb. He doesn’t shrink away from the touch.

“You know,” she says, breaking the silence, “it seems that every time we are together, one or both of us is always in some form of mortal danger.”

“Yes, well, it certainly keeps our relationship interesting,” Obi-Wan replies. He chuckles lightly to himself.

Satine scoffs and rolls her eyes at him. “That doesn’t make me feel better about it.”

“Well, if it does make you feel better, I’m not in mortal danger anymore.”

“No,” Satine replies, continuing to circle his knuckles with her thumb. “No, you’re safe now.”

Satine hopes it will stay that way, even for just a little bit longer.

[anaveragebibliophile]

Impossible

Carlisle Cullen x OC

Summary: Carlisle and his mate Eloise receive some shocking news that they weren’t necessarily prepared to deal with regarding her health. Instead of seeing what’s right in front of him, Carlisle believes that his wife’s health issues are stemming from other avenues. It isn’t until his wife makes a discovery that he alters his course of action. 

Note: This is a deviation from what I normally post, but I hope that all of you will take the chance and give it a read. :) 

“I can’t even believe this is happening again. And with your wife of all people!” Jacob Black shouted as he walked into the Cullen family’s wide, contemporary kitchen. 

“Jacob, we’ve discussed this. Eloise isn’t like us. She isn’t a vampire, she’s a phoenix. As such, she’s capable of resurrecting the dead, the broken, the ill-equipped parts of us that are theoretically unsalvageable. And as things stand, we all know I’m infertile. Or that I was.” Carlisle explained. “Believe me, I’m just as overwhelmed as you are. Even more so because I’m still struggling to accept the fact that I helped someone--the woman I adore more than anything else on this earth--procreate.”

And it’s not like the couple had been trying either. Quite the opposite actually. Sure, both of them had done ample amounts of research--through legends and the like--to determine whether or not they would need to take precautions before having intercourse. From what little they could find, it appeared that exercising the freedom of caution was the best choice. Not only had pregnancies been reported, multiple births seemed to be a common occurrence. And even though Carlisle was reluctant to put his faith into these infinitesimal references, he still did what any self-respecting man would do: He made sure his strong, confident wife made the final decision about what she wanted to do. At the end of the day, her body would have been doing the brunt of the work had a pregnancy occurred. 

Eloise thought long and hard about this and would even go so far as to test herself. Did she want a child? Yes. Would she be a genuinely good mother? She hoped so. But the ultimate question remained: did she want a child with Carlisle? More than anything else in the world. However, it just didn’t seem like the right time. The pack was going through organizational disputes, the Volturi were still trying to find ways to get her and Alice to join their coven, and Bella and Edward were in the process of adopting a child. There was just too much happening around her for that to work out. Or so she thought at that moment. 

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

About two months later, she started feeling a bit off-kilter. She was suffering from myriad migraine headaches, her stomach always seemed to be queasy, and she was dealing with some intense bouts of insomnia (which she had never experienced as a child or even during her adult life). Her husband was increasingly worried about her. So much so that he would have her in his office every day for testing. At that point, he was looking for a dormant autoimmune disease, cancer, anything that would highlight these symptoms. What he wasn’t looking for was a pregnancy, a fertilized egg within his wife. 

One night, while the rest of the family was out hunting, Eloise and Carlisle were cuddling on the couch, her head in his lap. He was running his long, cool fingers through her hair and down her back, intermittently trying to coax her into eating a small piece of toast that he’d made for her. Yet every attempt didn’t do much. Regardless, he was hoping she would get her appetite back soon because her skin had started to take on a translucent pallor that he despised. 

“Come on, honey, just one bite. That’s all I’m asking for,” Carlisle said, putting the plate in front of her face. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I’m just not hungry. The entire idea of food is revolting. Plus, I don’t really want to repeat what happened a few hours ago.” Carlisle hummed in understanding. While he knew that Eloise was being sincere, he wasn’t pleased that she was still feeling so fatigued and nauseated. 

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

A few hours ago, as he was attending to a broken rib of Seth’s at the reservation, he received a call from Alice. ‘Eloise has been throwing up for the last forty minutes, Carlisle. She didn’t want to worry you,’ she’d started. ‘But you need to get back here now. I’ve been sitting with her, and I’m worried she’s getting dehydrated.’ Heart in his throat, he quickly finished his session with Seth, letting him know that he had an emergency that he needed to attend to. 

After parking the car, he ran into the house, heading straight for his and Eloise’s bedroom. And when he walking into the adjoining bathroom, he was shocked by what he saw: his wife, her cheek smashed against the toilet seat, breathing heavily in order to avoid another onset of nausea. In his peripheral, he saw Alice lightly rubbing Eloise’s back with her left hand and murmuring comforting words to her. 

Instinctively, Carlisle  moved towards his wife and took Alice’s place as the caretaker. “Hi, sweetheart. Alice called and said you weren’t feeling well. Can you tell me what’s been bothering you?” he asked, gently kneading the taut muscles in her lean back. 

Eloise slowly pulled her face away from the toilet bowl and looked at him blearily. “My stomach just isn’t feeling super fantastic at the moment. I don’t know why, but I can’t seem to keep anything down. I haven’t been able to since about two o’clock this afternoon.”

“Well, you haven’t been at your best recently. Do you think that may have something to do with it?”

“Perhaps. But I haven’t had this happen before. Yes, I’ve experienced nausea and some stomach cramping, but it never ended with me vomiting for hours on end.”

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

And that was what still puzzled Carlisle in this moment. Why was this happening to her when nothing was physically wrong? She didn’t have AGID nor was there any evidence of malignant tumor growth. She wasn’t running a fever nor was she displaying any signs of infection. So what could it be? He was determined to find out. 

He lightly ran the pad of his right thumb over Eloise’s cheek. “Sweet girl, I think it’s time that I do an ultrasound on your stomach. Maybe that will give us some answers. What do you say?” 

“Alright. You’ll probably have to carry me though. I haven’t been doing well vertically,” she said, slightly smiling. 

“Your wish is my command.” 

He proceeded to carefully--oh, so carefully--move her head off his lap and onto a pillow (as a replacement). Then, when he was completely erect, he swiftly leaned forward and placed his forearms underneath Eloise’s lumbar vertebrae and upper thighs. Once she was secured in his arms, he gently kissed her cheek and proceeded to move them into his office, the one room in the house both of them have grown to resent. 

Placing her on the exam table, he grazed his hand through her bangs in the hope of soothing the anxiety that was coursing through her. “It’ll be alright. You know I would never hurt you. Never.”

“I know. It’s not that. I just don’t want anything to be wrong. I want to be healthy,” she said, her voice on the verge of breaking. 

“You will be. I’ll make sure of it,” Carlisle responds as he pressed his forehead against hers. 

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

Eloise smiled wanly as her husband went through his check-up regimen: ears, eyes, nose, throat, body temperature, blood pressure, then reflexes. While she may complain every now and then about his overprotectiveness, she really does feel so grateful and lucky to be married to a man whose compassion and kindness are limitless. This man always makes her feel valued, appreciated, and heard, especially apart from the rest of the world. And these are things that will never go unnoticed by her. He will never go unnoticed by her. 

“How are things looking, Doctor Cullen?” she asked. “Am I passing inspection?”

Carlisle lightly laughed at her attempt at a joke. “So far things are looking good. I think we’re about ready to do the abdominal ultrasound and see what things are looking like down there.”

He moved over to his white, sterile metal cart that held the handheld ultrasound. The plan was for Carlisle to put the clear lubricant on her belly, place the ultrasound on it, and then wait for the image to connect to the screen to his right. From there, he’ll see if there are any obstructions or issues. 

“Are you ready, honey?” he asked. “If it’s too cold, just let me know.” 

Eloise held her two thumbs up. “I’m ready. Let’s do it.”

The exam began. For a period of time, the sound and echo waves were all they could hear. Eloise was holding her breath. Carlisle’s face was pinched, his eyes and ears hyper-focused on the task. Until the heartbeat-like echo struck back at them. 

His wife lifted her hand to stop him from continuing with the examination. “What was that?” she queried. 

“I don’t know, darling. I don’t know.” he said. “Let’s try again and see if we get the same feedback.”

He continued his inspection but still received the same results. The heartbeat was unlike any he heard before (besides his wife’s): strong, pure, yet calm in its essence. Before he could ponder any other reasonings behind this strange occurrence, Eloise interrupted him. “Carlisle, we both know that’s a heartbeat. You can question it and try to find other avenues to follow, but you know the truth. And a heartbeat can only mean one thing,” she smiled, so big that her dimples were more pronounced than ever before. “We’re pregnant. My magic enabled us to create a baby.”

He took her hand and kissed the inside of her wrist. “We don’t know that.”

“But we do. Carlisle, all the signs have been pretty prevalent these last few weeks. I just never thought to associate them with pregnancy because we agreed we would wait to start trying. I guess the universe had other plans.” 

“Eloise, honey…”

“You know it’s true. I do because I can feel our child. Now, after all this time, he or she has decided to make their presence known. The energy I feel--the positivity and contentment I’m now carrying in this moment--is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced.” 

Carlisle looked at her, stunned. If she can feel their child, how could he dispute that? How could he challenge what she (and he) knew to be true in all its unlikelihood? It wasn’t like this was entirely impossible, especially after reading about other couples’ experiences. Couples like them. 

Eloise took his moment of consideration to move his hand to her tummy. “I know it’s hard to come to terms with right now because we weren’t sure how true the reports were, but I think it’s time we start believing in them. Carlisle, you’re going to be a father, and I’m going to be a mother. We’re going to finally have the opportunity to expand our family.” 

Hearing those words made Carlisle outright grin. They had been waiting for this moment for so long that he never believed it would ever actually happen. But now, he has everything he could ever want in the palm of his hand. 

“Well, it would appear that way,” he said, leaning over his wife to give her a heart-stopping kiss. “And I must add that I’m excruciatingly happy. Thank you, sweetheart.” 

[hufflautia]

Among Us

Warning: Suggestive themes as the story progresses, but nothing explicit.

Summary: Hufflepuff and Slytherin are playing Among Us with Gryffindor and Ravenclaw. The grudge Slytherin holds against Gryffindor prevents him from pinpointing the true imposter in their midst. 

~

Emergency meeting!

Slytherin rests his knuckles against the cafeteria table as he leans forward.  

“Found Ravenclaw’s body in electrical,” he says solemnly. 

Gryffindor narrows his eyes. 

“You probably self-reported.” 

“Wha—did not!” 

He arches an eyebrow. “Then how did you find Raven?” 

“I was rerouting power to communications,” Slytherin retorts. His voice is deadly calm but he’s shooting daggers at him from across the table. 

HuffPuff has voted. 2 remaining. 

“Hold up,” Gryffindor folds his arms while eyeing Slytherin suspiciously, “how did you even know it was Ravenclaw’s body? Did you see her and think ‘Oh, look! It’s Ravenclaw, the innocent person I murdered a few minutes ago. Since no one found her yet, I’m gonna sit here for a bit and stare at her as a creepy person would. Aw geez! I should probably report the body now because someone might catch me’?” 

Slytherin scoffs. “That’s not how I talk—” 

“Any normal person would’ve seen the body and immediately reported it. They wouldn’t have time to identify who it was—” 

“I saw a flash of blue right before I reported,” he interrupts. “Any person with at least one brain cell would’ve known it was Ravenclaw. Besides, she’s the only person who isn’t here right now.” 

Gryffindor still looks unconvinced, and Slytherin rolls his eyes. 

“What, do you expect me to think it was Hufflepuff’s body? Hufflepuff,” he gestures, “who’s standing next to me right now with a yellow suit?”  

Gryffindor opens his mouth to respond when Hufflepuff, who has remained silent until now, speaks up. 

“Guys, stop arguing and just vote.” 

Slytherin purses his lips and looks like he wants to continue bantering with Gryffindor. He glances at Hufflepuff, who is intently staring at him. 

Please, her eyes seem to say. 

He swallows his anger, albeit reluctantly, and nods. 

Snek has voted. 1 remaining. 

Gryffinroar has voted. 0 remaining. 

No one was ejected. (Tie) 

Slytherin shoots one last withering look at Gryffindor before walking away. Both of them head off in opposite directions, too frustrated with each other to question why Hufflepuff voted so early. 

Ghost Ravenclaw watches as they leave the cafeteria. 

Y’all stupid, she sighs.

- 

Gryffindor is walking in the hallway leading to Storage. He turns the corner and doesn’t notice Hufflepuff, who’s loosely trailing him. She hurries to catch up with him when she is suddenly pulled into Admin. A hand clamps over her mouth before she could scream, and she struggles against the unknown figure. 

“It’s alright, it’s just me!”

She freezes—she knows that voice. They finally release her from their grip, and she spins around. 

“Slytherin,” she shouts in a whisper. “What the hell!” 

Slytherin suppresses a laugh. He’d probably earn a punch in the arm if he didn’t. 

“Did I startle you, my love?”

“Yes,” Hufflepuff glares. “You would be startled too if someone randomly grabbed you from behind.” 

“Well, you have nothing to fear,” he pulls her into a hug. “It’s only me.” 

Still irked, she stiffly leans into his embrace. However, it only takes a matter of seconds for her to give in, and she wraps her arms around him. 

Slytherin draws back far enough to look at her. 

“You have to be careful. Gryffindor is probably the imposter, so you should stay with me.” 

“Shouldn’t we call a meeting if he’s the imposter?” she says with a frown. 

“If we eject him now without any evidence, he’s gonna say we didn’t play fairly. Let’s stay together so we can catch him red-handed if he tries anything.”   

Her brows knit together, and she seems hesitant. Slytherin notices, but her reluctance disappears as quickly as it arrives. 

“Okay,” she takes his hand. “If you say so.” 

 He gives her a small smile before leading her to MedBay, where his next task is. After he submits his scan, he turns to face Hufflepuff. 

“My last task is in Shields and then I’m finished,” he says. “What about you?”  

“I’m already done.” 

“Ok, good. C’mon, let’s go before Gryffindor finds us.” 

He begins to head out. 

“Wait!” 

Hufflepuff steps between him and the exit. He stops, surprised. 

“Wait,” she says again but calmer this time. “Can we stay here for a bit?” 

“What for?” 

“...I wanna hang out with you.”

Slytherin looks at her like she grew two heads. 

“Why?” he asks. 

 “Why not,” she pouts. “Is it wrong to wish to spend time with you?” 

“Of course not, but now?” he arches an eyebrow. “When we’re so close to winning this thing?” 

“I know, I just…” 

He stares at her expectantly, waiting.

“...I miss you.” 

There is a mixed expression of amusement and confusion on his face. 

“You miss me,” he repeats. 

“I do. And I know it’s silly because you’re right here, but I feel like we barely get any alone time.” 

Slytherin cocks his head. 

“I think we get a fair amount of ‘alone time’ every now and then.” 

She crosses her arms. 

“Not really,” she replies sullenly. “There’s always some sort of interruption. Whether it be homework or Quidditch practice or just anything at all, something always seems to get in the way.”

He frowns. Now that he thinks about it, Hufflepuff makes a good point. When was the last time they were alone with no distractions whatsoever? 

“You’re right,” he takes her hands, “and I’m sorry I didn’t realize sooner.” 

A smile adorns her lips. 

“It’s okay. At least we’re alone now.” 

With the tip of her finger, she begins to draw lazy circles on his chest. 

“With no one else around,” she drawls. “No interruptions.” 

Slytherin can’t hide his grin as he hooks his forearm behind her waist to pull her closer.  

“I guess my task can wait.” 

Hufflepuff ends up pressed against the wall with Slytherin kissing her like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. She clutches his suit tightly as if she is worried he’ll let go, but he doesn’t. In fact, he isn’t planning on leaving anytime soon. 

He bites on her bottom lip and swipes his tongue over to soothe the sting, drawing a whimper from her. He pulls back, feeling a swell of pride when he sees her kiss-swollen lips.  

“Do you wanna stop?” he murmurs. 

Hufflepuff shakes her head and licks her lips, drawing his attention to them again. 

“I want you,” she whispers, brushing her thumb against his cheek. “Please.” 

Slytherin smirks. How could he refuse when she asked so nicely? 

-

Slytherin zips up his suit and turns to Hufflepuff, who just finished dressing. 

“How are you feeling?” he says, walking towards her. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” 

“Of course not,” she gives him a soft smile, “you could never hurt me.” 

 “I know,” he snakes an arm around her waist. “Just checking in.” 

“Well, I’m perfectly fine, so you have nothing to worry about,” she beams. 

Slytherin kisses the bridge of her nose when he feels the outline of something on her back. He scrunches his eyebrows together. 

“What’s that?” 

“What’s what?” 

“That thing in your suit.” 

Not waiting for a response, he slips his hand through the opening of her unzipped suit and begins feeling around for the object. 

Realization strikes her, and she tries to step back. 

“It’s nothing—” 

But it’s too late because Slytherin’s hand brushes against the handle of the item, and he tilts his head. 

“That’s weird,” he says. “It feels like a…” 

He pulls it out, and his eyes widen.  

“...knife.” 

Hufflepuff grabs the knife from him in a hurry and tucks it back into her suit, but there’s no use in trying to hide it. Slytherin has already seen the weapon. 

His eyes cloud with confusion. He staggers back when it finally clicks.  

“You’re the imposter.”  

She gulps, knowing that it’d be useless to try denying it. 

“I am,” she says quietly. 

Her heart aches—Slytherin looks even more betrayed at the confirmation. She swallows the lump in her throat. 

“If you hadn’t stopped me from going after Gryffindor,” she begins, “none of this would’ve happened. Believe me, I didn’t plan for things to go this way. I tried to go after Gryff instead, I even suggested ejecting him! But you wouldn’t let me, you kept…” She bites the inside of her cheek, finding it hard to speak under the scrutiny of his gaze. “...you kept getting in my way.” 

“So now it’s me,” he says in an icy voice. “It’s me who will die.” 

Hufflepuff winces at his words and droops her head in shame. Slytherin uses her brief lapse of concentration to make a run for the exit. He is startled when the doors lock on their own. 

“Even if you manage to make it out, you won’t be able to press the emergency button.”

Slytherin whirls around to face Hufflepuff, who approaches him slowly with a dismal expression. 

“I’ve initiated a reactor meltdown. Gryffindor isn’t gonna find you in time. He’s probably too busy trying to fix the sabotage.” 

His eyebrows furrow as he soaks in the truth of her words. 

“Even then,” she continues, “you need two players to do that.”   

Fuck. When did Hufflepuff get so sly? She always had the potential to be crafty, which is what drew Slytherin in when they first met in detention. He soon realized that though she can be sneaky at times, she values kindness above all else, and he finds that to be very endearing. But, in the few instances when she is sneaky, Slytherin wants nothing more than to pull her into an empty classroom and—

Stop! he mentally scolded himself. Why are you thinking about that when Hufflepuff is literally about to kill you right now?! But fuck, is she gonna look hot doing it—

His thoughts freeze when she draws out her knife. He backs away as she walks towards him.  

“Let me go,” he pleads. “I can help you win this. We can work together!” 

Hufflepuff shakes her head solemnly. 

“I know betraying Gryffindor sounds appealing to you. But you love winning even more. Who’s to say you won’t betray me?” 

He swallows with difficulty. She knows him too well. 

Dread runs through his veins when his back meets the wall. She corners him. Her face scrunches up like she’s racked with guilt for what she’s about to do. 

“I have to end this now,” she says, her voice thick. “I’m sorry it had to be this way.”  

Slytherin stares into her eyes.

“Would you kill me, my love?” he whispers. 

Hufflepuff holds his gaze. 

“For victory? Without question.”  

Defeat. 

HuffPuff was The Imposter. 

Play Again? 

~ 

Inspired by @hogwartslastbraincells’s glorious incorrect quote post!  

Check out my masterlist! | Comments and reblogs are appreciated <3 If you prefer to stay anonymous, the anon option for asks is available!  

AUTHOR’S NOTE: 

I hope you enjoyed reading this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! Today’s my birthday, so I decided to post something. I had been meaning to write this for a long time, but I never got around to it until now and I’m quite proud of how it turned out! I like playing Among Us—I get so nervous when I’m the Imposter lmao

Here’s a deleted scene! Warning, it’s pretty nsfw. The scene is after huff is like “hey we’re alone”:  

He begins kissing every inch of her exposed skin while unzipping her suit. Her eyes flutter shut when his lips pay special attention to her neck, and she lets out a breathless moan. He suddenly freezes. 

“Why’d you stop?” she breathes.  

When he doesn’t respond, she opens her eyes to see that he’s staring at her body with a shocked expression—and it isn’t the good kind of shock. She looks down and realizes with horror that the knife she had hidden within her suit is now revealed. 

I changed this to what the scene is now because I wanted to keep it lowkey and make it less nsfw. I cut the official scene off with “How can he refuse when she asks so nicely?” so that there’s no explicit content and the gap between that line and the scene afterward suggests that they did the dirty. 

Speaking of explicit, I’m gonna write a “bonus” fic that fills in the blank of what happened. It’s litcherally just gonna be smut. So, the beginning of the fic will be similar to that of the deleted scene; the difference is that Slytherin doesn’t find the knife and they simply continue. I lowkey deleted that nsfw scene and created a gap so that I could write a bonus fic that goes in-depth. Didn’t wanna scar anyone who doesn’t wanna read smut so I purposefully left out what happened. Those who do want to see what happened after can read the bonus fic when I post it sometime in the future. 

I’m not sure what my schedule for fics will be. I’ll likely be studying for the AP exams, so I might just disappear for a bit. However, I have some ideas for drabbles and ficlets, and those types of fics usually don’t take me very long to write, so I might post them sometime in the future so that I’m not completely inactive. 

MEME TIME ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

Also, this: 

HAS BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS FOR MONTHS LMAO 

After seeing the incorrect quotes post and deciding to write a fic inspired by it, I planned on doing the color word thingie that @hogwartslastbraincells​ had done. I searched up the code for the hogwarts houses colors and tested it out in a draft, and I just left it there for future reference. I can not tell you how relieved I am to finally get rid of the draft after seeing it for so long. 

Well, that’s it for me. I don’t have much else to say other than the fact that today ez a happy day for me. Technically, today’s not my birthday because I’m writing this in advance, but the day that you’re reading this—if you’re reading this the day that I post—is indeed my birthday! Not sure what my plans for the day are (well, my family’s plans to be exact), but I’m sure they’ll be fun :D 

Thanks for reading! Until next time <3

Tags: @slytherpuff-shenanigans @axieleration @sunnniiee @determinedpines @zenobiagrace @asterinflower @cinnamon-roll-unicorn @mossy-axolotl @dumbbitch11 @hitchhiker-of-the-galaxy @notsowiseravenclaw  @arianatorpotterhead @luciferswife16 @walkinganomaly @asunshinepuff @lewispoolerpayton @adreameratdawn @thewitcheswords @oncergleekpotterhead @princessstoopid @stardustzainy @flvrqnce @multi-fandom-nutjob @eunnieah @iamahufflepuff @1hufflepuff @introvertedrae @princessstoopid @jasminedayz @magnoliamermaid @HOPEFUL-HUFFLEPUFF-PEEVES @peanut-in-the-goal @pufflehuff929 @sophiexteresa @da-fox-rangerrr @dawinehouse @shipping-book-keeper @xxavaloraxx @silverhetdanes @im-a-solanum-lycopersicum @elegantcroissantplaidpony @theoriginaljohnwatsonsblog @theoriginalsherlockholmesblog @vickeyunicorn @arianatorpotterhead @hmilkwhoney @simpering-simpleton @grandcyclecreation @sweetinvisiblewriter @marvelenthusiast10 @mvlpksvthisht @qiaopa @beardedhumanoid @jadefox05 @justanotherperson @inkedintothepaper @minty-malfoy @trippy-morgan @fangirlgeekandfreak @boilyourteeth @absentmindeduniverse @colettedelaurel @halfelven1 @happy-puff @coloring-bud @in-love-with-remus-lupin @autumnpleaves @crakencc @flyme--tothemoon @hedgepuffgirl @littleemotionalpanda @pancakes-and-sugar @korra4321 @aquietkindofthunder @qixnsriess @porksoba @thatfann @hellounicorn @i-have-a-bad-feeling @aasa2102 @zuko-28 @annie-mcl @clementines-x @writtenfoxscreams @randomwriter23 @cryingabtwandavision @coolninjavoid @urfaveslytherin @malfoys-demigod @tumlbr-trasher @violayaxley @wolfpack-arts-industries99 @zainieees-stuff @milk-leaves @priii @capt-sparrow @blueberry-9-pancakes @stressy-depressy   

[embrassemoi]

No Body, No Crime ✁ 1

AU - Y/N L/N is a second-year law student attending Stanford and studying under Professor Aaron Hotchner. Along with his associate attorneys, Ms. L/N is alongside some of the most ambitious and cutthroat law students in the nation. However, her life gets flipped upside down as she’s thrust into a life of murder, sex and lies.

Main Pairing: Spencer Reid x [F]Reader

Content — Mature themes, blood, major and minor character death, violence, angst, triggering themes, bad coping mechanisms, drugs, mental health shit, alcoholism, lots of smut, language, fluff, mystery, thriller, mentions of cheating, canonical typical themes , dark academia vibes, explicit content - read with caution

DISCLAIMER: This story will contain MATURE content. It will include themes such as smut, violence, etc (see content). If you are not 18+ and unable to handle such themes, respectfully, please exit this story. It is not my intention to make readers uncomfortable or trigger them in any way. If you continue to read the story despite the multiple warnings, I am not responsible for any triggers that may pop up.

Also, based off this blurb! 

I am also not a law student, so there is bound to be misinformation!

【 ao3 | Masterlist | Playlist 】

CHAPTER 1: Death and All His Friends

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈┈

Blood, she thinks, you never really know how much blood is in a person. Logically, she did know; she had to learn how many pints there were in the human body from med school and the mass amount of profile study cases. From looking at crime scenes, reading textbooks, medical journals and fake charts; blood has never bothered her, if anything, she got used to seeing and being around it.

There are roughly about ten gallons of blood in the average adult, but typically, losing more than forty percent will result in death. That was about two thousand millilitres.

But, you never realize just how much blood a person can hold, not until a human is slaughtered like an animal, eyes glossed over, body turned cold and stiff — splayed out in front of you. It seems like a lot more than what was described.

There’s a saying, bleed like a pig. Well, she understood what it meant now.

God, she sounded like Spencer.

“What are we going to do with the body?”

“Let’s leave it. We need to go back and clean!”

“No, let’s bury it.”

A chuckle of utter disbelief forces its way out of Derek’s mouth in a rush. It’s both strained and ragged and sounds as if he’s about to burst into tears, but the shock and anger seem to immerse deep in his bones and control his actions. His head shakes subconsciously, “You’re — you’re fucking joking, right? It’s the middle of winter! Tell me how the fuck we’re going to bury a body when the soil’s hard?!”  

There’s a collective panicked sigh that goes through the group as the implications finally start to settle in.

“Be any louder!” Emily half-shouts. She paces back and forth, the freshly fallen snow crunches under her shoes as they leave footprints in their wake. Her hands make extravagant hand movements, almost in an attempt to speak with her actions. But, the only thing that has Y/N somewhat grounded is the rusty blood on Emily’s hands. The stark contrast of her pale skin against the deep red does nothing but make bile rush to her throat.

“The body is what gets us caught!” JJ cuts in through her half-sobs.

“The one time it snows in California! Since when do we get snow?!”

Sticky, cold, dry, flakey blood. It brings too much attention to the blood painting her body in a cruel, evil painting. Y/N lifts a shaky hand as she turns to observe the way the pads of her fingers were stained red. Underneath her fingernails, she can see the blood caking, dried underneath and can feel the heavy liquid travelling up her sleeve.

Her fingers pressed together before a hand shoots up, trying to pick off the blood in a hasty attempt.

Everything was uncomfortable — too uncomfortable and it was sticky and disgusting and there was too much happening. Her brain was overstimulated and all she wanted to do was yell or cry or strip herself clean from these heavy clothes, hiding the blood drenching her underneath. A hand went to claw at the fabric — she needed to breathe — she needed air and it was too tight and —

The falling snow had finally come to a stop, the ground becomes muddy, wet snow being tracked all around but aside from that, it’s dry out. Panic is slow seep within her body, only just registering the dull, prickling ache that travels up the side of her right arm. Not to mention the pounding in her skull felt like someone had taken a power tool, drilling a burl hole into the side of her head in hopes of creating a make-shift lobotomy. On instinct, her hand reaches up to her temples, massaging small circles in hopes to find relief.

But then she catches sight of her hand again from her peripheral vision, or rather, it’s as if she can feel it laminating her skin. Blood.

Now there must be smeared streaks of dried blood coating her face. Fuck, now she really feels like throwing up.

A soft wail can be heard in the background somewhere, but it sounds distant and underwater. She thinks it’s JJ. Her high-pitched cries are loud and she thinks that’s Derek’s voice yelling at her and god… it only amplifies her headache.

She needed an aspirin, Advil — maybe Spencer had some.

Her mind wanders back to the group. Emily… Emily — she’s — Y/N doesn’t know where Emily went actually. She could have sworn she was by the trees…

She continued to pick at her skin absentmindedly, and now she couldn’t tell where her blood started and the one that was sprayed onto her ended.

And Spencer, he’s pacing and hadn’t muttered a word since they left Hotch’s house. His body language is closed off, his hand rubbing up and down his arms in either a self-soothing method or because it’s cold out. She assumes it’s the former.

The one time — the one fucking time the asshole is supposed to be smart, his IQ magically drops below zero.

Everyone is arguing and they all hear the faint cheers, laughter, early fireworks and music blaring in the background. The sound of the bonfire crackles in the distance and all she can do is drown it out. She was supposed to be having fun. She should’ve been visiting home, or maybe studying of fucking Spencer, not wearing shoes twice her size, gloves to cover up her fingerprints; not trying to come up with an alibi and there definitely shouldn’t be someone else’s blood clinging to her. She should’ve been anywhere but here. It’s too much.

Lightheaded, Y/N stumbles backwards, supporting herself against a nearby tree. The shadows and black coat camouflaged her, engulfing her into the night and she feels an odd sense of comfort by it. But, it does anything but calms her down as her chest begins to rise rapidly up and down.

Oh god, oh shit, shit, shit! They’re all fucked — she’s fucked. Her DNA is all over the crime scene. The crime scene is on her and probably under the body’s fingernails. There was no way she was getting out of this. It wasn’t even her fault and look where she is.

She should’ve listened to her Grandparents; don’t go to law school, it’ll turn her into something she’s not. Y/N smiles twistedly thinking about it, they were right.

You can’t get away with murder.

Shit, fuck, fuck, FUCK!

“We need to stop wasting time,” Emily announces, appearing remarkably calm.

“W-we should call the police,” Y/N mumbles in a shaky voice. Her voice hitches and she sucks in a cry.

All of their heads, besides Spencer’s, whip over to her; she’s on the verge of breaking — possibly even running off and going straight to the local police station. Her phone suddenly feels heavy in her pocket.

“What we’re not going to do is that! Do you want to spend the rest of your life in jail?!” Derek exclaims. His mouth goes to open again before he suddenly halts, looking over to Spencer and shouting. “Ayo, kid-fucking-genius, could you, I don’t know — think?!”

The yelling makes her shrink in on herself. Yes, call the police, turn yourself in. Obstruction of justice; tampering with evidence, manslaughter, attempting to hide a body, invasion of privacy, possible perjury — all this leads to incarceration and more time. Maybe she could even get a deal, say that she was in shock, dealing with PTSD. Immunity! Maybe she could strike herself and Spencer an immunity deal.

God — they killed her. They murdered someone.

Immense guilt bubbles its way through her before she turns to gag on air. Her hands clutches her stomach as she heaves, distantly hearing the arguing background.

“— about Hotch?”

“What about him? He’s going to put us in jail himself. If we’re lucky, he’ll kill us so we can skip a life sentence!”

JJ cries louder. God was she fucking annoying.

“He doesn’t give two shits about her —” “Could everyone just stop for a fucking moment,” a new, irritated voice cuts in. It sounds like it’s been pushed through gritted teeth, muddled by straining and holding back tears. It’s Spencer.

His eyes shut, the palm of his hands pressed harshly on them before rubbing them hard. But, they travel up to his forehead and through his hair, pulling down so hard that Y/N would be surprised if he didn’t already lose a chunk. But within a swift motion, he crouches to the ground in a fetal-like position; the balls of his feet roll back and forth, making his entire body bounce in small rhythms.

He’s having a panic attack, judging by the way his breathing cuts in and out in large volumes, hyperventilation bound to happen soon.

The entire group stays silent before Derek has enough. He walks up to Spencer, a hand clutching his jacket which forces him to stare straight into his eyes.

“Don’t treat him like that,” Emily tries to cut in.

“If you don’t give us something good within the next few seconds, you better pray to god —”

With newfound determination, Spencer meets his eyes with a fiery look, his chest puffed out a bit and his voice is even.

“We burn it.”

━━━━━━━━━༻✈︎༺━━━━━━━━━

Friday, August 29th, 2003

Palo Alto, California. Apartment 7

Four months before

A clanging sound reverberates throughout the empty hallway for the third time within the last five minutes. Her keys.

An annoyed sigh involuntarily leaves her lips as she struggles to lift the stacks of heavy boxes in her arms. Her attention was drawn to a bulletin board near her door. A missing person’s photo was plastered, marked with an eye-catching red border. Printed underneath a photo of a man in bold letters: George Floyet, twenty-five-year-old student at Palo Alto University. Last seen on July 30th, 2003.

When Y/N L/N was fourteen, she vaguely remembered people asking her where she saw herself in the next ten years. Now standing outside her newly rented apartment, sweating as she juggled a stack of large boxes without tripping — well, she certainly hadn’t thought this.

Life had many ups and downs, as cliche as that sounded. She hadn’t expected to graduate university with an English and Human Physiology degree, nor had she expected into medical school before ultimately deciding to take the LSATs, pursuing a career in law.

Truly, had Y/N used one word to describe her career ambitions at the moment, she’d say she’s pretty fucked and clueless. Although, she’d liked to consider herself fairly motivated, resilient, perhaps even strong-willed and quick on her feet. Scratch that, if anything, the one thing she did pride herself on was her ability to compose herself quickly and the want to overcome fear. It was a motto, of sorts, which she’d been sticking close to: going with the flow.

If anything, those were the attributes that built the foundation of what anyone needed to become a successful lawyer. Yes, that made her situation sound a lot less… pathetic.

But certainly, standing in the middle of a corridor in a shitty apartment with walls too thin to save money on rent, she’d consider herself pretty pathetic.

Oh, the joys of moving.

Just as she felt one of the boxes tipping, the sound of shuffling fills the hallway. A pair of large pale hands come out of nowhere, swiftly catching the stacked cardboard boxes with ease.

When she looked up, she hadn’t quite caught a look at the man in front of her as he bent down to pick up her keys. But when he finally stood straight, eyes locking, she took note of his features

He was tall, much taller than herself and dressed in black slacks and a light lilac dress shirt which was pushed up by the sleeves. He was young, probably the same age as her or younger. He was wide-eyed, almost doe-like and wore a nervous yet seemingly gentle expression.

“Hello,” said the stranger. His hair was rumpled as if he’d just woken up as darken eyebags accentuated his face. His face was sharp, features dark — but in a soft sharp way that made the shape of his nose and lips the most noticeable. Pink lips, a tired look, pretty face.

This stranger was friendly and very attractive. That was her first impression of him.

“Hi,” she replied, a bit breathless from the weight of juggling the boxes. But still, she smiled and her head tilted to the side slightly.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you were my new neighbour, I hope you don’t mind me helping, you looked like you needed it,” he says nervously, his extra free hand goes back to rub the back of his neck.

Y/N’s eyes shoot over to the door at the end of the hallway, conveniently next to hers: apartment 8. He must've heard the banging against the doors and walls, and suddenly, she felt guilty. She must’ve woken him up.

“Haha, yeah! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be so loud.”

“No! It’s fine.”

Now, both stand there a bit awkwardly before she coughs, which has him nodding and fumbling with her keys in his hand, “Er — I have a couple of minutes before I leave for work, do you still need help?”

“Right, yes!”

Y/N hands him over her other box, her hand taking the keys back as she clicks open her door. The smell of cleaning products filled her nose along with the smell of old books. It’s spacious, considering what she’s paying for it. It’s a flat, aside from the bathroom and kitchen and there’s a small balcony that’s connected with another set of railings outside. The view of green trees and flowers could be seen and suddenly, Y/N considers herself lucky when she’s realized the place she’s snagged.

The man trails behind her, setting the boxes down on the kitchen counter before dusting off any non-existent lint off his pants. His eyes quickly scan the area, in an analytical fashion.

He clears his throat, “Well, it was nice meeting you.”

She nods too, walking back up to her door to lead him out. “Likewise, neighbour.”

This time, a real smile crosses his face before looking down sheepishly, a small tint covering his cheeks. “Please, I’m Doctor Reid — but please, call me Spencer.”

“Doctor?” Her face lights up with curiosity. This man looks as young as her, younger — and she’s only twenty-four.

“Oh, I don’t practice medicine,” he quickly adds. His hands go to fiddle with each other, “I have three PhDs and an IQ of 187,” he explains. However, it’s not in a blatantly rude manner — like he’s trying to flaunt it. If anything, he looks embarrassed. His head drops to look down at his shoes, trying to make himself appear smaller, seeming uncomfortable. But like she said, Y/N likes to believe she’s quick on her feet.

“Well then, Doctor,” she teases, which has him going a deeper shade of pink, “I’m Y/N L/N, I have no PhDs, I used to practice medicine and I have an IQ of — probably a hundred or less.

At this, Spencer visibly relaxes as a deep chuckle makes its way out. He nods again, making his way out the door and does a small wave before disappearing back into his apartment. Y/N leaves her door open, but her back is faced towards it as she hears his door click back open and she feels the vibrations of his door closing before the tapping of his feet becomes more and more distant.

There are a dozen other boxes she ends up hauling in, but she’s noticed that Spencer must have somehow carried a few of the boxes to the top of the stairs rather than just leaving them in the lobby.

As she wipes down the surfaces, music blasting through her earbuds before unboxing her new bed frame, a smirk crosses her face; cheap rent, enrolled at one of the top law schools in the country, has enough money saved for the next few months and a cute, tall, polite and a fucking doctor that just so happens to be her neighbour — damn, Y/N doesn’t mind this at all.

【 Next Chapter 】

[minithefutureawaits09]

To follow up on an earlier post

Link to AOS:

❤️Absolutely Smitten❤️

- TOS Spirk edition

A/n:

It gets pretty angsty so hold on.

Also know in this Fic, Bones doesn’t know the details about Tarsus IV that info is extremely classified and really, only select people know about it. So it’s really been swept under the carpet in this particular fic.

--

Spock heads down the hallway and to Jim’s quarters. Buzzing in as he always does.

....

No response.

So he tried again.

...

No response.

Now things were getting a little concerning. So when he buzzed for a third time and got no response he types in the override code for Jim’s quarters. Absolutely worried sick, and he realized standing there that...

Spock can’t feel their bond.

That prospect alone sends his heart racing even faster than his normal resting heart rate. Yet he swallows his panic as the doors open with their familiar squeak and he’s engulfed into a warm dark room. The doors squeak again as they closed behind him.

“Jim? My Jim, where are you? Are you alright?”

The worry while he can control it physically, slips into his tone. Eyes already adjusting for the darkness of the room, a small tribute to his Vulcan biology. His eyes adjust much quicker than a humans does.

“Go away Spock.”

Came the sharpest reply the Vulcan’s almost positive he’s ever heard. While the words themselves were not super harmful, the tone punctured.

On the bed was a small heep of blankets, he can only assume that huddled in all of those blankets was his Husband. He allows himself to frown and his brows to furrow. Jim never wanted him to leave whenever he was upset, always wanting him to hold close and not let go. So something, although going through his eidetic memory he doesn’t see anything.

“Jim, My-“

“I said Go. Away. Commander. Consider it an order from your Captain.” 

Something was really wrong then. Yet he would not leave Jim’s side. Whatever it was, he had made a vow until death did they part. He wasn’t leaving.

“Then you will need to fill out the insubordination paperwork shortly.”

He sees the blankets move, and he can only assume he is being looked at.

“I am not leaving K’diwa. I am your bond mate, and I am worried about you. You did not answer your door, I cannot feel our bond, and your tone is enough evidence that there is something bothering you. I vowed to care for you and I intend to get to the bottom of it, so if that means facing insubordination charges then I will.”

More ruffling of sheets and blankets, and now he can see his bond mate. The dark brown hair, and make out his eyes in the darkness. Hand reached out towards him, and the pain is so sharp at the horrible broken voice his beloved uses. Their bond floods open and he can feel all of the jagged edges of self hatred attacking Jim’s mind.

“S-Sp-ock-”

His feet move on their own and in moments flat Spock had Jim in his lap still wrapped in a couple of blankets but held firmly. He sobs begging apologies from his lips and promises to never leave him. Every broken sound that leaves him makes the Vulcan’s heart ache, and wanting to tear apart whoever caused these precious tears to spill.

He assures Jim that he did no wrong, that he did not feel any hurt emotions at his words. That there was nothing there other than his overwhelming concern for the person he values the most. That he will always be there. Always.

He sends all of the pure intense love he feel for the brunette in his lap and reassurance through their bond to Jim. Using their physical proximity as an easy way to tap into his beloved’s head in gentle attempts to soothe the hurt he can feel. Whatever caused this got him good, where it hurt.

Eventually he calmed and Spock whispers gently resting his forehead against his human’s,

“K’diwa, My James, will you tell me now what is wrong?”

... There’s hesitation showing in those hazel eyes staring up at him,

“I promise you, no matter what you say, I will listen to every word.”

...

“Is there a problem with how I eat, Spock?”

What? That was such an odd question. Yet with those hazel eyes hanging onto his every moment for his reply he placed a gentle kiss to his forehead and answered,

“I have never seen it vary from normal that would produce the need for comment or medical intervention.”

...

“Do I hoard food, Spock?”

Spock instead of answering taps into their bond and catches just the thought of one event.

Tarsus IV

“Ha’su, does this have to do with Tarsus IV?”

He asks and Jim looks away ashamed- he knows he’s ashamed because he can’t hide it this close to Spock. Yet using one hand he guides his beautiful hazel gaze back to his own.

“My K’diwa, Tarsus IV is an indescribable horror you had to face at such a young age. I know you have tried your best to heal some of those wounds. I know this trauma will haunt you for the rest of your life, and it will always affect how you eat. A famine and genocide. Yes, I do notice you have a few non-perishable items around your quarters. However, I simply attributed them to the fact Humans need to eat more frequently.”

He runs a hand through those brown locks he loves so, so very much. He watches as those lips, a little swollen from his cries open,

“When food became such a struggle and for so long...I-I just—”

“Shh. You need not explain yourself to me. Your trauma and struggle with food is not invalid. It will never ever. Ever. Be invalid.”

This brings back a smaller wave of tears as his husbands arms wrapped around his neck rather then around his middle as they were originally.

“Did someone bring this up?”

“Yes.”

“Who?”

“Bones. Though he didn’t bring Tarsus itself up, he just made a comment on my eating habits and it well...Lead to an argument. He doesn’t know the full story though. I just haven’t told him yet because I haven’t been ready to. He only knows what my records say. Which isn’t much because the federation wanted to keep it hush hush.”

Spock nodded. So he would have to make a trip to Medbay and have an informative discussion with Dr. McCoy.

“Please don’t be mad at Him. He doesn’t know,”

“I am not mad because he did not know. However, I will be having a conversation with him if you are amenable to that to inform him of it so you will not have to.”

He feels a gentle nod at his words. Agreeing with him

‘I love you, and thank you for not leaving me alone and being willing to talk to Bones for me.’

‘I love you too, my Jim. I am absolutely smitten for thee, and I wish you to never forget that. Sleep now,’

‘I won’t, I promise I will never forget...’

Sleep the brunette does. It’s almost mere moments and he feels their bond gently going dormant. It’s still several moments before he gently rests his husband down and goes to speak with McCoy.

—

(Bonus scenes because I feel like it)

—

“Oh my god,”

Leonard’s hand his over his mouth. He was sitting at his desk as Spock had advised him to do so. Shock and guilt coated over himself.

“I didn’t know, I swear-”

“He informed me of such. I am not mad Dr. McCoy. I simply wished for you to understand.”

“I need to go apologize-”

“He is resting, however I am willing to let you know when he wakes.”

“Yes. Right. Thank you, Spock. I promise, I never would of said anything if I’d known. The only thing in his files says is he’s a Tarsus IV survivor. Nothing more. I never even knew what it was until now.”

“I understand Dr. McCoy.”

And he does.

“I will leave you to process this, and to go attend to Jim when he wakes.”

Leonard nodded as Spock exited.

-

Spock was holding Jim as he yawns and those Hazel eyes open. He doesn’t say anything but he can feel the gentle buzz in his head from seeing that his husband was still here just as he promised he would be.

“Commander Spock to Medbay,”

..

“Medbay here, What is it?”

“The Captain is awake if you wish to see him,”

“Alright. Be up in 15 minutes.”

“Noted. Spock out,”

The transmission was cut.

His partner seemed confused, so Spock relayed the message.

“He wishes to apologize directly, and I said I would inform him of your awakening.”

A simple nod comes from Jim.

...

It was actually less than 15 minutes when Bones shows up. Normally Leonard would say something to get them apart, but given what happened he isn’t going to say a thing about Spock holding Jim.

“Jim?”

The brunette’s head turns to look at his best friend.

“Hey, I wanted to apologize for what I said.”

He sits down on the edge of the bed. Spock watches as those hazel eyes follow him.

“Jim, god. I never, I never would have said any- any of that if I had known. I promise you. I had no idea what sort of demon you deal with every time you go to eat in your head.”

“It’s alright-”

“It’s not though Jim. I shouldn’t have said those things in-”

“Leonard.”

The doctors name makes him fall quiet.

“Leonard, You didn’t know. I hadn’t told you...Yet now that you know, could we schedule an appointment to maybe..do something about it?”

“Maybe try some anti-anxiety medications?”

Jim nodded.

“You got it kiddo. Whenever you’re ready you just let me know alright?”

“Alright.”

Bones gives a nod to Spock who had been silent for this whole time. He knows that means to gently and lovingly encourage him to do so in the near future. He leaves but not before Jim surprised them both by pulling the doctor into a hug. They held on for just a few moments and even Spock could tell the world was alright once more. The doctor then left, and Spock went back to holding his partner. Humming as he gently guided him back to sleep, and shortly drifted off after.