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loveshotzz · 7 months

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My name’s Elvira, but you can call me tonight

steve harrington x eddie’sbestfriend!reader

Melt With You

summary: A cancelled movie night, Steve’s first high, and a realization you weren’t expecting.

wc: 2.7k

warnings: my blog is 18+ but this will be pretty safe for work. takes place in 1988 when Elvira Mistress of the Dark came out. post season four but no mention of the upside down, fem!reader, mentions of weed smoking, mentions of being stoned and being high for the first time, mutual pining, cuddling.

A/N: first I want to dedicate this to @bewilderedbunny for pointing out that Steve Harrington is Bob coded which made me fall even more in love with him. You can also thank @dr-aculaaa for putting this brain worm in my head where it spiraled and then she entertained it again and it spiraled some more. p.s. I know her movie macabre was cancelled in 86 but brought back in the 90’s but let’s pretend.

mini series masterlist -> chapter two 🎃

Steve was close. Too close.

His thigh is warm pressed against yours, long legs spread wide taking up most of the room on the couch. The cedar that clings to the threads of his maroon sweater mix with the old spice that he’s almost sprayed too much of, and you’re surprised at how much you actually like it. You blame it on the joint you both shared, and you do it again when his socked foot touches yours from under the blanket draped across your laps and your heart rate kicks up a few beats. This was just Steve, your new friend. Eddie’s new unlikely friend.

The living room in your apartment is dimly lit in a mess of Halloween colored string lights strung up along your walls that Eddie helped you hang up last week on the first official day of fall. They fill the small space in bursts of warm orange pumpkins and tiny purple bats while Elvira Mistress of The Dark glows from the screen of your TV in front of your couch. The couch where Steve is still sitting too close.

The flicker of your candles dances across your walls and you’re tempted to blow them all out when they keep catching the corner of your eye. Maybe that's why you can't focus on the movie you were so excited about. The movie you raised a big fuss over when the group canceled your weekly night in favor of dates and work. The movie Steve still offered to watch with you saying he had no plans anyway. You really contemplate it when you realize it’s filling your living room with the kind of smell that’s eerily similar to the one embedded in the leather of the BMW you recently started getting more rides in.

When Steve laughs you can smell the berry on his breath from the Red Vines he can’t stop eating, his fingertips glisten from the half finished tub of popcorn on the coffee table. His arm brushes the length of yours when he leans forward to toss the almost empty pack of candy with the rest of the snacks and your stare immediately finds the sliver of tan skin revealed to you when the maroon hem rides up. Stomach flipping when you spot more freckles than the ones that seem to dot the endless expanses of his perpetually sun kissed skin.

“Wow, she’s funny!” He snickers like he just got a good surprise, leaning back into the cushions. “I didn’t know she was so funny.”

The shift in his weight makes the couch dip, bringing you closer to him. Shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. Why is your chest tight?

Turning your head, you meet his blood shot, heavy lidded gaze and lazy smile that pushes up his pink cheeks. You don’t think you’ve ever seen Steve Harrington so content. So relaxed. It might have something to do with the fact that the joint you both shared was his first.

“Beauty, humor and brains? How could you go wrong?” You grin and it makes the amber in his eyes light up.

“Yeah,” He stares at you for a second longer than he’d have the guts to on a normal day before adding with a sigh “tell me about it.”

There was something different about the way he was looking at you tonight, and it makes your palms sweat. The fly away honey strands that stick out wildly by his ears look softer than normal too. Why do you want to find out? Clearing your throat, he raises his eyebrows up at you in an unphased offering of his attention.

“How are you doing big boy? You coughed quite a bit earlier.” His gaze narrows at the nickname letting you know that Steve was still very much in there.

“I think it’s perfectly normal for someone who hasn’t smoked before to cough when they take an accidental big hit,” he challenges, his sock covered toes finding yours again seemingly on their own, “and to answer your rudely asked question, I’m having a very nice time.”

He tries to keep his face straight but the smile that stretches a mile wide across yours makes him snort, the whites of his perfect teeth blinding in the dark when you wiggle your feet with his.

“Good, I wouldn’t want Robin to come hunt me down or something.” You giggle leaning back letting your own high relax you into the couch.

Your eyes find Elvira’s generous cleavage on the screen as you try to ignore the feeling of Steve’s hand touching yours when he scratches his thigh and again when he leaves it there.

“Robin won’t care, it’s Nance you gotta worry about. Worry wart Wheeler.” The nickname rolls off his tongue too easily and makes you both stop, letting the sounds of the towns committee trying to get Elvira out fill the silence before you both fall into a fit of laughter.

It was the kind of laughter that left hot tears streaming down your faces as you leaned even further into each other trying to catch your breath, only for one of you to mutter ‘worry wart wheeler’ when the other would finally be holding it together just to start all over again. By the time it was done, and the last few chuckles subsided, his head had found a new home on your shoulder with his forehead buried in the crook of your neck.

The smell of his hairspray, and the soft flyaways you’d wondered about tickle your nose with his hair pressed to your cheek. Your socked feet stay tangled together as you try not to think about the size difference and that stupid saying you’d heard in middle school, and you definitely try not to think about how the tip of his pinky bumps into the side of your hand and how you don’t hesitate to hook it with yours.

Cozy. Too Cozy.

There’s a comfortable silence that falls between you both when your attention is finally brought back to the movie and you wonder if he’s having the same existential crisis as you at how good this feels. Eddie would never let you live it down. You and the hair?! Steve’s amused hum breaks you out of your train of thought and you already know you’ll have to watch this again when you aren’t so…distracted.

Elvira and Bob are fighting with a monster she accidentally concocted inside of a pot instead of the casserole she was trying to make, and his finger tightens around yours when Bob almost loses the fight before he shakes against you with a chuckle. The longer the movie goes on, the more you start noticing Steve’s similarities to the hunk who stole the Mistress of the Dark’s affections, mumbling an ‘oh my god’.

God dammit, you have a crush on Steve Harrington.

The weed makes the realization floor you more than it probably would on a normal day, because you aren’t blind, anyone could tell you how handsome the former king of Hawkins is. But no one could have warned you about how soft he is, especially right now with sleepy eyes and messy hair that smells like pine and too much hair product. They wouldn’t be able to tell you how big of a dweeb he is, or as Robin affectionately calls him a ‘dingus’. They also don’t know how good of a friend he is to anyone who’s lucky to have him, like refusing to let you spend the night alone and watching a movie he knew you were excited about just because he’d actually listened when you talked about it for weeks, even saving you the first copy in Keith’s possession.

Too bad you’ve barely retained any of it.

As if he could hear your thoughts, you feel the slight turn of his head and the heavy weight of his stare on the side of your face. You try not to give yourself away and keep your gaze locked on the TV where the town has Elvira ready to be burned at the stake, and Bob has to rescue her. You have to resist the urge to roll your eyes, the universe just rubbing it in now.

The side of your body he’s been leaning against starts to go numb, and no matter how much you want to stay exactly like this for whatever is left of the night, the need for circulation becomes too much. Your eyes flick down to his that haven’t haven’t wavered and that slow happy smile spreads across his pink lips when they meet.

“You doing okay, honey.” The nickname he’s called you sarcastically in arguments sounds different when it’s wrapped in affection like this.

“Not that I’m not enjoying -,” nerves make your throat close up and you have to clear them out before you finish, “not that I’m not enjoying this. My arm is just kind of going numb.”

Heat rises to your cheeks with embarrassment that you know is misplaced, and his eyes go wide when your words click. His reaction is fast despite the smoked joint that's snuffed out in an empty coke can on the table when he pulls away. The warmth of his body that’s invaded what feels like every inch of yours for the last hour is gone and the tightness in your chest worsens now that you miss it. Stupid crush. Stupid blood flow.

“Oh my god, sorry, sorry, I was just so comfortable I wasn’t even thinking.” There’s stress in his tone that you haven’t heard all night and you decide that you hate it, he’s always stressed.

“Hey,” Your fingers curl around his bicep, and it flexes under the thick material of his sweater when his eyes meet yours, making you forget how to speak for a moment, “if we lay down on our sides we’ll - we’ll be more comfortable?”

Your heart beats loud in your ears after you throw out your suggestion fully knowing there’s gotta be less than twenty minutes left of the movie at most.

“Yeah, we can do that, like, big spoon?” He points to himself, with eyes as red as his cheeks before pointing to you with a small grin, “little spoon?”

You bite your bottom lip to contain the smile that threatens to break across your face, and it only makes his grow.

“Yeah, just like that Harrington.” You giggle and you don’t miss the kind of glint in his eyes that sparkles because of it.

“Harrington? I thought I was big boy?” He mocks with fake offense, clumsily clambering back onto the couch letting himself fully extend.

His socked feet almost hang off the armrest but the problem is quickly solved when he turns onto his side leaving just enough room for you. One of his big hands patting the cushions in an invitation that makes you both laugh.

“I thought you hated that nickname?” you tease, butterflies that never existed before erupting when he watches you with soft eyes climb into the spot next to him.

Your head lands in the crook of his elbow, amber and spice enveloping you while one of his long fingers curl around your hip not hesitating to pull you flush against his chest like he missed you. Maybe you weren’t the only one with a wandering mind tonight.

“I don’t,” he agrees, lips coming up right next to your ear and you wonder if he can feel the shiver that runs down your spine, “but I kinda like it when you say it.”

Your body curls into him when you giggle with a throb in your core that makes your thighs press together. Steve chuckles, hooking his chin over your shoulder and his feet find yours at the end of the couch like they did under the blanket. Grabbing the throw off the floor, you drape it back over the two of you when you both finally get situated.

He feels like he’s everywhere and it’s even harder to concentrate like this, especially when all his fingers are laced with yours now. The pad of his thumb rubs circles on the top of your hand, and you can feel the way his cheeks push up into a grin every time something makes him laugh. You spend the last bit of what’s left of the movie tangled up with him like this, and neither one of you try to move when the credits roll or when the screen goes black.

The air buzzes with the kind of tension that’s laid dormant until there’s nothing to distract you from it anymore in the new silence. His breath fans hot across your neck while the strokes of his thumb get slower, adding a little more pressure to the muscle there, and feels good enough to have your eyes flutter closed.

Maybe it’s the darkness of your living room, or the way the tip of his nose starts to trace the shell of your ear but you get the surge of confidence you need to turn around and face him. Steve doesn’t protest at all, letting you move with the kind of ease that makes you wonder if he was waiting for it all along. The small smile on his face tells you he absolutely was.

The new angle has you looking up at him from under your lashes, while his hand that held yours all night covers the middle of your back bringing you to his chest, getting you just as close as before. Your legs slot together while warm lights flicker across his face, they bounce and reflect off the lingering glaze that coats his eyes. Embers burning in a mossy ground.

It starts to feel like Steve Harrington wants to kiss you, and you’d be lying if your said you didn’t want him too.

“Hi” You whisper, the corners of your lips pulling up because they can’t help it when he looks at you like this.

“Hi” the rich honey of his voice comes out low as he dips his head down to rest on his forearm right above yours.

The tips of your noses are dangerously close to touching, and you swear you hear his breath hitch when your feet find his again. Holding his gaze, you silently dare him to read your mind so you don’t have to say it out loud. You do it first.

“I had a lot of fun tonight.” You try not to think about how it sounds like something you’d say at the end of a date.

“Me too, I’m uh -“ a puff of hot air fans across your face when he laughs, and you notice his first sign of nerves all night, “I’m glad I didn’t make a fool of myself or anything.”

“I have to say I’m impressed, you handled your first joint like a pro.” Your hands dare to run up his chest, plucking a piece of lint from the threads of his sweater. You feel the way the muscles in his stomach flex for you, and you have to bite back your smirk.

“I had good company is all.” He hums, the blunt ends of his nails scratching along the dip of your back, before whispering “Is this okay?”

Your eyes flutter shut with contentment you haven’t felt in a while, your whole body melting into his with a mumbled ‘mmmhm’

“Does Elvira have any other movies we could watch sometime?” His question makes your eyes pop open, and he tries to look as nonchalant as possible before adding, “you know just me and you.”

“Not a movie, per say but she has a show I like to watch where she does funny commentary on B rated horror films.” Your two feet trap one of his between them playfully to try and ease the nerves he shouldn’t have, earning you that megawatt smile that’s made half the ladies in Hawkins swoon.

So, Steve Harrington wasn’t a mind reader.

“That sounds like fun,” He lets out a relieved sigh that you didn’t know he was holding, close enough now for your noses to touch.

“Yeah? You wanna come have fun with me?” You tease, but it comes out sounding like a double entendre that makes your skin heat up, especially when Steve closes his eyes and groans. The nails that scratch your back freeze as he tries regaining some semblance of self control. Licking his lips, he exhales a breath out of his nose before he speaks,

“Abso-“

His answer gets cut off by the sound of your front door slamming open, followed by the bellowing voice of the only other person who has keys to your apartment.

“I’ve come for boobies and I brought beer! Better late than never am I ri- Whoa, whoa, WHOA, what is going on here?” Eddie’s shock is quickly replaced by amusement, dimples poking deep holes in his cheeks when he grins wildly as he takes in the two of you on the couch.

What was going on here?

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington thoughts #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington one shot #steve harrington x fem!reader

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etheries1015 · 15 days

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Returning your favor

Not forgetting your kind gesture of giving your lover fae Lilia a back massage, he decides to return the favor. With a bit of a...mischievous and dirty twist. 18+ MINORS DNI

General warnings: Gender Neutral reader

Based off of giving him a back massage I wrote -> HERE. For all my people who have told me they also have back issues, no worries, your favorite fae is here to save the day <3 (Looking at you, @masquerade-of-misery )

"Scented oil?" You stared dubiously at the container Lilia had handed you, a proud smile plastered upon his face with his signature smirk in tow.

"Your favorite scent, might I add!" He folded his arms, floating above you turning upside down where his gaze met yours. You gave him a curious look, Lilia planting a kiss on your forehead in response to your suspicion and pressing the tip of his nose against yours.

"Aren't you curious to try it? I know I've been dying to ever since Kalim brought it back from his homeland! Read it, it's supposed to make your skin feel incredibly soft and supple and relaxed..."

"So you want me to give you a back massage with this oil?" Lilia quirked an eyebrow and flipped his position to be upright, sitting against the ground on his knees and peering into your eyes.

"Of course not. You already did that for me, and now it's my turn to show you how to properly give a massage. I've been dying to see you all slippery, anyways." He winked and took the oil out of your hands, gesturing you to lay on the bed of his room. You eyed him curiously before sighing, admitting to him you have been feeling sore yourself as of late.

"And do you expect me to place this on your clothing? Hurry now, take them off my little bat," Lilia smiled at you with a twinkle of trouble in his ruby orbs. You obeyed willingly, rendering your top half completely bare and laying stomach down. Lilia made his way on top of your body, straddling your back before adding a generous dallop of the oil in his hands clicking the lid shut and setting it to the side in reach for easy access.

The moment the liquid hit your back with his rather rough touch, you felt a shiver down your spine as the smooth oil dripped from his hands onto your skin. Lilia had a rather aggressive way of messaging your back, despite the oil making it slicker and his hands run smoother along your skin. It was relaxing as the fragrance filled your nose, taking in every movement of Lilias fingers as he worked his way from your shoulders down to the blades. He felt every muscle and bone with his fingers, using his palms and thumb to move an upward circular motion to ease out the strain in your muscle.

"Ohh..." You groaned, "you're good at this," humming in pleasure your eyes fluttered shut and head flopped down completely exhausted. You savored ever single movement of his dexterous fingers as they made their way down to the center of your back, coating your skin with the oil...before sneaky slippery hands sensually rubbed their way from your back, to more unnecessary territory. He pressed himself against you slightly, his hands roaming to the front of your body easily able to squeeze between the softness of the bed to the tender flesh of your chest. As much as you wanted to tease him and tell your lover off about his perverted advances, you couldnt help but melt beneath his touch and give into the moment.

Lilia leaned forward to bite your neck, an excitable mewl freeing from your parted lips. He smirked against your skin and pinched your nipple much to your surprise, before quickly removing his hands from your chest and sitting back up against your bottom to have access to the full of your back once more. You almost complained about the absence of his playful hands, before hearing the opening of the bottle once more and his cool hands return to the center of your back. He was taking it much more serious than you'd expect, pinching your spine while occasionally slicking his hands back up to your back and shoulders, as if playing around with the flimsly liquid that gave him such easy and smooth access to your extremities.

"Were you doing that to tease me?" You finally spoke up tiredly, attempting not to fall asleep at the comfort of his touch. Lilia hummed in response with a chuckle beneath his throat.

"Whatever do you mean, my little bat?" You could feel the playful squinted eyes and toothy grin he typically painted when teasing you, causing you to roll your eyes and scoff. When he realized you weren't going to play into his game, the fae moved his deep message down right above the hem of your pants, strongly using his thumb to rub circles the sides of your tailbone. You felt your face grow mildly hot as his hands began to tug down your pants indiscreetly, shuffling his body down your legs to make room for his intended target. Knowing what he was doing and going with the flow of his touches, you felt yourself lift your ass to better grant him the ability to pull your pants and underwear the rest of the way down.

"Eager, aren't we? Are you sore down here, too?" He quirked an eyebrow. Although his words were teasing, his hands did not halt from assisting the remaining of your garments and slipping them onto the floor. You began to lift your head to complain about his endless teasing, however you were quickly silenced by the sound of the opening container once again and cold oil and his strong hands hitting your ass with a bit of a smack. You yelped at this before the light stinging was replaced with a honeyed chuckle and gentle caresses.

Using his hands, Lilia gently spread your legs and began working the oil to your inner thighs, sweet hums of pleasure leaving him smiling fondly down at your relaxed body. It was sudden when the warmth and slickness of his hands were removed from your skin, the sound of clothed being removed and tossed to the floor grabbing your attention along with the unbuckling of pants following suit. Your eyebrows raised at this incredibly sudden turn of events, propping yourself up on your elbows and turning to see a now naked Lilia.

"And just what do you think you're doing?" You teased, a smile crawling onto your lips. Lilia leaned forward, crawling over your body twisting his head to give you a chaste kiss as his hands began to gently rub once more from your back to your chest, the way you propped your upper half giving him much easier and more sensual access to the rest of you. "Weren't you supposed to be helping me ease more soreness, rather than make it worse?" Lilias fingers tenderly groped at whatever flesh he could, almost in a desperate yet surprisingly docile way.

"Then I'll just have to give you another massage, won't I?" He bit your neck once again, something that wasn't unfamiliar to you especially in the context of love making.

"That ruined the point of the oil a little bit, didnt it?" You chuckled. He knew you were jist teasing, the way your body trembled in anticipation told him all he needed. You could feel the throbbing of his cock press against your ass, Lilia whimpering while moving his hips almost as if begging to be inside of you.

"I promise to make it up to you...but seeing you under my touch like this..." His breath hitched, moving his hand to guide the tip of his cock to your entrance, "I need to feel you around me, now."

"And I'm not stopping until we are both covered in this oil, my precious bat."

#twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland x reader #lilia vanrouge #twst x reader #twisted wonderland headcannons #twst smut #twisted wonderland smut #Lilia vanrouge x reader #Lilia x reader #Lilia vanrouge smut #Lilia x reader smut #twst Lilia x reader

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kaveehs · 5 months

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Sweetener — Gojo Satoru

fem!reader, wc 0.8k, fluff, established relationship, workaholic!gojo, first years make a cameo <3

synopsis: gojo had always liked sweet things, you were no exception

a/n: i’ve been so busy lately but i finally finished this piece!!! recently i’ve been missing gojo so much so i had so much fun with this <333

requested by: @the-weeping-author

Gojo Satoru undoubtedly had a sweet tooth.

Sure, he had a variety of pastries and candies at his disposal that he could use to curb his insatiable need for sweetness in his life, but they all paled in comparison to you. From the moment Satoru first met you, he could tell something was fairly different about you.

At a first glance, he could tell you were a bit apprehensive of him. This was nothing new, after all he carried such an intimidating title attached to him since he was young. Despite it all, you always greeted him with a smile and such warm words. There was no doubt that you were a kind girl at heart, but there was so much more to it than that to him. Your compassionate nature didn’t come with a catch, nor did it waiver the closer you and him became, it only strengthened his feelings towards you.

You always thought he had been exaggerating when he had expressed how just you alone could calm his overwhelming sweet tooth when your relationship with him first began, but he truly meant every word of it, no matter how dramatic it sounded.

“Honey!” Satoru called out to you, snapping you out of your thoughts. Of course it was only natural for him to call you something so sweet you couldn’t help but smile. “I didn’t expect you to be back so soon, let alone spare time to visit me at work, how was it?” Before coming to his office, you had been scoping out a new bakery he had been dying to go to, but couldn’t due to being constantly cooped up at work.

“Great, I brought back some things I thought you might like,” you answered, handing him the small box of pastries you’d saved for him. He pulled back half of his blindfold, happily accepting the box into his hands which had been much larger than the pastry box. Just as he flipped open the lid, he noticed a shift in your expression.

“What’s with the sad face, sweetheart? You wanna try some too? You know I don’t mind sharin’,” he teased. His comment caught you somewhat by surprise— you didn’t even notice the change in your face.

“No, it’s not that,” you slightly bit the lower corner of your lip. “I just wish we could’ve gone together. You’ve been workin’ so much, y’know?”

Satoru paused for a moment, placing the treats on his desk as he got up from the comfort of his office chair. “I know baby,” he uttered sympathetically as his arms engulfed your body. “‘M sorry,” he said as he pressed his lips to your forehead. “When I have free time, I promise I’ll take you on the best trip ‘n you’ll have my full attention.”

“You mean it,” your eyes glistened with excitement at his words. A full trip where you could simply enjoy each other’s company, the thought alone was lovely.

“Y’know I don’t like to make promises I can’t honor,” a grin found its way to his face. “Of course I mean it.”

As you subconsciously squeezed him tighter, pulling him closer for a soft kiss, you heard the sound of snickers just as your lips were about to connect… his first year students. You pulled away from him, despite the small pout on his face.

“Before we get to that, I gotta assign my students here, more work. Clearly they seem to have a bunch of time to kill,” he spoke in a sarcastic yet matter-of-fact manner, laughing at their pleads for mercy. “Utahime’s been houndin’ me about your academic performance anyway. Perfect timing if you ask me.”

“Come on ‘Toru, go easy on them,” you remarked while trying to contain your own laughter.

“…Maybe I’ll let the assignments slide for today.”

“And just like that, he folds,” Itadori blinked, in awe at how quick he was to change his decision because of your interjection.

“It’s almost impressive how much control she has over someone like Gojo,” Nobara chimed in. Megumi shook his head.

“It’s nothing like that,” he sighed as if he knew all too well the truth of his mentor’s nature. “He’s just soft. Always has been.”

“Now now,” Gojo cleared his throat, it was telling he had been a bit embarrassed by the back and forth banter of his students. “Maybe I should switch things up a little bit— and teach you all a small life lesson.” This promise of a new lesson seemed to pique the interests of Nobara and Itadori. “When you find the love of your life—” he began as he looked over to you, however his speech was cut off by the simultaneous groans of his students.

“How informative,” you joked, followed by such a genuine laugh that spread to him so easily. Though you did learn something new with his eight words— that he saw you as the love of his life.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad to be Gojo Satoru’s sweetener afterall.

#jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff #gojo satoru fluff #gojo x y/n #jujutsu kaisen gojo #[ ʚ♡ɞ ] — rena writes — fluff

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hwaslayer · 2 months

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project: make you love me (jyh) | seventeen.

♣︎ spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: yunho can’t stand how you’re so wrapped up in the notorious campus fuckboy, park seonghwa. he would gladly love you the way you deserve, despite being shy, awkward and the complete opposite of seonghwa. thus, when he finds himself spending more time with you over literature reviews and random study sessions, he decides to take on the challenge to win you over.

—pairing: jeong yunho x f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers/friends to lovers, college au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 3.4k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing/mature language, flashback scene btwn yuyu & oc, anxiety & overthinking, some crying, [very soft and lazy] unprotected makeup sex <33

Yunho sighs as he pours some hot water into his cup, dipping the tea bag into the scorching hot water a few times before letting it settle. He stands near the balcony door of the apartment, blinds raised so he can watch the rain and wind from inside.

"Jeez, it's fucking crazy outside." Yunho turns over his shoulder to Yeosang, who is getting ready to make some ramen. "And it's freezing."

"Yeah, it is. Such a random storm." Yunho sips on his tea.

"Why are you acting like such an old man right now?" Yunho lets out a chuckle at the remark. "Have you talked to Y/N?"

"No, not yet." He sighs, making his way to the kitchen island to talk to Yeosang more closely.

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I was gonna ask her to come over but it's raining like crazy. I'll probably wait till it dies down."

"Your hand doing okay?" Yeosang nods at his hand, making Yunho flash it his way. "Hm. Bruising has gone down. He deserved that shit."

"Tell me about it."

"Well, not to play devil's advocate at the wrong time, but I truly don't think Y/N meant to hurt you."

"I know. I just—" He sighs again and shakes his head. "He pissed me off. I didn't wanna take it out on her. Truthfully, I wasn't really over it until.. probably this morning." Yunho shrugs.

"Yeah, I get that."

"It's not her. It's him. Fucking can't stand him. I hope he gets the picture now because I'm not going anywhere."

"And you shouldn't. He'd be stupid to keep testing you. I'm sure that was more than enough for him to realize."

"Yeah, I don't know. Whatever. Just keep him the fuck away from me." Yunho subtly rolls his eyes. "I miss her, though. I know she wouldn't do anything to hurt me."

"She's a good person. It's very clear she feels the same exact way for you as you do for her." Yunho traces the rim of his cup, missing your kisses and your company terribly, even though it's really only been a full day since you two last talked.

"I really love that girl." He lets out a small chuckle. "Like.. really love her."

"Cute." Yeosang smiles as he pours the hot water into his ramen cup. "You finally gonna say it to her once you two talk?"

"Probably, yeah." He looks at Yeosang. "It's crazy to me. I wasn't expecting anything out of this when I started helping her with her lit assignments. Now, I can't even picture my days without her."

"You should text her."

"I will, once the weather calms down a bit."

"What do your plans with her look like after graduation?"

"Honestly, I don't know. I mean, obviously, I'll always be here to support her and I'll try to stay close as much as possible. But, eventually, I do wanna settle in a job and make enough for us to move in together."

"Wow, really?" Yunho nods. "You see your life with her?"

"Does it sound weird to say that?"

"No, not at all."

"I just wanna be able to come home to her and spend time with her." Yunho sips his tea, the sound of the harsh wind and tree branches hitting the window slightly startling the both of them.

"Damn. Yeah, probably good to just wait until the weather settles down." Yeosang flips the lid to his ramen and starts stirring the noodles around. "Wanna hop on a game?"

"Yeah, sure." Yunho chuckles, standing to make his way to his room and play for a bit.

Meanwhile, you've tossed and turned on your bed, unsure of what to do with yourself for the day. Chaery sat at her desk, studying with her headphones on; prepping for a big test coming up in the following week. It was probably the third [or fourth] time you've scrolled through your phone in the past 5 minutes, finding ways to distract yourself even though you were only waiting to see if Yunho would text.

He didn't though.

The last text he sent was his response to you yesterday morning after the whole squabble with Seonghwa, a quick little—

you: goodmorning yunho, have a good day today 💕

yunho: you too, y/n.

The dry, sad response is enough to trigger that awful feeling in your stomach— enough for you to toss your phone and lay on your side, hoping everything could just wash over and pass.

♣︎ FLASHBACK

"Have you seen Yunho today?" You shake your head.

"No. I feel like he's just avoiding me right now." You say with your head hung low.

"Babe, he's not avoiding you. You're his girlfriend."

"Then, why does it feel that way? Usually he'd try to come see me and send me off before class or something. He hasn't even texted me after I said 'good morning' and 'have a good day.'"

"Maybe he really just needs time to get over it, Y/N." Chaery adds as you two continue to walk towards the library. "I mean.. think about it. He stumbled upon you two and suddenly found himself in a fight with your crazy ex-fling. Plus, this was also his way of finding out about the bouquet. It's probably so overwhelming and frustrating, mainly because of Seonghwa. I get him. I wouldn't wanna talk to my girlfriend while I'm still upset because I know I'd probably say things I'd regret."

"Mmyeah.." Is all you say. The moment you take the last few steps up to the library, Yunho is exiting and comes through the door. You stop in your tracks as your eyes land on him, a sad, sympathetic look captured on your face.

You are so, so beautiful. Yunho feels like you'll be the death of him one day.

He almost makes it visibly known how much you've caught him off guard. He swallows the lump in his throat and walks over— one hand in his pant pocket, the other hanging onto the backpack strap.

"Hey." Is all he says before giving you a one-armed [tight] hug.

"Hey babe."

"Yuyu, my favorite person in the entire planet!" Chaery gives him a playful little punch on the arm, making him chuckle. "Y/N, I'll wait for you inside, okay?" She gives you a reassuring smile before leaving you and Yunho.

"Off to class?" You stupidly ask already knowing his schedule, but he nods anyway.

"Yeah. Did you sleep okay?" He brushes the hair away from your face.

"I don't know."

"Yeah, same." He sighs.

"Should we talk then?"

"Not now." He doesn't mean to sound mean or dismissive, but he truly doesn't think he has it in him to talk properly about this yet. "Just not ready to yet. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I understand." You feel the tears well up in your eyes, causing you to shift your attention elsewhere to prevent them from falling.

"Hey." Yunho pulls you in for a hug. "We'll talk about it soon. Promise." He kisses the top of your head before letting you go. "Have a good rest of your day, okay?"

"You too." You give him a small, tight-lipped smile before watching him walk past you to his next class— your heart dropping, cracks slowly breaking at the surface.

You missed him, and you were only hoping it'd get better from here. You were ready to move past this.

All of this.

♣︎ END

Your bottom lip trembles as you stand and throw on Yunho's hoodie, slipping the hood over your head before wiping away at the residual tears streaming down your cheeks. You understood Yunho needed time, but you couldn't wait another day of not talking to him.

Not hugging him.

Cuddling him.

Kissing him.

You missed Yunho, and you were afraid he was realizing he didn't feel the same— that maybe, this was the way it would all slowly fizzle out. That maybe, this didn't turn out to be what he expected or wanted. Every minute you continued to overthink made you more and more anxious. You couldn't sit this one out anymore. Not any longer.

"Babe, where are you going?" You pop into the room after a quick bathroom break, fixing your pajamas onto the edge of your bed while Chaery continues to sit at her desk. "It's literally storming outside."

"I need to talk to Yunho." She looks at you worriedly, turning her chair towards you completely.

"Love. I know. I know you wanna talk to him, but don't you think you should wait until the storm passes?"

"It's just across the lot."

"Still. It's kinda crazy out there."

"Chaery, I need to talk to him. I can't let another day pass. I won't." You murmur as you grab a pair of sneakers. "I'll be back, okay?" She sighs.

"Just be careful, please. I really don't want you to get sick or anything."

"I know. I'll be careful." You give her a tiny smile before heading towards the door.

"Um, please tell me you aren't actually going out there right now?" Seungmin asks with a brow cocked up as he stands in the kitchen. You slip into your shoes and slightly tilt your head, meeting his gaze.

"I really need to talk to Yunho."

"Do you want me to walk you over there? It's super windy and raining like crazy."

"It's okay."

"Sure? Take an umbrella."

"I'll run over."

"Please don't get sick. I seriously can walk you over just to be your umbrella dude."

"I promise I'll be okay, Seungmo. Thank you. I'll be fast as lightning speed."

"Alright. Be safe. I hope it goes well. I'm sure he misses you, too." You give him a small smile before heading out. As soon as you head out of the front door, the gusty wind hits you, along with the rain slapping you along the side of your face. You pull Yunho's hood a little more over your head, clinching it at the neck to keep it tight. No matter what you do, or how fast you run to his building, you're still being rained on like crazy.

Yunho's hoodie and your sweats are soaked, and you hate the feeling of damp clothes against your skin. But, you needed to do this.

You needed to see him.

You shakily bring your phone up to your ear after dialing his number, sweater paws wiping away at your nose and cheeks.

"Y/N?"

"Yunho."

"You okay?"

"I'm outside your door."

"You're what? Why did you come here when it's storming like shit outside?" You can hear him shuffling towards the door, hands quick to unlock it. He sees you and his heart instantly shatters into pieces. You're in his hoodie, wet from the rain; random strands of hair sticking to your face. Your grey sweats have traces of the rain scattered on all sides, and god, Yunho wants to embrace you and hold you so badly. "Y/N." He says, almost disappointingly as he grabs at your hand to bring you inside. "Why would you do that?"

"I had to see you and talk to you." You look at him, bottom lip trembling again as you hold back your tears. He clicks his teeth before leading you into the room. He quickly grabs a change of clothes for you before handing it over and nodding towards the bathroom.

"You should get comfy first." You silently nod, taking the clothes in your hands before waddling to the bathroom. You strip out of his clothes and hop into the shower for a quick wash-up, his freshly laundered clothes feeling good against your skin afterwards.

When you get into Yunho's room, he's slouched on his computer chair while pressing away on the controller resting against his lap. He turns towards you when he hears you drop the clothes into his hamper, pausing his current game and setting the controller aside.

"Hope you don't mind me throwing those into your hamper."

"Course not." He sits on the edge on his bed, watching as you sit next to him. "What's going on?"

"Yunho, I'm really sorry. I know you needed time and everything, but I couldn't stand us not talking to each other and being awkward after everything. It's my fault. I should've just told you about them in the first place, I don't know why I hesitated." You're crying now, and Yunho melts. He knows you're sincerely sorry, and he knows you would never intentionally hurt him. Truly, he meant to take this time just to let his anger for Seonghwa pass. He didn't wanna let that bleed onto you, nor did you deserve that, so he wanted to make sure he was completely over it before anything. He was gonna text you today and ask you to come over, but he waited because of the rain. He should've known you wouldn't have cared, though. "It was so, so stupid. But, I didn't mean any of it. I wasn't thinking. I'm sorry, I—" You continue to go on through your crying, but Yunho gently shushes you and pulls you onto his lap.

"Hey, come here. Don't cry. It's okay."

"No, it's not." You pout.

"Baby." He gives off a tiny chuckle before wiping your tears and kissing your forehead. "I know you're sorry, okay? I really just needed the time to make sure I was over it. I didn't want to accidentally take out my anger on you or do anything stupid when you don't deserve it. That's all. I was gonna ask you to come by today, but it started raining." He lets out a breath. "Should've known you wouldn't have cared though, hm?" You shake your head. "No more crying."

"I just want us to be okay. I didn't mean to hurt you, Yuyu."

"I know you didn't. We're okay. I'm not upset with you."

"Are you sure?" He pauses just as he looks at you, thumb coming to caress the surface of your cheek before coming down to your bottom lip.

"Well, why don't you just be mine, hm? Just like I am for you. How does that sound?"

"Wouldn't want it any other way." Yunho chuckles and kisses you on the tip of your nose. You instantly wrap your arms around his neck and hug him tightly while still on his lap, taking in all of him while he gently rubs at your back. "I missed you."

"I missed you too." Your hands are resting at the nape of his neck, fingers gently threading through the ends of his hair. Yunho's hands are slowly rubbing at your sides, the warmth of his hands transferring onto the surface of your bare skin.

"Can I see your hand?" He chuckles a bit and raises his hand in front of you, knuckles still slightly reddish-purple in hue from the punch.

"It's fine." You give him a look before planting soft kisses at his knuckles, turning his palm upward to place some kisses there.

"Yunho?"

"Mhm?"

"I love you." His eyes widen a bit as his mind registers what you just said. His lips turn upward into a smile, planting a chaste kiss to yours before responding with a—

"I love you too, baby." He kisses you again, smiling against your lips. "Can you promise me one other thing?"

"Hm?"

"Please don't trek over here when it's raining like this outside. I don't want you to get sick."

"It's just across the lot."

"Promise me." He furrows his brows ever so slightly to get his point across.

"Fine." You pout.

"Say it."

"I promise." You say in a somewhat whiny tone, making Yunho let out a small laugh.

"You're such a brat."

"Mm, but you just said you love this brat."

"Yeah." He bites onto his bottom lip. "I do. I really do." You giggle, kissing him once more. Though Yunho has always been affectionate and vocal about his feelings for you, his next action is unexpected and catches you a bit off guard. He simply rests his head against your chest and holds you tightly, breathing regularly as his fingers gently rub circles on your sides. He doesn't say anything, causing you to look down at him and wonder if he's truly okay.

"What's wrong?" You ask while wrapping your arms around him, fingers massaging at his scalp.

"I just want you to be honest with me. I don't want you to feel scared about coming to me about these things because I'm with you, not against you." He responds softly, cheek still pressed against your chest. "That goes to say that I would never do anything to jeopardize this. I don't wanna lose you." He looks up at you with those puppy dog eyes and you can't help but release a shaky sigh. Your lips fold into a small frown as you cup his cheek, shaking your head at the statement.

"You could never do anything to jeopardize this, Yunho. I'm not going anywhere. This was my fault, and I'm sorry for not coming to you sooner about this. I promise I'll be better. I know you're here for me, and I know you would never do anything to hurt me either."

"Can you tell me? Honestly. Do you miss anything about Seonghwa?"

"No, I could never. It was so stupid and I didn't mean to mislead or confuse you. I could never go back to that. I don't want to. All I want is you."

"Okay." Is all he responds with. "I feel the same way. You mean a lot to me, Y/N. I mean that more than anything."

"I know, Yunho. I feel the same way." He gives you a tiny, toothless smile before releasing his arms from around you.

"Wanna lay down and take a nap with me?"

"That sounds really nice right now." You smile as you hop off his lap and settle into the sheets. Yunho shuts off his computer, the only sounds echoing in the room is the strong wind hitting the window, rain splattering against the glass. He slips under the covers, pulling you close to him to keep you warm. His fingers start threading through your hair as you quietly look up at him; no words being exchanged in this very moment.

"Sleepy?" Yunho breaks the silence with a soft question.

"No. I just like it when you play with my hair." You shut your eyes in satisfaction.

"Of course." Yunho kisses your forehead before moving down to the tip of your nose.

Lips.

Chin.

"I thought you wanted to nap?" You subtly bite onto your bottom lip when Yunho leaves sweet kisses on the edge of your jaw and neck.

"I do." He says in between kisses, tongue soothing the surface of your neck after little nibbles.

"This doesn't look like a nap to me."

"No, but we'll definitely take one after." He smirks against your skin, hands roaming up your shirt. He squeezes your side before his hand moves up to your breast— playing with your nipple before giving your boob a good grope.

"Yunho." You whine, hands tugging at the ends of his hair. Sooner or later, you find yourself straddling Yunho— lazily working your hips while he lays back and watches you. Everything about this moment is slow, sweet, sensual; every kiss, every move, filled with love and affection. He bites onto his bottom lip as his hands rest on your hip, fingers slightly digging into the surface as he helps guide you. You've still got his shirt on, and he's still got his, too— sweats pulled down enough to ride him. It's so lazy, but so intimate, especially with the storm in the background.

It feels perfect and enough.

You let out soft moans and whimpers, Yunho whispering sweet praises about how good you feel and how perfect you are. He never fails to remind you how beautiful you are and how much you mean to him, even in the most compromising positions. But his words drip with gold, low groans and hisses dipped in honey.

Everything about Yunho is so, so sweet.

"Fuck." You whimper, brows pulled together as your mouth is slacked open— orgasm quick to build, close to toppling over on the edge.

"That's it, baby." Yunho replies as he tries his hardest to hold on. "Wanna cum for me?" You nod, pace increasing just enough to make you come undone in the next few rolls of the hips. You let out a few curses in between moans, while Yunho continues to pound upward into you to find his own release.

"That was definitely not a nap, Yunho." You continue to sit on top of him to regulate your breathing and come back down from your high.

"Ah, no. But, that nap does sound nice now, doesn't it?" You giggle when he taps your hips, the both of you letting out small whines when you finally pull your bodies apart from each other. He grabs some wipes and helps you clean up before following suit on himself, slipping back into the covers for said nap.

"Yunho."

"That's me." He says, eyes already shut as he holds you close.

"I love you. And I'm sorry. I wanna keep doing better for you."

"I love you, too. Don't be sorry. We're learning together, princess." He lets out a breath before kissing you on the forehead. "Come on, let's take a nap. It's not like we can go anywhere anyways." You chuckle against his chest, feeling happy and content that all is well; that you're finally in his Yunho's arms again.

♣︎ taglist: @s-nsanshine @soupbinlily @tyongff-ff @jiminiscricket @g1g1l @staytinyinmybpack @woomyteez @gfksz @bitchwhytho @savluvsmingi @thisisntmyrightera @hyukssunflower @miriamxsworld @tmtxtf @kuromibabe04 @lmnhead @carrietwrites @tournesol155 @persphonesorchid @txt-yaomi @mxnsxngie @h-nji @mundayoonimnida @jalapeno-princess @nakiiko @asjkdk @kunikku @idkwgoh @kyeos4ng @agust-d2 @araknoid @bintificreads @primoppang @betray-the-light @aurorasjoongie @wineyoungie @yunhotteokkk @yungigiggles @jaerisdiction @ignoretheskies @luminouskalopsia @naeviscall @vixensss @choisansplushie @arya9111 @my-lightspirit @dazednconfusion @astro-doll-the-star @faesmingi @idfkeddieishot @startinystay @emily505 @mgdixon @mcsalterego @cheynalexilaiho @svintsandghosts @mismatchfluffysocks @meeitany

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vanwritesfan-fiction · 8 months

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Travis asks you to move in with him

You felt Travis' lips against your face before you even opened your eyes, a smile slipping on your face, as his mouth found yours, waking you up with the most delicate kiss.

"Good morning to you too." You giggled, the sight of Travis stubbly beard and bright blue eyes giving you butterflies. You shifted under the covers to free your hands, placing them on the sides of his face as you returned his romantic gesture.

"I wasn't going to wake you, but you looked too cute not to say goodbye to. I don't wanna leave you, but I gotta go to practice." Travis pushed himself off of the bed, his triceps flexing as he stood. You wiped the drool from the corner of your mouth, hoping he thought it was from your open mouth sleeping and not from the sight of his body.

"Just give me a second, and I'll leave with you." You rubbed your eyes, sitting up in bed.

"No, please stay. Sleep in." Travis slipped a shirt over his form, snapping the elastic from his shorts around his waist as he pulled them up.

"I've gotta run and errand, and I've got no way to lock the door when you're not here." You slipped your glasses on, making your way to the closet. Travis had given you a dresser for your things at his place months ago, a much more grand gesture than you were expecting from your boyfriend of two months. Now you were eight months in and it felt natural to walk into his closet like it was your own.

Travis followed you in, a grin on his face. "I actually wanted to talk to you about something." He stroked his beard, his nerves creeping up on him.

"About what, baby?" You glanced at him as you pulled your jeans on, throwing on a sweatshirt. When you fully turned to him, you could see he had a black box in his hand. "What's this?"

"Just open it." He shoved the box toward you, placing it in your hands. You gulped, your face going white. You hadn't even been thinking about marriage, and this wasn't a surprise you were ready for.

You flipped the box open, finding a silver key laid in the container, glistening in the overhead lighting. You let out a sharp breath, chuckling to yourself.

"Is something wrong?" Travis looked at you, concerned you were going to turn down his proposition.

"Uh, no." You shook your head," its a key."

Yeah, a key to my place. I'd been thinking about it for a while now, and I'd love it if you'd move in. Were you expecting something else?" Travis searched your features, waiting for a response.

"Of course, I would love to move in with you, Trav!" You placed the box on the dresser, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I'm so excited!" He could register genuine happiness on your face, his heart booming. Your lips crashed, only pulling apart when you needed a breath.

"I'm going to put it on my key chain!" You jogged out of the room, leaving Travis behind. He pulled a smaller black, velvet box out of his dresser. Opening the lid revealed an engagement ring. He closed it back, placing it underneath a pile of clothing.

"When the time is right." He whispered to himself.

#travis kelce x reader #travis kelce #traviskelce #travis kelce fanfic #travis kelce imagine #travis kelce fanfiction #travis kelce concept #nfl fanfic #nfl fanfiction #nfl fan fic

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happiest-hotch · 9 months

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Why did i think of Aaron with this? Like imagine him and reader (who's younger) decided to have a baby... Then a few years later they're like, jack it's almost a teen and he loves his little sibling so why not have just one more? But then this happens 😂😂😂 imagine Aaron's face!!!! He'll be like "what you mean there's three???? Babe, i'm too old for this shit!!!👁️👄👁️" And when they tell the team?! OH MY GOD. The teasing would be endless!!!

omg i had to write this asap, i love any expecting!dad!aaron/spencer

Aaron doesn't stop at the FBI offices once the team gets off the jet, and it's almost seven. He knows he'll get caught there for two hours, minimum, and with how tired you've been this pregnancy, you're likely to be asleep by the time he gets home. Plus, he hasn't been so wrapped up in the case the BAU just closed that he's forgotten about the all-important ultrasound you had scheduled.

He gets home just after 7:30, thanks to traffic and some speeding through empty streets. He dumps his go-bag in the laundry room, checking all the doors are locked out of habit.

"Y/n?" You hear Aaron's voice travel down the hallway as he assures you that it's not an intruder.

"Kitchen." You call back, snapping the lid on a container of leftover mac and cheese. Both Jack and Daisy will happily eat it the next day.

He wraps his arms around your waist from behind and pulls you into his chest, tucking his head into your neck. "Hi, honey." He hums.

You turn your head to kiss him for the first time in a week. "Hi, handsome, welcome home."

"Glad to be back." He sighs, breathing in your scent in a non-creepy way. "Kids okay?"

You reach for the baby monitor in Daisy's room, holding it up so he can see the live feed. Jack is crouched at the end of the crib, puppets on his index fingers, while Daisy stands with the help of the rail and watches his puppet show. He's always been an amazing big brother and he loves making up puppet shows for her.

"They've been good." You tell him as you watch the sweet interaction.

He hums in your ear. "So, what's the verdict? How are you?" He doesn't waste any longer than necessary to ask for the results. His wide hand travels down to rest over the little bump that's already appeared. "How is the little raspberry?"

You try not to tense too much in his arms. It would be far too easy for him to notice as your husband and a profiler. So you step away from him, still holding his hand. "Are you hungry?" You ask.

He frowns. "You're deflecting." You narrow your eyes at him, and he folds quickly, answering you. "I ate lunch."

You laugh, handing him a prepared plate. "You're meant to have three meals a day, Aaron."

"I'll eat, but please start talking because I'm getting worried." You can sense the fear in his voice, justified.

"Couch?" You offer before quickly squashing his worries. "Everything's healthy, the OB/GYN isn't concerned."

He lets out a deep breath, taking his plate from you with a 'thank you' kiss before sitting on the couch. You take the ultrasound pictures out of your handbag, sinking down next to him.

"Let me see, let me see." He cheers eagerly. You hand it over, biting your bottom lip as he flips it open. His eyes fill with tears in the most precious way as he gently traces over the glossy picture. "Wait." You know he's caught the descriptor at the bottom. Last time, it was just Baby Hotchner, but things are a little different this time. "Wait...Baby A? Is this a joke?" He turns to you with a playful expression, wrinkling his nose, but he lets a level of concern slip through.

You shake your head. "Not joking. There's a Baby B."

"There's a 'B'?" Aaron repeats, shocked. For someone who's an expert in maintaining an emotionless expression, he's struggling. His eyes look like they could pop out of his head. He takes a look under the first ultrasound, finding another, slightly different ultrasound with a different name at the bottom.

"There's a 'B'." You confirm, knowing he needs to hear it out loud, probably more than once, like you did earlier that morning.

He turns to you with raised eyebrows, letting out another breath. "Two babies." He states- incorrectly- although he's yet to be made aware of it. "Shit." He mumbles.

"Aaron, there's a 'C'." You break the news before he can accept that it's twins.

Aaron's shocked expression gets impossibly more prominent on his features. "Holy shit. Triplets? Oh my- fuck."

You chuckle softly beside him. "Yeah, triplets."

"Wow." He gasps finally, sitting with the news for a few seconds as he looks at the third ultrasound. "That's- wow."

"I know." You agree with his shock. "Crazy, huh?"

He nods slowly, looking at the final ultrasound which is a picture of all three of them. Then he turns to look at you all of a sudden. "This is real?" He asks and you nod. "You're incredible."

You laugh softly. "So you're okay?"

"Are you?" He asks, fully concerned again. "I mean, do you need a higher dose of vitamins? And you need to be eating more. And drinking more. And-"

You cut him off before he can spiral, just as you had. "I'm good, baby." You assure him. "Got it all under control, but this is quite a shock, huh?"

He nods. "We said one more and now we're going to have three more." His eyes fill with tears. "We're so lucky."

"We are." You agree. "There's lots to do though."

He cups your cheek, thumb stroking over your skin. "Tomorrow, baby. And I'll be the one doing everything. You're growing those perfect babies."

"I've got your first task." You tell him and he waits for it, no doubt going to do whatever you want. "Kiss me." He chuckles softly at what is a really easy request to grant and he leans in, kissing you gently.

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #aaron hotchner x you #criminal minds #aaron hotchner x y/n #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner one shot

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writethrough · 4 months

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Hello! I just finished reading your Morpheus fics and I absolutely love them! So I thought about requesting something, too. Morpheus x reader where reader is feeling well and calls for him. They spend all evening togheter after a long time. reading togheter, watching some movies, talking and sharing their thoughts... until Morpheus notice it’s really late, almost midnight, and it’s time for reader to sleep, but she doesn't want to ‘cause Morpheus is always busy and she misses spending time with him, even whe she's asleep lately he was never there. Morpheus feels guilty and promises her he’ll be more present, especially in her dreams. A nice ending where he stays with her until she falls asleep, and him appearing in her dreams as he promised? Thank you 💖

A Homemade Remedy

(Morpheus x Female Reader)

Synopsis: After days of dealing with your sickness by yourself, you give in and call your boyfriend, hoping he'll come.

Warnings: Minor language

Word Count: 815

A/N: Stop two on the apology tour. I'm so sorry this has taken so long! And I want to thank you profusely for your patience. And for sending the request in. I really hope you enjoy this fluffy little fic!

Normally, you wouldn’t bother Morpheus with this. He had more important things to deal with instead. But you felt as if Death would appear at any moment, and all you wanted was some comfort from your boyfriend.

You pressed the ruby pendant he gifted you to your heart, croaking his name.

“Beloved?”

You blinked, seemingly slower than usual.

“Hi,” you whispered, covers pulled to your chin.

He took you in for a few moments, brows pinched slightly. You could only tell he was worried because of how long you’d known him.

“You are unwell.”

“S’just a—” A coughing fit started, only ceasing when he handed you your glass of water. “Just a cold.”

Between the tissues piled in the trash beside your bed, the bottle of medication without its lid, and the two additional blankets on top of you, he knew that wasn’t the case. You’d been here much longer than a few hours.

“Why did you not call for me when your ailment began?”

And there it was, the look you were dreading the more you prolonged summoning him. You’re not even sure he’s aware of his “kicked puppy” look.

You shrugged, pulling the covers just below your nose.

Morpheus made no sound—as graceful and Endless as ever. The only indication he had moved was the lifting of your blankets as he slid in behind you.

“Turn around, my love.”

You were far too weak and needy to refuse.

Settling with your head on his thigh, he rested a hand on your hair.

“I am here now, and I will take care of you,” he said. “Whatever you may need, I will gather.”

“Just this.” Your voice barely carried on a whisper.

“Then here I shall remain.”

Morpheus always spoke softer than you would expect while still containing all the authority in the universe, but it sounded even softer. It held gentleness—kindness—a quality that said, “You are precious to me.”

“What about the Dreaming?” you asked, eyes closed.

“In Lucienne’s capable hands,” he replied without hesitation. You were so considerate of him and his duties, for once, he wished you’d be selfish.

“What if she needs you?” Even as you said this, your arm settled over his lap.

“She has looked after my realm much longer than you will be ill.”

You squeezed him as best you could at the reminder. You didn’t like to think about what had happened to him. Though you met long after that, it hurt to know someone could do that to another being—human or not.

Morpheus had reassured you he had healed. Much of that having to do with you.

“Could you read to me, then?” you asked.

A book appeared in seconds, his voice matching perfectly to the cadence of the lines. It didn’t matter what he was saying, hearing him speak in that hypnotic rumble was enough. Even the flipping of the page didn’t distract you. He was captivating from the first word.

He’d read two chapters when your stomach growled.

“When did you last eat?” His smile was soft, thumb grazing your arm.

You shrugged, not wanting to be scolded.

“Can you eat?”

You weren’t sure if it was how shitty you were feeling, how tired you were, or how helpless you felt, but his words went straight to your heart.

He considered how you might feel. He wasn’t pushing you to eat, but asking if you thought you could stomach anything. He wanted to help, but not at the risk of causing you more discomfort.

You nodded, keeping your eyes closed so he wouldn’t see them watering.

“Here.” He helped you sit up before picking up the bowl of broth that had manifested on the nightstand.

You went to grab it, but he tutted, picking the spoon up himself and bringing it to your mouth.

“I can feed myself,” you said after swallowing.

“I know,” he said. “Please. Let me help you.”

You ate the next spoonful without complaint, and soon, the bowl was empty.

“Thank you,” you mummered, head nestled into the crook of his shoulder.

“It’s late, you must rest,” he whispered into your hair.

You shook your head, and tried to snuggle yourself closer to him, like if you planted yourself firmly enough, he wouldn’t be able to leave.

“Haven’t seen you in forever,” you mumbled. “Don’t wanna waste it.”

Guilt flooded Morpheus. He knew he had been neglectful of you, but you had been so patient with him. You were the embodiment of understanding—and he had taken advantage of that.

“Go to sleep, dear one. I will meet you in the Dreaming.” His lips pressed to your crown.

You hummed, head growing heavy.

And when your eyes opened, there he was, holding you as you laid in his chambers.

He smiled fondly, brushing your chin with his knuckles.

“What shall we do now, my love?”

Taglist: @sayumiht, @hatterripper31, @snowsatsu, @1950schick, @navs-bhat, @bookshelf-dust, @sapphireonline, @fictional-hooman, @steph-speaks, @ladyredstar1991, @secretdreamlandmentality, @ababycake, @morpheuss1mp, @boofy1998, @alice-the-nerd, @herfantasyworldd, @poemfreak306, @tronnily, @commanderfreethatdust

If you’d like to be added to any taglists, please comment or message me with the character you’d like updates on.

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fuckmyskywalker · 5 months

Note

Dad Anakin come bend me over the counter in the kitchen while im making you sandwiches and getting you your beer. press me against the surface and smush my face into the plate I neatly prepared for you and then pull my skirt up and fuck me PLEASE

—🕷️

— CW: 18+, dddne. Age gap. Fauxcest (Anakin is called "Dad"). Established relationship. Misogynistic behavior. Minor wedgies. Spanking. | DNI if uncomfortable. | not proofread.

— a/n: I love you. I love you. You get me. Also, I didn't added the fucking, I had another thought in mind 😔...

Sunday games are his favorite way to relax after a long and stressful week at work. There is nothing more enjoyable than watching his team with a cold beer in his hand and eating his favorite sandwiches... but it seems to be that you decided to be particularly slow today.

"Can you hurry up? The game is about to start" Anakin yells from the living room. He taps his boot on the carpet with an annoyed expression on his handsome face.

"Coming!" You chirp from the kitchen with a little smile, happy to please your husband. You knew where you were getting yourself into when you married a man old enough to be your father...

The toaster pops up with a loud noise in tandem with Anakin's footsteps— he reaches the entrance of the kitchen, leaning against the arch and admiring you with his arms crossed over his broad chest. Twisting the mayonnaise lid, you open the fridge to store it in the door rack before grabbing a tall can of Budweiser. Placing it next to the white porcelain plate where his sandwich is, you grab the smoked ham packet, ripping the security seal before slicing two pieces in half, your back still faces the entrance, so you are unaware of his presence.

With the large knife, you cut the sandwich in half, enjoying the soft creak of the toasted bread when his hands rest on your hips causing you to jolt.

"I told you to fucking hurry up" Anakin whispers against your neck, sliding his hands up and down your thighs. "Do I need to repeat myself?"

Panic courses down your body, he was right— you were being too slow and not on purpose— you just wanted to make it worth his time. "Sorry honey—" Your words break to a gasp when he yanks your hair, shaking your head side to side.

"Excuse me?" He asks with a cocky grin, pressing his crotch against your ass.

"I mean— s–sorry, dad."

"Much better."

He releases your hair and you can exhale the breath you've been holding; but the relief doesn't last long. His large hand makes it way to the nape of your neck pushing your face against the sandwich you put all your effort into. The warm bread scrapes your cheek, leaving some crumbs on your face as the mayonnaise and mustard smears on your nose and lips. Anakin's free hand— the gloved one, the one you hate the most— flips your white skirt before landing a hard slap on your ass.

A loud yelp falls down your lips, but he is quick to shut it down by smudging your face against the plate harder. The sticky tomatoes leave wet streaks on your eyebrow, but Anakin seems unfazed with his ruined meal.

After another spank, he leaves your ass for a moment to pop the can of beer open and taking a quick swig, he places it back next to your head, the click of the aluminum base against the fake marble counter doing little to ease your mind.

"You just had one fucking job," Anakin says as he returns his hand to your ass and continues his punishment. "Yet you decided to be a slow slut and make me wait? You've been such a bad girl..." Your asscheeks burn, but the pain is nothing compared to what be does next— his finger hook under the waistband of your panties, yanking them upwards and making the fabric in between your legs lift, straining your folds against it. The cotton digs painfully on your clit, but it's oddly pleasurable. "I expected more from my daughter."

He pulls harder, watching how your pussy is now visible underneath your underwear. It burns, it hurts and he shows no signs of stopping. Anakin laughs at your reaction, ignoring how you cough when an piece of lettuce slides between your lips.

"D–Dad, please—" You choke." "It hurts."

He yanks your panties higher so you have to step on your tiptoes to subside some of the ache— Anakin noticed that of course, he notices everything.

Letting go of your head and underwear, you grab the edge of the counter with heavy pants, trying to process what just happened. He grabs his beer and after a long sip, he smacks your ass again.

"Clean this mess and make me another sandwich— and you better be done before the half time or I'll swear it'll be worse for you."

#𓆩ꨄ︎𓆪 anya writes!#🕷️ anon #dad!anakin skywalker #dad!anakin #Anakin Skywalker smut #Anakin Skywalker x reader smut

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ghouljams · 7 months

Note

can you please take us back to the beginning? from where it all started?

what did ghost do that made price decide ‘yep, imma ship you out with the horses’ and how did price mention goose before ghost met her.

I have been dying to write some Price and Ghost fic. I wanna do some fae au stuff for them too, but for now we focus on the cowboys. So here it is. Ghost tells Price he'd follow him into hell, and Price asks if he'd follow him to safety too.

"You're not renewing your contract," Ghost has never been keen on beating around the bush. Price is used to that, used to the sharp look in his lieutenant's eye that asks 'what are you keeping off the record and should I do the same?' There have been enough times that they've had to scramble in the dark without the cushion of military contracts, everything less than official in order to achieve the impossible, that he should have expected the look.

"I'm retiring," Price tells him, tugs open the corner drawer of his desk to fish for a cigar. The scrape of wood echoes through his office. Simon fidgets, a short flick of his nails against the pads of his fingers that is quickly stopped by Ghost's clenching fists.

"Retiring," Ghost repeats, feels the word out like he's never heard it before, "didn't know men like us retired." Price hums, clicking his lighter with a growing frustration, fucking military grade bullshit. Ghost flicks his lighter on, and holds it out for his captain. Price takes a moment with his cigar, letting the flame burn just a little long before Ghost flips the lid shut.

"When's the last time you slept?" He asks instead of rising to the obvious, if self deprecating, bait.

"Last night." The answer comes just a second too quick. Practiced. It's a standard question from the psych eval Price knows good and god damn well Ghost's been lying on for years. The kind of scars he's got...

"Really?" Price isn't asking, he lowers his cigar and exhales heavily, feels some of the tension melt off his shoulders, "I didn't." Ghost doesn't blink.

"Don't see how, they just keep makin' the barrack beds more comfortable." He jokes, the deadpan tone a distraction from his underlying agreement. Price would bet Ghost hasn't had a decent night's sleep in years. It won't be any better with him gone.

"Your contract is up about this time isn't it?" Price slides a folder to the side, flips up the edge of Ghost's papers. Same date stamped at the top as his own. It's been like that as long as he can remember. There's never been any question of what was going to happen on that date, except this time around. "What're your plans for that?"

"Renew." Ghost says without an ounce of hesitation.

"Without me?"

Ghost freezes. Price can almost see the gears turning in his head. A new captain, one he can't trust, one who doesn't know who he is or how he works. A new captain that might bring in new people, who might decide he's too much work and have him transferred out of counter terrorism. Who might not let his psych slip pass, who might discharge him for any number of things Price has let go over the years.

Ghost is a good soldier because he trusts him. Someone new? After what happened chasing down Hassan and Makarov, it's anyone's bet how he'll play. Those betrayals still hangs fresh over all of their heads.

"You like animals lieutenant?"

"Animals, sir?" Ghost's head tips forward ever so slightly, the smallest breech in his rigid posture betraying his confusion.

"My wife's family owns a ranch stateside. Would save me the trouble of lookin' for an extra hand if you wanted to change careers." Price leans back in his chair, "Good place to spend your retirement if you like animals."

"When'd you get married?" It's not the most elegant topic change, but it's also not a "no."

"Soon as I saw how shit the barracks were," It's the truth, but it sounds close enough to a joke that anyone else might think it was, "Got a kid too, Goose, you'd like 'er." Ghost grunts, breezing past that one, though Price knows he's carefully filing the information away. Mind like a bear trap that one. There's nothing Price has ever known Ghost to forget.

The two men regard each other across Price's desk. There's a level of trust between them that's carried them to this point, past every roadblock. It's not something that can be built up over night, nor is it one the affords requests lightly. Price has asked a lot of Ghost over the years, both of them understanding that the only way out was through. Now they stand at an impasse. One of them leaving, the other hoping they'll stay.

Ghost doesn't know what he'll be if Price leaves. He doesn't know what he is when he isn't this.

"Simon," Price appeals, leaning forward, "Let me do this for you. Let me get you out before this job kills you. The ranch is nice, it's quiet, you'll have your own place, work. You can sleep there."

Ghost is silent for a long moment, his eyes dark, clouded, as they stare Price down. It's anyone's guess what he's thinking. The conversations they've had- Price knows as well --no better-- than anyone that Ghost lives his life waiting for this work to kill him. He can't bury him again. Can't mourn Simon a second time when he knows he could have saved him. Price couldn't be there last time, but now? Today? He can try.

"I'm not babysitting," Ghost says finally. Price smiles, feels the tight anxiety in his chest loosen a little.

"Who? Goose?" He chuckles, shakes his head, "Doubt you'll get the chance to meet 'er, but I'll make sure she knows not to bother you."

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aswaki · 9 days

Note

i think i need more matty+roleplay in my life 😩 man loves a story

i've been thinking about matty doing roleplay in the bedroom for a long time. i'd do a proper write up of this but you're sooo right that he'd be very into the story which made me giggle. after your ask i just can't help but think of dorky loser!matthew who'd be so enthusiastic to propose roleplaying that you'd give in right away.

seok matthew x reader | flashfic | borderline explicit

contains: afab bodied!reader, dork!matthew, prelude to sexual roleplay, use of handcuffs (cuffing)

yes, he was a bit of a dork. he loved world building and stories and all that. it was fun to immerse in his interests so when he told you he wanted to try sexual roleplaying with a grin, shiny eyes and a body that seemed to be buzzed in enthusiasm, you gave in right away. you sent him heart eyes just by how excited he was to explore this.

the thing was your arousal was pushing your body to the limit. the fabric enclosing your cunt was becoming so wet to the point of discomfort.

matthew was getting lost in his head. it's endearing— you swore, it is. it's one of the reasons why you were drawn to him in the first place. he’s just so… bright eyed and charming. (honestly, his little yapping tendencies were a turn on. he really gets into it with confidence when he knows his topic which is so hot to see.)

it's just that you're about to explode with need... your entire body screamed when matthew sat on top of you. he was mindful to not put his entire weight on you but god, you wanted him to do it. you wanted to feel everything. you wanted him to crush you as he throws various roleplay scenarios to the wind.

“what about you be the hot cop? and i'd be the damsel in distress.” he said while looking down at you, almost oblivious to your aching needs. your hips desperately tried to find contact as they mindlessly bucked for him.

“matthew, no,” you exhaled. you feel yourself drying up at the thought of the police force. you couldn’t stand them.

his hands grabbed your wrist in loose restraint. matthew treated you with so much tenderness. a plea for him to rough you up almost escaped your lips.

“oh, so you want me to be the hot cop?” his eyebrows were wagging at you. his face split into a shit eating grin as he bounced on top of you. he might have had no intentions for it but the action alone made you whimper.

can he put his mouth to use? for a big talker, you just wanted him to shut up for a while and put his mouth on you.

“matty, baby, no- no cops.” you were wearing thin.

your thighs went to press itself to each other. they closed in trying to find their own friction. can he just touch you already?

“so, what are we going to do with this, then?” matthew's voice sounded so dejected, you wanted to kick yourself for making him sound like that. you wanted to kiss his entire face as he pulled out handcuffs from behind him. he was prepared!

oh, babyboy.

it was easy to move out his grasp... it wasn’t easy to flip the two of you... matthew was an endearing dork but he was jacked up.

his eyes widened when you took the handcuffs from him. you were quick to put in the work in cuffing his hands to the bedpost. he moaned.

your body crawled over his. his entire body lit up as the distance was covered. you felt his cock tenting. the only thing left separating you two were your pathetically thin clothes.

“what about you be my little prisoner, huh?” you look at him with heavy lidded eyes as you spoke. your fingers trailed over his jawline and down to his chest. he shivered underneath you.

“what- why?” he asked all confused and endearing. you almost expected him to ask 'what's the lore?' (hell, maybe that's what he meant....)

“you made me wait,” you continued with an inauthentic angry voice. his bulge was poking your thigh.

“i didn-”

your hand rubbed his hard pecs before speaking, “now here’s a scenario for you, huh? i’ll be the royal who comes down to my little prisoner’s cell,”

he inhaled sharply as you leaned forward. he does love a good story— more so when he's actually involved. your brain was thinking of ways to make this enjoyable for the both of you.

you were gently grinding on his erection and feeling him up as your breath tickled his ear, “and i’ll punish you to my heart's content.”

matthew could only nod. adorable. maybe you'd let him worship you later. you were royalty after all.

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streamingcolors-gvf · 7 months

Text

Skin Deep- Part 9- 2/2

Pairing: Josh Kiszka x f!reader x Jake Kiszka

Word count: 7k

A/N: Thank you all for being so patient with me getting this out. I apologize it being in two parts, but there was a lot more detail I wanted to add. I apologize for any editing mistakes.

Feeding the Jake girlies again!

Hope y’all enjoy!

As always, I appreciate all the love, feedback and support from you guys

Warnings: cursing, sexually explicit content 18+ - MINORS DNI!! (Oral m!receiving, oral f!receiving, edging, dirty talk, toys, sq*irting)

Masterpost, Part 9 1/2

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you sigh.

“That’s the spirit,” he chuckles softly, causing the calming sound to vibrate against you. His laughter is quickly becoming something you crave. He releases his hold around your waist and gives your asscheek a playful squeeze. “Go ahead and eat and I’ll grab that numbing cream for you.”

You stand there as he breaks away from you, watching him shuffle through the trays of his black tool chest in his station. “You don’t have to.”

Drawer after drawer he searches, sifting through its contents while explaining over his shoulder, “Shading and color work is arguably more painful than the linework, dove. I want you to be as comfortable as possible.”

You chuckle, sitting down on the couch to open up your to-go container of food. “Here I thought you were some kind of sadist that gets off on causing me pain.”

He’s half-turned away from you on his swivel chair, but you can see the smirk playing on his face. “Not this kind.”

His comeback makes your face flush with heat. The thought permeates, rendering you silent for a minute, trying to find something to say while you pop open the to-go lid to your noodles. “I would ask you to elaborate but your answer might scare me.”

He turns on his chair to face you, showing you a confused expression. “Scare you? I highly doubt that.”

You meet his gaze for a split-second before dropping your eyes to the floor as you admit sheepishly, “You make me nervous, Jake. You must know that.”

It’s cathartic, confessing how much he truly affects you. You wait for his reaction, expecting a witty remark thrown your way. But when too much time passes, it sends anxiety through you like an incoming wave of nausea. You glance up, catching a flash of uncertainty cross his features before seeing his face contort into a look of concern.

For a brief moment, you see his exterior crack, revealing a glimpse of the same vulnerable man you saw hours ago laid before you. The light has dimmed, and a switch has been flipped between you. Something you said clearly bothers him, and you wish for nothing more than to peek inside his mind and decipher those thoughts.

Instead of giving you a hint at what he’s thinking, he turns away with the stiffest movements. He deflates, asking in a voice heavy with defeat, “Am I too much for you?”

“What do you mean?”

He pauses, eyes scanning over his workstation while he decides what to say next. He eventually sighs as he stands to his feet, gathers a pair of gloves, the cling-wrap, and the tube of numbing cream in hand, and walks over to you. “The way you left…last time,” He trails off and clears his throat. “Am I too…aggressive?”

“No!” You blurt out, piecing together what he’s shown you. The guilt reappears like an old friend. “No. I really like that with you.” The words feel innocent enough, but the implication behind them makes you flustered.

He sets the supplies down on the table and lowers himself to his knees. “My goal is not to scare you or upset you like that, dove. I just gotta know that you’re okay…after.”

You hang onto every word. There’s seriousness in his tone, but he sounds far from angry with you. “Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.”

He responds to your apology with a closed-lip smile and reaches out to give your knee a reassuring squeeze. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

You want to kiss him, to take his hand from your leg and pull him into you. Forget the tattoo and just have him fuck you right here and now. You imagine it, and nearly lose yourself in the fantasy. He breaks your daydreaming with a pat on your thigh. “Let’s get this on you.”

While he pulls on a pair of gloves, you stand from the couch and come to the realization that you have nothing underneath the borrowed sweatpants. “Uh… slight problem.”

“What?”

You laugh nervously, hooking the band of the pants to expose your bare hip to him. “I didn’t wear any underwear here.”

His eyes widen and his brows jump into his hairline, staring at you in silent awe as a grin spreads across his lips. “Good thing we’re alone, huh?”

“You want me to Winnie-the-Pooh-it in here?”

A giggle breaks free — a real, genuine unfiltered laugh. Hearing it for the first time feels surreal. The way it sounds just like Josh’s catches you by surprise somehow. “Fucking right.” With a gloved finger, he gestures to you to pull them down. “Let’s go.”

You shouldn’t feel this bashful about undressing in front of him. He’s seen you naked more times than you can count, but somehow a blush blooms up your chest into your cheeks. You shimmy the sweatpants down, letting the loose fabric collect around your ankles.

Unlike the first time you met him, his eyes linger on your body — the part of your body that’s inches from his face. After a few beats of time, he looks away and grabs the small tube off the table, squeezes out a liberal amount of cream onto his fingers, and starts applying it onto your thigh. It’s a thick layer, covering the entirety of your unfinished tattoo. You’re so focused on what his hands are doing, that you’ve completely forgotten about your meal that’s getting colder by the second.

He then takes the cling film and starts wrapping your upper leg. Staying true to his professionalism, he’s meticulous and thorough, making sure to secure it tight enough that it doesn’t come undone. It’s intimate with how his fingers graze between your thighs and hip.

He lets out a satisfied sigh, “Alright, so we’ll keep this on for about an hour and then get started.”

“An hour?”

“Yeah.” He peels off his gloves and picks up your sweatpants to carefully pull them over the cling wrap. “Gives enough time for the cream to absorb into the skin. Since I’m not worried about a stencil, it can sit while I get set up.” You nod along even though he’s working on cleaning off the coffee table. He notices your food and nudges the plastic tray toward you. “Eat.”

“Yes, sir,” you tease with an unquestionable air of sarcasm.

He turns on his heels as soon as you say it, shooting you a fiery look that says “You’re going to pay for that later”. You can’t help but laugh and salute him, which only makes him roll his eyes at you.

He retreats to his corner of the room, and you eat your stir-fried noodles with the uncomfortable crinkle of saran wrap against your skin. Just as he would for any other client, he goes on to set up for your tattoo. You’re becoming familiar with the steps, all the things Josh had done with your chest piece. They share similarities in their process, the only difference being Jake using a traditional coil machine instead of Josh’s handheld one.

You feel the urge to fill the silence with small talk, but you manage to suppress it by scrolling away on your phone. With Josh, he would have been chattering away, leaving small opportunities for you to get a word in. Thinking of him, you check your messages to see if he replied.

You finally set your phone down and finish up the last bit of your noodles. Jake has been busy working in silence, listening and nodding along to the music playing softly around him.

Once the hour timer goes off, he helps unwrap the clingfilm from your leg. He wipes it down and sanitizes the area. The steps are the same as the last time you got tattooed by him, minus the addition of numbing cream and the use of a stencil.

After you settle into a comfortable position on the prepped table, he lets you control the Bluetooth to the music you like and starts the process. The fact that you don’t have underwear on becomes an insignificant detail as soon as the machine makes contact. You watch him pass the ink-dipped needles in tiny circles across your flesh, deep in concentration. Minutes go by, and you feel more compelled than ever to ask him questions, enticing him to reveal little bits of information about himself you have yet to learn. He seems quieter than the first time he tattooed you, but the hold of his fingers on your leg feels far more affectionate. It makes you believe that you’re not just a client, you’re someone he cares deeply about.

You’ve tried your best, but a question that’s been eating away at you for days finally slips out. “So, is everything okay between you and Josh?”

“Okay?” He pulls the needle away from your skin, seemingly taken aback by your question.“Like talking and shit?” You nod, making him ask again, “Yeah, why?”

You chew at the inside of your cheek, questioning whether you should venture further into the topic. “I dunno. He seemed pretty pissed at you the other day,” you start, gauging his reaction before continuing. “And I haven’t seen you guys together since everything happened. Things just seem tense since… yeah.”

The needle makes contact again, punching the pockets of ink deep into your flesh, making you wince. “Yeah, we’re good. I don’t think we would be good at living together or running our own business if we let all of your disagreements get in the way.”

You hum, but you’re not convinced. The skeptical look you give him makes him snort a laugh. “We’re twins, dove. I understand him a lot better than you think.”

You stretch to lay back, trying to focus your attention on anything other than the fact your numbing cream is starting to wear off. “Bizarre to think you were a single cell at one point.”

“Don’t remind me,” he groans with faux annoyance and the loud buzzing from the machine takes over. “He did tell me that you talked.”

You wonder how that conversation played out between them. “We did.” When he doesn’t ask a follow-up question, you fill in, “How are you feeling about it?”

“How do I feel about it?”

You sit up so you can look at him. “Yeah.”

He straightens and lets out a heavy breath, like the thought has been weighing on him as well. “Listen, if the decision about being exclusive or not was up to me? I’m not fucking sharing you. Plain and simple. Even with him.” He breaks eye contact with you, dropping his focus to your swollen leg. “And we both know that’s not happening. So that’s a decision left to you.” He glances up, catching your stunned expression. “And that’s what it seems like he’s done. Leave it up to you.”

“Oh…”

You’re not sure what to say to him. While the honesty is something you appreciate, the sting from the edge of his tone remains. There’s a bitterness in his voice that you can’t quite place. You’ve been convincing yourself all day that you’re getting closer to him, even if it’s baby steps, but this feels like another wall — another way for him to have his guard up with you.

You retreat into your thoughts and slump back against the table. Before the machine makes contact with your skin again, his other hand squeezes around your calf. The way his gloved thumb rolls across the skin is meant to be comforting.

He checks in with you every ten to fifteen minutes to alleviate the tension. Your answers are short, but not angry. All you can do is lay here going over his words in your head as the pain comes through with a vengeance.

He reads your body language, taking the signs that he needs to finish up sooner rather than later. The final passes of the needle feel like a hot scrape of a blade, nearly sending you over the edge. You couldn’t be more grateful for the cool water soothing over your raw skin.

“Wanna see?” He asks after gently patting you dry, bringing you out of the dark corner of your mind. You nod, and with his help, you’re able to sit up to see the final design.

“Oh my god, Jake,” you gasp in shock, turning your leg side to side to admire it fully. It goes beyond your vision, exceeding all expectations you could have ever had. He brought your idea to life. Intricate details now fill in the spaces that were left from the last time. It’s feminine, decorating and accentuating the curvature of your body. You realize within seconds of its value, knowing that he could charge you at least a thousand dollars for this piece. “It’s so beautiful. Thank you.”

Your praise brings out a boyish innocence within him. As soon as the words leave your lips, his shoulders relax and a wave of relief washes over him. You ask him to take a picture to send to Josh since your phone is tucked away in your bag. He applies ointment and wraps the clear Saniderm in the same way he did last time.

You leave him to clean up and close down his station for tomorrow, making it look as though the two of you were never here. He ties the final knot in the garbage bag, calling out to you from across the room, “Do you have to go by the house for anything before I drop you off?”

Hooking your bag over your shoulder, you spin around to face him. “Drop me off?”

He shuffles over to you, bag in hand. “Uh…yeah.” He’s been trying to read you, but your body language right now is telling a different story, causing awkwardness to settle in the space between you. You can’t help but note how he feels so far away despite the fact he’s only a few from you. He then clears his throat and scratches the back of his neck. “I just thought you might want some time to yourself tonight.”

“I don’t.” Your response clips the air with a harshness you didn't intend. Hurt resurfaces and tries to sour your mood, but the last thing you want is to leave the night off on a bad note. You don’t want your time with him to end, making you ask, “Would you come back to my place with me?”

You look up at him, gauging what his response is going to be. You brace for him to decline your offer, only to be surprised when a smile creeps across his face again. “Are you inviting me to your apartment, dove?”

You don’t even bother holding back a smile of your own. Making your way toward the stairs, you throw your back to make him chase you, “Yes.”

Bringing a man back to your place at night is an entirely different game. You felt nervous showing Josh your apartment days ago, but Jake on your heels as you ascend the creaky staircase makes your heart thump so wildly against your chest you’re scared you might have a heart attack.

The fluorescent light, a bulb that probably hasn’t been replaced for decades — so old you can see the collection of insects that have made their way inside the glass — flickers above you.

The atmosphere in here is eery — reminiscent of a scene straight out of a horror movie— and Jake is quick to pick up on it. “I’m not going to get murdered or anything, right?”

You laugh, looking over your shoulder to see him standing one step behind you. “I think I’m supposed to be the one asking you that.”

“That would be a rookie move for a killer,” he says, matter-of-factly between heavy breaths.

You finally reach the landing and turn to face him. “Would it?”

You strike a curious brow, making him pause and lean an elbow against the railing. “It would.” He takes the moment to look around, take in the finer details, and gesture to the stagnant air with an open hand. “I don’t know the layout of your apartment, escape routes, where to get rid of a body…when your roommate is going to be home.”

You hum, giving him a more than amused look. “I’m impressed. You seem well-versed in the topic of murder.”

He chuckles an airy laugh through his nose. Despite the topic, it’s that persuasive smile that’s going to be the death of you. “I’ve seen my fair share of true crime documentaries, dove.”

As silly as it is, you’re thankful that you’ve both loosened up enough to have this banter. Imagining him binging crime documentaries instead of cooking shows, you take the next step up the second flight of stairs. “Well, I’ll try not to be disturbed by the fact you’ve taken notes.”

“Don’t lie and say it hasn’t made you wet thinking about it.” He says it so boldly, loud enough that you’re positive that the sound carried through the walls into your neighbor's apartment.

You’re blushing and flustered as you search for your key on the metal ring. “Horned up about you being a murderer?”

He presses himself against you, close enough to speak softly into your ear, “What a plot twist that would be.” His hand finds your untattooed hip, making you rock back into him. “Sounds kind of hot, right?”

You know he can feel you grinning like an idiot. He lowers his voice, teasing you with a certain rasp that makes your spine tingle, “Women love being scared.”

You giggle, thinking about the weird looks you’re going to get from your neighbor the next time you cross paths. With the warmth of his breath ticking the back of your neck, you unlock the deadbolt and doorknob. You break the seal of the door, and step in, ushering him to follow. His movements are cautious and quiet, maybe even borderline slightly uncomfortable.

“Don’t worry. My roommate isn’t home,” you reassure while shrugging off your jacket and bag onto the chair.

He relaxes enough to pull off his own jacket. “Good to know.” You take it from him to hang on the hook, watching as he looks at the space around him. “I’m not gonna lie…I was beginning to worry walking up, but you have a nice place here.”

Before you can thank him, you’re interrupted by a welcoming chirp from Tater Tot, a sound that tells you that he missed you. There’s never a worry in your mind about his food and water always being topped off. Your roommate, Haley, spoils him as if he was her own. He’s well cared for, but time away from him has been an adjustment. You’ve never spent more than a couple of hours away from him at a time.

You smile when you hear the hefty thud of his paws hitting the linoleum floor in the kitchen. Within seconds, you see him come from around the corner and trot toward you and Jake. “The famous Tater Tot. I’ve heard a lot about you, big guy,” Jake chimes with a level of excitement that surprises you. You give him a puzzled look, eliciting an explanation. “Josh. He wouldn’t shut up about your damn cat at work all week.”

“Why am I not surprised?” You huff and laugh, watching Tater Tot slowly approach Jake’s leg to give it a testing sniff before rubbing his face across it.

Jake’s face lights up from the feline’s acceptance, and lowers to a crouching position to give him a few careful pets.

After the cat darts off back to his spot on the counter, Jake takes the chance to meander further into the living room, leaving you by the front door. He’s quiet, letting his eyes lead the way around the small room.

The need to say something takes over. “I know it’s not as nice as your place. Yeah, the building is old as shit, but the rent is controlled and dirt cheap for this part of town. I can’t complain too much.” You’re rambling, throwing anything out there to fill the silence. He listens, glancing over the framed artwork and posters adorning your walls. “I think Haley and I have done a pretty good job at making it comfortable.”

He pivots on his heel, giving you a soft smile. “It’s lovely. It feels like you.”

The compliment swims around in your head. It isn’t flashy or showy, but your apartment feels like home. Admittedly, it’s taken you a while to get there on a barista budget, but the humble space is more than you could’ve asked for.

“Thank you.” You’re suddenly hit with the feeling that you’re being a terrible host, making you offer, “Can I get you anything? Something to drink? I can make some food if you want...”

He smirks to himself as he makes his way past the bookshelf filled with novels and knick-knacks. “You don’t have to entertain me, dove.”

“I know. You’re right.”

He rocks on his heels, giving you a reassuring smile. “I’m okay. Really.”

You chew on your lip for a few seconds but ultimately bite the bullet. “I’m gonna jump in the shower and change out of these clothes really quick.”

“Take your time.”

Showering at the twins’ house has been a treat the past few weeks. You’ve been pampered by the spacious walk-in enough to realize how much you’ve been missing it with your own.

You step into the ancient clawfoot tub and draw a shower curtain that lets more water onto the floor than keeps in. There’s no point in bothering with waiting for the water to warm up. It takes ages to get the right temperature. You’ve learned the hard way that it can go from scalding, melt-your-skin-right-off hot to frigid in a matter of seconds — and that’s on a good day with how finicky the water heater is.

Unreliable water temps and cramped spaces aside, knowing he’s out there in your living room makes it even harder to enjoy your shower. Careful to avoid your fresh tattoo, you scrub and clean your body, doing the necessities before cutting the water that was seconds away from running ice cold.

After wrapping a towel around yourself and drying your wet hair enough to brush the tangles out, you dash across the hall into your bedroom.

You fish out one of those oversized sleep t-shirts you thrifted from the men’s section out of your dresser. Thinking that underwear might rub against your tattoo, you decide against it, continuing your trend of going commando for the evening.

You giggle at the juxtaposition of you now, dressed in a gimmicky giant t-shirt that was bought at a gift shop somewhere, in comparison to that drunken late-night phone call when you sent him pictures of yourself in lingerie.

“What’s so funny?”

You startle at the sound of his voice. He’s standing in the open doorway with his arms crossed, making you wonder how long he’s been standing there.

You catch a glimpse of yourself and try not to fixate on the fact you look like a wet sea otter — hair slicked back against your scalp, face blotchy from the shower without an ounce of makeup in sight. “Thinking about how I probably have never looked less sexy than I do right now.”

He leans a shoulder against the frame, clicking his tongue before pouting out his bottom lip. “Oh, that’s not true. Phil’s Crab Shack merchandise has never been hotter. The “Got Crabs?” on the back really adds a nice touch.”

“You’re an asshole,” you scoff with a dramatic eye roll before laughing.

He smiles but doesn’t laugh with you. “How’re you feeling?”

There’s a dull throb in the area, but nothing unbearable. At least for now. “It’s a sore but I’ll be okay. I’ll probably feel it more in the morning.”

Concern washes over him for the second time tonight, making him straighten, “Did you take anything?”

“Some Tylenol.”

“Good.” He nods. You notice how he has yet to enter your room. He’s lingering at the door, shifting back and forth on his feet.

“You okay? Looks like you’re itching to bolt out of here.”

His eyes find yours as he lets out a heavy sigh, “I’m not. I just don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

You wonder where his confidence went — the ego that leaves you trembling with excitement. The Jake you’re familiar with would have started ripping your clothes off the second you stepped into your apartment. A roommate would have been the least of his worries, overstaying his welcome wouldn’t have even crossed his mind. You stare at him, but his eyes are glued to the floor, making it impossible to gauge what he’s feeling. “I already told you I wanted you to come over tonight.”

“Right.”

“So are you gonna come over here or what?” You challenge him, emphasizing your point with the loud smack of your hands against your legs.

You are the switch, causing something to ignite inside him. He takes the bait, sauntering over to you in a few strides. You’re expecting his embrace, but the strength of his calloused fingers wrapping around the nape of your neck takes you by surprise. You can’t help the yelp you let out as he pulls you into a kiss.

You’ve been testing him all day, and now you deserve the way he’s shoving his tongue into your mouth. You’ve been craving this urgency, that aggression that’s been locked up and buried inside for the entire day. With a heavy groan and a spiteful nip on your lip, he grinds himself against you, causing your following moan to echo into his parted mouth. Hungry for more, you reach down to feel his hardening cock with your hand. He becomes distracted by the touch, allowing you to stroke him over the jeans. Realizing what you’re doing, he knots his fingers in your damp hair and pulls just hard enough to break your kiss.

He’s panting, sending his warm breath across your wet lips as he speaks, “I don’t think sex is a good idea tonight.” He swallows thickly to collect his thoughts. “If I fuck you, I can’t promise it will be gentle… and I don’t want to hurt you.”

Even with seemingly thoughtful intentions, you never predicted being turned down by him. Confusion and disappointment are quick to cast over your features while your insecurities try to weasel their way into your mind. “But you fucked me the first night I got it. What’s changed?”

He reconnects the kiss before peppering your jawline. The sensation of his lips brushing against your skin pulls you back in, making you forget that he’s rejected the idea of sleeping with you. When his lips meet the shell of your ear, he coats your senses with a honeyed voice. “Everything.”

The word trickles down your spine, seeping into your body like a masked poison —making you clench your thighs with need. You want him. You want to feel him in your hands and on your tongue, even if it means sacrificing your own pleasure for it.

You decide to take the initiative, kissing that hidden spot behind his ear where the dagger is inked into the flesh. He hums, causing the sound to vibrate within his chest while his grip tightens around your body. You nip and suck the path down his neck, fighting the temptation to leave your mark.

You continue your kisses down his torso, making sure to wet the thin fabric of his t-shirt with your tongue. Before you have the chance to settle onto your knees, he reaches out and takes hold of your forearm to stop you, “You don’t have to do that.”

“Let me,” you insist softly, looking up to catch the rapid rise and fall of his chest. He won’t admit it outright, but the way his resolve weakens at the sight of you on your knees is unmistakable. “I want to take care of you,” you add, tracing along the waistband of his jeans. He doesn’t need more convincing than that, and his fingers relax around your arm, allowing it to fall free from his grasp.

You rub up and down his legs, massaging the fatigued muscles of his upper thighs while avoiding his obvious erection with each roll of your palm. You take your time, ignoring the fact you have no underwear on and your kneecaps are digging into your floor.

You make a show of popping the button of his jeans and slowly pulling down the brass zipper, giving him a visual that will be hard to forget. You peel back the denim, exposing the recognizable band of his black Calvin Kleins and the soft skin of his tattooed stomach peeking out beneath his t-shirt. Lifting it, you place wet kisses just below his navel. He’s warm against your lips, squirming from the ticklish touch. You give him a little more, tugging at his jeans by the belt loops as you nip and suck at the high points of his hip bones.

He groans and bucks forward slightly to chase the feeling. Now that you’ve let go of it, he takes his t-shirt and bunches it up in a tight fist against his stomach while the other hand finds the crown of your head.

You explore the stretchy, silken material of his boxer briefs against your lips, gliding along the contours of his body until you reach his cock.

“Fuck,” he slips out. He’s stayed rather silent up until now, only really giving you ragged breaths and a few groans.

You can’t help but giggle at his current state as you slide his boxers down his legs inch-by-inch until his cock springs free. No matter how many times you see it, it will always surprise you. You can’t help but stare, fixating on the memory of how he feels and tastes. You finally break away to look him in the eye as you hold him by the base and lean forward to kiss the head.

You tease him, licking and kissing down the length of his shaft, withholding the gratification of his being fully in your mouth from him. He’s fighting an internal battle by growing more impatient by the second while not wanting the feeling to stop.

An idea sparks in your mind. Acting on impulse, you break away and open the drawer of your nightstand. Before he has the chance to complain or ask what you’re doing, you retrieve a sleek, black silicone vibrator.

With the toy in hand, you find your place again. You catch his stunned expression before he laughs, albeit, a rather fucked-out laugh, “Oh, hello. When were you gonna tell me about that?”

You smile, convinced that he probably thinks you’re about to use it on yourself. “I’m telling you about it now.” With a wicked smirk, you click the on button, spurring the toy to life.

“Kinky. What other stuff are you hid— oh, fuck!” The moan curse is ripped from him the second you bring the vibrator to the underside of his cock. “Heyyy…” he tries to protest, but the word gets dragged out through a feral growl.

You run it up and down his length while sealing your lips around the tip of his cock. You taste him, swirling your tongue around him and clicking the button again, increasing the intensity of the toy. His fingers instantly tighten around your hair and you can feel him throw his head back.

You can sense his core getting rigid, and pull him from your mouth with a wet pop of your lips while also taking the toy away. “Fucking hell, babe,” he mutters through labored breaths now that you’ve given him a chance to regain his composure. “I’m not gonna last another minute if you keep doing that.”

Holding him in a tight fist, you press the end of the vibrator to his frenulum — that special, oh-so-sensitive spot on the underside of his cock. And the moan that escapes from his chest is indescribable. The sound alone makes it all worth it. You drink in the rare sight as you play with him, watching how his stomach muscles flex with his building climax, how his knuckles have turned ghost-white around his t-shirt, to how sweat has started to collect around his throat.

He’s so hard, flushed with color and glistening from your spit. His violent shaking is your cue to pull it away and give him a few teasing strokes of your hand. “Feel good?”

“Fuck you,” he sighs, the sound falling into a breathy laugh.

“I wish you would,” you tease, taking him back into your mouth once again. Holding the toy in your hand, you keep it pressed against him while gliding his cock across your tongue. You increase the power again with another push of the button to feel the vibrations through him.

You would consider him a verbal man during sex, but now you’ve reduced him to incoherent curses. The reactions of his body are praise enough, giving away the fact he’s close before his words do.

Accepting the loss of control, he breathes your name out of desperation and as a final warning. Within seconds of it leaving his lips, his warm cum fills your mouth. You swallow him down, guiding him through the violent orgasm that racks his body. After switching off the toy, you lick him clean until he shudders from overstimulation, and carefully tuck his softening cock back into the safety of his boxers.

“What the fuck was that?” He huffs, combing back his sweaty hair from his face with his fingers. You laugh in response, making him look down to see your shit-eating grin as you wipe your mouth dry with the back of your hand. The look in his eyes is far from satisfied. It smolders with lust —that dominance that you’ve been searching for.

“Get on the bed. Lay back,” he instructs, pointing behind you. You do as you're told, biting back on your bottom lip knowing what you’re in for. As you settle on the mattress, he kicks his jeans off his legs and pulls his t-shirt off his back.

Standing at the side of your bed, he gives you a full view of his body. There are too many pieces to count, from the mermaid and pirate ship on his legs to the massive skull with its sword in the center of his chest. Weeks together and you still haven’t had the chance to admire every single one.

“Open your legs.” He gestures with a sweeping motion of a pointed finger. You let them fall to the side, showing him your bare pussy. As if the sight tortured him, his brows furrowed and his mouth fell open. “Sometimes I can’t believe how hot you are,” he admits, crawling onto the bed toward you.

He settles between your legs, careful to avoid the Saniderm covering your thigh. Taking the toy from its spot on the blanket, he clicks the button again and starts dragging it up and down your inner thigh. “Let you have a taste of control… it’s addicting isn’t it?” You focus on the feeling of the vibrations, anticipating where it's going to go before it gets there. He massages it over your lips with a gentle touch before pressing it directly against your clit. “Can’t let it go right to your head.”

You cry out and go to snatch the toy from him, making him click his tongue in disapproval, “Aht! You’re a better girl than that, dove.” He switches the pressure, bringing it back to your clit. You writhe against the bed in response, allowing your eyes to close. He chuckles, watching your body in real time to something that’s not his mouth, fingers, or cock. “This nifty little thing does feel good now doesn’t it?”

You’re surprised by the wet feeling of his tongue. He licks through you, compensating for where the toy doesn’t reach. The roll of his tongue is sinful, focused directly on your clit.

“You like it sweet and slow, don’t you?” he coos, blanketing your cunt with his heat. He’s making you feel so good you have completely forgotten about the pulsing pain of your tattoo. He flicks his tongue over your clit, teasing you, “Should I get a tongue ring too?… spoil your clit like he does?”

“Jake,” you scold breathlessly. The combination of the vibrator and the velvet softness of his mouth overwhelms you. You’re in the same position as he was minutes ago, pushed right to the edge of your release within seconds.

He pulls the toy away, making you whine in complaint. “Tell me, baby.” He taps it against your swollen clit as he mumbles through his kisses to your thigh, “What do you think of when you’re using this?”

“Fuck…I dunno. You and Josh I guess.” It’s not a lie, but there’s no way you can give him more details than that. While your mind fogs with your building orgasm, you know the answer you gave him won’t suffice.

He hums, drawing the tip of the vibrator everywhere but where you want it most. “Who do you think of more?”

“That’s not fair,” you huff in frustration. You’re so close, knowing that he will drag it out as long as he wants.

“I know, but I don’t care,” he rasps with calm collectedness.

You swallow the dryness on your tongue and open your eyes to stare at your ceiling, searching for an answer that will make sense. “I think of you in different ways.”

“Oh? How so?” He brings the vibrator to your entrance, holding it there as he waits for your response.

“Uh... oh, fuck,” you moan, the sounds becoming increasingly more desperate. “I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” He slips the vibrator inside you, but only an inch. It’s enough to scramble your thoughts like a mental blender. The noise you make is feral, causing him to shush you softly. “Tell me and I’ll let you cum.”

“I think about you when I want to be fucked hard. When I want you to rail me into the bed I forget my name.”

“Interesting.” He hums as he guides the toy inside you another inch and clicks the button again. “And him?”

“Jake, please!” You cry out, but his hand wraps around your wrist like a cuff.

“Just a simple answer, baby girl. I’ll give you what you want,” he sings, coaxing you further into bliss.

“I think about Josh when I want to be eaten out…when I want to be the one to ruin him,” you blurt out the answer without processing what it could mean.

“Does he eat your pussy better than me?” he asks, sliding the toy all the way inside you until it nudges against your cervix. When you stall, mostly because of the vibrations against your g-spot, he adds, “You wouldn’t be the first girl to tell me how good he is.”

“Huh?”

He chuckles at your reaction, “Word around the shop travels fast, and there might’ve been a girl or two that he’s fooled around with in the past that had a lot to say about it. The things I had to overhear…but I wouldn’t blame you.”

“Oh,” you pant, trying your best to focus on his words while he fucks you slowly with the toy.

“You didn’t answer me.”

“He’s the best I’ve ever had,” you admit sheepishly. The movement of his hand doesn’t stop, and his expression doesn’t change.

He smiles, nipping at the flesh of your thigh. “Well, I guess I have a new challenge for myself, huh?” He licks a path from your inner leg to your clit, sucking the bundle of nerves into his mouth. You realize within seconds that you’re at the mercy of their competitiveness.

He swirls his tongue at the same pace as the toy. The feeling is unreal, a pleasure that’s going to corrupt you from this day forward. He’s thrown you to the cliff’s edge, and all you can do is accept your fate. You whine, clawing at the back of his hand draped across your stomach, “Oh my god, Jake.”

“I know, I know, dove,” he soothes with a calming lilt, voice mumbled by the fact his face is buried into your pussy. He laps at you with an unprecedented fervor, making you cum harder than you have with him yet. You see stars, or blackout entirely — the details you’ll never be sure of. Without warning, a gush of warm wetness pools beneath you, soaking the sheets.

You come to and freeze all movements not sure what to do next. He lifts his head from between your legs and retrieves the vibrator from inside you before tossing it to the side. Embarrassment starts to take over, and your thoughts begin to race with ideas of how you’re going to explain yourself.

“That has got to be the hottest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he breathes in pure awe, looking down at the mess he helped create. Ashamed, you hide behind your hands.

You peek through your splayed fingers, mumbling against your palm.“Wait…really?”

He pulls your fingers down from your face with a gentle hand. “Fuck yeah. Why didn’t you tell me that you could squirt?”

You shake your head in disbelief. “I …I honestly didn’t know.”

He lifts his pierced brow. “You mean… you haven’t done that with him?”

“No,” you confess, blushing bright red and still reeling from what had just happened. “At least I don’t think so?”

“Fucking A!” He shouts into the open room, making you scold him with a violent shush. He laughs, kissing you deeply as he falls back on the bed beside you. “A fucking win for once. About damn time.”

“Both of you are idiots,” you groan as you try to sit up. Exhausted, you grimace at the scene before you. “Now I gotta change my sheets and mattress cover.”

TAGLIST:

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dollwrites · 1 year

Text

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐡𝐨𝐥𝐝 — 𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐢 𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧

𝗰𝗼𝗻𝘁𝗲𝗻𝘁 𝘄𝗮𝗿𝗻𝗶𝗻𝗴𝘀 ∣ smut ( minors dni ), fem!sex worker!reader, mentions of sex work, suggested abuse, mentions of canon typical violence, suggested age gap between levi and reader, spoilers (mentions of Kuchel, Furlan, and Isabel). , all characters featured are 18+

𝗶𝗺𝗽𝗼𝗿𝘁𝗮𝗻𝘁 ∣ originally posted 05.09.2021. do not repost or translate. please reblog && leave feedback. not proofread so there’s probably mistakes. thanks for reading <3

𝗻𝗼𝘄 𝗽𝗹𝗮𝘆𝗶𝗻𝗴 ∣ i hate everyone but you by elita

the man’s lips taste rancid as they plaster themselves to your own couplet- drunken and sour, but at least it was a farewell kiss. feigning a minxish simper, your frame careens to lean against that of the doorway when the contact breaks, the sleeve of your gown sagging to expose your shoulder. a faint bruise is fading there, now. a few days old.

“Come back to see me.” crooning, you wish the exact opposite. you never want to see the pig again, but you’d become an exceptional liar.

the man smirks, drink slurring his response and weighing down his lids. “Hell, you make it impossible to stay away.”

“That’s the whole point.” forcing the most innocent of giggles to bubble to the surface, you bid him farewell, before pushing the door closed as he begins to stagger away from the brothel- most likely home to his wife. reaching up with one hand, you adjust your sleeve, then the same set of digits curl around the sparse wad of cash tucked beneath the fabric, pulling it out to count it briefly. not too much, and once the Mistress gets her hands on it, you were certain to get only enough to keep from starving to death.

collecting your lower lip between your teeth, your fingers are swift as they swipe a few extra bills, just as your name rings out from behind you. glancing over your shoulder, you swallow your own heartbeat. Mistress is stomping her feet as she saunters to you, intent on collecting. crumbling the stolen credits in one palm, you urge your couplet to curl into a smile, hand extending to offer her the money. “Mistress, I-“

“Hmph,” with a scoff, she snatches the money from your grasp, flipping through each bill with the utmost scrutiny. your heart pounds so fast, you actually worry that it’ll announce your betrayal, your fist by your side clutching your theft. after a few moments, her harsh gaze raises from the bills to you, one thin brow quirking. “Not bad.” she mutters, more to herself, and straightens out three bills, plucking them from the stack. “I would expect no less from you, though,” she coos but it sounds too wicked to be a compliment, as her palm pats your cheek a couple of times. it would be a lie to say that you didn’t flinch at the petting; one too many slaps across the same cheek had made you wary of that roughened hand, those dagger sharp, blood red nails. “My little house favorite, good girl. Here, now say thank you.” tucking the pathetic pay into the neckline of your dress, her dark-ringed eyes could glare a hole through you and anyone else.

“Thank you, Mistress.” you whisper in response.

she seems pleased or, at least, satisfied by your continued obedience, and takes a step back. “Your captain is here.” she waves a hand, flippant in the report. “The girls already sent him up to your room.”

your heart skips a beat at the announcement. it wasn’t often that a client brought any sort of emotion besides dread, but this was different. he was different. he wasn’t just any client, he was special. Levi was here. “I’ll… head up there now,” you give a little nod, hoping you don’t seem too excited. “I’d hate to keep a client waiting.” you take one step back, and then another, before you turn to approach the stairs. the moment your hand reaches the banister, svelte fingers curling around it, she speaks again.

“I’m not running a charity here. I don’t care who he is to you, he pays like everyone else. Do you understand?”

though you nod, you’re already halfway up the stairs and gritting your teeth the whole way. each step was exciting and terrifying at the same time, you didn’t want to dwell on her words right now, not when Levi was just a few steps away.

pushing the door open, you step inside. it’s dim, one lamp by the bedside lit (and even the flame was starting to die out), but that doesn’t stop you from locating him. not on the bed, but sitting across the room, in a rickety chair by the window. he looks in the direction of the streets outside. “Levi…”

he should appear as a stranger, but you can’t help the sense of familiarity that floods you when you look at him. you had known him since you were young- he being at least a decade your senior, you looked up to him. truth be told, as a child, you’d also developed quite the crush on him, as well. he was so different than what he used to be; the Underground’s filth no longer muddied his clothes or left a stink on his skin, not like it did yours. his hair was neater, skin clearer. however, there were scars you knew that you’d find when you undressed him. there was always scars. moreover, age has etched lines in his forehead, in the corner of his eyes.

“I thought I wouldn’t see you before the next expedition.”

any attempt to swallow the hatred for the word fails, as you close the door behind you and scurry to the bedside table, dropping the stolen money as well as your pay atop it; your voice cracks.

“When have I ever left without saying goodbye?” you look down at the crinkled money, halting your actions the moment you hear his boots cross the dirty, wood floor. his arms are strong and inviting, an embrace easy to melt into, as they snake around your midsection and guide you back against the taut torso waiting to be your rock. “It would be easier if you lived up there.”

of course it would, you want to say. it would be easier for everyone. perhaps you wouldn’t live such a depressing existence, used day in and day out. like every other soul in the Underground, though, simply picking up and moving to the surface wasn’t an option. it never was, nor would it ever be. Levi used to know this, but his time away must’ve dampened his memory of what a trap this place truly was. “And make myself more accessible?” you taunt, willowy digits dancing along the lock of his forearms. you could feel the tightening of the muscle beneath his flesh, feel his heartbeat when you lean into him. it’s fast, and his grip is like a vice. he’s needy, but you doubt anyone else would ever know. just you. “That might spoil you, Captain.”

“I could protect you-“

“Do I look like I need protecting?” you cut him off, a bittersweet smile on your tiers as you pry his hands from you, and turn to face him. taking a step back, your rear bumps into the table, and your eyes find his. deep was an understatement, for Levi’s gaze was an abyss. so easily could one get lost within it, as you’d witnessed more than you’d like to admit. “Is that why you’re here, Levi? To protect me?” your fingertips work against your back to unlace the ivory corset that adorns your person, allowing it (once loosened) to slip from your waist and travel down with a thud on the floor. “Or did you come here to make love to me again? Once more before you leave?” it was the latter that was his primary intention, and you knew this to be true, but that didn’t mean he didn’t attempt to persuade you each and every time to live with him up there. it was easier to avoid the conversation, to steer him away from the topic entirely, than to argue how pointless it would be. eyelashes fluttering, they fan the apples of your cheeks as you shimmy your shoulders, sending ripples of monochrome fabric, like an alabaster waterfall, cascading down to puddle at your feet, leaving you nude and vulnerable before the man in front of you.

as if hunger could manifest in the darkness of his hues, they all but turn completely black at the sight of your offering to him, his palms rough as they seek the fragile flesh of your hips. “I leave in the morning.” he murmurs, digits digging in to grip your frame and drag you against him once more.

it hurts to hear him say it, because he does so with so much certainty that it must be true. while you live out your days in the Underground, you imagine he’s happy and safe in the Capital, but that’s not the case. you know he ventures outside the walls every so often, fighting Titans and gambling with his life. you knew this, but it was much easier to accept that he’d escaped this life to trade it in for a better, safer one. he hadn’t.

“So,” you whisper, gripping the lapels of his jacket to peel it from his shoulders. once discarded, your fingertips flee straight to his buttons, popping them one by one until the fabric hangs loosely from his torso. “So let me give you a proper send off, Captain Levi.” you push the shirt down the length of his arms, and as soon as he’s free of it, the fabric is forgotten, destined to join the puddle on the floor with the other garments. you take a moment to smooth your palms over the expanse of his chest and marvel at just how sturdy he was. every inch of him was padded with firm, unyielding muscle. the tips of your fingernails trace every mark on his chest, healing or otherwise, before both hands inch down, following the waves of his abdomen before undoing his trousers.

undone, you carefully work them down his legs, your tiers unable to resist pressing saccharine kisses along the inside of his thigh, following the curvature of the muscles that grow more and more taut with each kiss over the side of his kneecap and down his calf. your eyelids flutter once you have the garment around his ankles, glancing up to find him staring down at you. Levi was typically intimidating, regardless of his height, but from this angle, you all but felt your stomach cartwheel. now just as stark naked as you, his throbbing erection is the most prominent thing in your line of sight, cutting through a perfect visage of his flustered countenance. you’d seen him naked many times before this one, kissed these parts of him and more, but he never lost that crimson tint to his cheeks. you took it as a compliment, and quite endearing to his person. it meant that he was nervous about the prospect of making love, or perhaps excited, no matter how many times you’d done so before. it meant that he cared. it so vastly differs from everyone else.

you consider the taunt on the tip of your tongue to lighten the mood, make light of it all, and set him at ease a bit, but ultimately decide against it. the image is such a delightful one, seeing the famed Captain Levi hard and blushing before you, that you only wish to enjoy it. arousal soaks your thighs the more you stare up at him.

once he’s stepped out of the fabric that once bound his ankles together, you straighten to stand again, slowly so that you may litter his rippling abdomen with kisses, before pressing your palms into his chest as your lips collide with his. “Lie down,” you urge, softly. “Relax.” you knew the word to be foreign to him, so you hope that you can make him comfortable here.

your name slides from his lips like warm honey, but he does as instructed, first backing into the mattress, and eventually lying back against it. luckily, he hasn’t much time to protest before you’re on him, following his every move with a graceful, feline-esque prowl. you place a palm on either of his thighs, digging your knees into the mattress in the gap between them, nesting betwixt his legs. if you could have it your way, you’d never leave from them, content to spend the rest of your existence pleasuring Levi Ackerman.

your couplet seeks his collarbones and latches on to them, creating a seal between your mouth and his flesh that you would rather die than break. suckling against his skin, you feel the heat of his body beneath yours, and you press yourself to him, undulating against his torso to massage every muscle into submission. the mere sliding of your bare breasts against his chest is enough to coax a grunt to his pursed lips, but it’s the way that his manhood slips between your hips to slot between your weeping folds that has him reeling. you moan in unison, muffled as you intend to suck the blood right to the surface of his skin; you want him to be marked by your mouth for days into his expedition, covered in bruises in the shape of your kiss, so that he doesn’t forget there’s something worth fighting for. something worth coming home for.

the way the shape of him caresses your most sensitive, vulnerable core is nearly maddening. the ridge of every bulging vein that you glide over, each time he pulsates, the twitching of his engorged tip, you can feel it all. every sensation has your stomach tying itself in knots.

your ferocious kisses follow the shape of his chest, your hips rutting to grind your sex against his, thighs clamping around the cock between them to simulate being inside of you. his heart is pounding in his chest, teeth grinding, breath caught in his throat. other than his visits to you, you can’t imagine that he sees many other women (if any at all), so he must be famished by the time he finds himself in your bed. regardless of the other men, you could say that you felt that same hunger for him. others couldn’t fulfill that starvation the way he can, and you knew that. you wonder if he did.

“Shit,” he whispers, both fists fleeing to grip your hips. at first, you think he’s doing so to drag you along his shaft, control your movements so he receives the most possible pleasure, but when your heavily-lidded hues land on his face, you see the frustration plastered there. “Not yet.” whether he’s talking to you or himself is unclear. his fingers dig into your flesh, so hard that you allow a hiss to pass through the threshold of your couplet, your back arching.

“Levi…!” it’s practically a whimper, he hears crystal clear and responds in one, fluid motion. pushing himself from beneath you, his grip ensures you tumble on to your back as he rolls on top, tangling you in the cotton ocean beneath. breathless, you look up to find his lips inches from yours, one of his palms finding the fleshy underside of your thigh to push it upwards.

as if folding you in half, Levi urges your knee towards your shoulder, and you oblige, your own hand dipping to grab your other leg and follow his lead, until he’s got both knees hooked over his sturdy shoulders. his lips only graze yours, hot breath leaving you shivering and needy to kiss him proper, as his raven gaze devours your countenance, pretzeled for him and him alone. “I’m not about to waste what little time I have with you,” he mutters, brows knit together. his hand slips between your body and his, gripping the base of his length to guide it towards the destination of his desire. “I need to be inside you right now, nothing else will satisfy me.”

a sharp inhale, and your back arches off the mattress the moment he spears you, a gasp escaping parted lips as your hips wind like a serpent. your body is already welcoming him in his entirety when you finally exhale, breathing directly into his open mouth before he clamps it against yours.

nothing could compare to the feeling of Levi buried deep inside of you, and your body knew this and reacted in kind. embracing him like a long, lost piece was now returned to its rightful home. such a piece stretches you beyond your normal comfort level, but it’s a malaise that you’re willing to accept because with it comes a euphoria that nothing else will ever come close to.

contrary to popular belief, the Captain was not at all the patient, cool man he seemed to be. at least, not when he was in bed with you. he gives you a moment to allow your spasming walls to accommodate his size, but only just, before he sets a hungry pace. deep, shallow, deep. each full thrust sends him hilt-deep into you, pounding the nerves found there with reckless abandon. “I think about this, ah, you- all the time,” his head angles itself to nip at your calf, before pressing his lips to it as if apologizing for each bite (or perhaps, his furious rutting). “How you were made for me and me for you. Your body is my paradise, so perfect. If I could-“ his breathing is already ragged, and you’re well aware that his climax was coming on fast. with so little physical contact with anyone but you every so often, he’s had little time to build any kind of real stamina. besides, any self control that he may have seems to dissipate the moment you wrap around him just the right way. “If I could, I’d bury my cock inside you, all the fucking way, and never ever pull out!”

you wished he could. your nails attack the flesh of his back, digging in until you feel the heat of fresh scratches on your fingertips, your knees attempting to lock him against you, but they’re trembling too much to hold any real strength. you hope, by forcing words to your tiers, that you could assure him you want nothing but the same, and instead only a string of weakened pleas in the form of breathless moans escape.

“You’re mine,” he pants, head dipping so he is breathing his declaration of you as property directly against the shell of your ear. “You’re fucking mine, just like I’m yours. No one- I mean no one- else can ever have me like you have me. I don’t want, hng, I don’t want anyone to have you the way that I have you.” Levi places his palm over your clavicle, as if to hold you in place while his pounding reaches a new velocity even unbeknownst to you from previous encounters. as if he plans to decimate you, ruin you for anyone else but him.

“T-they don’t…!” you cry, but it’s not persuaded or coaxed from your lips. the churning in your stomach, or the shuddering of your walls should be proof enough. you don’t enjoy anyone the way you enjoy Levi, and you never have. “I’m yours Levi, take me the way you want!”

you’re so close, your head is spinning. the constant, earth shattering, mind numbing ferocity of Levi’s thrusts have sent you to the edge already, and you can tell by the way he’s growling in your ear and shivering beneath your fingertips that he’s the same way. you won’t outlast him, however close the race to your highs seem, and only a moment later, you’ve come undone beneath him. the orgasm is intense- so much so that you feel lightheaded when nirvana washes over you, a tidal wave of sensation that leaves you trembling and gasping for air for several moments after. his name is whined constantly on your descent from the height of your climax, and that alone seems to throw him into his own whirlpool.

watching Levi cum was something truly spectacular, and a performance that you considered yourself lucky to have been the only woman to witness, by his own confession tonight. his jaw clenched, though he still calls your name on repeat, even as he throws his head back and buries himself so deep into you that you fear he may burst through your belly button at any moment. only a fraction of a second after, you feel the unmistakable warmth of his seed filling your belly, and any strength he had left is gone; Levi collapses against you.

prying your own fingernails from within his shoulder blades poses a daunting task, but once released, your svelte digits comb through sweat-soaked, inky tendrils as you pet him. “You did so good, baby.” you croon, your breath slowly returning to a normal level. Levi wasn’t a man acquainted with praise, not true praise, and so your aftercare always puzzled him. after a while, however, he’s come to accept and even look forward to it. “How do you feel? Hm? Satisfied?”

a breathy scoff is expelled from him as he rests the side of his cheek on your breast, listening to the beat of your heart. absentmindedly, you stare down at the liquid diamonds glistening against his temple. “Always,” he murmurs, before craning his neck to look up at you. “I want you to come with me this time.”

your expression flips like a switch, and you immediately sit up straighter, the shift forcing him to get off of you, and pull himself free from your depths. you hide the gasp of disappointment as an overwhelming sensation of emptiness invades your afterglow, but you look towards the wall, placing your hands over your breasts as if to conceal yourself from him. “No.”

“Then give me a reason why.” Levi no longer sounded needy, or even fond. he sounded cold, demanding, like he did with everyone else. “Tell me why you’re so against a better life than this. You’re not content to give your body away for pennies.” he’s already climbed off the bed and is fastening his trousers, when he reaches for the wadded bills on the bedside table. “If this is the life you want forever, then tell me so.”

your eyes narrowing, you jump up too, wrapping the sheet around you in a makeshift dress and reaching to grab the money from his hand. “Levi-“ the titan slayer whirls around, pulling the currency just out of your reach. anger overtakes you. “Grow up!”

“Tell me why.” he insists, brows furrowed.

“Do you really want to know?” you huff, taking a step closer to him. you grip the sheet close to your chest with one hand. “You really want the guilt? The guilt of knowing that the only reason I’d be safe on the surface would be as long as you lived? Everyone would look down on me. They would spit on the ground at my feet. I’d be your little pet project, sure, but the moment you died beyond the walls -which is a possibility that gets higher and higher with each expedition-, the minute that they knew you weren’t coming back, they’d throw me back down here! With absolutely nothing!” you were screaming by the time you’re finished, breathing heavily, and Levi hesitates, giving you a split second to snatch the money from him. “At least I have something here. It’s not much, but I’ve earned it.” hot tears threaten to fall from your welling ducts and you’re brisk to turn away from him, carrying the money over to the jewelry chest that was rusted and worth practically nothing. inside, you kept your earnings. tucking it inside, you stare down at the coins and ripped bills.

“I love you.”

he may as well have pierced your heart with one of his blades, because that’s what it felt like. stunned, your eyes widen, and you are too frozen with shock to move. Levi seems to either think that you didn’t hear him or understand your reaction, because he takes a step closer to you, and your name echos in the atmosphere around the two of you.

“I love you, and I don’t want you to rot down here like-“

“Like Kuchel.” you finish his sentence for him, though you haven’t turned around yet. you’d never heard Levi say her name, not even when he told you about her. you were a young kid when he was a teenager, but he tried to warn you about falling into a profession like this one. “When are you going to stop using that line?” finally, exasperated, you turn to face him. for the first time in a long time, you’re startled. there are matching tears in his eyes, causing them to sparkle twice as much. “You’ve told me this before. You don’t want me to end up like your mother, but some of us never got the choice you did, Levi. Kuchel never got the choice, and neither did I.” you shake your head, free hand fleeing to wipe away the tear on your cheek. “I never blamed you for the choice you made. I never hated you for leaving me here. I never hated you, or Furlan, or Isabel-“

“Furlan and Isabel were ripped apart by a titan,” Levi cuts in, speaking over you. you’d never known how exactly they’d died, only that they were no longer with him. you had your suspicions, and yet, it comes as a shock to you nonetheless. your eyes widen, and you stare at him with your mouth open, but no sound comes out. “No matter how finely I chopped the fucking thing, no matter how hard I drove my blades into it, they were still dead. It was my fault, and I carry that guilt with me every day. I wear it like a noose, and every day it gets tighter, until one day it’ll suffocate me completely. If I would’ve brought you with us, you’d be dead now, too. That’s the only thing I can be grateful for. The only thing I’ve done right.”

for a moment, you feel as breathless as minutes ago, when you were making love to the man before you, but this time an overwhelming sense of grief befalls you. “Levi… I didn’t know, you never told me…”

another step, and he’s grasping at both of your shoulders, every ounce of his guilt and regret pouring from his steel hues and into your own. you can feel him in a way that you’ve never felt before, as if your hearts were connecting for the first time. “I don’t want to leave without you. Not again. Never again. I won’t let you be another thing I regret, someone I love and couldn’t save. Please. You’re all I have left.”

your hands tremble at the sight of Levi, whom you believed to be the strongest man you’d ever met, made of iron and stone, crumbling before your very eyes. he was far more broken than you could see, because he’d learned to conceal the cracking of his foundation; hiding how he hurt was his expertise, and no one could see it. no one saw the real Levi. until now. until you look upon him and feel your thumping heart break.

“But I’ll still have to watch you leave me,” you whisper. “It doesn’t matter if it’s down here or up there, I’ll still stare at your back until you disappear.”

“I’ll always come back, haven’t I proved that already?”

your lips purse, another wave of tears crashing over the plains of your cheeks. “Levi, I’m scared. I don’t know what’s up there.”

Levi sighs, glancing briefly towards the ceiling, before resting his forehead against yours. “Our future.” by the definitive tone of his voice, you can assume that this was it. either you follow him now, or your world becomes less one Captain Levi Ackerman.

chewing on the inside of your cheek, fear of the unknown wanes in comparison to the trust you have for the man before you. regardless of how he blamed himself, or the guilt, you knew him. he was reliable. consistent. like an unwavering statue. and you knew he’d never let you fall. he’d protect you until his final breath. “All right,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his lips. you notice they quiver the slightest bit. “Take me home.”

#levi #levi x reader #levi x you #levi smut #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman smut #levi ackerman imagine #attack on Titan #attack on titan x female reader #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #attack on Titan smut

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gravitycavity · 28 days

Text

Sunshine (Pomni x Ragatha) Chapter 5 - And Fresh-Fallen Rain

[Click here to read from the beginning on AO3!]

It was only a matter of time before Pomni blinked herself awake.

Wave after wave of pulsing pain, synchronized with the beat of her heart, relentlessly pounded the back of her skull. A landscape of crimson curls, wild weeds, and shimmering stars expanded, contracted, and twisted before her half-lidded eyes. The disorienting sight was more than enough to make her stomach do flips — and fail to stick the landing every single time.

But even so, it was hard to feel anything but content.

The wind was fierce and frigid, but Pomni didn’t know it. She didn’t feel the bitter cold, even as gale after freezing gale slashed her skin like the crack of a whip. All the pain in the world wouldn’t have phased her, not as long as the wind’s touch highlighted the slightly-wet spots where Ragatha’s lips had so lovingly grazed her face.

Stalks of overgrown grass wavered as a brisk squall flew across the yard; a palette of fallen leaves, which just so happened to be sleeping in its path, was cast into the sky. Red, yellow, orange, and brown — the cozy colors swished and swirled through the air, then drifted back to their resting spot below the jungle-like lawn.

It only took a moment for the breeze to return. Coming from the other direction now, it passed through Ragatha’s red yarn hair before pummeling Pomni’s face. All at once, the saccharine aroma of the ragdoll’s locks — strawberries and soil and fresh-fallen rain — introduced itself.

And it was heavenly.

Pomni’s eyelids drooped further, and a dumb, wobbly smile blossomed on her face. As her tiny arms wrapped around Ragatha’s plush, guffawing belly, she didn’t worry about how embarrassed she was to have fainted, or what Ragatha’s little kisses had meant, or why someone like her even deserved to be treated with such affection. Those pesky doubts were for future Pomni to agonize over; for now, they crumbled to pieces with each precious peak of Ragatha’s laughter.

“Oh! There she is!” Ragatha flinched as Pomni’s arms enfolded her. “I was starting to worry I up and killed you…”

“Nope! Still kicking.” Pomni chirped, “But just barely…”

Slowly, Ragatha’s giggles began to peter out, but their spirit still tickled every word she spoke. “Goodness me — aren’t you in a good mood! Your head didn’t hit the ground too hard, did it?”

Pomni waffled. She decided not to tell Ragatha about the big lump on the back of her head — the redhead would just worry herself sick, after all. “...I’m fine. Just a little bit dizzy.”

“I really am sorry.” Ragatha placed her soft hands atop Pomni’s, idly dragging her digits across the jester’s worn leather gloves. “I should have warned you before I…” she paused. “Well, y’know…”

Pomni could feel the heat rising in Ragatha’s hands. She waited patiently for her to finish, but as the silence dragged on, it became increasingly clear that she’d have to be the one to break it.

“No, it’s okay! Really! I just, um, wasn’t expecting…that. And if you think about it, it was actually my fault. I wouldn’t have fainted if I had just listened—”

“No, no! It was sweet! I don’t know. I just figured…” Ragatha said, a nervous tilt to her tone, “...since you were having so much fun getting into your character, I ought to return the favor.” Ragatha's hands were twitching now, “And…”

Somewhere nearby, a ladybug crested a wobbling blade of grass, flitted its wings, then buzzed away to who-knows-where. Another brisk gust wandered through the dilapidated yard, sending an armada of dandelion seeds sailing swiftly through the air.

“And…?” Again, Pomni was the one to shatter the silence.

“Oh, nevermind.” Ragatha forced out a laugh. Pomni swore she could hear the woman’s blush. “I think I’ve just got an overactive imagination.”

Another pause. That made three.

Pomni’s heart was beating a mile a minute. Unsure if this was even real, she slipped her hand out from beneath Ragatha’s, eager to simply trace the woman’s strong, soft frame…

… but her finger didn’t get very far before arriving at the gaping hole slashed across the ragdoll’s abdomen.

Guilt flattened Pomni’s heart like a speeding train. Holding Ragatha close, the jester sat up in a snap, examining her friend’s injuries with a level of determination that could only be described as ‘obsessive’.

Talk about a mood-killer — it was as if Pomni had never even bothered to stitch Ragatha up at all. Stuffing leaked out of the ragdoll here, there, everywhere. Nearly all of Pomni’s makeshift threads, nowhere close to well-crafted, were already failing — if they weren’t coming loose, the strings themselves were coming apart.

Pomni clenched her teeth. Her brow descended, and her lips trembled fiercely.

“Hey, hey! Don’t cry! You don’t have to worry about me.” Tenderly, Ragatha pushed herself against Pomni's little frame, “As long as you’re with me, I’ll be okay, Sweetheart.”

“I’m not sad.” A stormy look came to Pomni’s face. “I’m angry.”

“...Angry?”

“Stupid #$&%ing tree monster. Stupid #$&%ing Caine!” Pomni bared her teeth, “Stupid #$&%ing circus!”

“H-Hey, now! Take a breath, okay? Let’s not get ourselves worked up—”

“No! I’m pissed!” In a snap, Pomni leapt to her feet, firmly holding Ragatha in her arms. “I’m not gonna let you get hurt anymore,” she said, making a beeline toward the haunted mansion, “Not a single scratch, from now until we escape this horrible circus together — I promise!”

Ragatha’s eyes were sparkling, though Pomni was too focused on climbing the front porch’s creaky staircase to notice. “Pomni, Y-You don’t have to do all that…!”

“Too bad. I want to.”

“O-Oh…” Ragatha’s breath felt warm against Pomni’s chest. “I see…”

Without another word. Pomni summited the porch stairs, where a pair of double-doors patiently awaited her arrival. She eyed the doorbell, but her hands were full — so she opted for three mighty kicks at the doors’ expense instead. “Hello? Anyone home?”

Pomni and Ragatha waited for an answer. And then waited some more. Pomni’s shrill voice echoed at least a dozen times in the stiff silence.

“Hellooo!?” Pomni’s ill-fitting boot pounded the door thrice more. “We don’t have all day, you know! Open up!”

“Pomni! It’s been five seconds!” Ragatha chided, “Don’t be rude!”

“Rude? What am I doing — interrupting supper time? They’re NPCs.”

“I know that! But still. It just feels so wrong…”

A relaxed smile found its way to Pomni’s face — at this point, the jester wouldn’t have been surprised if Ragatha were hiding a pair of angel wings underneath that pretty dress of hers. “Let me guess. You’re the type of person who feels guilty about not giving equal attention to all of your stuffed animals, aren’t you?”

“I—” Ragatha sputtered, glancing off. “N-No! I’m thirty years old! What makes you think I own stuffed animals?”

Pomni raised an eyebrow.

Ragatha had been caught red-handed, and she knew it. It was incredible how quickly her face flushed completely pink. “Okay, first of all, how dare you attack me like this—”

Before Ragatha could even finish her tongue-in-cheek response, both girls simply lost it. Their uncontrolled, side-splitting laughter — one giggling, one cackling like a witch — spun together into a harmonious duet, and for a fleeting moment, both captives felt like they were home.

“Alright, alright.” Ragatha wiped at her eyes. “Enough joking around. How about I just ring the doorbell for you, Sweetheart?”

“Huh?! No way! You have to stay still or you’re going to rip yourself! Look, I’ll just set you down—”

“On the dirty porch? Are you out of your mind?” Ragatha reached for the ornate button beside the door.

“Hey! What are you doing?! I just told you—”

“Oops!” Ragatha poked the button, then quickly fell back into Pomni’s arms like a helpless princess. “Sorry, dear. Didn’t hear you!”

Pomni grumbled, and the doorbell replied with its signature chime. Windswept shutters battered cracked windows as Pomni and Ragatha stood there, waiting for something, anything, to happen.

Pomni’s patience was in short supply. She stamped her foot, and the old porch whined. “Seriously?”

“Maybe the entrance is around the back? My old apartment building was like that.” Ragatha said. “Ordering anything by mail was just the worst. It’s like — I get that the mail carriers had to stick to a tight schedule, but they would never read the signs. Oh, and trick-or-treat was a nightmare every Halloween—”

Ragatha’s riveting tale was cut short as, at last, the double-doors swung open at the sound of the magic words — trick-or-treat.

Ragatha’s mouth fell open. Pomni wrinkled her brow. Both women studied the other’s outfit in stunned silence — and suddenly, Caine’s choice of costumes didn’t seem quite so arbitrary.

“Ohhh…” They nodded in sync. “Right…”

Cautiously, Pomni poked her head through the door frame. If the scent of stale tobacco pouncing upon her senses was any indication, the surprises weren’t over yet.

“It’s…” Pomni breathed, “...an elevator…?”

“Ooh, and an old-fashioned one, too!” Ragatha tapped her fingers together, excitedly peering inside.

The interior was nothing if not visually striking. Each of its four walls, carved from cherrywood, hosted polished panels gilded with gold. Winding bands of white and black and gold and blue danced a tango across the smoke-stained carpet. An expensive-looking chair sat in the corner; an equally-elegant end table, complete with a flickering lamp, complimentary cigars, and a half-filled ashtray, sat to the left.

“Gosh, and just look at all these little aesthetic flourishes!” Ragatha gushed. “Folks back then really put effort into making every little thing look beautiful. You know what I mean?”

“Uh-huh. S-Sure…”

“Sometimes I wish that attitude would make a comeback. I don’t know. Maybe I’m just an old soul…”

Pomni blinked, regarding the elevator’s interior through empty pupils. She would have instinctively eyed the exit had she not already been standing in the middle of it.

The jester couldn’t recall something as simple as her own name — but, by some cruel twist of fate, everything else about the life she’d had stolen from her remained crystal clear in her head: including her swarming, overcrowded menagerie of obsessive anxieties.

Back home, Pomni’s teeny-tiny cubicle — something she couldn’t believe she actually missed now — was located on one the higher floors of her employer’s drab highrise. Entering the lobby, a lengthy carpet led the eye to a conveniently-placed pair of lifts. Their metal doors, constantly opening and closing as employees funneled in and out, was a sure sign that another busy day of work lay ahead.

Pomni was quite familiar with the contraptions — which was reason enough for the tie-wearing twenty-something, armed with her trusty backpack, to begin each morning with a hard left towards the musty concrete stairwell instead. By the time she’d reach her floor, the young accountant would be out-of-breath, weak in the knees, and far sweatier than any sane person would ever like to be. In her book, though, it was worth the trouble. She would do anything in her power to avoid the sensory torture that was riding in one of those cramped sardine cans.

Elevators were awful. Just awful. Women wearing far too aggressive perfume; men who had forgotten to wear any deodorant at all. Extroverted co-workers trying to make small talk; creepy strangers trying to hit on her. Idiots with no concept of personal space; morons with no respect for the fire marshall’s occupancy limit clearly posted on the wall in big, bold letters.

But being stuck inside of a tiny box with eight other people was a dream compared to the experience of riding alone — where her mind could wander, and the simmering fear of some catastrophic malfunction could consume her thoughts. What if the power went out? What if she got stuck? What if she were trapped inside and ran out of oxygen? What if the cables snapped, and the final moments of her life would be her screaming in horror as the car was sent plummeting down the shaft?

Nope. Pomni didn’t like elevators. Not one bit. Sensitive to Ragatha’s feelings, however, the young woman tried her hardest to force a smile onto her face. “Wow. C-Classy…”

For a moment, Ragatha didn’t even react. “...You’re nervous.” she tilted her head in concern, “What’s the matter, Sweetheart?”

“Nothing! Nothing’s the matter!” Pomni lied, and rather poorly, at that. “I was just…” she floundered, “...admiring the craftsmanship! Gee, don’t you wish they made stuff like this nowadays?”

“...Yeah. I just said that.”

“Right…! S-So…! Anyway…!”

Pomni closed her eyes, ducking her face behind Ragatha’s shoulders. Oh, come on! What are you waiting for? Just go! It’s just an elevator! You’ve had your whole life to be a coward — now’s the time to be brave. For her! You can do that, can’t you!?

The shaking jester steeled herself. The sole of her oversized boot departed from the sturdy wooden porch, swung forward, flirted with the elevator’s artsy carpet, pressed down…

…and the entire car shifted with an ear-splitting creak.

Pomni’s whole body seized up — she couldn’t stumble back onto the porch fast enough. Nope. Nope. Abso-#@%$ing-lutely not.

“Pomni! You are nervous!” Ragatha rubbed at her chest, “Oh, no — Ugh! I’m sorry! Are you afraid of elevators?”

Pomni squirmed in place. Her gut commanded her to keep up her defenses — to deny, deny, deny, because showing the slightest inkling of vulnerability had been punished so severely in the past. Despite all of her strongest instincts, however, the soft look of concern on Ragatha’s face hit her like a magic spell.

“Um,” Pomni’s shoulders slumped, “Maybe a teensy-tiny bit...”

“Oh, Sweetheart…” Ragatha drew closer, “Forget it, then. Why don’t we try looking for another way in?”

“N-No! It’s fine! This way is the fastest!”

“But I want you to be comfortable, too…”

“You’re worried about me?!”

Ragatha twisted her lips. “Is that bad…?”

“Yes!”

“O-Oh…”

“God, Ragatha — can’t you just be selfish for once in your freaking life!?” Pomni’s voice was sharpened to a fine tip. “I mean…look at yourself! You’re falling apart at the seams — literally!”

“Pomni! Don’t be ridiculous!”

“Watch me!” Pomni squished Ragatha against her chest before the ragdoll could even think to protest. Surging with adrenaline, she clenched her jaw, made peace with her god, and barreled forward.

The ancient elevator quaked beneath her feet; each time it stirred, her body seized, preparing itself for the whole contraption to plummet into the endless abyss below. Pomni quailed at the sound of squeaking metal, cowered at the buzz of hydraulics, and pined after the whistling wind outside the car — a beacon of safety and stable footing.

She shivered, choking on every haggard breath that just wasn’t enough — but somehow, the slight weight in her arms gave her the courage to open her eyes and face the music.

“I…” Pomni stood in the center of the elevator. She looked down at a begrudgingly-happy Ragatha, each stammered word framed by bouts of breathless laughter, “...I did it!”

Ragatha beamed, practically singing. “You did!”

“Yes, indeed!” A series of polite claps sounded from behind. “Jolly good show, darling!”

Pomni just couldn’t stop smiling. “It was, wasn’t it?” she agreed. Sticking out her chest, the young woman pulled in a deep breath, and then…

…Wait a minute! Pomni spun around on a dime. Who said that!?

A ghostly figure, surrounded by an otherworldly aura, sat with her legs crossed in the elevator’s cushioned chair. Her outfit, equally as old-fashioned as her surroundings, evoked all the stylings of a suffragette. Her wide-brimmed hat cast a spooky shadow over her face. Her ruffled shirt was tucked neatly into a long, floral-print skirt. A silk sash spanned the length of her chest, bearing a progressive slogan spelled out in a simple typeface.

An eerie smile crawled across the phantom’s ashen face. Slowly, she looked up from the book in her lap, and the lamp’s struggling flame gasped its final breath, “Going up?”

Pomni SHRIEKED.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance.” the ghost marked her place with a bookmark, closed her tome, and sharply raised her other hand, “Dining room. Fifth floor.”

With a light ‘ding’, the elevator’s sole exit slammed shut, casting the car in total darkness. The elevator rumbled as if caught in an earthquake, rusted gears whirring and whining all the way.

“Uh…” Ragatha’s face fell. She looked up at Pomni, who was taking things exactly as well as you would expect.

“WHAT?! HEY! NONONO! WHAT’S GOING ON?!”

“There’s the handrail, darling.” the ghost pointed with a wink, “You might want to make use of it sooner rather than later.”

“NONONO! LET ME OUT!” Pomni pounded her foot against the door, “WAITWAITWAITWAITWAIT—”

The ghost shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Suddenly, the elevator shot into the air at gravity-defying speeds, thrusting Pomni and Ragatha roughly into the floor — and pinning them there for the remainder of their abrupt ascent.

🎪 🎪 🎪

The haunted lift halted the same way it had started.

Painfully.

The doors slid open with an innocent chime, and the girls shivered in sync as the ghost’s ethereal high-heels passed straight through them.

“Right this way, ladies.” the phantom twirled her fingers. A magical aura surrounded Pomni and Ragatha, dragging their aching forms behind the ghost as she stepped gingerly out of the car.

A cozy dining room awaited beyond the threshold. Autumn-toned streamers stretched across the ceiling. A perimeter of potatoes, turnips, and radishes, strung up on strings and carved with grotesque faces, was proudly displayed on each wall. A large banner pinned to the wall read ‘ALLHALLOWTIDE GREETINGS’, just in case the apple-bobbing stations weren’t sufficiently on-the-nose.

A long, wooden table was situated in the exact center of the room, dominating the space. The ghostly woman sat herself at its head, and, with a flick of her finger, sat her dazed guests across from each other.

“Well, well, well!” The ghostly specter fanned her face with her weighty novel. “Do my eyes deceive me, or has another troupe of wayward rabble-rousers dared to trespass upon the esteemed estate of—”

“Oh, God!” Pomni, green in the face, scrambled to slap her hands over her mouth. “Oh, holy #$@%—” She swiped the closest open receptacle she could find — a gorgeous Edwardian vase — and held her mouth against the opening. Her whole frame crumpled forward as her body quite ungracefully emptied itself out.

“P-Pomni!” Ragatha’s fingers grazed the side of her face. “Oh my goodness — are you alright?!”

The jester groaned. Plopping the vase back onto the table, she weakly nodded, trembling hands hugging her ailing stomach. “I’ll be fine. J-Just…give me a second…” she faceplanted into the large heap of candy corn piled on her plate. “This happens more often than you’d think…”

Ragatha pouted, watching Pomni’s face sink deeper into candy corn mountain. Individual pieces slid off of the young woman’s plate and scattered across the table. “Remember your breathing, okay, Sweetheart?”

Pomni flashed a flaccid thumbs-up.

“My word! What is the meaning of this?!” The ghostly apparition clenched her fists, lips curled back in disgust. “Perhaps if your detestable generation spent less time listening to that boorish ‘jazz’ music — and I’m being generous calling it music at all — you’d have room in those cramped skulls to remember proper etiquette!”

In a flash, she tore open her book — the cover read, ‘THE LADY’S BOOK OF COMMON ETIQUETTE & ASSORTED DEMONIC SPELLS — 1860 EDITION’ in embossed, glossy lettering.

The ghost loudly cleared her throat. She pointed to the text with a manicured fingernail, “Immediately upon entering the parlor, find your hostess, and speak to her first. It is very rude to stop to chat with other guests before greeting the lady of the house.”

Ragatha blushed, shrinking in her seat like a scolded child. “Ma’am...”

“Hmph. As appalling as your conduct is, I suppose you aren’t completely hopeless. It’s worlds better, at least, than that infantile rabbitoid or that foul-mouthed modern-art abomination.” The haughty ghost shook her head. “But I digress — what business do you mortal wretches have in the decrepit domain of I, the great Margarethe MacGuffin?”

A long, drawn-out pause ensued — longer than usual. “Um…” Ragatha rapped on her chin, “…Who?”

“Who? What do you mean ‘who’?”

“Come to think of it, I’ve completely forgotten what we’re even supposed to be doing here. Pomni…?”

Groggily, Pomni lifted her head; more than a few candy corns came along, sticking stubbornly to her cheeks, chin, and forehead. “Brooch,” she sighed. A single morsel tumbled off her face, “We’re looking for the—”

“Brooch, you say?!” Margarethe flinched at the word like a trained dog hearing its name. Her sour mood shifted in an instant. “You couldn’t possibly mean…” she drew closer, “...that brooch, could you? The legendary MacGuffin family heirloom? The priceless treasure forged in the highlands beyond Hadrian’s Wall, passed down from generation to generation—”

“Uh-huh! Sounds about right!” Pomni abruptly pushed her chair out, sending an avalanche of candy treats pittering and pattering across the hardwood floor. She wasted no time racing to Ragatha’s side — and gently, so gently, hooking her arm around the dolly’s. “So where do we go? What do we do? How do we leave!?”

“I…” Margarethe balked. “Sit back down this instant, young lady!”

“Uh, hello?! Do you not see that my friend is practically in pieces, here? We don’t need your stupid theatrics — none of this is even real, anyway — just spit it out so we can go back to the tent and get her fixed!”

Margarethe’s posture was as sharp as a tack. “For shame! Never in my sixty-seven years have I witnessed such uncharismatic, uncouth, unbecoming behavior from a young bachelorette. Simply appalling — you’ll never find a husband with that attitude.”

“Aw, really? You mean it?”

“I beg your pardon?!”

“HAHAHA!” Ragatha slapped the table, “G-Golly, Ms. MacGuffin! This glassware is just to die for! Wherever did you procure such a stunning collection?”

Margarethe hesitated — but then curtsied in appreciation. “Well! I’m glad you noticed. They’re just wonderful, aren’t they?” she proudly mused, “The help says they’re made of this newfangled, petroleum-based material that’s cheaper than glass and impervious to breakage. Bakelite, I believe it’s called — the material of a thousand uses!”

Pomni flicked the nearest goblet. She whispered in Ragatha’s ear: “I think they’re plastic.”

“Indeed — we are truly blessed to be reaping the plentiful fruits of the industrial age. Now, where was I…?” Margarethe tapped her bottom lip, “Ah, yes!”

Margarethe launched herself in the air with a flamboyant pirouette. “To make a long story short, the MacGuffin clan is, sadly, no more — our treasured brooch is the only artifact that remains of our storied legacy. My life is long behind me, but alas, as the matriarch of my kin, I cannot pass on into the next life until I find a soul brave enough to carry on the great MacGuffin legacy. Someone like…you two!”

Pomni and Ragatha looked at each other. “Us? You’re sure?”

“Certainly! But a MacGuffin knows no weakness.” Margarethe continued, “In order to secure my brooch, and carry on my proud family name, you must venture through my audacious abode…and confront your greatest fear!”

“Greatest fear…?” Pomni stammered.

Margarethe flexed. “Then, and only then, can you consider yourself a true MacGuffin!”

“G-G-Greatest…” Pomni repeated, almost choking on her words, “...f-fear…?”

“Why, of course, darling! You didn’t expect this to be a walk in the park, did you? It wouldn’t be much of an adventure without a little bit of challenge!”

Pomni stared straight ahead — but her pin-sized pupils didn’t perceive a single thing.

Greatest fear.

The room shrank.

Greatest fear. Greatest fear? What in the world was that supposed to mean!? Pomni didn’t have a greatest fear — as far as she knew, the obsessive thoughts that constantly terrorized her mind did so with total parity. How was she supposed to know which one had cost her the most sleep over the years?

Car crashes, plane wrecks, train derailments, high-speed transportation in general, being bitten by a wild animal and dying of rabies, stepping on a rusty nail and dying of tetanus, contracting some other horrible disease after forgetting to wash her hands and dying from that, being stalked by weird men, being assaulted by weird men, being kidnapped and murdered by weird men, weird men in general, disappointing her friends, disappointing her parents, disappointing her boss, people in general, her boss in general, being late to work, performing poorly at work, being fired from work…

Pomni’s eyes bulged.

Work — oh, no. Work. WORK.

Pomni’s mind had already overloaded itself merely accepting the notion that she was trapped forever in this weird, obscure computer game — so overloaded, in fact, that the horrific question of how the world was proceeding without her hadn’t even occurred to her.

Until now.

How long had she been gone? One week? Two? Even more? Her blood ran cold at the realization — even if she were to escape the circus this very instant, there was no way she hadn’t already been fired, no way her cubicle wasn’t already cleaned out to make way for the next poor sap to apply to that god-forsaken office.

Oh, no. No, no, no, no. That couldn’t happen. What was she going to do? Beg for her old job back? Apply for a new one? How the hell was she supposed to do that when her degree sucked, her resume could fit on a sticky note, and all her single reference could forward a potential employer was years and years of middling performance reviews?

Even if her boss was merciful, her rat bastard of a landlord wouldn’t lend her a single shred of sympathy. Not in a million years. The clock was ticking for Pomni to locate an exit before next month’s rent was due. Should she fail, and she certainly would, she’d return home to find someone else living in her apartment. Her space. The only place in the whole entire world where she felt safe.

Her belongings would be auctioned off at best, and thrown away at worst.

And…oh, God. She was a missing person. There were probably posters all over town. Posters plastered with her face and name, front-and center. Stapled to telephone poles, printed in the paper, pinned to those little bulletin boards at the supermarket. Everywhere. Millions of eyes, looking at her face. Reading her name.

Pomni could already feel them burrowing into her back. Judging her. Pitying her. Laughing at her. The best thing they could do was look away in apathy.

Her friends and family were probably searching high and low — but their resolve would dull as the months paged over into years. Embers of hope, pining for her return, would still burn in their hearts until the very end, but it wouldn’t matter in the long run. In the back of their minds, they would know she wasn’t coming home.

The few friends she had, unwilling to carry the burden of their grief, would almost certainly make an effort to forget her. Just to ease the pain. Her voice would be forgotten as old videos and voicemails were deleted. Her face would be next. And then, one by one, each of her friends would speak her name for the final time.

Pomni whimpered, burying her face in the soft fabric of Ragatha’s arm. Her chest was tight, pressing harder, harder, harder against a hollow core. Each heaving breath sent shockwaves of pain throughout her shrinking, shivering, pitiful body.

Time. She was running out. Running out of time. She had to find a way out. A way out. A way to get home. Home. Home. Home. Time. Running out. Get out. She had to get out. Get out get out get out GET OUT GET OUT GET OUT RIGHT NOW BEFORE EVERYTHING SHE’S WORKED FOR CRUMBLES TO DUST AND SHE’S DEAD AND FORGOTTEN AND AND AND AND AND AND—

Pomni choked back a scream as a dreadfully-familiar, searing pain stabbed the tips of her fingers. Blackened flesh creeped like cancer toward her palm, each heinous step piercing her skin like a thousand poison needles.

“R-Ragatha!” Pomni gasped. Abstraction shackled her wrists as the tips of her fingers sank into the ragdoll’s downy flesh. One, three, five, ten twitching eyes sprouted beneath her gloves. “No…no, no, no! I’m going to—!” She couldn’t bear to say it. “I…I need to—”

Ragatha turned. “P-Pomni? What are you—”

“I’m sorry!” Pomni strangled the ragdoll’s wounded arm, squeezing the bulky limb hard enough to force clumps of cotton out of her own failed stitchwork.

Her eyes squeezed shut.

Her breathing slowed.

Shaky breath in, shakier breath out.

In and out.

In, and…

The grandfather clock announced the hour with a half-dozen chimes. Pomni cracked open a single eye. Like magic, her mind was calm and clear.

Her weary gaze swept over Ragatha’s shredded arms, over her shoulder, her neck, her furrowed brow, her gnashing teeth, her wincing eyes.

“P-P-Pomni! I said let go!” Ragatha’s complaints finally fell on Pomni’s ears, “That hurts!”

Flinching, Pomni released the doll’s arm, “Ah! I’m sorry! I-I—”

“What’s gotten into you?! Is everything okay!?”

“Y-Yes! Everything’s just fine! I just, uh…” Pomni slumped over, still gasping for air. “Um…” she shrank beneath the shadow of Ragatha’s stern gaze, “...just needed a hug?”

Ragatha’s stony face didn’t crack. “You’re hiding something.”

“What?! No, I’m not!”

“Don’t lie to me! What’s going on?! It looked like you were just about to—”

Margarethe hissed. “Alright, alright! That’s quite enough chatter!” She clonked Pomni’s head with her hefty book. “In case you forgot, I was in the middle of explaining—”

“HEY!” Pomni barked like a dog, rubbing the back of her head. “Who the #@$% do you think you are, you ancient &!$#% !?”

“Heel.” Margarethe’s razor teeth flashed a ravenous smile, “...If you know what’s good for you.”

Pomni growled — but wisely kept her big mouth shut. It helped that a small part of her was thankful for the excuse to drop the subject with Ragatha.

Margarethe chuckled. Referring to her book once more, she flipped to a specific page and began chanting a hex under her breath. Before either Pomni or Ragatha could ask what was happening, a pair of blindingly-bright orbs had already emerged from both of their chests. The magical objects drifted toward MacGuffin’s outstretched hand.

“Now. Let’s begin with the darling coquette. What are her nightmares made of?” Mararethe peered down at the two white spheres orbiting each other in her open palm. Studying one for a moment, she cocked her head with a sneer. “Hmph. Typical.”

Ragatha slouched, looking sullen.

“Centipedes. It’s centipedes, right?” Pomni leaned on Ragatha’s chair. She had only just walked herself back from the verge of tears, but she had made a promise to protect Ragatha, and she intended to keep it. “Don’t worry — you’ve got me by your side, remember?” She spoke through a confident facade, “I-I’ll squash ‘em for you!”

Ragatha covered her mouth like she was about to vomit. “Ugh, Please—” she shook her head, “D-Don’t make me think about their guts...”

Margarethe flicked Ragatha’s orb back into the ragdoll’s chest, leaving only Pomni’s circling her palm. She cleared her throat. “As for the untrained whelp…” she was already laughing as she lifted her long-fingered hand to her face — but the moment she gazed into the orb, her smug affect faltered.

The phantom’s cold, soulless eyes ping-ponged between Pomni and Ragatha. “Well.” Grinning, she flicked Pomni’s orb away, “Isn’t that sweet? I wouldn’t have taken you for the type, darling.”

Pomni jerked her head. “Huh? What type? What do you mean sweet?!”

Mararethe’s face simply radiated superiority. “I suppose you’ll just have to wait and see, now won’t you?” She mocked, fanning herself. “Oh, shame on me! I haven’t been this worked up since the summer of nineteen-aught-five. This is going to be fun…”

Pomni’s knees locked together as the ghost faded away. “Wait! Where are you going?! What’s my fear?! What—”

“Best of luck!” The candles flickered to the rhythm of Margarethe’s cackling laugh. “You’ll need it…!”

With minimal fanfare, the door to the next room swung open all by itself, creaking horribly on its rusted hinges.

🎪 🎪 🎪

Margarethe MacGuffin’s maniacal mansion was truly massive, and, within the last few hours, Pomni and Ragatha had been treated to a terrible tour of every last nightmarish nook and creepy cranny. Just as Caine had advertised, an assortment of ‘tricky traps’, ‘perplexing puzzles’ and ‘supernatural sentries’ had been set up for them to navigate, ranging in difficulty from ‘mind-numbingly easy’, to ‘psychologically traumatizing.’

Surprisingly, Pomni’s accounting skills had come in handy in the manor’s ‘money-counting room’. The horrifying puzzle, involving the petty minutiae of tax codes and estate settlements, was easy pickings for the seasoned number cruncher. Still, no one was perfect, and Pomni’s sole mistake — in which she’d forgotten the purpose of box 12D on form 5E-344-B — left her at the mercy of a swarm of greenbacks-turned-paper-cranes.

In the music room, Ragatha would have taken the opportunity to show off her cello skills, but Pomni, concerned that Ragatha would worsen her injuries in the process, had flatly refused. A small back-and-forth had ensued — but in the end, both parties agreed to disagree once the instruments, magically stirred to life, started to viciously attack. Poor Pomni had never sprinted so quickly in her life.

The place where Ragatha’s expertise did come in handy, however, was the stables. A pack of raging horse skeletons ran rampant, threatening to trample anyone foolish enough to stand in their way. Ragatha’s prior experience with equines, however, gave her all the tricks she needed to quickly soothe the wild herd. In retrospect, the room’s main obstacle wasn’t even calming the horses — it was reassuring a shivering Pomni after the jester had learned first-hand what a horse’s skull looked like. It wasn’t pretty.

In all of that time, not once had either of their so-called ‘greatest fears’ reared their ugly heads — or even so much as teased them. Every single task, no matter how asinine, was turned terrifying by the prospect of transforming into an unimaginable nightmare at any point in time.

The sheer anticipation was a torture all of its own — but the girls’ latest assignment, apparently designed to drive them straight to the precipice of insanity, was a close second place.

“Ohoho, don’t fret! It’s quite simple!” Margarethe had announced shortly after Pomni and Ragatha had arrived at the spacious ballroom. The phantom hadn’t even tried to hold back her laughter — she truly was having the time of her life. “The door to the next room is just a hop, skip and a jump away. All you have to do, honored guests, is locate the key.”

In a snap, Margarethe was gone, and Pomni and Ragatha had looked at each other with dread in their eyes. Nothing in MacGuffin Mansion was ever that simple.

Every part of the ballroom was sculpted with painstaking precision. The moon peered in through a series of extravagant French windows; long, velvet drapes, slightly darker in color than Ragatha’s licorice locks, spanned the length of each one. The checkered marble that spanned the floor hosted a spattering of perfectly-set tables; a crystal glass and a set of unsoiled silverware framed each empty plate.

A mountain of keys — brass, silver, and gold — sat upon each plate, sparkling in the moonlight. The drinking glasses beside them were similarly filled to the brim…with keys. Keys, keys, keys. Keys were floating in the flower vases, floating in the wine bottles, floating in the air.

Finding a key would be a cinch — finding the key, however, was a task tedious enough to make Sisyphus himself blush.

And so, there Pomni was, kneeling in front of the locked door, sunken eyes looking like they hadn’t had a wink of sleep in years. The young woman glanced down with a harsh sigh — the marble floor wasn’t exactly the softest surface, and her knees were starting to hurt. A lot.

Head drooping low, she half-heartedly held out her hand. “Next…”

Ragatha, slumped against the peeling floral wallpaper, perfectly matched Pomni’s energy. Without even bothering to look, she stuck her hand into one of the myriad piles of untested keys that surrounded the pair. A moment later, she plopped a plain-looking one into Pomni’s palm.

The jester ran her finger across the dented brass surface of what must have been the thousandth key to pass through her hands in under an hour. Her eye twitched.

This was the one. Their ticket out of this god damned ballroom. It had to be. She had no rhyme or reason to explain why — she just knew.

With a curt nod, Pomni crammed the key’s metal teeth into the lock and turned her hand clockwise. She leaned forward just a touch, listening desperately for a ‘click’ — but of course, just like the nine-hundred and ninety-nine attempts that came before, the stubborn door simply refused to accept her offering.

So Pomni stared. And smiled.

Slowly and silently, she stood, squirming grin blooming into a wide, razor-toothed smile. She turned to face the nearest pile of keys, filled her chest with a patient, hearty breath…

…and drove her foot into the metallic mound with all the force her skinny little legs could muster.

“Pomni!” Ragatha shouted. Hundreds of keys clinked and clanked as they skated across the marble floor. “Really?!”

“This is it, isn’t it?! My greatest fear?!” Pomni shouted, “Isn’t it!?”

“Pomni!”

“Trapped with no way out, taunted by an exit just out of reach, forced to perform pointess, tedious tasks until I go insane?!”

With every word that Pomni spoke, Ragatha’s furrowed brow disappeared to make room for a look of grave concern. “Hey! Are you listening to me?!”

“The same thing, over and over, never changing…” Clutching her head, Pomni let out a laugh, strained and dry, “As if I’m not already living that nightmare every single day!?”

“Pomni, stop it! You’re scaring me!” Ragatha finally raised her voice. Acting on instinct, she reached out to touch Pomni’s arm — but the doll’s fragile skin punished her with another gut-wrenching tear. Pain warped the doll’s face as she crumpled forward.

That brought Pomni’s breakdown to a screeching halt. “Ragatha!” snapping herself out of it, the jester immediately scrambled to Ragatha’s side, eyes pleading forgiveness. “I-I’m sorry! I was just… I didn’t mean to—” she clenched her fists, grunting in frustration, “Are you okay!?”

“Are you?!” Ragatha snatched Pomni’s shoulders. Her face was brutally stern. “You are freaking. Me. Out! Tell me what’s going on! Right now!”

Pomni swallowed. She tried to answer — she really, truly tried, yet no words came to her blanking mind.

Ragatha frowned. “Y-You’re doing it. You’re acting just like the others. Just like him.”

“H-Him…?”

“Tell me the truth. Back in the dining room, when you were squeezing my arm, did you...” Ragatha’s voice wavered, “Were you…?”

Pomni’s pupils were the size of pins. Buried memories — of her bedroom, of the forest, of the mansion’s dining room — swarmed like locusts through her mind. She could practically feel the blood freezing over in her veins again, feel the despair grabbing hold, feel her whole body rebelling against her, transforming against her will into a mindless, violent beast.

“...abstracting?” Pomni tore away, arms coiled tightly around herself. Her strong voice was stuffy and rigid, “I-Is that what you’re too scared to say?”

Ragatha’s eyes softened in an instant. “Oh, no. No, no, no! I didn’t mean to—” she winced, holding her arms out as far as they would go. She was this close to tearing open another wound. “Just…come here.”

“Wh…What are you doing?”

“I’m sorry,” Ragatha said, “Come on. Let me hold you...”

Pomni looked the other way, still hugging herself. She tried her best to look disgusted, to pretend to be angry, to act indifferent. “P-Put your arms down. You’ll hurt yourself…!”

“I don’t care.” Ragatha’s wavering smile held true, bending just slightly under the weight of her pain. “It hurts so much more to watch you cry, Pomni.”

“I’m not crying!” Pomni’s voice cracked, widening gaze sweeping across Ragatha’s arms. Her trembling arms weren’t helping her case. “I’m just…”

“...Just what, Sunshine?”

Sunshine. Pomni’s eyes were wet. She blinked away the unwanted sensation, shaking her head all the while — but it was no use. Ragatha really was the nicest person she’d ever met. “...R-Ragatha?”

“Yes…?”

“Why do you keep calling me that…?”

“Calling you what?”

“Sunshine…” Pomni’s lip quivered. She tried with all of her might to quell the storm, but there was little she could do now. A pair of shimmering streams traced the length of her face, and at long last, she cracked, collapsing into Ragatha’s open embrace.

“Oh, dear…” Ragatha wrapped Pomni up as tight as she could, squeezing the little jester like she would never, ever let go. Even she was trembling now. “Do you like that name?”

Pomni nodded.

She felt a lot of feelings. But most of all, she felt loved. So very, very loved.

🎪 🎪 🎪

The ballroom had nary a clock to announce the hour, and the eternal night gleaming through the windows wasn’t much help in telling the time, either. Pomni had no idea how long she’d been venting — just talking, talking, talking through the tears, explaining everything that had happened over the past few days.

“...and it’s happened three times now.” Pomni spoke softly, at last lifting her head from Ragatha’s chest. However much time had passed, it was enough for her eyes, shocked by the sudden influx of light, to immediately recoil.

She rubbed her eyes, easing them back into the light. “...it just happens. Like a nightmare. My mind starts racing — thinking the same obsessive thoughts, over and over, until the thoughts take control. And I…” Pomni winced, shaking her head. “...w-won’t say anything else.”

Ragatha hummed. She listened quietly, finger tracing winding lines around Pomni’s back.

“...But every time, I’ve managed to stop it.” Pomni said. She cringed a little at her own words. “Well, I guess that’s obvious...”

“Obvious or not…” Ragatha’s voice was calm and clear, “I’m glad.”

“Glad…?”

“Glad you’re still here.”

“O-Oh!” Pomni perked right up. Almost hypnotized, she stared into those beautiful, mismatched eyes. “Um, th-thanks. Me too...”

Ragatha giggled. “Sorry to interrupt.” she said adoringly, lightly stroking Pomni’s backside. “You were saying?”

Pomni felt light, absentmindedly curling a lock of red yarn hair around her finger. Never before had she felt so heard, felt what it was like to have someone hanging onto her every word. It felt good.

“I don't know, Ragatha. When I start to abstract, it’s not easy to bring myself back from the brink, but…” she breathed, “...it’s kind of like what you were saying before.”

“Oh?”

“I try to think of a silver lining. Something that makes me feel safe. Something…”

Ragatha’s thumb shooed away the final, thin teardrop drying on Pomni’s cheek. The ragdoll’s hand felt just like a cloud — softer than anything the jester had ever felt before. “Something…” Ragatha mused, finishing the jester’s thought, “...that makes life worth living?”

“Yeah…” Pomni welcomed a cautious smile, “Something like that.”

“Ah-ha!”

Pomni flinched. “H-Huh?!”

“There she is!” Ragatha snatched the jester’s cheesing cheek and gave it a little wiggle. “There’s my funny girl!”

Pomni tried her hardest to squirm out of Ragatha’s embrace — but the redhead had her decisively pinned. “Ow! S-Stop it!” she protested — but her sunny laughter only encouraged further torment, “That hurts, you jerk!”

At last, Ragatha relented. “Sorry, Sunshine. Couldn’t resist.”

Pomni’s first instinct was to do the same thing back — to even the score, so Ragatha could see how it felt — but the woman’s words left her melting, all the way down to her soul.

Sunshine.

She was putty in the ragdoll’s hands. What in the world was happening? What was this fluttery feeling? Why did her face feel hot enough to burn her fingerprints clean off?

“R-Right! In any case!” Pomni pushed herself off, lest she faint a second time. She could hardly believe how quickly her heart was thumping .“Th-thanks for listening and everything, but…” she glanced around in a panic, “...We should probably get back to it, huh?”

Ragatha didn’t react right away. “...You’re sure?” She surveyed the endless piles of keys that surrounded them — many of which were now scattered about the floor thanks to Pomni’s most recent tantrum.

“Of course I’m sure! Wh-Why wouldn’t I be?

“Well, it’s awfully sudden. I don’t mind talking a bit more if you need to! Really — I’d watch paint dry as long as you were next to me. Um! Not to say that listening to you is boring…!”

“It’s fine!” Pomni giggled. “Honest.”

“You’re feeling better?”

Pomni nodded.

“You’re sure?” Ragatha squinted.

“Yes! I’m sure! We can’t keep stopping like this, Ragatha. We’ve got to get you back to Caine, remember?”

“I…suppose we can get moving again, if that’s what you want.” Ragatha sighed. She glanced sadly at her freshly-vacant arms. “Just do me a favor, won’t you?”

“Yeah?”

“If we get stuck, try to keep your lid on — for me?”

“Y-Yeah. Sorry about that…” Pomni turned, scratching her head. The very moment she caught a glimpse of the piled-up keys, however, her face scrunched up. “This just — this sucks! How did the other members figure this out?!”

“Pomni.” Ragatha groaned. “Breathe.”

“Right. My bad…”

Despite herself, Ragatha still managed to look amused. “Think of it this way, Sweetheart. If the rest of those goofballs can figure this out, then so can we. We just need to put our heads together — think outside of the box.”

“Outside of the box…” Pomni stepped across the checkered floor, scratching her chin. “Like…maybe what we’re looking for isn’t a literal key?”

She scanned the ballroom through her pouting gaze. A series of large chandeliers, far grander than the tacky setpiece in her own bedroom, supervised the spacious room from above. On the northern wall was a small stage, complete with chairs, instruments, and music stands for performing musicians. A piano, paired with a small chest, sat at the far end.

The jester’s mood soured, and not just because of her recent run-in with haunted musical instruments. Keys, keys, keys — what did any of this stuff have to do with keys!? Ragatha desperately needed help, but here she was, stuck in the world’s most contrived escape room. Ugh! Did people in the real world really do this kind of thing for fun? This stupid puzzle—

Suddenly, Pomni perked up. She eyed the piano.

Piano. Keys.

Piano! Keys! Of course!

“Ragatha!” Pomni raced to where the other woman was sitting, frantically waving her arms in the air. “Hey, hey!”

“Hm? Did you figure something out?”

Pomni nodded, smiling broadly. She scooped the ragdoll into her arms, hopped atop the stage, and set her down in one of the chairs arranged neatly across it. All told, she only knocked over three music stands, two metronomes, and one priceless clarinet in the process.

Pomni turned Ragatha’s chair so that it faced the piano. “Watch this!” she chirped, dashing across the stage. Her fingers pressed down on the piano’s lowest white note, and then the lowest black; the hammered strings within the instrument sang a long, colorful scale as Pomni dragged her digits across all eighty-eight keys.

Hands clasped in hope, she spun around to check the door — but her face fell when, despite her genius plan, the door remained firmly in place.

“What? But—” Pomni’s fingers pecked a low Do, a high Re, and the middlemost Mi. “They’re keys! Pianos have keys!” She laid her hands flat on the ivory, and the piano unleashed a dissonant, un-musical scream. “Are you kidding me? How is that not the solution?!”

“No, you’re right!” Ragatha clapped her hands together, “Good thinking, Pomni! You’re definitely onto something!”

“I…am?” Pomni blushed, “But I already pressed every single key — every one! And that stupid plank of wood still won’t open!”

“Maybe it’s not about pressing one specific key.” Ragatha scratched her chin, “Maybe it’s a special combination. Notes can have letter names — A, B, C, et cetera — so perhaps they want us to spell a certain word?”

“Ooh! A keyword! That’s good!” Pomni snapped her fingers. She didn’t hesitate to start sniffing out clues for such a solution — and it didn’t take long for the old chest beside the piano to catch her eye.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the lock — but, thankfully, it was only for show. Breathing a sigh of relief, Pomni opened the lid. The antique chest was filled to the brim with a series of long, frayed, dust-coated cardboard boxes.

Curiosity piqued, Pomni opened one and cautiously unfurled the bulky scroll stored inside. A series of small, perfectly-cut holes stretched across the yellowed paper. Some existed in isolation, while others were grouped together into long lines — as if a leaf-munching insect had eaten its way through the fragile material.

Pomni’s tonge prodded the inside of her cheek. “Ragatha? You said you played the…” her gaze flicked aside, “...violin, right?”

“Violoncello.” Ragatha deadpanned. “Why?”

“Well, I was just wondering — since you’re a musician, do you have any clue what these weird rolls of paper are for? They seem related to the piano somehow, but…”

“I’m so glad you asked!” Ragatha gasped, clasping her hands together. “Those funky bundles of paper are called piano rolls!”

The redhead had responded to Pomni’s question in plain English, but the baffled look on the jester’s face suggested otherwise.

Ragatha clarified. “Back in the day, these were used to play piano tunes without the need for a human performer. Each one plays a different song when loaded into a player piano.”

“Player piano…?”

“Oh, right. Sorry! That’s a special type of piano that plays itself. I’m not quite sure how it works either. But back to the topic at hand — see those little holes cut into the paper? Each one represents one music note. As the roll slowly unfurls, a sensor reads them and tells the machine which keys to strike.”

“Ohh…” Pomni ran her fingers across the parade of perforations that spanned the scroll. Slowly, she nodded. “...So it’s like a music box?”

“Now you’re getting it!” Ragatha beamed. The look on her face as she watched the concept click in Pomni’s head was a painting of pure joy; was it any wonder that she had worked as a teacher prior to her captivity?

Pomni sighed. She planted an elbow on the old chest and cradled her cheek against her palm. “Your students must have loved you...”

“Well, I did receive my fair share of apples.” Ragatha shrugged. “Never had to pack a lunch.”

“Wait, seriously…? That’s a real thing?”

“No. Not really.”

A silly smile teased its way onto Pomni’s lips. Heart stumbling, she turned away, fingers unconsciously fiddling with the old chest’s loosened lock. “S-So, um, is there anything else you can tell me…?”

“Nah — telling is overrated. In my classroom, I always liked to take a hands-on approach.” Ragatha said. She admired the antique instrument seated on the far end of the stage. “There’s a player piano right there. Why don’t you give it a whirl? It’s been a while since I’ve listened to music.”

“S-Sure thing! I’ll find a good one!” Pomni said, eager to please. Just about tearing the lid off of the antique chest, she rifled through its tightly-packed contents with purpose, scrutinizing the faded titles printed on each box. She didn’t recognize a single song, much less any of their long-dead composers, so it was anyone's guess as to what the music would actually sound like. She may as well have just swiped a roll at random — and, as a matter of fact, that’s exactly what she did.

Pomni set the bulky scroll inside the automatic piano after a bit of clumsy fumbling — and more than a little help from Ragatha. With the flip of a switch, the paper started spinning, and the premier notes of a lofty, leisurely tune stirred to life beneath the ballroom’s vaulted ceiling.

Pomni’s fingers drew circles on the mechanical piano’s smooth, wood grain exterior. For a moment, she forgot where she was, utterly fascinated by the simple elegance of the century-old contraption.

It was funny. The long-forgotten piece it played, humbly subtitled ‘a ragtime two-step’, had set her up to expect something more peppy and up-tempo. As the piano roll steadily unfurled, however, the melodic constellations impressed upon the paper sang a far different tune.

It was the type of jaunty music one would expect to accompany a silent film, just…polished. Refined. All of the musical tropes of the era were present — the driving bassline, the active, syncopated melody — but the piece’s dignified pace and finely-crafted harmonies would have sounded out of place in a rowdy, turn-of-the-century saloon.

Here in the ballroom, though, it was right at home — at least, that’s what the haunted furniture seemed to think.

Looking impressed, Pomni tapped her foot, wholly oblivious to the perplexing scene unfolding behind her. “Not bad...” She grinned, turning to face Ragatha, “To tell you the truth, I actually kind of ohmygodwhat’sgoingon—”

Pomni stumbled backwards, then forwards, then backwards again into Ragatha’s chair. The ballroom’s inanimate denizens — the one-hundred-odd tables and chairs scattered across its marble floor — moved all on their own, dancing in time with the mellow melody. A backing band of squeaking wood and clinking keys added a percussive flair to the player piano’s charming, just-slightly-detuned sound.

Ragatha, for her part, was busy cracking up at Pomni’s complete and utter bewilderment. With a quick breath, she managed to compose herself. “Well, when in Rome…” The ghost of a giggle still lingered in her tone as she offered up her hand, “Shall we?”

Pomni let out a mousy squeak. “Huh?” She flinched, head feeling light, dots flitting across her vision, “But—”

“Come on. Don’t make me beg.” Ragatha batted her eyes, “It’s unladylike.”

Pomni blushed. Without a word, she swallowed, shuddering like a frightened animal as she reached for Ragatha’s hand.

Her fingers curled snugly around the ragdoll’s, plush and doughy. Both women’s palms — one big, one small — fit together perfectly.

Pomni slid her other arm behind Ragatha’s back, powerless to stop the nervous little whimpers sneaking out of her as she lifted up the lightweight woman. For a moment, their faces were close enough to feel each other’s warmth — and it took every ounce of restraint Pomni had to resist asking: ‘Can I please kiss you?’.

With a brief, peppy fanfare, the music transitioned to a new section; the enchanted furniture, as if controlled by a single mind, adapted its routine in perfect sync.

“I, um…” Pomni’s knees trembled. This stupid furniture was making her look bad. “I don’t really know how to dance…” She winced at the thought, and then at the sight of Ragatha’s grave injuries, “And even if I did, how are we supposed to—”

“Shh.” Ragatha’s thumb glided across the back of Pomni’s hand. “Just…hold me.”

Pomni exhaled.

Holding her dolly close, the jester closed her eyes, synchronizing her trembling breaths with every other downbeat. Her foot matched the two-step’s gentle pulse, and before she knew it, her whole body was swaying to the rhythm.

Ragatha nestled her head against Pomni’s chest; a blissful sigh escaped her shuddering smile. The tension in her body dissipated note-by-note, phrase-by-phrase, as her darling rocked her back and forth, here and there, to and fro.

Back and forth they went. Pomni held her plain little ragdolly as tight as she could, finger tracing zig-zags across the curves of her fleece-soft figure. She adored the sound of her peaceful breathing, the way her hands cradled each other as she lay in her arms, all of her happy little fidgets as her body responded to the music.

Here and there they swayed. Pomni’s desperate eyes wandered to Ragatha’s lips, plush and glossy. Her heart was glowing, but just beyond, a profound emptiness, like nothing she had ever felt before, opened up within her. It begged to be filled, and pained her to resist.

Swing, swing. To and fro. Ragatha was weightless in her arms. The whole wide world, and everything in it, was wonderful. Just wonderful.

“Ragatha…?”

“Hm.” It took Ragatha a moment to respond. She jostled herself as if she’d just been woken from a deep, restful slumber. “What is it, Sunshine?” She said, keeping her eyes closed.

Pomni swallowed a shuddering breath. “Do you remember the day before yesterday? When we were trying to film the new intro?”

“That was quite a day.” Ragatha cracked a smile. She nestled herself closer, basking in the rhythm of each gentle sway. “I didn’t know you could scream so loud. Zooble, either.”

“Yeah…” Pomni tittered. “When you were showing me the way to my room, I remember feeling so exhausted, so frustrated. I didn’t understand why all of this was happening to me. What I did wrong to end up trapped here. I was taking it out on everyone, including you. But…”

“But…?”

“But you were still kind to me.”

Ragatha giggled. “Oh, come on. Don’t give me too much credit. You might hate to hear this, but you’re awfully cute when you get all worked up. If I’m being honest, the hardest part was not eating you up.”

“Cute...” Pomni felt butterflies. Her rocking slowed down, falling out of sync with the beat of the music. “That’s what you said about my hat hair. Remember?”

“I do! And I stand by it.”

The social contract of conversation required Pomni to respond with a laugh, or a ‘that’s funny’, or even a small, near-imperceptible exhale of breath — but instead, she simply stood there, thinking, utterly silent. And when she did get around to opening her mouth at last, her voice took on a noticeably different tone.

“R-Ragatha…?”

“Yes?” Ragatha’s mouth curled slightly — and not in the good direction. “Is everything alright? You sound like you have a frog in your throat.”

“Do you—” Pomni swallowed, “D-Do you remember what we talked about before? About…” she took in a shaky breath, “...something to live for…?”

Ragatha’s eyes flashed open with a jolt. The doll palmed the wet spot on her cheek, and flinched again when another droplet pelted her face. “P-Pomni! Are you—” she stammered, “Why are you crying?!”

“Because…!” Pomni’s face crinkled up, “B-Because, if you hadn’t said that…” she gulped down a long, shaky breath, “...if you had listened to me that day, if you had just left alone like I said…”

“Pomni…?”

The young woman’s tear-studded chin curled inward, coming to rest against her heaving chest. “... If it wasn’t for you, Ragatha, I don’t know if I would still be here…”

The old piano roll reached its end with no pomp or circumstance; the haunted furniture took a final bow, shuffling back to their places as the two-steps’s final chord faded away.

A century of stillness stretched between the jester and the ragdoll.

Ragatha pressed her hand to her lips. Pomni couldn’t blame her for her silence. What could Ragatha possibly say? Pomni didn’t know, and, given Ragatha’s flat, stunned gaze, it seemed the ragdoll was equally lost.

“R-Ragatha…? I don’t know how else to say this…” Pomni’s whole body felt twice as heavy. Her body was a paradox, sweltering beneath overwhelming heat and flinching away from wisps of unbearable cold. “I think I, u-um—”

Enough was enough. At long last, the two hearts spoke as one, crackling voices intertwined in an impromptu duet.

“I’m sorry, but…!” the jester squeaked.

“That’s it!” the ragdoll gasped, “I can’t take this anymore — I’m just going to say it!”

Together, they forced out the exact same words: “Can I please just kiss you?!”

…And time slowed to a crawl.

Each woman was the other’s reflection, looking back from the other side of the proverbial water. Ragatha stared, at a loss for words, gawking mouth twisting into a little half-smile. Pomni stared back, eyes aglow, wearing the world’s dumbest grin without a care in the world.

Smiles became snorts, snorts turned into giggles, and giggles bloomed into fits of gut-busting laughter. Pomni’s tears flowed still, but their wet, winding trails framed a face brightened by hope. “Did that just happen?!”

Ragatha giggled, pawing at her face. If she felt any pain — and she certainly did — it didn’t show. “Well?” she remarked at last, “I’m waiting.”

“Um…!” Pomni frantically nodded. “Right! O-Of course!” A bead of sweat traveled down her brow as relief gave way to worry.

She hadn’t the slightest idea of what she was doing.

Pomni’s stance bent backward at a curious angle. Ignoring the added strain on her back, she swallowed, tilted her face closer to Ragatha’s, and then…locked up. For what felt like an eternity, she just stood there, knees chattering, staring into Ragatha’s eyes with a vacant, absolutely petrified expression.

“...Uh, Pomni?” Ragatha blinked. The moment was ruined. It was horribly, terribly, soul-crushingly awkward. “What are you doing?”

“K-Kissing you! Obviously!” Pomni shifted around, forcing a shuddering smile. “I’m just, um, y-you see—”

“Is this how you usually do it?”

“Um, no. Not really…!” a beet-red Pomni shook her head, “To tell you the truth, I’ve never really, um…” her voice shriveled further with every word, “...I’ve haven’t exactly done this before…”

“Pomni!”

“Wh-What?! Is that bad?!”

“Goodness gracious. What am I going to do with you?” Ragatha playfully rolled her eyes. “Well, you already lifted me up. That’s a…start? I suppose? Look, just tilt your head for me.”

“Oh! Sure!” Pomni did — with gusto. “Is this good?”

“No! Not that much!”

Pomni let out a soft little whine. “O-Okay! Sorry!”

“There. That’s better.” Ragatha’s yearning gaze closed the distance, “Next, close your eyes...”

“Like this?”

“Well, yes — there’s only one way to do it.”

“Oh! Right…”

“God, you’re cute...” Ragatha filled her chest with a long, savoring breath, “...Now hurry up and kiss me.”

Pomni’s pounding heart was due to give out any second now. This couldn’t be real. Was this really happening? What had she gotten herself into!?

Slowly but surely, she moved her lips closer, closer, closer, until she could feel the warmth of Ragatha’s hushed breaths on her face. Her stomach twisted into a tighter knot with every burst of humid heat — but she’d come too far to quit now.

Carefully, very carefully, she—

“Ugh! Fine, then — I’ll do it!” Huffing just like a princess, Ragatha seized Pomni’s tunic, pulled her in, and pressed her lips against hers. She shuddered, squealing with joy as their souls linked at last.

Pomni’s eyes were wide, her belly flat, her face a bluish hue as every last gasp of air was suddenly forced out of her chest. Sharply, she breathed in again, and a familiar scent stirred her heart like a siren song:

Strawberries and soil and fresh-fallen rain.

[First Chapter] [ Next Chapter (Coming soon!) ]

#pomni x ragatha #ragatha x pomni #ragapom #buttonblossom #jesterdoll #pomnitha #the amazing digital circus #tadc fanfiction #tadc sunshine #pomni #lesbian #tdac pomni #tadc fic

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