#I spent like six days trying to fucking LEAVE that area
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had our first AKC scentwork trial today:
boy howdy this was chaotic. fucking hell. Jo went up to ask the stewards who was currently running to see if we should line up and not only did they not know they clearly had no idea why she would be asking.
lots of conformation people (derogatory) who have no situational awareness, someone walked their dog 6 inches off our bumper while I was handling both dogs to the side of the car; my guys promptly lost their nut and the person was just like...whatever.
however at higher levels lots of NACSW people cross-training and they were all lovely etc, gave good tips on running in AKC
we ran back-to-back-to-back-to-back, so all 4 elements in a row no breaks. he did stellar with this, no fatigue, no lessening of engagement. definitely got the feeling especially on our first search that he was surprised I pulled him after he alerted. lmao.
they had 3 people waiting in a row to go in, and all dogs could see each other. kept about 10 feet apart but still. this wigged him out, and I've been battling a migraine for the last two days so was stressy, so we both sat and stressed up together. he was reluctant then to walk past the barrier to the first search (ie, too much pressure) but perked right up when he saw the boxes.
both of us were thrown by the size of the search areas (THEY'RE SO SMALL). especially in int and ext he kept trying to go check other places. we're used to NACSW areas which are nice and roomy. oh well.
containers first. 100% sure he was trying to overthink it. gave me a halfassed alert on a box and I called it before either of us could second-guess. Q
buried. was a little worried about this as we've literally never trained it, but I suspected that the sand would diffuse the odor intensity down to more familiar NACSW levels. I was right or he's a genius (or both) because the best alert of the day. Q
interior. right in, right to the source, halfassed alert. this time I waited to see if he'd commit to it. he did not. spent another 1 min 45 sec dicking around in the search area before asking to leave. NQ. judge disappointed in my handling. all of his alerts today were shaky, this was just the only one I challenged him on.
exterior. right in, checked a few things, then alert. Q.
so 3 of 4, which given how stressy he was and the lack of much AKC specific prep is pretty dang good.
accomplished the goals of (a) working on endurance, NW3 is six large searches over a day, so 4 bitty ones in an hour is good, and (b) just another trial environment where Boss is stressing and needs to be told where things are.
super proud of him for working through his feelings though, that was very impressive.
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GITJ Post 334: A Saturday at Melissa's, p9 (7pm, Cici)
No, Cynthia Carlisle was not invited to their little pool party. No, Cynthia was not drinking wine, ordering take out, or watching movies with friends. No, Cici was not in the place she’d want to be most, cuddled up with him on the couch, buried under blankets trying to keep him warm after an evening swim like the rest of them were doing, right at this moment.
What was Cynthia Carlisle doing? Swiping through all their stupid social media and getting mad. Very, very mad.
And eating.
She’d had her simp, AJ, if that was still his name, bring her food. He’d just brought it to her, along with one other man, one of his worker friends. As she sat there eating they stood dumbfounded by her as she wore only her new red Polish “superbra” and matching panties.The lingerie had grown with her over the past weeks which was good; if she was naked these turds would likely not be able to breathe. AJ in particular was especially enamored of her size, she knew. She’d long since crested six feet, was nearly halfway there to seven, and had started calling him just ‘you’ or ‘boy’ or, when she was feeling generously tolerant, ‘puppy’. He seemed to like that, the dehumanization seemed to haha actually turn him on and make him even more submissive. The others did too, the crowd of underling toadies that spent their days constructing all this for the women, like little worker ants for their fucking queen. No one would really know it by just looking at them, but their minds had been turned nearly all to mush by the all-but-constant exposure to the artificial perfumes that were being pumped through this place. It was the same chemical that Cynthia wished she could just bathe in, because it was obviously making her bigger.
Bigger and stronger, tits huge. Hungry.
“More bread. I want more bread,” she growled, having eaten three rolls already. She looked at AJ as he scrambled to try to appease her, awkwardly searching the paper takeout bag in a half-panic.The other toadie just stood there, hands crossed in front of himself in nervous supplication. “C’mon, you. You worthless…thing.”
The toadie heard her chuckle when he shivered, his heart fluttering. He and AJ had set up a spread here in her makeshift dining area in the basement, food that they’d ordered for her from the place she liked. It was a lot and sometimes she’d let them have some. A Saturday night, he thought, and this was now how he spent them, in servitude to a hulking woman that seemed bigger every time he turned around. She was bigger, she was stronger, and despite the fact that he could somehow sense she was turning into a monster he couldn’t do anything but obey every word she said. Nor could AJ.
“More bread, fucker,” she spat.
“b-be right back,” AJ spoke, backing out of the room, leaving the toadie with her.
Where was he?!? She seethed, silently to herself and barely noticing AJ’s exit as she tore a chunk off the bone of what was some sort of pork. She sat at a fold-up table, the flimsy chair beneath her feeling ready to break under her weight. He wasn’t here last night, he’s not here tonight. I had plans!!! Working at the office during the weekdays had not been enough. She’d grown, of course, under the influence of whatever it was coming from Melissa, whatever it was that they now poured through the vents here. But it wasn’t enough. She’d begun to sleep here, hidden away with her simps’ help in the basements and sub-floors away from the construction. She’d made sure they pumped it in heavy, into the dark spaces where she stayed, and ignored the calls from her aunt. She was not going home anytime soon. Weekends, now, too, she stayed all day underground sucking it in, breathing it, and eating. Alone, with her simps at times, practicing.
But last night, Friday night, she hadn’t wanted to be alone. She knew he stayed upstairs, above the office, in the little apartment his skinny-ass wife supplied for him. He was dating her now, yes, but Cynthia could show him…show him how good a girlfriend she could be. A big girl could do it for him, and she could get so big. She wanted to call him down, to her underground caverns, and show him. But he wasn’t here. Last night, and now tonight either. GAH! IT MADE HER SO MAD!!
They were all eating together, the bunch of them, at her place. Sushi. Cynthia hadn’t been invited of course, and she was watching it in full FOMO mode on social media. They hadn’t asked her, they never asked her. She was too ‘other’. There was something wrong with her. It made her growl sometimes but she knew it. She’d have to wait to bring him to her, another night. It just, she figured, gave her time to get even fucking bigger, bigger than them all and then he’d see and rrrrrrrrrrrrggghhhhh.
Cynthia put down her pork chop and looked at the toadie. It was just the two of them, now, alone in this damp basement room. He looked cold; she was never cold anymore. But he, this simpering boy dog thing was just like the rest of the men here; they were all just workers, like ants in a hive, mindless. Squashing one or two wouldn’t make a difference, right?
She felt her mouth start to curl into something like a smile as she leaned forward over the table. She watched his eyes go down, drift to trace the veins which ran in a pattern all over her hulking breasts, leading down into a cleavage deeper and darker than her cave. She knew where their minds went, once she had them looking at her breasts. They got dumb. Well, dumber even than usual.
“So, you like me?” she asked, watching the toadie’s jaw drop open to a gape as she gently pressed her breasts together between her arms. “What’s your name?” she asked, indulging the thing with what he would think would be actual interest. She watched him, swaying there on his feet for a few moments, saying nothing
"Can't you speak? Did no one ever teach you?" she continued, slowly squeezing, then releasing the pressure on her breasts, making them swell out and then in, out and then in in a pulsing, undulating rhythm. She knew they loved that, that they found that hypnotic. "Or is that just the effect I have on you?"
“Muh…Mason,” he said, finally answering her question.
First name, last name? Or is that just his job here? she thought, Not that it matters.
"I.. I.." the toadie stammered helplessly, suddenly feeling bold enough to address her again.
“What is it?” she asked, eyes narrowing, studying him. If she squinted enough, here without her glasses, she could almost pretend this was him, Dr J.
"No.. Wha.. I..." He was obviously confused, standing there in the semi-dark with this blond Amazon swimming in the weapons-grade pheromones being pumped into the room.
"Oh, you poor creature,” she chuckled, hearing her voice deepen. She’d decided, finally, that she’d indulge herself with some fun and felt her thighs quiver. If he wasn’t here at least she could make herself feel better with one of them. “You can't even talk, can you?” she asked, “Why don’t you come here, closer…” Suddenly, then, she pushed aside the table, laden with her dinner as it was, Its metal feet scraping against the concrete floor. “...let me kiss you better."
She loved - or, she’d grown to love - the feeling she got when they began to shake like this. When their little feet began to move all by themselves, when they were drawn to her like a moth to a big huge fucking moth-magnet. She sat there, on the little folding chair that she knew she could bend into a crumpled little ball of metal tubes if she wanted. This wasn’t him, this wasn’t Doctor, but this was something she could do to kill the time. Maybe it would make her feel better.
He came to stand in front of her, now, where she sat. If she stood, she would tower over him. But as it was she was looking up at him. That would just not do. Without a word Cynthia lazily placed an arm on each of the man's shoulders, and then she pressed down gently. A look of surprise - or maybe some deep survival instinct rallying from the depths - came over his otherwise slackened face. It was followed by one of shock as she pushed down, forcing him to bend in his knees. He tried to push against her with his legs, but found her strength utterly irresistible. With both his hands, he grabbed her wrists, trying to remove her hands from him, but all his efforts proved totally ineffective. Her female arms did not move at all, except to force him down further. She stopped pushing when his face was level with hers, he in a crouch. Tilting her head slightly, she leant towards him, her lips puckering in preparation of meeting his.
The man turned his head away from hers, this time for sure on instinct. "I thought you liked me." Cynthia cooed in mock disappointment. She removed her left hand from his right shoulder, easily shaking off his grip from her wrist. She was delighted to see that she could hold him in place with just one hand on his other shoulder as effortlessly as she had done it with two. With her free hand, she gently cupped his chin, turning his face back towards her. She could see his neck muscles bulging as he tried to fight against her, but his struggles once again proved futile. It gave Cynthia a tremendous thrill to see a full-grown man utterly unable to fight against her vastly superior strength. She had been experimenting, in her time alone down here, with what she could do. It was fucking incredible.
Cynthia leaned towards the quivering man and, still holding his chin, pulled his face to hers. Then she parted her lips slightly and planted them on his. Until just a month or so ago she hadn’t kissed many boys at all. Now, she’d kissed a bunch. Despite the pleasure he felt, with her big pillowy lips on his, she felt him place both his hands on her shoulders, desperate to push her away, grunting with the effort. The blonde-haired young woman remained completely immobile aside from now opening her lips a little further, pressing them against his face, forming a seal around his mouth. With the man still struggling without effect, Cynthia began to inhale slowly and deeply.
His eyes bulged wide in astonishment and his efforts to force her away from him became desperate. Cynthia continued to breathe in, her mouth locked on his. The look in his eyes became panicky and the color began draining from his face. Quickly, his struggles grew weaker. She kept on drawing air into her lungs. His eyeballs seemed to be about to pop out of his head. His complexion was now a bluish white, and his arms hung redundantly by his sides. Cynthia heard a muffled squelching sound and tasted blood in her mouth. Instantly, the man's eyes became dull.
She stopped inhaling, taking her lips off of his and bringing the kiss to an end before removing her hands from her victim. His body seemed to fold up on itself as it became a heap on the floor. Cynthia looked down at him, where he lay crumpled at her feet, and smiled as she used a single finger to wipe at the corner of her lips. It surprised her that she had enjoyed the taste of his blood as much as she had enjoyed sucking the life out of his male body. What a feeling - to have collapsed a man's lungs just by kissing him! "So this is how it feels to be a goddess," she mused to herself, to the empty room.
Now where was that other one, the bald one, with her bread?
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for the love of a child; self-para
A conversation in the Tower, shared between four. Miller Brick; the man who would assume the false role of father, who would break apart his relationship to do it, who would sacrifice his image to save his friend and her child. Cress Meadowforge; the woman carrying a precious thing, a fragile thing, a baby to be protected no matter the cost, who would deny her true love to ensure the safety of her child. Slate Skylar; the true father, handing over his right to fatherhood and any claim, posthumous or not, of the baby so that she might be safe.
And, just out of view, Helios Serpentine; the man who was never meant to know at all.
Though it seemed that the alliance always swung back together at some point, there was the pulling apart each day to be contended with. It seemed that the Arena was designed to separate, to confuse, and so he was here, on his own, again. The storm had thrown them all from the ship, flung them apart throughout the Arena. He’d spent the shivering night in the darkened shack on the island which seemed to contain nothing of use; eerie, singing voices had spent the night with him, driving him mad long after Mars had left his company.
The night had passed, though; there had been a loud boom, and he’d stepped outside to see a ship rising out of the water. For a long time he had debated going to the ship, or trying to find Nettle, Mercuria, and Bramble. But he hadn’t heard any cannons go off since he’d seen them last, and so he knew they must be okay. And the look of the ship was not good, not at night anyway. And his bones were aching, his body feverish, fighting off infection from the gaping hole in his head. So he used Link’s sweatshirt as a pillow and slept.
In the pre-dawn hours, though, he couldn’t stay where he was for any longer. He’d left that island for the more familiar one. He managed to find fruit, cracked open a coconut and drank it in big, thirsty gulps. The mist over the islands had yet to rise, and so moving through the jungle was made more difficult. He stumbled into an open area, and for a moment didn’t realize that it was just that — that the thick trees were gone, that there were pools of water and a large waterfall. The mist was thinner here, too, and he looked around him in some confusion, unsure of what he’d stumbled upon.
Seeing all of the fruit-laden trees, he went around the perimeter of the clearing, gathering as much fruit in his hands as he could. He’d go find the girls, share it with them. His ears – ear – listened for a cannon in every moment.
He moved to the largest pool of water, and bent down to smell the water. He put a finger in; it seemed safe enough. So he cupped his hands in it, brought up mouthfuls of water, drank deeply, and when it tasted so good, so cool and fresh, he dipped his whole body in, fully clothed. The rain had not fully washed the blood out of his clothing, and had in fact made him feel dirtier than before. But this water was so nice, and after a few long moments of cleaning himself off, he noticed that the pain in the side of his head, his constant companion since the cave, had dulled somewhat.
He didn’t know how long he’d spent in there, soaking his aching body, reveling in the joy of feeling half-human again, unable to think of what the consequences of this would be. Because there would be consequences. There always were.
And his consequence arrived with light steps, but Slate heard him. He saw his shape and knew who it was before his features were revealed. Helios.
“One of us will have to leave,” he said, pulling himself up from the water as quickly as he could, his dagger finding his hand like it belonged there.
“And I think it’ll have to be you,” Helios replied. The boy was stepping closer to Slate, and Slate was now dripping wet, his clothes a heavy weight on his body. Already, he missed the soothing feeling of the pool.
“Why the fuck should it be me?” Slate demanded, his grip tightening. There were six people left: Helios, Mars, and his alliance. They were so close to Bram, Nettle, or Merc winning.
Helios scoffed. “Because,” he said, his expression unreadable through the fog. “Seems like it’s about time you lifted a finger.” Helios, perhaps thinking of his conversations with Bramble, the information she’d shared with him: her plan to die for him, to keep the rebellion going. To keep his role in it clear.
Slate knew none of this. “The fuck you mean?” he demanded, moving so that his position was more defensible. When Helios attacked, he wouldn’t be right in front of the pool of water; wouldn’t allow himself to be pushed, drowned. A horrible way to die.
“Just thinking about all the people throwing themselves everywhere for you,” Helios said, and he was still advancing, but Slate was still moving to the side, adjusting their positioning carefully, slowly.
“I have no fucking idea what you’re talking about,” Slate said. He was a boy from Twelve. He had clawed his way into notoriety through TH3 T0MMYKN0CK3R, it was true, and he’d had a leg up from Hestia – but to say it had been handed to him, or thrown to him, or that he hadn’t lifted a finger was ridiculous. Long nights pouring over material; writing, gathering photographs, interviewing people in Eleven. “I work for everything I fucking have. Unlike you.” Helios was born in One, he didn’t know want or need like Slate did.
“I’m talking about–” Helios seemed about to say one thing, perhaps on the verge of telling Slate about Bramble’s plans, all of his alliance’s plans, but thinking better of it. Perhaps, though, it was his plan all along to use this one thing – one piece of ammunition he’d been handed unknowingly by Cress, Slate, and Miller.
Perhaps Helios was a boy cornered, a boy who’d now lost his two closest allies and friends in this Arena, a boy who didn’t know if he would survive what had once seemed impossible not to. A boy afraid that he was about to go the way of his cousin, Hades – death. Perhaps he wanted to make a stamp on his time in the Arena; perhaps he wanted to explode everything for the obnoxious boy from Twelve, the boy who had thrown a wrench into every one of Helios’s plans for how his Games would go.
Or perhaps it came out without much thought at all. Blurted in a moment of heat, grief, and anger. “I’m talking about your goddamn baby!”
Slate froze, stopped moving so that they were now both standing with their sides to the pool of water, which was only feet away.
Your baby. A naming, a claim. A claim he had given away, though it had been painful to part with it. “I don’t know what you–”
“You fucking do,” Helios snapped, cutting him off, and continuing, “I heard you and Cress. The plan to pretend it’s Miller’s baby. But it’s not, it’s yours. You made a rebel baby; you want to lie about it? Fucking cope. You did what you did, you have to face the consequences.”
Slate stood before him for only a fraction of a second before he moved. Launched into action, running at Helios with the power of surprise on his side. Helios tried to dodge, but Slate grabbed his arm rather than body-checking him, and he used all the strength that was left in his body to throw him to the left, then throwing himself in the same direction. They both landed in the water, the healing pool.
Helios had crossed a line. To bring the baby into this was too fucking much. It had nothing to do with her, and yet this was who Helios was, he supposed. Either a desperate, angry creature, or a vicious, evil one. It didn’t matter which.
A few moments ago, Slate had been holding one of the rocks that made up the bottom of this pool. It was shallow at the edges, but much deeper in the middle. Helios had his knife out, had regained his whereabouts in the water, but Slate was faster. He’d scooped up the rock, gripped it tight in his hand, and driven it against Helios’s skull.
“You fucking asshole,” he was screaming, his voice ragged, torn at the edges, “you absolute fucking dickhead! Do you know what you’ve fucking done?” Helios gripped his arm to stop him, so Slate kicked at him beneath the water, pushing him toward the deep end. Even as they began to wrestle in the water, he could feel its healing properties kicking in; the pains were dulled, the sharp ache of his ear growing once more dull. But the ache in his chest – knowing what this might do to Cress, to the baby, hell, he even spared a thought for Miller – was more noticeable.
As the two tributes inflicted blows upon one another, as Helios dislodged the rock from Slate’s hand and sliced a large cut down Slate’s chest, as Slate found Helios’s thigh with his own blade and stabbed it hard, directly in, the water did its job: it dulled, it healed, making the job of killing much more difficult.
But Slate was determined.
This was an eye for an eye. He was certain that Helios had just killed his baby by revealing its true paternity. And so, Helios would die. He’d see, before the child could, just what it was like.
The two thrashed; both were bleeding, bruised; the water itself couldn’t stop this. But finally, Slate got the upper hand; he thrust the dagger into Helios’s stomach, and when the boy stopped fighting, he pulled it out only to shove it more directly into his heart. Cress had shown him how. All he had to do was do it. And it was remarkably easy; perhaps buoyed by the water, or the anger, or the fear that now seized his heart.
Because what would happen now?
What would happen to his baby?
He pulled the knife free and let go of Helios’s body, which fell limp. He made his way back to the shallow waters, stepping onto the bank, soaked through with water and blood now. The fog still obscured his view of the trees around him, but the cameras would pick this up: the shape of a boy, a father-to-be, falling to his knees. Laying the knife in front of him. Bending his head to it, as if praying to it, and then raising up to the sky and letting out a horrendous, awful scream. A scream that held his own life, suffering at the hands of the Capitol, and the life that now lay before his baby: who would suffer just the same.
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crystal clear on a star lit night.
there’s a party tonight, the kind of thing brass puts together when they can tell morale is flagging. any excuse to celebrate. elliot doesn’t drink the way some of the guys do - he doesn’t like when his hands shake or his brain fogs over. it feels like less of an escape and more like a trap. but he understands his friends that need it, that need the skimpy excuse of celebrating a successful mission to forget the bodies being prepared to go home a few hangars over. he doesn’t want to think very much either sometimes.
he sticks with armstrong for the most part. indigo is married, content and easy to be around. he likes to hear him talk about his wife, the flash of normalcy on the other side. they’re clustered at the bar, watching david get shot down by the red cross girls again. elliot sometimes wonders if it’s a masochism thing or some kind of fucked up optimism that keeps him going. mary hates his guts, mostly due to what david wryly calls a misfire with the kind of obscene hand gesture you can only make on a military base. helen wears a cross the size of texas like a dare. and nell…elliot smiles to himself when she pats david on the shoulder and shakes her head before turning. sometimes it feels like the ache in the pit of his stomach for her will kill him before a german missile gets the chance.
“i’m retiring,” david announces, taking his drink back from indigo’s side. “a man can only take so much rejection.”
“you know helen’s talking about being a nun when she gets home,” indigo says. “i don’t know why you try.”
“last ride,” he says. “or is that last rites?”
“last rites are when you’re dead, dumbass.”
david shrugs easily. “might as well be. no, howard. she’s got that goddamn dimple and i’m a weak, weak man. but,” he sighs into his scotch. “three strikes.”
“gotta leave it alone,” indigo says sagely.
“man gets married and suddenly he knows everything,” david says in a stage whisper to elliot.
he still feels off in conversations with indigo and david - they’ve been friends long enough to have a quick back and forth that he always feels a step behind in. “i thought that was wives that are supposed to know everything.” he’s sure he heard something like that in a bar somewhere, even if he kind of thinks it’s crap.
it seems to be right because indigo smiles. “fortunately for hatcher, my wife and i both know everything.” the red cross girls cross into the bar area and he looks over at david. “you want to go for four?”
“got my fuckin six my ass,” he mumbles.
“gentlemen,” mary says, eyeing david, currently staring into his drink like it might hold the secret of eternal life to avoid eye contact. “behaving?”
“ladies. always,” indigo looks over his shoulder at david. “most of us.”
“i don’t speak for captain hatcher,” elliot adds. “you all look nice tonight.”
he mostly means nell. no, he only means nell. if mary or helen have any distinguishing features, he’s completely forgotten they exist. her dress is almost the same color as her eyes and if he’s spent enough time thinking about them to know that, that’s between him and the almighty.
indigo politely asks how they’re doing while david slowly creeps down the bar and out of sight.
“well, we’re losing nell to london so if hatcher can keep his mitts to himself when the new girl gets here, we should survive,” helen says.
“i’ll do my best.”
it’s the first elliot has heard of nell’s request to be transferred to a hospital in london being approved. he’s happy for her but the idea of not seeing her every day causes a pang of anxiety. she’s told him about it a few times and when they last talked about it, she was still waiting for a place to open up. that had been a few days ago so something must have changed and fast. she gives him a smile that looks almost apologetic, goes back to talking. mary excuses them when their drinks come up at the bar and elliot and indigo stand around talking a bit longer with officers and listening to the band.
indigo checks his watch and sighs. “should probably go check on hatch, make sure he isn’t too fucked. take it easy, yeah?”
elliot stays out a bit longer, talks with sid about an upcoming mission and tries to keep his eyes off of nell. finally accepting he’s failing, he excuses him to go find her. he passes by her, maybe a little too close, but close enough for him to mumble “meet me outside?” for only her to hear. she nods very slightly and he keeps moving through the clubhouse and out into the cool october night. he wishes he smoked more at times like this, if only to have something to do with his hands while he waits. she’s only a few minutes behind him but it feels longer when she finally steps out.
“i just found out today. i wanted to tell you earlier-“
he shakes his head to cut her off. “no, it’s amazing. i know you’ve been waiting.”
she smiles and if he’s cataloging her smiles, this one is proud. he likes it, just a little more smug that her usual and deservedly so. “i have. i mean, i knew i’d have to retire from coffee detail eventually. but…”
it slips out before he can stop himself and he realizes that he wouldn’t take it back as soon as the words are in the air. “i’ll miss you.”
there it is, that warm, sweet smile and dimple he’s willing to fuck up his entire career for. “i’ll miss you too. i’m sorry, i know we’re just…”
starting, he almost completes. they’re just starting. but he shrugs and offerers “i can write” instead.
“you can come see me.”
he laughs. “i don’t think i’m going to want to be in a position to see you at the hospital.”
“yeah, i don’t want to see you either. but maybe on a pass?”
“i would love to see you in london on a pass.”
“leave hatcher here?”
“oh he’d be a shit chaperone.”
“see, we might as well not have one at all.”
god he likes her. probably too much under the circumstances but right now, under the stars, he can’t bring himself to care about the war or his career or much of anything other than her.
“come on,” he says, holding out his hand to her. she smiles and takes it, stepping into his arms. he can hold her closer out here and her cheek rests right on his shoulder, her fingers twisting with his with a contented sigh. he isn’t sure how he’s not supposed to spend the rest of his life thinking about that. “feel like i owe you a dance before you leave.”
this feels like one of those soft moments he’ll remember when he’s lonely or flying and needs to remember who he is in the ground. it’s warm tonight, clear and starry and somewhere under the eternal smell of engine oil and cigarette smoke, her perfume has gotten into his nose. she feels soft and there’s so little in his life that’s soft anymore. it’s all rough, sharp edges and smoke and fire. she’s humming along with whatever the band is playing, something smooth and dreamy. the small of her back is the perfect size for his hand to rest and - shit.
“sorry,” he mumbles. he’s usually a better dancer - brutally trained by his sister in at least the basics - and doesn’t step on toes but his brain and body seem to have a disconnect. “i don’t have many moves.”
she laughs, adjusting her fingers in his. “forgiven. what are these moves?”
he leans back a bit so he can look at her when they talk. “well, you’re getting the shuffle right now. that’s my best.”
“best shuffling i’ve had in a long time.”
“i can also shuffle fast but that’s advanced.” she laughs again and now he’s just talking to keep making her laugh. he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing it. “spinning and dipping, i’ve got a fifty-fifty rate. dropped my senior prom date and she never spoke to me again.”
“hmm, sounds like her loss.” her arms move to twine around his neck and he relocates his hands to her waist. “i like the shuffle, for the record.”
close now, close enough to kiss her and he does, light and easy, as though he hasn’t been thinking about it ever since london, even as it feels like he’s burning alive. “that’s good because-“
a piercing sound tears through the haze and elliot’s eyes snap to the now open clubhouse door. it’s hatcher, leaning in an open door. he’s got a wolf whistle like a goddamn tex avery character that scares the shit out of elliot and violently reconnects his brain and body. nell stiffens in his arms and any spell is broken.
“okay! lovebirds! leave some room for the holy spirit.”
“at least it’s just hatcher,” he says, reluctantly dropping his hands from her waist.
“yeah,” she agrees. “i should go back in.”
“i’ll see you before you leave?”
she nods and kisses his cheek, squeezing his hand once before letting go to dash past david with a look that’s equal parts wary and warning.
“well, well, well, well, well,” david says, chuckling like a vaudeville villain around his cigarette. “knew you weren’t a fucking saint.”
“fuck off, hatch,” he says but there’s no heat to it. if anything, there’s almost a hint of relief that it’s out in the open and that it’s david and not someone who will actually give a shit.
david finally manages to light his cigarette, still laughing to himself. “i was starting to think it was me or the,” he gestures to his mustache with a lit cigarette. “but nope.”
“you can at least give me one of those if you’re going to be a son of a bitch,” elliot says, nodding towards the pack of luckies in david’s pocket. he takes the one he’s offered. “keep it to yourself, alright? i don’t want her getting in trouble.”
“scout’s honor,” david says, taking a drag. “armstrong count?”
he sighs. “you can tell armstrong.”
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All In A Day's Work
Paula flinched as the bat made contact with sweaty flesh. She’d seen it a million times before; another asshat that thought he could outsmart her father and his goons.
Paul LaVine was quite an intelligent man, he worked his brain like most people went to the gym. He stuck to a rigid diet, only ever straying from it on holidays and when they went back to Italy; his mother was quite the cook, and denying her offering of food would cost him a finger. Any man that so much as tried to get smart with Pauly paid a hefty price.
Paula had seen her father’s men beat down a million men; from teenage boys, trying to get too handsy with her at dances, all the way to old men whose bones would probably never heal from the world of hurting the muscled men put on them. Despite seeing it so often, she never grew used to it. In the beginning, she’d leave the moment she knew the beatings were coming, but soon, her father began to catch on. He insisted that she stay; claiming that walking away made her weak, and he couldn’t have a weak link running the family business once he was gone.
The bat made contact with the flesh again causing blood and sweat to leap from the man’s body. With every hit, the man begged and pleaded for mercy. Pauly’s men couldn’t spell mercy even if they sounded it out. After a couple more hits, Paula began to pray along with the man, not being able to stomach such torture any longer. Luckily for Paula, her prayer was answered.
“Let’s go.” Pauly said, rising up from the chair in the middle of the room.
Unfortunately for the man, his prayers had not made it up so high.
Paula did her best not to look back as she, her father, and a few bodyguards exited the room. The small group made their way out of the back room and back into the store. As they made their way down the aisle, Johnny, Pauly’s longest-standing bodyguard, grabbed a handful of Now and Laters and shoved them into his pocket; purposely staring at the cashier as he did so. Knowing better, the cashier simply forced a smile and bid the group a farewell as they made their way out the door.
“Johnny, stop stealing shit! You’re ruining the neighborhood!” Pauly said, slapping the six-foot-five man on the chest.
The foursome hopped into the waiting escalade and took off down the street. They made it about a block before the sound of an ice cream truck sounded and children rushed to the middle of the street.
“Mother fuckers! Fucking kids!” James, their driver yelled, slamming on his brakes.
“Sorry boss.” He said, looking at Pauly and the others in the rearview mirror.
Pauly laughed.
“Everyone’s fine. Hey, pull over for a second.” Pauly instructed as he patted the back of the headrest.
Doing as he was told, James pulled off to the side and stopped. With his hand already in his pocket, Pauly reached for his wallet as James hopped out and rushed to the back door.
“Thank you James.” Pauly said, patting the man’s arm as he stepped out of the car.
Upon seeing Pauly, the kids instantly began screaming. In the lower-income neighborhoods of New York, the LaVine family was well known. Paula’s uncles and grandfathers on both sides of the family spent hours volunteering in the inner city. They helped start outreach programs, provided the local junkies with clean needles, and even helped some of them get into rehab; nevermind the fact that nearly half of the junkies just ended up back on the streets anyways, buying their same drug of choice from Pauly’s men, but on paper, Pauly LaVine was a Godsent to the lower-income areas of New York City.
After making sure every child had gotten a cone, Pauly made his way back to the car.
“Here, vanilla. I know you prefer plain and simple.” He said, handing the cone over to his daughter.
Paula was lactose intolerant, and if her father would at least pretend to give a damn, he’d know that. But atlas, bringing it up would start a whole ordeal with him and Paula was in no mood for an argument. So she took the cone. Luckily for her, they were done for the day; so she could spend the rest of the day on the toilet if need be.
The black Escalade pulled up to Paula’s highrise apartment as she popped the last of the cone into her mouth.
“Thanks pop.” She said around the cone full.
Hopping out of the car, she bid the men farewell and headed into the building.
After greeting the doorman, she hopped into the elevator and rode it all the way to the top. Making her way through the front door, she kicked off her shoes as she swung the door closed.
Looking around at her place, Paula felt that same painful pang of dread and loneliness that she always felt when she came ‘home’. She longed for a wife, or a girlfriend, someone to come home to after a long day of dealing with her father, his ‘customers’, and slimy business partners. But alas, being a member of the LaVine family meant living a life of secrecy; And that shit got old real fast in relationships.
So like she normally did, Paula headed to her bedroom, showered, changed, and headed to the kitchen for something to eat. Rummaging through the fridge, she grabbed the plate of leftover rips from Johnny’s barbecue the other day and a beer. Popping the plate into the microwave, she chugged her first beer before going back for a second. The microwave went off as she popped the top off the beer and tossed it into the trash. Then, grabbing her food, she made her way to the couch and turned on the TV. The sun was beginning to set as she sat back on the couch and kicked her feet up on the coffee table. After channel surfing for a moment, Paula settled on watching some shitty straight-to-television movie as she ate.
The ribs lasted halfway through the movie and once they were gone, Paula could feel her eyelids beginning to grow heavy. So, quickly, before she grew too tired to do so, she made her way to the bathroom where she brushed her teeth and headed off to bed.
For More LGBT stories, visit The Royal Blue Network Today!
#short story#queer story#lgbtqia#fiction#women who love women#queer women#the royal blue network#new york city
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✾ Dreams Do Come True ✾
✾ Chapter 1 ✾
✾ Pairing: Neteyam aged up x Fem avatar reader x Aonung aged up ✾
✾ Neteyam is 23, Reader is 19, Aonung is 23 ✾
✾ Summary: You’ve always loved avatar, in fact you were a huge fan. So what happens one day when you find out it’s real?
✾ Warnings: Reader kinda cheating, slight make-out session, I think that’s all?
✾ Total word count: 2009 ✾
✾ Translation(s): Uniltìranyu -> Dreamwalker, Karyu -> Teacher, Ma’Itan -> My son, Sa’nok -> Mother.
✾ A/N: This is my first avatar fic and I do plan on making more parts if yall enjoy this <3
✾ Big thanks to @ eyweveng for the advice! Here’s the fic <3
It's no secret you loved avatar, it was your comfort movie and you had an obsession with it, so it was no surprise that as you, your friends and your boyfriend were watching tv that the news came on stating it was real
They all turned and looked at you as your eyes were wide and your mouth open. "Y/n?" Your boyfriend asked, "Are you alright?"
You didn't answer, instead you quickly got up and ran outside to your car ignoring your friend's desperate pleads for you to stay and be reasonable.
After making it to the place for avatar training, your friends and boyfriend showed up and reluctantly agreed to let you train but they had to join aswell to make sure you don't mess anything up, like you would come on.
During the next few months of training you got quite good, considering how well you knew the movies you knew how to be swift and agile. You even learned how to fluently speak Na'vi, your friends not so much but soon you all passed and were ready to go to Pandora.
You all said goodbye to your families as you would most likely never see them again, and as you board the space shuttle you wave goodbye once more crying. This is a once in a lifetime opportunity, you had to take it,no backing out.
The next six years are spent in cryosleep as you keep moving towards Pandora, you don't dream at all it's just a vast darkness in which your stuck in.
Soon you wake up to people talking saying "You've been in cyro sleep for six years, you will be weak, you will be hungry.” As if on cue your stomach grumbles and you float your way to get some of the nasty space food.
Eventually you land and you, your friends and your boyfriend put on exomasks then started heading towards the lab area. Once in your directed to the avatar chamber where the lead scientist Laura shows you your avatars.
After that Laura says you guys can take your avatars for a test run but make sure to stay close, unfortunately that was a mistake.
"Bro are you serious? You fucking got us lost and now it's almost eclipse!" You yelled at your friend Harry. "Girl calm down you've watched these movies how many times? I'm sure you can get us un lost" he chuckled nervously.
"Dude, she's watched the movies yes but hasn't actually been here and it's huge! How do you expect her to find our way back?" Your other friend Candy shouts back at him.
"Guys chill ok let's retrace our st-" you don't get to finish your sentence as an arrow shoots from the trees and startles all of you. "Nahh fuck yall, take the girls they have more meat on their bones!" Harry screamed running off leaving us all behind.
You and candy look at eachother scoffing but your still kinda afraid so you hide behind your boyfriend who's avatar is much more bigger than yours with Candy behind you. "It's ok, I'm here" he said as he stands protecting you and Candy.
Candy, feeling a bit bold, walks to stand beside him and shouts towards where the arrow came from "Get out here pussy and stop using your bullshit arrows to try and kill us!" Immediately afterwards another one shoots and she runs hiding behind you.
Looking up to the trees two glowing orbs are staring back at us before whatever it is jumps down. You all gasp in shock, and if you're correct it's him.
Rushing between him and your bf you greet him gesturing with you hand from your forehead while speaking "Oel ngati kameie Neteyam te Suli Tsyeyk'itan."
Neteyam's eyes widen in shock watching this uniltìranyu greet him in the most respected way. He nods and looks over the other two avatars but his gaze went straight back to you taking in your beautiful eyes and your body.
You blush slightly but his eyes narrow again,"Leave" is all he says before taking off back into the forest. "Wait!" You shout running after the na’vi as Candy and your boyfriend follow close behind.
Catching up to him you gently grab his wrist and he halts his movements yanking his wrist away before turning and facing you. Neteyam bares his fangs hissing while his tail swishes annoyed.
"Mawey Neteyam Mawey.." you speak softly while keeping a safe distance. His ears twitch at your words, no uniltìranyu had ever done this, not even his own father. His father had to learn the Na'vi ways while this uniltìranyu is mostly already fluent in them.
Neteyam keeps the distance but his eyes widen as seeds of the great tree start to cover you before floating off. Grinning he gently takes your hand saying one word only "Come".
The walk to hometree was long and exhausting for you guys but for Neteyam it was easy since he grew up here and knew the land by heart. Upon entering home tree everyone starts glaring at you, no uniltìranyu besides Jake and Grace had been inside hometree.
Neytiri the tsahik and also Neteyam's mother steps forward "Ma'Itan" she says smiling "Oel ngati kameie sa'nok" Neteyam says. Her smile falters upon seeing you, "Ma'Itan, who are these dreamwalkers?"
Before he can answer, you step forward slightly before saying "Oel ngati kameie Neytiri te Tskaha Mo'at'ite" while bowing your head out of respect. She stands back a bit shocked and Neteyam says "This one is very respectful and mostly fluent in our ways, just like father there has been a sign from Ewya"
His mother's eyes narrowed at you as she steps forward inspecting all of you, "Why have you come to us?” Looking up you meet her gaze as she asked you a question.
"We mean no harm, we had gotten lost and our friend ran off. But we come to learn from you.” Neteyam smiles at your response before looking over at his mother who is glaring at him and loses the smile standing straight faced.
"This uniltìranyu we captured won't stop talking, he is yours?" She gestures over to Harry who's tied up in the middle of some Na’vi. "Oh hey guys! So yea I got captured by these blue smurfs and they tied me up and won't let me go an-" he stops talking as he falls over snoring after being hit on the head.
Shrugging "He had that coming" you say as you laugh. "What is your name child?" Neytiri asks while circling you. "Y/n" you reply back.
"Well Y/n, you all may stay and learn, my son Neteyam will teach you our ways. Let us hope you succeed and we shall see if you can be cured" she smiled walking away towards her husband nodding at her son.
Neteyam, unlike his mother, was a gentle karyu. He wouldn't hit you if you got something wrong, he instead would just correct you on it.
You, Candy, and your boyfriend James quickly got the hang of things, Harry? Ehhh not so much. "You skxawng! Hold the arrow correctly already!" Neteyam's patience was wearing thin with this uniltìranyu. "Shut up you blue smurf I am holding it correctly!"
"You know what that's enough training for today yeah?" Neteyam huffs in annoyance before storming off. "Way to go Harry you chased off our karyu" you say rolling your eyes.
Making your way back to lab and going back to your human forms you all go to the kitchen area and grab a bite to eat before heading off to sleep.
"But baby I want to sleep with you" your boyfriend pouted as you both were standing in the doorway to your room. "No James, go sleep in your own bed" he tries to say something but you closed the door in his face sighing.
As you got into bed covering yourself up you still seemed to be a bit cold, sitting up to grab another blanket you nearly screamed seeing Neteyam looking at you through your window.
Rushing over to it you put on an exomask and opened the window glaring at him "What the fuck are you doing here?", he smiled before answering "I came to see you, now move.”
You furrow your eyebrows in confusion and move out the way as Neteyam climbs through the window before shutting it, He has to somewhat crouch as the room is too small for him. Taking off the exomask you turn to him.
"Why are you here?" Crossing your arms over your chest looking up at the handsome Na'vi you have dreamt of meeting for years.
"Well, I was just out uh walking and I decided to visit and say hi" he blushed slightly. "Well you visited, now leave" rolling your eyes you climbed back into bed shivering once again.
"I could help, keep you warm of course if you want" he spoke softly looking over your shivering body. Your hesitant at first but nod slowly giving him permission to come over.
Neteyam walks over getting on the bed with you pulling you into his arms so your head rests on his chest. His legs hang off the bed as it’s too small for his giant self.
"Better?" He grins "Oh hush" you huff and snuggle closer to him relaxing as his body heat keeps you warm and soon enough you fall asleep. He kisses your head whispering "Goodnight, tanhí" before falling asleep holding you close.
The next morning you awake to big strong arms holding you close and soft snores falling from his mouth, leaning up a bit your eyes widen seeing Neteyam fast asleep. You thought him coming and staying with you was a dream but apparently not.
Laying your head back down you smile and begin to drift off to sleep once more before the door suddenly bursts open and Harry shouts "Wake up bitch! We have trai-" he stoped seeing you wrapped up in the na’vis arms.
Neteyam wakes up letting you go making you huff and you turn over facing Harry before throwing your pillow at him "Get the fuck out Harry!" You shout and he screams closing your door.
"Fucking bitch" you mumble sitting up looking over at Neteyam who's already staring at you while slowly leaning in closer, Your eyes widen but you lean in too, your lips connect as you both engage in a slow passionate kiss.
"Y/n.." he moaned deepening the kiss pulling you closer, you giggle into the kiss as he makes you straddle him while trailing his kisses from your lips to your neck sucking on it, unfortunately things come to an end when your boyfriend walks in on you guys and his jealousy takes over.
"What the fuck?!" He shouted making you scramble to get off Neteyam as he got off the bed opening your window, the omaticaya sent you a wink before jumping out running to the village. Quickly you both hold your breath as you got up running to the window shutting it.
Huffing you walked into your bathroom avoiding James intense glares, picking up your toothbrush you brushed your teeth and fixed up your hair. James leaned in the doorway to your room crossing his arms "What the fuck was that babe? Did you forget you already have a boyfriend?"
Ignoring him you get dressed and try to walk past but he grabs your throat making you face him "Fucking answer me!" , Tears fell down your face, "I'm sorry.. I didn't know what I was doing". He just stares for a few seconds before nodding and let's you go walking away to the avatar chamber with you following.
Upon entering the chamber you see Candy with a Na'vi who you don't recognize so you decide to head over and say hi. "Hey Candy! Who is this?" The Na'vi girl smiles slightly and Candy replies "This is Zaewlí, she's one of the hunters and has asked me to train with her.”
#adult neteyam#neteyam x oc#jake sully#neytiri sully#avatar mo’at#lo’ak sully#kiri sully#avatar pandora#new writers on tumblr#first fic#first post#neteyam te suli tsyeyk'itan#please follow me#please like and reblog#i hope you enjoy
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Anthony’s Stupid Daily Blog (288): Thu 29th Dec 2022
I spent most of the day reading The Sculptress by Minette Walters which has turned out to be a fucking incredible book and may be the best one I’ve read yet in my Edgar Award winners challenge. I was planning on doing my regular thing where I read ten pages of the book every hour but I was so into this book that I read over a hundred pages in a single sitting without a break. The only other book I’ve consumed this way was The Bone Collector by Jeffrey Deaver which I read in an entire day. One weird thing I realized was that The Sculptress and the last one that I’ve read “Bootlegger’s Daughter” are detective novels which have featured protagonists who aren’t professional detectives (the investigator in Bootlegger is a lawyer and in Sculptress she’s a journalist). I can’t even remember how many years it’s been since I started this challenge to read all the novels that have won the Edgar Award for Best Novel but it’s taken me way too long. I should have finished it ages ago and moved into my next ridiculous challenge by now. However due to a combination of general anxiety, trouble at work and lack of motivation have meant that altogether I’ve only read 8 books this year which is fucking pathetic (thankfully the final two have more than made up for how boring the other six turned out to be). I have about 30 books left to read for this Edgar challenge and I’m going to try and plow through all of them so I can get this task crossed off my bucket list once and for all.
Before bed I decided that the constant fiddling with my beard was getting too irritating so I opted to get rid of it. Before shaving the entire thing off I experimented by seeing what I would look like with a chops style beard like Lenny from Motörhead, basically a full beard but with the chin area shaved. I was shocked by how much I actually looked like Lemmy once I completed the shave. I thought I suited it and so I decided to keep it and see how I felt about it after going to work with it. It also solves the problem of discomfort when I’m sleeping since I sleep on my front. Normally the hair in my chin area leaves me feeling uncomfortable when I sleep on it but this look will allow me to maintain a beard while being able to sleep comfortably. Now I just need to know if having this beard will leave me feeling self conscious because although most will know that I’m rocking the Lemmy look some might think that I’ve got a side career in the porn industry which I don’t as I don’t know anything about antiques
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21.08.2022
I feel like this story should have started today, but I think it may have started yesterday. Not completely sure how I feel about that yet.
Well, I guess really it started a month ago. Or maybe 6 months, or about a year or two or three.
Three years ago, I finished my masters.
I didn’t have a good time – I don’t think that I need to get into it right now, but what I will say is that I came out of university burned out, unemployable, unhappy with my relationship and completely clueless about life in general.
I started working in London just as the pandemic began. I literally spent 3 days in the office and 8 months in home office after that.
I was lucky, my landlords were lovely, their house was lovely, the area of London was lovely, even if I didn’t get to see as much of it as I might have, had the circumstances been different.
My job was less lovely.
I came back home, two years ago, even worse off, no job, no relationship, still no clue.
But I did have her. My best friend, come Worstie.
We moved into a lovely apartment together.
I got some ok job, recovered halfway kinda.
Her mother got cancer. She got depressed.
I didn’t care that she was nasty to me, I loved her. I supported her as well as I could.
We stopped being friends anyway, I think.
See, her mother recovered really well. She didn’t stop being nasty.
I got really ill, got a new job. That was about a year ago.
Six months ago, Worstie stopped speaking to me. I still don’t know why.
We didn’t end with a loud clash, just a cold parting. I am still trying so hard to think gracious thoughts.
I got operated. It went well, but I was tired before all this already. I didn’t let myself recover adequately afterwards either.
There was so much work to do, I feared what would happen if I didn’t completely ruin my health for my company.
During all this time, I kind of went on a bender. I don’t know what was riding me, but I sure was riding a whole bunch of them.
I moved out – hallelujah! I love my new apartment. It’s more of a hole in the wall, nearly literally a cave, but I am at peace there.
My boss turned out to be an asshole. Well, I knew this before, but I started to really know just about then.
My mental capacities got stretched thinner and thinner.
Then I got fired last month.
“The company has no money anymore.”
Sure.
I kind of needed a push out of there anyway, and this way I can collect fucking unemployment.
I got depressed. I think I held out remarkably long.
This brings us to two days ago.
My dad told me in no uncertain terms that I should get away from my city. From all the hurt with Worstie, my job, me not having any close friends there because I didn’t meet new people during the pandemic.
I decided to go to Berlin, I came here 10 years ago on a school trip and I liked it a lot so I thought I’d come back.
I’m not really sure when I’ll go back to my city (not sure when my money will run out).
But anyway, I decided to come to Berlin first and to maybe try going on dates again here.
So yesterday I installed tinder and was just looking a little, even though I was still in my city.
I matched with this guy, which is why I think this story started then, and not this sunny morning as I was getting on the train to leave my city.
We met up spontaneously yesterday evening. We walked around, talked.
He’s nice. ‘Standard Handsome’ as I described him to a Friend (we can call her my Tea Buddy), when I couldn’t think of ‘conventionally attractive’. My phrasing suits him better.
A musician though, so we’ll have to see about that.
He invited me home. It was ‘getting cold’.
I played along, thought ‘Sure, why the hell not?’
So we had sex, and it was lovely. I love sex. But I don’t really like what comes after, or maybe what’s come after historically speaking.
Don’t like the blasé attitude afterwards, just because people are scared that a nice time is me trying to, I don’t even know, tie them down for life or whatever.
However, I went down on him so well, that he lost feeling in his arms – so that I guess counts for something, because he is outright clingy.
It’s kind of funny, kind of sweet.
Gosh, he said ‘thank you’ and ‘sorry’ afterwards. The sorry for the mess, I guess. Also he did take for absolutely ever to come, because he embarrassedly told me that he had fucking masturbated three times already that day??
I persevered. And I think his mind was literally blown. Maximum effort – he’s lucky I have an oral fixation.
It was really comfortable afterwards. Positive feedback, which I found is something I really need after.
So we’re still in contact.
And I went off for I don’t know for how long today.
I’m tired to my bones.
I couldn’t sleep very well on the train journey, because I didn’t get a window seat.
Also the girl next to me had group chat called “RadFems <3”. Fucking hell. She doesn’t deserve the window seat.
Berlin is nice. The weather is so good. 22 degrees Celsius and sunny.
After the incessant heat of the last weeks, it’s really welcome.
The hostel is. Ok. Cheap, which is always good.
I went out to a Vietnamese market, because there aren’t a lot of things open on Sundays.
That was a really good decision. I ate really well and hat absolutely great coffee.
Some children where fooling around and I just went along with it – high fiving them through the see through tarp of the pavilion where I ate.
I’m already calming down, see. The parents smiled at me, happy, indulgent.
I also got a haircut, after an absolute odyssey to get some cash.
But that means I saw a little of the area. It’s weird, the houses were not nice.
They’re ones with like 500 apartments in them. But there were so many shops, cafes, parks and playgrounds around. Playing children. A man who just sat there, playing country roads on an acoustic guitar.
I think it would be a lovely area to actually live.
I went back to the market and got the cheapest and most no-nonsense haircut I’ve ever had. By a middle aged, perfectly styled Vietnamese lady in ‘Warehouse 3’. I really liked it. I think I was in and out there within 5 minutes.
I took the tram to Neuköln, and walked along a canal. I sat in a little park there.
There were a lot of dogs, but it was nice. People are sitting around, chatting.
Instead of feeling lonely, I just feel alone. It’s a welcome change. I don’t know anybody here, but then I’m not supposed to.
I was writing to Mr. Standard Handsome in between today, trying to flirt. I don’t know how that’s going, I’m absolutely horrible at it. We will see when I come back?
I’m not really feeling up for more dates, as always happens when I meet anybody I vaguely like – I just lose interest in all other potential people.
In any case, I got my period today. It had to happen, I am on holiday after all.
Feeling a dangerous mix of crusty and murderous isn’t necessarily putting me in the mood to go on dates. So it’s not really looking like my date plan for Berlin will work out after all.
I still need to do that fucking job reference. I think if I manage to finish that, I will do a lot better mentally.
It’s been walking with me, just staring at me, the stupid job reference.
On the way to the hostel, I stopped at a Sudanese takeaway. I ate the falafel wrap when I arrived and it was lovely.
I have been enjoying food again.
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Wanna Be Down (George Weasley x Reader x Fred Weasley)
Warnings: Pure smut! She/her pronouns for the reader! No funny business between the boys I promise! There’s bound to be some typo that I missed, sorry ‘bout that!
Word count: 1,628
Summary: There’s a birthday, a bunny costume and The Twins... What could go wrong?
A/N: This was originally meant to drop on their birthday, April 1st... I’m 28 days late for that but hey, better late than never! It’s been collecting dust for the entire time and I wanted to set it free. I hope someone enjoys it!
“You want me to- to wear a bunny outfit and have the two of you…” You faltered nervously, the words seemed foreign on your tongue.
“-fuck you in it.” Fred finished for you with a wide grin, as if this was the most in the ordinary activity to plan.
The twins wanted to sleep with you? This was the first you’d heard of it, that’s for sure. And though the thought sent waves of excitement through your body, the prospect was daunting.
You’d been friends since diapers, a meager six hours separating your births. And whether the bond that formed later was predetermined by fate, or by pure chance, it was wholly indestructible.
Through the years, the three of you operated perfectly insync. Remaining quite persistently glued at the hip; completing every task deemed worthy enough as an odd unit.
There was an unspoken rule that each of you would make sure that the others felt equally included in activities.
So why should taking your virginity be any different?
“We’ll be twenty in a few hours, Y/N. Don’t you want to kick off the new decade with a bang?” George asked, his face genuine and voice laced with just the right amount of sweetness. He always did know how to persuade you into going along with Fred’s crazy schemes.
“Quite literally in this instance.” Fred added cheekily and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.
“Both of you have had sex before though. Plenty of times in fact! You told me about it afterwards! In vivid detail at that! Why are you so worried about me now?” Your brows were furrowed, lips turned downwards in a pout.
Sitting criss-cross on your bed, you tugged one of the many pillows on your bed into your lap. Squeezing it tighter when you met their gazes again.
Fred had his hands tucked into his jean pockets, happy as ever. He acted as if it was only a matter of time before he’d get the answer he wanted.
George on the other hand, at least looked like he was having a conversation with you; and not like he was just waiting for you to realize you’d never actually said no to them before. His eyes were soft, assessing your demeanor before approaching your spot at the foot of the bed.
“You know you’re our favorite girl. Don’t you, Y/N?” He questioned and you suddenly felt smaller looking directly up at him. Ginger waves caressing his cheeks and pooling at his shoulders.
“I mean- I suppose.” You replied dumbly.
“Who do we always come back home to?” He asked again, his left hand lifting up from his side to comb through your hair. The pads of his fingers brushing against your cheek as they went.
“Me.” Your answer was hushed, though it was only the three of you in the flat. They’d closed the shop downstairs hours ago.
“And who trails after me as much as she can during the day, practically jumping into my lap the first opportunity she gets?” His voice was getting lower and his gaze remained fixed to you, you tried your best not to squirm.
“M- Me.”
“Lastly, whose the babygirl that slips into my bed at three in the morning because she stays up too late and gets scared?” He was teasing you now, you knew it, but still gave him a reply.
“Me, George.” Both of his hands were cupping your face now, fingertips laced in your hair, you couldn’t look away even if you wanted to.
“So when I ask my favorite girl to put on the outfit I picked out for her, so I can make her feel good on her birthday, what do you think I want to hear back?” A single brow arched as he waited for your answer, ignoring Fred’s quiet “I helped choose it too, y’know.”
Wrapping your fingers around his wrists, you thought about all the times he and Fred had slept with other girls. How deep down you’d wished they’d looked at you the same way.
He allowed you to remove one of his hands, a dark smirk splitting across his face when you’d slowly brought it between your legs. Only coming to a stop when he was cupping your heat.
“I think- I think I’ve been holding out for you.” It was no higher than a whisper, but it’d been the truth nonetheless. He smiled wider at this confession, leaning in and pressing a light kiss on your forehead.
“All the more reason not to disappoint.” He responded, you faintly registered rustling from behind him.
“Y/N, dear?” Fred called.
“Hm?”
“Time to put the outfit on.”
It’d been relatively easy to slip into the get-up. The bodysuit, wrist cuffs and neck piece fitting like a glove.
“When did you get my measurements?” You asked, looking down at yourself.
“Since when have we not had your measurements?” Fred laughed, pulling you onto the bed with him until your back was flush against his chest. Your head comfortably leaning back on his left shoulder.
George following after you, settled for sitting up in front of you, his knees digging into the pink duvet.
“The ears are a nice touch.” He remarked with a pleased smirk. “Don’t you agree, Fred?”
“Absolutely. All white suits her.” He replied matter-a-factly, hands already roaming your torso. Ghosting over your exposed thighs, he hooked a finger under the bikini line of the bodysuit and let it snap back into place. Your hips jutted outwards at the impact.
“Want to hear you ask for it, Y/N.” George was palming your calves, making you feel small again.
“What do you want me to say?” Your brows furrowed curiously at the request, breath hitching when he utilized his grip to pull you further down Fred’s chest. Your ankles eventually hooking against George’s shoulders.
“Want him to play with your little cunt, don’t you baby?” Fred asked from above you, heat rushing to your face at his words.
“Y- Yeah.”
“Then ask, darling.” He grinned at your eyes widening as you met his gaze upside down.
Turning your attention back to George, you absentmindedly bit at the end your thumb nervously. Sure you’d used curse words like anyone else in the world, but the thought of actually asking the twins to fuck you was on a level you’d never thought you’d reach.
“Georgie?” You tried carefully.
“What is it, baby?” He replied softly, a smile playing on his lips, patiently waiting.
“Want- Want you to make me feel good.”
“How?” He prompted, delighting in your fidgeting. Fred however wasn’t feeling as patient, sending a soft smack to your inner thigh.
“Don’t have all day, bunny.” He chided, slowly massaging the site.
“Want your cock, Georgie.” You finally relented, wanting nothing more than to hide your face in your hands, but you feared being spanked again by Fred.
George rewarded you with a kiss, palming your clit through the material. He swallowed up every whimper that escaped your lips, only answering by expertly thumbing the area faster.
“Let’s see how wet you are, bun.” Fred whispered, pulling the bodysuit aside to reveal your heat. Running a finger through your folds, he promptly brought it to your mouth. Smirking widely when you began meekly sucking at the digit.
“I’m gonna get you ready, okay sweetheart?” George asked, mouthing at your neck. He didn’t move until you garbled something close to “okay” through Fred’s fingers sadistically pressing down your throat.
Armed with plenty of lube, the first finger sliding into you felt like nothing. By the third, he resorted to distracting you by rubbing your bud to ease the initial stretch. Although nothing could have prepared you for how uncomfortable taking his tip was.
It was a slow process, full of the boys tenderly guiding you to breathe deeply and relax your muscles. With the abundance of their attention focused on outweighing the discomfort with pleasure, eventually the mild pain began to blur around the edges.
The level of satisfaction that rolled over you when you’d finally reached the hilt was like no other.
“Good girl.” Fred purred into your hair as George wiped away a stray tear from the corner of your eye. “Took it like a champ, didn’t she, Georgie boy?”
“Sure did, Fred. Squeezing me so nicely too.” He replied smiling proudly.
“Full- So full.” You whimpered blearily, not sure which boy you were grasping for. Each accepted one of your wandering hands, giving them an encouraging squeeze.
“You’re doing so well, babygirl. How about you let me make you feel good now, hm?” George’s voice was gruff as he patiently waited for you to nod back in response.
Soon the discomfort had melted away, leaving only the easy slide of George’s length and the gratification of being engulfed between the loves of your life.
You promptly got lost in the jumble of mouths, hands and pleasure.
“Gonna come for us, love?” George asked, holding your hips done to focus his thrusts.
“Can I- Can I, please? Please let me come!” You whined desperately, unable to distinguish whose hands belonged to who.
“Go ahead, bunny.” George answered and it was all you needed to hear. Your visioned blurred as your toes curled, the only thing you could register was that he was fucking you through it. Fred’s fingers circling your clit didn’t let up until you were pathetically trying to pull at his wrist.
A weak mewl fell from your lips as George pulled out of you spent. Simpering under his praises, you closed your eyes.
The sudden smack against your face was sobering, leaving you blurrily blinking up at Fred’s eager grin.
“I hope you didn’t think you were off the clock, bun.”
#the weasley twins#the weasley twins x reader#fred weasley x reader#george weasley x reader#fred weasley x reader x george weasley#fred and george#harry potter#harry potter imagine#harry potter smut#harry potter fic#hp#hp fanfic#hp smut#hp imagine
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‧₊ NO WAY HOME (BUT AREN’T I THERE?)
PAIRING: C!Mumbo Jumbo x GN!Reader
SYNOPSIS: (Modern AU) With all the flights home grounded due to a freak blizzard, it’s looking like you have to spend Christmas Eve alone. To top it all off, your phone is almost dead, leaving you with no way to call your family. Maybe the guy next to you has a charger…?
WARNINGS: Anxiety attacks
A/N: I honestly am absolutely in love with how mischaracterized Mumbo Jumbo was in the fandom up until recently. We were all like “oh, look at this guy!! he’s so awkward and tall and completely at Grian’s mercy” when, in actuality, Grian is the one that would not last a day in the DSMP. Mumbo? Mumbo would fucking rule it better than Dream ever did. (Is this potato boy propaganda? Yes it is, and I am not afraid to say it)
Your shoes pattered against the ground as you ran through the crowded airport terminal, dodging and weaving through the mass of people milling about. You paid no mind to the curious or offended looks you got, eyes affixed on the signs that hung above each gate to care about them or their personal issues.
For some indeterminate reason, it had been incredibly hard for you to get a flight home this year. It seemed as though everything was booked solid, people rushing to get tickets to travel for the holiday season, and it was with a heavy stone in your gut that you had to schedule for today. Christmas eve.
When you had first set out on your own, moving to the bustling city of Java, you had left your family far behind, only able to fly out on holidays to spend time with them- actual, in-person time with them, not what you could get with your measly six-inch phone screen. Christmas was one of the only times you ever got to see them, and only being able to fly out on the day before? It absolutely sucked.
You hadn’t planned to arrive this late, pushing your already tight itinerary even tighter as the heavy city traffic ate at the time you should’ve spent going through security. You were practically panting by the time you got through everything, and that was before you had to go on this mad dash, desperately searching for where your plane was stationed. At the rate you were going, you were wondering if you would ever even find it before take off.
You breathed a sigh of relief, however, the sound more like a rasp from all of your exertion, as you spotted the lobby for your gate, practically flopping down in one of the few available seats. To your luck, you had a couple of minutes left until the plane was set to take off, and you took this opportunity to finally relax.
It seemed as though your day was filled with problem after problem, and if you didn’t de-stress soon, it was no doubt that the tightly coiled tension within you would snap like a spring. You took the chance to finally examine the area you were in, too focused on looking at the signs before to really notice anything.
While the walkways were still bustling with people trying to get to their flights- presumably others on their way to see family-, those in your section of the airport were a lot more subdued, the majority of them either quietly talking amongst themselves or scrolling through their phones. From where you were sitting, you could just make out the shape of the plane through the windows, the colorful banner of the airline brand visible on its fin-like vertical stabilizer.
Your relieved expression shifted into a frown, though, once you noticed the thick cloud cover over the skies, dark grey and white clouds looming ominously over the horizon like some kind of goliath monster. Pursing your lips, you shot an anxious look towards where the two attendants near the gate were talking with each other in hushed whispers, heads leaned together so you couldn't get a good look at their faces.
You didn’t have a good feeling about this.
“Erm, are you alright?”
Jolting slightly at the unfamiliar voice, you shifted to see that someone had plopped into the seat beside you, somehow going unnoticed as you observed your surroundings. You schooled your features into something a little less stressed as you turned to meet the person who had spoken, trying to soothe your nerves.
“Sorry about that- I was just thinking that the sky looked a little ominous,” you chuckled to yourself, but quickly broke off as the stranger leaned forwards to follow where your gaze had been, shifting into your personal space. You hadn’t quite had a good chance to look at him yet, but now your senses were filled with the sight of the neatly pressed black suit he was wearing, and the woody scent of his cologne.
A small spark of heat bloomed in your cheeks, and you couldn’t do much beyond hold your breath as he observed what you were talking about. After a moment, he seemed to realize what he had done, and jerked back, dark eyes filled with apology.
“Sorry, sorry! Sometimes my curiosity gets the best of me sometimes,” he said, laughing awkwardly as his hands fiddled with the suitcase resting in his lap nervously. Getting a good look at him, you realized that he was… not what you were expecting, to be honest.
Based on just his voice and choice of clothing, you had already visualized some kind of businessman, someone with sharp edges and a slightly condescending demeanor- but as your eyes flickered over his features, that was not it. Not at all.
For starters, his expression, his face, even the way he held himself exuded a softness and nerdiness that didn’t match his attire. His black hair looked as though there had been an attempt to style it, brushed back from his face to fall behind his ears, but there were more than a few flyaways, and a chunk appeared to stubbornly refuse to move from where it hung over his left eye.
Wide, glossy black eyes stared down at you from just above a well-groomed mustache, shining with concern and curiosity as he studied you, clearly doing the same thing that you were at the moment.
If you didn’t know better, you would almost think that he was cute. Which was preposterous, of course- you were at an airport for Moon’s sake. Airport strangers are legally not allowed to be cute- it would be too unfair for everyone else.
You quickly waved off his concerns, trying and failing to hide your brief moment of bewilderment. “It’s fine, it’s fine, just- I was just worried that there might be issues if it starts storming.”
The man nodded, seeming to finally connect your words to the sight of the clouds encroaching ever-nearer. “Yeah, that seems like that would be an issue. Do you- do you have anyone that you need to get home to?”
The question was innocuous enough, but you couldn’t help but notice the hidden connotations that it had. You smiled, shaking your head softly. “Only family, really. I fly over every Christmas to stay with them. Who’re you on the flight for?”
He shook his head, something wistful in his eyes as he turned his gaze back towards the window. “I’m traveling for business, I’m afraid. It seems like there might be a correlation between the holiday season and operation issues, and they need someone to get over to sort things out.”
You felt the corners of your mouth tug down, brows furrowing as you processed his statement. “You mean you’ll be spending Christmas working?”
The dark-haired man sighed ruefully, slumping back in his seat with a wry smile. “Unfortunately.”
Biting your lip, you felt sympathy flood through you at his tired expression. During your high school years, you had the privilege of working overtime during the holidays one winter. To make a long story short- it was hell on earth, with how sucky it was. It had firmly made its place in your list of ‘worst experiences ever’, and you felt immense empathy for anyone who had to be in that position.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured genuinely, leaning forwards against your knees to catch his eye. “That’s horrible.”
He coughed, and you caught a flash of pink jump to his cheeks before he was turning his head away from you and bringing a fist to his mouth to cover the sound. “It’s fine, really. Just how it is, y’know?”
You opened your mouth to speak, but before you could get any words out, you were interrupted by the shriek of the airport PA system turning on, jumping in your seat for the second time in a very short time frame. Mildly annoyed by getting caught off guard again, you turned your gaze up towards the speakers mounted in the ceilings, eyebrows raising as curiosity soon overtook you.
“Attention all gates: Until further notice, all flights are grounded due to inclement weather. Any concerns can be directed towards any staff members, and thank you for flying with us today.”
There were a few seconds of dead silence as everyone collectively gaped at the ceiling, before there was an uproar. People were shouting, standing up to demand answers from the poor attendants manning the lobby. There were children crying, those desperately trying to understand what was going on, and you were trapped in the middle of it all, staring with unseeing eyes as the statement sunk in.
Before you could react, though, a hand was firmly grasped around your own and you looked up to see the (cute, although you still refused to admit it) stranger pulling you through the crowd, gunning for the front desk before anyone else could get there first.
Sensing your confused gaze, he shot you a placating glance, a wordless plea in his dark eyes- ‘not now’. Allowing yourself to be pulled through the throng, it wasn’t long before you were standing before the two harried-looking employees, peeking over the shoulder of the dark-haired man that had situated himself slightly in front of you.
“Hello,” he said, a cheerfulness in his voice that did not match your current situation at all. “The planes are delayed?”
The attendant that answered had folded into themselves like they were expecting the pair of you to blow up on them, hesitantly offering their affirmations. Suddenly, a question popped into your head, shredding through any remaining reluctance you might’ve had and motivating you to step forwards, away from the cover that the stranger gave.
“When do you think we will be able to get off the ground now, then?”
They shrugged, moving to get a good look at one of the many computers set up at the desk area. “The storm passing through the area is quite large, so I’d have to say sometime tomorrow.”
Tomorrow. The day after this one, which happened to be Christmas eve. When you were planning on being home.
You had to call your family.
Forcing yourself into motion, you scrambled for your pockets, rifling through your pockets with panicked hands. You whispered a sharp ‘yes!’ under your breath as your fingers caught on the smooth glass surface of your phone, drawing out to frantically click it on. To your horror, however, all that stared up at you from the screen was the red ‘low-battery’ icon, a clear signifier that it, the only device that you could use to contact home- to let them know that you weren’t going to make it to one of the only events you could see them each year- was dead.
You didn’t realize that you were starting to hyperventilate until you felt two surprisingly strong hands grip your upper forearms, looking up through a blur of unshed tears to see a pale face swimming before you.
“Ah, geez- are you alright? Well, obviously not- geez Mumbo, why do you have to be such a moron? Uhm, do you- do you think you could try and copy my breathing? In and out, like this.”
Lungs stuttering fitfully against your ribcage, it could’ve either been a few minutes or an hour before you managed to get your respiratory system under control, and even then you were still taking little gasping breaths. Lifting the hand that wasn’t currently still clutching your phone, you clumsily wiped at your face, caught off-guard by the wetness of your cheeks. When had you started crying?
“There you are,” the stranger- Mumbo, a distant part of you recalled- murmured, shoulders slumping slightly as his entire body seemed to relax. “You had me scared for a bit.”
“Sorry,” you mumbled, averting your gaze from the man in front of you, the tips of your ears burning in shame. “I don’t know what came over me.”
“Sorry,” you mumbled, averting your gaze from the man in front of you, the tips of your ears burning in shame. “I don’t know what came over me.”
Mumbo seemed taken aback by your apology, leaning back and finally removing his hold on your arms, and you found yourself missing the warmth he brought. “What? There’s no need to say sorry- you didn’t have any control over that.”
Laughing wetly, you decided to let the issue go, instead opting to stare down at the blackened screen of the device in your hand once more. Your visage was reflected back to you by the polished surface, and you were able to see just how disheveled your appearance had become. Grimacing, you glanced up to where the dark-haired man was still watching you.
“You wouldn’t happen to have a charger, would you?”
It had been a few hours since chaos broke out, and you were happy to say that you weren’t exactly reenacting ‘Lord of The Flies’. You and Mumbo, as he had introduced himself a few minutes after you had calmed down from your panic (despite you already picking up his name), had situated yourselves against one of the walls of the gate lobby, your backs pressed to the cold plaster as the two of you quietly chatted and watched the snow fall down through the windows to the tarmac.
Resting on the dark-haired man’s suit jacket, which he had laid down beneath the two of you like a picnic blanket, you couldn't stop yourself from checking your phone every few seconds, waiting for even the slightest bit of charge to call home. Mumbo did, in fact, have a charger ready- providing it to you with the condition that you didn’t try to make a ‘super charger’ with it.
You didn’t ask- the haunted look in his eyes said enough.
So engrossed in your task, you didn’t notice how Mumbo’s eyes seemed more focused on you than what was happening outside, dark eyes curiously picking out every breath, every flicker of your eyes towards the darkened screen of the device laid in your lap. It was obvious how anxious you were from his perspective, and he repressed the urge to pull you closer to him in comfort.
Seeing how you reacted earlier- it was honestly one of the worst experiences he had ever had to go through. Even as he was desperately trying to pull you out of it, to get your attention, you were just staring straight at him with that glassy-eyed stare- it was like you weren’t even perceiving him. And when you finally collected yourself, it hurt like a physical wound to see you apologize to him. As if you could control anything that just happened.
Mumbo didn’t know how he had gotten so attached to you.
Maybe it was the quiet tone of your voice as you talked about your niece, who had sent you multiple cards expressing how excited she was to see you this holiday. Maybe it was the way you listened to him speak, completely and utterly focused on him as he talked and visibly absorbing his words.
He didn’t know how he had gotten so attached to you, but a sour bile rose in throat at the thought that you would eventually have to part ways. It was one thing to meet someone like you in his normal day-to-day job around the city, which he knew you lived in as well, but- well, it was different. You wouldn’t just trust a random stranger at the airport with your number, right?
… Right?
When you eventually moved away with your phone, animatedly chattering to whoever was on the other end, Mumbo was still there where he had been sitting, propping his chin up in his hand as he shut his eyes to rest. Faintly, he could hear the sound of Christmas music playing from someone’s speakers, and he hummed along to the melody to stave off the buzzing thoughts in his head.
It wasn’t long, however, before you were finishing your call and settling back into place beside him, prompting the man to crack open an eye as your limbs brushed his.
“Everything alright?” he asked, blinking the exhaustion that had pooled within him in the past few minutes back as he focused on you. You sighed heavily, shooting Mumbo a weary but hesitantly optimistic smile.
“Yeah. The kiddos will be a little disappointed, but I should be able to bribe them out of it.”
Huffing a laugh, the dark-haired man angled his head toward you, a mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Oh, yes. We all know presents are the best thing to distract children.”
You hummed, a pleased smile tugging at the corners of your lips, and allowed to air between you to lapse into silence, on filled by the distant sounds of other people talking and the wind howling outside. Mumbo was struggling to stay awake- doing those slow, lizard-like blinks in a valiant attempt to stave off sleep- when an unfamiliar weight settled itself on his shoulder.
Turning his head to the side slightly, he was met with the sight of your head resting itself upon him, cheek smushed into the hard line of his bicep. It was clear that the stress of the day had taken its toll on you, and now, as the sun dipped below the horizon, you had succumbed to your exhaustion.
With a sudden rush of fondness, Mumbo found himself carefully shifting to draw you into his side, lifting you slightly to wrap an arm around your torso. You mumbled sleepily, snuggling deeper into his warmth, and he melted. The man had never before been so glad that someone was so tired.
“M’bo?” you slurred, one eye cracking open as you were jostled. He hushed you, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck protectively.
“It’s alright, just getting you comfortable.”
You hummed sleepily, craning your neck up to try and get a peek at his face. He was glad that you couldn’t see how red the tips of his ears were in the low light- it was far too late in the day to start getting teased.
“Pr’mse me we’ll see each other aga’n,” you said, a sudden energy in your voice as your eyes bored into him. “You’re really nice.”
Feeling himself flush further at the compliment, Mumbo couldn’t help the beaming smile that stretched across his face. “I promise.”
You nodded, evidently satisfied with his answer, before promptly leaning your full weight into his side and conking out once more. In his opinion, Mumbo couldn’t imagine himself anywhere else. This moment, right here, right now, was so intrinsically right to him.
What they say is true, he supposed- everyone does find a home for the holidays.
@danny-boy27 @the-tired-system @silently-plotting-murder @g0re-h0und @hermitscapes @peanut-is-freed @itsonlydana @sina-the-idiot @amearla @rabukabait
#mori's holiday series#a meal for the children#hermitcraft x reader#mcyt x reader#c!mumbo jumbo#c!mumbo#mumbo jumbo x reader#mumbo x reader#tw: anxiety attack
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Poor Petal, she must have had a panic attack when she found out she was pregnant for the first time.
She was downright terrified.
She broke down crying, screaming into her pillow, refusing to let Doma hold or console her. Surprisingly, he left her alone, letting her deal with her emotions on her own.
The only words he left her was, "Oh, [Name], I'm so happy. Soon, we're going to be parents, my sweet pretty petal!"
[Name] just couldn't understand how this happened. She was careful, so diligent in taking the tea every night. She began racking her mind, trying to make sense of it all, and search for a possibility why this small mistake occurred.
Until she recalled two months prior, where Doma's insatiable hunger for his wife consumed him. Like an animal in heat, he forced himself on her, ignoring her pleas to stop, releasing his fertile seed deep into her womb. Over and over again, he made sure every night she was filled with his cum, having the sole mission to make her bear his children.
✦✦✦ ✦✦✦
Doma had to travel southward for demon duties and he felt this was the perfect opportunity for you both to get closer. A whole week together, all alone while he was free from his duties, a chance to finally have some quality bonding time without his cult. It was a dream come true.
However, this place was in the middle of nowhere, hardly any villages, let alone stores, around. All the sources you used to protect yourself from Doma were gone, the foods and teas you consumed to prevent a pregnancy out of reach.
The only people around were fellow upper moons, who stayed far away from your husband, especially you.
Thus, you were forced to endure his doting behavior, forced to play his dangerous games, and forced to let him breed you.
✦✦✦ ✦✦✦
"Pretty petal. So pretty, so beautiful. You're taking me so well, hah," Doma laughs, snapping his hips harshly, thick balls slapping against your skin. You bounced with every thrust, mewling and whimpering, begging him to slow down. It only stirred him on to go faster. "No, no, no, this is the best way to ensure maximum success with fertilizing you. I have to make sure my seed is as deep as possible inside you, my petal!"
The aching between your legs grew, arching your back as an orgasm washes over you once again. Your juices release over his thick cock, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your velvet walls constrict around him. "Ah! Ah, D-Doma!"
"Mm, hngh! P-petal! Petal! Petal! " Doma whines out, biting his bottom lip, grinning like a madman as the sweet relief of climax fast approaches him. His thrusts turn sloppy and his hips stutter. Quickly, he pulls out and leaves you feeling empty for a few seconds. He grabs your legs, hooking his arms around your knees, and pushes your thighs to your chest, claws digging into your plush skin as he starts to hammer into you. "So-so good! Such a good girl! You'll be such a good mother, sweet petal! Just you wait! I'll make you a mommy, ok? Just- fuck!"
He releases long, thick ropes of cum, painting your womb white with his fertile seed once more. He thrusts weakly, head falling back as he gasps. "Mm, ah-ah, [N-Name]...!" You squeeze your eyes shut, looking to the side, swallowing bitterly as he fills you to the brim, cum leaking out as he slides in and out. It drips onto the bed, staining the pristine, red cotton sheets.
"Oh, petal, please don't look away. I want to see you," Doma croons, pulling out with a shaky breath and looking down at the mess between your legs with a grin. White painted the sheets below like a puddle. He pulls out with a groan. Seeing the way your pussy gushes out his cum, flexing around nothing, it makes him want to take you all over again. He slides two fingers up across your folds, gathering his seed, and pushing it back into your sopping hole with his fingertips. He hums whilsts you whine, rocking your hips at the weird sensation. "Such a pretty sight, you took me so well, petal. I'm so proud of you!"
He's met with silence. Though, it doesn't bother him as he already fulfilled his task for the night. After five long rounds, he believes its enough for the day and he'll repeat the process tomorrow. For now, both of you need rest, we'll, mainly you if you're going to stay awake during the whole ordeal.
You were in a daze as Doma cleaned both you and himself up, changing the sheets into soft clean ones, and covering your body with the blankets, tucking it in.
"Good night, my pretty wife," Doma whispers, taking his spot beside you, his arms slithering around your frame and pulling you close. His chest pressed against your nude back, his legs tangling in yours, and he buried his face in your hair, taking a deep breath of your sweet aroma. "I love you..."
✦✦✦ ✦✦✦
Immediately after coming back from your journey, Doma became busy, his schedule packed to the brim with orders from his master. It irritated him, saddened him even, that he would be apart from you for a while.
As much as he loved ravishing your body every night, he had to focus on completing every task with precise accuracy. He doesn't want to disappoint his master after all.
But before he left you alone the first night back, he replaced your assigned follower with a different one. One that reported back to him and carried out his orders, their loyalty to the demon overriding their morals to protect you.
He wasn't stupid. It didn't take long for him to figure out the tea you drank prevented you from becoming pregnant, a huge change to the tea he got to make you fertile. The news did upset him, but he hid the discovery and played along with your little antics. It made him try to come up with a solution, where he disguised the tea you drank to better fit his wishes.
Like an unsuspecting mouse, you walked right into the cat's claws.
Anyone who tried helping you was either eaten by Doma or killed by him in another manner. If the actions of a stupid, disloyal follower was keeping him away from his dream of having a family, the demon won't hesitate to get rid of them. They should know better.
Doma's dreams are his followers' orders.
If he says he dreamt of eating a hundred virgins, his followers should offer him the bountiful feast of meat from a hundred virgins.
If he says he dreamt of growing his cult, his followers should go out and recruit people to join them.
Now, if he says he dreams of a child with his wife, his followers should offer their help and make sure he gets his child.
By god, did they live up to his expectations for once. Everyone - from the ones who prepared your meals to the new members who brought you gifts - made sure every small action built up to the final wish of their leader's plan.
Every food and drink you consumed had been carefully chosen to help make you plump and help the baby grow. Every bath had been filled with excotic herbs to soothe your changing body. Every offering had slowly been gearing towards a human smaller than you. Yet, you never really paid attention to the small differences.
Doma noticed how tired you seem lately, how you complained to the follower assigned to you about the tenderness of your breast and the pain of your abdominal and pelvis area, and even how different you looked, almost glowing.
At first, he didn't put the pieces together. Surely all women were like this, right? Yet, that wasn't the case.
He found himself always wondering why your emotions were easily more unhinged, why you ate the foods he hand-fed you more easily, or why you were napping in the afternoon. Yes, he liked these changes and welcomed them eagerly, believing you were finally warming up to him. But why?
After nearly six weeks, you were worried why your period didn't come. You speculated the stress could have been a prominent factor in causing your late cycle, sometimes occurring in your youth. You seem bloated lately as well, you note, or it could've been weight gain due to the food you have been eating lately. Thus you brushed it off.
It'll come soon, you just know it. Afterall, you're still a human and change is a part of life.
In another area of the temple, a different situation was unfolding. When the trusted follower reported to Doma about your very late menstrual cycle, he clapped with joy like a child being entertained. Of course! How slow can he be?! You finally are carrying his child! The hormonal changes affected how you behaved with him and the sudden weight gain explained it all.
Oh, he just couldn't wait for the day to come!
However...
He had to make sure you did nothing irresponsible to push back his dream.
Doma became more strict and possessive with you. He didn't let you go anywhere alone. Even if you were in the privacy of your room, someone had to be there.
The days where you spent waiting for him in your bedroom were now spent at his side. He forced you to sit on his lap like before, feeding you more than you're used to. Any question concerning his increase of doting behavior was met with a laugh and a kiss to your cheek. "I just love you so much, I want you to be healthy!"
Doma isn't stupid. He knew the moment he mentioned, or even insinuated, you were pregnant, you would break down and possibly affect the baby negatively. He didn't know if you were capable of taking drastic measures of getting rid of it this far along, but he didn't want to find out.
With careful, watchful eyes, Doma made sure everyday you were fed well, that you were always protected, and made sure nothing upset you. He went the extra mile to find medicine and herbs incase you ever fell ill. The demon made sure your attention was always occupied to keep from noticing your changing body.
To say it worked was an understatement.
By the fifth month, you realized despite your growing stomach, you weren't gaining weight anywhere else. Most of your clothes fit like a glove except around your abdomen.
Your heart began to race as you wracked your mind of the events for the past few months.
When was the last time you had gotten your period?
You don't recall changing your sheets every month because you stained it, nor do you recall dealing with the hassle of keeping yourself clean. Come to think of it, you felt at ease these past few months, the usual cramps and cravings you felt no longer bothering you like before.
Ridding yourself of your clothes, slipping your kimono off until you're left in your undergarments of hadajyuban and susuyoke. You undid your sash and revealed your stomach. You're met with the sight of your bulging tummy and tender breasts. Pressing a finger pad to the skin of your stomach, it seemed firm instead of soft and plush. With a shaky breath, you pressed your palms against your stomach and...
Kick. Kick.
You removed your hands immediately, face falling. No...
No. No! No! No!
How didn't you notice it before!?
Your chest fell and rose quickly with every breath you took, hyperventilating as the situation dawned on you. You were pregnant. Actually pregnant with that damn demon's child. A bellowing scream ripped from your throat, the high-pitch intensity resonating like shattering glass throughout the temple.
Doma raced to your bedroom, fearing the worse as he heard his wife scream. He ran into the bedroom, only to be met with your form bawling on the floor, hunched over as sobs wracked your body. Followers tried to console you, yet you ignored them.
Doma approached you carefully and crouched down, but the moment he put a hand on your back, you whipped your head and cracked your hand across his face like a whip. He fell back, catching himself, shock etched into his features. You... You hit him? He paid no mind to the followers who raced to his side, asking him if he was okay. He was more surprised you dared slap him.
The stinging of his cheek didn't hurt , but it caught him off guard. He looked up and leered at you with wide eyes. Yet he clashed with the burning, sorrowful gaze you held.
"Fuck you! Goddamnit, leave me alone, you monster! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!!" You screech, standing up and burying your face in your hands. Tears slipped through your fingers and dripped to the floor.
Doma smiled, finally understanding why you were reacting the way you were. He began chuckling, then giggling, and then he broke into a fit of laughter. He stood up and held a hand to his face, looking at you with a crazed, delighted expression on his face. Gleefully, he spoke, "Oh, petal! You finally caught on!"
You shake your head and begin crying louder, turning your back to the demon. "No, no, no...," you whimper.
"We're going to be parents...," Doma croons, taking small, quiet steps towards you. Like before, he tries pulling you close but you brush him off.
"Please... Please, just leave me alone...!"
"Oh, [Name], you'll see. Once our baby is here, you'll love being a mommy. Just like I'll love being a papa...!"
"No... I didn't want this...."
"But I did! I told you for so long...," Doma whispers, uncomfortably close to you. He lets out a breathy laugh. "And now that you're finally with child, I'm going to make sure I see my baby no matter what."
You could only stand in horror, listening to his voice. The panic crawled up your throat, fear taking hold of you as you froze up. With bated breath, you wait for him to leave. But his next words made your heart drop and blood run cold.
"I'm willing to do anything for our child, [Name]. Even if it means I may have to hurt you to guarantee their safe arrival."
✦✦✦ ✦✦✦
Doma is not submissive and breedable. He is dominant and fertile.
He finally has his wish of having a family with the woman he loves.
And he'll do anything to make it come true.
Even if it means he has to become the monster and hurt you to get it.
✦✦✦ ✦✦✦
©𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚟𝚊 || 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚜 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎𝚍 || 𝚗𝚘 𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚗𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜, 𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚜, 𝚌𝚘𝚙𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚛𝚎𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚎𝚝𝚌. 𝚞𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚊𝚗𝚢 𝚌𝚒𝚛𝚌𝚞𝚖𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎𝚜,
✦✦✦ ✦✦✦
#fanfiction#x reader#kny x reader#kny doma#kny douma#doma#Douma#kimitsu no yaiba#doma x reader#douma x reader#kny doma x reader#doma x you#demon slayer doma#demon slayer x you#demon slayer x reader#demon slayer imagines#demon slayer imagine#demon slayer douma#demon slayer#douma x you#douma#douma demon slayer#doma demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba imagines#kimetsu no yaiba x reader#kimetsu no yaiba#doma kny#douma kny#anime#manga
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𝐬𝐨𝐮𝐥 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.
@seychellse, HI!! I'M YOUR CUPID! And i hope you like what i wrote, even though it's just the first part! too much plot, too much reader development STILL i hope you appreciate it!!! smut comes on the next part and it's gonna be YUMMY cause aizawa is YUMMY! happy valentine's day again and thanks for your patience with me!!
aizawa shouta x reader. too much plot, slight angst, parents divorcing, but also fluff, reader is kinda naïve and silly, aizawa probably ooc, forbidden relationship (student x professor).
6.826 words.
Mom and dad are getting divorced. After almost two years of homemade hell, not even you were able to be the glue keeping them together, at least, until you find your way out of this room as an independent woman.
The big serious conversation happened yesterday. Right after a fucking tiring class at the college, you got home only to find out that your efforts were in vain. Useless, thrown aside with no hesitation.
Years of wearing the mask of happiness and flawless child just to discover it changes nothing in the way your parents are not meant to be with each other.
You’ve never been as happy as people say around. Despite the light, carefree smile always on your shining lips, good grades, social interactions and nice days and night having fun with your friends, you’re not as content as the gossips say. You do look like having a perfect life; never complaining and never letting your real feeling to come up beneath the thick layer of good manners and behavior, even inside your own home.
It wasn’t like you had any other option, anyway.
You used to wonder what could possibly happen if you stopped being the perfect, wonderful, amazing daughter your parents talked about every chance they got. Not long ago, on your eighteenth birthday, their marriage started to fall apart and, not wanting to accept what your eyes were showing, you tried hard to be the best girl in order to keep them together.
You graduated from the high school with a rain of compliments coming of your teachers, pleased to have had you as their student. Entered the best university of the State to study what your father always said would be a good idea. Built a network, met important people and brought pride to your mother, so interested in what the contacts can bring to one. Got a part time job as the assistant of a great specialist in the area you wanted to research about. You even dated a guy your parents liked for a few months, wanting to make them happy.
But none of this was enough. Years after making yourself the question “what if they divorce one day?”, you’re feeling it on your skin, every cell of your body aching, fingers trembling, eyes squeezing—how can one handle such pain?
They weren’t joking about mother leaving the house in the same night. You’ve seen the bags with her clothes, a truck outside to help her carry all of her stuff to her new house, on the other side of the city. She had kissed your face with a guilty expression, but reassured she’d always be right there if you ever needed help, of even if you wanted to move in with her.
Though she was talking like a stranger; she possibly doesn’t want you to go with her to live with her new prettier, richer man. Her words were pity, manners only. It broke your heart; you’ve spent the night awake and trying to convince yourself it wasn’t happening.
However, when your clock alarm announced that it was time to go study, you went to the bathroom and stared your own face on the mirror, your red eyes said everything. She’s gone; she’s leaving you and her husband because of a man she have known for less than six months. Your orbs also ask God, the universe, even yourself what did you do to deserve this. Or, even better, what haven’t you done? Were you supposed to be even more perfect? If you haven’t failed that exam—receiving a B instead of an A—, would the universe agree with keeping your parent together for a few more years? You’d never know the answer.
So, instead of dwell into it, you decided to keep your act. Perhaps your life is going to be fixed if you don’t lose your mind; if you keep playing your familiar role. Makeup could do little for your reddish eyes, but your skin won’t show the cruel pattern your never-ending tears made on your face if you cover it well enough. Although you know how fast the gossips run, and your phone already is full of messages of friends asking what happened, going to your classes won’t make you sadder. It doesn’t work anymore; since the day you decided you’d be the happy student, content daughter and unwavering friend, little has you upset.
Having your heart broken doesn’t hurt as it used to do when you were sixteen; hearing comments about your appearance also doesn’t have you sad. What is this bullshit in comparison to the hell you used to see at least once a week—parents trying hard not to scream and report they’ve been fighting for hours, but then saying, whispers of regret, that they shouldn’t have had trusted themselves to raise a child.
Oh, the weight of hearing your mother saying it would be better if they never had you.
After this, what else can make you cry like a newborn, wanting to be dead instead of hearing those things?
The curious, unsubtle gazes people throw at you also don’t bother you at first. You meet your classmates, talk to them about silly, light subjects; pretend you’re not broken inside, and it goes very well the whole day. Like the role of flawless student always does, you’ve almost forgotten about what waits for you at home. But then the classes are done.
You sure can hear the whispers as you walk to the exit of the place, this time alone, but none of them hurt you as much as when you notice a guy staring at you. He’s blonde, his eyes are creepy, the devilish smirk on his lips is enough to have you disgusted and annoyed. His mouth is moving, he doesn’t bother to hide he’s talking about you to his much less interested friend.
“Said her mother’s a whore,” he laughs, shamelessly pointing at you. “Woman’s moving in to my house, bet it won’t take long ‘til I can fuck her, like my father did.”
You try to ignore, but suddenly you’ve lost the skill of walking. Your legs shake a little as you pass in front of him, now his words hitting your ears with a cruel remind of your family’s situation. It hurts. You wanted to talk back, tell whoever listened to his words that he’s just a fucking liar, a stupid weirdo, yet your tongue froze and you couldn’t do much more than feel them again. Warm tears, a sob leaving your lips as you looked at him with the most pitiful of the gazes.
The last time you’ve cried in public happened when you were fifteen, after a guy affirming he’d rather die instead of even holding hands with you. However the feeling is still familiar, the humiliation lump in your throat feeling bitter, like you’re about to puke the little you ate during the day. Your body burns in shame, so conscious about the way people stop on the hall just to see your crying face—not only the students, with their pity expressions, but also the professors, complacent but not surprised faces seemingly used to the young adults drama.
You finally manage to move your feet, walking towards the door, but the blonde guy opens his fucking mouth again. His voice is gross and, even without looking back, you know his smirk is also sick.
“Are you like this, too?” He inquires, but he answers himself with a creepy chuckle. “Of course you are; it must be genetic, mother’s a slut, daughter also is.”
Insults are nothing. It doesn’t matter if he’s calling you a slut. He’s an unknown, a guy you’ve never noticed before and probably will never see after finishing your studies. Although it still uncomfortable to hear a motherfucker like him talking about your mother. Not even your father, who was cheated on, didn’t call her names, why the little crap of this boy has to do it?
You know he wants you to answer. The usual behavior of a man trying to make himself a little fame. You’re tired, you’re sad, you’re feeling humiliated by the way your body betrayed you after so many years pretending to be the unshakeable girl—you don’t even have words in your mind other than fuck you, what you probably make him laugh. Still you turn around to face him and his red-haired friend.
“Quit it,” you hear your own voice, shaky and breathy, but also harsh. You feel anger, you feel sadness, you feel the urge to get closer to the guy and punch him, you feel the urge to cry an ocean and tell him to fuck off. Instead, you start walking again, this time decided to reach the exit. “If you’re so annoyed about my mother go cry for your father.”
“I won’t, unlike you, fucking crybaby. Just get over the fact your family is screwed now because of her,” he replies quickly, never stopping to smile, but it’s the last thing you pay attention to.
“Enough, Katsuki,” says a professor, approaching the both of you.
You recognize it is Yagi, but only because your friends can’t shut up about him. He’s not a professor on your department, so you barely know more than his name and the assumptions of him being rich and spoiling sugar babies around. You can also remember about your father saying they used to be close, back on master’s degree days, but that’s all. He’s never shown up on the reunions dad used to do to meet his friends, so you could only assume they don’t talk anymore.
You shake your head, bowing as you murmur apologies—not for the boy, but for the rest of the curious surrounding the high school-like scene. Your irises are shining, wet, tears threatening to fall again. Instead of waiting a minute more, you finally leave.
The heavy stares follow you until you’re inside your car, head on the driving wheel as you try not to let out a desperate scream and confirm you’re mentally unbalanced because of your parents’ divorce.
—
You don’t drive home. The Havana themed café inside the shopping mall is a place you’ve thinking about visiting for so long and, after a stressful moment, you think you can do this. Sit down, ask for your favorite beverage while the knot in your throat threats to untie in the warm, painful, familiar tears. At least in this part of the city the chances of any stupid guy seeing you are low, and you don’t have to struggle fighting against your feelings. On your own, yet in public, you can be a little more like yourself.
It’s small, really small, behind the glass door that rings a bell when you pull it. Only one of the six little yellow tables, each with two blue chairs, is taken. Because of the AC, the space smells like coffee, puff pastry and a man’s perfume, which you assume is fault of the one sitting down, sipping his cup and reading something on his tablet. You can only see the back of his head still, somehow stopping to think about the awful state of your life, you wonder if he’s pretty. He might be.
You shake your head. As you pull a chair and sit down, the waitress approach and gives you the also yellow menu and you analyze it briefly before asking for something different, this time. Life’s changing, isn’t it? It’s not the same as last week. Something catches your attention and you ask for one—strawberry frappe. Vanilla, milk, ice and strawberry jelly. You hope it tastes sweet.
Other than the workers of the place starting a conversation with each other once in a while, during the time you wait, the café is silent. You observe the details with an attention that makes no sense, so focused on trying to discover what the scenes on the wallpaper might be. Are scenarios of the Havana city, you know, but you let your brain go further. The more you think about bullshit, the less you think about your cell phone ringing on your bag, probably your father wanting to know if you’re coming to the afternoon tea.
It’s almost five, anyway.
The images are pretty. Behind the man writing on the tablet, the wallpaper shows colorful houses, an old car in front of them. Quite inconvenient, however your mind doesn’t fail to remind of the time your parents talked about their dreams of visiting a cliché scenario like Havana seem to be—you imagine a couple in front of the street, sharing a Cuba Libre as they flirt, the sensual air of the city involving both. Your eyes burn, a sob stuck in your throat, just when the man turns around to check something—maybe the clock on the wall behind you?
A single tear rolls down your cheek as you recognize a professor of your University. Aizawa. He’s pretty, you think, hiding a humorless smile. Also just saw you about to drown in tears whilst your frappe is being done, all because of a stupid thought that you shouldn’t have.
It’s ridiculous enough that you’ve been living your life for your parents, to keep them together, but this? You’re about to cry thinking about a love scene where you wouldn’t be the protagonist?
Epiphany hits you hard when you receive your pink-colored strawberry frappe and taste it. Sweet. Luckily. When had you stopped to be the protagonist of your own life? Your eyes widen, fill up with tears that you can’t control. In a matter of seconds, professor Aizawa sees you falling apart with a frown; the waitress comes closer to ask if you’re feeling good, if is there something wrong with the beverage.
Pathetic mumbles of sorry leaves your mouth. Along with them, the urge to stand up and go face your mother, ask her why? If it wasn’t for her and her stupid decisions, you wouldn’t be crying in public, suddenly finding out your life hasn’t been yours. You were, until the day they said they were getting a divorce, living your parents’ life.
“Sorry,” you manage to say, finally. Your eyes travel from the girl close to you to the man in front of you, who hasn’t stopped staring you. “I’m good, don’t worry about it.”
Exhaling, he stands up, nodding, and holds his stuff. Is he getting out sooner because of you? Guilt and shame hits you, fingers shaking awkwardly yet they’re still holding the mug tight. Too much humiliation for five minutes, you think.
Then he pulls the chair in front of you and places his coffee by your frappe’s side.
For you, his eyes are bored, like he’s doing something because he has to and it’s a pain in the ass. The tablet is the next to be on the table. Mr. Aizawa seems to keep there for a while, and you don’t understand why. You clean your eyes with your thumbs, careful not to smudge the eyeliner, and open up your prettiest smile, the happiest.
As if he hasn’t seen you sobbing a minute ago.
You’re a good pretender, aren’t you? Instead of giving up, you try to put yourself back together again, so no one has to worry about the pitiful state you are right now. You’re fucked up, you can’t say it softly—since your own experiences were standing by for more than half of your life, when it falls on your lap again it’s scary and probably keeping with the same attitudes as ever isn’t the best to deal with the unknown, still you can’t help. It’s like a part of you, already. Put on a fake smile and pretend you’re good.
You’ve been doing this for so long. Why would you hesitate?
Of course, your smile doesn’t last. Your lies don’t stand a chance against Aizawa’s attentive eyes. You’re too obvious. Too weak. When the professor keeps staring at you, lips in a rigid line like ever, arms crossed, you feel a little intimidated. No, not just a little. You instantly let your mask fall; your always so straight column curls forwards as you face the table, eyes down. Like you’re a joke, Havana’s cute streets laugh at you.
You take a long sip of your pink frappe, eyes locked on the beautiful city, waiting for him to say something. You wouldn’t say anything, if he doesn’t first. Childish, but you are not sure of the reasons he decided to sit close to you. Perhaps it’s pity, a small gesture for you not to feel that alone.
However, little could do to make you feel less like you’re this—alone. Absolutely alone.
“You’ve been crying too much for a tough girl,” Aizawa states, his sudden voice making you jump in your chair, as you look him in the eyes. Lazy eyes, still nice ones, though. “What’s going on?”
You’re surprised, to say the least. You don’t usually let your drama bother you at school. How does he know about this? Yes, you might have cried a little in the corners of the campus, but you’d make sure no one’s close. And, why does he pay attention to you? Many students cry around the corners, too overwhelmed by the awful feeling of being alive, you’re not special. Why had you caught his attention? Did he see you instead of the daughter of those rich ass parents? You try to start talking, but words don’t come, your voice doesn’t sound and the man takes it as a sign, sighing.
“Listen,” he tries once more. “It must be weird. But if you want to talk, we can pretend we’re just strangers.”
It’s an implied suggestion and you take it, nodding slowly after a quick “okay”. Yet it doesn’t work as easy, you need to talk. Having little to none friends has a great impact in the way you feel, and right now you need to vent, tell your worries. If he stays in front of you for time enough, you can even tell him about your stupid late epiphany. Maybe he has a good answer for what has your heart beating faster when you think you have been wasting your life for so long.
“You might have heard around the campus,” you start, but a detail has you shaking your head to begin all over again. “Why did you say I am crying too much?”
“I always drink coffee here,” he speaks as he points to the place you are. “Saw you passing by a couple times these days. Now I look like a stalker, I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” you shrug, not sure of what else to say. “It’s true, I’ve been crying a lot. You might have heard around the campus, people have no manners to—”
Aizawa cuts you before you can proceed, “I’m the stranger, remember?”
“Oh,” you murmur, face heating up. “Oh. So, my parents are getting divorced. My mom has already left home and… I’m kind of lost. Don’t want to hear advices of how to handle this,” you continue, after a sip on your frappe. “I just want to feel I’m not broken into pieces.”
That’s how you’re feeling since the day your mother said she was leaving. Leaving her daughter to live a luxury life with that rich man. Leaving her home, built with so much efforts of her and your father, her husband, for a teenager dream. She went and took away with her a part of you; the part you were gladly showing, the part of being the child every mom want to have. Left you with nothing but the little girl hidden deep inside, the one who hasn’t been in the real world since the day you found out what are the consequences of being the flawless kid.
And that little girl is also in pieces. Like a puzzle, you have to discover how to put yourself together, how to be the woman the years has taught you to be.
All the nights awake, insomnia making you think of many terrible things happening; the mornings spent in front of the mirror, putting on the makeup to pretend, once more, everything’s fine, you’re not drowning in your own suppressed feelings. It has to be useful, right? You did not suffer, you are not suffering it all for nothing. Where’s the maturity experiences were supposed to bring to you?
“I feel like I’m lost, too,” you conclude, your voice tone so hopeless that makes you cringe a tiny bit.
“And what are you doing to end up with this feeling?” The man asks, hands going to his hair, putting the locks in a messy bun. You feel your face hot again and look away. “Did you try to help this pain out in any way?”
You pout slightly, unconscious, nails hitting the wood of the table. You’ve been doing nothing more than pretending your life still the same. You’re living like the past months, changing the fact you don’t drink tea in family at five anymore. And that’s all. It must be the phase of negation. You let out a breathy chuckle, yet not happy at all. Everyone can see it.
“I don’t drink tea anymore,” you say, joking.
He doesn’t smile. Instead, harsh eyes meet yours once you’re looking up again.
“I bet you know this isn’t the answer I was expecting,” Aizawa sighs. “You understand what you’ve got to do, don’t you?”
“No,” you spill without missing a beat. “I don’t know the fuck I’m supposed to do now, that’s why I said I’m lost.”
You could have been softer on him, but it slipped out of your lips without a second warning. It’s the truth, after all, and the rare times people get to hear it from you it’s because you’ve given in to the primitive urge of saying whatever is inside your mind. You haven’t done this for so long, too much worried about what’s the correct to say, what’s the most nice to say, ignoring all of your feelings in the process.
“Sorry,” you apologize, feeling embarrassed. That’s why you don’t like those feelings; they cause you to be tough on others, just like yesterday, when you yelled at your father for a silly reason, hurt by the way he suggested that you should use mom’s jewels as yours. “Didn’t mean to be rude. But I still have to say that I don’t know what I should do.”
“Neither do I,” Aizawa finally shows you a hint of a smile that reaches his eyes. “However… Go home now, google something about self-knowledge. Find out who you are when you’re not being your parents’ daughter. It might help.”
Crappy advice. Everybody could have told you that. Somehow, you still take it like an order. And it hadn’t bothered you. You nod, drinking the last of your sweet frappe, and stand up. A trial of a smile creeps on your face. It might not be the prettiest, but at least is an honest one. The first one in days. You hope the professor can see it, too. You’re smiling because of the “stranger’s” words.
Self-knowledge. Sounds awful. You don’t even know how to start.
“Thank you, Sir,” you tell him, offering another smile, receiving one, way smaller than yours, back. Suddenly feeling brave, you reach out for him. “I hope we can see each other another day, stranger.”
A subtle flirt. You’ve never been that good with it, so it was a clumsy trial. Yet he accepts your hand, standing up to shake it. As he does, his eyes never leaves your orbs, and you feel proud of yourself of how you manage to stand until he blinks, glancing at your body.
Of course you’re going to meet again. Next semester, probably, inside a classroom, in a position of student-teacher that can’t be broken. Still he nods.
“Perhaps. Good luck, girl.”
You give him a last gaze. Havana behind him, Aizawa’s dark hair in a casual bun you’ve never seen; he looks like a man you could dream about drinking Cuba Libres with. When you leave the thematic café, your smile is wider, and your sadness has grown smaller.
This time, after buying your father a new record he’d like, you drive home, satisfied with your brief interaction with a man that hasn’t been introduced by your mother or a jerk trying to get into your panties. Better—you talked to him and felt like yourself, not the perfect-kid-role you’ve been for years. Your heart feels so light, so happy. You can’t wait to go home, tell your father it’s getting better! It’s getting better, father, you’d say. I can be myself for a couple minutes, if I need to!
You feel silly, so many good things coming from a weird meet with a man years older that has nothing to do with your life. You feel like you’re sixteen again, talking to a guy with flirty tones for the first time, on your own. But what can you do about it? Despite the lazy expression on his face, you felt like he was looking at you.
You, you, really you. He looked at your body and the creepy shining of perverts hasn’t shown up on his orbs; he seemed to be interested in what you were saying, not in what your flesh can do or anything else.
The felt was too good to be real. What a pity it wouldn’t happen ever again, because it’s against the rules and you have no reason to flirt even more with Aizawa Shouta, although it’s all you can think about when your enter your go downstairs hours later and see your father’s friends fraternizing.
And, amongst the men you’re used to see, your eyes fall onhis black hair, black shirt, low voice again.
Him.
Aizawa is quite sure the reason he decided to join a few friends and ex-colleagues is because one of them—your father—is going through a terrible time. It’s absolutely this. He might not be the most affective person, but he’d never decline a request made with so much pain in the voice. The way that ex-professor said “I need to have a pastime” as the excuse for a late planned dinner at his place was too painful for one not to notice it wasn’t the only intention. By inviting his old coworkers, Shouta bet he wanted to hide something deep inside his chest, too.
Yet the both men hadn’t talked for a few months, losing touch after a few months, Aizawa used to think about how he is doing from time to time. A year ago, your father decided to leave his job at the University and make himself comfortable by doing what he always said was his dream: writing a book, he could both enjoy the pleasure of writing and the companion of his lovely family. At least, he said this to the professors he used to work with, in his last day.
Now, after talking to you on the café, Aizawa couldn’t understand what was the real motivation to make your father, enthusiast literature teacher, leave his happy job. He knows divorces doesn’t happen out of nowhere—even if the end begins in one’s head, the other totally unaware, it is never quick. Starts with some flirt here and there, if one of them is leaned to cheating; or it can start with the unpleasure of being even by the partner’s side. Minimum details start to annoy; love doesn’t seem to be enough.
It's slow burn, but one day the relationship ends and leave girls like you lost like puppies, unsure of what else to do.
If Aizawa knew about this situation before seeing you falling apart in a corner, trying to put yourself together before a class, he would have found a way of talking to you, or make the psychologist talk to you, to find out what is happening. It isn’t like he has any special interest in messing with students’ business, yet he couldn’t stop noticing the way you’ve been growing sadder beneath the mask of happiness.
He also knows it happens to every single person in the world. Sometimes things just don’t get together, just don’t work. And it’s okay, he thinks, nothing stays like this forever. However, he started to hear from his colleagues that you, the bright, always so joyful, student of theirs, was looking down, unfocused, not even joining your friends after class to the casual dates they usually have. They didn’t know whether it was unconscious or not, but you were isolating yourself and, for such a popular person, it was strange, to say the least.
Took all of his self-control not to call your father like you were a kindergarten child and say you were acting strange, not like yourself. He’d ask “Is something happening at home?” and would also suggest “Have you ever offered her therapy?”
Of course, he couldn’t do this. Otherwise, he’d have to do it for the other hundred students that he noticed becoming even sadder during the semester. Wouldn’t be fair with the other people.
Anyway, Aizawa did the stupid thing of sitting in front of you in public, acting like he was an advisor for a young girl instead of your professor, explicitly forbidden of having any kind of extra-scholar relationship with any student. Yet he put his tablet, coffee and hands on your table and listened to your vent, pretending to be a stranger as if it would absolve him from the guilt.
Unfortunately for him, he’d do everything again—would even talk more, try to be of any real help. The man would honestly like to help you.
During the days your father were a professor with Shouta, he wouldn’t shut up to talk about his prodigious, perfect daughter. Proud filled up his eyes as he spoke about how you were going to study in this University too; praising you with no shame, so glad to have a chance to talk about his little girl, that was becoming a woman so gorgeous as her mother. In work fraternizations, he’d talk with his colleagues, especially the ones who had children, about how was it wonderful to have such a great kid as his successor.
At first, Aizawa didn’t want even to hear about you. Your father showing you off everywhere, endlessly commenting about your qualities and how he loved you and your mother. It was kind of annoying, mainly because he didn’t want to hear proud fathers early in the morning, and he thought to himself that all his talking must be bullshit.
Who talks too much, does too little. And the parents’ perspective over their own kid isn’t fair, most of the times.
So, when Shouta heard the gossips between Yagi and Hizashi—the girl’s finally coming—he thought with himself that it was the time (or the year) of the truth. You’d show who you truly are to the professors and they’d come to the conclusion that your father was being exaggerate.
Except he wasn’t.
Dedicated, smart, kind girl. Easy to captivated your classmates; interested in finding what you could do in the university to help the others, to enjoy the maximum you could about the college experience. Though, one thing Aizawa found out was better than what your father said.
Gorgeous wouldn’t be enough to describe the deity you are.
Oh, he felt so guilty when he discovered this. You’re so much prettier than the other girls around that he almost got down to his knees to be grateful he wouldn’t be your teacher this semester. You are too pretty for his own good and he hated having amazing students on his classes—they’d never keep still, the entire class wanting to spend some time around you, wanting to have a word with you despite no subject or no need at all to do this.
Aizawa would feel jealous of how it is good to be a classmate instead of a professor. If he wasn’t fifteen, sixteen years older than you, he’d himself find a way of ignoring his embarrassment to invite you to a café. In a perfect scenario, you’d meet in the Havana one, in a much less suspicious situation.
That being said, the reason of why he joined the reunion besides not being a big fan of meetings, became both the worry about his old colleague, for who he cares, and the idea of entering your house and seeing you.
Luckily, when he entered, the living room was free, as the kitchen. Except for the host, no one else of the family were there by the time all of his guests arrived. So the night started, snacks, talks about children as usual, conversations about jobs, commentaries about woman. Until your father decided to fill some glasses with honey whisky—at the same time, like a mocking move, the music player started to play any Lana del Rey melancholic song that he justified being from your playlist—and said what everybody already knew.
“I’m a divorced man, now,” he said, a joking tone that matched nothing in the way his eyes were sad, tired, dark bags under them. But his expression became even more sadder as he continued, saying now what Aizawa already knew. “And my daughter is devastated. I don’t know what to do, she goes study and comes back hours after the end of the classes, never tells me where she’s going or with who. And, fuck, she cries the whole night. Breaks my heart to see her like this, but…”
His voice died as he heard steps coming from the stairs. In a weird synchrony, the men drank of their glasses and started talking about lighter, happier stuff. Although it was clear the host needed to vent, none of them wanted to keep the conversation knowing his daughter was right behind, in the living room.
Aizawa looks away when you sneak into the kitchen after greeting your father and his friends. Just like when you flirtedwith him in the cafeteria, you smiled at him shortly, a smirk carried with an inside meaning, before opening the fridge to get yourself a snack before coming back to your room, just as fast as you’ve showed up.
Unlike the expected—seeing a student in her casual clothes, since she’s at home—, Shouta watches you with the same t-shirt you were wearing when the both of you met, now matched with thick fabric pants. Better than the expected, to be honest. Yet inside his brain he can think whatever he wants about you (nobody’s there to judge him other than his own conscious), it wouldn’t be quite nice to see you jumping the steps in pajamas, usually with a thin fabric that leave little to the imagination of those who watch.
Your father did raise you like a good girl, hm? No showing off in front of dad’s friends; always dressing composed clothing to go downstairs during his meetings.
It doesn’t stop Aizawa from wondering about what did you think when you first saw him. What did you think when you showed him your smile, the one your father used to show off, shaking your hands at him?
Are you going to think of him in your room too, just like he’s thinking of you—despite his trials to avoid it—whilst your father keeps talking about how it is hard to understand what’s going on inside your mind?
Glasses of whisky and many hours later, the men start to go home. One by one, they ask for their wives to come pick them, find and Uber to drive them home, the one who didn’t drink goes straight alone. Then Aizawa and your father remains, eating the last pizzas slices and listening to Swedish songs as they try hard to find any subject to talk about before leaving.
“See,” the man talks to Shouta, pointing at the big portrait of his family enjoying the last happy vacations on the clear waters of a paradisiacal beach. In it, your swimsuit had a flowered print, and your arms were up, face seeming genuinely happy. “I wish I could live forever to take care of her. Of her smile. She’s not smiling these days, after her mother left, not even talking to me properly. Man, you can bet I’d do anything for her to stop crying at night and saying in the morning she’s okay, she’s feeling better than yesterday.”
He stops, perhaps noticing he was talking too much, and sigh, sipping the last whisky of his glass.
“I know she isn’t,” he continues, and Aizawa nods, silent. “Because I’m getting worse every day. Anyway, if you ever see her down at school, of even if something happens, don’t hesitate to call me.”
“You’re too worried about her,” Aizawa states, softly, placing a hand on your father’s shoulder, who shakes his head. Sounds strange to say it after listening to you, knowing you’re feeling lost, unsure of what to do to ease the pain and scary feeling of being thrown into the world without any knowledge, but he doesn’t stop himself. “She can handle this. Let her be for a while, she’ll be fine.”
Your eyes shined when you gave him that kind of rude answer, apologizing after. Yet you’re still a little girl trying to find your way, you’ll be able to do it in a couple days. His crappy advice should work for something, and maybe, just maybe, if you show up to drink another strawberry frappe at the Havana café he’d say better things to help you.
“I suppose so,” the host finally accepts, opening a smile, after a couple minutes in silence, a comfortable one. “She’s tough. But still, keep an eye on her to me.”
“Don’t worry,” he affirms and stands up, walking towards the door. “I’m going now, Sir. Take care and have a good night.”
Shouta enters the Uber he called after a couple minutes—those spent staring at the window covered by the curtains, a silhouette passing by every now and then—and heads home, thinking about how the innocent request of your father could be the excuse for him to do awful things to you. Things he wants to do, to be honest, but aren’t that important for him to feel the crazy urge of creating plans. He can’t risk losing his job because you’re pretty even when you’re crying; he can’t risk losing his career for something like that flirt that might just have happened because of your current state of loneliness, clinginess, neediness.
Still, the alcohol on his brain making it hard to deny, he thinks of you when he’s taking a shower, dick hardening against his will, wondering why the hell the bittersweet taste of the risqué and forbidden things is always tastier than the sweet of the things did according to morals and rules.
His cock remains untouched during his shower, but only because he thinks you don’t deserve it. Him fucking his hand to the thought of your crying, the memory of your eyes getting slightly happier when you notice he has paid attention to you during your conversation, really trying to help you.
You want to be seen, to be heard, to be liked for ones not because your father said you’re amazing and not because your mother said you’ll be heading overseas in a couple years to study more and become a great professional. You want someone to forget you’re their daughter, their flawless kid, predicted to be the greatest woman of the family. Instead, you want to take off the mask and still have someone praising you, saying you’re a good girl because you are! You’re the best girl when you don’t need to play your constant role, too. You need to hear the praises, but this time for the person you’re really are.
Aizawa knows it. Your irises are clear, can be read like a book, and he noticed all of this is a couple minutes. A hurt girl finding out the life isn’t what parents want to be—after all, the one who stays with you until the day of your death is you, only you—, expecting to discover what else you should do to live the dream hidden deep inside your heart.
He understands you. And, unlike a gentleman, he’s not going to help you with that. You need to understand it by yourself. Then, when you’re ready to say what you need to him—a poor, pathetic dream, because he knows you can choose any other guy, especially younger ones—, Aizawa Shouta will give you whatever you want, and take away from you whatever he needs.
Right now, the sun rising on the still dark sky, he decides he needs you.
continues on part ii.
#aizawa x reader#aizawa x you#aizawa shota x reader#aizawa shota smut#mha x y/n#mha x reader#bnha x reader#boku no hero x reader#my hero academia x reader#[ collab! ]
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All In A Day's Work
Paula flinched as the bat made contact with sweaty flesh. She’d seen it a million times before; another asshat that thought he could outsmart her father and his goons.
Paul LaVine was quite an intelligent man, he worked his brain like most people went to the gym. He stuck to a rigid diet, only ever straying from it on holidays and when they went back to Italy; his mother was quite the cook, and denying her offering of food would cost him a finger. Any man that so much as tried to get smart with Pauly paid a hefty price.
Paula had seen her father’s men beat down a million men; from teenage boys, trying to get too handsy with her at dances, all the way to old men whose bones would probably never heal from the world of hurting the muscled men put on them. Despite seeing it so often, she never grew used to it. In the beginning, she’d leave the moment she knew the beatings were coming, but soon, her father began to catch on. He insisted that she stay; claiming that walking away made her weak, and he couldn’t have a weak link running the family business once he was gone.
The bat made contact with the flesh again causing blood and sweat to leap from the man’s body. With every hit, the man begged and pleaded for mercy. Pauly’s men couldn’t spell mercy even if they sounded it out. After a couple more hits, Paula began to pray along with the man, not being able to stomach such torture any longer. Luckily for Paula, her prayer was answered.
“Let’s go.” Pauly said, rising up from the chair in the middle of the room.
Unfortunately for the man, his prayers had not made it up so high.
Paula did her best not to look back as she, her father, and a few bodyguards exited the room. The small group made their way out of the back room and back into the store. As they made their way down the aisle, Johnny, Pauly’s longest-standing bodyguard, grabbed a handful of Now and Laters and shoved them into his pocket; purposely staring at the cashier as he did so. Knowing better, the cashier simply forced a smile and bid the group a farewell as they made their way out the door.
“Johnny, stop stealing shit! You’re ruining the neighborhood!” Pauly said, slapping the six-foot-five man on the chest.
The foursome hopped into the waiting escalade and took off down the street. They made it about a block before the sound of an ice cream truck sounded and children rushed to the middle of the street.
“Mother fuckers! Fucking kids!” James, their driver yelled, slamming on his brakes.
“Sorry boss.” He said, looking at Pauly and the others in the rearview mirror.
Pauly laughed.
“Everyone’s fine. Hey, pull over for a second.” Pauly instructed as he patted the back of the headrest.
Doing as he was told, James pulled off to the side and stopped. With his hand already in his pocket, Pauly reached for his wallet as James hopped out and rushed to the back door.
“Thank you James.” Pauly said, patting the man’s arm as he stepped out of the car.
Upon seeing Pauly, the kids instantly began screaming. In the lower-income neighborhoods of New York, the LaVine family was well known. Paula’s uncles and grandfathers on both sides of the family spent hours volunteering in the inner city. They helped start outreach programs, provided the local junkies with clean needles, and even helped some of them get into rehab; nevermind the fact that nearly half of the junkies just ended up back on the streets anyways, buying their same drug of choice from Pauly’s men, but on paper, Pauly LaVine was a Godsent to the lower-income areas of New York City.
After making sure every child had gotten a cone, Pauly made his way back to the car.
“Here, vanilla. I know you prefer plain and simple.” He said, handing the cone over to his daughter.
Paula was lactose intolerant, and if her father would at least pretend to give a damn, he’d know that. But atlas, bringing it up would start a whole ordeal with him and Paula was in no mood for an argument. So she took the cone. Luckily for her, they were done for the day; so she could spend the rest of the day on the toilet if need be.
The black Escalade pulled up to Paula’s highrise apartment as she popped the last of the cone into her mouth.
“Thanks pop.” She said around the cone full.
Hopping out of the car, she bid the men farewell and headed into the building.
After greeting the doorman, she hopped into the elevator and rode it all the way to the top. Making her way through the front door, she kicked off her shoes as she swung the door closed.
Looking around at her place, Paula felt that same painful pang of dread and loneliness that she always felt when she came ‘home’. She longed for a wife, or a girlfriend, someone to come home to after a long day of dealing with her father, his ‘customers’, and slimy business partners. But alas, being a member of the LaVine family meant living a life of secrecy; And that shit got old real fast in relationships.
So like she normally did, Paula headed to her bedroom, showered, changed, and headed to the kitchen for something to eat. Rummaging through the fridge, she grabbed the plate of leftover rips from Johnny’s barbecue the other day and a beer. Popping the plate into the microwave, she chugged her first beer before going back for a second. The microwave went off as she popped the top off the beer and tossed it into the trash. Then, grabbing her food, she made her way to the couch and turned on the TV. The sun was beginning to set as she sat back on the couch and kicked her feet up on the coffee table. After channel surfing for a moment, Paula settled on watching some shitty straight-to-television movie as she ate.
The ribs lasted halfway through the movie and once they were gone, Paula could feel her eyelids beginning to grow heavy. So, quickly, before she grew too tired to do so, she made her way to the bathroom where she brushed her teeth and headed off to bed.
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If I Fell For You (Part 2) - Baseball Caps & Stroller Naps
Summary: The reader gets into the swing of things around the Ackles household and starts having more one on one time with Jensen. He even offers to set her up with a friend of his. When he invites her to a family outing as a friend though, she gets another glimpse that he might not be as put together as he appears...
Masterlist
Pairing: Jensen x nanny!reader
Square: Daddy!Jensen
Word Count: 5,900ish
Warnings: language, mention of death of a spouse/death of a parent
A/N: Things are starting to happen! This was also written for @supernatural-jackles Tell Me A Story Bingo!
________
“Good morning,” you said the next day as Jensen walked into the kitchen covered in sweaty workout clothes.
“Morning,” he said, going to the fridge to grab a drink. “Get the kids to school okay?”
“Yup,” you said, Jensen sniffing the air and humming as he walked over to where a loaf of banana bread was cooling in the rack. “Ah, it’s still too hot. Wait another half hour.”
“Fine,” he grumbled. “It smells amazing by the way. I don’t think anything’s been baked in this house in six months.”
“I’ve always enjoyed it,” you said, Jensen taking a seat on top of the counter. He chugged down the cold bottle of water, some of it dripping down the corners of his mouth. “Enjoy sleeping in today?”
“You don’t know the half of it. I feel amazing.”
“You look rested for the first time since I’ve met you,” you said. “You should sleep in on the weekends more too. The kids don’t need to be up at dawn.”
“No, they don’t,” he said. “I do love sleep too. You do okay with getting the three of them going on your own today?”
“Yeah. JJ’s old enough to get herself dressed and make her bed and do a few things on her own. The twins are a balancing act but the trick is to give yourself double the amount of time you think you need and you’ll never be late.”
“Not a bad tip,” he said as you finished wiping off a glass and picked up a pad and pen. “Whatcha working on?”
“Ideas for crafts and that sort of thing. You guys have a lot of supplies already so I was thinking of some ideas to do this week,” you said.
“You know...you can stick them in front of a TV too. They have their shows they like. We aren’t big on tracking screen time,” he said. “As long as they play and do some kind of creative thing everyday they can watch TV for a few hours in a row if they want. Our parents didn’t worry about that shit when we were kids, you know?”
“No, they didn’t do that,” you said. He lifted up the bottom of his muscle tank and wiped off his face, your eyes going straight down to the pad so you wouldn’t risk staring. “Any work scheduled for today?”
“I gotta wash up, head to the brewery for a few to check on things. I have some voice acting work I’m doing right now so I go to a place downtown and record that. That’ll be my afternoon. I can handle making dinner tonight. I should be back around four thirty, maybe a hair after,” he said.
“Alright,” you said. “Anything you need at the store today?”
“Nah, we got plenty here,” he said. He wiped off his face with his shirt again, using his collar this time. You handed him a dish towel and he smiled, rubbing it over his neck and head. “Sorry. I’m dripping aren’t I.”
“A little. Do you work out a lot?” you asked.
“No more than the average person. Try to do thirty minutes in the morning most days of the week. It’s sort of been my only alone time lately,” he said.
“Are you a runner?”
“God no. I’m not built for that. I like boxing and HIIT, weights, that sort of stuff. Part of my job is to look a certain way so if I’m gonna be the tough guy…”
“You gotta look like a tough guy?” you asked. He smiled and you looked him up and down. “Don’t get me wrong. You’re a strong guy, that’s pretty obvious. But you’re not a tough guy.”
“Oh I’m not?” he asked but there was a lightness to his voice.
“Tough guys tend to be assholes. You’re too nice for that,” you said.
“I suppose you have a point,” he said, sliding off the counter. He stepped over to the banana bread and picked up the knife nearby, slicing off a piece for himself and popping it in his mouth. “Hot. Hot.”
“I told you so,” you said with a small laugh.
“Tastes delicious though,” he said with his mouth full. You shook your head as he ate another piece and turned to go upstairs.
“Jensen,” you said, pointing at the sweaty dish towel.
“Ugh, yes mom,” he said, swiping it away with a smile.
“Thank you,” you said, tapping on your notepad. You felt his presence beside you, not to mention the smell, and turned your head up, Jensen smiling back. “Yes?”
“Aren’t you due for a break?” he asked.
“You don’t really get how this nanny thing works yet, do you.”
“Yeah well...I’m not a shitty boss so I guess you’ll have to get used to that too. Take a break Y/N. Have some coffee on the balcony. It’s a sunny January day. Enjoy it,” he said. You rolled your eyes and he pointed at the back door before he headed upstairs. You bit your bottom lip and glanced at the clock. You had been going for over three hours non-stop and one of those had been spent trying to convince a four year old he had to wear pants to daycare.
You turned to leave the kitchen when you heard a tsk. You jumped and slipped on the rug in front of the sink, falling backwards straight down to the hardwood floor.
“Sorry! Sorry!” he said as he rushed over. “I’m always tripping over that thing.”
“I’m fine,” you said as you sat up with his help. Your ass hurt but you knew you’d be alright. “Maybe we move the rug from the very trippable area?”
He swallowed and stared at you for a long moment before you smiled.
“How about we put it outside your office?” you asked softly. He nodded and you picked up one end of the long strip of fabric. He went to the other end and picked it up, backing up as you walked it over to the other side of the house. You laid it out in front of his closed door, smiling as you straightened it up. “There we go. Safe and sound.”
You headed back to the kitchen, Jensen lingering behind you.
“I was...gonna say you can make...you can use my coffee machine,” he said quietly.
“Okay,” you said quietly. “Jensen.”
“Hm?”
“Stuff is stuff. This isn’t a museum. It’s a home. It’s gonna change over time.”
“I know. It’s just that rug...it is so damn ugly and I hate it,” he said with a smile. “I wanted to get rid of it the day she brought it home.”
“Wives have a way of getting the last word in,” you said. He chuckled and you got out a mug for yourself. “Tell me to shove it if this is too personal but are you sure you want to get back out into the dating world? It’s rough out there.”
“It is. Until it isn’t,” he said.
“You’re a hopeless romantic, aren’t you.”
“Guilty as charged.” He rubbed the back of his neck and his cheeks flushed for a brief moment.
“Women like hopeless romantics,” you said. “Just don’t get taken advantage of for that. There’s some not so nice women out there too.”
“Afraid I’ll fall for some ditz?” he asked.
“No, I don’t think you’d do that. But someone might hurt you and you’ve been through enough. Maybe just...don’t fall in love at first sight or something like that,” you said. “Alright?”
“Never was much good at that,” he said to himself while you grabbed your coffee mug. “You believe in that sort of thing?”
“I’d like to. But you’re more of the expert on falling in love than I am,” you said.
“Maybe it’s not first sight but within a few days, a week, yeah I knew I was in love,” he said.
“Well if that happens again let me know and I’ll make sure this chick is good for you,” you said.
“I didn’t know my nanny came with bodyguard services,” he chuckled.
“That was under special skills on my resume,” you said as you headed over to the door to the balcony. “You should wash up. Don’t want to be late.”
“No I better not be,” he said. He turned to head upstairs, pausing on the first step. “You know, no one’s an expert at falling in love. Even those of us who were once married.”
“Oh don’t be a hopeless romantic for me getting my shit together too. We’ll be here for years,” you laughed.
“Just sayin’...maybe we’ll both find somebody. Not that we need anyone to be happy but...you know what I mean,” he said.
“Men don’t really talk about love like that you know.”
“I do,” he said. You smiled and he returned it.
“That’s why all the good men get taken early, the ones that talk like that,” you said.
“I was older than you when I got married. Maybe I’ll get married again someday. We’re out there. I promise.”
“Go shower,” you said, waving him off. You slipped outside, closing the door behind you. You leaned over the railing with your mug and let out a sigh. “You have to a be a fucking hopeless romantic too don’t you. Fucking perfect at everything.”
You lowered your head and took a deep breath.
“It’s a crush, it’s a crush,” you said, closing your eyes. “Just a crush. He’s your boss and a widow and he bought a birthday cake for me.”
You opened your eyes and glanced into the mug, taking another deep breath.
“He’s just nice. That’s it. Even if he’s…” you trailed off. You took a long sip of the hot liquid, not caring you were burning your tongue. Jensen was simply a nice person and that was that. You had a crush on the attractive single dad you were nannying for. There was nothing wrong with that and you knew for a fact it’d be gone by the end of the week tops.
“Ow,” you groaned a few days later. You opened your eyes and heard a knock at the door to your suite. “Yeah?”
“You okay in there? I thought I heard a crash,” said Jensen.
“I’m fine,” you said, sitting up with a grunt, leaning back against your bed. “Shit.”
“Y/N, are you sure you’re alright?” he asked again.
“No,” you said with a sigh. “The door’s open.”
You peaked through your open door down the hall, Jensen opening the one to the suite and offering a friendly smile. You nodded and he walked inside, frowning at your cut up knee.
“I got blood on the rug,” you said. “Do we have bleach?”
“I thought we agreed earlier this week a rug is just a rug,” he said, squatting down and looking at your knee. He looked up and saw your overturned garbage can in your closet where you’d been trying to reorganize a few clothes. “Next time use the step stool in the garage?”
“Yeah,” you said, your face hot. “I’m fine really. Just want to clean up the blood before it sets in.”
“It’s a few drops,” he said, helping you stand with a wince. “You got any first aid stuff?”
“Yeah,” you said, Jensen crossing his arms. “No.”
“Come on,” he said, putting his hands on your shoulders and walking you down the hall. “Scraped up knees are my specialty.”
“Jensen,” you said, stopping at the kitchenette island and bending your leg a few times.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. He left and you hopped over to the couch, stretching your leg out. The bleeding had stopped, just a thin cut on your knee cap where you’d hit it, but you knew you were in for a nasty bruise. He returned with a bottle and cotton ball in one hand, a bandage and ice pack in the other.
“Sorry,” you said, Jensen setting the items down on the coffee table.
“Why would you apologize for getting hurt?” he said.
“I should have my own first aid supplies,” you said.
“Ah. So you’re as stubborn as I am when you’re not feeling great,” he said. You looked down at your lap and took a deep breath.
“Am I fired?” you asked.
“No? Why the fuck would I fire you?” he said.
“I don’t know,” you said, picking up the bottle of rubbing alcohol.
“Have you been fired for getting hurt before?” he asked, watching you hold the cotton ball against the open bottle top and tip it over, soaking the liquid in. You pretended to not hear him and put the bottle back, wiping the ball over the cut, a deep red mark already on your skin. “Y/N.”
“Yes, I have,” you said. You set the ball on the table and picked up the bandage, trying to angle it over your knee. He rolled his eyes and took it out of your hand, bending down and turning it around, pressing it gently over your skin.
“I’m pretty sure that’s illegal,” he said as he looked up at you.
“Do I look like I have an HR department I can go to? They were dicks anyways,” you said.
“If you’re ever hurt, big or small, just tell me,” he said. He rested the ice pack over your knee and you sat back, throwing it up on the couch for you to lay there. “Promise I won’t fire you for it.”
“Well if I can’t do my job I’m not much use to you,” you said.
“Are all wealthy people assholes that act like that?” he asked. You shook your head and smiled. “Good.”
“I’ve nannied for eight different families, nine counting yours. Some were very good people,” you said.
“But you were just the help to them, even the good ones,” he said.
“I am the help. That’s the whole point of me being there,” you said.
“Do me a favor? Don’t assume just because you’re someone’s employee that they think of you as just the help,” he said, picking up the first aid supplies.
“Sorry.”
“Why do you apologize for…” he said, muttering to himself as you looked down. “If I ever make you feel like that, smack me in the head, alright?”
“Alright,” you said quietly. He nodded and left with the items, returning a moment later with some cleaning spray, ducking into your room for only a moment before exiting.
“It’s all clean,” he said. He lingered at the door and put a hand on it. “Leave that ice pack on for fifteen minutes and pop it back in the freezer. Put it back on for a bit before bed.”
“Thanks,” you said.
“It’s no problem,” he said. He still lingered and you took a deep breath.
“You should call someone, talk to them,” you said. He looked over his shoulder and you smiled. “You seem like you want to talk to somebody tonight is all.”
“I think I’m gonna go for a drive, maybe stop at a friend’s. The kids are all in bed,” he said. “If that’s cool.”
“Yeah go take a second for yourself,” you said. “I got everything here.”
“Thanks,” he said. “Goodnight, Y/N.”
“Night, Jensen.”
One Week Later
“Y/N,” said Jensen as you washed your car in the driveway on a Saturday morning. You dropped the soapy sponge in the bucket and straightened yourself out. “Got plans today?”
“Uh, I was gonna run to the grocery store in a minute but other than that, no. Need me to watch the kids?”
“No. We were going out to lunch and then going to a little car show was all and we were wondering if you’d like to join us. Totally up to you. My treat.”
“You don’t want me to watch the kids?” you asked. He laughed and crossed his arms at you. “I’m confused.”
“Do you want to hang out with us today? For fun?” he asked.
“Oh,” you said. “That’s okay. You enjoy your time with the kids.”
“How do I make this clearer,” he said, walking over to you and looking down. “I want you to come with us, as a friend, to do something fun, like friends do. This is not work. Come if you want to.”
“You sure you want me to come?” you asked. He rolled his eyes and plopped his baseball cap on your head as he walked away.
“Yes. And wear sunscreen,” he said. “We’re leaving at eleven thirty.”
“Alright, alright. I’ll see you guys then.”
“There’s something about a burger that’s been cooked in a greasy pop up kitchen that just adds to the flavor,” you said as you took a bite of your cheese burger at the car show.
“It’s probably the grease,” he said, walking one hand on his burger, the other holding Arrow’s hand. She wiped her own little hand on his leg and he sighed as he looked down. “Arrow. I got napkins in my pocket.”
“Oh,” she said, wiping her face against him.
“No one mentions this part,” he chuckled. He picked her up and threw her over his shoulders once he was done with his food, humming as he pushed the stroller with a sleeping Zeppelin inside.
“Dad, I gotta go to the bathroom,” said JJ.
“I’ll take her and we can catch up with you guys?” you said. He mouthed a thank you to you as you headed over to the women’s room. You used the bathroom as well, finishing before her and waiting outside for her. “All set?”
“Yeah. Can we get fried dough?” she asked.
“Sure,” you said. You let her lead the way in line and got a plate for the two of you, taking a seat at a picnic table so she could dig in. “Taste yummy?”
“Oh yeah,” she said. “Dad likes fried dough a lot too.”
“Everybody does,” you said, taking a piece off the corner.
“Y/N, you don’t have a mom either right?” she said. “That’s what dad said.”
“Well that’s a funny question. I got a mom and so do you. They just aren’t around anymore is all,” you said. “What’s up?”
“I’m happy you stay with us I guess is all. I know you’re not mom and you work for dad but you kinda are and I like it when dad’s happy again,” she said.
“Me too. You doing okay, kiddo?” you asked. “It’s okay if you still miss your mom.”
“I do but I’m not sad anymore. Dad says when I get real old I can see her again so that’s cool,” she said, taking a big bite.
“It definitely is cool,” you said. “Maybe our mom’s are hanging out right now.”
“You think so?” she asked.
“Maybe. I bet they get up to some fun stuff up there,” you said.
“Me too,” she said. “Dad’s really happy you came with us. He’s been cranky lately.”
“Your dad’s gonna be just fine,” you said as she finished off her food. “So do you like having a nanny? I know that’s kinda new and funny, huh.”
“Yeah but I really like you being home. Dad gets flustered sometimes.”
“Flustered?” you asked with a little laugh.
“He works on a lot of stuff and he didn’t pick me up on time from school and stuff a few weeks ago. Too many chickens in a basket,” she said.
“Too many eggs in one basket,” you said.
“Isn’t an egg gonna be a chicken though?”
“I...never thought of it that way,” you said. You nearly jumped when you felt some hands on your shoulders but JJ was smiling as Arrow climbed up next to you.
“Ah. I see you ladies found the fried dough. Twins you want some?” asked Jensen.
“Yes please,” they said and he chuckled as he went off to buy some more.
“Look at her,” said Jensen twenty minutes later, pausing at a deep blue Impala, the twins both conked out in their stroller.
“Isn’t that the same car you have?” you asked, lifting up the brim of your baseball cap to get a better look.
“Mine’s a 67. That’s a 63. I love that color though,” he said. “Blue’s my favorite but it looks good on that car.”
“I think it looks good in black,” you said, walking again when you saw JJ a few cars ahead of the two of you. “Where’d you get your car?”
“Work,” he said with a quick smile, hiding behind his sunglasses and hat.
“Aren’t you an actor?” you asked.
“You have very obviously never seen an episode of my show,” he chuckled. “Which is totally cool by the way. I drove that car in the show for well over a decade. She’s one of my true loves.”
“Ah, gotcha,” you said. “So you’re a car guy.”
“Kinda. I don’t know everything but I enjoy them. What about you, you like-JJ! Stay closer,” he called out when she kept walking ahead. “So do you like cars?”
“I guess so. This is kinda neat, walking around and looking at the old ones. They had more style back then,” you said, walking past a pair of guys your age, one of them looking you up and down as you went by. “Did that guy-”
“Yup,” he said, glancing back over his shoulder, throwing his arm over yours for a few moments. “Looks like he got the message.”
“Jensen,” you laughed. “I wasn’t offended. It’s not like he was gonna come up and ask for my number.”
“I don’t like the look of him,” he said.
“Neither did I,” you chuckled, Jensen dropping his arm from around you. “You’re that guy friend girls have that will do shit like pretend to be a boyfriend and all that stuff, aren’t you.”
“At your service,” he said with a mini curtesy. You giggled and he straightened up, JJ rushing over.
“Dad can I get an ice cream?” she asked.
“How about some apple slices,” he said, reaching under the stroller and grabbing a cooler. He pulled out a little baggie and handed it to her, JJ shrugging and walking ahead of the stroller again. “Shit, that probably means I can’t get ice cream now too.”
“We can always get some on the way home for later,” you said. “I won’t tell on you.”
“I’m putting this on your performance review,” he said. You shot him a side glance and he smirked. “I’m joking. I don’t want to do that as much as you don’t.”
“Thank you for that,” you said, stopping and looking at a red challenger for a moment.
“You like that one?” he asked.
“It’s nice,” you said before you started walking again. You fixed your hat and caught back up with him, Jensen slowing down as JJ took her time ahead of you. “So I should probably know this but what show were you in where you were driving around a muscle car?”
“You really haven’t looked me up online yet?” he chuckled. You shrugged and he laughed to himself.
“I may have peeked at your IMDB page but that was it. Was it that show you were on a long time? Super something?”
“Supernatural,” he said, a big smile on his face. “Yeah, I drove it for that.”
“Oh yeah, that was the really scary show, wasn’t it,” you said.
“You’re too sweet,” he said, chuckling to himself. “It’s not that scary. I promise. Give it a try sometime. You might like it.”
“I’m sure someday I will. If I’m brave enough.”
“I think you are,” he said, JJ running up ahead again before he called for her to hang back. He sighed and threw his head back. “It never ends, does it?”
“I’m sure someday when she’s older you won’t have to worry so much.”
“I’m gonna worry about that kid when she’s forty years old,” he said.
“That’s cause you’re a good dad,” you said.
“You haven’t known me that long,” he said.
“Do you love her? Worry about her?” you asked and he nodded. “Well any dad that does that and tells his kid that someday they’ll get to see their mom again to help her grieve when he well and truly doesn’t know the answer to that...you get the picture Ackles?”
“I could be better,” he said.
“Everyone could be better. They don’t need the best dad ever. They just need the best dad for them and you seem like you’re doing a good job of that from what I’ve seen so far,” you said. “You’re gonna screw up but so does everyone. Try to just enjoy it and not be too hard on yourself.”
“You’ve spent a lot of time with kids haven’t you,” he said.
“I’ve been in the mom role more than once as a nanny,” you said. You kicked at the dirt and shrugged. “It’s how I know the difference Jensen. You don’t need me or want me to be their mother. You just need help sometimes. That’s an important difference. Asking for help, especially when you don’t want it but need it, that’s a good dad move.”
He was quiet as he walked, stopping at a yellow mustang. He stared for a moment and swallowed.
“Thanks, Y/N. That means a lot. Really.”
“Come on dad,” you said, walking away and up towards where JJ was. “Let’s go see if we can find one this one’s gonna be asking for on her sixteenth birthday.”
“Those three are finally down and out for the count,” said Jensen as he walked downstairs to catch you in the kitchen wiping up the pan from dinner. “Thanks for eating with us tonight.”
“Thanks for inviting me,” you said, putting the pan away. He looked out the back window and bit his bottom lip. “Everything alright?”
“You’re not like, hanging out with us cause you think you have to right?” he asked.
“Trust me. If I didn’t want to, I’d be down in my room,” you said. “Besides, I’ve thought about it and you know what, why don’t you set me up with that friend of yours.”
“Really?” he asked, a little alarmed.
“Why not? The age thing doesn’t bother me at all. Unless you think it’d be a problem for him?”
“No, he doesn’t really care about that sort of thing. I think he’d prefer it’s just someone he clicked with, had a connection, you know?” he said.
“Perfect. Why don’t you set us up for next Saturday night then?” you asked.
“I need you to watch the kids next Saturday night. I have-”
“The gala. Sorry, I forgot. Um, just, I’m free whenever. You know my schedule so you can set something up and just let me know?” you said. He smiled and nodded. As you were starting to leave he grunted. “Yeah?”
“I have some friends coming over for a drink in a bit. Small backyard fire. Whiskey and smores. You’re welcome to join.”
“Jensen. You’re not asking because you feel like you have to right?”
“No, not at all. I like hanging out with you. I’m sure whatever you’re binging on TV will be there if we bore you too much,” he said.
“Alright. I’ll be out in half an hour or so. Just wanted to freshen up from the show earlier,” you said. You ducked back to your room, taking a quick shower and changing into some leggings and a flannel. By the time you were out you could hear a slight mumbling and walked downstairs, catching Jensen with some guys on the patio pouring some drinks.
“Hey,” said Jensen when you stepped out of the slider door. “Guys this is Y/N.”
“Ah we get to meet the world’s best nanny,” said the tallest one. “I’m Jared.”
“Rich.”
“Rob.”
“Hi!” said a redhead that slipped out of the door behind you. “I’m Ruth.”
“Y/N. Your hair is kinda amazing by the way,” you said.
“This is what happens when you invite the girls,” said Rich.
“Normally we just talk about Jared’s hair,” chuckled Jensen. You grabbed a chair and helped gather up some snacks to bring over to his firepit, Ruth hanging back to help you.
“Jensen said you live here with him and the munchkins?”
“Yeah. He works so much it makes things easier on him. Are you an actress?” you asked.
“We all are. Only Jared lives close by. The rest of us haven’t been down here since…” she said and you nodded. “I really am happy you’re here. It’s nice to see a smile on our boys face again.”
“He’s a great boss. He’s very kind. We’re becoming friends,” you said. “He’s trying to set me up with his friend actually.”
“Oh which one?”
“Dunno. He just said he’s 42, an actor and is single. Age stuff doesn’t bother me.”
“Rob is a bit older than myself. It really doesn’t matter in the slightest, especially when you’re a little older,” she said. “Jensen says you’re great with the kids.”
“They’re pretty easy going. Normally the parents are the hard part of my job but he’s been great. He really loves his kids,” you said.
“Yes he certainly does,” she said.
By the end of the night you found yourself really enjoying Jensen’s friends. It was clear they cared for him at more than a surface level, especially Jared. You’d heard Jensen speak to him on the phone a few times and call him his brother but it really was apparent they had a special bond that went beyond a typical friendship.
“I’ll catch you guys for brunch before you head home,” said Jensen, waving night to them all as you helped pick up. You were just about finished and heading back for your room when Jensen caught you in the kitchen. “You have fun tonight?”
“Yeah. Your friends are great,” you said, a small pair of footsteps coming down the stairs. You both turned and saw Zeppelin there with tears in his eyes.
“What’s wrong, honey?” asked Jensen as he walked over and squatted down.
“I had a bad dream and I want mommy but she’s gone,” he whined. Jensen instantly scooped him up and held onto him tight, kissing his head. “I want mommy.”
“I want mommy too, baby,” said Jensen quietly. You mouthed go and he nodded, taking Zeppelin upstairs while you finished cleaning up.
You got up early the next morning and made a big batch of chocolate chip pancakes, plenty leftover for breakfast the next morning. Jensen padded over from the hall where you knew the home gym was, sweaty and tired but a smile came onto his face when he saw you.
“What’s all this,” he asked, getting a bottle of water from the fridge.
“Chocolate chip pancakes make everything better,” you said. He put a few on a plate for himself and sat down at the counter as you made up some more, stealing a few for yourself.
“These are delicious,” he said. You stored away some for when the kids got up, making up your own plate before you dug in. “Sorry about last night. I feel like I ruined the fun.”
“Not at all. He’s a toddler. I literally can’t imagine being in your position. I’d have fallen apart instantly,” you said.
“No you wouldn’t. You care about those kids,” he said. “You push on for them.”
“I know it’s not really my place to say so but-”
“Y/N. I’d prefer if you just talk to me like a friend, really,” he said.
“You made it sound like you were ready to try dating again. Last night you seemed kind of...maybe not so ready.”
“I’m ready. I will always miss her. I’ll always love her. But that doesn’t mean I can’t love anyone else ever again like that too, you know? I don’t believe there is a limit on how much love a person can give,” he said.
“Your wife was a very lucky woman,” you said.
“I was lucky. She was patient with me,” he chuckled. “You guys would have gotten along really well.”
“Can I offer a bit of advice?” you asked.
“What’s that?”
“Keep telling your kids about her, all throughout their lives. They’ll still get to know her that way, you know?” you said. “Tell your future girlfriend too. That’s how you’ll know if they’re a good one for you.”
“Why do you say that?” he asked.
“You’re a kind soul. I would expect your partner would be as well,” you said.
“I hope so. Mine kinda has a permanent handle with care warning label on it,” he chuckled.
“I don’t think so. Just need somebody that understands, not try to fix you. There’s nothing wrong with you in the first place,” you said, taking a bite of your pancake.
“Thanks, kiddo,” he said.
“You’re not that much older, bucko,” you chuckled.
“Nah, I’m keeping kiddo,” he laughed. “You good to watch the kids for a few hours around eleven?”
“Sounds good. Go have a mimosa with your friends for me,” you said.
“Will do, Y/N. Will do.”
______
A/N: Read Part 3 here!
#spn#supernatural#jensen x reader#jensen ackles#jensen ackles au#rpf#jensen series#rpf series#jensen ackles x reader#spn fanfic#jensen fanfic#jensen ackles fanfic#supernatural fanfic
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