#'active' being the operative word

[vandalizedheart]

if i may allow myself a monthly Joker Moment, a lot of the harshness i have towards myself tends to be a side effect of how the rpc as a whole tends to operate.

i have a lot of joy and love for the things i create. when i share them in rp spaces here though? sometimes it gets hard to keep loving them, and myself as well.

[steviescrystals]

my tags on the post i just reblogged got me thinking so here’s my current stream of consciousness

[probablyasocialecologist]

"Hannibal at Erez, dispatch a Zik [attack drone]," came the command on October 7.

Those words, reported by Israeli newspaper Haaretz in July, confirm what many Israelis have feared since the Hamas attacks on October 7 in southern Israel.

Israeli forces have killed their own citizens.

[...]

In July, the Israeli newspaper Haaretz revealed commanders in the IDF gave the order to fire on troops who had been captured by Hamas at three separate locations, explicitly referencing the Hannibal Directive.

One former Israeli officer, Air Force Colonel Nof Erez, told a Haaretz podcast the directive was not specifically ordered but was "apparently applied" by responding aircrews.

Panicked, operating without their normal command structure and unable to coordinate with ground forces, they fired on vehicles returning to Gaza, knowing they were likely carrying hostages.

"This was a mass Hannibal. It was tons and tons of openings in the fence, and thousands of people in every type of vehicle, some with hostages and some without," Colonel Erez said.

Air force pilots described to Yedioth Ahronot newspaper the firing of "tremendous" amounts of ammunition on October 7 at people attempting to cross the border between Gaza and Israel.

"Twenty-eight fighter helicopters shot over the course of the day all of the ammunition in their bellies, in renewed runs to rearm. We are talking about hundreds of 30-millimetre cannon mortars and Hellfire missiles," reporter Yoav Zeitoun said.

[...]

Bergman's investigation found 70 vehicles were destroyed by Israeli aircraft and tanks to prevent them being driven into Gaza, killing everyone inside.

"It is not clear at this point how many of the abductees were killed due to the activation of this [Hannibal] order on October 7," he wrote.

6 September 2024

[ceilidho]

'still wakes the deep' au

prompt: You're an environmental scientist conducting research on an off-shore oil rig with only a few days left before you're slated to leave. The eldritch creature they accidentally awaken throws a wrench in the works. First Meeting masterlist

-

Choppy waters like Neptune’s eye meet your gaze when you look back at where you came from, the land on the other side but a beige striation on the horizon. 

“Afraid of heights, doctor?” your escort asks, his amusement borderline distasteful. It must stroke their ego to watch newcomers come aboard and flounder, gawking at the swells and waves crashing against the oil rig, each wave so cataclysmic that it’s a wonder the structure stays upright. A wonder of engineering, that is. 

The rig manager stands closer to the railing, staring without fear out into the ocean surrounding you. His sea legs are likelier studier than the ones that wash up ashore every fourteen days when he’s due for his OSHA mandated break. His knees don’t even buckle at the sight of the barnacles clinging nerve-wrackingly high up on the rig legs. Far too high up for comfort. 

“No, sir,” you reply, shaking your head. “Just water.”

He barks a laugh at that. “Plenny o’ that around here. Wouldn’y go leaning my head over the rail then, if I was you.”

You take another look down, balking at the frothy white streaking the latticework barrier around the jacket legs. No worries there; there isn’t a chance in hell you’ll be going anywhere near the rails. You’re too high up to know for sure, but you wonder if there are sharks plumbing the depths beneath the rig, excited by the noise and activity on board. 

You’d be shark chum if you went overboard. Beyond that, you’d be fish food; no sympathy from the sea to be found this far from land. 

“Where should I set up?” you ask instead. 

Sensing your eagerness to get started—and to get away from the edge of the rig—he gestures for you to follow him and sets off towards the door closest to you, leading you into the interior of the rig. “This way, doc—got a room already set up for ye. Cozier in there than out here.”

The first few days aren’t so bad after that. You spend the first day getting unpacked, your suitcase already waiting for you in your quarters, which doubles as your office, and then turn in early after prepping for the next day. 

As anticipated, you spend the next day hunched over the toilet bowl, stomach roiling from spending too long staring at the turbulent waters below. You’ve done this before but it never gets any easier. Despite your chosen field of research, you’re suited for dry land, not the sea. It’s the price you have to pay though. 

No coffee that first morning. Just tea to help settle your stomach. And it does for a bit—lets you get through your first day worth of tests without you upchucking while collecting water samples from the discharge point. You’ll save your indoor work for the days when the crests of the waves are high enough to spray the working deck. By dinner, your stomach is a little more settled, but still you elect to eat in your quarters instead of with the workers in the mess. 

You haven’t been on the rig long enough to have made any enemies, nor do you think that’s something that’ll happen during your brief time on board, but you definitely haven’t made any friends. It comes with the territory. The men that work on these rigs out in the middle of the ocean—even the ones on land, for that matter—tend to view your kind with distrust at the very least, if not outright hostility. 

It’s hard to blame them. The purpose of your visit isn’t to shower them with praises. You’re stationed on the rig for the next few days to collect data and samples to assess the environmental impact of the rig’s operations. It puts you somewhat at odds with them, the outcome of your work being potentially to the detriment of theirs. 

Some whisper the word like blasphemy. Government worker. They say it like you’re the Baba Yaga or a witch living in a cottage at the edge of the village, like uttering the word too loudly will summon you. There’s too much work to do around the rig for them to cluck their tongues like gossipy hens, but the men find time for it anyway. You’d roll your eyes if you were any greener. 

The truth is though, you’re used to it, and at this point in your career, you don’t have it in you to act like it’s such a shock that they wouldn’t give you the red carpet treatment. All you need is a hot cup of coffee, an office (or even just a desk) to write your reports, and some space to conduct your research without being badgered with questions.

Most of the men tend to blur together, a medley of fluorescent yellow hard hats and navy coveralls, respirators strung around their necks and goggles covering their eyes. It’s easy enough to mistake them for one another. 

Only one of them has managed to catch your eye so far, though you can’t say it’s for a particularly good reason. Of the lot of them, he’s the loudest. Which is saying something, considering that the crew tend to speak in shouts and hollers to make up for the crashing waves beneath them and the howling winds above them. He’s also among the tallest, broad shouldered and muscled—a former first responder or military, if you had to guess, though you keep your assumptions to yourself. 

You know better than to ask questions around him because you’ve learned in the short time that you’ve spent on the rig not to give him—Soap, they call him, or MacTavish when the rig manager is particularly pissed off—even an inch. 

It’s another crew member that gives you that heads up. “Din’y pay him any mind.”

“Who?” you ask, looking up from your work.

The crew member nods to the man posted on the other side of the main deck. “Soap. Bit of a showboat, that one. Always stirrin’ up the boys, gettin’ ‘em all riled up. Din’y let him distract ye too much.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You look back down at the data sheets in front of you. “I’m not worried though. He hasn’t been too much trouble.”

Famous last words. 

He isn’t too much trouble until he suddenly is; until he’s suddenly everywhere, always in your way somehow. Not so much underfoot as just always around the corner waiting with his stupid smug smirk that you’ve grown to despise and half-lidded electric blue eyes roving up and down the length of you. Aggravating you at every turn. 

Your first meeting is an accident. At least, it seems that way, and likely is—he seems too blunt for coincidences or chance meetings, happy to tell you to your face that he manipulated the situation in order to get you on your own. 

You’re wandering down one of the many circulatory hallways and slightly lost when a door suddenly opens, blocking your way. A jumpsuit-clad man twice your size walks out, his hair just brushing the top of the doorframe. Though you recognize him instantly, you’d never gotten close enough for the details to cement in your mental image of him. Up close, you get a better look.

The faint lines around his eyes and mouth betray either his age or the life he’s lived. Weathered; bronzed from days at a time spent under the sun. You’d noticed the mohawk earlier, but staring at the side of his head now, you can see the faint puckering of a healed wound splintering out from his temple into his hairline. Though the sides of his head are freshly shorn, the scar looks old—maybe a year, maybe more. 

When he notices that he’s not alone in the hall, his head turns in your direction and he stops, one foot still in the other room. Two thick brows go up at the sight of you standing there with your tablet clutched to your chest. 

“Hullo gorgeous,” Soap purrs, pupils suddenly pinpricks and your stomach drops. 

Because of course he would. You’d long figured he might be an arrogant piece of work from what little you’ve observed of him from across the rig, but you should’ve known he’d also be a flirt. He’s too good-looking not to be one. Tall and broad, with biceps the size of your head. You’re sure he rolls his shirt sleeves up just to feel them strain against the muscles of his arms. You certainly can’t help the way your eyes are drawn there. 

“Ah ken who ye are,” he says, taking a step towards you until the tips of his boots nearly touch yours. The door is still wide open behind him, swinging slowly towards the wall behind it. Soap towers over you easily, tipping his head to stare down at you. Your lips press into a tight line when his eyes drop to your chest, staring at the outline of your tits through your cardigan. 

“Okay,” you say through stiff lips.

“Yer that lass from the government. Ah thought ye'd be auld,” he jokes, shit-eating grin on his face. 

You nearly groan. It’s too early for this shit and you’re too tired from being up all night working on your report on the rig’s discharge water quality. 

“Well, I’m not,” you reply woodenly instead, altogether unimpressed with him. 

For as fit as he is, you’re not here to flirt or hookup, and you’re good at separating work and your personal life. If anyone manages to get under your skin enough to tempt you, it won’t be the man undressing you with his eyes while covered in a thin layer of grime and sweat. 

“Nae, yer no’,” he agrees, voice a low burr. His eyes flick up to meet yours. “I’m John, by the way.”

“I know.”

“…It’s polite tae give yer name when someone introduces thersel's tae ye.”

“I’d rather you just call me doctor.”

“Doctor, eh?” Soap purrs, running his tongue over his bottom lip. “Dae ye dae house calls, doc? Hae been feelin’ a wee bit feverish lately.”

You can’t help the way your cheeks heat at his comment. “Not that kind of doctor. Do you mind getting out of the way?”

“Jesus, I din’y ken ye’d be so fuckin’ prickly. Thought ye government workers were cheery a' the time.”

“Not when we have work to do,” you bite out, decidedly uncomfortable with his shameless perusal and eager just to get on with your day. “Can you move please? I have somewhere to be.”

All that does is force him to take another step closer, toe-to-toe with you now. You should’ve known he’d take that as an invitation. He reeks of grease and brine, the smell pungent and clinging to his skin and clothes. Almost like he sleeps and works in the same pair of coveralls instead of bringing his dirty clothes down to the laundry facility like everyone else at the end of the week. 

You tell yourself to stop staring at where his coveralls open to a sweat-slicked chest, dark hair poking up over the neckline, but your eyes don’t comply. A small cross dangles from a chain around his neck, nestled in the hair just above his pecs. 

“Good Catholic lass, are ye?” Soap asks, noticing the focal point of your gaze.

You scrunch up your nose at that. “No. I didn’t—it’s none of your business anyway.”

The stutter is where his eyes light up, a little gleam in the blue that lets you know you’ve caught his interest. Like seeing a storm well off in the distance and bracing for it anyway, knowing that you’re in its path no matter what you do. 

“A’right, doc, Ah'll leave ye tae it. Gotta get back myself anyway,” he says, rolling his shoulders back and standing up taller, and it’s only in that moment that you realize how low his neck had been bent in order to get closer to you. “Wait. I can’y let ye go lookin’ like that.”

You’re about to ask him what he means when he suddenly grabs you by the front of your cardigan and pulls you towards him, getting the grease on his hands all over the fabric. Your eyes nearly bug out of your skull as he pops the topmost button into its corresponding hole, the only one you’d left purposefully loose. 

The only reason you don’t snap at him to take his hands off you is because your tongue is a knot in your throat. 

“There we go,” Soap coos when the button is in, looking down at his handiwork all over the front of your shirt. “Lookin’ like part o’ the crew already.”

Your heart pounds in your chest long after he lets you go. When he steps to the side, the door flush with the wall by now, you dart around him, walking away as fast as your legs can carry you without sprinting. You ignore the way he belts out a laugh at your swift departure. Ignore the way your stomach cramps at the sound as well. 

He might end up being more trouble than you thought.

[gibbearish]

how quickly we forget duchamp's fountain

i mean, its crazy right? it is completely and totally just a matter of bias and preconceived notions and reactionarism pushing people to arrive at the idea that a person using a generative model soley based on their own work intentionally creating a specific piece of art they have already visualized in their mind is "not art" because... well... um...

well they can't even say! they say "it's not intentional" (it is, he already knows what he wants it to look like!), "it's not work/effort" (god i want you people to see how long it takes me to generate the simplest of anime girls in midjourney), or most bafflingly "the prompt is art but the image output isnt". and nobody can actually explain WHY because there ISNT a good reason! they just have this kneejerk hatred and disgust of this new technology and art form and any attempts at prodding at that feeling are met with aggression or blank stares.

[gold-onthe-inside]

greylist

verb (transitive): to hold (someone) in suspicion, without actually excluding him or her from a particular activity

who? spencer reid (s6, post-JJ, pre-Doyle) x tech analyst!reader summary: when your celebratory drink with penelope is disrupted, you end up at a bar with the person you famously cannot get along with even if you were paid... until you do. based on: request by @brownbunnyb: I’m thinking something along lines of me being Penelope’s best friend and coworker and she sees how much me and Spencer bump heads and she sets me up on a blind date and the guy end up being Spencer (she does it on purpose) and we get a little too tipsy and he invites me over to his place and I stay the night and he confess his feelings bc he assumed I was sleeping word count: 3.4k a/n: r is an intelligence analyst for the counterintelligence division, and roommates with penelope, famous for not having any of the pleasance and charm that penelope does (the grumpy to her sunshine) and for not getting along with men, including spencer. i may have gotten carried away with it.

You don't get many off days in counterintelligence, but when you find a chain of coded messages about a military officer in Alaska trying to sell classified documents to the Russians, and manipulate him right into the hands of an undercover operative, you have to celebrate somehow. There aren't many easy wins in your line of work, not like Penelope who comes to your shared apartment with an arrest on her belt almost every week, and when you hear the front door close, Penelope walking in with her heels in hand, you have no doubt that she's on a high from a solved case.

"Hey, so I figured we'd leave in 15," you said, stepping out from the bathroom in a sleek black dress with a cut out by your hips, your walk stuttering at the sight of Kevin in the doorway behind Penelope, who was wincing. "And you forgot," you said, unsurprised, your hands falling from your ear where you had just fixed a gold hoop.

"I'm so sorry," Penelope cried, rushing towards you. "I swear, I swear I had it written somewhere that we were going out, but this reservation opened up at L'Auberge, and you know we've been on the waitlist for months--"

You held up your hand, stopping her. "Go," you said, with patience that seemed to be bottomless when it came to Penelope.

"I swear, I will make it up to you right now," Penelope said and you frowned instantly as she pulled out her phone.

"You don't have to--"

"Ba-bup, nothing out of you," Penelope interrupted, picking up the phone. "You're going to a bar. I don't wanna hear any excuses, you still owe me for Friday. You will be there by 7." She looked to you. "7?"

You shrugged helplessly, glancing at Kevin who just seemed amused by his girlfriend.

"Where are you going?" Penelope repeated the question, then looked at you.

"Crown and Crow," you said, knowing better than to get in Penelope's way, watching her as she repeated it to the phone, then snapped it shut, looking at you with a giddy smile.

"Okay, have fun, don't be mean, and have a cute cocktail on me," Penelope said, kissing your cheek, leaving a smear of lip gloss. "You deserve the win," she said, then promptly disappeared off to the bathroom to change for her own date.

You looked at Kevin. "Home by midnight, no more than three drinks, capiche?" you said, firmly and he held up his hands in surrender to you.

"I couldn't afford it," he said and you nodded, satisfied. You slipped into your classic black pumps, grabbed your purse, keys, and a black coat before stepping out, the door closing before you remember to ask Penelope who your date for the night was.

You're on your first drink when he arrived, almost spitting it out at the sight of Spencer as he searched the bar for Penelope. If you rush into the bathroom, maybe you don't have to deal with him tonight… but then he spots you, and frowns as he raised a hand before walking over. "No Penelope?"

"Date with Kevin," you replied, not hiding your sourness. Don't be mean, my ass. This is her making it up to me?

"Oh," he said, looking confused. "So… why am I here?"

"Evidently, Pen's playing matchmaker tonight," you said, keeping your voice even and he sighed.

"Should've figured," he said quietly, then gestured to the empty seat beside her. "May I?"

"Since you're here," you replied, sipping your rum and coke.

"I take it I'm not who you expected," he said as he flagged the bartender for a soda.

"Given the history of our interactions, no, you're not." You watched his arm fall to the oak bar, his hazel eyes on you, sparkling darkly in the low amber light.

"Disappointed?" he asked and you took a breath in.

"It's not all you," you said, tipping the glass as you take a sip. "Supposed to be celebrating an op, but Penelope bailed."

"Criswell's case?" he asked and you sighed, his question stinging like the back of your throat.

"Criswell's case," you scoffed. "I do all the work and he's the one they credit? I swear to God, you Special Agents--"

"It's hardly my fault that Criswell's name gets put on the report. He was the arresting officer--"

"Only because I led the guy right to him," you argued, looking at Spencer and then you just sighed. "You don't get it. You're not an intelligence analyst."

"No, I do," he insisted. "I know you think we all come home with wins every week, but it's not me, or the BAU, or even the FBI that gets the credit. It's the local police department who can't pull their heads out of the asses, sorry, long enough to realise that all they need is to empathise to catch their killers."

You looked at him, with a mix of surprise and respect, and a little amusement at his apology after saying 'asses', and he ran out of steam at your look. "T-The point is, I get it," he continued. "You probably don't sleep for days, and if you do, it's not enough. You're probably going to suffer from debilitating eye strain in your 70s, and all for some half-wit tactical analyst to get the credit. You're right to be pissed, but getting mad at me isn't gonna get you anywhere."

You wet your stained lips, downing the rest of your glass, and stare at it for a moment. "I've been kind of unfair to you, haven't I?" you asked, looking at him.

Spencer looked at his clear glass, bubbles of soda rising to the surface. "Kind of feels diminutive," he said and you laugh, a brightness in your eyes that wasn't there a minute ago.

"Be grateful I admitted anything at all," you said and he nodded graciously.

"Of course. Thank you for the bare minimum," he said and you huff.

"Look at that, the robot knows sarcasm," you teased and he made an offended noise before watching you snicker. "So, just the soda or are you gonna drink something stronger?"

"Just the soda," he said and you know better than to ask as you order yourself a mojito. "So, how did you do it?" Spencer asked. "How'd you track him down?"

You shrugged, not particularly in a bragging mood. "It wasn't that hard, really. I already had an alert set up for requests for encryption keys, and there was no reason for this military officer in Alaska to request them. He didn't have the clearance or approval from someone who did to have eyes on it. All I did was figure out what he wanted access to and fudge it and put a code in so I could track the user before giving him the encryption key. Then it was just a matter of posing as a buyer for the intel."

"Child's play," Spencer remarked dryly, his lips curling and you shrugged.

"If you can learn sarcasm, I can learn humility," you said, sipping your mojito and it was his turn to laugh quietly.

"It's a new look on you," he said, meeting your gaze, and you're not sure if it's the rum, but there's a moment of tension, and you're half-convinced he's leaning in to kiss you when your phone beeped and it shatters like you've dropped your glass. You fumbled through your purse for your cell, pulling it out to find a text message from Penelope.

Penny: Kevin's staying the night.

How was this night getting worse by the minute?

You: Can't you go to his place?

No reply. It turned out your bottomless patience wasn't so limitless, and Spencer could tell.

"Problem?" he asked, raising his soda to finish it.

"It appears I'm homeless for the night," you replied, downing your entire mojito in one go.

"Hey, hey, slow down," he insisted, pulling the glass away from you, but it was just mint and ice now. "What do you mean?"

You grasped Spencer's shoulder. "See, Data, when two people go out on a date, which is a kind of human mating ritual, one of them offers their habitat to copulate in, never mind the other females who maybe sharing said habitat," you said, mocking and he swatted your hand away, knowing you well enough to know you were just projecting your irritation on to him.

"You could just say that Garcia was taking Kevin home, you don't have to be so--"

"Mean?" you asked hollowly and Spencer pursed his lips.

"Hostile," he replied and you nodded.

"It's fine, I'll just flirt with someone and let them take me to their place," you said, slipping off your seat.

"Hey, no," Spencer said firmly, his hands loosely grasping your arms. "A) you're drunk--"

"I had two drinks--"

"And B) Penelope would kill me if I let you become one of our cases. You can stay with me."

"What? No," you protested. "I'm mean and unfair to you, why would you--"

"Because no matter how much disdain you hold for me, I'm not actually a bad guy," he said patiently. "Can you honestly tell me you trust anyone else in this bar to not take advantage of you?"

You sucked your cheek in and sighed. "No," you said petulantly, and Spencer stood up, holding your coat up for you to help you into it.

He doesn't drive and you share Esther with Penelope who needed it tonight, so you're on the Metro back to his place, Spencer's hand on your waist keeping you standing until there's a place to sit. You realise, rather dully, that if you weren't wearing your coat, his hand would have found the cut-out of your waist, and you wonder what it feels like. "I'm never drinking rum again," you murmured. Clearly, it was poisoning your mind.

"Sure, you won't," he said dryly, standing in front of you and you have to look up at him to see his eyes.

"You're really tall," you said, distastefully. You don't like having to crane your neck just to look at him… not that you like looking at him. It's easier to be mean, you decide, when you can look him in the eye.

"I'm sorry, the doctor said there's no cure for it," he replied, clearly mocking.

"I could always lop your knees off," you said helpfully, smiling up at him and he snorted.

"I think they've been through enough." He watched the frown form on your forehead, and, stupid impulse, he moved his hand to smooth it out. "I was shot in the knee a couple years ago," he explained. "Reconstructive surgery."

"Must make kneeling hard," you said without thinking and he tilted his head at you, his hand returning to your waist.

"Was that a joke?" he asked and you shook your head.

"No, I'm just--" The train jolted and Spencer grabbed your hips before you could fall, your hands on his arms. "Embarrassing," you finished as he righted you, then guided your hands to the pole. He was warm, smelling like Irish espresso. It must be nice, being his girlfriend, smelling that all the time. What is wrong with me?

The rest of the ride is silent, and then he's guiding you out of the carriage and onto the station closest to his apartment. He tapped both your metro cards, which you don't remember giving to him, before walking out of the subway with his hand on the small of your back, and you're out of quips and clever things to say. You didn't think that was possible, but maybe the train jolted it out of you. Or maybe the rum did. But you're silent all the way to his apartment, and a little curious about how he lives.

He lets you in, letting go of your waist, and you don't see how his hand clenches, too busy taking the apartment in. The wall's a lovely green and he has lamps that remind you of old libraries with the green steel shade, and he has bookshelves everywhere, nothing with a contemporary cover on it. They're all old hardbounds that you're compelled to touch reverently, foreign titles that you're able to decipher. "Of course you have War and Peace in the original Russian," you scoffed, tracing the golden Russian letters while he set your purse down on his coffee table.

"You can read it?" he asked, surprised and you look at him with narrowed eyes.

"How do you think I posed as a Russian buyer of international secrets?" you asked and he held his hands up in surrender.

"My bad," he admitted, trying not to look impressed. But it was the truth, you were impressive. It was impressive enough how skilled you were at coding and creating algorithms, able to take over for Penelope without complaint from anyone but Derek who would get shut down every time he tried to call you baby girl. In a lot of ways, you were like Penelope, always ready with a pop-culture reference and a barb, preferring steel over sexual innuendo. In the early days, he had been sensitive to it, avoiding you when he could, but he'd seen your softer side when Penelope had been shot, how you'd been unafraid to yell at Rossi for pushing the boundaries of interrogation with her. He knew you were kind, really, you just weren't very generous with it.

He filled up a glass of water, walking over to you, doing his best to keep his gaze off your waist as he passed it to you, noticing you perusing the Art of War… in the original Chinese. "Don't tell me… Chinese too?"

"Kind of a prerequisite for counterintelligence," you said, swapping the book for the water, and an uncomfortable expression flashed across your face, shifting in your heels. He was an idiot, he should have noticed it. You were standing for so long in the train. You frowned as he knelt silently, hand grasping your ankle and you lifted your heel so he could take it off. One, then the other. "Thanks," you said quietly, unused to his kindness.

"It's not that hard," he said, standing up, putting your heels by your purse.

"What is?" you asked and he looked back at you.

"Kneeling," he said simply and it's stupid but your heart stops for a second, caught off-guard. "I'm gonna get you something more comfortable to wear. Finish that."

Oh, this was not good. You were not going to catch feelings for a man you've told everyone you know, which is mostly Penelope, and by association Kevin, that you hate. Your phone beeps and you pick it up.

Penny: Talked to Emily, you can stay at hers.

Escape. Emily can pick you up, you get along with Emily just fine, Emily's not a tall brunet with hazel eyes and makes butterflies erupt in your stomach. Emily's safe. You could be safe… or you could be with Spencer.

You: Don't bother, I'm already at Spencer's. You owe me so big.

You simply hope it sounds more casual and unbothered than you feel.

"So, I couldn't find anything that fit-" he started and you flinched as he walked back into the room, holding sweats and a t-shirt, almost dropping your glass, and he looked at you with wide eyes. "Sorry, carpeted floors," he said, assuming that was why you were so startled, and walked over, swapping your empty glass with the clothes. "They'll have to do, I'm afraid."

You nodded. "Bathroom?"

"Inside, on your left," he said, frowning as you rushed away.

You have to roll up the legs of the pants so you can actually walk in them, too afraid to ask for shorts for the fear that he might just hand you a pair of boxers, and then you really would crack, just like that.

You stepped out eventually, finding him setting up the couch with blankets and pillows, and he looked at you, his expression unreadable in the low light. "I know, they're baggy and I look awful."

"No," he said quickly, sitting on the couch. "You don't. Look awful, that is. Even if they are baggy."

"Right," you said, if only to move on to something else. "Um… do you have any cotton balls or something? I have all this make-up--"

"Sure, yeah," he said, moving and almost tripping over the coffee table in his rush to service you.

"--wouldn't want to ruin your pillows," you said to deaf ears, following him with a frown as he retrieves a cosmetic bag from his dresser. "Why do you have that?"

"Uh…" He looked at you with a wincing expression. "Halloween," he said, hoping it would suffice, and it did. You've seen him come into work at the end of every October with props and gimmicks. Emily ended up pawning off a Baba Yaga head to you that still hangs in your cubicle. You've named her Meredith.

"Right," you replied and he handed it to you.

"What, no clever retort?" he asked and you shook your head.

"No, I think the cosmetic bag speaks for itself," you said, showing him the pumpkin shaped cartoons on it, and he sighed.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up," he said dryly and you snickered as you headed to the bathroom.

"Does Morgan know about your clown make-up?" you asked and he lingered in the doorway.

"Please don't," he begged, watching you dab removal cream on the pad and wipe your make-up away. You're teasing and mean, hostile and snappish, but you're not cruel. You've kept secrets for him before, like the magazine cover of him and Lila from 2005 that Emily almost finds if not for you distracting her with a linguistic question, your hand stealthily picking it out of his drawer, and then tossing it to him when she turned her back.

"Depends, do you have clown shoes somewhere in your closet?" you asked, smiling as you ridicule him.

"No, the shoes I rented, the nose I own, the hair I spraypainted," he said and you look at him.

"Seriously?" you asked with a giddy grin. "Please tell me there are pictures."

"What? No!" he retorted, in that high pitch where you know he's lying, "Even if there were, why would I show you?"

"Because you know I can find them anyway," you retorted.

"Not if they're not digital," he snapped back, thinking he's pulled a fast one until he sees your devious grin. "No. Absolutely not."

"You've made a horrible mistake letting me into your home," you said, grinning giddily.

"You're a terrible person," he said, blocking your way bodily. "Sadistic, twisted, horrible--"

"I'm gonna find it," you said, stepping towards him.

"Not if I lock you in here all night," he said, but it was weak, he knew it was. He'd cave the minute he heard your pleading voice, or pretending to vomit. You tilt your head at him.

"Show me the pictures, Spencer," you said and his shoulders sag.

"Alright, come on," he said, resigned, leading you to the bedroom and pulling at a locked drawer in his desk before picking up the album. You plopped onto the bed, curling your feet up underneath you, Spencer sliding into bed beside you with the album on his thighs. "Please don't be mean," he asked, looking at you with a pleading look.

"If I don't have something nice to say, I won't speak," you promised, and he opens it up, knowing it's the best you can offer. You instantly clap a hand over your mouth at the sight of ten year old Spencer dressed like a Russian gymnast. So, he was that extra as a kid too.

"You… dressed like that all night, and you survived?" you asked, looking at him and he shrugged.

"I didn't actually do much trick-or-treating. But my mom would help me make my costume and I'd watch scary movies when she was asleep."

There's a Ghostbuster's costume, a vampire costume, a Frankenstein costume, all creative and handmade, and you watch Spencer age through the photographs, until he's 14 and you're half-asleep on his shoulder.

A fondness warms his chest as he tucked hair behind your ear. He's never seen you unmade like this. You weren't as flamboyant as Penelope (you once said Bowie wasn't as flamboyant as Penelope), usually in greys, browns and blacks, with plain jewellery and simple make-up, and tonight had only gone up in tone by your eyeshadow, grey and silver, with black eyeliner.

But now? You looked vulnerable and pretty, unarmed, and he carefully laid you against the pillow. Maybe he thinks he'll get over it if he says it, or 'manifest' it like Penelope says, and it's not exactly a heavy thing he says, but he whispered it as he stroked your hair back in place.

"I wish you liked me as much as I like you."

[cthulhus-curse]

Eternal Flames

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 15,155

Warnings: Omegaverse, Alphas!WandaNat, Omega!Reader, WandaNat have penises, Nursing, Smut Fluff, Hurt/Comfort | 18+ Minors DNI

Summary: After having escaped the sharp claws of HYDRA, you end up as the newest member of the Avengers and the object of Wanda and Natasha's affection.

Freedom is earned, not deserved.

Those words forever echoed in your mind, haunting you through your horrifying dreams and waking life alike. They came from the same husky voice, one which always made you shudder in a torturous remembrance. Rumlow, you felt bile rising from your throat at the sole humoring of the name, was anything but compassionate. Day after day he spit the same phrase your way since your earliest memories. HYDRA was your home, he had said, and for the longest years you believed it. 

Being born into the organization, taken from your own home as a child, forced you into being a pawn in their game of chess. As the bishop, Rumlow was meant to oversee your training alongside other stolen members forced to partake in HYDRA’s black and white board, with his men as rooks standing by in case any deserters had the bright idea of leaving. Because if it happened, and it did from time to time, there wouldn’t be any hesitation to put a bullet between their eyes. For HYDRA, undying loyalty was everything, even if they needed to drill it onto you with less-than-savory acts. 

A killer is what they made you – a coldhearted yet accomplished weapon of mass destruction, one that followed the Winter Soldier’s footsteps with red dripping from your ledger with each passing day. Countless lives were taken at your hands, and although you were forced to believe that HYDRA was your home, that you needed to fight for them, there always came a hint of doubt deep in your subconscious. Regardless of the brainwashing, that light was never put out no matter how much they tried. And for that, you were punished severely. 

Even for the sole fact that you were an omega, you were treated as the lowest of the low. Many of your fellow HYDRA soldiers, those thrown into involuntary service, had the same nature. There were a handful of alphas scattered around, but mostly it was the omegas, demanded to be submissive, which took the harshest beatings. Medication was shoved down your throat to prevent any heats and suppress any scents. To them you were nothing; no one. And if they wanted to control every breath you took, they’d do as such. 

With the fall of HYDRA at the hands of The Avengers, one Black Widow and Captain America to be exact, came your freedom. There were still active soldiers operating outside bounds that were set, hiding in the shadows refusing to be found, but not you. No, you were saved from that life instead. Muscular arms wrapped around your frame as you slept in the beat-down cot of HYDRA headquarters, pulling you away as the woman promised you’d be alright from now on. You didn’t know her, but the S.H.I.E.L.D. insignia on her told you all you needed to know. Sighing, you nodded her way. Because in the 20 years you’d spent under her rule, you could finally take a breath of relief. 

Your defection from HYDRA came by, and you couldn’t help but happily turn around to betray them for the sake of your freedom. Maria took you under her wing through that time, morphing you into an exemplary S.H.I.E.L.D. agent much like herself. She saw greatness in you, never failing to repeat those same words whenever possible as a reminder of all the things you could accomplish. You were more than a killer, the woman told you, and you realized then that if it wasn’t for her, you’d probably not have a life past those 20 years. 

The shame that came with your past haunted you in your present. Each night you went to bed bawling your eyes out without fail, sobbing for all the innocents you’d harmed under the hand of HYDRA. The cries were muffled enough to not boom across the headquarters as to not alert your fellow agents, and yet a certain brunette always passed by, sighing as she was well-aware of the torture you put yourself through on a daily basis. 

“You don’t have to beat yourself up for it,” Maria reminded you one morning as she handed you a cup of coffee right after a joint run. “That wasn’t you. They made you do it, you didn’t have a choice.”

“I could’ve done something,” you shrugged. Although the coffee burned you as it went down your throat, you deserved it – that and even more. “I was there and I didn’t-”

“You were just a kid when it all started,” she had to interject. “No one blames you, alright? And…sure they made you do horrible things, I know that, but that doesn’t mean you take the blame for it all. They made you, not the other way around.”

The two of you sat in silence in the break room, your eyes staring into the nothingness while Maria’s was set on you. She took her unofficial job as your protector very seriously, seeing parts of herself in you – a lost alpha who, luckily, was able to find solace in the arms of her omega wife Pepper. All the agent wanted was for you to seek out the same happiness she earned. Perhaps then she could help save you the way she had been.

“I might have something for you if you’d like. It’s a bit of a step up from running covert missions under Fury and I,” Maria shrugged, smiling as she had a good feeling about it. “They’re called the Avengers. Fury brought them together, but they operate by themselves without us overseeing them. You wouldn’t have to report back to anyone but yourselves. Does that sound like something you’d consider?”

“The Avengers,” you scoffed at that. “Is that like a band or something?”

“Well, they’re not The Beatles, but I suppose they’re a bit of a band,” she explained. “They’re making way more progress than we ever could in taking down HYDRA. I’m sure you’d be a very valuable asset to the team if you decide so. Between you, the god from space, and the big guy, you’d be unstoppable.”

More silence came about, but this time it was pensive. You truly took your time in humoring the offer. For months since you joined the organization, you’d been able to help in hunting down the remainder of HYDRA operatives, but you knew that there were more hiding in plain sight who needed to be dealt with. If there was an opportunity to do so, you’d be dumb not to take it in a heartbeat. 

Maria would never push you into uncomfortable positions, let alone throw you into the wolves as she sat back and watched. But alas, she knew of the positive effects being surrounded by such a team could cause. There came the question about your reaction to having numerous alphas around you though. Between the leader of the team, Steve with his alpha mate, and even the leader of the pack itself Natasha and her second-in-command Wanda, Maria was unsure you’d take a liking to them instantly. At least with the two women, she had a good feeling you’d warm up to them in a few weeks. 

“Try it out for a bit, yeah?” Maria gently pushed. “Then you can let me know how you feel about it. If you don’t like it, I can always ask Fury about getting you your own taskforce. I know you’re young, but I really think you can-”

“Omegas don’t lead,” you interjected, suddenly speaking in the same monotone voice Rumlow once carried. “That’s…that’s what they used to tell me.”

With sympathy stricken over her features, Maria shook her head. She reached out enough for her hand to lay atop your own, her thumb brushing over yours as a means to show you her understanding of the matter. Since your sudden departure from HYDRA after it crumbled, it was the first time you let someone, let alone an alpha, touch you without pulling back in fear.

“You can and you eventually will,” she sincerely told you. “I have so much faith in you, Y/N. Have some in yourself too, yeah?”

Those were the same words you carried around your chest on your first day with the Avengers. It was different from HYDRA, better at that. Maria had surprised you earlier that morning with a brazing cup of coffee and a box with a cute sticky note on it. Hope it’s the right size , it read, and when you pulled out the wrapping paper, your eyes widened at the sight of a suit – mostly black with the Avengers insignia and S.H.I.E.L.D. one on the side – one solely for yourself, hiding underneath. 

Walking through the steps of the Avengers compound, you sighed. It was much larger than the S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, making it easy for you to get lost in the Upstate New York campus. Rushing through, you realized you’d be late then for the early debriefing session Hill told you about, at least until you ran, quite literally, into the one help you’d found all morning. 

“Shit,” you yelped as you fell into the ground. “I’m so sorry, I-”

“It’s okay,” came a lighthearted giggle. “You should really watch where you’re going, sweetheart. I’m not too fond of getting concussions from random girls. You’re lucky you’re pretty.”

Not only did the words drawled up gently made your features heat up, but as you pulled away and were able to catch sight of who you stumbled on, your mouth went agape. There were no words to describe the beauty that had befallen before you, and yet you tried. A vibrant redness tied back into messy French braids cascaded down strong shoulders barely covered by a sleeveless gray shirt. It left you breathless, scarred even, because in the 20 years you’d spent on Earth, even if locked away in your demonic cage, you had never felt your heart racing in such a manner, fingers tingling and craving to reach out to trace her chiseled jaw until you reached her rosy lips. 

“I- uhm…” you tried to speak, but only slurred incoherent mumbles you were unable to control came out.

“Pretty and cute,” the mystery woman hummed. “Great combination. What’s your name, милая?”

From your time at HYDRA, you understood the term very well. There weren’t many things that made you smile, but being called ‘honey’ by a rather attractive stranger did the trick. Her Russian accent was thick when she spoke in what you assumed was her native language, her tongue drawing out each syllable and making it impossible for you to tear your eyes away. 

“I’m…” you paused, needing time to take in her words and figure out a proper manner in which you could respond. “Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

“Nice to meet you, Y/N. I’m Natasha,” she said. “But most people know me as Black Widow.”

And from that time on, you swore to yourself there’d never be a more glorious sight than the Black Widow herself. You were wrong of course, because only minutes later you rushed into the meeting room, hot on Natasha’s guiding heels, only to find a rather sheepish brunette eyeing you two sweetly. With the two of them around, you were unsure on how you’d focus on your goal, let alone carry on your fear of alphas when you craved two so carnally. 

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Within your first six months of being an Avenger, you had already made a name for yourself. ‘The rookie’ or ‘rooks’ is what the men referred to you as, especially Clint who took on the mantle of a loving messiah ready to shoot an arrow through just about everyone to make sure you’re safe. He was nice enough, they all were, but your eyes were always focused on a pair of alphas, mated to one another at that, who simply never left your mind. 

Natasha and Wanda, you had found, shook your world upside down. All of the pain and suffering you had endured suddenly went away as they came into your thoughts. Soothing all your hurt, the two women just…made everything make sense for once. And for that you couldn’t be more than grateful whenever you spent even milliseconds around them. 

Even menial aspects of Avengers life such as training or even breakfast made your heart skip a beat at the sole thought. Each morning you woke up with a newfound sense of giddiness. At first you were unable to pinpoint the reason behind it. And yet each time your eyes feasted upon peculiar heads of red or brown, you shuddered with excitement. 

But you couldn’t do anything about it, not ever. The idea of reaching out to speak to either of them, or even stare in their general directions with the possibility of being caught put a strain on your actions. They didn’t like you, you told yourself each night, pushing away the possibility of ever finding even so much as a friendship in both Wanda and Natasha. They were mated to one another after all – two confidently righteous alphas that didn’t have time for a lowly omega such as yourself. 

Sighing, you couldn’t shake the images of them that came about as you awoke in what felt like a lifetime since you joined the group. They’d hate you even if they gave you an opportunity, the alphas that is. If they saw you like that, raggedly sitting up against your bed, arms wrapped around your legs as your knees were hugged to your chest covering all the deep scars on your body, they’d grimace with disgust. You were a freak, Rumlow used to tell you, a mistake of humanity that somehow got more than a handful of years to live. With all the memories that each cut on your skin carried, some given to you by others while the rest were self-made, they’d surely turn away. You were unwanted, the trash people threw away and never looked back to. 

Every single area of your body was covered before you went out into the world. The suit Maria had given you hugged every bit of skin, coating it in a protective blanket that allowed you to exist without the need to worry about prying eyes. Regardless of that, you were a shadow in the compound. Your teammates barely looked at you, let alone speak your way unless deeply crucial. Perhaps at times they didn’t want you there, and in your mind, they were truly validated as you didn’t even want yourself to be present. With all the struggles you faced, unable to properly fit in with both the language barrier and difference in dynamics with a room full of alphas, it was impossible to ever become a proper piece to their puzzle. 

“So, what did you do before coming here?”

Standing in what you believed to be an empty kitchen, you jumped. Clint had taken to leaving leftovers for you to eat once all the teammates were done with breakfast knowing of your fear of being around them. While alone you took to feeding yourself, something you had yet to become fully accustomed to. Rumlow’s men only ever fed you scraps, absolute trash they found for their own amusement in watching a weak omega ravage nothingness for the sake of survival. Pancakes and fresh fruits in your stomach felt odd, different, and new, yet delicious. 

Turning, you noticed a beaming brunette stepping towards you, her hands clasped together. Fingers fiddled nervously with rings around them, one being shiny with a rather big diamond you could tell was her wedding band. Wanda adored her jewelry much like she adored Natasha, the one who spoiled her with it all. 

“To the kitchen?” You frowned, not understanding her question. “I was…sleeping, Mrs. Maximoff-Romanoff.”

“Wanda,” the woman giggled at the formal title. “You can call me by my name, dear. I won’t bite,” she sultrily teased. “Well, unless I’m asked to do so…”

As her words died out, the innuendo she threw your way completely went over your head. The witch gazed at you as you dropped your plate on the floor, kneeling beside it ready to eat. It made her gasp, and as she did, her hands flew with a glowing red to grab the plate. She moved it from the dirty floor to the pristine kitchen island – one Steve prided himself of cleaning thoroughly after one of his big team meals – before rushing to you.

“What are you doing?” Wanda was worried, but you were unable to tell even through her exasperated voice. She reached out to you, hoping to comfort you only to be met by you flinching even at the slightest of touches on your shoulder. A whine came out, causing the brunette’s eyebrows to knit together with concern as you rose to your feet. “Y/N?”

“Sorry,” you mumbled. “I forgot I don’t have to…never mind.”

“You don’t have to do what, honey? Are you- are you used to eating on the floor?” She hesitated with her question. As you took your place on a stool, Wanda made sure to sit on the one right across to ensure you would no longer be uncomfortable. “Sweetheart, what happened before you came here? To the Avengers, I mean.”

You knew she could read minds, Tony had let it slip weeks before during a debriefing session. So as hard as it was, you attempted to shift your thoughts far away from HYDRA as possible. Regardless of whether she listened in to your subconscious or not, you weren’t about to leave it to chance. 

“S.H.I.E.L.D.,” you flatly responded. Looking down at your pancakes, sugary syrup having been drizzled across it, you hummed with a grumbling stomach, but waited to dig in until after you spoke. “I worked right under Hill and Fury. My job was to seek out the remaining HYDRA operatives and bring them to justice. And, well, Maria told me this group was doing much better with that, so I thought you could use a hand.”

“Yes, we’re not big fans of HYDRA around here,” Wanda sadly stated. “They…they gave me my powers, but I feel like they took everything from me. No one understands but Nat.”

“Because of the Red Room,” you asked, remembering Maria’s words about Natasha’s past. “They didn’t have much to do with one another, other than Dreykov wanting HYDRA intel for his widows. At least that’s what I’ve heard.”

Wanda wanted to deepen the conversation, to crawl right into your mind as she pulled out bits and pieces of information she craved. The mysterious aura that surrounded you made her crave the idea of knowing you even more. Each day the woman longed to sit by and listen to you ramble about your life, even the most menial aspects or whatever you wished to share. Because although she was mated to her beloved Natasha, Wanda couldn’t help but yearn to have you as well. 

“Where did you grow up?” Wanda tried to dig in, but you wouldn’t let her. “I grew up in Sokovia with my twin brother, Pietro, and my parents.”

“I…” you hesitated, not only as it was the first conversation you’ve held with anyone that wasn’t Maria, but because it was also Wanda of all people. “I don’t want to talk about it, my apologies.”

A sympathetic smile was thrown your way, one you weren’t quite used to. “It’s alright, darling. You don’t have to talk about anything you’re uncomfortable with. Can I…ask you other things? If you feel alright with them, I mean.”

You remained quiet, but as you took a bite of your pancakes, you barely nodded. There was still much you were unaware of when it came to the world beyond the four walls of HYDRA, especially that in relation to societal hierarchy with you being an omega. But when it came to Wanda or Natasha, you didn’t feel that pressure to submit to them, to beg for pity as they greedily took whatever they wanted much like Rumlow had. No, they made you feel…peace for once in your life. And as scary of a feeling as it was, you were more than joyous to experience it with them, even if not directly. 

“Do you have a mate, darling?” She found you grimaced uncomfortably at the question, instantly regretting asking it before you shook your head. “You’re the first omega I’ve met without one. Aren’t you too pretty to be alone? I’m sure there must be hundreds of alphas, betas, and even omegas falling to their knees for you.”

“Not really, but it’s fine. My only goal and purpose is to rid the world of HYDRA’s horrors. I don’t have time to humor those things.”

“It must get lonely sometimes,” Wanda whispered, and you didn’t realize then just how badly she wanted to wrap you up in her arms and brush that sad look off your face. “You deserve someone, Y/N. We all do.”

“Yeah,” you shrugged, suddenly not interested in your breakfast. “Maybe someday.”

And as avaricious as it felt, part of Wanda hoped it could be her and Natasha to have you. 

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

“You should’ve seen her, Nat. She was like a hurt puppy sitting there all alone,” her voice was hoarse, tired of the numerous times she’d repeated the same story with no avail. Because at the end of the day, Wanda wouldn’t be sated until she alleviated the pain you exuded one way or another. “I…I needed to help her. Poor thing is all alone. She doesn’t have anyone! Not a single soul.”

Sighing, the redhead finished throwing on a shirt above her head. She waltzed towards the bed in the late hours of the night already hoping for a good night’s sleep. “I know, Wands. I saw her and Maria getting a bit close so I had hoped she was maybe befriending her, but Y/N spends all her time locked up in her room even when Ria and Pepper come around. I’ve even tried inviting her to movie night, but it’s like talking to a wall sometimes. She’s there physically, but almost checked out.”

“She doesn’t have a mate,” Wanda worryingly said as she watched her partner slump herself down beside her. “And her smell, Nat, it’s too much. I can barely contain myself whenever I’m around her.” Shifting uncomfortably, Wanda looked down at herself. Even through the sheets she could feel a tenderness around her breasts and crotch. “She’s beautiful.”

“I know that too,” Natasha hummed. “But we can’t push her. If she doesn’t want to then…we can’t push her. It just makes me sad knowing she’s all alone and doesn’t want anyone around her. Almost as if Y/N doesn’t think she’s worthy.”

Turning to her side, Natasha frowned. She watched her fellow alpha begin to pull at her shirt, huffing as it stuck to her chest where wet nipples poked through. Licking her lips, the Black Widow couldn’t help but feel an immense sense of hunger. Because whenever her mate, much like certain alphas, produced milk, Natasha’s senses spiked. 

“D’you need help?” Natasha motioned towards Wanda’s seemingly slick chest, eyeing it with longing before staring back into her similarly viridescent eyes. “We can forget about everything for a bit. You can pretend I’m here if you’d like.”

“You’d do that?” Wanda’s eyebrows raised in surprise. 

“Well, I know you’d do it for me,” Natasha mused. “And even if we don’t have her, we still have each other.”

Nimble fingers, nails coated in chipped black nail polish, tugged at the dark fabric straining against Wanda. They pulled it off before throwing it on the floor, not caring where it landed as their owner focused on the beauty before her. She squeezed the breasts at first, whining at how tender and sensitive they were at the palm of her hands. Kneading them, both alphas groaned together. Neither cared much about pleasure, but instead basked in the relief and closeness of it all. 

“They’re full,” the redhead pointed out. She used her thumbs and index finger to oh-so gently squeeze the rosy nipples that practically cried for any sort of attention. And once they were stimulated, Natasha grinned at the sight of drops of milk beginning to come out. “Oh baby. I’ll take such good care of you, always. Gonna make you feel so, so good.”

Lips wrapped themselves around the buds. They were careful enough to not harm Wanda, ensuring that her whitened teeth didn’t graze them even slightly knowing her mate would only scream out of pleasure. Massaging her breasts, Natasha ensured that she calmly brought a smile to the face beneath hers, running her tongue around the nipples to scoop up drops of milk before alternating between them.

She nuzzled her face upon Wanda’s chest until her forehead grazed the flushed, heated skin. As Natasha suckled the buds, she drank up every single spurt of milk that was let out. It was delicious, she couldn’t help but point out while lustfully devouring the brunette. And at the feeling of a tent poking at her inner thigh, a certain Widow couldn’t help but chuckle. 

“I’ll make it all better,” Natasha promised as she lapped at the creamy milk. “I always do, Дорогая.”

｡☆✼★━━━━━━━━━━━━★✼☆｡

Running missions with both Natasha and Wanda became comforting as time passed. Even if you were in the depths of your covers, or even fighting whatever enemy forces came about, the ends of your mouth would never fail to rise slightly. Not only did you get to spend all your time around the mated women, slowly building trust with alphas in general, but simultaneously you went around taking down whatever HYDRA bases were in the way, helping you all grow closer together.

You couldn’t help the jolt in your heart whenever they so much as stared your way, and while waltzing through an empty HYDRA camp, your boots clashing with the snow on the ground, your eyes never left Wanda or vice versa. The two of them acted as something of bodyguards for you, because even if your training from HYDRA gave you a similar fighting stance as Natasha, they’d forever see you as a small creature they wished to nurture and protect. Keeping their eyes on you has become nature and you were surprisingly not complaining. 

While you and Wanda secured the perimeter, it was up to Natasha to remain back and gather any intel she could from the leftover devices that remained after the HYDRA agents scurried off. She hummed to herself out of boredom knowing that much like the other encounters, their systems would’ve been wiped clean, but there was a part of her that could never be too sure. So she booted up laptop after laptop, clicking away to each file to find anything of importance. 

There was a peculiar set of documents that caught her eye. Natasha frowned at it, clicking on the file named ‘Project Omega’ out of curiosity. The contents made bile build up at her throat. There were countless images and videos, some written forms here and there, that archived the mistreatment they gave omegas, and certain alphas, who were under HYDRA’s claws. They were taken from a young age, the reports read, and morphed into soldiers for the organization to use much like the Red Room. Only from what Natasha could see, the treatment to their involuntary soldiers was somehow more demonic than anything she’d seen. 

Flipping through the pictures, the woman nearly pulled away. She was unable to sit through it, which made her wonder just how much worse it must’ve been to experience it firsthand. Surely enough most HYDRA bases had been taken down so the likelihood of such programs still existing was slim, but alas, Natasha kept looking to ensure that were to be true. 

And when she saw a familiar face all bludgeoned in an image, her whole world stopped. 

“Y/N,” Natasha mumbled, frowning as she inspected the bloody picture until she got sick. She had wanted to bring Rumlow to justice since he slipped away in Washington D.C., but now all she saw was a murderous red being targeted at him. “That’s…no…”

She had no word when she returned to you and Wanda, her lips formed into a thin line that made the two of you suddenly become alert. Her mouth opened for a second, being left agape as she tried finding the right words, but instantly closed once more as she eyed you sadly. Since the first day you had come into the compound, you’d never seen Natasha in such a state; if anything, it was worrying. 

The woman took a seat beside you in a beat-up log with flurries of snow sprinkled on it. Normally she was joyous towards the end of her missions, but it was impossible to find even an ounce of positivity in the pain she felt surging towards you. Sighing, Natasha scooted closer and thought her words through before spilling them. 

“I saw the files, the Project Omega ones,” she strained her voice with sympathy as she turned to you. “And I…I saw you.”

“Oh,” you didn’t know what to say because of all the ways you humored such a conversation to go, the gears in your brain couldn’t help but malfunction and how it ended up coming about. “That’s…okay.”

“What’s Project Omega?” Wanda interjected. “Nat?”

“HYDRA took you, didn’t they?” Natasha was careful, but she simply needed to get to the bottom of it. “Before SHIELD, they had you.”

It wasn’t a question, but instead a statement that had you nodding as you were cornered. “Hill saved me a few months back. She-” as the memories came crashing down, so did you with tears threatening to spill from your eyes. “I’m sorry.”

Natasha jumped to action alongside her mate, both of whom instantly wrapped their arms around you protectively. Normally you’d pull back at the sole humoring of physical touch, but with them it felt right. If anything you relaxed against their hold as your tears fell.

“Shh it’s okay,” Wanda whispered reassuringly. 

Only for Natasha to pick up her words. “We got you, Y/N. You’re safe now, I promise. They’ll never get you again.”

And for the first time in your life, you could finally have trust in not only one, but two people who quickly had your undying adoration in a matter of moments.

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Since the day she found the truth behind your past, Natasha was unable to sleep normally. She tossed and turned each night, being left wide-awake while her mate warmly cuddled to her side. Her legs hastily bounced on the mattress, shaking the sheets with her eyes boring into the bare ceiling.

Not a second went by where the woman wasn’t constantly buffeted by the images, videos, and retellings of Project Omega which HYDRA carried out. She was haunted by them, thoughts plagued by the horrors she forced herself to sit through for the sole sake of garnering information from the fallen organization. Natasha could be a revered agent, and Avenger at that, but she would still break at the sight of your suffering. 

Because at the end of the day, she knew you belonged with her and Wanda. Her viridescent eyes had turned pale at the sight of a small marking on your arm. It was a sun, moon, and a star hugging one another tightly in place, and only the star was colored in while the rest were left blank. Natasha found chilling similarities in it as she looked down at her own arm within the confines of the dimly-lit room. She and Wanda too had markings mirroring your own, only Natasha’s had the sun colored in while the brunette’s moon was dark. There was no surprise with it either, because from the moment she saw you, the redhead knew there was a connection between the three of you that could never be broken. Only now she had its proof. 

“You’re thinking too loud.”

Wanda’s groggy voice snapped Natasha out of her haze, and yet she didn’t budge. Instead the woman remained silent, still looking up unfocused as her mind was wrapped around you who lay asleep only doors away. She could go to you at any minute, but for the first time since she left the Red Room and Dreykov behind, she felt a surge of fear crashing through her body. 

“What’s wrong?” Wanda pushed when the silence became unbearable. She could barely hold her eyes open, but alas, she nuzzled her face against the crook of Natasha’s shoulder to bring her comfort. “Talk to me, любимая.”

Looking to her left at the term of endearment, Natasha hummed. “I’m fine.” But that was a boldfaced lie that even she didn’t believe. “Go back to sleep, Wands.”

“No,” she slurred. “Tell me what’s wrong. You haven’t been the same for days. Not since you told me about-”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Natasha cut her off. “Because…perhaps it’s for the best this way. She’s suffering. If I tell her about this, if I mention any of this to anyone but you, she’ll only feel more overwhelmed. We can’t do that to her.”

“I know.” She ran a hand across Natasha’s chest right underneath her loose shirt, carefully drawing comforting circles on her chest until it heaved calmly. “But I also know that she doesn’t hate us. Compared to everyone else here, Y/N has chosen us. She wants us.”

“She belongs with us,” Natasha mumbled. 

“What do you mean, Nat?”

“Our marking,” Natasha pushed her arm against Wanda’s holding them together as their soulmate markings were flashed. “She has the third, Wanda. I saw it when I was looking through the files. I didn’t notice at first, at least not until I rechecked them with Maria, but it’s the same one. She doesn’t even know!”

Wanda, unable to process such heavy information in a matter of seconds, only left her mouth agape. “Should we tell her?” 

Natasha had considered it, but there never seemed to come a proper time to relay the information. You struggled still to fit in with the rest of the group, finding difficulty in feeling safe around alphas at that. The last thing she wished to do was cause more pain. Because if she were to say something, maybe you’d never look at her the same.

But with each passing day, the Black Widow and her mate found it much harder to contain their need for you. It went to levels beyond sexual. They craved your being, your soul tied with theirs as you all swayed back and forth holding the other for dear life. Knowing you were to be together but being unable to immediately have it made Natasha huff with frustration. And while she could theoretically rush to your room, wake you up, and show you her own soulmate brand, you didn't have to carry more baggage. Only when she felt you were ready would she explain the truth. 

“No,” Natasha sadly responded. “I don’t think so.”

“But she has the right to know. Are we just going to pretend this never happened?” Wanda found herself to be annoyed by her partner’s antics. “Because it did happen. And every single day we’ll have to deal with the fact that that’s our soulmate, but we don’t have her. How do you think the poor thing feels about not having found hers yet?”

Oh Natasha thought about it beforehand, she really did. There were times where she needed to hold herself back as she walked by your room and heard you sobbing. Most nights it was due to nightmares revolving around your past, but a few moments occurred where she heard you begging for a soulmate, for someone to want you the same way you wanted them. If only you were aware of how much a pair of alphas longed for you. 

“Yeah,” she relaxed for once against the mattress. “Maybe you’re right. I just don’t know when to tell her. Can we just…wait? Until she seems comfortable at least?”

“Of course. I don’t want either of my best girls feeling uneasy, especially when it comes to something so beautiful as this.” Rarely did Wanda hold the position as the little spoon, but that night, much like a few previous others that Natasha was restless in bed, she took her place behind her mate and hugged her tight. Planting a kiss on the other alpha’s shoulder, she beamed. “Don’t you dare worry that pretty head of yours, baby. We’ll be together in no time, you’ll see.” Another lingering kiss. “We’ll never give up on her.”

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There was never much you could push yourself to do apart from constant training, filling out reports, and daydreaming about Wanda and Natasha during missions. Keeping to yourself and ignoring any group outings became second nature. Your lips were thin each time you looked out your window, rarely ever left without curtains protecting you from the outside world. Because although the fear of being surrounded by numerous people, strangers or not, was instilled in you, you couldn’t help but crave the joy of simply…befriending others – of building normal relationships to bring a sense of normalcy to your life. 

Wanda and Natasha showed attempts to get you out of your shell, but they weren’t the type of people to pull or tug at your sleeve until you spent time with them. They were sweet, and you appreciated that wholeheartedly. Sitting in silence with them while carrying out menial tasks such as jogging through the forest or watching them cook was enough. They didn’t push you into conversing, and in turn you felt much safer around them as the days passed. 

Meanwhile the approach that other members of the team took was impatient, yet you chuckled at it with appreciation. 

“You should come hang out with us today.” You’d learned that Natasha had a sister, one in the Avengers at that. Her and a younger group of agents handled less intense threats that weren’t world-ending but still required enough attention. And while she seemingly was a different version of her sister, Yelena was still a pleasure to be around. “Kate wants to go shopping, you should too.”

The rest of the team was away on a mission when Yelena walked up to you in the living room, sitting by your side with a sympathetic smile. You weren’t close per se, but alas you sensed her heart to be pure much like her omega’s. If you could trust Natasha and Wanda, you surely could trust them. 

“Maybe,” you shrugged. “I wouldn’t want to intrude on your time with her.”

“You’re really not intruding. Kate asked if you could come and I didn't mind. You spend so much time locked up here, Y/N. We want to help show you the world a little bit.” She kept her distance, knowing already you shied away from any physical touch, but still hovered enough to bring peace with her presence. “Besides, Kate tells me you’ve never tried McDonald’s…”

Traveling through the streets of upstate New York with the two women was more entertaining than you had expected. During the first few minutes of the trip you giggled at how they fought for dominance over who got to drive, only for a pouty Kate to end up melting against the passenger seat mirroring that of a hurt puppy. She stared daggers at Yelena, but after a nonchalant ‘behave’ from her alpha, she settled down. 

The mall was fuller than you could’ve imagined with nearly hundreds of people walking from corner to corner. With your heart beating in your chest, you followed your teammates along, shuffling anxiously as you kept your eyes trained on them as you feared them leaving your sights. Only in their presence could you relax.

“Come on,” Kate squealed, shaking you from your thoughts as she grabbed your hand; to both of your surprises, you didn’t bother pushing her off. “Lena wants to check out other stores so you’ll be my shopping buddy for today.”

Kate resembled that of the sun. A big, glowing sunshine who smiled at just about anything that garnered her attention. She spent most of her time dragging you from store to store, asking for your opinion on different outfits and even wondering if you wanted anything. At first you said no, but with enough pressure she was able to get you to try at least one article of clothing. 

The wondrous world of hoodies was one you never wanted to leave once Kate showed them to you. You didn’t get paid much for being an Avenger, but then again you barely spend any money. With Kate’s influence you followed suit and tried different types of clothes, but ended up going home with quite a few pairs of comfortable hoodies. That way, as Kate explained, you wouldn’t have to wear your suits on the daily. 

“I’ve never bought myself clothes,” you commented as you sat in the backseat of the car, eyeing the full bag of clothes next to you. Yelena watched you through the rearview mirror and a part of her chest swelled up. While you were unaware of it, she had quite a similar experience when leaving the Red Room. Now that useful green vest with an ungodly amount of pockets was used for every mission she went on. “I liked it. Thank you for inviting me, really. I know you didn’t have to but-”

“But we wanted to,” Kate finished. “You know, I’ve never really had another omega friend. Well, not like this anyway. I’m the only omega in the whole team. It’s really nice to have you around.”

“It’s nice to be around, kitty.” You flashed her a smile, a sincere one with pure joy. “Sorry, you sometimes remind me of a cat. You’re very gentle and affectionate with people.”

With the edges of her mouth nearly reaching her ears, Kate nodded. “I like that a lot.”

The three of you soon sat in the car outside the fast food restaurant quietly chewing down your meals. Never had you tasted a burger, let alone their delicious fries or the nuggets Yelena let you have – while she kept some from Kate knowing how rowdy her omega got with too many nuggets. There was enough grease on your food to kill a man, but you found that you quite liked doing anything that didn’t remind you of your time under Rumlow. 

Because with kitty and her alpha being in such close proximity to you, you knew that, just like with Wanda and Natasha, you’d never return to HYDRA. 

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Within the confines of HYDRA, slacking off was not an option. On days that were not busy with countless operations they made agents run, you were to forcefully leave your bed to spend every hour tediously training. No amount of blood lost during it was enough, at least not until Rumlow spit at his feet where you lay writhing on the floor, mumbling a small ‘pathetic’ before dismissing you to eat scraps for the first time in the day during the afternoon. 

Being shoved into that empty room at what was your previous home became an escape. No matter how many hits and frustrated orders you endured, you began seeking comfort in it. Your mind shut off each time you went in, making you immune to the pain that came with being kicked to the stomach repeatedly until you coughed up red. And when you trained in the compound, the same peace overtook you. No matter how many punches Natasha threw your way, and how many landed, you didn’t feel or take them into account. 

“You’re very well-trained,” Natasha commented with a proud smile. It was the third time her back hit the matted floor. In the beginning she pulled her punches when it came to sparring with you, but even when she didn’t, the former assassin was surprised at how talented you were in hand-to-hand combat. “Finally I have a worthy opponent. Not even the human icicle can keep up.”

“Touché.”

The two of you went on for what felt like hours, alternating between pinning the other down before the positions were flipped. Even if you were an omega, when it came to your training, you never allowed anyone to underestimate you. Natasha was no exception. You’d heard of the infamous Black Widow even during your HYDRA days, but never let it deter you. 

The more you fought, the more intoxicated you became with her presence. You couldn’t help but daydream about how beautiful she seemed with her hair tied back into a messy braid while her body was covered with nothing more than a sports bra and yoga pants. There came guilt with potentially ogling her in such a way, one you knew fully well having been the victim of that gaze long before. But alas, yours came from admiration, not objectifying lust. 

Tiring yourselves out came quickly as the two of you eventually ended sprawled on the mats gasping for air. The only thing that was missing was Wanda. It felt wrong to think of them, especially as they were mated and bound to one another, but you so longed to be with them – to be wrapped up in the safety of their arms as you slept at night while they watched over you. Never did you have a mate, let alone a soulmate who shared the same marking on your arm as you. Dreaming of them was all that could make you happy. 

“Has anyone ever told you how beautiful you are?” Natasha suddenly broke the silence as she turned to you. Those sharp green eyes dug into your skin, turning it hot as you refused to stare back. “Because you are. Anyone would be an idiot not to think so.”

Taking compliments was not your forte, but when they came from Natasha, you blushed. “Thank you. You’re…really pretty as well, and so is Wanda.”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate it if you tell her that.” You didn’t shudder when she moved her hand to allow it to land atop your own, her thumb brushing on the back gently. “It’s our weekly movie night date tonight. We, uh, would like you to join us if you’re free, котёнок.”

“I don’t want to be somewhere I don’t belong,” you shrugged. “It’s your date night, it isn’t my place to be a part of that.”

“Hey.” You were surprised by how she grabbed your hand, interlacing your fingers together as she stared into your soul. “We want you there.”

And you took her words in, but as your gaze shifted down her body, it was the sight of something else that grabbed hold of your attention. Mentally, you slapped yourself in the head for not having seen it before, perhaps even refusing to take it in. There was a marking in her arm that you recognized to be the same as your own, only Natasha’s had the sun colored in while the star, the colored symbol on your own skin, was blank along with the moon.

When it dawned upon you what it meant, your eyes widened. It felt wrong, obscene even, to jump off the mat, but it was the first reaction you had. You left Natasha on the floor, your eyes never leaving her soulmate marking as she sat up with confusion. And when she came to realization of what brought the change in you, her features softened. 

“I know,” she said, and you believed her. For your entire life you’d been told you were a defect, that you’d live your days alone except for the numerous HYDRA operatives that surrounded you. Love, regardless of whether it was romantic or platonic, wasn’t meant for soldiers like you. All that existed was misery. At the first glimpse of that being untrue, of Rumlow’s tortuous words proving to be fake, you were unable to muster a proper reaction. “Wanda knows too. And we…we didn’t know when to tell you. She only found out this week. But we’re not angry, okay? We won’t hurt you the way they did. Hell, we don’t even have to do anything, honey. All we want is for you to be safe and comfortable, and we’re both willing to do whatever it takes to turn that into reality.”

“I…” there wasn’t enough room for you to figure out a proper response. “I don’t…”

So you ran, far, far away. 

Your legs took you to where you needed while your mind was in cloud nine, all hazy and otherwise preoccupied by the newfound revelation. For months since you joined the Avengers, you spent countless nights longing to have Wanda and Natasha. So why did the reality of it turning to be true feel so ominous? Why did you choose an escape that wasn’t them? Why couldn’t you allow yourself even a smidge of happiness?

Hasty movements came to a halt when you suddenly tripped. Crumbs of dirt buffeted your face, leaving you to spatter it out as you sat on your knees. Disoriented, you took notice of your surroundings. In your ragged race to leave the compound, you ended stranded in the woods, the large campus far away from sight. You could’ve ran for hours without noticing if it wasn’t for the fall, and for some reason that brought you a somber wave of fear – one forever present when you resided at HYDRA, but it was never around when you went with them . 

Taking a seat against a beat-up tree that held a few hundred years of life, you let out a sigh. It was the first time you were alone, really alone. Your entire existence was for the sake of others, to bring a service to both HYDRA and the Avengers, but never to yourself. Every hour of every day you had someone constantly standing by your side whether friend or foe. And now that you experience such quiet peace, you clung to it and refused to let go. 

“Y/N.”

Anyone sneaking up on you would receive a mean beating even if absentmindedly, but never them.

“Hey, it’s okay.” It didn’t surprise you that Natasha had brought Wanda around, and quite frankly you weren’t furious about it either. Instead you sat there staring at the atmosphere embraced by lush fauna, breathing in the cool air as the women sat by either of your sides. And knowing you, neither tried to reach out while you were in such a tense state, at least not without consent. “We’re here, sweetheart. You’re alright.”

They noticed you were sobbing before you did. Between your exhausted breaths and shaky limbs, you had been unable to process the tears that fell down your warm cheeks. You weren’t meant to cry , Rumlow told you many times when your training became too much, soldiers didn't cry, only stupid weak omegas did. No matter how many times you’d heard the same string of words slurred angrily your way while clutching your burning and bruised abdomen, they didn’t hold any truth with those women in your proximity. 

“I’m sorry you had to find out this way,” Natasha hung her head low, ashamed that she hadn’t been careful enough to protect you. “We wanted to make it special, to actually give you a chance to choose us, not feel forced to do it.”

“Nat and I have been planning it since she told me.” Wanda’s voice was softer than Natasha, and although you adored them equally, it was just what you needed during that vulnerable moment. “Given, it hasn’t been a long time, but still. Our only goal is for you to be happy, darling. Ever since you stumbled in here we’ve been trying to find ways to connect with you. Your presence alone makes us so happy.” At the sight of your tear-stricken face, Wanda broke. “Oh Y/N, you have no idea how beautiful of a soul you are. There’s no one in the world quite like you, we know it.”

They were patient with you, lounging back and giving you much needed time to take in the situation. Neither spoke again, not until you wanted them to. For once in your life you had control over something. Even if you were an omega, the alphas didn’t push you. Because at the end of the day, you held all the power. Whatever you liked or disliked, they’d take care of. All that was required of you was…nothing. 

“I’m scared,” your voice cracked. “I don’t know what to do. Omegas like me, broken omegas…we’re not meant for this. The two of you are mated. I can’t get between that, please. And if I must die alone, fine, but the last thing I’ll ever do is bother anyone with my existence – I don’t want to be a burden. Especially to you two.”

“Listen, родная, you will never be a burden. Ever since you came into our life, everything has started to make sense. I love Wanda with my whole being, and she loves me too, but we’ve always been missing a little piece to the puzzle,” Natasha was sincere, suddenly throwing away her entire training as a spy to sit there and level with you, to treat you like her equal, not her prey. “You’re a part of our life now and nothing’s going to change that. It’s up to you how that’ll look like. The last thing we want to do is force you into something you might not want. But whatever you decide, know that we’ll never make you feel as though you’re a burden. You’re so much more than what you give yourself credit for.”

The nod you gave them allowed the alphas to move closer. While you didn’t trust yourself to speak without your emotions turning into overwhelming balls of tears, the silence that took over was more comforting than their words. You melted against them, their arms beginning to feel like a home you never had. The soulmates you’d always had, even if unknowingly, were still rather strangers to you, but in that moment they were all you knew. 

Neither let go, not even when they clutched one of your hands each as they dragged you back to the compound. They oversaw you in getting you to your room, not leaving even after they dropped you in the bed, pulling the sheets to your chest, and ensured you’d have a restful nap. You didn’t know it yet, but it was that moment in which both Wanda and Natasha realized they’d do just about anything to nurture and love you.

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Since you’d found out where you stood with Natasha and Wanda everything was…different. 

There wasn’t much difference in how they treated you, if anything they were slightly more protective than usual. From the moment you stepped out of your room, all eyes were on you, because even the rest of the team knew. Your scent was all over the place, one mixed in with both Wanda and Natasha’s strewn all over you, making you dizzy with need.

When an alert was put out for a remaining HYDRA base, the three of you were sent off to find it. The middle of the snowy woods was not your preferred area to reside in. Sitting within the confines of a beat-up cabin you had found right after the empty base was searched, you huffed. Your knees were pressed against your chest, legs being hugged by your shaky arms as you blew yet another cool breath.

“You should really come here to heat up,” Natasha said from across the room. “You don’t look well, зайка.”

“It’s okay, I’m-”

“Nat,” Wanda whined, her voice stricken with pain as she reached out from her lying position to her mate. “It hurts so bad.”

Natasha had told you about it, about how certain alphas breastfed to feed their omegas, but alas, without an omega, Wanda could barely do anything to help her state. You were left to watch her writhing on the floor with a mixture of pain and cold. And you wanted to help, you really did. Because the way in which the redhead pulled at her mate’s suit until her breasts were released from its confines made you drool.

“I know, крошка.” Natasha leaned down, pressing her lips against Wanda’s forehead. “Let me help you, alright? I’m right here to make it better.”

“Let me help,” you said without thinking. “I want to. I should, right? Because I…I’m your soulmate, right?”

“Yeah,” Natasha smiled as she looked up. “That’s right, hon. Come here. Let me show you how to do it.”

Per her instructions, you were to straddle Wanda’s hips. At first you hesitated, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as you clung to her hips for balance. Her body felt flushed with your own, warming your freezing body up instantly. Alphas were warm from what you’d been told, and you were glad for it as your skin was unable to withstand yet another wintry hit. 

“Lean down for me. You can open your mouth a bit and take it,” Natasha explained. Her hand was set on your back, carefully leading you downwards. “And you have to be careful. Don’t use your teeth, ‘kay? Start sucking softly. At first it’ll taste a bit weird, but you’ll get used to it. It’ll be delicious, I promise.”

The newfound taste made your eyebrows furrow. It was a strange sensation that overtook you as you wrapped your lips around one of Wanda’s rosy nipples. Never could you fully comprehend what your actions did for her. In your mind all you did was relieve the witch of pain stemming from her uncomfortably full breasts, but to her it meant everything.

“Oh Y/N.” Wanda’s voice was hoarse as she felt you beginning to suck her breast with more vigor. “That’s it, baby. Keep going like that. You have- ah! You have no idea how good you’re making me feel.”

The slick beginning to form between your legs, one still unknown to you, was warm. You ignored it, mentally smacking yourself for not having taken the heat suppressors you’d stolen to keep your cycle at bay. But even while taking them you could feel your body practically begging to have Natasha and Wanda. Now that they were in such close quarters with you, you didn’t want to guess what it would lead to.

Milk poured into your mouth at rapid speeds. Just as Natasha said, it was not an ordinary taste, but the more you drank, the better it got. Your hungry tongue swirled around the tender bud, lapping up every ounce of the glorious liquid you could find before moving to the other one. Hands found themselves squeezing each one as though they had a mind of their own. And while you desperately took everything a moaning Wanda gave you, the former spy sat back licking her lips with admiration. 

“Good girl,” Wanda muttered as she hugged you tight against her flushed frame. “You’re such a good girl for your alphas, darling.”

Normally you’d shudder at the sole mention of alphas, but when Wanda did it, your heart was set aflame. Her words motivated you to finish drinking her last bits of milk until her breasts were no longer sore and full. Natasha had to pull you back and hold your drunk self as her mate sat up, nodding in appreciation as you sagged against the redhead. 

“You did so well for us, принцесса.” Natasha hugged you for the first time that day – really hugged you with her arms fully wrapped around your body and your head nestled on her shoulder. “What a wonderful little omega you are. The very best, huh? Our perfect and beautiful girl.”

The mission no longer mattered afterwards, none of them really did. Your hunt for HYDRA was nothing compared to the sudden need you had to spend all your time surrounded by the two alphas. They nurtured you to sleep that night, each sleeping by your sides to protectively keep you warm as you calmly went unconscious. In the time where you had been both trapped and freed from the horrid organization, you never felt more at home than you did with Wanda and Natasha holding you. 

“You’re safe with us.” They both promised, and you believed them. “No one’s ever going to hurt you again.”

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“You know, if you didn’t want to do this, you could’ve just said so.”

At those words you frowned. “It’s not that. I just…” staring down, you grimaced at the sight that met you. “...I don’t know what I’m doing.”

Not only were you dirty with a mess of flour over your arms, clothes, and face, but the areas surrounding you carried the same fate. Out of all the skills you carried under your belt ranging from the ability to speak over five languages to taking someone out with a sole pencil, baking was not one at your disposal. In the HYDRA buildings you knew as your home, food was not a necessity, but a reward. Never had you been able to prepare yourself a meal until you joined S.H.I.E.L.D., forever struggling with the tactics of it. But now when surrounded by a particular set of individuals, you find yourself confused yet enjoying it. 

“Oh honey, that’s not how you whisk it. Here, let me help.” As Natasha stood beside you with her eyebrows raised, Wanda moved from across the kitchen to your aid. Her arms were wrapped around you, the tattoo on her skin no longer hidden by long sleeves, as she grabbed the whisk from your hand. “Follow my lead, sweetheart. Let me show you how it’s done.”

In the midst of baking a cake for the simple fun of it, Wanda’s overprotectiveness came out. While Natasha wore a beat-down graphic tee with comfortable shorts that showed off her muscular legs, the other woman forced proper baking attire along with an apron and hat for you to not get dirty. But alas you did. And as amused as they both were, it was Wanda who set out to prevent any more of a mess. 

“See?” She rapidly spun the cooking utensil over the batter-filled bowl. Holding it with a slight tilt, Wanda maneuvered the items perfectly so that even if she went quickly, nothing poured out. “You have to be patient, Y/N, and learn from your alphas how to do it. Isn’t that right, sweet girl?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, your body suddenly warm due to the close proximity with your alphas. Since you had accepted one another as soulmates and partners weeks before, it was nearly impossible to keep yourself from them. Your mind, soul, and body craved them with a desperation you simply couldn't keep down. Nights were spent in their room being warmly swaddled within the safe embrace as you slept. For the first time in your life, when with your mates you lacked any nightmares hunting you down. “I, uhm, I can leave you to it though.”

“None of that, малышка.” Natasha shifted towards you, a hand of hers landing safely at your hip. “We want to do this with you. You’re the one who said she’s never baked brownies before. So, be a good girl and help your alphas with the yummy treats, huh?”

At the soft tone you nodded. They each had their strengths when it came to exerting their dominance. While Wanda was much stronger with her commands, forever watching over every little step you took, Natasha’s approach was nonchalant yet loving. Both took their time in letting you leave your hardened shell, coaxing you through it all with smiles on their faces. 

The three of you spend your afternoon in each other’s presence. There wasn’t much avail to your lack of culinary knowledge, so by the time you threw the confined batter into the oven, you were covered head-to-toe with egg-yolk, flour, and trace amounts of chocolate rushing down your face. Under the gaze of your soulmates you believed yourself to be scrutinized, but as you turned and noticed their beaming faces, the heavy breath you held was let go of. 

“Why don’t you go pick out a movie with Nat, sweetie?” Wanda told you as she began cleaning the communal kitchen, thankful that the rest of the team was out and that you had the quarters all to yourselves. And when you attempted to tag along and help her, she playfully slapped your hands away. “Go, baby. I’ll take care of this. Don’t you worry your pretty little head off. I want you to relax for the rest of the night, ‘kay?”

And that’s exactly what you did given that whatever Wanda says, always goes. 

Sighing, you comfortably nuzzled against Natasha’s side. It had taken you long to trust them to such lengths where you welcomed physical contact. Between the numerous missions you ran together, the exhausting training sessions, and the ungodly amount of dates they took you on, you easily began holding them close to your heart. 

Once the brownies were done and cut out, a task Wanda disallowed you from carrying out quoting that ‘I don’t want my beautiful omega to hurt herself’, the three of you sprawled yourselves over the couch. An animated movie played in the background, a Disney one Natasha picked out knowing how many you’d missed growing up within HYDRA’s grasp. Surely it was childish, even you were made aware of it, but alas, you found it comforting as you sat between your alphas, snuggled happily while chewing on a soft, warm piece of brownie – the milk provided coming from Wanda’s full breasts. 

“I think I’m ready,” you grumbled against the rosy nipple that you momentarily pulled away from. “For…you know.”

Both alphas stared at you in confusion, yet found themselves amused at how quickly you began suckling on Wanda’s breast once more. A shared, knowing look left them with agape mouths. Of course they longed to finally mate with their newfound omega, but their protectiveness over you was rather strong – the idea of possibly bringing you discomfort by rushing a mating session was one they did not want to humor. 

“Are you sure?” Wanda cautiously asked. 

Natasha clasped your hand as she followed along. “We don’t mind waiting however long you need. Even if you never want to do it, Y/N, we’ll care for you the same.”

“Yeah,” you were sure of something for the second time in your life since choosing to be theirs. “I’m ready.”

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Since the first moment you saw them, you knew being theirs was all you longed for. 

There was always an innate need to have them close, but as your relationship grew further, that need grew into a carnal one. You could barely stand by them without your legs quivering, skin turning madly hot as you leaned in to your partners. And they knew how much you desired them, because of course it was a very mutual feeling. 

“Are you sure?” Wanda’s eyebrows were furrowed. Normally she was a rather confident woman, but as she stood before you, her gaze shifting down at you where you sat by the edge of the bed, she felt anxious for once. “We can wait, Y/N. It’s more than alright. Anything you want, we’ll give to our sweet girl.”

The three of you were in their shared bedroom, one that had quickly become yours as well, where you sat as they stood before you. Both sulked, lips stuck between their lips as they waited for your green light. They were ready to pounce on you at any second, but only if you allowed them to. 

Since you stopped taking your medication to suppress your heat, it came out in full-force. You could barely speak a word without it coming out as a whine. Your lack of experience with the cycle made it difficult for you to get through them without constantly rubbing your slick-coated thighs together, but alas, you could tell they felt the same. Their hypnotizing stench which came with their ruts filled your parted nostrils. It was delicious, almost intoxicating and left you with your mind all hazy. 

“Please?” You reached out for them, each of your hands grabbing one of their own. “I can’t wait, I need it now.”

They took their time in helping you off your clothes. Each alpha was sweet enough to take it slow, eyeing you questioningly, and waiting for your nod of approval to begin shedding your outfit. Your skin was victim to the cool air from the room that buffeted you as you grimaced, but with each frail touch they gave you, it wasn’t hard for it to warm up. 

Lips found themselves trailing your frame as your clothes were thrown on the floor. They clung to you for dear life, groping your breasts with a need they were finally able to humor. For months they longed to have you, and now that they did, the women let all their inhibitions go for the sake of giving you the best time. 

Wanda disrobed herself first, then came Natasha. They were well-aware of your aversion to alphas, so when their layers pooled at her feet, they were careful to let you adjust to the sight. The well-endowed Avengers pulled back, smiling gently as you shockingly ogled them before they kept going. 

“Lay down, darling. Get nice and comfortable for us,” Natasha mumbled, softly caressing your stomach and guiding you towards the mattress. And when you dropped on it, she was quick to kneel between your legs. “If at any point you want to stop, you let us know. Am I clear, Y/N?”

“Yeah,” you husked out knowing that none of you wished to ever stop with heightened cravings for the other. “I understand.”

The two women mirrored the movements of lionesses who sought out their long-awaited gazelle. As Natasha spread your legs apart, her fingernails digging into your smooth skin as a means to hold her animalistic desires back, Wanda took to laying beside you. She held your face in her hands as though life itself was at the tip of her fingers – a life she’d forever cherish and dote on until the end of time. You let her kiss you, your lips falling victim to her captivating shows of love towards you. 

Your slick drove them wild, but even more so as they feasted their eyes upon the drenched mess that was the area between your legs. It was puffy, gleaming with juices that coated your thighs and drooled down to the sheets. Natasha was the first to touch, but then followed her mate who rubbed her fingers across your lips as a means to make your breath hitch. 

“You’re beautiful, honey,” Wanda whispered, her lips mere centimeters from your ear. “Your alphas are so lucky to have such a perfect kitten like yourself.”

She kissed you once more, this time harder than ever with a sudden urge to take your tongue hostage with her own. Hands explored your body, learning where every self-described imperfection lay to stroke it lovingly. Wanda devoured you as though you were her last meal. She wasted no time in getting to know the outline of your frame, one she deemed a piece of art, as though it were the back of her hand. 

“It might feel a bit strange, зайка, but soon enough you’ll enjoy it so much. I promise. I promise.” Natasha was steady with her movements. She ensured you were drenched enough before lining herself against your cunt, her bulbous fat cock barely fitting in her hand as she pushed it forth. Never had she felt such immense warmth than she did when inside either you or Wanda. It made her wild, turning her into an uncaged animal whose eyes turned dark as she watched her penis oh-so slowly sink in you. “Fuck.” Her words were practically grunts. “Oh baby, you feel amazing.”

All three of you watched in awe as Natasha’s dick disappeared into your cunt without much fight. Surely you were tight, never having mated with anyone unless against your will, but with the amount of slick forming as your heat was at its peak, your body gladly took the alpha in. Her gentle movements did wonders to help you relax, that along with Wanda’s soothing words thrown by your ears which steadied your breathing. 

Natasha felt right at home with your walls surrounding her, practically clinging for dear life to her member. Surely she’s mated with Wanda numerous times, but nothing could compare to the deliciousness of having an omega in heat all for herself. It made her growl, letting out the sound which came from the depths of her throat as she grabbed your hips roughly. Your breaths matched with how ragged they were. Never did she let go either, but instead pressed her body on yours as much as she could until she could finally move. 

“You’re such a good girl,” Natasha found herself stuttering. For such a confident agent, it was amusing to see her succumb to pure, unadulterated need without a second thought. “Our perfect little pet. Oh, you’re everything, Y/N.”

The cries you let out were drowned by Natasha’s similarly strangled ones. The two of you were equally frayed creatures. You held onto one another while Wanda simple stared with widely enamored eyes. Her hands were on you, still gripping you as though you’d ever have the nerve to escape her grasp. 

“That’s it. Take your alpha’s cock,” Wanda giggled as she spoke. She inched closer until her heavy breasts rubbed on your face. Although her aching cock was similarly erect and waiting to be in you, her chest felt the most pain due to the milk throwing pain her way. “Here, honey. You can have some milk while Natty makes it all better. I promise it’s delicious, just how my girl likes it.”

Wanda inches herself closer than physically imagined, and like the good omega you were, you opened your mouth to taste her. 

Surely you’d had her milk numerous times since you first officialized your relationship, but in the midst of your heat and her rut, it somehow tasted better than any of the previous times. The sweet nectar poured past your lips, several drops even falling down your chin due to the necessity to drink it. Her nipples were erect and severely tender with your lips wrapped around them.

Sucking her breasts was a true wonder. With her milk, you needn’t have food. Wanda – your alphas – were all you needed as a means to survive. With them by your side, you’d never worry for a second. You were their prey, and the predators would forever protect you as a means to only have you as theirs. 

“I won’t last long,” Natasha sobbed. Her thrusts were gentle but you knew she heavily held back as a means to not harm you during your first mating session. She had yet to even mark or knot you, something that did not seem so ominous when having them as your alphas. “Oh my sweet girl, the things you do to me…”

Your insides were churning with Natasha balls-deep in you. She was rather big, so even if she could inch deeper without causing you immense amount of pain, she was far too large to not draw mewls from you as your cunt was delightfully stretched out. The more you took, the better you were trained by your mates. 

As you sucked on Wanda’s breasts, the redhead pulled you up. You mewled at the lack of milk being poured down your throat, but as you turned to Natasha, you realized she had other more delicious plans. She held you close, forcing a scream from you as you sat up and felt the entirety of her dick being rammed in you as her face went to your neck. 

Wanda and Natasha swooped in for the kill. They each took a side of your neck, pressing their lips against them before biting down harshly. Surely you knew it’d hurt, but never were you told about the wondrous feeling that’d shoot through your body as you were marked by your alphas. They’d previously scented you, rubbing themselves on you so as to forever share the stretch of your desires on one another, but nothing came close to the beauty of carrying their bite marks on your neck. 

That somehow made Natasha’s motions even more violent. She poured her heart and soul into destroying you as her cock pulled out before pushing all the way in – even if it caused a small bulge by your abdomen. And with the more she moved, the bigger a previously-small bulb on her shaft got. 

There came no warning as Natasha’s suddenly huge knot inched itself past your lips and into your cunt. Your slick allowed it to comfortably fit, but alas, a rather loud scream escaped the depths of your throat. The heaving of your chest only grew quicker as you felt hotter than ever, almost ready to let go knowing Natasha was too. 

You failed to notice Wanda’s dominant hand quickly making itself up and down her own cock, jerking it off until it was rosy and begging for permission to cum. She masturbated happily as she watched how Natasha knotted you, stuffing you to the brim with her penis and bulb until you cried out. Knowing you were close, and at times having gotten the same treatment from her mate, she could only give words of encouragement. 

“Let go, princess,” Wanda’s voice was dark and low. “I know you want to, so do it – do it for your alphas.”

And that you did, but so did your partners.

Natasha came simultaneously, embracing you tightly as she grimaced. Never had she gotten the pleasure of receiving such an earth-shattering orgasm. It made her body sagged as she fell limp on you, whose back hit the mattress in an instant. Her knot prevented any of the cum to seep out, instead maintaining it deep in your guts as you squirmed happily. 

“Good girl,” Wanda had a similar worn tone as she too climaxed. “Oh baby, you’re the perfect girl for us. Look at you letting Natty turn you into a proper omega. Hm, now that you have your mates, nothing else matters.”

The three of you were sprawled messes across the bed, clutching one another and never daring to let go. You were unmoving, instead enjoying the feeling of having Natasha still in you, being so warm around her with a tight grip, while Wanda once more gave you her milk to drink. Even if they were spent, they’d do just about anything to care for you. 

It came Wanda’s turn to claim you. She was much gentler than Nat, murmuring tired yet comforting words as she slipped in your cunt before oh-so slowly moving her hips. Even beyond the four walls of your shared bedroom you’d forever have the power. Because by the third time they attempted to keep it going, with a sole shake of your head both alphas ceased her actions and jumped to cradle you in their arms. 

“We’re so lucky to have you.” Natasha was the one who stood in front of you in the shower, ensuring that the water was the perfect temperature for you to enjoy. She’d picked you up from the bed and carefully held you as you were placed to stand on the shower with wobbly legs while Wanda fetched clothes and towels. “You’re even more perfect than what we imagined.”

You didn’t need to tell them the same as they simply knew. No one had been able to get you out of your shell quite like they had. Maria, Kate, and Yelena surely had their attempts, but your mates were the only ones you’d confide in that manner. They could see you in even your rawest states and upkeep their promise of protecting you – of protecting their one true love from harm’s way. And for that they were synonymous with perfection. 

The two alphas made sure to clean you up. Wanda even went as far to wash your hair, smoothly massaging your scalp as a means to both rub shampoo over it and help you relax. There was no carnal need involved, no urge to suddenly claim you. Just…love being poured out of their hearts and into your hands. 

And when Wanda noticed the scarring across your skin, she could only bring you more comfort. 

“So long as we’re alive, we won’t let anyone hurt you ever again,” her tone was serious, yet you could hear a hinted edge of sadness in it. Most were the product of HYDRA handlers, but some came at your own hand with your hints of self-hatred and disdain of the life you were forced to lead. “They can’t have you, not while you’re ours. Sweet girl, you are so brave and strong. You never let them take your heart and we couldn’t be prouder of you.”

“Thank you,” you were at the verge of tears – luckily happy tears – that you weren’t so averse to showing them. “Both of you. I…I can’t think of better mates to have. You two have given me so much. I can’t even begin to think how I could thank you for all you’ve done.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Natasha interjected. She began sliding clothes on you, her own oversized hoodie and a pair of Wanda’s fluffy socks matched with your underwear. Her hands were like molten as they took tenderness to a whole different level by carefully breezing against you. “Oh sweet girl. You need to understand that all we want is for you to be cared for. We don’t expect anything in return that isn’t your safety. Do you understand? When you’re with us, you never have to worry about anything.”

That night those words finally solidified in you. You were worthy of a place on Earth – in their arms at that. It had been the exact opposite you’d been told at HYDRA, but with them surrounding you, you didn’t allow your previous life to catch up to you; you never would. 

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Nightmares consumed visibly every attempt you gave at sleeping. During your days at HYDRA you were buffeted by both the waking-nightmares and ones faced while unconscious. And you didn’t dare do much about it either. Fighting against them, whether real or not, would only earn you a mean beating. 

“Do you want to sleep here today?” Natasha always asked. By then you called their room, your room , home, but still kept up your quarters as a means of storage. Regardless, she knew to give you a choice so you’d have control of the situation. “You don’t have to, but Wanda said she could read you a bit. It’d be nice to have you.”

That’s how you ended up, like many others nights, squeezed between the two alphas. Natasha was a true fanatic of sleep, so after dropping the sleep-mask on her face, she dropped a kiss on yours and Wanda’s lips before peacefully growing unconscious. Meanwhile you were able to lay closely to your other partner’s side with your head on her chest, very lovingly suckling on her full breasts as a means to feed yourself her milk. 

“...he rustled his feathers, curved his slender neck, and cried joyfully, from the depths of his heart, ‘I never dreamed of such happiness as this while I was the despised ugly duckling,’” Wanda made sure to do hilarious voices for each of the characters. She had the book propped up on her stomach, smiling down at how intently you eyed it. “The end.” 

At the sound of that, you grumpily grunted. “That’s it?”

“Yes, sweet kitten, that’s it. I just spent the past twenty minutes reading you this,” Wanda frowned. “And now it’s time for my darling girl to get some sleep. Can you do that?”

“Not sure.”

“Oh baby, I know you’re scared of the nightmares, but I promise they won’t get you this time. You got your big, bad alphas here to keep you safe if you need anything. They won’t get you again,” Wanda reassured you, putting the book away before setting a hand on your head to keep you drinking her milk. “And if you get a nightmare, you know we’ll help you through it. I know it’s not easy, Y/N, and it won’t be for a long while, but you’ll be able to somewhat heal from this. I know you can make new, beautiful memories that you’ll always treasure instead. We’ll make sure of it.”

“Thank you,” you mumbled at her. She was the moon to your stars and Natasha’s sun. “But can I stay up for a bit longer? I don’t want to sleep just yet, please.”

Normally Wanda wouldn’t be too keen on allowing you to break any of the rules she set out to place for you, but those wide puppy eyes you flashed her way were far too enticing to ignore. 

“Fine,” she sighed, but there came a smile from it. “But you are going to bed early tomorrow. Does that sound like a good deal, kitten?”

“Hmm sure,” you giggled before nuzzling yourself against her giddily. “It’s a deal then.”

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Being a mated omega was much more comforting than you could’ve imagined. Not a day passed where you didn’t feel safe around them. You’d often stare at yourself in the mirror, for the first time without disgust, and carefully caress the set of matching bite marks on your neck. They’d long faded, only an outline remaining, but alas, you’d forever wear them with pride. 

“If you don’t hurry up, we’re going to be late.”

It was Natasha’s warm voice which shook you from your trance. You frowned before turning to her, a beam instantly coating your features as you stood there awaiting her reached-out hand. And when it came, you didn’t wait a second to grab it. 

“Come on, pretty girl.” Natasha pulled you close enough that her lips practically ghosted over your own. “We have a date to catch.”

Often the three of you made sure to spend time together. Between the countless missions you went on and reports you spent hours filling out, the days barely left you a few minutes of freedom. Your jobs were of high importance, but your love for one another meant much more – a shared sentiment by the three of you. 

Natasha helped you in hopping in her car, sitting in the backseat facing your two alphas who took their places in the front. Upstate New York didn’t have much ambiance let alone for the lush forests and lazy rivers. And yet you’d been able to find little gems across the green that you made your own. 

“I made you something special,” Wanda let Natasha carry a picnic basket and a large blanket once you reached the destination. All while she squeezed your hand, brought it to her lips, and planted a sweet kiss that would forever be marked in place. “Chocolate-covered strawberries for my best girl. I’ve been awfully mean and haven’t let you have them for a few days, but now it’s time I spoil you rotten. And don’t worry, I made enough to make your tummy sick from all the sweet chocolatey goodness, baby.”

“You’re so good to me.” You walked beside her towards a bare spot overlooking a valley. There was a sole, exuberant tree which hung around providing the utmost shade as you threw the blanket on the floor. “I’ll try to share this time. Well, only if Nat promises to let me win our next spar session. I can’t believe she promises to give me princess treatment only to purposely beat me.”

“It’s not my fault I’m better,” Natasha teased. “But you got a point. I guess I can let you win, but this time you have to share more than three strawberries. I’m starving.”

“Didn’t you eat two whole steaks before we went out?” Wanda had been with Natasha for years, but she’d never get used to the bottomless barrel that was her mate. 

“What? I get hungry. Especially after I’ve gone through a long rut. You can’t blame me for wanting food after all the energy I spent trying to make the two of you feel good.”

The three of you shared a hearty laugh as you sat atop the red and white blanket. Picnic dates had quickly become a favorite of yours. There was something rather soothing about the idea of being alone with your mates. You adore the rest of your teammates, but the quality time spent with Natasha and Wanda simultaneously was nearly not enough. To be one with them was to live and if it meant that, you’d forever crave to be alive. 

Laying against Natasha’s front between her legs, you could finally feel at peace. It was a constant thing with them, the complete opposite of what you’d experienced with HYDRA. Even with the memories of all the years Rumlow constantly tormented you alongside his peers being crystal clear in your mind, they could be washed away and replaced by new ones formed with your partners. 

“How do they taste?” Wanda sat before you two alternating between feeding either you and Natasha the delicious strawberries. At times she paused to force you to drink from your water bottle – of course she was rather focused on getting you to remain hydrated. After all, it was her job as your alpha to ensure your health.

Before you could speak, a moan left the depths of your throat. “That tastes amazing. God, I want another one.”

“It’s my turn.” Natasha playfully slapped your side. “Give me one, Wands. Come on. Don’t you remember that time I saved your ass in Sokovia?”

“But our beautiful kitten wants more.” Wanda grabbed yet another strawberry, ignoring the other alpha and instead zeroing in on you. “And who am I to deny her? Open up, Y/N. You deserve all the treats I got to offer.”

Hours were spent staring off into the sunset devouring not only the desserts Wanda made and the snacks Natasha stole from the compound’s cupboards, but also one another. There'd be days where you’d spend them raggedly crying for the memories to finally come to an end, but your mates would be there when they occurred. After all, you were bonded for life and eternity as a whole. 

[fishnapple]

Signs that they are the one for you

This reading is about the signs that show the person you have in mind is the one who is best suited for you and can match you the most. This is not about THE ONE(TM) or your ultimate happiness, but they might very well be that.

This is a general reading meant for multiple people. Take only what resonates and leave out the rest.

Your feedback is much appreciated. If you find the reading resonated with you, leave a comment, I’d love to know 🎐

About me | Masterpost Book a reading with me - KO-FI (→ personal reading)

GROUP 1

If you are someone who is not always decisive, someone who takes a lot of time to commit to something seriously, someone who needs to weight all the pros and cons to arrive at a decision, then this person will make you step out of that operating mode. They will make you want to commit, fast. You will find yourself making decisions about this person, about this connection a lot easier, taking just a little time.

Sometimes, it will feel like a sudden move, a rash decision on your end. But you being decisive and committing fast is not because you are afraid, worry or want to rush things. This person, this connection, just feels right to you. You don't have to think long and hard or to find excuses and reasons to do something or not do something.

There will be elements of fatefulness surrounding the connection. Your intuition will be in top shape, there will be no illusions muddling up your mind and heart. You will see this person clearly, both their good and bad, and you won't find excuses for their bad nor focus exclusively on their good. There is a willingness to see and to understand each other truthfully. But that doesn't mean you will accept all of their problems and let them be, no, you will want to work with them, trying to help them be a better person, to improve together, to transform together. It's not the "I can fix them" mentality, it's"we can work together."

You will be able to talk freely with each other and discuss everything on your mind. Even when your opinions and viewpoints clash, it won't create conflict between you. You will feel a sense of shared missions, shared dreams, and together, you can achieve those easier, like having two hearts and two minds look in the same direction.

One of the sign that they are the one is that people will view you being together positively. I'm not saying that you should depend on opinions of other people to gauge your relationship. A lot of relationships that are considered ideal by people are actually not that ideal to the people inside those relationships. What I mean is, people will see an improvement in your life when you are together, the good impacts you have on each other will be visible.

GROUP 2

An obvious sign is that you will smile a lot when you are around this person or when you think about them. They just bring joy into your life. Other people would probably comment that you guys are a lot more talkative when together than being with others, a loud couple perhaps?

You will trust this person more easily than other people, there is a sense of familiarity, having experienced the same things, dream the same dreams. You share the same values and life philosophy that makes it easier to navigate life together.

You will want to give gifts to each other, on no special occasion, just because something reminds you of them and vice versa so you want to give that to each other. It will feel natural to share with this person. If you are someone who is independent and used to getting everything by your own efforts. This connection will make you more open to accepting from others and also sharing with others. Instead of "you" and "me", it will be "we".

The energy of this group feels very positive and active, like you guys are building something together. Lots of stones stood upwards, pointing to the same direction, almost like they were about to take flight, towards the sky. "Waking up" or "arise" would be the word.

The revelation that they are the one will hit you suddenly, likely when you're unsure of how to ground the connection, the feeling of uneasiness will keep piling up inside. Until they all fall down over the cliff, leaving behind the tiny sprout of realisation. It will be an overturn. You will feel a new creative energy. By being with this person, you will want to create something, to build something, it might translate to sexual desire. As if a restraint has been removed in your psyche and the energy inside is released and set free.

This person will feel like an answer to your long forgotten questions, a warm meal and a nice rest at the end of a hard day, they will appear in your mind when you're asked what do you see in your future.

GROUP 3

There are two distinct sides here, one is warm and dark, one is cool and light. This person will be the other side of the same coin to you. You will feel a sense of mirroring and contrast with this person. Like chirality, right hand and left hand. You will be able to balance each other out, bringing to the table the traits that the other person lacks, helping each other develop a more balanced psyche.

You will have a grounding effect on this person. As much as they are the one for you, this is the sign that you are the one for them. You will know intuitively how to work with their worries and pains. They may suffer some insomnia, repressed anger and some hidden unknown fears that are hard to express and harder to have someone understand them. But you will be that person. With you, they will feel more safe and grounded enough to work with themselves in a healthy way. And they can do that for you too, remember that you guys are mirroring each other. You just know how to touch the other person in the most caring and considerate way that makes the other person feel safe and anchored. You will probably develop some more healthy habits together, trying to get rid of toxic and unhealthy habits that have their roots in losses and insecurities.

You will be in a constant mode of being both the student and the teacher, learning and guiding each other, together. Sometimes, you can both learn to be more confident in yourself, to express your individuality, having fun, other times, you both will learn the importance of being in a social group, of friendships and how to care for society. How to be a part of something yet still have your freedom. There's no definite role for each person, each has something to share and teach while also has something to learn from the other person. You will have a sense of growth with them. That what you do and what you think matters, not just to your life but bigger, and they will make you more aware of your impact on the world.

Talk of serious, long-term commitment will be early on with this person. Similar to the other groups, you will want to commit, to build a lasting relationship with this person. The idea of having a home together, acting as one unit, and the relationship being sanctioned officially will feel natural to you.

GROUP 4

This person will make you want to dream the "impossible" dreams. Whatever you think as impossible, they will have a way to sway your belief and make you feel like it's possible after all. You will not feel contented anymore with just being small and playing it safe with your life. You will dare to cast your gaze to farther horizon, seeing yourself in a grander way, acting in a more decisive way, which may come as a surprise to the people around.

They will introduce you to many different topics and diverse subjects to widen your perspective and knowledge. They could act a little like a mentor to you, maybe they are someone who has more experience in various areas of life, regardless of their age, who's seen the world more and they are ready to share that with you. Their way is not bossy nor domineering but gentle and affectionate, making you more willing to open up to new ideas. When they're explaining something to you, it will not feel like sitting in a class, hearing the teacher droning on and on, but it will feel like sitting with a friend, eager to share experiences of their newest adventures, lots of giggling, laughing and joking.

In the most positive way, by being with them, you will become more of yourself, light up those dark, forgotten corners inside and embrace them with clarity and self-forgiveness.

I think both of you will bring some baggage and old habits into the relationship at the beginning. Could be a desire for perfection, the desire for control, to force and bend the situation to one's own will. But gradually, those baggage will be lifted and unpacked neatly, transformed into something that can work for both of you. The force that wants to lead, to direct, will be united. Instead of working against each other, you will work together.

Your appearance might even change. Notice how some couples tend to look alike and similar to each other after being committed to each other for some time. It will be a positive change. The state of happiness will be apparent physically.

GROUP 5

You will feel triggered by this person. Every action and word from them will feel like a personal attack, at first. It will be unpleasant, but only when you're not ready to face yourself. And they will be the one to help you with that task. No matter how hard it is, you can count on them to be there for you, to remind you how to be strong and yet vulnerable at the same time.

They will help you free up emotional baggage that you've held on for far too long, lighten your loads so that you can run more freely, see the world more clearly and discover the poetry in living.

Time and space will not be felt when you're connected to this person. No matter where you are, no matter how much space and time is between you, you will feel an inexplicable connection with them. You guys can disconnect for a few months, come back and resume the conversation as if no time has passed at all, you maybe continents apart from each other but the presence of the other person will always be felt. Through the conversations you have with other people, through the lyrics of the song you listen to, through the rain and cloud, through the blanket and cold hands.

You open a window so that the wind can come in at any moment, you will be like that with them. This person will be there when you have the loudest laugh, and when you have the heaviest tears, they will bear witness to them all, without a flinch, without judgement. If at first, you find their words and action harsh and cruel, you will gradually see them differently. You will see them as your pillar of strength and comfort. Has anyone ever dared to be so honest with you like that? Has anyone ever let you be that honest to them like that? If your answer is no, then you will know that this person is the one.

[the-scarlet-witch-22]

the girl is mine (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: When your fascination with Mayor Agatha Harkness becomes all consuming, what lengths will you go to in order to get her attention?

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: Helloooo, this is a fun little one shot I’ve had sitting in my drive for a while and I finally got around to finishing it. Title & fic idea are both heavily inspired by Ariana Grande’s music video ‘the boy is mine���. Agatha has been consuming my every waking thought lately, so I hope you enjoy this fun au! Let me know what you think, my asks/dm’s are always open!

Growing up you never showed much interest in politics, and you certainly could never name more than a few politicians off the top of your head. It was dull, and you failed to find a group of white men who were knocking on death’s door to be riveting. But all of that changed with the election for the new mayor. In the past, you were vaguely aware of upcoming elections, and tried to remember to vote. But you never actively followed a campaign; at least, not until her. 

The her in question being Agatha Harkness, newly elected mayor of New York City. Being the only daughter of the former long-time U.S. Senator Evanora Harkness, politics was in her blood. Running a cutthroat campaign full of promises to clean up the city and help its residents, all whilst viciously annihilating her opponents one by one in debate, she quickly became the candidate to back. Posters of her face were plastered over every crevice of the city; with her perfectly messy dark brown curls, plump red lips, pristinely bright white smile, and lustrous blue eyes it was no surprise you became hooked. 

You followed the campaign at a slightly obsessive level, tuning into every debate and press briefing, even having notifications for Agatha Harkness enabled on every platform hoping for a glimpse of the woman who had slowly taken over your every waking thought. She was brilliant, and she had absolutely no idea you existed. 

At least, not yet. 

A few months after the election, Mayor Harkness appeared to be following through on her campaign promises. Unemployment was at a record low, there were different initiatives to help funding for the public school system, even crime and gang activity became nearly nonexistent. 

However there were rumblings from various journalists that perhaps the mayor wasn’t as perfect as she appeared to be. A few reports were suggesting that instead of eradicating the crime syndicates that had been plaguing the city for decades, she had merely moved operations underground. Others hinted that perhaps she had something to do with her mother’s rather mysterious and sudden death. But that was absurd, you thought to yourself as you watched the mayor on your television screen, her bright blue eyes twinkling back at you as she answered a few questions. 

Potion making had never been your speciality, as you were still fairly inexperienced in most realms of magic, but you froze as Agatha gave a sly wink when being asked how she kept crime rates lowered. Stirring the cauldron with renewed vigor, the pink fumes filled the room as you inhaled.

Your eyes drifted over to the outfit you had hung on the outside of your closet, briefly wondering if the plan you had concocted was too unhinged. But the mayor’s authoritative voice caught your attention once more as you turned back to the screen.

“Yes, you,” Agatha motioned to one of the eager reporters holding their hands up. 

“Madam Mayor, how do you respond to allegations that you accepted illegal campaign donations from some of the top crime families in the city?” 

The mayor didn’t appear to be phased by the question, pursing her lips as she frowned. “Well, I’d say that sounds like yet another baseless claim from the media’s fruitless attempts to discredit my accomplishments. The witch hunts didn’t stop in Salem, did they?” 

The clamor of dozens of reporters resulted in the mayor waving her hand to decline any other questions, leaving the press briefing room with her team in tow. Shutting off your tv, you glanced back at the outfit, a feeling of determination washing over you. 

Popping the cork off the vial, you carefully poured the liquid in the bottle. Pretty soon the only thought on the mayor’s mind would be your name. 

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

The next morning, you were out the door before the sun was over the horizon, running through the plan again in your head with your destination clear in mind. You had come up with the idea late one night while researching the effects of various love potions. It was risky, sure, but you had taken the time to perfect this particular potion, leaving no room for error.

The rest of the plan was rather reliant on your ability to trick the mayor’s staff into thinking you were a reporter, but hey, using a few charming spells wasn’t unethical if it was in the name of love, right?

By the time you made it to the mayor’s office you were already having second thoughts. Could you go to jail for impersonating a reporter? 

Unfortunately, you had run out of time to turn around as the friendly looking older woman sitting at the front desk waved you over. Approaching her, you ran through what you had practiced saying in the shower. Quickly looking at the personalized name plate on the edge of her desk, you gave her a wide smile.

“Good morning, Sharon. I have an appointment scheduled this morning with Mayor Harkness,” you greeted the receptionist, keeping any trace of nervousness from your tone.

“Oh, an appointment?” Sharon asked, appearing to be confused as she looked at her computer, clicking around with her mouse. “I hate these things, I can never find what I’m looking for. Do you know what never has silly malfunctions? A nice, simple day planner.”

Raising your eyebrows, you nodded along. “Of course. Very reliable.”

Sharon nodded in agreement, still struggling with her computer. “Exactly. I’ve tried explaining that to the mayor but she just waves me away to get her more tea.” She paused, frowning at whatever was on the screen. “I’m not seeing any appointments for this morning. What did you say your name was again?”

Internally sighing, and hoping you had learned this particular spell correctly, you discreetly waved your left hand, mumbling the incantation under your breath. You had never tried an enchantment before, but the spellbook made it appear to be simple enough. As long as you said the right words and had your intention clear in your mind it would work. It had to.

Clearing your throat, you gave her another bright smile. “I’m sure if you check your calendar again, it will have me marked down for an appointment with the mayor. I’m here for a last minute interview.” 

Sharon blinked, and her eyes appeared hazier than they were a moment prior, signaling your spell had worked. Looking back at her computer, she gave you a mindless smile. “Oh of course! This silly computer. Right this way, I’ll take you to the mayor.”

Following the receptionist down the hallway, you made note of how the enchantment did not appear to make any obvious changes, at least not outwardly. You did feel a slight twinge of guilt at manipulating someone without magic, but those thoughts were expelled from your brain as you saw the woman who had bewitched you from the first moment you saw her.

Agatha Harkness was leaning against her open office door, a sly grin on her face as she chatted with a nervous looking employee. Her long dark brown hair was messily splayed across her shoulders, and you could picture running your fingers through it.

With one hand cocked on her hip, and the other tucked in the pocket of her expensive looking purple slacks, you felt your breath hitch. This was really happening.

After a few moments, Agatha looked over at you and her receptionist, and she waved the employee away as she frowned. 

“Shannon, who do we have here?” Agatha curiously asked, looking you up and down.

You frowned, wasn’t her name Sharon?

Sharon didn’t appear to notice, as she mindlessly smiled. “The reporter for your interview is here, Madam Mayor.”

The mayor’s frown deepened, looking between you and her receptionist. “I thought I told you to clear my schedule this morning. I don’t remember agreeing to any more interviews.”

“It’s the only appointment scheduled for this morning,” Sharon insisted, and you prayed to whatever deity that was listening that your spell didn’t wear off too soon. “I must have forgotten to mention it to you.”

Agatha hummed, a thoughtful expression on her face as her gaze remained fixated on her receptionist. “I see.” She finally looked back over in your direction, curiously eyeing you. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes. Thank you, Shannon, that will be all.”

Sharon, or maybe Shannon, walked back to her desk and Agatha held her hand out, gesturing for you to enter her office. You tentatively walked through the doors, as the mayor followed closely behind, shutting the doors shut.

The mayor’s office wasn’t quite what you had expected. It was a lot bigger than you pictured, and the longer you looked around the more you wondered how it was this size. Large violet tinted drapes hung from the windows, and you were momentarily stunned from the view this high up. 

You knew from various interviews that the mayor was an avid reader, so you were unsurprised to find floor to ceiling rows of bookshelves lining three of the four walls. However, you were surprised to find some of them appeared rather old, and you weren’t close enough to read the titles but you managed to make note that a good chunk of them appeared to be in Latin.

“You can take a seat,” Agatha said cordially, walking past you to her desk. “Let’s try and make this snappy.”

Taking a step forward, you pulled one of the chairs out, but in the process of sitting down, the vial of potion you had in your pocket came tumbling out, crashing on the ground as the glass broke, spilling the contents all over the floor. 

Shit.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot I had that in my pocket,” you quickly apologized, trying to think of a somewhat convincing story. “You know how delicate perfume bottles can be.”

“Perfume?” Agatha repeated, tilting her head as she examined you, a calculated expression on her face as the frown lines on her forehead deepened.

“Yes. It’s…French,” you offered, avoiding eye contact as you cleared your throat. This was a horrible idea.

Agatha frowned, intrigue coloring her features as she eyed the now broken vial of potion. “I see…what publication did you say you were from again?”

“The Times,” you lied, straightening your posture as she turned her attention back to you. “It’s actually my first day.”

Raising her eyebrows, the mayor sat back in her seat. “You don’t say, and they sent you to interview me? How ambitious.”

“I’ve been following your career for a while,” you prompted, brainstorming ways to possibly salvage this opportunity. “The work you’ve done for the city is quite admirable.”

“Admirable?” Agatha scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I can’t say I’ve been hearing a lot of that from your esteemed peers.”

“Well, some people hate to watch a woman be successful in a position of power,” you offered, and your answer appeared to appease the mayor, as she gave you a curt nod. “Besides, it’s not like you actually did any of those things, people love making up stories.”

You weren’t sure if it was the lighting in the office or your imagination, but there was a brief flash of something on the mayor’s face. If you didn’t know any better, you would say she seemed amused at what you said. But that was ridiculous, right? 

“Of course,” Agatha answered, slowly licking her lips. “Why don’t we get started?”

It was then that reality set in. You hadn’t anticipated actually having to ask the mayor any questions, the potion would have already kicked in at this point. Unfortunately, Agatha observed your hesitation as she let out a deep sigh, and you could tell she was growing more annoyed.

“You know, most journalists send over their questions beforehand,” Agatha informed you, giving you an inscrutable glance as you nervously fumbled around. “I’m a very busy woman, despite what certain media outlets are spewing out.”

“I apologize, Madam Mayor. I don’t want to waste any of your time,” you insisted, wondering yet again why you thought this plan would work to begin with.

Agatha opened her mouth to say something else, but hesitated for a moment, giving you another inquisitive stare. “Very well, I suppose not everyone can be Christiane Amanpour, hm?”

Christiane Amanpour? The name sounded relatively familiar, but you couldn’t place where you had heard it from. 

“You know, the world renowned journalist?” Agatha added on, deep blue eyes boring into your own, and you quickly nodded.

“Of course, I’m such a big fan of her work,” you gushed, but in the back of your mind you had a sinking feeling this wasn’t going the way you hoped it would.

“I’m sure you are,” Agatha mused, and there was something in her words that led you to believe perhaps this was going worse than you were imagining. “How about I ask my assistant to make us some tea? That always helps calm my nerves.”

She was so kindhearted, you noted, feeling yourself relax again as you nodded in agreement. The responding grin Agatha gave you sent a shiver down your spine.. Maybe you could make this work. Sure, you weren’t actually a journalist at The Times and Agatha would eventually realize that when no story came out, but that was a problem for the future. You barely paid attention as Agatha made a quick call to her assistant, but after she hung up you refocused.

“I have to tell you, Sharon was very helpful this morning,” you said honestly, still feeling some lingering guilt over using an enchantment on her. 

“Who’s Sharon?” Agatha deadpanned, giving you a puzzled look. 

For a moment you thought she was joking as you let out a nervous, quiet laugh, until you realized she was being serious.

“Um, your assistant?” 

“Oh, Shannon?” Agatha corrected you, waving her hand dismissively. “She does what she’s told. A bit too chatty for my personal taste.”

You tried to hide the surprise from your face as you processed what the mayor said. That was a bit strange, but maybe the receptionist’s nameplate was wrong? After all, Agatha was so good. All the work she had been doing for the city, you knew she genuinely cared about helping people. Right?

“Of course, my mistake,” you said quietly, awkwardly crossing your legs.

Sharon, or Shannon, came in a few moments later with two cups of tea. Her eyes were still slightly glazed over, but the enchantment would surely wear off soon…probably. Actually, you weren’t sure how long the spell would last. But she would be fine…probably.

When you were alone again, Agatha let out a low chuckle, and you frowned. You didn’t say any of that out loud, right?

“Oh don’t mind me, dear,” Agatha said, giving you another charming smile and you felt your worries instantly slip away as she held out one of the cups. “Tea?” 

The mayor’s lithe fingers brushed against yours as you accepted the cup, and you let out an involuntary shiver at the lingering contact. Slowly withdrawing her hand, Agatha smirked at the flush you could feel spreading across your cheeks. Raising her own cup to her lips, you were entranced watching her ruby red lips part as she took a small sip. 

Following her lead, you lifted your cup, but hesitated. The tea’s sweet aroma invaded your senses as you inhaled, and for a moment the scent smelled oddly familiar. You weren’t usually a tea drinker, you preferred coffee, but it was odd, the longer you allowed the scent to settle the more you wondered what was in it. 

Looking up, you found Agatha watching you again, her cup lowered back on her desk as she surveyed you. 

“Is the tea not to your liking?” The mayor asked, appearing genuinely concerned.

“No, it smells great,” you insisted, raising the cup closer to your lips.

Her blue eyes were so warm and inviting, and she gave you a small encouraging nod, enticing you to take a sip. The warm liquid was as sweet as it had smelled, almost too sweet, you noted, allowing it to swirl around your mouth as you swallowed. 

“Good girl,” Agatha murmured, so quietly you barely heard her.

Blinking, you felt the room begin to spin as you struggled to make sense of what was happening. The sickeningly sweet taste lingered in your mouth as you felt your body grow heavier with every breath you let out. You barely heard the crash of your teacup hit the floor as your hands fell to your sides. 

Your eyes struggled to remain open as you attempted to fight whatever was happening to you, but felt firm hands hold you in place.

“Don’t fight it, pet, I’d hate to have Shannon clean up even more of a mess,” Agatha whispered in your ear as everything went dark.

The throbbing of your headache was the first thing you were aware of as you finally came to, eyes fluttering open. There was a dull ache that seemed to run through your entire body, and you struggled to recognize your surroundings. It was then you realized why you felt a dull ache, as you came to the startling realization your body was suspended midair, hands and feet bound. 

Were you still dreaming? 

“Not quite, dear.”

What?

You tried to move your head, but failed as you heard a responding chuckle at your fight to free yourself.

“I must say, you’re clever. Inexperienced, but clever,” Agatha mused as she came into focus, walking towards you with a smirk painted across her face. 

“I…” you struggled to speak, your throat far too dry, and Agatha fake pouted, raising her hand to brush against your face.

“Is someone feeling shy? Where’s that confident little witch who used an enchantment spell on my assistant?” Agatha mocked, lightly slapping your cheek before tracing a finger across your lips. “Tell me, what was your plan after slipping me that love potion?”

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” you said deliriously, still feeling an odd sensation in your head.

“Normally I’d have drained you of your magic by now,” Agatha said aloud, her long fingers moving lower, and you gasped as they wrapped around your neck. “It’s been a long time since someone’s managed to surprise me.”

“You’re a witch?” You managed to get out, torn between the paralyzing fear of what was occurring and a more carnal desire as you felt a heat pool between your legs from the way the mayor was looking at you. 

“And here I thought you were clever,” Agatha said, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she squeezed, the pressure causing you to moan.

She moved closer to you, not releasing her hand from your throat as her lips grazed yours. “Now, I think it’s time I break in my new toy, hm? Why don’t you show me how much you worship me.”

The mayor released you from your magical bindings as you hit the floor, and swirls of purple magic surrounded you, forcing you on your knees as she roughly grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at her. 

“I’ve always wanted my own pet.”

[rainrot4me]

Rain’s Kinktober 2024 - 04

Masky x Gender Neutral Reader - In the Car/Road Head

SMUT WARNING MINORS DNI

TW: Blowjob, road head, praise, car sex, pleasing, codependency, obsessive traits, clinginess, trauma responses, brief mentions of abuse, soft sex, kinda fluffy

Tag: #rainykinktober2024

Words: 2.2k

A/N: Made Masky kind of soft in this… I like it.

The two of you had been riding out this empty interstate for miles, another thirty or so left to go. Thick night air rushed through the cracked windows, the heavy thud of music sounding through the old speakers of the beat up truck.

Masky had been driving the whole time, left hand gripped tightly onto the wheel as you nudged uncomfortably close to his side, his arm wrapped around your back. It was an older model truck without the console, perfect for you to get close to him.

You couldn’t help that you had grown codependent. Every proxy had their bad traits, yours was just slightly more annoying than others.

When The Operator first introduced you to the others, you were stiff, fresh out of whatever hell-hole mental destruction the others had also experienced. It was only normal you resisted the rest of the group at first, they knew you’d come around.

What no one really expected was just how closely you did come around.

It was near obsessive now. You always needed to be touching or holding onto Toby’s clothing, the boy quickly becoming flustered and uncomfortable and moving you onto someone else. Hoodie and Kate didn’t take it well either, grumbling when you asked to hold their sleeves or shoving you off when you crawled too close.

The only one who could really tolerate it was Masky, taking the brunt of your clinginess out of understanding from his own messed-up tendencies. Trauma was no stranger to the man, so if he could offer you some relief from yours when no one did him, he wouldn’t mind it too much.

He was always willing to scoot over in bed to let you crawl in, or wrap yourself in his heavy jacket to ride out a panic attack. The others teased him for being soft, but you knew it was because he understood better than they ever could.

Knees pressed to your chest, you clung to his warmth, the chilly night air blowing your hair due to a lack of available A/C. Masky kept his gaze straight, tired eyes scanning the empty asphalt.

The mission the two of you were coming back from was less than enjoyable, a murder job for a group of college kids writing a report about paranormal activities linked to murders in the area. Just their luck, The Operator didn’t quite appreciate being called ‘paranormal’. They were just unlucky, a bunch of kids too brave and vulnerable deep in the woods. It wasn’t a reach to say both you and Masky didn’t enjoy being tasked with this.

You especially, still coming down from a mild panic attack that the man beside you had to ease you through. You sniffled, his hand rubbing against the side of your arm.

“Doin’ alright?” He glanced down at you, tired gaze meeting your puffy eyes before resuming back on the headlights out front. The engine rumbled, tires rattling against the potholes littered on the road. You were getting closer to the backroad leading to the mansion, the treeline becoming familiar.

Your chest still hurt, and panic still rattled in your mind, but you nodded anyway. Masky still rubbed your arm, your head resting on his shoulder as you took long, labored breaths.

“Sorry…”

“Never had a problem before, why would I start now, mouse?”

That nickname always did it for you too, bringing you back down from whatever hysterics you found yourself in. Masky was just accustomed to taking care of you along with himself now, the extension a second nature to him.

Despite how often you fed into it, you really did feel bad for being so pitiful.

You reached your hand across his chest, wrapping your arms around his neck and hugging him closer. He adjusted, letting his hand rest on the small of your hip and holding you closer. Your nose nudged into the crook of his neck, his smell flooding your senses with that familiar comfort you’d grown to love.

Your interactions had never been sexual, always a comfort for the two of you. But now in the solitude and emotional stir of the night, you couldn’t help the flutters that grew in your gut when Masky’s hand reached further to rub the side of your thigh. His scent was just so nice too, with dried sweat from his overextension earlier thick on his skin. You couldn’t help but push a soft kiss on the underside of his jaw.

You just wanted to thank him for always being so kind.

“Hey, now-” You felt him tense for a moment, glancing down at you as your hands clung to his shirt, trying to pull him impossibly closer.

“Sorry…” You kissed his neck again, taking deep breaths each time to fill your senses with him. Maybe it was toxic, maybe it was codependent, or even obsessive- but you couldn’t help how safe he made you feel. Was it so bad to want him to feel that way too?

He didn’t resist when you let your hand slide down his chest, fisting against the fabric of his shirt as your lips cling to the side of his neck, leaving sickly sweet kisses. He shuddered when your hand dipped to the waistline of his jeans, shifting as his foot settled a little heavier on the accelerator. His hand gripped your waist tight, the knuckles on his other fist turning white while wrapped on the steering wheel.

“Mouse.” He huffed when you let off of his neck, laying your head back on his shoulder. Despite his warning, he watched eagerly when you began to undo his belt, shifting his hips up to give you easier access.

“Let me thank you…”

“For what?”

“Being so nice to me…”

His grasp hugged your hips closer, your fingers fiddling with his zipper and tugging it down. You pushed a hand past the band of his boxers, a quiet gasp leaving his lips when you wrap it around his limp cock.

Your cheeks are flushed, the warmth of your bodies pressed close as you slowly stroke him to life, his length slowly growing in your grasp. You could feel Masky loosen up, his body relaxing into your touch as his gaze constantly flickered from the road to your hand.

“You don’t need to do this, mouse.” He groaned when you rubbed your thumb across his tip, his thigh jerking and stuttering the speed of the truck. The cool air had goosebumps rising across his skin, his now-hard cock pulsing under your fingers.

“I want to.” You whispered, a quiet excitement rushing through you at his willingness. Masky huffed, rubbing against your hip as he tried his best to focus on the road.

Pushing your legs out, you scooted over, his eyes following you as you leaned down to rest against his leg. Pushing his boxers down, you tugged his cock out, the sight making you gasp quietly. You were nervous, but Masky’s hand reaching to push your hair from your face eased you.

You leaned in, hand fisted tight onto the base of his length as you pressed your lips to the divot of his cockhead, letting spit dribble from your lips onto the tip. He groaned above you, right hand collecting your hair and fisting it out of the way.

Giving a gentle kiss against his slick tip, you let your lips part, his head pushing into the warmth of your mouth. You try to take all of him too quickly, pushing your jaw wider to nudge his twitching cock against your tongue.

“Shit.” His fingers tighten in your hair, a gentle nudge pushing you down further and making you choke quietly. He’s immediately tugging you back up, your fingers clinging against the fabric of his jeans as you come up for air.

“Easy, would ‘ya? You ever even done this before?” It didn’t matter, all you knew was you wanted to make him feel good, and that little curse he let out earlier was exactly what you were looking for. You pushed your head back down, taking a deep breath as you wrapped your lips back around his tip.

Masky groaned, letting his hand off the wheel to push his hair back, glancing down at you with heavy eyes. You bob your head lightly, swiping your tongue across the divot of his tip to tug little huffs from the man above you. Eyes fluttering shut, you try to take more each time, relaxing your jaw to push more of his thick cock into the warm wetness of your throat.

You choked a little each time, straining when you felt his tip shove against the roof of your mouth in a way that made Masky twitch inside you. Good, he was enjoying it, it felt good. Slobber builds around your lips, sucking your cheeks in to make his hips stutter and twinge up into your mouth. Tears well on your waterline, little droplets slipping down your cheeks each time.

“Easy. You’re doin’ good. Doin’ real good…”

Your gut fluttered with excitement, pressing your head down all the way till your nose is flush against his pelvis, his pubes tickling the side of your face. You held your eyes closed, trying your best to stay relaxed as you gagged around him, his tip pressed against the tightness of your throat. Even still, he smelled so good.

Masky was moaning, taking shaky breaths as his hips jerked lightly up into you, cock bobbing against the back of your throat. You wanted to be good for him, to make him feel as good as possible, so you stayed, grunting and choking as quietly as you could while bobbing in rhythm with him.

“Fuck, ah- Good, mouse, just like that-”

His cock gleams with your slobber as you slide back up to his tip, running your tongue across his slit to collect the stout taste of his pre. You push back down, taking all of him quickly to pull right back up again, sucking his entire length.

Masky groans loudly, hand fisted tight into your hair and tugging you up and down, taking deep breaths every chance you can get. His praises ring in your ear, keeping you eager to please him as you rub your tongue across the bulging veins running up his length.

It’s so hard for Masky not to look at you, pre and spit collecting sloppily at the corners of your mouth just out of his view, eyes flickering between the beautiful view and the boring road ahead. He huffs, jerking the steering wheel to the side and running the truck onto the edge of the road, pressing the breaks quickly to bring the truck to a stop. You’re jostled, keeping a tight grip on his leg as you keep on with your pace.

Throwing the gear in park, he can finally wrap both of his hands into your hair, leaning back to get a good view of your flushed and teary face swallowing his cock down willingly. He moans through parted lips, shifting his hips to fuck up into your mouth and groaning every time your throat tightened around his tip.

“Oh fuck. Gonna cum, hah- Gonna-”

You let your jaw completely relax, taking restraint away from your neck to let him have control, to let him fuck you how he wants. It’s so sloppy the way your spit glistens down his length, using your swollen mouth as he pleases. And you’re so eager, so willing and pliable for him.

Masky’s moaning out, your eyes rolling back as he pushes your head all the way down, gagging you down onto the entirety of his length.

“Yeah-”

When he cums, you’re trying your best to swallow every drop, puffy lips wrapping tight to drink him up. He hunches over your head, stuttering his hips to milk every drop into your throat as your tears and spit dribble onto the fabric of his jeans.

He’s finally pulling you up when you reach a hand to grip his shirt, hitting your fist against his thigh when you begin to choke for air. Masky tugs you up, wrapping his hands around your cheeks to take a look at you.

You’re flushed, his fingers wiping away your tear soaked cheeks and brushing his thumb over your lips. You lean into his touch, tired eyes fluttering closed as he’s pulling you close and pressing his lips against yours.

You gasp, cupping your hands over his as you just breathe in the moment. It feels like forever when he’s finally pulling away, your tired body taking its comfortable place back against his side as he zips his jeans back up, buckling his belt.

When you start back on the road, Masky’s arm wraps around your back, tugging you closer than before. You smile, leaning your head on his shoulder and breathing him in again. The thud of the music and the familiar bumpy ride ease you both back in.

Maybe you were obsessive, and annoying, and clingy, and even just a little codependent. But Masky had gladly taken you and all of those traits along with him. It was only right that you thank him.

And he’d gladly take that, too.

Thank you for reading!

Comments and reblogs are appreciated! 𐚁₊⊹

Thanks to my wonderful editors: @h3llw1 and @solarbites!

[wttcsms]

if you feel like falling (catch me on the way down) | ONE

ᝰ.ᐟ after getting your heart broken by professional soccer player, rin itoshi, all because he loved the game more than you, you officially swear off all men — especially athletes. your publicist doesn't get that memo, though, and you find yourself roped into a fake relationship with yoichi isagi, who isn't just a pro soccer player, but also your ex's rival. things could get messy. ( fem!reader )

pairing yoichi isagi x reader (endgame), past! rin itoshi x reader word count 2.9k chapter synopsis there are certain perks to having a relationship that operates on a "private not secret" basis. for example, you're allowed at least two weeks before the batshit crazy people online figure out that little miss it girl just got her ass dumped. chapter contains partying to cope, social drinking, diet culture, this fic is so chronically online LOL author's notes so normally, i would organize the fic's different arcs or acts by explicitly saying "act 1" or whatever. like i said, we're gonna be chronically online, so the arcs are described as different "eras" and when it's a new arc, we'll get a new era 🤭 each era has special graphics for it: what the media sees vs what's actually going on. think of the era intro as a moodboard for the chapters that'll follow <3

⋆˚࿔ CURRENT ERA: PARTY GIRL 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ from the outside, it's giving irl serena van der woodsen but even better, no one can possibly have the same 24 hours as you, someone needs to convince you to drop the skincare routine STAT, matter of fact - we just need your whole game card

— guest starred on the hottest pop culture podcast where it was basically just a glaze session for you (besides the last 10 minutes where the host started asking about rin), articles that want to help readers live your (unattainable if you're not rich!) lifestyle, and a devoted fanpage that updates your every move... every move.

on the inside, it's actually giving listening and actually relating to sad music, asking an 8 ball if you're the problem, being desperate enough to believe those tiktoks that say if you claim this sound and interact 3x he'll text you back, wondering when you should mail him back his stuff, keeping busy in the public eye so no one suspects how miserable you are right now

— even spotify clocked you and it's auto-generated, customized playlist perfectly depicts what you're going through (talk about the saddest soundtrack to your life), got desperate and consulted quora (this is how you know you're at rockbottom). not shown: your credit card statement (retail therapy works, right? right?!)

“Promise you’ll be on your best behavior?” Yukimiya peers over his sunglasses so he can give you a very pointed look. You tilt your head innocently.

“When am I ever not?” 

Yukimiya lets out a very loud, very drawn out, very exasperated sigh. When have you not been on your best behavior? Well, just last month, you got drunk, stumbled out to your garage, hopped in your custom-wrapped pink Porsche, and somehow ended up falling asleep on top of the hood. (In your defense, at least even in a drunken stupor, you weren’t stupid enough to drive.) Last week, you collected the numbers of about eight different athletes and models, sufficiently led every single one of them on, and are now actively ghosting all of them because they committed the cardinal sin of not sounding like, feeling like, or being anything like Rin. And speaking of the devil, Rin’s the reason why just last night, you ended up blocking not just him from your social media, but his whole entire team, too. You felt vindicated when you did this at 2 AM. Yeah, because that’ll sure show him! He hasn’t looked at your story once since the breakup (not that you’ve been keeping track or anything), but in case he tries to play it cool and gets one of his teammates to view it on his behalf, you’ll have put a stop to that plan. 

(Even when you’re spiraling, you’re still painfully aware of the fact that Rin’s most likely doing okay, if not still performing at his best. He is most certainly not doing something as childish as getting his teammates to relay info on you to him. Meanwhile, you are apparently a social liability for your closest friends. Spectacular.) 

“Don’t answer that.” You tell him. “I don’t want to know what my life looks like through your eyes.” It’s bad enough that every little thing you do gets documented, photographed, and then sensationalized on the Internet, but it’s one thing for strangers to commentate on your behavior when they don’t even have the full story. It’s another thing entirely when it’s your best friend criticizing your current lifestyle. 

“I’m just saying, it’s going to be a very casual lunch with my favorite people. Not a party.” Yukimiya clarifies. 

“Kenyu, you do realize that inviting me to a birthday party, and then saying ‘it’s not a party’ is kind of giving mixed signals right now.” Now it’s your turn to give him a pointed look, but just like his, there’s no true venom behind it. It’s Kenyu’s birthday celebration, anyway. You’re not about to corrupt Mr. Catholic Private School and tell him to throw a fucking rager. 

“If my team gets their way, there probably will be an actual party. If there is, you’ll be the first one I give the details to.” There’s a distant shout in the back; the photographer is done with his lunch, and he’s ready to wrap this shoot up. Kenyu examines his hair in the vanity mirror before getting out of his chair and giving you a quick hug. Your photos have already been taken, and there’s really no point for you to be on set still. 

However, Kenyu’s on set. Your only other viable option is to just go home and hide under your covers, rewatching Someone Great on Netflix and Doordashing Ben & Jerry’s. Juliette is home in France and won’t be coming back until the end of the month, and you’re not really in the mood to see any of your other friends. It’s tiring being around people who can’t separate front-cover-of-Vogue you from the real you. If you’re going to have to fake a smile, it might as well be on set rather than grabbing brunch with people who would kill to be able to leak something as headline-inducing as your breakup. 

“Pinky promise?” You look up at Yukimiya. “You promise to tell me about the party even if I’ll make a fool of myself because apparently I don’t act on my best behavior?” 

He rolls his eyes at your comment. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way, and you know that. Besides, you could never make a fool of yourself. Anything you do is declared iconic, anyway.”

Having a famous movie director as a father and a certified Hollywood starlet as a mother, life wasn’t just set at easy mode for you. You practically were given an unlimited money hack and started off with like, five times the XP compared to any other beginner. At thirteen, you told your parents that for your birthday, you wanted to become a model. Two phone calls and a private jet flight later, and you had signed with the best modeling agency in the country and had your first ever photoshoot booked. 

Fate gave you parents with connections, and you’d be a fool to not use it to your advantage. Fate also gave you the same photoshoot as another young model, and you’d be a fool to not befriend Kenyu Yukimiya immediately. Out of all the friends you’ve ever made, fate only gives you good luck twice: first with Yuki, then with Juliette. You used to think you got lucky three times — meeting Rin for the first time was like experiencing something cosmic. Now you know better. Even rich people can have shit luck, too. 

Today’s unlucky situation is the way Yukimiya’s “favorite people” all happen to be athletes. There’s not a single person here who isn’t his teammate or somehow related to Bastard Munchen, except for you. If you didn’t love Yukimiya so much, you would have hauled ass. It’s normally easy enough for you to avoid soccer players at parties because they don’t normally get invited to the same social events you do, but now you’re the odd one out. 

At least the food is good. You don’t have a photoshoot scheduled until next week, and that’s exactly why you’re comfortable with choking down half a bagel sandwich rather than socialize with the guys seated by you. Yukimiya’s real big on intimacy and the power of friendship or whatever, which is probably easier to achieve when you play a team sport versus the modeling industry, where good jobs are few and far between, and the reason why some models are so skinny is because they can’t afford to eat — literally and figuratively. If they’re not booking jobs, there’s no way they can buy groceries in this economy. 

He has everyone assembled at one long table in the massive backyard of his mansion. It’s honestly kind of Last Supper-core, but it fits him. Little Yuki’s finally old enough to have a seat at the big kid’s table. He’s sitting across from you, and you’re sandwiched between Kunigami and Hiori. Next to Yukimiya is Isagi. Out of everyone at this party, soccer player or not, Isagi is the person you want to avoid the most. So far, you think you’ve managed to skirt under his radar. If everything goes as planned, you’ll be able to leave this lunch with your belly full and not having to interact with anybody. It’s looking like you won’t even have to drink in order to get through this. 

“Hey, out of all of us at this table, who d’ya think would have the best shot at being a model?” Hiori is clearly speaking to you. The blue-haired player is looking directly at you, for God’s sake. You wonder if it’ll be mean to blatantly ignore him, but considering how this little question seems to have captured the attention of the surrounding players, it looks like pretending you’re hard of hearing is out of the question. 

Inside, you’re dying. The last thing you wanted to do was socialize, but it’d be selfish and bratty to request that Yukimiya find more time in his busy schedule to have a one-on-one celebration with you. You’re here to support your friend. You can stomach being friendly with boys who have probably seen Rin more recently than you’ve last seen him. Fuck — why are you thinking about Rin? Do not think about Rin!

You grab one of the premade mimosas from the tray in the center of the table. You down the glass in one swift gulp. On the outside, you flash Hiori a bright smile and give an airy giggle. “Why? You trying to get a foot into the industry?” 

Hiori’s cheeks turn a light shade of pink. “W-well, no. Just wanted to make conversation.” 

“No worries! I’ve been trying to keep up with whatever you guys are talking about, but even after all this time being friends with Kenyu, I still don’t really get soccer.” Your smile is still intact. You reach for another mimosa. 

“Rin didn’t teach you anything?” 

Ever since you entered the industry, you knew that you had to get comfortable with standing out. No — you needed to thrive on standing out. You needed to crave, to rely on, people’s undying attention in order to survive. In the eyes of the media, you’re the center of attention. You got what every girl your age wants. At this table, everyone’s eyes are focused on you. What you want is to be back in your room, away from their prying gazes and curious stares.

But you’re a trained professional. Your smile never slides off, never turns into a grimace. You give a casual shrug, directing your answer to the person who mentioned Rin in the first place. 

“I make it a rule to not discuss work when we’re together.” You look at Isagi, asking him with your eyes if that’s a good enough explanation for him. He holds your gaze, looking at you like he sees right through you.

You drink another mimosa. 

After loosening up because of the drinks, you find casual conversation with the Munchen players to be easy. The boys honestly never shut up, and you don’t know what they’re talking about half the time, but you’re cracking genuine smiles every so often, and by the time Yukimiya is going around and saying his thanks for everyone showing up, you are…

Not drunk, per se. You’ve built up quite the tolerance these past few weeks, and it’s hard to get wasted off of drinks that are basically three-fourths orange juice. (Seriously, was Yukimiya getting stingy with the champagne? Sober You might be able to acknowledge the fact that Yukimiya might have just been preparing for the Worst Case Scenario, which would be you hogging all the drinks to yourself. Which sort of happened. Fuck. Sometimes it sucks to be known so well.) You’re definitely tipsy, though. Maybe half a tier above tipsy? Whatever the case, you are definitely in no shape to drive. 

“Kenny,” you whine out his nickname, trying your best to pull out your puppy-dog eyes. “Please take me home.” 

“Ah, damnnit, [Name].” He runs his fingers through his dark curls. “Did you seriously get drunk off of orange juice?” 

“Champagne drunk is the best drunk. I’m pretty sure People Magazine quoted me on that like, last year, so it’s basically fact.” Yukimiya doesn’t seem overly impressed. “And I’m not drunk, but my alcohol levels right now are definitely above the legal limit. Sorry, but I don’t plan on making headlines for a DUI. Hard to spin that into something iconic.” 

This gets Yukimiya to crack a smile. “I thought you were leaning into the party girl look?” 

“Yeah, but after Justin Timberlake got caught for intoxicated driving, he made it look totally lame. He ruined it for us!” 

“I wish I could drive you back, but I have to retake some photos for this sneaker ad I’m doing, and with traffic, I’m really cutting it close already. Do you want to just come with, or hang out at my place until I get back? You should’ve said something sooner; I could’ve asked one of the guys to drop you off.”

You crinkle your nose. “No, thanks. I’m not a fan of strangers knowing where I live.” Becoming a model at such a young age thrust you into the spotlight. With media attention comes total pervs who lurk in Reddit threads and 4Chan, and stumbling upon some of the things said about you, reading the things they would do to you if they found you, all laid out in disgusting, graphic detail, left you kind of paranoid. Getting doxxed might be one of your worst fears. No Ubers. No car ride homes with strangers. “I’ll wait here. It’s been a while since I went through your things, so I’m sure there’ll be enough of your dirty secrets to uncover to keep me occupied.” 

“Did you need a ride?” 

Shitty luck, indeed. 

The teammate who decided to stay behind to help clean up (because he’s just that outstanding of a guy) is the sole reason for why you went buckwild on the mimosas. You can see why Rin was always frustrated with him.

“Nope—” You say, at the same exact time as Yukimiya nods enthusiastically. 

“Would you mind? [Name] actually lives pretty close by, so it might not be out of the way.” 

You shoot Yukimiya a scathing glare. He ignores it completely, smiling at Isagi. 

“I don’t mind. That is, if you don’t mind.” Isagi is looking at you expectantly. Yukimiya trusts him. And you trust Yukimiya. By some sort of logic, you should reasonably be able to trust Isagi. It’s clear that Kenyu wants you to carpool with him, anyway, otherwise he wouldn’t have been so happy to dump you onto him. 

“Sure. I’m ready to go whenever you are.” 

What would happen if you jumped out of a moving vehicle? 

At best, you’d get your pretty skin all scraped up, meaning your photoshoots would either have to be delayed, or you would have to endure all the clear distaste for your “unprofessionalism” in the workplace from the people who actually had to work to get to where they’re at. At worst, you end up hospitalized. Somehow, it seems easier to photoshop out a few cuts and scrapes than working with someone in a full-body cast.

As you weigh the pros and cons of jumping out of Yoichi Isagi’s vehicle — a sleek, black sedan that’s top of the line, sure, but understated luxury; it’s not flashy like the sports cars you see most athletes sporting — he smoothly reverses out of Yukimiya’s driveway. Isagi does that boyish thing where he ignores his backup camera completely and opts to rest one hand on the back of the passenger headrest, the other hand on the steering wheel. Fuck. Maybe it’s not a boyish thing. Maybe it’s manly. Isagi leans a bit into your space; not enough to bother you, but enough to where you can smell the scent of his cologne. He smells clean and fresh. Maybe it’s not cologne, but laundry detergent and fabric softener. Somehow, you find this very fitting of him. 

He glances out the window to check for traffic and eases you two onto the open road. 

He’s not playing any music, and you’re sure as hell not about to ask for the aux. You look out the window instead, watching the world pass you by through tinted glass. It makes everything around you appear darker. Somehow, you find this to be very fitting for you.

“You live around this area, yeah?” Isagi asks you, and you’re reminded that if you want to go home, you actually have to let the driver know where home is. 

“Yeah, sorry. Keep heading straight, and I’ll let you know when there’s a turn coming up.” Talking to Isagi shouldn’t feel so awkward. After all, you managed to talk (and actually enjoy talking) to all of Yukimiya’s teammates. You even got along well with Kaiser. But it just feels weird — you’ve never met him directly, but you’ve heard so much about him, that it’s hard to not see Rin’s rants every time you look at Isagi. 

So you don’t — look at Isagi, that is. You look at everything else. His car is clean. There are air fresheners in the AC vents. The floor of the passenger seat is oddly clean, like no one ever sits here. If that’s the case, you hope your heels didn’t track in any grass blades or dirt. 

“Um,” Isagi awkwardly clears his throat at a red light. “When I mentioned Rin earlier at the party…” 

“What about it?” Fuck, this is so embarrassing. Since the car is stationary, you’re in the clear, right? If you just unlock the door, you can escape on foot. Your house is now close enough that it’ll just count as today’s exercise. 

“Sorry for bringing him up. I didn’t know—”

“—didn’t know what?” You turn to face him. His jaw is surprisingly sharp, and you watch the way he swallows before he answers you. 

“I didn’t know that you two broke up.” 

No one knows that you two broke up. You’re still in the process of making sense of it all, and because you’re so messed up over it, naturally you had to confide in Yukimiya and Juliette. Neither of them would ever share that secret, though. 

So why the hell does Yoichi Isagi know?

“The light’s green.” You tell him, shifting your body in the seat, avoiding him by positioning yourself even closer to the door. 

Neither of you say anything else during the drive.

[6lostgirl6]

A Night To Dismember

Pairing: Michael Myers x Fem!Reader

TW: Detailed Gore, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Sexual Assault [Not by Michael], Slightly Possessive Michael, Protective Michael, Mature Audience only!

A/N: Requested by my bestie @prettywhenibleed! I really hope you enjoy this and it was an absolute pleasure to write this for you!! Love you, my favorite slasher whore! ❤️ This isn't my best work, I'm afraid, forgive me.

The Smith's Grove Sanitarium operated according to a schedule that was consistently set in motion without interruption. No authorized doctor employed by the sanitarium, however, would have foreseen this. Medical specialists thought they were completely familiar with Michael Myers' behavior. He was docile and kept to himself, despite being the most dangerous and threatening patient in the hospital. 

But if you left him alone, there was a chance he would treat you in a similar fashion. The sole exception would be if touching his masks or otherwise bothered him. Even being among other patients was something he never enjoyed.

You were a new patient, recently exiled from society and your family because of your dreadful infatuation with fire and burning objects of interest. Your arrival left the building in absolute shock. On your first day, you were assigned to the recreation room. When you entered the room, your initial instinct was to walk over to the largest and most dangerous man within the sanatorium while grinning brightly. You only watched him work on a paper mache mask while standing over his hunched figure in the corner of the room, his hospital-approved supplies scattered along the table. 

You thought the colors were stunning, which you happily expressed. 

As a precaution against Michael harming you, guards stood by the recreation room's entrance wielding batons. Michael, on the other hand, did the exact opposite, giving you a cursory glance before grunting and slackly pointing for you to sit next to him. 

It was like you and Michael had your own timetable inside the sanitarium, and this went on for the next few months without fail. As directed by his psychiatrist, Michael was permitted to create his masks in the recreation area in the mornings. You would follow not far behind and take your normal seat beside him at a table chosen at random, apart from the other patients. You would merely watch him create his masks and ramble about whatever was on your mind. Michael never responded to the conversation, but that didn't stop you from talking to him because he had his own style of doing so without words. You have grown accustomed to deciphering his thoughts from his basic grunts and gestures.

"Hey, Mikey." You said with a smile, taking a seat at your usual spot next to Michael's side, placing your tray of food onto the table.

Michael was in the middle of placing wet paper mache on the face mold for his mask, his fingers caked in colors of paint and residue from the paper mache. He paused for a moment, giving you a small grunt as acknowledgement before returning to his activity.

You smiled more, chuckling at his usual ways of communicating as you watched him craft. You've always been interested in his masks and the variety of patterns he would use for each one. Many of his masks had their own unique qualities. However, you knew to only look, not touch.

"I see you're adding bright colors this time; are those happy pills finally working?" You teased him, nudging him softly with your body.

Michael huffed through his nose, which you learned was his way of chuckling as he shook his head at you. In the past, It took a while, but you had a better understanding of Michael's gestures and emotions than the doctors.

Simply because you treated him like a person, not an experiment.

"Maybe next time then." You replied, turning towards your tray before glancing at his project once more. "You're really good at that, Mikey. You're really talented."

Once again, Michael paused his movements, his stained fingers holding the paper mache while his eyes remained downcast. His fingers twitched before he resumed, and you almost thought you said something wrong.

"I didn't mean-"

You were cut off as Michael grabbed another mold from the table, pushing it in your direction. Your eyes widened slightly as you pushed your tray out of the way as Michael's slow movements brought other materials in your direction.

Still in slight awe, you watched him turn towards you, and your eyes connected through his favorite orange mask. You couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat at the way his eyes stared into your own, seemingly piercing into your own soul.

The doctors were wrong; his eyes weren't soulless, nor were they black, resembling a massive void of nothingness. They were blue, similar to a clear sky or the glimmering waves of the ocean.

He huffed before pointing a finger at the materials and then towards you. He wanted you to mold with him.

"Thank you, Mikey." You said softly, a bright smile on your face.

When your eyes met Michael's, he was unable to comprehend the sensation in his chest. Usually, when his sight fell on their figures, individuals would tremble or turn away. He wasn't concerned by their fear of the facility's most dangerous patient. He actually benefited from the fear he instilled in the hearts of many who came to the sanitarium.

Yet you didn't...and he liked that.

He liked that you weren't scared of him, speaking to him, or even touching him like you've been these past few months. The thought of you being scared of him made him feel...hollow.

When you started working on your own mask using the materials that were laid out on the table, Michael couldn't help but covertly place a palm on his chest to feel how his heart was refusing to settle down. He almost wanted to groan in annoyance, hating the way he liked being around you and having your attention.

He had been content with his solitude for a long time, He preferred being alone and had been for many years. However, the notion of you leaving him made the murderous itch inside him threaten to resurface.

He decided that he would keep you with him, protect you with everything he has, and extinguish anyone who threatened to ruin that. With darkened eyes, he returned to working on his mask.

On that day, you and Michael became closer.

You weren't born yesterday and you certainly weren't born stupid. Trouble was afoot in the institution and it was either happening under the doctors' noses or they simply didn't care enough to investigate. Over the past week, you would hear feminine screams down the hallway in the women's section of the institution during the late hours of the night. Last night, the screams could be heard two doors down from your room.

The screams and cries began when a new guard was appointed to the institution, supposedly replacing a well-known guard who was at the age of retirement. Due to your paranoia, you would sit on the edge of your bed, watching the door in the chance of someone entering your room when they weren't supposed to.

During the days, you would spend all you could with Michael, hoping that your association with him would make you seem off limits to mess with, or you hoped. Yet, Michael couldn't protect you when the sun went down and the men and women would return to their respective cells on opposite sides of the institution.

Tonight, you were following the same routine, sitting on the edge of your bed and watching the door. Your mind was in shambles, trying to come up with a plan in that chance, that horrid chance of the new guard coming for you. You hoped it wasn't what you were thinking, and for once, you prayed.

God never heard your prayers, and he certainly didn't now, especially when the jingling of keys were heading down the hallway, towards your room.

Michael couldn't sleep and when he couldn't sleep, he would simply pass the time by creating more masks or painting designs onto them. He was sitting at his desk, the surface covered in paper mache, markers, paint, and crayons. He was in the middle of adding a touch of red when he heard the distant sound of screaming.

His annoyance was disguised under his mask as he sighed and tightened his grip on the crayon in his hand to the point that it almost broke in half. He puffed again at the commotion and went on, indifferent to the screams. Perhaps a patient was making a scene during the nightly check-ins.

In order to block out the noises, Michael withdrew within the walls of his mind. It was a way that allowed Michael to escape freely from the confinement of his cell. He would always imagine a life outside the institution, with you. He would imagine the way he would protect you and provide for you. The thought used to sicken himn, but now he enjoyed it, the possibility. The sound of keys jingling, seemingly opening his cage, caused him to pause, though. With a loud crash, the cell door swung open, and shouting could now be heard outside of his room.

"Want some, freak?" The guard asked him in an mocking manner while Michael remained at his desk, his back to the guard. Michael immediately understood what the guard was pulling when he heard the feminine screams and intended to ignore it. 

He continued to ignore his surroundings, ignoring the rage building within his chest. The sound of his bed creaking didn't deter him from continuing on with his activity. However, it all changed when the victim screamed one word.

"Michael!"

You.

Your trapped figure on his bed, with your nightgown pushed up so that only your thighs were visible, caught Michael's attention as his head whirled around. Your eyes were filled to the brim with tears, which streamed down your cheeks as you sobbed and struggled. His eyes quickly shifted to the guard hovering over you, and he developed tunnel vision instinctively.

A ferocious roar erupts from Michael's mouth and takes hold of the guard by the neck and collar of his shirt, throwing him off balance. In the midst, you shakily brought yourself to a sitting position, fixing the bottom of your nightgown to cover yourself. Your eyes watched as Michael picked up the guard, pinning him to the wall with eerie silence. The man in his grasp was yelling in pain and fear as Michael kept him pinned, his legs dangling in the air.

"L-Let go! Let go, you fucking punk!" The guard cried out.

Michael did not like that, not at all. Without a second thought, Michael hurled him into his desk, his art supplies falling to the ground in a cluster of clangs while the man groaned in pain. Like a predator stalking his prey, Michael's towering form stalked over to the smaller male, his eyes black as night and void of any life or mercy within. His large hand reached out to grab the same red colored pencil,

Michael's next action seemed to be a blur, he body launching onto the guard and stabbing him with the colored pencil, his resiliant strength making the pencil tear through flesh and muscle.

You watched in a sickening twist of fascination and awe, watching as Michael stabbed the guard over and over, leaving no body part untouched, the man;s screams filling the room. Your heart felt warm, knowing that Michael was willing enough to kill someone for you.

Lastly, Michael stabbed him until his chest, stomach, and face was shrouded in punctures, cuts, and wounds. With one last jab, the colored pencil stabbed into his neck, making the man gurgle on his own blood.

"Michael..." You whispered, your eyes taking in his bloodied form as he slowly turned to you, heaving himself up and moving towards you. It was as if he was a trained dog hoping he made his master proud. However, you were nothing of the sort. When he was close enough, you wrapped your arms around him, pressing yourself into his strong form. "Thank you..."

Michael gave a small huff, hesitantly touching your head with his bloody palm, staining your strands with the bodily fluid. Without another word, Michael pushed you away and grabbed your hand, pulling you off the bed and heading towards the door.

"Where we are going?" You asked in confusion, following behind the behemoth of a man down the stark white hallway.

In response, Michael tugged on your hand and you decided to go along with whatever he had in his mind. He saved you after all; even when he didn't have to, he did. It made you feel safe and protected in his presence.

"Alright, Alright." You muttered, your figures turning a corner and out of sight.

Red and white.

Those were the colors you would never forget. The way the walls were coated in blood and bodily fluids of various nurses and guards that laid along the floor in mangled messes.

Michael was strong, very strong. You remembered the way he smashed a guard's skull in with his fingers alone. You shuddered at the thought, crossing your arms and staring at the wall in front of you as you waited for Michael to finish off his last victim. A nurse arriving at the right place at the wrong time as Michael ambushed her, his hands around her throat as he strangled her.

Michael walked over to you, his muffled huffing practically hovering over your ear as he showed you shoes and coat. You stared at the items with a blank expression, wondering what he wanted you to do with these.

He huffed before shaking the items in his hands, motioning the items towards you. You sighed before taking the items with a small smile, throwing on the shoes and coat. You felt the warmth of the fabric soothe your cold figure.

"Thank you..." You muttered softly, looking up at him as he stared down at you.

He couldn't help but think you looked...cute.

He offered you his bloodied hand, which you instantly took and followed him to the exit. You both were finally going to be free and it was all thanks to him.

After a few hours of walking, your feet were beginning to ache and the adrenaline from earlier was wearing off.

After your fifth yawn, Michael stopped in his tracks, turning towards you in the middle of the field. He simply stared at you as you bent forward to rest your hands on your knees.

Michael, I need to rest for a moment. Please my-" Your words were cut off when Michael stormed over to you, grabbing you roughly around the hips, hoisting you into his arms. His arm went around your waist, while the other held your back in a bridal style fashion.

Your eyes widened from his sudden roughness, however you couldn't complain as you basked in his warmth, nuzzling your face in the bloodied fabric of his robe.

"Thank you." You said, closing your eyes and allowing yourself to finally relax for the first time tonight. You didn't notice the way Michael was staring at you in his arms, his darkened eyes filled with something unknown, dangerous...maybe even a little bit of caring.

Silently, he turned and resumed walking through the field, making sure to keep you safe as you began to doze in his arms.

Finally, you were his.

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[b1rds3ye]

“Your Hoodie? No, My Hoodie.”

How the boys react to you stealing their hoodies/clothes, if they would steal yours, and other cute clothing shenanigans

Characters: Captain John Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley, Johnny “Soap” MacTavish, Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, Alejandro Vargas, Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

GN!Reader w/ no physical descriptions

Genre: Pure Fluff

Word Count: 1.8k (~300 each)

Warning: A little spice but no smut

A/N: After writing some drama/angst pieces I figured some pure fluff will do me good 😌

Captain John Price

Price’s fashion sense has become a little dated, so while he has one or two hoodies, he owns a lot more jumpers and vests (especially those puffy ones that all American dads seem to wear in colder weather)

He also doesn’t wear said hoodies all that much so if you steal them, he’ll likely just compliment your attire like a gentleman then go about his day. When he does notice the hoodie as his, he doesn’t care, you can have it

“Lovely top, darling.” “Price, sweetheart, this is yours.” “… Ah, so it is.”

However Price will notice if you use one of his jumpers or sweaters, not that he has a problem with it. In fact he encourages it, he thinks you look far better in them than he ever will and you actually make his clothes look fashionable when all he ever cared about was practicality

It becomes a bit of a love language of his, for the sake of being a gentleman and as he gets older he’s more aware of the cold. Price is always making sure you’re suitably warm before going outside when it’s chilly and he’s always giving you his own clothes to layer yourself with

Ever a traditional man, Price loves doing up your outerwear for you, as you keep talking and he nods along with deft fingers making work of buttons or zippers. There’s something intimate about it, having his hands so close to your abdomen, with him being responsible for your warmth and consequently your wellbeing

Has considered asking you for a hoodie or item of clothing of yours to bring him comfort on missions but eventually decided against it. His operations get messy unexpectedly and quickly, heaven forbid if he loses your items. He doesn’t have the best habits either and he’ll never forgive himself if he gave your clothes the lingering smell of cigar smoke

Simon “Ghost” Riley

When off duty, hoodies are his go to. They’re simple, easy to put on, the hood obscures more of his features and with his stature they help him look terrifying. He has quite a few but they’re all the same dark shades so for the longest time you thought he only had a couple

He always tells you and Soap that he’s “plenty fashionable” and you genuinely can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not. All you know is that it looks like he wears the same outfit 24/7

The first time he saw you in his clothes, it activated something in him. It was an almost animalistic possessiveness, like wearing his clothes meant you were willing to be owned by him

“Fuckin’ hell,” is all he can say, it’s quiet, barely audible but just loud enough for you to hear and get the hairs on your back standing. You feel like prey being found by the predator as he stalks up to you and attacks you with kisses

Seeing you in his clothes is like a public broadcast that you’re with him, that you’re proud to be with him and Simon wishes he can reciprocate but he’s got a reputation to uphold but most importantly, he doesn’t want to put a target on your back by associating you with him

He still does little things just so he can feel connected to you though, he’ll gladly slip accessories under his sleeves or in his pockets to remind him of you

He has taken one of your hoodies with him on long missions, he swears it’s the only thing that keeps him sane when he brings it close and gets the scent of you and home. He’s not concerned about having it damaged, he leaves it at base, neatly folded and stashed away like a treasure that he guards with his life

Johnny “Soap” MacTavish

Has a respectable amount of hoodies, he likes how comfy they are and he wears them well. The only thing better than him wearing them, is you wearing them

He’s a tease, he wants you to take his hoodies but he’ll never outright say so. You won’t have a choice though when he straight up steals and hides all of your outerwear, leaving you to drift over to his wardrobe and take something

And then he acts incredibly smug about it as if he didn’t orchestrate the entire damn thing

He gets giddy whenever he sees you wear his things, you just look so damn cute. If you’re leaving for an event you better hope your friends don’t mind you being half an hour late because he will latch onto you, begging you to stay with him

Johnny will also try to wear your clothes. Doesn’t matter if you’re a few sizes smaller than him, he’s not afraid of prancing around in a crop top in the confines of your home (or in public if he’s very tipsy). Are you a similar or larger size to him? Well call Johnny a communist because it’s not your closet but our closet now. Don’t be surprised if some of your favourite clothes “magically” disappear

He becomes very proud and energetic when wearing your stuff or vice versa, he puffs his chest out like a pigeon but he does get very serious and apologetic if he accidentally damages your things and will immediately buy you a new one

A chronic clothes stealer, he has most definitely taken your non-important items with him to missions. He stores them under his camp bed, he calls it a mini shrine that he worships for good luck

Kyle “Gaz” Garrick

Probably the most fashionable out of the 141 (although the bar isn’t set particularly high), he has a range of hoodies for various casual occasions, dark for covert missions, brighter if he’s just out with friends, you name it, he’s probably got it

His clothes are so high quality you honestly feel bad so you initially avoided using his clothes, which just broke Kyle’s heart because he’s an absolute sucker for the trope of partners sharing their things. He has to near beg you to take his stuff

But when you finally do? Especially out of your own volition? Kyle is all over you, praising you to the moon and back about how good you look, trying to encourage you to take more of his things

Extra points if you borrow his hats, Kyle swears it’s the cutest sight in existence and now he has a reason to look forward to a sunny day

Loves cuddling you while you’re wearing his hoodie, particularly where you’re lying on the couch and he’s on top of you, head on your stomach or chest. He has to give himself credit, he bought some very soft hoodies and on you with his head listening to your heartbeat has him feeling like he’s lying on a cloud

He adores how at the end of the day his clothes end up smelling like you instead, he’s almost tempted to never wash them

He will never gift you clothes, if you want clothes you’re taking them from his wardrobe and that’s final. The only exception is if he wants you two to wear stylish matching outfits where he’ll supply you with what you need

Alejandro Vargas

A man of style, Alejandro much prefers his turtleneck jumpers (also because he knows he absolutely kills it) but he does have a hoodie or two if he’s really prioritising discretion or comfort for the day

Seeing you in his hoodie gets him incredibly riled up, even if to you it’s not incredibly stylish or sexy. The instant he lays eyes on you in his clothes he’s rushing up to pull you into a passionate kiss, hands tugging and massaging you through the thick fabric. Whenever you have to pull away he’s purring in Spanish before pulling you back in

Obsessed with seeing you in his clothes, if you ask for a jacket he’s automatically going to his wardrobe. If you want your own clothes you’re going to have to get it yourself because Alejandro can be very stubborn when he wants to be and will only bring you his own attire

Alejandro will gladly borrow your clothes if he can, but only in private. It destroys him inside because he desperately wants to be publicly associated with you but he will never risk your safety associating with him in Las Almas for his own selfish wishes

An absolute gentleman, he loves putting clothes on you. He opens up the hoodie so it’s easier for you to slip your arms in, he zips it up for you, and then he tugs at the folds so it compliments you perfectly. In his world, you’re the emperor and he’s but a humble and grateful servant, he’s not letting you lift a finger

The only thing he could enjoy more than putting on your clothes is taking them off for you. Not even in a lustful manner (although that’s not off the table for him), it just feels intimate, like he’s pulling armour off of you, with you entrusting him with your most vulnerable self and he’s honoured you trust him this much

Rodolfo “Rudy” Parra

He likes his cosiness and practicality so he has a fair lot of hoodies and he’s more than happy to lend them to you. You don’t even have to ask, he just assumed that when you two became a couple his stuff was yours too

But when Rudy first saw you in his clothes, he was taken aback. He never thought much of his clothes, they just look decent and offered functionality, so how did you make such mediocre items look so damn good?

Gets oddly sentimental when he sees you in his clothes. It’s such a domestic sight, one he thought he’d never see when he dedicated himself to Las Almas. Every time he’s holding you close, peppering your face with brief but hefty kisses. You won’t be escaping his grip anytime soon

Rodolfo will only borrow your clothes if you explicitly tell him you can. He adores you and treats all your items as something sacred, it feels almost blasphemous using your things

When he does use your items, he realised it’s been a long time since he’s felt bashful. Not that he’s embarrassed or ashamed of you, far from it. He just knows some of his soldiers will ask and he’s near giddy that he can talk about you

Another clothes helper, he giggles when he sees you get tangled and lost in his slip on hoodie, accidentally trying to put your head through the arm sleeve. He gently guides you, and when you finally poke your head out, he gives you a soft smile and a kiss on the forehead as though he hasn’t seen you in months

“Ah, I found you mì amor.”

Call of Duty Masterlist

[jjenthusee]

A Broken Mug

Pairing: Jason Todd x GN!Reader

a/n: i wrote this because of @janybabyy hilarious comments on my last angsty drabble. It made my morning and I wanted to also contribute some fluff as an apology lol (there also might be a little steamy scene if u squint) i love reading comments and reblogs so leave some if your comfortable ENJOY (also the angsty drabble is here)

tags: tons of fluff, shameless flirting

3.5k words

When Jason went out on patrol, you busied yourself filling the time with aimless activities and chores until he came home. You didn’t plan on trying to shift your sleep schedule with his reversed one, but with your lenient job and bad sleeping habits, nothing was really stopping you.

You got to see him come back from patrol and took naps on the couch together, so you didn’t see any problem with it. Tonight was also any other night that you were walking around the apartment getting any chores done.

Your usual weekly mop and washing your dishes at three in the morning was productive. Until you tried to see how many mugs you can try to carry from the drying mat to the cabinet, then you dropped two mugs.

An old shark mug that would be missed and Jason’s birthday mug you got him last year. You wished you could reverse time, but you stood there watching the mess you created.

Now with the broken pieces, a tube of super glue and your will, you sat on the floor studying how to put the mug back together. The rug in your living room doubled as your current operating table as you laid your supplies around the fragments of Jason’s previous birthday gift.

You had two hours to make it looked like nothing happen, not cry and figure out if you picked up all the pieces. Then apologize to Jason and promise to never pick up a mug again.

…

You looked at your finished handiwork, eyeing the glued ceramic pieces of Jason’s mug.

It looked bad. The glue had settled in some of the smaller pieces, but almost the entire tube was gone and you were out of options. Maybe some last finishing touches, but that wouldn’t fix the problem of it being broken in the first place and you weren’t sure if this was even safe to drink out of anymore. If it didn’t leak.

Now your boyfriend’s precious mug became the victim of your carelessness. The handle broke off completely and the rim had several chipped pieces. With a final attempt you managed to somehow pray that the handle fit and it did, but there were definitely pieces that didn’t fit that smoothly.

Luckily, when the mug fell it didn’t fall onto the floor like the other victim, but onto the kitchen counter. The impact could’ve been worse, but some higher understanding kept most of the mug still intact, but ceramic was fragile, so only so much could be held together against the force of gravity.

“Maybe he won’t notice?” You sighed defeatedly picking at the dried glue.

“Notice what?”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at Jason’s voice. You didn’t expect him to be casually standing near the window, standing tall behind you in full Red Hood gear.

You always did manage to forget about his stealth and agility. You nearly smacked him with a pan when you thought a burglar was in your kitchen when you first started dating. Good thing the flowers he brought with him were unharmed.

After closing the window, he slowly removed his leather jacket and gloves with visible exhaustion in his movements, relieved to remove a layer of his nightly outings.

“Welcome home.” You softly spoke, but a bit of strain crept into your voice at the realization that you didn’t clean your mess in time. You whipped your head back to your crime scene that sat in front of you.

Trying to act as naturally as possible, you capped the glue shut.

“Another night of being a handsome vigilante taking down kidnappers and stopping drug trafficking?” You teased as you shifted your body fully toward Jason, no doubt the slight hesitation in your voice giving you away, but you grabbed the tube of super glue, quickly shoving it in your sweatpants pocket as you spoke.

“Nah, only drug trafficking.” Jason lazily said, not paying direct attention to your awkward movements as he emptied his hidden arsenal of weapons off his body. “I made Roy handle the kidnappers.” A hint of amusement in his voice as he stretched his body, muscles contorting. The movement more visible with his jacket off.

“Only drug trafficking.” You tried mimicking him, giving a bad deep voice impression. You slid the mug closer to you, flush against your back so he wouldn’t see it from his angle.

Jason stopped in the middle of his post-patrol routine to look at you. His helmet tilting at you slightly, analyzing you.

Shit. He noticed something.

“Jay, my love, did you shine your helmet recently? It looks shiny and I couldn’t help but notice—“ Your voice quickly died as your gaze shifted from his red helmet down to his hands on his utility belt, lazily resting on the release latch. The look was…wow.

“Cleaner and polish.” Jason spoke slowly, clearly feeling smug under his helmet. He was all too familiar with that look in your eyes. You could practically see the smirk forming.

Click. The belt released as it fell loosely around his waist. Your mouth felt dry. You snapped yourself out of your thoughts.

You can eye-fuck him later, you wanted to hide the cup, but delaying your apology until tomorrow didn’t feel right.

Jason gave one last glance at you, then resumed his attention to his gear as he took the belt off.

“I was thinking we could eat something simple tonight…or morning? I guess it’ll technically be breakfast.” You shifted to get up, grabbing the cup along with you. Thankfully you were able to grab the handle while keeping your eyes on Jason, making sure it wasn’t entirely noticeable.

Jason removed his helmet, a puff of air releasing as he placed it on the dining table.

“Wanna cook something or pick up? It’s kinda limited since it’s early, but there’s always something open.” His voice was clearer, more defined without the modulator distorting it. A slight raspiness that poked at you.

Without the helmet, you could see Jason’s messy hair, matted in some places and fluffier in others, a slight stubble pricking his jaw and that sweet exhausted expression that made him mellow. Your heart raced every time you saw Jason’s face after a night of patrol.

You need to focus. You were getting distracted.

A distraction. That’s what you needed.

With the cup still held behind your back, you walked to Jason as he was placing his belt on the back of the dining chair. He didn’t expect the sudden closeness, but didn’t refrain from it. He looked more…curious than anything.

Jason watched as you reached for his face with your free hand. You didn’t fully extend your arm, purposefully leaving some distance that he would have to fill himself. Giving him the time to come to you.

Sometimes Jason needed time to adjust after a night of patrol, some days he wanted to come to you and other days you had to step in and make baby steps towards him, guiding him back to the domestic life he shared alongside you. Either way you waited and were willing to wait as long as he needed.

This was one of the moments you reached out first, asking to touch him. It was a quiet signal letting your hand hang in the air. Sometimes he held that hand or he let you caress his face. Despite how much you told him he didn’t have to follow it every time, he always did. Like telling you ‘no’ would end him.

Like a magnet, Jason lowered his face placing his cheek in your hand, placing a kiss inside of your palm.

Your heart raced as you watched his careful movements.

He moved his own hand over yours, intertwining your fingers together, but keeping your hand on his cheek. His skin was slightly cold, but he kept your hand in his and he rubbed his face on your palm trying to absorb your heat. It must’ve been freezing outside, maybe you need to get him some hand warmers to keep in his jacket, but a part of you also wanted him to use you to warm himself up.

You felt him sigh as his lips touched your skin. His eyes closed as he fully lost himself in the moment, it felt like he was giving you a silent ‘I missed you’ as he refused to move from you and you squeezed his hand, hopefully giving the message back.

As he breathed your scent in, you counted his eyelashes while you waited, refusing to disrupt his moment from decompressing from patrol. You loved seeing his face from this angle because you could see that some of his eyelashes were white like his hair. It wasn’t that prominent, but your heart fluttered that you were probably one of the only people to know.

Your thumb caressed the edge of his eye, watching him lean into your hand more.

Jason’s eyes opened, barely enough to gaze at you, but you wouldn’t miss the devotion that sat in his eyes. He trusted you and is willing to give himself to you, to let you touch him. To ruin him, if you desired.

“Jay…” You breathlessly spoke into the intimacy pulling at you.

Jason stayed still, waiting for permission, for you to lead him in whatever direction you wanted. All of his resolve focused on what you desired. He was hesitant to even breathe too hard, if it meant you would move away.

You carefully leaned into him, mindful to not touch him more than you already were. Moving your hand from his cheek to the back of his neck. Pushing your fingers through the edges of his hair, his labored breathing on your lips as you hovered over his mouth, just near enough to touch his lips if you spoke.

You wanted his full attention.

You couldn’t tell if you tugged him first or he leaned in, but you were too lost in the kiss to care. You started with a gentle touch, but once Jason angled his face to bring your body closer to him, it felt like he wanted to engulf you.

You felt his fingers slowly itch onto your waist, playing with the fabric of your shirt. You flinched, surprised at the sudden, but welcomed touch. You moved your hand holding the cup—you forgot about the mug!

Luckily, your realization went unnoticed by Jason. He pressed into you, leaning your neck further back to adjust to his height. The new development let a sound reach his throat, but with your bodies this close, you could feel the murmur. Your stomach fluttered.

Before his hands could move toward your back, you maneuvered your arm still holding onto the cup to avoid getting tangled. You laid your arm on his shoulder, holding the mug by its handle, careful to not let the mug touch him, letting him get even closer.

The movement allowed him to breathe onto your mouth, lost in your contact. It made your stomach warm at the sound.

Your mind went blank and you instinctively followed the movements of the man in front of you. You lead him to this point, but with the permission you gave him, he followed his desires. You wanted him to want more, he barely asks for things and he deserved to be spoiled.

His hands found the edge of your shirt, placing his cold hands underneath onto your bare waist, rubbing the skin with his thumbs.

You shuddered. He watched the tremor in your body, resting his nose next to yours. Dwelling in intimacy and shaky breaths.

Once his hands started to warm against your heated skin, you looked up to him. Watching his reddened skin. Maybe you can mention the mug now.

“Jay…I broke—“

Jason was too infatuated with the moment and holding you in his embrace that he didn’t comprehend anything you were saying. He took advantage of your mouth opening to deepen the kiss. You wrapped your arms around his neck, to keep yourself from falling and to somehow find a way to merge your body with his.

You took a sudden breath, releasing yourself from Jason’s mouth. A sudden…hunger in his eyes as he watched you breathe. You gripped onto the handle of the mug and Jason’s broad shoulder, overwhelmed by the combination of Jason’s touch, breathing and look.

He must’ve not felt any different as he nipped at your jaw, using his hand to cup your neck and angle your face up to give him more access.

“Jay—“ You breathlessly pleaded.

Clink.

The handle of the mug broke off, leaving the handle in your hand and the rest of the cup bouncing off of Jason’s back and shattering on the floor.

Both of your movements stop as Jason shoves you behind him, shielding you from the imaginary attacker.

You could only see the back of his shoulders and his flushed ears peaking out as you looked at the broken handle still in your hand.

“Jay…it’s fine.” You tapped his shoulder to point to the cup broken on the ground. “It’s my fault.”

“Wha?” Jason asked, still breathless as he was ready in attack mode.

“I was trying to tell you, but I—got distracted.” You cleared your throat.

Jason leaned down taking some of the broken pieces near his boot in his hands. Recognizing the fragments once he got a closer look.

“I’m sorry. I tried to fix it, but then I guess super glue isn’t as reliable as I thought—“

“Sweetheart—“ Jason soothed as he stood up.

“Then I forgot about the time and you came back before I could figure out what to do. I can buy you a new one—“

“Sweetheart, it’s okay.” He placed his hand under your chin, grabbing your attention. “It’s really alright.”

“But look at it.” You defeatedly gestured to the broken handle still clutched in your hand.

Jason could only laugh watching his partner sadly show him the aftermath of their handiwork, his full set of teeth visible, giving him the cute boyish look you loved.

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s really okay.” He grabbed the handle out of your hands. “I’m glad you didn’t cut yourself from the broken pieces, but we don’t need to fix it.”

He had a smirk on his face.

“Especially with super glue.”

“Hey! I had to use what we had in the drawers.” You puffed.

He placed the pieces on the counter. Carefully moving you to the couch, so you don’t step on any sharp pieces. Cleaning up the mess of his cup.

You silently watched, making you feel worse. Jay noticed your sullen look and consoled you as he swept up any left over pieces.

“I have shoes on still and your in your socks, I just want to make sure it’s safe.”

You frowned further.

A small tender smile spread across his face as he properly disposed of the remaining pieces and walked over to the couch. Your eyes followed his form as he kneeled in front of you, making him sit just below your eye level with your legs in between his, gently taking your hands in his as he methodically rubbed your skin with his thumb. His hands were warm now, probably from your earlier…activity.

“My love, it’s okay. We can replace it or get an entirely new one.”

“But it was a matching set.” You rubbed his hands back.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t choose a new set.” You looked up from both of your hands to his gentle gaze, filled with so much warmth and understanding. “I’ve been meaning to take us to that new pottery place you talked about. We can each make a mug, okay, sweetheart?”

You brought his hands to your lips, gently placing a kiss on his rough hands. A mesmerizing hum left Jason’s mouth.

“Can you make one for me and can I make one for you?” You quietly asked.

Jason laughed, the cute smile poking through again.

“I would love that.”

Maybe breaking Jason’s mug wasn’t so bad after all.

…

Your date to the pottery place was even better than you expected. You got to try something new, Jason made a few cheesy Ghost pottery scene jokes that the instructor probably heard too often and you got to watch Jason’s hands intricately make your brand new mug.

You were internally thanking your clumsiness for breaking his cup earlier in the week and blessing you with the scene of your boyfriend’s biceps. You wish you could brand the memory into your eyes.

Now you tried to concentrate as you painted Jason’s mug. You both decided on painting things about the other person onto the cup, a completely unique design.

You managed to decide on an overall simple red color (surprising, I know), paint a wonder woman emblem and a simplified doodle of Jason’s face. It was your proudest work.

You even snuck in a clumsily written “I love you” with a tiny Red Hood doodle at the bottom of the inside of the cup. A cheesy surprise for him.

“I don’t think I’m made for the arts.” Jason carefully held the paint brush in his hands.

“Don’t say that, your mug shape looks better than mine. Sorry that I made yours a little wonky.” You looked at the slightly slanted rim of the mug.

“I love wonky. You know me so well.” He playfully flirted.

You chuckled at your love-struck boyfriend. You could have given him a ball of clay and he would’ve proudly kept it on his nightstand. You just rolled your eyes at him, knowingly that you also didn’t care if Jason bought a plain cup and handed it to you. You would love it all the same.

A small quiet silence, both lost in your individual masterpieces. You looked up to watch Jay, who concentrated with furrowed brows, trying to add his iconic red bat symbol to your cup. When you noticed he also painted a couple cracks around the handle, clearly digging at the broken handle you religiously held onto earlier that week.

“You’re never going to let that down.” You sighed.

“Huh?”

You pointed at the handle, a smirk appearing on his face.

“Of course, sweetheart, I wish I could’ve gotten a picture of how sad you looked. I would’ve made it my wallpaper.” He chuckled.

“Don’t make fun of me, I was really nervous about telling you. And I lost a pair of sweats because the super glue decided to permanently close my pocket.”

“I’m not, I thought it was cute.” He looked up from your mug. “Besides I already saw it when I crawled into the apartment.”

“What!?” You almost shouted. “What do you mean? You knew?”

“I didn’t know anything, just saw it, but you gave yourself away after you called me ‘my love’ and then I just wanted to see what you were planning.” He finished painting the outline of his iconic bat symbol. “You always call me that when you’re up to something.”

“That’s embarrassing.” You put your paint brush on the table, attempting to cover your flushed face with the back of your hand, careful to not put any paint on your face. “I thought I managed to get past you, but I guess making out doesn’t really count as a distraction.”

“Oh, no, I was distracted, so I guess your plan worked.” He placed his finished work on the table. “But, you’ll have to try harder next time, my love.”

He was getting too cocky now.

“If I tried harder, you would have a hard time getting up in the morning, my love.” You teased.

Jason’s eyes widened. A second to process what you said, then a brazen look in his eye appeared.

“What if that’s my plan all along, my love?” He shamelessly asked.

You leaned in closer to Jason’s side, hiding your voice away from the other customers in the shop.

“One of us isn’t going to be able to walk and it won’t be me.” You joked, both of you laughing at one another. You moved away from Jason. “I think we better stop before we get kicked out, your Ghost jokes earlier already have us on the instructor’s last straw. If it’s not cringy jokes, we’ll be kicked out for indecency.”

“There goes my plans of making out next to the kiln.” Jason shook his head. “I guess it would be bad if we couldn’t pick up our mugs later.”

Your eyes widened at your boyfriends hidden plans. A small twinkle of mischievousness in his eyes.

“We have to change up our make out spots once in a while, can’t let them catch on.” You playfully nudged his arm.

Jason smiled and brought your hands up to his mouth, a small kiss on your knuckles that were covered in paint.

A flutter inched in your stomach at the brief contact.

“Then we should schedule a knitting class tomorrow.”

[secriden]

God, Fadel is just so helplessly in love and so painfully resigned to his harrowing existence that it just fully broke my heart.

Because Fadel thinks that everything Style has told him -- every single facet of Style's frustratingly fascinating character, everything he thought he knew about Style -- has been a lie from the very beginning. In his confession, Bison never clarifies when he told Kant to find someone to pursue him, so Fadel is operating under the assumption that Style is, and has always been, a stranger to him.

Which is why we see Fadel constantly trying to 'figure' Style out in the episode. We see it right in the first scene when Style jokingly snarks, "I'm just curious to know what to expect. It's not like I can just turn the switch on, you know?" Now this should not have thrown Fadel at all, because the joke and suggestive tone and sassy little head flick is very much in line with Style's personality and way of communicating.

But Fadel literally just stops and stares at Style for so long that Style even starts looking a bit confused as he blinks back at Fadel. Fadel has convinced himself that Style is some master manipulator, and he's trying desperately to figure out what Style's plan is (escape? another betrayal?) that he misses the obvious answer which is that Style is just casually making a joke/conversation because this is just how Style talks.

Look at the way he turns so sharply with this startled, confused look (that starts to turn slightly wistful at the end) when Style calls him faen. This wasn't in the cards for Fadel and it's so frustrating and confusing (and painful) to hear Style throw the lie around so casually when it was something that mattered to him. Fadel thinks this is Style playing an angle but he can't see what it is or what Style stands to gain from it, and it leaves him utterly unmoored.

And in all this searching for hidden meanings and new deception, Fadel misses that Style is acting very much in good faith: the story Style comes up with about why they're looking for a missing person on their own like this (instead of, y'know, going to the police like upright, non-hitman citizens would've) was really good to explain their urgency/frustration and preempt any suspicion so that the auntie is unlikely to report them to the cops. Style is actively, genuinely helping Fadel out and using his excellent skills at playing Asian aunties to full effect for him.

Ugh, just look at how earnest and worried Style's expression is!? He totally disarms the auntie while I bet she would've been a lot more suspicious and distrustful if grumpy face on the left had come asking questions alone.

And Fadel literally keeps missing when Style is being honest. Or rather, he is wilfully refusing to believe or trust in that earnestness. Style hasn't made any attempts to run away or even hint to the auntie that he needs help, but Fadel won't trust him (because he's still, even now, waiting for the other shoe to drop; for yet another betrayal).

And Style keeps doing and saying things that don't make sense for the role Fadel's assigned him because why would a police informant who is just trying to get evidence of your crimes say or do any of this?? What does he stand to gain by keeping up the pretence? Does he know that every word that dangles his love like an impossible temptation is more knives in Fadel’s chest? But Style is all earnestness and something in Fadel can still recognise that and that’s why Fadel is constantly swinging from anger and resignation to agony and hope. Just the look of sincere, wordless, helpless bafflement on Fadel's face!? The way it screams 'Why are you doing this to me??!??'

I think this is why we get silly-goofy-funny music for the first half of Style's harrowing confession. Because this scene is shot from Fadel's perspective and he thinks, at first, that this is yet other play or ridiculous attempt to get a rise out of him. And it's not until Style starts talking about his mother that the comedy music finally stops and turns sad. Because this -- this is something that Fadel knows is real (at least he should know that Style's mom really did die when Style was a kid; that would've turned up in the background check), and it suddenly becomes clear to Fadel that this time Style is serious.

And oh, this shakes Fadel like nothing else has since Style said the words "I really do love you". Because Style gives this to him without any hesitation, with full vulnerability. Style is so openly, almost brutally honest in this moment. He's terrified and sad and hurting and it's horrifying because this sincerity forces Fadel to face the bitter truth that the journey his rage and his anger has set them on leads to only one conclusion.

Fadel simply cannot handle that right now. He's not ready to face the reality that his only real option, the only logical choice is that Fadel must kill Style. Because Style has now seen the full extent of his darkness; Style knows and has been hurt and shaken and terrified because Fadel has repeatedly threatened his life. Style's very existence is now a threat to not only Fadel and Bison's continued freedom but also his mother and Keen and anyone else that Fadel has ever been trained to put first.

Style lies next to him in bed, sobs wracking his body, and Fadel cannot let himself reach out because to do so is to acknowledge the truth of Style's words again. To do so is to open the door to trust, to admitting that he still cares about Style, that Style's tears still have the power to hurt him.

That Fadel is still so painfully, hopelessly, terribly in love with Style.

Because Fadel still remembers the last time he reached out and held Style in his arms whilst knowing that he was betrayed and that their love was a lie. Fadel remembers that even then, all he could do was cling even more tightly to Style and hope that the music and their shifting footsteps would be enough to hide his silent tears.

And just as his heart froze his finger on the trigger, so too does his fear hold him captive here. Because Fadel knows, he knows, he knows down to the marrow of his bones that if he allows himself to touch, then this time— this time, he won't be able to let Style go.

[luv4freddie]

Polaroid Love - F.W

Fred goes to work with his father and comes home with a muggle Polaroid camera, deciding the best use of it would be to take horrendous pictures of his girlfriend.

Fred x fem!Muggleborn reader, established relationship, reader gets red, house and age not specific, tooth rotting fluff bc I love lovesick Fred, 1.2 k words

Being a muggleborn at the Weasley household was an experience, to say the least.

In the last week since you’ve been at the Burrow, you’ve explained what rubber ducks are for, how to operate a microwave, and Pythagorean theorem.

Today Aurthur took the boys to work with him, so you were currently helping Molly cook dinner.

You had yet to understand the witchy way of cooking, so you were stuck mixing a bowl by hand while Molly sent knives, pots, and pasta flying all across the room.

You ducked a flying cutting board right as the group of rowdy boys entered the front door, your boyfriends voice in particular carrying over the noise of clattering dish ware.

“Honey, we’re home.” Aurthur calls, and Molly meets them all at the door, asking you to ‘keep an eye on’ the multitude of activity in the kitchen.

You look around with wide eyes, imagining all the magical pots dropping to the floor and spoons stopping their stirring, Molly walking in and wondering how you were so incompetent that you would never be able to cook and therefore would be a horrible wife to her son.

You’re only snapped out of your reverie by a flash of light in your eyes, and you tumble back to your current environment— all the dishes are still floating, the spoons were still moving, and Fred was staring at you with a giant grin on his face.

“Hi Freddie!” You light up at the sight of your boyfriend, but don’t allow his attempt at hugging you, too focused on not disappointing your (hopefully) future mother-in-law.

“They’re not gonna stop working unless mom makes them, these things are always going.”

But you refuse to budge, and Molly walks in to see you holding your boyfriend away with one hand on his chest while you continue trying to stir with the other.

She lets out a laugh, telling Fred to leave you alone and go wash up before dinner.

“One kiss? Pleaseeee?” He gives you puppy eyes, and your face goes bright red.

“Not in front of your parents!” You hiss, but he steals a one anyway before running up the stairs and out of the way of the punch you tried to throw at him.

Molly pretends not to have seen, and you let your face cool down before asking what she wants you to do next.

Fifteen minutes later you’re sat at the large table, sandwiched between the twins while Ron talks to you from across the table.

“It was pretty fun, and we all got muggle souvenirs afterward, can you explain to me what this is?” He asks, holding up a PEZ dispenser with a cartoon character head on top.

You laugh, explaining how to get the candy out and watching as a few of the Weasley’s around the table stop to watch, Aurthur positively beaming at the discovery.

“Take a bite before dad can ask you something,” Fred whispers urgently in your ear, and you go to say something back but see Aurthur open his mouth on the other side of the table and you quickly scoop as much pasta into your mouth as you can fit.

You hear Fred laugh at you, and you turn to give him a glare; although it’s less scary due to the copious amounts of noodle hanging out of your mouth.

A flash once again momentarily blinds you, and you finally realize what it is when you see the small Polaroid camera in your boyfriend’s hand.

You go to yell at him, but still have pasta in your mouth so you settle for an angry groan and another smack to his arm.

You watch in horror as a piece of film comes out of the camera, which your boyfriend takes gingerly and looks at expectantly as it develops.

You finally manage to swallow your large bite, and you snatch the photo from his grasp, immediately being greeted by your own face, round with food in your cheeks and wide eyes while strands of pasta hang down your chin and sauce sits on the corners of your mouth.

“Freddie,” you groan in annoyance, but he just takes the photo back from your hands and looks at it proudly.

“It’s a lovely representation of you, darling.”

“It is not!!”

George is laughing too, and you turn back to your plate, trying not to think about the fact that your boyfriend now has two horrible pictures of you for keepsakes.

You try to help clean up after dinner, but Molly insists that someone else does it since you helped cook, so you head upstairs to your boyfriend’s room while Ron and Ginny grumble.

“Evening, love,” Fred greets as you enter the twins’ room.

“Y/n,” George greets as well, tipping his nonexistent hat to you before turning his back to you so he can start a letter to Angelina.

Your boyfriend uses the opportunity to wrap his arms around you, trapping you in his embrace and placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I missed you today.” He mumbles into your hair.

“It wasn’t even a full day,” you laugh, the sound muffled by his chest.

He scoffs, sitting down on his bed and pulling you onto his lap.

“So what, I’m not allowed to miss my girl?”

You feel your cheeks warming at the claim of being his, and you give him a teasing smile, “well when you say it like that..”

Before you can even move there’s another flash and you immediately groan, burying your head into the crook of your boyfriend’s neck.

“I’m really starting to resent your dad for getting you that.”

You feel his shoulders shake with laughter, but all he says is “I think it’s my second favorite possession.”

You raise an eyebrow at him, pulling back so he can see it.

“Second favorite?”

“Yep. After these pictures.” He grins, now holding up all three photos he’s taken of you since being home.

“Why can’t you just take pictures like a normal person?” You ask, looking at the two new photos, the one from earlier of you with a wooden spoon in your hand and eyes looking around while bowls float around your head, and the newest one of you sat on Fred’s legs with pink cheeks and a grin on your face.

“Normal people don’t get to keep your happy face in their pockets though, now do they?”

You watch as he puts the photos back, and you melt at the thought of your boyfriend wanting to document your joy to keep as his own.

“I’m always wearing my happy face when I’m around you, Freddie.”

He grins (ignoring George’s gagging) and pulls you down onto his bed, smothering you in kisses until he can no longer keep himself up and your face is brighter than his hair.

“Guess I’ll have to get more film then.”

And he does.

In fact, by the time you get back to Hogwarts from the holidays he’s got a whole wall of polaroids .

You in his Christmas sweater with a proud smile on your face and an F across your chest, you being squeezed by his mother in the worlds tightest hug, you on a broom in his backyard and a quaffle in your arms, you asleep on his bed, even one of you puckering up as if to give the camera a kiss.

And no matter how many times he looks at them, Fred still stares at the photos with a lovesick smile on his face, absolutely in awe at the ability to capture pictures that are so you, so full of light and love that he feels like the luckiest man on Earth to get to be yours.