#New Look pink ribbed sweater

[thestylesplash]

Neon Check Blazer + Style With a Smile Link Up

It’s already late April and the weather continues to be disappointing. I remember in 2020 during the first lockdown we had glorious warm weather. No sunbathing this Spring that’s for sure. This neon check blazer had me reaching for my sunglasses though! There’s no denying that I have a blazer addiction. They are my favourite pieces to look for in charity shops and on resale sites. This neon…

[stargirlygirl]

how they react to your new top

xavier/caleb x bubbly!fem!reader

summary: you bought a fitting pink henley top and show it to your bf

contains: nsfw, second base (titty sucking), implied sex, 1.8k words

xavier

Xavier groans lightly from his sprawled-out position on the couch as the front door thuds shut. His eyes are closed, the world pinkish to him when the overhead light flicks on. He smirks slightly as he hears you curse beneath your breath about interrupting his nap. Fluttering his eyes open, he listens to your soft footsteps and the rustling of bags.

You do your best to move around your apartment quietly, but you freeze in place as your sleepy bunny sits up groggily, those dopey blues on you. Giggling, you waltz over to him and set your shopping bags on the coffee table.

“Hi, baby,” you coo sweetly as you stand over him, pushing back his soft, dishevelled locks. His veiny hands come to your hips, and he holds them loosely while you cup his cheeks.

Xavier grins lazily, “Hi.” You lean down and peck his lips.

Straightening up, you turn around and grab one of your bags, rambling, “Honey, do you wanna see the new top I got?”

“Mhmm, sure,” he yawns, covering his mouth with one hand. You pull out a pink top from the brown bag and hold it up to show your boyfriend.

“Look. It’s a henley! Remember how I was saying that I wanted one of these as it’s getting colder,” you babble. He blinks slowly, and for a moment, you think he didn’t catch any of what you just said. He nods, his silvery tendrils falling back in his eyes after all your hard work.

Xavier suggests, “Why don’t you try it on?” Squealing excitedly, you scamper off to your bedroom to throw it on

In your absence, your boyfriend pulls the other items you got out of the remaining bags. A vanilla candle, some skincare products, condoms— the essentials. He sets them out on the table and chucks the paper bags into the recycling bin.

When you walk back in, he’s sitting on the sofa, sniffing the vanilla candle. His eyes widen, and he places the candle back down on the table with a clank.

You’re not wearing a bra. That’s the first thing he notices. The second thing: the fabric of your new top is terribly thin.

Dashing over to him, Xavier’s gaze can’t help but follow the bouncing of your breasts. His thoughts are anything but good-natured as you come to stand in front of him again.

Hands on your waist, you grin, “So, what do you think?” He gulps, eyes flickering between your face and your chest. For the first ten seconds, he doesn’t respond, making your shoulders slump.

“Do you not like it?” You pout. He shakes his head curtly and glances down at his knees.

“No, that’s not it,” he mutters. Tilting your head to the side, you notice the pink spreading across his pale cheeks.

“Xaviieerrrrr,” you coo. “What is it then?” Glancing back up, he pats the space next to him.

“Come sit,” he says quietly. You plop down beside him, arms flopping on your lap as you stare at him expectantly. His hand lifts and extends toward you, but stops mid-air. It hovers, close yet so far. You grab his wrist and place his palm on your shoulder. His fingers are cold as he traces the v-neckline, eventually thumbing the ribbed edge beneath your collarbone.

“It’s,” he starts. After a few seconds, he goes on, “Thin. Are you sure this is going to be warm enough for winter?”

You shrug, “Well, I was thinking I could wear it underneath, you know? Like I’d pair it with a sweater, coat, and scarf.” He hums in agreement, his fingertips dusting your smooth skin. They trail lower, his knuckles brushing the top of your breast.

“It’s also a bit revealing,” he states.

You grin, “Well, yeah! That’s kinda the point, baby.”

“A bit too revealing,” your boyfriend remarks as he tugs the fabric down, revealing more of your tit.

You grab his hand as you squeal, “Xavier! What’re you doing?!” He smirks, just a little, as you stare at him with eyes the size of saucers. Being the menace he is, your boyfriend pulls your shirt further down, deaf to your complaints. Letting go, the neckline sits below one breast.

Instantly, your nipple hardens from the cool breeze flowing into the living room from an open window. He cups your boob like it’s the most natural thing to do in this situation, pinching your erect peak between his fingers and rolling it from side-to-side. And he dares to meet your shocked gaze with the most innocent look in his starry blues and a sweet smile on his face.

“Oh, look. It slipped,” he murmurs while his free hand snakes around your waist and pulls you into his firm body. Your hands fly up to his chest, a small whine escaping your lips as he leans down and leaves sloppy kisses along your neck.

“Xav,” you mewl, your breath hitching in your throat. Down your clavicle and sternum, he kisses, all the way to your exposed breast. He nips at the delicate fat gently before sucking on it. Your moans are broken as your hands slide up and fingers tangle in his silky locks.

“X-Xav,” you moan, your back arching as he takes your nipple into his hot mouth. He looks up at you with doe eyes, intent on seeing your every reaction while his tongue circles the sensitive bud.

Pulling off with a wet pop, he murmurs, “I think you should only wear this top at home, my dear.” You nod enthusiastically, guiding his mouth back to your breast.

“F-fuck, yeah, baby,” you whine, tugging on his hair as he sucks on your nipple. Tracing your neckline again with those long fingers, he shoves the top down. Your other breast falls out, and your boyfriend switches to pleasuring it with his mouth. All the while, he kneads at your already spit-covered nipple with his fingers. The cold air makes you hiss, but it’s his tongue that makes your thighs clench.

Biting your lip, you glance at the packet of condoms on the coffee table. You smirk. He unpacked your bags. Your head tips back for a moment, lost in the pleasure of this moment, when Xavier’s hand slithers up your chest to your nape. He pushes your head back down so he can stare at you as he drags your pink nub through his teeth.

“Ah! Babe—”

“Do you want to keep going?” He mumbles into your breast.

“Mhmm. Yes, please,” you sigh.

Pulling back, Xavier trails feverish kisses up the column of your neck to your awaiting lips. You moan into his mouth, cupping his jaw as you angle your head. His tongue darts across your lower lip, and when you open wider, he tastes you hungrily. His hands roam down to your hips as he presses you flush against his body; your soft curves are the perfect contrast to his defined contours.

Much to your delight, it doesn’t take long for your lover to rip into that new box of condoms.

caleb

You bound up to Caleb, who’s currently chopping carrots. Wrapping your arms around his torso, you nuzzle your face into his back. He laughs, the sound so carefree it puts you at ease as it reverberates through your body.

“Miss me, pips?” He teases. Pulling back, you peek out from behind him, trying to catch his attention at his side. Your boyfriend places the knife down and turns to face you. His violet eyes drop from yours to your chest in a second, noticing the new shirt and your stiff nipples poking through it.

“New top?” He asks, his large hands already grabbing at your hips and drawing you in close.

You chirp, “Mhm-hm. I just got it today. Do you like it?” Caleb leans down and kisses your forehead for a long moment. He holds your hands as he steps back and takes in how fitting this thin top is.

“’Course I do, honey. It looks great,” he smirks. You jump up a little, positively perked up by his approval.

“Really?” You grin as you sway his hands.

He chuckles, “Yeah. I just think you should wear it around me only, okay?” You frown at his words, your lips looking all kissable as you pout. And kiss them, Caleb does, after tugging you into his broad frame. You clutch his white tank tightly as he sucks on your tongue. Your back arches, his hands shifting from your low back down to your ass. He gives your cheeks a playful squeeze, making you gasp into his mouth.

Pulling back, he nips at your jaw and scatters love bites across your bare neck.

Your hands squeeze his muscular shoulders as you mewl, “Baby, what-what’s wrong with my top? Why can’t I wear it out?”

He chuckles darkly into the crook of your neck, “I think you know why, honey.” One of his hands shifts to your collarbone. Scrunching the flimsy fabric in his fist, he yanks your top down far enough that it gets stuck beneath one breast.

“Caleb!” You shriek. His smirk widens as he squishes your exposed tit, his other hand pressing you firmly into his hard body and tilting you back. You catch a glimpse of that signature grin before he licks a strip up from the bottom of your breast to the top, right over your nipple. His mouth is so warm, and his tongue slimy as it rolls around your sensitive bud.

Your moans bounce off the kitchen counter while you tug on his dark brown locks. Blood rushes up to your face, tinting your cheeks pink as your heart beats rapidly. It’s so loud, you wonder if your boyfriend can hear it with how close he is.

Yanking down the second half of your top, your other breast springs free.

Caleb moves to pleasure it, mumbling into the fat between sucks, “Top’s so thin. Leaves nothing to the imagination. And you look so good in pink. I can’t have anyone else seeing you in this.” You gnaw on your lower lip, stifling your whines as he doesn’t hold back in teasing and tasting your tits. They’re slightly red and tender from his consuming affection as he shifts back.

His nose brushes up your neck as he adjusts your henley, covering up his handiwork. Placing one last kiss on your lips, he lets go of you and returns to the chopping board. You stand there, breathless and feeling unbearably hot in a certain region. Pawing at his side, you give him those puppy eyes he often gives you.

With a sly grin, his cooking is abandoned in favour of another delicacy only you can offer him.

masterlist

star's final words: literally bought one of these tops the other day and my boobs look good in it, so i cooked this up.

[companioncute]

Syncopate my skin to your heart beating

Pairing: Mark Grayson (Invincible (2021)) x fem!girly!reader

Summary: Unlikely friendship, even more unlikely relationship… or is it?

Notes: hey divas… I am soooo bad at posting sorry :(( I get stuck on the nsfw part bc I honestly suck at writing it, but I see the differences in how my nsfw vs sfw posts do, so I guess I’ll be a sellout

Cw: making out, penetrative sex, reader is very stereotypically feminine, reader implied to be upper middle/upper class (or have a suspicious source of income? Up to interpretation), reader is a nerd at heart, reader described as able-bodied (can stand/walk), reader attends university, idiots in love, friends-with-benefits (?) to lovers

Tw: graphic descriptions of sex

From an outside perspective, sure, you and Mark Grayson are an odd pair of friends. By outward appearances, Mark is comic posters with frayed edges, wobbly vintage second-hand vinyl, collared shirts underneath sweaters his mom has bought for him, and windswept hair that not even the usual pound of hair gel he used could tame. You, on the other hand, are glittering tennis jewelry, style section, alabaster pink matelassé nappa leather, and lace-trimmed silk.

On the inside, however, you and Mark are one and the same… to some extent.

“Does it look weird on me?” You ask, your upper body twisted 180 degrees as you look at the back of your new skirt in the mirror. “Is it the slit? I’m not sure I have the legs for this.”

The embroidered sequins catch the light, causing a shimmering effect to draw attention to the pink mini skirt (though Mark would argue that it’s a micro skirt). Two chunky leather buckles clasp the item together at the front, buckled one hole up so that it hangs as ideally low on your hips as you desire.

“Where would you even wear that?” Mark asks, his cheeks flushed as his eyes trace the way the skirt digs into the fat of your hips. “Seems… impractical.”

“It’s cute,” you say with a shrug. “Do you not like it?”

“I— I love it,” he laugh nervously, giving you small grin. “Just not much of a fashion guy. I’m sure I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m trying to give, like, Sydney Sweeney for Miu Miu meets Lily-Rose Depp for Chanel,” you sigh, continuing to twist around yourself to look at the skirt.

“I’m not even going to pretend to know what that means,” Mark snorts, rolling his eyes as he return to the comic you’ve drawn his attention away from. “But… you look, um, good. Great. You always do.”

A part of you wants to tease him, to draw out that pretty flushed pink color on his face, but instead you simply smile.

“Thank you, Mark. That’s really sweet.”

“Yeah, um, don’t mention it,” he laughs softly, unable to look up at you.

You slip out of the skirt, uncaring for the way your lower half is only covered by a pink lace thong and a pair of scrunched-up white ribbed socks that dig into your upper calf.

Changing in front of each other is nothing new. Back when you’d barely grown out of being a toddler, the two of you would run naked around in his backyard while jumping over Debbie’s garden sprinkler system. The difference now is that you’re not children anymore and you certainly don’t look it either. The weight of adulthood is taxing on you both, shown both physically and mentally.

There’s a permanent crease etched into marks forehead, right between his brows. His jaw always looks a little more crooked than the last time you saw him, and whenever he needs to regrow his teeth, they don’t always assume the correct position.

He’s still beautiful.

You’re tired, too. Although you’re no Atlas like Mark, the responsibilities of your education and student assistant jobs and clubs are also taking their toll on you. You hide it well, your concealer always brightening the chronically dark circles around your eyes.

You unbutton your top as well and slip out of your bra before throwing on something more comfortable. A trusted staple; a pink negligée, trimmed with lace. You’re a regular Naomi Lapaglia.

Crawling into the plush pink sheets, you curl up in Mark’s arms.

“I missed you,” you murmur into his neck.

Mark slides the John Constantine, Hellblazer omnibus across your bedside table to wrap his strong arms around you tightly.

“Missed you more,” he replies, running his fingers down your spine.

Your room, your home, is his sanctuary (not that his own home isn’t, but yours is different). It’s just the two of you here, just you and Mark—not Invincible. He’s never Invincible here. Lines tend to blur and you’ll spend hours tangled up in each other only to still call it friendship later.

“Missed you most,” you say, smiling sweetly up at him.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he whispers, fixing the morganite pendant of your necklace. His fingers are warm as they brush against your skin, holding onto the pale pink gem while sliding the hook on the chain onto the back of your neck.

“I’m not doing anything,” you whisper back, blinking heavily as you struggle to keep your eyes open. You’ve spent too many hours staring at a computer screen today.

Mark laugh softly, shaking his head.

“Liar.”

“Nuh-uh,” you murmur, grinning softly. Finely manicured nails scrape gently along his forearm, running over the fine layer of dark hair.

Mark only smiles, then leans down to kiss your forehead.

“Is this new?” You murmur, fingering the material of his shirt—a deep blue boxy t-shirt.

“Mhm,” he hum softly. “My mom got it for me.”

You chuckle softly.

“Debbie has good taste. Blue is your color.”

“Yeah?” He whispers, his breath hitching. It doesn’t matter whether or not it was before… blue is suddenly his favorite color. In fact, he might only wear blue from now on.

“Uh-huh,” you say, your nails carefully trickling down his chest. Your fingers dip under his shirt, splaying out against his abdomen. A sigh leaves you as you rest your head against his chest.

Mark tightens his grip on you, tugging the pink covers up over your shoulders.

“I love you,” he whispers; words he’s spoken many times before, yet never so tenderly. “You know that, right?”

“I love you, too,” you respond, angling your face up to look at him. “More than anything.”

“You can’t just say things like that,” he laughs quietly, his chest rumbling underneath you. His fingers run over your scalp, down your neck and spine again. “You’re gonna give a guy the wrong idea.”

“It’s different when it’s you,” you say, delicately tracing little hearts into the warm skin of his stomach.

It’s things like that which take Mark back to when he’d first introduced you to William, who had been all but bug-eyed at 17, staring at you with wonder. According to him, there was simply no way a girl like you had any reason to show interest in Mark other than to bully him. Then, within the first ten seconds of you opening your mouth, you’d begun gushing about William’s ‘cunty’ LEGO Batman: the video game (PS3) t-shirt which sent you off on a tangent about your chronic overuse of Poison Ivy’s toxic kiss back when you were eight years old, which, yeah, was totally a moment of self-discovery for you.

And then William got it, but Mark still finds himself mulling over his words.

Is he only good enough to be your friend (whom you may or may not kiss every once in a while)?

No. You’ve never made him feel less. If anything, his dorky personality and cringe one-liners only seem to make you adore him more.

“Does it have to be?” Mark asks softly, tapping his finger against the tip of your nose only to get some of your highlighter smudged onto the pad.

You tilt your head, laughing softly.

“What do you mean?”

“Just…” he begins, swiping his thumb across your cheekbone (much to your displeasure, as he always manages to smudge your otherwise perfect blush placement), “no, nothing. Forget it.”

You purse your lips (cutely, Mark notes), smacking your glossy pink lips as you sit up to straddle his lap. Routinely, Mark’s hands find your hips.

“Don’t give me that tone,” you say, raising a brow. “Defeated. Pathetic. Like nothing you have to say has any value.”

He sighs, shaking his head.

“It’s stupid,” Mark argues, his fingers dipping underneath the lace trim that lays flush against your creamy thighs.

“Nothing you ever say is stupid,” you say softly, then grin. “Okay, maybe some of the things you say are… but not this time.”

Mark laugh softly, then leans up to kiss you. It’s not the first time he’s kissed you, but it’s not something you ever really talk about.

A hum leaves you as you melt into the kiss, his strong arms circling your hips and pulling you closer.

“Don’t try to change the topic,” you murmur in between kisses. “I’m not gonna let it go.”

“Stubborn as a mule,” he laughs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to your jaw. “I just… do you never get tired of this?”

You pause, frowning.

“What— us?”

“Wha— no! No, no,” Mark reassures you, his fingers running up the sides of your ribs. “Never us, never you. Just… this uncertainty. I mean, sometimes I… I don’t know if you’re just not looking for more or if it’s because I’m me and—“

“Stop,” you say, curling your fingers around the nape of his neck. “What’re you talking about?”

Mark sighs, his shoulders slumping.

“If there’s one thing I know to be true about you, it’s that you always just go for what you want. If you want something, you take it. And sometimes I just wish you would…”

“What?” You ask, a smile tugging on the corner of your lips. “Take you?”

He laughs, his head slumping down against your shoulder.

“Okay, not great phrasing, but you know what I mean.”

You snort, grinning crookedly at him.

“I know what you mean,” you repeat, sliding your hand delicately up his neck to cradle his jaw, tilting his head back.

He sighs, closing his eyes.

“Consider this,” your murmur, leaning down to kiss his forehead, then both eyelids, the tip of his nose, and finally his lips, “me taking what I want.”

Mark swallows a moan, his grip tightening on your hips as he leans into the kiss. Strong, deft fingers dig into your flesh, then slide down the curve of your ass.

“Mh, love you so much,” he whispers in between kisses, sliding your negligee up alongside his hands’ movement back up to your waist. “You’re too good for me.”

Part of you is tempted to counter with ‘you’re literally Invincible’, but Invincible isn’t a name allowed inside your home—only Mark, your Mark. You’re not going to equate his worthiness of being with you to how strong he is; Mark is enough.

“Love you more,” you whisper, smiling sweetly as your lipgloss gets smeared across his own lips. “It’s always been you.”

You swipe your thumb across his bottom lip, tugging it down as you apply pressure.

“Desire suits you,” you murmur.

Marks stares up at you, pupils blown wide. There’s something about your tone…

“Oh,” he says, grinning boyishly and proudly. “Oh, I get it. That’s the shade name.”

You grin brightly, letting an undignified giggle escape your lips.

“Sure is,” you laugh, kissing him again. “This is a 38 dollar lip balm.”

“That price has to be a criminal offense,” Mark chuckles, his hands running up your sides. “But I’m honored that you’re wasting it on me.”

“It’s never a waste if I’m kissing you,” you tut, brushing his hair back.

“You really mean that, huh,” Mark states softly, smiling to himself.

“Mhm,” you hum, cradling his face in your hands. Long, pinkish nails scrape against his scalp as you run your fingers up and through his hair again, then settling them behind his neck. “I could also just let you borrow some. It suits you.”

“Don’t make me get the spray bottle,” he jokes, pinching your hip.

“Oh, bite me,” you counter, rolling your eyes playfully. “Like there’s anything you wouldn’t let me get away with.”

“Okay, yeah,” Mark says with a soft grin. “Maybe I’m biased when it comes to you.”

“Just a smidge,” you murmur, punching your thumb and index finger together for emphasis.

“Just a smidge,” Mark repeats, pressing a soft kiss to the tip of your nose.

With a giggle, you capture his lips in another slow, deep kiss. You tug lightly on his hair, tilting his head back before letting your lips trail down the column of his throat.

A strangled groan leaves Mark, his grip on your hips tightening as he pulls you closer.

“Baby,” he whispers, “don’t— don’t start something you’re not gonna finish. I’m not strong enough for that.”

“I’ve been considering getting the Tom Taylor Nightwing omnibus when it comes out this summer,” you say simply, peppering soft kisses further down his neck and leaving behind a shimmering pink smudge. “Thoughts?”

“There are literally no thoughts in my head right now,” he laughs softly, smiling dazedly down at you. “Go for it. I’ll— I’ll get it for you.”

“Yeah?” You whisper, smiling sweetly. “You will? Oh, Mark, you’re the best.”

“Uh-huh,” he murmurs, still grinning. “That’s me. The best.”

You reach down, tugging on shirt.

“Off, please,” you say in a polite tone.

“As you wish,” he laughs softly, reluctantly letting go of you to shrug the t-shirt over his head—and not without struggle.

“No, no, I got it,” he says sheepishly, smiling brightly through the darkening of his cheeks as he manages to discard the shirt.

“There we go,” you murmur, running a hand down his chest. “Handsome. You’ve gotten really big these past few years, y’know.”

Sometimes it’s almost too easy.

Mark’s spine straightens and his grin brightens.

“I know, right? Cecil has me on this tight program—“

You slip the negligee off your shoulders, letting the silk pool around your hips and expose your breasts.

“Hoo, boy,” Mark murmurs, grinning boyishly as his train of thought is interrupted. “You don’t know how hard it is having you change around me. I mean, the— the girls are just out, y’know?”

“That’s just, like, on purpose,” you snort, grabbing his strong hands and sliding them up your waist and settling them on top of your breasts, squeezing through his hands.

“Oh, fuck me,” Mark exhales with parted lips and furrowed brows, leaning down to press warm, wet kisses down your sternum.

“About the Tom Taylor run,” you begin, letting go of his hands and settling your fingers in his hair, “I know the art is gorgeous, but is the storylines actually worth it? Oh, who am I kidding? I’m a slut for beautiful comics.”

“Uh-huh,” Mark murmurs, nosing up the underside of one of your breasts. “S’probably fun. I don’t know.”

His tongue runs over your pebbled nipple, closing his lips around the peak with a gentle suction. He mouths at your nipple repeatedly, groaning softly against your skin. The calloused pads of his fingers trace down your back and slip underneath the lacy elastic band of your thong, digging into the fat of your ass.

“Let’s get you out of these, handsome,” you sigh, gently chewing on the inside of your cheek as you reach down to unbutton and unzip his (honestly fugly) khakis.

“Wha— oh. Oh, yeah,” he pants softly, letting his forehead thump down against your chest. He lifts his hips enough to tug the pants down, shuffling to kick them off his ankles without moving you too much. “Got it.”

“You sure do,” you murmur, your voice a soft purr as you brush your lips against his temple . “So strong and capable.”

“Fuck you,” Mark laughs breathlessly, kissing down your sternum again. “I’m trying so hard not be easy right now.”

“I thought you were Invincible?” You whisper with a soft grin.

Mark draws back with a crooked grin.

“Nuh-uh. You just broke the first rule of—“

“If you say Fight Club, I’m kicking you out,” you laugh, gently pushing him down against your covers.

He rests his weight on his elbows, then looks up and smiles softly.

“I’m just Mark, right?”

You nod, kissing him tenderly.

“Mark. Sweet Mark, my Mark.”

“Oh, out the window with not being easy,” he laughs softly, tugging you down and steadying you with his hands as he switches positions so that you’re below him. He hooks your knees over his shoulders, then lifts your hips with his left arm while peeling the negligee off you with his right. Gently lowering you back to the bed, he begins to plant soft, wet kisses up your stomach.

“Mh, oh,” you sigh, your nails scraping down the nape of his neck. “You know how often I’ve thought about you? Just— just thinking about you?”

“If it’s anywhere near as often as I have,” Mark pants, slipping your thong down your legs and ghosting his fingers across your sensitive flesh, “yeah. I think I have an idea.”

“Kiss me again,” you command in a soft tone, and Mark complies.

His lips capture yours in a slow, tender kiss that speeds up your heart rate. His thumb circles your clit, slow at first, then faster as he’s overcome by sheer excitement of being close to you.

“Mark,” you whisper shakily, losing your concentration on the kiss and dipping your face into the crook of his neck. “Mark—“

A soft laugh escapes you, followed by a small moan as you press your lips to his neck.

His middle finger slips inside you—long, strong, deft—as he continues the stimulation on your clit. Moments later, his ring finger follows.

“Mh-“

Long nails dig into his firm back as you claw him down closer.

“C’mere, c’mere,” you whisper, tilting your head up to kiss him again, and when you come, it’s with a soft moan against his mouth.

With a confident grin, he retracts his hand and slips his finger into his mouth to suck them clean.

“Dirty boy,” you comment playfully, brushing his jet black hair back. “Someone’s been getting laid these past few years.”

“Yeah, as if. No, I— I just wanna make sure I treat my girl right, yeah?” He murmurs, leaning down to kiss you again.

“Oh, your girl, huh?” You tease.

“You agreed to it,” he laughs, kissing your cheek, “just before.”

“Mhm,” you hum, kissing his cheek back. “I just like hearing it.”

“Yeah?” He responds, excitement lacing his tone. “My girl? My pretty girl? My sweet girl?”

He plants soft kisses up your jaw.

A silly, girlish giddiness overcomes you much to your own embarrassment.

“You do like it,” Mark laughs, pressing another kiss to your lips.

“Shut up,” you laugh, tugging on his boxers. “Off.”

“Bossy,” he says with a grin, slipping out of his boxer shorts before slotting his hips against yours. “Now be still.”

He reaches over you, his hand blindly fumbling through his wallet before retracting with a condom. Biting the inside of his cheek in concentration (definitely not a habit he’s picked up from you), he rips the package open and rolls the latex down his hardened dick. He grips your hips firmly but gently as he lines up with you before slowly, gently, pushing inside.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, his hand sliding up to splay out against your stomach. “Easy. There we go.”

“Who’re you reassuring?” You exhale with a dazed grin. Your stomach is slightly tensed up, struggling to relax at the foreign intrusion. “Me or you?”

“Both,” Mark responds softly, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he bottoms out. “You make me nervous sometimes, you know.”

“Yeah,” you whisper with a soft nod, eyelids fluttering. “You and me both.”

Slowly, gently, carefully, Mark begins to rock his hips into yours. His lips ghost over the junction between your neck and shoulder as he connects with you through languid strokes. His thumb returns to your clit, and you jump at the sensitivity.

“Mh… ah,” you laugh softly, smiling as you find his lips with your own. “S’nice. That’s— that’s good. Yeah, jus’ like that.”

Your voice turns more and more breathless, the sound partially swallowed by Mark’s mouth against yours.

“Love you so much,” he whines, panting into your mouth. “God, you don’t even— you don’t know.”

“I get it,” you whisper, arms wrapped around his neck tightly, practically clinging to him. “I get it. It’s just us, yeah? For the rest of our lives.”

Mark lets out a groan as he nods, the snap of his hips becoming more fast-paced as he loses his rhythm. It doesn’t take long before he comes, his hips stuttering into yours and his voice breaking as he utters your name. You fall apart in the same moment, underneath his fingertips and safe in his arms.

“You mean that?” He whispers carefully, and you pretend not to notice the sheen to his eyes.

“What?” You ask, dazed and confused.

“Forever,” he reiterates.

You nod.

“Just you and me. Forever.”

[ddejavvu]

Hi Mei! Could you write something where Spencer falls asleep tucked in BAU!readers neck on the jet, and the rest of the team are teasing him, and you, about when sleeping pretty boy will finally just ask you out

fem!reader

--

You usually wouldn't give chase when Derek looks like he's on the verge of teasing you, but the look he's aimed at Spencer from across the jet makes you inexplicably, fiercely protective.

"What? What'd he do?" You ask, glancing down at the sleeping man on your shoulder.

"Nothing! He hasn't done a thing, that's what." Derek scoffs, "He's over there cuddled up on your shoulder like mama and baby and he won't say a damn word to you when he's awake."

"There's nothing to say," You begin an uphill battle, and though the rest of your coworkers aren't usually as voracious as Derek when it comes to ribbing you, they all exchange knowing glances.

"Bullshit."

"Emily's right. He definitely needs to talk to you about his feelings." Penelope nods along, a rare addition to your crew as she's sitting beside you and not on a screen miles away, "I mean, he wouldn't fall asleep on just anyone! He won't even fall asleep on a commercial airline! He stayed awake through an entire cross-country flight because he said the headrest probably wasn't sanitary."

He's not wrong, but you know pointing that out won't help your case.

"He's new to love," Derek sighs, "And one of these days he's just gonna have to knit himself a big boy sweater vest and talk to you."

"I think he's got a lot to say," Rossi agrees, a soft smirk beneath his greying beard, "But that's the one thing he can't talk about."

Rossi has a point. For all of Spencer's incessant rambling, he goes silent when the subject of your relations come up. The team loves to tease him about the way he goes silent and pink-cheeked around you, and you can't argue that it doesn't happen. But you're perfectly fine with taking it slow- in fact, it's endearing to watch him stammer and stutter, so you shift your shoulder lower to be more comfortable for his neck, and tuck him away from the team's wandering eyes.

"Leave him alone." You huff, "All of you- he's sleeping. He's tired from having to deal with you all week. It doesn't matter if he tells me now, or tomorrow, or in a week, or in a month, or in a year! The point is, he'll tell me when he's ready, and then we can-" You stop short, suddenly grasping at straws, "-and then we can.. go from there."

"And what does that mean?" Rossi asks, his brows raised in a challenge, one that you suddenly are afraid to take.

"I- I don't know." You admit, "For now, just- let him sleep. Okay?"

"Okay." Derek raises his hands placatingly, "We'll let him sleep. But think about it, m'kay?" Derek watches as Spencer unconsciously shifts towards you, his face turning into your neck, seeking your warmth, "'Cause pretty boy deserves his pretty girl."

[ghostedbyalex]

don’t go, not tonight - agatha harkness x reader

summary: Christmas Eve. A snowstorm. You weren’t expecting to spend the night with your ex-wife… but here she is — as infuriating, charming, and impossible to ignore as ever. Some things never change. Some… never really ended. | words: 5k (apprx)

warnings: Heavy tension; exes with unresolved feelings; suggestive smut (non-explicit); intimacy; passive-aggressive bickering; divorce angst; modern no powers AU; minor language; mutual pining.

main masterlist | marvel masterlist | part two

-x-

You weren’t expecting the doorbell.

Not tonight. Not with the snow coming down in heavy, lazy flakes and the street already covered in a quiet white blanket. William had texted barely an hour ago—just got to Teddy’s! they have hot chocolate AND matching pajamas lol—and you'd smiled, actually smiled, for what felt like the first time all week.

Everything was supposed to be settled. Calm. Predictable.

So when you open the door and see her, your entire body tightens.

“Agatha?”

She blinks at you, startled—though not as startled as you are. Her hair is slightly damp from the snow, dark curls tucked beneath a beret that would’ve looked ridiculous on anyone else. She’s wearing that navy coat you used to steal in the mornings when she left too early for work. Her cheeks are pink, eyes tired, and still, somehow, she smirks.

“Evening,” she says, like this is normal. Like she didn’t just explode your entire evening with one unexpected visit. “You’re looking very... festive.”

Your sweater has reindeer on it. You resist the urge to fold your arms across your chest.

“What are you doing here?” you ask. “William’s not home.”

Agatha falters. “He’s not?”

You stare at her. “Are you serious?”

She sighs, brushing snow from her shoulder with exaggerated delicacy. “I thought—he was spending Christmas with me and New Year’s with you.”

“That was the original plan,” you say, voice tightening. “Then you said you’d be working straight through the holiday, and we all agreed he’d spend Christmas with Teddy’s family. You agreed. Weeks ago.”

She blinks, processing. “Oh.”

“Oh,” you echo, full of bite.

Agatha shifts on her feet, suddenly looking very human and a little embarrassed. “Things have been insane at the firm. I must’ve... missed that.”

“Missed the texts or missed being a functioning adult?”

That earns you a sharp look—but no retort. She exhales, watching her breath fog up in front of her like even that is trying to avoid confrontation.

You should close the door. You should let her freeze in her own mess for once.

But the snow’s getting heavier, and there’s something in her eyes—soft, worn-down, real—that knocks against your ribs. You hated loving her. But you loved her hard. That kind of thing doesn’t vanish just because it hurts.

“Come in,” you say, against better judgment. “You can dry off. Then leave.”

Her smirk returns—smaller this time, but real. “How generous.”

You step aside. “Don’t push it.”

Agatha walks in, trailing cold air and old memories behind her. You close the door, and suddenly the quiet of Christmas Eve feels a lot less peaceful.

The living room smells faintly of cinnamon and clean laundry. The heater hums softly. And yet, with Agatha standing in the middle of it all, snow melting onto the hardwood, you feel like you’ve stepped into enemy territory.

Or worse—familiar territory.

She slips off her coat like she still owns the space, drapes it over the arm of the couch, and makes a slow circuit toward the fireplace, touching things she shouldn’t: a framed photo of William and Teddy at the pumpkin patch, a half-burned candle, the throw blanket you always kept folded a certain way.

“You rearranged the furniture,” she notes casually, then glances back at you. “I liked the couch by the window.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. “The draft was awful.”

Agatha hums. “Right. I forgot how sensitive you are.”

You cross your arms, half for warmth, half to stop yourself from doing something dramatic. “Do you want tea or something?”

“I’ll take coffee, if you’ve got it. Decaf.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Since when do you drink decaf?”

“Since my heart started racing every time I opened a work email,” she says, deadpan.

You snort—despite yourself—and head into the kitchen. From there, you can still hear her footsteps, the way they hesitate near the bookshelf, pause near the pile of opened mail on the dining table.

“You’ve been working,” she calls out, like it’s a revelation.

You glance at your laptop, still open on the kitchen counter, the blinking cursor accusing you silently from the half-finished paragraph.

“I have a deadline,” you reply, a little too quickly. “I’m submitting an article for the Review before the end of the break.”

“Of course you are.”

You glance back through the doorway and find her leaning against the frame like she belongs there. Like this is just a regular night in a life you don’t share anymore.

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

She shrugs, smile lazy. “Just ironic. You used to lecture me about knowing when to disconnect.”

“That’s different,” you snap. “I never let work ruin my personal life.”

Agatha’s eyebrows lift, just slightly. “Mm.”

You turn back to the coffee, pressing the machine button harder than necessary. The silence she leaves in her wake is the kind that says everything.

When you finally hand her the mug, she takes it with a soft thank you and walks straight to the couch. Sits down. Crosses her legs. Just like she used to, as if the cushion remembers her weight.

You hover near the kitchen, unsure if sitting feels like surrender.

“You always kept this place so... warm,” she says after a sip. “Cozy. It still smells like you.”

You ignore the way your pulse stutters.

“You said it smelled like vanilla and unresolved expectations,” you remind her.

Her smile deepens. “Well. I wasn’t wrong.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “Is this going somewhere?”

Agatha shrugs again, sipping her coffee, eyes fixed on the twinkling lights wrapped around the staircase bannister.

“Not really,” she murmurs. “Just... nice to be somewhere that feels real. Even if I don’t belong here anymore.”

You don’t answer.

Because if you do, the words might come out wrong.

Or worse—true.

You clear your throat, eyes on your half-finished document, not on the woman comfortably curled on your couch like she’s just visiting an old friend instead of an ex-wife - that still turns your stomach inside out with every sigh.

“You’re welcome to stay a bit,” you say, keeping your tone neutral. “Warm up. Wait out the snow.”

Agatha looks up, surprised, but not enough to hide it well. She gives a slight nod, as if you’d offered her a blanket instead of unspoken hospitality. “Thanks.”

You sit back at your desk in the corner, trying to will your focus back into place. The blinking cursor stares at you like a dare. Your fingers hover above the keyboard, then slowly begin to type. One sentence. Two. Delete. Rewrite.

Agatha settles into scrolling her phone, the sound of occasional taps and soft chuckles drifting across the room. Time slips strangely. Maybe an hour. Maybe two. The snow outside grows thicker, heavy flakes blanketing the windowsills and erasing the world beyond the glass.

You shift in your chair, trying to stretch your spine without groaning aloud. Your neck twinges—sharp from the awkward angle, the hours of tension hunched over a screen. You wince and roll your shoulders.

And then she’s behind you.

Before you can react, her hands are there—firm and warm, sliding over your upper back, her thumbs pressing gently into the knots beneath your shoulder blades. It’s muscle memory. Her touch. The way she used to wordlessly soothe you when words failed.

“Jesus—” you start to say, but it melts into a soft sound—something embarrassingly close to a moan as your head tips forward under the instinctive relief.

Agatha chuckles behind you. “Still got it.”

You freeze.

And suddenly, you’re too aware of everything—the heat of her palms, the way her fingertips lingered just a beat too long, the way your body reacted without your permission.

You jerk up from the chair, heart hammering, and put a few feet of distance between you and her.

Agatha lifts both hands in a lazy peace offering. “Hey—relax. It’s just a massage.”

You glare, pulse still racing. “You don’t get to just do that anymore.”

Her smile falters for the first time. “Right,” she says quietly. “Sorry. Habit.”

You don’t answer. You can’t. You’re too busy trying to ignore the tremble in your fingers and the fact that for one stupid moment, you forgot why she doesn’t live here anymore.

You cross to the window, arms tightly folded, desperate for an anchor. But all you see is a wall of white swallowing the street whole.

“It’s worse,” you mutter.

“What?”

“The snow. It’s coming down harder now. You’re not driving in this.”

Agatha joins you at the window, gaze tracking the same invisible path that you once drove together, late-night fast food runs and whispered arguments in the front seat.

“Huh,” she says. “Looks like I’ll be here a while.”

You don’t look at her. You just breathe.

Of course she will.

And of course part of you already knew.

The storm doesn’t let up.

You check the forecast once, then again. Then once more just to make sure you’re not losing your mind. But the warnings are all the same: Hazardous conditions. Stay indoors. Avoid unnecessary travel.

You resist the urge to scream into your mug.

Agatha has made herself at home again—not in the obvious ways, but in the small, treacherous ones. She lingers near you when she doesn’t have to. Her fingers brush yours when she reaches for the wine glasses. Her hip grazes your back as she squeezes past you in the narrow kitchen, even though there’s plenty of room. And every time you tense, she just smiles. That maddening, amused little smirk like she knows exactly what she’s doing.

She helps herself to your cabinets. Picks a record that she bought two years ago and plays it like it still belongs to her. The soft hum of jazz fills the room like warm smoke, and it’s not even ten minutes before you realize you’ve stopped typing entirely.

When you glance at her, she’s leaning against the kitchen counter, glass of red wine in hand, watching you over the rim with eyes that know you too well.

“This used to be your focus face,” she says. “The squint. The lip thing.”

You immediately stop doing the lip thing.

“I have a working face,” you reply, reaching for your tea instead of wine. “Not that you’d know. You barely let me finish a sentence without distracting me.”

Agatha laughs, low and knowing. “Well. Some of us are naturally distracting.”

You almost choked on your tea.

“God, seriously?” you say, setting the mug down hard enough to clink against the counter. “Are you always like this, or did you get worse after the divorce?”

“Depends,” she says, wandering closer again. “Am I getting to you?”

You stare at her, and the worst part is—she knows the answer before you can deny it.

Dinner is a reluctant truce. You throw together something simple—pasta and a jarred sauce—and Agatha insists on helping. Only, helping apparently means standing too close, bumping your arm with hers, brushing flour from your cheek like she still has that right.

She hums softly to herself while stirring, barefoot now, sleeves rolled, like this is just one more quiet night in your kitchen.

You grit your teeth and keep cooking. But your body betrays you—warming in ways it shouldn't, breath catching in your throat every time her skin finds yours, even by accident.

And by the time the dishes are done and the house has gone still again, you’re genuinely considering walking outside barefoot just to cool off.

The record has long stopped playing. The wine bottle is mostly empty. The windows are frosted over, and the heater kicks on again with a low sigh.

You sit on the edge of the couch, one knee bouncing, trying not to look at her.

Agatha stretches, then leans back into the cushions with a soft groan. “So. You gonna offer me the couch, or do I sleep in the bathtub?”

You exhale slowly. “You know the couch kills your back.”

She grins. “So generous tonight.”

“It’s not for you,” you snap. “It’s for my conscience.”

Her smile softens just enough to hurt. “Right.”

You don’t move right away. But eventually, you stand, rubbing the back of your neck, still sore from earlier. Still remembering her hands.

“The guest room’s made up,” you say, refusing to meet her eyes. “You’ll be here through Christmas at this rate.”

Agatha stands slowly, brushing past you again with that same unbearable calm, that same quiet weight. “Merry Christmas, darling,” she murmurs as she passes.

You flinch at the endearment—and at the way your traitorous body responds to it like a match to dry wood.

You don’t look back until she’s gone down the hallway, the door clicking softly behind her.

The house feels too warm. The storm rages outside. And all you can think about is how you let her in again.

Literally. Emotionally. Too far.

Steam curls in the bathroom mirror as you splash cold water on your face, trying to scrub off not just the exhaustion, but the heat clinging to your skin ever since she stepped through the door.

You don't hear her come in—but then again, you never really had to hear Agatha. She moves like memory: always present, always near, even when she shouldn’t be.

She slips in beside you like it's the most natural thing in the world, toothbrush already in hand. You catch her reflection just as she opens the drawer—her drawer—and pulls out a familiar travel-sized toothpaste. The kind only she ever used.

You freeze, water still dripping from your chin.

She notices your silence, glances over, then lowers the toothbrush slightly.

“What?” she says, too casually. “You kept this drawer.”

You say nothing.

Agatha shrugs, smiling to herself as she uncaps the tube. “Guess some habits die harder than others.”

The laugh she lets out is soft and low, almost fond—but it lands wrong in the narrow space between you.

Your stomach tightens.

You reach for the towel, pat your face dry, and without a word, you step out. Away from the heat. Away from her.

She calls your name, but you don’t stop until you’re in the hallway, heart pounding too loud in your ears. You’re halfway to your room when you hear her footsteps behind you, slower now. Less sure.

Agatha stops just outside your doorway.

You turn to face her before she can speak.

“What is this?” you ask, voice tired and flat and utterly done. “Seriously. What are you doing here, Agatha?”

Her brows lift, but there’s a flicker of guilt in her eyes. She opens her mouth—but all that comes out is a vague, “It’s snowing.”

You laugh, bitter and thin.

“Don’t,” you say. “Don’t insult me like that. I’m tired. It’s Christmas. Just—if you’re going to lie, at least make it worth the effort.”

Silence stretches long between you.

Agatha’s gaze drops for a beat. When she looks back up, some of that charm, that effortless confidence, has cracked around the edges.

She breathes in slowly through her nose, then lets it out.

“I knew William wasn’t here,” she says.

The words hang in the air, fragile and too loud.

“I saw the messages. Or… some of them. I got the gist. He was spending Christmas with Teddy. And I knew you’d be here. Alone.”

You stare at her, stunned. “You knew?”

Agatha nods, no smile this time. No smirk. Just the truth.

“I didn’t want to spend the night in my apartment. I didn’t want to be surrounded by silence and regret and ghosts of Christmases we didn’t survive. And I guess… I was hoping maybe you wouldn’t want that either.” She folds her arms, her voice quieter now. “So yeah. I came here on purpose. Not just because of the snow. Not just because I missed a few messages. I came because—” she hesitates, then finishes with a whisper, “—I didn’t want to be without you tonight.”

You blink once. Twice.

Your pulse hammers like it did hours ago. But this time, it’s not from lust. Not even anger.

It’s something deeper. Something raw and aching.

She stands there, waiting, like she’s bracing herself for the cold after stepping out into the storm.

You let the silence stretch just a second too long.

Then something in you snaps.

“Of course you didn’t want to be alone,” you say, your voice rising sharp and cold. “You never did. That was always the problem, wasn’t it? You hated being alone, but you also hated showing up. For me. For us.”

Agatha flinches, but you’re already moving, pacing a slow circle around the edge of your own anger, too far in to stop now.

“You chose work. Every damn time, you chose work. Missed school meetings, missed dinners, missed me. And every time I brought it up, you smiled like it was nothing. Like I was overreacting.”

“I was trying to build something for us,” she snaps back, finally. “I didn’t want you to have to worry about anything—”

“You didn’t want to worry.” You jab your finger toward her. “So you just vanished into your office with your shiny projects and your perfect assistant.”

Her jaw tightens. “Oh, God, not this again.”

“Yes. This. Again.” You laugh, harsh and hollow. “I know what I saw, Agatha. I know how you looked at her when you thought I wasn’t watching.”

“Nothing happened with Rio.”

“Maybe not physically,” you spit. “But I was already sleeping alone in our bed most nights. What difference would one more betrayal make?”

Agatha looks like she wants to argue—but she doesn’t.

You shake your head, your voice cracking just slightly. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

You turn to leave. To close the door and let this conversation die like everything else between you.

But her voice stops you:

“Don’t lie to me,” she says, quietly. Intense.

You turn slowly.

Her eyes are locked on yours, something molten burning just beneath the surface.

“There’s still something here,” she says. “Don’t pretend there isn’t. I see the way you look at me. I feel it every time I get too close.”

She steps forward, slow but certain. “You never stopped being mine.”

You should move. Should shout. Should slam the door in her face.

But you don’t.

You just stand there, frozen, as she closes the distance between you.

Her hand lifts, fingertips ghosting up your arm—soft, reverent, dangerous. Your breath stutters.

“You want to fight?” she whispers. “Fine. But don’t stand there pretending this isn’t still real.”

Her mouth is inches from yours. Her presence swallows the space, pulls you under like a tide.

And damn it all—she’s right.

You’re tired. You’re hurt. You hate her for all the ways she let you down.

But your body remembers her.

Your heart, traitorous thing that it is, still reaches.

So when she kisses you, you don’t stop her.

You fall into her like muscle memory—like a habit you never broke.

And when her hands tangle in your hair, and her lips press against your throat, and the wall finds your back with a thud—you don’t fight it.

You let yourself burn.

Even if it leaves nothing but ashes by morning.

You barely register the way her hands frame your face, the way her thumb brushes just below your bottom lip. You're too busy trying to breathe.

Because she knows exactly what she's doing.

Agatha never needed time to build momentum—never cared for ceremony or slow-burning build-ups. She always struck like lightning: sudden, intense, unavoidable. And it’s no different now.

One second, you're still leaning against the wall, dazed and uncertain.

The next, her mouth is back on yours, and her body presses flush to yours, no hesitation, no asking. Just claiming.

You gasp into her kiss, and she swallows the sound like it belongs to her.

And maybe it does.

Her hands slide down your sides, firm and familiar, skimming the curve of your waist like she’s reminding herself you're still real. That you're not just a memory she’s conjured up in some late-night fantasy.

You clutch at her shoulders, but it's not resistance. Not really. It’s grounding. It’s instinct. It's need.

She groans softly against your mouth, like the taste of you still drives her mad.

"God, I missed this," she murmurs, lips brushing your jaw, your throat, the place just behind your ear that makes you shiver. "Missed you."

Your head falls back against the wall, traitorously exposing more skin, giving her more room. You feel like you're unraveling beneath her touch, like every nerve in your body remembers this rhythm, this pressure, this woman.

She guides you back a step—then another—until your bedroom door is nudged open by the weight of your bodies.

But she doesn’t drag you in.

She holds you right there, half in the hallway, half in the dark warmth of the room you used to share. Like even gravity doesn’t quite know where to place you now.

You feel her fingers trace the hem of your shirt, tugging slightly, not asking permission but not quite pushing it either.

“I know every part of you,” she whispers against your throat. “Still dream about them all.”

You grip her wrist.

“Agatha,” you breathe, and there's warning in your voice.

But there’s also longing.

She lifts her head, eyes locking with yours.

There’s no triumph in her gaze. No smugness. Just something raw and unguarded.

“I just want to feel close to you again,” she says. “Even if it’s just tonight.”

You close your eyes.

Because you shouldn’t let her.

Because you know how this ends.

But her hands are warm, her lips are softer than you remember, and your body… your body stopped pretending hours ago.

So you pull her in.

Not gently.

Not carefully.

Just desperately.

Like you’re drowning and she’s the only breath left in the world.

Your shirt is gone before you realize it.

Not torn, not rushed—just removed, like second nature, like her hands were made for this, for you. Her fingers skim along your spine, a touch so precise it feels designed. You’re not sure if you're trembling from cold or heat, but she holds you like she's memorizing the shape of every breath.

Agatha’s mouth finds the hollow of your collarbone, and something inside you breaks. Not loudly. Not violently. Just the soft, clean snap of surrender.

You tug her coat off her shoulders, feel the silk of her blouse beneath your fingertips. The smell of her perfume hits you all at once—familiar, warm, almost cruel in how much it still makes your stomach twist.

She presses you down to the bed like you’ve never been anywhere else.

Like this is gravity.

And it is.

She moves over you with purpose, with rhythm, with knowledge—touching the places she once claimed with confidence, now with hunger. There’s reverence in her hands, but also possession. Like she's remembering and rediscovering you all at once.

And you let her.

You arch into her like you’re offering yourself up, but it’s not submission. It’s muscle memory. It’s everything your body never unlearned.

Her name escapes your lips more than once. Sometimes breathless. Sometimes a warning. Sometimes a plea.

She responds to each like a prayer.

There’s nothing frantic in it—just heat, deep and slow and unbearable in its intensity. The kind of intimacy that leaves you shaking not from what’s being done, but how it’s being done.

She whispers things against your skin. Half apologies. Half confessions. None of them clear. All of them felt.

And when it’s over—when the storm inside you has quieted and your heartbeat has finally begun to settle—you realize you’re still tangled in her arms, legs looped together, her hand resting just above your heart like it belongs there.

You should pull away.

You should turn your back and put a wall between you like you've done every night since the divorce.

But her lips are at your temple now.

And her fingers are still tracing slow circles into your ribs.

And against all better judgment, you stay exactly where you are.

The room is dim, wrapped in the hush of snowfall and the soft creak of bedsprings beneath shared weight.

Your breathing is still uneven. Hers, steadier, almost smug. She's always been like that—composed after chaos, a storm in human form who never seemed to feel the damage she left behind.

You feel her shift beside you, one thigh still pressed between yours, her skin warm and slick where it touches yours. Her fingers are splayed lazily over your hip, thumb stroking back and forth in a slow, thoughtless rhythm that makes your spine arch just enough to betray you.

She leans in, her lips grazing your ear.

“You still make the sweetest sounds,” she whispers, voice thick with satisfaction and something softer beneath it. “I missed hearing them.”

You swallow hard, eyes fixed on the ceiling. You should tell her to stop. That this doesn’t mean anything. That it was just sex.

But her touch lingers—deliberate.

She dips her head to press a kiss just beneath your jaw, then lower, to the hollow of your throat, her tongue warm against cooling skin. You feel her smile against you.

“You didn’t even hesitate,” she murmurs. “The moment I touched you in that hallway…”

You turn your face away, cheeks burning, but she follows you, nuzzling closer.

“You still want me,” she says, not asking. Stating. Certain.

You hate that she’s right.

Her hand moves—up, over your ribs, across the curve of your breast. Her thumb circles the peak with maddening slowness, enough to make your body stir again despite everything.

“Agatha…” you whisper, but it’s not a protest. Not really.

She hums, low and pleased, her mouth trailing down your chest. The scrape of her teeth over sensitive skin makes you gasp, and when her thigh shifts just slightly between yours, you feel your entire body light up with need again.

“I shouldn’t still know you this well,” she says, half against your breast, voice shaking just a little. “But I do.”

Your fingers grip the sheets. You want to push her away. You want to pull her closer.

You settle for threading your hand into her hair.

“I thought about this every night,” she confesses. “About touching you like this. Hearing you fall apart under me. Wondering if I ruined everything beyond repair.”

You bite your lip, and then, softer than you mean to, “Maybe you did.”

Agatha stills.

The silence is sharp.

But you don’t let go of her.

You feel her breath at your ribs, shaky now. Not from desire, but from something like regret.

“I didn’t want it to end like that,” she says.

And for the first time, there’s no seduction in her voice.

Just sorrow.

You close your eyes.

“I didn’t want it to end at all,” you admit.

She rises slowly, leans over you, her face just inches from yours again. Her eyes are searching now, not hungry—haunted.

There’s so much you could say. So much that would hurt to hear.

But instead, you lift your hand to her cheek.

Just once.

And she leans into the touch like she’s starving for it.

You kiss her this time.

Slowly.

Not like earlier—when it was raw and desperate and filled with everything unsaid. This kiss is quieter. Softer. The kind you used to share in the middle of the night, tangled in sheets and half-asleep, just to remind yourselves you were still there. Still together.

Agatha melts into it with a quiet sound in the back of her throat. Her hands return to your body, reverent this time, like she’s not trying to ignite you—just remember you. Every inch. Every curve. Every place she used to know by heart.

You roll with her, bodies aligning instinctively. Your thigh between hers, your mouths parting to breathe the same air. It’s almost painful how familiar it feels.

She looks up at you like she can’t quite believe you’re real.

“I missed you,” she whispers, like it hurts to admit.

Your hands slide down her arms, over the lines of muscle and softness, until your fingers are laced with hers, pressed into the mattress.

“I know,” you whisper back, voice trembling. “I missed you too.”

Your hips move together, slow, steady, drawn by memory and need. There’s no rush—just the rhythm of old lovers rediscovering the language only their bodies speak. Her breath stutters against your skin with every motion, every brush of your chest against hers, every press of your hips that makes her fingers clutch tighter around yours.

She murmurs your name like a prayer, your real name—not the clipped version she used when you were fighting. Not the bitter one she spit out when you signed the papers. This is the version only she used when you were happy.

You bury your face in her neck, lips pressed to her pulse. Her skin tastes like perfume and sweat and something you still recognize as home.

When her body tightens beneath you, trembling and arching, she gasps your name like it’s the only thing anchoring her. You follow moments later, breath catching, forehead resting against hers, both of you shaking.

She wraps her arms around you before you even think to move. Holds you there. Doesn’t let go.

“Don’t go,” she breathes against your temple. “Please. Not tonight.”

You feel her heart pounding against yours, wild and afraid.

“I wasn’t planning to,” you murmur, and her arms tighten, like she doesn’t believe you.

You shift slightly, just enough to press a kiss to her shoulder, to the edge of her collarbone, where you used to rest your head on lazy Sunday mornings.

She pulls the blanket over you both with one arm, never breaking contact.

And slowly—gradually—your breathing finds hers.

Outside, the snow keeps falling, burying the world in white and silence.

But inside, everything is warm.

Her skin against yours.

Her fingers threaded through yours under the covers.

Her heartbeat still echoing between your ribs like it belongs there.

And somewhere between the hush of the storm and the weight of her body curled around you, sleep finds you both. Not with finality.

But with the softness of something still possible.

Of something not quite over after all.

[meadowfics]

first date

cho sang-woo x f!reader

a first date was needed for the both of you, even if it feels like you were with sang-woo for ten years already

warnings: post squid game au, where sang-woo survives and not gihun. age gap relationship, since reader is intended to be between 21yrs-24yrs. sang-woo did not k*ll sae-byeok in this au. angst. reader was in the games too and survived with sang woo, not sure how but anyways... reader is a yapper and sang-woo is a listener.

sang woo arrives at the restaurant first, always one to be punctual.

he sits by the window, back straight, hands resting on the table as he waits for you.

when you walk in, he notices immediately.

you’re wearing a simple ivory colored sweater and blue jeans, looking cozy and effortlessly beautiful.

the older man's lips twitch up slightly, the closest thing to a smile you’ll get from him in public.

you slide into the seat across from him, resting your chin in your palm.

"you got new glasses,"

you point out, eyes twinkling.

he adjusts them slightly, feigning nonchalance.

"my old ones were broken,"

he says, as if that’s the only reason.

he knows that you know.

you were there in the games when he lost those old ones.

you grin.

"i like these. they suit you."

for a second, his ears turn a shade of pink.

he glances away, pretending to focus on the menu.

but you see it. the look.

the soft affection he always tries to hide.

"what are you getting?"

he asks, eyes scanning the menu like it’s a financial report.

you shrug.

"probably something warm. i don’t care as long as it’s good."

"that’s not a real answer," he says, but there’s a teasing lilt in his voice.

"neither was yours,"

you shoot back, making him huff a quiet laugh.

you both order, the conversation flowing naturally.

it always does.

it did during the games.

there’s an understanding between you two, something unspoken yet solid.

"do you ever think about them?"

you ask suddenly, voice soft.

this might not be appropriate during your first dinner with sang-woo as a couple, but you know that you can talk to him about anything.

he knows exactly who you mean. he takes a breath before answering.

"I do."

"gihun would’ve dragged us to some barbecue place instead,"

you muse.

"and he would’ve argued with the owner about the price,"

sang woo adds, lips curling slightly.

you laugh, then sigh.

"and sae-byeok… she would’ve just sat there, barely eating, watching us argue."

there’s a pause. a heaviness settles over you both, the weight of memories pressing against your ribs.

"i wish they were still here,"

you admit.

sang woo nods, fingers tapping lightly against the table.

"me too."

the food arrives, and for a while, the two of you eat in silence.

it’s comfortable.

there’s no need to fill every moment with words.

eventually, you shift the conversation.

"cheol’s doing okay, you know."

sang woo looks up, interest flickering in his eyes.

"yeah?"

"yeah. my mom loves him. she says that he’s… adjusting. still quiet, but he smiles more."

context: your mother adopted sae-byeok's orphan brother. after you promised a dying sae-byeok that cheol would be okay.

sang woo nods thoughtfully.

"that’s good. he deserves a normal life."

"so do we,"

you say, watching him carefully.

he doesn’t respond immediately, but you see the way his jaw tenses.

"normal,"

he murmurs, almost like the word is foreign to him.

you reach across the table, taking his hand.

his fingers are slightly calloused, warm against your softer skin.

he stills for a moment, then gently squeezes your hand in return.

"we’re doing okay,"

you reassure him.

his thumb brushes against your knuckles, absentmindedly.

"we are."

when you finish eating, you don’t leave right away.

you linger, just enjoying each other’s presence.

"it’s kind of funny,"

you say suddenly.

"most people date for a while before moving in together. we’re just jumping straight to it."

he raises an eyebrow.

"you’re the one who suggested it."

you grin.

"I know but you didn’t say no."

he shakes his head, a small, fond look in his eyes.

"of course i didn’t."

you study him for a moment, admiring the way the dim restaurant lighting reflects in his new glasses.

you like looking at him, even if he never quite believes it when you say so.

"you really love me, huh?"

you tease, tilting your head.

he scoffs, but his grip on your hand tightens just slightly.

"what do you think?"

you smirk.

"i think you do. i think you’ve been in love with me for a while now, actually."

since the first game back in that hellhole..

he sighs, shaking his head.

"and here i thought you were shy."

"only when i first met you. now i just like bothering you."

"that much is obvious,"

he mutters, but there’s no real bite to his words.

when the bill comes, he grabs it before you can.

you open your mouth to protest, but he gives you a look.

"just let me do this,"

he says simply.

you shut your mouth.

it’s not worth arguing over, and honestly? you don’t mind.

it’s just another way he shows love...through actions, not words.

as you both step outside, the air is crisp, cool against your skin.

you don’t say anything at first, just standing side by side.

then, suddenly, he reaches out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

the touch is fleeting, but it lingers, making your heart skip a beat.

"come on,"

he murmurs, starting to walk.

you follow, smiling softly.

you don’t need anything grand or extravagant.

this...just being with him, knowing he’s yours...is enough.

masterlist

[internet-kid-kenna]

Here are some of my aftg 2006 fashion HCs

- Allison definitely has a hot pink Juicy Couture velour track suit. Like 1000% she does. I literally picture her dressing like Paris Hilton when she's not in exy gear

- Andrew definitely wears Doc Martens. He has the most worn in pair of docs though like they’re the only shoes he wears (other than when he's on the court or at the gym) and he takes good care of the leather tho. He might have multiple pairs but he for sure wears combat boots.

- Neil has the most beat up af pair of vans that like the soles are nearly coming off of. Andrew buys him new shoes but Neil would always pick his trash shoes until Andrew gets so fed up he throws them away.

- Kevin for sure wears like Hollister or Abercrombie & Fitch, tbh he was probably a Hollister model at some point

- Andrew definitely has a black leather jacket, Aaron has a brown one.

- Nicky wears vests over t-shirts, i basically picture him dressing like the Jonas brothers.

- i also think Matt wears vests over t-shirts, like specifically when they go out to a club

- Aaron wears converse. He has them in a couple of colors but i think he'd probably wear like red ones more often than black

- Allison owns a bump-it and she loves it, she teases the shit out of her hair to get it perfect (i think the actual bump it came out in 2008 but i still wanted to include it bc it makes so much sense to me)

- Renee has a pixie cut, like Alice from twilight style (also I know the movies came out after 2006 but just using that iconic style for reference)

- as much as i want to picture Andrew with a middle part and longer hair, I think he keeps it pretty short and gels it, however Aaron for sure has the like Bieber side swept bang look going on.

- Dan wears like jeans and a zip up hoodie usually, her jeans definitely have the like embellished designs on the back pockets though

- Dan also wears capris and V-necks with tank tops underneath

- Seth wears like Ed Hardy T-shirts, I think Andrew owns at least one in black, but Seth is like chains and baggy jeans and Ed hardy t-shirts for sure

- Renee wears jeans under dresses, but she looks cute in it

- Renee also wears those like knee length skirts and cropped cardigans with cap sleeves.

- Wymack wears Polos w/ cargo shorts and flip flops

- Abby definitely always has a contrasting color tank top under a long sleeve v-neck and boot cut jeans

- Allison owns several mini skirts that are about as wide as a belt and in fact owns belts that are wider than some of her skirts

- when Dan goes clubbing she also wears mini skirts though, but like Allison will wear one to class if she feels like it

- Dan owns several pairs of gold hoops and is usually wearing them even if she's dressed fairly casually

- Matt has worn a tie with a tshirt before, he also has one of those like army green shirts with the lapels and too many pockets.

- Matt wears a sweater vest when he has to dress nicely though

- Neil owns the baggiest Jeans on the planet and probably keeps them up with a shoe lace instead of a belt, the hems of them are shredded bc he's short but any rips are patched up

- Andrew definitely wears black ripped skinny jeans all the time, but specifically the ones that have the like ribbed black fabric underneath the rips, the rips are purely aesthetic.

- Andrew wears silver jewelry if he wears any, but Aaron wears gold if he wears any

- any formal wear by the guys includes a skinny tie

Like fashion in 2006 is such a fun backdrop for these characters. I can't stop thinking about it

[milkdudsss]

Sold to JJK?!

Y/N isn’t like other girls. She likes to read books and wear jeans. But what happens when the most popular boy band ever buys her right out of her own house?

pt.1, pt.2,

The sound of loud crashing downstairs woke me. I got up and sighed, another terrible day in this terrible house. Sometimes I wish I could just leave this place, but I have too many books to carry, and I doubt my converse could keep my feet dry in this rainy weather. 

“Y/N GET DOWN HERE NOW!” My mom yells, breaking me out of my daydream. 

I quickly throw on some leggings and an old sweater, then I throw my hair into a messy bun and head downstairs. 

When I get to the living room I expect my mom to be there, ready to give me a list of chores to do, but instead my blue orbs fall onto a group of men surrounding the coffee table. 

“Woah, she’s such a babe!” A tall, white haired man said, tipping his glasses down his nose to get a better look. However, he was quickly reprimanded by a blonde man who looked like he was late to his third conference meeting of the day. “Satoru, be more polite. It’s rude to ogle at others.”

“I mean he’s not wrong, she does have a nice piece of ass on her.” Another man spoke up. This one had dark hair and a deep scar on his lip. He smells like a midlife crisis.

The blonde man just pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed. 

“Y/N, these men will be your new owners, once you pack your things they’ll take you to your new home… wherever that is.” My mom said, not even bothering to look at me through the briefcase she had her head buried in.

Owners? Do they thing I’m some sort of dog? I thought to myself, wrapping my arms around my miniscule frame in discomfort. “W-w-what do you mean owners? What exactly is going on?” 

A man covered with pink hair and tattoos answered in a voice that definitely confirmed he had at least twenty felonies. “We bought ya, simple as that. You’re gonna be the newest toy of Two Misdirection.”

“Two Misdirection? What is that, some sort of dnd club?” I asked. 

One of the men on the couch got up and looked at me in confusion. “Wait, you seriously don’t know who we are?” He asked, tossing his long black hair over his shoulder, successfully hitting the pink haired man in the face with it. 

I rolled my orbs at him. “No… Am I supposed to?” 

They all stared at me in shock until the white haired boy with glasses spoke up. “I mean, yeah, kind of. We’re like the biggest boy band in the world, have you been living under a rock or something?”

“N-no, I just find my books more interesting than pretty boys like you.” I scoff. 

He swings his legs excitedly off the edge of the couch and blushes. “Aww you think I’m pretty?” 

His swooning is interrupted however, when the man with long dark hair abruptly pushes him off the couch. 

“T-t-t-t-hat’s not what I meant-” 

“That’s enough! You promised this would be a quick transaction, so take her and leave already!” My mom shouted, standing up to usher us out of the living room.

The man with pink hair threw me over his beefy shoulder and began walking out of the house. “Say no more, I’m dying to get out of here and take this one to someplace more… comfortable.”

I tried to squirm out of his grasp, but I was just too tiny and weak. “L-let me go you perv! I haven’t even gotten to pack all of my books-”

“No need to worry about your things, we’ll have them delivered to the estate shortly.” Said the blonde man from earlier. 

Before I could respond, I was tossed into a limo, and was surrounded by all the members from this so-called “Boy Band”. 

“W-where are you taking me?” I asked.

“To our mansion, obviously.” The white haired man said.

The man with the long dark hair elbowed him in the ribs. “Quit being rude Satoru, she’s probably confused about everything that’s going on, aren’t you Angel?” I blush at the nickname and hide my face in my ginormous sweater. I guess the good thing about being so petite is that all of my clothes can double as tents at least… 

“Aww come here sweet thing, no need to be shy, I don’t bite.” He says, spreading his legs and patting his thigh as an invitation for me to come sit on his lap. 

Before I can make my way over to him, A set of large, tattooed hands wrap around my waist and pull me against a pair of juicy man pecks. “Yeah, well I do. So stop trying to hog her all to yourself and let us introduce ourselves too.” 

I let out a squeak as he pulls me in tighter. This was going to be a long ride…

[dreamgrlarchive]

current wardrobe shopping list 💻💕💵:

around this time of year i always like making clothing wishlists for the fall and winter, and my wardrobe naturally shifts for the spring and summer. i always seem to slightly tweak my personal look around this time of year to make sure my wardrobe is true to me! prissy girl 4 life! 💓🍰

tops:

lace bandeaus for layering, feather trimmed button down tops, knitted fuzzy fitted tops, fur trimmed half jackets and crop tops, rhinestone lettered shirts, victoria’s secret off shoulder sweaters, lace camis, off shoulder knitted tops in my color palette, satin button downs, sheer tops, lululemon strawberry milkshake define jacket, fur collar leather jacket, oversized sweaters in pink and black, basic neutral long sleeved cotton tops

bottoms:

microscopic boy shorts with cute details, leather mini skirt, tartan plaid mini skirt, fold over yoga pants, lace trimmed skirt, miss me embellished skinny jeans, denim pleated skirt, houndstooth mini skirt, leather flare pants, fur/feather skirt

dresses + etc.:

ribbed knit bodysuit, pink and black rompers for layering, cotton bodysuits in my color palette, rhinestone skims dresses, hidden cult distressed pink halter dress, skims slip dresses, knit bodysuits, i am gia tracksuits in black and pink, pink jacket and legging set, solid black leggings, gray leggings, pink body by tracy set, black and pink fine girl set, new pink workout set

accessories:

knitted knee high socks, sheer socks, fuzzy beret, baby phat belt, fur headbands, fuzzy leg warmers, lace tights, diamond hair clips

jewelry:

anklets, new pandora charms, body chains, bling nostril hoops, bow ring and necklace, tiara charm bracelet and necklace, diamond encrusted hoops, tiffany toggle choker, dainty tennis bracelets, new cute belly rings

purses:

medium ballerina telfar, hello kitty wallet, heaven sent leopard print wallet, tory burch ella tote, juicy couture wristlet, louis vuitton speedy 30, rhinestone encrusted purse, feather satchel, hello kitty purse, pink puffer tote, victoria’s secret glitter tote, burberry satchel, ruffled pink purse, juicy couture 2022 bowler bag

shoes:

fuzzy boots in pink and gray, black kitten heels, pink closed toe pumps, jelly platform sandals, white fur bearpaw boots, y.r.u. qrystal pink platforms, juicy couture fur slides, total temptress heels, sequin uggs, pink fur platform sandals, sherpa lined pink crocs, sparkly heels, strappy heels, mary janes

[knowledgeableknitter]

The New Avengers… And Their Mom

Chapter Ten: A Dare and a Truth 

*****

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Kay Romano, a plus sized/curvy ofc; Platonic Thunderbolts x Kay

Word Count: 4.8k

Summary: Bob’s birthday begins quietly, but one by one the team offers him unexpectedly thoughtful gifts. The day ends with laughter and games, as Bob experiences a celebration that finally reflects the love, belonging, and warmth he craves. Longing continues to simmer between Bucky and Kay. 

Trigger warnings: A birthday celebration and a Truth or Dare game? Like, it's fluff with some Bucky spiraling.

Author's Note: I may have gone overboard for Bob's birthday. I love Bob. And, yes, I want to knit him a sweater. He deserves it. Enjoy the fluff.

Story Masterlist

Chapter 9

*****

Bob’s birthday began the way every day did: with coffee.

The compound was still quiet, wrapped in the hush of early morning. Pale sunlight filtered through the windows and the air smelled faintly of fresh coffee, toasted bread, and something warm and sweet. 

Bob wandered in half-asleep, hair rumpled from sleep, wearing a threadbare hoodie stretched at the cuffs and plaid pajama pants. He yawned into his elbow as he padded across the floor, fully expecting to go through the motions like always: grab the chipped mug with the brand new Avengers logo, pour a fresh cup, add just a hint of creamer and an ungodly amount of sugar.

But this morning, something was different.

Kay stood at the kitchen island, leaning casually against the counter, a steaming mug cradled between her palms. She turned with a small smile and held it out to him in both hands.

It was a matte purple ceramic mug with a glossy black handle, and across the front in bold, ridiculous Comic Sans lettering were the words “World’s Okayest Superweapon”.

Bob blinked twice. 

His mouth opened slightly, but no words came out. He stared at it like it might explode, or turn into a trap, or maybe just disappear if he moved too fast.

Kay raised an eyebrow, the smile tugging wider at one corner of her mouth.

“Figured you needed a proper title,” she said lightly, her voice low and warm like a secret shared over campfire.

Bob reached for the mug, slower than necessary, taking it with both hands. His fingers curled around the heat. He ran his thumb once across the lettering, as if to make sure it was real. Something about it, about her standing there, about the way she looked at him without expectation, calmed him in the gentlest way.

His cheeks flushed a soft, unmistakable pink, and he dipped his head slightly as he brought the mug to his lips. The coffee was perfectly strong, just sweet enough, and still steaming.

“Perfect,” he murmured.

And he meant the coffee, but he meant the mug, too.

*****

Later that afternoon, Kay was passing through the lounge on a mission. 

She saw Bob curled into one corner of the oversized couch, a hardcover novel balanced in his lap, spine barely cracked. His socked feet were tucked beneath him, one ankle poking from under the cuff of sweatpants. He was in a loose tee now, the hoodie he wore that morning draped across the back of the cushion.

Kay tilted her head, observing him for just a beat too long.

“You look cold,” she said, casually, but with that sharp Kay-accuracy that always seemed to cut right through to the marrow.

He startled slightly, looking up from his book. “I’m not—”

Before he could finish the sentence, she stepped forward and dropped something into his lap.

It was a soft bundle of yarn in deep, storm-gray tones, folded carefully and tied with a single red ribbon. It was a thick, warm, and gently weighted sweater. The sleeves spilled slightly across his legs as he took it out of the ribbon, careful not to ruin the bow.

Book forgotten, fingers curled around the fabric. He lifted it slowly, brushing his fingertips along the ridged knit pattern. There were cable twists and subtle ribbing, tight enough to hold shape, and soft enough to sink into. It wasn’t store-bought, the slight imperfections made that clear. Some stitches were a little looser on the cables, but it was beautiful in its humanity, in the time it must have taken to make.

He held it up fully, letting the light catch the faint sheen of the yarn.

It was perfect, and it was for him.

“You made this?” he asked, voice lower now. There was something raw and unguarded behind his eyes. “For me?”

Kay shrugged one shoulder like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t spent evenings with her feet curled under her on the couch, needles clicking as she worked row after row. Like she hadn’t taken his favorite hoodie on laundry day and secretly taken its measurements.

“Knitting helps me wind down,” she said simply. “And you could use something with sleeves that don’t look like they’re about to disintegrate.” She watched as he stood slowly and tugged the sweater on over his head.

It fit perfectly.

The sleeves reached his wrists. The shoulders rested right where they should. The hem hit just below his hips, cozy and solid. He pulled it down gently, palms smoothing across the front like he still couldn’t believe it was real.

“Kay,” he said, and his voice was full of gratitude and disbelief.

She just gave him a small smile, not expecting anything of him.

“Keep warm,” she said. 

Then she turned, leaving him there with his book forgotten and his hands hugging himself in the sweater.

*****

John’s gift arrived with all the subtlety of a battering ram, and about the same decibel level.

“Happy birthday, buddy!” he bellowed from the doorway, striding in like he was making a military entrance, not entering a cozy common room. In his arms was an enormous, garishly wrapped box with bold comic book paper, lopsided tape, and a crumpled bow.

He marched straight to the coffee table and dropped it with such force that the entire thing shuddered on impact, rattling glasses. Yelena raised an eyebrow without looking up from her phone. Bucky just reached out calmly and steadied a tipping bowl of pretzels.

John beamed like he’d just performed a magic trick.

Bob blinked at the box, which now took up most of the table. “What in the…”

“Open it!” John said, practically vibrating with excitement, like a labrador in boots. “Come on, man!”

Bob hesitated for only a moment before peeling back a corner of the chaotic wrapping, revealing the bold, unmistakable lettering of the LEGO logo. The rest came off quickly, crinkling to the floor until the full set was revealed in all its glory: a massive, detailed LEGO castle, complete with battlements, tiny flag-topped towers, a working drawbridge, armored knights, and a fire-breathing dragon posed mid-roar. The box practically gleamed in the overhead light.

Bob stared in absolute wonder.

“This is…” he started, fingers trailing over the glossy cardboard. “This is actually kind of amazing.”

John puffed up like a proud uncle. “Right? I know we’ve got top-secret tech, biometric security systems, and like… a jetpack in the garage or something, but look at the turrets, man! That’s craftsmanship.”

Bob tilted the box to better examine the details: the modular dungeon, the catapults, the tiny figurines.

“It’s got… a working drawbridge?” he said, awed.

“And the dragon has posable wings,” John added, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet.

Then, without warning, he clapped Bob on the back with the force of a congratulatory linebacker. Bob pitched forward on the couch, catching himself just in time before the gift, or his dignity, hit the floor.

“Happy Birthday!” John crowed, utterly unrepentant.

Bob, breathless but grinning, sat upright again, still clutching the box like it was made of gold bricks instead of plastic ones. Around the room, the rest of the team exchanged small, amused glances, but no one teased. There was something touching about a massive, slightly absurd gift delivered with the force of a hurricane.

Bob looked up at John, still half-stunned. “Thanks, man.”

“No problem,” John said, plopping onto the armrest beside him. “We’re building it tonight. I call the dragon.”

Bob smiled, a little crooked, a little shy, and maybe a little younger than usual.

“You can make the dragon,” he said. “But I’m naming him.”

*****

Yelena’s gift came wrapped in a sheet of newspaper. It was bound tightly with electrical tape, the black kind usually reserved for patching wires.

“Subtle,” Kay murmured from her spot on the arm of the couch, one brow raised.

“I had no ribbon,” Yelena replied evenly, hands shoved into the pockets of her cargo pants. “And I was out of duct tape.”

She stood across from Bob with her usual posture, shoulders square, chin tipped slightly up, face unreadable. But her boot tapped once against the floor, betraying a flicker of nervous energy she didn’t acknowledge.

Bob looked down at the lumpy, lopsided package in his lap like it might be booby-trapped, then carefully began peeling away the layers of newspaper. The tape gave a reluctant snap as he worked, crackling under his fingers, revealing a folded bundle of dark leather within.

He pulled it free, and for a moment, just stared.

It was a real, old-fashioned bomber jacket.

Aged brown leather, soft and weathered, the elbows were slightly worn, the stitching at the cuffs hand-repaired in places. It smelled faintly of cedar and engine grease. The interior was lined with thick wool, real and warm, not the synthetic kind you see in newer copies. A single patch on the inside collar read: Property of S.R., 1964.

Bob ran his fingers along the sleeve seam, almost reverent. “This is… this is too nice,” he said, already starting to fold it back up with fumbling care. “I can’t—I mean, really, I can’t take this. It’s—”

“Yes, you can,” Yelena interrupted, sharp and immovable as bedrock. “You wear nothing but sad sweatshirts. This is an intervention. You're welcome.”

There was a beat of stunned silence.

Then Bob laughed softly, and shook his head in disbelief. He unfolded the jacket again and slipped it on, the weight settling across his shoulders like it had always belonged there.

“It fits,” he murmured, tugging the hem down, fingers brushing the edge of the zipper.

“Obviously it fits,” Yelena said. “I am not an amateur.”

He looked up at her, smile blooming slowly across his face. A little crooked. A little stunned. And a little glassy around the eyes.

“Thanks, Lena.”

*****

Alexei’s gift was, somehow, even less expected.

“Is traditional,” he announced with heavy ceremony, striding into the room like he was entering a Cold War tribunal rather than a birthday gathering. In his hands, he held a small dented tin that had seen better days.

“Army-issue hard candy,” Alexei declared, nodding once as he handed it over. “Soviet classic. None of this weak capitalist sugar nonsense.”

The tin was olive green and stamped with faded Cyrillic letters. The lid squeaked as Bob pried it open, revealing rows of small, glassy, amber-colored lozenges nestled like bullets in a box. They shimmered faintly under the light, like relics preserved in sap. The scent hit first: menthol, sharp and aggressive, undercut with a hint of something like burnt sugar, maybe a whiff of pine tar.

Bob blinked at them. “They look like cough drops for people who don’t survive the cough.”

“Strong flavor,” Alexei added, folding his arms across his broad chest, the air of a man confident in the power of nostalgia and questionable confectionery. “Will put hair on your chest.”

Bob picked one up between thumb and forefinger and held it to the light, squinting. It caught the glow like amber glass, deceptively pretty for something that smelled like it belonged in a med kit.

“Should I be worried?” he asked cautiously, sniffing the candy again like it might hiss.

“Absolutely,” Yelena muttered, not even looking up from where she was scrolling through her phone on the arm of the couch. “One time he gave those to a raccoon. It walked in a circle for ten minutes and then fell over.”

Alexei grunted, pleased. “Raccoon was weak.”

Bob raised his eyebrows but popped the candy into his mouth with bravery.

He lasted three seconds before his eyes went wide. “Oh my God, is this legal?”

Alexei beamed like a proud father. “You are welcome.”

Bob coughed once, eyes watering, but gave a thumbs up between wheezes. “Tastes like… pine trees. And pain.”

“That is how you know it works,” Alexei said with a sage nod.

*****

Ava’s gift was small but unexpectedly heavy, wrapped in crinkled silver tissue paper tied neatly with a single loop of natural twine. No bow, just intentional simplicity.

She held it out with both hands, her expression quiet but purposeful, like the gesture itself carried more weight than the contents.

“For you,” she said, her voice steady in the low hum of the lounge. “Happy birthday.”

Bob took it with a mix of curiosity and caution, unwrapping the paper slowly, his fingers careful not to tear it. The tissue peeled back to reveal a sleek black box with subtle embossed lettering. 

Inside, nestled in charcoal foam, was a chess set.

The board was tempered glass, pristine, and faintly mirrored. The resin pieces gleamed against the dark interior, half opaque, half crystal clear, each one sculpted with elegant precision. 

“A chess set,” Ava confirmed before he could ask. 

He looked up at her, brow furrowed slightly. “You think I know how to play chess?”

“I think you should, and I’m going to teach you.” she replied, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of her mouth. “You’ve got a strategic mind, Bob. You just don’t know how to sharpen it yet.”

He stared at the set a moment longer, fingers brushing reverently over a rook. The resin was cool and smooth beneath his touch.

“I… I don’t know if I’m smart enough for chess,” he admitted, voice barely above a murmur. “I’ve never really…”

“You are,” Ava said, cutting him off with quiet certainty. She knelt beside where he sat, meeting his eyes. “You just think in a different rhythm. Chess will teach you how to trust your gut and see the board all at once. It’s like tactical training, only more elegant.”

Bob swallowed, nodding slowly as he turned one of the bishops between his thumb and forefinger. “Thank you. It’s beautiful.”

Ava tilted her head, her smile widening just a touch. She touched his shoulder briefly, warm and grounding. “You’re welcome! Happy birthday, my friend.”

*****

Bucky waited until nearly dinnertime. The compound had quieted from the earlier whirlwind of noise and celebration. Laughter still drifted faintly from the kitchen, where Kay was prepping something that smelled warm and garlicky. 

Bob sat low on the couch in a patch of sun, one knee drawn up, absently flipping through a small rule book that came with the chess set. Beside him, the LEGO castle stood half-finished on the coffee table, dragon lying on its side like a sleeping giant. 

Bucky stepped in quietly, his boots soft against the floor. He lingered in the doorway for a second, watching the way Bob sat with his shoulders slightly hunched, wholly absorbed in the chess book.

“Hey,” he said at last. “Got something for you.”

Bob looked up, blinking once.

Bucky handed him a neatly wrapped plain brown paper rectangle, tied with a thin cord.

Bob accepted it slowly, turning it over in his hands. He untied the cord carefully, and inside was a hardcover book, the jacket faded with time but intact. The title embossed in bold type across the top: The Way Things Work. Not the new one, but the original, illustrated and strange and beautiful. Mammoths pulling pulleys. Labeled schematics of hinges and gears and levers. The kind of encyclopedia that felt like a treasure map for a mechanically curious kid.

Bob’s breath caught.

He ran his fingertips reverently over the worn spine, then down the front cover where a cross-section of a medieval catapult stared back at him.

“I… used to see this in the school library,” he murmured, almost too soft to hear. “They wouldn’t let me check it out.” His thumb brushed a corner. “Said I bent the pages.”

There was no bitterness in his voice, just a quiet sadness.

Bucky just said, calm and steady, “No rules like that here.”

Bob swallowed, nodding slowly.

He opened the book and the spine cracked softly. The pages, dense with linework and diagrams, fell open like they’d been waiting for him. 

Bob reached for the corner of a page, more carefully than he’d ever done anything in his life. “This is…” He blinked once, twice. “This is perfect.”

Bucky let the corner of his mouth lift. Just barely. “I thought maybe it could be… familiar. But yours this time.”

Bob didn’t reply right away. But the way he kept turning the pages, slow and deliberate, said more than words could. “Thanks, Bucky.”

And Bucky, who had spent a lifetime learning the weight of silence, just nodded.

*****

After dinner, the lights were dimmed, the sky outside was darkening, and the windows fogged faintly from warmth and laughter and the remnants of garlic bread. The faint thrum of acoustic guitar music played low from someone’s speaker.

Kay had vanished into the kitchen momentarily. 

She reappeared, careful hands steadying a cake so beautiful it could’ve been plucked straight from a Parisian bakery window.

Three towering layers, impossibly fluffy, the white sponge kissed with pink where the strawberries bled into the cream. Ribbons of whipped cream curled in elegant waves around the edges, and fresh fruit glistened atop the cake like jewels. Delicate specks of edible gold leaf shimmered beneath the candlelight—glinting every time she moved, like tiny sunbursts frozen midair.

The room stilled.

Bob’s mouth dropped open with comic timing. His eyes went wide, then blinked like he was trying to reset a reality that had suddenly turned surreal.

“You said no sparklers,” Kay reminded gently, her voice carrying the lilt of a smile. “Not no cake.”

She placed it on the coffee table, now cleared of lego towers and drinks, and the candle flames flickered, warm and steady, reflecting in the dark glass of the window and in the awed eyes of the team surrounding him.

Bob didn’t speak at first. His hands were frozen in his lap, unsure of what to do with themselves. His ears went scarlet as he stared at the cake like it might vanish if he blinked too hard.

Then Kay leaned forward just slightly, her expression soft and glowing with pride. “Happy birthday, sweetie.”

Bob ducked his head as if to hide from the attention, but he couldn’t stop the wide genuine smile from cracking across his face. It was an uncertain smile that didn’t know how to exist, but was trying anyway.

He blew out the candles in one breath.

A chorus of cheers went up, not singing, but rich with affection. Ava whooped loudest. John shouted “What did you wish for?!” like he would actually get an answer. Yelena simply clapped once, sharply, like a judge approving a performance.

The cake was sliced in thick wedges. It tasted like summer: soft sponge, sweet cream, and strawberries.

Alexei declared it “obscenely good,” and tried to take a second piece before Kay swatted his hand. Bucky ate his slowly, with quiet appreciation. Yelena scraped every last dollop of whipped cream from her plate like she was extracting evidence. Kay, finally seated beside Bob, simply watched him eat, quiet and pleased, her expression a private kind of proud.

Afterward, the board games came out.

Monopoly (briefly, then angrily discarded). Scrabble (chaos). Codenames (where Ava, somehow, guessed “Hammer” from “Fish” and “France”). 

Bob’s new mug was full of hot cocoa, the scent mixing with the remnants of candle smoke and strawberries. His new sweater clung snug around his shoulders. His fingers occasionally drifted up to tug at one of the sleeves, still getting used to the garment.

The LEGO castle sat half-finished nearby, the dragon parts still in a pile, wings waiting to be snapped into place. The glass chess set gleamed from a side table, untouched for now, but no less present. 

And for the first time in as long as anyone could remember, Bob laughed.

Not the shy, quiet chuckle they were used to. But real, full-bodied laughter. The kind that shook his shoulders and crinkled his eyes. That spilled out uncontained and caught them all off guard in the best way.

It was the sound of healing, as though this birthday had given back a piece of the childhood he never got to have or a piece of joy he thought he’d missed forever.

And in that room of misfits, murderers, and second chances, no one could begrudge him a single second of it.

*****

The common room was darker now, dimmed overhead lights casting golden pools over the furniture. A nest of blankets and half-empty mugs cluttered the space. The remnants of cake clung to paper plates, and a few chess pieces from Ava’s set had migrated onto the coffee table. 

Yelena lounged across the couch like a queen draped in blankets, her socked feet propped on a pillow someone else was definitely using earlier. She swirled the last inch of hot cocoa in a mug.

“Alright, alright.” she drawled, smirking like someone who knew she was about to start something. “Since it’s past midnight, and we do eventually have to sleep, I propose we finish the day with a round of Truth or Dare. And none of that cowardly ‘truth every time’ crap.”

Kay rolled her eyes. “How old are we?”

“Old enough to make this game dangerous,” Ava replied, already grinning.

The first few rounds came with harmless teasing and a slow descent into chaos. Bob was dared to do five pushups with Alexei on his back. He did six.

John confessed, with no shame whatsoever, that he stole one of Alexei’s medals “out of curiosity,” then never gave it back out of spite. 

Ava’s turn ended in failure when Bucky dared her to wink "without looking like she wanted to murder someone." Bob nearly choked laughing.

And then Yelena straightened from her sprawl, eyes narrowing with slow delight. Her voice dropped into something purring and dangerous.

“Kay.” 

Kay raised an eyebrow, mouth half-full of popcorn. “Dare.”

“I dare you to kiss one of the team.”

A brief silence fell. It wasn’t scandalized, just interested. As though the game had suddenly become something worth leaning forward for.

Kay swallowed slowly, brushed a thumb across the corner of her mouth, and tilted her head as though she were making mental calculations. She wasn’t flustered, just measuring the mood. Then she tilted her head, amused by how quiet they'd gotten. “Before I begin…” she said carefully, her voice clear and cool, “does anybody not consent to a kiss?”

Her question was its own kind of dare where the resulting silence was an answer. 

She rose slowly, unfolding herself with the elegance of a cat stretching after a nap. The hem of her sweater swayed as she stood, and one sleeve slipped a little farther down her arm, exposing the slope of her shoulder. Her jeans hugged her curves, worn soft in all the right places. The movement was casual, but there was intention in every step.

Bucky’s mouth went dry. 

She began walking with slow, deliberate steps. Her gaze passed over each of them in turn.

She passed Alexei first. He straightened up, puffing out his chest.

Ava tilted her head like a predator watching a gazelle get cocky.

John sat up straighter.

Then Bob, who looked like he was trying to simultaneously act cool and not inhale his own shirt collar.

And then… Bucky.

Her gaze landed on him and lingered.

The air between them tightened. It crackled with something quiet and yet groundbreaking. He met her eyes, steady and guarded, but inside it was a cliff-edge sensation. His chest was tight, his stomach dropped, he felt like if he moved even a muscle the earth beneath him might split open.

He didn’t breathe. He didn’t even blink. Part of him swore this was the moment, and if she kissed him, he wasn’t sure he’d survive it.

Her lips parted. 

Then she shifted a half-step. 

She bent diagonally. 

And leaned down and pressed a soft, featherlight, tender kiss to Bob’s forehead. 

Bob blinked once. Then again. And then his face broke open into a smile so wide it seemed to light him from the inside, like someone had uncorked a little sunshine in his chest.

The room groaned in unison. Ava flopped dramatically sideways in her beanbag. John made a wounded noise. Alexei muttered something under his breath in Russian that sounded suspiciously like a swear.

Kay straightened. She adjusted the fall of her sweater like it had gotten ideas of its own, and turned to face the room with perfect calm.

Then she said, looking around the team in quiet disbelief: “What, you think I’m gonna crawl in someone’s lap and play tonsil hockey on a dare?”

The chuckles that followed cracked the tension. Yelena raised a hand half-heartedly. “Well… it was worth a shot.”

Ava nearly snorted her drink. “Alright, damn.”

John laughed, muttering under his breath. “I feel like I just got rejected and I wasn’t even in the running.”

Kay sat down again with a calm ease, dusting popcorn crumbs off her seat. 

Her voice was bone-dry, but steady, “Sorry to disappoint,” not really sorry at all. 

*****

Bucky didn’t move, didn't even breathe too deeply. His body stayed still, spine straight, fists flat on his thighs, knuckles white against denim. But inside, it hit like him a car crash.

Crawl into someone’s lap. Play tonsil hockey. 

She’d said it like it was a joke, and the room had laughed. But Bucky couldn’t laugh. He still couldn’t even move. He wanted her lips on him too desperately.

He had imagined it too many times to count: slow and soft, urgent and needy, pressed against a wall, tangled in sheets, claimed and claiming back.

He knew the shape of that kiss before it had even happened.

But if she’d actually kissed one of the others, really kissed them, right there in front of him?

He wasn’t sure what he would’ve done.

Something reckless, definitely.

Something permanent, if only because there’d be no coming back from it, not for him. Not for the way he’d feel watching her give away what he hadn’t even let himself ask for.

He’d imagined a thousand ways she might kiss someone, but never not him while in front of him.

And yet, she hadn’t done it. She’d made a show of choosing the safe sweet option. She chose kiss that didn’t mean anything. Or rather, didn’t mean everything.

She’d looked at him first. She had held his gaze and pinned him with it like a warning. 

And her half-step had saved his sanity.

Bob leaned back into his bean bag throne, smug and oblivious to Bucky's inner turmoil. He was beaming so brightly it was a miracle he hadn’t caught fire.

“Told you I was Mom’s favorite.”

The room exploded with raucous relieved laughter. Kay let out a quiet chuckle too, soft and automatic.

But her eyes still didn’t meet Bucky’s, though she felt him watching her.

“Parents don’t have favorites,” Kay smiled, soft and automatic. She played it off with practiced ease. Her voice breezy and warm. “We love all our children equally.”

Yelena grinned. “Sure, Mom.”

“Your turn, Barnes,” John said, grinning obliviously as he turned to Bucky. “Truth or dare?”

Bucky didn’t blink. “Truth.”

Kay smiled, slow and wicked. “I’ve got one.”

He turned back toward her, jaw loosening just enough to show interest.

She leaned forward, eyes glinting with amusement. “Do you put deodorant under one arm or both?”

There was a beat. He could have passed and shut it all down. But instead, he replied, completely straight-faced: “One.”

Without missing a beat, she raised an eyebrow.“Motor oil under the other?”

He tilted his head slightly. “WD-40, actually.”

The room lost it.

Yelena dropped her drink.

Bob fell off his bean bag chair. 

John wheezed like he’d aged ten years.

Ava doubled over with a full-body laugh.

Even Alexei boomed with laughter and clapped twice. 

Bucky’s smirk barely twitched upward, just enough to register, but his eyes never left Kay.

She was laughing freely now, head tilted back, hair spilling loosely over her shoulders, eyes crinkled, nose scrunched. It was the kind of laugh that started deep in her chest and bloomed upward, like spring breaking through frost.

He watched her with something caught between reverence and devastation. Because in that moment, it hit him that it wasn’t just her kiss he wanted. It was this version of her, glowing and free. The way her joy unfolded without apology. And he wanted to be the reason she looked like that. He wanted to be the one to make her laugh like that again, not once, in passing, but always. Every morning, every night, and every breath in between.

And that was the part that scared him. Not the ache of wanting her, but the deep and quiet knowing that this wasn’t just attraction anymore. It wasn’t quite love, not yet, but it was headed there fast and with no brakes. 

He could survive gunfire. He could survive ghosts of his past. But wanting her like this?

That was the one battle he wasn’t sure he could walk away from unscathed.

 

Chapter 11

Tag list: @lovely-seb @calwitch @its-in-the-woods

[whisperingmidnights]

Congratulations on 1700 followerssss, you deserve that and so much more, your writing is truly exceptional 🥹✨

You know I’m weak for Feysand and their Dove 😫 I’d love to see them and caught in the rain for the bingo 💜💜💜 (can we get a baby nyxie too with them pretty pleaseeee 🥺)

This is me, giving you the biggest hug 💕 I always appreciate your support so much, I look for you every time I put something new out.

I hope you enjoy this one, I just love this little family so much.

Little boots are built for puddles and, well, Velaris really does need the rain.

On our daily walk around the park closest to the River House, a spring breeze brought in a storm off the sea. Large, cold raindrops splatter against the stony path. Now more confident that his feet are firmly beneath him, Nyx is everywhere. All the time.

Clinging tightly to Feyre's fingers, he's stomping his little feet in the puddles while the family of ducks he'd been fascinated with seek shelter beneath a bush laden with blue and purple hydrangeas. His eyes dance with hints of starlight as he smiles up at his mother, and my heart squeezes when she smiles back at him. It's the happiest I've seen her in weeks.

Maybe now, with everyone mostly healed, we can reclaim some of what we lost. I'm still beneath the willow, chewing on my lower lip when Rhys wraps his arms around my shoulders.

"You're worrying again," he teases, pressing a kiss to my temple as I elbow him in the ribs. "We need you to do less of that."

"The elbowing or the worrying?"

"I'll keep the elbowing, I enjoy it when you're riled." I'll show him riled. "The worry and stress, however-"

"I'm not stressed."

"It's rolling off of you in waves, sweetheart. Do you want to talk about it?"

I don't. I should, Mother knows it would help, but what can I even say? I'm tired of watching my family suffer and suffering in kind. I want to fix everything for my mates, yet all I can do is stand by and hope things improve? I don't say anything, but I open my mind to him.

Rhys sifts through my emotions like sand, and I let him, keeping my eyes trained on Feyre and Nyx. I feel it then, the deep sense of empathy and understanding that he's always given me. He's knows me in ways that I don't always know myself, and I will never take that for granted again.

Not ever.

I turn in his embrace and slide my arms around his neck, pulling him down to kiss me as the rain falls around us. His arm locks around my waist as he curves over me, forever my shield against the storm. But we aren't alone for long.

I don't hear when the splashing stops, too caught up in the moment to pay attention to what's behind me, but I feel the familiar heat at my side before I catch Feyre's scent. Nyx's little hands grip my sweater, soaked from the rain, and I pull back from Rhys enough to kiss the babe's chubby cheek.

"Ma!" He babbles, one of the only words he can say, and I try not to spend too much time worrying about what he should call me when he has the words for it. "Mamama."

"Hi baby," I murmur, tickling his side until he squeals. Feyre laughs at him, and it's the loveliest sound I've ever heard. I want her to do it again. "We should get him home before he catches a chill."

"You take him," she says to Rhys, handing off the babe. Nyx immediately sets to work grabbing at his father's chin, endlessly fascinated by the stubble that occasionally graces it. "We need a minute."

"Do we?" I ask cautiously, tucking my hair behind my ears. Nyx and Rhys are gone in a blink, and Feyre's hands settle on my waist. She pulls me in until her body is flush against mine, and all I feel is her warmth. Her forehead drops against my own, and I breathe her in, winding my arms around her neck.

"We're okay," she whispers, breaking the silence that had settled around us. "I'm okay, I promise."

"Are you sure?"

"Very." Her starlight blue eyes twinkle as they bore into mine, and the smile on her pale pink lips is genuine. She really is okay, at least for today. "But I do think it's a little unfair."

"What is?"

"Rhys got a kiss, and I didn't."

"Yes, well, he's home with the baby now. You and I suddenly have all the time in the world."

"Do we?" she laughs, walking me back until my shoulders meet the tree trunk. My heart flutters at the joy in it, and I nip at her lower lip before I slant my lips over hers. I cling to her there, beneath the boughs of the willow tree, and let the rain wash away my worries for the moment.

We have time.

[thehomophobe]

Damn it! Why did this have to happen?!

Your crumpled form wriggled in pain. The fires slowly die down, leaving ashes and darkness. That explosion nearly killed you. Aw, you wished it did; you wouldn't be in pain while those lunatics run around. You tried crawling your way from the facility. Soot choked your lungs, making it harder to breathe. Pieces of shrapnel scratched your skin. Your blood smeared the ground. Everything hurt like hell. Your ribs were definitely broken; had it not been for the cushions you landed, you would've broken your spine.

"C'mon c'mon!" You panicked, "I have to get out of here before they catch me." Your mind shouts, but your body doesn't listen.

Those damn idiots! A simple mission turned into a complete fiasco because of them. Someone thought it would be a bright idea to let an arcanist with an explosive epithet come infiltrate a firearms facility. You ground your teeth. Damn them. Damn them all!

You kept fighting, trying to survive. Prison is the last place you want to be. You rather bleed to death than suffer from a lethal injection. C'mon (Y/N), push. Push harder!

"RRrrrhh.." New wounds were starting to form, blooming onto your skin. The blood trail spread in a perfect road of red. They'll find you. And they'll bring you to the Prison of Radical Arcanists. And the chief would sentence you to your death.

And you'll never fulfill his promise.

"Soren...I'm...sorry..."

The colors started to fade. Everything started to turn hazy and gray. You couldn't feel your legs. Your arms. Your aching back and your sore throat. Every breath cut you like daggers until you couldn't feel yourself inhale anything. Your eyes close in defeat.

"hey..."

"hey...get up..."

"...hello?"

"hello...?"

"wake up!"

"WAKE UP!!!"

You jolt awake. Jeez... whoever was yelling did NOT help with the ringing in your ears. A pounding migraine emerges with your awakening; shit... Your eyes scan the room—the outside area where you are currently lying. Nothing but hard, smooth concrete with occasional patches of grass. Neat shrubs and bushes line the edges of a metal fence. Flowers and vegetables bloom peacefully. A pond with a bubbling waterfall adds serenity to the lot. However, your view is obstructed by a group of people. Expressions of anger, curiosity, and neutrality are present among the group. With you in a kneeling position, everyone stands tall and imposing around you. By your side is a soldier clad in grays and whites. His face is covered by a metal mask with a single thin line that emits a flickering light of emotion.

"Stay down, criminal." The soldier ordered as a heavy hand clutched the back of your head. Once again, your face hits the pavement.

"Hey don't hurt them! They're already bruised enough." Said one woman; the shortest-looking one in pink. Her hair was pure white in a long bob. Hands on her hips made the chain link of candy hearts jingle. Animal print leg warmers, mismatched jewelry, chunky boots with a delicate skirt and sweater, purple eyes with wilted light brows, clearly she's more concerned about your wellbeing than anything.

Unlike the brolick guy next to her.

A rich brown like western coneflowers, the man's form was revealed to the world. All that lies are green jumpsuit pants and combat boots covering his lower half. The rest of the jumpsuit was tied to his waist. Star-shaped sunglasses perched on his head as red eyes stared daggers at you. The guy fiddled with the toothpick in his mouth. "What's the point? We're gonna kill 'em anyways." He rumbled.

"Make it quick. I still have work to do." A woman of smoky quartz growled. She's taller than the other one but shorter than the guy. Arms crossed over a red sports bra. A leather jacket studded with silver spikes and buttons covered her shoulders. Ripped black jean shorts had equally ripped fishnet stockings underneath. She too had defined muscles, which seemed to flex with annoyance. Wild silver hair was contained in a ponytail except for a kinky green strand. Despite all that, she wore heavy makeup. Golden yellow eyes pierced through your soul as if they cut it to shreds.

Standing fearfully with a bit lip, an incredibly tall guy shuffled his feet. He looked like he wanted to protest, but he was afraid to get scolded by his peers. As said before, the guy was tall and lithe. The red balloon pants he was wearing only acted as a distraction. The rest of the outfit consisted of a yellow vest with a golden sun brooch shining in the light over a white collared shirt, blood-red gloves stopping at his arms, and shin-high boots with crooked ends. A red stewardess's hat was tilted over short blonde hair. Through his blue eyes and pale freckled face laid worries.

Next to him stood an equally lithe man. His face appeared incredibly gaunt with a deathly pallor, resembling a ghost or an overworked employee. Navy blue bangs fell in curtains over his eyes while the rest spilled over his clothes. A billowing cloak enveloped his entire body, making him seem more burly than he likely is. Not even his arms or legs are visible, just a mass of deep blues and inky blacks. Through the thin strands of his hair, he glares daggers at your form with blood-red eyes. "Pathetic" was the insult that his face conveyed to you.

"Calm down everyone. We shall make this trial brief for everyone's sake." A calming voice soothes the tension rising in the plot, yet from where you lay you couldn't find the source. It sounded commanding despite the tone, like a father lecturing his children. You tried squirming around but the soldier hovering over you halted your "attempted escape".

"Oi! Quit it you! The leader of the Glam League is speaking. Show some respect!"

"That's enough soldier." The calm voice demanded. The silver soldier obeyed by removing his elbow from your spine and directing you to the voice. Walking along the paved lot, a burly man with a large pilot jacket stretched down to his ankles, sashaying at the ends with each step. A simple but decorous lieutenant uniform with woolen combat boots was his attire for this trial, yet the little stuffed teddy bear linked to his breast pocket made the outfit a little informal. You looked into the calming blue eyes of the commander; you felt safe in them, like a warm hug from a parent. Only if you were born into a different life should you experience that feeling, otherwise, it was a fantasy to you. The commander stopped at the side of his comrades; they all still looked to him for further orders. Their leader hummed, rubbing the scruff of his beard hair as he eyed you.

"So you are the infamous Apprititionist." He stated, "We've heard much about you."

You clicked your teeth. "What do ya wanna know?"

"Ah, but that's your job."

A groan can be heard from one of the members, the coneflower man. "Quit flirting an' let's get this over with." He cracks his knuckles, "I say we kill 'em." His verdict made the shortest girl and the blonde flinch. The silver-haired woman scoffs in disdain.

"Can't believe I'm saying this, but I'm with Monty on this."

"You two are heartless!" Argued the blonde with a hand clutching his aching heart. "Let's at least give him a chance to prove his innocence. He's human, just like us. We shouldn't sentence him yet." The blonde looked at you with a soft gaze and a bright smile. Clearly, this guy has no idea what you've done in the past. And it isn't as simple as robbery. You've gotten yourself knee-deep in filth and blood crusted permanently inside your fingernails. You've killed a man once or twice or dozens of times. It's true what the headlines say: "The Apprititionist, a sociopath, an anarchist, an icon for all arcanist." Many people worship you, as many people fear you and hate you as well. But sometimes, one's man terrorist is another man's freedom fighter; who's to say you're not doing this for you alone? And him. Him too.

"Sun, do you even know what you're talking about? This is the same guy who implanted black smog grenades underneath a hospital." Said the dark sorcerer next to the blonde.

"Still, Moon, this is a trial. Everyone deserves one last chance." The blonde---Sun---smiled at his darker twin. Moon---the sorcerer--glares at his counterpart.

"And a chance is what we'll give him." The burly leader waved a palm to the soldier. The tin man allowed you to rise from the hard pavement to observe the temporary judge properly. "Now before we begin, tell us your name."

"The Apprititionist." You snickered. As if you tell this guy your real name.

"Now, if you keep jesting like this, our judgment may not be as lenient as you would like." The leader chastised like a parent. Too much like a parent. It was starting to get irritating.

"Shut it, fuckwad."

"Oi! That's enough from you." The soldier was ready to knock you out again, but the leader halted the attempted violence. His patience was ungodly, a little scary in your head.

"Violence isn't going to fix things. As this is a trial, we should remain civil and mannerly. From both sides." The leader's blue eyes lowered towards you. They almost looked...sultry. Almost attractive. Now that you mention it, he's sexy as hell. The burliness and brawn of his stature, the way he moves, the sound of his voice...God damn was he fine.

Wait wait wait wait, you can't be thinking about this right now. Your head is on the chopping block.

"Let's start things over." The man clears his throat. "My name is Fredrich Fazuras, the leader of the Glam League." A hand was placed on his chest in chivalry. "And these are my favorable comrades." He gestures to the five other members.

"Chica Satoshi." The short girl waves at you cheerfully like you're the new neighbor from down the road.

"Hi ya! You're a lot shorter in person than I thought." Gee thanks, little bitch.

"Montgomery Blackman." The coneflower man only gruffed at you. You can't blame him, his leader turned this trial into an employee interview.

"Roxanne Willowclaw." The silver-haired woman glared at you.

"Raymond "Sun" Celeste." The blonde smiled and waved.

"And Wayne "Moon" Celeste." The navy-haired man grimaced even more.

"Wow, you guys are a colorful bunch, " you quipped. The soldier hit you on the back of the head. You weren't wrong, though. It seemed everyone had a theme. Fredrich's cool blue eyes looked at you again.

"Go on now, tell us your name." He cooed.

"Why'd you need my name so bad?"

"For your grave once we execute you." Moon---Wayne---said bluntly. His brother gasped and scolded at his unnecessary reaction. Honestly, now that you look at it, he's got a nice face. A nice, punchable face. A really nice...really handsome...punchable face...You're spiraling again (Y/N), get a fucking grip!

"Are we gonna begin the trial or what?!" Said Roxanne.

"Settle down, Roxy. We will begin the trial now," Fredrich said calmly. "Today, the Apprititionist is on trial for numerous crimes against the Federal Arcanum Agency and the human government, including larceny, arson, embezzlement, identity fraud, and, of course, murder." That sounds about right. "While the Supreme Court might give you a more authoritarian trial, we will be lenient with you since you are one of our own," Fredrich concluded his opening speech. "The evidence will be presented shortly."

Suddenly, as if summoned by a wave of his hand, another tin soldier humped over with files in hand. And damn, was it thick. Shit... did you really do that much in the past six months? The leader spread the workload among his peers, scanning through the evidence they had somehow collected while you were off the grid for most of the time. As you watch the members sift through the files, exposing the horrible crimes you've committed, you can't help but gulp. A cold sweat trickles down your skin, slowly falling from your temple to your cheek.

Get your shit together man! A mantra you always shout at yourself to man up. For fuck's sake, get a grip. Your head is on the chopping block, and it doesn't matter that all these guys are kinda hot. Just...stay calm. Everything is gonna be fine. That's what you always said to Soren.

"Illegal arms dealing, racketeering, jaywalking?!" Sun gasped in distress. God this guy was annoying...it didn't help that his expressions were so cute though.

"Shit man, you blew up half of a hospital?" Montgomery raised a brow at you.

"Should've blown up the whole building," Moon stated, earning him a smack upside the head from his brother. You started to wonder what side he was on.

"OK, clearly this guy's a sociopath." Roxanne declared. "Which means he's guilty, so we should kill him."

"Hold on! I didn't give my side of the story yet!" You shouted. You had enough of these so-called authority belittling you without giving you a chance to speak. You gritted your teeth; damn oppressors!

"Fine then, explain why bombing half a hospital is considered good?" Montgomery hissed.

"Ever heard of the Stillclaw? Turns out his visit wasn't for his checkup. That jackass tried to kill the mayor's daughter after her car crash. I was only trying to save her."

"You know you could've taken less drastic measures," Sun advised. "There are better ways to save others than blowing places to smithereens." You rolled your eyes; if only it were that easy. Nowadays, humans are giving you a bad name. You've been abused, mocked and ridiculed by them, all because you're different. That you were born with Arcanum. And not them. In their eyes, an act of fairness was in order, but of course, some people like to take their own drastic ways to even the playing field. The media, the press, the riots and raids. All to find a way to kick you guys out. Some arcanists, like Stillclaw, took the enmity and made himself a villain. While others, like yourself, had tried to erase those lies from the world. But it only made matters worse.

"Look, I might be the bad guy to you all, but I'm just trying to prove a point. You've seen the news: "Wild Arcanists on the Loose. Chaos Roams Through the Streets as They Run About. Human Government Tries to Punish These Lunatics for Their Crimes." I don't know how close you all are to the government, or humans for that matter, but I'm sure, as arcanists, you understand how damaging this looks for us. Our image is being destroyed here, and I'm trying to fix it." You furrowed your brow. "You could kill me if you want, but it won't make you any better than them."

"Spare us the ultimatum. You just said the image of arcanists is being destroyed right? What makes you think you're doing any good? If any, you're making things worse trying to be a hero." Roxanne spat. "It's better if your ugly face was wiped off the planet than them."

"So you think killing uncontrollable arcanists is going to fix things faster? Sheesh, I didn't know you guys hated our kind. I thought you were freedom fighters, not the secret police."

The members' eyes widen at your comment. You know you're right; seeing as these guys are local freedom fighters, they must agree with you. You could hear Fredrich hum, a deep bellowing noise emitted from the burly man.

"You calling us traitors, dickhead?!" Montgomery stomped towards you. Your shit-eating grin fell as he scowled at you. A kick to the face led you to the ground. He kicked your jaw before stomping against your right ear. More hot blood fell from your face. You could feel your jaw shift back and your teeth stinging with pain.

"Monty!"

"Yeah, get his ass!"

The man kept pummeling you to submission; your blood spat around the pavement. You would've used your arcane skill if it was for the cuffs."Monty, that's enough!" Once again, you were saved by Fredrich's command. Monty stopped his curb-stomping, clicking his teeth before spitting on you. "Perhaps...he has a point."

"WHAT?!"

"Freddy, are you serious?!"

"You want to keep a criminal alive?!

"Settle down everyone. I have my reasons." The burly man calmed his peers. "What this arcanist may or may not have done is deemed unethical and immoral, as it breaks the social contract, but he is right; this execution would only prove their point. Our kind are not monsters or rabid animals."

"The press says otherwise." Moon hissed.

"While the news may be run by humans, there are other, arcanist-led media derivatives, besides UTTU. And it does seem to give arcanists a sense of acceptance in this world. We've been interviewed and reported countless times. The Glam League has become a symbol of hope among our kind and a sign of change among humans. Chica, you've seen our friends from the downtown district."

"Oh yeah, Donna and Mrs. Cherryvine. And the triplets from down the road." Chica's eyes lit up.

"Yes, all of them." Fredrich smiled. "And there's more of them out there, fighting and celebrating us."

"Alright alright we get it, not everybody hates us. That still doesn't prove this guy innocent." Monty huffed. "Who's to say he's not gonna blow this place up?"

"Which is why I suggest instead of an execution," Fredrich turned to you, "we should hire you, Apprititionist."

"Hire? ME?" You bug-eyed. It ain't an execution, but you didn't feel like getting a job today. You always worked better alone in an open setting where no one oppresses or suppresses you as some bosses do. It's exactly why you couldn't get a job; living in a dingy apartment isn't that bad though. You're friends with the landlord, meaning you get free access to a small studio apartment filled with black mold and a free pet rat named Harriet. Your job was freedom fighter and activist. Not corporate arcanist for hire. "Sorry Fredbear, but I ain't for hire. I'm a free man, not a money-hunger bum."

"Oh, I know. You seemed like someone who wouldn't be here for the money. I believe an example of a transformed arcanist would help promote our cause."

"If you wanted an ad, buy a billboard. They're just them anywhere nowadays."

Fredrich only chuckled at your quip. "Well then, I guess we'll let you go then. I'll go on and have someone dismantle the room we built for you. It would be such a waste though."

Your eye twitched. Damn it...Well, guess a...free place to stay with food and running water ain't so bad. "All I gotta do is be nice an' shit?" You clicked your teeth. "Fine by me."

"Excellent." Fredrich smiled before heading inside the building. Before you continue to follow him, he stops and turns back to you. "Welcome, (Y/N) (L/N), to the Glam League Headquarters.

[dsgirl2024]

The World You See | Prologue | Hoseok | BTS OT7 x Reader Fanfiction

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CONTENT WARNING

This story has explicit descriptions of death, drug use, alcohol use, addiction, sex, language, mental illness, suicide, and other possibly triggering content.

If this will effect your well being in ANY WAY, PLEASE DO NOT READ!

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ABOUT

Genre ☆ Fantasy / Romance (Fanfiction)

Rating ☆ Mature (18+ Minors DNI)

Pairing ☆ BTS OT7 x Reader

Story Type ☆ Angel BTS (AU)

SUMMARY

You've always seen the world a bit differently than others. It was like your magic power. And maybe that was why only you could see the lights that night. The big, astronomical explosion of lights that rained down to earth in colors you had never known to have existed until now. Little did you know about a divine destiny beyond your wildest dreams, and seven angelic beings brought down from heaven to guide you.

Apparently, the world is ending, and they're convinced that you're the one to save it. All you have to do, is figure out how.

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Seoul was extraordinarily cold for an early-spring night. 

A bitter sort of chill, one that called for sweaters, hats and for some, a warm coat. The perfect type of night to stay in doors, safe and cozy, curling up on the couch with a steaming cup of tea. A great book in hand, or perhaps a Netflix session to start off a weekend binge.

At least, that appealed to some people.

For others, it was never too cold to live it up--throw on a cute fit and assemble the squad. No matter how low the temperature dropped, the active city at no time neglected a vibrant nightlife. Neon lights illuminated the ground, bleeding saturated colors, and the black pavement glittered as club-goers and bar-hoppers bustled from place to place.

Just as those whom braved the weather, stilettos clacking and hair done-up, someone else had been promised a good time that night.

The time of his life.

One of grandeur and refinement, at the top of the classiest hotel. Where old money mingled with new money, striking deals as they utilized charisma like a weapon--guns loaded, waiting for the right moment to strike. Not ever really enjoying the company of each other, though feigning pleasantries for the sake of the game. The salacious game of shameless business, be it for power, money or love.

And tonight, many had gathered to play. Dressed in the finest attire, their sparkling bodies circled and flirted, sipping on champagne with painted lips and fake smiles. Dazzling, beautiful people, fat with riches, Botox and high societal respect. The creme-de-la-creme.

How ignorant they were.

How oblivious.

Such egocentric, vapid humans, so self involved that they'd hardly noticed the absence of the man whom they came for in the first place.

This was his night. His party. Recognition for all the sweat and tears he'd spilled vying for a spot within their good graces. Validation, that his professional enslavement was all gearing for a brighter future. Oh, the butts he kissed, the demands he dealt with.

The sacrifices he made.

He should be drunk as fuck, enjoying the food, befriending the one percent, charming some women and busting out his sick dance moves. His time had come.He'd finally made it.

So why?

Why, instead, did Jung Hoseok find the tops of his leather-shoed feet dangled off the hotel roof,  dangerously toying with a fatal descent? 

More importantly, why did he look so...

broken?

Tears streaming, wet and snotty, the tall, elegant man appeared as if the seams to his existence had torn apart. Like his insides were barely contained, spilling from all sides, as he clutched his rib cage desperately. Sniffing, chocking down sobs.

The icy winds whipped violently, staining his skin with raw, pink stripes and the coattails of his black Armani tux flapped like flags at mast.

'Ding' A chime alerted from his suit pocket.

Hoseok's weight teetered unsteadily, grimacing, the sound clearly distraught him. "You've won!" He thought, "Just leave me alone!"

'Ding, ding' It chimed again. Determined.

Hoseok swallowed thickly.

Fishing around in his tux, the man pulled out his phone and looked down at the Kakao Talk ID that popped up on the screen. JustYourPrince had sent him a new attachment. His heart dropped, anxious as he opened it, eyes swiping the image with speed. A strangled groan ripped from his throat.

It was a picture of a blind-folded woman. She was tied up and gagged with a gun pointed at her temple. Her long, black locks abnormally messed, and it had been clear by her bloodied lip that she'd put up a fight. Tears of recognition welled in Hoseok's eyes.

'Tick, tock.' The message below spelled out.

An anguished look distorted delicate features, as Hoseok threw his head to the sky, searching for a sign, praying that God had a sick sense of humor. This wasn't really happening. This couldn't actually be happening.

Not to him.

Not to her.

'Ding'

'Ding'

'Ding'

"I can't take it anymore! Ok? I'll do it! I'll do it, I said! So please, just stop!"

The man didn't want to jump.

He had to jump.

That is to say, there didn't seem to be an alternative option. If Hoseok didn't do what they'd asked, she was going to pay the price for it.

'Friday at midnight. If you don't do it by then, she'll suffer the consequences of your actions, Mr. Jung.' That's what they told him.

It was Friday.

Time was running out.

Looking down, the man's stomach lurched. Woozy from the vertigo, he blinked through the blur, palms sweaty, nails digging, as he gauged the height of the drop. Must be at least twenty stories. The hundreds of bodies below resembled dots amidst the glow of building lights. For a moment, he envied those dots. So insignificant--free to exist in peace, camouflaged by the vastness of society.

'Dong--' 'Dong--'  rang the clock-tower bells a few blocks over, a final countdown initiating.

11:59 p.m.

A singular tear dripped off his nose and fell to the streets below. Hoseok sucked in a breath as he watched it vanish from sight, holding in air then relinquishing it all at once. Trembling.

Anticipating.

Wondering, how everything spun so far out of control? It wasn't supposed to be like this. The man's life was in mere adolescence, opportunities just started knocking at his door. He'd worked so hard fortoo long, only to at last receive his reward--and now that reward was being snatched from his grasp. Cruelly. Evilly. The sweet taste of success, drowned by the bitterness of his misfortune.

It wasn't fair.

It wasn't fair at all, but Hoseok couldn't let her suffer. Not for something that was his responsibility in the first place. He refused to allow another person he loved foot his bill, because the last time, it had ended badly.  No one was meant to get hurt, but a dangerous game had been played--against an even more formidable foe. One whom he'd sorely miscalculated, and that had been his first grave mistake.

'Dong--'

His second was his naivety.

'Dong--'

His third was his negligence.

'Dong--'

Maybe this was karma--

'Dong--'

--reaping what he sowed.

'Dong--'

As the last bell tolled, Hoseok shut his eyes tight, collecting his wits. Carefully, he turned his back from the ledge, unwilling to witness full force his death to the ground beneath. He'd rather face the sky, instead. That way, he'd be less afraid. 

The wind shoved at his chest, demanding and hostile, as if it'd grown impatient, reminding the man of the urgency.

'At midnight.' It whispered.'Tick, tok.'

Hoseok told the wind to kindly, fuck off.

Let him go on his own terms.

Let him go with dignity.

Composed.

Mind clear.

Deep breath.

And then he went, tipping himself over the ledge. 

Air rushed his descending person, as gravity dragged him down. Faster and faster, the feeling unlike any he'd experienced before. Adrenaline juiced through his veins like a drug, blood pumping at a frightening speed. It was almost... exciting--fun even, if not for the end Hoseok knew awaited him.

Soon, he would be nothing more than a splattered lump on concrete. An eyesore for pedestrians, and a burden for the poor soul tasked with scrapping his guts off the sidewalk. It'd be quick, though, he was thankful for that.

At least this way, he could free himself.

Free them both.

The thought brought him some comfort.

Then, out of nowhere, a blinding light intrigued Hoseok's eyes to open. He gasped, enthralled by what he saw. Beautiful and terrifying all at once, the indescribable hues of colors gave chase to his falling form. Illuminated beams extended out, weaving and streaking the stratosphere like arms to catch him before he hit the ground below.

Stretching out as far as he could, Hoseok yearned to touch it, curious to learn its texture. Time seemed to slow. Dark hair kissed his cheeks gently, fluttering, as he wondered what something so pretty even felt like? Was it cold? Or did it burn? Sting? Tingle? Drench?

Since he was going to die regardless, it'd be nice to die knowing something like that. Maybe then, the idea of his life cut short wouldn't be so bad, so tragic.

Maybe then, he'd have some hope.

As though his request had been heard, the light sped faster, until suddenly his fingertips grazed the surface. Sizzling. An electrifying current blew through his veins, hot and freezing all at the same time. Flesh quivering, pleasured by the exotic sensation, Hoseok's lips parted in a blissful grin. 

Because now he knew.

He knew everything.

Completely at peace and with an accepting look in his eye, the man gave himself over to the light. Permitting his body to be consumed within its glow, before he came crashing down on the sidewalk beneath. 

The midnight bell concluded, marking the arrival of a new day. 0:00 a.m.

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Read on WATTPAD

Story Updates ☆Tuesday, Friday or Saturday (2:00-7:00pm EST)

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[carlos-in-glasses]

Thank you for the tag @im-overstimulated-and-im-sad @whatsintheboxmh @strandnreyes @thisbuildinghasfeelings 🧡💛

Chapter 7: A Boy's Best Friend of Where All This Love Comes From is up on ao3 - so this is some TK and Owen from Chapter 8: Your Heart, As if It Was My Very Own - coming Sunday. Really looking forward to sharing!

“I let you go to Mike’s Superbowl party on one condition,” Owen says, heaving himself out of the chair. “No substances. And you promised.”

“I didn’t, I didn’t.” TK smiles and nudges Owen’s chest. “I’m just tired. I need to go to bed.”

“TK. Look at me.”

“Noooo I’m fine.”

“TK!” Owen grabs TK by his backpack. TK struggles and jerks his arms around until his backpack and coat come away in Owen’s hands. Owen lets both items clatter to the floor – and when the bag smacks the floorboards, there’s a strange buzzing sound.

“What’s that?” Owen asks.

“I don’t know,” TK says quickly, launching for the backpack at the same time as Owen – his blood running cold when he sees the black canvas undulating.

The Oxy has dulled his reaction times. Owen snatches the bag and unzips.

There it all is. A half-eaten Hershey bar. A green tube containing pills (opened). A strip of ribbed condoms (eleven serrated squares out of twelve). And a pink vibrator that is accidentally vibrating and thrusting at its highest setting.

Owen takes the vibrator out of the bag, stares at it moving in his hand like a living thing, and then switches it off with some difficulty.

“I can explain,” TK says once the room falls blessedly quiet but for street noise below.

Owen looks at the vibrator, looks at TK, looks at the vibrator. Looks at TK. “Did you get this the same place you got that?” he nods at the New York University hoodie that TK stole from Mike when Mike wasn’t looking. He put it on over his sweater and under his coat for extra warmth, which he thought was sensible. “Same place you got the pills?”

“And the chocolate bar,” TK admits. “Look–”

“You told me you were going to Mike’s, and you went to fucking New York University and came home with Oxy and a sex toy?”

“Like I said. I can explain,” TK says, even though explaining would mean repeating everything Owen just said. Because that is what happened.

“This is going in the trash. All of it.” Owen stomps away to the kitchen with TK in wobbly pursuit.

“No! I should be allowed to have that,” TK cries, more fussed about the vibrator than the pills at this point, because he had grand plans.

Owen pulls the garbage can out of its hideaway cupboard and dumps the condoms and vibrator into the sack – the vibrator springing to life again among egg shells and scrapped leftovers. Owen stares at TK seriously. Holding eye contact, he shuts the garbage can away while the vibrator carries on singing, slightly muffled. It will keep going until the battery dies.

Open tags and tags below

@lemonlyman-dotcom @cold-blooded-jelly-doughnut @paperstorm @eclectic-sassycoweyes @liminalmemories21 @heartstringsduet @welcometololaland @fitzherbertssmolder @ladytessa74 @lightningboltreader @bonheur-cafe @chaotictarlos @chicgeekgirl89 @alrightbuckaroo @noxsoulmate @freneticfloetry @herefortarlos @louis-ii-reyes-strand @carlos-tk @redshirt2 @wandering-night19 @inkweedandlizards @inflarescent @jesuisici33 @three-drink-amy @reyesstrand @theghostofashton @rmd-writes @goodways @louis-ii-reyes-strand - if you want to share/haven't already! No pressure ever! ❤️🩷🧡💛💚💙🩵💜

[gabriel-xander]

Don't Forget

[Sans x Female!Reader]

11: That Was a Real Rib-Tickler

♪⁠────✿⁠(⁠✧◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕✧⁠)✿⁠────♪

Unsurprisingly, it doesn’t take much to persuade Papyrus into letting a human stay with them and NOT report you to Undyne. He had an internal battle with himself about lying, but after explaining your situation a bit, and saying how you just want to live peacefully, he gave in pretty quickly.

Papyrus is sympathetic to your situation (specifically how there’s a crazy monster who really wants your soul), and even volunteered to clean out the Capture Zone so you’d have somewhere to sleep!

Sans then had to stop his brother because no, you cannot sleep in the garage (if you told Toriel… oof, there’s no telling how she’d react). Instead, you can just crash on their couch.

WHAT A BRILLIANT IDEA!

And so it’s the next day after talking to Toriel, and Sans will be returning with you in time for dinner! Their new… roommate? Papyrus is so excited! In fact, while Sans is going to get you, Papyrus will take this time to make you some spaghetti as a great welcome!

…

That’ll be a great surprise for sure.

In all honesty, Sans is a little nervous to meet you. Toriel said you’re nice, but the way Toriel basically threatened him yesterday… It’s like you’re her little princess or something. Sans actually has to watch out for you because if he doesn’t, there’s a real chance you’ll snitch him out. How inconvenient. But if this is what he needs to get to know the new human and determine if you’re a real threat or not, then he’ll just have to deal with it.

Sans is out of range of the camera’s lense that’s hidden in the bush that’s by the Ruin doors. He’s gotta find a way to hide you from it without it being suspicious. From what he knows, it doesn’t have a mic, so that’s one problem out of the way. He could just… He can just stand in front of it with his back turned towards it?

Creeaak…!

The doors slowly push open, so Sans hurries (not really) to move in front of the bush, putting his hands in his sweater’s pockets.

“Goddamn…!” A female voice grunts from effort on the other side of the doors, “These doors are so fucking heavy, what the fuck?!”

…???

Sans debates if he should help you or not, but he kinda wants to see where this goes. The doors are hard to push open because of the snow getting caught in the bottom. It doesn't seem like you're entirely aware of that though.

“Hooooh, my fuck!” The door opens more, revealing [h/c] hair, “Okay, I know I’m not weak, this is so embarrassing…!”

…Okay, he’ll admit that was funny. You know what will be funnier, though?

Oh so casually, Sans uses a bit of magic to swing open the doors.

”WAHH!!!”

A body falls to the ground, getting a face full of snow. A suitcase was still in the Ruins behind you. While you’re busy eating shit, Sans pulls your suitcase so he can close the doors. He looks down at you, holding back a snicker.

Well, you look like a princess with that dress of yours, but he probably shouldn’t judge a book by its cover. With a soft whine, you push yourself up with your hand while the other goes to wipe the snow off your face. Then, you tense up. Slowly, you turn your head to look at his feet. Gradually, your eyes and head travel up until you two finally make eye contact.

You blink, “I… Hello.”

Sans gives you a wink, “welcome to the underground. how was the fall?”

Naur…

He said it…

He said the thing…

That had so many layers with that one line alone.

You put a hand over your mouth, your eyes begin to water from holding back laughter.

“Hey, man.” You squeak, a giggle almost escaping, “It was alright, I-I had better…”

“…you okay?”

You nod, taking a deep breath while standing up, “Yeah, I just—It’s been a long day. Ahem.”

You wipe off the snow from your dress, but give up immediately. ”Anyway, you must be the friend I heard a lot about, right?” You put out your right hand, “I’m [Y/n]. [Y/n] the Human. It’s great to meet you…?”

Sans takes your hand into his pink gloved one-

PPPPPPPPFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTTT…!!!

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…” You pinch the bridge of your nose with your other hand, not bothering to hide your wide smile, “…I’d give that… a six out of ten.”

Sans barely holds back a snort, “did you just rate my whoopee cushion fart?”

“Don’t get me wrong, it was really good!  But I didn’t feel like it came from the soul, you know? I think it can do better next time.”

Nothing could have prepared him for you rating his fake fart as a first interaction. And…. And such a low score, too!

“i guess i should think about investing in better whoopee cushions,” Sans finally lets go of your hand, “anyway, i’m sans. san the skeleton.”

“Ah, Sans the Comic,” You give him an obvious once-over, “A skeleton monster, though? Gee, I couldn’t tell.”

Sans is… not what you were expecting, yet at the same time, you could’ve guessed it’s how he looked in person. His head is an actual skull, not just that funny little round face he has in the game. Though that’s not to say he ISN’T round–a lot of his sharp edges are, well, not very sharp. His teeth are somehow in a permanent, cheeky smile and his white pupils are just eye-lights, you assume, he summons with magic.

He’s also not as… thick as you’re used to seeing in fanart. You suppose it makes sense since he’s a whole fucking skeleoton, but he somehow has that fluffy vibe to him as well. He’s also taller than you were expecting. Toriel said that monsters are just naturally bigger than humans, and it proves now since Sans looks to be about… what, 5’ 5 (165cm)?

You noticed that when he talks, his mouth (mouth? Teeth? Whatever) isn’t moving.

How spooky.

His voice kind of reminds you of… what’s that Youtuber’s name? Moist Critikal?

“How are you doing that?” You decide to just ask, motioning to your own lips, “You’re talking but your mouth isn’t moving.”

“that’s the cool thing about magic, we can get away with a lot of things that we normally can’t,” He tilts his head up, showing off his neck that’s hidden behind that turtleneck, “i don’t got a voice box, but my magic is my voice.”

“Oh, shit. That’s actually cool,” You shake your head, “Sorry, we’re getting off track. I’ll just be honest, I’m a little nervous about this, especially because I don’t know you. But I hope we can get along anyway and over time, we can become friends. Thank you for taking care of me.”

Caught off guard, Sans blinks at your bluntness. Straight out the gate you tell him that you don’t fully trust him, but still share that you hope that you two can be friends eventually. Your body language certainly showed you were nervous right now. Shifting from one foot to the other, avoiding eye contact, your awkward smile.

“what? you mean you’re scared to be in a dark, spooky cavern with monsters crawling around?” He offers you a wink, “i promised toriel that i’d take good care of you, so that’s what i’m gonna do.”

You tense up. Toriel never mentioned that she told Sans her name. And he’s “not supposed to know” until the very end either. You can also pinpoint the moment Sans realizes his mistake. Unfortunately, you’re a little shit and don’t let him get away with it.

”How did you know her name, bone boy?” You smile slightly, raising an eyebrow.

”heh. so she told you about that too, huh?” Sorry, Napstablook. “i’ve seen a ghost go through the door a lot lately. when i asked him about it, he told me why.”

“Ahhh,” You nod in understanding. “So, you already knew about me before Toriel told you anything. What’s the verdict then?”

Well… You don’t sound upset.

“what do you mean?”

“That ghost, Napstablook, he must’ve told you more than just Toriel’s name and that I existed, right?” You ask, “He’s a great friend, you know. Did he tell you anything else about me?”

“nothing else but praise,” Sans gives you the side eye, “so, what? am in trouble now?”

“Pfft—For what, dude?” You chuckle and shake your head, “You’ve mistaken me for someone who gives a shit about my friends talking about me. Unless Blooky was talking shit, I don’t really care.”

Oh.

So, you’re actually more carefree than he thought. So far… you’re nearly everything as Napstablook (and Toriel) described you. You’ve shown a funny side already, you’ve been pretty polite, and you’re showing good signs of integrity. You’re kind of cheeky and a tease, but it’s not entirely unpleasant.

Sans is just… waiting for the other shoe to drop.

You look around for your suitcase, glad to see it’s right behind you. You went to grab it, but the skeleton put a hand up to stop you. Huh. He’s wearing pink mittens that match his slippers, how cute!

“i can get that for you. i even know a shortcut to get it back to my place ahead of us.”

Ah, his little tricks that go semi-unexplained in the game. You didn’t think he’d do something like that right off the bat. And apparently it extends to things other than himself?

You wince, “Sure. Just, uh… be careful with it. Toriel baked a pie for you and your brother as a thanks. I wanted to eat it by myself, but then she yelled at me.”

Sans snorts as he does a wave of his hand. The next moment you look at your suitcase, it’s already gone.

“did she really?”

“Nah, I’m just kiddin’,” You laugh, rubbing your hands together because you’re a dumb-ass who didn’t think to wear gloves, “That was a cool trick, by the way. I’d ask how you did it, but I’m guessing the answer is just “magic.” 

“you catch on fast,” Sans jerks his head to the side, “come on, let’s get going. my brother is really excited to meet you, so we shouldn’t keep him waiting.”

You begin walking with the funny skeleton by his side, going at a rather leisure pace even though he said you shouldn’t make Papyrus wait. You hope he’s not suspicious of you; you’ve been trying really hard to stay friendly so as to not put him off. He seems to like the cut of your jib so far, but you can’t be too careful.

“Dumb question, but does he know I’m human?”

“yep. my younger brother, papyrus, is a human hunting FANATIC.”

“Oh! How wonderful! I can’t wait for my ass to get thrashed.”

“ha-ha, i wouldn’t worry ‘bout it. he’s not dangerous, even if he tries to be.”

“Ah, I get it. I get it,” You smile in remembrance of a fond memory, “I have a younger brother, too. Two of them, actually. Only one of them is a total softie though, the other is a whole gremlin.”

Brothers? You have a family? Of course you do, it’s not out of the question. But Frisk never expressed having another family, and if you have siblings…

“i gotta ask, then…” Sans raises a brow-bone, “are you trying to get back to the surface soon?”

To his surprise, your answer is confident and fast. “Not anytime soon, no. Maybe it’s cowardly, but I’m not in a rush to get myself killed. Toriel told me about Asgore and what happened to the children that fell down here.”

“I’m sympathetic about what happened to the monsters, but… I don’t want to die either. So I think for now, I just… Maybe I can just live here for a while. In the Underground.” You tell him the truth, smiling nervously at the fear of being judged, “Ha, who knows? Maybe when I get a little older, Asgore can take my soul then to break the barrier.”

You barely reach the “gate-thingy” when Sans stops walking. You stop ahead of him, turning around halfway to give him a curious look. He doesn’t have eyebrows, but it seems like the bone is malleable enough that he can furrow the bones of his eyebrows. His smile looks a little strained.

“is that really it? you just wanna live here and do nothing?”

”Well, not exactly,” You make a show to put a finger on your chin and look off somewhere in thought, “I’d like to get a job, too. That’s kind of why I’m leaving the Ruins; I need something to do.” You then snort softly while dropping your hand, “I can’t exactly be a doctor anymore, maybe I can go back into my theater nerd phase.”

Sans represses a sigh, taking a step forward to resume walking. with you. He lets you go through the gate first, making sure you don’t suddenly fall since the bridge is over a gap.

He tried really hard to find something wrong with you—anything wrong with you. Something to give him a reason to hold onto his previous skepticism about you and less reason to feel bad about giving you the cold shoulder.

But you’re literally just some lady.

The skeleton would like to think he’s great at reading body language on others. He may not have clear memories about every single Reset, but when Frisk would try to complete a full No Mercy run (they were never able to beat him, so they’d just do a full Reset), Sans was able to tell how many tries it’s been just from the expression on their face. But you?

Your words and body language have been nothing but honest. Yes, you’re showing signs of anxiety around him, but he is a stranger and a skeleton monster so your anxiety is justifiable.

You…

You really are a good human, aren’t you?

“a doctor, huh?” Sans starts casually, his smile becoming a little more sincere, “i heard humans have doctors for almost anything.”

You laugh softly, “Yeah, pretty much. Short story long, the plan was to become a general surgeon.”

He snorts, “short story long?”

“Oh, come on. I’m just trying to make you laugh, throw me a bone here.”

Sans’ grin widens, “tibia honest, that was a little weak.”

“It takes a lot of spine to say that to someone’s face. I think I’m pretty humerus, but you might be too much of a numb-skull to truly appreciate my rib-tickler. Guess I gotta learn how I can tickle that funny bone of yours.”

A FUCKING QUINTUPLE-COMBO!?!?

Curses!! You’re a human with great taste!!

“i can’t believe i just got out-punned. and with puns about skeletons no less,” Sans sighs dramatically.

“Oh, how the mighty has fallen,” You roll your eyes. “What about you, Sans? I think it’s only fair if you tell me a little about yourself.”

“hm, sure. can’t say i got anything interesting to share.”

This is bad. It seems like Sans can’t really hate you after all. That’s fine with him; it might take some time to fully trust you to not be secretly two-faced, but right now? He’s content with who you are.

You, on the other hand… Maybe you were too nervous about Sans. You might’ve accidentally projected some “fanon” stuff on the poor guy. He doesn’t seem as bad as you made him out to be in your head.

By all means, this is just fine by you.

Taglist:

@lemonboy011

@adriixboo

[everlythequestionabletomboy]

UPDATE LOG 4.2.3 MASTERLIST

Beyond this is the things they added to the 4.2.3 upd of DoL

Please send me an ask if you want me to add something or I missed one

Images/stories I still need

SPRITES

PC SPRITE

Bodytypes

Masc., Fem., and Andro.

Chest/breast sprites

Made the breasts have better visibility

Flattest chest size looks flatter on combat sprite

Added breast sprites to lace nightgown, virgin killer, ball gown, evening gown, open shoulder sweater, pink nurse, plastic nurse, skimpy lolita outfits, open shoulder crop top

TATTOOS

Tattoo Parlour

Any unlocked bodywriting can be turned into a tattoo, even if it's not on the PC

Island

New Triangle, Square, and Circle tattoos [look at the Island page for more info]

HAIR

New

All down

Fishtail braid (left, right, twins)

Half-up

Ribbon tail sides

Low tail

Thick ponytail

Reworked

None

FRINGE

New

Short air vents

Side pinned

Dreadlocks bun

Emo/Emo Left/Emo Right

Reworked

Ruffled

CLOTHES

Outfits

Traditional Maid Dress

Victorian Maid Dress

Shrine Maiden Robes

Virgin Killer Dress

Halter Sundress

Leather Dress

Upper

Cat hoodie

Ao dai Top

School cardigan

School blouse

Polo shirt

Color block crop top

Band t-shirt

Boxy t-shirt

Remade Serafuku

Classic Serafuku

Gakuran

Lower

Ao dai trousers

Plaid school skirt

Plaid school trousers

Plaid school shorts

School pinafore

Plaid school pinafore

Wide leg trousers

Straight leg trousers

Yoga pants

Jean miniskirt

Dolphin shorts

Under outfits

Turtleneck Leotard

Under upper

None 😔

Under lower

Tie Side Bikini Bottoms

Highwaisted microkini bottoms

Legs

Sheer Leggings

Stripped kneesocks

Patterned dress socks

Polka dot socks

Sports socks

Rib-knit socks

Rib-knit ankle socks

Feet

Canvas Loafers

ACCESSORIES

Hats

Hairpins (butterfly + star)

Conical hat

Raccoon cap

Fur cap

Bat beanie

Mini pumpkin

Face

Gas Mask

Doggy Muzzle

Eyepatch

Medical Eyepatch

Monocle

Neck

Love Locket

Fur boa

Hands

Work gloves

ICONS ADDED

Locations

Temple garden, moor, farmlands, temp office, altar, secret path, the churchyard, the dilapidated shop, Eden's cabin, brothel stage [pt1]

Garden plots, stream, gloryhole, park fountain, asylum, sea rocks, waterfall, thicket, Great Hawk's nest, and perch [pt 2]

Rainwater pool, Eden's bed, lake campsite, fishing rock, archaeological field office, Remy's Estate, Great Hawk's tower, Ruins,

Animals

Black Dog

Actions

Riding a horse, question mark for inquires, searching for pots in lake, excersizing/hobbling in heels, gliding, entering town, searching for a mark, praying, and renting a stall [pt 1]

Getting in/out/refusing rides, trick or treating, sitting on the school stump, diving, descending/ascending in water, leaving water, and fixing Eden's cabin [pt 2]

Digging, showering, practise shooting, undo bindings, daydreaming, tilling, watching TV, chatting, singing, and plundering [pt 3]

Making tops/bottoms out of seaweed, meditating, relaxing

Events

Trial of purity

Clothes

Patient gown

Items

Milk, breast milk, chicken eggs, truffles, temple pew, dog treat, bronze key, library desk, soap [pt1]

Lichen, cosmetics, small/medium/large/huge exotic/huge decor fish tanks, auto feeder, tank decor, and sewer safe [pt 2]

Antique watch, grass, antique crystal, scrap, stimulants, torch, fertiliser, antique candlestick, rubble, and mud [pt 3]

Spiderwebs [pt 4]

Objects

Salves, sink, computer, rug, broom, dustpan, gift boxes, wolf chew toy, padlock [pt 1]

Cash register, Eden's valentine's day gift, Eden's coatstand, condom vending machine [pt 2]

Tending

Milk

Breast milk

Chicken eggs

Truffles

Ghostshrooms

"Take all"

Shop

Fetish collar icon is updated

LOCATION ART

Pirate ship

Island

Old Church

Sepulchre

Dilapidated Shop

Meadow

GAME MECHANICS

WORLD MECHANICS

Settings

"Split by Gender Apperance" changed to "Set/Ignore Sexual Orientation

Crime

Split into 10 categories; Assault, Coercion, Destruction of Property, Indecent Exposure, Obstruction of Justice, Prostitution, Resisting Arrest, Thievery, Petty Thievery, and Trespassing.

Crimes the PC has commited would be read out before punishment

Can adjust each crime in the cheat menu

Can view the crime stats in the stat menu

PARASITES

Ear Slime

Added an event that prevents PC to wear under lower garments, unless given directly to them

Sleeping event at Alex's farm

Sleeping event if you study at school naked

Alternate abduction event at the dog pound

At Remy's Farm, it would attempt to force you on all fours and eat grass

May force you to have sex with dolphins

Ear slime tasks are now in the Journal menu

Clit Parasite

Alternative masturbation options if PC has a clit parasite

MASTURBATION

Skip Button

Added a skip button that brings you to the next orgasm

PREGNANCY

Alex the Farmer

Avaliable pregnancy candidate [+more]

Crossdressing Fame

Can lower fame more if seen as a female are pregnant

Paternity Test

Option to do it at the Hospital

SHOPS

Hide Option

Can now choose to hide unavailable items in the shop

FEATS

New

Gilded Spear

Lost World

Face of a Guardian

Wild Monarch

Naturalised

Prehistoric Landscape

SOFT BAD ENDNG

The Island

How to enter, how to escape [+more]

UI

Stats

Sensitivity values can be viewed in the "Extra Stats" tab under "Characteristics"

Options

Confirmation dialouge appears when you try to exit/refresh the page [is on by default in ironman mode]. Can toggle it in the Advanced tab

CHEAT MENU

Clothes

Destroy, repair, dry, and drench clothes at once is added

Visuals

Breast and Cum Values have been replaced with sliders

Pregnancy

More additional options for pregnancy cheats

Teleport

Farmland tp is added

ENCOUNTERS

Double Penetration

Unique cum images is added

Anal

Improved xray sprites

Lower Underwear

Able to pull it to the side during encounters

EVENTS

Hitchiking

"Driving Lesson"

Pillory

Rimming and Watersports outcomes

Whipping and buttplug outcomes

Blackjack

Rimming outcomes

Spa

Rimming outcomes

Car Sex

NPCs will ask if PC needs to be dropped off anywhere after

Chalet

Prostitution opt. added

WARDOBE

Wardrobe Outfit Editor

Added a random color option

Filters

Warmth filter is added

LOCATIONS

ORPHANAGE

Whitney can upgrade the Loft

SCHOOL

Mason

Repeatable scene where he unlocks the chastity belt Winter put on you

Untying your bonds before swim class generates slightly random dialouge

Changing Rooms

PCs thoughts of being in the wrong changing room are more diverse, changes based on Crossdressing Rep

PC is no longer rejected immediately when looking like the opposite gender and is given weird stares and comments

Crossdressing Fame/Rep

Chance to lower crossdressing fame after not

THE POUND

Dog Happiness

Added a description of the dogs happiness on the main screen

NPCS/ANIMALS

WOLVES

Wolf Pack

PC is more comfortable naked around the wolves in the wolf pack

Wolf Cave

You can submit to wolves that advance towards you in the cave

BAILEY

Punishment(?)

Will now deliver PC to the tutorial person if PC stays at the orphanage for the first whole week

ZEPHYR THE PIRATE

Named NPC that is found during the Disguised Escape option

ITEMS

SEX TOYS

Fleshy color option is added to sex toys and strap ons

Fleshy color sidebar renderer is added [no idea what that means]

PLANTS

Flowers/Seeds

Plumeria, tendable [view the Island page for more info]

EXTRAS/MISC

ABILITIES

Clothes

Can tie cardigan around waist

Able to lower suspenders