#a muddy dog is a happy dog

[doomspaniels]

Today we are learning Civil Engineering! We are exploring canals and irrigation.

Afterwards we went through the wading pool a few times and then dumped it. That's some fine, dusty sand, and it makes sticky sloppy mud. Good day for it, though, still under heatwave conditions.

[Video Description: Tristan, a black and white cocker spaniel, splashes in water at the edge of a puddle. As he splashes, he digs out the edges of the puddle, and water flows toward him in new rivulets. The first time he jumps backwards as the water rushes towards him, but afterwards he lets it run--has he done this before, with a bigger puddle? Sounds: splashing in water, and behind us, horses banging buckets as they eat.]

Good grief he's adorable 😄

[dog-thing-augustus]

my wet beast wednesday moment was slipping down a grassy slope and getting all wet and muddy while walking the dog

[sidetongue]

theyre so cute i love them

[scarasmood]

Look at this happy, dirty husky 🥹 She loves puddles a lot and enjoys running and jumping through them. 💕

[wandasaura]

LOVE IS A RUTHLESS GAME

summary — it’s been months since natasha’s submitted to her wife, but that’s about to change. you’re lucky enough to watch the entire scene unfold

warning(s) — established relationship, married wandanat, the chaotic duo of lucky and fanny, sub!nat, sub!reader, face slapping, pussy slapping, edging, cockwarming, face sitting, nipple stimulation, degradation, praise, dildo riding, dom/sub dynamics, teasing, begging, delayed orgasm, orgasm control, mentions of exhibitionism, oral, bondage, finger sucking, cum eating, threesome, aftercare, men/minors dni

authors note — we’re not even going to address the fact that this was meant to be an entirely separate fic and that now i have to write a part two because it got too long to add any more. this is literal filth, but there are some cute/goofy moments + mean wanda

♥️⊹ ˚ . 18+, men/minors dni ⁺ 𓈒 ꒰💌꒱ ♡ ･ mommy maximoff ✧

It was bound to be a great day when Natasha got a phone call from Yelena asking if she could watch Fanny and Lucky for a couple of hours; some work conflict having come up on short notice and Kate was already out of town. Those couple of hours had turned into an overnight arrangement rather quickly, but you were just happy that Natasha agreed to keep both dogs for the night and hadn’t sent the excitable pups back through the door they came in at when Yelena dropped the bombshell. 

Wanda was less than pleased to have not one but two dogs running around her perfectly kept house, and had turned her glare on Natasha multiple times because of it. It turns out that Kate and Yelena let the pups run wild, furniture wasn’t off limits and wiping their paws at the door was entirely foreign. You had looked at Wanda in sheer amusement when she’d tried to get the two tail-wagging pups to understand the concept of drying their paws before stepping onto her hardwood floors. They’d merely shook their coats and trotted past her, muddy paw prints adorning the couch seconds later. It was safe to say that Natasha was beyond the point of simply being in trouble with the Sokovian. The Russian had been tiptoeing around for hours, her eyes filled with unbudgeable worry as she scouted each room for Wanda’s presence before even considering entering fully.  

When Natasha appeared again, hair tied up in a bun and blue light glasses slipping down the slope of her nose, that same gleam of hesitance brimmed in her calculated green eyes. You were curled up on the couch, Fanny’s head on one thigh while Lucky’s head rested on the other. Your eyes were staring straight ahead at the television screen, an old movie you hadn’t seen in ages holding your attention, but the dogs had decided that giving Wanda grief since their arrival had officially tired them out. Lucky snored, you found out rather quickly. Fanny was quiet, but your heart ached when she whined every so often and the little paws folded beneath her shaggy belly twitched and jerked like she was trying to run. You didn’t know much about dogs, had never had much interest in having one of your own, but you could appreciate their warm comfort. The Sokovian that was being searched for had gone out back an hour ago, a book in her hands that was already half finished but rather lengthy. As she’d passed you on her way out, careful not to let the dogs out with her, she’d told you she wouldn’t mind an interruption if you wanted to join her, but Natasha had pointedly been left out of that invitation. 

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Natasha asked cautiously, fixing the black framed glasses so they sat on the top of her head, no longer needing them for the work assignments she left behind in her office. There was never any shortage of work to be done, never any space between deadlines and start-ups, but the women found a balance easily, something you admired as more than just their girlfriend. They were never CEO’s first. They were wives, girlfriends, sisters, friends, people. Pursuing a career in computer science has shown you the harsher sides of corporate companies and the intricacies that running a successful business entails. You’d shaken hands with too many sour old men that devoted their lives to the office and were somehow surprised when their wives left them. Wanda and Natasha would never understand how easy they made it look, and how inspiring they are, being successful women in positions of power. 

“My girlfriend, is she?” You quirked a single eyebrow, an expression you had more or less adopted as your own since the start of the summer. Seeing you wear an expression that Wanda practically owned never failed to make Natasha weak in the knees. “Getting a divorce that I don’t know about?” 

“After tonight? We might be.” Although Natasha was merely teasing, playing into the game that you had set up, you frowned at the genuine concern in her simple words. Yelena had put her in between a rock and a hard place, even if it wasn’t entirely intentional. She had definitely left out the part about needing someone to watch the dogs overnight on purpose, but Wanda’s reaction to the news wasn’t her fault. Natasha always checked base with Wanda before she agreed to anything that involved more than just herself, Yelena had no reason to assume anything different of today, but in the chaos of receiving the phone call only minutes before a virtual conference, it had fallen away from Natasha’s mind until the doorbell rang.  

You smiled sympathetically at Natasha, wanting to kiss the creased skin between her eyebrows until it was smooth and soft with ease, but you were effectively nap-trapped by the Golden Retriever and Akita who you didn’t really want waking up anytime soon. They’d finally calmed down, there was silence over the house again, and disturbing the peace felt like initiating a war. “Wanda will get over it.” 

“Wanda hates dogs.” Natasha rolled her eyes like that was the most obvious answer ever, which it was, you knew extremely well how passionate Wanda was about not liking or wanting a dog, but she didn’t hate dogs enough to completely walk away from Natasha. You sighed, deciding that disturbing the nap the two pups were taking on you was less important than resolving the rising issue between your girlfriends. 

Fanny yelped when you shrugged her head off of your thigh, but Lucky remained quiet and merely resettled into the cushions that were warm from where your weight had sat. You grabbed Natasha’s hand without any explanation, not that you needed one, but still she let you guide her through the house without questioning where you were leading her. Her expression grimmed when she spotted Wanda lounged beside the pool, a recently published law book in her hands that was nearly finished as she turned yet another page getting closer to the official end. You didn’t spare the time to admire how fast she read, merely slipped through the sliding glass door and dragged Natasha along with you. 

The door was closed quickly, because although Lucky and Fanny were seemingly content on the couch for the time being, probably missing their Moms as the hours rolled by and the heavy sun became lighter with dusk, you didn’t fancy taking the risk of them wandering outside to find where you’d gone.  

Wanda peered over the edge of her book, sunglasses that were no longer needed now that the unforgiving sunlight had become crisp with wisps of orange, perched on the top of her head in the same fashion as Natasha’s. They were eerily similar, always so in tune with the other even when the tide got choppy. There was no question about how or why they worked so well together, they just did. 

“Please tell your wife that you’re not going to divorce her.” You deadpanned, not even sparing Natasha a glance as you firmly addressed Wanda, who raised both eyebrows in question at your demand. Wanda’s eyes, sparkling beneath the sun, looked between you and Natasha with something unreadable deep beneath them. “She’s being unreasonable. That’s my job.” You pushed further, sensing that Wanda’s silence was around for the long haul if you didn’t make the severity of the situation known. Natasha was uncharacteristically not herself in the moment, and you despised every second of it. 

Wanda sighed, allowing her hands to relinquish the grip she had on her book. It fell onto her thighs that were warm from constant sunlight, the only shadow thrown over her illuminating body. “Natalia, don’t be dense.” She rolled her eyes, accent strong as the day she’d learned how to say her first sentence. The air was thin around the three of you, Natasha’s grip on your hand tight and unnerving. This was not the way Wanda addressed things, for a second you stopped to consider that maybe Natasha had a point to be so concerned, but that fell away when a whimper so soft it sounded like another tale that the wind tried to tell reached your ears. 

Wanda wasn’t annoyed. No, that is absolutely not what was going on. You’d thought she was, had every reason to believe that she was, until a ghost of a smirk splayed across her lips tinted pink from how many strawberries she’d eaten beside the pool. Their dynamic had been only a whispered thing, soft stories and recounts of the nights where Natasha gave herself over to Wanda, but in the almost year that you’d been present in their home and in their lives, you’d never seen it play out. You had no reason to when you were merely around to be a release for Natasha, but now you were their girlfriends, and it dawned on you harsher than the unforgiving sun that it had been months since Natasha relinquished control. This wasn’t about her being paranoid, this was about her wanting to be reprimanded, wanting to let Wanda take over. 

Wanda stood from the lounge chair, bowl of strawberries and her book the only things that said she was ever laid out at all. She was close enough to smell when her feet stopped carrying her forward, and you noted that she must’ve gotten a new perfume because there was something reminiscent of grapefruit lingering around her. You held your breath when Wanda’s palm connected with Natasha’s cheek, the slap sounding harsher than it was. You’d grown familiar with loud echoes after soft slaps, your ass had been discolored by them too many times. There was nothing that could’ve warned you about the harsh treatment, but Natasha didn’t waver behind you. Her knees didn’t fold like yours would have and her shoulders never shook like she feared the next hit. Slapping was a hard limit for you, but Natasha merely sighed at the contact of Wanda’s palm hitting cheek. 

“It’s been a while since I’ve played with you, hasn’t it, kroshechnyy tantsor?” Wanda cooed, a glint of danger breaching her eyes. This was not how she handled you. You’d seen her be harsh, cruel even, but she looked downright mean as the sun glimmered against every inch of available skin that already held a lingering tan. Natasha was allured by the look in her wife’s eyes, and you noticed that she hadn’t yet spoken at your side. 

“Is that what you want? You want me to play with you, milaya? Want our little duckling to know what a slut her Daddy is?” Wanda pressed further, edging Natasha right into a state that was only able to be categorized as submissive. You could hear the stories of their dynamic a million times a day, but nothing would have ever prepared you for the sight of it to be unfolding right in front of you; unfiltered and perfectly easy. “You can speak, milaya. Tell me what you want.” 

“Please, Wanda.” There it was, the first utterance of Natasha’s gravely voice in the minutes that it had been since you dragged her outside. It was light, airy even, softer than a million seeds falling from the pappus of a dandelion. 

“Detka,” Wanda looked toward you, her eyes so much softer than they had been as she peered into Natasha’s soul and dared her to push back. You hummed, inclining your head to the side in an expression that radiated innocence and submission. Even if she wasn’t playing with you, Wanda was still your dominant, you still felt she deserved to be shown respect as she floated nearer and nearer to one of her favorite headspaces. You adored every shade of green that lived within the Sokovian’s eyes, but there was something so captivating about the shade of Juniper that attempted to drown her pupils when she let herself hold all control. “I am not going to be soft with Natalia. You are welcome to join us in the bedroom, but if it gets too much for you, I expect you to leave. Do not stay because you think you’ll be able to handle it.” 

Your brain was a mess of spiraling thoughts, wondering the state that Natasha would be left in when Wanda was through with her, and the extent of which they played at all. There were so many unanswered questions that you hadn’t been at liberty to ask before, but now you had every right to know what turned your girlfriends on, and there was no way you’d be missing out on whatever the scene had to offer. Despite the heavy gears turning in your head that were effectively dampening your panties, you managed to nod your head albeit hesitantly and jerkily. “Okay.” You breathed out, earning a smile from the Sokovian and a tight squeeze of your hand from the Russian. “Are you okay with me watching?” You turned the question on Natasha, assuming that considering Wanda was the one who had extended the invitation she wasn’t opposed to your presence in the room as she unraveled all the tight knots Natasha had been putting into place. 

“Oh honey.” Wanda preened with an edge to her tone that had Natasha whining at your side, “Natalia is quite the fan of having an audience. My little slut thinks it’s quite the turn on to be the main attraction. Isn’t that right, shlyukha?” 

Natasha nodded quickly, her eyes clouded with lust and desperation that wasn’t unusual, but had never been so translucent. You wondered if you looked the same when Wanda had you beneath her thumb, pliant and eager to be ruined, but now was not the time for daydreams about your own submissive nature. 

“Oh.” A whispered response fell off of your tongue as your cheeks became hot with the presence of a blush that was a result of anything but embarrassment. Your stomach tightened at the information, imagining what scenarios had led to that discovery and how intensely they’d played into it. Natasha was not shy. She had no reason to be with her perfectly smooth and silky skin and tits that could win awards if there was ever such a competition to judge. She was breathtaking, you knew it and she knew it, but you’d never expected to hear that she was into exhibition. A sense of pride flooded your system when you could pinpoint the appropriate term on the tip of your tongue, Wanda’s mini lectures paying off. 

“Mmm.” Wanda hummed, a smirk on her lips that didn’t quite reach her eyes as she practically undressed Natasha. The woman was barely upright anymore, her knees weak as she readjusted her stance time and time again, and you weren’t oblivious to the way her thighs pressed together trying to relieve the ache in her core. If Wanda noticed, which she did, nothing was said about the vain attempts. “Detka, be a dear and help Natalia into the bedroom will you? I want her in a single-column tie before I get up there.” 

Natasha groaned beside you, her head as heavy as a ragdolls as it lulled back and faced the dwindling sunshine like a lonely sunflower would. The train of spiraling thoughts that had been running circles around your brain came to a halting stop at the request, a tinge of pink rising across your neck as you fumbled with your intertwined fingers, not even remember when you had dropped Natasha’s hand, or maybe she had been the one to drop yours, “I don’t– What is that?” 

Wanda, patient as always, merely smiled and inclined her head toward Natasha, an expectant hardness lingering within her sage stare that was darkening by the minute in tune with the depleting sunlight across the sky. It wasn’t cold by any means, still in the warmer months of summertime, but the air around you felt frigid either way. The only thing that could bring warmth back to your body was the touch of your girlfriends. “Natalia will show you. Won’t you, malen'kaya shlyushka. You’ll show our duckling how you like to be restrained to the headboard?” 

“Yebat.” Natasha whimpered, her eyes flickering toward you, filled with desperate longing that didn’t seem to be Wanda’s main concern at the moment. You gnawed at your bottom lip, your eyes hooded and dark, twinged with lust that was steadily growing. “Yes.” Natasha exhaled, eyes flickering back up to meet Wanda’s when the lawyer shifted her stance and inclined her head expectantly. 

“Good girl.” Wanda’s praise was curt and dismissive, not filled with warmth and satisfaction that you had grown so used to in recent months. You found yourself frowning, because even if the praise hadn’t been intended for you, you still hung onto her every word. Wanda, ever observant, didn’t fight the fond expression that slipped across her features as she turned her sharp gaze to you.  “You’re a good girl too, moya utenok. Now go help Natalia. I’ll make sure the ties are okay, Natty won’t get hurt. I just want you to try your best. Okay?” Despite not recognizing the anxiousness that settled in your belly amidst the desperation that brewed simultaneously, the proposition of being the one to restrain Natasha had worried you, but your shoulders relaxed at Wanda’s assurance that your attempt wouldn’t be the final verdict if she found anything less than perfect with the knots you bound her wife with. You nodded, a whispered response filling the air that separated your body from the Sokovians. 

Natasha grabbed your hand, whether it was to steady herself or to ground you, you weren’t entirely sure, but you laced your fingers together and set your course back toward the house where Fanny and Lucky were waiting at the sliding glass door. You’d forgotten about the four legged pups since coming outside, but their hot panting that dirtied the glass implied that they hadn’t forgotten about you. You didn’t try to keep them inside as you slipped in, figuring that keeping them away from the breakable indoors while the three of you were otherwise occupied was the best plan of action if you were going to save Wanda a heart attack. 

“Natalia!” Wanda’s voice was precisely projected as it reached both yours and Natasha’s ears, the thickness of her accent wearing slightly as she forced the words through her diaphragm carefully. It was still a wonder how many years the lawyer had spent in the United States, but it had been enough to ease the traces of home out of her tone naturally. “YA khochu, chtoby utenok byl na rozovom remeshke, kogda ya priyedu tuda.” 

Natasha’s breath stuttered in her chest, and though you were picking up on the simple terms of endearment that they uttered to you routinely, you understood nothing of the sentence that had been just loud enough to settle through the space you occupied. Natasha did however, and when she closed the sliding glass door and guided you deeper into the house, she whispered shortly against the shell of your ear, “Wanda’s trying to kill you.” 

You paled slightly at the confirmation that whatever Wanda had requested, had been in regards to you. Unable to predict what the lawyer could have wanted, you didn’t think to ask, not wanting any distractions that would interfere with the ropes you were instructed to bind. The bedroom was saturated in darkness when you entered through the door, curtains drawn and lights switched off. The only sounds that suggested the room was occupied came from yours and Natasha’s footsteps, but even they were softer than usual. The energy that Wanda possessed had taken its toll, and both of your bodies were eager for sensations that only the Sokovian had the authority to grant. 

Natasha reached for the light switch, drenching the room with artificial brightness that tore shades of cream from the pillowcases adorning the bed. Traces of you lingered across every expanse of space, the room no longer just theirs but yours. Yours to share gentle kisses concealed by darkness in. Yours to sing and dance in when rain pelted the widows and work had been forgotten. Yours to share these intimate moments. Yours. Just yours. 

Natasha tilted her head toward the closet, a space you had grown familiar with for more than just the necessity of needing an outfit in the morning. Your hands reached for the black case that you knew held instruments and toys for a scene like this, but you were stopped before your fingers could ghost against the smooth material. Instead, the Russian reached toward a shelf above the racks of suits and dresses, grabbing a red leather briefcase bound securely by a silver combination lock. Natasha placed it on one of the lesser occupied shelves, her fingers working at the black engraved digits with a practiced ease. 

Despite the submission that you had seen from Natasha minutes prior, she looked down at you with dominance that was familiar and welcomed. Her voice was stern as she spoke to you quietly, not even sparing a glance at the lock that she continued to work open. “We don’t want you in this case unless we tell you. What’s in here is not for you to be playing around with. The combination is our birthdays, I trust that you won’t go snooping around where you don’t belong without permission.” 

“Okay.” You whispered a response, finding that you were practically incapable of speaking at any other volume, entirely consumed with the weight of their presence and not wanting to disturb it. “Natty?” You peered up at your dominant, knowing that tonight was about her but unable to clear the lingering bliss in your head as you looked at her with nothing but sheer admiration. 

“Yes, dorogaya?” Natasha smiled at you softly, her hand reaching to cup your cheek though the tips of her fingers were chilled slightly from the metal she’d been grasping at. You didn’t shy away, leaning into her touch as she let herself be consumed with only you, not the promise of being tied to the bed and fucked into oblivion. “You still okay with watching? Neither of us are going to be upset if you need to leave. Wanda and I don’t have the same rules as we do with you.” 

You shook your head adamantly, wanting her to understand that their hot and heavy dynamic was not the cause of your soft question. “I’m okay. Just wanted to say I love you.” 

Natasha smiled, kissing you softly in the dimly lit closet. The only light that penetrated the space came from the bedroom, but you didn’t need additional light to see the affection in her eyes. “I love you too.” She murmured against your lips, but as quickly as your sacred moment had come, it fell away and your attention was on the case that Natasha pulled open with eager fingers. 

The case, although small, held toys and items that made your eyes bulge and your belly quiver. A collection of knives wrapped pristinely in thick black leather occupied a small fraction of the briefcase, beside it three half melted candles with wicks the color of coal. A pink dildo with a suction cup attachment at the base caught your attention, wondering why it had been displaced from the rest of the dildo’s and strap-ons that the slavic women owned. You didn’t recognize anything else in the case; a bundle of rope that you assumed would be used to restrain Natasha, multiple thin link chain attachments, and an instrument that almost resembled a pizza cutter but the blade was prickled with sharp nubs that looked rather dull. Your eyes searched for Natasha’s, but she was busy rummaging through the case for something unspoken about. Your breathing shuddered when she collected a small bottle of lube in her hands, passing it over to you with a wink. 

She grabbed the dildo and the rope next, closing the case just as quickly as she had opened it although the seconds it took her to find the objects she wanted felt like agonizing minutes. Her eyes, submissive and hazy, found yours in the dimly light brightness of the closer, a soft incline of her head pointing in the direction of the bedroom. “Come on.” You nodded jerkily, following her back into the master bedroom where Wanda’s presence still lacked to be. 

Natasha didn’t head for the bed like you’d been expecting, she headed for the single chair in the corner of the room that had never seen an ounce of attention from the women who preferred to hang around in the living room where sunlight bled in at every angle. You gasped when she stuck the dildo to the seat of the chair, almost a grimace in her face when she turned to look back at you. Although she proceeded to explain what Wanda expected of you, there was no need for an explanation. The bottle of lube in your hands wasn’t for her, it was for you. Another rush of excitement sparked in your belly like connecting live wires, and you barely concealed your whine when Natasha began to strip out of her clothes, leaving them in pristine piles on the nightstand. The lace panties were the last to leave her body, deep red and thin as they slipped down her legs and pooled at her feet with glistening wetness visible across the center. You swallowed thickly, eyes caught on the sight of her core that, although mostly concealed by thighs that you wanted around your head, glimmered distinctly beneath the overhead light. 

Your eyes trailed upward, drinking in the sight of her tensing abs that had only been so prominent last summer; the summer you arranged to be her submissive. Natasha found it easier to work out in the summer, when the weather was inviting and the workload lulled. Her hours spent in the home gym hadn’t been in vain, and the ripples in her muscles held your attention for longer then they should have. You didn’t want to pull your eyes away from her chest, where the sienna color of her breasts became rosy at her nipples that were pebbled and eager for stimulation. Another shuddering breath slipped into the space, but as easily as you’d lost your composure Natasaha was strapping you back into it and handing you the rope. 

She laid starfish on the bed, her swollen and glistening core fully in sight as her thighs spread to allow access to whoever pleased to touch her first. Wanda had said nothing about binding her legs, and the almost silky rose in your hands wouldn’t reach to tether them down. Natasha, head thrown back against the pillows and red curls spilling across them, looked at you expectantly with intense green eyes. Never had this much control been placed on your shoulders, but you wouldn’t disappoint either one of them. Your thighs straddled Natasha’s waist, your chest falling in front of her face as she raised her arms and instructed you through the process of restraining her the way both she and Wanda liked. A whimper fell from your lips when Natasha leaned forward to mouth at your nipple through the thin t-shirt you wore, her hips grinding upwards and forcing sensations of pleasure through your core. You faltered on top of her, panting for breath as you tried to keep your attention on the ties you were making across her wrists, though it proved difficult when her teeth settled firmly around your nipple and tugged. 

“N-Nat.” You whined, hips rocking with their own intention as you dropped your hands to the pillows and let yourself enjoy a single moment of the pleasure she was provoking. Your clit throbbed, your panties are drenched and clinging to your core. You were certain that if Wanda chose this moment to come up the stairs, the sight of you would be painfully erotic. Natasha fully naked, you fully clothed, hips grinding and thrusting and broken moans of pleasure echoing off otherwise silent walls. She could destroy you even beneath you and partially immobile, you were no longer blind to that fact. “S-Stop.” As much as you didn’t want her to, you weren’t sent upstairs to give pleasure and earn pleasure, and the thought of Wanda having a reason to punish the both of you was not a fire you wanted to start at the moment. 

Natasha did stop, but she hummed in disappointment as her head fell back against the pillows, framed by your wrists and hands that still braced the majority of your weight. The knots around her wrists were as good as you would be able to get them without any further instruction, but you had no idea if they were good enough for Wanda’s standards. You didn’t have the opportunity to dwell on the potential failure, able to hear the door sliding against the track and the softness of Wanda’s voice as she told Fanny and Lucky to stay. 

“Do they feel okay?” You checked in softly, peering down between your arms to assure that her face gave no indication of discomfort. The Russian didn’t respond, instead pulling at her arms and humming something that was inaudible with her teeth grinded together and lips pursed tight. “Nat, I need you to tell me if they feel okay.” There was panic in your voice that pulled Natasha back into the moment, eyes searching yours before she realized that the soft sounds Wanda made as her feet braced the hardwood were growing closer and closer. Her footsteps weren’t yet on the stairs that led to the room you occupied, but close enough to remind you both of how you weren’t in the positions she’d requested. 

“They’re perfect, detka.” Natasha smiled encouragingly, bucking her hips beneath you once more, though this time the action was a reminder to shuffle off of her and settle yourself on the fuschia toy that was admittedly an eyesore within the neutral toned room. Your clothes came off in sloppy movements, not folded neatly like Natasha’s as they piled onto the floor and became wrinkled. The bottle of lube was unneeded with the thick ropes of arousal that clung to your inner thighs, a whine ripping from the back of your throat as you eased yourself onto the toy but forced your hips to remain still, not having Wanda’s permission to ride it just yet. You felt exceedingly full, each groove amongst the shaft pushing against the sensitive interior of your tight channel. Your eyes fluttered closed when you sucked in a breath, jostling your body just enough to earn a sweet sensation of pleasure within your velvet walls. Your eyes had been closed when Wanda entered, but they snapped open at the sound of Natasha mewling on the bed. 

When your eyes found the Sokovian, she was leaning overtop of Natasha, both knees digging into the mattress beneath her though it barely sunk with her additional weight. Her fingers were adored with glimmering rings like they always were, though now they threaded into the intricate knots you had made with the beige colored rope and pulled tightly. She hummed her satisfaction when she found nothing wrong with the structure of the ties, juniper eyes searching for yours as she smiled proudly. 

“Good job, little duckling.” She praised sweetly, though the words dripped with danger as she possessed that same glint of passion in her eyes that had appeared beneath the sunset. “I didn’t know my sweet girl would be so skilled at tying her Daddy up.” Your core pulsed around the toy in your core, wetness seeping into the smooth faux leather beneath you. A whimper fell off your lips before you could keep it in, and Wanda’s lips twinged into a smile of fake sympathy. “I bet that pussy’s so full, malyshka. Why don’t you tell Natalia how good you feel, this poor little pussys aching for the same treatment. Isn’t that right, slut?” You gaped at the resounding slap that echoed off Wanda’s palm as she let her hand fall across the Russian’s hot cunt, wetness glistening beneath the light as the Sokovian pulled her hand back to inspect, toying with the arousal that remained on the expanse of her tinted pink skin. “So wet. Did you enjoy having your little girl tie you up, Natalia?” 

Natasha moaned desperately, her hips chasing after Wanda’s hand that wasn’t willing to repeat the former action. Her head bobbed against the pillows, curls becoming frizzy and wild from the frantic  nod that became the only answer she provided. Wanda, seemingly satisfied with Natasha’s chosen silence, turned her gaze back to you, the demand to share your experience heavy in the silence.

Your cheeks, pink and flush, became hotter at the premise of vocalizing the sensations that were admittedly dull with lack of any major movement. “You’ll learn very quickly that I do not ask twice, milaya. Use your words before you earn the same rules as Natalia.” You didn’t know Natasha’s rules, they’d never been discussed, but her silence was enough to guess that she wasn’t allowed to speak without permission. 

“It feels g-good. I feel so full, N-Nat.” You cried out, hips twitching for movement that you wouldn’t allow. However short your explanation was, Wanda seemed pleased as she turned her attention to Natasha, who up until this point, had received the bare minimum. 

Wanda’s fingers sought out Natasha’s nipples, and although yours remained untouched and entirely fine, you winced at the force behind her synchronous tugs. Natasha’s back arched off the bed and into Wanda’s hands, either an attempt to seek more or to lessen the sting entirely. The wanton moans that fell past her lips like a symphony were indicative of the pleasure the action had provided, and although her legs weren’t bound, you didn’t miss the twitch of her muscles as she strained to remain still. 

Your core pleaded for more, walls fluttering around the intrusion of the toy that you hadn’t quite gotten used to yet. The stretch felt intimidating, and so eagerly you wanted to bring your hips upward only to sink back down and accept the presence again. Your nails dug into the arms of the chair, knuckles white from the strength of your grip. Across the room, Wanda was tongue deep in Natasha’s mouth, the only sounds that existed around them being the wet smacks of lips losing suction and gasped breaths. Natasha, with her hands bound, fought against the restraints trying to reach out and touch Wanda, but her efforts failed each time she pulled, the knots unwilling to loosen enough for her hands to slip through. Wanda pulled away with a pleased hum, her fingers back at Natasha’s nipples as she twisted them harshly in tune with the other. 

“Please.” Natasha cried out, writhing on the bed as her legs closed tightly, slick thighs rubbing together in an attempt to bring even an ounce of pleasure over her desperate body. Wanda wasn’t pleased by her efforts, hearing the slap land on Natasha’s cheek before you could process seeing it. Wanda was quick, efficient and cruel, but Natasha wasn’t backing down. The lawyer wriggled and thrashed on the bed, a symphony of Russian falling off her tongue as she kept her eyes wide and on Wanda. 

“Do not make me remind you of the rules, Natalia.” Wanda growled lowly, her voice thick with traces of an accent that suited her well, but only worsened your fate as you tried not to let your restraint crumble, wanting desperately to be good for her. You whined on the chair in the corner of the room, unable to stop yourself as you watched Wanda strike Natasha a third time, the Russian a moaning mess beneath the Sokovian as her cheek took on the faintest handprint of pink. “Is there something you need, moya utenok?” 

“C-Can I– Please–” Your desperation had finally won over, and even without Wanda’s permission your hips grinded and thrashed against the leather beneath your thighs, guiding the dildo into that perfectly spongy part of your walls with ease. The sounds of your arousal were embarrassingly loud in the otherwise quiet room, and you could feel Natasha’s eyes on you as she laid stiff and still beneath Wanda. “Please?” 

Wanda hummed thoughtfully, but when she spoke, your blood ran cold with dread and shame. “It seems neither of you need my permission anymore.” She gave you a pointed glare, and your hips stuttered to a stop, no longer searching for pleasure as you shrunk beneath her glare. “Is that what you’d like, moya utenok? For Mommy to let you do whatever you please?” 

Frantically you shook your head, eyes wide and brimming with tears that had no reason to fall but gathered against your waterline anyway. You hated the mere idea of that ever happening, and you were in no mood to test the truth behind her implication. “No! No Mommy!” You pleaded with her, aware of how pitiful and distressed you sounded as your cries shattered the silence. Natasha, though still beneath the fog that had gathered at the forefront of her mind in the face of Wanda’s brutal ministrations, nudged her knee upward, shaking her head at Wanda when the attention fell back down to her. 

When Wanda’s eyes returned to you, they were softer, greener, filled with a gentle affection that had been impossible to find second earlier. “Do you want to ride the dildo, moya lyubov’?” Her voice was softer, kinder, taking on the tone she’d always devoted to you alone. It was a complete turn around from how she’d been addressing Natasha, but the presence of her accent hadn’t wavered. 

“Please Mommy!” You cried out, unsure of how many minutes you’d been impaled by the thick toy, but enough for the sun to have completely settled beneath the moon and taken its warmth with it. The window was open beyond the pulled curtains, a lingering breeze sweeping past your naked skin before it fell short of the bed where Wanda and Natasha remained entangled. The Sokovian’s hands were braced on the Russian’s abdomen, thighs around her waist squeezing tightly and restricting movement. 

“Go ahead, dorogaya. Let me hear those pretty sounds whilst I see how many edges my little slut can handle before she’s begging for mercy.” Wanda smiled eerily sweetly, casting her eyes back down to Natasha who was flush with arousal and the beginning of a grimace. “How many was it last time, hm? Ten?” 

“Eleven.” Natasha corrected, her eyes wide and pleading as she maintained eye contact with Wanda, her fingers twitching as she remained bound to the headboard that you’d thought was going to snap with the might of her struggles. “Wands, I want–” 

“I don’t care what you want, Natalia.” Wanda quipped before the rest of the sentence could ever exist outside of Natasha’s scrambled thoughts. The Russian nodded frantically, swallowing thickly in complete submission but even her reclaimed silence wasn’t enough to satisfy Wanda who pinched the skin of her thigh until she winced and moaned needily, entirely unmade and pliant to be shaped into something new; something a little bit like you. “What do I keep you around for?” 

“To please you.” Natasha’s voice was breathy and soft, the willingness to fight that had begun to swarm within her eyes that tinted a shade similar to evergreen entirely dismantled, replaced by a desire to submit without hesitance. 

“Dumb little sluts do not get to decide how I take my pleasure. Do not make me regret not gagging you.” Wanda scolded, and Natasha was eager to nod her head in understanding, whimpering into the near-silent room when her obedience was rewarded with a single finger circling her pebbled nipple. 

Your hips grinded against the dildo buried deep within your pussy, guiding it across your slick walls near perfectly each time. Wanda’s eyes were transfixed on Natasha, but every few minutes she glanced back at you, and when she did, you could only whimper. In the minutes that it had taken to accomplish such a satisfying pace, Wanda had eased her mouth down to the spot where Natasha needed her most, tongue not daring to be kind as it circled and flicked at the throbbing bundle of nerves that had pleaded for attention since the start. Shattering moans and whispered pleas fell off of Natasha’s tongue, but each time the Russian grew too close to the edge, Wanda pulled away and her hand slapped harshly against Natasha’s cunt. 

At the seventh edge, you’d never seen Natasha so beside herself. Pear shaped tears fell down her perfectly rosy cheeks and dampened the pillow cases when they eventually dripped off her unblemished skin and landed silently against the cotton covers. Her wrists had grown red from the relentless writhing and pulling, but her attention was solely on Wanda who offered no break. Three fingers worked the Russian open and scissored her wide, never fully pulling out before they slammed back into her at a pace so brutal it would be no surprise if she felt the aftermath for days. Your own orgasm was drawing closer as you watched Natasha submit and Wanda claim, and each snap of your hips only further invited it along. 

The eight edge had Natasha wailing, throwing her head back as her hips jerked upward and chased after Wanda. Like every time before, the Sokovian voiced no sympathy, and her hand came down heavy and punishing against the swollen skin that adorned ropes of arousal. Natasha yearned for more, her face begged for Wanda to repeat the simple action of slapping her cunt, but just like the seven times that had come before, her unspoken request was denied. 

“So pretty when you cry for me. Moya khoroshen'kaya malen'kaya shlyukha. Is that what you are? My pretty little whore?” Wanda teased cynically, juniper no longer a shade amongst the blackness of her eyes entirely dilated by lust adorned pupils. She looked entirely ravenous with her hair tousled and chin glimmering with Natasha’s arousal. 

“Y-Yes.” Natasha cried out desperately, her voice scratchy now as it reached your ears. Your hips continued to stutter against the dildo, but without permission to cum, you forced away the growing tension that pulled at every muscle in your belly and begged for relief. 

“Let me hear you say it.” Wanda pushed further, the tips of her fingers tracing the softest shapes into the slickness across Natasha’s inner thighs. 

There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation that crossed Natasha’s face before she was desperately crying out, “I’m your pretty little whore! P-Please Wanda! Please!” 

“So fucking desperate.” Wanda tutted, a single finger sweeping through Natasha’s folds, though she pointedly avoided the Russian clit that throbbed for even an ounce of attention. Wanda was off the bed in seconds, coming straight at you with her glistening finger outstretched. You didn’t need to ask what she wanted, leaning forward to accept the arousal soaked digit into your mouth with eyes as wide as saucers the second she was close enough. 

Wanda hummed, pleased with your desperation, a fond smile pulling at her lips. “Good girl, malyshka.” She groaned at the feeling of your tongue sucking her fingers clean, your tongue lapping across the expanse of her knuckles as she pressed against your tongue, not hard enough to force you to gag, but enough to make your brain fill with static pleasure. You jumped when hot breath tickled the sensitive skin of your neck, leaning into her despite your skin not yet touching. “I know you want to cum, sweet girl. You’ve been so good waiting for Mommy’s permission, I didn’t forget about you. You can cum whenever you want, but that’s it. You don’t need to keep up with Natalia.” Wanda whispered so softly against the shell of your ear you questioned if she was even real. The harshness that she had addressed you with before entirely dismantled. You leaned your forehead against her shoulder, panting as your hips hadn’t stilled on the toy saturated with your arousal. Although the dildo was suctioned to the chair, one of your hands forced it to remain at the perfect angle between your thighs, and each time you drove your hips against the toy, your clit caught on the knuckle of your thumb only spurring you further into a frenzied state as you chased the orgasm you were finally allowed to have. 

Wanda’s touch was gone far too soon, but your eyes traced her steps as she retreated back to Natasha. The redhead was beside herself as she wiggled and squirmed, chest heaving breaths that weren’t quite full. Wanda didn’t hesitate to restart her efforts at working Natasha toward relief, though this time she was much less graceful. Her fingers provoked squelching sounds from the tight cunt they occupied, her arousal coated tongue flicked unforgivingly and quick. Natasha looked like the rawest depiction of beauty as she cried out and whined, desperate to tangle her fingers into Wanda’s hair but to no avail did she succeed. 

It had taken you only minutes to reach a high that had your toes curling and your thighs trembling. Without the grip of either of your girlfriends steadying your hips as you came crashing through your orgasm, your body jerked and writhed for more and less simultaneously. A melodious whine fell off the tip of your tongue before it was overshadowed by a moan that had your lips vibrating at the reverberations. Every muscle in your body tensed before it became nothing but jelly, leaving you a heap of sweat and arousal on the chair suddenly feeling very naked and exposed before the rapidly cooling breeze that snuck in through the open window behind you. Natasha’s eyes were locked on you, her head turned toward the side as she took in the sight of your self-inflicted orgasm. In the year that you had been involved with the Russian, she’d never allowed such a thing. You’d nearly forgotten what it felt like to pleasure yourself in all the best ways, but that wasn’t really what happened anyways, you’d followed all of Wanda’s instructions, you’d waited for permission to fall over the edge, even without the touch of another, you’d never really been in control. 

Your peace was shattered by a sharp and exceedingly needy while falling off of Natasha’s lips, her gaze snapping back toward where Wanda was perched between her thighs as another orasgam ended before it even started. You almost felt bad, almost. Although you weren’t even able to imagine the kind of torment that came with being edged in the same room as your girlfriend that had permission to cum whenever she wanted, Natasha wanted this. It was hard to feel sympathy for a woman who walked herself into a trap and had been the very one to close the door. A smile splayed across your lips when Wanda slapped her cunt, and you couldn’t help the giggle that came soon after when Natasha rattled off the long list of curses she knew in English. Your orgasm had brought a new sense of clarity over your once hazy mind, and now the actions that had seemed so cruel and ruthless, merely resembled affection and mutual trust. Natasha was a strong woman, but she was seemingly a slut in the same breath.

Wanda’s eyes met yours, glimmering with something sharp as a smirk replaced the permanent thin line that sat on her lips whenever Natasha was the focus of her attention. There was amusement clear in her eyes, something twisted lingering beneath the surface that you longed to know the reason for. “You find something funny, malyshka?” 

Revived from the pliable state that you’d fallen beneath at the first instance of Wanda’s unfiltered dominance, your eyes lingering on Natasha’s face for barely a moment before you returned your gaze to Wanda and feigned perfect innocence. “Natty bit off more than she can chew.” You stated simply, aware of how you were betraying the woman that you yourself had bound to the bed, but more aware of the fact that Wanda seemed pleased with your admission. 

“That she did.” Wanda hummed, her fingers toying with Natasha’s sopping entrance that begged for more, but she wasn’t willing to give in. “Come here, my little duckling.” Wanda inclined her head toward where she was perched between Natasha’s thighs, and although your legs felt like jelly beneath you, you didn’t hesitate to comply with the demand. Your breath stuttered when the dildo finally slipped out of your pussy, the veiny grooves rubbing against every hypersensitive inch of your walls. None of the other dildos had such prominent veins, and although it was admittedly one of the smaller toys you’d taken since beginning a relationship with Wanda especially, you felt painfully empty without it inside of you. 

Your steps were wobbly and slow, reminiscent of Bambi if you remembered correctly, but Wanda was in no rush to have you at her side and so she waited with an encouraging smile on her arousal drenched lips. It was warmer beside the bed, that was the first thing you noticed when you’d finally reached where Wanda laid. The wind didn’t dip so far into the room that Natasha felt the chill cold, yet you wondered the response she’d have to being encased by the soft breeze. She was responsive as it is, a shift in temperature was certain to have her mewling for something that wasn’t allowed just yet. 

“Since you find Natalia’s position so funny, detka, I want you to edge her while I ride her face.” Wanda smirked, and suddenly you weren’t finding Natasha’s position so funny anymore. Being allowed to eat either one of them out was the ultimate privilege, something you almost always had to beg for, but now it was being offered without bait, yet it came with a price that felt too steep to pay. Having to deny Natasha an orgasm sounded absolutely horrible. All you ever wanted to do was make her cum quickly and effectively. Wanda was aware of how eager you always seemed to be at the proposition of feeling either of their orgasms on your tongue, and either she’d forgotten that, or she didn’t care at all. 

“But– Wanda!” You whined, desperately hoping that you’d change her mind, but you knew the reality of your situation; either you got on your knees and complied with her request, or she carried on doing it herself. No matter your decision, no matter if it was your tongue or hers, Natasha wasn’t seeing an orgasm until she’d surpassed her last record. 

“Not so funny now is it, milaya?” Wanda grinned like the cheshire cat, and you properly felt like a scolded child beneath her wild stare. You shook your head adamantly at the question, a smile no longer ghosting across your bitten lips as you looked between her and Natasha’s pink and swollen cunt. It was properly abused, fucked out and dripping onto the sheets yet still begging for more of what she wasn’t yet allowed. “What’s your choice, utenok? My little sluts running out of patience.” Her word was true. Natasha looked ready to crumble at any minute, her eyes bouncing between you and Wanda with nothing but desperation in her heavy gaze. 

“Do I have to edge her?” You whispered timidly, looking pleadingly up at the Sokovian. Wanda didn’t respond, merely quirked an expectant eyebrow down at you and shifted her position. You sighed, shoving her out of the way in a manner that was less than graceful, but thankfully it went unreprimanded. 

“Good choice.” Wanda hummed, already standing beside the bed and stripping eagerly out of her clothes. Her skin was tinted with lingering traces of the sun, thin lines adorning her shoulders from where bathing suits had forbidden the kiss of daylight. She looked entirely ethereal as she shimmied out of her own black panties, letting them pool around her ankles for merely a moment before she kicked them away and took her place overtop of Natasha. Her thighs framed the Russian’s face, individual freckles adorning her shins and thighs begging to be kissed and fawned over, but no such thing would happen tonight. With a sharp request for Natasha to stick her tongue out, she sank herself lower and lower until her pussy made contact with the hot and ready muscle. “I’ll tell you what, moya lyubov’,” Wanda began, a cynical smirk on her lips as she grinded her hips against Natasha’s face, dampening the flush skin with her arousal. “if you can get Natalia close with only your fingers, I’ll allow her to cum when I do. If you can’t, we add four more edges.” 

“B-But I want to taste her!” You cried out, looking at Wanda with wild eyes that begged her to fold, but she wouldn’t. This was the kindest she’d been all evening and yet it was still so painfully cruel. 

“Well that’s a shame, sweetheart.” Wanda pouted, but her words were anything but sincere as she rocked against Natasha’s tongue and drug her clit against the textured surface, falling into bliss the longer she kept up with her ministrations. 

You whined, settling on just using your fingers, not able to bring yourself to edge Natasha even further, or at all. Even if she was merely your girlfriend in this moment, all you ever wanted to do was cause pleasure, not be the one to take it away. Your fingers brushed through her folds gently, but Natasha still flinched away and tried to close her thighs. Your body between her legs forbade her from doing so, leaving her entrance easily accessible. You winced yourself, knowing that your fingers were frigid against her hot and worked up cunt, but you didn’t give her the chance to grow accustomed to the feeling. Wanda wasn’t slowing down, and you knew she’d be cruel enough to force you to stop if she were to cum before Natasha grew close. You set a brutal pace, not sparing pleasantries like you’d typically do. Your fingers curled against the softest spot of Natasha’s walls the way you knew she enjoyed, and you committed the sound of her squelching pussy to memory. You’d seen her wet before, you’d gotten her wet before, but you’d never taken the time to unravel her the way Wanda had. She was properly soaked, sheets drenched and darkened beneath her trembling thighs. 

The pad of your thumb found her clit when her walls tightened around your fingers, rubbing skilled circles against the sensitive bud that begged for release you hoped you could provide in time. You didn’t offer praises, didn’t let encouragement slip into the silence filled by only Wanda’s moans as hers became muffled against the cunt riding her face. You were certain they’d fall on deaf ears at this point, entirely positive that Natasha was too far gone into Wanda to even hear you utter her name. Instead, you encouraged her with the pressure of your thumb against her clit and the punishing speed at which you pumped your fingers in and out of her cunt. You had her right on the edge, right at the point of coming apart completely, but Wanda wasn’t close. In your overzealous attempt to match the pace in which the Sokovian had set, you walked not only you, but Natasha into a trap. 

“Stop.” Wanda demanded, and you had no choice but to comply, your fingers coming to a halting stop within Natasha’s cunt that was so desperate for something sweet. You whimpered at the feeling of Natasha’s velvety walls fluttering around your fingers, her clit throbbing beneath your thumb as her hips squirmed wildly on the bed. There was no way you’d be sleeping here tonight, not with Wanda’s insurance that you never sleep on sheets that aren’t perfectly clean. “I’ll give you another chance, moya lyubov’, do not let it go to waste again.” Your eyes snapped up to hers, unsure of whether it was yet another game she was playing, but when her head tilted the the side and her lips pursed, whether it was to hold back her own moans or to intimidate you, you weren’t entirely sure, you knew she wasn’t. 

You nodded frantically, all attempts to get Natasha to the edge resuming, and it wasn’t a hard feat. The Russian was sensitive, so slick your fingers had almost slipped out, but she was already climbing that hill of pleasure again beneath your thumb and around your fingers. It took seconds, mere seconds to have her at that perfect place again, but unlike the last attempt, Wanda was right along with her. The Sokovian moaned as her head fell backward and her hips stuttered, Natasha’s binded hands unable to provide support like she otherwise would’ve. You didn’t wait for permission to fall from Wanda’s lips between her broken moans and breaths, tripling the efforts you’d already set in place to get Natasha thrown off that cliff and into bliss. Your tongue found her clit the second she toppled over, soothing the harsh sensations that you’d previously provided. You moaned at the first taste of her on your tongue, licking and sucking at every expanse of sensitive skin until she was writhing beneath you for an entirely separate reason. 

Your fingers fell away from her cunt at the first indication of oversensitivity, but your tongue kept up its pace, licking her out until you were certain that not an ounce of arousal clung to her skin anymore. That wasn’t enough for you however, and your tongue lapped at the arousal that dampened her thighs, licking it away with eager swipes. At some point, Wanda had eased herself off of Natasha’s face and had begun to undo the binding around her wrists, but you hadn’t realized the Russian was free of her restraints until calloused hands gently reached for your face and pulled you up to see her eye to eye. 

You looked absolutely ravaged with her arousal clinging to your chin and lips, and a blush across your cheeks from your own orgasm. Eagerly you crawled up onto the bed fully, only faintly aware of the ache in your knees and back from the position you’d been laid in as you unraveled her completely. You straddled her lap when she guided you into doing so, your arms twisting around her neck before you dug your face into her shoulder, hiding away from the light. 

“What can I do for you?” You asked softly, voice muffled by her shoulder but she’d understood you perfectly, her hand coming up to stroke along the back of your head as she held you in place. You were vaguely aware of Wanda walking back into the closet, but you didn’t question what she was searching for, content to just be back in Natasha’s arms.  

“Just let me hold you, malyshka. You did such a good job for us.” She praised you quietly, her voice scratchy and raw from the hours of screaming she’d done. You hadn’t realized how much time had slipped away since she’d guided you into the closet by your hand, but the clock on the nightstand hadn’t lied to you yet, and the illuminated numbers indicated that two hours had been devoted to breaking Natasha down. 

“I should be telling you that.” You huffed, curing further into her body, desperate to encase yourself in her warmth. Natasha didn’t mind, letting you curl around her like a little koala as she held you sweetly in the center of the bed. “I never wanna edge you again.” You mumbled against her neck, turning your head so you were pressed directly against her, your soft breaths tickling the sensitive skin of her ear. 

Natasha laughed at your admission, and a gentle finger guided your chin up so your eyes could meet fully and properly for the first time in hours. “You ever edge me again, your ass will be over my lap before you can even say your sorry.” There was no bite to her words, but you never wanted to find out if she was being serious, so you merely nodded quickly in response. “I know Wanda scared you earlier. She gets lost in her head sometimes, she didn’t mean it.” Natasha soothed, but you’d already figured that her words from hours ago weren’t honest. They’d assured you at least a hundred times that the only way you were ever getting away from them, is if it was your own carefully thought over decision. 

“I know.” You whispered, leaning in to brush your lips against Natasha’s in a soft kiss. It was the softest touch she’d felt in hours, and eagerly she leaned into it, giggling at the taste of her own arousal when your tongue brushed against hers. “Ya tebya lyublyu.” You murmured against her, giggling when her lips curled into a grin and she peppered kisses across every inch of your face that she could reach in this position.

“Ya tozhe tabya lyublyu.” She mumbled back, her eyes dancing behind you when Wanda reappeared from the closet. You settled against Natasha’s chest, not wanting to leave her embrace anytime soon, and it didn’t feel like she wanted to let go either. Your eyes fell upon Wanda, who at some point, had thrown a t-shirt on and tied her hair back up into its once occupied messy bun. You made grabby hands at the woman, an action that you had recently learned she could never deny. 

“Privet, moy sladkiy malysh.” Wanda smiled fondly, coming to join both you and Natasha in the mess of sheets. You hadn’t noticed the clothes in her hand before, but you watched as she sat two t-shirts down on the pillow cases that were still damp from Natasha’s tears, and a bottle of cooling lotion quickly joined the pile. She snuggled close against Natasha’s side, her fingers tangling into the Russian’s hair in the same soft and tender way you’d grown accustomed to. “What do you need, Natty?” She asked softly but received the same answer that you had, Natasha just wanting the both of you close for a while. 

Wanda sighed softly, already beginning to detangle herself from Natasha’s arms. “Let me put lotion on your wrists, then I’ll give you both all the cuddles.” 

Natasha groaned, her stubborn attitude already peaking through the surface level haze that twinkled within her eyes. “They don’t even hurt that bad, let me hold you.” 

“You say that every time, and every time I listen to you, you make me get out of bed at three in the morning.” Wanda rolled her eyes, but affection was clear as day in her tone as she didn’t fight the smile that tugged at the corners of her lips. “Hug your duckling, she deserves some cuddles for being such a good girl.” Wanda winked at you, and you blushed beneath her smothered praise, hiding your face in Natasha’s chest much to both of their amusement. 

“The best girl.” Natasha pressed a kiss into the top of your head, her lips lingering for longer than necessary, though you weren’t complaining. You settled against her chest, watching Wanda unscrew the cap on the lotion and squeeze a generous amount onto the palm of her hands. Tentatively, you reached your own hand out, wanting to help ease Natasha’s pain in any way possible. Wanda didn’t question your action, squeezing the tiniest pea sized dollop onto your fingers and instructing you to be soft, but make sure that it was all evenly applied. 

Natasha gazed down at you with tender softness in her eyes as you gently took her wrist into your hands and rubbed in the lotion. She couldn’t help the tears that glimmered in her waterline as you eased yourself into her aftercare routine without hesitation, just another part of their life that you so easily integrated into. You beamed up at Wanda when you were done, giggling when the Sokovian kissed the tip of your nose and praised you softly. 

It wasn’t until you heard Lucky bark through the open window that you remembered about the dogs that were still outside and probably hungry by now, the sun having faded into darkness hours ago. You looked between Wanda and Natasha, a crease in your brow as you asked, “Um, do we even have dog food?” 

malen'kaya shlyushka – little slut

ya khochu, chtoby utenok byl na rozovom remeshke, kogda ya priyedu tuda. – i want the duckling on the pink strap by time i come in

privet, moy sladkiy malysh – hi, my sweet baby

[fluorescent-if]

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Welcome back to Misty Cove!

Your hometown that holds all of your best memories from childhood. Days where you spent all of your time with friends, exploring and playing. The most notable thing about both you and your hometown however, is what started happening in your teenage years. After you and your friends uncovered a mystery about the high school you all went to, you starting finding more odd occurrences across the county, and well, it's not like anybody else was going to solve them.

You and your friends because a team of detectives. Most your teenage years and early twenties were spent solving odd crimes across the country. You were all best friends.

That was until four years ago when...

Well, you're not sure you can remember anymore.

It doesn't matter right now. Welcome back.

'Return to Misty Cove' is a horror/mystery Interactive Fiction game that is inspired by Scooby-Doo, Soul Reaver, and the works of H.P. Lovecraft. This work will be rated 17+ for gore, violence, swearing, death, body horror, and possession that might not be suitable for everyone.

Customize your MC's appearance (gender, height, body type, ect.) develop their personality and become the linchpin of your mystery solving team.

Find out more and possibly solve the mystery that has been haunting your hometown.

Rekindle, or destroy old friendships (and maybe develop romances) with your former team, and meet others along the way.

Have an animal companion! (dog or cat)

Major Characters

Cameron "Cam" Morris (M/F) [RO]- Tech-savvy and mechanically minded, Cam is currently working as a mechanic after you and your group broke up, they are currently going to grad school for mechanical engineering, and still sends postcards and pictures to you. They are likely the sweetest person you have ever met, even if sometimes they are too kind to people who don't deserve it. Out of the four of you, Cam was always the one who needed to do what was right, no matter the cost, and even if what they thought was right at the time hurt in the long run.

Ollie Cohen-Reyes (NB) [RO]- Ollie has always been interested in macabre and strange, spending hours researching in the library any and every topic they were interested in. They get along with very few people, but once they are able to get close with others it becomes easier, and they become sarcastic and witty, and feel less uncomfortable talking about their interests freely. They work as an adjunct professor in forensic anthropology.

Rose/Rory Thompson(M/F) [RO]- They are a loyal person, first and foremost. When the group broke up they somewhat lost their purpose, but they ended up settling and working as a bartender in Misty Cove. Having taken boxing and self-defense classes from a young age due to their paranoid parents, R was always the best when it came to physical confrontation with the cases you investigated, even if outside of this they never seemed like someone who had that much power. They have become far more aggressive and assertive than the person you knew as a child, now having the attitude to match their technical know-how.

Terra Clarke (F) [RO]- You originally knew her by a different name, but she started transitioning early on life, and Terra is the only name you can remember now. Normally when you say it it's followed by a nasty comment. Terra was never someone you got along with when you lived in Misty Cove. She was antagonistic towards you and your friends, but a lot has changed since the last time you saw her. She now owns her Grandpa's diner, and tries to take good care of the people of the town, especially since the mayor won't do much. She is always exhausted now, but is very happy to see a familiar face, even if your history is muddied because of both of your actions.

Randall 'Randy' Clarke - Terra's grandfather and former owner of "Randy's Diner" always very kind to you and your friends, even if you all never got along with Terra. He has been running his diner since the 60's and has faith that his granddaughter will uphold the legacy.

Ana Lloyd - (An-uh) the mayor of the town of Misty Cove. Trying to "restore the former glory of the town" as if she didn't move here less than 2 years ago, and was the only person who ran when the former mayor died while in office. She has been selling some of the old public spaces to business developers as a way to "expand the town and bring in new people".

Mrs. Ms. Emerson Talbot- Your former English teacher from high school, you never got along with her that well. She, now in her 70's has only gotten more bitter. You just hope she doesn't hold grudges.

Dorothy Giles- Your co-worker, likely the only one in your office who has a soul anymore. A woman who would go to the ends of the earth to protect the people she cares about, even if those people are just 20-somethings that she has taken under her wing.

(Things are subject to change throughout the games development)

[dearru]

someone’s got a crush! | a.miya

pairing: ts!miya atsumu x gn!reader ft. osamu & suna | sfw | cw: cursing, not proofread, written in one sitting, slight manga spoilers but nr | genre: fluff | wc: 553 | masterlist

synopsis -> in which you going on a date leads to a shocking discovery for atsumu (with some help from friends)

ATSUMU MIYA figured out he was in love with you on a rainy night in the dead cold of the winter.

It was the after-hours of Onigiri Miya, and all the customers had cleared out– save for Suna and Osamu, who were having their monthly hangout. The only noise heard over the low hum of the refrigerator and the rain outside is the two’s quiet laughs and the clinking of the plate of food they’re sharing.

Suddenly, their chat is rudely interrupted as an irritated Atsumu barges in, uninvited, swinging the door open in his wake. His hair is weighed down from the rain and his shoes are caked in mud. His face looks murderous when paired with the dim lighting of the restaurant, but the pair of friends seem unphased by this.

“Yer gonna get my floors all dirty, jackass!” Osamu scolds, chucking the towel slung over his shoulder across the room, “Dry off, yer not a dog,”

Ignoring Osamu’s displeasure, Atsumu lets the towel hit his person and fall to the floor. His expression is a mix of annoyance and depression as he drags himself over to where his brother and former teammate are sitting. “I just don’t get their taste in men,” he starts, slumping down in a nearby seat and snatching a piece of onigiri from Osamu’s plate and stuffing it into his mouth, “The guy’s a fuckin’ jackoff!”

At the sight of his distress, Suna and Osamu look at each other in knowing amusement. You, one of Atsumu’s best friends, are currently on a date right now, and from the look on his face– he is not happy about it.

“Is this about your friend bein’ on a date tonight?” Osamu inquires, already knowing the answer.

Staring at him incredulously, Atsumu deadpans “What else would it be about?” Still chewing his food, the setter shakes his head in disgust, “Y’know the guy’s takin’ ‘em to see a movie?! A movie date! How fuckin’ stupid is that?”

“You sound a bit upset over this,” Suna snickers, patting him on the back rather roughly, resulting in him choking on onigiri, “Is it ‘cause it would be better if they were on a date with you?” Atsumu continues to cough, but the two aren’t sure if it’s from the food stuck in his throat or out of embarrassment. Osamu stifles a laugh.

“Shud up!” he coughs, face reddening and lips pinching into a firm line, “That’s not–“ But then he stops, a realization coming over him.

Horrified by the weight of the discovery, he mutters, voice uncharacteristically small, “Aw shit. It totally would.”

“He finally realizes!” Suna exclaims, looking at Osamu, who folds his arms together and nods his head, laughing, “Took you long enough.”

“Wha…” Atsumu stammers. A vein pops out of his forehead as he stares at the pair in disbelief. Why did this seem like old news to everyone but him?

“It’s ‘bout damn time ya figured it out,” Osamu replies, hitting his twin across the head, “Everyone knows ya got a crush on them.”

The blonde looks to Suna for confirmation, to which he shrugs, grinning deviously in confirmation of his twin’s declaration. He huffs in exasperation and rises from his seat so suddenly that water droplets fall from his hair and litter the table. “Fuck all of ya!” He yells, getting up and storming out of the building without saying another word. The door closes behind him with an exaggerated slam, muddy footprints being the only evidence that he was ever there.

Atsumu doesn’t say where he’s going, but Osamu and Suna are pretty sure it’s to go and crash a date.

—a/n: currently procrastinating all my quizzes and assignments but that’s okay bc atsumu is so fucking fun to write for!!

[therealslimshakespeare]

|| Sanchez ||

Requested? ☑️

Circa: October 1943

Summary: Upon being shot down on his last mission, Major Gale Cleven finds himself in the company of a female officer -and not one from the 100th. While already inclined to show solidarity, the increasing threat towards his fellow officer forces him to act. The jeopardy such action puts him in is more than he could have ever estimated, as is the fallout upon finding women he knows in the stalag

Cast: Cleven, Sanchez, Demarco, Brady, Egan, Kendeigh, Lu Smith, Ida Brady

Author’s note: the first portion of this segment is in the immediate time frame of Gale being downed. The second portion follows the events of What Took Him So Long? the mirroring of both these segments will hopefully prove enjoyable but I worry perhaps confusing

Content Warning: due to the disturbing content listed below the cut, I understand some may choose not to read this segment. If you’d like an abridged summary of the events herein to keep up with the series, I’d be happy to supply that 💋🌹

Warnings: usual universe warnings apply 18+ additionally for this chapter there are warnings for depiction of rape. This entire arc was produced on popular request, i have tried to portray the brutal events found herein in the most elevated and respectful terms I found effective. I would not call it graphic, however, it’s not vague either. And it’s rape. Male and female. Depiction of rape and discussion of past rape. Violence as well, obviously, fucking Nazis, ptsd from said assaults, choking, hints of childhood trauma, mentions of medical experiments. General cloud of dread. With light at the end of the tunnel.

Note: my blog and writings are strictly 18+, this means that we are all adults here enjoying free connection and art. The themes of this particular story are mature, at times harrowing and for some, potentially intolerable. No worries if the latter is your case, feel free to move on or block tags. On the other hand, please take responsibility for your reading, I provide warnings as a courtesy but I cannot cover them all and if something doesn’t sit right, please exercise adult autonomy and make your way to the nearest exit. Xo

When Gale extended his hand to aid the next prisoner up into the truck, he hadn't anticipated one so small or so brown. Busted knuckles that had rivulets of crimson pouring over copper flesh; he was mildly fascinated by it. His concussed mind flashed to ‘Lu Smith and her shaded face, before belatedly realizing it was indeed a woman’s lighter frame he was hauling in beside him to the shrill insistence of German threats.

The woman who flopped on the bench opposite him, legs spread wide and boots braced with a brow like a thundercloud, was not Smith. And for that Cleven was relieved.

Last he had seen of Ida and Graham’s fort, they’d been carrying on over Breman, and while he had every reason to think few had made it back, who’s to say they weren’t lucky? And Ida could fly a tin can on the fumes of an alcoholic's breath. Smith wasn’t here, Ida either, and he tried to arrange his mind to that, to not even let the doubt creep in, and instead took to studying the newcomer in between the passing of more downed airmen filling the benches.

The incessant barking of their dogs must have been half strategy, the throbbing in his back working its way into his head as the minutes went by. It had taken too long for them to be brought to Luftwaffe jurisdiction, he knew that much, even with giving them the benefit of the doubt for wartime communication failures and muddy roads. He’d been well read and prepared and braced for the outcome of being downed since before they left the states, grilled his men on procedure, on their rights, their privileges as prisoners of war, also on their duties to silence. The fact he’d never truly thought it would happen to him didn’t mean he wasn’t perfectly knowledgeable about the requirements.

So far Cleven had managed not to say a single word to anyone, the farmer with the pitchfork probably didn’t speak English and a wheezy “please don’t kill me” seemed like a flaccid bunch of last words that Gale refused to let off his tongue.

Instead he let them haul him to the nearest company of Wehrmacht soldiers and had been marched for ages by them, had seen and given Benny a nod when his column of prodded, sheepskin wearing sad bastards merged with Buck’s column of the same. Kendeigh hadn’t been there; crew get themselves killed in a hard landing as often as an exploded plane.

Cleven thought about breaking the silence now to ask the woman opposite where the hell she came from, her patches not what he was used to. But no, bad precedent, he stayed quiet and watchful as the Krauts pushed the last of the men into the overcrowded truck and snapped the tailgate shut. Someone could easily make a run for it by jumping out, but the jeep following behind at a steady few yards with a bristling assortment of machine guns suggested against it.

Once the truck began to move, Benny leaned forward beside him on their jostling journey and motioned in an ingratiating arc at the woman’s patches. “I don’t know those.” he said what Gale had been thinking, half yelling over the clamor of voices and the roar of the truck engine, “Looks half like varsity shit.”

Gale wasn’t sure his kindhearted co-Pilot meant those sorts of digs out of innocence or as a tactic to get reticent folks to defend themselves with the very information they might has previously withheld. As said, Gale didn’t know, but he knew it never failed. The woman went from scowling at Cleven -a pastime she had set herself to with such diligence that every time he tried to make discreet observance of her she already had her eyes on him- and turned to Benny.

“201st, fighters.” well that explained nothing and everything. “Sanchez.” she offered Benny after a beat, maybe knowing her name was hardly damning considering her looks.

Kinda like how Benny looked and sounded likely to have a name that started with “De-“ and a dog named meatball. “Eagle Wings, huh?” Benny nodded at the patch. “And a uh, uh triangle.” he couldn’t make it out all the way from his seat, but Buck could -the patch read ‘Mexico’ above a magnificent spread of Eagle Wings with a green triangle as the body.

They were all a long way from home.

“Aztec,” Sanchez tweaked it, “Aztec Eagles.”

“Mexican?” Benny asked, the accent wasn’t one he commonly heard in Philly but even crappy shows and movies got some things right, and Benny had seen his fair share of westerns.

“Sanchez.” she repeated instead and was back to scowling at Buck.

They seemed to drive for all day, until the light began to dim and what was a pleasant day turned into a misty chill as evening grew near.

The truck came to a halt at last, barbed wire and mud about them and the painted checkpoint arm whirled by as they drove into the dulag and came to a final stop. In the quiet that followed the cut of the engines, the rain was suddenly audible, pattering on the canvas above them. At the resumption of barked order and harsh commands the prisoners stood up, gingerly hopping out of the truck with just enough quickness not to be hit and just enough slowness not to be shot. Didn't help much anyway, muzzles were pointed quite liberally around here and you just had to hope the trigger fingers weren’t so generous.

The dulag guards turned away a good seven of those remaining after the packed truck had dispensed its human cargo. They didn't have enough room.

Go up further, to the next one, go to Frankfurt -those seemed to be the directions.

Directions their drivers and guards took poorly; it was late, it was drizzling and Buck could guess how little they enjoyed the on-edge detail of ferrying outnumbering prisoners around the countryside. They cut down on the number of guards, five to go with: a driver, two in the jeep, one more in the cab and another supposed to be with them in the truck back.

After a bit more haggling, the Dulag accepted three more prisoners. Cleven made sure to stay put, he didn’t know the foreign arguments well enough to decipher all but half the protesting seemed to be over who got Sanchez. And he sure as hell wasn’t leaving her here without a superior officer as defense. A dulag guard had hopped up into the truck and shined his flashlight at Buck’s markings, that’s when he mentioned something about Frankfurt.

Benny didn’t move without Cleven and so, when the truck took off again into the evening gloom, it was Buck and Benny and Sanchez and another hapless kid who looked all of fifteen and was, according to his over liberal offer of conversation, a scared shitless waist gunner.

“They’re arguing over you.” Cleven finally chose to speak up. It could get rough, the guards’ distinction of her. He felt it with a premonitory dread that came from too many right predictions as a child. He hated this feeling, he hated how right it usually was, he hated how it was usually met with folks telling him he worried too much. He’d taken to not saying much the older he grew, watching things play out, grieving over foreseen misfortunes all on his own. Until he met Bucky. But right now he had to speak up, this time he had to.

Yet Sanchez remained scowling, “They argued over you.” she retorted.

Gale gave her a tight smile, “I’m a major.”

“I’m a lieutenant.”

“I can see that.” he proceeded cautiously, “But they just took in a baker's dozen of lieutenants. No problem. But they didn’t take you.”

“Didn’t take him either.” she nodded to Benny.

“His captain’s ass never left the seat.” Cleven said, “You were on the ground, ready, they put you back. I’m tellin’ you, if they can’t decide who you are, where you go, I’m gonna need your assurance you’ll fight like hell with me. For recognition of it.”

-Just don’t say I worry too much, Gale thought desperately, he could almost feel Bucky’s gentle squeeze of his shoulder, like shaking out the tension in a cat as he said the same; his back was so stiff he thought it might snap if Bucky did it now but -but John wasn’t here. Thank Almighty God.

“You know you look more German than most of our guards.” Sanchez replied and Benny suddenly snapped to attention beside him at that. “I’m not assuring you of shit.”

“He’s not a damn spy!” Benny insisted, more loudly and vehemently than was maybe best with guards all around.

“You know this how?” she asked, unmoved.

“He’s my goddamn co-Pilot.”

“Pilot?”

“Ya think he just ripped his own cheek open for a part?”

Sanchez swayed with the jerk of a pothole and shook her head, “Maybe you both are.”

Smart, and a worse worrier than himself. Cleven liked her immensely and stared out the flap of the tarp, watching the rain pour down, dusk fully settling over everything outside and the trailing jeep’s headlights poured into their little haven, whiting-out his vision of the road.

“I’m not leavin’ this seat ‘till a Dulag takes you.” he told her, it was all he had to give. For her part she seemed determined to wait and see before expending any thanks. He didn’t expect it.

They weren’t in any city when the truck brakes checked them in a squeaking lurch, followed by the sound of tires turning off gravel and into squelching mud and then the echoing silence of the engine being cut once more. This wasn’t Frankfurt, and this was no engine failure. From the headlights of the following jeep, all Gale could make out was trees. So many damn trees. It had stopped raining.

“This isn’t Frankfurt.” He remarked to the guard sitting with them, the sullen fellow had not said a word for five hours and he didn’t start spilling now.

The others made an appearance when they joined them in the truck, hopping up with muddy jackboots and the clatter of what seemed to be a portable camp stove, along with rucksacks, utensils and the like. They unwound rope from the cloth neck of one sack and poured out oats, and another seemed to have been wrapping some preserved sort of meat. Gale eyed the discarded rope where it lay on the floor with the lust of a man used to working with what he was given, while Benny stared with barely concealed longing at the now simmering concoction on the tin stove.

These guards made conversation, or at least they tried. But not even the scared little gunner was in the mood to reply, and so it remained one sided. His boys hadn’t eaten since chow this morning at the crack of dawn, and Cleven didn’t blame them for their hunger but his own stomach was in loathsome, uneasy knots, and by observance of Sanchez’s wary sullenness, he figured he wasn’t alone in that. A dinner break for the Germans was one thing, he guessed, but the solitude was oppressive along with the forced proximity of all these grinning enemies stirring and chopping their porridge bits and laughing amongst themselves on the benches and floor next to them.

When they offered Demarco a hunk of whatever they had prepared, to his credit, Benny didn’t even acknowledge them. Their offer had been mocking enough, even without understanding the language.

“You must be hungry, ja?” The one with sergeant stripes cajoled, greasy teeth flashing, the muggy smells of rain and sweat and steaming food were all so noxiously trapped under the tarp, Gale had to bite his cheek to keep down the salient precursors of vomit.

The sergeant tried it on Sanchez next, insistently holding out a hunk of the meat impaled on the knife tip. She wouldn’t even look at him and that was an admirable thing until it served to anger him, and the man reached out, hand snagging in her waistband and hauling her smaller body beside him on the bench with ease. Benny was almost to his feet when Cleven fetched him back with a grip of his own, sitting him down firmly.

He managed to keep his voice perfectly neutral when interrupting the man’s flashlight lit perusal of Sanchez’s frozen features, “Hey, she doesn’t mean any harm, you let her go now.”

The sergeant looked up, less surprised to have gained a reaction from Gale but maybe at hearing his voice at last. “Only trying to be good hosts, ja? She von’t eat. Neither you?”

“Just not hungry.” Gale countered mildly.

“But ve must thank you,” the Sergeant laughed, and Sanchez stayed stiff as board in his grip, shying away from the still offered meat as much as the touch “so many parcels of gifts you drop.”

“Let her go.” Gale insisted, gently.

“She not drop zeez parcels?” The sergeant asked.

“She’s not a bomber.” Gale grit his teeth, “I do the dropping.”

The sergeant pulled her jacket apart in curiosity, thumbing at the patches, “Not’z a bomber?” Cleven felt his tongue go numb as the man tugged at her clothes, it was a curious inspection so far and yet- “Then it’s you should be given meat, ja?” The man left off his tugging and rose from his squat on the floor to approach Gale, the man was huge upon closer acquaintance, “For Hamburg,” he insisted through gritted teeth, his anger more palpable up close, and he pressed the meat to Gale’s tightly shut mouth, “and for ze little ones you turned to ash with your parcels.”

Gale kept his jaw locked and his mouth shut, eyes meeting the sergeants’, unblinking and unsorry.

“Open!”

Gale didn’t obey. The man sighed as if he were actually a host turned down. Gale could feel Benny’s eyes on him, wary, careful, his whole posture shockingly good at blending in, a damn good man to have next to you in a place like this.

“We have no beer,” the man confessed, knife and meat still pressing insistently, “or else we would offer it for such heroes. But not to fret, you have provided refreshment, ja? Full belly and beer iz ze best, full belly and a voman iz better.”

Carefully Gale turned his head away from the offered chunk, “That's a prisoner of war, not a woman.” He saw how little effect that had and added for benefit, “And your superiors are waiting for her.”

The man scoffed loudly and turned towards his men who were, Gale could now perceive past his bulk, scraping the last of their tin plates without so much as looking at the bowls -they were eying her. With intent. The kind of intent Gale wished he didn’t recognize but he did, carnival dins and race tracks after dark being hardly the best places to grow up unless you wanted to learn how often folks really would act on their worst impulses.

Not tonight, not if he could fucking help it. By Benny’s taut posture beside him, he knew he had an ally in the assumption that this would end in a fight. He eyed the rope lying on the floor.

“Eat with us.” The sergeant insisted, “She von’t be alive to tell on you, prisoners make a run for it all ze time. Must be shot. Ve’ll let you fuck her too.”

Oh Jesus- “Your superiors know-“ Cleven reminded, voice starting to shake in rage from the keyed up adrenaline he was barely keeping a lid on.

“-zey know emergencies happen.” The man snapped, almost annoyed at Gale’s persistence, as if he expected less protest from an airman at the prospect of one of his own being abused. “Zey would send more guards if zey cared as much as you ‘sink.”

The men had finished their bowls, they set them aside on the bench, pushing the stove away as well. Clearing the floor.

“Or fuck, oh fuck.” the gunner kid, who Gale had almost forgotten about on his end of the bench, began to panic, sounding like he was retching his prayers.

Gale met Benny’s eyes, then down to the rope on the floor, then back up. It was good to have a man who got it. Always got it, his Benny.

“Can I go first.” Gale asked, and held his breath.

“Vat?” The sergeant lowered the knife in surprise, the meat chunk slid and fell to the floor but neither cared.

Gale let his lips twitch, his eyes conspired, “I don’t wanna catch whatever shit you fuckers got.”

He could hear more than see Sanchez begin the thrash on her bench but she made no progress, maybe already being held. “And you von’t tell?” the sergeant asked.

Gale gave him a look that could be universally interpreted as ‘whadda ya think?’ and bent to retrieve the meat nugget from the muddy floor, right by the sergeant’s boot, the rope was just out of reach. When he straightened his back he popped the soiled peace offering in his mouth, he chewed it loudly, the rush of an imminent attempt thrumming so strongly in his body it replaced the queasiness for a moment. The sergeant clapped his hands together, once, in appreciation for the despicable deal.

Gale knew they wanted nothing more than sport of him, it was no comradely favor to allow him to go first, it was blackmail and it was likely something worse once he got his pants down. But they could all play along, he just needed to get close to her. They had her jacket off already, her boots, too.

This didn’t really have a chance in hell but if she was like Ida, or Smith or anyone else, she’d rather be shot barefoot than have this happen to her. Gale supposed dying with German ham stuck in his teeth was about a draw with being killed via pitchfork prongs through the belly.

He didn’t process much when he stood up: not beyond the two paces it took to get to her, the men holding her on the bench seat and wrestling at her clothes, the way Benny didn’t say a word. He really was thinking of Benny in those paces, hoping his co-pilot was ready -it didn’t occur to him even once that Demarco might be as fooled as these sick fucks around them, letting go of her all too quickly at the prospect of a degrading show.

Cleven had his hand around her necktie, pulling her off the bench before he’d even really registered being close enough, he’d forgotten how to hold his face for this act but maybe the mad determination passed for lust, he didn’t think of anything but yanking her up when he felt a sudden, stinging slice against his right cheek. She’d been waiting for this moment, smart thing had a penknife hidden somewhere, it was something one of the Banshees would have pulled, and the mirroring slice was disorienting enough that he wasted a good two seconds in smarting surprise as warm blood trickled down his chin and the guards began to shout.

Someone else wrested the knife from her grip, someone else held onto her wrist now, his moment of shocked pain wasted his fucking plan.

Still, he tried.

Cleven yanked her further toward the middle of the space, spun her around despite her incessant clawing -and maybe the actions seemed to the guards in accordance with his plan, plus some anger from the wound. He didn’t know what they thought, he only knew that no one halted him, they just gathered closer to see, never expecting it, just as he didn’t expect to manage it when he got her turned to the open flap of the tarp and bodily hurled her out its back, into the night.

Benny must’ve tripped the first one, a clunky helmet clattering as the guy fell flat at Cleven’s feet, right as he turned around to help. It wasn’t ever gonna be a nice fight, or a likely chance for her to have even a ten second start but it was something besides sitting on a bench and watching them violate a fellow officer. He’d have done the same for Benny. Just as Benny now looked pretty resigned to dying in this fight, getting in a couple of excellent, unapologetic punches with the next guard who manned up and realized what was what. -It’s gotta be a let down to be keyed up for a nice orgy in the woods only to end up having to play guard again. Gale wanted to manage to kill one before he got shot, that’s all he really wanted anymore.

And for the girl to get out, for all the girls to get out wherever they were.

He was grappling with the closest one, the guy nearest the flap who almost managed to give chase to her right away, when he felt something that gave him a chill of horror he never expected. Rope; he registered it slipping down his chin, making him let go of his opponent to try to slip his fingers between the twine and his collared throat -too late. He felt himself bodily yanked back, a burn in his throat all consuming and the sudden deprivation of air turning him into a desperate mess, nothing useful about his scuffing feet and clawing hands.

They were giving orders to go after her, and two men were scrambling out the back as Gale began to sag. From his new position gasping on the floor, Gale could see that they had a gun to Benny’s gut, while the gunner kid hadn’t needed such firmness, he was braced at the back of the truck in absolute terror.

Well this was over faster than desired but -to be expected. Fuck.

“Halt.” Cleven felt the sergeant’s boot kick at the side of his head, emphasizing his order to cease his struggles.

World grew fuzzy then, not at all like drowsy sleepiness in a hammock but instead like being caught in the river current when you thought you’d managed to strike the ford just right. Gale’s pulse thudded between his temples like the blows of a sledgehammer on his skull, his lungs burned, the cuts on his cheeks blared their pain like screaming infants demanding to be heard above the rest of the pain and terror and fury. He could taste the blood gushing out of them from the pressure, the cuts spurted and dribbled down into his already choking mouth.

What a way to go.

He felt cold air, he felt himself drug and a painful drop to what was likely muddy ground, felt himself dragged some more and his own finger -wedged between the rope and his throat- hurt him worst of all, that knuckle digging into his windpipe.

When some slack finally came, it was minimal, only enough for his body to heave and gag and try to force air into collapsed pipes, enough for sounds of cries and shots and clanking metal to flood into his consciousness. He was either at heaven’s gate or on the cold hard ground at eye level with the beaming jeep headlights -that would explain the blinding glow in his vision.

Or else, heaven wasn’t half what it was cracked up to be.

Someone or a few someone’s, were standing over him and he could see then that he was tied by the makeshift noose to the trailer hitch of the truck, tarp flaps widened far above him like stage drapes. Was Benny still alive in there?

“Maybe you defend her because you too are female?” One guard suggested while prodding at his crotch with a boot, and that made Gale’s frozen, sluggish, oxygen deprived blood begin to pound. “Hübsch.” they complimented him repeatedly -pretty, so very pretty. Too pretty for a man. “We should check, ja?”

He spared one single hope, that Benny wasn’t watching. He didn’t hope they wouldn’t act on their threats, and he hadn’t any hope left that he could actually save Sanchez from what they were even now wrestling her to the ground for. But it felt worsened somehow at the idea of his co-pilot seeing him this way, he yanked his head against the noose and regretted it after. The constriction made his eyes burn, and all his efforts were once again concentrated on grappling with his breathing as they tugged at his clothes and made sport of discovering he was not, in fact, lying about being male.

They laughed, they touched, they said he was some mistake. A face like that had no business owning a cock. He wished he knew less German, in fact he knew little but there are kindnesses and there are cruelties that need no articulation to be understood.

The earth beside him, the mud beneath Sanchez’s hands, was tilled up from her nails, like furrows for planting and her face was so near his when they threw her down, he could make out the spit and blood on her lips.

“Should I?” One was saying and they had their knife out, Gale’s panicked mind had a generous moment of hope that they would cut the rope, that he would soon be able to breathe again. Or else his throat, and he’d not breathe anymore. Both sounded perfect.

They cut open his flight suit instead, a hand heavy on the back of his head, turning him fully over, and then there was the feeling of a warm and sweaty body beginning to roll on top of him.

The mud was cold beneath his cheek, smooth on the forest floor, none of the rough gravel of that endless road, only mud and pine needles sticking to his face now, their knobby little ends roughing up the older wound on his cheek. Every time the guard pushed closer, it scraped him -that blade to his other cheek. The metal tip glittered in the periphery of his one good eye, shining from the headlights.

Sanchez had begun to scream.

Hoarse, wounded, fox like.

It felt very much like a demented dream, even down to the hunter’s attitude above him, the grunts, the prey-like waiting for the lethal blow. He wasn’t sure how long he had floated with only her wounded cries as a grounding agent when he felt a splatter against his lower back and consciousness came back with a heave of his chest and a revolt so strong he fought again against the noose. Predictably, it only tightened. There was cold on his skin then, when the man drew away, fresh night breezes mocking the mess he’d made of Gale, kerosene and exhaust fumes ruining the smell of soil beneath him. Then the heat was back, someone else draped over him, and Gale dug his fingers into the earth too, readying for what the other had spared him. It didn’t matter, if they tired themselves out with him, that was one less -now two less- to use her instead. There had been only five.

This one flipped him over, Gale went easily, both hands occupied straining to get even a finger between the asphyxiating pressure of the rope and his throat.

“He is easier now.” he heard the man laughing, foggy, hazy, unfairly. “The bitch has gone quiet, maybe he will make music, huh?”

Gale frantically turned his head to seek her out, desperate to find her alive -she couldn’t be dead. Not just from this, surely not, what could they do to kill her?-but his own vision was spotting and his throat spasmed in protest. They surely could kill them this way, they could do anything they wanted because they could kill them. And no one would ever hold them to account.

His poor girls. What were they doing to his poor girls?

It burned enough to jolt him awake again, both the forceful entry and the smack to his cut cheek. They wanted him awake, aware, he refused to look at them. This was reminiscent, bright lights and unwanted hands and all but the carnival music missing. He kept staring to the side at her, and at her face, at the way the headlights lit them both up like a carnival spectacle and cast the shadows of their tormentors in looming, grotesque proportions against the treeline. She had her eyes closed, face almost suffocated in the soil, balled fist growing lax beside his own, just out of reach. She didn’t even react when the next replaced the other. There were only five, Gale repeated to himself, there were only five.

No, no, no.

“Smith,” he begged her, “Smith don’t fuckin’ give up on me now.”

His poor girls.

Gale’s own voice made him cringe, how hoarse it was, how young, what a beg it sounded like, how punctuated each word was with the winding pain of a fresh thrust. But her eyes flew open at his call.

Sanchez, her name was Sanchez, he reminded himself. And Smith was with Ida, probably throwing the ball at the flack house after making it back from Breman. She had to be. He didn’t want to live in a world where Lu felt what he felt now as the man shuddered inside him, used him like a skein, a shell, a vessel, hot breath stinging at his cuts.

“Stay with me Sanchez.” he muttered, wondering if he had it in him to do the same. He didn’t have the luxury of ignoring his tormenter any longer, he felt his face gripped and turned, cuts smarting beneath calloused fingertips, cheeks being squished like Bucky used to do in play. The yeasty splatter spit landing on his own tongue was somehow more revolting than all the rest. He gagged, he struggled, his body was on fire.

Smith was screaming again.

There were only five.

He refused to remember more until there was a sudden absence of the heat and the breath and the tearing pain, and if he wasn’t so drugged on misery he might have thought everyone seemed a little rushed at the end. Not how he expected them to be with all the time in the world to wipe their pricks, close their pants, pull out a pistol and deliver a headshot. One apiece here in the mud. See ya there, Benny, he thought dismally, not bothering to open his eyes.

But then there were sounds of squealing tires and the roar of engines and the white bright glow behind his eyelids grew in intensity until he realized -in a fumbled state of what felt like being redressed- that someone else had pulled up to this horror show. There’d only been five and now- now, oh fuck, he didn’t think he could, no, no, no, he yanked at his noose, half hoping to strangle himself or at least be caught fighting this.

If he didn’t know much German when lucid and keen, he certainly wasn’t adept at deciphering the angry babble above him when half dead, half uncaring about listening for an order to flip him over for the next or to blow his brains out. No, no he was far away in the Silver Wings and Maureen’s boot was dug into his shoulder as she turned himself and Egan into scaffolding, all to smoke the club’s ceiling with testament of their survival for their 20th. No big bash like for 25 but it had been a milestone, as terrifyingly hopeful as it had been all too fortunate. He’d seen her cry for the first time that night, hands shaking, admitting she felt in her bones they’d not be lucky, that she’d never really thought about this part, not when she joined up, about getting so close and now she wanted to see it through she was sick to death of the idea of seeing it though being a fiery death. Well, Gale knew now she’d managed to jump, she’d not known fire.

But what else, oh what else?

Next time Cleven woke he was face down on the same old bench seat from hours before, burning ribs nothing compared to the lapping flames below his waist. The truck beneath him was moving and his cut face was only partially gentled by the feel of someone’s meaty thigh beneath him. Horrified, he startled up, hating the idea of being someone’s pet after-

-but it was Benny, looking busted as hell but alive and holding onto him lest he jolt off the bench with the next pothole. As far as he could feel, Gale had his clothes on, muddy and cold and it was daylight and they were moving. A guard he didn’t recognize was on the opposite bench near the flaps, watching them curiously with a rifle slung easily over his lap. He had wings on his lapel.

Sanchez was sat as far from him as possible near the front of the truck, alive and looking for all the world like she might kill the sniffling and unharmed gunner on the floor.

“Luftwaffe.” Benny informed him and Gale winced at their good fortune before giving his friend a pat and letting the sludge of insensibility take over again.

————————————————

“What was done to you: I am horrified.” Lt. Hausmann’s eyes were warm but his smile was cold, as cold as the holding cells, an odd dichotomy, opposite to most but not foreign to Gale. “I have heard they had intentions to hang you, yes? You, a prisoner of war. An officer. Horrifying, base, cowardly, I can only apologize for my countrymen’s attitude, they will be held to account. Was there anything else? I shall make a note. Are you well? Was there anything else?”

“There was a fighter pilot with me.” Cleven did not miss the eagerness in the man’s body language when he let loose his voice at last, hoarse from the rope and suppression of his cries. He’d been sat at this frigid desk with its proffered whiskey and smokes for half an hour already. “She was brutally raped, Lieutenant. And it is my understanding she is under Luftwaffe command now. Held here. I’d like you to make note of both, treat her accordingly.”

“Appalling.” Haussmann insisted, pen scritching away at his pad, “Noted, I-i will see that they are brought to account. Appalling. And you, Major, were you treated well? Besides your throat, I mean. Satisfactory? Honorably? I will make a note.”

The gnawed and broken thumbnail he’d bitten off hours ago slipped from between Gale’s molars. His teeth grated against each other for a split second. It was the only sound that filled the room. There’d been only five.

He passed Benny in the hall when they drug him back to his cell. But he never saw Sanchez again.

———————————————-

He didn’t see Sanchez again, not until a month later when she came with Smith. And all the others. Not until after a month of a John Brady biting through his lips with well placed anxiety over the absence of their female fellows. A month of Gale acting like he actually thought they were alright. As far as he knew, the boy’s sister was fine. Until she came through that gate, head shorn, cheek disfigured, half her buttons missing and a look in her eye that was half fury, half woe.

He was angry for Ida, but she didn’t belong trapped in a dog run with all these men. So Gale protested.

“If it can happen to you-“ John Brady had the gall to suggest at the gate, to suggest something Cleven had never confirmed. But Brady was like that, and Cleven had stopped his fight against the girls' inclusion all the same. Perhaps his fight had been less about the rules being broken, and more at the idea of having to see any more of their mistreatment, being witness to it, his rank proving useless once more. Never again. Not if he had to barter the golden gates for their safety.

———————————————--

“You ok?” Cleven asked Brady on the second day after their arrival as he counted out the syringes on the rough hewn table, one by one. He didn’t doubt the kid’s promise to get the supplies but instead the stalag doctor’s elusive provisions and willingness to comply. But sure enough, there was one for each of the girls, and a spare.

Brady gave him a tight lipped nod before expounding, “Sunnuvbitch wouldn’t dish on the iodine, I could see the damn relief package right there behind him but -no swabs. Dry stab. I guess.”

“It’s ok.” Cleven insisted, eyeing him still; he had his coat bundled about him even indoors but the buttons of his shirt beneath were redone, Gale knew that because they skipped one and started again wonky, wrong buttonhole, twice over. Like they’d been redone in haste. It hadn’t been that way when he left. “These are what we need.” he glanced up from his task at Hambone who was animatedly informing Benny of his visit.

Cleven had tried at subtlety, listening in with discretion but he couldn’t help it anymore, too curious himself. “You went with him, yeah?”

“Yes sir.” Hambone gestured to his newly smoothe cheek, stitches gone.

“So, what’s he like? The doc?”

Hamilton gave a signature sneer, “Weird as fuck and a little weirder than that. Wouldn’t fuckin’ shut up.”

“Yeah? What about?”

“Yeah!” Hamilton insisted, pissed off by it apparently, “On and on about psy- psycho -sam-“

“psychosomatic.” Brady rescued him boredly.

“-reflexes and shit. On and on. Just want the stitches out, ya know?”

“Yeah.” Cleven agreed. Waiting for the shoe to drop. He stared at the extra shot, his stomach curdling. “Just want some shots.” he added, eyes drifting up to land on Brady and his sightless stare at the opposite wall that bunked his motionless sister.

“Yeah, that was a whole other debacle.”

“Oh?” Cleven prodded, the picture of nonchalance as he started to divide the shots into groupings. He was seeing things, he was projecting, he was doing what Egan told him not to ever do -assume what has been is now what is. What he’s experienced is what everyone else has. He knew that deep down, but there was a brittle bravery to Jack Brady these days that reminded Gale too much of his own fraudulent brand of survival.

“Hammy it’s- how about you leave off.” Brady muttured. “Don’t bother the major with it.”

“Weird as fuck.” Hambone confirmed stubbornly.

“I’m the one who asked you if you thought he was weird.” Brady corrected, irritated enough by impression to continue.

“And it was! I said he was.”

“I’ve been telling you guys.” When Brady said it, it was without heat. “Him and his stupid little hammers.”

“Yeah what was all the hammering for?”

“Reflexes, Hammy. Psychosomatic.”

“Weird as fuck.”

Gale bit his tongue so hard he hoped it cleared his head before daring, “He make you take your shirt off for it?”

There was a pause in the slapping sounds of the card game ongoing behind him, Kendeigh and Demarco and Crank all freezing at the question.

“He keeps checking the shoulder.” Brady finally said, it was admittance enough.

“And the fuckin’ knee.” Hambone chipped in.

He shrugged, meeting Cleven’s eyes stubbornly, “He’s obsessed with reflexes.”

“You hurt your knee landing?”

Brady’s flat line of a mouth tugged up wryly, his eyes flitted over to his sister's motionless form. “A tad. Uh, the shots sir, he said they go in the hip. Didn't have the pamphlets, no instructions.

“I remember.” Gale had some knowledge of it, they’d all gotten a few vaccines in training, and he knew enough to ask for them in the first place, to help with whatever the poor girls might have contracted. His own eyes skittered to Kendeigh who sat at the table, making a poor show of holding her deck of cards. “Well, you first?” he pleaded.

She looked a little cross but she didn’t fight him, she rose from the table with stern imprecations on anyone skipping over her turn and cast about for a place. Gale put his hand on her shoulder and gently guided her to a corner by the bunks, it was really all the privacy he had to give.

“You’ll have to undo my belt, Ida had to do it up-“ she flashed her swollen hands again, “-my hands.”

“I got you.” he whispered, gently reaching around and loosening the belt so that her borrowed trousers sagged enough for him to get at the meat of her hip.

Johnny was rolling Ida over in their bunk beside him, and Gale wasn’t sure who should give Ida her shot but he supposed her brother was the best candidate. Much as he hated the boy having to. But, perhaps, it wasn’t the worst thing he had to do tonight, and that made Gale’s stomach sour. He willed his hands to steadiness and undid the cap off the needle.

“Jesus Christ.” Johnny was suddenly exclaiming, hoarse and infuriated, Gale glanced aside and saw the boy had uncovered a hip alright, with his usual meticulous precision, and still, there wasn’t a spot of skin on Ida not green or else blue or else near to black. Gale stared back at Maureen and the jagged little scratches on her hip, crescent moon ditches, the blooming bruise here and there and swore not to count his blessings.

What did he know? Nothing, he knew nothing about any of them really. Except he knew such injuries didn’t have to show to hurt like hell. He drove the shot home with merciful force, squeezed in the stinging contents and retracted it, smooth and fast as anything.

“Hell, fuck, damn! Son of a carpet wearing Methodist-“ Maureen hopped around on her one good leg in barely contained frenzy at the sting.

Gale tried not to smile, “Bad huh?”

She scowled back at him in between pained giggles, “If I could give yours just for pay back, I would. Damn!” she held her hands up up once more and Cleven kept his eyes above, “But I can’t, sorry, can’t help with the other girls either, fucking useless.”

Johnny was standing, straightened up again, syringe empty, sister still just lying there. Bucky Egan out cold beside her. Gale couldn’t even allow himself to question if those two would be alright. They had to be, he didn’t think he could make it without them, make everyone else make it along with him. “She didn’t even budge.” Jack muttered.

What was there to say to that?

“She didn’t make it all the way here just to fuckin’ die.” Kendeigh assured him while straddling her chair again, voicing her peculiar brand of kindness and her true opinion on Ida Brady, “She’d never be so wet. They had a whole day to kill her on that train and they didn’t manage to.”

A day? A train? Gale didn’t know what to make of it; he was just glad that Bucky was dead to the world for now and not getting riled again by every new tidbit so that Gale would have to talk him down and also administer shots to a bunch of traumatized women.

“We’ll help sir.” Crank offered to him as he stood over the divided piles of syringes again.

“Alright,” Gale agreed, “but some may wanna give it to each other instead, you let them. Give ‘em space. I don’t think they’ll fight it, they know they need ‘em.”

Benny sauntered up beside him, flicking at the supplies, “This one yours, Buck?” he asked casually, fiddling with the spare.

Gale glanced at Brady and found him looking back at him. “Yeah.” He told Benny. “For the cuts.”

“Here, let me-“ Benny was already at it. Gale tugged his waistband down to assist, just enough to expose a sliver of pale hip and leaned a little over the table, there were bruises on his hipbones, he knew, but they could be from anything.

It did sting like hell.

“Alright you take those, and that’s enough for, yeah-“ Gale divided the supplies to each man, lingered just a moment as they went into the hall to brush by Brady, and murmured to him him lowly, “That was real thoughtful, thanks. You need one?”

To the credit of his poker face, the boy didn’t startle a bit, except for an infinitesimal flutter of an eyelid. “No sir?” he asked as if that were an idiotic question.

It was the only way Gale knew to ask him: to ask about something more. -Tell me son, just tell me you need a shot and I’ll know I’m not imagining shit. That I’ve not become paranoid and irritable and callous, too.

But then, “No sir?” and that incredulous face that left even the strongest man feeling like a dunce.

Well, that was it.

“I’ll help you tell them.” Maureen was by his side suddenly and Gale appreciated that, Smith was the only other female Lieutenant and he could use Kendeigh’s unapologetic pragmatism. “Ida told them she’d ask for remedies. Think she meant for pregnancies but, this is a start.”

There really wasn’t much of an announcement to be made; who didn’t understand what penicillin was needed for? It was needed for the dreaded thing that was hung over every bathroom stall door at canteens and on the underground in London, warning of having too good of a time and catching something. No one needed explanations, even though Gale watched their faces as Kendeigh announced and helped distribute the shots one room after another, he was trying to detect if any were hesitant or unconvinced. He found none.

He did find Sanchez, across one identical wooden room and still in her jacket with the eagle patch. She must have washed her face with the others, the mud was gone. When they locked eyes he saw a hard and warning look harden her eyes further; it made his cheek throb. Stonefaced, she broke the stare after a moment and advanced to grab her allotment, even as her fingers dragged along his palm, even when she passed him, Gale could not get her to resume it.

In one of the last rooms he went in alone -Maureen was delayed with one of the girls doing poorly, one who was not well enough to rise from her bunk. “They about drowned her” Maureen told him casually, and that was something else he dreaded learning about.

“Drowned?” he’d repeated a bit dumbly, and he deserved her

annoyed face.

“To get info from us.”

“Us?” he repeated again, low and slow, “You too?”

She gave him another of those looks before nodding at the last parcel in his hand, “Go take care of Smith’s girls before Johnny gets to them first and helps them with all the tenderness of a mortician.”

When Gale had stepped back into the hallway, Johnny’s voice could be heard still two doors down with Benny, fighting a fine line between helping and making themselves scarce. Personally, Gale felt Johnny was a gentle fucker when he needed to be. This wasn’t one of those cases, none of the girls wanted pity from them. Or acknowledgement even, judging by Sanchez’s cautioning venom.

In the last room, Smith and Tong had the girls sorted efficiently, and it was a little thing to ask the ever obliging Graham and the other men to step out briefly. Same old script here as before, Gale felt in a numb sort of loathing for his lack of originality -he distributed a shot a piece and apologized for the lack of iodine to sterilize the injection site and they all assured him it was fine, and everyone knew he was apologizing for far more than the lack of iodine and they knew that they’re assurances were more than about it either. Gale liked these girls for how well they knuckled under, it had made them pretty great in the crews after a shaky mission. They shoved a bad thing down as well as the next man, and if they punched their bed frames at night or cried in the showers, just like how it was for his men, that wasn’t Gale’s concern.

Only Lu Smith’s face went off script when he pressed the needle and its cartridge in her hand, something besides tight lipped thanks or a nod of efficient understanding. There were questions in her eyes, dancing slow and swirly and blatant as sorghum specks in molasses. A rich dark pool of uncertainty. Some girls were already discreetly headed for corners of the room to make the stab or else rolling up a shirt sleeve and insisting to the giver that they wanted it given there. Lu glanced away from him only to watch these proceedings with something like fear and then she was looking back at him, a hesitant plea written on her face. He didn’t know she was scared of needles.

“Major, is Ida awake?” his lieutenant asked, voice scratchy and a little closed, like how it got when she tried her hand at professionality or had to present a solution in front of a crowd. “I need to ask her something.”

That was a remarkably vague sentence, not at all professional. “No, she’s not.” He told her, watching as the fear grew more pronounced around her mouth and chin, “You ask me, Lieutenant.”

“May I?”

“Course,” Gale nodded his head toward the door, “step out here.”

He strode down to the very end of the combine, by the locked double doors, just far enough away from the windows not to invite a guard to come in and give them shit about it. The bright orange lights of the camp came in from the general darkness outside, glowing through the always dusty glass and making Smith’s skin shine a pretty bronze, even with the dark spots on her chin. Those made his blood thud quicker. It was quiet down here, as private as he could get.

“What’s up Smith?” he urged.

“I’m sorry sir I-I’ve got a few questions.”

“Told you to ask, Lieutenant.” Gale reminded, “So ask.”

“Yes sir.” She’d developed a tick since he’d last seen her, an odd sort of hugging of herself, arm crossing her chest and hand gripping her opposite clavicle, fingertips curling just over her own shoulder. “It’s about the shots. Ida’s been teaching me but she never mentioned about those.”

Gale took a deep breath, only the faintest bit of mirth left at the reminder of the ‘condom balloon’ incident. Ida had needed a stiff drink after taking her engineer aside and informing ‘Little Lu’ those were rubber socks men put on their members, and not in fact balloons. And yes, Benny had lied out of niceness, and yes men’s bodies sprayed things like cattle’s did when they got excited, and yes it’s for the purpose of making babies. Gale had heard all this from Ida after three stiff shots she’d downed like medicine, she’d relayed it in a perfect montone and Gale had not asked but she told him all the same, then said she needed to hit the sack and Ida Brady was gone while Gale remained at the bar with his cider and shaking shoulders. The memory had been amusing only weeks ago, when Douglass came to loot Benny’s footlocker for more rubbers and they’d all made a joke about Smith having beat him to them -for balloons.

“Everyone else seems to know and want them and I’m the slow one again.” Smith was muttering, a petulant look of annoyance crossing her young face, angry at herself.

“It’s about the guards.” Gale murmured.

Smith looked so hurt by that he wasn’t sure where he’d misstepped, but then, “Is it for what they did? Or is it such a sure they’re gonna keep hurting us and these- how do these help, sir?”

Gale startled and laid a heavy hand on her shoulder out of pure, gut instinct to impress on her his next words, “Not a single thing is goin’ to happen to you again, not like that, you hear me, Lu?” he shook her a little and it dislodged her own hand from her chest.

“Yes sir.”

“These are for anything you might’ve caught.” he tried to explain, coming up short and he knew it. If Bucky were here he’d use all manner of crass slang and common vernacular phrases to jog the poor girl’s memory about magazine advertisements, the sorts that warned of ‘diseases’, the underground posters and the bathroom stall flyers urging chastity or safety. Gale could not manage it back then and he couldn’t now. “Diseases Lu.” he tried again, “Men who aren’t- careful, or- disciplined, they, they spread diseases to the girl they’re with. Uh, with- intimately. If they’ve been with other girls before.”

He hoped to God that Ida had used the word ‘intimate’ when educating Smith on these finer yet so utterly crude aspects of human interaction. ‘Intimate’ seemed like a word Ida Brady would use, he thought he recalled her accusing him of being intimate with Kendeigh. Maybe the accusation had been ‘fraternizing’. Or ‘getting familiar’. Gale wasn’t sure, he only recalled that it had not been complementary and he had blushed into the floor under her stare but her accusation had been vague. He knew Ida had been vague.

Was she equally vague with Smith? Did that mean Smith was as uneducated as she’d been before Ida gave her an ineffectually Catholic lesson?

“They can spread it with-“ Smith paused only a minute before deciding to trust him, “-with their bodies? Like a wound?”

Gale gave her nod, trying to stay teacherly, “With their bodies. Yeah. They don’t need wounds it comes from- well, other places. Intimate places they- look, Smith if you weren’t hurt that way, you don’t need the shots.”

Grueling as this conversation was, nerve wracking as her dense innocence could be, it fed that traitorous bit of hope he’d been harboring since he lost all hope for himself that she might’ve been alright. It wasn’t fair to Kendiegh or Ida or Sanchez or any of the others to hope for that, but none of this was fair anyway. Maybe her lack of comprehension was a kindness.

Smith’s eyes were latching onto one surrounding thing and then another, a good long beat between each new object, not darting but roving, now latched on the doorframe and now on Gale’s coat buttons and then on to the glass window panes beside them as if she could see through the bubbled glass out into the dark yard. He could tell by her change in breathing more than the light when she began to cry.

“I didn’t want the girls to think I’m stupid.” She admitted, and she was definitely crying, “I’m their officer, I should know these things.” she explained, lips going into a full tremble, all the harmless jokes of before suddenly not a bit funny, “But I don’t know at all, I didn’t know they’d-“ Gale kept his hand on her now jolting shoulder, spending a little too much time thinking how to mould his own face to some correct expression for this as she began to crumble, it was better than watching too closely as she broke apart, “When they beat us and put the bags over our faces I- I expected it. It wasn’t right, we weren’t treated like prisoners but, I expected it. Ida had told us. Then they started saying things to her, the ones that could speak English and I-i really didn’t know what they meant, not at first until they started- oh Major, they, they started touching her, like lovers in a movie.”

Lu had her eyes squeezed shut like that would get the image out somehow, one brief flash and Gale could remember everything about laying there and seeing Sanchez’s face -and he knew nothing wiped the image out. “They had her chained to a bar and they kept doing that,” she went on, “It was over her head, the bar was over her head and I could tell how much she hated it, and she couldn’t do anything and they weren’t hurting her anymore, they were- they were touching her. They stopped beating her and started touching her, sir and I- that’s when I realized that, there could be something worse. They wanted us to start giving up ranks, and they kept doing that until we did and I wanted to give up then more than any time else. Just to make them stop doing that to her.”

Gale squeezed her shoulder and she jerked under it but cried afresh, she stayed still next to him and just kept crying. “Smith, right here and now I need to know if you’re alright.” he steered her away from memories back to now, as gently as he could, “Ida is gonna be alright, and she’s proud of you, and she expects you to take care of her girls, you hear me? And I need you well for that, Lu. I need to know if you’ve been hurt.”

Smith pulled herself back into a shaky composure, her neck still trembling so badly her head made tiny little jerks from time to time. “They did hurt me.” she agreed.

“Hurt you where you need these shots?” he gently clarified, hoping she was catching on, dreading the confirmation all the same.

“They put -they kept putting themselves inside me.” she got it out, her face dazed like she still didn’t understand it even as her voice cracked from a soul deep knowledge of the wrong done, “I didn’t know they could- they could use their bodies like that. I didn’t know. They kept doing it.”

-There had been only five.- Gale felt his belly lurch, some bowel deep memory of the same torture taking over him, like a haunting he couldn’t prevent. He’d thought he had it locked far down enough, hardly thought on it these days, but maybe he’d shoved it down to where it hurt in the first place, with his belly in knots all again and Sanchez’s cold face sneering and Benny’s worried eyes making his stomach shake and salt flood his mouth. He wanted to vomit.

“Oh Lu.” he muttered ineffectually, “C’mere.” and he had her hugged and cradled to his ratty jacket before his ingrained and temperate habits could interfere. He had her turned to the doors, her sobbing eyes pressed into his sweaty layers and it was better that way. With his lips pressed to the crown of her head he watched the rest of the hallway go on without them, men going back into the rooms once the shots had been administered, Benny darting into one with a bucket in hand. Gale saw Brady as Brady saw him, only making a small pause in his stride as he watched Gale hold Smith before he turned away, face still a blank slate, the boy went back to his sister.

Maybe if Gale had been closer or the hallway brighter he might’ve seen the same hurt and tears there as he and Smith were sharing, but Brady wasn’t close and he wouldn’t say and maybe Gale was a fool to think his own experience wasn’t a fluke. But Brady just went back to Ida, and Gale still felt the damning weight of the shot in his palm even as he hugged Smith’s narrow shoulders.

His own hip still smarted from the injection, -the shot for his cuts. Just his cuts.

“I’m sorry sir.” Smith was trying to say in between sobs, no doubt finding her emotions galling in the face of her prized professionalism.

“Don’t be.”

“I’m sorry, I’ll be fine-“

“I know.”

“I’ll be fine i just, I didn’t know-“

“I know, Lu.”

“It hurt so much.”

“I know.”

She pulled her face away, he was glad to see that while it was puffy and reddened, she looked far calmer. The suddenness of her recovery should have warned him. “Do you sir?” she whispered, pained.

“What?”

“Do you know, sir?” she asked again, harmless yet intent, “Did they hurt you that way too?”

Gale felt a rush of heat, heat and numbness where his hands fell from their grip on her and shook by his sides instead, and he hated his limbs for that betrayal. Heat, like she could see it so clearly on his face, like the harmless cuts on his face really spelled it out. Everyone’s suspicion of them put him on edge, wondering what was wrong with his bearing, his walk, the way he took a seat, that somehow exposed him. With her dark, pitying, horrified little face staring up at him, he felt like he was back on the bench with Benny holding him there, knowing most likely why he had to lay on his belly and not his back.

“Smith you can’t-“ Gale sounded young again and he hated it, when he was ready he began again, and this time he sounded like Major Cleven, “-don’t ever say shit like that again, alright? You can’t say shit like that. Not about- men. Not about me.”

She looked affronted and close to tears again, but his tone couldn’t be helped, last thing this stalag needed was news their Major had been so easily overcome. “I was just asking sir-“

“Not something you ask a man.” he informed her. “Like ya said, there’s lot of things you don’t know, it’s alright. But you don’t ask that, Smith.”

Harsh but necessary, he told himself again. Except she looked less hurt now and closer to something like anger, if her kind self could be angry. He’d seen her get angry when someone kicked a dog once. He’d seen her angry after a shit mission. She looked close to it now, like some grave injustice was firing her up. “But it can happen to men.” she was suddenly wise and he picked a cuticle bloody in trance-like distress, his face was motionless, “I know because they- they can put themselves both places.”

Fury took the place of numbness in his being and he grabbed her again, pulling her close and tucking her under his chin, she made a wounded noise when their chests collided despite the layers, but she wrapped her arms around him and squeezed back. “They’re never gonna do that again, Lu, never again. I’m gonna make sure of it. Bucky’ll make sure of it.” he swore, his voice gone so low it shook. “They hurt you other places?”

Smith shook her head against his chest, “I’ll take the shot, sir.” she murmured meekly. “Would you give it? I don’t want the others to-“

“Sure, Lu.”

He waited until she pulled away, her eyes downcast but the look on her face broke no argument that she wasn’t in a humor to be less than her rank. Gale shifted the shot in his palm and bit his lip, willing away any sentiment about it.

“Goes in the hip. Mark my words, those bicep shots that Tong went for- gonna hurt for ages, you don’t need that. Lemme put it in your hip.”

Smith nodded and cast a furtive glance behind her at the empty hall, only looking down again to undo her belt when Gale moved his body to block any hapless onlooker.

There were bruises when he gently aided her in tugging the drab olive aside, some nearly as dark as the ones on Ida and welts from what looked like a belt strap, even on the high swell of her hip. Gale knew the smarting bite of a belting.

“Did you wash these?” he whispered to her, crouching to better see his work as he made a harbor of unmarried muscle between his thumb and index finger, bunching up the meat of her leg and holding it for her to relax into his touch before he jammed the shot home.

“When we showered.” Lu wasn’t crying anymore but her voice matched his in its softness, tense anticipation for the jab mellowing the longer he kept her staid under his hold.

“Good.” he commended her, voice muffled by the needles’ cap between his lips.

She only stiffened when he drove it in, pressed down on the plunger with his thumb, kept his hand gripping her hip, shaking the muscle just so, “Loosen up.” he ordered, it would hurt less that way. Cleven heard her take a breath and try.

When he stood straight again he took the cap from his mouth and clicked it back on the needle, acting like it took great concentration and focus to do so, all while she pulled her trousers back up and refastened them discreetly. Her cheeks were wet once more, either from before or she’d begun crying again.

“You ok?” he asked.

She gave him a long series of nods as she got on top of the embarrassed anger. “Yes, thanks Buck.”

“I’m right down there.” he reminded, thumbing at his own quarters. “You feel the least bit sickly or- or anything, you come get me. Same for your girls.”

“Yes sir.”

“Alright, well get in there Lu,” he patted her toward her room, “one thing the krauts are picky about here is bedtime.”

Smith sucked in a breath between her teeth, a shuddering thing, “Alright, I’ll remember. Bedtime.”

“So you’re gonna remember bedtime and what else?” Gale catchized her.

“Bedtime and that…you’re -right down there.”

“Very good, Smith.”

“Night, Buck.”

“Night, Lu.”

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[lacythoughts]

do not ask how they ended up with 6 dogs, ok? derek doesn't know. once derek surprised stiles with chewie, their german shepherd and first dog, as a birthday present 4 years ago and it took off from there.

they found joker, a pit and lab mix , eating out of a dumpster behind a mcdonalds at 3 in the morning.

beatriz, their elderly neighbor, couldn't keep up with taking care of her chihuahua, cookie, anymore so of course stiles offered to take care of the thing.

then came the great dane missy, the blood hound wicket and han solo, the other german shepherd.

yes, there is a reoccurring star wars theme. stiles is no where near ashamed.

there are times when it's a lot of work and difficult. like when stiles forgets that since it just rained, the yard is muddy and wet. and of course he lets them out anyway.

the first time it happened derek refused to help give them all a bath. but then it was 4 hours later and stiles was still on dog number 2 so derek had to have some mercy on him.

but then there are times that are sweet. like stiles' night time ritual that he's now in the middle of doing.

'and a good night kiss for missy! mwah mwah mwah!!' stiles holds the serious looking great danes' cheeks in his hands, kissing her nose once, twice, three times.

'then cookie!' a kiss on cookies nose once, twice, three times.

'chewie kisses!! mwah, mwah, mwah! and last but certainly not least, wicket!! mwah mwah mwah!' stiles finishes giving wicket kisses, straightens up and walks over to where derek's leaning against the staircase.

'goodnight everybody! don't get into too much trouble! and cookie please don't pick on han too much, he can't help how much he loves to annoy you!'

derek has been watching all of this with a light smile on his face. but the minute stiles turns to look at him, he crosses his arms and drops the smile - tries to look like his usual grumpy pissed off self.

the goodnight ritual is not over yet.

stiles rolls his eyes and his smile, unbelievably, gets bigger. 'and i could never forget about my sourwolfs kisses.'

derek does that thing he knows stiles likes. he shyly ducks his head, really can't help grinning back at his husband from underneath his eyelashes. 'well? sourwolf's waiting.'

stiles scoffs, wraps his arms around derek's neck and proceeds to give derek not just 3, but 4 kisses.

and on the lips.

derek is a lucky lucky sourwolf.

'ok everybody, ignore all the noises you're gonna hear coming from the bedroom. they're very happy noises, i promise.'

there's a shocked laugh, 'derek william hale!'

[777heavengirl]

the one where it's easy

sirius black x reader ! - 1,429 words masterlist bags masterlist

Sirius thought it would be easy. Easy to live with you, see your face every day, wake up, and eat breakfast with you, spend almost every waking moment by your side. He had spent his entire life crying for company, permanent company in the place he'd call home. He had it with James, but he knew it was different with you from the second you moved in together. He'd thought it would be easy. But as he stepped into your shared apartment, boots muddy and soaked to the bone, cold droplets falling from his long strands of hair, he knew. It was the hardest thing he had ever done. 

He never thought that seeing you standing, in his t-shirt he was sure you didn't even notice it was his— your laundry mixed together more often than not, in his sweater— deemed the living room jumper, would make his heart clench the way it did. Sock-clad and bouncing to the music that poured from his record player, your back was turned towards him as you cooked.

"Was it bad out? Oh—" You finally turned to look at him. His dark jacket was wet like he had jumped in the ocean, and raindrops still stained his cheeks. You couldn't help but burst out laughing, wooden spoon in hand. "Godric, you look like a wet dog—you're going to catch something, come on—" you said, putting the spoon in the bowl. The half-mixed batter could wait a couple of minutes. You pulled your wand out as he stripped the layers, the bag of your missing ingredients floating out of his hands onto the counter and his jacket dropped to the floor with a heavy, wet thud, his boots coming off soon after. 

He was still speechless, trying to swallow the lump that formed in his throat as he continued to watch you cast spells of warmth and shoo him into his bathroom to shower. Sirius was never one for shyness. The feeling that lurked in the pit of his tummy was one he did not know well, but living with you had forced him to get to know it. He felt shy around you, conscious of the way you fawned over him, of when you baked for the two of you, overly conscious when he baked something. Always wondering what you were thinking- why did you look at him that way? Warmth in your eyes, a small playful smile on your lips like you were biting your tongue from poking fun at him. He felt awfully tender, gross, and cloying in the way that he looked back at you. He wondered if you could tell he’d give you the whole world if you asked for it.

He had largely felt like he had had a half-baked coming of age. Too rushed, innocence lost too fast. Between cruciatus curses and running away. He could always feel himself tripping over the truth of his situation. Harrowing and traumatizing. But living with you had been different, soft, and generous. A home he didn't know could exist. 

He stared at his, still, unpacked trunk as he exited the shower. He didn't know how to unpack. He said he’d do it weeks ago and yet, it remained untouched. Sirius had been living between Hogwarts, excruciating moments at Grimmauld Place, and Potter Manor during the majority of his teens. So now, at 20, he did not know how to make his house a home. Sure the common areas with you were homey. He had made sure of that, he wanted to give you a home. A place to be comfortable and happy. A safe place to come back to every day. But his room, a place you never entered, a place that he himself didn't particularly love being in, stayed cold and stripped. 

He was in your room all the time, sometimes reading in your bed together, splayed over each other a mess of limbs and pillows. He’d burst in the mornings when you struggled to get out of bed, jumping in your bed until you stirred away and shooed him off so you could get ready. Sometimes he’d fall asleep there with you, half off the bed and often waking up sweaty and sticky in the middle of the night, his heart beating in his ears and his fingers reaching for yours unconsciously. 

On the worst nights, when he could hear his mother’s viscous drawl in the back of his mind and his muscles tensed with the ghost of pain, he’d let himself succumb to the urge to curl around you. His fingers intertwined with yours, his head buried between your torso and the bed, and every time— every single time he did this— you’d pull him close in your sleep. 

But you never went into his. You never lay with him on his dark sheets, you don't knock or open his door. You knock from your own room, only a wall between you, or call out from some corner of your small apartment and he goes wherever you call. Sirius tries to dissolve the knot that forms at his throat when he thinks of the fact that your lack of presence in his room probably meant you didn't feel the same, you didn't have his need to seek the other out, to be with him every minute of every day. 

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye as he walked out of his room, his wet hair now washed and combed back. The tips of his black hair are still dripping onto his shoulders, and he smells like the perfume you got him last Christmas, wood sage, and sea salt. He always asks you if you can smell the lemon basil note, you never know what he’s talking about. But you hope that it's what you smell when he passes behind you, his touch gentle as his hand touches briefly on the small on your back to grab the chocolate chips and then proceeds to pour the whole bag into your batter. You don’t complain.

You hate the glimpse you catch of his room when you glance towards his open door, the coldness of the room taunting you— everything still barren and packed. Like he might leave any minute like he couldn’t even bother to take his belongings out. 

“Help me to pour it into the mold?” your voice was soft and quiet, Sirius’s most mellow vinyl playing in the background. Sirius nodded and took the bowl from your hands, you couldn't help but watch him as he did so. 

Scary, carefree, ever so reckless Sirius Black, combed and bathed and warm, baking brownies and taking a picture of them through the window of the oven door. With his checkered pajama bottoms and the plain white cotton shirt that rode up to reveal slivers of his torso when he moved his arms. Soft and pliable as he puts the film camera down, turning towards you to pull you into his arms. He hummed as he swayed the both of you, you never argued. You didn’t complain about how the wetness of his hair dripped onto you, or how he stepped on your foot purposefully, to get a rise out of you, a small chuckle leaving his lips as you stepped on him in retaliation.

No, you didn't complain, not about the pack of cigarettes he had left on your kitchen island even though you hate it when he smokes, or the jacket that soaked the floor of your entrance and no doubt had another pack of cigarettes soaked and mushy. You ignored the thoughts of him leaving and the way your stomach stirred thinking about what it could mean that he kissed the top of your head as you danced. Or when he kissed your cheek, one hand cupping the other side of your face, before leaving your arms to check on the oven. You certainly did not think of his unpacked bags, the three missed calls you had from your father, or the fact that you were waiting to hear back from a job interview.

You see a flash out of the corner of your eye and turn to see Siriu. Another flash goes off, as an unapologetic smile creeps up his lips. He always likes catching you off guard when he takes pictures. Nothing else matters right now, life is easy like this.

You try to not think of anything at all, anything but him and the brownies, and the shitty soap opera you’d watch while curled up together on the couch.

[moonmaiden1996]

Paws, Pouts, and a Pettiness

Honestly, I have loved writing these little stories! I have written about five these week to keep me sane! I hope you enjoy.

The late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy of trees, scattering warm golden light over the camp. By the small river at its edge, you knelt, gently scrubbing the dirt from Scratch’s fur. The loyal dog wagged his tail in sheer bliss, his bright eyes fixed on you with a look of unwavering trust.

"Such a good boy," you murmured, working soap into his coat. Your fingers paused now and then to scratch behind his ears, earning a pleased huff as he leaned into your touch. His happiness was infectious, and you found yourself smiling at his unguarded joy.

However, that happiness that did not extent to a certain pointing ears of elf. Not far off, Astarion stood leaning against a tree, arms crossed, his crimson eyes narrowing as he watched the scene. The sunlight dappled your damp skin, each droplet shimmering like it had been purposefully placed to torment him. His sharp gaze moved between you and the dog—a dog!—receiving care and affection that, in his not-so-humble opinion, should have been reserved entirely for him.

He let out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. What did that mutt have that he didn’t? His hair was better, his presence infinitely more captivating, and he certainly didn’t leave muddy paw prints everywhere. And yet here you were, lavishing care on that slobbering beast.

With a swirl of his crimson cloak, he strode toward you, his boots crunching against the leaf-strewn ground. As he approached, you glanced up at the sound, and to your surprise, his usual smirk was absent. In its place was a dramatic pout, his expression a masterful blend of wounded pride and exaggerated heartbreak.

"Darling," he began, his voice dripping with theatrical despair. "Tell me it isn’t true. Have I truly been replaced? Is my endless devotion not enough for you?"

You blinked up at him, bemused. "Replaced? Astarion, it’s just a bath. Scratch got himself filthy today."

"Filthy?" he repeated, placing a hand over his heart as though you’d struck him. "And yet here you are, treating him like royalty. When he was the one that happily dived paw first into the puddle. Meanwhile, I—your loyal, loving, and might I add exceptionally attractive companion—am left standing here, abandoned. Neglected! How could you, my sweet? Have I not earned your touch?"

You bit your lip to keep from laughing, turning back to Scratch, who wagged his tail happily, utterly oblivious to the vampire’s theatrics. "You’re being ridiculous," you said, rinsing soap from the dog’s fur. "Scratch needed a bath. Besides, I thought you’d be thrilled—you’re always complaining about how he smells."

"Thrilled?" Astarion gasped, his voice rising in incredulous outrage. He crouched beside you now, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. "My dear, do you see what’s happening here? That mangy creature is stealing what’s rightfully mine. I’ve been sitting over there, watching you dote on him, fawn over him, for what feels like an eternity. When was the last time you touched me with such care? Or looked at me like that?"

"You want me to give you a bath too?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

His lips quirked up into a devilish grin. "Is that an offer? Because yes, I think I deserve a bath." He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a seductive purr. "I want your hands on me, scrubbing my back, washing my hair... tending to me in every possible way." he purred seductively.

You paused mid-rinse, water dripping back into the stream as you fixed him with a skeptical look. "You’re jealous," you accused, though your voice was light with amusement.

"Jealous?" he repeated, gasping dramatically. "No, no, my darling. Not jealous—heartbroken. Utterly heartbroken. My poor, withered heart may not survive this cruelty." He glanced over at Scratch with narrowed eyes. "First, the mutt takes your attention. What’s next? My place by the fire? My bedroll."

Before you could respond, Scratch bounded away, shaking off water with wild abandon. A spray of droplets hit both you and Astarion, and the dog happily flopped onto the grassy bank, basking in the sun. You made to follow him, but Astarion’s hand shot out, wrapping around your wrist with a firmness that stopped you in your tracks.

"Wait," he said, his voice softer now, almost pleading. His crimson eyes met yours, the usual mischief replaced with something raw and unguarded. "Don’t go running off after him again. Stay with me. Please."

Your heart softened at the vulnerability in his tone, but before you could reply, he tugged you forward—too fast, too forcefully. You stumbled, falling into the shallow river with a loud splash.

"Astarion!" you shrieked, glaring up at him as icy water soaked through your clothes.

He knelt beside you in the water, his expression shifting to one of exaggerated innocence. "Oh dear, what an unfortunate accident," he drawled, though the triumphant smirk curling his lips betrayed him. "I suppose this means you’ll have to spend some time with me now. Away from the dog."

"You’re insufferable," you snapped, splashing a handful of water at him. It hit his chest, darkening the fine fabric of his shirt.

"And yet, you adore me," he countered, utterly unfazed. His hands slid to your waist, pulling you closer with surprising gentleness. "Admit it, my sweet. You’d rather be here, soaking wet and utterly enraptured by me, than doting on that mongrel."

Your scowl melted into a reluctant laugh. "You’re impossible."

"Perhaps," he conceded, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But you’re stuck with me anyway." He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that was surprisingly tender, the earlier dramatics replaced by a raw neediness that stole your breath.

As the water lapped around you, his forehead came to rest against yours. "Tell me you love me more than the dog," he murmured, his tone halfway between a command and a plea. "I need to hear it."

You laughed softly, your fingers tangling in his damp curls. "I love you more than Scratch."

"Thank the gods," he sighed, pulling you into another kiss, this one deeper, more urgent. "I was beginning to doubt my charms."

From the sunny bank, Scratch tilted his head, watching the scene with mild confusion. But when you didn’t chase him, he flopped onto his side with a huff, ear sagging as he watched you both. For now, it seemed Astarion had successfully reclaimed your attention—for now.

Please LIKE.COMMENT.REQUEST.

[casuallyanidiot]

Yantober Day 4

Homemade Meal [Yandere Girlfriend x Gn. Reader]

Using @ozzgin's prompt list!

yeah I'm like totally behind on yantober at this point, but I'm going to keep trying to write for it because I don't like the thought of quitting lmao. This one is kind of boring but I wanted to try something a bit different from what I usually do

Tipjar :)

TW! MDNI ! DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT! Abusive relationship, manipulation, isolation, toxic af relationship, yandere

You're girlfriend isn't really happy about the fact that you've got a job...

2.7k words

Recently, Dannica was obsessed with this domestic shit, and it was pissing you off big time.

“One of us should stay home and look after the place.”

Oh please. Like either of you could afford to take care of two people. You worked a night shift at a convenience store, and your on and off again girlfriend did god knows what. She could be whoring herself out for all you knew. It didn’t matter. You couldn’t survive on your own, and she always managed to bring in just enough cash every couple of weeks to make sure neither of you starved. 

“Dis’ is bullshit…” You grumbled out, an unlit cigarette pressed between your lips as you held a lighter in one hand and your phone in the other. It was blowing up like crazy, eating up your already precious break time. 

Where are you?

Send me a photo.

Are you with someone?

Are you cheating on me?

Pick up

Now

I’ll seriously leave this time if you don’t

I love you

“Ugh, shut up,” You huffed as you put your phone on do not disturb and slid it into your pocket. Shielding the stick of tobacco with one hand, you lit up your menthol infused vice. Your bleak eyes stared out into the near empty parking lot, only occupied by your beater of a car, a raccoon digging through a nearby dumpster, a swarm of moths enveloping a street light like a halo, and yourself. Everything was bathed in an eerie, cold glow from the buzzing LED sign from the store. You inhaled before you let out a plume of smoke into the open air. You tilted your head back, letting it rest against the concrete wall.

Dannica had been getting worse recently. 

It wasn’t like you didn’t know what you were getting into when you first started going out with her. She hit all the boxes of a crazy chick. Split dyed hair, tongue piercings, eyeliner so sharp it looked like it could kill a man. She had this look in her eye that had you drooling along like an obedient dog, pinning her to the wall and laughing at every other word she said. 

“You don’t know what you’re getting into.”

She was right, but you were far too drunk at the time to realize that.

You sighed and rubbed your eyes as you stepped back into the store after grinding the last of the embers under your muddy, stained shoes. The bright, cold lights sucked up any last vestiges of your mind. Check the cameras, check the register, check the shelves… you had done everything that you needed to for the rest of your shift. Well, at least until the small amount of people would trickle in after all the local bars closed. 

3am. You only had to wait until 3am before you could go home. You would normally be excited, but there was a familiar seed of dread that was blooming into a full blown nausea. You stared down at the old, faded clock, watching with a bleak stare as your free time dwindled.

You just didn’t understand why she was so fixated on having someone be home at all times. It’s not like your place was nice. All the furniture was shitty and second hand. If anything was stolen, it would be a pain in the ass to replace, but it wouldn’t be impossible per se. You had no pets and no, god forbid, kids, so what was it? Why was she putting so much pressure on this whole thing. Plus, although she acted like she would be fine with either of you staying home, cooking, cleaning, and waiting eagerly for the other to return, you knew that the one person she wanted to have as little contact with the outside world wouldn’t be herself.

You blinked as a paper was slid onto the counter in front of you. You blinked in surprise as you looked at the intimidating man standing before you, wearing a black face mask and a dark gray hoodie. The random tightness of the fabric as he moved suggested that he was probably fucking jacked underneath his baggy attire. You looked up at him with a slow blink. When had he come in? The bell to the front door hadn’t even chimed.

“Bring these home.”

“What?”

You jumped slightly as he spoke. You looked down at the paper. It was a list of ingredients all scrawled in Dannica’s handwriting.

“Bring those home with you when you close up for the night,” He repeated before lighting himself a cigarette. Your nose wrinkled. There were like 50,000 no smoking signs in here. “If I were you, I’d shutter down and head back right now. I mean, if you don’t wanna lose all your privileges and all… Here,” He said and slid another item across the surface. This one was an envelope filled with a wad of cash. “She doesn’t want you paying.”

So you ended up sitting in front of your apartment complex, your car’s shitty engine still thrumming. There was a bag of the groceries she wanted in the passenger seat, and you gripped the plastic bag with a shaky sigh. 

It was like you were in a trance like state. Turn off the car. Go up the steps. Put the key in the lock. Turn it. 

The bag felt heavy in your hand, and the faded number painted on the door before you seemed like it was growing blurrier and blurrier by the second. You didn’t want to open this door. You didn’t want to go inside and face her and whatever this was. You hadn’t even mustered up the will to turn your phone back on. 

You could only imagine all the things she had sent you. Would she call you a slut again? Or threaten to destroy all your shit? Would she go through with it, like she had one time when you found your clothes all shredded?

Dannica hadn’t done anything wrong today.

Yeah, your girlfriend had been a bit annoying, sure. That was putting it lightly, honestly, but she really hadn’t fucked up crazily. She’d only… She’d only sent someone to your job… and threatened you with some vague punishment if you didn’t come home…

That couldn’t be good, and it certainly wasn’t healthy. After all you put up with, she thinks she can push you around by sending some lackey or friend or whatever after you? Not to mention, it pissed you off to no end that she got someone else involved in all your toxic, messy shit. That was it. You couldn’t go through with this when you were so aggravated. It would only make things worse. She made you worse.

You turned away to go back to your car, to figure out where you would go tonight, to really process the fact that you probably, most definitely, were done with all of this-

“[Name]? What are you doing out here? Come inside already.”

You listened. You didn’t know why but you did. Dannica stood there with her hands on her hips and a slight frown on her pretty face. You just stared at her, unmoving for a couple of seconds, before she huffed and reached out to grab you by the wrist and pull you inside.

“Are you dumb or what, baby? Ugh, see this is why I’m telling you that you should be the one to stay home… That place has got you all spacey and shit… not listening to me…,” she grumbled and shut the door behind you with a resounding click. The apartment was dingy for the most part, but it had touches of where you tried to make it look and feel more cozy with some cheap fairy lights strung up haphazardly. It used to feel more vibrant and homey, but after every argument, you’d find that another trinket would be shattered, or another photo of a loved one would mysteriously disappear. 

“Did you at least do what I asked you to?”

“Huh?” You finally snapped out of it and looked at her. She was all up in your space, caging you against the cheap, linoleum counter. Her manicured nails drummed on the surface, and she narrowed her eyes. You cleared your throat and shrugged.

“Dunno’... you kinda lit me up there so I just turned off my phone…” You answered and brought the bag up to set it down and start putting away the fresh stuff. Dannica’s expression brightened when she saw it, though, and you paused as a big, cheshire cat grin stretched across her lips.

“You did listen!” She gushed and hugged you suddenly, and you had to stop yourself from flinching too much.

“Oh.” You said, standing there a bit stupidly. Oh, indeed. It was like you didn’t even want to really consider that she had sent someone, that she had gone that far.  “Yeah that… Danni, what the fuck was that?”

“What was what?”

“Don’t play dumb. What was with that guy that showed up at my work? Who was he?” You asked and shook her shoulders just a bit to emphasize how seriously you were taking this. As much as Dannica hated the fact that you worked so late, in such a ‘dangerous’ area, and really the fact that you worked at all, she had never stepped over the line that you had firmly set once she started showing signs of her paranoia and clinginess. 

Never, ever show up to your work unless it was something serious.

The only time she had even come close to doing so was when she followed you to and from work one day to make sure you weren’t off cheating somewhere, so having her do this felt too much. You couldn’t not bring it up. You couldn’t not be angry.

“Hmm? Him? Oh… he’s no one, really. Just a … colleague,” She hummed as if she was bored, like you shouldn’t even bother to ask in the first place. Her gaze sharpened all of a sudden, and you could’ve sworn you saw a thought be processed in her mind in real time. “Unless… unless you want to know more about him? Why? Is it because you think he’s cute or something? What did you two talk about, huh?” 

“What? No it’s not-! You know what? I’m not even going to answer that. This is fucking stupid…” You muttered despite how pissed her expression was. Her grip grew stronger, and you shrugged it off as you moved to start putting away the groceries.

“It’s not stupid. I’m just trying to make sure we’re okay. Don’t you want that?”

“I didn’t realize me going to work meant we weren’t doing well. You know usually it’d be a good thing if the other person in a relationship isn’t a deadbeat…” You snorted, and Dannica put her hand over yours to stop you from dumping the vegetables into the Crisper drawer. A frown was etched on her face, mirroring your own. She wordlessly pulled out a piece of paper and slapped it down in front of you. Your lips curled back in disbelief as she tapped it with a sharply filed nail.

“Look…” She relented, or at least pretended to. “Just make this for me, kay? You can do that, right? I just want a good night, baby. No more fighting, no yelling. Can’t we just have a good meal?” Her words were like honeyed poison. You didn’t understand how someone could switch their tone so quickly. You turned your head away, just to escape from having to look at her, and actually read what she was trying to prompt towards you. It was a recipe for a meal. It wasn’t anything complex, just roasted vegetables and pasta, and it fit what she had made you buy to a tee. You sighed and pinched the bridge of your nose.

“Babe…” You mumbled. Your anger was being stamped out with every breath you forced yourself to take. You just needed to calm down. She wouldn’t stop bitching until you calmed down. “I’m tired-”

“You’re not that tired,” She jutted in, and you huffed. She brought out some pots and pans. “Just start the oven and cook,” she gestured to the crockery with an impatient, patronizing wave. You bit your lip in frustration.

“I don’t even want to eat right now. It’s 4 am. I just wanna go to bed.”

“So you don’t want to spend time with me then?” She accused, and you found your hands instinctively reaching for the cutting board and knife.

“What? I didn’t even say that.”

“But you meant it.”

“No? Danni, quit doing this shit. Just because you don’t get your way doesn’t mean I have to deal with you being all pissy. Look, I’m fucking making it, okay?” Each other word was enunciated with a swift thunk of a vegetable being sliced. You just wanted her to stop talking, to leave you alone, but you felt Dannica press up to your back. You felt her pouty lips against your shifting shoulder blades, and suddenly your already tiny apartment became a thousand times more cramped. Your skin crawled, and you tried to ignore how trapped you felt.

“Quit your job,” She said, not asked.

You stayed silent, though your muscles tensed and your heart hammered in your chest like a motor revving up. Your entire body was ready to spring, ready to just leave. You didn’t want to do this anymore, but it was like you couldn’t do anything but move with a molasses-like pace, grabbing the right ingredients, filling the pot, turning on the oven. You gripped the handle of the knife tightly.

Her hands slinked down over your waist, settling on the bones of your hips and clinging as a second skin. Her breath was hot on your neck, and you felt her teeth nibbling gently. Her efforts soon grew larger, and you couldn’t help but feel like she was just trying to get a reaction out of you, so she could have an excuse to smush you further down into whatever she wanted. Her bites became sharper. She was eating you alive.

“Hey, baby, answer me,” she said again once you stood back from the stove. You were at the point in the recipe where nothing else could be done except to wait.

“I like working Danni,” you stressed, and you flinched when you heard how desperate you sounded. 

“I know,” she cooed. You felt like you were crazy. Why did it sound like she was the reasonable one here? While you were what, a hysterical thing that she was so kindly taking care of?

“I know, but it’s not good for us. And I think I’ve been pretty patient and good about it so far, but I’m not going to let you just ruin everything because you want a little extra money. I know you like being independent, but I can take care of you. You know that? You don’t have to worry with me, baby,” she murmured. Dannica was calm, almost even elegant, while she was shutting down your life.

“But you don’t earn enough to support two people-”

“I do,” She insisted, and her arms looped around your waist and squeezed ever so slightly. You wheezed, and you felt her smiling. You just stared at the wall, hoping that if you blinked and turned around, magically she wouldn’t be there anymore. 

“I can, baby. You don’t even know what I’d do if you would just let me.”

The pit in your stomach grew despite the warm, inviting aroma that started to waft up from the oven, the little clock you hand winded up ticking away merrily. Her nails drummed over your clothing, teasing with the waistband of your pants. You jerked away, and she pressed her sharpened digits further in. You hissed out in pain, and she let out a disapproving hum.

“Quit your job, baby,” she repeated. This time, it felt like more of a placated threat. “Or else.”

By the time the timer finally chimed out, and the meal was ready to be plated, you knew that you had no more room to argue.

[xxacidnekoxx]

in a lot of the cartoons I watched growing up the dog characters were always really... beaming with happiness and love and NEEDing attention from their masters and would do anything to be loyal to the master and the household cat would always like... roll their eyes in the corner and is sometimes pushing over the vase to fuck wiht the dog character and that impacted me a LOT. I REALLY like that type of shit and I want to be the cat.. lol ... I REALLY want to be a fancy asshole cat that hates getting his fur muddy and makes fun of dogs

[penny00dreadful]

STWG Prompt: Falling Star💫

Continuation from this post

Steve felt discomfort squirming in his belly.

Though he no longer had the star–Eddie, he reminded himself–chained to him like a mule or a dog, he still felt like there was a power dynamic, a weight of responsibility sitting on him.

Eddie trudged along behind him through the woods, looking downright miserable, exhausted and covered in dirt and debris from where he had landed in the forest and the crater his body had created.

He was faintly glowing in the light of dawn, but it was much dimmer than it had been in the dark of the night, like his brightness was waning. 

Steve tried to think of how he would feel, dropping into a strange foreign world with the hope of finding love, only to be chained up by some guy from Hawkins of all places and told he was to be taken back as a… as a prize for who Steve hoped would become his finacé.

It wasn’t the best feeling in the world.

Glancing back over his shoulder at Eddie’s tangled dark curls, ripped and muddy silvery cloak and robes, his pale skin spattered with a dark contrast of dirt, almost as stark as the tattoos adorning his arms and the dark bags under his eyes, he made a decision.

“We’re going to take a detour.” He announced as Eddie stumbled over another root in the ground.

“Why? The sooner I go meet your Nancy, the sooner I can start on my own journey. I’d prefer if we got it over with.”

“You’re exhausted—” 

“Well it’s past my bedtime already—” Eddie snarked back, waving at the rising sun.

“And you’re filthy.”

“You’re not looking so hot yourself, sunshine.”

Steve looked down at himself, also covered in mud and scratches from where he’d had to crawl through brambles and hedges just to get to Eddie’s crater site. 

“Exactly so… so we’re gonna head to the nearest town. It’s not that far from here, I think. We can wash this dirt off and we can get you some new clothes and a nap or something.”

Eddie frowned at him.

“Why do I need new clothes? We can just get these washed. That’s something you do down here, right?”

Steve blinked at him.

“Yes. We wash our clothes but…”

Well… it was now or never. Time to voice the other worry that he had sitting in the back of his head.

“I highly doubt I’m the only one out here looking for you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s… you…” He shook his head, not able to think of a way to make this sound not terrible. “Stars are valuable. You’re valuable. There’ll be some people like me, who will probably be looking for a big lump of rock, but I suspect in a land like this one, there’ll be plenty who know exactly what they’re looking for. Someone like…” Steve gestured over all of Eddie.

“If they’re looking for a star, I doubt they’ll be looking for someone like me, Steve.”

Eddie crossed his arms, leaning against a tree, his whole body drooping with some kind of bone deep exhaustion that wasn’t just coming from the daylight.

“They’ll be looking for someone pretty and perfect and bright. Shiny hair and unmarked skin and someone who isn’t so fucking weird.”

But you are pretty and perfect and bright, something in Steve’s head said and okay maybe that was a little too far for right now.

He’d only met the guy a few hours ago and he still had… Nancy was waiting for him.

“Your clothes are very star-like?” Steve hedged, unsure of what else to say.

“Only because I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.” Eddie mumbled back.

“Okay, well… then I’ll get you something that feels more… you.”

Steve was forced to swallow as those dark and intense eyes looked up at him from their slumped position. Almost being pulled in by gravity.

“Why?” Eddie asked again.

Because I want you to be happy. I want you to be comfortable. I want to see what you look like when you feel more like yourself. 

Steve only shrugged.

“And your Nancy isn’t going to mind the delay?”

“She’s not my Nancy.” Steve huffed. “Not yet anyway.” 

Maybe not ever, if the hesitation on her face had been anything to go by, when he’d proclaimed he’d go and bring her back the star for her hand in marriage.

Eddie sighed and it seemed to take a lot of effort for him to push himself back to standing again. 

“Fine. Whatever.”

Sneaking Eddie into a village and then into a room at the inn was much easier than Steve had anticipated.

He’d heard whispers of the villagers about the fallen star but Eddie was correct in assuming people wouldn’t glance at someone who looked like him.

It also helped that his brightness was nonexistent under the midday sun.

So while Eddie bathed and slept off his exhaustion in their room, the only room available at the inn, one bed between them–what were the chances– Steve ventured back out to the local market to get him something to wear that was less star-like. 

Steve had noticed Eddie’s eyes catching on the shiny jewellery and dark leathers as they had passed, so he took a risk and picked a few of those pieces up for him, feeling a little fluttery about it.

Like he was buying gifts for courting or something, which was a ridiculous idea.

He couldn’t court a star.

But when he got back to the room, arms laden down with whatever he could carry, he was forced to reevaluate when Eddie was just lying there, face relaxed in sleep, beautiful and placid, breathing slowly and easily, clean and combed and glowing.

And probably naked as all hell under those sheets. They only came up to his hips and Steve had to tear his eyes away from the lean muscle and sharp bones sitting under delicate pale flesh marked through with a shock of black tattoos.

How anyone could think he wasn’t pretty and perfect and bright was beyond him.

Steve set the clothes and jewellery down on the desk and snuck his way around the bed, to the window with the heavy curtains drawn closed.

The room should have been dark, but Eddie was giving off enough light on his own for Steve to easily find his way around. 

He managed to sneak behind the curtains, sitting himself down on the little cushioned alcove seat beyond, and curled himself up into a little ball.

He stared out the window to the small village below and tried to remind himself of why he was here in the first place.

Eddie was ignoring him. 

Eddie had been ignoring him for the entire day. 

Steve didn’t know what he’d done wrong. Everything had been going great. They’d been talking about… well, nothing really.

It was one of the things he really liked about Eddie. That they could talk about anything for hours and every time they did, Steve inevitably kinda forgot what he was doing here.

He was supposed to be bringing Eddie back to meet Nancy. The girl he hoped to… to marry.

And… and then he was going to help Eddie find love.

And that was… that was fine.

That had always been the plan.

And okay, maybe he had mentioned that he wasn’t totally sure about the Nancy of it all anymore, so that might have been it? 

Maybe Eddie thought Steve was going to back out on his side of the deal now.

But he didn’t know because Eddie wouldn’t even look at him.

Whenever Steve tried to strike up a conversation, Eddie just hummed, turning his head away and staring ahead of them and Steve could practically hear him begging him to stop talking.

So Steve did.

But he couldn’t anymore.

“Did I do something?” He asked, hands shoved in his pockets as he looked out over the green fields and mountains, over the landscape while they walked the road leading them back to Hawkins.

Eddie didn’t open his mouth to answer, just made a questioning noise at him, still kicking rocks down the road. Still not looking at him.

Steve sighed and stopped. Waited for Eddie to stop too, which he did. He turned and looked with a furrow in his brow, silently asking why they had stopped moving.

“Did I do something wrong?” Steve asked again. “If I said something to piss you off, I’m sorry for whatever it was but… can you just tell me so I don’t do it again?”

“No. It’s not-” Eddie shook his head, turning his back again. “It’s not you, you didn’t do anything.”

“Then what’s the problem?” Steve took a few steps forward.

“There’s no problem, Steve.”

Not Stevie. Or sunshine. Or sweetheart. Just Steve.

“Clearly something is wrong, Eds, you’re not even glowing anymore. Just tell me so I can fix it-”

“It’s nothing you can fix.” Eddie snapped back, so suddenly loud and angry, Steve was struck dumb.

He reached forward, catching Eddie’s wrist up in his hand. Eddie didn’t try to pull away, but instead froze, face turned away and whole body tense.

“Eds, please.” Steve brought them face to face, a hand on his cheek.

Eddie looked somehow both angry and heartbroken at the same time.

“I can’t drag you down with me.” He muttered.

Steve could only shake his head in bewilderment.

“What?”

“I can’t drag you down with me, Stevie. We just need to get you back to Nancy and everything will be fine.”

“But… but I don’t even know if that’s what I want anymore.” He let go of Eddie’s wrist, brushing his fingers along Eddie’s, trying to take his hand. “I think… I thought… maybe—”

Eddie ripped his hand away.

“I’m a fallen star, Steve!” He shouted, his face crumpling. “I’m not just a star, I’m a fallen star. I can’t take you back to the skies with me, I can’t give you everlasting life, or magic or wealth or whatever else you humans might want me for. I can’t give you anything like that!”

“Eddie- what? I don’t care about any of that-!”

“It’s fine.” Eddie shook his head and started to stomp his way back up the road. “We’ll get you back to Nancy and you don’t even have to worry about helping me out on my side of things, I can… I’ve got it covered. We’ll get you back to Nancy and everything will be fine.”

“Wait- Wait!” Steve shouted after him, jogging to keep up and planting himself in Eddie’s path again. “I don’t want any of that stuff from you. I just want… I don’t want Nancy anymore. I want you.”

“Sweetheart-”

“Eddie. You know what my life has been like. Let me make this decision for myself. I don’t care that you’re fallen. I don’t care that you can’t give me all of that. Why would I want an everlasting life when I could grow old with you?”

“You would want that… with me?”

“Eddie.” Steve almost whispered, their faces so close together, Eddie’s big wet eyes staring at him, the faintest glow of hope coming off of his skin. “I want everything with you.”

Eddie closed his eyes with a little laugh, letting his head tilt forward until their foreheads were pressed together.

“God damn it, Stevie.”

Eddie pressed his face in that little bit closer, finally sealing their lips together.

[sister-lucifer]

READ THE FIRST PART HERE 

READ PART THREE HERE

Genre: Fluff, a bit angsty but has a happy ending, not explicitly romantic

Summary: It’s been raining all day, and the gloomy weather has you thinking about what could’ve been, and especially what never will be.

Content/Warnings: Brief mentions of alcohol, brief mention of death/suicide, it’s a little sad, I guess? But that’s it. Reader just speculates on how life would’ve been if the Operator hadn’t fucked them over and gets down about it, but theres a happy ending. 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

It’s raining again. Not that that’s new. Springtime out here sees its fair share of storms. Normally you’d observe the rain from inside, but today something inside was gnawing at you for some fresh air. 

The old rocking chair creaks beneath your weight, moving to and fro softly as you watch the rain. It comes down in sheets off the sides of the cover, splattering to the muddy ground and making a shallow moat around the patio. It lands loudly on the old tin roof, rattling and groaning in a manner that is far too dramatic. It obscures anything beyond the perimeter of the cabin and hides everything in a misty haze. 

It’s going to be foggy tomorrow, you think. It usually is when it rains like this. It’ll be cold for the next few days, too, and the ground will be soggy for weeks. Miserable weather, that is. Not that that’s new. 

It’s a good day to wonder, that’s all. You’ve been doing plenty of that lately. A bit too much, maybe, but there’s no helping that. 

You’ve been living out here with Tim for…shit. How long has it been? Almost a year, you think, but your perception of time is unreliable at best. It’s just one of the many things you lost when your world turned upside down.

That’s what it’s really about. The loss. Tim doesn’t like to talk about it, but you know you both feel it, him even more so than you. He was going to go to college, get a degree, and he’d be damn good at it, too. He was going to find a place of his own, maybe adopt a dog, a big old Saint Bernard like he had when he was a boy, the only type of housemate that wouldn’t annoy him. That’s what he’s told you, anyways. Not sober, of course, not even close; he’d never tell you anything that personal without at least a bit of alcohol in his system. He’s been drinking less since you showed up, though. You noticed he was cutting back a couple months after you moved in. You wonder if you’ll ever get him to open up like that again.

But those were Tim’s plans. He was already in his mid twenties when things really went south, you were barely out of high school when everything started. You didn’t really have plans. So…what are you mourning, exactly? 

You don’t really have an answer to that. 

You didn’t really have a set path for yourself. Your plan barely existed, and it’s feeble skeleton was little more than an intention to simply float around until something caught your eye. You’d find your way eventually, there was no need to worry. At least, that’s what you used to think. 

Now where do you go?

You didn’t have any real plans, no, and you can’t mourn something that never existed, but it there’s this heavy feeling that comes with knowing you’ll never be able to choose. 

That’s what it comes down to, you realize. Choice. 

No, you didn’t have any plans, but that was because you had all the options you could ever want. Now, you don’t have any plans because you’ve only got one. 

Tim does everything he can to keep you entertained out here. Hell, he risks his life every time he walks down the path to his truck to go to town for you, or when he just steps off the porch to refill the bird feeder he knows you love to watch. Nothing outside of these walls in these woods is safe. If it weren’t raining so hard, he’d tear you a new one for even sitting on the porch. 

It’s a miserable existence, but it’s so nice to have someone to be miserable with, even if he can’t change anything. 

You just wish that was enough to push away that yearning for more, that subtle thrumming ache that only wells up in your stomach late at night, that want that urges you to just take the truck and leave, to forget this cabin and Tim and everything in these godforsaken woods. 

But you can’t. 

You’d die. And even if you didn’t, the guilt of stranding Tim would eat you alive, especially knowing he’d kill himself before letting that thing get him. 

You don’t want to think about that. You push the thoughts away before they can take root in your mind. It’s better to just not consider that possibility at all. 

You jump when you hear the front door open. You look back to see Tim standing there, one hand buried in his pocket and the other still on the door handle. 

“The hell are you doin’ out here?” He huffs, “I been yellin’ for ya, thought you up and ran off.” 

You give him a weak smile, but you can’t keep it up for very long. You pull your knees to your chest and rest your chin on them, curling up as if trying to make yourself look as small as possible. You mumble an apology, but don’t look at him. 

He pauses, then, and you can imagining his expression changing to confusion and then concern before he covers it up again. His footsteps come up behind you, the wooden porch creaking beneath him. His hand grabs the back of the rocking chair and forces it to still before he pulls it backward to get a look at you.

“…What’s up with you, kid?” 

You shrug. It’s an easier response than an explanation, but it doesn’t satisfy him at all. 

“C’mon, we both know that’s bullshit,” He says with a dry chuckle, and he’s entirely correct. “What’s goin’ on?”

You sigh, thinking for a moment about your answer. 

“…It’s just…I dunno. Do you ever, like…think about what would’ve happened if you hadn’t…you know…”

It’s a stammering, stumbling attempt at explaining yourself, but he understands. He nods, crossing his arms and leaning back against the house. 

“Yeah, sometimes,” He replies, scratching at his stubble, “But if I’m bein’ honest, it ain’t gonna do you any good. That sorta thing only gets ya down.”

He’s right about that, too. If only it were that easy to just stop. It’s just so hard not to wonder at least every once in a while, it’s human nature. You just wish you knew when to stop. You just wish you were able to ignore the ‘what if’s that piled up in the back of your mind until they couldn’t stand anymore and toppled over into a pathetic mess of rubble. They’ll crush you one day if you aren’t careful, but such an idea seems almost inevitable. 

“Do you think—“ You start, but stop short before you can get any further. Tim quirks a brow, and you don’t have to look at him to know he’s making that skeptical face. 

“…Do I think what?” He asks. 

You hesitate to answer. Is this really a question you want to ask? If this starts an argument you won’t be able to take back, will it ruin the comfort you and Tim have finally managed to establish with each other? You can’t just not tell him now, though, or you’ll just piss him off more. He doesn’t care for secrets, but he can’t stand when someone wusses out of a conversation at the last second. 

“…Do you think if you had the chance you would…like, go back in time? If you could make it to where none of this ever happened, would you?”

You feel stupid asking that, and it doesn’t help that Tim is silent for far too long before he answers. You’re already regretting this. 

Tim finally opens his mouth, and he stammers for a few moments before his sounds turn into words.

“…I don’t really think I can answer that, kid. That’s a tough one.” 

He sounds monotone, almost uncaring, but you can tell he’s doing it on purpose

to conceal whatever he doesn’t want you to know he’s feeling. You finally turn to look at him with a look that says ‘Can you please try?’ 

His eyes widen for a moment, his shoulders tensing in that subtle way they only do when he’s scared. His lips part slowly, and it sounds like he’s forcing his next words out. 

“I don’t know. Maybe? I…”

He trails off, and you turn away again. Then there’s silence for another few moments. 

Then he’s beside your chair, slowly lowering himself to sit down and doing that annoyed groan he does anytime he has to strain his back. He takes a moment to get comfortable, and you see him reach for his pocket to grab a cigarette only to sigh in disappointment when he realizes he left them inside. You feel bad for smiling, but at least he won’t be able to hide behind his smoke the way he likes to when a conversation makes him uncomfortable. 

He accepts his fate, leaning back on his hands and staring out into the rain with you. 

“I might,” He finally says, “But it wouldn’t be an easy choice.” 

“Why not?” You ask, and for some reason he chuckles at that. 

“Good question. This isn’t how I expected things to end up, no one does, but…I couldn’t just up and leave this.” 

‘This’ he says. ‘This?’ That hardly answers your question. You quirk a brow at him, and he begrudgingly continues. 

“You know, I just…I’ve gotten attached to all this—“ 

“What’s this, exactly?” You interrupt, and he winces like he was hoping you wouldn’t ask that. “I can’t imagine there being anything here worth sticking around for.”

“…There wasn’t. Not for a long time,” He says, and now it’s your turn to pause. 

“…What did you say?” 

“There wasn’t,” He repeats, “Not until…not when I was alone. But now…” 

‘You,’ you realize that’s what he’s trying to say, ‘You are the only thing worth staying for.’ 

For some reason, that hurts. Maybe you feel guilty that you ever thought about leaving him, or maybe you feel bad that you of all people are his only friend. The bar for happiness is really low around here. 

You slowly unfurl from your spot on the chair, letting your feet rest on the porch as you slump down a bit. 

“So…you’re saying you wouldn’t?”

You expected an immediate answer. Stupid of you, really. He’s hesitating again. You’d thought you’d get a quick yes or no. You’re not sure if this is better or worse. 

“I’m not…saying anything,” Tim assures you, “I’m just saying that…I’d at least have to think about it.” 

“Yeah, but you have to make a choice,” You say with an eye roll, and the words coming out more forceful than you intended. Fortunately, his stoney exterior deflects any vitriol you could spew at him. 

The silence that settles over you this time is heavy. It makes you slump even further down in your chair. You hate the silence that always follows when you say something that turned out far too mean. 

You don’t breathe until Tim speaks again.

“Okay, yeah…I would.” 

You don’t know how you feel about that answer, but you don’t have much time to think before he continues. 

“But only because I’d know where to find you this time.” 

That surprises you. You sit back up in your chair, looking down at him with an unmistakably confused look. 

“Huh?” You blurt out, and your cheeks warm a bit when he chuckles at your noise of bewilderment.

“I’d do it, yeah, but I couldn’t just leave you to fend for yourself,” He explains, “I’d do it, but I wouldn’t abandon you. Now I know who you are, what you liked to do, where you’d hang out, all those things from before shit hit the fan. I just don’t want you to think I’d, ya know…forget about you like that. I’d come find you, that’s all. I think we’d find each other anyways, though.”

Something in your chest aches as he speaks, and it makes you want to curl up again, but you can’t move. You stare at him for a long few moments, and you’re lucky he doesn’t look up at you because you wouldn’t be able to pull your eyes away. You can’t even blink. 

“I told you kid,” He adds, “I care about you. I always have.”

What do you say to that? 

You don’t know, so you stay silent. You want to say something, to return the monument of emotion he’s just offered to you, to somehow express reciprocity, but you don’t know how. You’re silent. 

You don’t move as Tim stands back up, cracking his back and stretching his legs. He puts a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving a small, affectionate squeeze. 

“I gotta go start dinner,” He says curtly, “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me. Don’t spend too long out here. If you get sick, Imma say I told you so.” 

You nod, but give no further response. He pulls his hand away, and you think that’s the end of it, but just as you realize you haven’t heard him go to leave you feel him leaning over you. 

You tense. You’re not sure why, but you do. 

You feel him press a brief kiss to the top of your head before he pulls away again. It wasn’t even a kiss, really, he just pushed his lips against your head for a moment, but for that moment it was like everything you’d ever worried about up until that point was arbitrary. It doesn’t last long, but it lingers in the air like the smoke from Tim’s cigarettes as he pulls away and walks back into the house. 

You’re alone again.

Now what? 

You weigh your options for a moment, but once Tim’s footsteps disappear into the house it feels far too quiet out here, even with the rain beating down on the roof above you. 

You wait for only a few moments more to make sure you won’t seem too eager to follow him before you get up, lazily making your way back inside. 

You find yourself wondering again, this time about what Tim is making for dinner tonight, and you take a second to appreciate the pleasure in such simple problems. 

There are things that will never be now, and there’s no changing that.

But for tonight, this is pretty damn nice. 

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