#after chilling there with me in the waiting room for half the daylight hours

[problemeule]

got to see my roomate’s workplace today. would not recommend

[flyingwargle]

atsumu is a morning person. he loves the quiet of the early hours, the drowsiness that sharpens into focus, the peace that follows the rising sun. although it pains him to separate himself from his partner each time, the drowsy, soft smile on sakusa's face when he sits at the breakfast table is worth it.

he quietly slips out from bed and into the kitchen. it's their first weekend off after rigorous training to prepare for their match against vc kanagawa, but not even off days is enough to shake atsumu from routine. he rummages through the cupboards for ingredients to make pancakes, an indulgence they definitely deserve. putting on his cooking playlist at a low volume, he gets to work.

it surprised him to learn that sakusa is not a morning person. it takes him at least three snoozes before he could be persuaded to get up, and no morning is complete without coffee. he's also much more receptive to physical affection while half-awake, although atsumu prefers to keep this tidbit to himself, if only to steal a few kisses from his usually reserved partner.

the pancake batter is done in minutes, measurements engrained in his muscle memory since childhood. sakusa likes his pancakes simple - a dollop of cream and butter. atsumu, on the other hand, goes all out, dressing them with fresh fruit and syrup, topped with a crown of cream. he slices the fruit, chills a bowl for the cream to whip once sakusa is awake. pan left to warm on the stove, he ventures down the hallway, knocking lightly on the closed bedroom door. "omi? ya awake yet? i'm about to start cookin'."

he hears shuffling, but nothing else. it's still early, according to his partner's standards, but hey, an extra hour awake just means more time together, right? atsumu enters, adding, "we can check out that park 'samu told me 'bout, said there were geese or somethin'."

sunlight strains against the curtains. a vague human shape is tucked beneath the blankets, unmoving as atsumu approaches. he peels the covers aside, greeted with a glare. "mornin' to ya too, omi."

"do you know what time it is?" sakusa's voice is much deeper after waking, harsher but without any of its bite.

"just after 10. c'mon, omi, yer burnin' daylight. we have tomorrow off too, so we can cuddle or whatever. oh, but we gotta get our cardio in." atsumu dismisses the thought. "that can come after cuddles. pancakes?"

sakusa sighs, low and heavy. "fine. just give me some time to get up."

"i'll get the cream whipped, then." atsumu leans over to kiss his cheek, smiles at his drowsy expression. he retreats, heading back to the kitchen to continue his work.

soon, the cream is chilling in the fridge, the batter is left beside the stove, pan warm and ready. atsumu knocks on the bedroom door again. "omi?"

he hears grumbles this time. pushing the door open, he sees his partner is still in bed, covers pushed aside from where he left it. when he meets sakusa's eyes, it's tinged with pain. "is somethin' wrong?" atsumu asks, worried.

"just pain in my hips," sakusa mumbles through gritted teeth. "sorry."

"don't say that. i'll grab yer heat pad. ya need painkillers, too? best ta take one with food."

"i think i'll be okay. just need some heat on it."

atsumu nods, slipping in and out within seconds. he helps position it under him, his partner letting out a tiny sigh. "there was pain in my knees too after practice," he admits quietly. "i'd rather not move much today if we have to do cardio tomorrow. sorry."

"s'no problem. just relax, 'kay? when ya feel better, let's move ya to the couch so i can feed ya breakfast and we can watch somethin' on tv." atsumu sits beside him, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "the geese can wait."

"i didn't know japan had geese."

"right? 'samu has to be lyin'."

it takes time but eventually, sakusa is coaxed out of bed and into the living room, supported the entire way. he settles on the couch, heat pad shifted to his other hip, massaging his wrists as atsumu makes pancakes, returning to his side with two plates. "want me to feed ya?"

"i can handle it." sakusa takes a fork, uses it to slice off a piece from atsumu's plate. he pops it in his mouth. "it's good."

"what's a man gotta take fer ya to say it's delicious?"

"a michelin star."

atsumu rolls his eyes. "those aren't measures fer good food an' ya know it."

sakusa chuckles, but it ends with a hiss as his hand jerks, fork falling from his grasp, landing with a clatter. atsumu puts his plate down, snatches the fork in an instant. "are ya okay?"

"yeah. just felt a jolt of pain." he sighs, hand lowered to his lap, using his other hand to massage it.

"guess i'll hafta feed ya now," atsumu jokes. when he doesn't get a retort, he blinks, notices the deep frown on his partner's face. "omi?"

"you shouldn't have to deal with me on your day off," sakusa mumbles. "i'm just being difficult."

"if i see my partner's in pain, i'm gonna do what i can to make it better. i hate that i can't make it go away completely, but i can help care fer ya and make life easier fer ya." his tone is serious, eyes bright with a cocktail of love and determination. "yer never difficult, omi. now shut up an' let me feed ya."

sakusa stares at him, incredulous. then, "you better get a clean fork."

"obviously," he retorts, standing.

"and a dishcloth to clean the floor. we don't need ants in the apartment."

"'samu dropped an entire pot of curry once an' we never got rats or anythin'."

"add to that sentence, and i'm revoking your kitchen privileges."

"are ya gonna cook? we both know ya suck at it."

sakusa rolls his eyes. "no, i don't. i learned from the best."

"aw, thanks."

"i meant your brother."

atsumu pouts, and sakusa simply laughs, a light chuckle that fills the room with light. floor cleaned thoroughly, atsumu sits beside him, feeds him bites of pancake in between conversation, checking in with his pain. dishes left aside in favor of watching tv, atsumu rests his head on sakusa's shoulder, simply enjoying his company.

the geese can wait another day.

[thedaveandkimmershow]

Up at seven on the 31st. Kimmer up by eight.

Last minute cleaning, packing, admin, and showers 'til eleven then out the door, on the road, to the Doug Fox parking lot by 11:45, change our TSA Spot Saver for a half hour later, shuttle over to the airport, check our one big bag in, mail my dad's birthday card from the one mail box they actually have at the airport, sail through TSA to the S gates where we score sweet potato fries before realizing there's no Starbuck's here so we take the shuttle train back to the main terminal where we score our drinks (chai latte for me, tall drip coffee for her), shuttle train back to the S gate where boarding's in progress, get on the plane, and enjoy a pretty chill, nearly ten hour flight.

Enjoy?

Seriously?

Yeah, I know. I was really kind of worried about the flihty 'cause it's been a coupla decades since I did that trip last and who knows, right?

Plus, ten hours sounds like a really.

Long.

Time.

So I have a bunch of stuff for me to do with that ten hours. Have some books in my bag. A thermos I'm gonna plaster with stickers. There's a paper I'm gonna brainstorm. I figure I'll catch a nap. And so on.

It helps, of course, that not everyone chooses to fly on New Year's Eve so there's plenty of open seats, lots of room to spread out. So Kimmer takes over our two seats and I take over the two seats across the aisle. Didn't end up doing the sticker thing. Didn't end up doing the brainstorming thing. Didn't end up taking a nap.

I write a pair of blog posts for December 31 and January 1. I text with a number of friends and family. There are a coupla meals in there. And I watch A Haunting In Venice.

BAM. Ten hours. Like that.

The math of my airplane activities doesn't quite sound right to me, doesn't quite add up to the full ten hours... which is what I mean by that ten hours not feeling like ten hours.

The entire flight did feel like we were traveling in the middle of the night, though. Shortly after take-off at 2:30 in the afternoon, the pilot has everyone lower the blinds on their windows and, by 'n by, people begin stretching out for naps even though it's full blown daylight outside in North America.

When we raise the blinds again, it's morning over Holland the very next day, January 1, because of the length of the flight coupled with the number of time zones we just crossed.

Off the plane, passing through seemingly endless halls in Schiphol airport, we do a quick, friendly, and mildly profane interview with a dutch customs officer before continuing many more halls to our baggage claim after which we exit into the airport arrivals area where we're met by...

No one.

So here's what happened. Of my two cousins who were gonna pick us up, one had to work an unscheduled night shift and the other, well, I didn't have any means of contacting by phone or messenger. So Kimmer 'n I decide to set ourselves down nearby to figure out our next move. There's no worry or anxiety. We already achieved our biggest objective: we made it to Holland!

By 'n by, after strolling back to where we exited baggage claim, I spot one of my uncles.

Wait.

Is that guy my uncle?

I start to not be sure.

Then I start to really not be sure.

Then I start to think this was someone who only looked like my uncle until my uncle looka up and sees me and—

Whew.

It really is him.

Because he recognized me. ☺️

After that, we meet up with my cousin—the one I had no way of contacting except through, it turns out, Instagram Messenger—we meet up with my cousin and her husband, my uncle and his girlfriend at a nearby coffee shop where Kimmer 'n I order mint teas that arrive in glasses filled with hot water and tea leafs. It basically looks like someone threw a handful of salad into a glass of water. I will say, though, the tea's delicious.

The way our travel day worked out, we arrive in Holland a little after 8:30 in the morning local time. We're through baggage claim a little after 9:30. And we finish up at the coffee shop at 11 after lively family conversation. A preamble to the coming evening's get-together with even more family.

11 in the morning dutch time, by the way, is 2AM at home. The actual time our bodies recognize as the official time. Home time.

By the time we're at our hotel, it's noon. 3AM at home.

By the time we're in bed for our nap, it's 1. 4AM at home.

4:30pm dutch time, we're shaking off the sleep, enjoying hot showers, getting ready and packing anything we took out of our bags back into our bags because this room we booked we booked because we couldn't check into the room we booked for the week... until 3. So we booked a room for, basically, five hours so we could check in and get some sleep immediately.

Afterward, back down to the front desk we go, turn in our keys, get our new ones, back upstairs we go, stash our stuff in the new room, then back downstairs we go again where we meet up with my cousin and her husband already waiting in the lobby.

Six o'clock we're at my aunt and uncle's place where there's a mass of family. Four generations for about an hour there until the representatives of generations three and four have to take their leave 'cause it's someone's bedtime... leaving in its wake a coupla grandparents, five parents, a handful of young young adults, one little girl, and two littler girls... a family menagerie representing conversational interests spanning physical health and mental health, police work and bodyguarding, editing, videography, and observation, family albums and parties, school and work, travel plans and life plans, food and food 😉, bad English speaking skills and non-existent Dutch speaking skills, what's happened in the last twenty years and what's happening now, plans and hopes, relationships and accomplishments, and so on and so on

And so on.

At one point I'm hanging out with my nephew when my aunt walks over with a photo album she deposits in front of us. The album contains family photos from the last few family gatherings and parties.

One of the twins is with us just then. The granddaughter of my younger (but seems older) cousin. She's shy, quiet, but a huge fan of my nephew. And what apparently brings her out of her shell is the opportunity to identify herself in any given picture.

A few pages into the album, her twin wanders up in front of me, looking down at the album (upside down from her point of view). As soon as she spits herself in a photo, she declares—

"Daar ben ik!"

"There I am!"

—as she continues the hunt for other instances of herself in these pictures.

When she doesn't see herself on either page that's open, she declares

"Niet!" (Not!)

And if I don't move my hand to turn the page fast enough, she reaches down herself to turn the page because she's not, you know, on it.

If it turns out she's not present on subsequent pages she declares—

"Ook niet!" (Also not!)

and "Ook niet!" (Also not!)

and "Ook niet!" (Also not!)

—until she sees herself again and declares as if for the first time...

"Daar ben ik!"

The experience was totally adorable. And it made room for her shy sister to point out where she was in all these family pictures.

☺️

In the end, this was the fullest night (and quite the packed day) I can remember with people in a really long time. An experience that can only happen here where the majority of my family lives.

It's an exquisitely fun and funny, thoroughly engaging, completely familiar experience and we loved every second of it.

No joke.

Every second.

It's just that satisfying.

It's just that personal.

And it will be tough to leave this behind.

😕

[thebeeduo]

Ranboo: I'm- I'm not..

Tubbo: *enters room*

Ranboo: Tubbo, were you outside by the tree?

Tubbo: Outside by the tree?

Ranboo: Were you outside by the tree?

Tubbo: What, if I was there just now? [?]

Ranboo: Yeah.. At any point.. tonight?

Tubbo: Yeah!

Ranboo: Wait, you were?

Tubbo: Yeah!

Ranboo: Wait, you were behind the tree?

Tubbo: I was on the swing

Ranboo: You were on the- when were you on the swing, when did this happen?

Tubbo: Like.. Ten minutes ago

Ranboo: Ten minutes ago.. Um..

Tubbo: What do you mean?

Ranboo: So.. Ok. So, you see how that branch, like, cuts off, right?

Tubbo: Yeah..?

Ranboo: There was genuinely another thing behind that

Tubbo: Wait.. There's someone behind that tree?

Ranboo: There was genuinely somebody behind that tree

Tubbo: No, dude, stop you're going to freak me out

Ranboo: I- I'm not trying to creep you out. I thought there was genuinely somebody behind the tree

Tubbo: No, dude, you're gonna fuck me up. Don't say that!

Ranboo: I'm just telling you what I saw!

Tubbo: Do I need to get, like, a bat and swing it? I got like a steel baseball bat underneath my old bed

Ranboo: Go swing at it, go swing at it

Tubbo: Swing at it? No, I don't want to! Come with!

Ranboo: I'm not- How am I gonna come with you?

Tubbo: Just leave

Ranboo: How am I gonna leave the stream-

Ranboo: There was genuinely something behind there.. I swear to God

Tubbo: Are you sure-

Ranboo: and when I opened up the door, there was nothing. There was nothing behind- It was like looking out at me. It looked like those stumps right, so that's what I thought it was. But then there was a third one, like right below it, and then..

Tubbo: It was a fox

Ranboo: It was half way up the tree!

Tubbo: You're fucking with me! Leave me alone!

Ranboo: I'm not! I swear! I swear I am not!

Tubbo: I just came here for an iPhone charger and you dump your trauma on me? Leave me be!

Ranboo: No! This is- This is fresh trauma

Tubbo: I don't- I'm gonna go and, like, fucking die now so uh.. wait- are you actually..

Ranboo: I swear there was something behind there..

Tubbo: Right, I'm getting a floodlight. Give me a second, I'm going out there..

Ranboo: Yeah, get a floodlight, I'll record this and upload it later..

Tubbo: Ok, wait, I'm getting my phone

Ranboo: ..maybe. This is- I wish that I was kidding! I really wish that I was- It is terrible. It is terrifying actually

Tubbo: Alright, I put my torch [unintelligible]. If I don't come back, like, call the freaking cops [?]

Ranboo: Ok, sounds.. sounds good

Tubbo: I don't wanna go out there!

Ranboo: Go out there! Wait, record it!

Tubbo: I'm recording it! [?]

Ranboo: Record it! So that I can use it as found footage when you get killed. I'm kidding, I'm kidding. You're not gonna get killed, I'm sure it was- I thought I saw it again

Tubbo: Ok, I'm gonna run around the tree and run back

Ranboo: Yeah, run around the tree and run back

Tubbo: *goes outside*

Ranboo: *silence*

Ranboo: *laughs* I just hear him around the tree

Tubbo: *rushes inside*

Ranboo: What?

Tubbo: There was nothing around there but I thought I was gonna be attacked

Ranboo: There's nothing- Ok, there's nothing there, we're good! It's gone!

Tubbo: I have completely wet socks now

Ranboo: We're good guys, it's gone!

Tubbo: I've got, like, really wet socks now. Oh, the socks have come off, you know what that means!

Ranboo: I don't know what- uh wha- Oh my god..

Tubbo: Hey, you taught me what that means!

Ranboo: No, I really didn't actually. You've got it out of context because your chat is sinful.. which is probably- this is punishment for the chat

Tubbo: That actually scared the living daylight out of me. Never ask me to go outside ever again!

Ranboo: I swear- No, I swear to God I am not joking! I legitimately saw something. It was a third- It looked like a third stump on the side of the tree!

Tubbo: My heart is beating so fucking fast right now

Ranboo: It was actually..

Tubbo: Oh my god..

Ranboo: .. it was genuinely there.. I-

Tubbo: Feel my heart!

Ranboo: *laughs* It is actually so fast! He is not joking

Tubbo: *laughs* Because you made me watch "IT"! You made me watch "IT" and I was [unintelligible]

Ranboo: I swear that it was there!

Tubbo: I was gonna run around that tree and (thought) fucking Penny-dickhead was gonna come grab my neck and put me in the hairy sink! I'm not cut out for that shit!

Ranboo: *wheeze* Do you want to find a haunted place and record?

Tubbo: Huh?

Ranboo: Do you want to find a legitimate haunted place-

Tubbo: Dude, did I not tell you my idea earlier?

Ranboo: Did you?

Tubbo: Yeah

Ranboo: Do you wanna do like a series?

Tubbo: Why else would I get an IRL backpack?

Ranboo: Do you want to do a haunting series? Do you want to do a haunting series on both of our channels?

Tubbo: It sounds cool, but can I do mine live?

Ranboo: Yeah, you can do yours live

Tubbo: You'll be recorded, and I'll be live

Ranboo: I'll do one recorded and you can do one live

Tubbo: 12 hours sleeping in a haunted mansion..

Ranboo: We are not sleeping there for 12 hours..

Tubbo: 12 hours stream sleeping in a haunted mansion.. Oh fuck! Oh shit!

Ranboo: We are not.. We are not doing that

Tubbo: Oh I realised I just picked your glass of water and panic ran back- I kicked over your glass of water

Ranboo: Nooo! Nooo!

Tubbo: Ohhh!

Ranboo: Oh God!- Do you actually.. 'cause I think it'd be really really fun

Tubbo: Yeah, we can!

Ranboo: I'm going to get so much demonic stuff

Tubbo: But oh my God, like.. I'm gonna be honest with you like.. I'm.. I'm feeling like heavy now

Ranboo: I swear! I swear that it was there!

Tubbo: I feel like, you know that feeling when you're about to need a shit but you don't yet?

Ranboo: "A dark shadowy figure is known as a shadow man", what does it mean when they are white? 'cause it-

Tubbo: I'm going back to watch Adventure Time, leave me alone!

Ranboo: Alright, have fun!

Tubbo: I've been binge watching Adventure Time with aimsey and you just ruined this for me!

Ranboo: Have fun with that!

Tubbo: But I'm sat in the glass conservatory so I'm [unintelligible].. That's so mean!

Ranboo: *laughs* Oh my God.. Oh..

Tubbo: And I was out on that swing earlier!

Ranboo: I don't think that it was you though.. that's the thing, 'cause it was like-

Tubbo: *fake crying* I was out on that swing.. I could've been kidnapped and you didn't tell me!

Ranboo: I am so terrified of that tree now- That's because it was after you were on the swing!

Tubbo: *fake crying*

Ranboo: It was way after you were on the swing

Tubbo: I don't feel safe in my own house

Ranboo: Uh oh

Tubbo: Can I just stay/sit in here with you? I'm just gonna sit here in the background

Ranboo: You just want to sit here in the background? I'm watching a spooky thing..

Tubbo: Ohh are you watching spooky things?

Ranboo: Well, no, I'm watching two dudes on an abandoned ship

Tubbo: Two dudes, chilling on an abandoned ship... um... wha- gay! (vine reference)

Ranboo: *sighs*

Tubbo: *leaves room*

Ranboo: and there he goes! Alright. It was genuinely there, chat. I- I- either that, or the feeling that I have, of just like.. maybe- oh boy.. ok..

[fruitcoops]

Just a prompt idea if u want... Reg getting cuddles. Like brotherly bonding from the comfort of the couch. I've had a rough week and I could use some couch cuddles cuz just like co-existing in the same space as someone without any expectations or worries and just... Yeah that's the vibe, just calming and chill.

God I love writing siblings. And Regulus. It’s so awesome that those usually go hand in hand. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

TW for implied terrible parenting

Love is a funny thing. It waxes and wanes, ebbs and flows, but is as constant as the tide. Sirius had been on the waning side for much of his life until the Lions (and everything that came with them) flooded his world, but Regulus…Regulus was still catching up a bit.

It started small, as many good things do.

“Drive safe!” Regulus called from the living room while Sirius grabbed his keys off the table by the front door.

“Go for a walk at some point,” Sirius reminded him. “Love you!”

He closed the door before his brain caught up his mouth, then stuttered to a stop just before turning the car on; it had just sort of slipped out, a habit from the Dumais’ and Remus. The last time he had said he loved his brother was—

Sirius sighed and thumped his forehead on the steering wheel. He couldn’t remember the last time he told Regulus he loved him, and wasn’t that the most pathetically sad thing? It was hard to pay attention to the road after that.

So, over the following weeks, he made an extra effort. Every ‘goodnight’ had a ‘love you’ tacked on to the end. Every hug was accompanied by a light kiss to the top of his head. Every flight to an away game was preceded by a ‘see you soon, love you Reg’, and it never failed to get a reaction—Regulus’ eyes would widen in surprise, his brows would furrow in confusion, and then hope would wash it all away.

Sirius started getting answers about a month into his endeavor. The first time Regulus responded with ‘sleep well, love you too’ he nearly cried right in the middle of the living room. They still bickered, still argued over stupid things to cover the much bigger things lurking below the surface, but it was rare for them to go more than a few hours without quiet apologies.

“Sorry,” one would mutter as they stood in the kitchen to cool down.

“Love you,” the other would say, knocking a shoulder, hip, or elbow into them as they passed in reminder that I’m still here.

“Love you, too,” the first would admit, only half-grudging.

Slowly but surely, Regulus began opening up. He let Sirius hover like a concerned mother hen over his applications, even though they were both busy enough that it didn’t help either of them. Their family dinners became louder and brighter, filled with mindless chatter until their food threatened to get cold. He ventured out of his room during daylight hours and only subjected Sirius to a fond eye roll when he prodded him to get outside, you vampire rather than prickling up like a pissed-off hedgehog.

They settled into a rhythm that Grimmauld Place had never allowed and Sirius reveled in it; finally, he would be able to show his brother that affection wasn’t supposed to be withheld as an ultimate reward for good behavior, but freely given by loved ones. Regulus was allowed to push back, to state his opinions, to be friendly with whomever he wanted, and Sirius had the privilege of getting to know his little brother at long last.

“Scoot,” he said one night, flopping down on the couch with a bowl. Regulus groaned and dragged his legs out of the way as he blindly reached for the popcorn. “What’re you watching?”

“Planet Earth.”

“Good choice. How was your day?”

Regulus glanced over at him. “Really good, actually.”

“Yeah?” Sirius popped another handful of popcorn in his mouth to stifle the shriek of excitement building in his chest. “Zoo was fun?”

“They have new owlets in three enclosures, and I got to feed the tropical birds because Marc and Louis are still young enough to go in.” His face was alight with happiness; something clogged in Sirius’ throat. He had missed this. “There’s a raffle for naming the owls next week.”

“Will you submit something?”

“Oh, definitely.”

“Got any in mind?” Regulus uncurled his legs a little more, so their ankles were crossed.

“A few.” He was clearly seconds away from bursting, so Sirius sat back and waited. “Do you—do you want to hear them?”

“I’d love to.”

“Alright, well, I was thinking Pallas would be a fun one, since that was Athena’s best friend in some of the myths,” Regulus began, his eyes flickering away from the tv screen for half a second. His shoulders were starting to bunch like they always used to when he was excited as a kid, and he was wringing the hem of the blanket in his hands. “Basically, Pallas was…sorry, you don’t need to know all this.”

“No, no!” Sirius said quickly. “Tell me everything. It’s cool.” You have no idea how much I love hearing you talk again.

Regulus’ shy smile grew brighter. “Okay. Well, Pallas was the first option, and then I was thinking it would be funny if one was Neptune, because it’s double irony.”

Sirius tuned out David Attenborough’s voice in the background and set his popcorn aside, turning his full attention on Regulus while he rambled about etymology and every detail of the new owlets. He listened until the episode ended and Regulus yawned so wide his jaw cracked, then guided him off the couch with a gentle nudge toward his room.

“Sleep tight, Reg,” he said, ruffling his already-messy hair.

“ ‘night, love you,” Regulus called absentmindedly as he walked down the hall.

Sirius’ chest seized. Regulus had never initiated their nighttime tradition before. “Love you, too.”

Right there in the hall, Sirius made a promise: he would never let either of them revert to their old ways again. He would be there to celebrate every acceptance letter, to tease him for every texting typo, and to square up against anyone who even hinted at insulting his baby brother. Regulus didn’t need protection—he had proved himself plenty independent in the past—but he was still nineteen years old and Sirius had a moral, spiritual, and semi-legal obligation to be the big brother he had been always been told was unnecessary.

And if he thought about it, really thought about it, there was nothing he would rather spend his life doing. 

[irelanddesires]

Trioblóid

Pairing: Thomas Shelby x reader

Warnings: Fluff, eventual smut, guns, violence, the usual gangster stuff.

Summary: Moving to Birmingham YN was lost. Tommy is still stuck in the tunnels in France. Will this match lead to ever after or utter devastation? 

A/N: Okay so this is literally the first thing I’ve written in probably 2-3 years. I’m trying to get back into the hang of things but it’s been really hard. Sorry if this is shit. <3 This is only part 1, there will be more, not sure how much more but at least 2 more parts. 

You hadn’t grown up in a city like Birmingham. In fact, the place you grew up could probably fit in a city block of Birmingham. Your mother and you had just relocated to the area a few months ago. You both had escaped your awful excuse of a father and husband during the night. You used the darkness of night to hide who you were and where you were going, stowed away in the back of a truck with animals heading to the city slaughterhouse. Once the truck reached the city you both had bailed, walking the rest of the way. You had been lucky enough to find a home for rent at a price that you could afford. Your mother had been skimming money from your father for months preparing for this. You didn’t have much but you had enough to survive while you both looked for work.

Within a few days your mother was lucky enough to find a job working in a bakery. You were still looking for something but in the meantime you were able to handle anything around the house while your mother was away at work. You hoped that this was only the beginning to a new, safe life.

The stairs creaked as you came downstairs, your mom long gone to work. Today you needed to tidy the kitchen before heading to the market to get food for the week. Making your way through the sitting room and into the kitchen you noticed the sky seemed to be darkening in the west. 

“Shoot” you muttered. 

With the possibility of rain you had to make a change of plans. Getting food for the week couldn’t wait, at this point you barely had anything at all in the fridge and would need to make something for dinner. Gathering your cash and bags you hurried from the house. The market wasn’t too far, only about a half hour walk from home. Usually this gave you time to bask in the sun, which was a rarity as it is, and interact with others if the possibility arose. 

Today would not be a day you could stroll to the market while having pleasant conversations. With the clouds blowing in and the air already feeling like rain you knew you had only a brief amount of time until it would start. You prayed it wouldn’t really rain until you could make it home. You made record time arriving at the market and quickly scanned the shelves and grabbed everything you would need for the week. 

“Good afternoon, Y/N” the cashier said and I began placing items onto the counter. Even with Birmingham being so large it felt so small sometimes. The shop owner had been in the neighborhood for generations so he seemed to know everyone, even the new people in the neighborhood. 

Pleasantries were exchanged before the shop owner had you all checked out and ready to go. Stepping outside you cursed as a gust of wind almost toppled you over. The sky had darkened significantly since you entered the store. You knew you would probably get drenched on your way home, causing your mood to sour. If only you hadn’t chosen this morning, out of all mornings, to sleep in just a bit. 

Walking back through your neighborhood was eerie. The sky was dark above you, matching the black of the buildings and street. The only nearby sounds were of your heels clicking against the brick sidewalk. It seemed like everyone had disappeared leaving you to hustle home alone. Thunder rolled in the distance, 

“Oh fuck” you muttered, quickening your pace. 

Rain isn’t unheard of in England, in fact more often than not it rained. Being caught out in a storm is a whole other story, one she didn’t want to experience. Her feet ached as she pushed herself harder, hoping she could make it home before the food she carried became soaked. Rain didn’t really mix well with bread and flour. With only your mother being able to provide for the two of you, it made things tight with money and there really wasn’t room to replace ruined food.

As the first few drops hit the ground you tucked your chin down into your jacket and wrapped your arms around the bags you were carrying, hoping that you would be able to shield it for the most part. The wind whipped around you sending your hair flying in all directions. The coolness of the wind broke through your jacket causing chills to run down your spine. If the streets before were eerie, they were down right scary now. No one was around, no person, no animal moved. Turning the corner you sighed, your house wasn’t too far from here, just another block and a right turn. You might be lucky after all you thought. 

Before you had a chance to relax at being so close to home a clap of thunder boomed in the sky above you like a bomb and rain began to fall as hard as you’ve ever seen it. Between the wind, rain and your hair covering the majority of your face you had no idea how close you were to another person until you collided. Your breath oofed out of your chest at the force of the collision, bags falling from your arms, before you could topple over arms came around you holding you upright. 

“You alrig’ love?” a deep voice caressed you. 

You don’t know what you were expecting to see when you looked up but piercing blue eyes weren’t it. The stranger’s eyes were beautiful, so blue you felt like you could swim in them. Your eyes wandered across his face getting lost in the chiseled features you found. His voice brought you back to reality,

 “Love? You alright?” he asked again. 

You suddenly realized how close you were, his arms wrapped around you in somewhat broad daylight, anyone could see. You quickly stepped out of his embrace and cleared your throat before answering, 

“Yeah… Yeah I’m fine.”

Looking at your feet you saw all your groceries strewn across the black cobblestone. 

“Fuck!” you cursed, bending to start picking up all the food and stuffing it back into bags. 

The stranger crouched across from you and began helping gather what was left in another bag. You both stood and the stranger lifted your bag back to you, amusement across his face. 

“Well I’m glad someone found this amusing” you snapped

Curiosity flashed across his face but the amusement never left his eyes, it was like he was in on an inside joke leaving you dripping wet and angry at the ruined food in your arms. Sighing you went to apologize for colliding with him but he quickly held up a hand silencing you. 

“No apologies. John will see you home safely and you can send me a bill for what was ruined.” 

You hadn't even noticed someone else was there, casting a quick glance behind him you saw another man dressed in the same fashion leaning against a car. His expression must have worn the same shock yours did as you looked at one another. You thought over it for a few seconds before turning your attention back to the man in front of you. 

“Thank you,” you agreed with a nod. 

Before you could process what was happening the man, John, was ushering you into his car. He had taken your bags from you and placed them in the back seat. He came around the car and hopped in the driver's seat before taking off down the road. He inquired about your address but that was the extent of your conversation. 

John dropped you safely at home and even helped carry a bag inside. You shouldn’t have felt comfortable with either man, just looking at them you could see that they carried demons. 

That night, laying in bed, you couldn’t stop your mind from wandering toward the mysterious blue-eyed man and how hauntingly beautiful he was. You hoped you would have the chance to run into him again, just to see him again. Your mind traveled to wicked thoughts as you drifted to sleep and thought of those blue eyes.

[ficsandgiggles]

Judge Bucky

Summary: The reader steals a few of Bucky’s things as a prank, thinking Bucky wouldn’t realise. They were wrong. 

To the anon that requested this, I really hope this cheers you up. Stay strong!

"I swear I'm just going crazy..." Bucky muttered to himself as he kept making rounds of his bedroom, in an attempt to find his hairbrush. "It was right there half an hour ago!"

You smirked as you peeked into Bucky's room, seeing Bucky look so confused and lost was absolutely hilarious, but you knew you had to keep casual so Bucky wouldn't suspect that you were the culprit behind the sudden disappearance of his precious hairbrush.

"Buck? Is everything okay?" You asked innocently, trying not to break into laughter as Bucky shrugged in response, continuing to scan around his room.

"Yeah, yeah, I've just lost my hairbrush... and my hair is an absolute mess. This is the third thing today that has gone missing." Bucky explained, raising an eyebrow briefly as he watched your reaction. You had to keep your cool, but what you didn't know was that Bucky was more than aware that you were the robber, and that one of his shoes, his deodorant and now his hairbrush were just chilling in your room, but he wanted to see how long you were able to last before cracking under pressure.

"Well, Nat has long hair, maybe she borrowed it." You replied, patting his shoulder before leaving him to it. "Good luck!" You called out before heading back to your room and immediately digging out your Bucky collection, taking a picture of it and sending it to Peter, who had dared you to steal a few of his stuff to see how much you could take before Bucky noticed.

This continued for a while, and slowly, more of Bucky's stuff went missing, there was a bit of a close call when you took his toothbrush, as you were heading out of the bathroom as he was walking in, but you thought you got away with it and quickly slipped back to your room. Even Peter was impressed with how much you were managing to take, making you smirk smugly to yourself.

You were having a rummage through all of Bucky's stuff, feeling even more surprised about the fact that Bucky didn't discover you were the culprit, or so you thought. You didn't notice, but Bucky was spying at you from your bedroom door, waiting to suddenly pounce and punish you for stealing his stuff.

When you went to put all of his things back under the bed, Bucky burst into the room and tackled you to the bed on your stomach, smirking as he held your wrists behind your back.

"Y/N Y/L/N, you're under arrest for the suspicion of daylight robbery, you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence." Bucky announced, watching you squirm under Bucky's grip, giggling nervously.

"I-I thought you wouldn't know..." You explained, turning your head to the side as you wriggled even more, not having any idea about what was going to happen.

"Oh please, you weren't exactly being discreet about it! But don't worry, Judge Bucky has sentenced you already, to five minutes of torturous tickles!" Bucky announced, keeping your hands behind your back and using his other hand to dig into your side,, smirking as he watched you shriek with giggles and squirm from side to side, clearly surprised by this sudden motion.

"BUHUHUHUCKY, PLEHEHEHEASE! I'M IHIHIHIHINNOCENT!" You yelled, thrashing around from side to side as you tried to kick Bucky away from you. Bucky just smirked to himself as he scribbled his fingers into the back of your thigh, occasionally squeezing rapidly to make you bark out a laugh.

"Sorry Y/N, but it is incredibly important to carry out this sentence so you learn your lesson!" Bucky explained, suddenly flipping you over so you were laying on your back before pinning your hands under his knees. He teasingly cracked his knuckles with a smirk. "Alright, now we're getting started!" He announce before shaking his fingers into your ribs, trying different ways to tickle you as quickly as possible.

You yelped out and pulled at your hands, giggles poured out of you as you shook your head from side to side, slowly but surely regretting touching any of his stuff. "NOHOHOHO FAHAHAHAIR! BUHUHUHUHUHCK!" You begged, looking up at Bucky to see him just roll his eyes fondly at you.

"All is fair in love and deviance." Bucky replied, suddenly shoving your shirt up so he could blow endless raspberries all over your belly whilst his fingers jellyfished your knees. He couldn't help but smile to himself when he heard you basically screaming with laughter at this point, even though he had to occasionally dodge your flailing legs to avoid getting a black eye.

"I'M SOHOHOHORRY! PLEHEHEHEASE STAHAHAHAP!" You squealed, trying to twist your body away from the endless torture on your belly, but being pinned by the Winter Soldier made that task pretty much impossible, but he did give you mercy for a brief second, and sat up to wriggle his fingers all over your belly to ensure you kept giggling.

"You're sorry? But I thought you were innocent, you've basically pleaded guilty. Which means it's time for hip squeezes!" Bucky teased, watching your face turn to pure panic as you desperately pulled at your hands before you burst into hysterical laughter as Bucky drilled into your hips, your worst spot.

"Aww, looks like Y/N's worst tickle spot is their hips! How sweet.." Bucky cooed, continuing the hip squeezes as he leant down and began blowing raspberries onto your neck, which soon turned your laughter silent as you lay there helplessly.

He continued for a little longer before having mercy on you, he pulled your shirt down and got off you, watching as you immediately curled up away from you, attempting to catch your breath.

After a few minutes, Bucky ruffled your hair. "That should teach you not to steal from me." He told you with a fond smile before grabbing all of his stolen belongings and leaving you to recover.

You just smiled a little to yourself, the task had actually been quite fun, even if there was a consequence. But if you had learnt one thing, is that stealing Bucky's stuff would lead to tickles, and that was a lesson you will remember in the not too distant future.

[solomonish]

longtime listener (solomon x reader)

“Hi, uh, I’m a longtime listener, first time caller. Is it just me, or are we two halves of the same soul?”

It felt like the late night talk show was made for you specifically….and you know what? Maybe it was.

ao3 link: here!

3 a.m. It was 3 a.m. in this nowhere town of yours, the summer crickets screaming loud enough to become a steady thrum in the back of your mind. This insomniac routine had gone on long enough that your bedroom light was not off. You had gone past the empty attempts at counting sheep, spent countless hours relaxing your muscles from head to toe, everything. The orange bottle of melatonin mocked you each time you opened your medicine cabinet, half-full of pills that didn’t do a damn thing for you. Now, surrounded entirely by trees and the sounds of nature keeping you company, you had taken to merely entertaining yourself in the hours of the night when you should be asleep.

If idle hands bored you in the daylight, it was even worse at night. The cover of darkness seemed to bring with it a blanket over your mind, insulating your thoughts with slowly creeping dread and loneliness the longer you allowed yourself to stew. Scattered across your house were projects in varying degrees of completion: a crochet granny square half-completed, a needle still stuck in a loop lying on the small table beside your couch. Sad as it is, it is still better off than the elephant who’s box was opened and instructions spread out, but too indecipherable to a novice like you. On your desk lay scattered coloring book pages and paint-by-numbers, even an adhesive jewel coloring activity that was far too expensive for the one page, delivered by a man who’s baseball hat brim never revealed his face. It was the first unfamiliar face you had seen in a while, even though you technically hadn’t seen it at all.

A small stack of books that you tried to read stared at you from your dresser, begging you to open them again as if the words wouldn’t blur together immediately. Beside them sat your radio, an old thing that you hadn’t touched in years before your sleepless nights came to plague you. Most of the time, static veiled the music that you expected to be playing, even though you could catch slivers of familiar lyrics between the fuzzy noises. The only station you could seem to get was a talk show.

Unlike other radio shows you had heard, this one was uninterrupted by music or, like the other stations, static. There were no guests either, as all you ever heard was one voice. It was a calm voice with a playful lilt, neither too deep nor too high. To you, it was the kind of voice that seemed to pull you in a trance, as if it knew exactly which senses to numb until you were pliable to the way the sound crashed into you. If you hadn’t been having these sleepless bouts, you could probably fall asleep to his voice.

The topic of the show was lost on you. Sometimes, if you listened real close, you could hear the man talk about old urban legends or strange, magical creatures. Other times, he was murmuring about spells and recommending potion recipes. More often than not, though, you spent your time in a stupor, not listening to the yarns he was spinning. Instead, it was as if his voice pulled your spirit out of your body and led you down a path of memories lost to time.

Such an idea seemed scary, but...it was comforting, honestly, and maybe the little bit of rest you needed to prevent your body from crashing throughout the day.

With the voice in the backdrop, you found yourself going on wild adventures you felt like you lived but could not actually remember. Sometimes, you found yourself on the edge of a rocky outcrop on the coast, stormy clouds above warning you to turn away from the ocean as the ebb of the tide beckoned you closer. You could feel the salt in the wind brushing against your mist-soaked cheeks, your hair limp and wet but still blowing wildly around you. Others, you could feel the thick moss sink under your weight as you traipsed through a nameless bog, searching for a vivid, unnaturally colored mushroom you knew you had seen before but could not name. You could even see, on occasion, a dark land lit by multi-colored lanterns, a decrepit manor filled with seven rambunctious figures you thought you remembered fondly.

Then, just before the sun started to peer above the horizon, you were brought back to your body and the voice signed off, almost affectionately. The room around you, bathed in the light purple of an early dawn, almost seemed to shimmer until the sun broke the spell.

It was baffling, but you couldn’t exactly share the experience with anyone without them thinking that you were crazy. Besides, it all seemed too intimate to share, and the selfish part of you thought it’d be best to keep these moments tucked away.

As you settled in the swivel chair with the radio static in the background, aimlessly fiddling with the threads on your old shirt, you began to feel nerves bundling in your stomach. Though you couldn’t quite explain why, it seemed as if something was about to change. You eyed the radio nervously, listening to the static that would soon give way to the voice.

After a few more nerve-wracking moments, the static subsided and the relaxing, smooth voice started to poke through. There was no introduction music and he was starting to come through mid-sentence, but you already leaned back, convinced that whatever he was saying was true. The two of you were on the same wavelength, after all.

He droned on for longer than you remembered him taking, and you remain - frustratingly enough - with your body and painfully aware of the world around you. You can actually hear what he’s talking about - something about coincidences, fate, reincarnation - the stuff of a pre-teen branching into philosophical thought. You can feel your interest waning, and you even debate turning the channel and slipping back into your old attempts at falling asleep when he says something of interest.

“...and if it’s alright with you, I’ll open the line for any callers. I’ll wait for you. Whenever you’re ready.”

You froze. What? That wasn’t how this type of show was supposed to go. You had never heard him even speak about anybody else specifically, let along open up his world to anybody who was listening. The thought scared you in a weird way, the kind of fear that you were sure should only be felt in prehistoric times, an almost primal fear of invasion.

Reaching beside you, you grabbed your phone and dialed. You didn’t remember him saying the number to call, but you already knew it. You must have, because before you know it, you’re bringing the phone up to your ear.

For just a moment, as the phone in your ear rings but nothing changes on the radio.Like a child whose schoolyard crush just rejected them, you feel like a fool - until you hear a click, and the voice that greets you matches the one you’ve been listening to for endless nights.

Your voice doesn’t come through on the radio, a fact that both relieves and confuses you. Faintly, you can tell that your heart rate has picked up and your breathing has gotten shallower. The nerves from a few minutes ago pick up again. Gracelessly, you manage to stammer out a nervous, “H-hi…” while your brain catches up with the rest of your body.

“Hello, MC,” he responds, his smooth voice erasing all the bumps in your own introduction. You wonder how he knows your name, but decide to focus on how nice it sounds on his tongue. “What is it that you wish to learn tonight?”

That you’re talking to me. Me, and only me, is what your brain wants to say. Istead, your eyes dart around the room for a less...needy response. “I, uh- gosh, this is embarrassing, but I don’t think I caught your name.”

He hummed. You couldn’t tell if you were hearing his voice over the radio or the phone, but you could only hear him once - the rest of the world had been turned down to silence. “Perhaps you haven’t, in this life.”

In this life. For a moment, you swore you could see a familiar smirk in the darkest corner of your mind, one slim finger pressed against sly lips in a gesture to keep your secrets to yourself. Your face felt warmer than it had ever been, but your chest felt hollow, like you were grasping vaguely for something just out of reach.

“I didn’t mean to forget, Solomon.” The name felt right leaving your mouth, and now that you had said it, you wanted to repeat it over and over. On the other end of the line, Solomon seemed as pleased as you did.

“As long as you remember now.”

Honestly, what were you to say to that? Simply talking, really talking to Solomon had your breath robbed from your lungs. If you looked down, you could see your hands shaking, and you worried your voice might start trembling if you spoke too soon. The longer you let the silence linger, the colder you felt inside, an empty chill filling the space where something you briefly realized was torn from you should be. Whatever it was, talking to Solomon thawed you out, and you feared hanging up on him now would freeze you solid.

So you swallowed thickly and hesitantly spoke. “Do you ever dream about the ocean, Solomon?” You just wanted to say his name again.

“Who says those are dreams? Maybe they’re memories.” And surely he was right, because there was no way a simple dream could leave such a potent taste of salt in your mouth.

The way he spoke to you felt so familiar, almost safe and welcoming. Even if your conversation was only just beginning, you had the distinct sensation that you were picking up where you left off with an old companion, falling into an easy rhythm you used to find solace in. At the same time, you couldn’t shake the fact that you knew nothing about Solomon, and that this phone call was telling you that tonight was his last broadcast.

“Do you have memories of the ocean?” Your voice was breathy, and you had to catch yourself just before reciting his name a third time. What was your fascination with it? Perhaps you were trying to call out to him, to keep his attention on you. Maybe you were hoping to summon him back to you. You supposed it didn’t matter in the end, anyway.

“Yes. Not all of them are fond, though. Some parts are.”

You could practically see the way his mouth turned down at the corners, a practiced display of displeasure. He always managed to express himself without giving away too much information - he was the type of person where you knew he was upset, but you could never begin to fathom why. That’s what everyone else thought, but you were the exception. You could watch his face fall and know what he was thinking. You would be the one to lift his spirits again, once upon a time. That, you remembered. Could you ever forget?

The silence that stretched between you didn’t feel like something that needed filled. It was a language all its own, a space where you could hear the other speak without anything being said. This, you realized, is what it felt like to be so perfectly in tune with someone, to understand them completely, better than you knew yourself.

But how could you know Solomon so intimately when this was your first time speaking to him?

No...no, it wasn’t. You’ve known Solomon for longer than you’ve been alive.

“Which memories are fond?”

He didn’t answer the question. He didn’t need to. He was thinking of you in lifetimes you just learned had already come to pass.

“Are you still on air?” You asked, your voice soft and uneven. As if awaiting horrible, surprising news, you brought your free hand to your mouth and bated your breath. The world around you had come to a standstill as you awaited his answer - even turning yourself mindlessly in your chair seemed wrong, but you couldn’t force yourself to reach out with your foot and stop.

The chuckle you received was rich, velvety, and it sounded much closer and clearer than a man talking to you through a phone. “Who’s to say I was ever on air to begin with?”

Your face warmed, and you gasped. Despite the ominous words, something in your chest told you that you could trust him, that this was meant to be. All at once, the sounds of the world came back to you. The crickets were chirping, the katydids screaming, frogs calling out to one another in their summer song. From a distance away, a sudden low rumble sounded as something made impact with the ground, sending a light shockwave that shook the old branches above you and sent exhilarating chills down your spine. A shocking cloud of purple light, glimmering like all the stars in the galaxy came down to visit you, caught your attention through your window. You should be scared. You really should be, but you weren’t. You felt like the late-night bus just arrived to take you home.

Once you were out of your trance, you brought the phone back to your ear. The line had been quiet since you started asking your questions, but you could tell Solomon was still there. You didn’t need to tell him that you were back - he already knew.

“Why…?” You had no idea what you were asking about, but you did so with a hint of anticipation in your voice. This was the moment you had been waiting for all your life, but you only just realized you’d been waiting. His answer made your heart flip the way it used to.

“I was merely looking for you, my love.”

[reogou]

birthday surprise | bakugo.k

pairing/s: domestic!pro-hero!bakugo katsuki x fem! reader

genre: fluff

warning/s: none

au: domestic au, pro-hero au

a/n: a repost from my main hehe i also edited this a bit. hope you all liked it! 

🏷: @bnhabookclub​ 

You smiled at your handy work, the cake you were baking looking so delicious. You took the small portions you sliced to make a bomb and tasted it. Your smile widened when you felt the caramel in the cake. The cake was a bomb with an explosive sign on the tip. You wrote a ‘Happy Birthday Kacchan’ with an orange icing in the middle of the cake, a two-layered cake with caramel inside. Smiling proudly at your work, you beamed and started cleaning the mess you made inside the kitchen. Once you finished cleaning the mess, you put the cake inside the freezer and started cooking the foods for Katsuki’s birthday.

You decided to surprise Katsuki on his birthday. The house was already decorated with orange and black, which matched his costume colors as a pro-hero. There were balloons everywhere and a big tarp with a Happy Birthday Katsuki Bakugo printed on it. There were also orange papel de hapon on the ceiling that connected each other in the middle with a black balloon hanging with a white string.

The hardest part of this surprise was to get Katsuki away from the house to set everything up. Thankfully, Katsuki has work today, and he would be home by 8, which was already enough for you to get ready. Mina and Uraraka helped you a while ago to decorate the living room but immediately decided to go home when everything was done to give you and Katsuki privacy.

When you finished cooking Katsuki’s favorites, you took a shower and wore denim shorts and a yellow hoodie so that you both could chill after eating the foods you prepared. You played a soft melody on the speakers and turned off the lights before sitting on the couch and surfed on twitter while waiting for Katsuki to come home. An hour and a half had passed when you heard the soft sound of the doorknob turning. When the door didn’t open, Katsuki shouted at you from behind the door.

“Oi, shitty woman. Open the door!” You giggled and hid beside the door while holding the party popper. Katsuki groaned when you didn’t answer him. There was a pause when your phone suddenly rang. You almost squeaked from shock. Thank god your phone was on the sofa or else he would have noticed that you’re just beside the door. Your phone keep ringing, but you just ignored it and giggled silently.

“Where is that shitty woman?” Katsuki hissed. When you heard the keys’ clanking, you readied yourself and put your fingers on the party popper. When the door opened, you held your breath and opened the party popper when Katsuki turned on the lights.

“Happy Birthday!” You shouted at him.

Katsuki looked shocked and took a step backward due to his instincts from being a pro-hero. When he realized that it was just you, his brows furrowed and relaxed a bit. You hugged him, which he answered immediately and kissed your forehead unconsciously due to him being used to it. Whenever he would come home from work, you would always leap on him and hug him while he would immediately kiss your forehead. You both had gotten used to it and eventually, it became a habit for both of you.

“What the hell, baby?”

You just laughed at Katsuki’s dumfounded face and kissed the tip of his nose. You smiled sweetly at him before tugging him to come inside. When he saw your living room, his mouth fell open from awe. You smiled softly at his reaction, satisfied that he liked your surprise. When he saw you smiling softly and staring at him, he faked a cough and looked away from you, a small tint of pink could be seen on his tanned-colored cheeks.

“Surprise? What the fuck am I, a five-year-old kid?” He scoffed even though you can see the hint of joy on his eyes. You rolled your eyes and flicked his forehead before walking away to the kitchen.

“I know you liked my surprise, Suki. Don’t deny it.” You took the cake out from the freezer and lighted the candle, causing it to flicker like a fireworks. You turned around and motioned the cake to him. Katsuki looked at you with an arched brow and eyed the cake.

“Seriously? A bomb?” 

You just chuckled. “Make a wish, dumbass.” Katsuki rolled his eyes at you but still closed his eyes.

I wished to have more years to come with this woman in front of me and protect her. To live happily with her and build a family of our own.

Katsuki might deny it in front of you, but deep inside him, he liked your surprise and effort. He loved it.

When Katsuki opened his eyes, he saw your beautiful smile that always managed to make his day perfect. He kissed you thoroughly on the lips with passion and love. His kiss was not hot and ferocious, which he always gave you, nor was it quick and short, but rather a passionate and sweet kiss that made your knees melt. Katsuki immediately hold your waist to stop you from falling on your knees. When you were almost out of breath, Katsuki pulled away and stared lovingly at you, his eyes softened at the sight of you in front of him. So red. So flustered. And his. Alone. He gave you another peck on your lips and hugged you tightly.

“Thank you.” He said softly against your ears.

“Your welcome.” You smiled lovingly at him. You pushed him slightly and chuckled. “Now, go and shower so that we could eat the food I made and your cake.” He groaned and you kissed him on the lips.

“I prepared a bath for you. Freshen up now while I prepare the table. I’ll follow you after I finished. And oh, I already prepared your clothes. It’s in the bed. Wear it, okay?” You glared playfully at him.

“Fine.” He grumbled and walked towards the master’s bedroom. He saw a black and orange hoodie and a grey sweatpants fold neatly on the bed when he opened the door. Katsuki rolled his eyes again and let out a loud breath.

“What the fuck is wrong with black and orange today?”

He opened the bathroom door and started taking off his clothes. The bathtub was full of rose petals, and it smelled like lavender. He dived into it and relaxed when he felt the warm water. Katsuki looked up at the ceiling of the bathroom and stared at nothing. He smiled a little when he remembered your surprise earlier. He doesn’t want to admit it, but you totally surprised him. He panicked when you didn’t pick up your phone when he called earlier. He thought something happened to you. He might now show it, but he always feared that you’d be in danger. And that he’s too late to save you. He loves you and cares so much for you. Not because you’re his wife, but because you’re the woman who he loves and so dear to him other than the Old Lady. And he would do everything for you to be safe.

He turned his head towards the door when he heard it open and saw you enter the bathroom. You locked the door behind you and walked towards him with your sweetest smile.

“Hi.” You said softly and kissed his forehead, pulling a stool and sitting on it. Katsuki looked up at you. “Hey.” He replied to you. Even though he’s not smiling, his eyes are filled with joy and love; that’s only for you.

“How’s work?” You asked him while reaching for the shampoo beside him and started massaging his scalp to help him relax even more. Katsuki started ranting about his day, about how pathetic the criminals they caught decided to rob on broad daylight with only useless quirks as their weapon, about how annoying it is to see Deku’s face early in the morning. At the same time, you sat there beside him, listening and nodding at him while you massage his scalp and shoulders and helped him relax.

“What about you? What did you do the whole day?” He turned his head towards you. You shrugged at him.

“I just prepared for your birthday. Kirishima and the others helped me prepare too.” Katsuki hummed at you. When he finished washing up, you walked downstairs while putting on the hoodie you prepared for him. However, he didn’t wear the sweatpants. Instead, he only wore his black boxers and followed you downstairs. He saw you in the kitchen and eyed the foods in front of him. It was all his favorites. He smiled a little but quickly erased it on his face when he saw you grinning at him. He clicked his tongue and looked away before sitting down. You put some rice and food on his plate and yours before sitting down in front of Katsuki.

“Oi, come here, Shitty Woman.” Katsuki demanded grumpily while motioning the chair beside him.

“What if I don’t want to, Blasty?” You teased him and grinned. Of course, you want to sit down beside him. I mean, who wouldn’t want to sit down beside a man with a hot body and beautiful face? Not to mention that he got some flashy quirk to protect you with. Though he might not tell his feelings verbally, Katsuki sure is a loving person and the type of person to care for his loved ones secretly while scolding them. But he should say first that he want you beside him. You’re not an easy-to-get kind of woman anyway.

“Huh?! You sit beside me, or you want me to make you sit down here?!” He shouted. You laughed at him and pushed your plate beside him before getting up and sitting beside him.

“Geez, no need to shout, King Explosive Murder.” You chuckled. He only clicked his tongue and resumed eating his food.

You almost choked when you felt Katsuki reaching for your hands and intertwined both of your hands with each other. He was just eating his food casually when you looked at him, but he couldn’t hide the small blush on his cheeks.

“What?!” He narrowed his eyes on you. You just grinned at him.

“Nah, nothing.” You can’t help but grab and pinch his cheeks. “Your so cute, baby~.”

“What the fuck?!” He back his head away from your arms but didn’t swat your arm away.

“Tsk. Eat, woman.” You just rolled your eyes at him and continued eating.

“By the way, what do you want to do right now? You want to watch a movie?”

“Isn’t this your surprise? You should entertain me, brat.”

“Hey, I’m not a brat!” You stuck your tongue out at him. He rolled his eyes. “Childish.”

When you both finished eating dinner, you decided to watch a movie while eating the cake you made for him. You were both cuddled upon each other, sitting on Katsuki’s lap while his arms snaked around your waist and his chin on your shoulder blade. Occasionally, Katsuki would plant soft kisses on your neck, making you giggle and swat his face away. You both would sometimes comment about the movie before becoming silent again, focusing on the film. When the movie ended, you took your phone from the center table and played a soft melody. You stood up and took Katsuki’s hand, urging him to stand up too.

“What?” He asked you, brows furrowing. You just smiled at him and tug him again. When he stood up, you put his hands on your waist and placed your hands on his shoulders. You started swaying a bit with the music. Katsuki seemed confused at first, but when he realized what you wanna do, he chuckled.

“Are you happy today?” You asked him softly, fearing that he might not have enjoyed your surprise for him. He smirked at you and pinched your nose.

“Silly. Of course, I enjoyed it, Dumbass. So much.”

He smiled at you and continued slow dancing each other.

It’s the best birthday for me because I’m with you, Y/N.

“I love you.” He whispered into your ears.

[nervousladytraveler]

@veryflowerobservation asked me for a little story with a very specific plot line. While I doubt this is what they had in mind (apologies in advance) this is what came to me over my morning coffee. Also, I’ve been reading Life After Life by Kate Atkinson, and am indebted to her for the world (and tone) of that novel that I borrowed here.

---

She was already seated at a table in a quiet back corner when Ross entered the restaurant. A sandwich sat in front of her--untouched. How long had she been waiting? Ross hadn’t been late. In fact he was rather pleased with his timing.

He’d only just found her note a mere half hour before he was to meet her. He’d almost missed it--a small piece of folded paper deposited on his desk and no one claimed to have seen the messenger.

Dear Mr. Poldark, it read. Please meet me, if you can, noon today. The Drake. Important item to be discussed. Yours, Miss D. Carne. The ink had smeared a bit revealing an impatient or untidy author.

He remembered Miss Carne. Often, if he were to be honest. He smiled at the physical feelings associated with the memory and was on his feet shuffling for his coat before he’d thought it all through. After a late breakfast, he wasn’t hungry yet his curiosity was piqued by such a veiled message. Then again cryptic was the nature of their business, he supposed.

Ross hadn’t wanted the job but was cajoled, battered--railroaded really. But his gallantry in the previous war and in his off-the-record jaunts in between, not to mention his Good Family (“So many Poldarks already in the high ranks, you know”) were all tallied up. If Ross was trying to slip away from duty unnoticed, it seemed he was his own worst enemy. And if he had a choice, he’d have preferred to return to the army, but his ankle still bore shrapnel from ‘17 and apparently he wasn’t needed in that capacity.

“We need trustworthy men inside, Poldark,” some smart Undersecretary and an older but oh so reputable Colonel had huffed. They nodded in agreement with one another, and without waiting for an answer, had begun making plans for Ross in an unmarked office at the end of a serpentine hall in That Building.

The last thing Ross wanted was to be trusted with someone else’s secrets and yet, there he was--working for the War Time Government, which he soon learned was a very different machine than the one they’d elected in times of peace, the one everyone thought they knew. And once he saw the ways the gears really moved, Ross was certain most would prefer not to know much about this one at all.

Miss Carne, the author of the note and the guardian of the untouched sandwich, was one of the girls in the unmarked office. The department that didn’t really exist on paper needed scores of young women to keep it running.

She was different from the other girls. Not just a typist but clever--she was always solving problems, often before they were discovered, and saving the men who didn’t really exist on paper from very real embarrassment.

Ross hadn’t many dealings with her. Well, not until that one night when he got to know her quite well.

It had been a Thursday and there had been cocktails out--what had been the occasion? War had already been declared so it was quite unusual to have held a work do. Why was she even there?

He remembered the dress she wore--blue satin--and the way it fit her. Like a glove. No, more like water in a stream rippling smoothly over immovable stones. It made him feel at ease to look at her and he knew how the night would end.

In the all the secretarial pools across the city, few girls had their clothes tailored--who had time or money? So when they ventured out after work, they sported those subtle signs of economy--gaping necklines or tight stretches across the middle. Their one good dress hadn’t been replaced in so many years but their bodies had changed with the war. Rationing had left them scrawny or cheap gin had left them bloated.

Oh but those girls tried, didn’t they? They carried on the best they could. With their lips so brightly made up they could violate the black out, they were hell bent on keeping up the spirits of the lads. Wartime made for an interesting and furtive nightlife. Of course the nice girls, the ones with breeding and good dress makers weren’t out much at all these days.

But this one, Miss Carne, with her red hair--real, not from a bottle--and a fitted dress the colour of the sea at twilight, was different. Demelza was her name. It sounded like some yet-undiscovered gem. Rare as hell and essential to keep out of enemy hands. She didn’t seem to belong in either world--not the world of well dressed would-be fiancees nor the seedy boîtes, that were filled after hours when the good girls were tucked up in their bunkers.

The hotel Ross had taken Demelza to after they’d left the party was nice enough. Not the Savoy but it had a toilet ensuite and the sheets were clean. She was not Ross’s first affair so he knew how to be discreet when signing the register. He needn’t have bothered--the concierge clearly hadn't cared.

He remembered the sound of that blue dress as he unfastened it down the back. A crisp zip in an otherwise quiet room. That and her breathing and his heart beating in his chest. The sounds of anticipation. Before the dress slipped from her shoulders and his hands clasped her naked body to him.

Today she wore a stiff woolen frock the colour of filing cabinets. It reminded him of a wall of sandbags, protecting a hidden softness beneath. Still the zipper would sound the same.

“Miss Carne,” he smiled and held out his hand to her. He contemplated kissing hers when it was finally offered but sensing some unspoken chill, he refrained. He sat down opposite and gave his serviette a merry snap.

She twisted her lips when she spied the gold band on his left hand.

“You're married?” she began, raising one perfect brow. Was it naturally arched or was that her own artistry?

He might have wanted to scrutinize her face, to map out what was artifice and what was real, but at that moment he didn’t dare look her in the eye.

“Yes, I am,” he said, just a decibel louder than a mumble. “And yes, I was married when we…” He took a gulp from his water glass.

“And yet there was no ring that night,” she mused. She had no problem with eye contact, her blue eyes remained fixed on his face.

“We...uh...we were in the midst of a separation then but the war has made us rethink things…”

We. Us. There wasn’t really an us. Elizabeth was merely feeling scared and lonely, between lovers, and suddenly liking the idea of a strong husband about. But since then her plans to retreat home to Cornwall, first spoken of as a ‘hypothetical perhaps’, had started to come to fruition. She’d been packing a trunk for some days now and was fretting about whether to take just some of her furs, or all of them. She was clearly planning to stay away. Ross’s response was to arrange a driver.

“Well then,” Demelza said and pushed away her plate. “That will complicate things but doesn’t change reality one bit,” she continued crisply.

It was an office voice. With it she would manage the girls under her with confidence and efficiency. No time for emotion, yet it wasn’t sour. Must keep morale up. They had jobs to do and every memo taken, every letter filed, was a fulfillment of their duty.

It was not the soft, easy voice that laughed in his ear as she lay next to him on the pillow in the blacked out room. The dusky voice that had whispered his name as he crawled up her body like a soldier crawling through mud. On a mission. Towards his target.

“It seems, Mr. Poldark, that I’m to have a baby.”

He held his glass aloft and stared at her.

“What?” he spat. “Well, it can’t be...I didn’t…not in...” Of course he couldn’t utter those words in daylight. Not over a sandwich at lunchtime. One needed a stiff drink before dissecting the mechanics of love. Yet somehow he knew it was possible. He thought he’d been careful not to leave seed in the field. Now it hit him he’d in fact laid a land mine.

“Well it doesn’t really matter what you believe you did not do, because apparently whatever you did, was enough,” she responded coolly.

He didn’t dare ask if there were any others who might stand accused with him in the dock. His gut told him she wasn’t that type. And though she hadn’t confirmed it during their night together--nor had he looked for evidence later--he suspected she’d been intact before he took her to bed. Oh, she’d been a quick learner!

He also sensed that she’d rather be sitting across from just about anyone else than talking to him now, so she certainly wasn’t trying to trap him.

“Are...are you sure? I...I need to think,” he said, aware that he sounded like an old Spitfire whose propeller couldn’t quite get going. So much sputtering.

She lit a cigarette, took one long drag, then ground it out carefully in the ashtray. No doubt she’d revisit that same fag again later, at a time when she was less impatient, when she could enjoy it alone.

“Well, you do that then,” she said, and gathered her handbag, ready to take her leave.

“Wait! Where are you going? How can I reach you?” His words came out in a fast and frantic stream. The engine had started--the sputter became a steady buzz filling the room.

She narrowed her eyes and shook her head lightly. Today her hair was held back with tortoise shell combs on either side. Tidy, discreet, and appropriate for an unmarked office. Or any office.

He recalled his hands getting lost in a sea of those curls, fistfuls he’d grasped in passion. An unexpected lifeline, it had seemed at the time, that prevented him from drowning.

He felt himself going under again.

“Now you want to reach me, Mr. Poldark?” she said archly.

“Hey--you left me! You were the one who waltzed out of that hotel room while I was asleep, without so much as a backwards glance,” he growled. He’d been rankled that she continued to call him Mister Poldark, especially when he could still hear her hiss in his ear--Ross--while her body bucked under his.

“I assure you it wasn’t a waltz,” she said. And that was all she said. At least she didn’t claim she’d been trying to save him the embarrassment of a morning after. “I share a flat with another girl in Kingley Street. We don't have a telephone but you can find me at the office--unless I get reassigned in the next few days. There are changes coming, I’ve been told.”

She rose to her feet and towering over him, nodded.

Ross tried to stand up quickly--to plead with her to stay? To follow her out? He couldn't say what his intentions had been but it mattered little. He was too slow. His legs got twisted under the narrow table, his chair scraped awkwardly, and the remaining lunch things began to tip before he caught them with his broad hands. He narrowly avoided one mess, aware that he had quite another still to be cleared up.

And just like that she was gone. Leaving her entire sandwich and almost-intact cigarette behind afterall.

In a strange flash, Ross was surprised she didn't offer to pay for her own lunch. Of course a gentleman should pick up the bill for a lady no matter the circumstances, but there was something so determined and iron about her now, that he couldn’t imagine her allowing anyone to help her.

And yet help her he must. Somehow.

He felt his pockets frantically for a scrap of paper but only found a stub of a pencil.

Kingley Street, he scrawled on the back of a matchbook. He had no house number, nothing else to go.

Could he ask someone to watch the street? He knew some blokes who would do a job like that--a stake out--for the right price. Or was he better off handling this himself, intercepting her at work? Even if she did get moved to a different sector--one that also did not officially exist--he might have channels to find her.

He sat back in his chair and reached for her cigarette. He imagined it smelled like her but he lit it anyway. It helped him to relax for just a moment while he planned his next move.

Ross knew he had a duty to this woman--to their child if one was to be--and while that was an overwhelming and unforeseen realisation, he was taken aback by a different unexpected sensation.

Desire.

He wanted her. Again. Now.

And he had to find her.

[driflew]

Lucid (adj.)

Lu·cid (/ˈlo͞osəd/)

· showing ability to think clearly, especially in the intervals between periods of confusion or insanity

· (of a dream) experienced with the dreamer feeling awake, aware of dreaming, and able to control events consciously

Dream for April 8, 2021

I can’t think of the last time I wrote about a nightmare in one of these journals. I think it might’ve been in 2020 or 2019, because I don’t think I’ve had one this year. I feel most people would assume lucid dreamers never have nightmares, but that’s not true. They’re rarer, sure, since I can usually just turn them off, but I still have them. I had one last night.

I’ve written plenty about my sleeping problems. It was the same thing as always--The line between “lucid dream” and “awake and confused” is thin, and I was straddling it again. I can’t remember what I was dreaming about, but it was boring enough that I woke myself up a little trying to find something more interesting to dream about, and when I checked my phone clock it was 3:20-something AM. When a dream is boring, there’s nothing to do but wait to pass back out and hope for a better one, so I rolled onto my side to try.

My eye caught on my window. I usually close my curtains before bed, but I forgot to last night. I like to say it’s because the sunlight wakes me up too early in the morning (which is true!), but honestly, I just don’t like being able to see out the window at night.

My window faces my backyard. It’s little, and at the back it gives way to a forest. It’s cute during the day, but at night, it’s all looming shapes and dark splotches. With bad vision and an active imagination, it’s way too easy to see things out there in the dark. Especially when my body’s awake and my head’s still dreaming.

That’s what happened last night. I imagined something out there in the treeline, peering back at my window, and suddenly I’d convinced myself there really was something out there. I didn’t know what it was, but it didn’t matter. I just knew it wanted to get to me, and that I didn’t want it to.

That’s the thing about lucid dreaming. It’s not total control of your dreams, just awareness that you’re dreaming. And stuff like this is hard to control, because the less I want to think about it, the more I’m actively doing so. The more that thing in the trees stressed me out, the more I thought about it, the more I convinced myself it was actually there, the more it stressed me out... And I was still half asleep, so this all felt real, even while the part of me that was awake knew better.

I couldn’t stop thinking about it. It was probably a few minutes, but it felt like much longer. I couldn’t stop thinking about it shuffling around in the trees, wanting to come in, until I heard a real sound from the trees. It was the crack of a branch, breaking under a heavy foot.

Now that I’m awake, I can say that it was probably some terribly timed deer, but at that moment, I was convinced the thing had actually started stepping out from the trees, and it was coming.

I got up and closed the curtains. I didn’t see it out there, obviously, but I was afraid to look for too long. Moving around was good, though. It was easier to shake my head of the dream and go back to bed once I’d reminded myself of what was real.

Writing it all down now, it all feels really silly. Nothing like a nice morning to put a bad night into perspective.

Dream for April 9, 2021

I dreamt about that thing again last night. I don’t really have recurring dreams, but I guess my subconscious wasn’t done with it yet. This time, it was inside, at the foot of the stairs, and it was coming up.

I was sort of waking up when the dream came, so I shook my head a little and rolled onto my side to try to clear the dream away. Every time I rolled over, though, my head would just put it back at the bottom of the stairs, and it’d start its climb all over again.

Sometimes, when a dream is particularly unpleasant, I sit up and try to orient myself again. The dream-thing made it about halfway up the stairs, and the dread I felt was nearly suffocating. I sat up, near-frantic as I looked around the room, taking in the details. My room was blurry without my glasses, but still more distinct than the shapeless dream-thing and the memory of the staircase.

I remember taking note of as much of the room as I could, little stuff I couldn’t remember. Stuff like the hazy shapes of my clothes hanging in the closet, or the books on my shelves. Couldn’t make out individual shirts or read any spines, but the patterns were more than I felt I could have come up with in a dream. Granted, when I recall doing that now, the memory is just as fuzzy as a dream would be--My inability to retain finer details is exactly why I did it. It was grounding.

Of course, that only made the creak worse.

A little over halfway up the staircase, there’s a step that always creaks, and at that moment I was sure I heard it. The dream-thing was out there, and was coming.

My body was wide awake, and I thought my head was awake, too. But if my head really was awake, I would have remembered that houses creak at night. So I know I must have been lingering in that dream, letting my imagination get the best of me.

I got up again. It worked to clear my head last time, so I decided to try it again. This time, I locked the door. If I was making the thing up, I could decide the lock was an effective barrier. I told myself that if I locked the door, it couldn’t get in, and I went back to bed.

I didn’t sleep well. Pretty sure I only snagged an hour before the sun came up. I still feel really tired.

It’s silly. I know that. I certainly felt silly about it this morning when I went to get breakfast--Believe it or not, I actually managed to forget all about the dream for a little when I first woke up. Then I tried to leave this morning and walked face first into the door because it didn’t open when I tugged it. My face still sort of stings, but it was pretty funny.

Thinking back, I don’t actually know what the thing looks like. That’s just how it is with dreams, though, isn’t it? At least, that’s how it is with mine. They’re all indistinct, and I just know things, even when they’re formless like that.

Dream for April 10, 2021

It was on the landing last night. It didn’t move this time. It just watched my door. I didn’t see it or hear it, but I felt it.

I tried to think about other things. I flipped through this journal before I went to bed last night, finding old dreams I liked, so I had other things to dream about last night. I couldn’t hold onto any of them for very long. I was too tired to stay focused. My head just kept drifting back to the Thing on the landing.

I got up again. I stopped in front of the door. I thought about the Thing on the landing. For a moment, I entertained the idea of opening the door. I could look out there right then and prove to myself that there was nothing, that my house was as empty as it was every other night, that I was alone.

I pictured opening the door. I pictured the Thing on the landing. I pictured opening the door and looking at the landing, and when I pictured the landing, I pictured...

My fingers closed, not around the handle, but on the lock. I was being irrational, but my courage was asleep. I didn’t want to look out there--I couldn’t! The Thing was out there. I couldn’t let it see me. I couldn’t let it get inside.

I didn’t think much about what I did next. My door opens inwards, so I grabbed the heaviest thing I could lift by myself--my nightstand--and dragged it over to the door. I told myself that the movement would wake me up. I took in as much of the experience as I could. I felt the wood under my hands--chilled slightly, sturdy and unyielding, covered in the faintest ridges making up the pattern of the grain. My arms trembled slightly, a mix of exertion and exhaustion. I narrowly missed my foot when I dropped it down, and I winced with the idea of pain.

I was only validating my fear. Every step I took as I crossed the room with the nightstand made the Thing more real.

It was stupid. It was so stupid. I feel like an idiot now, looking back in the light of day. But all I can think about is how drained I felt after I got back into bed, and how I didn’t get any sleep at all. How I haven’t got much sleep since I first noticed the Thing.

Looking back, I don’t remember what the wood felt like.

Logically, I know that the wood was cold, hard, and bumpy. That’s what all wood feels like. But I can’t feel it now. My hands can feel the rigid plastic pencil and the soft paper of this book, but they can’t feel the table. It felt so real in that moment, but in my head? There’s no real difference between a memory and a dream. How can I tell what during that night was real? I can picture dragging the nightstand. I can picture grabbing the door and opening it. They’re both hazy, draped in the films of tired darkness, poor eyesight, and imagined recollection.

Maybe I did open the door. I know I didn’t, but do I know that? I also knew the Thing was there. It’s so hard to tell. I thought the daylight was supposed to bring clarity.

I just pinched myself. If I were dreaming, that would wake me, right? Except the pain of that gesture is gone now, and all I have is the memory of it. Memory isn’t tangible, it’s not real. It’s fickle, and malleable as any dream. How am I supposed to trust it? How do I know what was real?

I’m going to put the nightstand back at my bedside now.

Dream April 11

I’m breaking my one rule with this book. I never write at night, but I need to write this down now. I’m hoping maybe it will help. I always feel more clear when I’m writing in this book. I feel the pencil in my hand, with the plastic grip I’ve picked apart. I feel the paper under the side of my palms where I’m resting on the open pages. I feel the pattern of the faux-leather cover against the skin of my thighs. I can feel my sheets, soft below me, and the slightly scratchy material of my shirt. I feel the uncomfortable bend in my back where I hunch over this journal. I feel where my thighs stick together, and where my elbows dig into my sides. I feel my eyes as they ache with exhaustion, and from looking at the reading light when I flicked it on. I feel my bangs brushing at my glasses, tickling the skin there. I feel awake. I feel real. I feel the Thing outside my door.

I know it’s there. I don’t hear it moving, and I can’t see its shadow in the crack under my door, but I can feel it, just like I feel my lungs fill and deflate when I breathe. I know it’s out there, right outside the door.

I didn’t lock the door before I went to bed. One last burst of logic. I thought maybe if I didn’t indulge it this time that I wouldn’t have this dream, but I haven’t even fallen asleep. I didn’t fall asleep yesterday, either. I’m starting to wonder if I ever fell asleep--Was I awake this entire time, every time the Thing appeared? I can’t remember.

Did I really move the nightstand yesterday, or lock the door the night before? The nightstand is next to me now, as if it never moved at all. It’s cool to the touch, but when I pull my hand away from it, I don’t remember where in my fingers I felt the grain.

I want to lock the door now, but I can’t. I don’t want it to hear me and realize the door is unlocked. I don’t know what I’d do if I got up and it opened the door. I don’t know what it would do if it opened the door. I don’t want to find out.

The line between “lucid dream” and “awake and confused” is so very thin, as is the line between memory and dream. The intersection of both is where I exist now.

I’m unsure of anything except the exact moment I’m in, knowing only what I can feel.

It’s not making any noise out there. I don’t hear it. I don’t need to. I don’t need to hear my own heart to know it’s beating. I know it’s out there, as surely as I know I’m alive. If I am real, so is the Thing. I can feel my heart, thundering away in my chest, and I can feel that Thing wants to get inside my room. I can feel that it wants to get to me, to my heart. I can feel that it wants to tear the beating thing straight out of my chest.

Some people believe lucid dreaming is awareness, clarity. Some people believe it’s control. I’m neither aware nor clear. Am I in control? I don’t feel it.

I don’t think I’ll be getting any sleep tonight, either.

April 12

There was a scratch on my door, on the outside, under the door handle. That wasn’t there before. I would have noticed something like that, right? Maybe little details escape me sometimes, but I’ve lived here for years. I would have noticed that before.

Which means it was here. It really was here last night.

The lock won’t work. I know it. When I think back to the snap of that branch, and the creak on the stairs, they both feel so significant. A resounding snap, a downed tree shattered under its heel. A long, terrible groan, the wood protesting below a massive weight. What will it do when it gets to me?

I don’t know what I’m up against, but I’ve always had a terrible imagination. I haven’t been able to do anything today but sit and think of snapping, of crushing, of clawing. The longer I think, the worse it becomes. I can’t think about anything else--The more I try to turn my head away, the more I find myself stuck.

My door is open. I can see the scratch. If I can see it, it’s real. When I look down to write, I forget the details. I can’t picture its exact length, or how far away it’s set from the handle. So I leave the door open and I look at it again and again, and I know that it’s real.

I broke my arm once, as a child. I remember lying in the dirt. I remember sobbing, crying for help. I remember staring up at the tree I’d fallen from, unable to move off the ground. I don’t remember the pain. I don’t remember what it felt like to land, or for the bone to snap. Were the trees unclear because the tears blurred my eyes? Or is that my memory?

I see that I wrote last night that I didn’t hear the Thing, but there’s a scratch on the door. The Thing must have left it last night. Wouldn’t I have heard it, like I heard the branch and the stair? I can imagine those. I can imagine the scratching just as clearly. It must have been clawing at the handle. It scratched all night. The noise kept me awake. How could I sleep with all that scratching? I don’t even want to look at the door. With all that scratching, the wood must be gouged all over. I can picture the damage so clearly.

I keep thinking about what it will do when it comes tonight. I put the book down and I stare at my window for hours. There’s a bit of light coming out between the curtains, and it’s fading quickly. I picture the Thing. I still don’t know what it looks like. I know it’s big, and heavy, and it has horrible claws.

I imagine snapping a twig below my heel. I imagine breaking a branch over my knee. I imagine crushing an empty soda can between my hands. I imagine cutting into the stomach of a plush toy. I imagine tearing a wishbone in two. I imagine crushing a bug between my thumb and my index. I imagine rending the leg off of a chicken at dinner. I imagine popping the head off of a doll. I imagine myself. So easily, with so little resistance.

I can’t begin to think about what it will feel like. I doubt I’ll know until it happens.

I don’t imagine I’ll have an entry tomorrow. At the very least, I know I won’t be dreaming.

[imagineredwood]

Summary: Miguel told you not to touch yourself until he got back from his meeting. You didn’t listen.

Pairing: Miguel Galindo x reader

Warnings: Daddy kink. Contains sexual content. All parties are 18+. Bondage, mild degradation, talk of ownership, overstimulation

Word count: 2.4K

***I wasn’t panning on these being much over 1k but this one got away from me lmao 🥵 I’m sure y’all won’t mind.***

You hummed to yourself quietly as you ran your hands over your arms, the glittering bubbles fluffy and soft. The water was still nice as warm though not as hot as it had been in the beginning. You were enjoying it just as well though, your music playing softly in the bathroom. It was your birthday bath in the new tub since you and Miguel had remodeled the bathroom. He didn’t care all that much about it, but he knew how much you loved to be in there. To do your skincare, take long soaking baths, to have the room and supplied to pamper yourself in the privacy of your own home. Miguel had always been iffy about letting you go out to spas and as a result, you always had a guard with you. Having someone always there watching got in the way of you being able to relax and Miguel had come up with the idea as a compromise.

He would hire a contractor to turn the main bathroom in the master bedroom into a spa on its own.

And he had. A large tub with jets, an entire cabinet for your fanciest of skincare products that the hired esthetician would use for your facials when she came over. The shower doors sealed up to the top to create a sauna effect. It was like something out of a movie and you did not even want to think about how much it all cost. Miguel had hushed you when you asked.

“Don’t worry, corazón. Anything for my baby.”

He was supposed to be home early tonight, but something had come up and he had called to apologize. He would actually be late. That was not something new though and you had been ok with it, choosing to just take a nice long bath to pass the time. Now there you were, eyes closed as you soaked in the water. Your mind started to wander, thinking about how loved you felt by Miguel. How taken care of you were. How he was everything to you. Your husband, your protector, your lover, and now more recently, your Daddy. You hadn’t intended for it to happen really, it had just slipped out. You had been riding him, your knees on either side of his thighs, his length buried deep inside of you as his thumb rubbed at your clit bringing you to your third orgasm so far and it had just come out in the heat of the moment. He had faltered for a moment, hearing you call him something so new. Once his shock had dissipated though, you realized that you had unlocked a new side of him. His possessive, protective, and dominant nature could be funneled into taking on that role and he had done it with ease.

Your thighs started to squeeze together as you recalled other encounters then, seeking some form of stimulation. You thought about that time he had bent you over right on the kitchen counter, broad daylight and with all the blinds and curtains open. Or the time he had fingered you in the car on the way to a black-tie event. Or more recently when you had splurged on some lingerie and then had sent him picture after picture even though you knew he was in a meeting. You sighed, letting your thighs fall open as you laid in the crisp white tub.

Miguel had told you not to touch yourself today. He was going to have a surprise for you when he got home. You had listened the whole day and you had thought you would be able to make it. Now that your mind was consumed with those encounters though, you couldn’t help but drop your hand down between your legs. You still had three hours before he got home. What he didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~``

You snuggled into your plush robe, the fabric ever so soft. You had an absent-minded smile on your lips as you slipped on your slippers and made your way out of the bathroom. You made the journey downstairs and to the kitchen, surprised to see Miguel already home, sitting on the couch with a stiff drink in his hand. He looked up as soon as he heard you coming down, that signature smile coming to his lips immediately. He swirled the contents of his Austrian crystal glass, eyes raking over your legs as they peaked out of your robe. He didn’t say anything just yet simply patting his lap twice. You sauntered over, Miguel unable to be drawn to the sway of your hips. You took your seat, your body sideways as you laid your legs over his lap. His free hand came up to rest on the small of your back, fingers scratching gently through the material. He looked up at you with pure adoration, eyes warm as ever.

“How’s my baby?”

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you grinned.

“I’m good. How was your meeting?”

Miguel dismissed the question with a wave of his hand, putting down his glass so that it was free to start sliding up and down your shins.

“Don’t worry about all that. How was yours?”

Miguel inquired and you filled him in, telling him about your day and how you had picked up dessert for after dinner. Miguel listened intently, hands sliding back and forth over your legs, strong hands squeezing and massaging as they moved along. He smiled when you finally finished and nodded, leaning to press his lips to yours.

“I already ordered dinner but it’s going to take over an hour to get here. How about Daddy gives you a massage?”

Your smile was happy, but on the inside, you were a little worried. You had not expected him to be back so soon. He had said a few hours. You had thought that your body would have time to relax and come down after your orgasms in the tub. As Miguel pushed you to stand and walked up to the bedroom with you though, you realized that you weren’t going to have much time to simmer at all.

Miguel grabbed hold of the tied bow on your robe, tugging at it until it fell open like a curtain, your breasts half visible. His hand was on your shoulder then, pushing it slowly until it exposed your breast. His touch was gentle as he stepped closer to you, the very tip of his finger grazing along the skin on the sensitive underside of your breast. You shuddered ever so slightly, goosebumps starting to show up in wake of the chill. He gave the robe another small push and it fell from one shoulder before he repeated the other. The fabric dropped to the floor in a heap and you had half the mind not to complain about it getting dirty. You were more worried about Miguel finding out that you hadn’t listened to his directions and had disobeyed, touching yourself without him there.

He was gentle with you, hands soft and kisses softer. He walked with you to the bed, only pulling his lips away from yours so he could have you lay down on your tummy. You laid flat and relaxed as much as you could. He started at your neck, squeezing and working out whatever tension was left. Then it was your shoulders, then your back and he worked his way down to your feet before venturing back up, his hands kneading the cheeks of your ass.

“Such a sight.”

You laughed lightly, wiggling your hips for him. That earned you a soft spank, a teasing one that was much gentler than the one you were likely to get within the hour no doubt. He had you turn over and you cursed internally knowing it was only a matter of time. Closing your eyes, you resigned to your fate and figured you might as well enjoy the rest of the massage.

His fingers skirted over your chest and arms, hands maintaining a certain level of professionalism as he only minorly touched your breasts. That thought went out the window as soon as he got to your abdomen. He rubbed along your mound with a gentler hand, pushing your legs apart just enough so he could place his hand over your pussy, cupping you. You dared to open your eyes and found his attention down below. He slipped a finger along your lips softly, grazing along the junction before he pushed his finger passed. The digit slipped between your lips and Miguel’s brows knitted before he looked at you. You sunk down into yourself some but kept your eyes on his. Trailing down, Miguel slid his finger further to your opening, finding you soaked and giving you the look.

“You didn’t listen, did you? You didn’t wait for me.”

Shaking your head quickly, you tried to lie your way out.

“It’s because of the massage.”

“Ah, ok.”

Miguel gave a cocky smile, one that called you out without even using words. A man like Miguel was not easily fooled. He did not argue, simply kept his eyes trained on yours.

“So, I guess it wouldn’t matter if I just,”

He traveled up some and firmly pressed his finger to your clit. It didn’t matter how hard you tried to stop it, your body instinctively jolted, the small pearl far too sensitive for Miguel’s heavy hand. He nodded as he looked at you.

“Hmm. Seems like someone didn’t follow directions.”

His touch was gone then and so was his body, the powerful man standing from the bed and pointing to The Box. It was a simple wooden chest at the foot of your lavish bed, and one might think it was simply there for decor or storage of sheets. How wrong they would be.

You swallowed and sat up, climbing off the bed yourself and reaching under the mattress to grab the key before unlocking the Box and pushing it open. The act was foreign. One of Miguel’s rules was that you were not to go into The Box. Only he was. Now he was having you retrieve the toys and the thought both excited and frightened you. Miguel stood there off to the side, presence commanding, his forearms flexing with his sleeves rolled up.

“Ropes.”

Reaching in, you grabbed the pink ropes that were wrapped up neatly and placed them on the bed.

“Gag.”

You grabbed the gag as well, looking over the pretty silver heart that went in your mouth before placing it beside the ropes.

“Wand.”

You shuddered slightly. You had not had the wand used on you in a minute but the trembling orgasms that came with begs and tears were a memory that you would never forget. Grabbing the wand, you pulled it out and placed it beside the other items, waiting for your next command. Miguel did not say anything, simply pointed to the bed. You followed his instruction, not daring to be bratty at a time like this.

You climbed on and laid flat as Miguel grabbed the ropes, undoing them.

“Knees up.”

Pulling your legs up, you placed your knees as close to your chest as you could, Miguel wasting no time in skillfully wrapping them up. Soon enough your thighs were bonded spread open to where you didn’t have to hold them anymore. Miguel made sure to give you a little bit of wiggle room, but it was still snug and you knew the impression of the ropes would be visible long after he was done with you. Next, he handed you the wand and pointed at your already sensitive clit.

“Hold it there.”

You did as you were told, thinking that that was the end of it and were horrified when he grabbed the next line of ropes and began to bond the wand to your hands so that you couldn’t let it go. Your eyes snapped up to him and you opened your mouth, ready to plead.

“Wait, Daddy…”

“Not another fucking word.”

His voice was firm and left no room for argument, so you settled, bottom lip pouted in worry. He finished bonding your wrists and forearms, and then went into the box, grabbing the rope cutter and setting it down right on top of the nightstand. He looked at you and gave one nod, the sight of the tool calming you some. He stripped then, no sensuality in it. He was just shedding his clothing so that he could climb on and kneel at the bottom of the bed. He grabbed a pillow, folding it and lifted you slightly, sliding the pillow under your butt. It raised your hips just enough to grant him even easier access and he growled as he looked down at you, the lips of your pussy glistening. He took himself in his hand and rubbed the head of his cock over you, up and down before prodding at and slipping into your opening.

You gasped while he growled, shuddering at the feeling of your warm vice. He pulled out once before pushing back in, repeating a few times before starting to pick up a rhythm. You were tempted to remind him about the gag but considering the torture you were in for, you conveniently also forgot. Reaching forward, Miguel flipped the switch on the wand, making sure to nuzzle it in just a little further. Your back arched slightly but the ropes prevented much movement. You tossed your head back though, your clit far too sensitive for the vibrations. Miguel did not take pity on you though, simply fucking you harder as he looked down at you.

“Oh, look at the little baby. All selfish when she was alone and now, she can’t handle it.”

He let one hand grip your hip, giving him leverage while the other pressed the wand against your clit even harder. He laughed out loud at your cry, your breasts heaving as you tried to catch your breath. You could barely see straight and Miguel was living for it. Feeling extra mean after being disobeyed, he reached for the switch and flipped it up once more to the highest setting. He couldn’t help but curse as your walls squeezed him, his hips pounding into you now. He chuckled darkly as you thrashed around, hands on your hips to keep you in place.

“That’s what happens when you decide to touch that pussy when I told you no. Whose pussy is this huh? Who does it belong to?”

It took you a moment to find your voice and when you did, it was choked and shaky.

“Yours! It’s yours! I’m sorry!”

His eyes were sharp as they started at you. He let you suffer a few more seconds before offering a compromise.

“Come one more time and then I’ll shut it off. And don’t you dare try to fake it.”

 SDOD taglist @justahopelessssromantic​ @dazzledamazon​ @lightinthedarkuniverse @emoengelfurleben​ @scribbuluswrites​ @woahitslucyylu​ @glimmerglittergirl​ @lunapiper @teamcardenas​ @robbosugdens​ @that-chick212​ @browngirldominion​ @dreamsxoxous​ @docsangel​ @rosabellablood​ @spiced-reads

[sierraraeck]

Daylight

Spencer x GN! Reader

Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Summary: After a long time without answers and your relationship ending on rocky terms, you run into Spencer and can finally put things to rest. Part one.

The prompt from @veraiconcos Fic Writer Challenge was “If I asked you to stay, would you?” This is bolded within the fic.

Category: Angst. Just pure angst.

Warnings: Cussing. Mention of normal CM stuff. Suggestive content.

Word Count: 5.5k

A/N: This was initially a songfic and now it’s not, however it was still inspired by the song “Daylight” by Maroon 5. If you wanna give that a quick listen, go for it, if not, that’s chill too. Also, I tried to make this gender neutral, but if I did not, please let me know what I need to correct.

Internal dialogue

Flashback

# # # # # # # # # # # # #

In one word, complicated.

Yes, that was a cliche and overused, but there was really no better way to describe your relationship with Spencer. Unless of course people preferred terms like arduous, intricate, convoluted, twisted, entangled, or your personal favorite, fucked up. Although, that might be a little harsh. Kind of. It was complicated.

And things continued on that path when you waltzed into the San Jose precinct, ready to defend your client against none other than the BAU.

Despite being 28, you were already one of the most successful defense attorneys in the state, and had already had a couple run-ins with the FBI. Luckily, none of those had been against the ‘all-powerful’ behavioral analysis unit, and you were able to wrangle out some wins, or at least, the best you could have hoped for given the circumstances. This time, a man, Brayden Lee, had been arrested as a suspect for a series of strangulations, all of the victims tall, blonde, college athletes. Looking over his case and the amount of evidence against him, you felt sure that you could manage a favorable deal.

But now, your strides faltered as you saw the team of profilers standing around in a circle, speaking in hushed voices, immediately turning around to watch you in. Well, it wasn’t necessarily them that teetered your confidence, it was more like him. And that damn hair.

You were at your older brother’s graduation. A small, skinny kid with moppy brown curls walked across the stage, the gown he was wearing clearly three sizes too big for him. He looked really young, about your age, which immediately interested you.

“Spencer Reid,” the announcer called. He accepted his diploma, moved his tassel from one side to the other, and plopped right back down in his seat.

You just stared at him from your place high up in the bleachers, almost missing your brother as he walked across the stage. You clapped and cheered, but you still couldn’t tear your eyes from the strange kid who’d walked across moments before him. When the ceremony was over, you asked your brother who he was, and all he gave you was a shrug and an arched eyebrow. That was not exactly the answer you were looking for. So you took it upon yourself, being the awkwardly brave kid you were at 12, to find him and learn more. You ended up taking him home after the ceremony, and that was that. You still remember the dopey smile he gave you as he hopped out of the backseat, a smile that you would miss for three more years.

You tried to compose yourself as you avoided eye contact with any of them, marching toward the interrogation room to have some time alone with your client. But it had never been this hard to concentrate before.

Snap out of it. It’s been four fucking years, six if you really think about it, so you need to get it together. This man, the one right in front of your face, needs your help.

So you did just that. As a lawyer, you had to have intense focus, so you made yourself hone in on that skill. The two older men of the team came in to have quite the nice chat with you and your client, but it ended fairly close to how you predicted. He would be let off, for now, but you would have to stay on call in case they found more evidence of your client’s guilt. You ushered Brayden out of the station and into a cab, telling him that you’d be in touch if anything else came up and to keep a low profile.

You were ready to be done, but had to make sure there weren’t any other loopholes or things they weren’t telling you before you could leave. You trudged back into the precinct, expecting to talk to the two men you saw earlier, but found that once-nerdy boy you used to know waiting for you. Not to say he wasn’t still nerdy, you were sure he was, but he’d definitely changed since the last time you saw him.

You tried to act as professional as possible, “Is there anything else that I need to know about this case and your evidence against my client?” Honestly, you were shocked at how calm your voice sounded.

“As long as you’ve heard about his recent purchases and easy access to the material used to strangle these women, no,” he responded, just as casually.

“Okay great, and nothing else in the profile I should be aware of?”

“Nope.”

“Alright then,” you said, turning on your heels to walk out.

“That’s it?” Spencer’s tone suddenly sounded confused, even accusatory, which was such a stark contrast to the smoothe, gentle voice you remembered.

You were at the local library studying for your midterms before the holiday break. No one really went there anymore, and there were a ton of good research tools available, so it was the perfect quiet study spot. Well, mostly quiet, that was, until the ever-so-irritating ping of books being checked out was going off non-stop. You’d had enough, so you shot over your shoulder, “Jesus, how many books do you need?”

The pinging immediately stopped, and you heard a small, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bother you.”

It wasn’t a lot, but something about that voice seemed familiar. You turned fully around to see those piercing gold eyes staring at you, and you recognized those curls.

“No way. You’re the kid who graduated high school at age twelve! I remember you,” you blurted before really thinking.

“Yeah. Hey (y/n),” he said.

“I’m so sorry I snapped at you like that…”

“Spencer,” he filled in, after hearing you hiss like a snake, trying to jog your memory of his name.

“Spencer! Sorry about that, I’m just kinda stressed about my exams,” you explained.

“It’s okay, I understand,” Spencer replied, gesturing to his ever-growing pile of books.

You inquired about how things were going for him, and he told you all about how his first year and a half in college had been, already obtaining his bachelor’s in mathematics.

“That’s so impressive. Think you could help me?” you said in a somewhat mocking tone.

Of course, he took you seriously, not picking up on the half-joke. “Sure.”

Although, you were thrilled he offered, and the two of you spent the next couple of hours talking about high school and college classes, your seemingly easy math compared to his, and him helping you with any other subject you needed help with, like AP biology and psychology. At the end of the night, you gave him your phone number, trying to cover up your little crush with a joke about needing his help as you rushed out into the freezing night air.

He never used it.

“Yeah. That’s it,” you shot over your shoulder.

“(y/n), hold on, I-” he started.

“Doctor Reid, they need you in the conference room,” some lady said. Now that caught your attention. You spun back around to look at him with raised eyebrows. His mouth was slightly agape, and his eyes flitted between you and the lady who told him he was needed.

“What are you waiting for, Doctor,” you sneered. He let out a sigh, giving you one last pointed look before turning away. You didn’t even know people called him ‘doctor’ now.

You returned home, hoping that the case would get cleared up easily, that they’d find a different culprit and you wouldn’t have to risk that floodgate of emotions bursting open. No such luck. They found Brayden at the scene of the crime, literally in the middle of digging up an old victim to do god knows what with, and took him back into custody. When you got back to the precinct, you told your client not to say a word, and asked what the charges were and if he was going to be transferred in the meantime. The answers to your questions were not in your favor, and you had one of the worst client-lawyer conversations you'd ever experienced. The man wouldn’t tell you a damn thing, and if he didn’t tell you anything, then you couldn’t help him. Of course, it was your job to try and help him as best as you could, but you whole-heartedly believed he was guilty too, which didn’t help you keep the right mindset. Plus, your heart was pounding into your ears for more reasons than being across the table from a serial killer.

Focus, please, you begged yourself. And you did, for a while, but it became a futile effort. At one point you just wanted to say ‘fuck this shit, lock him up’ and leave, you were that desperate.

When it was all over and the station was getting everything together in order to transfer him to a holding facility, you tried to slip out the doors and wait outside. Only moments after, though, you heard the door squeak back open.

“(y/n),” Spencer started.

“I’m sorry,” you quickly interjected. You had been contemplating for the last day or so if you needed to apologize, and just figured you would, if not for your sake, for your clients’. I mean, they would probably end up testifying at some point, not like that was the main thought going through your mind, but you convinced yourself it was. “I shouldn’t have conducted myself like that earlier. It was unprofessional and you were just trying to talk to me.”

“It’s fine. I probably deserved it,” he acknowledged.

“Probably, but that’s all in the past and I should have left it there,” you concluded. You both stood in absolute silence until it became too much to bear. You decided you’d at least try to act natural, “So how have things been since the last time I saw you?”

Spencer looked at you with surprised eyes, but answered with, “They’ve been interesting. There always seems to be a new case. How about you?”

“Same. Just one after the other, but it’s nice knowing I’m helping people,” you added.

“Yeah,” he agreed.

Come on, what else can you throw out there? “Uh, so, they call you ‘doctor’ now?”

He offered a small laugh. “Yeah, they do. When I started, you know, I was much younger than anyone else in the bureau-”

“Still are,” you interjected.

He continued, “-true, but one of my mentors, who’s gone now, told people to call me that and I guess it just stuck.”

“Well, it sounds nice.”

“Thanks. I hear you are doing pretty well yourself, getting national mentions and such,” he stated.

You raised your eyebrows, “You heard about that?” A year or so back you got recognized as the top rising talent in your field of work, but you didn’t think that news would make it to the other coast. Unless he was specifically looking for that information…

“Yeah, I did. The FBI likes to keep tabs on people that might cause them the most trouble in a case, you being one of them.”

“Seriously?” You were astonished. The FBI was keeping tabs on you? “Why?”

“Just in case they get tired of opposing you and would rather work with you,” he shrugged, “But you seem to be having fun opposing right now.”

You let a smile reach the surface at that. “That obvious, huh?”

“I’m a profiler. Plus, you’ve always had a thing for opposing the ‘overbearing’ power and sticking up for the little guy.”

That was a little too close to home. You knew he meant that in more ways than one, and you couldn’t help but think about that god-awful night when you were just two kids trying to take a walk in the moonlight. The night that solidified your friendship.

It happened so fast. All you did was walk away for a second to throw your trash away, but that was all it took for the boys to pounce. Spencer had been attending CalTech for three years, and you were there to pop into the chemistry class, which you conveniently had with Spencer. Those other 20 year olds hated you and Spencer for the sole reason that you were two nerdy 17 year olds that were making them look bad. They’d already gotten in a few good punches before you returned, but when you did, you were livid. They were holding Spencer up while taking turns at him. You worked quickly, setting your phone to record before stepping in between one of the boys and Spencer. You hadn’t intended on getting caught in the crossfire, but you did, landing yourself a pretty bruise on your cheek for the next two weeks. You yelled at them about how they were assaulting a minor and how you now had all of their faces on tape, along with some other legal shit. One of them smashed your phone and went for another punch, but you kicked him in the throat before he could get to you, putting him flat on his ass. He tapped out, and you later found out he’d gotten whiplash from how he landed on the ground. They ran off, and when you turned around, Spencer collapsed in your arms. He was littered with cuts, blood, and already developing bruises. You took him back to his dorm and cleaned him up, spending the night before figuring out how to recover the footage. Once you did, you showed it to the board members, effectively expelling the boys and bringing them up on charges for assault. They got convicted, and no one screwed with either of you again. That was the moment you really decided to become a lawyer.

“Yeah, I guess I have,” you murmured. Brayden was brought out in cuffs and shoved into the back of a squad car, which was your cue to get moving. You had a full case on your hands.

You turned to leave, but as you did, Spencer stopped you. “Hey, would you maybe want to catch up later?”

You didn’t remember him ever being so bold before, and were caught off guard by the question. You stumbled out, “Uh, what did you have in mind?”

“Just … coffee, maybe?”

“Sure,” you said, and immediately saw Spencer’s shoulders relax. “Do you still remember where Arnette’s is?”

“Of course,” he responded. That used to be your favorite go-to spot.

“Alright then. I should be done with this at around eight,” you said, hopping into your car before he could respond. The officer with Brayden had already sped away, and you needed to stay close behind.

The whole drive you kicked yourself for saying yes. You were getting over him. You had gotten over him. And you loved Jordan and couldn’t help feeling like this was somehow betraying him. Plus, why should you be meeting him to catch up? He hadn’t been interested in that for five years! I mean, you put everything into making your relationship work. Sure, you were realistic that it wouldn’t last, but he could have at least tried.

You had it planned out. You would keep in touch until you could go out and visit him during the summer for Fourth of July during your sophomore year of college. The next year, he’d visit you, and the one after that, you’d visit him and so on. But that was the problem. There was no ‘so on.’ You visited him for the second time and that was it. And pretty soon, you could barely get him to pick up the damn phone. The last thing you heard from him was that he was pretty busy starting out with the BAU, along with an unanswered text wondering how his first case went.

But, you already agreed, so you might as well just see what happens.

You threw on some nice, non-work clothes and drove to the little shop on the corner. God you felt like a teenager.

It was just before eight and Spencer was already there waiting for you. Of course he was.

You took a deep breath, reminding yourself that this was supposed to be two people who used to care about each other, and honestly still do, just catching up. Simply talking. About the present, no need to worry about the past.

“Hey, (y/n).” You always liked the way he said your name with welcoming confidence.

“Hey,” you replied. He opened the door for you and you shuffled in. With no surprise, you were the only two in there, and he went ahead and ordered for both of you, remembering what you wanted with ease. You gave him a bit of a confused look as you waited for your drinks.

“What?” he asked, clearly uncomfortable by your staring.

“Nothing, it’s just that you remember my order, that’s all.”

“I do have a really good memory,” he reminded you.

“Yeah, but you also told me once that that only went for visuals, and your eidetic memory didn’t really work on audio,” you quipped.

“That’s true. I guess some things just stick. Plus, it’s not like you made it hard on me. You always ordered the same thing.”

You laughed a little, “I guess that’s true.”

You grabbed your drinks and left the hole-in-the-wall, autopilot kicking in, taking you both along the path that went around the park. Spencer sighed.

“Hm?” you questioned.

“Just, you know, thinking,” he said, brows furrowed.

“About what?”

“How we used to do this all the time. You’d finish your high school classes, drive over to CalTech for chemistry, and then afterward we’d stop by for coffee and a walk,” his voice sounded like he was in a dream, and he looked into the night air as if there was some answer or memory floating around out there. You guessed there was a memory floating around out here.

“Yeah those were crazy years,” you recalled. “I felt like I was constantly on the move and everything was happening all at once and I had all of this stuff I needed to get done. But this was always a nice place where I could clear my head and forget all of that.” That feeling was starting to return as you kept walking, the sticky air of California clinging to your skin.

“It was nice. I miss those days sometimes,” he said.

What is he getting at? “Yeah, I know what you mean.”

You walked in silence for a while, but you could see Spencer’s posture tense up more with each step. There was something on his mind and he wasn’t telling you.

“What is it?”

“What is what?” he acted bewildered.

“What’s on your mind?” He tried to shrug it off and deny it, but you knew him better than that. It might have been a while, but some things, like he said, just stick. And the way his body acted when he was thinking was one of them. “Don’t even try that. I know when there is something bothering you, now out with it.”

“Who is it?” That was all he offered and it was your turn to be confused.

“Huh?”

“Who has the other one?” he said, voice a bit harsher than before, motioning to the gold ring around your finger.

“His name is Jordan.”

“Jordan, huh?”

“Yep.”

“What does he do?” Spencer inquired.

“He’s also a lawyer. We actually met in law school,” you answered somewhat hesitant. You still didn’t know what he was getting at, if anything.

“Oh. Nice.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” your attitude starting to flare up.

“Absolutely nothing. Just not what I thought,” he stated with a bit of an edge to his voice.

“What did you think?” You were trying not to get offended by whatever he was implying, but you couldn’t help it. He asks me to catch up just to make passive aggressive criticisms?

“I don’t know. Not that, I guess.”

At this point, you wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him. “Well, you know, you could have changed that,” you replied in the same passive aggressive manner.

“What would you have wanted me to do?” his voice was raising, obviously picking up on what you were putting down.

“Uh, I don’t know, how about respond to one goddamned text?”

“I tried.”

“Not really. And then you just went dark,” you spat.

“You seemed to be fine with that. You moved on pretty quickly,” he hissed, not even bothering to look at you.

“Why do you think that is, genius? I visited you, and then you stopped answering my calls. You stopped responding to my texts. I basically never heard from you again, and then the next thing I know, your showing up on my fucking tv, in California for a case, and you don’t even reach out. You didn’t even ask to meet up anywhere, not even stop by to say hey. Nothing. You did nothing once your job swallowed you up whole. I know what that’s like and it’s hard, believe me, I’m a lawyer for Chrissake, but I found the time. Plus, for all I knew, you had already found someone else, so I wasn’t going to wait around for the guy who seemed to love me much less than I loved him.” By the end, you were yelling, and thanking the stars above you that no one was around to hear it.

“You’re right,” he whispered after a while.

You were stunned, and could only manage a small, “What?”

“You’re right,” he repeated. “I should have put in more effort. I don’t know, (y/n), I wish I had a better answer for you but I don’t. I was young, and stupid, and I didn’t know what I was doing. I let my insecurities get in the way of us, and I will never be able to forgive myself for that.”

“What?” It was seriously the only thing going through your mind, however, you were able to force out, “Insecurities?”

“Yeah. I was worried that because I was away, you were going to tire of me, that you weren’t going to want to stay in a relationship. I thought that maybe, by being ‘tied’ to me, so to speak, that I was holding you back, which we promised each other we would never do. We said that we would never get in the way of the other’s dream, and I wondered if maybe I was going to do that to you. I just … I had all of these doubts, so I panicked. I stopped responding. And I was so wrong to do that.”

Now that he’d said them, they sounded like some of the same doubts he expressed to you the night before he left.

“What time is your flight?”

“Seven, which means I have to be there by six, which means I have to be leaving here by four-thirty at the latest,” he recited. He had all of his stuff piled by the door, which was hardly anything at all. You were in his hotel room because his house was soon to be taken over by a young couple, since he’d be living in Massachusetts, and his mother was in a mental facility. You’d just come back from visiting her, which left Spencer in tears.

You ate dinner while playing chess, which he effectively beat you at. You were actually pretty good at it, but no match for his math-based brain. You snuggled into bed next to him, willing yourself to keep it together because the last thing you wanted to do was spend your last night with him an emotional wreck. He queued up a movie, but neither of you paid any attention to it. His arm was draped around your shoulders and yours were clasped around his waist.

Spencer’s hand lazily circled your back until it moved with purpose down to your thigh. He continued his lazy patterns when you looked up at him, a question in your eyes.

You’d been with Spencer for over a year, and recalled your first time. You were ready before he was, which came as no surprise, but that didn’t stop the nerves from racing through your head. But if you thought you were nervous, you had no idea what was going through Spencer’s head. He later told you that he was absolutely terrified because he didn’t want to do something wrong, and he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, and he didn’t want you to think less of him because of his body style, and a million other things that he was scared about. That’s how you accidentally said the ‘L’ word. “Spencer Reid, I would never judge you and you could never scare me away. I love you and your body and your brain, and you are not going to do something wrong, not like I’d know because we are both new to this and are doing it together. Understand?”

He gave you a shy smile. “I do.”

Now though, it was very different. Comfortable, confident, safe.

“Can I have you?” he asked, “All of you, one last time?”

You leaned up to kiss him, and he sighed when you pulled away. You looked him straight in the eyes, “I’m all yours.”

And you were. You felt like you always had been and probably always would be, and could only hope that he felt a fraction of the same. Your bodies pushed and pulled in perfect unison, fitting together as if you were two pieces of a puzzle, specifically crafted for the other.

You returned to your curled up position beside him, and you couldn’t hold it in anymore. The tears silently flowed out of your eyes, but you couldn’t make yourself peel your arms away from him long enough to wipe them away. You attempted to sob without making a sound, knowing that if Spencer saw you crying, it would make him cry, and he couldn’t cry because it would make you cry more, splitting you right in half. It didn’t matter how quiet you were being about it, because when you looked up at Spencer, you saw the same silent tears glistening on his cheeks. It was only then that you pulled your hands from around him and brushed away his tears.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring the mood down,” you apologized. “This is supposed to be exciting. You’re going to the best school in the country to get your PhD.”

“It’s okay,” he replied, moving his hands up and down your arms, “Sometimes, I wonder if I’m making the right decision.”

This took you by surprise. He’d always seemed confident about this, passionate about furthering his education. “What makes you say that?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t want to complicate things for anyone. For my mother. For you.”

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” You knew it was unfair, but it was the only thing you could think to say. The only thing you wanted to say. You needed him, and it was sickening wondering if soon, he might not need you. He stared at you dumbfoundedly, so you quickly covered it up with, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked that. You are about to start a whole new part of your life, and you should go, pursue your dreams with the best education this country can offer. I don’t wanna get in the way of that.”

You repositioned yourself back on his chest, and started to drift off to sleep when you felt him sigh. You lazily peered up at him, meeting his restless eyes. “Spence, you need to sleep.”

“I can sleep on the plane. I need this more,” he said, smiling at you. You tried to stay awake like you knew Spencer would, but to no avail. You did, however, wake up to him getting ready to leave. He kissed you goodbye, and you held yourself together until he’d walked out, the door shutting with a definite ‘click.’

All the air had been stripped from your lungs and you felt like you couldn’t breathe, like you’d never again without him by your side. You cried yourself back to sleep, willing this all to be one giant nightmare, but when you woke, he was gone. And you felt completely numb. So while you may have been two pieces of a puzzle, aiming to create the same beautiful picture, you no longer fit together.

You felt yourself starting to get flushed from constantly going in and out of anger then feeling bad and forgiving. It was exhausting, and probably part of the reason things didn’t work out between the two of you. That didn’t mean you loved him any less, though. He was, in fact, your first love, and you guess people were right about that stuff being more powerful and affecting you longer. Hell, you walked into the precinct for a total of three seconds before he was affecting you all over again!

You took a deep breath in before saying, “I guess we both made mistakes and wished we would have handled things differently.”

“What would you have handled differently?” He sounded genuinely curious.

“When I saw that you were in California for a case, instead of … doing what I did, I should have been the one who reached out. I could have just asked you then what was going through your mind and what was going on between us. Who knows how that might have changed things? But, I was petty,” you gave a cold laugh, “I guess I still am sometimes, huh?”

You had definitely been acting that way lately. You felt guilty and ashamed about it, but in that moment of anger four years ago, knowing that Spencer was out there ignoring you, you sent him a hurtful message and then blocked his number. Only a week or so prior, you’d met Jordan who was clearly hitting on you, and you were so firm about moving on that you asked him out. He eagerly agreed, and the rest was history. Or, at least, you thought was history.

Spencer shrugged and dodged the somewhat rhetorical question. “We can’t really dwell on that now.”

You knew he didn’t really mean that, considering he was the type of person who dwelled, but he was right. You were engaged to a great guy and soon to be married. This, Spencer, was something you were just going to have to come to terms with, something you realized you hadn’t come to terms with yet.

You’d been walking so absentmindedly next to him that you hardly noticed you were outside of a hotel. He stopped just outside the lobby entrance and turned to face you.

“Walk you to your room?” you offered. What the fuck did you just say? Why did you say that? You can’t say things like that. Stop it.

Spencer gave you that small, closed lip smile of his which immediately ended your inner scolding, and nodded, holding the door open for you. You walked up the stairs together in silence. When you reached his door, instead of getting out his card, he leaned his back up against the heavy wood.

“Alright, well, it was nice catching up, and I wish you safe travels in the morning,” you said, turning to leave. He quickly reached out and grabbed your hand, stopping you in your tracks, and you spun around to face him.

“If I asked you to stay, would you?” Those words pierced through your ears, ringing all too familiar from when it was you who said them.

“Spence-” you started. And then his lips were on yours. Those sweet, soft lips. It had always been so natural between the two of you, and you felt his tongue bypass yours as you pushed further into the kiss. Then you remembered where, and when, you were, no longer that hopelessly devoted kid but an adult with a wonderful man waiting for you when you got home. You pulled away. “Spence-”

“I would have said yes, you know,” he confessed. The question must have been etched on your face, because he continued, “When you asked me that night, given the chance, I would have said yes.”

His words stung, and your whole body ached from rehashing old feelings, to igniting new ones, to the guilt of what just happened weighing on you so heavily you might just crumble beneath it. You murmured out, “Why didn’t you?”

“I thought you were right. I thought I was doing the right thing. Out of all the mistakes I’ve made, all the regrets I have, you, (y/n) (y/l/n), are my biggest one.” His honey brown eyes peered right into yours, like he was looking at something far greater than just your eyes, and repeated, “So right now, if I asked you to stay with me, would you?”

It was too much to handle. After all the time you’d spent wishing he was still yours, he finally could be, but you could no longer be his. Tears were streaming down your face as they once did, the first time you lost him, and you choked out, “I can’t.”

One More Night

Taglist (open)

@justanothetfangirl

@kris-stuff

@wooya1224

[strawberrysoup]

Captain to Captain

summary: Carol would do whatever it took to keep you trapped by her side.  relationship: Dark!Carol Danvers x reader, Dark!Steve Rogers x reader rating: Explicit word count: 3384 prompts/requests:

warnings: detailed warnings to the very ends of chapters in order to avoid ruining the shock factor in chapters while still being mindful of potential individual triggers. open the read more, CTRL + F and search “content warnings” to skip to the extra tags if you so choose. notes: i hope this suits y’all’s requests&that you’re okay with me combining them both into one. enjoy!

It had been a full week since she’d caught you trying to escape from a downstairs window. Or so you estimated, assuming that she fed you three times a day. She’d locked you in the storage closet in the basement; even in the brief moments she opened the door to put your food in or remove the waste bucket you couldn’t see any daylight. The darkness and isolation were getting to you, the white noise produced by the heater was one of the only things keeping you from going nuts. Carol hadn’t spoken to you once since finishing the physical part of your punishment all those days ago, she’d just locked you away in a closet without another word.

She probably assumed the punishment had spoken for itself. A tear ran down your cheek, your brain immediately zeroing in on all of the painful spots lingering on your body. Your ass was one massive bruise, you hadn’t been able to sit properly the entire time. Not to mention any pressure on your likely similarly bruised cunt still hurt from where she’d spanked your pussy with the backside of a brush after caning your ass. You would’ve spent the week laying on your stomach, if it weren’t for the still very sore new piercings in your nipples. A shudder ran through you, a terrifying jolt of remembered pain flashing through your brain; it had been just this side of excruciating but Carol hadn’t even hesitated, easily holding you down while you thrashed and begged. There were even cotton swabs and saline in one of the corners, obviously meant for you to clean the inflicted piercings.

You’d try again anyway. The pain was temporary, your false imprisonment would be permanent unless you did something about it. But you had to wait for Carol to let you out of the basement’s storage closet first and wait even longer still after that, to lure her into a false sense of security. You honestly hoped she’d leave you in the basement at least until your bruises all healed—complying with her sexual demands would be painful until your body didn’t throb constantly.

Really, you shouldn’t have ever dared hope for anything. It was stupid, if you’d thought about it you would’ve knocked on wood the second the thought crossed your brain. Because you had absolutely jinxed yourself, by daring to hope for recovery time. In fact, you shouldn’t have even dared hope for a chance to escape sometime in the future it was like walking under a ladder. As if your life needed any incentive to be unlucky.

When the door opened and Carol stepped through, your heart rate shot through the roof. She reached up and began screwing in the lightbulb, a short groan escaping you when the room was suddenly illuminated. The light wasn’t even that bright but after sitting in the dark for so long it felt like torture. You clenched your eyes shut, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyelids firmly.

“Hey baby,” hearing her voice for the first time in days sent a chill down your neck; she sounded sweet and pleasant and warm but it was a trick, “I know it’s bright, let your eyes adjust. You’ve been such a good girl, staying down here nice and quiet.”

You didn’t answer, your body frozen in place where you laid on your hip in the corner. It felt like getting caught in a tractor beam, your hands slowly fell away from your face and you forced your eyes open as quickly as you dared. The soft light haloed her blonde hair, made her look almost ethereal despite the fact you knew she was a monster.

“Come up stairs with me, I brought you something,” she held her hand out towards you and forcing yourself to move, to reach your arm out and take it, was difficult in a way you couldn’t really explain.

It just hurt.

You allowed yourself to be pulled to your feet, hissing slightly as blood rushed into your hip and down your leg. Over the first several days you’d forced yourself to get up regularly and walk around the small space available but yesterday you’d found yourself a different sort of tired from usual and couldn’t make yourself get up more than to use the bucket in the corner and eat your meals. Today had been more of the same, weary and more than willing to lay on top of the couple of blankets for hours on end. Your bruises throbbed, your cunt especially as she pulled you along behind her.

You were dreading seeing whatever it was she’d gotten. Just before your attempted escape she’d brought home butt plugs—plural, one to wear around the house and one pair for when she took you out. You’d run off before she could inflict either upon your person. Your brain half associated gifts with being locked in a closet now anyway.

“You’re such a little brat sometimes, you know that baby?” She questioned while leading you up the stairs, her hand holding yours just tight enough to be intimidating, “I brought you home nice things and you were ungrateful. I very much expect you to take your next gift like a good girl, like a good little wife.”

Wife. It drove you insane when she said that. Sure, you could imagine that there was some legal document out there declaring you married, but you’d never exchanged vows. She never even asked you to marry her. One day she just started calling you her wife and put some expensive jewelry on your finger.

“Okay Carol,” you answered quietly, knowing she’d expect a verbal response and tried to reign in your growing fear, the anticipation and terror surging through your chest.

“Are you all sore baby? How does your pussy feel?” She’d led you out of the basement and started up the next flight, likely headed for the bedroom.

“It’s sore,” you almost whispered, trying to swallow down your dignity.

The blonde nearly cooed, “I bet it is, sweetheart. I bet it’s all swollen and bruised, huh?”

“Yes Carol,” the robotic response still didn’t bother her, which was lucky because it was about all you could offer.

“Remember, you’re going to be a good little wife and accept what I’ve brought you,” Carol turned stern eyes back on you when she stopped in front of the door to the bedroom.

“Y-yes Carol,” her lips curled when your words came out as a whimper, your head nodding along with it.

The doorknob turned and she pushed it open, pulling you through and quickly closing it behind. Immediately your eyes started tearing up, panic twitching over your face.

You’d only met Steve twice; once when Carol first brought you to her house and once when he came by to fix the fence. He was tall and extremely broad, with combed back dark blond hair and a full beard. He was attractive, certainly, but that didn’t mean anything. Carol was beautiful and you still didn’t want to bang her. He’d been nice though, despite exchanging knowing grins with Carol that first time.

“I’ve been thinking about what I’ve got to do to keep you from running away,” the woman’s arms wrapped around you from behind, one hand sliding over your thigh while the other brushed the underside of your breast, her lips brushing over your bare shoulder lightly, “I can’t get it through your head that this is the best place for you, but I knew there had to be something. Steve was brainstorming with me and we came up with an idea.”

He stood up from where he’d been sitting on the bed, taking several steps forward while his blue eyes roved over your naked form. His gaze locked on your pierced nipples for an extra second, a smile tipping the corner of his lips.

“Those are gonna make it hard for the baby to breast feed, Carol,” Steve’s tone was amused, roughened by arousal.

“So the first won’t be breastfed,” Carol shrugged, her hand cupping your left breast and her thumb brushing over the very tip of your nipple, “It could take up to 2 years for them to be healed enough for breastfeeding, we won’t want them any closer together than 2 years anyway.”

It took a solid minute for you to understand exactly what they were discussing, the pain of Carol’s fingers teasing your nipple too distracting. Terror surged through you—children. They were talking about you breastfeeding multiple children. Their children collectively, which you would be carrying.

“Don’t be so nervous baby,” Carol’s lips touched your ear, “Steve’s gonna go easy on that little bruised pussy.”

Oh God. Your brain blanked on everything that wasn’t fear.

Immediately you tried to thrash out of Carol’s grasp, only for her arms to tighten around you. Before you could kick out, she gripped your still freshly pierced nipple and twisted. A wail escaped your lips, your knees almost giving out at the pain. And it was only going to get worse, Steve was a big dude, there was no telling how big his dick would be.

“I suggest you decide to be a good girl, baby,” the blonde threatened gently, “go lay down on the bed.”

You hesitated for several short seconds, tears slipping down your cheeks while your chest heaved. There was little choice; letting yourself be fucked rather than punished had become common place, but it still hurt each time. You winced as you crawled onto the bed and turned to carefully rest on your bruised ass, panic clenching your body in a way that made every sore place you had hurt. Steve had started undressing immediately, shedding everything except his briefs.

“Her pussy got a hard spanking with a hairbrush, didn’t it baby?” Carol prompted and you murmured a quiet agreement, chin tucked down against your chest, “Ask Steve to go easy on your cunt.”

You were quiet until she shot you a careful glance, gulping heavily before parroting, “Please go easy on my cunt.”

“Tell him your cunt is swollen and sore, tell him how puffy it is.”

A quivering sob escaped your lips, “M-my cunt is swollen and s-sore and p-puffy.”

“Let him see, baby,” she ordered, smiling when you whimpered but proceeded to spread your legs wide.

Steve whistled lowly and you turned your head away in shame, “it does look a little painful, doll. I’ll try not to get carried away.

“Is your pussy wet?” Carol’s hand found its way between your legs quicker than you could comprehend, fingers plunging into your dry cunt roughly, “hmmm, not yet. You better use lube, Steve.”

The blond hummed in acknowledgement as he climbed onto the bed and pushed you back, forcing you to lay flat, “got any?”

“Plenty,” she dug through the bedside table and produced a bottle, “use as much as you need.”

Steve didn’t waste any time squirting a healthy dollop of lube onto your pussy, his fingers prodding at your swollen cunt gently while the smile on his lips spread into a grin, “this is such a cute little pussy, so puffy and red. Is it real sensitive doll?”

“Y-Yes,” you whimpered as he took his cock in his slick hand, the head nudging between your lips and spreading the lube around your folds, adding more until you felt lube dripping down the crack of your ass.

“You’re such a dirty little whore,” the words that came out of Steve shocked you, your eyes blowing wide as his cock pressed against your opening just slightly, “fucking filthy that you’d let a stranger put his cock in your pussy.”

“Careful Steve, she might cry,” Carol was smirking, especially when he suddenly surged forward, burying at least half of his substantial dick in your cunt and ripping a scream from your lips, “my little cry baby.”

“You need to be taken in hand, huh doll? It’s a good thing Carol found you, or you’d be wandering around with your little pussy out constantly looking to get fucked,” Steve withdrew and pressed his hips into you sharply once again, his pelvis slapping your swollen cunt painfully, a juxtaposition to the way he leaned over you, his lips softly brushing over your own, “you need to be full of cum or you’ll lose your pretty mind, won’t you? Too slutty and stupid to take care of yourself. We’ll take care of you, doll.”

“P-please its hurts!” Your hands pressed against his abs desperately as he pounded his pelvis into your pussy, igniting a painful throb, “too hard!”

“Your cunt just feels so good squeezing around my cock, you clench up so hard when it hurts,” he rested his forehead against yours, “God even when it hurts your pussy is sucking me in, so desperate to get pounded.”

His hips suddenly jolted forward, brutally slamming the full length of his cock into your channel before fucking you with agonizing thrusts. The friction was agony, your clit was as swollen and sore as your cunt lips and every brush of his pelvis against it hurt. You screamed, eyes clenching shut in pain as he hammered into you for a good five minutes, his stamina almost unreal. His hands moved from their restraining hold on your hips up to your tits, cupping the weight of them and ducking his head. Another wail escaped your lips as he pulled one of your nipples into his mouth and gave a languid suck.

“Mouth off her tits,” Carol ordered, just barely audible to you over the sound of your own cries.

Steve immediately released your nipple, humming into your neck as his thrusts began to slow, “right, don’t wanna risk infection. Fuck, you have the sweetest pussy doll.”

His hips rolled slowly, his pelvis dragged heavily over your clit and he bottomed out with a groan. You hiccupped in pain, looking up just in time to make eye contact with him. A smile was stretched over his lips and he quickly pressed down to kiss you, his tongue slipping into your mouth in one smooth movement.

“I can fuck you gently, doll,” he murmured, teeth tugging on you lower lip lightly, “your pussy is so needy, it’s been so long since you’ve had something filling you. Does my cock feel good? It’ll feel so good once I fill you with cum, you’ll be desperate for it.”

“He’s gonna fill you over and over until you get pregnant,” Carol drew your attention to the side of the bed, your eyes going wide at the sight of her veined strap on, “that cock is gonna be buried in your pussy as often as we can manage, so I guess my cock is gonna have to go somewhere else. Where should it go baby?”

“I—I—” You couldn’t force out words, panic erupting in you when Steve suddenly rolled you both over, a loud groan escaping your chest when you found yourself straddling his hips, gravity forcing his cock even deeper into your cunt.

“That’s a good girl, sink my cock into that pussy,” Steve sighed, grabbing your waist and thrusting softly up into you, “allll the way in, damn. You take my cock so well baby, that slutty little pussy so desperate.”

He reached up and wrapped his arms around your shoulders, tugging you down to lay against his chest while continuing to gently fuck up into you. Your tears immediately dampened his skin, a high-pitched whine escaping you as your nipples dragged roughly against the hair on his chest. The sound of the lube bottle opening again caught your attention and you gasped when Carol’s fingers pressed firmly against the rim of your asshole.

“C-Carol! Please, don’t—!”

“Shhh, if you’d been a good girl and not tried to run away when I showed you your butt plugs, your little hole would be stretched out already,” her finger breached the ring of muscle easily, twirling around before withdrawing.

More lube and more fingers followed, leaving you gasping and panting in pain. Your cunt was throbbing, stuffed to the brim with a massive cock and Carol was none to gentle on your bruised ass. Her fingers dug roughly into your flesh, holding your cheeks apart firmly as she continued to thrust her slippery fingers in your asshole.

“This is gonna hurt, be a good girl and take it.”

There was no way you were even close to prepared for the strap on Carol was wearing, even if it was one of the smaller ones. You recognized it as a double-sided harness and dread filled you. She always pounded the hardest when her cunt was stuffed and every thrust she made into you fucked her just as hard. The tip of the chubby dildo pressed threatening against your asshole, steady even as Steve fucked up into your pussy at a leisurely speed. The initial breach hurt, but the pain only grew worse and worse the further she pressed in. You screamed, nearly panicked at how full your holes were, trying desperately to thrash away from the pair.

“I know it’s a lot baby,” Carol grunted, both she and Steve having to hold you still while her pelvis continued to sink the strap on deeper, “it didn’t have to hurt this bad. You could’ve been wearing your butt plugs for the last five days and your asshole would be nice and loose. Just had to go and be naughty, huh?”

Steve’s thrust slowed even further, evidently waiting for Carol to finish working the dildo into your tight asshole. You howled the whole time, the stretch and burn agonizing—especially paired with Steve’s cock stuffed in your cunt. Carol’s breathing picked up as she thrust into you, gasping as the end of the dildo in her pussy bumped her cervix. The sound she made betrayed how good it felt, as did the way her hips began pounding away. The friction on your bruised ass caused a searing burn to flare up your spine.

“Fucking your tight little asshole is really doing it for me, baby,” the blonde’s voice was breathless, “maybe I will toss out those butt plugs I bought, I don’t want this stretched at all.”

Tears poured down your face, Steve’s thrusts beginning to start up again in force. Blood throbbed through your genitals, your bruises ignited. The pain was overwhelming and it was all you could do to lay still while they pounded into you.

“I’m gonna cum,” Steve panted, holding you tightly against his chest, “I’m gonna fill you up, doll. Fuck—here it comes, fuck—”

His words were cut off by a long, deep moan. You could feel it coating your insides, the head of his cock butting roughly against your cervix with each rope of cum. He stilled with his cock stuffing you, your hips pressed flush with his own. Carol groaned, continuing to hammer your asshole while her hand snuck down and scooped up some of the frothy cum escaping from your cunt. It was easy to shove it in your mouth, your lips already parted as you gasped for breath.

“Swallow his cum,” Carol moaned loudly, “oh fuck, swallow it down. You’ll drink every bit of his cum that comes out of your pussy, all of it!”

She made a noise that you recognized, a whine that meant she was about to come. Her pelvis slapped your bruised ass with each brutal thrust, getting faster still when she cried out and started coming. The violence with which she fucked you just revealed how hard she liked to have a dildo shoved up her own cunt, the way the pain accented her pleasure. She didn’t stop until she’d worked through her whole orgasm, gasping for breath behind you.

“I wish we’d thought of this sooner,” Steve’s words made you shudder, horror settling in once again.

It would be so hard to run if you were pregnant, your health was already precarious and to throw a fetus into the picture? You wouldn’t survive to make it to safety. If you got pregnant, trying to escape would literally kill you. Your lips trembled, emotional devastation wracking your body.

That was the point of course.

There would be no more escape attempts now.

content warnings: noncon anal and vaginal sex, mentioned noncon spankings, piercings. forced pregnancy, kidnapping. 

[kgraces]

With a Fearful Trill

@badthingshappenbingo

Bad Things Happen Bingo Prompt: Captivity

For @sassydefendorflower​

Read it on Ao3 here!

The clouds overhead threaten rain, and Dick is seriously annoyed with himself for forgetting his umbrella that morning. The streets of Blüdhaven are crowded, as usual, and the cracked pavement under his feet makes for an uneven walk. Dick takes a sip of his cold coffee, mind alight with some sort of nervous energy. He can’t place it, but something feels off as he walks home from work. 

Dick stifles a yawn, stepping over a particularly mangled piece of concrete. His shift at work was a tough one; he’s wrapped up in a nasty homicide case as both Officer Grayson and Nightwing, and his brain feels sluggish after hours of wading through evidence. He checks his watch, frowning at the way the numbers seem to blur together. He thinks he’ll have time to get in a quick nap before patrol, at least. 

The foot traffic thins as Dick gets closer to his apartment, so it catches Dick off guard when a man pushes past him, hitting his shoulder roughly. Dick stumbles a bit, and before he can recover his footing, electricity arcs through him. Getting tazed hadn’t been a part of his plans for the day, and Dick only has a moment to mourn for his nap before he crumples to the ground. The sole of a boot enters his line of vision before it connects with his temple. He loses consciousness, sinking into the peaceful dark.

When Dick was a kid, he used to try to joke with Bruce about the stupid ‘Boy Hostage’ nickname. Of course, Bruce was never fond of the ‘X days since our last kidnapping incident’ whiteboard, but Dick thought it was hilarious. He mentally resets the counter back to zero when he wakes up tied to a chair. 

Years of vigilante experience honed into instinct kick in as soon as he regains awareness. He keeps his eyes closed and his body lax, listening hard to determine whether or not he’s alone in the room. He was kidnapped as a civilian, so he can’t fight his way out, but he can use his skills to help himself however he can. 

Still, this is probably going to suck.

Once he figures he’s alone, Dick carefully opens his eyes and takes in his surroundings. A dimly lit basement greets him—underground, if the chill in the room is any indication. A short window close to the ceiling lets in weak sunlight through a heavy layer of grime. He’s mostly uninjured—for now, a voice in the back of his head sings—but restrained at his wrists and ankles. His head aches from getting knocked out, and his muscles feel stiff, but he’s okay. He just needs to tough this out until Bruce can track him down and orchestrate a rescue from Batman...

Dick’s blood runs cold.

Bruce is off-world with the Justice League.

Before he has a chance to really let the panic set in, he hears heavy footsteps and the jingle of a set of keys. The lock turns, light spilling into the room as a burly man steps across the threshold. He smiles, a nasty thing, and shuts the door behind him with a heavy thud. He holds up a cell phone, still smiling, and Dick recognizes his own phone in the man’s hand. 

“Mind explaining why your daddy ain’t answering his phone?” The man says, a sneer creeping onto his face and into his tone. 

“Call the WE number,” Dick says, voice more tremulous than he feels. Judging by the last vestiges of daylight leaking through the window, it’s still dusk, and if he knows his little brother, he’ll still be at work. Dick can only pray Tim will answer. The man dials the number, leaving them both to wait with bated breath.

“What do you need, Dick?” Tim’s smooth voice comes over the line after a few heartstopping moments. “I’m a little bit swamped right now.”

“I’m afraid Mr. Grayson can’t come to the phone at the moment,” the man says, tone oily. Dick hears Tim’s sharp inhale over the line. “If you want him back in one piece, it’ll cost you.”

“I need proof of life, first,” Tim says coolly. The man sighs, as though he’s exasperated already, but he presses the phone against Dick’s ear, regardless.

“Tim?” Dick says, voice breaking just a little—the perfect image of a frightened civilian. His brother hums softly in acknowledgement. “Don’t worry about me; I’m fine. I’ll be okay.” He starts to ramble a little, but he’s cut off by a sharp blow to his ribs. He exhales a wheeze as the phone is jerked away from him.

“One million dollars and you get him back. Every hour you delay will cost him.” The man hangs up before Tim can reply, but Dick isn’t worried. Tim’s already tracking him, and the cavalry will be here soon enough. 

He looks up at the man holding him for ransom, disdain etched on his features as he looks into beady eyes. The man scoffs and shakes his head, turning to exit the room again. Dick wants to make a quip, some sort of stupid pun, but he can’t let himself seem too much like Nightwing, not right now. He bites his tongue and sits silently as the door swings shut again.

His headache worsens as the time passes. The light from the small window fades little by little, but it’s hard to track the time. Dick waits patiently, but his limbs itch for movement. He hates being restrained like this—cut off from grounding himself in motion. Nervous energy builds up in him, and he has to tap his fingers against the wooden chair arm to stop himself from losing it. He hopes Tim hurries up.

The next time the door opens, it isn’t to a vigilante, but rather to Dick’s captor. His smile is meaner, somehow, and he’s holding a hammer in his hands. Dick’s breath catches in his throat. Has it already been an hour? He doesn’t know, but judging from the man’s impatient pacing around the room, Tim is late.

The hammer swings, and Dick’s hand shatters under the force of the impact. He stifles a sob, and bitterness flares to life in his chest at the chuckle he hears at his side. He’s definitely got a few broken bones, but it’s not enough. The weapon hits Dick’s fingers next, and he nearly screams as white-hot agony roars through him. The man steps back, admiring his handiwork, before he snaps a photo with Dick’s phone and presumably sends it to Tim. 

Dick glares up at the man, hair matted with sweat as it falls into his eyes. He nearly snarls out a threat, but he has to resign himself to acting as a civilian would—terrified and vulnerable. He hates it, but it’s the role he has to play for now. The man leaves again, and Dick lets out a shaky breath. 

What’s taking his brother so long?

Another hour must pass. The sun has gone down, casting the room in shadow, and when the door to the small cell opens again, the light is blinding for a moment. Dick cringes back when he hears heavy footsteps. He can’t go very far with his limited range of motion, though, and his arms strain against the zip ties lashing his wrists to the chair. He hears a heavy sigh, but it isn’t his captor. 

No, the sound is mechanized, warbled by vocal modulators.

Jason.

His younger brother is at his side in an instant, using a knife to free him from his restraints. Dick hears him curse lowly at the sight of his mangled hand, so he offers Jason a reassuring smile. It probably comes across more as a grimace, but he tries his best. 

“C’mon,” Jason says, helping Dick to his feet and steadying him when he stumbles. “Tim’s going crazy upstairs. Someone needs to stop him before he permanently cripples someone.” 

“You left him alone to deal with them?” Dick asks, raising a brow. “That’s just not fair.” He pauses as a thought occurs to him. “Wait, how many guys are up there? I’ve only seen the one.” 

“Ah,” Jason says, and Dick can hear the cruel smile in his tone. “That guy. There were five others, but last I saw, Tim was going toe-to-toe with that one. Last man standing and all, you know how it is.” 

“He saved him for last on purpose,” Dick says with a sigh. His brothers are ridiculous sometimes. Overprotective over him, even though Dick is the eldest and should be worrying over them, instead. 

They make their way up the stairs, with Jason supporting most of his weight, since his legs are still wobbly from being restrained for hours. Dick can hear the sounds of the fight grow louder as they reach the first floor—sounds of shattering glass and wood splintering reaching him, along with the telltale thwack of Red Robin’s bo staff hitting its target. Dick almost winces in sympathy, but the pain in his hand keeps him from feeling bad for the guy.

“Let’s get out of here, Red!” Jason calls, sounding amused. “I got him, and GCPD is already on their way.” 

“Fine,” Tim replies, tone lilting on a whine. He emerges from one of the rooms branching off from the hall a moment later, looking perfectly put together, despite the fight. “Want the last word, Hood?”

“Don’t I always?” Hood passes Dick over to Red Robin and draws a firearm, heading toward the room Red had just left. Dick sighs, shaking his head as he hears both Hood and his assailant start shouting. He turns his attention to Tim.

“Thanks for the rescue,” he tells his little brother. 

“Like we would just leave you there?” Tim asks, tone sardonic. Dick grins at him. “Let’s get you back home, okay?” Dick nods and lets Tim lead him out into the night. One of the Batmobiles is already waiting at the street corner, and as soon as Tim gets Dick settled in the backseat, Jason joins them, sliding into the driver’s seat and starting the car. Tim pulls down his cowl and sends an unimpressed look toward Dick.

“What?”

“You’re an idiot for letting yourself get injured like that,” he says. “Also, B’s losing his mind.” 

“You told Bruce?!” Dick practically yelps. 

“Alfie insisted,” Jason says, turning to look at him. Sometime between starting the car and now, he’d tossed his helmet onto the passenger seat, leaving him with just a domino mask obscuring his features. “No one says no to Alfie.”

“Especially once those assholes started hurting you and broke the terms of the deal,” Tim grumbles. “They only waited half an hour.” He glances over at Dick, reaching out to examine the damage done to his hand. “Sorry they had the chance to hurt you, Dick.”

“It’ll heal,” he says easily, brushing off Tim’s concerns. He ruffles his little brother’s hair with his uninjured hand. “Please tell me Bruce didn’t come back to earth over this.”

“Okay then, we won’t tell you,” Tim says, grinning wickedly. Dick groans, letting his forehead rest against Tim’s shoulder. Tim and Jason laugh, but Dick can’t muster up a scowl to send their way. He’s safe, and he’s hurting and exhausted. Tim seems to notice him droop, slumping against his side a little more with each passing moment. “Get some rest, Dick. We’ve got you.”

“Sleep it off, Dickiebird,” Jason says. “You’re in for a hell of a lecture when you wake up.”

“Prolong the inevitable,” Tim agrees, nodding along. “We’re taking bets on whose lecture will be worse: Bruce or Alfred.”

“Nah,” Dick mumbles, smiling a little as Tim carefully wraps an arm around his shoulders. “Dami’s will be the worst of the bunch.” His brothers both snort, and Dick falls asleep to the sound of their laughter.

His brothers have him. He can rest easy.

[lynnsaundersfanfic]

Grounded, Chapter 10: Dreams

A Coffee House Fic inspired by a prompt from awesomegreentie.

We started off with a T rating, but who are we kidding here? It’s me. So, the rating has been moved up to M at Chapter 5.

Chapters in Order:  Introductions - Invitation - Stroll - Alchemy - Dayspring - Distraction - Lost - Firelight - Monday - Dreams

Or, read it on fanfiction.net here.

Grounded  |  Chapter Ten: Dreams  |  by Lynn Saunders

The Tuesday before Christmas dawns cold and grey, and John watches the sunrise as he sits before the shop’s hearth with his morning tea, struggling a bit to meet the day. William looks surprised to find him there quite so early after closing so late the evening before, but he doesn’t comment on the matter. They really must hire someone else on, and soon.

Anna’s over a week gone, and John has scarcely slept since she’s been away. He trudges home late in the evenings, tie askew, and sinks onto the couch in his sparsely furnished flat to doze for a few hours before rising early to do it all over again. His split with Vera did not leave him with much in the way of quality furnishings, and what little he did take with him has mostly been used to lend a personal touch to the tasteful rusticity of the coffee house. The little shop is the first thing he’s truly been able to make all his own. But his apartment feels cold, the freshly painted walls stark and bare, and it’s not yet truly a home for him. It’s pale and blank, a new slate that he hasn't yet gotten around to writing on - not like Anna’s flat, which is warm and cheerful and utterly her.

He’s a bit surprised to find that it’s difficult to sleep without Anna snugged in safely against him. He craves her scent and the warm press of her body in the dark. He tosses and turns in the night, restless and brooding. But when sleep does finally find him, he dreams of a faerie with golden hair, her eyes blue as the sea. She awaits him eagerly in a small hothouse in mid-winter, dressed all in white. In the dream, their meetings are secret, and her love for him is certain. This morning, the taste of the dream maiden’s lips had lingered on his even after he awoke feverish and shaky, lost between worlds for a moment and struggling to remember which was real.

The church bell down the street chimes out the hour, and John rises and stretches. He retrieves his mobile from the mantle and sends Anna a photo of the blazing fire, then tucks the phone into his pocket with a small smile. He doesn’t expect her home for a few days yet, but it’s safe to say she hasn’t forgotten him. Two evenings ago, their goodnight phone call had ended with her breathlessly sighing his name.

I was thinking of the other night, he’d said. Of having you against the door.

He’s never been brave enough to give voice to such delicious thoughts before, never had someone so eager to listen. Her response to his secret whispers in the dark was the definition of unforgettable.

He finishes his tea with a smirk, then readies for the day, tying on an apron and washing his hands. He surveys the stock of pastries and resolves to make more fresh cinnamon buns, but it will have to wait until the morning rush dies down. For the next two hours, the bells on the front door jangle consistently.

Business is good. More than good. He feels utterly blessed to have this place, but beyond that he feels a sense of deep pride in his work. Is this what it’s like to love what you do? He realizes with a start that this is the first path he’s truly chosen for himself, rather than one he pursued out of habit, pressure, or obligation. In his old life, he might be tempted to focus on all the work that still looms ahead, or to wait for the other shoe to drop. He would’ve been too hesitant to venture into business ownership, too pessimistic. But more than anything else, being wounded showed him just how fleeting life is. That’s what made him put down the bottle and start living life again. And Anna? He certainly would’ve never imagined that he deserved the company of someone this lovely or, for that matter, someone this kind. Finally, he’s starting to believe.

Anna dreams of John in a different time. They sit at a long table in a bustling room she doesn’t quite recognize, yet she somehow knows it all the same. The room smells of coffee and warm, brown bread. Breakfast china rattles over bits of conversation. Beside her, John is clean-shaven and polished and proper. This image of him stands in stark contrast to what she knows he is capable of in the dark. He gives her a furtive glance, and she attempts to hide her flush behind her teacup. Her delicate wedding band is hidden safely away beneath her frock, nestled against her breastbone on a simple gold chain. Her cup clinks into its saucer, and she brings a hand up to absently trace the outline of the ring through the fabric of her dress. No one can know, not yet. John’s leg presses against hers beneath the table, out of view of the others.

The others?

But the room is gone now, replaced with the glow of a fire and the slip of fine linens against her bare skin. John’s thick fingers glide along her back as she rests, snugged against his chest. She’s long been sated, and now sleep calls. As her eyes drift shut, her mind flashes on the rustling of willow fronds and the taste of fresh cider, of mistletoe on the arch of an old oak door, of the earthy smell of a conservatory in midwinter and the sound of pottery shattering in the dark.

The company car rocks gently as it pulls onto Anna’s street, and her eyes blink open. Her mind fumbles for the thread of that intriguing dream, but the more she reaches for those memories, the further they slip away. John in an old-fashioned waistcoat and sleeves, she thinks with a grin. Something about a greenhouse… and then a feeling - one of bittersweet, quiet, and steadfast love. It is safe and warm, and… familiar? Anna shakes her head with a confused sigh.

The homes on Anna’s street are cheerful, dotted with wreaths and holiday lights. In the west, the sky is painted purple and crimson in the waning daylight. The car pulls to a stop at her door, and she draws the edges of her coat closed before stepping out into the nipping winter air. She’s so looking forward to being in her own flat and her own bed, to seeing her grumpy old three-legged cat… and her hot barista.

She checks her mobile - still no service. Ah, well. When she’d spoken briefly with John last evening, her plans called for staying in London at least another day or two. However, this morning’s presentation had gone surprisingly well, and when Mary spoke of sending Anna home ahead of schedule, she’d jumped at the chance.

The driver hurries around to help her with her bags, and she tips him generously before climbing the short flight of stairs to her apartment. Even with both bags in hand, Anna unlocks the door to her flat with practiced ease. Castle comes running and leaps onto the kitchen counter with a delighted chirp. She scritches him and shakes some crunchies into his bowl.

Tacked to the fridge is a note from Gwen.

I continue to be Castle’s favorite person to torment. The beggar knocked the treat bag off of the counter and ate half. He then vomited in the hall and stared haughtily as I cleaned it up.

XO, G

Castle blinks innocently from the kitchen counter, and Anna gives him a disapproving look. She makes a mental note to take her friend for drinks ASAP to make up for it.

Gwen has left the week’s mail on the countertop, and Anna sorts the contents quickly while she waits for the shower to run hot. She happily sheds her travel clothes and steps under the spray with a relieved sigh, washing the muck of the day away. Oh, but there’s so much to do. She needs to go for groceries and work on the laundry, to put the finishing touches on a project before the firm closes for the holidays. But as she lingers in the steam of the shower, allowing the heat to sink into the delicate muscles of her neck and shoulders, she finds it impossible to care about those mundane tasks. Her mind drifts instead.

She thinks of last week, of John’s long fingers moving between her thighs, patiently coaxing her pleasure. She had melted into his embrace, her slick back pressed to his front, her head lolled against his chest. He had turned her then, lifting her solidly against the chilly shower tile and marking her neck with his lips as he pushed into her. His strong arms held her fast while she sighed his name and dug her fingernails into his shoulders. His teeth had trailed behind her ear just so. She reaches lazily up to press her fingertips to the spot, daydreaming until the water begins to cool.

Yes, all the trappings of everyday life can wait. She has a very particular craving that only one thing can satisfy.

John rushes to open the shop’s door ahead of William, who is carefully balancing three full pastry boxes, their largest order of the day. He steps out to meet the chill of the December evening, and William follows, passing gingerly through the doorway. They work together to arrange the pastry boxes safely in the floorboards of the waiting car.

The customer is Beatrice, one of John’s mother’s friends from church, and she reaches up to pat his arm affectionately. “Thank you, Dear.”

He smiles down at her. “I hope you enjoy them.”

“Oh, the kids will love them!”

She waves to William as he ducks back through the shop’s front door. The neon ‘open’ sign blinks out shortly afterward, and they watch for a moment as William goes about closing duties without having to be asked.

“He’s a hard worker,” John says. “Thank you for sending him my way.”

“Oh, yes, I’ve known his family for ages, and of course with his mother’s passing he needed something closer to home for a while. He’s all his dad has left now.” She shakes her head sadly. “But, I’m so happy you two get on so well. I hear there was a less pleasant fellow working here who has recently moved on.”

John laughs. “Yes, but that’s fine by me. Better the two of us work harder than have a third who rocks the boat. But if you know of anyone else who needs steady work, please send them my way.”

She thinks for a moment. “I may have just the young lady in mind. She’s young and a bit new to church, but she seems reliable. She was such a help with the bake sale.”

He draws a card from the breast pocket of his button-front shirt. “Please have her come by. William and I are managing, but barely. As it is, he needs a large bonus… and a holiday.”

She chuckles, then takes a conspiratorial step closer. “Now, let me hear all about this Anna. Margaret tells me you two are quite the item.”

John gives a somewhat embarrassed chuckle. His mother definitely cannot be prevailed upon to keep any secrets. “Yes, I suppose we are.”

“You suppose?” She tsks with mock disapproval. “Well don’t you be shy. Bring her ‘round to see us for tea soon.”

He gives a vague promise, and John waves as Beatrice pulls away from the curb. As the taillights fade in the distance, he takes a moment to stand still, to close his eyes and simply breathe in the icy air. There’s been no new snow today, but there’s still a satisfying icy crunch underfoot, and he remembers his first stroll home with Anna, the first brush of her lips against his cheek. That was only two weeks ago, yet somehow this thing between them feels both ancient and new.

It’s a bit odd that he hasn’t heard from her today, and it dawns on him that he’s not been the least bit concerned about what that uncharacteristic lack of contact means for their burgeoning relationship. In the past, he’s had what Vera would have called a jealous streak. But underneath that superficial explanation was truly only worry, a deep-seated fear that he won’t measure up, that he’s undeserving. But he feels none of that with Anna. Everything between them has come so naturally.

He takes one more moment to enjoy the quiet solitude of the winter evening, then turns to help William close up for the night. But he doesn’t quite reach the door. His breath is caught in his throat, and for a moment he stops and stares, blinking in delighted disbelief. Anna. The streetlamps catch her golden hair even through the frozen haze of the December evening. She’s supposed to be miles away, yet here she is on his street instead, making her way toward him with a very particular look in her eye. He sees warmth reflected there, mischief, and an intoxicating, velvety undercurrent of desire. He catches her up in an embrace, and she giggles as he lifts her off of her feet. God, he wants so badly to be the one who inspires that sound from now on. He breathes her in, feels the thrill of it deep in his chest, then remembers himself and returns her gently to the ground.

“Why didn’t you say you were coming?” he asks with a grin.

“I didn’t know until today.” Her eyes dance as she reaches up to straighten his tie. “That, and my mobile has been out of service all afternoon. But… I’ve brought you something that may make up for it.”

At his quizzical look, she reaches into her coat pocket and brings out a sprig of mistletoe, twirling it in her fingers for a moment, raising an eyebrow. He tugs her close in response, kissing her gently in the arch of the shop doorway until she begins to shiver in his arms. Later, as he sifts his fingers through her hair in her bedroom in the dark, she’ll tell him she wasn’t cold, not exactly. It’s the intensity of his touch that’s making her tremble. But he doesn’t know that now, and he ushers her quickly into the cheerful warmth of the coffee house. Muted sounds from the kitchen radio filter down the hall, and he can hear the clinking of silverware as William washes the dishes. He presses another soft kiss to her lips before locking the door and pulling the shades in turn.

“I need to-” he begins, but she places a gentle hand on his chest with a nod.

“Finish your work.” She smiles up at him. “I’ll still be here.”

He brings the back of her hand to his lips for a moment, then turns to join William in the kitchen. Together, the men make quick work of the evening chores. Soon the dishes are dried and the countertops gleam once more. William finishes the mopping while John reviews the checklist for tomorrow, smiling at the sheer volume of holiday orders.

As he pulls on his coat to leave, William glances down the hall toward Anna, then gives John a nod of decided approval. “It’s good to see you happy, Mr. Bates.”

John clears his throat a bit self-consciously, but he’s touched. “I think I am, truly… for the first time in a long while.” He pauses just a moment before adding, “now, run on home. We’ve another early day tomorrow.”

“You two don’t stay up too late,” William says with a wink as he pulls his cap down snug over his brow and disappears through the shop’s rear door.

John only laughs and shakes his head in response.

When he returns to the front room with a cup of cocoa to share, Anna is warming herself by the waning coals of the banked fire. The shop lights are low, and the sight of her silhouetted in the amber glow of the stone fireplace tugs at a quiet, yearning place deep within him. Anna just feels so… familiar, his mind echoes. It’s as if they’ve spent countless evenings sharing a hearth and a bed, perhaps across times and places he will never know or understand, but always - always - with the same indescribable current arcing between them.

She smiles up at him as he passes her the mug, and he eases onto the sofa, drawing her near. She takes a sip and gives a satisfied hum that makes the fine hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. They watch the embers pop and spark for a moment as the kitchen radio plays on in the distance.

“How was London?” He presses a kiss to her temple.

“Good, actually.” She takes another sip of cocoa and passes him the mug. “Well, more than good, I think. It might mean a promotion.”

“Well done!” He squeezes her hand with genuine affection and pride, then adds cheekily, “Will you have a corner office, then?”

“No…” She grins up at him. “And nothing’s decided yet, but… on that topic, there is a favor I need to ask you.”

“Oh yes?”

“You see, there’s this company holiday party. Fancy dress and all that, and I’ll be needing a date…”

“Dancing and cocktails and a suit?”

“Well, probably not dancing… but the rest of it, yes.”

“No dancing? Pity, that.”

“I expect you’ll be relieved.” She taps his chest playfully with the back of her hand, and he realizes she thinks he’s joking.

He imagines Anna in a low-cut gown, his fingers gliding along the curve of her back as they savor the anonymity of a darkened dance floor. “Oh, I wouldn’t say that.”

John smiles conspiratorially and moves their shared mug to the safety of the little coffee table. He rises carefully, then pulls Anna gently to her feet. She smiles shyly at him as he takes her hand and leads her down the shop’s hallway in the dark. The familiar rooms are bathed in shadows, and she clings to his hand like a lifeline. In the kitchen, he pauses to adjust the volume on the little radio, filling the room with the mellow, rolling notes of a jazz piano.

“Come here,” he says, his voice rough and low.

She giggles as he pulls her easily into his embrace, and they sway together in the dark, his right hand perfectly fitted to the small of her back. Thank goodness for heels, she thinks dreamily. Moving together this way, she’s just tall enough to rest her forehead against his broad chest. He tucks her hair behind her ear and tips her chin up to meet him, stooping to graze her lips with his. His large hands slide beneath the hem of her sweater, blazing a path up the curve of her spine. She hums happily, and she feels his answering smile against her temple.

She finds the quiet confidence in his touch intoxicating. She’s enamored with the pleasing stoutness of his body, the thickness of his chest and shoulders, the way he gazes at her so intently as they move together. She’s never been this easily turned on, this revved up. She’s fallen hard and fast, no question, but this thought doesn’t alarm her. Instead, she feels emboldened by her desire. When she rises on tiptoe to kiss him, he tastes not just of cinnamon and chocolate, but of something deeper and richer, a comforting memory she cannot place. And as the song begins to fade, they hold fast to one another, lighting a fire between them as they dance together in the dark.

Author’s notes:

I’ve not written in a long while. I worry it shows. Thank you for being patient while I knock the rust off.

Anna and Bates dance to Turn Me On by Nora Jones.

Thanks to @awesomegreentie and @gelana78 for quick-beta!