#and yet she still had sympathy for them

[tens-converse]

daily reminder that donna noble was always prepared to lay down her life for species and people she never even knew simply because she was one of the most compassionate people of all time.

daily reminder that donna noble turned a jaded suicidal doctor into one of the best and kindest versions of his people simply with her words both soft and sharp and her excitement and anxiousness to be around him and to travel.

daily reminder that despite everybody in her life aside from the doctor and wilf putting her down, donna noble stayed soft and loving towards them without any reason to be.

[profounddefendorcrusade-blog]

I feel bad for Starlo.

Star has a point, idk what the four were ticked off about, there is like 99% chance everyone willingly participated in the trolley problem, based on what we've seen of his behavior thus far it's not like Starlo to be that big of a jerk/drag them by force/yell at them to do it. Ed's words:

he does it because Star asks NICELY

clearly jealous

It genuinely seemed like a fun time/fun roleplay, especially since every day is the same. Like, the five are supposed to be a rowdy and adventures bunch, what exactly did Starlo do wrong, I'm genuinely confused and curious. Except taking a big liking in Clover (his posse should know that this is a big moment for him, according to Blackjack they've known each other since high school and had the same liking for westerns. So they were basically a nerd gang.) Starlo was kind, patient and considerate towards Clover the whole time, even warned Mooch about them not being bandits, taught Clover gun safety, wanted to bring his posse along for a fun time, thanked Ace for telling him about getting Clover a new hat...

Sure, at first he only liked Clover for being a human, but as Ceroba says, that changed and he grew to genuinely care about them, plus I can't help but think Star saw himself in Clover and that's part of the reason he was so proud of them all the time even when they messed up (I'll talk more about this at some point)

What exactly made Ace want to leave the gang? He even said how he doesn't mind "getting run over by the fake train"

he's so nice. says sorry for forgetting the safety goggles even when he was scatterbrained due to his excitement. I love him so much

The only real "faults" (I'll call them temporary faults) I saw in Star during the Wild East section was that he was even more enthusiastic and more proud than usual. But how couldn't he be when he met a member of the species that he has admired for so long because they have real cowboys and sheriffs on the surface (who are seen as brave heroes who deliver justice, while Star canonically feels like a nobody farmer). His posse should have realized Clover wouldn't be there forever and just let their boss enjoy himself with his "deputy who'd have to leave sooner or later anyway"(or be more patient with him/ask him why he feels this strongly towards Clover/if there's a deeper reason for that). His friends including Ceroba just turn their back on him so quickly instead. The moment he's gotten the chance to feel valued for once and put himself first and not have to take care of this whole town and everyone in it and live his dream of meeting a real human, suddenly "his personality is damaged?"

Star's literally built this whole town, organised everything, he worries about everyone, Ceroba (plus was the one to give her emotional strength before and after Clover's sacrifice), Kanako, the monsters, his family, struggles with feelings of worthlessness yet never wipes that smile off his face, always does his best to be hopeful and optimistic and make others laugh, gave his posse a nap time so they don't become exhausted, gave Ceroba a free home, didn't act upon his feelings towards her and was a 110% supportive, caring friend instead. THAT'S who he is. He's the papa bear of this friend group, the glue holding everyone together.

He was just *really* excited. Y'all know he's insecure and just wishes to escape who he is and yet y'all blame him for liking Clover so much. Yeah, the four are very clearly jealous. But why won't the four of you control your feelings for a while? As mentioned, Clover WILL HAVE TO LEAVE EVENTUALLY. They won't be Star's "deputy" forever (the kid who's just as into westerns as he is, who values justice just as much, who also values doing the right thing. Someone he clearly felt understood in the presence of, whom he loved; just look at the way he talks about Clove during Showdown). Star seems genuinely confused of what he did wrong poor guy just wanted to live his fantasy for once and feel important:

Even at the beginning Moray's like "oh no Martlet is upset" Mooch replies "don't be a buzzkill nothing exciting ever happens around here" and Ray's like "Yeah you've got a point"

If you all agreed to have a little fun with a human who will very soon leave forever why is Starlo's enthusiasm such a big problem? If the posse weren't into this after all (unless they were simply too jealous which could have been solved with a honest talk and a little patience) why are you doing this "rowdy" job with Star in the first place? Do you want your boring routine day to day life so much back? Or just for Clover to leave (which they will soon enough)? You, western enthusiasts, literally met a real human, A HUMAN FROM WESTERNS YOU ARE SUPPOSED TO BE PASSIONATELY INTO (clearly not as passionate as Star but passionate ENOUGH to understand where he's coming from).

... okay.

[naturalblue22]

so basically after months of both thinking about it and avoiding thinking about it i have come to the conclusion that i'm scared because i knew her for a long time and then i thought i knew her but i idolised her best aspects and now i would know her again if we were closer but i feel guilty because i miss misunderstanding her and worry that she isn't someone i like anymore and that i'm not someone she really likes either and is being nice, for old times sake

[madewithsilk]

Virgin!reader x toxic gf!ellie

She pressures reader to have sex with her and she’s really rough with her even when reader asks her to be gentle

(Btw I love your writing so much 🩷)

— ᴛᴏxɪᴄ!ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ 𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚

ᴘᴀɪʀɪɴɢ; ᴛᴏxɪᴄ ɢꜰ ᴇʟʟɪᴇ ᴡɪʟʟɪᴀᴍꜱ x ᴠɪʀɢɪɴ (ꜰ!) ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ

ᴄᴡ; ᴇꜱᴛᴀʙʟɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ʀʟꜱʜɪᴘ, ᴅᴜʙ ᴄᴏɴ, ꜱᴛʀᴀᴘ ᴏɴ

Ellie believes she has been more than patient. She notices the flicker of fear and the shadows of disagreement that cross your face whenever she brings having sex up, and she chalks it up to the norm. After all, it's only natural to feel apprehensive about the first time; she experienced those nerves herself. Yet, as she watches you, a wave of hunger washes over her, making it all the more enticing to bridge the gap between you and her. The way you lay in bed, watching TV, panties visible the her. She nearly swears you're doing it on purpose. It makes her think of all the times you were so needy but refused to have sex. She could hear you cumming on your pillow at least three times in one night while she stayed in the living room.

She wanted to keep being the slow-moving and forbearing lover, keeping to her promises of giving you as much time as needed and hiding how she truly felt. But her patience has always had limits.

She shuffles into the bedroom, a hand running through her hair. She was forming a script of words she’d whisper at you to finally bring you over the edge and give in. Your gaze shifts onto her, closing your thighs with a small redness on your cheeks. Ellie crawls onto the bed besides you, slipping one of her arms around your face to turn you and face her. Your puppy-like eyes stare up at her, an incoming pout forming. Her free hand strokes your cheek, a moment of intimate silence before she speaks up.

“How are you feeling, babe?” She whispers, thumb tracing circles on your hip. You grumble under your breath, being held flush against Ellie. Your eyes would dart around on her face, her tattoos. Your thighs clenched together. "Bit sleepy, just couldn't fall asleep." You huffed.

Ellie tuts, moving strands of hair out of your face in faux sympathy. "Poor baby," She begins, slipping a leg between your thighs, catching you by suprise. Your hands rested on her chest defensively, nodding. "Need help going to sleep?" You had an idea of what she could be suggesting, but you trusted her to respect your wishes, so you nodded again and asked "How?"

A smile ends up painted on Ellie's lips, refraining from rocking her knee against your clothed cunt just yet. “Y’know,” Her hands wander away from your hips and face, instead groping your tits in implication. You couldn't have shaken your head quicker, brows furrowing. Your hands pushed against Ellie's chest but she just held you closer. "Shh, shh, c'mon. It'll help you go to bed in no time, baby."

Your breathing was slightly uneven, biting your bottom lip. You wanted to sleep, but it was just so soon in your mind for sex. "I'll be so, so gentle, baby." You trusted Ellie, or at least you wanted to. Yet, you still denied the consistent offer. "No– Ellie, I'm not ready.." She rolls her eyes, body now above yours on the bed. She was caging you in. "Don't you wanna make me happy?" Her statement gave you a moment of contemplation. You feared her leaving if you didn't give her what she wanted soon enough.

“You promise you’ll be gentle?” Ellie keeps one hand besides your head on the bed, the other one reaching her pinky out to you childishly. “Pinky promise.” When your finger interlocked with hers, a small leaving your lips at the gesture, her hands went straight to undressing herself. She hovered above you, her belt undone right before you. You couldn't help but whimper, her boxers just begging to be taken off.

Your fingertips trace the waistband, seeing her already having a strap underneath. It slightly threw you off, wondering if she had planned this, but you didn't have much time to keep thinking when she fully tugged them down. The silicone dick was girthy, her palm encasing it and stroking it as if it were real. “Not gonna fit, Els..” She scoffed, kissing you to shut you up while removing your shirt and hiking up your skirt to reveal your panties and take those off too.

You responded to the kiss with fervor, hands tangling in her hair and groaning into the kiss alongside her. She didn't even reach down to play with your clit nor stretch you out with her fingers, lining up her cock to your entrance. Your tongue was exploring her mouth and she held you closer.

When you felt it stretch you completely, Ellie immediately buried herself to the hilt, you broke the kiss. Your eyes were wide, a bit of pain in your expression. Ellie groaned, hand resting on your throat as she began to thrust inside you. You whimpered, squeamish from the pain and incoming pleasure. She moaned into your neck now, hand pressing against your lower tummy so you could feel all of her inside you. “Fuckk— you don’t know how long I’ve needed this,”

You clawed at her back, head thrown against the mattress. Her pace was unrelentless and you felt the tip nudging your cervix. She pulled back from your neck, grasped your thighs, and kept pumping her dick into your sopping cunt. Tears welled in your eyes, it felt so good but it was so unwarranted. “Ellie— so- s’mean!” You whimpered, huffing and panting.

Your vision got blurry from both the tears and how her cock made your head swirl, you were filled to the brim. “Fuck, don’t- don’t cry, baby,” She was gasping for air, and even as you got closer and closer, she kept ramming the strap inside you. The sound of squelching and skin-slapping bounced off the walls, a knot forming deep in your tummy. “You’re dripping on me, baby, I can’t be that mean?” She chuckled breathlessly.

Your eyes were basically rolled to the back of your head, tongue lolling out. You wanted so badly to be mad and yell, but you couldn’t do much, just babble incoherent words. Your mouth was nearly completely slack, “Fuck— Els, can’t, can’t ta-take—“ She hummed, nodding and letting you ramble.

“You can, can take everything I give you, going so fuckin’ dumb,” She kept pounding into you, she swears she can feel you clench around her dick. You couldn’t stop squirming, back arching, she held you right in place while fucking you through your orgasm. She slithered a hand between your thighs to rub circles on your clit, throwing you over the edge and cumming all over her

Her pace slowed down, instead giving harsher, deeper thrusts as you came down from the high. Ellie pulled the silicone cock out, resting it on your abdomen with the white ring of cream you left on it. She swiped sweaty strands of hair off your forehead, kissing it gently. She noticed the upset front you put on, her pride too high to say sorry.

Instead, she whispers sweetly in your ear, “You’ll forgive me, right?”

[moonstruckme]

Hello! I’m new to your blog and am in the middle of consuming all of it. I have to say EMT maurauders are my fav so far though! If you haven’t done it yet and if it’s not too much trouble, would you be willing to do something with EMT! Maurauders where reader gets a bad bloody nose in the middle of the night and can’t get it to stop on her own so she’s panicking and feels bad about waking up the boys who of course take care of you and make you go to the ER since it won’t stop?

Thank you ☺️ Keep up the amazing work, your writing is phenomenal, I can’t wait to read more 👏❤️

Thanks for requesting lovely <3

cw: blood, mention of hospital

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 986 words

You give yourself twenty more minutes before you wake James. Sidling up to his side of his bed like a child who’s had a nightmare, one hand pinching your nostrils shut and the other holding ice wrapped in a paper towel to your nose. You feel glad that it’s too dark to see all the red staining it. 

James rouses with a reluctant throaty sound. He mumbles your name and takes your hand where it’s nudging his shoulder, content until the moment he feels the cold paper towel closed in your palm. His eyes peel open. 

“Sorry,” you whisper. It feels paramount that he know waking him wasn’t your first choice. Of your boyfriends, though, James is the most likely to help you without making a fuss. 

“What’s this?” In the dark, the cold hard thing in your hand is a mystery. James cups his hand around yours with a small frown. 

“My nose won’t stop bleeding,” you explain. 

His frown worsens. You feel bad. 

But James has no resentment for your midnight ailment; only sympathy. “Yeah?” He feels blindly for his glasses on the nightstand. “Does it hurt?” 

You slide them to his hand. “No,” you say. 

“It just…just started?” 

You should’ve taken him out of the room before telling him. Already, you can see Remus starting to wake, the covers on his side of the bed shifting. 

“Yeah.” You lower your voice, though you know it’s pointless. “About a half hour ago.” 

James is rubbing underneath his eyes drowsily, but at this, his brows draw together. “It’s been going since then?” 

“Yeah,” you breathe. 

“What’s going on?” Remus asks. His voice croaks a little, but aside from that he sounds more awake than James. 

You wince. “Sorry.” 

“It’s okay, dove. What is it?” 

“Her nose is bleeding,” James says through a great yawn. In between them, Sirius makes a half-asleep whining sound, but doesn’t move. “She says it has been for half an hour.” 

Now Remus is frowning, too. “It woke you up?” 

You hum, feeling your mouth pucker in distaste. “It got in my mouth.”

“Let’s see.” Without warning, James turns the lamp on. Both you and Remus rear back as if stricken, and Sirius’ head retreats beneath the covers seemingly by reflex. “Sorry, sorry,” James says, giving you soft eyes as he reaches for a box of tissues. “C’mere, sweetheart.” 

You take his cue to let go of your nose. As soon as you release it, you know it starts bleeding again by the way James raises his tissues in a hurry. 

“Christ,” he mumbles, moving them just slightly to see the damage. “This much since it started? Has it slowed at all?” 

“I don’t think so,” you say, stuffy. 

“How do you feel?” asks Remus. He’s sitting up now, bedsheets fallen around his waist and one hand resting on the lump that is Sirius. “Are you dizzy? Can you breathe alright?” 

“Through my mouth, yeah.” James is still peering at your nose, and it’s making you shrink. He lets you take the wad of tissues from him. “I’m not dizzy.” 

“Still…” Remus looks at James. 

“Yeah.” James sits up the rest of the way, stretching. He lets out another yawn. “Let’s go.” 

“Go to…” you hesitate, unsure “...hospital?” 

James hums in the affirmative, squeezing your shoulder as he gets out of bed. 

A moan of protest comes from behind him. You look to see Remus rubbing between Sirius’ shoulder blades, searching for his slippers on his side of the bed. 

“Get up.” 

“S’too early to be up,” Sirius whines. 

Remus shushes him, at once chiding and soothing. “We’re bringing y/n to A&E.” 

At this Sirius falls quiet. A moment later, his head picks up, puffy black hair and a furrowed brow. “What for?” 

“My nose won’t stop bleeding,” you say meekly. “Sorry.” 

“Angel,” James laughs, coming up from behind you to pass you some more tissues. He’s already dressed. “Stop being sorry. Did you plan this?” 

“No,” you reply, softly. 

“Right. As I thought.” He grins, planting a kiss on your cheek. 

As usual, James has come awake remarkably quickly once he’s set his mind to it. Remus moves toward the closet a tad less energetically, and Sirius appears to have to claw his way out of bed. 

He does it in your direction. 

“You okay?” Sirius asks, studying you as he drags his legs over the edge of the mattress. “Does your head hurt?” 

“I don’t think so.” His concerned gaze melts you to your core. You think you’d admit to anything if it got you a hug right now. “I’m just tired.” 

Sirius cracks a smile, though his eyes are soft with pity. “Well, yeah, baby.” He stands, smushing a kiss into your hair. “It’s the dead of fucking night. Your nose is a real blight on us all.” 

“Don’t talk about her nose that way.” James gives you the hug you wished for, strong arms wrapped around your middle. His chest is warm against your back. “Don’t listen to him, angel; he’s a prat when he’s tired.” 

“It’s fine.” You lean back into James. “It is a blight on us tonight.” 

“Precisely. You get it,” Sirius says, squinting his eyes at James. “I cherish her nose every other day, I’ll have you know.” 

“Get dressed.” Remus emerges from the closet to give Sirius a gentle shove in that direction. He takes yet more tissues, passing them to you seemingly without noticing the handful you’ve already got from James. “Are you ready to go, dovey? Have everything you need?” 

“What do I need?” you ask, worried. 

“Nothing, sweetheart.” James drops his voice at the first sign of fright from you; Remus does the same, both of your boyfriends softening around the edges. “We’ll take care of it, yeah?” He starts taking tissues from you, shoving them into the pocket of his sweatpants. “We’ll take care of everything.”

[vanteguccir]

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤEGGS AND PREGNANCY * MATT STURNIOLO

SUMMARY　::　where Matt uses his loss on the egg challenge as an excuse to reveal Y/N's pregnancy to his brothers.

FEATURING　Matt Sturniolo x reader　REQUESTED?　yes.

WARNINGS　::　pregnancy, crying.

AUTHOR'S NOTE　::　that is my work, I DON'T authorize any form of plagiarism; copy, "inspiration" or translation! | english isn't my first language, so I'm sorry if there's any grammar error.

Matt, Nick, and Chris had spent the morning engaged in their latest YouTube challenge; a seemingly simple task of caring for an egg as if it were their own child. What had started as a lighthearted competition quickly turned into something more meaningful, though none of them knew it yet.

Nick leaned back in his chair, his arms folded behind his head, exuding confidence as he glanced at the table. His egg sat intact in front of him, a proud reminder of his victory. He smirked at Matt, who sat across from him, his egg conspicuously absent, the pieces of it having already been swept into the trash.

"Well, Matt, it looks like you lost." Nick teased, his voice dripping with mock sympathy. His grin widened, knowing exactly how to get under his brother's skin.

Chris, sitting at the other end of the table, tried to suppress his laughter but failed, the sound escaping as a snort. He leaned forward, resting his chin in his hand, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Seriously, dude, how did you even have the courage to throw your egg after knowing that it was already cracked?"

But instead of a witty comeback or a defensive retort, Matt remained silent. His usually quick tongue was stilled, and his shoulders slumped slightly as he stared at the table in front of him. His brothers’ laughter echoed around the kitchen, but Matt seemed miles away.

From her spot by the kitchen counter, Y/N observed the scene unfold, her smile soft and her eyes filled with affection as she watched the brothers banter. She had always loved these moments, the way they could turn the simplest tasks into something fun and full of life. But today, something was different. Matt wasn’t joining in the laughter, and the silence coming from him made her heart tighten with concern.

Matt’s eyes met Y/N’s across the room, and for a brief moment, everything else faded away. Her smile faltered, replaced by a look of curiosity and worry as she noticed the unspoken emotion in his gaze. It wasn’t defeat or frustration over the challenge; it was something deeper, something that made her heart skip a beat. What was he thinking? What was he hiding?

Nick’s voice cut through the tension, snapping Matt out of his thoughts.

"Come on, Matt, admit it. You’re just not cut out for fatherhood." Nick joked, his tone light but teasing.

Chris chimed in, leaning back in his chair with a playful grin.

"Yeah, maybe it’s a good thing you’re not a dad yet."

The words, meant in jest, struck Matt like a physical blow. He inhaled sharply, his gaze flickering to Y/N once more, and this time, her eyes widened in realization. Her hand instinctively moved to her stomach, a small, unconscious gesture that Matt had seen her do countless times since they discovered the news. It was a habit she had developed; whenever she felt nervous, excited, or overwhelmed, her hand would rest there, a protective touch that spoke of the new life growing inside her.

Matt took a deep breath, turning his gaze back to his brothers.

"My egg 'broke,' so technically, I lost-" Matt began, his voice quiet, almost detached as he tried to find the right words.

Nick interrupted him, raising an eyebrow in confusion as he imitated Matt’s air quotes.

"'Broke'? Motherfucker, it broke." His voice was full of bewilderment, unsure of why Matt was choosing to word it that way.

But Matt wasn’t paying attention to Nick’s teasing anymore. He pushed back his chair and stood up, the scraping of the legs against the floor breaking the comfortable rhythm of the morning. All eyes were on him as he walked over to the counter, where Y/N stood, her breath caught in her throat as she looked up at him. He leaned against the counter, positioning himself next to her, his hand brushing against hers in a silent exchange of comfort and support.

Nick and Chris exchanged puzzled glances, the playful atmosphere from moments ago now replaced with a sense of anticipation. Matt was rarely this serious, especially during their videos, and the change in his demeanor left them both on edge.

"What’s going on, Matt?" Chris asked, his voice steady but laced with curiosity, his arms crossing over his chest as he studied his brother.

Matt took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment pressing down on him. He and Y/N had talked about how to break the news to Nick and Chris for days. They had planned it out, imagined different scenarios, and rehearsed how it might go. But now, standing here in the kitchen with the camera still rolling, Matt realized that all those plans didn’t matter. There was no perfect way to tell them; there was only the truth.

"I didn’t lose." Matt said, his voice stronger now, filled with emotion that he could no longer hide. He took a step closer to Y/N, his hand finding hers and squeezing it gently. His eyes never left his brothers as he spoke. "My baby is safe and sound... right in the oven."

The words hung in the air for a moment, the meaning not immediately sinking in for Nick and Chris. They blinked, their expressions mirroring each other’s confusion as they tried to make sense of what Matt had just said.

"The oven?" Nick repeated, glancing around the kitchen. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

Chris frowned, his gaze following Nick’s to the actual oven, which was clearly off.

"Matt, what are you-"

But before Chris could finish, Matt shook his head and smiled softly, a smile that held all the love and anticipation he had been carrying for weeks. He gently guided Y/N’s hand to her stomach, the gesture so tender and full of meaning that it spoke louder than any words ever could.

"The oven," Matt repeated, his voice a whisper now, thick with emotion. "Right here."

It was as if time stopped. Nick and Chris froze, their eyes widening in sync as the realization finally hit them. The weight of Matt’s words, the significance of the gesture; it all came crashing down on them at once.

"Wait... are you saying...?" Nick’s voice trailed off, the disbelief evident in every syllable.

Y/N looked up at Matt, her eyes shining with tears that she had been holding back for days. She nodded, her voice trembling with joy and nerves as she finally let the words out, the truth she had been dying to share.

"We’re pregnant." She whispered, her voice breaking with emotion. "I’m pregnant."

For a heartbeat, the kitchen was silent. The camera continued to record, capturing every second of the moment that would change their lives forever.

And then, all at once, the emotions erupted.

Chris was the first to react. His eyes filled with tears that spilled over the rims, his face a mix of shock, joy, and overwhelming love. He stood up so abruptly that his chair almost fell, forgotten as he crossed the room in two long strides. Without a word, he pulled Matt and Y/N into a tight embrace, his arms encircling them both as he buried his face in Matt’s shoulder, his body trembling with sobs.

"Oh my God." Chris whispered, his voice cracking with the force of his emotions. "I can’t believe it. You’re going to be a dad, Matt. And Y/N... you’re going to be a mom."

Y/N found herself laughing through her own tears, the sound mixing with her soft sobs as she wrapped her arms around Chris, resting her head against his. She could feel Matt’s warm hand on her back, holding her close, grounding her in the moment.

"We were going to tell you guys differently, but..." Y/N’s voice faltered, the words catching in her throat as she tried to speak. Her lip quivered as she bit down on it, trying to hold back the fresh wave of tears that threatened to spill over.

Nick, who had been frozen in shock, finally seemed to snap out of it. He looked at Matt, then at Y/N, and back to Matt again, as if needing to confirm that this was real. His eyes were wide, his jaw slack, but then, slowly, a wide, joyous grin spread across his face.

"Holy shit!" Nick exclaimed, his voice full of excitement as he jumped up from his chair, his movements so sudden that it clattered to the floor. He didn’t care. All he could focus on was the fact that his brother was going to be a father. That they were going to be uncles.

Nick rushed over to join the group hug, wrapping his arms around the three of them and squeezing as hard as he could, his voice cracking with the intensity of his emotions.

"This is insane! I can’t believe we’re going to be uncles. Oh my God, Chris, we’re going to be uncles!"

Chris pulled back just enough to look at Nick, their faces mirroring the same shock and joy.

"Yes, you are." Y/N whispered, her voice filled with warmth and love. "You and Chris are going to be the best uncles in the world."

Matt couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. He let them fall freely as he wrapped his arms around his brothers, holding them tight, feeling a surge of love and gratitude that left him breathless. This wasn’t the way they had planned it, but it felt right. It felt perfect. He could feel Chris’s shoulders shaking as he cried, and when he finally pulled back to look at his brothers, he saw the same tears in Nick’s eyes.

Chris wiped his eyes with the back of his hand, a huge, teary grin spreading across his face.

"You sneaky bastards." He said, his voice still thick with his crying. "You kept this from us!"

"We wanted to surprise you." Matt said, finally finding her voice again, though it was still shaky with laughter and tears. "But I just couldn’t wait."

Nick looked at him, his grin turning mischievous.

"So, technically, you didn’t lose the challenge, huh?"

Matt chuckled, shrugging as he looked at the Y/N glued to his side.

"Nope, I didn’t lose. I think I actually won something even better."

Chris wiped at his eyes again, sniffling as he looked at Y/N, his expression soft and full of love.

"You two are going to be amazing parents. This little one is so lucky to have you."

Y/N reached out and took Chris’s hand, squeezing it tightly as she smiled through her tears.

"Thank you, Chris. That means the world to us."

Nick clapped his hands together, the grin never leaving his face.

"Well, I guess this calls for a celebration, huh? Let’s order some food and make this the best day ever."

They all agreed, the room filling with the sound of their joy, and as they gathered around the kitchen table, Matt couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man in the world.

He looked at Y/N, who was beaming at him, her eyes still sparkling with tears, and ge couldn’t help but think that this was the best video they’d ever made; not because of the challenge, but because it captured a moment that would change their lives forever.

Extra - comments

"this has to be the best twist ever 😭😭 I was NOT expecting Matt to drop that bombshell at ALLLL"

"omg, they're going to be such amazing parents 🥺"

"chris’s reaction had me in TEARS!!! the way he just broke down crying when he realized he’s going to be an uncle… this is why I love them so much, they're so genuine 😞"

"nick’s face when he finally understood what matt meant by ‘the oven’ LMAOOO"

"FUCK NO, I was laughing so hard during the egg challenge, and then I ended up crying when matt revealed Y/N is pregnant 🤧"

"matt is going to be the greatest dad out there, I just know it 🙏🏻"

"who cares about a fucking broken egg when you’ve got a real baby on the way 😩"

"when matt said the baby was in the oven, I thought he was joking about the egg, I did NOT see that coming 🤡"

"please guys, let me in the group hug 🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻"

© vanteguccir

[reveriebae]

Tease me, Take me

pairing(s) : Choi San x reader X Jung Wooyoung

word count : 5377

summary : In the midst of a storm, two men push you to your limits with their teasing and control. As they take turns dominating you, the pleasure intensifies, leaving you desperate for more.

genre : smut

warning(s) : Explicit content, threesome, overstimulation, oral, penetrative acts, light BDSM, a lot of teasing. Let me know if I missed anything!

Minors do not interact, 21+ only!!

🪐smut under the cut🪐

Rain lashed against the windows, thick droplets streaking down the glass, distorting the neon glow of the city.

The air inside was warm—too warm. Maybe it was the heat from the ramen Wooyoung had barely touched, maybe it was the flickering light from the TV playing some forgotten movie in the background.

Or maybe it was the way San had been watching you all night.

You weren’t imagining it. Neither was Wooyoung.

Because when you finally shifted, stretching your legs across the couch, letting your oversized hoodie slip just enough to expose the curve of your shoulder—San’s gaze followed, dark and unreadable.

And Wooyoung? He smirked.

"Oh, it’s raining outside,” he mused, sprawled lazily beside you, fingers tapping against his knee. “What could we do?”

San hummed, taking a slow sip of his drink, unreadable.

“Wanna eat some hot ramen?”

“I’m not in the mood to eat,” you murmured, voice deliberately soft, teasing.

Wooyoung caught on immediately—his smirk widened.

“Oh?” he leaned closer, elbow resting on the back of the couch, dark eyes flickering with something mischievous. “Then what do you wanna do instead?”

You let the pause hang in the air.

San was still quiet—but his grip on his glass tightened.

Your lips curled into the faintest smirk as you turned to Wooyoung, gaze lingering. “I kinda wanna make out instead.”

The tension snapped.

Wooyoung’s breath hitched, but his grin only sharpened. “Shit, baby. You should’ve said that earlier.”

San didn’t grin. He moved.

One second, you were teasing—the next, his fingers were curled around your throat. Not tight, not squeezing—just holding you there, forcing you to feel his warmth, his control.

“Then come here,” he murmured, voice low, deep—a promise and a warning all at once.

Your breath hitched.

Wooyoung let out a slow whistle, dragging his knuckles along the exposed skin of your thigh. “Fuck, that’s hot.”

His fingers slipped beneath the hem of your hoodie, not rushing—just testing, just teasing.

“You just wanna make out, huh?” he whispered, voice full of mock sympathy. “Bet you’re already soaking through your panties.”

San’s grip on your throat tightened, just for a second. His lips brushed your ear, breath hot, teasing.

“You always act like you want to play innocent,” he muttered, his other hand trailing up your thigh. “But we both know you just want to be fucking ruined.”

Wooyoung groaned, palming himself through his sweats.

“Fuck,” he exhaled. “I think we should make her beg first.”

San hummed in agreement, thumb tracing slow, lazy circles on your throat. “She did say she wasn’t in the mood to eat.” His voice darkened. “Guess that means she won’t be using that pretty mouth, huh?”

Wooyoung tsked, shaking his head. “Such a shame. Thought you wanted to have fun, baby.”

Your body burned. You weren’t even naked yet, and they already had you falling apart.

You should’ve known better.

You should’ve known that with San and Wooyoung, teasing wasn’t just a game—it was a slow, torturous descent into madness.

Because the second you let those words slip—“I kinda wanna make out instead”—you gave them power. And they weren’t about to let you take it back.

San still had his fingers wrapped around your throat, his grip light but firm—just enough to remind you who was in control. His thumb stroked over your pulse, lazy and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world to ruin you.

Wooyoung, on the other hand, had never been one for patience. His fingers toyed with the hem of your hoodie, slipping under but never quite touching qwhere you wanted. His smirk was pure sin, eyes dark with something dangerous.

“So,” he mused, his breath tickling your ear. “You just wanna make out, huh?”

San hummed, his lips brushing along your jaw. “Liar.”

Your breath hitched, body betraying you as you pressed ever so slightly into his touch.

Wooyoung chuckled, dragging a single finger up the inside of your thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him most. “See, that doesn’t really match up with the way you’re clenching your thighs right now.”

San’s grip on your throat tightened, just for a second—a warning.

“Bet if we took these off,” Wooyoung continued, fingers slipping beneath the waistband of your shorts, “we’d find you fucking dripping.”

San exhaled a slow, amused breath. “Pathetic.”

You whimpered, barely realizing you’d done it until Wooyoung groaned, palming himself through his sweats.

“Fuck, baby,” he murmured. “That’s cute.”

San, however, was not amused. His other hand found your chin, tilting your head up until your eyes met his.

“You think you get to tease us and just get what you want?” His voice was low, dangerous.

You swallowed hard, but before you could answer, he pressed his thumb against your lower lip, forcing your mouth open.

Wooyoung’s smirk deepened. “Oh, look at that,” he mused. “She knows how to open that pretty mouth, after all.”

San chuckled darkly, thumb pressing down just a little harder. “Too bad she said she’s not in the mood to eat.”

Your thighs clenched involuntarily, heat pooling in your core at the pure filth spilling from their lips.

Wooyoung sighed dramatically, trailing his fingers over your stomach. “Guess that means she doesn’t get anything, then.”

San nodded, releasing your throat, but not before letting his fingers trail down your collarbone, slow and teasing.

“Such a shame,” he murmured. “I thought you wanted to make out.”

Then, as if they hadn’t just spent the last five minutes making you squirm, they pulled back.

Completely.

Your head spun. Your body burned.

Wooyoung stretched his arms over his head, smirking at the frustration on your face. San simply picked up his drink, taking a slow sip, like he hadn’t just been on the verge of devouring you.

They were waiting.

Waiting for you to break.

Waiting for you to beg.

And fuck—you were so, so close.

The heat between your legs was unbearable. Your body was screaming for them, but they just sat there, watching you suffer.

San swirled his drink in his glass, gaze flicking lazily over you like he wasn’t even impressed. Like he wasn’t absolutely wrecking you just by keeping his hands to himself.

Wooyoung? Smirking. His eyes flickered between your parted lips, your heaving chest, the way your legs kept shifting, desperate for friction. He knew exactly what you needed. And he wasn’t giving it to you.

You clenched your fists. Swallowed down your frustration.

“…You’re both assholes,” you muttered.

San didn’t even blink. “And you’re a brat.”

Wooyoung chuckled, drumming his fingers on his thigh. “I think what she meant to say was, ‘Please, San. Please, Wooyoung. I’ll be good. Just touch me.’”

San sighed, setting his glass down before leaning in again, so close you could feel the heat of him, but not close enough.

“Use your words,” he murmured.

You bit your lip. They wanted you to beg.

Fine.

You looked at San first, your voice soft, sweet, just shy of desperate.

“…Please.”

His eyebrow arched. Not enough.

Your gaze flicked to Wooyoung. “…Please touch me.”

Wooyoung tilted his head, tapping his chin like he was considering it. “Hmm. That’s cute, baby, but you can do better.”

San leaned back, arms crossed. “Not convinced.”

Your body burned. Your pride screamed at you to not give in, but the ache between your thighs was unbearable.

You needed them.

“…San,” you tried again, softer, sweeter, your voice trembling. “Wooyoung. Please. I need you.”

Wooyoung exhaled sharply, his hand flexing on his thigh.

San, however, remained unimpressed.

“You need us?” His voice was mocking. “And what exactly do you need, sweetheart?”

Wooyoung’s smirk widened. “Say it.”

You hesitated—and San grabbed your chin, forcing your eyes on him.

“Say it.”

Your breath shuddered.

“…I need you to fuck me.”

Wooyoung groaned. San’s grip on your chin tightened.

“Again.”

“I need you to fuck me,” you gasped.

San inhaled deeply, running his tongue over his bottom lip, his restraint visibly snapping.

Wooyoung grinned. “Good girl.”

And just like that—

San’s hand flew to your throat, pulling you in for a brutal, punishing kiss.

You thought surrendering would get you what you wanted.

You thought begging, pleading, giving in—would finally make them break.

But you forgot something, baby.

San and Wooyoung don’t just give.

They take.

San’s hand tightened around your throat, his lips swallowing your desperate whimpers, while Wooyoung’s fingers trailed down your stomach, light, teasing, infuriating.

San pulled back first, his dark eyes scanning your face, watching you pant, squirm, eyes already glassy.

Wooyoung exhaled sharply, clicking his tongue. “Damn, babe. You’re already a mess?”

Your thighs clenched, your breathing unsteady. “Please—”

San raised an eyebrow. “Already begging again?”

Your frustration bubbled over, your body so close to breaking.

“Stop teasing,” you whined, shifting against them, trying to get any friction, but Wooyoung’s hands pinned your hips down.

“Stop teasing?” He mocked. “Oh, sweetheart. We haven’t even started.”

San leaned in again, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“If you really want us, baby—show us.”

Wooyoung chuckled, his grip on your hips tightening. “That’s right. Beg like you mean it.”

Your pride was long gone. Your body burned, every nerve screaming for their touch.

And when San’s hand slipped lower, hovering—so fucking close to your chest— you whimpered.

That was it.

That was what they wanted.

San’s breath hitched. Wooyoung groaned.

“Fuck,” San muttered. “You sound so fucking pretty like that.”

Wooyoung licked his lips, his fingers pressing against your clothed heat—barely, just a ghost of pressure.

“Oh, baby.” His voice was low, amused, cruel. “You’re dripping. You need it that bad?”

Your head tipped back, a frustrated sob slipping from your lips. “Yes! Please—please, I can’t—”

San tilted his head, watching you unravel. “You can’t what?”

Your fingers dug into his shoulders, desperation swallowing your shame.

“I can’t—I can’t take it anymore!”

Wooyoung exhaled sharply, his smirk widening. “That’s more like it.”

San’s grip on your chin tightened, forcing your eyes to stay on his.

“One more time, baby.”

Your whole body trembled. Your voice broke.

“…Please.”

Then—finally.

San growled low in his throat, his restraint snapping.

Wooyoung’s fingers pressed down hard, his lips curling into a dark grin.

“You’re gonna wish we kept teasing you, baby.”

San’s fingers tightened around your throat, his breath hot against your ear. “You wanted this,” he murmured, his voice thick with amusement, “so don’t you dare hold back now.”

Wooyoung chuckled, dragging his fingers down your trembling thighs, barely touching. “Oh, she won’t, hyung. Look at her.” He tilted his head, dark eyes drinking in the way you writhed between them. “Already so fucking desperate.”

The teasing had you on the edge, your body burning, needing them to do something. You whimpered, pressing into San’s touch, trying to chase any friction—but Wooyoung tsked, gripping your hips, keeping you still.

“Uh-uh, baby,” he scolded, his lips ghosting over your skin. “If you wanna be fucked, you’re gonna take what we give you.”

San hummed in agreement, his grip loosening just enough to trail his fingers down, tracing the curve of your body with slow, deliberate intent. “You begged so sweetly,” he mused, his other hand tipping your chin up so you had no choice but to look at him. “So let’s see if you can earn it.”

Your breath hitched.

San’s lips barely brushed yours before he devoured you, again. It wasn’t sweet, wasn’t soft—it was punishing. His tongue licked into your mouth, taking, claiming, as if he was reminding you exactly who you belonged to in this moment.

Wooyoung groaned beside you, watching with a dark grin. “Damn, hyung,” he murmured, his hands roaming lower, teasing along the waistband of your shorts. “You’re gonna eat her alive before we even get started.”

San pulled away just enough to smirk, his thumb dragging along your swollen bottom lip. “Jealous?”

Wooyoung chuckled. “Not at all.” His fingers hooked into your shorts, dragging them down ever so slowly. “Because I’m about to have my fun, too.”

Your body tensed in anticipation, your breath coming in shallow gasps. San’s grip tightened, forcing you to meet his gaze.

“Keep your eyes on me, sweetheart,” he murmured. “I wanna watch every single reaction.”

San’s hands were slow, deliberate—dragging your hoodie up inch by inch, exposing your skin to the cool air. His fingers traced along your ribs, barely touching, teasing, making you ache for more.

Wooyoung, on the other hand, had no patience.

The moment your shorts were off, he groaned, his hands gripping your thighs and spreading them wide. “Fuck, baby,” he muttered, his voice thick with hunger. “You’re already so wet for us.”

San smirked, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbs flicking over your sensitive peaks. “Of course she is,” he murmured, leaning down to drag his tongue along your throat. “She’s been dying for this.”

Your breath hitched as San’s lips traveled lower, his mouth hot against your skin. His tongue flicked over your collarbone, his teeth grazing teasingly before he finally closed his lips around your nipple, sucking just hard enough to make you arch against him.

Wooyoung groaned at the sight, his fingers digging into your thighs. “Shit, hyung,” he muttered. “That’s hot.”

Then—without warning—his mouth was on you.

Your back arched, a cry escaping your lips as Wooyoung’s tongue flicked against your most sensitive spot, slow and torturous. He hummed against you, the vibration sending a shudder through your entire body.

San chuckled, his teeth grazing your peaked bud. “Already making those pretty noises?” he murmured against your skin, his hands kneading your breasts as his mouth worked you over. “We’re just getting started.”

Wooyoung pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, his lips glistening. “Mmm, she tastes so good, hyung.” His tongue darted out to tease you again, making your hips jerk. “Think I should make her come like this?”

San exhaled a slow breath, his hands tightening on your body. “Do it.”

And just like that—Wooyoung devoured you.

His tongue worked you over, relentless, obscene, his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you still as he drank in every sound, every reaction.

San, still teasing your chest, smirked against your skin. “That’s it, sweetheart,” he murmured, his tongue flicking against you in time with Wooyoung’s movements. “Let us hear how much you love this.”

Your body trembled, the pleasure coiling tight, heat spreading like fire through your veins. You couldn’t escape them—you didn’t want to escape them.

Your body trembled beneath their hands, heat coiling low in your stomach as Wooyoung’s tongue worked you over with slow, deliberate strokes.

San’s mouth was still at your chest, his lips wrapping around your sensitive bud, sucking just hard enough to make you whimper. His teeth grazed over you, his hands kneading your soft flesh, sending jolts of pleasure straight between your legs.

“F-Fuck,” you gasped, head tipping back against the couch. “W-Wooyoung—”

He hummed against you, his tongue flicking in a way that made your thighs shake. His grip tightened, fingers pressing into your skin as he devoured you.

San chuckled, his breath warm against your heated skin. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?” he murmured, flicking his tongue over your nipple. “Can’t handle a little attention?”

You clenched your fists, eyes squeezed shut. “I-I can’t—”

Wooyoung pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, his lips glistening. “You can’t what, baby?” His voice was thick with amusement, teasing. “Can’t handle my tongue? Or is it the way hyung’s sucking on you like he owns you?”

Your body burned. “I-It’s—both—”

San clicked his tongue, teeth grazing your skin. “Tsk. You’re so cute when you try to talk through it.” His fingers trailed down your stomach, slow, teasing, before resting just above where Wooyoung was working you open.

Wooyoung chuckled darkly, his breath hot against your dripping core. “You’re shaking,” he murmured. “Are you close, baby?”

You whimpered, your thighs trembling. “Y-Yes—fuck, please—”

San grinned, his hands gripping your waist, keeping you still. “You wanna come already?” His voice was full of mock sympathy. “So greedy.”

Wooyoung flicked his tongue over you one last time before pulling back, his lips curling into a smirk. “Go ahead, baby. Come for me.”

That was all it took.

Your body snapped, waves of pleasure crashing over you as you cried out, back arching against the couch. Your hands flew to San’s shoulders, nails digging in as your thighs clenched around Wooyoung’s head.

He groaned at the feeling, his tongue slowing but never stopping, riding you through it, drinking in every single drop.

San exhaled, his fingers tightening on your hips. “Goddamn,” he muttered. “That was pretty.”

Wooyoung finally pulled back, licking his lips, his dark eyes flicking up to meet San’s. “Hyung.” He smirked. “You have to taste her.”

San inhaled deeply, his hands sliding down your thighs, prying them apart again. “Mm. I was getting jealous watching you.”

Your body was still trembling, sensitive, overstimulated—but San was already shifting, already lowering himself between your legs.

“You can take it, right, sweetheart?” he murmured, fingers tracing the inside of your thigh. His lips hovered over you, so close you could feel his breath. “Because I’m starving.”

Your breath hitched. “S-San—”

His tongue was on you before you could finish.

A sharp cry tore from your lips as he groaned against your heat, his arms locking around your thighs, pinning you down. He was rougher than Wooyoung, more intense, more desperate.

Wooyoung, now sitting beside you, chuckled at your reaction, his fingers tilting your chin to face him. “Oh, baby,” he murmured, his thumb swiping over your swollen lips. “You look so fucking wrecked already.”

San growled against you, his fingers digging into your thighs as he sucked, licked, devoured—like he was trying to pull another orgasm out of you just to watch you fall apart all over again.

And fuck—he was going to get exactly what he wanted.

Your body was already trembling, overstimulated, your breath coming in ragged gasps as San’s tongue worked you open, relentless, unforgiving.

You were wrecked—but they weren’t done with you.

Not even close.

Wooyoung’s fingers trailed over your lips, his dark eyes watching you with amusement. “You’re still shaking, baby,” he murmured, thumb pressing against your lower lip. “Think you can handle more?”

You barely had time to nod before he was shifting, straddling the couch, his other hand wrapping around the base of his cock.

“Open,” he ordered, voice thick with lust.

Your lips parted instinctively, letting him slide in, the taste of his precum flooding your senses.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his fingers tangling in your hair. “Look at you. Taking me so well.”

Below, San hummed against you, the vibration making you jerk, a broken whimper escaping around Wooyoung’s cock.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” San murmured against your drenched heat, his tongue flicking over your swollen clit. “You’re fucking dripping.”

Wooyoung chuckled, rolling his hips, pushing deeper. “Of course, she is. She loves being used like this.” His grip in your hair tightened. “Don’t you, baby?”

You moaned around him, your whole body burning, every nerve alight with pleasure.

San groaned against you, his pace unrelenting, his fingers digging into your thighs. “That’s it,” he muttered. “Fucking come again.”

Your whole body snapped, pleasure crashing over you so violently your vision blurred.

Wooyoung hissed, his fingers tightening in your hair as you moaned around him, the vibrations making his hips stutter. “Shit, baby—just like that.”

San didn’t stop.

Didn’t slow down.

Your body jerked, another broken cry tearing from your throat as the pleasure turned into something almost unbearable—intense, overwhelming, too much.

Wooyoung groaned, tilting your head back, his pace growing rougher. “Fuck, you’re such a mess.”

San’s grip on your thighs tightened, holding you still as his tongue dragged over you, again and again and again.

Your whole body shook. Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, your breath hitching, choking around Wooyoung’s cock as another wave of pleasure slammed into you.

Wooyoung growled, pulling out, his hand stroking your jaw, tilting your face up to his. “Baby,” he muttered, voice breathless. “You look so fucking pretty like this.”

San pulled back just enough to smirk against your trembling thigh. “You’re still shaking,” he murmured, lips brushing over your overstimulated clit.

Wooyoung chuckled, dragging his thumb over your swollen lips. “Think you can take one more?”

San exhaled, his fingers sliding up your inner thigh, teasing.

“You can, can’t you, sweetheart?” he murmured. “Be a good girl for us.”

You were already wrecked. Your body couldn’t handle more.

But fuck—there was no way you were saying no.

Your body was trembling, each breath shuddering, desperate for more. You thought you were already broken, but you hadn't even felt the real storm yet.

San and Wooyoung had you at their mercy.

San smirked down at you, his hands holding your legs open, his dark eyes gleaming with satisfaction as he traced his fingers over your slick wet pussy. “You ready to be used again, baby?” His voice was low, deep—almost a growl.

You could barely nod.

Without a word, he leaned forward, his lips kissing the inside of your thighs, fingers brushing teasingly across your aching hole. His hot breath fanned across your wet skin, making you tremble.

But just before he could taste you again, Wooyoung’s hand slid beneath your chin, tilting your face up to him.

“You’ve had enough of his tongue, haven’t you?” Wooyoung teased, his voice smooth, dangerous. “Let me take care of you now.”

You didn’t even have time to respond before Wooyoung was pulling you up, his lips crashing into yours, his hand sliding down to guide you. The sudden shift of positions made your head spin.

San moved behind you, pressing his body flush against your back. “Now, be a good girl and take both of us.” His voice was thick, possessive.

You whimpered against Wooyoung’s lips, feeling yourself give in as he kissed you harder, his hands finding your waist, guiding your pussy onto his cock. You couldn’t stop the whimper that escaped your lips as he slid inside, pushing deep, the stretch almost painful, but so fucking good.

But just as you were adjusting to Wooyoung’s thickness, San’s hands slid around to your front, cupping your tits. He rubbed gentle circles against your hardened buds, teasing you just enough to make you squirm on top of Wooyoung.

“You’re so fucking tight, baby,” Wooyoung groaned, his grip on you tightening as he fucked you deep, slow—drawing out every breath, every moan, every desperate sound you made.

San's lips trailed over your ear, whispering, “I want to hear you beg for it.”

Wooyoung groaned at the thought, pushing himself deeper. “She’ll beg for us. Won’t you, baby?”

You couldn’t even respond. The pleasure was almost too much, making your mind swirl as San squeezed your soft breast. His other hand found your throat again, just holding you, reminding you who was in charge.

“You’re already close, aren’t you?” San purred. “You’re a mess for us.”

Wooyoung’s pace quickened, his hands gripping your hips as he rocked up into you. “Tell us how much you need it. Tell us how much you want us.”

Your breath came out in desperate gasps, your mind so far gone that you couldn’t even think straight anymore. “I… I need you,” you gasped, voice broken. “Both of you. Please, don’t stop.”

San chuckled darkly, pulling you back against him, his tongue tracing along your ear. “You’re going to come for us, aren’t you?”

You whimpered again, nodding, already so close. “Yes… please…”

Wooyoung’s grip tightened, slamming you down harder, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the room as you finally let go. Your body shook as you came, every nerve lighting up in an explosion of pleasure.

But neither of them stopped.

San’s fingers worked on your clit again, his tongue tracing your neck as he pushed you even further. “You think you’re done? Not yet.”

You could hardly breathe, your body overstimulated and begging for mercy, but they wouldn’t give you a second to recover.

You could barely catch your breath, your body trembling from the relentless pleasure, the overstimulation beginning to take its toll. You were still panting, gasping for air, when San’s hand slid down your body, his fingers still brushing against your clit, sending fresh waves of heat through your body.

“Such a good girl, taking both of us,” San purred in your ear, his voice thick with desire. “But now it’s my turn.”

You didn’t have the strength to protest, not when the mere thought of San inside you made your core tighten. Wooyoung’s fingers left your body, but you could feel him leaning against the couch, eyes still locked on you with that devilish smirk. He wasn’t done yet either.

San moved in front of you, his eyes dark, filled with that insatiable hunger you’d come to crave. He placed a hand on your chin, tilting your face up to meet his gaze.

“Look at me,” he commanded, voice low and dangerous. When your eyes met his, he smiled, that sharp, predatory grin making your heart race. “I’ve been waiting for this.”

Without another word, he unzipped his pants, revealing his hard thick cock. You swallowed hard, the tension in the air almost palpable as he positioned himself between your legs.

“Open up your pretty little cunt for me, baby” San murmured, his fingers tracing the curve of your lips as you spread open your pussy for him then he gently pushed you down, guiding you onto him.

You gasped as he filled you, his thick cock stretching you, inch by inch. His grip on your hips tightened as he pulled you deeper, a slow, deliberate thrust that made your head spin.

“You feel so good,” he growled, leaning down to kiss you, his lips claiming yours with a bruising intensity. “So fucking tight.”

Your body arched into him, desperate for more, the ache in your core begging to be satisfied. You could barely think straight as San rocked into you, his pace slow but relentless, each thrust sending waves of heat through you.

And then he leaned back, his hands gripping your thighs, pulling your legs up to his shoulders. “You’re going to take every inch, baby,” he purred, his voice rough with need. “I’m going to ruin you, just like I promised.”

With each thrust, the intensity grew, his pace picking up, his body slamming into yours with an almost animalistic force. You could feel the burn of his movements deep inside you, and you couldn’t help but moan, your body reacting against your will.

San’s eyes flickered with dark amusement as he watched you squirm beneath him. “You like this, don’t you?” he taunted, his thrusts growing faster, harder. “Beg for me again.”

Your breath hitched, the pleasure overwhelming you. You couldn’t stop the desperate whine that slipped from your lips, your body writhing beneath him.

“Please, San,” you whimpered, your voice trembling. “Please… don’t stop.”

San chuckled darkly, his eyes never leaving yours as he gave you exactly what you wanted, his pace quickening. “Good girl. You want it that bad, huh?”

You nodded frantically, your body trembling with the need to come again. “Yes, please… please… I need it.”

And that was it. San pulled you even closer, slamming into you with relentless force, each thrust deeper than the last. Your body exploded with pleasure, your wall clenching, spasming around him as you came, hard, your vision blurring.

But even as you rode out your orgasm, San didn’t stop. He kept fucking you, his pace punishing, pulling every last drop of pleasure from your body.

You couldn’t keep up. Your body was too overwhelmed, too exhausted from the constant pleasure.

And yet—San wasn’t done with you.

He kept going, determined to break you completely.

San’s thrusts began to slow, his grip on your body loosening as he let you catch your breath. You were beyond exhausted, your body trembling and aching, but the aftershocks of your orgasm still rippled through you, making you clench around him involuntarily.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice softer now, filled with satisfaction. His hand brushed your cheek, wiping away the beads of sweat that had gathered there. “You’re perfect.”

You whimpered, too spent to respond properly, but San wasn’t done with his praise. His lips found your forehead, pressing a soft kiss there as he slowly pulled out, making you shudder at the emptiness.

Wooyoung watched you both, his eyes smoldering with satisfaction, but there was a softness there too, a quiet admiration that you hadn’t expected.

“Jesus, you two…” Wooyoung chuckled under his breath, reaching down to adjust his clothes. “I thought we were gonna break her, but look at her. Tough little thing.”

You let out a soft laugh, your breath still shaky. “You two are insatiable.”

San helped you sit up, supporting your weight as he pulled your body against his. His fingers gently stroked your hair, and you couldn’t help but lean into his touch, the exhaustion starting to take its toll. He was warm, comforting in his own way, a stark contrast to the roughness of earlier.

“Rest, baby,” he whispered, placing a soft kiss to your temple. “We’ll take care of you now.”

Wooyoung leaned in, his smile playful but tender. “You’re lucky we’re so nice, huh? You’re gonna get spoiled now.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the irony, the teasing never quite leaving their voices. “You two are lucky I like it rough.”

San chuckled low in his throat, brushing his thumb over your lips. “We’ll remember that next time,” he teased, making you shiver slightly at the thought. “But for now, you’ve earned your rest.”

With a sigh, Wooyoung reached for the blanket, pulling it over you both. You snuggled into San’s chest, your body still buzzing from everything that had just happened.

“I swear, you’re going to need a few days to recover,” Wooyoung said, his voice soft, but there was still that mischievous tone. “And after that, we’ll probably have to do it all over again.”

You chuckled softly, your body sinking further into the warmth. “Maybe I’ll just need a whole week.”

San’s fingers traced lazy circles on your back, the gentleness of the gesture a stark contrast to the intensity of what had just happened. “We’ll take care of you, baby,” he murmured. “Rest now, and we’ll keep you warm.”

You sighed contentedly, feeling the tension finally leave your body. It was strange—exhausted, overwhelmed, and yet, so incredibly satisfied. You couldn’t wait for the next round, but for now, you were happy to just stay here, in their arms, feeling the gentle teasing fade into soft comfort.

“Promise?” you whispered, your eyes fluttering closed.

San’s lips brushed your ear, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “We always keep our promises.”

Wooyoung laughed softly, the sound like music to your ears. “You’re our favorite little brat. Don’t think we’ll let you forget it.”

And as the rain continued to tap against the windows, you drifted off into a peaceful, contented sleep, knowing that whatever came next, you’d be ready.

[minswriting]

ONLY NEED ME - Spencer Reid x Reader

About: You were scrolling on your phone, swiping left and right on tinder to find a date. Spencer finds you scrolling on your phone and asks what you’re doing. So you tell him you are looking for someone to hookup with. He decides to show you that you don’t need anyone but him.

Warnings: NSFW, MDNI, oral (f), pussy drunk Spencer, jealous spencer

Word Count: 2.4k

A/N: happy valentine‘s day my little sluts. although this isn’t valentine’s day themed, let’s pretend that it is lol. i hope you guys enjoy!

It was a rare day when there were no cases and yet, you were still required to come into work, just in case something happened. Usually, these days consisted of paperwork, going over recently solved cases to ensure nothing was missed and that everything had followed protocol. But for a team that is so action-based, having to do paperwork was entirely boring for everyone except Spencer, who was engrossed at his desk, the one across from yours, reading every file intently.

Meanwhile, you were sitting at your desk, mindlessly scrolling on your phone. It had been a long time since you had sex. With your line of work, it’s hard to find time to do anything outside the realm of your job. So you were doing what any normal person would do nowadays: resort to dating apps. You were scrolling on Tinder, mindlessly swiping left and right on people you thought were and weren’t attractive. You stopped at a certain profile, trying to decide if someone was cute or not and if you’d actually be willing to have them in your pants.

JJ walked past your desk and glanced at your phone. “Oh? Who’s this?” She asked, standing next to your chair.

You glanced at JJ before looking back at your phone. “Some random guy,” You said, showing her your phone. “Do you think he’s cute?”

JJ shook her head no, a small grimace on your face. “You can do much better, sweetheart,” She said, her grimace becoming a smile. “Are you finally looking to meet someone?”

You laughed, shaking your head no. “I’m just looking to get dick,” you replied bluntly, giving JJ a cheeky grin.

JJ laughed, nodding her head. “I get it,” she said, sighing. “Will and I haven’t had our alone time in weeks,” She rolled her eyes.

You pout in sympathy before swiping away the guy on your phone. “Do you want to help me look for the perfect person?” You asked.

JJ nodded her head, grabbed a random chair, and pulled it up to your desk. “Hell yeah, give it to me,” She grinned as she looked over your shoulder at your phone.

Unbeknownst to you and JJ, Spencer, though his attention looked as though it were on the files, had a frown on his face. To anyone, it would look as though he were deep in thought. But actually, it was due to listening in on your conversation with JJ. Why did you have to resort to some stupid dating app? Shouldn’t you know better than to trust random strangers on the internet? That’s like kind of what your job is about. Spencer felt a gross feeling in his chest, something he hadn’t felt before. Perhaps he’s been attracted to you since you joined the team some time ago and the idea of you seeking someone else for pleasure made him jealous. Not that he’d actively admit that.

As you and JJ sat there, talking and giggling with one another about random people you see on your phone, Spener bit the inside of his cheek, trying to keep his attention on the files in front of him. His jaw was clenched, and his hair tousled all over the place. It wasn’t until it was finally time for everyone to go home that he could get some peace and quiet. As everyone, including you, exited the bullpen to go home, Spencer remained alone with his thoughts for a little while longer.

He thought about you going on a date with some random person. How you’d get yourself all dolled up and beautiful for some random loser who likely wouldn’t even know where the clitoris is. Spencer may not have the most experience in the world but he definitely knows where the clitoris is located. He groaned to himself, realizing that his jealousy was consuming him. He rubbed his eyes before sitting back in his chair. And then, Spencer came to a sudden realization, causing him to quickly stand up and grab his satchel before leaving the Bureau.

You were in your apartment, sitting on your couch as you looked through the television channels. You were dressed in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, your hair mostly dry but still a bit damp from the shower you took when you had gotten home from work. You were originally going to see about possibly going on a date tonight but instead, you opted to stay home, too exhausted to really want to go out and meet anyone.

You didn’t particularly care to actually date anyone. Your desires are always laid elsewhere, with a very specific coworker you had. And unfortunately, you could not have this specific coworker as it would break so many Bureau rules. But you were allowed to have your thoughts, thank you very much. And if those thoughts included thinking of Spencer pounding into you and whispering praises into your ear then that was your own volition.

It was currently eight o’clock in the evening when there was a knock on your apartment door. You glanced at the clock before standing up from the couch and walking to the door. You looked out of the peephole, seeing Spencer standing there looking a bit disheveled. You opened the door, furrowing your eyebrows in confusion as you looked at the brown-haired man in front of you. “Spencer…?” You asked. “What are you-”

“You know, some people use dating apps to target potential victims for violence or sexual assault,” Spencer interrupted you. “Which is why you shouldn’t use dating apps.”

Your look of confusion remained on your face. “You know, that could’ve been a text,” you replied sarcastically.

Spencer bit his lip, looking at you. “Maybe,” he replied. He looked you up and down, taking in your appearance. You were always so beautiful at work, dressed in mostly professional, sometimes casual clothing with light makeup on your face. But right now, you were ethereal. Dressed in lounging clothes with your hair perfectly natural and no makeup on your face. At that moment, Spencer didn’t understand why you even bothered to get yourself dressed up each day when you were perfect just the way you were.

“Why are you here?” You asked softly, noticing the way Spencer was looking at you. You didn’t question it, however.

Spencer remained silent for a few seconds, trying to think of a proper response to give you. He hadn’t completely thought this through when he made the sudden decision to visit you. Finally, he spoke, “Do you want me to leave?”

You shook your head. “No!” You responded immediately. “I just- I’m surprised you’re here is all.” You bit your lip nervously. You hadn’t invited Spencer in yet and that had suddenly dawned on you. You moved to the side, allowing Spencer to step inside before closing the door behind him. You leaned against the door, looking at Spencer as he turned to look at you.

“You shouldn’t resort to dating apps,” He spoke. You furrowed your eyebrows at Spencer, confused as to why he would come here just to tell you that. Just as you were about to respond, Spencer cut you off by speaking once more. “Not when I could help you.”

“What?” Your voice came out more hoarse than you intended.

Spencer cleared his throat, the only sign that his confidence had slightly diminished. “If you need someone to pleasure you, you don’t need to use dating apps when I’m right here,” he said again, rewording his earlier statement.

“Are you saying you want to have sex with me, Spencer?” You whispered, biting your bottom lip.

Spencer moved closer to you until he was right in front of you. “That’s exactly what I’m saying,” he murmured, licking his lips. “Is that okay?”

“Y-yes,” you stuttered.

Spencer nodded his head. A silence overcame the two of you before he spoke again, “I’m going to kiss you now.”

“Okay,” you responded.

Spencer leaned in and gently kissed your lips. It was nervous and hesitant, as if unsure if you’d actually want to kiss him or not. But when you kissed him back, Spencer became more sure of himself as he kissed you deeply. He brought his hands to your cheeks, cupping them. The two of you moved in sync, kissing one another slowly. Eventually, Spencer pulled away slightly to look into your eyes as you stared back at him. The gaze the two of you had held a hunger that neither of you had admitted to yourselves in the entire time you’d been working together.

Spencer kissed you again, this time more roughly and hungrily. A soft noise escaped your lips from the roughness but it wasn’t unwelcome whatsoever. As the two of you kissed, you gently pushed him around the apartment to try and get to the bedroom. Spencer accidentally bumped into a side table, causing a vase to fall to the ground but luckily it didn’t break. “Whoops,” he said, pulling away from the kiss to look at it.

You put a hand on his chin. “Don’t worry about it,” you said as you pulled his face back to yours. The two of you continued moving throughout the apartment until you reached your bedroom. Spencer’s lips left yours and began kissing your jawline, making his way down to your neck. His touch was like feathers as he lightly kissed along your skin. His lips brushed against your pulse point, sending a shiver down your spine and causing you to clench your thighs. An action that wasn’t missed by Spencer.

“Needy?” He asked against your skin.

You nodded your head. “Very,” you whispered.

Spencer let out a hum as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt. He slowly pulled the material up, moving his head away from your neck so he could pull it off of you and tossing it to the side. You weren’t wearing a bra and Spencer couldn’t help but just look at you. “Can I touch you?” He breathed out, eyes locked on your tits.

“Yes, please,” You replied breathily.

He didn’t hesitate to use both of his hands to massage your tits, feeling the flesh in his hands. He thumbed your nipples, causing you to moan softly at the feeling. “You know, some women can orgasm just from having their nipples stimulated,” he murmured, eyes fixated on your breasts.

You let out a small laugh. “I don’t think I’m one of those people,” you exclaimed.

Spencer let out a hum as he leaned down and captured one of your nipples into his mouth. The action caused you to let out a whine as he tongued the nub, his hands still massaging your boobs. He moved to the other nipple, doing the exact same thing. Your cheeks were warm as felt the sparks of pleasure being sent down your spine. Eventually, Spencer pulled away, pressing gentle kisses along your chest before returning up your neck and to your lips.

He guided you to your mattress, sitting you down at the edge of the bed as he pulled away from you. You looked up at Spencer, watching Spencer as he got on his knees in front of you. “Do you want me to continue?” He asked softly.

You licked your lips, nodding your head. “Yes, please,” you murmured.

And that’s all Spencer needed to put his hands on the waistband of your sweatpants and pull them down, tossing the material to the side. You weren’t wearing underwear underneath, causing Spencer to let out a soft hum of approval. “I want to taste you,” he said, looking at you with his puppy brown eyes.

“Please do.” You whispered, biting your lip as you spread your legs for Spencer, revealing your cunt to him.

He let out a groan, his eyes immediately moving to look at your glistening pussy. Without hesitation, Spencer dived in, licking a strip down your slit and then back up, causing you to moan. Spencer hummed against your cunt, his eyes fluttering closed as he tasted you. His tongue began lapping around in figure-eights, teasing your clit with each flick. If you had told yourself that your night would end up with Spencer on his knees, eating you out, you would’ve laughed. And yet, here you were.

Spencer made out with your cunt, his lips moving against your pussy like you were the sustenance he needed to live. His lips wrapped around your clit, sucking on the nub. You let out a loud moan, bringing your hand to Spencer’s hair and tugging on his curls. The action alone caused Spencer to whimper against your cunt as it encouraged him more.

You were whining and moaning, relishing in the pleasure Spencer was giving you. No one had gone down on you in so long and you had almost forgotten what it had felt like. But Spencer? He was built for this. His face was sculpted to eat pussy. If you could live with Spencer’s head between your thighs for the rest of your life, you think you’d die a happy woman.

“Oh my god,” you whimpered, throwing your head back. Spencer hummed against your pussy, his tongue dipping into your hole while his nose rubbed against your clit. He was breathing in your cunt, drunk on your juices. You could feel yourself getting closer, causing you to buck your hips. “I’m gonna cum,” you whined. With a slurp to your clit, you gasped and let out a choked moan, thighs clamping against Spencer’s face as you arched your back. “Spencer!” you moaned his name as you came.

And when you finished, Spencer pulled away from your pussy. His face was glistening with your juices as he looked at you with a smirk. “You’re so beautiful,” he said huskily as he gently rubbed your thighs. “Did I do good?”

“So good,” you breathed out, smiling at Spencer.

“Then you don’t need anyone else, right?” He asked, standing up.

“I only need you, baby.” You replied, looking up at Spencer with a dazed look. “Now fuck me.”

Spencer grinned, undressing himself before crawling onto you. “Gladly.”

And after that, you begin a new journey with Spencer where you explore each other’s bodies. Why do you need to use dating apps when all you need is Spencer?

[rakiah]

i just want to to let you know that it was your art of vil with kid jack and leona with kid epel for that single parent leovil fic that really pulled me into leovil. i stumbled upon it by chance when scrolling through a vil blog and saw it reblogged and LOST MY DAMN MIND. particularly baby wolf jack. cause why am i now putting together an epic the musical/odyssey/illiad au for leovil?? (your art. your art is why) itll probably never escape my docs but. so far??

helen and penelope. cousins and princesses of sparta--their dads are brothers and co-ruled. penelope's mother was a water nymph (naiad, so freshwater) whereas helen was the daughter of zeus......soooo.....HEAR ME OUT!!!!!!

neige as helen. vil as penelope. now, i was originally gonna go the rkvl route, because that line in the challenge, when penelope tells the suitors she will marry whoever "can string her husbands old bow and shoot through 12 axes cleanly"--smth her husband odysseus was only able to do, well, a rkvl version of that could go SO HARD.

esp cause like, idk i could just give rook a random kingdom, cause yes, leona is a prince, but technically falena would be king. and i thought of making them menelaus (leona) and agamemnon (falena) with VIL as helen, i mean, come ON!!!!!! it would be SO GOOD!! but odysseus and penelope's story was just tugging at my heart, and i couldnt decide. until i realized that actually this is a fic and it doesnt have to be a 1 to 1 substitution, i can play around and do whatever i want.

(and jack as little wolf telemachus is everything. and neige as helen, both "fairest of them alls" and cursed via apple??? i love it)

sooooo. im thinking.

vil and neige are cousins, princes of. pyroxene? or maybe pyroxene would be made up of a few kingdoms....hmmmmm...idk yet. regardless, their parents' co-rule their kingdom. but neige is the actual heir of the throne. this could be because vil is technically illegitimate. eric had no wife, he just really wanted to be a dad. and so vil's mother, for purposes of this, is either a vampire or a water nymph, or some sort of enchantress, idk, but regardless, vil isnt going to inherit. (also read @pinkbeeps sympathy for the villain fic and lost my mind over it so, yeah, crewel is a vil dad, so at some point when vil and neige are 7 and 6 respectively, crewel and eric get together.)

meanwhile, sunset savannah was split by a civil war? or a revolt of some kind. leona and falena stop it, but part of the truce that is made is that falena cannot rule all of it. so the elephant graveyard half, and some surrounding land makes up what becomes leona's kingdom. why? idk.

then, when neige is like, 17, vil 18, and leona 20, its decided that neige should get married, so all the suitors from various kingdoms come. cause, heir to the throne. and fairest of them all. falena, who is now married himself and has cheka, suggests leona go, but leona isnt rlly looking to get married. falena bugs him abt it tho, and leona still isnt for the marriage thing but rationales that princes and infleuntial people from all over will be vying for neige's hand. leona can go, but not for purposes of throwing his hat in the ring, (neige is an heir and leona has a kingdom to take care of--neither of them would leave their respective homes) but rather, to make connections to better help his people.

and then he meets vil. guy is SMITTENNNNNNN from the get go, he's like, whoever was giving out the fairest of them all titles, did they like, not see you???? heLLO??????

vil is warming up to leona, but also, lets be real, vil has an insecurity abt being a backup, second option when it comes to neige. he would have been wary considering leona is here in technicality as a suitor for neige. but it becomes apparent leona was not here for that in acuality. cause leona, in true oddysseus fashion, does not even bring a wedding gift, guy was just here to network and then fell in love.

it goes as the story always does. neige's parents are worried abt the influx of suitors and wondering how to choose without angering one kingdom over the other. and leona is like, hey i got a solution, but if you want it, you gotta put in a good word for me with vil's parents, your brother and BIL, and you gotta convince them that its okay if vil marries. and theyre like DEAL.

leona proposes his solution--the oath made by all suitors to defend neige and whoever he chooses if a rival ever takes neige away. they would march against the offender and destroy their city.

neige's parents are like damn thats brilliant and then talk to eric and crewel. who put forth a test for leona to pass. he does.

they marry, leona's wedding gift to vil, the living olive tree bed he makes himself, and they have jack and epel, idk how, surrogates? adoption? not sure. but then, the apple, neige is taken away, and that oath comes back to bite leona in the ass. he pretends he's crazy to dodge the draft but baby jack gets tossed in front of the plough and leona saves them, and is forced to go to war etc etc. they win, and then it takes him FOREVERRRR to get home, and then--well we know how it goes!

wow. sorry for just. dumping this in your ask box. i was just trying to appreciate your art and i ended up dropping the au inspired by your art in here. oops

Alright, let’s process step by step cause this ask just made me go wild when I read it. /p

[deep breath]

First, thank you very much! 💕 It’s always a delight to know that more people are into leovil because of me 8D I feel like a priest in Age of Empires (big old ref here ha ha)

Second, your Epic/ Odysseus/ Illiad AU.

I was flabbergasted cause, a few days ago I saw a new leovil fic about Epic the Musical (yes, I do have an open tab of Ao3 on my phone with the leovil tag that I refresh almost every night. When I say I have an otp, I have an otp.) and, since the name rings vaguely a bell, I asked my theater kid friend about this Musical. I just wanted to listen to it before reading the fic and then, I understood Epic the Musical.

AND

YOU CAME.

:’D

I take that as a sign.

Thank you for sharing those thoughts, that was great! I wish you the best for your AU and hope you write it and maybe post it! Otherwise, it’s fine! No pressure of course, I’m already glad with your ask! x3

Anyway, here for you. I couldn’t help sketching those. They imposed themself. Literally.

Pretty sure Vil’d start to poison the suitors too.

[perlelune]

Young God | Feyd-Rautha

The mercy you show towards an enemy in the aftermath of battle yields tragic consequences for you and your people.

Warnings: NON-CON, Fremen!Reader, Kynes!Reader, Kidnapping, Unrequited Love, Mentions of cannibalism, Knife Play, Masochism

This is a dark story. Heed warnings before reading under the cut.

The aftermath of battle is often the same ritual. Corpses are taken away to scavenge for bounty and salvage the water in their bodies. Moisture is too precious, too rare in the air and the dry desert sand covering your home world to be wasted. Harkonnen foot soldiers especially. No sympathy is spared for the cruel beasts who slaughter your fellow fremen, ravage your land, and bleed your beloved home planet Arrakis of its most valuable resource. The Spice. 

Today is one of these days. After fending off another attack by the Harkonnen army, your entire tribe is sifting through the desert fields. The proud white-skinned soldiers weren’t expecting the swarm of Fremen that unleashed upon them. Thankfully Muad'Dib had a vision of the attack and managed to convince enough of your people to raise their blades in unison to stand against their oppressors. While you balk at violence, preferring to stay back and sink into your role as a healer, you still wish to offer assistance in cleaning up the battlefield and checking for any potential injuries. You were a little shocked when you arrived and were struck with the realization that there is so little for you to do, the number advantage having been so overwhelming.

Still, you find a few warriors that require medical attention. Their injuries are deeper than you expect. Apparently one of the Harkonnen soldiers wouldn’t let himself be slain, unleashing a storm of fury all on his own and taking several down with him. You gingerly finish dressing your last wound, lifting your head as you notice your cousin heading north. 

Wiping the blood on your hands with a rag, you get to your feet.

“Chani, where are you going?” you inquire.

She stares ahead, crysknife in hand, determined.

“Some may have survived and slipped away from us. We’re checking the caves nearby.”

You give a nod and follow after her. “I’ll come with you.”

While your voice didn’t waver earlier, your stomach is in knots as you join the search. You and Chani split up. She points in a direction and you acquiesce, rushing the opposite way. You sneak underground, climbing down a row of steep, slippery rocks before you find a small cave.

You practically have to crawl the rest of the way inside, the lichen-draped overhang almost too bent and crooked for you to advance any further. It’s no wonder no one thought to check this place. It’s hard to imagine any wounded Harkonnen soldier gathering the strength to hide in such a place.

You’re forced to swallow your words however when you find the outline of a pale form lying across the cave floor. 

Your jaw drops. You inch closer to the corpse, already planning on calling another Fremen to help you extract the water from the body.

But the man’s chest lifts, his mouth shuddering ever-so-slightly.

Tamping down your fear, you hunker down and inspect his armor. Your brows knit. A long, deep jagged cut slashes his side. The kind of deadly injury that makes you wonder how the man is still breathing, as it’s impossible no internal organs haven't at least been nicked. 

Yet, somehow he is, still breathing that is.

Though you gather not for long based on the way blood gushes from the wound. 

You hear your name called from outside the cave. Pulse soaring, you climb your way out of the concealed shelter with haste. 

You’re faced with Chani’s questioning stare. She must be done with her own search. You note the tinge of crimson on the tip of her blade. Your insides wrench. 

The lie flows from your tongue with frightening ease.

“I already checked that one. It’s empty.”

She nods and walks away. You wait for her to be at a safe distance to return inside the cave.

As your slow, fearful steps bring you closer to the wounded man, your mind rages, at war with itself.

You are of two worlds. Daughter of the fallen Liet-Kynes, imperial planetologist, and a member of the Sietch Tabr. The Harkonnen are your people’s ancestral enemies. Oppressors who annihilate whoever stands between them and their unquenchable thirst for more wealth and power.

They are monsters. There is only one rational thing to do when one is faced with one of the pale-skinned warriors. Only one thing that is right to do.

You unsheathe the crysknife at your thigh from its scabbard. The blade is shimmery and new. So perfectly sharp. For you have never used it. Not even once.

You approach his unmoving form and lift the blade high in the air.

The crysknife in your hands quivers above his chest. It’d be so easy to end it. So quick. Over within a few minutes. You’ve seen countless members of your sietch do it, not a sliver of hesitation in their smooth, practiced motions. Some even enjoy it, reveling in seeing that spark wither in their enemies’ eyes. 

For a moment, you let yourself wonder, picture yourself snugly gripping the blade and driving it through the Harkonnen’s alabaster throat. The watery coughs he’d let out. The blood seeping from his neck and pooling around him. The light in his onyx orbs flickering before going out.

It should satisfy you. After all the evils they’ve inflicted upon your people, upon your planet, the prospect of retribution should fill you with immeasurable joy. 

Yet it doesn’t. Chest heaving, you slowly lower the weapon until it slips out of your hands, its clattering echoing in the cave.

Your shoulders sag as you unleash a tremulous breath, one you didn’t notice was even caged inside your lungs.

An unyielding truth swaddles you as you watch your pale-skinned enemy draw feeble, dwindling breaths. You can’t take a life. You are a healer, through and through.

You gasp when you suddenly feel the cold bite of metal against your throat.

Your eyes widen. The Harkonnen is awake, heavy, wheezing breaths bursting from his chest as he presses the blade against your neck.

“I-If you kill me, you will not survive,” you stammer, your chest clenching in fear. 

He shocks you by flipping the blade and handing it to you.

“Then give me a warrior’s death,” he says, his gaze unwavering. You study him. He looks worse than before. What he just did must have taken his last bit of strength. 

Steadying your hammering heart, you glower at him.

“The glory you seek isn’t in a dank cave, Harkonnen.”

As soon as he collapses over the cold, hard stones, you get to work. First, you check his pulse. Though it’s faint, you find a steady heartbeat. He must be quite strong, you surmise. You’ve never seen anyone survive this long with an injury this deep. Logically, he should be dead. 

But he isn’t. So while you shouldn’t feel this way, every fiber of your being craves to pull him from the brink. 

You peel the layers of his armor off him. Heat nestles inside your cheeks as your gaze roams over the hard, defined planes of his muscular form. You shake off the sensation, reminding yourself that you can’t proceed unless you have complete access to the wound and need to assess for other potential injuries.

You reach for your medpak and pouch. You use a mix of wound sealant and medicinal herbs to curb the bleeding. You then clean the wound with antiseptic and press onto it firmly. Eventually, it stops. Once the bleeding is under control, you pull out a needle and thread from your pouch and begin sewing the wound. Every stitch is nice and neat, so tight that you know he will barely scar. You squint as you work, the dim lighting of the cave making you miss the right spot in his skin a few times. You keep a cool head the entire time, simply starting over whenever necessary.

After the wound is sealed, you set up a hypovial with a plasma bag. Finding the bulging vein in his arm isn’t too hard. It’s quite easy in fact, as every part of him appears carved from stone. You slip a dash of spice melange in the IV. A potent cinnamon smell fills the air. Just the right amount to keep him awake. Now that his life isn’t on the line anymore, his peculiar body chemistry should do the rest and recover.

You unleash a deep breath and wipe the sweat doting your forehead. You sag against the cave wall.

Your eyes drift to the night sky, visible through a small opening in the overhang.

For the first time since you snuck inside the cave, the tension woven through your limbs comes loose.

Nights on Arrakis are a thing of beauty. You are willing to bet there are no more beautiful skies in the entire galaxy. None so clear and vast and with stars twinkling this bright. Mother used to say the same thing, that the boundless empyreans of Arrakis were the most beautiful sight she ever laid eyes upon. And as an imperial envoy, your mother traveled far across the known universe. So she must have been right.

You cast one last glance at the Harkonnen warrior. He’s stable. Or stable enough at least. 

It’s time for you to return to your sietch before too many questions are asked.

“You were gone a while,” your cousin blurts out when you return to your sietch. You weigh her tone. There is no suspicion laced in it, just curiosity.

“I was just making sure we didn’t forget any of them,” you casually reply.

Chani heaves out a deep sigh. “You don’t have to. You have no heart for killing, cousin.” She turns her focus to the rest of your tribe. “We need you here, tending to our wounded. It’s where you shine best.”

You nod in acknowledgement. No one in the sietch ever expected you to fight but you often wish that you could do more. You think of your mother’s untimely death, of the way Fremen laid down their lives today. Your heart sinks. If anyone learned of what you did, you would be exiled. Rightfully so. Your eyes wander to your cousin, now besides Paul Atreides. Longing gazes lock and fingers twine before they disappear into their shared tent. You look away.

You hope one day that twisting inside your chest whenever you see them will cease. You are happy for them; you truly are. Nevermind that you felt a pull towards the heir of House Atreides from the moment you met him, that you felt it was returned when his gaze rested upon you. That all of it vanished the moment his eyes crossed Chani’s.

A seer from your tribe foretold that a woman in your family would have a great destiny, one that will change the fate of worlds. You now understand, that woman is Chani, and she and Paul aren’t just destined to one another. They are fated.

And who are you to stand in the way of fate?

“You must be insane, girl,” the Harkonnen soldier scoffs as you remove the needle in his arm. Since he appears to have regained some color…or whatever consists of “color” for a Harkonnen, you elected to remove the plasma bag this morning.

A sliver of shame flutters through you that you were almost relieved to find him alive. You saved a life. Perhaps not the most worthy one, but a life nonetheless.

“Striking an enemy while he’s down isn’t brave,” you reply with nonchalance.

A crooked smirk cants his plump lips, baring a hint of the black teeth underneath.

“Insane and stupid then,” he sneers, the gristly echo of his voice resonating in the cave.

Ignoring the way his comment chafes you, you retrieve the little vials you packed this morning.

“Drink that.” He sits up, humming low in his throat with the movement when you’d expect him to wince or groan at the pain. It’s almost like he’s enjoying the pain he surely must be experiencing, but you discard that thought, because it’s ludicrous. What kind of person enjoys pain? “It’s water.” He studies you, making no move to grab the water. You fidget, unnerved that you can’t read his expression, his lack of eyebrows making it even more difficult. “I could only steal a little from the deathstill. It’s all I could get before anyone could see me.”

You briefly considered trading your mother’s water rings, the ones you inherited upon her death. The symbol of her standing and wealth within the Sietch Tabr.

Though while you may have saved your enemy, you want to hold on to that piece of her for as long as you can.

“I also have some food.” You rummage through your pouch to pull out dried fruits, slices of meats, bread and spice honey. It’s the best you could gather on short notice without drawing suspicion.

His dark gaze flicks over you as he taunts, “Perhaps I shall eat you. You look far more appetizing than…whatever this is.” You shudder, acutely aware that while cannibalism isn’t widespread amongst the Harkonnen…it’s also not unheard of. 

He snickers at your expression. “Do not fret, desert rose.” His gravelly voice drips with suggestion as he licks his lips. A chill runs through you as his black tongue and teeth are bared to you. “I’m not quite that hungry…yet.”

Your shift, discomfort slithering through you. There is something profoundly unsettling about the Harkonnen, even more so than a typical one. The blood leaking through the bandage draws your gaze.

“I should dress your wound and redo the stitching,” you offer, clearing your throat.

When your hand stretches towards his wound, he growls at you.

Your heart leaps and you retreat your hand.

“Please,” you insist. “You’re bleeding.”

When he doesn’t make another threatening sound, you take that as your cue. You quickly gather your supplies and approach him. The drumming of your heart inside your ears is a clamor, but you pretend it isn’t there, removing the bandage and driving the needle through his wound to sew it shut again. He doesn’t flinch, showing no hint of even feeling the needle. His sizzling scrutiny sears through your flesh, almost causing your usually steady hands to quake. You sharpen your focus, remembering your grandmother’s teachings. Steady heart, steady hands.

He tilts his head, dark gaze trained on you. “I threaten to eat you and you tend to me still. What a peculiar creature you are, desert rose.”

The days fly by in a strange haze, your days spent preparing for the new Reverend Mother while you sporadically check on the stranger. He recovers faster than you expect, even without you needing to use the spice melange again. Considering he was at death’s door when you found him, you can’t help but be a little amazed.

You sense the time to go your separate ways is near. You have done a lot, likely more than you should. The alabaster-skinned warrior is well enough to roam the desert and find his way back to his people through his own means. You brought him supplies, food and a stillsuit. Whatever befalls him will be up to fate and his own wits. You don’t plan on returning after tonight.

“You’re looking better,” you note, checking his wound for the last time. You leave the bandage for good measure even if it’s clear he doesn’t need it anymore, the wound having begun to fade since you removed his stitches yesterday.

He pins you with that unsettling stare once more.

“That song you sang…” he rumbles.

“A song?” Your head tilts as you comb through your memories. It comes back to you. You sometimes hum it to yourself. It calms you down. You didn’t even realize you’d done it in his presence. “Ah, that song.” You shrug, a small smile sneaking onto your lips. “It’s just a lullaby my grandmother used to sing to me before she passed, to teach children about the Shai-Hulud.”

He looks at you in what you believe to be confusion at the name, though you can only assume.

“Your people call them… sandworms,” you explain. “They are sacred and should be revered.”

Silence hangs between you and the Harkonnen. His deep raspy voice shatters it after some time.

“Songs…I had a blade in my hands from the moment I could walk.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, unsure what else to say. He doesn’t seem sad, more reflective, but it seems you should say something. “Do you…Do you ever think of what your life would be like if you weren’t Harkonnen?” When he looks at you blankly, a nervous laugh peals from your lips. “I’m sorry. That was a silly question.”

Your crysknife materializes in his hands from behind his back. Your blood runs cold as you pat your thigh. You don’t remember ever leaving it around him.

“My older brother...He took me from our parents when I was a baby,” he utters, sounding detached, almost as if he were recounting someone else’s life. “My uncle raised me. I don’t remember my father. And my mother…” His lightless gaze slams into yours as he smiles, exposing his glistening, black teeth. “I killed that whimpering, meddling bitch.”

Your breath snags in your throat. Perhaps…you let yourself get too comfortable around the Harkonnen. The crude reminder of who he is, who they all are, yanks you back to reality.

You bolt to your feet, coaxing a tremulous smile onto your face.

“It’s getting late. I should return home before the sandstorms grow too strong.”

As you prepare to leave, the muffled pitter-patter of footsteps above you freezes you in your tracks. Your eyes bulge. Dread sinks within you as you realize someone’s right above you.

Before a single sound can make its way past your lips, the Harkonnen’s large hand envelops your mouth. He pulls you flush against his bare chest as he whispers into your ear, “Quiet.”

His muscles go taut against you. You catch him twirling the blade with smooth precision, clearly ready to fight if need be. You hold your breath, bridling your stuttering heartbeats.

Two men in full Harkonnen livery leap inside the cave. Panic rushes through you.

However, instead of a fight breaking out, relief fills the soldier’s faces as they see him. 

“Na-baron. We received your beacon.”

Na-Baron…The air is knocked from your lungs. The title isn’t that common amidst the known universe. In fact, it’s quite unique and you only ever heard of one man from one specific house using it. Na-baron Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen, the heir-designate to Baron Vladmir Harkonnen. 

He is a monster, a ruthless killer…and you nursed him back to health. Allowed him to get well enough to hurt, maim and kill as he pleases. The cave seems to twirl off its axis around you.

Perhaps he was right that night. You might be an insane idiot.

You feel the subtle lift of his lips against your scalp.

“Right. Did I forget to mention my name?” he taunts, as if he could read every thought zooming across your head. Giving you no time to even try to run or fight him off, the na-Baron slams your head against a nearby wall.

Pain explodes inside your skull. Your vision dims as you grow too weak to stand, your knees buckling beneath you. You fall into his arms and he holds you against him. He strokes the side of your face, a fire burning in his onyx orbs. Consciousness slips from you, his last words reverberating inside your ears.

“You and I are going home to Giedi Prime, my desert rose.”

You awake startled, jarred by the softness of the sheets and the largeness of the bed around you. This is nothing like the cot you used to sleep on in the desert. You leap from the bed, clutching your face and hugging your frame, stunned to note you are without your stillsuit and face mask.

Instead, you are wearing a sheer white tunic that hugs your curves in a way that leaves very little to the imagination. The outfit is unlike you, impractical in every way. Your pulse escalates.

You rush to rise and nearly crash down on the bed again. 

Your forehead creases.

You wobble around, struck by the difference in gravitational pull, humidity and atmospheric pressure. Every breath you take exerts you, bearing heavily on your lungs.

Your head spins as you glance at the unfamiliar room. Every single detail of it is cold, somber, opulent.

Horror twists your insides.

You’re not on Arrakis anymore.

“You’re in the Harkonnen keep, darling.” 

The gravelly voice erupting at your back has you whirl around. A half-exposed Feyd-Rautha fills your sight, his carved alabaster muscles and bald head shimmering silver in the low light.

You swallow hard, fighting to keep yourself breathing normally in the brand new air.

“The Harkonnen Keep on…”

“Giedi Prime, yes,” Feyd-Rautha finishes.

While you understood it on your own, having it uttered out loud sends you in a renewed state of alarm. You are away from your family, your friends, your home. You are alone on a foreign planet. A hostile, enemy planet.

“In secluded apartments away from my other concubines,” he further informs. A shadow of mirth lurks in his gaze. “They’re quite the jealous kind. They may even try to take a bite out of you if they learn of your existence…” He leers at your shivering frame, making no effort to hide his lust, the evidence already bulging in his pants. “Though I don’t think I could entirely blame them.”

He inches closer to you. “How does the weight of a real planet feel?” he asks, a twisted excitement swaying in his dark orbs. “Is it crushing your bones? Is every cell in your body screaming in pain, my desert rose?” He grips your chin, studying you oddly, almost as if he wishes he could absorb every bit of your agony and discomfort.

You glare up at him, your insides white hot with rage.

“H-How could you do this? I saved you.”

He frames your chin, squeezing tightly. “Oh darling, you should have killed me…” A squeak spills from your throat as he drags his tongue across the side of your quivering cheek. His lips brush over your earshell as he mumbles under his breath. “Because there’s nowhere in the galaxy you will ever be able to hide from me now.”

“I belong in Arrakis with my people. You have to let me go,” you plead. 

You search his impassive face, scouring for an errant ounce of humanity. The emptiness you find has tears rushing to your eyes. You mourn the tragic loss of moisture, willing yourself to stop crying. Ever since you were young, you were taught never to waste your precious water...especially on something as trivial, as painfully unnecessary as tears.

...But you can't quell your weeping.

He tilts his head.

“You belong with me…No, to me, desert rose. In my arms, screaming as I ruin that pretty cunt of yours with my cock.”

Fear floods your entire being. Your eyes scan the room. A faint spark of hope blooms inside you as you spot a long, sharp knife on a stone table nearby.

Pushing past the queasiness you experience every time you move on the unfamiliar planet, you race across the room and grab the knife.

You point it at him. Instead of cowering, Feyd-Rautha opens his arms, smirking.

“Do it,” he urges, making no effort to protect himself from the sharp blade in your hand, inviting you to strike him as his tongue darts across his lips.

His uncanny anticipation coats the air. Confusion fills you.

“I will,” you say, trying to appear braver than you feel. Still, the blade quakes in your hand.

“Please. I beg of you,” he purrs, gliding towards you. As he watches you hesitate, he cruelly reminds you, “You will never go home, never see your beloved planet again. In fact,...” He hums, his eyes lighting up as if a wonderful idea just occurred to him. “I think I might slaughter some of your family and friends just for sport.”

A wave of wrath surges through you. Bereft a thought behind it, your hand slashes across his chest, a small cut forming there. Droplets of blood so dark it appears black drip down onto his alabaster flesh. 

“More…” he rasps, pleasure leaking from his gravelly voice.

The sight of the bleeding wound rattles you, causing you to retreat.

But he doesn’t let you remove the blade, his fingers cinching around your wrist and keeping its sharp tip over his bulging pec. You sob as he forces you to drag the blade across his chest, a blissful expression spreading across his features. A long dark cut oozing dark red blood decorates his body now, going all the way to his defined abs.

Terror and confusion tangle within you. You stagger backwards, the dagger slipping from your lingers and hitting the floor.

“You’re sick.”

“I didn’t realize there was such a fire inside you, desert rose. If I don’t have you now, I think I’ll go mad.” His hoarse, lewd tone scrapes against your eardrums, causing your insides to twist in dread. He cracks his neck, black tongue sweeping over his lips as he approaches you. “No, I definitely will.”

It’s the only warning you get before he tosses you on the bed and rips the clothes off your frame. Tears brimming your lashes, you squeal in protest, scratching and punching every part of him within reach. You slap him hard and he cackles, baring his black smile in sheer delight. 

“Come on, desert rose, I’m sure you can hit even harder,” he sneers. 

To make him eat his words, you hit him again. Harder than before. His laugh gets louder as you watch a faint bruise form on his cheek.

Pinning your wrists besides your head, he bends over your chest. His tongue swirls around your nipples, his cool tongue causing you to hiss and shake. Sharp teeth graze your breast and the breath hitches in your throat. You squirm on the sheets, completely at the mercy of Feyd-Rautha as he licks, bites and kisses every part of your flesh. As if he wanted you covered in marks of his ownership, wanted to ensure there wouldn’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind that you were his if they stole a glance at you. You loathe the way your traitorous body writhes and pants, a disgusting dampness gathering at the apex of your thighs. 

The tears in your eyes swell. Your body is divorcing your frazzled mind little by little, yielding to his rough, wanton touch. 

He grabs your thighs and dips between your legs, diving straight for your center. He licks a long stripe up and down your folds and you tremble. As his devilish tongue swirls around your clit, your eyes flutter, blinding pleasure building in your core. Hot waves of delight engulf you as he gathers your arousal with his tongue and drags it around your tender spot. The slow, unrelenting patterns he traces with his mouth have you fight the urge to buck your hips into his jaw. Your juices drench the entire bottom of his mouth, but he doesn’t seem to mind, greedily devouring your cunt as if he’ll never get to do it again.

As you quiver against him, your orgasm flowing through you, he chuckles against your wet cunt.

“Your body can’t even deny how much it craves me, desert rose.”

Shame pulses through you with his words.

He crawls over you, cutting his pants loose with one aggressive shove downwards. Only a glimpse of his thick alabaster cock, glazed with his need at the tip appears in your vision before he shoves the entirety of himself in you. The pain is so intense, flames alongside your walls, that it robs the words from your throat. He sinks inside you until his tight balls chafe your cunt, his hand wrapping around your throat while the other keeps your wrists above your head.

You whimper beneath him, defenseless against his sharp, piercing thrusts. Pleasure builds within you, his cock overwhelming you with shameful sensations each time it grazes your sensitive places, making you see stars. Gargled sounds pour from your throat as his girth splits you apart.

He grunts as your walls constrict around him, slamming into you even harder.

“You’re so delightfully tight around me, darling.” He bends over you to whisper, “I bet I’ll turn you into my perfect little cock-hungry whore in no time. Have you on your back and knees for me whenever I wish it.”

The Harkonnen heir’s pace fastens, his cock hitting spots that have you question your sanity. So delicious that you can’t help but let pathetic little moans escape from your throat.

He buries himself inside you even deeper, the pain and pleasure blending in crescendo. Your eyes roll back as you near your peak. Meanwhile, Feyd Rautha’s hunting his own release, his quick thrusts growing sharp and slow, his bald head grazing your bare chest.

Pleasure rolls over in a tidal wave, your back curling alongside the sheets. His own release comes after yours, thick ropes of his seeds painting your sore, sensitive walls. 

As you crash in a boneless heap on the sheets, he wraps his hand around your jaw and steals your lips for a sloppy, heated kiss. 

You cry out in pain as he sinks his teeth into your neck, placing a visible puncture wound that won’t disappear for a while.

Still nestled in your warmth, he scatters more bites along your shoulder.

“Any man would be insane to let you go after tasting such a sweet cunt, desert rose.”

You know he wants you to see, doesn’t want you to miss a single second of the spectacle. It was a split second moment, one that could have easily resulted in his death. 

But at the very last second, Feyd-Rautha prevailed and dodged Paul Atreides’ attack. He then proceeded to stab him in the heart in front of his heartbroken mother and your cousin. 

You don’t want to believe it. It must be an awful dream, one you will soon wake up from. One that lasted entirely too long. While seeing Paul’s body sink to the floor, your heart shattering into a million tiny pieces…Watching Chani glare at you with pure hatred in her eyes from across the room is almost worse. You want to run to her, embrace her, tell her you never meant to leave, tell her you aren’t a traitor to your people despite what clothes you may wear now, what marks may brand your skin. 

But it’s all for naught. Paul is dead and with him the hopes for your planet, for your people have died as well.

And you are left with nothing, no one. A stranger in a strange world. 

It’s what he reminds you as he has you caged beneath him that night, burying himself inside you again and again with abandon. 

“You’re mine, desert rose. And nothing, no one can take you away from me. Not my uncle. Not Paul Atreides. Not the Emperor.” He chuckles darkly, whispering against your ear. “...And not even you, darling.”

He is right. You are his. And with no one to challenge the rule of the now Baron Feyd-Rautha, ruler of House Harkonnen, it is as he said…There is nowhere in the galaxy you can hide where he will not find you.

[lorasdolly]

heyyy hru??

what abt a sevika fic where she’s punishing u cus u went out too late or smth

well sev or caitvi (Caitlyn and violet)

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐁𝐄𝐀𝐓

────୨ৎ────

𝗰𝗮𝗶𝘁𝗹𝘆𝗻 𝘅 𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝘃𝗶

It was nearly 2am, the sky was dark, and your head was throbbing. You almost regretted disobeying Caitlyn and Vi as you reached the front door of your home, knowing they'd be in there.

You were tired of never going out without them, and whenever you'd ask why, Caitlyn would simply say "What on earth could you possibly have to do without us?"

Your hand clenched into fists at your side, the alcohol making your head swirl. Maybe you began to understand why it'd be better to have them with you, but you had to show them you weren't a little girl like they insisted on treating you!

Your hand circled the doorknob shakily, exhaling with a huff and twisting it. The house was dark, and there was hardly any noise. For a moment, you believed they didn't even notice you were gone.

You switched on the lights and dropped your purse at the front door. Slowly, you walked towards the living room, meeting Caitlyn's stern gaze with a brow cocked. Her legs were draped over Vi's and Vi sat there with a near pitiful expression.

A whimper left your lips, bottom lip extending outwards. Caitlyn tuts at your reaction, removing her legs from Vi's and standing. Her shoes clacked on the wooden floor, now hovering above you. You stared up at her through your lashes, batting them at her in hopes she'd soften up a bit.

But that method only worked on Vi, which you saw in the corner of your eye pursing her lips with expectation. Caitlyn grabbed your jawline harshly, forcing you to avert your gaze back onto her. She saw you hiss at the sting, scoffing in return.

"Do you take me for a fool, princess?" The petname was coated with condescension, presenting the anger that edged her words. You shook your head at her, cheeks still miserably squished between her hand. She cocked a brow, "Have you lost your tongue? Speak."

"N—No." You replied, words slightly muffled because of how your face was placed in her palm, humiliating you further. "Well, you surely could speak, I'm assuming your ears work too." A huff leaves your lips at her implication, averting your gaze once again and she squeezed. “I didn’t tell you to look away.” She stated, narrowing her vision down at you.

You whimper, trying to get some sort of sympathy from her. “Didn’t I tell you not to leave this house without permission?” She interrogated, demanding an answer with her glare. “Yeah.. b—but Cait—!” You began, “I can go out alone! I can handle myself..!” Your exclamation had just dug a deeper hole for yourself and you only realized when her hand traveled to your nape and then fisting your hair, tugging on it harshly to bring you towards the couch.

You whined at the force she used, grabbing at her clothes to slow her down but she didn’t budge, bringing you to straddle her lap. She scoffed once again before speaking, “Vi, did you hear the load of crap that left her lips?” She stared directly at you, smacking your lips lightly. Vi sighed, getting closer but not touching you yet, “Just needs a firm hand, right, doll?” She mumbled, looking at you.

Caitlyn rolled her eyes, “Stop babying her. She said she’s a big girl and she’ll be treated as such.” She emphasized her words with a harsh tug at your hair, your hands holding onto her shoulders and whining. Vi’s hand came to stroke your hair, you knew that was a delicacy you couldn’t afford or take for granted. You pressed up against her hand but it didn’t last long when Caitlyn jerked it away.

“Don’t give her false hope, she needs to learn.” You huff, arms now crossing at how strict Caitlyn was being. Soon, you received a firm tap against your face from her, “Don’t start with the attitude.” Vi sighed, inching closer and cradling your face. “Gonna explain why’d you do that, baby?” She mumbled, just wanting to kiss you but knowing it would upset Caitlyn.

You turned to Vi and gave her puppy eyes, hoping she’d help you out of this situation. “I just wanted to go out, Vi! It’s not that serious..” The petulance behind your words and expression made Vi sigh again, disappointment prominent. Tears began to well at the sight of her being upset, Caitlyn was always angry but she snapped you right back into place without a fuss. Vi, on the other hand, always pitied you, told Caitlyn to go easy on you, and coddled you. She was truly upset this time and you could tell.

As the tears began to spill and your lips slightly parted you tried to crawl into her lap instead but Caitlyn kept her grasp on you. She held onto your hips, “Guess Vi doesn’t want to save you this time, want to repeat what you said to me?” She grabs your chin and you feel Vi leaving to the bedroom. Your tears rolled down, staring at Caitlyn, hoping she’d wipe them. But instead, she let them gather and create a damp spot on your shirt.

“Speak.” She repeated, tapping on your face firmly once again. “Wanted— wanted to go out with my friends, thought—“ You couldn’t finish your sentence when she slapped you this time, done with taps. Vi stepped into the living room agin, crouching behind you and snaking her hands around you to cradle your face and wipe the tears. Your small tears turned into streams, “You’re so mean, Cait!” You exclaimed, getting another slap across your face. “Watch your tone.”

“Shh, don’t make it worse for yourself, don’t be disrespectful.” Vi whispered, tying your wrist behind your back. “She’s just crying to win your sympathy, Vi.” Caitlyn stated, turning you to bend over her lap. Caitlyn hated how soft Vi turned for you, even when she was clearly upset. Your belly was on her lap, ass perched up. “Twenty.” Caitlyn said.

“Ten, c’mon cupcake, she’s crying.” Caitlyn shook her head, gathering your hair into an untied ponytail. “Fine, ten but she has to explain why what she did is wrong.” You kept crying but tried to stifle them, Caitlyn was trying to humiliate you. Vi helped with taking off your skirt and panties, showing your glistening cunt to her and display your ass.

Her palm clenches your hair and tugs it back so you could look at her, "Did you hear? Tell me what you did wrong." She demands, coming down onto your ass with a smack. You yelp, "Caitlyn!!" She slaps your ass again in return to the complaining, "Shut the fuck up, I told you to talk."

You whimper, "Went out and didn't tell you! Cait— Stop!" You exclaim, the fourth slap coming down on your ass. She does this till ten, tears streaming down and your cunt even wetter than it already was. Vi ran her thumb over your folds, groaning at the feeling of your slick.

Caitlyn sits you up on her lap, smacking your cheek one last time. "Think I was awfully nicer than I should have been." She stated, caressing your chin gently. You shook your head, still too prideful to say sorry. You look to Vi should was removing her belt and pants, a damp spot on the fabric covering her pussy.

Vi strokes your hair, "Gonna let me take care of you?" She whispers, watching your grind down to relieve yourself against Caitlyn. Before you could agree, Caitlyn interrupted. "No, don't you think Vi deserves an apology, baby?" She questions, but it was rhetorical. "Yeah, I think she does." Caitlyn coos, watching the flushed expression on Vi's face.

You nod gently, going on all fours as Vi kneels on the couch. You stared up at her through your lashes and tugged on the boxers. "Wanna make you feel good, m'so sorry." Caitlyn tuts at how you only apologize to Vi, watching you lower her boxers and how Vi's breath catches in her throat.

Vi holds your hair back gently, "It's okay, baby, it's okay.." She whispered. Your tongue laid flat on her cunt, her hips rutting against it. "F—Fuck." You kept staring up at her, letting her use your mouth to get off.

Caitlyn came behind you, feeling silicone on your ass cheek. You whimpered at the coolness, the vibration going up Vi's core. She moaned, eyes darting to Caitlyn slipping the strap into your pussy, then smacking your ass. "Don't I deserve an apology too, baby? Only ever say sorry to Vi." She bottomed out and didn't even give you time to adjust to the stretch before thrusting out and slamming back in.

You moan, tongue quickening on Vi as she throws her head back. "Fuck—" Caitlyn's hips snapped against yours. "Answer me," You moaned, watching as Vi's orgasm fell onto her, fisting at your hair and grinding against your tongue to ride her high. Vi pulled away, spit coming down your chin, Caitlyn tugging at your hair to lift your back against her chest.

"Yeah, made Vi feel so good, what about me, baby?" She spoke directly into your ear, the squelching noises, your moans, and Vi's pants were bouncing off the walls. "Caitlyn- Cait-" She bites down on your shoulder disapprovingly. "I'm sorry– so— so fucking sorry," You respond, reaching closer to an orgasm by the moment.

"Gonna cum, princess?" She shifted her angle to fuck into your g-spot, her faux cock reaching anywhere inside you. You nodded, moaning, "Cu-cumming—" She holds your limp body in her arms, helping you stay stable.

When you were panting, she let you collapse onto the couch, head landing into Vi's lap. "Vi," You drawled out her name, finding your way into her grasp. "Love you so much," She chuckled, watching Caitlyn's reaction. She removed the strap, getting closer and kissing down your neck.

"You love me too or are you insisting on calling me mean?" A whine leaves your lips, not in the mood to argue but just be forgiven. "Nuh-uh, love you too," She chucked at how you spoke, a contrast to previously. She held you sandwiched between her and Vi.

[d-targaryenshoe]

Pinkish Clouds - Anthony Bridgerton

Word count: 1515

Summary: It is very precious to watch your husband take responsibility as a father, is it not?

As the first rays of sunlight streamed through the drapes, Y/n Bridgerton, wife of Anthony, stirred in your sumptuous bed. 

The soft linens, embroidered with intricate floral patterns, caressed your skin like the gentle touch of a spring breeze. The scent of lavender filled your nostrils, a welcome aroma that signified a new beginning. 

You stretched your limbs, the memory of the labor pains you endured the day before still fresh in your mind. 

But as you lay there, lost in thought, you couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of contentment and accomplishment.

You opened your eyes, taking in the familiar surroundings of your chamber. 

To your left, a fireplace crackled, its warmth banishing the morning chill. To your right, a large window overlooked the immaculately manicured gardens beyond. 

And beside your bed, your sisters-in-law, Eloise and Daphne, sat in quiet conversation, their laughter tinkling like bells.

You felt a pang of affection for the two women who had become such an important part of your life since your marriage to Anthony. 

Eloise, the youngest of the two, had always been somewhat of a sympathy to her. 

With her smart mind and independent soul, she was a far cry from the demure, obedient society ladies you had grown up with. 

Yet, there was no denying the deep bond that existed between them. As for Daphne, she was sweet-natured, charming, and utterly irresistible. 

As you sat up in bed, your sisters-in-law turned to you, their faces alight with curiosity and excitement. 

"Good morning, y/n," they chorused, beaming at you. "How do you feel?"

You smiled weakly. "A bit exhausted, to be honest. But otherwise, I'm doing well. How are you two?"

Eloise shrugged.

 "We're fine. Daphne's been keeping me company while you were asleep. It's been rather dull if I'm being fair." She glanced at her sister, her expression teasing.

Daphne rolled her eyes. "Oh, hush. I've been enjoying myself. Again, we have something rather important to discuss." She leaned in conspiratorially.

 "Mother has been pacing the hallway for hours. I think she's tense to see the new addition to the family. I'm sure she'll be in soon." 

As if on cue, a knock was heard at the door. "That must be her now," Daphne said, her face lighting up with anticipation.

Eloise rose from her seat and crossed the room to answer the door. You, feeling slightly more awake now, sitting up straighter in bed, wondering what your mother-in-law had in store for you today. 

As Eloise swung the door open, a warm, familiar figure filled the entrance.

 "Mother!" Daphne cried out, leaping to her feet. "We've been waiting for you."

Violet Bridgerton, the family matriarch, surveyed the scene with a delighted smile. 

"My, my," she said, her eyes twinkling. "It seems I've missed quite a bit. A new baby, I hear." 

She glanced at you, her expression softening into one of motherly concern. "And how are you feeling, dear? Are you in need of anything?"

You felt a lump form in your throat as you looked at the woman who had become your second mother since marrying Anthony. 

Violet was everything a lady should be, gracious, elegant, and utterly devoted to her family. 

She was also fiercely protective of them, always making sure they were well cared for and safe. 

As you struggled to find the words to express your gratitude, all you could do was manage a small smile. "I'm doing well, thank you. Your presence is all the comfort I need."

Her sisters-in-law exchanged knowing glances, clearly understanding the depth of emotion behind your words. 

They each took turns leaning in to kiss Violet's cheek, expressing their own gratitude for her love and support. 

As they did so, the room seemed to fill with a palpable sense of warmth and affection.

"Well, I'm glad to hear that," Violet said, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "Now, I have a special gift for you and the baby. I've been working on it for months." 

She reached into her reticule and pulled out a small, delicately wrapped package, which she placed in your lap. "It's not much, but I hope you'll like it."

Your curiosity piqued, and you gently unwrapped the package, revealing a beautiful, hand-stitched blanket adorned with intricate lacework. 

"Oh, Violet, it's lovely!" you exclaimed, your voice breaking with emotion. "I will cherish it always." 

Tears began to form in your eyes as you clutched the blanket to your chest. "Thank you, thank you so much."

Eloise and Daphne exchanged knowing smiles. They knew that this gift, more than anything else, symbolized Violet's acceptance of you as one of her own.

 It was a symbol of the love and support that you all shared as a family.

As they continued to stand there, the room seemed to fill with a sense of peace and contentment. 

Even though there was still so much that needed to be done, for this brief moment, you were all together, united in your love for one another.

"Now, girls," Violet said, her voice soft and gentle, "I've been thinking. Perhaps you would like to help y/n with something?" 

Her suggestion was met with nods of agreement from Eloise and Daphne. 

They had been itching to help out but had wanted to give their mother time to bond with you first.

"Would you like us to help you get out of bed?" Eloise asked, her tone reassuring. "We could help you down to the sitting room to see Anthony and the baby." 

Your face lit up at the thought, and you quickly nodded your consent. The two sisters moved forward, each taking an arm to assist you as you slowly rose from the bed. 

Once you were upright, they were beginning to guide you toward the sitting room.

The hallway was long and winding, the walls adorned with paintings that told the story of the family's history.

 As you made your way down the hall, you could hear the faint strains of music drifting towards you. 

It was the same waltz you had danced to at your wedding, the one that always made your heart skip a beat. 

The closer you got, the more the music seemed to swirl around you, pulling you forward with irresistible force.

Finally, you reached the sitting room, its windows overlooking the lush gardens beyond. 

The room was lit by soft candlelight, casting a warm glow over the gathered family. 

Anthony was dancing slowly with your newborn baby, his eyes never leaving the child's face as he moved in perfect harmony with the music. 

Eloise and Daphne guided you to a comfortable chair by the window, where you could watch the scene unfold before you.

As you all watched, you could feel a lump forming in your throat. It was so beautiful to see your husband dancing with your child, their love for each other shining through every movement. 

You could see the resemblance between them, both of them with Anthony's dark hair and eyes. 

The baby's tiny fingers curled around Anthony's finger as if she were already familiar with the feeling of being held so close.

Your sisters-in-law took seats on either side of you, their hands clasped together in their laps. 

They smiled at you, understanding the depth of emotion that you were feeling at that moment.

 It was a precious moment, one that you would all cherish for the rest of your lives.

As Anthony finished his dance with the baby, he came over to you all, his face flushed with happiness and exhaustion. 

He bent down to kiss your forehead, his touch sending a wave of warmth through your body.

 "I'm sorry I wasn't here earlier," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. "I wanted to be the first one to hold her, and I did not want to wake you."

"It's all right," you replied softly, your eyes never leaving his face. "I know you were with her." Anthony smiled at you, a tear trickling down his cheek. 

He reached out and took your hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I've been thinking," he said, hesitating for a moment before continuing, "That we should have a naming ceremony for the baby. Something small and intimate, just for our closest friends and family. What do you think?"

Your heart swelled with joy at the thought. You turned to your sisters-in-law, your face alight with excitement.

 "That sounds excellent," you said, your voice shaking slightly with emotion. "I would adore that." 

"Then it's settled," Anthony declared, his voice strong and sure. "We'll have the ceremony next weekend. Everyone will be here to celebrate with us."

 He leaned down to kiss your forehead again before returning to his daughter, who had fallen asleep in his arms.

As you all watched Anthony gently rock the child in his arms, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. 

You were home, surrounded by the people she loved most in the world. And despite the challenges that lay ahead, she knew that they would face them together, as a family.

[moonstruckme]

Hi lovely! Can you do poly!wolfstar x reader who is normally a brilliant student but since the start of the year she’s just been… not? And I mean failing most of her classes, procrastinating more than usual, etc. Like the material just doesn’t click in her head anymore and she feels… I don’t wanna say embarrassed, but yeah maybe a bit embarrassed

Thank you for requesting angel! I hope you know that what Sirius and Remus say in this fic is true, and though grades are never a real indicator of your intelligence you can always improve them <3

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

“Oh,” Remus says from the kitchen, over the sound of chopping. “Dovey, did you get your mark back on that essay yet?”

A newly familiar brand of self-loathing spreads through your gut. “Mhm,” you hum, half hoping he won’t hear. 

“How was it?” 

You gnaw on the inside of your cheek, staring unseeingly at the assignment you’re meant to be doing on your laptop. You know Remus doesn’t mean to pester you. He’s only curious because you’d spent a rushed evening writing the essay at the last minute and he likely remembers your panic; he has no reason to think you’ve done anything but well, as he’s used to with you. Still, you wish he had a worse memory and perhaps cared less. 

“Fine,” you say. 

It’s not a lie, though the half-truth tastes bitter on your tongue. It was, by definition, fine. You’d received a passing mark, though just barely. You shouldn’t have been surprised; the essay had been a last-minute scramble and had probably read like one, your ideas half formed and structured only coherently enough that you thought you might coast by with a B. Realistically, you’d known this professor was too strict to let you do that. 

“That’s good,” Remus hums, appeased. You’re lucky he’s not nearby enough to read the guilt on your face. 

The sharp tang of blood spreads through your mouth as you navigate to a new tab. You haven’t thought much about what effect a C would have on your mark in the class. You’ve avoided thinking about it much at all. Still, the essay was a weighty assignment, so maybe there’s a chance that C could have buoyed you above failing…

You don’t hear Sirius coming up behind the couch. He’s been bouncing between you and Remus all evening, no task of his own but happy to distract you both from yours. You register his arms coming around your front right as he registers the marks on your screen.

You slam your laptop shut. 

Sirius says your name, soft with surprise. 

“You snuck up on me.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” he says. It’s not an apology, but almost. “How long have—why haven’t you said anything?” 

“I don’t want to talk about it.” You feel tears pressing at your throat and you shove them down. “It’s embarrassing.” 

Sirius makes a soft sound, chin landing gently in the juncture of your neck and shoulder. His thumb strokes over your abdomen. “Oh, my girl…” 

“Everything alright?” Remus’ chopping has stopped. Although he can’t see you, he can still detect a somber tone. 

Sirius is quiet. He’s not going to give you away, you know. But to avoid having secrets between the three of you, you have to come clean to Remus yourself. 

“Yeah,” you say with forced lightness. Your stomach is in knots. “Everything’s fine, I’m just not doing very well in school.” 

“Oh.” Remus appears from inside the kitchen. He comes toward you with brows drawn together, not in disappointment but in concern. “Anything I can help with?” 

Your throat closes up at how he offers it so easily. You give him a watery smile. “I don’t think so.” 

Sirius’ arms stiffen at the squeak of your voice. “Hey,” he says, rubbing your shoulder. “Hey, it’s okay. It’s just school.” 

You try to stay quiet as a tiny sob bullies its way out of you. It used to be just school for you. Simple, routine, nothing you had to work terribly hard at. It mattered, but not much, because you never had to worry about it. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong,” you admit as Remus comes to sit beside you, sympathy digging into the space between his brows. “I just can’t—it’s like I can’t do anything this year. I’m failing.” 

“Shh, sweetheart, it’s alright.” Sirius lets you go so Remus can draw you into a hug. You curl against him, humiliated and yet desperate for comfort. “You’re not failing.” 

“I literally am.” 

“Maybe,” he says calmly, “but Sirius is right. It’s only school. You’re only failing some classes, not failing in general. Don’t start telling yourself you’re not brilliant.” 

You’re quiet, sniffling. Remus’ silence is knowing. He rubs up and down between your shoulder blades in slow, short strokes. He has a way of always saying what you’re really upset about.

“You’re still brilliant,” he says. You hide your face in his jumper, steeping in your shame. 

“You can come back from failing a few classes,” Sirius tells you. “I know you’re not used to it, but you’re only having an off term, sweetness. It’ll be okay. You’ll figure it out.” 

“I don’t—” You sniff hard, pulling away from Remus to wipe under your eyes. “I don’t think I have time to figure it out.” 

“You may not be able to pass this term,” Remus agrees. Your face tightens at the confirmation, but he goes on gently, “That doesn’t mean you’ve failed. You can sort it out for the next one. We’ll help you. It’ll only be one bad term, you can move on from it.” 

“People do it all the time.” Sirius leans over the back of the couch, kissing your shoulder. “It doesn’t mean anything about you. Just that you had a rough go.” 

You tilt your head so it touches his lightly, the smallest token of affection. Sirius rewards you by cupping your chin in his hand, tilting your head back so he can smile down at you. He thumbs a couple of tears off your cheeks. 

“You’re both being very reasonable,” you say quietly. “If you loved me you’d tar and feather me.” 

“You know, we so would,” Sirius bends to kiss your nose, “because we do love you, but unfortunately the tar still hasn’t been replenished from last month’s public humiliation.” 

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, sweetheart,” Remus chides, rubbing your arm. “It’s only been one term.” 

“Mm, also true,” says Sirius. “Usually we don’t tar and feather anyone until at least three.” 

At last his teasing gets a smile out of you, albeit a small, begrudging one. Sirius grins widely in response. 

He stamps his lips on your forehead, voice dropping into a more sincere register. “You’ve nothing to be embarrassed of, lovely girl. We’ll get past it, yeah?”

You find that you believe him. 

[1mlei]

Dead on Main Soulmate AU [Part 2]

In this AU everyone is born with a tiny red heart tattooed on the inside of their wrist. If you're close to your soulmate the heart will beat, and when you meet them the heart turns to gold. If your soulmate dies, the heart will fade to black.

First part | Next part | Masterpost

CW: Brief mention of suicidal thoughts, take care everyone!

----------

Danny is 15 years old when he's informed that he is the crown prince of the Infinite Realms. He would have loved it if someone had had the decency to explain that the title of Ghost King would be passed down through right of conquest sometime before he fought Pariah Dark. If not that, couldn't someone at least have said something a bit sooner?

Now Danny had been faced with the information that he was ghost royalty out of nowhere, and that's just not something he was prepared to deal with on a random Tuesday afternoon.

As Danny paces the length of his bedroom he chooses to ignore Tucker's pointed reminder of "It's a Wednesday."

Instead of responding, he shoots a tiny ecto-blast at where his friend is lounging in the beanbag, which is easily dodged. Not that it would have hit, whenever Danny was aiming at one of his human friends me made sure to channel his dad and aim almost a full foot away from them, just to be safe.

He may be annoyed with Tucker's lack of sympathy about his situation, but he would never purposefully hurt him. Still, a warning shot when Tucker got extra cheeky wouldn't hurt anyone.

The other boy let out an affronted squawk as he dodged the blast, but wisely stayed silent after that.

Danny continued his pacing for another moment, but before he could start his frustrated rambling again Sam spoke up from Danny's bed, she hadn't even looked up from her phone for the whole time Danny had been ranting.

"It's not that big of a deal Danny, the council have been dealing with things just fine up until now, I'm sure they'll handle things until you're ready."

It was true, he knew that the council would continue to run the realms, and allow Danny to ease into the role.

The thing was, he was hoping that "ready" would mean he was at least of legal age. But no, ghosts saw time and age differently of course, they were satisfied as long as he was at least sixteen. Which he would turn in a few months.

In a desperate attempt to postpone the coronation (because Danny was not ready to become king of an infinite dimension yet, holy shit, he had convinced the council that it would be in their best interest to wait until the summer after Danny turned sixteen.

Danny still had to go to school after all, and the thought of having one measly weekend to be crowned before having to return to the halls of Casper High was not one that excited him.

The council had agreed to wait until summer. Danny wasn't overly happy that he'd still only have two months to adjust, but he'd take what he could get at this point.

He was not looking forward to starting his junior year, to say the least.

As if his looming coronation wasn't enough, now that Danny was aware of his title as crown prince, he suddenly had a bunch of new responsibilities. Supposedly, it was to prepare him for being king. Danny found it tedious at best, but he hadn't found a way to get out of it so far.

Luckily, as long as no ghost caused too much trouble Danny didn't have much to worry about.

----------

A ghost was causing too much trouble, enough that Danny got called in to deal with it.

At first he'd been salty that he had to ditch Sam and Tucker last minute for some stupid job that surely someone else could do. But once he heard what the job was, he was for once glad that he was dealing with it himself.

The situation was delicate, and Danny wouldn't trust a lot of ghost to handle it carefully enough.

An annoying ghost whose name Danny hadn't bothered to fully remember (Wi.. Fin.. Vin..ca.. something or other, not important) had decided to head to the human realm to take revenge for their death.

Now, if Danny tried to stop every ghost that ever tried to avenge their own death he'd never get to rest. A ghost's death was such a personal matter too, Danny didn't feel like he had any right to step in and say what's right or wrong for them to do.

So, in nearly all cases he stayed out of it. A lot of ghosts were happy to avenge their deaths in non-violent ways. Some time spent haunting their murderer, scaring them shitless, and most ghosts were satisfied. Not enough to move on, revenge was rarely enough for that, but enough to exist peacefully in the Realms.

That was all fine in Danny's book, but this particular ghost (Danny mentally dubbed them "Vi" when he failed to remember their full name) had decided that violence was the only answer.

The thing was, they blamed the wrong people. Vi had been a citizen of Gotham when they were alive, and they got caught up in some bad business. That had eventually led to their death.

It wasn't any one person's fault, but Vi blamed the Gotham vigilantes. From what Danny knew, Vi had been running away from said vigilantes, not wanting to be arrested, and had died because they were too focused on avoiding the vigilantes to pay attention to their surroundings.

The details of their death beyond that was not something Danny knew, he had listened to the necessary details from Clockwork before he left, but he didn't like learning exactly how other ghosts died unless they tell him themselves, it felt too personal.

All he needed to know was, the actions of the Gotham vigilantes had indirectly caused Vi's death, so they were on their way to Gotham to take revenge. That was bad, on so many levels.

The absolute last thing Danny needed was The Batman getting interested in ghosts. Danny had done a great job of managing without his or anyone else's help so far, and he really didn't want them poking their noses into his business now.

That was why Danny was speeding towards Gotham City, hoping to get there before Vi managed to track down a vigilante, as he was sure they didn't have any ways to defend themselves against ghosts.

After flying at nearly top speed for half an hour, Danny finally arrived. Not that long if you think about it, but plenty of time for a vengeful ghost to track down their targets.

With no better method, Danny started flying laps around the city, hoping his ghost sense would go off eventually.

His ghost sense remained quiet, but he found something better.

Batman himself, was right there fighting off a group of thugs. It was a small group of people for a skilled fighter like Batman to take on, he didn't really need backup. Which probably meant, the bird was somewhere nearby..

And yup! Standing on a rooftop close by keeping lookout was Robin.

This was neat, two vigilantes in the same location, now Danny could just stay here and keep guard until Vi showed themselves.

Danny hovered over Batman's fight invisibly, realizing how lucky he was that the man was unaware of his existence, and had no access to ecto-powered weapons. Danny shivered just at the thought.

Now that he was thinking about it, Batman was surrounded by a lot of people. A lot of them were probably innocent people, pulled into this business by a lack of better opportunities. Just like Vi.

And if Vi was here only for revenge, surely they wouldn't risk other people suffering the same fate as them. If they attacked Batman now, any one of the thugs could get caught in the crossfire.

Would Vi just wait it out until Batman was alone? It didn't make a lot of sense. Surely they would act soon, but Batman was surrounded, and Robin was.. Robin was alone!

Danny turned around in a panic as a cold shiver ran through his body.

Shit

He shot off towards Robin at high speed. Now that he had sensed them he could tell where they were (two seconds) Vi was heading right for Robin, their claws out and ready to strike (one second), they were just about to make contact, barely an inch away from Robin, when Danny crashed into them, phasing them both harmlessly through the vigilante and flying them far, far away in the blink of an eye. His heart was drumming so hard in his chest, (he could feel it all the way through his arms, wow) he didn't realize his heart could beat that hard in ghost form, he assumed his core would take over.

Maybe it was just testament to how stressed out Danny was.

That had been too close.

He had barely a moment to rest, as Vi broke out of his hold angrily.

"Foolish boy, do not get in the way of my revenge again."

Vi tried to fly away to try again, but Danny formed an ecto-barrier around them to keep them put.

"Not gonna happen, you're targeting two innocent people."

Vi hissed at him with frustration,

"You know not what you speak of, fool. Those killers parading around as heroes caused my unfair demise, and I shall have reve-"

At that point Danny decided he'd heard enough, it was a school night and he had to get going, so he grabbed the thermos from his belt and sucked Vi into it mid-spiel. He'd heard that same speech enough times to know how it goes.

Robin still alive, Batman unaware of ghosts existing, Crisis averted, and Danny would still make it home with enough time to get a half-decent nights sleep. Things were looking up.

---------

Jason is 14 years old. It's been a year since his soulmate died.

He's gotten good at pretending it doesn't affect him anymore. After that first night where Jason let himself properly cry in Alfred's arms, neither of them had spoken about the matter again. Alfred made it a point to treat Jason exactly the same as before, knowing that if he were to act extra careful as to not upset the boy it would have the opposite effect.

Alfred was great like that, always noticing and remembering things but knowing when not to bring them up.

He pretended not to notice that Jason never wore short sleeved shirts anymore.

When he found Jason huddled away in the library he pretended not to notice how many more romance novels the boy was reading compared to before.

During the darkest nights, when Jason silently wishes he could go join his soulmate wherever they had ended up, Alfred was there without fail. He didn't speak of the things he knew Jason was thinking about, whether it was as to not make Jason uncomfortable or because Alfred himself didn't dare say it out loud, he didn't know.

But he was there, every time.

And when Jason realized it had been a full year since his soulmate died, Alfred was there as a silent support, just a moment away should Jason need him yet never intruding.

If Bruce notices that anything has happened to Jason, he hasn't bothered to ask about it yet. Jason isn't sure if he prefers it that way or not.

On one hand, he doesn't like the idea of Bruce butting into his personal business, the man had never been great with emotions.

But the realization that his father-figure didn't even know what he was going through had Jason wanting to burst into Bruce's study and tell him everything, if even just to get a reaction out of him.

It had been a year, but so far he hadn't said anything.

--------

When Jason is out on the streets of Gotham, the mask of Robin is always a nice barrier to hide behind. He'll lock his emotions up tight in the back of his mind and cover them up with the veil of an unbothered vigilante who had far better things to worry about.

This night he's standing on a rooftop, keeping a lookout as Bruce deals with a group of thugs. The group was small enough that Bruce would have no trouble at all dealing with them, and Jason's time would be better spent keeping an eye out for anyone trying to slink away unnoticed by the bat.

It had been an uneventful few minutes, watching Bruce dispose of the thugs as all of them kept rushing him, not a single one having the bright idea that whatever payout they were promised wasn't worth sticking around anymore.

Then, Jason felt a shiver run up his spine. He felt like he was being watched. It was a foreboding feeling, like something was going to jump at him any moment.

He spun around, quickly assessing his surroundings, but he found nothing out of place.

The feeling did not go away though, only growing more insistent.

And then in the blink of an eye, a gust of wind picks up around Jason as the feeling of danger flares, and Jason is sure he is about to die right there.

In the next second, the wind turns cold, and Jason could swear he saw his breath fog in front of him for a moment. Yet he doesn't feel even the slightest bit frozen.

The cold passes through him impossibly fast, and with it the feeling of danger vanishes, and so between one blink and another Jason is left standing there dumbfounded at what just happened.

He hadn't imagined it, that feeling of danger was nothing concrete but it had been clear as day in Jason's mind.

The wind was definitely real too, he'd felt it rustle his hair as it passed by.

And the biggest piece of evidence he wasn't going crazy, was the small piece of frost on the ground around Jason's feet. He took a step away from it experimentally, and it quickly faded. But it had been there.

The biggest mystery of the night though, the part of this whole thing that shook Jason to his core, was his wrist.

He raised his wrist and pulled back his glove to check, because there was no way he was actually feeling what he thought he was.

But right there, the tiny black heart that was stuck to his wrist as a permanent reminder of what he could have had, was carefully beating in an excruciatingly slow rhythm. Slow, faint, but real.

Jason lost track of time as he stood there, just watching the heart on his wrist beating slower and slower, until it stopped and refused to move again.

For the first time in a year, Jason feels a dangerous sliver of hope sneak it's way into his heart.

It can't be.

But there was no other explanation.

Jason had been in danger, but some unknown force, one that brought an overwhelming feeling of safe with it had saved him.

And his tattoo was telling him his soulmate had been there.

Jason couldn't think of a better explanation than that the one who saved him was a spirit, or ghost of some kind. It sounded ridiculous.

He looks back at his wrist, gently stroking his fingers over the tattoo as the considers it.

It seemed like a ghost saved him.

His soulmate had been there.

His soulmate who was dead.

Jason felt silly for entertaining the thought, but he couldn't help but want to believe it. That tonight he had been about to die, and the spirit of his soulmate had protected him.

He took that realization and stored it away with the rest of his emotions. He didn't know how to feel about it.

He knew, that for the past year his grief had made him consider some terrible things. But how could he possibly want to go join his soulmate now, when they'd done the impossible and appeared next to him for even just a moment, to save his life.

Jason decided then, that no matter what happened, he was going to live. The sadness may never fully go away, by he would live the life he had been given, and his soulmate would simply have to wait until Jason was ready to join them.

With a lighter conscience than he's had in a year, Jason grapples away from the roof and heads back home, a tiny hint of a smile on his face.

------------

First part | Next part | Masterpost

Tags: @craftyexpertchild

Thank you for reading <3

[swiftdove]

bleeding crimson

pairing: rio vidal x agatha harkness x fem!reader

summary: no matter how much you try to run from the truth, the road leads you back onto the path, forcing you to confront the thorns from your past.

content: angst, tension, knife-play, dark actions, slight smut

a/n: this is my first time ever writing a part 2 i feel like this is a very monumental moment for me

part 2 to collateral damage

Later that night, you had found yourself leaning against the trunk of the tree, willing yourself to sleep. Yet, despite your best efforts, the earlier conversations seeped into your mind, forcing out any rational thought. 

It wasn't right, how easily they managed to pull you back under their spell. They knew exactly which buttons to push to get what they wanted, whilst your skills had rusted over time. The way they treated you; it was as though they'd never left. It was almost comical, how little they'd suffered over their abandonment of you, how they expected everything to be the same as it was. You knew they were wicked, downright evil, but you hadn't expected them to be this selfish. Your sympathy for them was fading, as was your will to fight against their seductive charm. There must've been something grievously wrong about you to have even looked their way. Perhaps it was the mutual damage, the way you all understood each other so perfectly. Perhaps it was that that let you excuse their past actions. The idea that maybe, just maybe, you could fix them.

You had snapped right out of that attitude when you had seen Agatha act so apathetically about Sharon's death. It may have been the one thing that could have finally let you move past her. But earlier today, when she had tried so desperately to save Teen, redeemed her. You hated that about her - the way she flickered from evil to morally gray. 

And Rio, who balanced out Agatha's wickedness. You felt it, how her eyes always lingered on you. But never for longer than she did with Agatha. 

The reasons against them were stacked, and yet there was still that one part of you that wondered about what a reconciled relationship with them would entail. Most likely more damage to your already fragile mind. Then again, you'd always found that pain turned you on.

The sound of footsteps jolted you out of your train of thought, immediately waking you up from your half-asleep state. 

"Who's there?" you called, failing to mask the fear in your voice.

"Your worst nightmare," a demonic voice resounded, which you instantly recognized to be one of Rio's attempts to humour you.

The witch came into sight, accompanied by the last person you wanted to see right now.

Despite your pronounced hate for them, you couldn't deny that they looked perfect - especially under the glow of the moonlight. 

"What are you doing here?" you murmured, smoothing out a wrinkle in your blouse. 

"Couldn't sleep," Rio replied truthfully, eyeing you up and down. Her gaze finally rested on your hands, where you were nervously playing with your index ring, a habit you'd picked up years ago when she'd first bought it for you. 

However, your attention was directed at Agatha, who had adopted a villainous smirk. Something had changed in her tonight; behind her icy blue eyes hid macabre intentions. It was almost comedic how you still felt like you knew every serrated, damaged inch of her soul. Old habits died hard, you supposed.

"What is it, Agatha?" you asked, failing to hide the tremble in your voice. 

"Oh, nothing," she replied, her tone lilted, "it's just ironic, I suppose. All that 'I'm not yours' bullshit and defiant attitude..."

You tensed as she neared you, noticing the way her eyes glinted at your recoiled stance. In a split second, her fingers wrapped around your throat, trapping you in a chokehold.

"... when we both know why you came."

Her grip tightened, her veins becoming more defined as your breathing shallowed.

"Agatha," Rio admonished, prompting her to relax her grip. 

A soft cackle rang through the air as Agatha stroked your cheek with her free hand, reveling in the way you trembled under her touch.

Flashbacks of the life you'd had with them echoed in your mind, memories of your past encounters hammering at the walls of your skull. It was always the same. Agatha, skillfully inflicting the sweetest torture imaginable on your body, whilst Rio sat back and watched. The mocking, saccharine tone Agatha adopted whilst Rio carved their names into your flesh. The way they forced you past your limits, the long, euphoric nights. 

"So helpless," she jested, dragging out her words. "Now, where have I seen that before?"

Your reply was barely audible, interrupted by a hitch in your breath. "Stop."

Ignoring your plea for mercy, she pulled up your sleeve, releasing her grip on your throat. The faint outline of the words 'RIO' and 'AGATHA' were only just visible, having faded after decades of neglect. Agatha swiveled around, jerking your arm out for Rio to see.

"Would you look at that?" Rio marveled. She tutted softly, before brandishing her dagger. A sadistic smile tugged at her lips as she held it to your throat. You flinched away from the cold metal, beads of red decorating the blade. Your attempts to run away from the dagger were foiled when she swiveled you around and secured you waist with her free hand, the other keeping you in place.

"You were so jealous of Rio earlier, weren't you, pet?" Agatha taunted, relishing in the way your eyes narrowed at the use of her pet name. "You wanted me to leave a scar, didn't you?"

If you hadn't had a blade pressed against your throat, you would have called her out for twisting your words. But, in this instance, you couldn't help but shrink back from their towering presences.

Snorting at your silence, she continued with her onslaught of cruel jokes. "Why so silent? Cat got your tongue?"

"There's a blade to my throat, if you haven't noticed," you snapped, causing Rio to add pressure to your skin.

"There's that nasty attitude again," Agatha proclaimed gleefully, circling around you. "How long has it been since you've been properly punished, sweets?"

You recoiled at her use of the word 'punished', your gaze steeling. "Stop," you murmured, failing to mask the quiver in your voice. "I'm not going to indulge in your sick revenge fantasy."

"Aren't you?"

Rio's voice cut through the tension in the air like a knife through butter, her fingernails digging into the side of your waist. Agatha smirked maliciously, tilting your chin up with her calloused fingers. 

"I don't think you have much of a choice, pet."

Satisfied with your silence as a response, she trailed her fingers down to your blouse, roughly unbuttoning it. She pinched at the peak of your breast, relishing in how it hardened at her touch.

"So sensitive," Agatha murmured, twisting it sharply. A small yelp escaped your lips, reprimanded by a sharp cut to the throat. Hot blood trickled down the wound, staining the witch's fingers.

"Agatha -" you gasped, only to be cut off by the sound of Lilia's voice echoing down The Road.

"They're coming. We have to go."

Glancing at the direction of the voice, Agatha withdrew her hand, causing you to sigh in relief. The sound didn't go unnoticed by the witches. Visibly annoyed, Agatha grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at her.

"This isn't over," she threatened, before dramatically whisking her cape and walking away. Rio followed, but not before dragging her dagger over your throat again. When you didn't budge, she looked over her shoulder, glancing at you expectantly.

"Come on," she said, taking ahold of your arm. "We have to go."

As you trailed behind the witches, the warm, crimson blood trickled down the small wound in your throat, bleeding into the collar of your shirt. To anybody else, it would've just seemed like a simple cut, but you knew what it truly was. A symbol, of their claim over you. Hard, cold proof that no matter how hard you tried, you couldn't escape their hold over you. And for some strange, demented reason, you found comfort in knowing that. 

The dynamic between you and them remained ever the same. Agatha and Rio, your sacred protectors, and you, a wolf in the clothing of a sacrificial lamb. And despite your pathetic attempts to hide it, you knew that they understood exactly who you were to the very marrow of your bones. 

That was what scared you about them.

[deathbyathousandspiders]

death of a hero. ₂

mcu!peter parker x fem!stark!reader | boy in the bubble part two.

IN WHICH after getting attacked, you find out that your dad & peter have kept spider–man’s identity a secret.

author's note — highly recommend reading part one first!! this cured my writer's block !! part three coming soon!!! :)

WARNINGS (18+ MDNI) — hurt reader [physically/emotionally], swearing, mentions of blood, a flashback to homecoming, lots & lots & lots of angst.

read part one | part three here.

gif found here.

✨masterlist.✨

3.4k.

Never in your life did you think you’d be targeted and attacked, then be smiling by the end of the night. You couldn’t fight the small grin touching your lips, couldn’t stop the butterflies that numbed each wound still scarring your body. 

Somehow, despite it all, Peter’s words gave you something to hold onto, something to keep you going—something hopeful. It gave you something to rewrite the painful narrative that your attacker had spat at you just an hour earlier. 

“What a weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark.”

“You’ve seen the unthinkable, are still going, and you think you’re weak? Impossible.”

Once you finally got to the stairs to shower, you tried to swing your leg up, immediately met with a harsh reminder of how bad your bruises would be tomorrow. 

A wince parted your lips, sparking from the ache in your right hip and the direct strike it sent to the wound on your torso. 

Perhaps you needed Peter’s help after all. 

Taking a breath, you felt less hesitant than before to ask for help. It wasn’t like you had anything else to hide—you were tattered and torn up, topless and sticky with blood. 

Besides, you were used to walking with the weight of the wounds, at this point. You cut the distance to the kitchen in a matter of slow seconds. 

“Whoever attacked her tonight planned this.” Peter’s words made you pause just outside the entryway, hidden behind the wall just beyond. You blinked a bit, immediately feeling the weight of their conversation. “It wasn’t by chance, she was targeted–” 

“You don’t know that—” Even as he cut Peter off, your dad’s response was cut short. 

“And you don’t either!” Both of the boys in the kitchen held something urgent to their words; the same sense of urgency that laced the undertones between them all evening. 

Whatever conversation you were overhearing, you knew in your bones that they didn’t want you to hear it. 

Sucks for them. 

Peter continued: “The way she’s acting.. Something’s off about what happened.” Your blood froze to ice at the sentence. “And I think she deserves to know why I wasn’t there to defend her tonight.”

Thick silence swelled in the room, and you suddenly feared that your racing heartbeat would interrupt it. You had to remind yourself to breathe, and remind yourself to be quiet. 

As tempted as you were to step in and ask questions, you knew that whatever they were keeping from you was more likely to be discovered from where you were. 

Somehow, this was something they wanted to hide from you. The secret, whatever it was, made the air around you feel slimmer and heavy all at once. It sent your thoughts into a spiral, and an urge to question the two people closest to you. 

“Look, kid. I don’t blame you for what happened tonight.” Tony took words from you that you hadn’t even known how to phrase to Peter yet. It sent a twinge to your heart, draped your panic in sympathy for him. 

“I know.” You could tell Peter needed to hear the words, even if he didn’t know how to admit it. 

“As much as I agree with your conspiracy theories on Y/N’s attacker, I don’t know if coming clean about everything will solve this.” 

Something sunk in you, deflated your spirits. It hurt that they’d hid this from you—whatever it was—and had been lying for God knows how long. 

You could hear the jab in Peter’s own optimism when he spoke up again. “Then when do you plan to tell her?” At least, he was trying to come clean. 

“I don’t know..” Your dad was honest, and sullen about it. It only added to your confusion. 

Perhaps, they weren’t going to tell you ever. Maybe if you just revealed yourself and asked your own questions, you’d actually get somewhere. 

Peeling yourself off the wall and taking a few steps into frame, both Peter and your dad were completely oblivious to you. 

Despite how you stepped into view, they remained focused on the conversation, and your dad continued. “I’ll tell you what: you tell me how you’d suggest telling Y/N you’re Spider–Man, and I’ll consider it–”

The whole world stopped moving. 

“Peter’s what?”

You could’ve thrown up at the realization, at how cold and hollow the room suddenly became. The secret was out, and the quick and wide eyes that fell to you told you just how vital this secret was. 

Peter was Spider–Man. 

Even as you stared at him, eyes as wide as his, you couldn’t shake it. Your best friend was Spider–Man, working alongside your father and found family. 

The two of you held eye contact, trying to read the other. You could read the remorse and apology and panic swelling in his wide–eyed stare, but you hoped that some of the anger building in your own was silently translated regardless. 

Your dad tried to clear his throat, tried to slice through the rousing tension between the two of you, but you didn’t break from it in the slightest. 

“Dinner’s ready.” Tony tried to make a joke. To joke at a time like this, as if he wasn’t an accomplice. As if he wasn’t keeping this from you, arguably more than Peter had been. 

It was the last straw you’d been offering, swiped from your hands and dissipating with your patience. 

You scoffed, tears finally finding your eyes. The heat of them was boiled by rage, and you didn’t have the decency to hide it. “Fuck off.” 

The room was too hard to stand in. You walked away, reminded of why you were even standing in the kitchen in the first place. 

Pain itched its way up your priority list, but you didn’t care; finding a way up the stairs was the least of your worries. You were more concerned with how quickly you could get away. 

Especially as you could hear Peter calling after you, following the path you were carving between you. 

“Y/N!” He spoke your name like a plea, like it would somehow apologize for all the dirt you’d uncovered. The sound of his voice, however, only seemed to drive you further from him. 

It split your heart into more pieces than you knew how to count. 

You already battled the insecurity of being weak. A weak, pathetic excuse for a Stark. With all the time you spent in the compound, with your friends and family, you were one of the only powerless people among them. This whole time, you thought Peter understood. 

You thought the insecurity was shared, reciprocated. 

Clearly, you were wrong and an idiot. You were the only one powerless among them. 

It made you feel so stupid; to see all the inside jokes tossed over your head, to see every stupid excuse he made thrown back in your face, and he had the audacity to be sorry?

Damn right, he should be. 

Peter’s touch felt like sandpaper to your skin as he reached for your hand. You yanked it out, not bothering to turn around. 

You tried to be strong and suck up the pain, wanted more than anything to run up the stairs and lock yourself in your room—two quick steps up the stairwell and the adrenaline wore off. You slowed your pace, fighting off the wincing, and wanting anything but to ask for help from Spider–Man. 

“Y/N, please.” His voice broke, and you felt sinister to think him deserving of it. “Please, I– I wanted to tell you, I promise–“

He must’ve been surprised when you turned around, at the speed you pivoted, at how intense your expression came across, because he startled. 

Your eyes held no response to the hot tears flooding from them, only holding space for the anger and hurt you didn’t have the energy to hide from him. 

“Promise?” The word came out whispered, threatening to break just as his words did. “You promise, just like how we promised to tell each other everything?” You saw each stab of each word and exactly where it hit on him, especially as your voice grew in volume. “Just like how you promised I wasn’t weak, when clearly, you know damn well how ironic that is!”

Twin tears slid down the length of his face, and you caught the subtle tremble in his bottom lip that he tried so hard to hide. “Please..” Now he was the one whispering, and you wish it sounded as satisfying as you wanted it to. 

“Don’t fucking sit there and act like you’re the hero here, Peter..” You couldn’t help the growl, couldn’t help the distaste inking down your body. Sure, you’d been hit with a knife just an hour prior in the evening, but you didn’t feel stabbed in the gut until now. “Don’t act like you understand shit about how I’m feeling right now!”

From just beyond, Tony started walking over, stepping quickly. “Hang on, Kid.” He cut in, stopping just a few paces behind Peter. “Don’t blame Peter for this.” His words practically turned up the heat on your burning rage. It was an effort to keep from boiling over. “I was the one who told him to keep quiet.”

The shakiest breath you’d taken all night forced its way down your throat. You finally pulled your eyes from Peter, watching your own father flinch at just how hurt you were. “No, you were the one who decided to be selfish!”

The room had never been so quiet, even the walls and the city beyond hushed to listen. 

“I don’t care who you thought you were saving here, but it wasn’t me.” Perhaps rage wasn’t the word you should use to describe the venom dripping off your words. You were seething, a mixture of betrayal and downright distraught. 

“I am not useless.” You felt the need to emphasize; to you, or the two faulty in front of you, no one could tell. “I may be the only powerless person in the fuck ass Avengers, but at least I’m fucking honest.”

When you met Peter’s eyes again, you almost couldn’t keep your composure. Maybe he was breaking apart just as quickly as you were, but you didn’t put in effort to hold room for an apology for him. You didn’t see the need to give one at all. 

“I’m sorry..” He couldn’t bring his voice above a whisper, above the tremble shaking each breath he took. And watching the way your father’s posture craned in sympathy to it finally gave you a cue to leave. You couldn’t take it anymore. 

You glanced between both of them, still ignoring the consistent stream of tears dripping off your nose and chin. “You both fucking should be.”

Holding your head high, you made your way up the stairs, pausing three steps up your trek when you heard a singular step in your direction. 

“Don’t fucking follow me.”

And you didn’t look back. 

The second you shut and locked your bedroom door, unshakable sobs spilled from your throat and choked you dry. You had never felt so isolated, so alone, and so pained. 

Truly, you did not know how it would get better from here, and all you wanted was to be held. 

You didn’t even know who you'd talk to about this. This betrayal stretched across every person you trusted, further than your eyesight. 

It was stupid, and you blamed yourself, but all you wanted to do was talk to Peter. 

Maybe not about it or to confront it right then, but you suddenly missed him and his support. You felt like that had been stripped away from you. 

You weren't sure how to trust him anymore, let alone anyone else who hid this from you.

It didn’t help that you replayed countless upon countless interactions—with your father, with Ned, and with Peter Parker Spider–Man himself. 

It reminded you of the last time you were mad at Peter, three years prior. 

At the Washington Monument. 

You remember him flaking on the academic decathlon, and flaking the night before. You were upset because he was obviously hiding something and he wouldn’t tell you what. 

“You promised we’d hang out tonight.” You remember calling after him, walking half the length of the hotel hallway after him, too. “I feel like I haven’t seen you all week!”

Peter was a pro at walking backwards, then and now, and as you always knew him to be. Even as you knew him as a klutz, even as it led him to keep walking away from you. “I’ll be back soon. I promise!”

It felt unfair to him to get frustrated with him, but you were. You were upset. “What? So your promises mean nothing?” 

That got him to stop. 

“What? No!” Defense, immediately. His eyes displayed more apology than his lips did, taking steps towards you. “I just.. I have to go, and I can explain it later–”

Your head shook at him. Whatever sparked you to feel upset had been growing for a while. It had been growing since he started ditching you a few months prior. “That’s what you said last time.” There was hurt in your voice, and you know he heard it. 

“But I–”

“We promised to tell each other everything.” You recalled your childhood together, your friendship before you started growing up. The two of you had known each other since elementary school, so changes like this was inevitable. It wasn't fair to hold him to the same standards you used to. “But if you want to go, don’t expect me to be buddy-buddy when you get back.”

You remember how it felt to walk away, but you remembered how it felt to hear him leave even more. That was harmful. 

He was entitled to grow up, just as you were, but the shifty way he started growing distant from you got you overthinking. 

It got you nervous that maybe he was seeing someone, and that hurt more than anything else. Especially that he was hiding it from you. 

What sucked the most was that Peter wasn’t back soon, or even that night. 

In fact, he wasn’t even at the academic decathlon. 

Part of you was relieved to get space from him, seeing how difficult all these feelings were to process; another part worried about him, but every time your anxiety would fester, something would serve a reminder of why you were upset in the first place. 

You won the decathlon without him. As you should.

After that, your team went to the Washington Monument, and Ned swore that Peter would meet you all there. 

“Look!” Ned tried to convince you, tried to break your unamused expression. “His location says he’s almost here.” And the phone screen he flashed at you proved honesty. Peter was minutes away. 

Before you could muster a response, Ned’s screen changed, and Peter was calling him. 

There was an awkward exchange of glances between the two of you before Ned answered the call and you walked through the metal detectors. 

“Peter, are you okay?” You couldn’t help but eavesdrop. You missed a phrase or two while security patted down your blazer. All you caught was Ned muttering a subtle “I covered for you,” and then Liz Allen taking the phone from his hands. 

Something hollow carved into your stomach at the sight, and you began to speculate whether Liz was the girl he was sneaking off with or not. 

You didn’t wait to find out. You walked right into the elevator, joining the rest of your decathlon group. 

You didn’t remember much about the trip up the elevator, all you remember was light emitting out of Ned’s backpack and something radioactive blasting right into the roof of the cart. 

Suddenly, with trembling limbs and a newfound panic, your squabble with Peter Parker seemed more than minuscule. Regret was quick to fill that hollowing pit in your gut. 

You’d blacked out a lot of those scarce moments in the elevator. But you remembered when it was safe enough to move, the security guard began to open the hatch at the top of the elevator cart, and one by one help your classmates out. 

It wasn’t until there were four of you left in the elevator that it finally fell down the shaft towards your demise. There, in that Monument, you would die with Ned, Liz, and your teacher, Mister Harrington, you were sure of it. 

You’d never forget the relief you’d felt at the sight of red and blue rushing toward you, plummeting quicker than you were, and webbing your way to safety. 

It felt odd to look back on, knowing now that it was Peter who pulled that elevator up to your safety. How you were only concerned then with apologizing to Peter Parker, who glanced at you there from beneath that mask, completely unbeknownst to you. 

Once he’d gotten you up to the top of the Monument, Ned was the first to leap out to safety, then Mister Harrington. The two of them helped Liz get out, and to your luck, just as you took a step forward, the webs above you snapped. 

You and Spider–Man fell with a blood curdling scream breaking through you. 

“NO!!” He called after you, and quickly shot a web up to the roof again. His other arm reached out toward you, webbing your wrist rather quickly, keeping you from falling any further. 

“It’s okay. You’re okay– I got you. You're okay..” He told you, his tone as gentle and soft as you knew it to be; yet, not a single thought crossed your mind that it was Peter Parker. 

You shakily dangled beneath him as he tugged you up from that web. You fought to look up at him, to keep yourself from looking down; you fought to keep the tears at bay as the shock flooded from your system. 

The second your hands touched, he pulled you up and into him. You wasted no time before wrapping your arms around him, hugging him for dear life. And it made sense, now, why he felt so familiar—why his warmth was so comforting, and why his arm around your waist felt like it belonged there. 

He held you securely, lulling those reassurances to you, pulling the two of you up to safety at the top of that Monument. 

Just before he set you down, you held him tighter. “Pe–Peter!” You gasped, and felt every muscle beneath your hold tense. 

Now, you knew why. 

You pulled back from his arms, “Peter Parker, my– my best friend! He was on his way over here.” Your voice shook as you explained, but watching him carefully set you on the ground helped to steady yourself a little. “Can you make sure– Could you make sure that he’s okay?”

Looking back, the reason why Spider–Man gaped at you so long must’ve been Peter contemplating whether or not to tell you who he was right then and there. He stared at you, beneath that mask, for what felt like minutes. 

He gave a singular, upside down, nod. “I can do that, ma’am.” And his thick, Bronx, accent threw you off more than you wanted to admit. 

Then he fell down the empty shaft of the elevator. 

You’d never forget the moment he found you after that. 

You had just gotten out of the Monument. With a shaky hand, you went through your phone to track Peter’s location. It said he was a matter of meters from you, but you couldn’t spot him in the crowd. 

Just as you went to ask Ned, Peter’s voice hollered out, calling your name. 

Both of you turned in his direction, the crowd of people parting for him as he ran over to you, catching you in a bone–crushing hug. One of his hands cradled your head into his chest, and the other kept itself snug around your waist, just like Spider–Man had earlier. "I'm so glad you're okay.." He whispered it into your hairline, just for you to keep.

The world washed away in the arms of Peter Parker. You couldn’t help but wrap your arms around him, too, hugging him effortlessly closer. Apologies from your argument the night before fell from your lips, and he also followed suit. 

You recalled that memory as something that defined how you and Peter operated—no matter what, you couldn’t stay mad at him. 

You would always find a way to forgive him. 

Now, remembering the incident was a bit more haunting. There was no telling how you and Peter would come back from this, nor just how long you’d go without each other.

And you didn't think Spider–Man would get you out of it, this time.

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read part three here.